Everwinter

The city lay quietly. The thick darkness of the night had taken over every house, alleyway, and even the main streets of the city. The sky was black, and only now and then would the clouds make way for the crescent moon behind them to shine down, causing the snowdrifts to reflect its light in a vain attempt to fight the blackness before it engulfed the city again.

In this almost impenetrable darkness, a figure moved with a purpose, unseen and unheard. Swift was cold, but not overly so since only the faintest breeze swept through the streets and alleyways. From somewhere to the side of him, just barely noticeable, the wind carried the dull sound of metallic rattle as a few guards patrolled the streets.

Swift Sleight was in his element.

He wore dark clothing, which covered most of his body and, most importantly, his face. He carried a large bag, emptied out, but hopefully soon to be filled. He had also buckled on a belt with all the necessary equipment: lock picks in different shapes and sizes as well as a small torsion wrench that went with them, a rope, a lantern, a small crowbar, a bag of iron caltrops to hinder movement, a dagger – just in case – and a number of identical items that were very special despite their trivial use.

By all appearances, they were just short wooden twigs. Swift had acquired them from Dibs at a reasonable price, though the nature and rarity of such items meant that they were still rather expensive. The small twigs could be ignited by striking them against a rough surface, which was a much faster way to make fire than the regular method of using flint and tinder.

They had been treated alchemically. Alchemy was the discipline of natural philosophy that combined the knowledge of natural substances with the magic of unicorns. Using alchemy, it was possible to create items that could never be created using mundane methods. At least that’s what the alchemists claim.

Due to the nature of the procedure, every alchemical item carried a small portion of the personal signature of its creator, which made itself noticeable when the item was used. These effects ranged from the creator’s magical color appearing in some form, to enhancing the effect itself when the creator was a particularly powerful magician. Allegedly, some alchemical items could even take on the emotions and character traits of the creator, which resulted in many children’s stories of cursed items, cautionary tales for young earth ponies about the dangers of unicorns and their magic.

In a land like Wrühtlant, where most ponies didn’t have a clue about the workings of magic let alone saw it in action, it was no wonder that this stuff was expensive.

Swift kept moving, his destination being an old, abandoned house by the western wall. However, it wouldn’t be his final destination. His job that night was a little bit more ambitious than that. He was no stranger to tricky break-ins, but a burglary into the bishop’s mansion was new even for him.

From the meeting between the two criminals the day before, he had learned that the mansion was secured not only by mundane means, but also by magical ones. He had never encountered magical traps before as he never had had to – or had had the opportunity to – break into a unicorn’s abode. There were no unicorns living in Marberc as far as Swift knew, and the bishop certainly wasn’t one either.

However, it didn’t surprise Swift that the bishop relied on powerful magic to secure his treasures despite him and the clergy in general continuously defaming everything foreign. It was just one example of the church’s double standards.

Maybe i’ll learn of a few more tonight.

Eventually, Swift reached his first stop. The wooden building was a combination of a workshop and home and was still in remarkably good shape. It was built directly by the side of the western city wall. The wood appeared to be sturdy, and there were no obvious holes in the walls or roof. No sign hung above the single entrance, so Swift couldn’t tell what profession the erstwhile owner had practiced.

When listening and looking for observers nearby didn’t expose anyone, Swift made his way to the door leading into the house. He tried it and found that it was locked.

There were mainly two ways to pick a lock: Poking the pins individually and raking them. Both techniques required specialized lock picks: hooks and rakes. The idea behind raking was to align all pins inside the lock by moving the pick back and forth. It was an easy, fast technique and very effective on simple locks, but the downside was the noise it produced. Since Swift was in no hurry and anyone within a few meters behind the door would have heard a raking attempt, he decided against it, instead opting to align the pins individually.

He took one of the hooks and the torsion wrench from his belt and inserted both into the lock. He let his eyes wander over his surroundings, looking out for anyone approaching while solely relying on his tactile sense to finish the job at the same time. The first step was to turn the wrench to exert a small amount of tension on the lock. Then, Swift began to poke the pins with the pick with steadiness that had developed for years prior. It never took him more than a few seconds for each pin, and now and then faint clicks could be heard as the upper pins above the lower ones he was poking snapped into place.

