Without Question

Without Question

Chapter Twenty-Two – Breakdown

(Author’s Note:  Apologies again for the massive delay.  At the behest of several concerned readers, I will briefly summarize what is currently happening.  Bon-Bon and Typhoon, as well as the rest of the Widow Battalion militia, have been captured and imprisoned.  They are being held there by a sadistic warden named Shade and his guards.  Bon-Bon was conversing with an unknown prisoner who is about to reveal himself, and Typhoon is still mentally traumatized from his ordeal in the catacombs.  Silus and the Changeling army are fortifying their position in snowy plains and the Equestrians are attempting to copy them.  The sages have made a breakthrough in their research with the mineral at Opaque Ridge; the small fragments of the mineral are explosive.  However, Sagemaster Macabre is questioning the ethics of using prisoners for labor, and Obscure was insulted by Gloom.  There ya go.  That’s the summary, turbonerds.)

Bon-Bon’s eyes widened as she covered her mouth in shock.  The mysterious prisoner was not a pony, nor a Changeling.  Rather, the creature in question was a griffin.  Most of his coat was a dark grey that became lighter along his neck.  The feathers atop his head were solid white—a stark contrast to his black beak.  The griffin’s eyes were two different colors; one of them was yellow and the other was a pale blue.  His talons were a dark gold that ended in light grey claws.

The griffin’s colors were not what shocked Bon-Bon, however.  The griffin appeared to have grievous wounds all over his body, some of which seemed as though they should have been lethal.  Both of the griffin’s wings were bent in such a way that flight would be impossible, and several patchy areas of his coat revealed deep scars that often criss-crossed the length of his body.  Surprisingly, his talons seemed perfectly intact.

“Well. . .?” the griffin coughed.

“I-I. . .how are you alive?” Bon-Bon stuttered at the sight before her.

“Heh. . .ya always this polite, sweetheart?”

“Oh no, I didn’t mean to be rude!  You’re just. . .you look so. .  .”

“Ruined?  Torn apart?  Broken?”

“Well I wouldn’t use those particular terms but—”

“It’s fine, heh heh. . .I know how bad it looks.”

Bon-Bon bit her lip, trying to think of what to say.  The griffin just sat there, gazing at her with exhausted eyes and giving a slight, friendly smile.

“You said your name was what, again?” she asked.

“Welp.  Like I said, Miss, I fergot ma name.  All’s I remember is the number they gave me a long time ago:  Prisoner Two-Two-Five-Seven-Nine.  But don’t you go worryin’ ‘bout what ma name is.  Don’t matter no more, heh heh. . .” the griffin closed his eyes and gave a raspy chuckle.

Bon-Bon frowned a bit, saddened that this poor gentlegriffin couldn’t remember what his real name was.

“So would it be safe to assume you don’t know how long you’ve been here?” the beige mare asked.

At this, the griffin leaned against the wall of his cell, looking up to the ceiling and scratching his chin for a few seconds before closing his eyes and smiling weakly.

“Sun goes down. Sun comes up.  Gets real hot.  Gets real cold.”

“I see.  Do you remember what you’re here for then?”

The griffin’s eyes remained closed, but his smile widened a bit more.

“Can’t rightly say I do, sweetheart.”

“Why do you keep calling me that?”

“Hmm. . .?”

Bon-Bon’s brow furrowed slightly.  This griffin was making no sense and insisted on calling her pet-names.  She had only just noticed once the shock had worn off.

“Well?  You keep calling me ‘sweetheart.’  Why?”

The griffin’s eyes opened and his face seemed to gently contort into an expression of confusion.  After a moment, he nodded in realization.

“Ya remind me of someone.  Can’t say I recall who, but ya look familiar, sweet—”

“STOP IT!”

The entire hallway echoed with Bon-Bon’s shout.  Most prisoners were sleeping too deeply to notice, but those awake craned their necks towards the source of the noise.  The griffin didn’t flinch.  His gaze remained fixed on the clearly agitated Bon-Bon.

