Chapters Only a few thin stripes of the late-afternoon Sun’s blood-red rays were able to permeate through the billowing smoke, which darkened and dirtied the white clouds above. As they touched the ground, they cast long shadows over the land, accentuating the gloom even further.
Like a constellation of pale stars in the night, the half-darkness was broken by faint orange flames, emanating from the houses of a small lonely settlement nearby. The streets laid empty and still, the only movement was the gentle sway of thrown-open doors, which hung limply after the homes they were attached to were hurriedly abandoned. A few tattered banners fluttered softly in the wind, heralding the village as the rightful domain of the Sun.
The dark figures marching next to the hamlet paid little heed to this. Their matte armor seemed to almost completely absorb the light falling onto them and only the layers of dirt on it, the rust-blotches of dried blood caked on their fangs, and their seeking predatory eyes gave their presence any discernible shape and form.
Though most decided to run for the woods, some stayed behind hoping and praying that their insignificant village had nothing to offer to the marauding hordes. Upon seeing that the band marched past the town seemingly uninterested, a few windows glinted as the light reflected off the eyes of the bravest few, who dared catch a glance of the invaders.
Suddenly it felt like the air itself froze. The black-clad soldiers almost imperceptibly cast their eyes towards the ground and some hunched ever so slightly, perhaps in fear, perhaps as a way of silent reverence towards the creature arriving at the scene. Or perhaps both and rightfully so:
She was Command given form.
Her black coat shone faintly in the weak sunlight as she slowly made her way towards the front of the army, placing one iron-clad hoof in front of the other with such nonchalance as if she was merely taking a stroll in a park, instead of leading a force of hundreds. As she walked, the Moon, colored red by the smoke and distant fires, slowly rose behind her. To the nearby witnesses it appeared as if it hung behind her as a bloody halo.
Her cold teal eyes slowly turned towards the village, surveying the scene, passing from house to house. Seeing the desolation her venomous lips curled into a thin, jagged smile. Soon enough the whole land would be cleansed and molded into her image.
And yet, somewhere deep in the darkness of her soul, a mote of light struggled against the suffocating void. With a weak echo it screamed of dying innocents and senseless vengeance into the prideful silence around it. It made her imminent victory feel sour for a moment.
She shook her head and finished her survey, letting the taste of bile recede from her tongue. Turning around, her gaze eventually stopped at one of her soldiers, whom instinctually shuddered from feeling the burning, black slits upon his back.
“I tire of this pointless tour. Tell me of this land and its riches,” she commanded while stopping in her tracks. Like being yanked back by an invisible leash, the entire army halted in step with her. Her voice was deep and warm, yet it sent a shiver up on anyone’s spine who had heard her.
The addressed warrior slowly turned around and bowed.
“My Queen,” he spoke with a voice wavering from reverence. “This domain is truly wonderful. It’s ripe for the harvest and rich in veins. It is perfect to serve as the crown jewel of your empire.”
She deigned him a small nod, which he reciprocated by taking half a step back.
“I see. And how good is its crop? Did watering the earth so generously with blood yield the results I was hoping for?”
“Yes-s, my Queen,” he replied, bowing his head a little. “As you can see, even in such a remote hovel as this one, the nation stands in silent adoration for you.”
The Queen nodded again, though her mind seemed to be elsewhere.
“Very good, dismissed. Now then, where is the traitor I so desire to meet?”
The soldier bowed one more time and quickly disappeared into the rest of the army. Another took his place, speaking in a tone similar.
“My Queen, he wishes to meet you in his home to give you proper worship.” As he said these words, he subtly winced, expecting punishment for being the bearer of bad news. “Please allow me to take his head as an apology.”
The Queen looked at him impassively and the two stood in silence interrupted only by the soft popping of flames around them. Finally she let out a short, disdainful chuckle causing the entire army to close its eyes for a second in fear.
“Very well. I shall see this traitor in his own den then. Lead me to him!” she snapped and the addressed warrior scurried away to take charge. The army began moving again.
Upon noticing that the invaders were leaving, relief began seeping into the homes. Some of their cowering dwellers even dared to cast their eyes on the Queen, who was smiling again. Without even bothering to stop she waved one of her hooves dismissively towards the banners. “Oh yes, burn this village to the ground. If they’re so fond of the Sun, surely they won’t mind its little cousin.”