When he reached the third of six pins, he noticed that he couldn’t align it without the pick getting in the way of the other pins. The bitting was too large, meaning there was a big difference in height between the pins. He continued to exert tension with the wrench and pulled out the hook, replacing it with one that had a much sharper angle at its end. He inserted it and continued his work, which turned out to be much easier than before. Before long, the tension from the wrench released with one last satisfying click to which Swift couldn’t hold back a small smile. He turned the lock, and the door was opened.

Damn, i’ve missed this.

Putting away his tools, Swift entered and closed the door behind him. Inside, it was pitch-dark. Dust reached his nose, making it itch, and the silence was complete, directing his ears’ attention to his own heart beating in excitement. Although it was dusty, Swift noted that the ground under his hooves was not, indicating that this old building was still visited from time to time.

He took one of the alchemical twigs and struck it against the wall. A white flash appeared before the twig started to burn away in an azure blue flame. He used the twig to light his lantern, which also began to glow with a blue light, illuminating the surroundings. Swift stood inside a large workshop at the moment. There was no one to be seen or heard, and the only items in the room were some tools, buckets and saws, all rusty and brittle from age. The large wall opposite of him was made out of stone, presumably the city wall. There, built into it, was what Swift was looking for: a metal grating, locked with a padlock.

Swift walked over to it and repeated the procedure from before. Just like last time, this lock was easily overcome, and the grating opened with a creaking noise.

Swift walked through it and was outside again. He was standing on a narrow path that led to his right, winding along the side of the cliff. A good distance below him, the surrounding landscape stretched out, glowing a faint gray. Here, beyond the city walls, the wind was a bit stronger, causing him to shiver slightly.

He walked slowly, careful not to miss any tripping hazards in the faint light. There was no getting up again after falling down that cliff. After a few minutes of walking, he saw a large, dark patch on the side of the cliff a few meters before him. He closed the gap and realized that he was standing in front of a cave entrance, roughly three by three meters in size. The path ended there. Resolutely, Swift stepped inside and was engulfed by the shadows.

Inside the city, by the old, abandoned house, it was still calm and quiet. Dormant houses flanked the darkened streets. Almost every sign of life was absent.

Almost. A pair of eyes from one of the alleyways had the old house in its sight. The appertaining body was frozen on the spot, its muscles slightly tensed. Its legs had carried it all the way towards the house, but now they refused to go any further. For a while, the pony just stood there and stared. Eventually, he closed his eyes, calmed his breathing, and, upon opening his eyes again, walked towards the house.

When he arrived there, he took out a key and turned it inside the lock. When it met resistance without the bolt inside of the lock snapping back, the pony’s eyes went wide. Alarmed, he looked around frantically, only to find that the streets were as desolate as before. He returned his eyes to the door again. Yet again, he didn’t move, and instead just held a steady gaze, accompanied by a distinct frown this time. Then, with what appeared to be physical effort, he entered, his limbs trembling.

Finding himself in absolute darkness again, Swift perked his ears up for any suspicious noises before lighting his lantern once again. In the blue light, he could see that the small cave was roughly round in shape and overall fairly featureless. It would have ended a few meters opposite of the entrance, had it not been for another opening in the wall. This one wasn’t natural though. It was a corridor, and although the walls were abrasive, it was clear that it had been carved out of the stone. Little to Swift’s surprise, another iron grating obstructed his way.

Swift was already on his way to the grating to pick the lock when a thought hit him. The guy said something about traps.

He hesitated for a moment, but then resumed his way. Instead of taking out lock pick and wrench though, he simply lifted his lantern and looked at the grating critically. He let his eyes wander over it, taking in its general appearance and functionality. It was a simple object, painted black. Its hinges were set inside the stone wall, letting the grating swing open to one side and into the corridor. The lock was not unlike those Swift had encountered just minutes ago.

