PONEST DUNGEON

Arc 3: Insidious Infection

Chapter 1: Course to Canterlot

Week 23, Day 5, Pre-Dawn

When Blueblood led the others outside to the stagecoach, the sky was still doing its best impression of neighagara falls. Double had been sitting in the foyer when they came downstairs, and had immediately jumped to his hooves when Blueblood said they were leaving for Canterlot.

Ditzy buckled herself into the vehicle flight harness as the others gathered around and warily eyed the questionably-safe transport. While the carriage had been “repaired” in the many months since Ditzy had crashed it into the manor, it looked like it was on the verge of giving up the ghost.

“Remind me to actually get this thing fixed,” Blueblood said to Tempest.

“If we survive,” Tempest retorted, “we will look into getting a new one. The poetic nature of my death potentially occurring in the same manner as the Storm King’s is not lost on me.”

Aloe jumped in without a word, apparently ignoring the ramshackle nature of the ride. The sodden wood of the frame creaked in protest for her.

“So,” Double said with a puff of frost, “which of us is the unlucky pony who’ll be riding up front?” The rain began to freeze into a thin sheet of ice on his armor.

“It sounds like you just volunteered,” Tempest said as she climbed into the rickety vehicle.

“You’re the best suited for it anyhow,” Blueblood said, placing a hoof on Double’s withers. He made a face then struggled for a moment to pry it off of the glazed surface of the armor. “You’re the only one who isn’t going to be freezing their flank off up there.”

“I highly dislike heights,” Double said.

“Aren’t you from way up in the mountains?” Ametrine asked.

“Yes,” Double said. “I particularly relish viewing the vistas, I take comfort in the cold, and I absolutely savor skiing. But I prefer to enjoy all of those activities whilst on the ground.”

“I wouldn’t worry,” Ametrine said, grinning. “Ditzy and this coach have a perfect record.”

Blueblood heard the mounting mischief bleeding from Ametrine’s voice and shoved her unceremoniously into the stagecoach.

“Well,” Double said, sounding somewhat relieved. “If it has a perfect record—”

“Of crashing!” Ametrine’s head had snaked out of a window on an unnaturally long neck.

Blueblood wasn’t sure how he could see a white pony—in full plate, no less—blanch, but it was apparently possible.

“I volunteer!” Solmare said with a raucous laugh. “I will revel in closer proximity to the glory of this world’s sun!”

“Sold.” Double crammed himself into the passenger cabin.

Blueblood looked to the completely overcast sky, and the rain that fell from it. “This is going to be a rocky trip,” he muttered.

Week 23, Day 5, Morning

Despite Blueblood’s concerns, once the carriage had moved north of the city limits, the skies cleared. The passengers had hoped for a slight bit of heat to dry them out after weathering the downpour. While the stagecoach’s black paint job had the occupants baking in their seats, there was so much humidity that the cabin had turned into more of a sauna than anything else.

Solmare shouted something about incandescence.

“At least she’s enjoying herself,” Double said. He seemed to be regretting his choice to get into the overpacked oven that the stagecoach had become. His fear of heights had been temporarily forgotten in the sweltering confines, as evidenced by the fact that he had removed his helmet and stuck his head out the closest window, in the manner of most household pets.

“Okay Tempest,” Blueblood said, wiping a copious amount of sweat from his brow. “You’ve worked for me for too long now, and with the mystique gone, the mystery still remains.”

Tempest’s eyes were closed, and yet she still managed to look particularly disinterested. “It is hot,” she said, a bead of sweat trickling down the side of her head, as if in emphasis of the statement. “We should be resting to conserve our energy, and to get some actual sleep before we arrive. We have no idea what the situation in Canterlot is, or what may be required of us physically or mentally.”

“No,” Blueblood said. “I must know.” He swept a foreleg out a window. “You ride into town, a storm comes. Why?”

Tempest sighed and knocked on her chestplate. “Storm Steel. The name of the alloy, while trademarked, is not just for marketing purposes.”

“You’re kidding,” Blueblood said. “You’re kidding, right? You’ve got to be pulling my leg.”

“I never kid,” Tempest said. “Normal walking speed won’t do it, nor will a casual trot. Galloping, or an airship moving at full steam, over several kilomares will pull all the excess moisture and static electricity from the air in a sort of magical weather-wake. I read up on the specifications, but I honestly never fully understood the earth pony metallurgy or the magical mechanics. The Storm King though, he never even cared enough to try to understand. He was far more obsessed with the theatrics than with the actual practical applications of being able to drag a storm along. While I found his histrionics distasteful, I do have to concede that many immediate surrenders resulted from the intimidation factor alone.”

“What about all that lightning that was arcing off of you outside the Abbey?” Ametrine had actually melted into a fleshy puddle on the floor. Nopony seemed to care that she had gone amorphous around their hooves.

“I will have to confirm with Rivet when we return,” Tempest said. “But I suspect that Starlight Glimmer had him add a pegasus lightning enchantment to my armor without my knowledge.” The menace in her voice was as palpable as the heat. “I know the armor is his parent’s legacy, but what he did could have endangered my life and the lives of others.”

“Please don’t kill him,” Blueblood said. “He’s the only competent metal worker in the whole town.”

“I will not harm him,” Tempest said. “He is far more than merely competent. The quality of his work is exceptional, and the efficacy of the enchantments he added are rivaled only by his efforts to keep their existence hidden from me. It would be a pity to waste such talent.”