The budding relief wilted into panic as a black tide enveloped the village, breaking into homes and dragging out those hoping for sanctuary. As the soldiers cast torches upon them, the hay ceilings lit almost immediately and an inferno soon roared into life.
By the time the villagers’ kicking and screaming faded, the roaring flames spread all over the village, destroying everything they had. Not that anyone was left to mourn it.
The hours passed and the flames eventually went out. Utter silence filled what was once a vibrant village. The army left, taking everything and leaving nothing but skeletal remains of burned out homes and corpses in their path.
Pale moonlight fell on Fort Hill Climber, a castle of yore built from roughly-hewn rocks, serving as the proud ancestral home of Lord Hill Climber, manieth of his name.
Originally ennobled and installed here for the family founder’s chivalry professed centuries ago during the first Changeling invasion, the grim walls of the olden castle stood as an unwavering reminder, that though the Crown might be far, its blade-tipped wings stay ever vigilant over even such an outlying territory as this one.
The eponymous lord himself was standing alone, atop one of four towers of the castle, staring into the silhouettes in distance. His pale green coat made him seem almost like a ghost in the low-light, while his gold-rimmed, crimson uniform hung on him like a bloody rug.
Hill Climber inhaled the cold air deeply. The night did not bring him the peace he was hoping for. A dull ache pulsed in his horn. As he was about to exhale his sharp eyes suddenly noticed an almost invisible black column in the distance slowly snaking its way towards his castle. He almost chocked on his breath. Though he knew this day would eventually come, he did not expect it to happen this fast. The gentle breeze caressing his face suddenly felt like he was standing in front of a raging, lit oven.
His mind began to race, seeing worse and worse fates into the dark spots in the scenery in front of him. As they tormented him a single, insidious idea crystallized in his mind into a horrifying way out of this deathtrap. He trotted up to the edge of the tower and stared down. The cracked earth of the castle’s dried-out moat stared back at him, like a great black gash struck into the very world itself. He idly kicked a pebble over the edge and craned his neck downwards, listening to it silently fall for a few seconds, then hit the ground below with an audible “thuck.” He contemplated following the pebble’s example.
After all, he was a dead stallion walking, really. Even if Her Radiance came back tomorrow and cast this mare of nightmares into the deep where she belonged, his fate was still as good as sealed.
Treason.
The word hung above his head like a sword dangling tautly on a hair from his own gone-gray mane. It was such an elegant description for what he had done, the only small impreciseness being it completely ignored the fact that, instead of material gain, he did this merely to save his kin and, though his vanity fought hard before he was finally able to admit it, himself as well.
He was hoping, though the chances were only a sliver brighter, that the Crescent Queen would leave him and his household alive as a potential useful pawn, even if it meant being reduced to an absolute nobody. No, if anything, he wanted to be reduced to nothing. With all that happened, he could not care less about his centuries of heritage anymore. Being a noblepony after such a deed? It sounded like a ridiculous joke. The spirit that elevated him above the common folk shriveled up and died the moment he sold his nation out.
He brushed his hoof against the rough, almost sharp edge of the tower, beyond which yawned only empty space. This act would at least preserve a bit of his dignity. Perhaps not as much as if he attempted to fight the Night-bringer himself, but he couldn’t even kid himself that he stood a chance and any pointless acts of aggression would just further endanger the innocent and completely jeopardize the sacrifices he made and forced others to make.
His legs buckled a little, yanking him forward, but in a moment of panicked hesitation he caught himself with his magic and took a step back. His will to live was far too strong. Slamming a hoof into the unfeeling rock, he cursed everything and everyone. His fate, the very fact that he was born. He wished pain eternal on the fanged pony who appeared in his window during a night which seemed so serene and carefree, offering him asylum in return of information. Above everything he screamed inside at himself for being such a coward.
If only he reported the event!
Surely his everyoung Ruler would have understood. And even if she didn’t, maybe he could have still bought the lives of so many for the price of his own.
And yet, here he stood on the darkest night. Alive and unhurt, with his more than likely executioner approaching on his own invite. He spat into the void and harshly turned away, before storming back into the castle.
It seems like he wasn’t the only one who noticed the approaching army, as by the time he trotted down the spiral staircase, the staff inside was already in a frenzy. The few who remained anyways. Despite Fort Hill Climber being one of the humbler forts of the Crown, its corridors yawned emptily, their peace disturbed only by the occasional lonely maid or retainer hurrying through.
