Friends and Enemies

by ObabScribbler

Rating: teen
Tags: Fleur de Lis, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Dark, Main 6, Braeburn, Gilda, Adventure, Fancypants, Tragedy
Length: 28110

Hostile griffins invade to make Equestria their new hunting ground. When the mane six are defeated, Braeburn, Octavia, Little Strongheart & Gilda must save them. Yet Gilda only cares about one pony and it may already be too late for Rainbow Dash.

When the Crystal Empire reappeared, nopony realised that in its absence
the frozen 'wasteland' where it once was had actually been claimed. Taking
the sudden colony on their land as an act of war, hostile griffins invade
Equestria in retaliation for the loss of territory. King Claw sends spies
to steal the Elements of Harmony so the ponies can't use them, plus
assassins with expertise in both magic and poisons to remove Celestia and
Luna first. In the midst of the invasion Twilight uses every scrap of magic
she can to teleport the injured alicorns, herself, Applejack and Rarity far
away from the danger - a plan that works only up to the point where she
faints and they are flung into the ether with no way of knowing where in
Equestria they'll end up. Separated and not knowing who has survived, the
ponies must reunite and find the Elements to win back their land before it
and its citizens become just a griffin hunting ground. Yet Pinkie Pie can't
remember who she is and must rely on a stranger to protect her, Fluttershy
has to hide her identity, and Rainbow Dash sees an old friend in the
griffin ranks that makes her question where her loyalty lies when she needs
it most.

Published 2012-12-09 00:10:01 UTC
Last updated 2013-01-20 14:51:41 UTC

Regrets and Recriminations

2. Regrets and Recriminations

Gilda stood to attention. Along the row of warriors stalked the impressive figure of Captain Ripper. Most Gryphona-born griffins had violent sounding names, which marked out those from Equestria and elsewhere even more. Even her surname, Goldfeather, sounded refined in comparison and made the majority of Gryphons look down their beaks at her.

She clicked her front claws together and strained upright as the captain drew level with her. For a moment it looked as though he was going to just go past, but he stopped and fixed her with an imperious gold eye.

“Underling Goldfeather.”

She tried not to let her claws grip dirt at the title. Gryphons were so wedded to status and rank it was sickening. At least the ponies had been more subtle and had citizens who actively flouted ideas of class. Try mentioning a classless regime to a Gryphon and you’d find yourself looking at your own windpipe on the floor.

“Sir!” she said diligently.

“You accounted yourself well today.”

“Thank you, sir!”

“Keep it up and you’ll soon be a Subordinate instead of an Underling.”

“Thank you, sir!”

Captain Ripper nodded once, not one to waste words or actions. He had made his meaning clear and both Gilda and those around her knew it. She felt antipathy radiate towards her from other Underlings. She was one of the few Equestrian-born griffins in the Claw Army and no-one ever let her forget it.

She kept her gaze forward as the captain moved off down the row of surviving warriors like a lion hunting weak members of a herd to bring down. She didn’t let herself show any outward sign of her inner turmoil, though her insides twisted with guilt, anger and confusion at her own actions. She pushed aside memories of the final air-fight, though snatches of images wormed into her head anyway: hind hooves bucking towards her face; one frantically beating wing; a thin trail of blood ribboning out behind them as she and Rainbow Dash locked together in that last headlong descent; clouds in her mouth and eyes as she plunged through them, claws wet with blood.

Why couldn’t Dash have just left when she told her to? She was so stupidly stubborn! Once upon a time that had made her the greatest rival and friend ever. Gilda tried even harder not to think about those memories either. One kick with her powerful hind paws had changed everything. Hooves versus claws? No contest really. Why the hell couldn’t Dash have just flown away while there was still time? Why had she forced Gilda to make choices that haunted her even now, when she should have been basking in her own perceived success?

Someone leaned in close from the rank behind hers. “Don’t think the captain’s pretty words mean you’re anything special, pony-lover.”

Gilda didn’t react, which apparently goaded the speaker to continue.

“You might have caught his eye, but you’d better not make the rest of us look bad by sucking up to him, or you’ll be sorry.”

I’m already sorry, she thought grimly.

Rainbow Dash swam between the waking world and shifting, disturbing dreams. When she did surface she found her body uncooperative and wracked with pain. Just breathing was such an effort it sent her reeling back into unconsciousness before she even had time to take stock of her surroundings.

When she came to next she struggled to hold on to consciousness. Moving even one hoof was a mammoth effort that sapped what little strength she had, but it was enough for her to hear and feel stone and the echoing sound of it all around her. A cave, maybe? Or a tunnel? Her brain tried to make the relevant connections but stuttered before reaching any real conclusion.

She tried to open her eyes but they seemed glued shut by something crusty and foul. Pulling them open or wiping the gunk away was just too much for her right now. Moving her foreleg had sent ripples of fiery agony down her flank and deep into her side. It felt like something had reached right into her and shaken her insides like a lucky dip bag before pulling out a prize.

She groaned. It, too, echoed in that way that came from hollowed out places. Something wet dripped into her ear. She flicked it instinctively and marvelled that it didn’t hurt too. Whatever had used her as a dance-floor during a fast number had left her ears intact. Goody-goody. More water dripped into her ear so she attempted to roll away before it clogged her up.

Bad mistake. The fiery agony blossomed into a blistering explosion of flame that made her cough and convulse. She was hurt and she was hurt bad. She tried to remember how it had happened and came up with the confrontation by the wall, fighting a posse of big-ass griffins and being grabbed bodily as Gilda bore her down into the clouds to smash against the ground far below.

Gilda. Betrayal cut through the morass of jumbled thoughts and feelings. Had their friendship really mean so little to her? Gilda had tried to kill her! Just thinking it was too surreal. Gilda had always watched Rainbow Dash’s back in school. They had been inseparable and loyal to a fault. How had they gone from that to … this?

What exactly was this? Rainbow Dash had no memories of the time between Gilda trying to kill her and waking up here. Had she passed out? Was she dead? If so, this was a sucky kind of afterlife.

She sucked cool damp air into her lungs and fought against the churning shadows at the edges of her vision. She had to think clearly. She had to get up and figure out what was going on. Her friends needed her: Twilight, Rarity, Applejack, Pinkie Pie and Fluttershy, not to mention Princess Celestia and Luna, plus all the other ponies holed up in the castle. She had to find out if they were okay and make sure the griffins hadn’t broken the lines through her post. She had to make sure the whole shebang hadn’t fallen to nothing because of her … she had … had to … stay … awake …

Eventually, however, the shadows overtook her and she fell noiselessly into the darkness again.

Author's Note

A/N:Evidently I'm not as finished with this idea as I thought. ;)

Canterlot Captured

3. Canterlot Captured

Gryphona was a harsh, unrelenting place. Situated in the mountains where snow was common and the wind blew all year round, griffins made their eyries in crevices where chicks were least likely to fall out and built their wings muscles just fighting the strong gales. The air was thin and so was life there. Only the strong or special survived and you had to be exceptional at one or the other to compete for food, space and mating rights. As such, Gryphon society was more exacting than anything ponies could have envisioned and much less concerned with fripperies. Attractiveness was based on strength and your ability to survive to adulthood, not a nicely brushed coat or who your parents were.

Unless, of course, your parents had come from Equestria. Then all bets were off.

Gilda stood on a parapet and regarded the street below. Canterlot was a plush city. You just had to look at the architecture to know it was somewhere that had grown preoccupied with class in a different sense than Gryphonan society. In Canterlot you were judged by your family tree and how much money it had. There were exceptions for magical talent, but the wrought metal curlicue lampposts, city parks, municipal artwork and spotless public conveniences spoke volumes about what ponies valued in their lives. Luxury to Gryphons meant having enough to eat and the opportunity to procreate with the mate of your choice. Luxury to Canterlot ponies meant big houses, expensive clothes and garden parties where you played things like polo or croquet.

One of the Claw Army soldiers raised a croquet mallet in his fist. “C’mon, you!” he bellowed at the line of ponies trailing past. They held their heads low and an air of defeat clung to them like stink on garbage. “Get the lead out! Move it, move it move, it!”

Gilda watched him and wondered when her own feeling of triumph would arrive. She had expected to feel good about the ponies finally getting their comeuppance. They were all a bunch of judgemental hypocrites; she had first-hand experience of that. They would be friends to non-ponies only as long as they acted like ponies and not like anything else; certainly not true to their own natures. Heaven forbid a griffin acted like a griffin, or a minotaur like a minotaur, or a goat like a goat. Only pony ethics and values were acceptable. In Equestria it was all pony all the time and you either conformed or got out.

One pink pony stumbled and knocked into the unicorn in front. Gilda was surprised to see a unicorn in with the earth ponies. The pegasi had already been separated off and it would have seemed obvious to her to contain the magic users. Then again, maybe King Claw’s generals were thinking it would be unwise to put so many magic users together. Individually no unicorn could take down a griffin platoon, especially since talents in Canterlot tended towards the trivial or showy. After years of only breeding with the ‘right’ sort of socially acceptable ponies, very few Canterlot unicorns possessed the raw power necessary to fight back, especially with the morale so low after the deaths of their princesses. King Claw had given special orders to hammer this fact into the prisoners: Celestia and Luna were dead, as were the Ponies of Harmony, or whatever they were called. There was no-one left to save them.