“We’ll have a nice long chat with him about it,” Blueblood said, smacking a mosquito who’d taken advantage of the open windows and his arm therein.

Blueblood watched as Tempest rested. He realized that she hadn’t slept in over two days. It was odd, he still felt fully refreshed, if a bit parched.

Looking over to the other side of the coach, he noticed Aloe was just resting quietly in her corner, somehow dry as a bone.

“Aloe,” Blueblood said. “How in the great blue-blazes are you not sweating?”

“We owned and operated our own bathhouse and sauna for years,” Aloe said. “This is nothing.”

Double Diamond tried to cram more of himself out the window at the mention of a sauna.

“Really?” Blueblood was genuinely interested. “What happened to make you two start working for Berry?”

“Well,” Aloe said, “business was great for a long time. But last year, we started having a problem with our boiler and some of the pipes that connected it to the different rooms. We weren’t plumbers or mechanics, so we hired some experts to fix the problem.”

“Experts?” Blueblood said. “I think I know where this is going.”

“Yeah,” Aloe said. “There were two of them. We both trusted them at first, they were twins, just like us. They took our bits, told us they had an ingenious workaround that would save us a ton of money in the long run.” Aloe convulsed as Lotus possessed her. “Those goat rutters cheated us!” Aloe forced her way back into her own body. “It turns out that the only thing they were experts at was burning our bathhouse to the ground. Bastards skipped town before we could kill them. Berry was kind enough to take us in after that. She even had us waiting tables instead of working the bordello, which we’ve learned is rather generous for her.”

“Twins eh?” Blueblood said. “Do you remember their names? I want to make sure to avoid hiring them if I can help it.”

“Their names were Flim and Flam,” Aloe said.

Tempest’s eyes shot open. She scowled before closing them again.

Proctor had donned his tight suit of blackened leather armor after leaving Ponyville. He remembered the days when he was a fresh spy for the house, and many of the others used to joke behind his back that it made him look like an edgelord. That had changed months ago, however. None of the others laughed when he was able to sneak up behind Snoops and dispatch the old coot because of it. Now Proctor was the family Spymaster, and nopony had dared challenge him since he’d delivered Snoops’ head to Neighsay. Well… nopony that anypony else knew about. There was a fairly high turnover rate for the family spies for a time, until the smartest ones got the message.

As Proctor progressed down the sultry hallway, the damp air carried the ever-pungent stench of blood and excrement. A heavily muscled gaoler saw his approach and immediately stepped aside. Whether the motion was out of respect or fear, Proctor did not know, nor did he care. The sounds of screams could be heard echoing down the halls. He stopped before a swollen oak door that was as unremarkable as the rest he had passed in the dungeon.

Carefully lifting a hoof, he knocked. One long, four short, two long.

“Come.” The voice which sounded through the oak planks was filled with equal parts command and ruthlessness.

Proctor pushed open the door, but did not enter. He knew that the invitation was not physical in nature. Instead, he took notice of the contents of the room. Various implements of torture were strewn about: blades, hammers, straps, pliers, and a small fire with metal rods thrust into the coals. Two sets of twin unicorn stallions looked in his direction as the door groaned open on unoiled hinges.

Proctor knew the two ponies who were standing, knew them very well, indeed. Wet Blanket and Killjoy stood over the two other twins, who Proctor did not visually recognize. The reports from his other agents, however, had told him that they must be Flim and Flam, two entrepreneurs known exclusively for the trail of ruined businesses and lives that they left in their wake.

Flim and Flam were strapped down to separate tables, and both had inhibitor rings which looked to have been soldered onto their horns. Their coats, where they were not blemished by dirt, burnt hair, or blood, looked to be of a sort of lightly grayed olive coloration. Their manes were striped red and white, and one of the pair, Flam, if Proctor’s information was right, had a mustache. Two sets of emerald eyes begged him for salvation.

Proctor was used to seeing such things, his services were as essential as they were time-sensitive. He knelt and faced Killjoy, ignoring the wordless pleas of the two torturees.

“Ah, Proctor.” Killjoy turned away from the table Flim was bound to. “Report.”

“Blueblood is still alive, and Sour is dead, M’Lord.”

If Killjoy harbored any emotional reaction to the news, no evidence presented itself across his muzzle. “Expected. Sour was as inept as he was cowardly.”

“Good riddance,” said Wet Blanket, his voice overflowing with hatred and disgust in equal measure. “Killjoy, that means there’s just the three of us left.”

“Obviously,” Killjoy said, putting down a surgical saw he’d been holding in his magic. “What of the cannon, Proctor?”

“The cannon fired three shots,” Proctor said. “Afterwards, when the crew tried to move it, two of the wheels collapsed, effectively immobilizing it.”

“Impressive, Flim and Flam,” Killjoy said. “Three shots, on the dot. Your ingenuity has surpassed what I expected.” He looked between the two, then over to his twin. “True to my word, Wet Blanket here will not receive my permission to castrate the both of you.”

Wet Blanket slammed a horrific device, with a great many unnecessary spikes and blades, onto one of the tables.

Looks of relief washed across the FlimFlam brothers’ faces.

“You did well sabotaging the cannon for us,” Killjoy said. “I feel obligated to let you in on a little secret.” His expression remained unreadable. “After all, you two deserve it.”

Proctor knew what was coming next.

“Blanket,” Killjoy said, “I know that you have been aching to, so why not show them your special talent?”

“What is it?” Flim asked, his curiosity briefly winning out over his terror.

