The Garedion Conflict

He had grown accustomed to the slow rocking motion of the ship. A week into their journey, and still land was nowhere to be seen.

Jas had been acting as the ship's navigator, mulling over maps, plotting courses via the stars that would hopefully lead them to the other side. The captain, as Cygil learnt early into their expedition, didn't like being bossed around – despite the fact that he was incapable of making the journey on his own, he was loath to take advice from others. Still, Cygil suspected that somewhere deep down inside the captain was thankful for Jas's presence. Maybe.

He groaned, throwing off the sheets in a vain attempt to get himself up. Instead he just laid there, staring up at the ceiling – too languid to do aught else. Sighing, he closed his eyes, listening to the steady lapping of the waves against the ship's hull, the pacing back and forth of the crew, and somewhere by the stern, the vehement cursing of the captain.

Footsteps approached, and there was a loud thumping on his door. After a pause it opened and Jas stood there, a silhouette against the light. "You going to get up?" he said, leaning on the jamb.

"Ugh." Cygil rolled over, trying to pretend he didn't hear the question.

Jas took a few steps into the room and nudged his friend on the arm. "Hey, come on. The captain wanted everybody awake an hour ago."

Cygil motioned lazily for his friend to come closer, and Jas complied. "The captain can bugger himself," he muttered.

Jas chuckled. "I wouldn't say that out loud if I were you."

"I'm a passenger, not a member of the crew; I've got nothing to contribute, and so I don't see why I need to be awake at these cursed hours."

"You contribute something."

He rolled over and looked his friend square in the face. "Yeah, what?"

"Why," he began with a smirk, "your charm, of course. Come on, get up."

"All right, all right." He yawned, sleepily pulling himself to a sitting position. "Just go get me some coffee, will you?"

"Sure thing." Jas smiled and turned away, closing the door behind him. Once again ensconced in darkness, Cygil was tempted to lie back down – but not wanting to get on the captain's bad side, he stood and stretched, ambling over to his dresser and throwing on a few shoddy garments. He checked himself in the mirror; his mane was a little dishevelled, but that was nary a concern of his.

Outside it was calm, with cloudless blue skies and nought but ocean as far as the eye could see. The gargoyle crew was up and about, carrying out orders, dropping and lifting trawls, raising and lowering sails – scurrying about. At the heart of all this was the captain, barking orders and gesticulating. Beside him stood Jas, holding up a map with one hand and jabbing a finger at it with the other. He traced some coordinates, tapped the spot with his claw, then handed the map to the captain. Seeing his friend, Jas sauntered over. "Sorry about the coffee," he said. "Captain called."

"No problem. So, how's the navigation going?"

"We're on course. Maybe a few degrees off, but it'll do. We're heading for a place called Hayseed Swamps, near Horseshoe Bay."

Cygil raised an eyebrow. "Are all their place names horse related?"

Jas rolled his eyes. "Don't get me started. Anyhow, the port of Baltimare would be the obvious choice, but seeing as we're on a top secret mission, we're going to a smaller dock located in the swamps. From there you should be able to find a trading caravan headed for Ponyville."

"And what do I do once I'm there?"

"There's a new princess that goes by the name of Twilight Sparkle that resides there. She's a bit of a bookworm, and can probably tell you a bit about the residents of Equestria and who they're related to."

Cygil grunted. "I just walk in and interrogate her?"

"You'll have to get creative."

The two of them stood in silence for a moment, watching the waves drift slowly by. Finally, an idea struck Cygil. "I've got it," he said with a grin. "You said she likes books, right?"

"Right."

"So I could tell her that I'm compiling a book of family histories and I'd like her assistance."

"Hm," Jas replied, rubbing his chin. "That could work."

"It could, and it could end up a complete debacle. So, how is your sister?" he said, changing the subject abruptly.

"Thymar is well." Jas made his way for the stern, Cygil following close behind. "She's taken up residence with that guy she likes."

Cygil had met him once before. A sinewy fellow with a love for excursions and grand gatherings, he didn't seem like much of a spouse for the reclusive young girl. "I did not think them suitable for each-other," Cygil said, voicing his thoughts.

"You know what they say about opposites."

"Veritably, I do."

It was far less busy at the back of the ship, with only a few scattered members of the crew tarrying about. "I honestly think this is a fool's errand," Cygil said, looking around to make sure no one was listening. "Only a dolt would risk a war to win a war."

"I concur it is not the best choice of action," he said. "But perhaps it's worth a shot. Ofttimes throughout history leaders have had to make seemingly brash decisions to gain the edge."

"Ofttimes throughout histories those brash decisions have led to brash downfalls."

