The cicadas slowly spoke up, adding another dimension to the soft wind that whispered through the orchard.
"So... that's it? She just up and... left?"
Hearthfire nodded wistfully. Violet considered this a moment, biting her lower lip.
"And that's all you could ever get Brass - I mean, your dad - to tell you?"
Hearthfire ignored the slip. The stallion had always been Brass Bellows to him. "He doesn't like to talk about her. It's the only thing he ever thinks about, but he definitely doesn't like it to come up in conversation," he paused. "I'm pretty sure he doesn't like conversation at all, for that matter."
Violet pursed her lips. "Well, you said she studied ponies. Are you sure you're not interested in that or smithing?"
"I'm not sure what 'studying ponies' even means, and I'm definitely not interested in my father's workshop."
She narrowed her eyes at him. "Why are you so against what he does?"
"Well," Hearthfire thought about how to explain. "It's too loud. And hot."
"Uh huh."
"And the smell is probably the worst... it's like having a permanent nosebleed."
Violet gave a little shrug.
"Plus, he makes," Hearthfire lowered his voice to a whisper. "Weapons."
"Weapons?"
"Yeah. I asked him why once, and he just called me naive. I just don't see any reason ponies would need to make something for - you know." He trailed off.
"Well, it's not like you have to make weapons, too. You could make useful things, like plows!"
Hearthfire seemed unconvinced.
Violet grinned at him. "Plus, it sounds like it'd be exciting to work in a forge! All the heat and fire... like a trip to Tartarus!"
The grey pegasus leapt into the air, looping around backwards and flying directly towards him, before suddenly stopping half a hoof from his face.
"Rrraaagghh! I'm a monster from beyond the gates!"
Hearthfire tried to keep a straight face, staring into her manic, purple eyes. It was impossible.
"Watch out," he laughed, falling backwards. "My special talent might turn out to be monster slaying!"
Violet dropped onto her back, giggling. "I'm not sure you're cut out for slaying monsters. You couldn't hurt another creature to save your life!"
The two ponies laughed, lying in the soft grass of the orchard. After a moment, Violet regained her composure and propped her head up on one hoof.
"Really, though. Is there anything you love to do? There has to be something - you're the oldest blank flank I've ever met."
Hearthfire blushed.
"Oh, no, I didn't mean that to be -"
"It's not that. Don't feel bad," he quickly corrected her.
"It's just," his blush deepened. "Well, I like to... dance."
Violet suddenly sat up, grass and leaves scattered through her purple shock of a mane.
"Dancing?"
He nodded sheepishly.
She adopted a posh Canterlot accent and a sly smile. "Oh, heavens. You should've spoken sooner, darling! I'd loove for you to accompany me to a ball."
He glared at her, then looked down. His normally tan face became a deep scarlet.
Violet's eyes softened. "Oh, come on. It's not strange for an earth pony to like dancing. I'd dance with you."
Hearthfire looked back up, eyes widening. His ears perked up at the suggestion. Violet was giving him a mocking smile.
"I'd like that," he quietly offered.
Her face registered mild surprise, and the chirruping cicadas underlined an awkward beat.
Hearthfire cleared his throat, treading unexplored territory.
"We could, um, go to the Apple Festival together?"
Violet let her mouth fall open for just a moment, before quickly snapping it shut. She blinked, oblivious to the mess in her mane. "Sure. It's a -"
"Date?"
Now it was her turn to blush.
"Yeah," she said, lifting off the ground into a meek hover. "A date."
Violet rocked back and forth, hanging from her wings, as if on a small swing. She seemed intensely focused on some point past Hearthfire's shoulder, and was fiddling with her forehooves. At this point, her complexion almost matched her name.
"Hey, uh," she mumbled. "It's getting late."
Hearthfire looked disappointed. "Yeah, I know."
Every insect in the orchard was practically screaming at them, now.
Despite herself, a slow smile spread across Violet's face. She twirled about in the air, leveling with him.
"Meet me at the town square just before the festival starts, okay?"
He grinned. "Yeah. We'll meet there."
"Great! It's gonna be awe-" She caught herself, feeling a little embarrassed at her enthusiasm. "It's gonna be... great. See you tomorrow!"
Hearthfire watched as, with a powerful flap, Violet shot up above the trees. She rolled over and waved at him, before banking off towards her home. Hearthfire, grinning like an idiot, began making his way back to his father's workshop. Tomorrow couldn't come soon enough.
***
Their dinner was some abysmal, shapeless gruel. Again. There was a reason Hearthfire usually ate with Violet's family. Brass Bellows, wearing a surly grimace, picked at his meal. Hearthfire ate slowly, trying to conceal his excitement. It wasn't easy.