Blanket walked over, a malevolent grin on his face, and a thick looking comforter and bucket of water levitating next to him. He magically wrapped the blanket around Flim’s head.

“No!” Flam yelled.

“My apologies,” Killjoy said, his voice and face devoid of emotion. “You did well. But you betrayed Sour, and I never trust traitors, even ones that I’ve created. Believe me, suffocation is far less painful than what had awaited you for failure. Death by red-hot poker, or by live vivisection would have been quite unpleasant, I assure you. And I did spare you the castration. You’ll die as stallions.”

Both brothers struggled desperately against their restraints as Blanket slowly poured out the bucket onto the cloth wrapped around Flim’s head.

Tears streamed down Flam’s contorted face as the water continued to soak into the fabric around his brother’s head.

Flim’s struggles were frantic at first, his muffled screams of fear and distress loud. But as the comforter dampened, and the ability of air to pass through it diminished, his struggles became weaker and weaker.

When Flim’s movements finally ceased, Flam violently renewed his efforts to break free. He pulled so hard against the restraints that they cut into his flesh, drawing blood and causing the color to drain from his extremities. “Brother!” Flam shouted. His joints popped loudly as he strained himself even further. “BROTHER!”

Flam’s emerald eyes locked with Killjoy’s. The fear was gone from them, replaced with seething fury. Flam’s teeth ground against each other with such force that one of them cracked from crown to root.

Killjoy held up a hoof to halt Blanket, who was mid-approach with another comforter.

“Interesting,” Killjoy said, a look of genuine intrigue crossing his face as he looked into that hateful gaze. He approached and keeled, placing his muzzle just outside of the reach of Flam’s teeth. “Tell me. Describe to me in detail the depths of your rage.”

“You’ve killed my brother,” Flam growled. “You’ll pay for this! I swear it!”

“Disappointing,” Killjoy said, standing. “I was hoping that such intense anger would produce something more… original.”

“This isn’t the end,” Flam hissed. “Nothing will stop us from our revenge! My brother and I will come back from beyond the veil! You know our ingenuity! We will outsmart death itself to strike at you when you least expect it!”

“Ah,” Killjoy said, “now that was an admirable threat.” Not even the barest hint of emotion creased his features. “I’ve never heard that one before. I will be truly impressed if you can carry it out. Until then, I wish you luck with your… aspirations.”

Killjoy’s hoof dropped.

Wet Blanket wrapped the comforter tightly around Flam’s head and watched with a sadistic grin as Flam began to thrash. Flam strained against his restraints, convulsing wildly as he slowly died.

Killjoy watched the display dispassionately. Proctor knew that he only remained to confirm the deaths in person.

Proctor knew Killjoy was right. Traitors like the Flim Flam brothers deserved nothing less than an excruciating death. The speed with which they were suffocated was too good for them.

Week 23, Day 5, Noon

“We’re coming up on the base of Canterlot Mountain,” Double said. He was practically hanging out of the window now, the stagecoach having become too hot for him only an hour or so into the trip.

Blueblood looked out a window and let out a sigh of contentment.

Despite the heat, the humidity, and the glaring sun, Canterlot and the mountain it sat upon were beautiful. The towering spires, the waterfalls, the rainbows produced by those waterfalls were all enough to take a pony’s breath away.

“Magnificent,” Blueblood said. “I’ll never get tired of the view when returning home.”

They would soon be upon the mists which billowed out from where the falling water crashed upon the rocks at the base of the mountain. If Ditzy was up for it, Blueblood would have her fly the carriage through, hopefully cooling everypony and the carriage off.

“I’ve never seen the mists this close,” Double said. “They’re gorgeous.”

“They are indeed,” Blueblood agreed. He rapped a hoof on the front of the coach, and Solmare’s helmeted head appeared in the front window. “Can you ask Ditzy if we can go through the mist? We’d all like to cool off back here.”

Solmare nodded and Blueblood could hear her yelling to Ditzy over the wind, and the increasing roar of the waterfalls as they approached. The stagecoach started to bank towards the curtains of moisture.

“What’s with that dark patch of mist over there?” Double yelled back into the cabin.

Blueblood stuck his head out a window and looked to where Double was pointing. At first he didn't see anything, just the enormous curtain of water and the roiling white clouds of haziness where they crashed upon the rocks.

But then Blueblood saw the dark patch, descending beside the mists of the waterfall, not inside them, and not billowing out from the base.

“Rut me sideways.”

He’d seen something just like it before.

Blueblood started pounding on the front window again, though this time there was a frantic urgency to the rapping.

Tempest’s eyes shot open.

“Solmare!” Blueblood shouted at the mare when her helmet appeared. “Tell Ditzy to steer us away! Tell her to get us away from the waterfall!”

Solmare cocked her head in confusion, but then turned and started yelling to Ditzy.

“What is it?” Double asked, eyes locked on the massive cloud which had leveled out above the mists and was now heading directly for them.

“If I’m right,” Blueblood said, “and I hope I’m not, then that is a swarm of large mosquitos. Just like when I first made the trip to Ponyville.”

Double struggled to pull himself back into the stagecoach. He managed after a few moments of shifting himself so his armor wouldn't catch on the window frame.

“No,” Tempest said, leaning her head against the inside of the cabin to look out the window. “They are not the mutant mosquitoes your records describe. But possibly more deadly in this instance.”

“What?” Blueblood looked out the window again.

