The Life and Times of the Equestrian Dragon

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As the Sun rose over the home of Bow Hothoof and Windy Whistles, Bow was making a pot of coffee in the kitchen while his wife sat at the table, balancing the checkbook.

“Let’s see, take the three, divide by two, carry the five,” Windy calculated, “plus the mortgage at 8.2 gives us...”

“Fifty-four thousand five hundred one dollars and thirty-eight cents,” Rainbow Dash said.

While she was aloof most of the time, easily bored and distracted, and had a short attention span, Dash could remember anything she saw and displayed an uncanny ability for arithmetic... especially when it came to financial problems.

“I’m sorry, Dash,” Bow greeted his daughter. “We didn’t mean for you to hear all that.”

“You don’t have to spare me,” she replied as she joined them. “Is it that bad?”

“We might have to take out a loan,” Windy answered.

“Another one?” she asked. “The interest alone would put us up to--”

“Honey, please, don’t,” Windy stated.

“Maybe I can help,” Dash said as she put a Pop Tart® in the toaster. “Forget about college and try out for a pro-sports team, I could make a ton of money in endorsement deals.”

“Well, as much as I’d like to see your face on the WheatiesTM box,” Bow replied, “we’d settle for you getting to class on time.”

“Right,” Rainbow Dash said. “That’s $65,200...”

“Go!” Bow and Windy both told her.

“And one,” Dash finished as she grabbed her breakfast and sped off.

Once she was outside, Rainbow Dash joined Applejack, Pinkie Pie and Fluttershy on their walk to class. And while Fluttershy was going over her creative writing assignment, which was a poem about her innermost feelings, Dash explained her plan to them.

“They put my face on a box and use my sport celebrity to sell them as part of a delicious breakfast. Soon, I’ll have enough money to start an empire of my own--a cereal empire!”

“Cereal? With prizes? Like those mini submarines powered by baking powder? Or kazoos? Or little boxes of cereal?” Pinkie asked.

“Fine,” Dash replied. “We can have prizes.”

“Yay, prizes!”

While on their way to the University, they passed an outdoor restaurant, where Sextant—Filthy Rich’s fat, disgruntled accountant—dressed in a Haywaiian shirt, pigged out on a Western omelet with ranch-style potatoes. He waved another man over, and he made his way to the table.

“Don’t use my name,” he stated, as if giving the other man an order.

“Swampy! We got Swampy, here!” Sextant shouted in announcement. “Nobody gives a shit. Nice outfit, by the way. Well?”

“One million on delivery, $500,000 more for each file... That’s no less than one-and-a-half billion, if you get all the evidence off the computer. They’re no use to us if they’re encrypted,” the other man told him. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a can of foam shaving cream. “The bottom screws open. It’s compartmentalized inside. Customs can even check it if they want to. Just remember, you only have 36 hours.”

“That’s up to your man on the plane. Seven o’clock at the airport tomorrow night. Make sure he gets it right and your company catches up on ten years of research... and don’t even think about trying to get cheap on me, Swampy,” Sextant stated. “That was Filthy Rich’s mistake.”

At that same instant, Juniper Montage was in the video equipment repair shop across the street. She had brought in the recording from the University’s Open House day to see if it could be salvaged, and the guy started to have a look at the videotape. He tried to get some of the earlier footage so he could extrapolate some of the spatial telemetry. But all he’d managed to do was clean up a couple of microseconds at the beginning, other than that...

It was completely ruined. The electromagnet overwhelmed the feed and blew it out.

Just then, the repairman’s telephone rang. He answered it and then told Juniper Montage that the call was for her.

“Hello?”

“Hello, Miss Montage. Do you know who this is?”

“Abacus Cinch?” she asked.

“Yes. I’ve been looking for you, Miss Montage. I don’t know if you’re ready to see what I want to show you, but unfortunately, you are running out of time,” Cinch said. “They’re coming for you, Miss Montage, and I don’t know what they’re going to do.”

“Who?”

“Look out the window and see for yourself. Do it slowly,”

Juniper turned and looked toward the restaurant across the street and spotted several uniformed police officers and three federal agents dressed in identical black suits with crisp white shirts, silver bars clipped to their black ties, and dark, sleek, rectangular sunglasses.

The lead agent, Bishop, marched around the tables as the cops split up from him.

“What the Tartarus do they want?” Juniper asked.

“I don’t know, but if you don’t want to find out, I suggest you get out of there. I can help you, but you must do exactly as I say. The alley across the street from you is vacant. Go now!”

Juniper Montage hung up and scrambled to the empty alley just as Bishop and his men turned the corner. She peered out as Bishop and Agent Castle glanced at each other then headed off in opposite directions. Staying as low as she could, Juniper hurried down the alley to the office building at the end of the block and closed the gate behind her. Back at the restaurant, the three suited agents handcuffed Sextant and escorted him to a waiting car, and Spike Zenith, sitting on his motorcycle, watched them in his rear-view mirror then drove off.

Later, in the New Canterlot City Police Department, a bank of video monitors showed Sextant sitting at a table in a stark interrogation room, opposite an empty chair.

Agent Bishop, Agent Castle and Agent Knight walked in. The latter two moved slowly around the room, eyeing Sextant, while Bishop dropped a thick folder onto the table, sat down across from Sextant, and opened the file.

“We’ve had our eye on you for some time now, Sextant,” Bishop said as he flipped through the pages.