The pink pony hastily got back into line, but it seemed the griffin with the croquet mallet was drunk on his own power. He strode forward and shoved the little earth pony so hard her yellow beehive mane, already unravelling, fell across her eyes. She trembled and shrank away from him.

“Didn’t you hear me? I said to move it!”

She whimpered and covered her head in fear. On top of her parapet Gilda watched the bullying griffin swing the mallet at her. It halted abruptly in mid-air and he stumbled, momentum forcing him to release it as his body carried on forward in an awkward lurch. The mallet hung, encased in the same magical glow that surrounded the unicorn’s horn when he turned around.

“Leave her alone.”

A griffin further along the line laughed at the spectacle. The now mallet-less griffin fluffed his neck feathers in embarrassment and tried to grab back his weapon, presumably so he could use it on the defiant unicorn. The unicorn was no fool and lifted it out of his reach. The embarrassed griffin flapped his wings and rose onto his hind legs, but the mallet lifted out of his reach again. Finally he let out an angry, frustrated screech. In response, the mallet twirled upside down and smacked him in the beak. His screech cut off sharply and he fell back, clutching his face.

Griffins appeared, seemingly from everywhere. It would have looked strange if Gilda didn’t follow their lead, so she glided down to the melee, where the unicorn was using the mallet on anyone who got too close. Earth ponies cowered away out of trampling distance, leaving him to defy their captors alone. A couple tried to run for it but were soon stopped. They squealed like stuck piglets as they were pinned and either herded or carried back to the line while the unicorn was shepherded away from them, fighting all the way.

“This is Equestria!” he yelled. “You griffins have no place here!”

“This is our territory now!” replied a large buck with reddish head-feathers.

“Never!”

It took three griffins attacking simultaneously to bring the stallion down. He lay on his back under them, kicking wildly. Their claws tore off clumps of his tuxedo jacket and blue mane, which drifted through the air like a strange kind of mist above their beating wings. Gilda flew up and used her own claws on the mallet, shredding the wood so it was no use as a blunt weapon. The bits fell to earth, signalling that the magic suspending them had been cut off.

The unicorn staggered between his captors, balanced unsteadily on his hind legs with his forelegs held behind his back. It would have been an unstable pose anyway but the rapidly swelling welts on his face made him extra wobbly. His moustache was crimson with the blood trickling from his nose.

“You jutht made a big mithstake.” The original griffin who had attacked him stalked up, now sporting a large crack in his beak. His eyes blazed as he drew back his claws. He clearly intended to swipe them across the unicorn’s exposed throat, but once again he was knocked off his feet, this time by a spindly white unicorn who galloped into him. He landed on his backside and let out an ear-piercing yelp. “Gaaah! My tail! My TAIL!”

“Y-You leave Fancy Pants alone!” the spindly unicorn shouted. Her voice was uncertain, as if she was questioning what she was doing even as she did it. She was probably a beautiful pony usually, but her pale pink mane was caked with dirt and her elaborate eye make-up was streaked from crying. She set her hooves and lowered her head as if to use her horn as a spear. Gilda wondered why she hadn’t also used telekinesis the way the stallion had. Maybe this mare wasn’t very magically gifted. Her long legs trembled but, to her credit, she stood her ground between the stallion and the angry griffin buck.

The griffin leapt back up, enraged and in pain. His neck feathers were so puffed up they looked like a real lion’s mane. Behind him his tail hung at a painful looking ninety degree angle, clearly broken when he had fallen on it. He forwent his screech for a full-throated roar – or at least that was what everyone thought until he looked surprised and closed his beak before the roar was finished.

Captain Ripper landed amongst them like a lightning bolt striking the ground. He eyeballed the assembled crowd and single-clawedly caused a hush to fall over everything. “What,” he snarled, “is going on here?”

“C-Captain,” stammered the griffin with the broken beak. He drew himself up and took a steadying breath. “Jutht quelling a mutiny, thir!”

“Oh really?” Captain Ripper glared at him until he wilted. “It looks to me like you’re making a mockery of the entire Claw Army!” His voice rose in volume at the end and he leaned forward, pushing his face into the other griffin’s. “You had a simple duty: separate the three breeds and escort the ponies to their designated detainee areas. What breed was your responsibility, Subordinate?”

“Uh, earth ponies, thir.”

“And do these two look like earth ponies?”

“… No, thir.”

“Then why didn’t you alert your Corporal that these two were mixed in with the wrong group? Well? Answer me!”

The griffin with the broken beak stammered and stuttered but made no reply. Gilda knew why: he had been so busy congratulating himself and bullying the captured ponies he hadn’t even noticed the two that were out of place.

Evidently Captain Ripper noticed too, because he lashed out. The griffin with the broken beak yowled in fresh pain, new cuts opening up on one cheek. He didn’t fight back; just hung his head in shame and deference. He was in big trouble and he knew it.

“What is your name, Subordinate?”

“Bloodthpill, thir.”

“Report to Captain Grimwing,” he snapped. “Subordinate Bloodspill, you’re hereby demoted to body recovery detail.”

“Corpth collecting?!” The stupid griffin raised his head but quailed at the look in Captain Ripper’s eyes. “Uh, yes, thir.” He reluctantly backed off, not turning to fly away until he was at a respectable distance and couldn’t be accused of turning his back on his superior.

Gilda could commiserate. Corpse collecting involved cleaning up bodies from the battlefield; those of your own fallen comrades and of the enemy. She guessed Bloodspill wouldn’t be given the honourable task of retrieving dead griffin warriors, but would instead be forced to recover dead ponies and carry them to wherever he was directed using his own claws. Since the sun had not gone down since the princesses were killed the bodies would probably be stinking up the place by now.

“And as for the rest of you,” Captain Ripper bawled, turning to address them. “Remove those two unicorns and get these earth ponies to their detainee area, NOW!”

“Sir! Yes, sir!” The griffins scrambled to comply.

Gilda scrambled too, but paused at the sound of her name. Captain Ripper approached her, still angry, but his ire was clearly not directed at her. Instead he nodded in approval.

“I saw what you did there, Underling Goldfeather. Only you used your brains enough to negate the unicorn’s hold on the weapon by making the weapon itself unusable.”

“Sir, my efforts were in vain, sir. The others took him out and made what I did pointless, sir.”

“Nevertheless, you thought outside the box. That’s a good quality to have.” Captain Ripper eyed her thoughtfully. “Added to your performance on the battlefield I can see you’re definitely one to watch, Goldfeather.”

Gilda’s stomach twisted. She hoped he wasn’t watching her too closely. She had some things nobody needed to see – especially a captain. “Thank you, sir.”

“What detail are you on right now?”

“I was, uh, about to go to body recovery, sir.”

“Not anymore. Bloodspill can have your spot. Go with Subordinates Killbeak, Redfeather and Smasher to remove these two unicorns. They could use some extra brainpower in case the scary pointy-headed ponies try anything again.” His sneer cut through the air like lemon juice in milk.

Captain Ripper nodded once more and dismissed her. Gilda left, noting the hostile looks thrown her way by the other Subordinates who had also rushed to Bloodspill’s aid. They were technically above her in rank and believed they were above her in status, so her getting special attention from the captain didn’t exactly endear her to them.

“Sir!” called one of the two griffins holding the unicorn stallion, whose head lolled onto his chest. The mare was being pinned by the griffin called Smasher, so Gilda went to help him. “Where do we take them?”

“All unicorns are being contained in the dungeons below the castle,” Captain Ripper replied as if they should already know. “It’s magically sealed down there. Apparently Canterlot hasn’t always been as idyllic as the ponies want you to believe, since they’ve had to imprison each other in magically warded cells before.”

The mare fought a little but there was no power behind it. Between them Gilda and Smasher carried her away from the line of earth ponies, Redfeather and Killbeak following behind with the semi-conscious stallion. The mare began to sob softly as they flew, staring at her own hooves dangling in the empty air. Despite her earlier bravery she radiated defeat and hung limply in their grasp.

Gilda’s stomach twisted again but she shoved it down and flew on grimly.

Developments in the Desert

4. Developments in the Desert

The sky over the plains detonated in a halo of light. Not much vegetation grew this far out in the San Palomino Desert, but what little there was blew flat in the subsequent wind. The halo expanded outwards, crackling with energy and leaving a large purple mushroom cloud at the epicentre of the blast.

Chief Thunderhooves listened to the cries of the coyotes and other distressed wildlife. He climbed to the top of a tall ridge and squinted at the horizon, where a puff of purple stained the skyline. He wondered whether age was beginning to creep up on him; his muscles hurt from the climb and his eyes ached from straining to see something so far away.