He shifted his attention to the hinges more closely and began touching them, careful not to miss any details, not the rust, nor the gaps between the moving parts, nor the slight discrepancies between the hinges. When he didn’t find anything suspicious, he continued on to the lock, examining it just as closely and illuminating it with his lantern to take a better look at its insides. Again, he found nothing.

Stepping back from the grating, he frowned. Traps weren’t meant to be found, so it was not only important to take your time when searching for one, but also to not solely rely on sight while doing so. He followed both of these instructions. However, there was one aspect he had left out: perspective.

Approaching the grating again, Swift stretched out one of his hooves and put it through the bars. Then, he carefully and slowly felt the back of the grating. Unsurprisingly, there was more cold metal.

But then, he felt something else. It was a thin string, hidden behind a horizontal bar and held firmly under tension. It was attached to the back of the lock and went towards the wall in which the hinges were set. Swift held up his lantern and squinted his eyes at the wall. Now, knowing that it was there, he could make out the thin thread attached to the wall via barely noticeable lugs and reaching out into the darkness of the corridor.

He eyed the string for a few moments, different scenarios playing out in his head. Then, he decided upon his procedure. After taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly, he put his hoof through the bars and pushed the string by the wall against it to fixate it. Then, he produced his dagger and cut the string a good distance away from the wall, causing it to hang limply by the wall. Putting away the dagger, he reached through the bars with his other hoof as well. He grabbed the string – which proved to be quite problematic using only his one hoof – and pulled it through the bars towards him. Using his hoof and teeth, he then looped it around one of the hinges a few times before tying a knot with it. He held his breath in anticipation. Then, he let go of the string completely.

Nothing happened. Swift had tied the string in a way that didn’t increase or decrease the tension. The fact that it was now attached to the non-moving hinge ensured that it wouldn’t move when the grating was opened.

One successful lock picking attempt later, the grating was unlocked. When it opened with a distinct creaking, nothing out of the ordinary happened. Swift took that as his permission to enter and did so before closing the grating behind him again. He walked onwards.

The tunnel was quiet long, a hundred meters at least, but hard for Swift to guess. Nothing distracted from the monotony of the walls’ surfaces, except for a few torch holders, which had been placed at an even interval, and the string by one of the walls, leading off into the darkness in front of him.

Eventually, Swift reached stairs that led upwards. They ended at a wooden door shortly thereafter. After he had listened for any sounds beyond, he tried it and was pleasantly surprised to find that it was unlocked. He opened it carefully and peeked inside.

The sight tempted his eyes to wander around, beholding it in all its glory, but Swift forced himself to focus and instead glanced to both sides of the hallway he was peeking in to make sure that no one took notice of him. Afterwards, he entered and took a moment to examine his surroundings a bit more closely.

The hallway he was standing in was the most ostentatious he had ever laid eyes on. On one of the broad sides, the one through which he had entered, large perpendicular windows let in the moonlight. It was a cold light, but it was bright enough to unveil the colorfulness of the decorations and furniture. Red and gold carpets covered a white marble floor, paintings showing natural scenery hung in golden frames along the wall, and the entire ceiling was decorated in fine, marvelous stucco. The door through which Swift had entered was concealed behind beige plaster that covered every wall. A candle holder, set into the door, acted as a handle.

As he examined – and admired – the room, Swift also noticed a big bell, easily his own size and made out of bronze, which hung from the ceiling. A rope was attached to it and disappeared into the wall in which the door to the underground passageway was built in.

Undoubtedly to Swift, this was part of the trap he had seen earlier. Looking back at the wall behind him, he could imagine the elaborate pulley system hidden in it that would allow a pull from the small string he had seen in the corridor to move a giant bell such as the one in that hallway.

A simple alarm, however, would not necessarily be enough to ward off burglars. It needed someone to respond to it. Swift doubted the bishop would do it himself, and he would certainly not entrust his servants with it. There had to be guards inside the building.

Swift had stood in one place long enough. He recalled the map he had seen the day before as best as he could and resumed his way, keeping the windows to his left and heading towards one of the staircases.