Jas chuckled, shaking his head. “Yes they have. Well, let's hope that this isn't one of those times, shall we?”

Cygil offered a smile. He looked around, seeing nothing but ocean and sky stretching towards infinity. While adventure did not suit him, he always found that vistas such as these incited a certain fervor within: made him wonder what was beyond those distant horizons, made him dream about the world beyond. What ruins of forgotten civilizations lay basking in the sun, nought but a glimpse into an older time? What caverns lay beneath the earth, and to whither did they go? Those questions he would ask himself as he gazed out upon the forests, or the sea, or the rivers that flowed to places unknown. They were questions that all gargoyles asked themselves at some point or another; curiosity was inherent in their nature, whether Garedian or Fweilan. At least they had that in common.

“Anyhow,” Jas said after a lengthy pause, interrupting Cygil's train of thought, “I should probably go scrub the deck or something.”

Cygil laughed, nudging his friend on the shoulder. “Of course. I'll catch you around.”

Jas winked at him, making his way to the fore of the ship. Cygil remained, resting his hands on the rail and gazing out at the ocean.

The stars seemed brighter that night, shining in the ebony sky. Cygil stood on deck, unable to sleep. Towards the horizon was the moon, casting a silvery reflection on the black surface of the sea. A thin layer of clouds sat in the sky, illumined by the glow of the moon.

By now the rest of the crew had gone to sleep, Jas included; that left Cygil alone.

He had been pacing back and forth, trying to keep his mind off of things when the captain had shown up and told him to keep the noise down. So he did, tarrying by the rail and watching the stars. It was unusual for them to be so bright, he thought; it felt almost as if they were watching him. Shifting uncomfortably at the thought, he looked towards the moon. It was even brighter still. Good night to make a wish.

Picking a star at random, he proceeded to do just that. I wish...everything turns out for the best. He smiled, chuckling at his own childish whimsy. As if the stars can hear my thoughts.

When the stars offered no response he shrugged, resolving to get some rest. It was then he noticed an eyeglass seated precariously on the edge of a crate, looking like it could fall at any moment. He picked it up and went to set it down, then curiosity struck him.

Bringing it up to his eye, he squeezed the other one shut and swept his gaze across the horizon. He descried what appeared to be hills and mountains, little more than dark silhouettes. He blinked, rubbed the lens and had another look. Surely enough there was a long trail of land there, seated stoically against the black sky. It wouldn't be long until they reached it, and so he resolved to try and get some sleep, if possible. Gently, he placed the eyeglass on the crate and retired to his quarters for the remainder of the night.

By the time they disembarked, the sun had crested the hills and the day was uncomfortably warm. Jas walked with Cygil down the docks, the decrepit buildings a stark contrast to the docks of Garedion.

Dishevelled carts littered the wharf, caked with mud and containing various assortments of wares and rotting fruit. The ponies hawking their goods looked to be in no better condition than their carts, filthy and haggard. One nervous looking pony waved them over, clearly intrigued by the sight of gargoyles. "Hello, kind sirs," he said amicably. "We don't get many of your sort around here. What's the occasion?"

Cygil laughed nervously, wondering if gargoyles always meant some sort of occasion. "No occasion," he said, motioning to his partner. "This here is my friend Jas, who's here on business. Me on the other hand, I'm just a simple traveller, come to experience the sights and sounds of Equestria. I'm thinking of heading to Ponyville first."

"Hum, Ponyville you say? Baltimare across the bay would make more sense if Ponyville's your destination; they have a rail heading straight there, couple day's ride for a cheap price."

"We have cities aplenty back home," Cygil said, “I was looking for something more rural.”

"Well, Ponyville is fairly rural. It's also the home of the new princess. Surely you've heard?"

Cygil arched an eyebrow, feigning ignorance. "Oh?"

"Aye, Princess Twilight Sparkle."

"I thought royalty lived in Canterlot," Jas observed.

"Not her; she's got ties to that little town."

Cygil shrugged. "Fair enough."

He nodded towards his cart impatiently. "So, are you going to buy something or what?"

The two gargoyles perused its contents, which mostly consisted of cheap baubles and trinkets. There were several rings of copper, as well as a few silver.

A lone necklace caught Cygil's eye: a golden chain with a flat disc-shaped pendant. On the pendant were several excrescences: a set of spikes girded the upper left; waves on the right; a thorn on the bottom. It was a peculiar thing, quite unlike anything he had ever seen. He was almost tempted to buy it on the spot, but decided some enquiry was in order. "What's this?" he said, picking it up and showing it to the merchant.