The cloud was much larger than Blueblood had originally thought, easily taking up several acres. But Tempest was right. Even at the stage coach’s current distance, Blueblood was able to start picking out individuals from the—flock.

“It’s a flock of birds,” Blueblood said.

“Yes,” Tempest said, closing the window closest to her. “From the looks of it, tens of, maybe hundreds of thousands of them. And they are… flocking this way, at high speed.”

Blueblood’s eyes widened and he quickly shut his own window. Double and Aloe took the hint and closed theirs as well.

“What about Solmare and Ditzy?” Ametrine morphed back into her pony form.

“There’s no room in here for Solmare,” Blueblood said around Ametrine’s flank. “And Ditzy needs to fly the stagecoach.”

There was a thump.

“Brace yourselves,” Tempest said.

There was another thump, and another, and another. Then the sounds of birds impacting against the stagecoach became a sound reminiscent of a violent hail storm. The vehicle veered hard to the left, and the right-side windows of the coach were swiftly occupied by bird corpses. Ditzy’s cries of distress could barely be heard over the machinegun sound of impacting avians.

Solmare suddenly slammed into the left side of the stagecoach, apparently having been knocked out of the drivers box by the two dozen starlings that had plastered themselves against her armor. She seemed to be holding on due to one of her forelegs being wrapped through the carriage’s top luggage rails. Judging by the angle from which she was hanging, that foreleg was broken in at least two places—which didn’t stop Solmare from laughing jovially, however.

The stagecoach shuddered from the repeated impacts, started to lose altitude, and tilted precariously to the left.

“Oh dammit,” Blueblood said as he wrapped a hoof around part of his seat. “Not again.”

“AGAIN?!” Double seemed to be panicking, doubly so, if his four-leg grip on his seat were any indicator.

Tempest was pressing her hooves to the ceiling and floor of the carriage, effectively holding herself in place. The wood paneling of both groaned in protest. “We don’t have any pegasi to catch us if the stagecoach decides to repeat its performance during your last trip, Prince.”

“REPEAT PERFORMANCE?!” Wood splintered as Double doubled-down on his death grip.

“No,” Ametrine said. “We don’t have any spare pegasi… But you’ve got me!”

Aloe held onto her own seat as the g-forces started to lift her lower half into the air. “Do you even know how to fly?”

A pair of bat wings tore forth from Ametrine‘s back. “How hard can it be?”

“It takes years for a pegasus to learn how to fly properly,” Blueblood said, still holding on for dear life as his legs rose from the floor.

“I’ll be fine,” Ametrine said. “A fall isn’t gonna kill me.”

Suddenly, the sound of impacts slowed drastically, and within a few seconds, stopped. Everypony who had been rising into the air from the sharp banking of the carriage slowly lowered back to the floor.

Blueblood let out a sigh of relief. “I guess we won’t have to find out.”

“Aww.” Ametrine frowned.

The stagecoach was still tilting a bit to the left, but had started to right itself.

“We are continuing to lose altitude,” Tempest observed.

Aloe looked out the front window. “Ditzy has a bird… scratch that, several birds jammed into her mouth. And caught in her feathers. And pretty much everywhere else. It looks like she’s trying to bring us in for a landing—” several birds smacked into the front window “—she just managed to spit out a few, at least.”

Solmare continued to laugh raucously as she hung from her shattered leg.

The stagecoach landing went surprisingly well, considering that the number of bird corpses plastered to it had effectively doubled its weight. Nopony died, which was a miracle in and of itself. The damage sustained by the coach however was significant. All four wheels broke off the axles, the steering harness snapped in half, and the drivers box was crushed when the front of the carriage impacted a sizable rock.

“What is it the pegasi say?” Ametrine asked as everypony else struggled to regain their senses. “Any landing you can walk away from?”

“It’s a stupid saying,” Blueblood snapped, holding his twinging neck with one hoof. He looked to make sure Ditzy was out of earshot. “And pegasi are stupid for saying it.”

Double vaulted from the carriage and tightly embraced the boulder that had caved in the driver’s box. The display was a far cry from the ‘harbinger of winter and death’ aura that he normally tried to exude.

“Okay,” Blueblood said, stepping out onto terra firma. “I’m now officially turned off to flying.”

“Need me to turn you on then?” Ametrine said as she performed a sultry swagger out of the stagecoach.

“Not the time or place,” Blueblood said, batting away a leathery wing that had brushed up against his… face, definitely his face; anywhere else would have been completely inappropriate. He turned around to where Solmare was dangling. “You okay?”

“I will recover,” Solmare said, “so long as I can bask in the glorious radiance of the sun!”

“Tempest,” Blueblood said. “Help me get her down. Aloe—” he pointed around the front of the stagecoach. “—check on Ditzy, make sure she’s okay, and help her remove the birds, if you can. Double, you just… keep hugging that rock.”

After Solmare’s shattered leg was unwrapped from the top luggage rack, she reached into her tabard and removed her flask, which was again glowing with luminescence similar to hot coals. She quaffed down some of the contents, and with a sickening series of cracks, her shattered foreleg mended itself.

Aloe returned with Ditzy, who looked only a little worse for wear. The rictus grin remained stubbornly upon her wall-eyed face, despite the foreign feathers which littered her coat and wings.

“Okay,” Blueblood said, looking south to see the dark cloud continuing on its way. “Birds don’t normally move in flocks that big.”

“They also tend to fly in flocks of only a single species,” Tempest said, inspecting the right side of the stagecoach. “I count at least twelve different breeds on this side of the carriage. There could be more, but they are fairly mangled.”