Brass grumbled something inaudible.
Hearthfire looked questioningly at his father. "Sir?"
The old stallion met his gaze with a stony expression. After a moment, he closed his eyes and shook his head.
"Nothin'," he sighed. "Finish yer food."
Hearthfire looked down, trying to delve the deepest secrets of his plate. He hated when his father was like this.
Obsessed.
Distant.
Aloof.
All words Brass had used to describe Hearthfire's mother.
His father snorted. "You're just like her. Always lost in yer damn head."
Hearthfire chose not to answer.
When he was finished, he politely excused himself from the table, and climbed the stairs to his room. His bed warmly welcomed him, and the same goofy smile settled comfortably back onto his face. In his mind, the scene from the orchard played over and over again. The festival seemed years away, even though in just a few hours, he would be there with the most amazing mare he'd ever met.
She doesn't care about cutie marks. She doesn't care if I'm not a typical earth pony.
She just... cares.
About me.
About... us?
It was a strange word. A word of belonging. Friendship.
He smiled.
Maybe even something more.
It was all to good to be true.
***
Hearthfire dreamt of a wedding. Violet, in a beautiful, white wedding gown, drifted down the aisle towards him; her parents, eyes watering above warm smiles, waved at him. Even Brass Bellows looked happy for his son, the fate of his own relationship temporarily forgotten. The uncharacteristically cheery stallion closed his eyes for a moment and nodded.
Hearthfire felt as if he'd never frown again.
Wedding bells began to ring, keeping time with the organist, as white streamers fluttered down from the ceiling high above. Violet took her place beside Hearthfire, and the couple stared into each other's eyes. He was practically shaking with excitement; she bit her lip, suppressing a giggle. The bells rang out, loudly defying ignorance of the most important day in their lives.
Ding!
Wait, why are there bells? We haven't even started...
Ding!
Violet's smile evaporated. Her eyes widened, and locked on to a point somewhere past Hearthfire's shoulder.
Ding!
Her mouth fell open and, shaking her head, she took a step back.
Ding!
"Hearthfire, I -"
He sat bolt upright in his room, sweating. It was dark, save a few slivers of moonlight, and the sound of wedding bells echoed in his head.
"Hearthfire!" The voice was a hoarse whisper.
Ding!
No, that was a real bell. Outside. But... the town bell only rang at noon.
"Boy, listen to me!"
Hearthfire started, turning his head towards the sound. "Huh?"
Brass Bellows' silhouette loomed in the doorway.
"Get up," he hissed. "They're summoning everyone to the town square."
***
Hearthfire and his father stepped out into the street. It was dark - probably past midnight - and there was a slight chill to the air. Hearthfire could almost see his own breath.
A sparse procession of ponies, some groggy and miserable, others anxious and alert, ambled along towards the town square. Hearthfire and Brass joined them; the former, blinking, shook the remaining sleep from his head; the latter, once again nothing like the Brass from Hearthfire's dream, simply stared on ahead.
As the group passed each intersection, more and more townsponies merged alongside them. Tense, hushed voices bounced around the ever-growing procession - all questions, no answers. Hearthfire listened to them, his pulse quickening. His mouth felt dry.
He looked to his father, but the stoic earth pony remained as much a fortress as ever.
More loudly, persistent bells rang. The Salt Block loomed to their left, hurling booming echoes into Hearthfire's ears. Its windows were black and foreboding; the saloon doors creaked quietly in an unfelt breeze.
Rounding the corner, they could finally see the town square. A hastily erected stage stood in the middle, ringed by pitch-soaked torches.
Mayor Appleseed stood atop the platform. The flickering torchlight cast his face into a sharp contrast. He looks... serious? Or sad. Hearthfire couldn't tell.
Before the mayor was a shabby pedestal that supported an old bullhorn. On the left side of the stage, Hearthfire could just make out the trembling form of a pegasus. The winged colt swayed, appearing to be on the verge of passing out.
Hearthfire's pulse, pounding in his head, began to compete with the deafening bells.
The procession drew up to the foot of the stage; Hearthfire and his father were a few rows from the front. Nervous ponies pressed in on all sides, exchanging frightened whispers.
"What's happening?"
"Keep the foals quiet, Braeburn."
"You think it's those savages, again?"
Hearthfire began to feel dizzy. He desperately looked around the crowd, trying to pick out a sign of Violet and her family among the scores of wide eyes and furrowed brows. There was none.