His ears were still good, though. Skittering scree told him someone had followed him. He wasn’t surprised when Little Strongheart sheepishly came to stand beside him. She drooped her head, embarrassed to be caught intruding on her chieftain’s privacy. She perked up when he spoke and didn’t scold her.

“Can you see that?”

She squinted too, which made him feel a little better. “It looks like a cloud.”

“Not any cloud I have ever seen.” Chief Thunderhooves grunted to himself, searching through years of memories and unable to find a matching one. “It looks … unnatural. The air smells bad from that direction.”

Little Strongheart lifted her snout and nodded in agreement. However, after a few more sniffs a small frown pulled at her brows. “There is something familiar about it, though.”

“There is?” Chief Thunderhooves scented the air again. It was a subtle distinction, but the acridity blowing towards them on the breeze tasted bad at the back of his throat. “What –”

He was stopped from speaking further by a ring of light shooting over their heads. It twisted and writhed like a snake on a pitchfork. Both buffalos’ ears lay flat as it crackled and dissipated right above them, leaving their fur full of static. Chief Thunderhooves shook himself and turned to Little Strongheart. She didn’t shake immediately, but instead stared up with a thoughtful expression. Not a trace of fear showed in her.

“Something has occurred to you?” he queried, simultaneously pleased and worried at her lack of fear. Bravery was admirable, but not if it became recklessness or an inability to recognise danger.

“That thing reminded me of those ponies in Appleloosa,” she said.

“This is their doing? But it is far away from their settlement.”

She shook her head. “No, I don’t mean the settlers. I meant the ponies who came on the train and brought that apple tree. This smell reminds me of the ones who could do magic. Unicorns.”

“They’re the ones with the horns, aren’t they?”

Little Strongheart nodded. She stood up, shook herself briefly and turned to him with a determined expression. “Please, let me go and investigate what strangeness is happening in our territory.”

Chief Thunderhooves eyed her sceptically. True, she was a valiant young warrior and had gained much respect since brokering peace with the Appleloosans, but she was still very young and untested in situations without direct supervision. His first instinct was to deny her and go by himself, or at least go himself and take her with him. Then he stopped. Little Strongheart had a sensible head on her shoulders and she would have to start taking responsibility soon. She grew bigger with each passing day and had not been a calf for some time.

“Choose three of our strongest,” he said brusquely. “Do not take unnecessary risks. Find out what is going on and return to the herd quickly.”

Her mouth dropped open, as if she hadn’t actually expected him to say yes. “Uh, okay. I mean yes! Yes, I’ll do that. Thank you!” She gave him a brilliant smile and hurried back down the path.

Chief Thunderhooves watched her go and then turned back to the horizon. He had a bad feeling about that cloud. Unnatural things, even spied from a distance, rarely meant anything good.

“Please, Great Spirits,” he murmured into the breeze, hoping his voice would reach them. “Keep my daughter safe.”

King Claw regarded Princess Celestia’s throne room with distaste. The level of extravagance, while remarkable, left him cold. He saw no point in making a room look pretty when its basic function was so badly constructed. Why would a ruler need so much space just for simple audiences with dignitaries or subjects? Sitting at the top of such a huge staircase left you exposed on at least three sides; a perfect target for assassins and inferiors with ideas above their stations. He was amazed Celestia hadn’t been slain by her own followers long ago.

He turned away from the throne and stalked to the long windows instead. Outside he could see his own subjects going about their duties with speed and efficiency. Anyone who had met him knew any warmth he ever possessed had been buried in his massive breast years ago, but there was no mistaking his pride as he watched.

“Stargazer?”

A lean griffin slunk towards him, dark grey feathers speckled as white as his head with age. Where Claw was gigantic, Stargazer was bony; where Claw stood tall, the older griffin stooped; where the king had a stare as direct as an eagle, Stargazer’s one good eye was rheumy and the other completely covered by a while film. The differences between them were stark, yet Claw treated the old buck like an equal when he spoke.

“Lookit, out there. ’Tis a braw sight, Stargazer, to see them ponies laid so low.”

“Indeed, you majesty.” Stargazer looked dutifully where he had been told to, turning his head so his good eye could focus. “Their arrogance certainly makes their defeat extra bitter for them.”

“But there’s nae time for bidin’ our time or sittin’ on our laurels,” Claw went on. “We have to plan our next move.”

“So soon, majesty? You’ve been king of Canterlot only a day.”

“One day is all it takes for canny minds to make canny plans.”

“Canny, majesty?”

“Clever,” Claw said irritably. Most griffins would have pretended to understand what he meant even if the wording was strange to them, but not Stargazer. No, the old griffin knew how valuable he was to his ruler and also knew just how much leeway that afforded him.

Sometimes it irritated Claw into a temper when his accent got in the way of his decrees. Lowland griffins were the most common in Gryphona, and most of the time they had little contact with their bigger highland cousins. Highlanders were solitary creatures who rarely descended from the most unforgiving peaks in Gryphona; so solitary, in fact, that until Claw came down and challenged the previous king there were rumours that highlanders had either all died out or were just myths who had never really existed. Perhaps if his ancestors had done what he did, this debacle with Equestria would never have been allowed to develop in the first place.

Truthfully speaking, Claw would have loved to bide his time and sit on his laurels so he could enjoy overthrowing Canterlot, but the plain fact was that this was just the tip of the iceberg. Canterlot was the biggest jewel in Equestria’s crown, but the rest of this blasted country would only be vulnerable for a short time. Claw was not some mindless barbarian warlord, nor was he an idiot. He had studied Equestria before making any move against it. That was how he had known a full frontal attack against both princesses would be doomed to failure. History teemed with stories of other races who had tried and failed against just one royal alicorn, let alone two. It also teemed with stories of ponies who had rallied to become warriors in a crisis. Equestria had a nasty habit of churning out heroes when it needed them. He had to make sure there was no opportunity for any to appear before he made his mastery of this land absolute.

Stargazer tilted his head to look at him. “What are you intending, majesty?”

“What do the portents say?”

In answer, Stargazer reached into a pouch attached to the belt around his waist. Dust fell from his feathers as he brushed against them and a few came loose when he jiggled pieces in his claw and tossed them into the air. They clattered to the floor of the throne room, revealing themselves to be a collection of small bones. The skulls of several mice and rats knocked against thigh bones of rabbits, detached cat claws at the curved fangs of a wild dog. Stargazer peered intently once they had fallen.

“Well?” Claw prompted.

“The portents are … somewhat favourable.”

“Only somewhat?”

Stargazer pointed to where the largest fang had landed partially wedged in the eye socket of a rat skull. “Your power will continue to increase, majesty, but you must beware. You are now entering a period of great hostility and danger. Threats will come at you from several sides.” He tapped at the other two dog fangs. They were buried under a collection of mice skulls. “You must be cautious about how you proceed next.”

Claw let out a harsh laugh. “Let ‘em come. ‘Tis nae threat them ponies can throw at me I cannae face – earth, unicorn, pegasus, I can take ‘em all with you an’ your magic at my side.”

“Indeed.” Stargazer bowed at the compliment. Magic was not common amongst griffins. He had been the only one of his generation to be born with even a hint of it, and the generations that followed had yielded even fewer such talented warriors. As a result, though he was old and falling apart, Stargazer was one of the foremost weapons in Claw’s army. It was Stargazer’s specially created poison, after all, that had weakened Celestia and Luna nearly to the point of death; which would have been the case if Celestia’s blasted student hadn’t got involved. “All that would have stood between you and certain victory was Princess Celestia and her sister.”

Claw’s expression immediately darkened. “Aye,” he growled. “Would have. Good choice of words. Especially since the princesses are dead.” His tone challenged the old griffin to contradict him.

“Indeed, majesty,” Stargazer replied, neither agreeing nor disagreeing.

Claw ruffled his feathers and transferred his gaze exclusively to the window. Luna had been a threat in her own right, but it was Celestia who had roused his ire enough to break the tenuous peace between Gryphona and Equestria that his predecessors had brokered a long time ago and never seen fit to change. Hadn’t it been Celestia who, even though Equestria had more than enough food and space to go around, had not been content with her own country and had set up a new colony in his territory too? Claw and his griffins had returned from the summer hunting grounds to find a whole new sparkling city filled with ponies where none had been before. The speed with which it had been erected could only have been magic and the only one powerful enough to cast that much so quickly was Celestia. Well, if she was arrogant enough to think she could just waltz into the frozen north and take it for herself, Claw had decided she needed to be repaid in kind. Let Celestia have the mountains; the griffins would have Equestria instead.

His entire strategy rested on Celestia and Luna’s deaths. The Gryphons he had brought with him believed fervently what their king had told them: that the princesses had died during the battle to conquer Canterlot. That their bodies weren’t displayed on the battlements as trophies was not to be questioned by subjects who didn’t want their own heads there instead.