Blueblood scratched at the back of his head. “What would make—”

There was a chittering sound, and a squirrel ran between them.

“Animals can detect impending disaster,” Double said, prying himself from the rock he’d been embracing. “They can sense things far better than we ponies can. Things like earthquakes, volcanoes, large storms, and sometimes even plagues and wars trigger their survival instincts, which direct them to flee—”

There was more chittering and a dozen squirrels ran past them. Everypony looked to the side of the mountain. And saw the swarm.

“Case in point,” Double said flatly, as hundreds of squirrels, rabbits, snakes, frogs, and other assorted mammals, reptiles and amphibians ran around, or even through the group.

“They’re all coming from the direction of Canterlot.” Blueblood felt stupid for having to state the obvious.

Double looked up to the distant city. “It’s too much of a coincidence for this to not be related to the wine. If the incoming calamity is bad enough to cause such an exodus…”

“We need to hurry.” Blueblood glanced over to the broken stagecoach, then to the steep ascent up the mountain. “But we’ll have to travel by hoof. I only hope we make it in time.”

Week 23, Day 5, Afternoon

After the group watched the vast majority of the animals pass, they started walking towards the closest section of the old road. Tempest took the lead, navigating the group of ponies over the rocky terrain at the base of the falls, which soon gave way to a lightly wooded area.

“I can’t wait until we hit the road and can start gaining some altitude,” Double said, wiping frozen sweat from his brow. “These lowland temperatures are murder.”

Blueblood wrung the sweat out of his hoofkerchief and applied it to his forehead, immediately drenching it again. “When we were closer to the falls, the mists were pretty refreshing,” But this far out, all that moisture is just soaking into the air and adding to the humidity.”

“You two seem to be the only ones complaining,” Tempest said, gesturing to the others.

“That’s unfair for you to say,” Blueblood said. “Solmare could be on fire, and she’d be happy as long as the sun was out—”

“True!” Solmare had her head held up high, luxuriating in the sun and heat.

“—Aloe worked in a sauna for a long time—”

Aloe wasn’t even sweating.

“—Ametrine… are you hot, Ametrine?”

“No,” she replied. “I just turn my blood from warm to cold.”

“Why were you a puddle in the stagecoach then?” Double asked.

“Everyone kept saying they were melting,” Ametrine said. “So I thought it’d be funny if I actually melted.”

Blueblood stared at her for a moment. “Okay, Ametrine doesn’t even have body heat. Ditzy’s a pegasus, they have all kinds of built-in weather tolerance—”

“Hay! I resemble that remark!”

“And… and you?” Blueblood demanded.

Tempest turned her sweat-streaked muzzle to face Blueblood. “You are aware that I served in the badlands campaigns,” she said. “I also took part in the expedition to clear out the southern hayseed swamps. Then there was the siege on klugetown…”

Blueblood shook his head. “You’re only making my point for me!”

“What I’m trying to say,” Tempest said, “is that I have been to places with higher temperatures and higher humidities. The point that I am trying to make is that I am not complaining.”

“Still unfair,” Blueblood said as he wiped away more sweat.

“Halt!” A stallion voice sounded from above them.

The entire group ground to a stop.

Blueblood knew a member of the royal guard when he heard one. He looked up.

“I said don’t move!” The pegasus giving the order was clad entirely in golden armor and was positioned so that his outline was shielded by as much glare as the sun could possibly provide. The only ponies provided that type of armor or trained in that technique were members of the Solar branch of the Equestrian Guard. They were supposed to become his personal guard in the event of Celestia’s death.

“Wait.” the voice sounded uncertain. “Prince… Prince Blueblood?”

“In the flesh,” Blueblood said.

The figure dropped to the ground and then to his knees. “My Leige! I’m so sorry! I saw the lack of heraldry, the armor and weapons, and just assumed you were bandits or mercenaries! Please accept my apologies, your Royal Highness!”

Now that the sun wasn’t in his eyes, Blueblood could see that the stallion had a white coat and light blue mane.

“Forgiven,” Blueblood said, “Forgiven before you even asked the second time. We do look like a mercenary band. And stop kneeling, at ease.”

When the pegasus rose back to his hooves, Blueblood could see a set of golden irises.

“Whitewash?” Blueblood said.

“M’Lord... you remember me?”

“Since I know you aren’t allowed to call me by anything less,” Blueblood said, waving a hoof, “let’s just go with ‘Prince.’ The other titles are too long or pretentious for my tastes. And of course I remember you, Wash! You took that stray arrow for me during the Equestria Games archery competition two years ago, how could I ever forget that?”

Wash scratched the back of his head. “Just um… doin my job. Didn’t expect you to remember me for doing that.”

“Seriously?” Blueblood said flatly. “You were in the hospital for a week.”

Wash shrugged.

“Speaking of your job,” Blueblood said, gesturing at the incredible slope, “we’re at the bottom of the mountain. The Solar Guard always protects royals or council members. Why are you even down here?”

“The animals,” Wash said. “You’ve probably seen them if you’ve been down here. Something spooked pretty much every free-roaming critter out of the city, and as far as I can tell, the entire mountainside. Lord Pants sent a bunch of us to see if the entire mountain had been cleared out and to report back if that were the case.”

“I can tell you right now,” Blueblood said, “the bird megaflock downed our carriage on the rocks at the base of the waterfall, and they kept flying till they were out of sight. The rest of the animals all ran past us and they just kept right on going as well.”

