Riposte
The streets of Canterlot were abuzz with activity. In the market district, one could find all kinds of ponies. Some were earth ponies, some were unicorns. Some wore rags, some wore the fine velvet doublets of a member of the kingdom’s nobility. Some stalls were occupied by more exotic creatures. The striped zebras from the East with their sweet smelling spices and incense, or the ferocious looking griffons, with their fine armors and weapons. Most griffon-made weapons made better trophies for ponyfolk than they did instruments of battle. Griffons could hold weapons in their talons, and thus, they were generally too heavy to be wielded by mouth as most earthponies and pegasi did.
Riposte regarded the brutish looking axes with disdain. They were ugly things, not the tools for a member of Her Grace’s own guard. Queen Incandescence, Lady of Embers. Solarum was a kingdom nestled in the heartlands of Equestria, where the Sun always had rein of the sky, yet never stung its good ponies as it did the zebrafolk in the Eastern Empire. The Eastern Empire was a vast desert of scorched sands. Riposte had always regarded the zebras with a certain curiosity. They were a folk as divided as the black and white of their stripes. Some zebras were ardent pacifists, such as those of the Eastern Empire, some were fierce warriors, as the various sellsword companies of the strange equines demonstrated. They wore strange perfumes and comfortable clothing. Some wore piercings of bone and ivory as well. The two resident zebra merchants of Canterlot’s market district both wore a cylinder of polished ivory through one ear.
The young guard was of far more plain appearance. A sapphire coat as blue as the ocean and a dark grey mane, cut short to comfortably fit the gold mask about his head. When Queen Incandescence ascended to the throne of Solarum, she had ordered a private guard be assembled of her land’s most accomplished soldiers and swordsponies. Riposte had proved his mettle in close to a dozen tournaments, and was one of the first young stallions chosen to don the mask. The Heaven’s Guard wore cloaks of scarlet over armor of heavy steel gilded with gold and trimmed with silver. In the presence of the Queen and her subjects, they wore masks of gold to show their unity and solidarity in their protection of the Queen. He felt lucky to be allowed to wear the scarlet cloak and gold mask. A dark mane was thought to be unlucky in Solarum, the Kingdom of the Sun. Ponies born with manes of orange or red were blessed. The priests and priestesses said that such ponies were touched by the flame.
As he gently pushed his way through the crowds, he spotted an ageing mare, robed in cloth of red. The sleeves and hem of her robes were trimmed with glittering gold. The color was fading from her mane, and it had been bound back in a modest bun. Riposte recognized her for a priestess of the Church of Embers. The Church of Embers was a holy order that cared for their benevolent queen, as well as maintained the Divine Fires in the Temple of Flame. They also provided various services to the ponies of Solarum as well. Blessings, healing, and food for the poor.
The mare’s horn was alight, ringing a gilded gold bell. “Alms for the poor!” she called over the delicate tinkling of little noisemaker, “Alms for the poor at the Temple of Flame! Fresh apples from the Freelands and spiced wine from the Cloudlands!” Riposte smiled thinly. The wine was likely watered down. Despite the affection the Church of Embers bore for the poor, the nobility had little love for the downtrodden. A flock of peasants at the Temple would be bad enough, Sun forbid that they be drunk as well.
Still, the meal was a good one. The ungoverned villages of the Freelands south of Solarum had rich soil, and the vintages from the Cloudlands were the finest in Equestria. Riposte had never grasped why Incandescence did not annex the Freelands. The profit from its fruit orchards would fill the royal treasuries to bursting. But the Freelands remained free, a cluster of independent townships protected by the Order of the Sun and Moon. Nopony in Solarum bore love for the Order, however.
The Order of the Sun and Moon was a group of scholars and landless knights. They were led by a pair of strange sisters, bearing the extremities of both pegasi and unicorns. Each led a half of the Order. The Order of the Sun was led by a pretender to the Throne of Embers. Incandescence would of had her slain, if her and her sister did not keep the Undead of the Everfree at bay.