Claw told himself they almost certainly were dead. When the outer defences of the city had been breached during the fighting it was inevitable he would reach the inner sanctum where the alicorns were being kept. He had left devastation in his wake, slightly impressed at how royal guards threw themselves at him even though they could see the bodies of those he had already swatted aside with his gigantic claws. That kind of loyalty was admirable, if stupid.

The guards had just been buying time, of course. Inside the sanctum unicorn healers had tried frantically to extract Stargazer’s poison before he reached them, but it had been infused with spells that could only be counteracted with time and exact knowledge of what had gone into casting them. Nopony would ever be able to neutralise their effect before the victim died a painful, blistering death – yet the ponies most loyal to the princesses had tried anyway, and gone to extraordinary lengths to give themselves time to try.

Claw remembered reaching the door to the sanctum, only to be blown back by an explosion of magic so powerful that even Stargazer was impressed. The sanctum was a scorched ruin in its wake, leaving Claw to think the ponies had taken their own lives and those of their princesses rather than let him get them. He was angry, especially since he distrusted deaths he couldn’t prove with bodies. Telling his forces he had lost them, however, was not an option. No, a swift and decisive onslaught on the rest of Equestria had to come next. By the time he was done it wouldn’t matter whether Celestia or Luna had died today or when the poison had run its course; Equestria would be New Gryphona and their subjects would be slaves and more to their Gryphon masters.

“Stargazer?”

“Yes, majesty?”

“Can ye locate the remains of the princesses? Quietly, ye ken?”

Stargazer nodded. “I can try, majesty.”

“Do it. In the meantime –” Claw turned away from the window. “– I’m fair peckish.”

Stargazer gathered up the bones, replaced them in the pouch and hobbled hurriedly after his king.

Little Strongheart looked around as she ran. Behind and beside her three of the herd’s most powerful buffalo kept pace. She had known Restless Hooves, Talking Bird and Brave Walker since she was a calf, which was disadvantageous because they often still saw her that way and thought she needed protecting when she could take care of herself just fine.

Despite this, they weren’t nearly as bad as others in the herd, especially the older cows who always stayed at camp and wouldn’t dream of going for a gallop to clear away the cobwebs from their horns. Those cows tutted when she didn’t give up her rough and tumble lifestyle the moment her own horns started to grow in. Soon they would start to wonder which bull she would choose as a husband, which filled Little Strongheart with the kind of fear usually reserved for stepping on a rattlesnake tail.

At least her father saw her for what she was, not what she used to be or what he thought she should be. He had told her he hoped she would take over leading the herd someday and she had swelled with pride to be thought worthy of consideration. It would be a struggle, but she had acquitted herself well during the crisis with Appleloosa and the time afterwards. Her behaviour wouldn’t exempt her forever, but at least provided solid evidence that she was just as capable and useful a warrior as any bull.

She dashed across the plains, eyes fixed on the purple cloud. The closer they got, the more her fur itched. Gradually her hooves began to ache too, and the pressure on her skull intensified like a sudden bad headache. She ploughed on, eager to prove her mettle to her three witnesses.

“Little Strongheart?” Talking Bird finally broke the silence. He was apt to chatter when it wasn’t appropriate, which had earned him his name. “Don’t you think we should turn back?”

“Chief Thunderhooves told us to investigate,” she replied staunchly. “We aren’t turning back until we have something to tell him.”

“But the land feels strange,” Talking Bird insisted. “It feels wrong all around here. Can’t you feel it?”

“Of course I can feel it, but I also know I don’t want to go back to my chief and tell him we didn’t bring him news of a potential threat just because I was a little uncomfortable.”

That shut him up. Talking Bird dropped back, allowing Restless Hooves to take the place immediately beside her. Little Strongheart kept going until even she had trouble focussing on the way forward through the pounding in her head. She skidded to a halt and squinted to figure out what was what.

“Little Strongheart?” Brave Walker stepped up beside her. He gestured with his snout to a clump of nearby brittlebush. It had exploded in a sudden growth spurt that sent its spikes in all directions, some curving frantically upwards, others arcing down to pierce their own stem. It looked twisted and unnatural. It also wasn’t the only plant to be affected. Beargrass, yucca, pipe cacti and boojum had also suddenly grown out of control and started to attack themselves. “What do you make of it?”

“I don’t know.” Little Strongheart narrowed her eyes. The plants got stranger and uglier the nearer they were to a large crater in the ground – one directly below the last vestiges of the purple cloud. “Come on,” she ordered, stepping towards the rim.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Talking Bird asked in a tremulous voice.

“I’ll go first,” she said to reassure him. She crept closer and dropped to her belly to peer over. Her head pounded like someone had set up a hundred drums in there, but she still sat up fast enough to make herself dizzy at what was at the bottom of the crater.

“What is it?” Restless Hooves didn’t stay behind her, but trotted to see what had made her spine straighten in surprise. He whistled. “Whoo-wee. I wasn’t expecting that.”

At the bottom of the crater a collection of ponies lay in crumpled heaps, as if they had all been struck unconscious at the same time. Some wore white robes with red crosses on the side, marking them out from those who went bareback. How they came to be in a crater in the middle of the desert was a short-lived mystery, given that one of the barebacks struggled to sit up when she saw the buffalo looking down on them from above.

“P-Please,” she begged shakily, motioning at the other ponies. “The magical blowback … it affected anypony with magic … Twilight warned us it might b-but … she said she had to t-tryyy …” She squinted suddenly, and then opened her eyes wide as if she couldn’t believe what she was seeing. “L-Little S-Strongheart?”

Little Strongheart didn’t hesitate; she launched herself over the side and skittered down into the crater. “Applejack, what is all this? What happened?”

“Had to … get ‘em out …” Applejack swayed but managed to nod at the two much bigger ponies at the very centre of the unconscious circle.

One was pure white with a many-coloured mane and tail; the other a deep blue with a mane and tail that sparkled like stars in the night sky. Unlike the other, smaller ponies, frothy spittle had crusted around each of their mouths and their tongues lolled as if somepony had pulled them out to keep the sick ponies from choking on them.

“T-Twilight … sugarcube …” Applejack swooned. Her knees buckled just as Restless Hooves arrived to catch her. “We hadda … leave behind … hadda get the p-princesses … out … please, h-help them … help T-Twilight …”

Little Strongheart followed Applejack’s pointing hoof to a purple body hunched in on itself as if suffering from terrible stomach-ache. Twilight Sparkle looked even worse than the bigger ponies. Her pelt was pulled tight across her muscles, her cheekbones stark underneath. She looked like she was malnourished, but her coat was still in excellent condition, which made Little Strongheart suspect this was something else in which magic was involved. She didn’t even pretend to understand magic, much less pony magic. What she did understand was that her friends were here, extremely sick and in desperate need of help.

“Talking Bird, Brave Walker,” she snapped, thinking fast. If they tried to run back to fetch more aid they would waste precious time. “Find fuel. Start a signal fire. Use those plants out there if necessary. We have to let Chief Thunderhooves know to send more buffalo out here to help transport these ponies away from this place.”

“Back to our camp?” Talking Bird asked.

“For now.” Little Strongheart surveyed the ponies grimly. “We may need to ask for help from the Appleloosans if we aren’t equipped to deal with this sort of thing. Restless Hooves, while they do that you’ll help me inspect the ponies to figure out which are, ah …” She wanted to say ‘still alive’ but something about the way Applejack fought unconsciousness to stare at her made her hesitate.

Applejack breathed rapidly. She had obviously struggled to remain conscious until someone arrived. What would she have done if no-one had? Her legs didn’t appear to be working properly, or she probably would have crawled out of the crater and gone searching for help. Just like her cousin in Appleloosa, nobody could ever accuse Applejack of being backward about coming forward.

What kind of magic could do all this? Little Strongheart wondered. Moreover, who could possibly be powerful to use it without killing themselves? She glanced at Twilight Sparkle and speculated that maybe the little unicorn was far more powerful than she had realised during their last encounter.

A far tear slid down Applejack’s cheek. “We hadda … leave ‘em …” she said brokenly. “All of ‘em … anypony outside the r-room … we couldn’t … c-couldn’t …”

Little Strongheart noted that she only truly recognised three of the ponies present: Twilight Sparkle, Applejack herself and another unicorn she remembered was called Rarity. Of her other pony friends there was no sign.

“What in the name of the Great Spirits has happened?” she wondered aloud, a knot of dread twisting in her gut.

Dragon Discovered

5. Dragon Discovered

The dungeons were deep below the castle and in such disrepair Gilda wondered when they had last been used. Despite what Captain Ripper claimed, the cells were comparatively few and their poor shape testament to lack of use. The captured unicorns were packed in so tight some of them in the smaller cells couldn’t sit or lay down. Dungeons weren’t supposed to be nice, but these weren’t just grungy, they were neglected.

Gilda was no expert but the magic in and around them felt old. Even someone like her could feel it the moment she walked through the door. The way the unicorn mare stiffened and shook her head, as if her horn hurt, also said a lot about how powerful the magic had to be. Gilda was glad to get out of there and hurried back up the winding staircase to the surface.