A short time after Swift’s departure from the cave, another pony entered it. In the orange light of his lantern, his eyes searched the cavity before they rested on the metal grating on the opposite side of the cave. He walked over to it and tried it. There was no sign of surprise when it swung open. The hesitation that had befallen him mere minutes ago was gone. Instead, when he resumed his way more quickly than stealthily down the corridor, a sense of urgency was beginning to replace it.

As Swift sneaked through the mansion, he found several interesting – that is to say valuable – trinkets on his way: vases, candle holders, and especially the crystals and gems of a particular chandelier in what appeared to be a dining room caught his attention. He had to restrain himself from grabbing all of it though. To someone living or working in the mansion, missing trinkets might catch their attention, and that was something Swift wanted to prevent. He would collect the loot soon enough on his way out... if, by then, he would still have room in his bag after having helped himself in the vault behind the bishop’s chambers, that is.

He was still on the first floor, and his way led him through another hallway, which was faintly lit by the moonlight coming in through the large windows to his left. So far, Swift had not encountered any guards or servants. The house was silent as a grave. As a result, his muscles were tensed, and he took careful steps, afraid that they might disturb the fragile silence.

Then, as he passed a door to his right, the sounds of voices reached his ear. Swift froze on the spot, startled, but quickly regained himself. He made haste to get away from the door, back the way he came.

Before he was out of earshot, however, he stopped and listened closely, trying to assess if the voices came closer or not. There were two of them, one male and one female, but Swift couldn’t understand what exactly they were saying. After a little while of listening, he was sure that they didn’t come closer though.

He made his way back to the door and laid one ear on the door. The voices were clearer, but still too quiet and muffled to understand specific words. After a moment’s hesitation, Swift gave in to his curiosity and opened the door as gently as possible. When a small gap formed, the female voice’s muffled noises became intelligible words.

“...said that their excrement is mixed with blood. Very nasty. He also said that it isn’t necessarily fatal, but poor living conditions and hygiene worsen the effect.”

Swift detected a hint of nervousness in the male voice. “I take it our living conditions aren’t considered ‘poor’?”

“They’re not, but i would stay away from the southern part of town for now if i were you. It’s still contagious. Also, i highly doubt the bishop would share his flower petal with us in case one of us catches this illness.”

“You mean the giant pink petal that was delivered the other day?”

“The very same. Do you remember that expedition that was sent westwards beyond the sea? That petal is one of the curious things they brought back. I talked with one of the sailors, and he told me that a few of them got sick a few days after they had landed on the shore. It must’ve been a nasty illness because it carried its victims off within days. Anyway, they found this fantastically huge flower, which was several times bigger than even the tallest pony. They picked up its petals after they had fallen off. A few of the sick sailors said that they felt better just by being near to the petals, so they took a chance and made a tonic out of one. It actually worked, and the sailors recovered.”

“Mh, sounds like black unicorn magic to me.”

“It does sound like magic, indeed. However, i wouldn’t be so picky if my life hung in the balance.”

“I think i will just resort to staying as far away from the southern part of town as possible.” A short pause followed before he continued with an irritated tone in his voice. “These fools brought this upon themselves. I mean, didn’t they hear the bishop? This winter is a punishment for being too permissive with the unicorns. How many brothers and sisters in faith did we lost during the unicorn invasion when they crossed the channel? Now we pay the price for our failure. But instead of enduring and repenting, these criminals rob and plunder and incur the Lord’s wrath even more.”

“Mh... a lot of upright citizens have starved too though. Repentance alone apparently isn’t enough to please the Lord. I guess some ponies simply don’t see another way other than stealing.”

“Which got them into even more trouble.”

The female voice became defensive. “I’m not saying that what they’re doing is right.”

Another pause followed. Then, the male spoke again. “You’re right though. Passive Repentance alone isn’t enough. The unicorns are what sparked this chaos. What better way to please the Lord than to combat them directly, to regain our lost homeland?”

“You can talk! You’re not even a soldier. There’s a reason why we lost to them, you know. Unicorn magic is nothing to trifle with in combat from what i’ve heard. I don’t see how, in our condition, we could stand a chance against them.”