"That," the merchant replied, "is something I found lying on the sidewalk. You want it?"

Cygil scrutinised it, flipping it over in his hands. He tossed it and caught it, testing its weight. The merchant grimaced at this, but said nothing. Feels like real metal. "I kind of do." He scratched his chin. "Just a shame I don't know what it is."

"You won't find answers here. Say, perhaps Princess Twilight could tell you."

Cygil stared at the thing for a while, then made up his mind. "All right, I'll buy it."

"Two bits."

He rummaged around in his pockets, producing two gold coins. "Will these do?"

"Eh, sure. I can trade them in if I have to." The pony grabbed the coins out of Cygil's hand and dropped them in a pouch. "It's all yours."

Cygil fastened the clasp behind his neck, stuffing the pendant down his shirt. "My thanks."

"Anything else catch your eye?"

"Not really, but aside from Baltimare, how would one get to Ponyville?"

"You come all the way to Equestria and don't know how to get where you're going?" he said with a guffaw. He smiled, trying not to appear condescending.

"Getting lost is part of the adventure, is it not?" Cygil replied with a grin.

He had directed the gargoyle towards a nearby tavern that overlooked the bay, instructing him to look for a sorrel pony with one eye. Prior to entering, Jas pulled him aside into an inconspicuous drang, holding up a finger to his lips. “Jas,” Cygil said, raising an eyebrow, “what’s this about?”

His friend reached into his satchel, pulling out a small, glass flask. A murky reddish-brown liquid sloshed around inside. “In case you need it,” he replied, pressing the flask into Cygil’s hands.

Cygil looked at him curiously, then examined the container. He popped open the lid and took a whiff of its contents, then immediately recoiled, clasping his hand over his mouth and nose as his eyes watered. “Jas, what...”

Jas reached over and shut the lid. “Diodamir instructed me to give it to you.”

“W-what is it?” Cygil wheezed, still reeling from the repugnant odour.

“It’s a poison,” Jas explained.

Cygil’s eyes snapped up, his brows furrowed. “What for?”

“In case you need to” — His voice lowered to a whisper — “forcefully bring one of these ponies back to Garedion.”

Cygil glared at Jas for a while, then lowered his eyes, sighing. “Jas, I do not like the idea of this.”

Jas reached out, gripping his friend’s shoulder. “I don’t like the idea of it, either; so let’s hope you don't have to use it.” With that, Jas turned and left, moving back out into the street. Cygil gazed down at the small jar he held, then quietly stuffed it into his satchel.

Within the tavern it was dark and musty, the only light shining through the lone window and emanating off the several candles. In the gloom, the patrons' colours were mostly indistinguishable, though one pony had a noticable bandage wrapped around one half of his face.

Cygil approached the pony, who seemed to be lost in his mug. He cleared his throat, which caused the equine to give him a startled glance. "Wha—"

He held up his hands in a friendly manner. "You Scruff?"

The pony furrowed his brow, taking a swig from his mug. After a moment, he spoke up. "That I am."

"I'm Cygil. I heard you're headed for Ponyville."

"Me, and a couple of others."

"I require passage."

"We don't have the space," he replied with a look of indifference. "The wagon's full of trade goods, and I'm not sure someone of your...size would fit."

"I could run alongside, so long as you show me the way."

"Yeah well, I'd rather not have any stragglers holding us back."

Cygil motioned to the bow on his back. "I'm good with this," He pulled back his cloak, revealing a dirk, "and this."

"You ever fight a timberwolf?"

A befuddled look came across his face, which must have been fairly conspicuous – because the pony laughed, taking another swig from his mug. "Let's just say that a few arrows and a knife won't help; still, maybe you could act as a diversion in case we get into trouble."

Two white female unicorns entered the tavern, sauntering over to the table. One had the depiction of a flame upon her flank, and the other had the head of a manticore. Scruff smiled at them, sliding his mug aside. "Spark and Snarl, I almost thought you wouldn't arrive."

"We were considering it," one of them said, eliciting a laugh from the one-eyed pony. "Who's this?"

"This," he said, waving a hoof at the gargoyle, "is Cygil. He's come asking for passage to Ponyville."

One of the unicorns eyed him, smirking slightly. “You going to help pull?”

“What, the wagon?”

“What else?”

Cygil furrowed his brows. “You mean to say you two are pulling the wagon? Don't you have mules or donkeys for that sort of thing?”

Scruff grinned, bemused by the gargoyle's ignorance. “Yeah, and they would ask for the same pay, if not more. Besides, these two are fighters; keeps the paths safe for a little old merchant like myself.”

“So,” one of the unicorns said to Cygil, “what are you contributing?”