The staircase emptied out into a corridor in the lower echelons of the castle, far away from the throne room. The castle was so huge there were large portions that obviously weren’t used very much and this was one of them. It was still spotlessly clean but the décor was in serious need of an overhaul.

Gilda wondered what she was supposed to do next. She followed the three Subordinates she had come in with until they whispered to each other and flapped their wings to fly ahead of her, glancing back to make sure she wasn’t keeping up. Gilda wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of chasing them, so instead she picked a random turn-off and headed down a different corridor like she had planned to go that way all along.

“Bunch of half-brained idiots,” she muttered as she stalked along. “I don’t need them. I don’t need anyone.”

What she did need, however, was a map.

“Ponyfeathers,” she cursed. Moments later she realised she had used a pony expression and blushed. Old habits sure did die hard. “Where am I?”

She trundled along until she reached a corridor lined with old suits of armour on either side. The suits weren’t one uniform design, but charted the history of Equestrian royal guards in shape and form. Some had plumed helmets, some had wickedly spiny helmets, and some had no helmets at all. Gilda stopped in front of one with wing holes cut into the sides and barbed shoes that stretched up past the fetlocks, with articulated parts to allow knee bending. A pegasus in armour like that could sure do a lot of mid-air damage. She wondered why modern guards didn’t wear it. Maybe if they had they would have stood a better chance against King Claw. Maybe if Rainbow Dash had –

She broke off the thought like snapping off a key in a lockbox she didn’t want to open. She wasn’t ready to go there yet.

Turning away from the armour, she caught sight of movement behind a suit on the opposite side. Frowning, she crouched to stalk it, catlike. Her pupils, already dilated in the poor light, opened wider to catch any hint of further movement. It might have been a trick of the light, or an illusion from her own exhausted mind, but she didn’t think so. All her predator instincts were yelling at her. Slowly and carefully she inched forward. Then she sprang, darting between two of the huge suits and landing in the dusty alcove beyond. A raspy cry and the feel of something alive under her claws told her she had been right: she wasn’t alone.

“All right, chuckles,” she growled. “Game’s over.”

“G-Gilda?”

She looked down at the small purple dragon she had pinned. “Do I know you?”

The dragon stared up at her with wide eyes. It was a puny creature, head-spines all rounded and soft. It was nothing at all like the fearsome creatures everypony told stories about. She was no dragon expert but she recognised one when she saw one, even a puny specimen like this. She dug her claws in, realising belatedly that she should have jammed one claw over its face to prevent it breathing fire at her. With a dexterous twist she flipped it onto its belly and pressed against the back of its neck, keeping its face to the floor where it couldn’t barbeque her.

“Wait!” it cried in a now muffled voice. “It’s me, Spike!”

“Who?”

“Spike! From Ponyville!” When she didn’t respond it added, “Rainbow Dash’s friend!”

Recognition pummelled her. She remembered seeing a small dragon at the party Pinkie Pie threw on her last day in Ponyville. She hadn’t spoken to it but remembered thinking, in between suspicions about Pinkie and the pranks, that it was weird to see one mixed in among so many ponies. Those thoughts had shot down the ladder of importance when she walked out, however, and she hadn’t given it any thought at all since then. Escaping Winter Frost and his goons had taken up all her attention until she made the decision to cross the border out of Equestria into Gryphona.

She didn’t let up her hold on the dragon’s neck. “And?”

“Huh?”

“So what? You expect me to hug you or something?”

“I, uh …” The dragon seemed lost for words. Then it sagged. “You’re … on their side, aren’t you? Aw nuts. This day just keeps getting worse and worse – unk!”

Gilda leaned her weight forward, cutting him off. “Why are you sneaking around back here? Are you planning to use some of this armour against King Claw? A spear, maybe, or one of those halberds? Because I can tell you right now, that’d be a bad idea. Those old shields won’t save you if you try to fight him.”

“What? No! I mean, uh … no … no, I wasn’t … look, I was just trying to hide, okay? I saw griffins everywhere and just thought I’d better hide until I could find my friends and figure out what happened.”

“I’ll tell you what happened: we won and you lost.”

“Yeah, I got that.”

“So you snivelled away into the shadows. I guess I should’ve expected something cowardly from the likes of you.”

“Hey, I’m no coward!” The dragon tried to twist to look at her but she kept that mouth firmly to the floor. “But I’m not an idiot either. You may have noticed I’m kind of outnumbered against you griffins.”

You griffins. Gilda ignored how she was lumped in with the rest of the Claw Army. That was what she had accepted when she joined up, hadn’t she? She had known the score. No point lamenting it now. “Being outnumbered doesn’t mean much to you Equestrians. You seem pretty hot on being heroes against impossible odds.” She allowed smugness to creep into her tone. “Too bad it didn’t work out this time. Those Canterlot ponies didn’t have much fight in them anyway, but even that vanished when the Claw Army trashed those – what were they called again? Oh yeah, the Elements of Harmony.”

The dragon bucked against her. The tips of her claws dug into the back of its neck but it didn’t seem to notice. Gilda wondered whether the scales were too thick there or if it was just too mad to feel the pricking. “What have you done with my friends?”

“You’re such good pals, but you weren’t with them when they needed you?”

“No, I was coming back from … that doesn’t matter. What did you do to them?”

“The same as we did to the rest of Canterlot.” Gilda kept her voice steady, pointedly not thinking about spitting out multi-coloured mane as she held onto a kicking body in a death-dive. “Beat them.”

“Where are they?” The little dragon was getting quite frantic. “Where are they?! What did you do to the princesses? What did you monsters do to Twilight, Applejack and … and Rarity?”

Gilda had heard the spiel about King Claw and the princesses. She arched her neck, firming her shoulders against the dragon’s struggles. “King Claw defeated Celestia, Luna and everypony with them.”

“Defeated?”

“Work it out, dingbat. Do you really think he’d leave them alive after laying siege to the castle?”

“No!” The dragon struggled with renewed strength. “No, no, no!”

“Yes,” Gilda replied coldly, fighting to keep it still. “King Claw killed them. That’s why the battle ended: he won. Deal with it.”

The dragon gave a cry of pain and rage. Then, abruptly, all the fight seemed to go out of it. Gilda held on so tight that the judders a few seconds later reverberated through her shoulders into the base of her wings. She blinked. She hadn’t known dragons could cry.

“No,” came the broken whisper. “Twilight … Rarity … Applejack …”

The names were familiar. To be honest, Gilda hadn’t bothered to learn the names of Dash’s other friends - well, apart from that damn Pinkie Pie. The dragon hadn’t mentioned the pink pony, making Gilda wonder whether she had survived the battle. It would be just her luck if the pony she liked least was the one to still be kicking around this place somewhere. The dragon’s obvious grief struck a chord in her that she couldn’t afford to feel, so she said coldly, “All dead. I hope you said goodbye, because King Claw isn’t known for holding elaborate funerals for his enemies.” Yes, that was it. She had to shut out any emotions except her long-held resentment. Getting back in touch with that was like putting on an old vest: comforting and familiar, even if it was full of holes. “Although maybe you’ll see what’s left of them hanging from the battlements. You could say goodbye then, I suppose. Or maybe –” She grunted at the sudden spasm of strength that nearly bucked her out of the alcove and into a suit of armour.

“You monster!” the little dragon yelled, heedless of whether he would be heard by someone else. “How can you be so cruel? They were my friends!”

“Big deal. Friendship is overrated.”

“Does that mean you turned on Rainbow Dash too?”

Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it. Don’t – Gilda’s lack of answer was apparently answer enough.

“Oh my gosh, you did!”

She ground the edges of her beak together. “Like I said: friendship is overrated.”

“I can’t believe Rainbow Dash defended you when other ponies said you were a bad seed. She stood up for you and you turn on her like this? Why? Why would you do something so … so EVIL?”

Evil? Her? Gilda scowled even though the dragon couldn’t see her. She should have just snapped its neck at the beginning, not engaged it in conversation. King Claw was right: griffins all the way, not ponies, nor dragons, nor whatever other creatures that had chosen Equestria as their home. “Because this is who I am.” She sneered. “Didn’t you get that memo?”

“So everypony else was right and Rainbow Dash was wrong. What a way to find out. You’re a real piece of work, Gilda.”

“Hey, I’m not the one who killed your friends, pony-lover.”

“You may as well have. Their …” The dragon swallowed, choking a little on the word. “Their … deaths are still on your head. And you already admitted you hurt Rainbow Dash – your own friend! You have pony blood on your claws. You should be ashamed of yourself for ever letting someone a good as Rainbow Dash call you friend when you obviously weren’t worth it.”