Just as the soft murmur of the chattering crowd began to crescendo, Mayor Appleseed coughed loudly into his bullhorn. Silence immediately swept back away from the stage. The quiet was so sudden that Hearthfire could, for a brief moment, hear the voices of the crowd briefly echo off of the dark buildings around the square. Then, only the bells and his pounding heart remained.
The mayor turned to the tower behind him and nodded. The ringing finally ceased, leaving its final toll to reverberate ominously throughout the town. He turned back to the crowd, eyes closed, and seemed to be composing himself.
A cough here. A hoofstep there. Somewhere in the back, a foal began to cry. The unsteady voice of its mother hummed a wavering, keyless tune.
Finally, the pegasus on stage collapsed.
His breath whipped up a small puff of dust from the wooden planks. Once.
Mayor Appleseed looked down at the pitiful colt, and swallowed. He whispered something, glanced at the sky, and stepped toward the podium. He cleared his throat, took a deep, calming breath, and began to speak.
"A messenger has arrived. From Canterlot."
The mayor's voice boomed across the top of the crowd, but Hearthfire could barely hear him. He fought to bring himself under control. It was no use. Focusing on the mayor was becoming difficult; Hearthfire squinted at him as if through a long tunnel.
"A messenger with very grave news."
Everypony else seemed to gasp simultaneously; Hearthfire just stared, stiff as stone. In his ears, a dull roar had begun to build.
The mayor blinked a few times, slowly, as if in shock. His lips were trembling as he looked down at the pedestal.
"It reads as follows:
Abandon Appleloosa, and flee north, to Canterlot.
Dodge Junction has fallen. If you have family there, I am sorry.
There's nothing-"
His voice faltered. He screwed his eyes shut, taking a deep breath.
"There's... nothing you can do.
Travel light, and make haste, for the
Gates of Tartarus have opened once more.
Celestia."
For Hearthfire, the pandemonium that ensued was eerily silent. The scene swam drunkenly into his senses, riding a wave of white noise. The crowd had practically exploded.
Pegasi, what few there were in Appleloosa, vaulted into the air; they spun wildly for a moment, trying to find loved ones, then shot off in long, swooping arcs towards their homes. Below, the messenger lay still, face down on the stage.
The mayor stood beside the body, frozen with fear, and watched helplessly as his town became a riot.
Near the front of the crowd, where Hearthfire and Brass Bellows were, had become a free for all. Ponies pushed and kicked, desperate to escape. Trapped between the chaotic brawl and the wooden stage, Hearthfire just watched them; he barely registered what was happening.
Brass was shouting something. The stunned colt turned and stared at his father, shaking his head. He could see the lips, but he couldn't hear the words.
His father took a step forward and shouted again.
Hearthfire strained to understand. He tried to speak, but his mouth just fell limply open instead. Suddenly, the old stallion cuffed him in the face. Hard.
"We have to get to the smithy!" Brass yelled, shoving a shrieking mare aside. "There ain't much time!"
He whipped about and charged over the jabbering, flailing pony, galloping home.
Hearthfire's nose began to tickle, and he looked at the ground. A single drop of blood fell from his face, becoming a black spot of mud in the dirt below.
This... isn't a nightmare?
He glanced back up at the retreating form of his father and shuddered under a horrific realization.
This is real.
This...
... is actually happening!
His bubble of shock was suddenly burst, and the sound of the surrounding chaos sent Hearthfire reeling.
Wincing, he looked up at the dark, flittering silhouettes of Pegasi that raced above.
Hearthfire cleared his dry throat and screamed, “Violet!”
The shout felt weak and suffocated in the din of the riot.
He took a deep breath.
“VIIIOLLLET!”
***
Violet paused, hovering above the roof of the Old Mare's Inn. Her ears twitched, plying the sounds of screaming and crying that saturated the Appleloosa air.
Was that Hearthfire's voice?
She vaulted upwards, gaining altitude until she could see the torchlit stage at the center of town. Most of the crowd had violently dispersed, stampeding in every direction.
Several ponies still shuffled aimlessly around in front of the stage, seeming lost.
Several more lay sprawled in the dirt. Violet could just make out the small form of a young filly, probing one of the collapsed ponies with a hoof. The figure on the ground did not stir.
Violet turned her head away and closed her eyes, supressing nausea. She steadied her quaking stomach, and began to call Hearthfire's name--
“Violet!”
The voice was close, startling her. She turned and saw her mother hovering some distance away, stiff and serious.
“Sweetie, we have to go! Now!”
Violet looked back at the town square, and shook her head. Hearthfire had probably made it to his father's shop already, and was packing his things.
She'd find him on the tracks heading north: The bridge over Ghastly Gorge was the only way to Canterlot by land.