If not for the Undead, it would be far easier to keep peace within the kingdom. The undead plague had all been stamped out by the Inquisition of Embers, but its victims still remained. When one undead rises, hundreds will rise in their wake. They were a scourge upon all the living. Unorganized, they could be annihilated with ease. Once they flocked under the banner of some necromancer or vampire however, they proved to be quite a problem. When an undead was slain, they could be brought back from the dead over and over again if a mage was on hand. It was a cursed existence.
Riposte strode on past the priestess. Canterlot was like a great maze of sorts. It had walls made of towering buildings and grand monuments. The pathways were roads paved in smooth stone. He was headed for the very center of Canterlot, the palace.
Ponies smiled at him as he went, though they would get no smile back. The gold mask he wore was expressionless. A gold mold of a pony’s head with two black hole’s for eyes. Riposte smiled back beneath the mask nonetheless. As he briskly trotted down the paved road, scarlet cloak flapping behind him, he could hear the conversations of the City Guard. They spent more time gossiping than they did keeping watch. “I hear there’s a new Dragon-Lord in the southeast,” one said. Another claimed he had glimpsed a look at the Lady of the Undead, Poet. One fresh recruit had the gall to make mention of the Knights of the Reach, the fearsome warriors of Solarum’s greatest rival.
In the far north was the Kingdom of the Northern Reach. A frozen tundra of hardy earthponies. It was a barren, inhospitable place. Were it not for the gemstone mines, the land would of been worthless. However, the wealth contained within those mines alone kept Lord Cross’ subjects bound to the icy badlands. They were a humorless, hard-nosed folk. The free spirited ponies of Solarum found them a drab, ugly group, and the ponies of the Northern Reach found the ponies of Solarum a perverse, disgusting bunch. There had been many wars, though none during Incandescence’s reign. She found war a rather distasteful affair. It always spoiled conversation.
“You’d best watch your mouth,” one of the older, wizened members of the guard growled, “Them Knights are nary to joke about. The size of buffaloes in armor so big that it’d break yer’ back. Seen one of them Knights cut a green boy like you in two with one swipe of them greatswords. Like he were cuttin’ butter.” The youth paled at that. When the group of guards saw Riposte in his glimmering mask, they stood up straight and saluted. The eldest guard spoke, “M’lord.”
Riposte nodded his head, “As you were.” He continued on his way. The guard returned to their gossiping.
Perhaps the grandest part of Canterlot was the Fire District. That was where the Temple of Flame, as well as the great palace was located. It was a lavishly decorated space, full of many queer figures. Zebras in emerald colored garbs, adorned with shimmering sapphire jewelry. Envoys from the Eastern Empire to be sure. Incandescence made sure to foster friendly relations with the zebrafolk. They were a people kissed by the Sun, just as the ponies of Solarum. Riposte thought they were strange, but admired them at the same time. Their diplomats were charming, and those among them who were sellswords were fierce in battle; fighting with strange, outlandish techniques. There was whisperings in the city guard that zebra warriors fought on two legs, using staves. They could crack a pony’s skull open through their helmet with their hooves hooves alone.
Located in the center of the Fire District was Queen Incandescence’s palace. A towering structure, sharp and angular in its construction. The palace itself looked like some great, marble bonfire, reaching out towards the Sun and the sky. At the gates, he was met with two more of his masked brothers. “Hail,” one called as Riposte approached, “Sir Riposte?”
“Indeed,” he bowed his head, “And a good day to you as well, brother.” The masked guard nodded, permitting Riposte into the palace. Its interior was even more grand than the outside. There were dozens and dozens of paintings lining the walls, as well as sculptures of past kings and queens of Solarum. In the center of the palace foyer was a massive fountain that nearly reached the vaulted ceilings. It was made of marble and ivory, with a trim of gold lining its edges. A great sound of rushing water echoed off the vast halls. Riposte took a moment to look upon the fountain. It was said that Incandescence would sit upon the edge of the fountain many an afternoon, reading whatever old texts her Proctor had assigned to her after the day’s lessons. That was when she had been but a filly.