Scruff rose up from the table, turning for the door. “He's wolf-bait. Come on, let's get moving.”

The shadows of the canopy had given a trivial respite from the hot afternoon sun, but that was the only positive thing that could be said. Everything else, Cygil thought to himself, was pure unbridled torture; from the occasional leech to the incessant mosquitoes, to the mud that sloshed beneath, around, and within his boots, he'd had enough of this swamp to last a lifetime. Not even during Zygar's brief but bloody campaign against Versitigas, when his squad was stationed in the Cerusian marshes, had the conditions been as deplorable.

He grunted, swatting what was possibly the hundredth mosquito in the last two hours. The merchant and his two bodyguards plodded on ahead, an azure shield ensconcing them that kept the insects away. Spark had casted it seemingly without effort, and initially Cygil had been impressed. Now he was just frustrated as he stumbled after them, wrenching his boot free from the mud. Why they refused to give him a shield of his own he didn't understand. Perhaps they disliked outsiders, or perhaps they were testing his patience. Either way, he didn't appreciate it.

There had been a tenuous path, Cygil noted, running through the swamp. Even though they were following it, he felt they wouldn't be much worse off if they were to simply go astray. “How much further?” he said wearily, doing his best to keep up.

“Oh, not far,” Scruff replied, grinning obliquely at the gargoyle. That was in fact the same response he'd been giving for the last several hours. At this point, Cygil wasn't going to accept that answer again.

“I asked you a question.”

“And I gave you an answer.” The two unicorns both chortled, casting him their disparaging glances.

“No, you keep saying the same thing over and over.”

“Very well, if you need to know,” he said, putting a particular emphasis on 'need', “then I would guess another half hour and we'll be out of the swamps.”

Half an hour later, and they were not out of the swamps; Scruff did call for a break, however, and for the nonce Cygil was contented. They stopped upon a kopje, pulling several victuals out of the wagon. As a gargoyle, Cygil was somewhat discomfited when he saw their diet consisted primarily of flora. Withal, they had lettuce and mushrooms, so he wasn't going to starve. After muttering some thanks, he went and found a patch of dry ground to sit on.

He chewed idly on a mushroom, going over his mission in his head. Spark and Snarl's magic was definitely useful, the kind of thing Zygar wanted to see; shields had several uses, from defending against arrows and other physical attacks, to potentially blocking crumbled sections of wall, they would go a long way in the fight against Silah. However, the two unicorns weren't about to let their guard down. They had been eyeing him the whole trip, seemingly waiting for him to make a wrong move. If he was to abduct any of these ponies, he'd have to catch one alone; these two wouldn't do.

After a few minutes, Spark sauntered over and took a seat next to him. For a moment there was a silence, and then she spoke. “How are you enjoying your stay in Equestria?” It was a question meant to goad him, he knew. He let it pass.

“I think the more appropriate question is how I like its swamps,” he stated blankly.

“And?”

“And—” he said, his features contorting in disgust, “I don't like them very well.”

She smiled then, gazing off into the distance. “It's not so bad once you get used to it.”

Another silence fell over them, longer than the last. Cygil ate another mushroom, then expended an audible sigh. He was never fond of new places, gargoyle curiosity or not. Becoming a soldier in Zygar's army, he remembered, was not something he would have done if he wasn't under duress by his now late father. Grimacing, he reminded himself that it was too late to go back now; he'd made a promise to the old man, who had been upon his death-bed, that he would live the life his father couldn't.

For years it had been that his father wanted to be a soldier, but under duress from his own father, he never got the chance. He had been told to do something productive with his life; so he went to college, learnt the art of blacksmithing. Cygil's father toiled to make the swords he wished to wield.

Sometimes during lazy afternoons, after they returned home from selling their wares, his father would take him out into the grassy yard behind their home. Thither they would go to practice with wooden swords, sometimes for hours on end. Cygil's arms would always feel like they were falling off by the end of it, but he enjoyed the work. There was something graceful, something artistic about the way one wielded a sword. He was even becoming good at it.

Ironic then, that he would be assigned to the archers.

There was no more need for swordsmen, Zygar had said many years ago, when a much younger Cygil approached him at the annual fair. His father was dead then, and he had made a promise that he would be a soldier; it was either learn the ways of the bow, or go home to his father's angry spirit.

When his mother was asked what would happen to father's shop, she smiled sadly and took his hand, and together they walked down by the river's edge. The air was cool that day, the first sign of autumn after a long and relentless summer. Some leaves had already begun to turn. He had watched them fall, drifting lazily down to land in the sparkling water, which carried them away to places unknown.