He then began to tell Sextant about a recent string of thefts that had occurred in New Canterlot City involving disappearing safes, which had left the local police baffled.

“The owner didn’t see anything,” Bishop told him. “And what’s more, she swears her jewels were still there when she went to take her bath.”

“Whoever took them didn’t leave a single clue behind,” Castle said.

“They didn’t even leave the safe behind,” Knight added.

“Just like all the other robberies,” Bishop stated.

The agents gave Sextant the same look; a look that said, “You might as well confess.”

Then Sextant said, “It’s like the vault just got up and walked away.”

“What did you say?” Castle shouted. “That. Is. Stupid!”

Having gotten nowhere with him, the agents placed Sextant in a holding cell before going about their business. Their orders were to keep an eye on high-profile events until this spate of robberies was solved. Then Bishop left to personally check on an armored truck shipment.

.

Later that afternoon, Rainbow Dash tore across campus, colliding with other students as she ran through the hallways. She had just been to the library, where she tried to print her paper for her science class, but the printer jammed, and she had to wait until it could be fixed.

Now she was sprinting across the open courtyard while listening to the news reports on her Walkmane pocket radio.

“Police are still no closer to solving the mysterious high-rise robberies. There was yet another jewel heist last night. However, the City Tech security company has no plans to discontinue service,” Nosey News reported. “And in other news, another update on the recent series of ferocious dog attacks. A young man was assaulted and bitten by what he claims was ‘a cross between a Rottweiler, a Germane Shepherd, and city councilwoman Vignette Valencia.’ The man is under psychiatric observation. Miss Valencia was not available for questioning...”

“Excuse me! In a hurry! Sorry!” Dash shouted. “Come on. Come on. I can not be late!”

She rounded the corner just as the bell rang... and ran right into Professor Youngermane.

A former Equestrian States Army Ranger, Youngermane was a large man, tall and muscular, with dark hair and dark eyes that gave him qualities akin to a hammerhead shark. He refused to play favorites and gave credit where it was due. And now that Cadence Amore was the headmistress now instead of Abacus Cinch, he was also the one who managed disciplinary procedures against students.

“Were you going somewhere, Miss Dash?” he asked.

“To your class,”

“My class is over. Do you not see me standing here?”

“I’m sorry. I want to be here--”

“Then be here!” Youngermane sighed softly. “Just look at yourself, Miss Dash. Your grades are on a rapid decline, you’re dressing like a dipstick, eating like a goat, if you’re not late for or falling asleep in class, you always appear exhausted... and your term paper on flight technology is still overdue.”

“I know. I’m planning to write it on Spike Zenith,”

“Planning is not a major at this school,”

Youngermane took a few steps past Rainbow Dash, started to walk away, then stopped and turned to face her again, his thick, dark brow furrowed.

“Zenith is an old friend,” he gave her a fair warning. “You better do your research, Miss Dash. Get it done, or I’m failing you.”

Despite his gruff nature and abrasive personality, and being a stickler for punctuality, Youngermane was a firm but fair instructor. And as much as he didn’t want to admit it, he cared about his students... and he was deeply worried about her.

After their classes ended that afternoon, Pinkie Pie, Fluttershy, Rainbow Dash and Sunset Shimmer met up for a picnic in Beaumount Park.

Fluttershy sniffled as she remembered when Spike used to push her on the swings.

It made her so happy. Then she would go higher and higher until she flew out.

She really missed that.

She wished Spike was there to join them then she saw him at the edge of the park, talking to Rarity, who had been out shopping for boots. So far, she had narrowed it down to 23 pairs.

“Walk me home?” she asked.

“What?”

“Would you take me home?”

“Uh, why should I be the one to take you home?”

“Because you’re a man,”

“That may be true, but why me?”

“You disappoint me,” Rarity said sadly. “It’s okay. I’ll just wander the streets, get attacked, and painfully raped by someone. And then my body will be found in the river tomorrow morning,” she added, very dramatically.

Spike rolled his eyes as he sped away on his motorcycle, passing an armored truck outside Karat and Clarity’s Jewelry Store, and Rarity scowled as she joined her friends. Over the last six months, she had honestly tried to put herself out there on the social front, only to wind up disappointed and aching. Accepting the fact that she was happier alone was easier on her and any potential suitors who invariably failed to live up to her unrealistic expectations. She had no idea how to go about seducing Spike. Her mother, Cookie Crumbles, had taught her how to entice men, what they liked in and out of the boudoir... but Spike was not like any man Rarity had ever known. He wasn’t the sort of man who could be led around like a dog on a leash.

He was not easily lured.

Rarity had tried everything she could think of—she’d even tried to trick Spike into going out on a date with her—but nothing seemed to work.

“Okay, let’s recap what we know,” Sunset Shimmer said.

“Check. Subject, Spike Tacitus Zenith,” Pinkie began as she started going through a file folder she’d pulled out of her hair.

“Wait. His middle name is Tacitus?” Rainbow Dash asked.

“Well, it could be,” Pinkie answered.

“You’ve obviously done your research,” Sunset remarked.

“I assure you, the rest of my report is completely factual,” Pinkie replied.

“Gossip you’ve heard around the city?” Sunset assumed.