“Ok!” Violet wheeled about and zipped across to her mother. “Let's go.”
The old mare nodded.
Aided by thermals from the chimneys below, they churned the air with their wings, racing home.
***
Hearthfire caught a glimpse of a lithe form hovering over the edge of the square; it was gone as soon as it came. He spun a few times, squinting at the sky, but only the stars returned his scrutiny. Defeated, he pursed his lips and galloped off in the direction his father had gone.
Brass's workshop was near the end of the main street. The stampede had subsided, and a river of ponies was moving back in the direction of the square, surging forward to reach the tracks. Most were laden with possessions and foals too young to walk.
Hearthfire pushed ahead, twisting and dodging in the heavy traffic. A few times, he was knocked roughly to the ground. He rolled to the side, twisting and scratching at the dirt to avoid being trod upon. Nearing the end of the row, the crowd was much thinner, and he broke out into a full sprint.
The workshop's door stood ajar, and a brilliant glow leaked out onto the street. Crashing through the threshold, Hearthfire dove into a room reeking of hot iron and bubbling reagents. He skidded to a stop on the stone floor, hooves protesting like chalk on a blackboard.
“Brass?”
Brass whipped around, panting heavily. Sweat pooled at his hooves, and his coat looked frayed and thin. His face was stained by soot, and burned to the skin near the tip of his muzzle.
“Help me, boy!”
Brass stumbled over to the nearest rack, and grabbed a pair of hoof-blades in his teeth. Grunting and huffing, he tossed them into the forge and spit on the floor before looking back at Hearthfire.
“We've got to destroy everything before it's too late!”
Hearthfire frowned. “But... the country's being invaded. You spend a lifetime making these... things, and you say they're for-”
“Appleloosa is GONE, you stupid boy! No cavalry is coming. No Wonderbolt squadrons to save us!”
Brass twisted his mouth in disgust, and stomped the bellows a few times. The forge moaned and creaked under the unprecedented heat. Speaking quickly, the weary stallion ranted with an urgency Hearthfire had never seen.
“The Queen told us to RUN!” he shouted. “Not to fight. She knows we can't win, and there's no point trying!”
They stared at one another, letting the unthinkable hang in the air for a moment.
Brass snorted, eying the sagging hoof-blades in the coals. “Grab some damn blades and throw 'em in,” he muttered. Hearthfire watched the destroyed weapons intently, perplexed.
“Why are you-”
“When they take this town,” Brass loudly began, ignoring him. He paused, looking to the floor and shaking his head. With a choked cry, he stamped one hoof in frustration. Hearthfire made to walk over, but was stopped short as the old stallion looked up at him, eyes wide and glistening.
“They will take this place, boy.” His voice was hollow and hoarse. “Least I can do is make sure they ain't any better off for it.”
Hearthfire slowly nodded at him, swallowing a lump in his throat. He took a deep breath and jogged over to a chest of spears. Grabbing the rope with his teeth and flipping the lid open revealed a glittering stash of wickedly tipped ashen poles. They looked like evil things – spiked tokens of some dark, violent god.
He regarded them for a moment, mind racing. Had he been wrong, all these years? Looking down on his father? Thinking him heartless because he made tools for killing? A warmonger, bitter and vengeful – poisoned by love lost.
He looked back at the old stallion. Brass was using his bare hooves to spread a pile of bladed helms over the coals. They were complex things, with various gears and mechanisms that allowed the wearer to parry and riposte with less effort. An entire month to make just one, and Hearthfire's father was destroying them as fast as he could. The forge hissed and spit in protest, drizzling Brass's forelegs with little embers that stuck and burned in his coat. If they caused him any pain it didn’t show. He just kept grabbing weapons and pushing them down into the forge.
Hearthfire blinked, and turned to the spears. Yes. He'd wanted to do this his entire life, but for entirely different reasons. Taking two of them between his teeth, he finally understood. If his father would rather destroy his life's work than see it used against his kind... Hearthfire ran to the forge, and tossed the spears with a twist of his neck.
They clattered against one another, rolling across the hot coals. The white everfree ash of their handles immediately combusted, charred and splintered by the insatiable inferno.
Hearthfire, surging with adrenaline, looked to his father and smiled.
When they take this town...
Brass wearily returned his smile, and nodded.
***
Violet Joy took one last look at her room. The disheveled bed, never having been made, no longer stood out; the whole house looked like it had been robbed. Her shelves, along with a store’s worth of boots, hats and scarves, were scattered haphazardly along the floorboards. The torn yellow curtains - that she’d always meant to repair but never did - swooned in the night air, accenting the image of a robbery.