It was also said that Incandescence was made to wear a mask as a child, so that no common pony could gaze upon her face. To gaze upon the Sun was to go blind, to gaze upon the young princess reared a similar result. Thankfully, Incandescence was far kinder than her cruel mother and prideful father. Riposte made his way past the fountain, down the long hallway that led to the grand throne room.
Though it bore no fountains, nor any paintings, there was still something breathtaking about the throne room of Canterlot Palace. Great rose windows rose on either side of the long room. When sunlight was cast through the tinted windows, the whole throne room was lit up a rainbow of reds, blues, greens, and more. At the far end of the throne room was the throne upon which the Queen sat. The throne rose several feet into the air, so that the Queen must climb a small marble staircase to reach her seat. It was wrought in a similar shape to the palace, a flickering flame cast in white marble and gold. Incandescence was a mare fitting of her name. Her pure white coat seemed to shine, as did her fiery orange mane. A fire burned in her eyes as well, a crimson color almost as rich as the fabric of Riposte’s cloak. The Queen was garbed in a gown of orange and red. She almost looked a candle in all its ruffles and lace. Upon her head was a crown of gold, inlaid with fiery rubies and topazes. At the foot of her throne, Riposte kneeled. Incandescence smiled sweetly, “Rise, Sir Riposte. What news have you?”
The faceless gold mask looked up at Incandescence, and a voice echoed from inside, “I think it best that we speak alone, Your Radiance.” The Queen’s smiled slowly faded. Nodding, she gestured to the two members of the Heaven’s Guard standing vigil at the foot of her throne, as well as her various courtiers.
“Leave us,” she bid them. Bowing, the ponies hurried away. Riposte’s two brothers of the Heaven’s Guard would go to the Temple of Fire to attend to the priestesses. The various courtiers would surely be retiring to their own quarters to speculate as to what secrets he was to share with the Queen. Once all had fled the throne room but Riposte and the Queen herself, the masked stallion spoke.
“Your Radiance. This spywork troubles me. I am a knight,”
Incandescence smiled patiently, “I can trust you, Riposte. A knight you may be, but your family has a gift for intrigue as I recall.”
Riposte was thankful for the mask then. It hid his cheeks as they reddened. His family was by no means of honorable status. Any prestige held by his family was his alone. Aside from Riposte, his relatives were a great bunch of thieves and pickpockets. “I am not my family. And my mask attracts much attention besides,” he complained.
“Though no sane pony would speak out against you if they thought you eavesdropping, Sir. Now, what have you learned?” she asked impatiently.
He sighed. “Many things. The sailors are raving. There’s word of chaos in the Dragonlands. The North is sharpening its blades. The changelings are ranging farther and farther away from their Hive in the Swamps. Traders spread stories of some bandit warlord that has declared himself King of the Swamps as well,” Riposte said gravely.
Incandescence laughed at that. “Let this vagabond have the southern swamps!” she said, tapping her chin, “Let him contend with the changelings and those great flocks of savage batponies. We do not covet the swamps. The Sun does not shine there.”
“Of course not, Your Radiance, but should this King in the Swamps rally support of the Freelands…” Riposte said slowly.
“He will not. If he is truly a bandit, they will scorn him.” Nodding his head, Riposte kept silent a moment. Incandescence spoke again, “What of this talk of the North sharpening its blades?”
“Few sailors out of Solarum’s ports make the voyage North. The seas are quite treacherous in the fall,” he echoed through the gold mask, “But those who return speak of Lord Cross rallying his troops. There is marching in the streets, displays of military might. The citizens of the Northern Reach find it all quite rousing.”