“Moving on,” Pinkie said. “Spike has rejected dates and outright sexual advances from the following: Minuette Colgate, Cherry Berry, Golden Harvest, Sprinkle Medley, no relation to Spring Melody, and, of course, Linky Shoeshine. No current photo was available.”

“Spike spiked Shoeshine?” Dash asked.

“As well as all the other aforementioned women,” Pinkie reminded them.

“Well, I have done everything except throw myself at his feet! So why isn’t he even the slightest bit interested in me? I’m cute, aren’t I?” Rarity exclaimed. “I still don’t understand why he chose Applejack over me. I’m more intelligent, more beautiful and certainly more charming.”

Sunset Shimmer scoffed. “And clearly more modest...”

Rarity could walk like a cowgirl, talk like a cowgirl, she could even play guitar with the best of them if she wanted to, but she lacked something that only Applejack possessed.

Instead of “hello,” she said “howdy.” She said “you bet” instead of just “yes”, and “much obliged” when she meant “thank you.” She always held her head up high and had her boots on tight. She could twirl a lasso while sitting in the saddle, she called people “folks,” she wore spurs instead of furs... and she had those cutesy little freckles.

“I don’t know why you’re wasting your time on him,” Rainbow Dash said. “I don’t know if he’s just really selective or if he just isn’t looking for sex, but Spike has said ‘No’ to people much higher on the food chain than you. Half the girls at the University, and half the women in this city, have flirted with him and he has shut them all out cold. Maybe he’s...”

“Oh... Ooh!” Pinkie replied. “Is he?”

“No!” Rarity stated. “Believe me, if that were the case, I would be thrilled! So, what do I do, make him jealous?”

“Well, it is a biological fact that any animal, even the human animal, wants what it can’t have,” Fluttershy said as she watched the Sun go down.

Then the girls went their separate ways.

.

Later that night, as the cleverly crafted crime wave crashed over New Canterlot City, the Equestrian Dragon was in his cave beneath Pendragon Castle, putting the finishing touches on a new gadget that Zenith Industries had been developing – a device that emitted sound waves that could shatter glass and even scramble radar.

The Equestrian Dragon had already investigated the scene of the latest robbery—it was the third high-rise that week, all with the same M.O.: no prints, no forced entry, almost no physical evidence of any kind—but he had managed to recover one shred of evidence the local law enforcement had completely overlooked: a hair-like filament.

While the Equestrian Dragon examined and analyzed the hair sample under an ultraviolet light, Celestia and Luna entered the cave, having returned from running their own errands in town. Celestia had been to the River Market, where she picked up butter, milk, eggs and syrup (everything she needed to make her famous pancakes), while Luna had been to the bank, the hardware store, and the dry cleaners.

As they joined him, Celestia picked up the phone and began placing an order for delivery.

“Spike, hon, pizza for dinner,” she said. “What toppings do you want on yours?”

“Well, you know I love bacon on pretty much everything,” he replied.

Celestia finished the order and told him, “It will be ready and here in thirty minutes.”

The Equestrian Dragon placed the hair sample under a microscope and his computer’s search matched it to the Artibeus jamaicensis, a species of fruit bat native to Jamaneica.

“And according to this, these scratches from the victim’s dressing table match the bat’s wingspan,” he said to Luna. “So, either someone has trained bats to perform burglaries, or...”

“Vampires?” she guessed.

Spike nodded. “Vampire strength--that would explain why the safes were ripped out of the walls and how the vaults left all those banks. How could I be so stupid?”

Creatures of the night, vampires were driven by insatiable thirst; specialists in abduction, brainwashing and murder. They could take on many forms--they could appear as mist, vapor, even as the fog, and they could vanish at will. The power of their dark desires had no end.

Now, this ancient evil was a modern industry backed by big money.

Still, Spike figured there were fewer bats in the city than thieves—more specifically, vampire fruit bats—so he tried to identify the perpetrator(s) through publicity shots.

“Oh, yes. He’s clearly a smuggler,” Luna said, “and that one screams ‘embezzler’ if there ever was one.”

The Equestrian Dragon searched through his computer’s ever-growing list of beholders, elves, centaurs, fairies, gorgons, giants, leprechauns, lizardfolk, mermaids, ogres, pixies and wood nymphs—over one hundred files of potential suspects, until it stopped on the photo of a pasty-faced freak with red hair. A creep that made maggots look almost human: Ciaran, a bully and a sorry excuse for a vampire from Ponland, who forced his minions to steal jewels for him from all across the Iron Horse Curtain, which separated the Hooviet Union from the rest of continental Europone.

Vampires—he couldn’t stand the likes of them.

Now the Equestrian Dragon knew who was behind this crime wave, but it was still too early to celebrate. Spike didn’t know if this vampire was the only one.

For all he knew, a whole legion could be in town.

Suddenly, a sharp stabbing pain coursed through Spike, and he sighed.

“This can’t be all my life has come down to. I wanted to be something better, once...”

.

On the pages of ancient Equestrian folktales and lore, a group of great men and women had left the symbols of their greatness. There was Rockhoof’s shovel, Flash Magnus’ shield, Somnambula’s blindfold, and then, just as unexpectedly, a mystical mask. And strangely enough, that was the symbol of one of the mightiest women of all: Mage Meadowbrook.

It was the height of the Thousand Year War, and people—human men and women—were dying by the hundreds, especially the wounded soldiers. The shocking conditions of the field hospitals only worsened potential recovery. And it was into one of these rat and flea-infested facilities, just outside New Horseleans’ Black Market, that Spike found himself.