Wash seemed to mull the information for a moment before looking up at Blueblood. “Prince,” he said, “we all thought you would be remaining in Ponyville for the foreseeable future… and we weren’t informed that you would be traveling to Canterlot.”

“Well,” Blueblood said, “if Fancy is so short-staffed that he’s sending his personal bodyguards to reconnoiter the countryside, I’m sure you understand exactly why we didn’t send advance notice. I’m trying to get to Lord Pants regarding an urgent matter.”

“Understood,” Wash said. He looked up the mountainside. “I can go retrieve an air carriage—”

A whine came from Double’s direction.

To his credit, Blueblood successfully suppressed a groan of his own.

“We just survived a crash,” Blueblood said. “I don’t think any of us are up for another airborne trip. If we’re close to the old road, we can make the trek. Besides, with you having to fly up, grab more guards, two coaches, then fly down here again, we won’t even make up any time.”

“True enough,” Wash said. He pointed in the direction the group had been headed. “The road is just over there. The least I can do is escort you to Lord Pants myself.”

“Much obliged,” Blueblood said as they started walking.

Week 23, Day 5, Late Afternoon

One of the foreign dignitary conference rooms had been repurposed into the office of the Unicorn representative to the Equestrian Triumvirate. Stacks of parchment cluttered a centrally placed desk, which was the only piece of utilitarian furniture in the entire room. The walls were adorned with paintings of famous figures from Equestria’s extensive history. A large grandfather clock dominated the space between two of the room’s massive windows. Decorative chairs were strategically placed about, and one ornamental cabinet held a variety of expensive alcohols in crystal decanters, with matching drinking glasses.

Fancy Pants sat at the desk. reading through reports, approving expenditures, and otherwise working his way through the piles of paperwork which cluttered the tabletop. He wearily looked up at the clock.

“Five o’clock,” Fancy noted to himself, making a mental note that he had less than thirty minutes until he would have to head back to his chambers to prepare himself for the Gala. Inspecting the piles of unfinished paperwork, he sighed and began to ponder just how late he could show up to the event without causing a major scandal.

“Lord Pants!” The voice of one of the Solar Guard jolted Fancy from his reverie.

“What is it?” Fancy asked, looking up to see a winded cerulean pegasus standing just outside the office.

Walking inside and taking a few steadying breaths, the guardspony removed her helmet, revealing it to be Zap Catcher, one of the guards he’d sent down the mountain to scout regarding the unexplained animal exodus. “It’s Prince Blueblood,” she said.

Fancy immediately stood to his hooves, knocking his chair back to land on the floor. Equal parts exhilaration and terror came to his mind as his brain performed mental gymnastics to determine why in Equestria he was being brought news about Blueblood in such an irregular fashion.

“He’s coming to see you,” Zap said. “Whitewash is escorting him and a band of mercenaries up the old road as we speak.”

“The Prince isn’t taking an air coach?” Fancy’s assumptions continued to war with each other.

“Apparently theirs was caught in a flock of the birds that fled the mountain,” Zap said. “They crashed down by the rocks and Wash spotted them just as they made it to the road. I stumbled across them just past the city outskirts, and Wash told me to fly straight to you.”

“Did the Prince say why he was here?” Fancy hadn’t received a letter from Blueblood saying he was coming to the Gala, so Fancy figured that either it’d been lost in post, or that there was another, more pressing reason for the Prince’s return.

“He mentioned something about the wine at the Gala,” Zap said.

“Wine at the Gala?” Fancy sighed.

Of course Blue would be worried about the Gala wine. He practically subsists on the stuff.

“The Prince was quite insistent that we not serve the wine, something about it being off. Seeing as how Neighsay’s children have it out for him, I thought that it was more important to inform you that he was here than it was to recall a few crate-loads of soured wine.”

“True enough,” Fancy said. “We’ll worry about swapping out the Gala refreshments after the Prince is safely in the castle.” He paused for a moment. “You said that the Prince was traveling with a band of mercenaries?”

“Well,” Zap said, “I don’t know what else I’d call them. They were all armed or armored in one fashion or another, none of their equipment held any matching signs or sigil, and a few of them looked downright vicious.”

“Shining Armor wasn’t with him?”

“No M’Lord,” Zap said. “Though I did see Celestia’s personal valet, Ditzy.”

“This is all… most peculiar,” Fancy said. He walked around the side of the table, abandoning the remainder of the paperwork. “Assemble a squad to meet me at the castle entrance, we’ll greet the Prince there.”

Zap saluted and left.

Fancy glanced at the clock again. “At least I’ll have a passable excuse for missing the opening toast,” he said to himself.

“The Prince is in Canterlot M’Lord,” Proctor said.

Killjoy did not turn away from the full-length mirror, continuing to button his dress shirt. “Expected,” he said. “Blueblood has been content to remain in Ponyville and weather my brothers’ assassination attempts, but it was a distinct possibility that repeated assaults, especially one involving troops, would prompt retaliation. How many has he brought with him?”

“Six,” Proctor said.

“Your assessment of his escorts?”

“Three are dangerous,” Proctor said. “Each of them are easily worth several of our rank and file troops.”

“And?”

“One is Tempest Shadow.”

“Ah,” Killjoy said, “the Badlands Butcher comes to Canterlot.” An almost undetectable grin worked its way to the corners of his mouth. “And the remaining two?”