She frowned, furrowing her brow. I guess this is goodbye, Appleloosa.
Violet hurried down the stairs, stopping halfway to look at a photo of her family. With a quick shake, she settled the contents of her saddlebags, and took the picture with her teeth, tossing it in.
“Violet!” It was her father.
“I’m ready,” she called back, trotting to the bottom of the staircase. At the end of the hall, her parents anxiously stood in the doorway, waiting for her. The three of them hugged for a moment, quietly wishing their home in Appleloosa farewell, before stepping outside and taking off.
They flapped hard to gain altitude in the cool air, and were panting by the time they reached a northern airstream. As they drifted along, Violet traced her gaze along the evacuation route. The refugees were making way down the tracks like a solemn parade, and, as she looked up, it seemed a few of the other pegasi were already far ahead.
She began to survey the sky for other pegasi, and gasped when her eyes fell to the west. They hadn’t been high enough before, but now even the foothills of the Macintosh Mountains couldn’t hide it.
The western sky was filled with smoke. Magical energy - sometimes lime green, sometimes so black it hurt to look at - crackled and danced in the dark clouds. In the direction of Dodge City, an inferno burned over the horizon.
Violet stared, horrified beyond words, until her father snapped her out of it.
“Don’t look, honey. It’s not... safe.”
She tore her gaze away from the ominous clouds, shaking her head. “Sorry...”
The wind whistled softly through their feathers. Her father pursed his lips, and glanced at her mother. The mare gave him a look, and he shook his head.
“It’s okay, just.. Just keep your eyes on me," he said reassuringly. "We’ll make it to Froggy Bottom by sunrise, and we can rest a bit and look for your friend, okay?”
Violet blinked at him, holding back a sudden surge of tears at Hearthfire’s mention. She cleared her throat, and took a deliberate, steady breath. “Okay.”
Her father looked back at her and smiled reassuringly. “’Atta girl.”
***
Hearthfire and Brass worked ceaselessly for almost three hours. Several times, they had to stop and skim slag from the top of the coals, or add more fuel. Every surface of the workshop was stained dark by carbon and noxious fumes, and the bedraggled pair of ponies looked even worse.
Brass Bellows was wheezing as he carried the last pair of spiked horseshoes. His eyes were sunken and red, irritated to inflammation by the black smoke and dry air. His legs were patchy – almost bare – and the skin was splotchy and swollen from burns. He had chipped several teeth in haste, and looked near the verge of collapse, but his face remained determined as ever.
Hearthfire was better off, but not by much. He, too, had burns across his forelegs, and an angry red wheal on one eyelid where the popping fire had whipped a splinter of wood at his face. His coat was matted and twisted from sweat and smoke, and his lungs burned.
He gave the bellows a few more hard pumps for good measure, and lay down on the slick, soot sodden stones to catch his breath. His father swayed before the forge, watching the limp horseshoes sag over the coals, before falling back onto his haunches. For a few minutes, there was only the sound of their ragged breaths and the crackling fire.
Brass blinked a few times and stood, walking over to an open cabinet.
“Boy,” he exhaled. He screwed his up his face and kicked the door of the cabinet with all his might. It split in two, clattering across the floor with twisted hinges in tow.
“You need to get movin',” he said between breaths. “Now.”
Hearthfire opened his eyes, and watched his father walk over to the ruined door, sliding a piece of it towards the forge with one hoof.
“What?”
“You gotta get goin' 'fore it's too late,” Brass replied, picking up the wood scrap with his teeth. He placed one end in the forge, fashioning a sort of torch. “I ain't got enough left, so I figure I'll just torch the town.”
“You can't do that!” Hearthfire stood up. “What are you talking about?”
“Who's gonna stop me? The mayor?” Brass laughed. It was a wet, sickly sound. “We're the only two left.”
“No, I mean you can't stay,” the tan colt insisted. “Stop acting crazy!”
Brass turned towards his son, and took a step forward.
“Crazy?” he growled. “Crazy is trying to drag my old ass a hundred leagues to Canterlot. Crazy,” he rose his voice, “is tryin' to change my mind!”
Hearthfire glared at him, eyes wavering. He made to protest, but stopped short as he felt a low vibration in the floor. Anger quickly draining from him, he looked questioningly at his father. The old colt shook his head, his expression grim. The two of them cautiously stepped towards the doorway, looking up and down the empty street before stepping outside.
The vibration intensified, becoming audible. Windows began humming and rattling in their holdings, and an open door down the street was quietly squeaking as it bounced. Hearthfire and Brass squinted down the derelict avenue, trying to make something out. There was nothing.