A long and bizarre sequence of events had brought him there. The street was crawling with supernatural beings unseen by the humans. It was a sensory overload, a barrage to his olfactory senses making him nauseous... as if he wasn’t faint enough already.

He had to find the one known as “The Mystical Mask” before there was no stopping the poison that was coursing through his veins. With each step Spike took, the worse he felt. He knew the poison from the blade was eating through him; he had to find this woman and soon.

Spike stopped at a tree on the corner, leaned and pressed his cheek against it. Upon closer inspection, he noticed it was a tree converted into a house. He craned his neck to look in through one of its windows and he saw a woman sorting books on witchcraft, separating those based on Druidism from those on Wicca, from a collection of relics and runes. She was conversing with a bulky, bearded man who had a valknut tattoo on his arm.

Spike had a sudden feeling that this was the place.

He limped as he shoved open the door, holding his arm against his abdomen, and he stumbled through the doorway, into her home.

“Welcome to Meadowbrook’s,” she said, her back to him. “Ya arrived just in time. I was just about to close up shop. What can I get for ya?”

Spike groaned as he clutched his side. His hand came away soaked with blood.

“Oh, my! What-what h-happened?” she exclaimed as she turned around to face him. “Ya’re pouring blood!”

It took his remaining strength to force his lips to move just so he could breathe.

“Rockhoof, lock the door!” Mage Meadowbrook said.

As the newcomer collapsed onto an ox hide, Meadowbrook dragged a small chest out from under the nearby water basin, placed it on the cushion next to him, and flipped the lid open. It took only a few seconds of rummaging with shaking fingers before she was able to grasp a small square cloth, which she dampened and then used to try and stop his bleeding.

“Don’t move!” Meadowbrook told him as she looked at the wound.

It was red and festering, some sort of white foamy substance oozed from it, and it smelled like death. She swallowed hard and tried not to gag.

“That doesn’t look good,” she said.

“It doesn’t feel good, either,” the stranger replied.

His voice was laced with a hint of humor.

He was awfully calm for someone who was about to die.

“This may sting a little,” Meadowbrook said before she wiped the wound with the cloth.

It was after sundown when Spike felt strength enough to move again; the evening sky had turned from a faint pink to deep indigo. He woke with a start... and instantly regretted it. A wave of nausea passed through him, making him lightheaded once more as he leaned back again.

As he adjusted his senses to his new surroundings, he heard traffic in the distance and the pounding of footsteps on the floor close by. Lying on a strange bed, Spike grunted as he tried to sit up, running his fingers over his head. A wet towel had been applied to his forehead. He glanced around and realized he had almost no recollection of where the Tartarus he was.

He’d made it to a city. Though, he couldn’t be sure which one; the last thing he could remember for certain before passing out was wondering whether or not he’d taken a wrong turn and ended up in Mareidian instead of New Horseleans. Either way, he was at least glad he hadn’t ended up in some wilderness with no way to get to civilization. Here, he could heal and blend in quickly with the humans. The Dragon had no fear anyone would follow him through the Hayseed Swamp since he’d burned it with his fire breath after he’d passed through it.

He wavered, his stomach clenching as he tried to clear his mind.

“Can ya hear me?” a female voice startled him. “Try to open your eyes.”

He did, and when he did, he found himself looking into the most astonishing eyes he had ever seen. They were turquoise, not blue, not green, but turquoise. The evening glow lit her delicately carved face, accentuating her high cheekbones and full lips. She wore no shoes, and her red hair complimented her slight frame.

“Where am I?” he asked.

His quiet voice echoed in the silence of the shop.

“Ya are in the colony of New Horseleans...”

Spike winced, pain lancing through him.

“I am here to help ya,” she said. “Try to not move. Ya were wounded.”

“Sharp, stabbing pain... in my stomach...”

“Do ya remember what happened to ya?” she asked.

Spike nodded in reply.

“That looks nasty,” she said, examining the cuts on his right arm and hand.

“It’s just a scratch. Nothing for you to worry about,”

“Even the smallest wound can kill the strongest soldier if it’s not treated properly,”

Spike could barely lift his head, his body ached so much.

“What happened to ya?” she asked. “Were ya attacked?”

“Long story... ambushed,” he replied.

“Who by, if I may ask?” she inquired carefully. “Ya don’t have to tell me. I understand sometimes we need to keep secrets. I am sworn to heal and protect no matter who comes in.”

“That’s a bit hypercritical, don’t you think?” he asked her.

“Hippocratic,” she chuckled in reply.

“Who are you?” Spike asked.

“My name is Mage Meadowbrook,” she introduced herself. “I am a sorceress. But I am also a healer. I cure the sick.”

“I thought curing people was something only gods could do,” Spike said.

“Not anymore,” Meadowbrook replied.

Now, before the story goes any further, I know what you’re thinking.

You’re thinking, “What’s so weird about a doctor? The world’s got so many.”

But, in those days, there just weren’t any.

People died every day. They got sick, they whined about it, they kvetched, they shriveled up, but they always died. And there wasn’t much that anyone could do.

Mage Meadowbrook was famous throughout the known world for being able to save people who would have been left for dead. Lucky for any one which Mage Meadowbrook served, her medical techniques were state of the art. The wise woman read current medical books and preferred to use herbal remedies, including some from distant Qilina, instead of leeches and boiling oil. She had battled illness and famine countless times.