The male voice was almost excited now. “A unicorn’s magic is hardly a match against the blessed blade of an earth pony–”

Swift decided to leave the two alone as he didn’t think there was more interesting information to overhear. He didn’t regret to listen in though. A giant flower petal that cured illnesses sounded very lucrative and might also come in handy in other ways. Swift doubted that he would still be in debt after this job, so he was playing around with the idea of keeping the petal in case of an emergency. He had heard about an increased number of illnesses lately, but a spread of a proper epidemic within the city was news to him as well.

After a short walk, Swift reached one of the staircases of the house, the one in the northwest corner of the building. It was a round room with a big chandelier hanging from the curved ceiling, and the stairs clung to the wall, leading upwards in a spiraling manner. Swift proceeded.

At about the same time, in the southwest corner of the house and in a room very similar to the one Swift was traversing, another intruder walked up another flight of stairs.

It didn’t take long for Swift to find the bishop’s chambers. He opened the door carefully. The room that came into view was lavishly decorated, just like all the other rooms in the house. On the right side, there was a fireplace with an armchair and a table in front of it. Beside it, a big wardrobe stood by the wall. Across from the door, a broad window front and a glass door allowed Swift a view on the white garden, lit by the bright moon above, and the nearby western city wall beyond it. The bed, a big four-poster one, was situated on the left side with the curtains pulled back. No one lay in it. A metal door was built into the wall in the far left corner.

Swift pushed the nagging thoughts regarding the whereabouts of the bishop to the back of his head, trying instead to be optimistic. His absence will make this a lot easier.

When he looked back at the door in the corner, his hooves started to shake a little bit, and he had to restrain himself from running up to it and yanking it open. Instead, he opted for a quiet walk, all the while keeping his surroundings in sight. When he stood before it, he examined it more closely.

The door was made entirely out of solid iron. The lock was of a more elaborate design than those he had picked earlier. Still, it was nothing Swift couldn’t handle.

The one thing that stood out was the disembodied lion head that was carved into the metal in the center of the door. Its jaws were opened in a snarl, and the teeth might have been sharp enough to hurt upon touching. Its eyes were piercing, a look of a patient, merciless predator, stalking his prey before the leap.

Swift took his time to examine the head thoroughly, searching for something that might have given a trap away. He had no idea how to identify a magical trap or how to disarm one, but he was confident that he would manage both somehow.

That confidence was in stark contrast to the feeling that suddenly crept up in him. It made him pause. He took an instinctive step back from the door. Sweat was running down his temple, and his eyes were opened wide as he stared at it.

He was afraid. He couldn’t explain why though. He had been scared on jobs before of course, but with more and more training he had also learned to suppress the disruptive feeling. The trick was to be sure of one’s abilities, to believe that nothing could go wrong as long as you gave your best. Once you started to doubt yourself or something went wrong, did the fear set in.

But nothing had gone wrong, nor did Swift doubt himself. He had no reason to be afraid of an harmless door... only it wasn’t exactly the door as a whole that put him off.

It was the lion head.

The protruding nature, the aggressive features; it was menacing. But it weren’t the looks alone that were frightening. Swift couldn’t help but feel connected to the head in a way one wasn’t connected to objects. The head had a presence. He was there. He was in the room with Swift, not the effigy of the lion, but the lion itself!

Swift tried to calm himself. It’s just a piece of metal. Nothing to worry about. Get a grip! Then, after a few more moments, he stepped closer again and resumed his work reluctantly. Not having found any traps, he glanced at the lock to decide which lock pick to try first. He looked back to his belt and removed one that seemed like it might fit.

When he turned around again, he wasn’t prepared for what he saw. All hairs on his body stood up as he winced and barely suppressed a yelp. The lock pick fell to the floor, clanking distinctly, but Swift didn’t care. He scrambled away from the door as quickly as possible.

The eyes, they had moved!

He stared at the lion head, but any reaction on its part was absent. It still had the same piercing, predatory and unmoving look from before. To Swift, it felt like a taunt. He was sure that the eyes had moved, and he wouldn’t risk touching the door before getting rid of that sinister hex. He picked up his lock pick, exited the room, and closed the door behind him, letting out a sigh of relief as he did so.