“They appear to be non-combatants,” Proctor said. “One is the Princess’ valet, Ditzy. The other is a mare who I’ve only once seen outside of the manor grounds. All of my previous sightings of her have been through the windows of either Blueblood’s room or the observatory.”

“A mistress then,” Killjoy said. “He must be very attached to her if he is willing to forgo a fifth soldier for her presence.”

“M’Lord,” Proctor said, “even though I was only able to clearly observe her a few times, I have the distinct impression that something was… off about her.”

“Off?” Killjoy looked over to Proctor. “That is the least descriptive assessment of an individual you have ever given me, Proctor.”

“There were numerous small things that I noticed,” Proctor said. “Separate, they would be quirks. But taken together, in context, they lead me to believe that she is exceptionally dangerous, perhaps more so than any of the others.”

Killjoy started to tie his cravat. “Explain.”

“Something about the way she moved was just a little too fluid for a random civilian. She left the safety of the town without an escort of any kind, despite the well-known increase in bandit activity in the surrounding countryside. Some of Sour’s troops were sent into a part of the town well away from his main force, specifically to escort her to him. She appeared revulsed by, but not afraid of, the five flesh creatures that Sour used to breach the abbey. The sounds of desperate fighting coming from the abbey ceased immediately after she was escorted into the building, and then four of the five flesh creatures fled, followed shortly after by Sour.”

“Interesting,” Killjoy said as he donned his suit coat. “You are quite correct that any of those things could be easily explained away.”

“Of course, M’Lord.”

“But,” Killjoy said, as he pinned a rose to his lapel. “You have never reported inaccurate information to me before, nor have you ever reported something that you thought did not require careful consideration.”

Straightening, Killjoy inspected himself in the mirror. He straightened the cravat slightly. “It will be expected that we confront the Prince. Inform Wet Blanket that Blueblood is in Canterlot, and tell him that he is to take two squads to harass the Prince.”

“M’Lord,” Proctor said, “do you wish for me to inform Lord Downer?”

“No,” Killjoy said. “Downer has never approved of our family’s moves against the Prince. Besides, he does not understand what it is that I’m trying to accomplish. He has his own spies, and will have likely sent his own guards to defend the Prince. In addition to the troops that Lord Pants is sure to send, they will probably number around two squads. Sending a similar number with Wet Blanket should be sufficient to delay and otherwise irritate the Prince.”

“What shall I do after informing Baron Blanket, M’Lord?”

“Observe the outcome and report back to me,” Killjoy said. “Do not interfere.”

“Even if—”

“Even if Blanket is at risk of being killed,” Killjoy said. “Despite him being my twin brother, I am not one for sentiment. The order is to harass the Prince, not to attack. He knows that if he oversteps what I’ve told him to do, he deserves the results.”

“Understood M’Lord,” Proctor said.

The streets of Canterlot were not as Blueblood remembered them. Guard patrols were infrequent in the outskirts of the city, at least less frequent than they used to be. As they moved closer towards the center of the city, the guard presence increased tremendously, despite the conspicuous absence of ponies on the streets. There were a few, but nothing anywhere close to what passed for normal crowds in the past.

“It’s so different,” Blueblood said. “Amazing what’s changed in just the last five months.”

“Civic unrest must have been sufficient to warrant martial law,” Tempest said. “Even if the declaration was later rescinded, the citizenry is likely wary of being caught in the streets during another disturbance.”

“Prince Blueblood!” A voice called from a squad of ten armored ponies in burgundy livery as they approached Blueblood’s group.

“Damn,” Blueblood said. “Burgundy is the Neighsay family color.

“They do not have a hostile bearing,” Tempest said.

Blueblood wasn’t convinced. “Be on your guard anyhow.”

“I am always on my guard,” Tempest replied.

The armored ponies quickly surrounded Blueblood and his party, but much to his surprise, took up a defensive stance, facing outwards. The leader of the group approached and removed her helmet. Blueblood recognized her.

“Captain Sentinel,” Blueblood said curtly. “To what do I owe the… pleasure?”

“I’m here on orders from Chancellor Downer,” Sentinel said. “We’re here to escort you safely to the castle.”

Blueblood breathed a sigh of relief. Downer, while in many ways like Neighsay, was a pony of a completely different temperament than the rest of the family. Blueblood actually got along with the third heir to the Neighsay dynasty prior to killing his father.

Downer seemed to have stepped into the vacated chancellor role, which meant that his two older brothers had passed on it. “Chancellor Downer believes there to be a threat?”

“Yes, Your Highness,” Sentinel said. “The Chancellor believes there is a high chance that Baron Blanket will try to intercept you before you reach the Castle.”

“What about Viscount Killjoy?” Blueblood said.

“Lord Downer doesn’t think he’ll try anything since the Gala is tonight,” Sentinel said.

“We’d better get moving then.” Blueblood started walking towards the castle, with his group in tow, and Downer’s guards flanking.

Week 23, Day 5, Evening

The sun was low in the sky, just about to dip below the horizon. As shadows lengthened and the city’s magical lighting was activated, Blueblood and his entourage reached the castle gates. Fancy Pants stood at the entrance with ten members of the Solar Guard, led by Zap Catcher.

“Duke Pants!” Blueblood called out.

“Prince Blueblood!” Fancy felt his muzzle crease into a wide smile at the sight of his friend. “It has been too long! Are you here for the… Gala…” his voice trailed off as he saw the state of the Prince. He’d expected Blueblood to be slightly disheveled after an air coach crash and a walk up the mountain. But he’d also expected the Prince to have dressed for the Gala.