Now, just to look at her, one might say that Meadowbrook never would make a healer. She was such a small woman... for a human, anyway. Some would have said she was too weak to fight on the front lines of any war.

Her bedside manner was impeccable... even in an unusual, possibly dangerous, situation. But something about his injury felt different, and Spike’s uneasy expression confirmed her suspicions. What she found very odd, as she glanced at the wound, was that it was still bleeding, but was already healing.

“You are very fortunate,” she said. “Rockhoof had to dig out a small piece of the blade.”

She pointed to a small shard of black glass on top of the nearby table.

“Rockhoof?” he asked.

“My husband,” she answered.

Meadowbrook offered Spike a cup of wine mixed with myrrh, a spice that was often used to reduce pain. Spike held the cup to his lips, sipped and then made a face.

“Drink,” she said. “It tastes bad, but it will help.”

Spike managed to drink after several attempts and grimaces. She took the cup from him and then began to clean his wound by gently rinsing it with salt water. Then she saturated it with old wine, which stung, but somehow the acidity of the grapes kept the infection from spreading.

And even though the wound was cleansed, the poison from the blade was still in his system. He needed it purged if he was to live.

Meadowbrook picked up a new cup, ran a finger over the smooth surface, and started to fill it with a pinch of a special blend of herbs—a combination of cedar, rose pedals, willow bark, clove oil, turmeric, and a lavender gin for the base.

“Drink,” she said again. “This will help to counteract the poison in your bloodstream, but it won’t work its way out of your body for a while. It’s the best I can do.”

“How long?” he asked.

“That depends on you and how fast you heal. That was a pretty deep wound,”

Spike did as she instructed, and after downing it all he began to feel drowsy again. As he rested, he could make out the sound of her heart beating.

“You hear it, don’t you?” she asked. “It’s like the beat of a drum.”

Then she began closing his wound with honey. It was only recently discovered that honey had healing properties.

Not only was it good for sealing wounds, but it helped the wounds to heal faster.

He was not comfortable with her being so close to him, but it could not be helped.

“I did my best for your wound, but what about the burden on your shoulders? Ya are still very tired,” Meadowbrook said. “Ya poor thing... Ya are in great pain... and not just your body... but in your heart. That’s why ya have come to me,” she went on. “Ya have been carrying much... I have a spell that can help relieve ya of this burden. But, for it to work, I must lay my hands on ya. Will ya allow me this?”

Spike nodded.

“Ya have carried this pain for a long time. It’s very deep.” She gently placed her hands over his heart. “I feel a lot of good underneath the pain... much beauty, much joy... and love... Ya can close your eyes... if you want to,” she told him. “I also have a special oil. It works as a conductor to help ease any physical pain you are feeling at the moment. Would ya grant me permission to use this on ya?”

He nodded again, slowly.

Meadowbrook hummed to herself as she placed her hands upon Spike and rubbed him down, starting with his face, down his neck, across his shoulders and arms, all the way to the sharp, stabbing pain in his thighs and calves.

Spike didn’t know how long he slept; he’d passed out from the pain of the illness.

Most of the pain had subsided by the time he sat up again, but his body still throbbed. The effects of the poison from the blade hadn’t quite worn off yet, but the pain was starting to go away. He hadn’t realized just how hard he’d been stabbed. Everything had happened so fast.

Meadowbrook smiled as she saw him sitting up.

“How are ya feeling? Do ya feel better?” she asked.

He replied, “Aye.”

“That’s good. Are ya hungry?”

She had put some food on the table: bear meat, baked potatoes and cold milk.

Slowly, Spike got out of bed and made his way over to the fireplace, where he sat. With a shaking hand, he picked up the drink and held it between his hands. Just holding the cool glass gave his burning skin comfort. Then, with a firmer grip, he picked up his plate and ate gratefully.

“Forgive me. I know your name, but I never told you my name,” he said. “I’m Spike.”

“It’s nice to meet ya, now that ya’re not gushing blood everywhere,” she replied.

As she leaned back into the cushion of her own chair, they sat by the fire and they talked.

Even though she’d lived a considerable portion of her life in New Horseleans, a city known for its connection with magic and the supernatural, Mage Meadowbrook had never realized there were so many forms practiced by mortals. Many ordinary humans she’d met in this city applied witchcraft with vary degrees of success and talent.

Still, none compared to her mother, who could absorb any spell from the page and execute it perfectly the first time, or her sister, who could make things happen simply by singing. Even a modicum of magic was impressive to Meadowbrook, who had none herself despite being mystically tied to them both.

Meadowbrook also said that she used to travel all the time, but after she got stuck in a village full of undead she decided she’d rather be a homebody.

Spike kept calm as Rockhoof joined them.

“Let’s make one thing clear from the start,” he told Spike. “You will never be hostile or bear your fangs at her or me. Do we understand each other?”

Spike understood.

“Are ya a dragon, like the legends say?” Meadowbrook asked. “Ya are very strong. It takes a lot to kill a dragon. But whether I am an ally or an enemy... that’s up to ya’ll.”

Even though he was still in his human form, Spike didn’t need to answer her.

The moment she’d laid a hand on him she knew he was different.

Dragons that had passed out were guaranteed to have shed the blood of an innocent.