“Do not call me that again, understand?!  Only one pony can call me that, and she’s not around anymore.  You’re obviously losing your mind so just leave me the hell alone,” the beige mare growled, staring the griffin down.

The griffin’s gaze had not moved.  His tired smile had slowly faded as Bon-Bon finished yelling.  His eyes closed for a moment as he turned his head to look up at the barred window of his cell.  Again, he closed his eyes.

“I s’pose yer right.  Won’t trouble ya again, Miss. . .”

With that, the griffin slowly and silently scooted back into the shadow of his cell.  Bon-Bon’s angry stare subsided as he seemed to vanish.  Resting against the wall of her cell, she felt as though she may have been a bit harsh in her snapping, but his nonsense and pet-names frustrated her.  She looked down at the floor for a bit before looking back up.  To her surprise, one of the prison guards stood in front of her cell, staring at her with a hoof on his baton.

“One more disturbance like that and we’re going to have a problem.”

The guard slowly walked away with his eyes fixated on Bon-Bon until he left her field of vision.  Just as he left, a few more prison guards entered the hall with a cart.

“Lunch time.  Eat or don’t.  I could care less,” one of the guards shouted to the inmates.

The guards took their time as they pushed the cart down the hall, sometimes teasing prisoners before giving them their “meal.”  Eventually, the cart reached the griffin’s cell.  The guards didn’t tease him, unlike the other prisoners.  With expressionless faces, they slid a plate of food in with a cup of water.  A few seconds passed until a tail slowly reached out from the shadows and pulled the plate into the dark.  The guards proceeded to the next cell—Bon-Bon’s.

“Hungry, mare?” one of the guards smirked as he held up a plate next to the bars.

Bon-Bon glared at the guard before muttering an unenthusiastic “Yes.”

“Can’t hear you, filth.  Are you hungry or not?” the guard smirked again, eliciting a choir of snickering from the other guards.

“I said ‘yes.’  Can I have my food now?” the beige mare frowned.

Rolling his eyes, the guard slid the plate and a cup of water into Bon-Bon’s cell.  “Bon appétit,” the guard smirked again as the cart rolled on.

Bon-Bon looked down at the plate.  A few leaves, a strip of bark, and what look like a dollop of mashed potatoes, but she knew by now that those probably were not mashed potatoes.  Regardless, she did what she could to eat her “meal” for the sake of survival.

“Oi.”

Bon-Bon’s ears perked up.  Looking to the other cell adjacent to hers, a brown earth stallion with a green mane gestured to her to come closer.  Though unsure, the beige mare humored the other inmate and leaned closer.

“You ‘ear tha rumor?”

“Rumor?”

“Yeh.  Been floatin’ around since tha announcement yestaday.”

“And what is the rumor?”

The stallion looked over his shoulders suspiciously to make sure no attention was being paid to the two.  Once he had reassured himself, the stallion turned back to Bon-Bon.

“Somethin’ big is goin’ down tamarrow.  Real big.  One’a the bellends ova in anotha ‘all over’eard tha guards tawlkin’ about bets.”

“Bets?”

“Yeh.  Bettin’ on us poor basta’ds.  For wot?  Dunno.  Pass it on, eh?”

“Yeah. . .”

The brown stallion went back to his own business and Bon-Bon looked over to the griffin’s cell.  She couldn’t see him in the shadows.  Needless to say, she wasn’t too keen on speaking to him, so she kept the rumor to herself.  Bets, though?  What did that mean?

Meanwhile. . .

The snow had finally stopped falling.  Not only that, the wind had all but ceased blowing.  All that could be heard was the conversations between soldiers and the building of fortifications.  Silus looked through his icy spyglass from the slowly-rising hill that was being built.  Far in the distance, he could barely make out some jagged brown lines in the snow, as well as what appeared to be a lopsided hill to the rear.  True to the report, he could see thousands of ponies working, albeit clumsily, to copy the Changeling defenses.