Don’t let it get to you. Don’t think about Dash. Don’t react. It’s just some stinking little dragon. Don’t think about her. Don’t think about what you did, or what Captain Ripper will do to you if he ever finds out you didn’t finish –

Too late. Gilda flicked the dragon onto its back, fisted one claw around its snout to keep it shut and hoisting it up by its neck with her other claw. She pushed her beak into its face, anger clouding her rationality. “Listen, you overgrown gecko: I never asked for Dash to defend me. I never wanted her pity. If she chose to big me up to you nerds, then that was her look-out, not mine. I’m not gonna be held responsible for something she did and I’m not gonna feel bad about the way things ultimately went down. I gave her a chance out there – more than one. She chose you freaks over me again, just like last time, so don’t you dare make out that she was my best bud. If she had been, she never would have let me go – TWICE.”

The dragon stared at her, eyes still wide, but burning with enough fury and anguish to make her maintain her grip on its snout.

Gilda reared back. “Why am I even talking to you? You’re not worth my time.” She flapped her wings and hop-skipped between the suits of armour and down the corridor, not sure where she was going but damn sure she didn’t want to look into the dragon’s censorious eyes anymore. She glanced at it only once, and thereafter kept her face firmly averted so she wouldn’t see its tears.

Somepony Save Us!

6. Somepony Save Us!

Rainbow Dash floated up to the shallower waters of unconsciousness. She couldn’t make her body respond enough to open her eyes, but her ears could still pick up the sound of voices nearby. Maybe it was survival instinct once again kicking in, but the sound pulled her out of unconsciousness, though only enough to lie half in, half out of those murky depths.

“Ooooh,” said a strangely high-pitched voice. “Pony thing. Is pony thing. Pony thing is down here!”

“Pony thing?” said another, even higher pitched voice. They were both nasal, as if they had pinched their nostrils shut before speaking. “Down here? Nope, nope, nope. Pony things live on surface.”

“This one down here.”

“How that happen?”

A third voice chimed in, slightly deeper and breathier than the other two, though no less nasal. “Lookit! Flappy wingy thingies. Is pony thing from SKY?”

“Pony things live in sky?” asked the first doubtfully.

“Has flappy wingy thingies like tweety birds. Tweety birds live in sky.”

“But pony things eat grass. No grass in sky. What birdy pony things eat?”

“Um … buzzy flies? Fluffy white floaty puffballs?”

“Huh?”

“Clouds!”

“No clouds down here.” The first voice paused in thought. “Flies though. Birdy pony eating flies and got stucked, maybe?”

The second voice spoke again, much closer than before. “Don’t think eating flies reason for to be here. This pony thing hurted. Lookit, see? All busted up. Nasty reddy bloody mess. Maybe that why it down here? Hide like bunny in burrow when foxy loxy around?”

“What foxy loxy be big enough to hurt pony things?”

“Monster foxy loxy? Wolfy sharp-tooth? Snarly lion cat?”

Something soft and fuzzy brushed her face. Rainbow Dash groaned. It was the only response she could manage. The fuzzy thing retracted at great speed.

“Alive!” the second voice shrieked. “Pony thing alive! Ahhh! Runrunrunrun!”

“Runrunrunrun!” echoed the first voice.

“Runrunrunrun!”

“Runrunrunrun!”

“Runrunrunrun – oof!”

“Silly billies,” chastised the third voice. “Go crash into each other ‘cause so silly. Birdy pony thing too hurted to catch anything. Poor birdy pony thing.” The voice drew closer. “You all hurted and in pain. Not good, not good, definitely not good. We help?” Evidently the question wasn’t directed at her, as the first voice responded to it.

“We stay out of surface stuff. Always stay out. Staying out good. Safer. Surface stuff confusing.”

“But we not on surface now,” the third voice pointed out. “Birdy pony thing down here with us. Our turf. Our rules. Our stuff not confusing like surface stuff. Birdy pony thing on our turf, so we help or not?”

“What if dangerous?”

“Does hurted birdy pony thing look dangerous?”

“… No.”

“Help is good. Make us feel good. Would want help for us if we stuck on surface all hurted and busted up, right?”

“Right …”

“Good, good, very good!” the third voice cried. “Decided then! Where others be? Need others to help move birdy pony thing.” The speaker came close to Rainbow Dash and said into her ear, “Don’t you worry, birdy pony thing. We help. We take you home with us. Take care of you. You betcha!”

Rainbow Dash tried to prise her eyelids open but they were totally uncooperative. She could feel herself fading. Even though she tried to fight it, the voices became muted until, finally, they and their strange discussion were nothing at all.

“Scootaloo?” Cheerilee approached her student with caution, not because it was outside school hours, or because she was afraid of heights, but because the little filly was so still she wasn’t sure she was still awake and didn’t want to startle her into falling.

“Hmm?” Scootaloo looked around. Far from being asleep, her eyes were red-rimmed with tiredness. “Oh, hi Miss Cheerilee.”

“Oh, sweetheart, have you slept at ALL?”

“Kinda hard to sleep when the sun didn’t go down last night.” Scootaloo looked back at the sky, one hoof resting on the tortoise beside her. They were both transfixed.

Clouds freckled the bright blue expanse but it was still uncomfortably hot. Bands of Cloudsdale’s finest weather ponies could be seen herding even more clouds together in an attempt to create some shade, but it was an unrewarding task. Ponyville sweated while only clocks told them night had become day again.

Cheerilee knelt beside the strange pair. Neither Scootaloo nor the tortoise looked at her. She did her best not to look down as she asked, “Scootaloo, have you even had breakfast?”

“I’m not hungry.”

Cheerilee bit her lower lip. “Did … you go home last night?”

Scootaloo didn’t respond. Cheerilee already knew the answer. She knew Scootaloo lived at the foals’ home. Cheerilee had answered her door this morning to a panicked green mare in one of their uniforms demanding for help to find their missing charge. Cheerilee had joined in the search and guessed Scootaloo might be where she had been when Rainbow Dash and Celestia’s other chosen ponies had said goodbye before leaving for Canterlot. Sure enough, here she was on the school roof.

“Scootaloo, you should have told Matron where you were.”

“She wouldn’t have let me stay out. I gotta stay, Miss Cheerilee. I promised Rainbow Dash I’d wait for her.”

“You could still wait for her at home.”

Scootaloo shook her head. “The sun didn’t go down.”

Cheerilee blinked at the segue. “I know that, dear.”

“No, I mean the sun DIDN’T go down.”

“Um…”

“Don’t you get it? That means something went wrong. It means they didn’t find the Elements of Harmony and something happened to Princess Celestia.”

Cheerilee remembered the panic on Twilight’s face after the urgent summons to Canterlot. As ever, Twilight had been reluctant to part with details that might start a panic, but Rainbow Dash’s goodbye to Scootaloo had been more telling. She had promised to trounce ‘the big bads’ even without the Elements of Harmony. How or why they were missing was still a mystery, as was what had happened to the six ponies who had left and still not returned, nor sent any word of what was going on. Uneasiness hung like a pall over Ponyville and no amount of cheerful words could dispel it.

“I’m sure Rainbow Dash and her friends will be back soon and have a good explanation for –” Cheerilee started.

“No, they won’t.” Scootaloo sniffed and turned her face away. The hoof resting on the tortoise tapped its shell, carefully avoiding the little propeller stuck there. “Tank came up here to wait with me. He had a bad feeling.”

“The … tortoise had a bad feeling?” Cheerilee said dubiously.

“Uh-huh.” Scootaloo nodded. “I think … I think something really bad has happened to Rainbow Dash.” Her voice cracked at the end.

“Oh, sweetheart.” It was an awkward angle and precarious as well, but Cheerilee shuffled over and hooked her chin sideways over Scootaloo’s ears in a hoofless hug. “You mustn’t think like that. You have to stay positive.”

“I have a bad feeling too,” Scootaloo sniffled, holding back her tears with only partial success. “Why else would the sun and moon be all messed up? If something bad had only happened to Princess Celestia, Princess Luna could have taken over both for a while, like Celestia did while she was banished. But the moon didn’t come up, which means something must have happened to her too. We haven’t heard anything from anypony in Canterlot, even though they promised they’d tell us what was going on and … and … Miss Cheerileeeeeeee!” Scootaloo’s babbled words ended in a wail as she thrust her face into her teacher’s neck and sobbed.

Scootaloo was a tough little pony and rarely cried. That she was doing so now settled a bad feeling in Cheerilee’s heart as well. She couldn’t deny what Scootaloo was saying and would never lie, even if it made reality sound prettier. It would only make the truth that much harder to swallow when it finally came out and she would never cause undue pain to one of her students. Instead, she said nothing; just held Scootaloo close and raised her eyes to the empty sky.

Guards were stationed at every door of the concert hall. Since most of Canterlot’s population were earth ponies, they had required the biggest holding pen and the largest number of griffin squadrons to watch over them until King Claw or his generals passed down instructions for what to do next. Unlike the unicorns, who had magical wards keeping them contained, or the pegasi, who were the least numerous type of pony in the capitol, sheer strength, intimidation and a soundproofed, near-impenetrable building were the tools at the Claw Army’s disposal here.