As for Rockhoof, Spike had met and fought alongside him before. Spike knew that he was the lieutenant commander of the Mighty Helm. But as he looked at him from across the rim of his glass, Spike wondered exactly what Rockhoof considered himself to be.

He was immensely strong, extraordinarily strong even for a human... a human and an ancient one at that. His size and personality weren’t all that different from the rest of the Mighty Helm, but there was one big difference, one huge distinction: he had been able to survive by eating vegetables and very little meat. So, was he just a human with a strong body or an omnivorous being that didn’t eat meat?

“Just who are you?” Spike finally asked him.

It was in the third year of the reign of Baron Iron Ore that he ordered Steela Oresdotter, the captain of the Mighty Helm, to bring men from all of the families—young, handsome, without any physical defect, well informed, quick to understand, and showing aptitude for every kind of learning—into the Baron’s service. The Baron assigned them a daily amount of food and wine from his table, and he taught them language and literature. They were to be trained for three years, and after that they were to enter the service.

Rockhoof was among those who were chosen, but he resolved to not defile himself with the royal food and wine.

“Begging your pardon, ma’am, but why should you see me looking worse than the other men my age?” he’d asked the captain of the Mighty Helm. “With your permission, please, test your servants for seven days: give me nothing but vegetables to eat and water to drink. Then compare my appearance with that of those who eat the royal food, and treat your servants in accordance with what you see.”

And because Steela Oresdotter showed much favor and compassion to Rockhoof, she agreed to this and tested them for seven days. At the end of the week, Rockhoof looked healthier and better nourished than any of the men who ate the royal food. So the Baron took away the choice food and the wine they were to drink and gave them vegetables instead.

Rockhoof went on to explain that it had been years since he met Mage Meadowbrook, but he continued to put his strength to good use even after they had settled down and got married.

“I realized that people needed someone to help them,” he said to Spike. “I focused all my energy into that for over ten centuries. We have nearly been killed countless times and can only save a handful of those we help. In order to improve ourselves, I continue to train myself to be a strong man who eats more vegetables and work out a lot. I am nothing more than a man who is strong... and not just in the physical sense.”

Spike knew that this man was telling the truth.

“So, when you come upon someone who needs your help, how do you treat them?”

“We do exactly what we’re doing with you right now,” Rockhoof replied.

A look of distaste passed over Spike’s face.

“You don’t know the first thing about me,” he stated.

Rockhoof was upsetting him.

“Listen, I’m sure, deep down, you really do want to be friends with humans, but that’s just your dragon instincts talking,” Rockhoof said. “You’re trying to overcome your primal urge to destroy everything that isn’t of value... that’s the most dangerous kind of monster there is, dragon or otherwise. If you believe you can do that, sever all ties with humanity. Stop this before it gets worse.”

“Am I free to leave now?” Spike asked.

Rockhoof shrugged. “Of course you can leave.”

“Thanks for your help,” Spike said.

As he left Meadowbrook’s home, Spike wanted to forget everything he saw and heard that day. He wanted to wish it had never happened.

But then she followed him outside and asked, “Do you have anywhere to stay?”

“No,” he replied.

“How about fresh clothes?” she inquired. “I can wash the ones you’re wearing, and...”

She stopped when she saw the conflicted look on Spike’s face.

“Don’t worry. Nobody is going to find you here,” she assured him.

Then she asked him if he had any interest in learning the art of healing.

Spike didn’t know how to respond.

He had never considered such a thing.

“Join us as we push the boundaries of science,” she offered. “Join us in the great adventure known as health care. But if you want to do this and do it right, then ya’ll listen to me. Ya came to me for help and I gave it to ya. But ya’re going to do this my way. Clear?”

“All right. We’ll do it your way,” Spike said.

So, over the next week, he helped Rockhoof and Meadowbrook clean wounds and make splints from pine trees... until they received a letter from the town of Bridleberg. When they arrived in Bridleberg, Meadowbrook was nervous. She could tell something wasn’t right, but nothing seemed out of place. It just seemed... quiet. She opened the door to the inn, glad to be out of the rain, and saw numerous people lying wall-to-wall, moaning and groaning softly.

Spike had dealt with all kinds of evil before: the Black Death, animals that carried diseases which spread like wildfire, even demonic forces that were attracted to laughter... but he had never seen anything like this.

“What is this?” he asked.

“It’s a plague,” Mage Meadowbrook said.

And it was spreading fast.

Sentries had been set up to keep people out of the city lest they fall ill too, but Mage Meadowbrook wouldn’t hear of it. There were people who needed help, her help.

She tried all of her usual potions, but nothing she had was making anyone better.

“Meadowbrook, a patient’s in danger!” Spike shouted.

“Prepare a cot!” she replied. “We have no time to lose!”

Spike carried the dying man and gently lowered him onto the bed. His breathing had become shallow, his heart rate had slowed, and they were losing the pulse.

“Come on, come on!” Rockhoof shouted. “Live. Live, you idiot, live!”

As Meadowbrook held the man’s hand, it went limp.

“We lost him,” she breathed. “I lost him.”

With a mournful look, the mage walked outside and sat on the steps, hanging her head.

“Who was I kidding to think I could change the world?’” Meadowbrook asked.

“I should have listened to the rest of the Mighty Helm and become a farmer like my parents,” Rockhoof said.

As he stood looking out at the city, Spike tried to think of what to do. Most of the adults and all of the children were stricken... and they were getting sicker.

