...

“Six weeks, four days, fifteen hours.”

The cave groaned with the sizzle of crackling wood. In the center of it sat a dark figure, his features warped by the shrieking, elongated shadows that danced along the walls. Mirth stared into the fire. He’d been staring into it for hours. In his hand was a wooden figurine that resembled a pegasus mid-flight. There was a gash that ran down its side, marring the surface. There was a strange beauty about it.

A mild ache worked its way up from the cauterized wound in Mirth’s shoulder, and his eyes flicked over to Roach, the former alpha of the Dreadmongers, who lied face down just out of the light of the flame.

The four dogs posted at the entrance of the cave growled at something before there was a shifting of paws. Down the cave echoed the clatter of chained hooves, eventually coming to a stop just before the tunnel which housed Mirth.

“Alpha?” a hesitant voice called from the entrance. “I brought the neck-munchers like ya wanted.”

“Leave us, Razor. Send word that Fang’s little insect problem is quashed.”

“Yes, Alpha.”

“Give them his head, Winston,” Mirth said, standing up and turning to the thestrals they’d captured. “Burn what’s left.”

Winston pulled a crude hatchet from his belt, smiling wickedly as he approached Roach’s body.

Mirth appraised the odd-looking ponies before him: One had a gray mane, white streaks bleeding in from the sideburns. Clearly the pony had seen a lot, as he didn’t appear greatly moved by the circumstances. He's the leader without a doubt. The other two stallions glared at him, the winged one with the messy copper hair baring his fangs and hissing at him while the unicorn―whose blue coat made him stand out amongst the rest, who were grey- or black-coated―stood defensively in front of his friend. The copper-haired one had a black eye. Grunts. Finally, Mirth’s gaze wandered over the lone mare in the group. She flinched, either frightened of the horror his face had become, the way his gaze slid over her flanks, or the unmistakable odor of blood and seared flesh permeating the cave. She was the greenest of them.

Turning his eyes to the blue-coated unicorn, Mirth said, “Names.”

The unicorn blinked. “Lance,” he said. Mirth’s gaze flicked to the leader, noticing his face sour when he went unrecognized. He was a prideful one, Mirth determined. Lance pointed to the others. “Oak, Pallor and Sapphire.”

Mirth snorted. Looking at Oak, the copper-haired one, he asked, “Who gave him the shiner?”

“Cage been bragging about socking one of ‘em, Alpha,” said one of the dogs.

“He owes me an eye for damaging the cargo.”

The dog nodded, running out of the cave.

“That old bastard set us up…” Oak growled.

Mirth nodded. “We were expecting you.”

“So what are you going to do with us?” Pallor asked.

“I don’t know yet.”

Oak bristled. “The Tartarus is that s’posed to mean!? Are you trying to play games with us, you sick mutt!”

A dog reached for Oak, but Mirth held a hand up. Sitting down, Mirth towered over the pony, who looked defiantly up into his eyes. “A thestral tooth is worth enough silver for a kingdom. Imagine the reward for all four of you.”

“The caravan won’t give you a damn thing. We’re not the long-lost relatives of some blue-blooded Canterlot noble, we’re hunters. And the caravan’s bound to raze your tunnels to the ground than negotiate with diamond dog slavers.”

“Not if your little caravan is destroyed first.”

Oak’s eyes widened before narrowing. “Is that a threat?”

“No, just the truth.”

Pallor spoke, his voice betraying no emotion. “What do you mean by that? Most ponies think we’re only myths, so what makes you think you’ll ever find the rest of us.”

Mirth’s eyes snapped to Pallor’s, as though seeing him for the first time. The pony’s frown deepened. “Myths aren’t worth much to me, but Fang is obsessed with them. It was only a matter of time before he did.” Mirth cracked a half-smile. “And he wasn’t wrong.” Standing up, Mirth walked over to Pallor, staring down at him. “After all, that’s why you’re here, isn’t it.”

Pallor dug his hooves into the ground, ready to spring.

“Wait! So you know where our friends are?” Sapphire blurted before slapping her hooves over her mouth.

Mirth studied the mare for a long while before saying, “I do. And they’re alive. That’s why I had you brought here instead of sending you straight to the Stone Jackets higher up the mountain: I wanted to cut you a deal.”

“...What kind of deal?” asked Pallor.

“Winston, unchain them,” Mirth commanded.

Winston, who had been toying with Roach’s body, casually walked over to them, blood drenching him from chest to paw. He reached inside a vest pocket and produced a key, unlocking each thestral’s bindings as the two dogs surrounding them primed their weapons.

Mirth waved them down. “If half of what I’ve heard of the Nightmare’s spawn is true, even one of them could take us all down in a flash. Winston, Ace, you two make sure my eye isn’t mishandled or I’ll have you fetch me another. Cage won’t appreciate that. And get Razor to clean this mess up!” Winston, carrying Roach’s severed head, smirked, nodding as he and Ace left.