“Dad, we have to go,” Hearthfire pleaded. The old stallion snorted at him, unmoved by his suddenly familiar tone, and walked inside the smithy. He grabbed the makeshift torch in his teeth, and purposefully strode back out onto the street, glaring defiantly at his son.
The colt sighed. “Seriously, Brass. There’s no point -”
A black spear whipped into the side of Brass’s head, violently twisting it to one side. His neck cracked audibly from the blow, and the torch slid into the sand a few hooves away, extinguishing itself. The old stallion’s heavy torso hit the ground with a deep thud, and lay still.
Hearthfire stared at the body, not comprehending what had happened. He blinked a few times, automatically opening and closing his mouth, as another spear grazed his lower back, leaving a nasty gash. His hind legs gave out, and he fell back, eyes locked on his father's twisted corpse.
The handle of the spear stood still, jutting awkwardly up from Brass’s temple. His eyes were wild, bulging, and flecks of spittle and blood dirtied the sand around his slack jaw. There was a horrible bulge in the old stallion’s neck, and his body didn’t seem to match his head. The angle was all wrong.
With a green flash that nearly blinded Hearthfire, a bolt of magical lightning struck. The town bell gave its final toll as it was split asunder, and its tower erupted in flames. He looked towards the town square, down the road - the direction the spears had come from - and immediately wished he hadn’t.
A great, winged beast stood upright, framed by the tall buildings on either side. It had feathered wings, like a pegasus, but its arms ended in little claws, almost like a griffon’s, but thinner. Its skin was a pale, peachy color. Bald and smooth, except for a curly mane atop its head. It grinned wickedly, revealing two vast rows of sharp, glistening teeth, and cackled loudly.
A mare’s voice? Hearthfire dumbly wondered.
It - she - began walking towards Hearthfire on two legs. They weren’t clawed or hooved, but something else. Bent forward near the bottom, like they were broken, and shod in some sort of rough fabric. Her robe began billowing, like in a great wind, as she spoke.
“What’s wronnnng, my little pony?” Her voice sounded like several mares singing in unison, but completely out of tune. The dissonance made Hearthfire feel sick.
“Daddy can’t play with you any more? Aww,” she cooed sarcastically. “How sad.”
Hearthfire glanced at his father’s body, and tasted bile.
“Why?” he whispered. “Why is this happening?”
Rage suddenly flooded his veins, and he willed himself to stand up. Swaying on unsteady hooves, he glared at his assailant.
She stopped in her tracks, feigning surprise, and raised a set of claws flat over her mouth.
“Ooh! What’s this? A little FIGHT in you still?”
He tried not to vomit, and took a step back. The word ‘fight’ had been a totally different voice, like a shout, and several octaves lower than the rest of her speech. Windows had cracked when she said it, and Hearthfire felt his bruised nose begin to bleed again.
The beast laughed out loud at his reaction, and started advancing again. She reached to her left, and pulled another spear out of thin air, as if from a shelf. Smoke briefly wafted off of its black handle. With her other claw, she pointed at Hearthfire, and raised her foreleg. He levitated off of the blood-soaked streets accordingly, kicking and struggling.
She flashed him a smile, and turned the limb upside-down, curling it until she pointed back at her own face. Twisting violently in protest, Hearthfire drifted over to her. He grunted with effort, but there was no escape.
“Now, now, young pony. It seems we have a problem.” She magically pulled him closer, until he was inches from her face. Her solid black eyes stared straight through his head. No pupils. All pupils? It was impossible to tell. He grit his teeth and glared at her, panting.
“Your little pony PRINCESS warned you were were coming, yes?”
Hearthfire squeezed his eyes shut. His head was pounding in agony from her voice, and his ears had started ringing. Blood from his nose seeped between his teeth, and he tasted its metallic tang. He slowly opened his eyes and stared her down for a moment, before spitting it in her face. The blood and spit instantly boiled away on her skin with a violent hiss.
The beast - no, demon - narrowed her eyes and smiled even wider. He was suddenly accelerated to one side, smashing backwards into a wall. His head whipped against it an instant later, and he blacked out for a few seconds. When he came to, he was lifting off of the ground and drifting back over towards the demon. He coughed, wincing; his ribs felt broken.
“Don’t play games with me, Equestrian,” she laughed. “I like games, and I’m afraid I alllllways win them.”
He just stared at her, one eye screwed shut, taking pained, shallow breaths. Another bolt of lightning struck somewhere in the town, and the temperature suddenly dropped ten degrees.
“See, there’s a problem. We can’t raise armies of evacuees.” She looked past him, eyes momentarily flashing neon green. “Mister Stallion, help me demonstrate if you’d be so kind.”