“It’s over, Spike,” Meadowbrook told him. “We lost a patient... and it was all my fault.”

“What about the thousands of other people out there who still need our help?” he asked.

“Spike, I--” she attempted.

“Don’t you ‘Spike, I’ me!” he stated. “Sure, we lost one patient. Sure, the whole city’s sick. Sure, things look bad. But that doesn’t mean we give up. We can’t give up! Not without a fight! Spike’s Rules #157: Try Something Else. If a soldier’s spear breaks, he picks up a bow and arrow. If he runs out of arrows, he picks up a sword and shield.”

Males, by nature, were problem-solvers. But even though Spike didn’t know if he could or could not fix this problem, he sure didn’t show it. He admired Meadowbrook’s persistence, the way she cared for others, she was someone he wanted to be like... or at least aspire to. They figured that if they couldn’t stop the disease, they could at least keep it from spreading. That led them to search for the source of the contamination.

A second later, Spike spotted something. His eyes narrowed as he focused on several large frogs that were hopping on the other side of the dirt road, moving in an unnaturally straight line as if they were on their way to a prearranged meeting.

“Frogs?” he asked. “They should be in the swamp... unless they found...”

“A food source,” he, Rockhoof and Meadowbrook said.

They followed the frogs along the path until they reached a barn, pushed the big wooden doors open, stepped inside, and saw a multitude of frogs among barrels of oats.

“This must be the food stores for the whole town,” Rockhoof said.

“And these are poisonous frogs,” Meadowbrook said. “They’re brightly colored so they can warn predators the excretion on their skin is toxic... but only if ingested!”

And because they had gotten into the food stores, they had contaminated the town’s food supply, infecting the whole town. Lifting her head, Mage Meadowbrook had an idea.

“Wait a moment. I have an idea! Or something like one,” she said. “I have been toying with something radically new. It’s called ‘medicine.’ But what am I saying? It’s impossible. The ingredients are very rare and they’re scattered all over the world.”

“You got a list?” Spike asked. “I’ll collect them for you!”

“All right, here’s what I need: chunks of ice from the Frozen North, flowers and thorns from every kind of cactus in the world, bananas from Zanzebra, as well as grapes, onions, garlic, wormwood, mushrooms, snake fangs and venom, crushed bones and the eggs of a winter lark,”

And that was the world’s first prescription... and it was the only one that was ever free.

Back at the inn, Meadowbrook set her mortar and pestle on the table and removed two packets of herbs from her satchel. Once Spike had gathered everything on the list Meadowbrook had given him, she told him to mix them all up while Rockhoof boiled water in a big brass pot.

“And now, the active ingredient in this poison,” she said, extracting a bit of the toxin from one of the frogs.

Placing both herbs into the mortar, along with all of the other ingredients Spike had collected for her, she ground them into a powder and stirred them and the powder, into the pot.

Several minutes later, Meadowbrook crouched beside an eight-year-old boy and pressed a cup of the medicine to his lips.

“Here goes nothin’,” she said.

Murmuring soothing words of encouragement, she managed to get the boy to down the liquid in small sips.

“What now?” Spike asked.

“We wait,” Meadowbrook said.

When she returned to check on the boy an hour later, Meadowbrook placed her palm against his forehead and gazed into eyes that seemed more focused. His babbling had ceased and his ill color was beginning to recede.

“It works!” Rockhoof said. “We can cure the plague!”

“Yes, but the battle’s not won until we cure all of Bridleberg!” Meadowbrook exclaimed.

She, along with Spike and Rockhoof began administering more of the cure to everyone that had been affected. Slowly, the moaning and groaning ceased, and the people came back stronger than ever.

“We did it!” Rockhoof shouted.

“And it took every last drop of medicine,” Meadowbrook said as she walked outside.

Once out of sight, she used her skirt to wipe the sweat from her temples and brushed a damp wisp of red hair from her face.

Meadowbrook may not have been the traditional hero, but she had skills that helped her when she was backed into a corner.

She was more than a simple healer, a woman who knew herbs.

These people owed her their lives!

“Mage Meadowbrook, you are a credit to your mother’s memory,” Spike had said. “I admit, I had my doubts, but you are a true hero. And we need all the heroes we can get.”

Blushing from his praise, she shared, “The prophecies say that it would be a dragon who can fight Grogar... and defeat him forever. Maybe that one is you... We will help you in whatever way we can.”

They had stopped the plague, the town was saved and the story went that the people didn’t even get to say thank you before the mage and her companions were on their way. From that day on, Meadowbrook dedicated her life to helping and curing people, and what that great woman did was told and retold all over the world.

.

Back in the present, the Equestrian Dragon shook his head of the memory of the woman healer who had saved him and sighed again. As much as he didn’t want to deal with vampires right now, he knew he had to. He couldn’t just let them fly about freely.

That’s when Spike remembered something he had seen earlier that day: the armored truck in front of Karat and Clarity’s Jewelry Store—a place that hadn’t robbed yet—offloading items for a local jewelry exhibition. A place full of priceless jewels and expensive watches would be the perfect bait to set a trap with. But first, he had to prepare himself for when he would confront the vampires. So he armed himself with the sonic device he’d been working on as well as a wreath of garlic from his kitchen above ground and placed the wreath around his neck.