That left four thestrals and two dogs.

“You four are free to leave if you want. Nobody’s gonna stop you so long as you don’t do anything rash.” Mirth sat down.

Sapphire looked at the others pleadingly. Oak rolled his good eye, looking at Pallor, who stepped forward as Lance eyed Mirth warily.

“How did you know about the ashflake?” Pallor asked.

“If we’re going to be honest with one another,” said Mirth, “then I’ll need your names.”

“Lance has already given you our―”

“I guess you don’t really care about your friends, hm?”

“...Perichot. Lance is Lilac Cross, Sapphire is Saiph, and Oak is Vivid Root.”

Snorting, Mirth said, “Sapphire. What irony.”

Saiph furrowed her brows. “What do you mean?”

Mirth sighed. “Because that’s why we’re here. Now, about the ashflake: the mines you visited used to belong to the Pack of the Sapphire. They got into a turf war with a rival pack and their alpha ordered the mines to be destroyed when it was clear they were losing.”

“But we found a gryphon flag buried underneath the soil. What were they doing there?” she asked.

“Your guess is as good as mine. Gryphons and dogs don’t get along like they used to.”

“And the ashflake?” Perichot said, steering the conversation back on track.

“The Sapphires entombed themselves in mines filled with the stuff for a reason. It was killing them, but it still kept the winged ponies from flying off and the stout ones from breaking out of their chains. Stuff clings to the atmosphere like a spider to a fat lizard, especially when ignited, and for a good while, too. We use the stuff on occasion when handing ponies like you off to the Stone Jackets.”

“What about the unicorns? What happens to them?” Sapphire asked, ears splaying back.

“Dunno. They never stay in the mines for long. Someone keeps buying them off.”

“How do you know so much about what happened there? In those mines?”

“Because I was there.”

The air went cold for a moment. Mirth turned his head, displaying his burns. “How do you think I got these scars?”

“What’s keeping us from walking out of here right now?” Perichot hissed, his gaze that of flint.

“Aside from the safety of your caravan and your friends? Nothing. That’s why I’m going to make you an offer that’ll benefit us both.”

Perichot raised his brow. “How so?”

Mirth’s smile stretched the ravaged flesh of the side of his face. “By hurting the Stone Jackets. They’ve been holing up in that mountain of theirs waiting for this kind of opportunity, so now’s when they’ll be at their most open. If we strike fast and we hit hard, we’ll yank out Grainstone’s beating heart. This is the best chance you’ve got at getting your friends.”

“If we leave right now, we’ll be able to warn the caravan,” said Perichot. “It wouldn’t take longer than four days.”

“By flight, I take it?” Mirth asked. “Be my guest if the ashflake isn’t still hindering you. You’ve set up shop near that walled up pony settlement, right? Well, Fang will have already gotten to your buddies by then if you don’t hurry. Don’t see much point in working with you lot if that happens.”

Perichot flapped his wings, looking to Lilac Cross, whose horn lit brilliantly, only for its magic to flicker and fade a moment later. Perichot grinned for a brief moment as he and Lilac Cross’ eyes met.

Vivid Root’s ear flapped against his skull wildly. “Something ain’t right here, Perichot,” he whispered. Mirth pretended not to hear. “We should just leave and take the caravan elsewhere. Something doesn’t add up.”

“We need to hear him out at least. If he has any clues on how and where to find Teal and Jadalaque, we could end this search within the fortnight.”

Scoffing, Vivid Root said, “Fine. But I was right about the old rat, so don’t get us into something we’ll regret.”

Perichot pursed his lips. “Why do you want to help us?”

Mirth shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t care about helping you.” Before Perichot could turn to leave, Mirth continued: “But that doesn’t mean I don’t not want to help you either. My quarrel is with the Stone Jackets.”

Lilac Cross finally added his own two bits: “They’re your employers.”

“And lousy ones at that,” Mirth replied. “I have bigger dreams than writhing in the muck. Sometimes… sometimes after looking up at the kings in their ivory towers for so long, you just want to cast them down to your level. You want to show them that they aren’t invincible. You want to show them that everything burns.”

“And if we help you, you’ll get us our friends?” Saiph asked.

“You’ll get to see your friends,” Mirth assured. “And your caravan will be safe from the Stone Jackets. I swear on the Flame.”

“And Golden Shine?” she pressed. Mirth looked at her questioningly. “He’s another friend we’re here to rescue. Will you help us free him too?”

Mirth searched Saiph’s face for something. The rookie was determined, alright, and he respected that. “And Golden Shine,” he said.

“We have to try, Perichot,” she pleaded. “Thestrals don’t leave their brothers and sisters behind.”