“Hmph.  Sincerest form of flattery. . .my ass. . .” the human commander muttered with a frown as he put the spyglass down.  “Millennion!  I need a Millennion!” he shouted.

Within seconds, one of the Millennion stood at attention in front of Silus.

“Aye, milord.  You require something?”

“Remind me again how many troops we have available?  By variety, mind you.”

“Four Millennia of basic infantry, my liege.  Other than that, we have a Century of Colossi and a Decade of Imperial Guards.”

“Thank you. And I presume construction is coming along at the estimated pace?”

“Indeed, milord.  We are about six days from completion, give or take a few hours.”

“Excellent.  And the troops are being fed well?  Rested?”

“Aye, milord.”

“Good.  Good.  You are dismissed, Millennion.”

The Millennion bowed before continuing his duties.  Silus was just about to inspect the trenches when a scream pierced the air:  “SPYYY!”

Immediately, a very odd-looking Changeling sprinted out of one of the barracks.  Several other Changelings chased after it.  Shouts rang out across the area as more Changelings took pursuit.  Silus watched as one of those in pursuit managed to tackle the oddball.  The human quickly jogged over to the small crowd.  Other Changelings had stopped working to look at the source of the commotion.

“All of you!  Keep building!  We need those defenses as soon as possible!” Silus shouted as he nudged his way through the crowd.  The Changelings dispersed until only two remained, both pinning down the odd one.

“What is this all about?” Silus asked sternly.

“A spy, Lord Silus!  A filthy Equestrian spy!” one of the Changelings growled.

“He was going through our supplies and spilled water on himself.  The bastard is just a pony with a paint job, sire!”

Silus squatted and looked the pony over.  It was true.  It was a young stallion, barely older than a colt, with a brilliant red coat and a dark grey mane styled into a sort of three-way mohawk.  Black paint was quietly dripping off of him into the snow.  In all the rough-housing, one of his “eyes” had fallen off.  As it turns out, he was wearing contacts made to mimic the eyes of Changelings.  Underneath was a pair of deep brown eyes.

“Get off me!  Ugh!  You will regret this!” the young stallion yelled through gritted teeth as one of the Changelings kept a hoof atop his muzzle.

“What’s your name, spy?” Silus asked calmly.

“As if I’m going to tell you that!  The nerve!”

Silus gestured for the Changelings to lift him up but keep him restrained.

“Okay, give me a fake name so I have something to address you with, unless you’d prefer to be called ‘spy.’”

The stallion seemed to hesitate but didn’t seem the harm in that.

“Benedict.”

“Heh.”

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing.  Anyway, were you spying on my troops?”

“Does Celestia have the finest flank in the all the land?”

“. . .I. . .what?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t believe you should be speaking of your superior in such a manner.”

“Cram it up your arse.  I don’t need a lecture from you.”

Silus frowned at the spy who was now smirking at the human.  One of the Changelings whipped a hoof across the stallion’s face.

“Watch your tone, dog!  Show his lordship his due respect!”

The stallion moved his jaw around a bit before grinning.

“Touchy, are we?”

“Enough.  Clear some room in the eastern barrack.  Tie him to one of the support beams.  I’ll deal with him later,” Silus ordered.

“Aye, milord,” both Changelings carried the spy away.

Just as they left, Grimsoul approached Silus.

“Lord.  I’ve been meaning to ask you something.”

“Go on?”

“You seemed to. . .take interest in her Dark Majesty rather quickly.  Why is that?”

Silus chuckled softly and looked up to the sky.

“That’s an odd question to ask, brother.”

“I suppose so, but the thought just crossed my mind.  Just a thought in retrospect.”

“When it feels right, you just know it, Grimsoul.  Time becomes irrelevant.”

“Heh.  I understand.  Thank you, Lord.”

Meanwhile. . .