After midnight, the Equestrian Dragon sniffed the air as he watched the sky, attuning his senses to the sounds to find his targets. A faint squeaking told him everything he needed.

The Dragon looked up, seeing a single pair of bats, and took off after them. He pursued them to an abandoned station just off the train yard, and when he landed on the roof of the station building, the distinct scent of blood and alcohol assaulted his nostrils.

The Dragon peeked through a hole in the station house’s roof and saw the Diamond Dogs—Spot, Fido and Rover—standing below... with Ciaran himself.

“Apples, oranges, bananas... and a pineapple!” the vampire said. “Very good... You’ve really outdone yourselves. What? No pears?” he asked. “I told you nitwits they like a wide selection. How can you have variety without pears?”

Just as he was about to raise a hand to strike them, the pair of vampire bats flew in through one of the broken windows.

“You’re off the hook for now, gentlemen,” Ciaran told the Diamond Dogs.

The bats landed and transformed into Gray and Lyn, a pair of Jamaneican men with pale dreadlocks, who Ciaran had bitten and converted into his underlings. Most of a vampire’s victims became vampire spawn—ravenous creatures with the vampire’s hunger for blood, but under the control of the vampire that created them. If a true vampire allowed a spawn to draw blood from its own body, the spawn transformed into a true vampire no longer under its master’s control; the spawn could become free-willed when the vampire died. However, few vampires were willing to relinquish their control in this manner... and Ciaran was a sadistic control freak.

“Entre vous, won’t you?” he asked them.

“He never speaks Prench to us,” Spot mumbled.

“You sent for us again, Ciaran?” Gray yawned. “The Sun shall soon be shining.”

“We haven’t even had a chance to eat,” Lyn added.

“Not until you agree to take care of one more job,” Ciaran said.

The two spawn emptied their bags of loot and they took to the sky once more, taking the fruit with them. Jamaneican fruit bats did anything for fruit... and, apparently, so did Jamaneican fruit vampires.

“Hurry back,” Ciaran told them. “That’s the problem with foreign imports--it’s a pain getting decent service,” he added to himself.

A cold prickling sensation went up the back of the Equestrian Dragon’s long neck as he followed the two spawn again, knowing what was about to happen.

“Mon, that Ciaran is one crazy vamp,” Lyn said as they flew over the city.

“You got that right, mon,” Gray replied. “He is one banana short of a bunch.”

The Equestrian Dragon tailed them to Karat and Clarity’s Jewelry Store, and the two vampire spawn shifted into mist and entered through an air vent on the roof. Once inside, they started lifting jewels and handsome watches off their displays with sickening glee.

“Easy as slicing key lime pie,” Lyn said.

The Equestrian Dragon waited for them to finish—they didn’t even notice him since they were so intent on stealing the valuables—then he followed them back to the abandoned train station, closing the gap between them.

“Isn’t commerce wonderful?” Ciaran asked the Diamond Dogs. “Imagine trading nectarines for necklaces, bananas for brooches, and tangelos for tiaras. Oh, I’m so shrewd.” He sighed. “But it can’t last forever. The security companies will wise up and find other ways to secure the jewels, and then I’ll ship those batty fruitcakes back to Jamaneica!”

“Really?” Spot asked. “Gosh. We thought you liked them better than us.”

“What? Better than you, who’ve been with me through thick and thin, boom and bust? You, mi amigos, compadres, mon frères?” However, upon his spawns’ return, Ciaran put on his glad-handing face and asked, “And what have my favorite minions brought me?” He gasped. “Pearls and diamonds and emeralds and--the Equestrian Dragon?!”

Roaring, the Equestrian Dragon used his tail to knock the Diamond Dogs to one side and they fell, unconscious, to the ground. Meanwhile, the two vampire spawn cowered behind their master as they looked up at the Dragon with shock and bewilderment, wondering what was going to happen next. The Dragon and Ciaran exchanged glares, the vampire unfolding his lanky body. He was nowhere near as tall or imposing as the Dragon.

The Equestrian Dragon continued to glare back at Ciaran. They had a momentary standoff then the Dragon took the sonic disruptor out from under his wing and used it to scramble their bio sonar sense, effectively subduing them. Then the Equestrian Dragon grabbed Ciaran, spun him on one clawed finger like a basketball, and drop kicked him into the wall.

“That’s the last jewelry heist you’re gonna pull, creep,” he growled as he dragged Ciaran by his hair. “Not even the world’s greatest vampire can beat a dragon.”

And so, the Equestrian Dragon tore Ciaran’s head off, took a clove of garlic from the wreath around his neck, shoved the clove into the bully’s mouth, and then—using his fire breath—burned Ciaran’s head, reducing it to ash, and ridding the world of one more vampire.

Thus, the vicious vampire’s spell was lifted from his two minions and they were restored to the human men they were before.

The Dragon let them go, and dropped the things they had stolen off on the helicopter pad on the roof of the New Canterlot City police department.

“The missing jewels,” Officer Windstorm said.

“Where’d they come from?” Sergeant Spearhead asked as the Equestrian Dragon watched from the shadows amongst the rooftop.

As the Equestrian Dragon flew back to his lair, he could already hear Inky Quills report, “The stolen jewels were recovered, but the identity of the thieves remains a mystery... not to mention the hero who recovered them.”

And so, with the case solved and the stolen jewelry retrieved, the Equestrian Dragon returned to his castle for some much needed rest.