Now that concerned the Queen. She knew Cross for a stony-faced, conservative fellow. He did not march his troops simply for the sake of marching. A campaign was in the works, or morale was dire in the North. Winter often came early to the icy tundra, if it ever ended at all. When winter did come to the Northern Reach, only the strong saw the spring. “Do not worry yourself over the Iron Lord flexing his muscles. Those Knights of his is all he has,” she said casually, though she made a mental note to seek out a proper spy to dispatch to the North. Riposte was of use within Canterlot, but he could not be sent abroad. His place was here, with his Queen.
Riposte bowed his head, “Yes, Your Radiance. Shall I return to my post?”
“You shall,” she waved a hoof. Turning, Riposte strode down the long stretch of marble floor that led back out to the grand foyer. Before he could reach the door, it was swung open by a harried looking messenger. They galloped forward, though Riposte put himself between the messenger and the Queen. He slammed square into the armored chest of Riposte and crumpled to the ground, clutching his nose.
Riposte drew his blade from the sheath at his side. Holding the silver dirk in his teeth, he growled down at the messenger around the hilt, “Who dares entreat upon the Queen’s court unannounced? How did you make it past the guards?”
Blood dribbled down from the pony’s snout. Their nose was surely broken by the looks of it. The messenger spat blood. It seemed they’d bit their tongue as well. “Th- They let me through! I’m sorry, m’lord! I bear news from the village of Ponyville!” they said, whimpering. Riposte grabbed the messenger by the collar of their doublet and pulled them to their hooves. He gave them a firm shove in the direction of the Queen, though kept his blade at the ready. If the messenger was some assassin sent by an enemy to the throne, he would have their throat cut before they could bring their own blade to bear.
“What is this news then? What is so important that you interrupt my court?” Incandescence demanded harshly.
Wincing at the Queen’s tone, the messenger unrolled the parchment. Riposte was uneasy. The message was pockmarked with flecks of blood. “I- It is from the Commander of the Guard of Ponyville… The village has been overridden by the foul undead of the Everfree!” the messenger said, their voice shaking, “Much of the village has been slaughtered and has risen again as thralls! The Undead could be making a march for Canterlot!” Riposte’s face hardened beneath the blank face of his mask. Undead north of the Everfree was unheard of. The undead never marched on the Land of the Sun. The Sun’s rays would sunder even the greatest undead army to naught but dust.
“Blatant lies,” Riposte growled around his dirk, “This is some false messenger of the Northern Reach. They seek to divert our attention south and strike from the north! Give me leave to cut this fool’s throat.”
The messenger whimpered, “Please, Your Radiance! Look for yourself! The armies of the Everfree are sacking Ponyville even now! You know how they despise those with warm blood running through their veins!
“Leave him be, Riposte,” she said curtly and looked down at the messenger. He reeled under the weight of those scorching, crimson eyes. Incandescence pursed her lips, “You’d best not be lying, or I will have the priestesses give you to the Flame Eternal. It has been too long since it the Flame has had the flesh of a traitor for kindling.” The messenger paled and nodded. Meekly, they backed up, before turning, and galloping out from the throne room. Riposte sheathed his dirk.
“Your Radiance… You cannot believe the word of Ponyville’s commander,” he urged, “He’s drunk more often than he is sober, and he’s been known to play the fool after a few cups of wine.”
Incandescence rose from her throne, “This is no joking matter. I swear to you, Sir Riposte. If I find the Commander is joking, I will have his tongue out with hot tongs. You are dismissed.” Riposte knelt, before taking his leave of the hall. The Queen paced in front of her marble throne a moment. She glanced at the tinted windows worriedly. Canterlot was located high upon a mountain, so as to be closer to the Sun. It was possible that she could see Ponyville from her throne room if she had a pair of spectacles.
As Incandescence gazed out of the window, past the spires of Canterlot, and out into the Equestrian Heartlands, she did not see Ponyville. Only a great plume of smoke and ash from what ought to be the humble hamlet, rising up to kiss the blue of the sky and obscure the glow of the Sun.