Lord Hill Climber gave everyone the option to leave and try their own luck elsewhere if they were too afraid to stay associated with him, with the promise that he would take their names to the grave. Perhaps in a more enlightened century such an act would be seen as a jump from the pot into the fire, but with so little options left this was the only mercy the lord was able to show to those who were no longer willing to follow him.
Those who remained continued their duties with the same loyalty, which made his heart ache all the more. He grit his teeth as he galloped past his servants, turning corner after corner, until he finally barged into the main hall.
A great oaken table, capable of seating twenty on each side, cut the chamber in half, illuminated by a great fireplace burning in the back, bathing the stone walls in warm orange light. Though their notice was short, the servants made their best attempt at serving dishes more mouthwatering than the last, placing them one after the other in an arrangement that had a chance of perhaps impressing even royalty.
A dozen or so ponies sat around the table, all jumping into attention upon noticing who just entered. All of them wore weathered crimson uniforms, embroidered with the icon of a shield. The sight of his knights gave Hill Climber some sense of comfort, though even this was somewhat soured by the many empty chairs around the table. One hoofful of soldiers versus an army… It was truly a hopeless situation.
“Milord, the Crescent Queen is upon us,” one of the knights called out, breaking the silence.
“I am aware,” came the impassive reply.
The knight was taken aback by the coldness of his lord’s voice. He waited for a second hoping he would say something more, but when that didn’t happen, he cleared his throat and finally spoke up.
“What are your orders, liege?” he asked, his voice tinted with the slightest tinge of worry. “How are we to defend ourselves?”
All eyes in the room looked pleadingly at Lord Hill Climber, who felt as if the entire castle threatened to collapse on him any moment now. He slumped slightly.
“There is nothing we could do,” he replied weakly. “We’ll simply receive her.”
The knights looked at each other, their faces turning visibly paler just as much from fear as from anger. Their eyes flicked back towards the lone stallion.
“Lord, surely you jest!” replied one of them, hardly even masking the anger in her voice. “Have we held out so long only to give up without even trying?”
“Sir, have you forgotten? We’re bound by the Crown to defend this land!” said another, smashing his hoof against the table, rattling the glasses and plates on it.
“Her Radiance could be here to liberate us any moment now and She would not accept this!”
The crestfallen lord glowered at them. His red eyes burned like two pieces of coal as he scowled back at his court.
“Don’t you think I know this?” he asked, almost shouting. “Don’t you think I feel the burn of my Mark upon my skin every second we speak? Or that my conscience isn’t tormenting me?”
As he spoke, he paced a few steps and cast his eye on a great painting hanging on the wall. It depicted his ancestor standing in armor, resting one hoof triumphantly on the skull of a Changeling. Though his lips were set into a cold smile and his eyes shone with determined bravery, the only thing Hill Climber saw on his face was deep disappointment towards him. The Scourge of the Changelings would die in shame if he saw that one of his descendants willingly parleyed with the enemy.
Hill Climber turned back towards the knights, who looked at him with a mix of pity and some resentment. His voice sunk to a feeble whisper.
“I haven’t heard anything from Her Radiance ever since the invasion isolated us from Equestria. The couriers I’ve sent to the neighboring hamlets either don’t return or bring only tales of destruction. Don’t you get it? This land is as good as fallen! Fighting for it would be suicide, so I’m pledging to protect the only thing I still can; you.”
Silence fell upon the chamber. A piece of firewood broke in half in the great fireplace with a groan. The dishes on the table continued to steam, undisturbed.
A series of rhythmic claps sliced through the silence, followed by a cloyingly sweet voice.
“How very wise of you, Lord.”
All eyes flicked towards the source, as a newcomer entered the room. Her armor glistened from the hearth’s flames and her mane shone with stardust of distant constellations. Uncaring of the knight’s terrified gazes, she elegantly waltzed into the chamber and walked up to the table, casting a long look over the courses stacked on it.
“My, my, what a reception! Truly, you have outdone yourself!” Her words were drawn out and her tone subtly seductive. As she spoke she turned back towards Hill Climber, tipping her head to the side with a smirk. “Are you this desperate to earn my favor?” she asked with an innocent pout.