Looking between Vivid Root, who wore an expression of disapproval, and Lilac Cross and Saiph, who were grim, but determined, and hopeful, respectively, Perichot sighed. Mirth had to keep himself from rearing back and laughing, thankful for his scars for the first time as they disguised his expression.

“What do we have to do to protect them?” Perichot asked.

Mirth smiled.

Short Order

Blood and smoke. A rescue gone horribly awry. The Stone Jackets had been expecting them. Drift, Lavender, Wave: they were all dead before anypony knew what they’d stepped into. Spire, Trace, Harvest, Bifrost, Destiny: they were lost in the chaos. Iron disappeared well before things went to Tartarus.

Just as he searched for them all in the dust and the darkness, his magic failing him, he turned to find a gaping, razor-sharp maw descending upon him.

And then Short Order woke up.

Iron Prospect

“Walk.”

They’d been going on like this for days on end, with only about four hours of sleep between the two of them. Despite Short Order’s increasingly gaunt appearance and his labored breaths, he kept trudging on. He was only focused on his single-minded mission of making Iron Prospect’s life a living hell.

Iron Prospect slumped against a tree, cradling his burning hooves. “I need to rest,” he pleaded. “Another step and my hooves are going to split.”

A knife was pressed against his ear, the voice of the stallion holding it growing even colder. “Walk.”

Iron Prospect looked Short Order in the eye he still had, offering his neck.

Short Order narrowed his eye, digging the knife further into Prospect’s ear. When Prospect didn’t budge, he snorted, pulling the knife away and sheathing it in his bandolier.

Iron Prospect promptly crashed into the ground, teeth clenched in silent agony as he held his swollen hooves against himself.

“Extract. Where is it?” Short Order asked, gathering loose sticks and leaves and setting them into a pile.

“Where are we?” Iron asked.

“Warg’s Pass, just south of Bug Bear territory on the Guto.”

“Near,” Iron dryly croaked. “With how far we’ve walked, it’s near.”

“Where?”

“East. Outskirts of Griffinstone. So long as we keep to the Guto River we’ll get there no trouble.”

The scarring patch of flesh beneath Short Order’s eye wrap twitched. “Why isn’t extract in Griffinstone itself?”

Iron stared at Short Order as though twisting weeds had sprouted from the unicorn’s ears. “The gryphons’d tear us apart if they caught us in Equestrian colors on their territory. Why do you think Celestia had us undertake this mission in these?” he said, referring to the nondescript lamellar cuirass and faceless helm everypony in the mission’s unit had been outfitted with.

Gryphons were mercurial creatures that held notorious grudges which spanned generations. Clans today still quarreled with one another over issues from back when they were slinging stones at one another, if not outright going into open conflict over them. This avian animosity went double for outsiders, though.

Short Order snarled. “Then why the buck did Greygleam sponsor this!”

“We’re off the books, Short Order! As far as the world is concerned, we don’t exist here. Greygleam only made a suggestion and turned a blind eye.”

“So you’re telling me this entire operation was a hoax from the beginning?” the unicorn hissed, pulling a knife from his sheath.

“No! We always were here to save lives, Short Order. Pony lives.”

“And how many lives have been saved, aside from your sorry traitorous flank?”

“We’re near extract,” Iron said, wincing in pain. “If anypony has an explanation, they’ll be waiting there.”

“Whatever they have to say about this catastrophe you caused, it’d better be damn good.” A canteen was levitated before Iron’s nose. “Drink,” commanded Short Order.

The bronze-coated stallion did not need to be told twice, Iron snatching the canteen from the air and greedily gulping down its contents. He winced as he pulled the empty bag from his lips, dropping the canteen. Staring down at his hooves, red and irate and quivering, he bit his tongue to choke down a pained whimper.

Approaching hoofsteps shook him from his stupor. Short Order was looking down at him. Iron flinched away from the unicorn, curling in on himself. The stallion’s expression was unreadable as he scrutinized Iron before he ignited his horn, a rosy shower of magic bathing Iron and dulling the pain in an instant. Looking down at his hooves, Iron noticed that the swelling in his hooves had abated somewhat, though he’d need a few more hours’ rest to fully recover.

Iron lifted a questioning gaze to Short Order, who was limping away, suddenly exhausted. A small bead of blood dripped down the unicorn’s nose. He wiped it away, staring at it for a long moment as he shook on his hooves.

Eventually, Short Order struck his metal-clad hooves together over the wood he piled together, causing them to spontaneously combust. “Get some rest,” he ordered. “We still have a lot of distance to cover.”

Working the kinks out of his aching body as best he could with the rope tied around his hooves, Iron carefully laid his chin on his healing hooves. He looked at Short Order, muttering, “Thanks,” before closing his eyes.

Short Order only snorted in response, his working eye focused on the Ravenwood surrounding them.

Author's Note

I give my sincerest thanks to Crimmar for pre-reading this chapter! His help was greatly appreciated.