Cloudhorn had managed to break off several more fragments once he and the unicorn prisoners had rested a bit.  Gloom and Obscure quietly collected the pieces and brought them to Sagemaster Macabre in his tent.  The old Changeling was excitedly milling about, distracted from the previous incident as he made small discoveries.  Gloom stopped for a moment to observe what the Sagemaster had sprawled across the table.

Fragments of all shapes and sizes were scattered and attached to various other objects.  The Sagemaster had smoothed one large fragment into a nearly perfect sphere.  The sphere had been wrapped tightly in a net that convened into a single small rope.  Some sort of sling?  On another end of the table was a bundle of stick-like fragments tied together with another small rope on the end.  How strange that the Sagemaster would just cram together such simplistic things.  A long, cylindrical bar of the mineral rested across the length of the table.  Other than its surprising length and shape, nothing seemed special about it.

Gloom quietly approached the old Changeling and peered over his shoulder.  Sagemaster Macabre was pouring powder from the fragments into long tubes of various materials.  It appeared Macabre had tossed a wooden tube to the side, as well as a plastic-like tube and a glass tube.  Presently, the Sagemaster was holding a metal tube.

“Hmm. . .” the old Changeling murmured to himself as he scribbled something onto a paper.  “Not too shabby. . .but it needs more. . .” he continued to murmur.  The Sagemaster placed the metal tube to another side of the table as he flipped through his notes.

“Gloom, shouldn’t you be helping Obscure?”

Gloom blinked rapidly and snapped back to reality.

“Oh, sorry, sir!  Right away!”

“And. . .maybe an apology couldn’t hurt.”

Gloom looked down for a moment and rubbed his forehead.  With a sigh, he left the tent and approached his fellow sage, who was sitting next to Cloudhorn.  The huge Colossus was taking another break, staring up at the sky as he tended to do.  Obscure appeared to be doing the same, with a small smile.  Gloom raised a brow in curiosity as he sat next to them.

“Hey, Obscure, I uh. . .”

“Shh.”

Gloom was taken aback by Obscure’s hush.  She hadn’t even taken her eyes off of the sky.

“But. . .”

“Shh.  Don’t worry about it, okay?”

The young male sage nodded, surprised at how well she had taken his outburst earlier.

“I tried communicating with Cloudhorn,” Obscure whispered, “It’s easiest to ask ‘yes’ or ‘no’ questions, but he’s capable of slightly more complex questions.”

Gloom furrowed his brows.  He wondered what could be going on in the giant’s head.

“Cloudhorn,” Obscure calmly stated.

The Colossus grunted.

“Do you like rain?”

Cloudhorn nodded, but only enough that it did not remove his gaze from the sky.

“Do you like when it’s hot outside?”

The giant growled softly.  Gloom took the opportunity to ask a question.

“How do you feel about Equestrians?”

Obscure frowned at Gloom but was curious what Cloudhorn’s answer would be.  For a few seconds, the giant did nothing.  He then slowly turned his head down to look at the two sages.  The Colossus merely stared at them with deep blue eyes for what felt like hours.  He then slowly returned his eyes to the sky without further action.

Obscure and Gloom looked at each other, pondering what that was supposed to mean.  Rather than press, they moved on.  Obscure asked another question, since the Colossus showed no signs of impatience with their questions.

“Cloudhorn, how old are you?”

The giant lifted a hoof to the sky and pointed at the sun.  Raising his other hoof to the same position, he then spread his arms away from each other.

“Hm.  You were born when the sun was bigger?  Brighter, maybe?” Obscure attempted to interpret.

Cloudhorn nodded gently upon hearing the word “brighter.”

“Wow. . .I feel like that means you’ve been around for some time then, huh?” Gloom asked in awe.

“Well, we’d better get back to work,” Obscure sighed.

The pair of sages continued to pick up fragments.

Cloudhorn’s eyes remained fixed on the sky, watching as the clouds rolled by and the sun’s rays kept him warm in the winter snow.

Some things never change. . .