Instead, Blueblood seemed to be dressed in strictly practical attire, and his mercenaries were wearing purely utilitarian gear, with not even a surcoat or decorative tabard amongst them. They looked ready for combat… No, he realized with a chill down his spine, ready for war.

“We don’t have time,” Blueblood said. “You got my message and removed the wine from the Gala?”

“I got your message about the wine,” Fancy said. “But it was of more paramount importance to have an escort for you. I’ve reason to believe—”

“That Neighsay’s children are out to kill me,” Blueblood said. “I already know that, and have thwarted several attempts on my life already. But please old friend—” Blueblood placed a hoof onto Fancy’s withers. “—please tell me you ordered the servants to remove that wine from the Gala.”

“No,” Fancy said, a feeling of sudden dread building in his stomach. “Not yet. Why? What’s wrong with it?”

“There’s no time to lose then,” Blueblood said, making hoof signals that directed the Solar Guard to turn and advance into the castle proper.

They responded to his orders with professional alacrity.

“It would take too long to explain,” Blueblood said as he followed the Solar Guard. “The simplest thing to do is to just treat this situation as if the entire load is poisoned.”

“Poisoned?” Fancy felt a falling sensation in his gut. He stepped up his own pace. “We must make haste!”

They all crammed into the main hallway, which could really only accommodate five ponies abreast, moving at a brisk trot towards the castle’s inner courtyard. The Solar Guard remained in the lead, with Downer’s soldiers bringing up the rear.

Fancy turned to Blueblood. “I’m sorry, Prince. I didn't realize how bad the situation was.”

“I understand,” Blueblood said. “I only pray we’re not too late.”

“The Gala doesn’t officially start until six o’clock,” Fancy said, shooting a look at a clock as they passed. Five minutes to six. “We’re almost there, and should arrive just before the opening toast. We have plenty of time.”

“Time, I’m afraid, is a luxury you do not have,” said a malicious voice, as twenty armed ponies in burgundy livery stepped out from various side passages to block the hallway.

The Solar Guard reared up as they were forced to come to an abrupt halt.

Wet Blanket swaggered out into view, an uncorked bottle of wine magically suspended in the air next to him.

He took a swig from it.

Fancy heard a strangled gasp come from Blueblood. He looked back to see that Blueblood’s eyes were wide, and that he was staring intently at the Baron. The expression overall seemed to be one of shocked and terrified anticipation.

“Baron Wet Blanket,” Fancy used his most commanding voice as he turned his head back to the hallway blockade. “What is the meaning of this?”

“Oh this?” Blanket held the bottle aloft, lifted it, and swallowed another mouthful. “I just wanted to welcome the Prince back to the capitol, that’s all. Seeing as how that meant I’d miss the opening toast, I figured I’d just snag this little guy for myself.” He shook the bottle in the air in front of him.

“You fool!” Fancy yelled. “We were on our way to the Gala to stop them from serving that! It’s tainted! Maybe even poisoned!”

Blanket took another swig. “If it’s poisoned—”

Fancy could swear that he saw something wrong with Blanket's mouth in the dim hallway lighting.

“—then why does it make me feel—” Blanket’s eyes started to glow red, and his lips pulled back in a snarl.

The teeth. Sweet, merciful Celestia, THE TEETH.

“—so good?” Blanket downed the rest of the wine and threw the bottle against the wall, shattering it. Red dribbled from his lips. “Kill them all,” he said in an animalistic tone.

“But M’Lord,” one of Blanket’s soldiers said, looking back to the Baron “Lord Killjoy’s orders—”

Blanket opened his mouth impossibly wide and bit into the surprised soldier’s throat. Wrenching his head back, Blanket tore out the soldier’s trachea in one swift motion. He then buried his muzzle into the gargling pony’s neck and began to make horrible sucking sounds.

Everypony, including Blanket’s own soldiers, watched in horror as the Baron slurped down copious amounts of blood from the soldier’s vicious wound.

Finally, Blanket dropped the lifeless body to the floor.

“Kill them all,” Blanket repeated.

His soldiers looked between the wall of armed guards on Fancy’s side of the hall, then back towards their sanguine-soaked, monstrous master. Performing the only sensible action available to them, they fled down the side halls, away from both adversaries. Some were so panicked that they dropped their weapons.

“Can’t find good help these days,” Blanket snarled, bloody spittle spraying as he talked.

The Solar Guard backed slowly into Fancy and Blueblood, pushing them towards Blueblood’s mercenaries and Downer’s soldiers.

“Let my ponies to the front,” Blueblood hissed into Fancy’s ear.

Fancy turned to face his longtime friend, expecting to see sheer insanity or terror in those eyes. Instead, he found only rock-solid determination.

“They’re the only ones who have ever faced horrors like this,” Blueblood finished.

Indeed, when Fancy turned to Blueblood’s group, he saw that, while their teeth were gritted in pre-combat anxiety, they were not terrified. Which was quite unlike the abject fear expressed by the Solar Guard and Downer’s soldiers.

An unnaturally elongated tongue, covered in wicked barbs, crept out of the Baron’s mouth. “You all look like such tasty morsels.” He grinned, with his mouth full of jagged teeth and stringy bits of pony flesh.

And then, screaming echoed from the direction of the Gala.

“It sounds like this party is just getting started,” the Baron hissed, his toothy smile widening to preposterous proportions.