Swift didn’t know what exactly he was looking for as he strayed through the hallways after that, looking into various rooms as he did so. He passed a guest room, a ball room, and a bath, none of which looked interesting enough to merit a closer inspection. Then, however, he reached a room that stood out from the rest. Swift was still on the second floor, and the room was located in one of the corners of the building.

Upon entering, he saw that it was round like the staircase from earlier. He had to light his lantern again to be able to see in the thick darkness. The room was roughly ten meters in diameter. It might have had windows, but heavy black curtains enveloped the room fully and obscured the view on what was behind them. The blue light of the lantern was almost fully absorbed by the curtains, and it didn’t reach the ceiling, which left visible only the white marble floor, floating in a sea of blackness.

Most notably, however, was the item in the middle of the room. Upon a marble pedestal lay a metal bowl. As Swift came closer, he saw that there was a clear, motionless fluid in it.

Before Swift had the chance to do anything else, steps echoed through the hallway behind him. Alarmed, he darted towards one of the curtains. He lifted it and positioned himself between the wall and the curtain before letting it fall to the floor again.

The steps came closer. Swift was sure that whoever walked there entered the room. Suddenly, they stopped, followed by the sound of a door closing. A quiet rattle told Swift that it was being locked.

Damn it, trapped!

The sound of steps resumed, only to die off shortly thereafter again. Silence followed. Swift’s heart was beating rapidly and he didn’t dare to move a muscle. After what felt like an eternity, a male pony spoke up from beyond the curtain, his voice rife with reverence, a quality normally only used when addressing him, not the other way around. Swift didn’t go to church very often, but even he could identify it as the bishop’s voice.

“My lord.”

The male voice that answered was commanding. It didn’t rely on harshness to achieve the effect though. There was no need. His flat voice demanded obedience by default and was like a facade that hinted at a more sinister quality behind it. It sounded like a normal pony’s voice, but yet it was incredibly imposing and menacing in a way that Swift didn’t fully comprehend, and it made him shiver.

“Have you found them?”

“No, but we will keep searching. They can’t hide indefinitely.”

“I thought i had expressed myself clearly. They must not escape. Increase your efforts!”

“Yes, my lord. We will find them.” A short pause followed before the bishop resumed. “My lord, i have some other information that might prove useful.”

“Go on.”

“It has come to my attention that the chancellor is considering to hold an assembly between the three tribe leaders for the purpose of negotiations. A lot of lords and the clergy, myself included, advised against it, but she persists on a diplomatic solution.”

Another pause followed before the imposing voice answered. “It is likely to be fruitless, but you will see to it to make sure that it is. The chancellor is childish and gullible. Keep telling her that it’s the pegasi that are responsible for the snow. Bend the facts to convince her. Invent some if you must. And keep using your position to spread suspicion among the general population.”

“Is war the ultimate goal?”

“No, the status quo is. Keep everything as it is now. Everything is going according to plan,” the voice said before gaining a harsh edge, causing Swift to wince, “everything but one vital detail. Find Wide Fare! Find the other one! And bring me the orb!”

In the moonlit chambers of the bishop, the door opened again slowly. A head peeked inside, and its eyes darted around the room. Only after having scanned every corner multiple times did the pony enter the room and close the door behind him cautiously.

He had planned to go directly to the bishop’s chambers, but had been forced to hide in a guest room when a guard had shown up in the hallway. The thief had cowered and listened for any sounds nearby long after the guard had already passed the room, before he had gone out into the hallway again hesitantly.

Now, he was in the bishop’s chambers, currently heading directly for the iron door in the corner of the room, but he stopped dead in his tracks when he saw the lion head carved into it. After a moment’s hesitation, he resumed his walk slowly, but kept the head in his sights warily. Then, his view shifted towards the lock of the door. He took out lock pick and torsion wrench, but then hesitated again.