There by the river, she told him that his father's shop had been bought; a fellow from Yaheme to the west, who had travelled over moor and ridge to reach the capital, had stopped in their village a few nights prior. Being of deep pockets, he offered to purchase the business. He knew a person, he told her, that was inexorably deft with hammer and anvil. He would install this person to work her husband's business, and the family would receive a share of the profits.

With Cygil going off to the army, and there being little other ways to stay afloat, she agreed to the idea almost immediately. What she wasn't told, however, was that they were only going to receive ten percent of the income. It was apparently in the fine print, which she neglected to read. Never trust a stranger, was her motto. She trusted one that day at her expense. Still, it was better than nothing – she could continue to work the garden on the side, as she was somewhat renowned in the village for her herbs. Those things combined, plus the stipends from Cygil being enlisted in the army would be enough. She only asked one thing of her son, then: She implored him not to get himself killed.

And here he was, in a foreign land on a mission for King Zygar; a folly that could very well be the impetus for war, where he could very well end up buried six feet under.

As Snarl and Scruff rested, he decided to tell Spark this story. He told her everything, omitting the particular detail of why he was really here. Instead, he fabricated a different story; one that was partially true.

“A lot of gargoyles on both sides died in Cerusia that day. It was my first real taste of battle – thitherto most of what we had done were ambushes or scouting missions. You don't realize how terrible war can be until you're in the chaos, the scent of blood and sweat pervading the air around you, the screams of men filling your ears, the clashing of steel on steel, the utter confusion of it all.

“We weren't meant to be in the thick of the fighting. But somehow they flanked us, came up on the southern side of the hill with blades drawn. Screaming, they charged us. A few of us fell before we knew what was going on. I managed to loose a few arrows; some of them dropped, but more were coming – we had to retreat down the hill, down to where the rest of our forces were tangled up in the battle. It was the only chance we had of surving, as stupid as that sounds. When we reached the valley below, some of our men who were fighting realized what was going on, and they sortied forth to help. I had lost my bow by that point, so I was swinging left and right with my short sword – fortunately all those hours in the yard had paid off.

“Eventually the tide of battle had turned. A deep horn blew thrice in the distance, then the enemy started to fall back, leaving only a few stragglers behind that were too engaged to break formation. The ones that were still fighting quickly realized that they were surrounded; many tried to surrender, but our commander wasn't in a merciful mood that day. Each and every one of them was captured and tied to stakes, and he had timber piled up beneath them. I'm sure you can guess what happened next.”

Cygil stopped, a hoof rested on his hand. He looked at the unicorn, an expression of sorrow plastered on her face. Seeing it made him smile, if only transitorily. To think this unicorn that had treated him like chaff several minutes ago was condoling with him; it was touching, really. He continued.

“After Versitigas's forces were defeated, the king decided it was time to go home. Since I wasn't being deployed against Silah, I decided to come here for some respite,” he lied. In truth, he wished he was in Equestria on leave. However, he was glad he wasn't fighting up against Silah's clans; at least here he could take his time, and he didn't have to kill anyone. No killing, just abducting, he thought bitterly to himself.

They resumed travelling an hour later, the swamp giving way to forest and rolling heaths. The wagon trundled along slowly, Spark and Snarl keeping a steady pace while Scruff walked beside, telling the story of how he lost his eye. They had heard this story several times before, but neither unicorn spoke up. Cygil remained silent as he walked behind the wagon, staying aloof from the group. Spark's demeanor towards him had lightened up, though the same couldn't be said for the other two. Withal, he couldn't complain – at least they were out of the swamp. “There was nowhere for me to go,” Scruff was saying. “Wolves closing in on every side, I had no choice but to jump into that great roaring river.”

“Yes, we know. You've told us already,” Snarl finally said, patience worn thin.

“And I was telling it again. Why, do you have any better stories to keep us awake with?”

She sighed, rolling her eyes. “Not really.”

“Okay, what about you, Spark?”

“I once set a pony on fire.” Upon saying this, everyone looked at her with varied expressions of horror. “It was an accident!” she said, quickly finishing her tale. “Besides, I put it out before it got serious.”

Walking on in silence, they rounded the corner of a shaded dell. Before them the path sloped away gently into the distance, the trees thinning out towards the horizon. There, a few miles down the winding road, a group of houses dotted the fields with their thatch roofs glowing softly in the sun. In the center of them sat a tall blue and lavender crystal tower, a stark contrast to the surroundings, though elegant in its own way. Cygil had no doubt in his mind that it was where he would find the princess, and so he made a mental note to head there.

“Well,” Scruff said as they looked at the town before them, “we've made it.”