“But the guards…” he muttered in response, frozen in fear, as nightmarish images of the halls outside being painted red flashed through his mind.
“Are alive and untouched,” she finished his sentence with a dismissive hoof-wave. “My entourage is waiting outside. Do you believe these old rocks could keep out the Aspect of the Night?” She looked over herself with a knowing smile. “Now, I believe you still haven’t given me the greetings I deserve.”
“Crescent Queen, welco-” Hill Climber struggled to push out the words, but before he could even finish his spiel, the mare interrupted him.
“Tut-tut, you’re my beloved vassal now, aren’t you? So there is no need to call me such a cold name,” she spoke with feigned offense in her voice. “From now on, I’ll allow you to address me as ‘my Queen,’ understand?”
The lord stared at her with sullen eyes. His body shook slightly from the despair and hate he felt, but still he managed to speak.
“M-my Queen…”
“You are still not giving me the respect I so desire.” Belying her unassuming stance, the Queen’s voice was tinted with a sadistic glee. “Bow.”
“What?” he mouthed wordlessly, not wanting to understand what he just heard.
“Bow,” she repeated slowly. “Prostrate yourself before your queen.”
Like a puppet on cheap strings, connected to a rusty machine, the lord slowly and awkwardly bent his legs.
The words burned his throat and it took all of his concentration not to allow any of his acrid tears to fall. His only comfort was that he didn’t have to look into the face of his knights as he said these words.
“My Queen, welcome to Fort Hill Climber,” he mumbled.
“Very good,” she purred. “Stand up now and let us do away with the formalities.”
With that she took a seat at the head of the table and beckoned the lord to sit beside her, who slowly followed her while casting his eyes towards the ground.
“You’ve heard your lord.” A cruel smile sat out on her face. “You’re all my little ponies now. So go ahead, eat, be merry. You now belong to me and your livelihood is safe, isn’t that enough reason to celebrate?” she asked the room.
Yet, no one felt like touching the dishes.
“I appreciate the gesture, but it isn’t the food I came here for, so do not wait on me. Please, dig in.”
Still, the chamber remained motionless and silent. The Queen sighed theatrically.
“I shall forgive you this one time, because I only just accepted you into my service, but I see that you have misunderstood me.” Her face hardened into a harsh scowl and her words lost their playfulness. “My words weren’t an offer. They were an order. You will celebrate. I expect to feel your adoration.”
She looked over the crowd from left to right. No eyes dared to meet her challenge. A smirk crept on her lips.
“Nopony? Ah, what a sour crowd! Fine, I shall have what I want one way or the other. However, for now that can wait. First, you, petty lord” - she said, turning to Hill Climber - “my journey here was long and tiresome and I wish to be entertained. Call in your best bard!”
The door to the chamber opened and a pegasus of pale white mane and coat hobbled inside. His cataract-ridden eyes stared defiantly at the Queen. A lyre was clutched in his wings which he now took between his hooves.
“Lo, here is the bard who shall tell your tale,” he spoke and, as his feathers touched the strings, harsh tones reminiscent of rattling chains and dying gasps erupted from the gentle instrument.
”Weapons clash and our homes are ash, Our Queen’s Sun sees us bleed. The lands are dry, our hope’s gone by Night’s mare, this is thy deed!
Ten thousand die beneath the sky, Above our Queen’s Sun weeps. And us, who live, will not forgive Till your kind lies in heaps.”
Hill Climber sat frozen in his chair, his face clutched between his hooves. His heart agreed with every word, yet his mind was reeling. Finally he forced himself to look at the Queen, in hopes of lightening her wrath with an apology, however, she wasn’t looking towards him. She was intently eyeing the old stallion, before merely scoffing.
“Hm, onto the pyre with this one then,” she said in a disinterested tone, before turning back to the table. “His tone was a bit too harsh for my taste,” she continued as if she was merely describing a foul dish.
The moment these words left her mouth, two of her soldiers suddenly melded out of the shadows and before anyone could say or do anything, they grabbed the helpless pegasus and rushed outside.
“I’ll be clearer then, so that even you might understand.” The Queen’s voice turned unmistakably patronizing. “I wish for a softer song.”