The lion head caught his eyes once more, and the pony just stood there for a while, staring at the relief. A frown appeared on his forehead. The more he looked at it, the more the frown grew and his look became stressed. Sweat was starting to run down his temple, and his muscles tensed.

But then, his expression became firm. Every trace of apprehension was gone in an instant. It was as if some force from within had come to the surface, strong enough to wash away even the strongest fears. And it demanded action.

The pony pulled his eyes away from the head and looked at the lock again. He sat down in front of the door. As he did so, he muttered to himself.

“I promised you’ll get better, and i won’t give up now, not after i’ve come so far.”

He reached out to start his lock picking attempt. As the pony’s hooves drew ever closer to the door, he missed the vicious look the lion head gave him.

Wide Fare!? He’s here? Familiar images raced through Swift’s head: the night, the chase, and especially the mysterious helper. It had been obvious, really. What worried him was that Wide Fare, apparently, was still in the city. He’s after the orb as well, but that still doesn’t tell me on which side he’s on.

As he thought, Swift realized something: The room had gone quiet. It was the bishop who broke the silence, his voice cautious.

“My lord?”

“You are not alone,” the imposing voice declared. Swift’s heart skipped a beat.

“Wha–“

“There is an intruder nearby.”

The bishop reacted with distinct indignation. “These lazy guards! After i’ve dealt with this burglar, i’ll–”

The loud roar that blared through the house cut him off. Swift winced at the booming noise, which no doubt reached every last room of the building and alerted everyone in it. After it had died off, the silence that followed was interrupted only by two words, uttered flatly by the bishop.

“The vault.”

With that, the noises of galloping echoed through the room, followed shortly by the sound of a door opening. By the time the bishop was out of the room and had galloped down the hallway, the house had woken up, and the muffled sounds of commotion came from beyond the door. The roar had spoken a clear language, and it lowered Swift’s spirit. His break-in was cut short. Now, he had to get out.

Peeking under the curtain, he saw that the room was vacant once more. Quickly, he made his way to the door, still trying to make as little noise as possible. Halfway to the door, he glanced back at the bowl in the middle of the room, but it looked just like it had when he had seen it earlier. The fluid was still.

Once he was out of the room, Swift instantly went down the same corridor through which he had come before. The noises of slamming doors, rattling of metal, and hoofsteps emanated from up ahead. So far, he hadn’t run into any guards of servants, and he could do nothing but hope that it would stay that way. Taking a different route out would have been too risky. He didn’t know the mansion well enough.

So, he didn’t stray away from his route. He reached the staircase, descended the stairs, and traversed the rooms and hallways he had come through earlier. Still, no guards. Nonetheless, the sounds of commotion never ceased. As he moved, Swift was able to discern that most of it came from the direction of the bishop’s chambers, but it was moving away from it. Swift wasn’t the target of the guards’ pursuit; that much was clear. But then, who was?

Not taking the time to listen at the next door, he opened it and now stood at one end of the big hallway with the treasured door that would lead him to freedom. He threw all caution to the wind and started galloping. He was almost there.

When he was halfway to the exit, the door on the other side of the hallway slammed open. Swift’s gaze shifted towards it to find another pony, who was galloping directly in his direction. As they both drew closer to each other, Swift saw a dark, meandering line running down one of the pony’s forelegs. Single drips fell from it and stained the carpeted floor. He must have been in pain, but given the distraught look on his face – imprudently uncovered, Swift noted – he had more pressing matters to worry about.

As if on cue, half a dozen more ponies rushed through the same door behind the pony, filling the whole hallway with a rumbling noise of hoofsteps mixed with the rattling of metal. The ponies wore black and white uniforms over metal breastplates and chain mail and carried short swords in their mouths: The bishop’s personal guards.

Swift wasn’t worried though. He may not have had the endurance of the guards, but as opposed to them he didn’t wore heavy armor that would slow him down. He could easily outrun them. Furthermore, he had just reached the door. The only thing left to do to escape was to reach out.

But he didn’t.

A particular detail made him pause. As he took another look at the pony fleeing from the guards, he finally recognized his face.