Hearthfire rotated in the air, suspended a few hooves in front of her. He gasped as his father’s corpse began to stir.
The long handle of the spear that had killed him melted away into sickly smoke, revealing a wet, puckered hole in Brass’s skull. The body moaned, kicking its legs a bit, and rolled its head upright to a chorus of crackling cartilage. The eyes rolled wildly in its head, and its tongue lolled limply over its teeth. It scratched at the ground, twisting and shuddering, before slowly rising to its hooves and turning to face the demon.
Hearthfire locked eyes with the thing that was once his father, and felt his insides seize up. A trickle of vomit seeped out of his mouth and nose, burning. His eyes watered furiously, and he blinked to clear them.
“Isn’t that great? We can all play again!” she laughed, as she turned Hearthfire around to face her. “One big happy family!”
Heralded by several more cracks of lightning, rain began to fall. It was freezing to the touch.
He just closed his eyes, wishing none of this had happened. Wishing he would wake up from a nightmare. Wishing she would just kill him. Whichever would come sooner. He began shivering painfully.
“Oh, nooo,” she softly whined, and Hearthfire felt his eyes being forced open. “You need to see this!”
She gently floated him to the ground, and laid him flat on his back, immobile. The spear she held in one claw shortened to about the length of a pony’s leg, and floated down to rest, tip first, above Hearthfire’s chest.
“Your pony PRINCESS can play games with us, if she likes. That just makes it more funnnn!”
He could hear the sickening sound of his father’s corpse shambling towards him, and his pulse quickened.
“We’ll get our army one way or another, whether she likes it or NOT.”
Hearthfire moaned. His head was killing him, and his rapid breaths were making the burning sensation in his ribs much worse. He wanted to look away from her, but it was impossible.
“So, she sends Appleloosa a message? I send Appleloosa a message.”
Brass’s corpse was standing over him, now. Its eyes had turned a milky white, and it stared furiously down at Hearthfire’s shivering form. Foamy blood flecked its muzzle, and the wound on its head was weeping a dark fluid. It glanced up at the demon in anticipation. Smirking, she nodded.
The thing that was once Brass lifted a hoof, and placed it atop the spear. With a grunt, it forced the spear through the shivering colt's chest.
Hearthfire screamed, flailing and crying as, with a green flash, the air around him was torn in two.
The new moon lay still upon the velvet sky, content to allow the stars to shine in its place. They decorated the night in vivid streaks, smears, swirls and clusters, twinkling serenely in the crisp air. Below, amidst the claustrophobic tangle of the Everfree Forest, figures were assembling before the derelict fortress. Assembling before their leader.
Her mane was like a portal to the heavens, revealing stars obscured by tree and dirt and stone. When observed through its shimmering, shapeless lens, even the stars above took on a clearer, more magnificent visage. It made for an impressive sight as she silently alighted upon the mossy stones, stately and stoic. But they were not the ones to be impressed.
Queen Luna regarded the arrangement of ponies before and below. She calmly studied them, eyes flitting through the ranks, stopping on each and every face for just a moment. Focused. Determined. Committed, every one. A sly smile crept across her mouth, and her eyes flashed brilliantly. Everything was coming together, it seemed.
The preparations had been costly and time-consuming. She had acted the moment word had reached Canterlot, but it almost hadn't been quickly enough. The most expensive reagents, hidden away in dark, far-flung corners of the world, had been required. Some of her most trusted pegasi had been lost securing them, but their sacrifice had been necessary and, it was now obvious, not in vain.
The mages required, sworn to secrecy on threat of eternal banishment, had been harder still. Few in Equestria, or even the world, had the talent and knowledge to accomplish Luna's task. Of those there were, many were either in the employment of her sister or enigmatic, mad recluses. That would not do. Celestia couldn't know of their clandestine mission; she'd never allow it, no matter how necessary.
And necessary it was. Simply evacuating the whole country into the capital was not enough. Her sister, powerful though she may be, was a fool to think Canterlot's ivory towers and golden terraces made a sufficient bulwark against the threat Equestria now faced.
Yes, the militia is numerous and well trained.
Yes, the city is nestled high above the plains below, securely locked in the embrace of the country's mightiest mountain.
And yes, the eldest sister's magic is nigh unrivaled. She has the arcane powers of the six at her side, but it was not enough. Of that, Luna was sure.
And that's where her plan came in. Canterlot may be the only city on the continent that could withstand a siege of this magnitude for more than the twinkling of a star, but standing on a rock to escape a torrential flood will only save you if the waters eventually recede. Somepony has to go to the source. Somepony has to stay the tide, lest her sister's pretty little castle be made but sand and flotsam. Luna blinked. No, not just somepony.