Inside the hall things were squashed, but not so much there was standing room only. As such the captives had split into tiny groups and cliques, as was the wont of Canterlot ponies. Though conversation had died down a lot since they were marshalled inside, fearful murmurs still created a perpetual susurrus. Ponies who had once been the crème-de-la-crème of Equestrian society now cowered at the mercy of a brutish species all too eager to punish them for stepping out of line.

“What do you think they intend to do with us?” asked a pale blue mare in a tremulous whisper. “This isn’t fair. This just isn’t fair! What did we ever do to deserve this?”

“Where’s Princess Celestia?” demanded a grey stallion. “Where’s Princess Luna? Why aren’t they protecting us?”

“Maybe they’ve abandoned us,” said another stallion who had lost his wig in the round-up. His prematurely bald head gleamed in the soft mood lighting of the concert hall. It was a little perverse that such an elegant place was now the scene of so much terror and confusion. “Maybe they made a deal with the griffins. Maybe they sold us out to those bloodthirsty monsters!”

His wife gathered their two identical colts close and stroked their manes as they cried. “Don’t be so stupid!” she hissed. “You’re frightening the foals! The princesses would never do anything like that.”

“Then where are they?” the grey stallion demanded again.

“As if I’d know? I was taken from my house and brought here without an explanation, the same as you, so I know just as much as you do.”

“Maybe …” The tremulous mare cleared her throat and said in a voice so soft almost none of them could hear her. “Maybe they’re dead. Maybe the griffins … killed them. Maybe they’re going to … to kill us too. Maybe that’s why they’ve put us all in one place. Maybe they’re going to … to …”

The colts cried even harder. Their mother glared at the other mare. “Don’t talk rubbish. Of course the princesses aren’t dead.”

“Then. Where. Are. They?” demanded the first stallion, his eyes beginning to go wild. He stamped a hoof in frustration. “Why haven’t they used their magic to stop all this nonsense and rescue us? And what about Celestia’s student – what’s her name, the purple unicorn?”

“Twilight Sparkle.”

“Yes, what about her and those mares from Ponyville? They have a duty to come and rescue us!”

“I heard they already came before the battle,” said the balding stallion.

“Well I haven’t seen them! Where are they? Why aren’t they doing their duty?”

The mother of the colts gritted her teeth. “I. Don’t. Know. Now. Shut. Up. Asking!”

“Maybe Twilight Sparkle and her friends were already defeated. We know there was fighting. We saw the Wonderbolts. They wouldn’t have come if things weren’t serious.” The tremulous mare sank to her haunches, her bottom lip quivering. “But we’re here like this even though they came. Not even the Wonderbolts could defeat the griffins.” She gulped. “We’re all going to d-die –”

The wild-eyed stallion cantered over and cuffed her around the ears. “Shut up!”

She wailed and held onto her elaborate hairstyle, as if the worst thing she had to worry about was it coming undone. “V-Vainglorious? Why did you d-do that?”

“I swear, Ritzy, if you don’t shut your mouth right now I’m going to shut it for you.”

Her eyes widened and fresh tears rolled down her cheeks. She started to wail in earnest, accompanied by the two colts. Several ponies rushed to her aid as the stallion raised his hoof to strike her before he was tackled to the floor. He struggled, his own panic giving him extra strength as the discussion turned into as close to a brawl as Canterlot high society had ever seen – at least until two griffin guards descended and put a stop to it.

In the far corner another mare shook her head as she watched them. One day of being captives was enough to reduce these aristocratic ponies to behaviour the lower classes they had always looked down upon would find appalling. Lack of information, hunger, thirst and the constant baleful stares of their captors were combining to create a kind of madness in them. Their inherent selfishness was rearing its ugly head in the worst ways possible. Didn’t they realise they had to pull together at a time like this? Crises required unity, not self-centredness.

She looked down at the pony curled up asleep beside her. They hadn’t even known each other before this; not in any way that truly counted. A single encounter at the Grand Galloping Gala wasn’t even grounds to call them acquaintances, yet she had recognised the other pony the moment she set eyes on her and quickly realised the griffins had not grasped the significance of this particular captive. The fact that no other pony had recognised her either was testament to how fear for their own necks had made them blind to the bigger picture. If they had, maybe there would be more than just herself protecting what might be a chance at surviving this mess.

“Octavia?” Evidently the other pony was not really asleep.

“Yes?”

“Are they fighting again?”

Octavia sighed. “Yes.”

“Why?”

“The same as last time.” The same as every time. The earth ponies were turning on each other because they couldn’t turn on their sharp-clawed, razor-beaked guards. Octavia wondered whether the unicorns and pegasi were doing the same. She had yet to see any of her quartet and worried at what this might mean. “You just stick close to me. We don’t want to get involved in any of that.”

“Okay.” Seconds later the other pony said plaintively, “I’m hungry.”

Octavia tried to ignore her own rumbling stomach. The griffins hadn’t fed or watered them and the concert hall was uncomfortably warm. The air felt thick, like they were breathing in chunks of sweat and anxiety. A lack of any windows made it even worse. There was nothing like an absence of sky to make anypony antsy and liable to snap under pressure. “I apologise, but I’m afraid there’s nothing I can do about that.”

“But my tummy hurts.”

Octavia gently pushed her nose against the other pony’s ear. It was instinctive and surprised her. She wasn’t the motherly type, but this was like dealing with a foal. Just as she had instantly recognised this mare, she had also realised why the other pony’s behaviour hadn’t alerted anyone to her true identity: she didn’t even know it herself. She had sat, lost and forlorn, in this very corner of the concert hall until Octavia came over and shielded her from view with her own body.

“Try to get some sleep,” Octavia advised. “That way you won’t be able to think about your sore tummy.”

The other pony looked up at her through her one visible eye. The other had swelled shut and, along with her puffed-up lip and numerous cuts, completely changed the mare’s face. The bandage Octavia had improvised from her own collar and bowtie to bind her bleeding head wound completed the transformation. That was likely a good thing. If she had looked more like herself the griffins might have been quicker to recognise her and take her away. Octavia had overheard enough of their brash, self-congratulatory conversations to know that the Elements of Harmony had been dealt with harshly during the attack.

“Octavia?”

“Yes?”

“What’s gonna happen to us?”

“I don’t know.”

“Will it be something bad?”

“I hope not.”

The other pony snuggled closer, as if she was a little filly, not a fully grown mare who had saved Equestria numerous times. “As long as I’m with you, we’ll be okay. We can look out for each other, right?”

“Um, right.”

The other pony yawned and curled up again, flicking her pink tail over her nose. “I’m glad you found me. I was real scared before, on account of I didn’t know where I was or what was going on. I’m still kinda scared, and I’m still not sure what’s going on, but it’s not so bad now. It’s …” She yawned again. “It’s good to have friends, right Octavia?”

Octavia paused before saying the name she had picked out of the air, along with a tissue of lies about years of friendship, in an effort to protect this pony’s identity. Before today they had not even exchanged a word. She had actually looked down on the other mare and hoped never to have to deal with her quirky, flamboyant disregard for etiquette ever again.

Irony, thy name is Octavia.

“Octavia?”

“Indeed it is, Jubilation.” She sighed. “It is indeed good to have friends in times of crisis.”

Braeburn and the Buffalo

7. Braeburn and the Buffalo

Braeburn had never been closer to his cousins in Ponyville than the rest of his extended family, but he and Applejack had bonded during her visit to Appleloosa and reconnected during the Apple family reunion. She was a hard worker and he could respect that, but she was also fun with an edge of dry humour that sometimes went over his head, but which he could generally appreciate. He liked her better than a lot of his other relations, so when he got the news she had been found injured in the desert he wasted no time in following the buffalo messenger back to their encampment.

Little Strongheart met him at the periphery. Even though Chief Thunderhooves and the Mayor were technically leaders of their respective communities, Braeburn and Little Strongheart had helped to work out a lot of trade and land agreements, so they knew each other as well as any pony and buffalo in these parts, if not better than most. Their acquaintance had become friendship based on honesty and respect, so he knew Little Strongheart wouldn’t lie to him even to spare his feelings. Her expression filled him with dread.

“Where are they?” he panted.

She gestured with her head. “This way.”

“Is it bad? Is she awake? Your messenger wasn’t exactly generous with the details.” Braeburn trotted to keep up even though his mad gallop had left him winded. “Lil’ Strongheart?”

“I think it might be better if you see for yourself.”

“Why? Don’t leave me hangin’ like the last crab-apple on the tree. Lil’ Strongheart?”

“In here.”

She had led him to an especially large tent embroidered with red thread designs. The shapes might have been words or just pretty patterns. Once or twice Little Strongheart had tried to teach Braeburn the written language of the buffalo, but it was deceptively simplistic. While it only had a few dozen ‘letters’ the combinations didn’t always add up to words the way ponies thought of them when they wrote. Braeburn had tried his hardest but it was like trying to catch fish in a net made from tissue paper: sooner or later everything fell through in a tangled mess and he had to start all over again.