The amateur thief, Swift thought, a feeling of annoyance rising inside of him. Of course he had to do the break-in on the same night.

Swift realized something else: With the pony limping, the guards would catch him invariably. There was no time to ponder whether Swift should help the pony or not, so instead he acted on instinct. His mind was already working. The obvious solution was to hinder the guards’ movement as well.

The caltrops.

Suddenly, more galloping. This time, it came from behind Swift. He spun around, and his eyes grew wide. Two more guards had entered the room through another door to the side and would reach him within a few seconds. They might get to him before the other pony or after him; Swift wasn’t sure. His eyes darted between them and the other thief multiple times.

Then, among all the noise, a distraught yell reached him. It was the thief. “Wait for me!”

The voice caught Swift’s attention, and their eyes met. The thief’s jaw was clenched, and his eyes were wide open. His look was one of utter terror.

A sense of déjà vu suddenly overcame Swift. He had been here before, him, in relative safety, and another pony in perilous danger, begging for help. He had not forgotten what had come out of last time’s decision.

He had made up his mind. He looked the thief in the eyes and spoke. It was just a single word, but the meaning behind it could not have been any clearer.

“Sorry.” It had come out colder than he had intended.

Swift was about to turn around and rush through the door leading into the underground corridor when he caught the other thief’s reaction for a split second. The look of terror had vanished. In its place, hopelessness had come to replace it.

Then, Swift was gone. He dashed through the door, descended the stairs, and rushed through the darkness of the corridor, hoping he would not stumble over uneven stone. From behind, a voice reached him.

“Don’t worry about him. We got this. Get the other one!”

Normally, Swift would have been amused by this sort of repetition of history.

As he ran, the sound of galloping returned. He glanced back down the corridor to see an orange light descending the stairs a few meters behind him. He grabbed the bag with the iron caltrops from his belt. Turning the bag upside down, he emptied it on the ground, making sure to cover the whole width of the corridor. He continued galloping and after a few moments found that his plan worked when he heard painful screams from behind and the sound of galloping stopped.

Shortly after, Swift reached the end of the corridor and left the cave into the night. The sky was fully covered in thick, dark clouds, and almost no light reached the ground. Swift allowed himself a short stop, which he used to catch his breath and light his lantern.

Then, still hurriedly, he followed the path and traversed the old building until he finally reached the streets of the city. By that time, he was fairly certain that no one was on his tail anymore.

It was over. He had escaped. He couldn’t stay by the building for long though as the bishop’s guards would most certainly search the area for him. He started his way back home.

After a few minutes of walking though, all the exertion and excitement of the night took their toll. Swift came across a small animal farm with a shoulder high wall that acted as an enclosure of a muddy space beside the building. The crescent moon had come out again and shone a faint light on the surroundings, covering everything in a monotonous, lifeless gray.

Swift’s breathing was heavy, his limbs were shaking, and his heart was beating rapidly as he shuffled towards the stone wall and sat down on it. He removed his mask and breathed in the ice-cold air, breaking out in a fit of coughs as he did so.

Inevitably, his thoughts ended up with the events of that night. The one regarding the bishop and his mysterious superior stuck out. The more he thought about it, however, the more he became annoyed. More questions! All that this night had amount to was more questions. Swift wasn’t even able to snatch a single bit. With a promising target like the bishop’s mansion, this was downright embarrassing.

And then, there was this other pony. He had sounded the alarm, but Swift wasn’t angry with him. It had all just been bad luck. Swift was used to it by now. Still, he wondered what this amateur was doing trying to pull off such a high-risk break-in. Ultimately, it didn’t matter as Swift doubted that he would ever see him again. You didn’t get away with just a chopped off hoof for breaking into the bishop’s mansion.

As he thought, a nagging feeling rose up in him. In a way, he felt responsible for the pony’s fate, at least partially. However, he had been in this field of work long enough to know how it went: Everyone for himself. There was no honor among thieves.

Still, the feeling remained.

When his body had finally calmed down, tiredness began to settle in. Not wanting to sleep outside and freeze to death, he shook his head to clear it, jumped off the wall, and continued his way home.