Their elaborate, enchanted armor writhed and flowed like quicksilver. Dulled black with a hint of coal dust, it wrapped each of them in a snug, silent embrace. Countless lattices of ancient magic, stacked mere atoms apart, formed the foundation upon which the metal flowed. The energy rippled quietly beneath the armor's surface, running to and fro throughout the magical threads and bestowing the wearer with power and agility untold.
Each group was formed around a unicorn, psychically tuned to the aura of his or her horn. It allowed them to think and act as a single unit without a spoken word. The unicorns themselves were frightening presences. Forgotten, taboo hexes and dozens of alchemical cocktails, banned from modern civilization, had changed their magic. No longer ethereal, no longer ecumenical, it charged the air around them with a very physical, electric intensity and reeked of copper.
The legends told of stallions, massive and impervious, but not like these.
Of pegasi, faster and keener than the likes of which any living pony knows, but not like these.
Of unicorns, their power and knowledge rivaling that of the royal sisters, but never, ever like these.
Everything was coming together, it seemed.
***
Canterlot, viewed from above, seemed like a colony of ants that had been gouged with a stick. Tiny, frantic figures scurried across the walls and down the streets, carrying satchels of weapons and building materials. The whole city was on lock-down, civilians forbidden from leaving their homes, while Celestia and her protégé, Twilight Sparkle, prepared the siege defenses. Luna watched the diminutive purple unicorn, walking down the main avenue with a veritable cocoon of charts and scrolls and adjutants hovering around her, as she swooped down onto her perch at The Keep.
Against a lesser foe, it seemed, they may have been able to pull it off. Celestia's star pupil was practically running the entire city alone, and scores of Guardsponies were fortifying walls and barring windows like a well-oiled machine. Luna squinted, as another unicorn galloped up to join the gaggle surrounding Twilight. She looked familiar. Rarity, was it? Sparkle's pompous little friend with the dresses and such. She looked quite serious, mane in absolute disarray, as she pulled Twilight aside and whispered frantically in her ear. Twilight nodded, and turned back to her scrolls as Rarity trotted off from whence she came.
So, Celestia is making use of all of her little ponies. Adorable. They-
"Sister."
Luna turned to see the Queen standing in her doorway, brow furrowed. She stepped off of the perch and into the tower, beckoning Celestia to enter. She's almost as quiet as I, thought Luna, flashing her sister a wide, cheesy grin. "Dear Sister! I was just watching -"
"Where were you last night?" Celestia cut her off.
"Well -"
"Strangely absent during the nights, to be their guardian," she said, eyes narrowing. "With everything that's happening... with what's at stake, how could you leave the city unsupervised for even a moment?"
Luna pursed her lips. "Sister, I've been on very important business that is quite relevant to our national security. When I returned, you promised me absolute autonomy on matters -"
The look on Celestia's face made her stop short.
"Your autonomy ends when you start brainwashing ponies, Luna. When you dig up magics that were gone and buried for a reason, and you twist the lives of our citizens into those... those things."
Luna stared at the floor, intimidated by Celestia's intensity. She flitted her gaze back up and cleared her throat. "So... you know?"
Celestia glared at her. The rainbow hues of her main grew brighter, and the temperature of the room picked up a few degrees as she took a step towards her younger sister and drew up to her full height.
"I know?!" she shouted. "How could I not? I've gotten letters from the Griffon tribes asking what we were doing to upset the flow of magical energy. The aftershock of some of those spells circumnavigated the planet."
Luna squeezed her eyes shut, flinching slightly. No. I did what had to be done.
With a deep breath, she strengthened her resolved and stepped forward to meet her sister, standing up-right. "They were volunteers to the last," she shouted. "I involved nopony that didn't know what he or she was sacrificing. The enchantments are powerful because we are not."
She brought her voice down to a hissing whisper. "Equestria needs my soldiers if she's going to survive the coming night - I know what I'm doing."
The two alicorns glowered at one another for a moment. With a sigh, Celestia softened a little, relaxing. Her sister narrowed her eyes, sniffed, and turned away, striding briskly out onto the balcony. After a moment, Celestia followed her, stopping as she reached the threshold. She cleared her throat.
"Luna, those ponies have families. Children! They'll never be the same, after this."
The younger sister silently stared down at the soldiers below, rushing to fortify Canterlot as per Twilight Sparkle's designs. She contemplated her sibling's words, before looking back over her shoulder, tears in her eyes. Her voice was soft.
"Will they?"