The chamber door opened again and a young earth pony colt marched in with a harp on his back. His well-kept, lush mane and spotless uniform stood in stark contrast with everyone else in the room. He set his instrument on the ground and gave a curt bow to Hill Climber, before stepping to his harp and beginning to pluck at its strings. A gentle melody filled the room, followed by the bard’s low-baritone song:
”Oh, how soft the nightly breeze that oft From our Queen’s wings blows. It screams of pain, the woes of slain, It echoes our deaths’ throes!
“Oh mare bear no livestock heir, Oh mother rear no foal! -”
The young pony hardly left the room when the door shone up in magenta light and slammed open for the third time. Unannounced and uncalled, a purple unicorn dashed into the chamber and skid to a halt in front of the table, brandishing a polished guitar in her magical grasp. As the spell’s currents struck the strings, a rousing chord sprang forth, accompanied by the mare’s fiery ballad:
”The best died to save our kind So hear me Crescent Queen! There is no such bard of mares Who’d wash your soul clean!
“Your crimes will sing on guitar string. Our bards will only tell Of ruin and hate upon your name. Ponykind will rebel!”
“Oh, we shall see about that!” shouted the Queen, this time with dropping all pretense of humor. She flared her wings in anger as she raised herself from the table. With a wave, two new soldiers appeared to subdue the singer, who struggled to tear the attackers off her body using her magic. But before she could fire off her spell, a firm punch connected with her horn and her body slumped, paralyzed from the pain. All she could do was to weakly look up at the table, unmoving, with only her eyes burning with the same pained determination as before.
“We shall see,” the Queen repeated in a low tone as she lowered her front leg. “You” - she turned to address Hill Climber and her words regained their strength - “will help me gather up all the bards in this land and let all who defy me meet their end.”
The lord raised his eyes to meet the Queen’s silently. He looked over to his knights. One by one, they agreed with nothing more than their glances. Finally, he caught a glimpse once more on the painting of his forefather. His expression, despite remaining the same, seemed far less colder to him this time. He slowly rose from his chair.
“No.”
The word was met with stunted silence by the Queen. Her starry mane burned with the rage of distant galaxies as her face contorted into a hateful glare.
“Know your place, worm!” she sneered, but Hill Climber was undeterred.
“I know my place and it is under the merciful wings of Her Radiance!” he shouted, drawing his sword using his magic. At the same time all the others too drew theirs, some leaping to help their lord, some to rescue the subdued bard.
That night Fort Hill Climber burned like the Sun.
In a land freshly conquered, bonfires littered the earth, belching foul smoke into the night. Five hundred received the same question and, despite every promise and every threat, have given the same answer.
Five hundred sang their curse till the flames took their voice. Not one of them could bring themselves to say “hail.”
Far away, from where only the distant wisps of smoke could be seen, the Crescent Queen tossed and turned in her bed, the very dreams that she held herself master of evading her. A noise she couldn’t block out no matter how strongly she concentrated kept her from drifting off into sleep.
Finally she had enough and with a strong tug of her magic a pony stumbled into her tent. She looked around dazed from the sudden fall before realizing whose presence she was in. With panic in her eyes, she clambered to her hooves in a clumsy attempt to prostrate herself. Before she could even say anything, the Queen spoke in a voice endlessly tired.
“Get rid of this noise. Have my general know that I’ll hang him myself if I cannot get my sleep.”
The retainer nodded quickly and scurried out. She did not dare ask what noise the Queen spoke of. From what she could hear, the camp was as quiet as it could be.
It didn’t take long until the Queen’s message was relayed around.
“Hear ye! Now dies the cur that causes a sound to occur! Our Queen cannot rest!”
Silence sat upon the camp like a heavy, damp blanket. Not even the crickets dared to chirp. All sat still in their tents, hardly daring to even breathe, let alone sleep in fear of their snoring rousing the Queen’s anger.
And yet in her head the noise persisted. No matter if she buried her face below her blankets, if she plugged her ears with her hooves, even her strongest spells had no effect. It grew only louder and louder.
And so, like a string too tightly wound, she snapped. The quiet was slashed in two by her screams.
“Ah! Music! I want music right now! Bring out the instruments! Flutes, horns, drums, all of it!” she wailed. “I hear their curses, I see their glare!”
The camp exploded into sound. And yet, high above the cacophony, the shrill call of trumpets, and cries of strings, a mote of light sung into the void with voices of five hundred martyrs plus one.