“This is the Medicine Bull’s tent,” Little Strongheart explained. “But there were so many sick ponies we couldn’t fit them all in, so some are in my father’s as well.” She pointed at another large tent, though it was smaller than the Medicine Bull’s. It was decorated with stylised lightning bolts crackling down from menacing black clouds.

Braeburn nodded. “Which one is Applejack in?” He cared about the other ponies, of course, but his cousin was his primary concern.

“In here.” Little Strongheart held aside the flap of Chief Thunderhooves’s tent and followed him through.

Inside it smelled of sweet smoke, like someone had been burning herbs and apples. Given how fond Chief Thunderhooves was of Appleloosa apple pies, this was probably expectable. Six bedrolls had been squeezed side by side into the darkened space. Each one contained an unconscious pony. Braeburn recognised only two faces. They were all unicorns except one. He recognised a white mare who had come to Appleloosa with Applejack. She was next to the last bedroll on the left, where there lay a single earth pony. Beside her was a battered but still intact hat nearly identical to his own.

“Applejack!” Braeburn picked his way over to kneel beside her. She didn’t stir. He looked back at Little Strongheart and asked, “What the hay happened to her? To any of them?”

“We don’t know.” Little Strongheart looked ashamed of the admission. “There was a bright flash of magic in the sky and we found them at the source afterwards.”

“I remember that.” He and the rest of Appleloosa had been nonplussed at what it could be. “How many ponies did y’all find?”

“These six, plus four more.”

“Were they all … like this?” The mares were all unnaturally still, their faces blank. If not for the slight rise and fall of each chest, they could have been dead.

“No.” Little Strongheart considered for a moment and then flicked her head. “I think you should see the others for yourself. Chief Thunderhooves identified two of them as soon as he saw them. I think you’ll know who they are too, but you won’t believe me if I tell you.”

Braeburn was reluctant to leave his cousin, but dutifully followed his friend to the Medicine Bull’s tent. He had placed only one hoof over the threshold when he froze, heart momentarily launching out of his chest to clang between his ears. His head throbbed. It couldn’t be. It was impossible. And yet there they were: Princess Celestia and Princess Luna, also in bedrolls while an elderly bull buffalo shuffled between them. The buffalo looked frail but ministered to the two royal ponies with a certainty of movement that bespoke years of dealing with medical crises. His experienced touch was cold comfort to Braeburn.

“Don’t just stand there and gape,” the old bull snapped. “Either come in or go out, but close the flap.”

Braeburn and Little Strongheart scuttled inside, where Braeburn concertinaed his body to avoid stepping on another two ponies. He had been so hypnotised by Celestia and Luna he hadn’t noticed them at first. The princesses were much larger than average ponies and so took up a lot more room. Alongside them Twilight Sparkle and another unicorn Braeburn didn’t recognise seemed smaller than usual; or maybe that was down to the sorry state they were in. The two were as unconscious as the rest, though their expressions were far from peaceful. Twilight in particular looked like she was in terrible pain. A young buffalo cow, only slightly older than Little Strongheart, dabbed at her open mouth and tongue with a damp cloth as her raspy breathing dried out her throat.

“What … happened to them?” Braeburn whispered in horror.

“Who are you?” the old bull snapped irritably. “What need have I to answer your questions?”
“Peace, Laughing Creek.” Little Strongheart stood beside Braeburn, drawing the bull’s attention to her instead. “This is Braeburn.”

“An Appleloosan?” The bull eyeballed Braeburn with a mixture of hostility and suspicion. His name was ridiculous: his wrinkled face looked like he hadn’t smiled in years, and might shatter completely if he ever laughed.

Little Strongheart nodded without apology. “He is an invited guest of Chief Thunderhooves. He has come from Appleloosa to see the ponies who fell from the sky.”

“Fell from the sky?” the bull echoed. “Appeared out of thin air would be a more accurate description. As near as I can tell,” he went on, speaking to Braeburn now his presence had been endorsed, though his tone remained hostile, “They are all suffering from a kind of magical backlash.” He nodded at Twilight and the other unicorn. “Though I have seen such sickness precious few times before, my grandfather wrote extensively of his work and the signs are listed in his journals. During his time our herd moved more often than it does now and he saw many strange things, including feats of pony magic that made him wish buffalos could also grow horns on their foreheads. He was … an odd one, my grandfather.” Laughing Creek shook his head as if to disperse his own thoughts. “These two, on the other hoof –” He pointed at Celestia and Luna. “– I believe have been poisoned.”

“Somepony poisoned the princesses?” Braeburn was aghast.

The bull nodded. “Which would account for the unnaturally long daylight hours, I believe. Yes, pony, I know the identities of my patients. I am old, not stupid. I also know that this mare is the one who cast the spell to bring them all here.” He jabbed a hoof at Twilight.

Braeburn looked down at her contorted face. “All of them?”

Laughing Creek nodded. “ALL of them.” His tone communicated that he knew exactly how big a feat this was.

A teleportation spell for ten ponies, including two alicorns? The amount of magic necessary for such a thing boggled the mind. Braeburn didn’t know much about magic except what he had learned in school and from unicorn friends getting their cutie marks when he was a colt. What he did know made him stare in wonder at Twilight. Somepony so small summoning and using so much magical energy should have been impossible. It should have burned through her like a flamed through a paper doll. One unicorn could teleport him or herself with practise and a lot of effort. A unicorn whose special talent was magic could maybe teleport one or two other ponies, but NINE plus herself? It was a wonder Twilight was still alive. No wonder she looked so burnt out and ill. Braeburn wondered whether anypony could ever recover from what she had done – or, if they could recover, whether they would be the same afterwards. Trauma like that did funny things to folks.

“Can you help them?” he asked.

“The little ones? Yes,” Laughing Creek said dismissively. “Although all most of them need is time to recover and rest. The less magic a pony wields, the less they are affected by the backlash; which means the earth pony will wake first, in my opinion.”

The tightness in Braeburn’s chest eased a little. “What about Twilight and the princesses?”

“These two little unicorns were chosen to remain in my tent because they are the most powerful of the group: the purple one’s power runs to magic itself, the pink one’s to healing. It is somewhat ironic that the healers have all been struck with such an affliction while their princesses require their help so greatly.”

Braeburn was surprised. “ALL those unicorns out there are healers?”

“They were all wearing these when we found them.” Little Strongheart gently tugged back part of the still-nameless unicorn’s bedroll to reveal a white robe with red crosses on the sides. The resident doctor in Appleloosa wore the same symbol on his jacket. “We think maybe they were trying to heal the princesses when Twilight Sparkle was forced to transport them away. We don’t know why she chose here, or if she even chose at all. The fact that she brought them to the open desert suggests she wasn’t aiming.”

“Goshdarnit, if she was using that much magic I’ll bet a hickory button to a steam train she COULDN’T aim!” Braeburn exclaimed. “It’d be like pickin’ up a rock and throwin’ it into a pond versus skimmin’ a pebble across it.”

“We thought so, but we weren’t sure. Before she passed out, Applejack said something about Twilight having to cast her spell even though it was dangerous and even though it meant leaving ponies behind.”

“What the hay happened?” Braeburn wondered aloud.

“Whatever it was, it was not pleasant,” Laughing Creek snapped. “And it has left these ponies in dire need of aid, which is difficult for me to give if I have to waste time talking to you. If you wish to help, stay. If you have nothing to contribute, leave. It will take everything I know and every skill I have to heal these royal ponies of this poison.”

“But you CAN heal them?” That flutter of hope came again in Braeburn’s chest. Laughing Creek’s reply made it plummet back into the pit of his stomach.

“I do not know. The poison has magic in it; and powerful magic at that. I can try to combat it with buffalo charms, but I do not think it is pony magic, so I do not know how effective they will be against it.” He frowned. “Nevertheless, I will do all I can.”

Braeburn bowed his head. “Thank you, sir. Thank you kindly for everythin’ you’ve done. You too, Lil’ Strongheart. The buffalos have done so much to help us ponies today; I don’t know how we’ll ever be able to repay y’all.”

Little Strongheart gave him a wan smile. “If anything we do can help our friends and return the moon to the sky, that will be payment enough for us.”

Braeburn looked back at Celestia and Luna. He swallowed, his own mouth suddenly as dry as Twilight’s. He resolved to head back to town and fetch the doctor out here, plus anypony else with even a hint of healing magic, or just an inclination to help. This went beyond just him and concern for his family: this was a crisis that affected all of Equestria. They needed to get the princesses well again and fast, before eternal daylight took its irrevocable toll on the land.

Dread made Braeburn’s throat tighten. “Um, sir?”

“Hmm?” Laughing Creek looked up from uncorking a vial of evil smelling liquid. “What is it, pony?”

“Do you think … could the princesses … might they, um …?”

“Are you trying to ask me whether they might die?”

Braeburn nodded mutely. Saying the words out loud made them too real. A land without Celestia or Luna was a land of chaos.

“Put it this way: whoever gave them that poison did so with the express intent of them not recovering from it. That they have survived thus far is testament to the talents of the healers who have now been laid low. Do I need to explain it any further?”

Braeburn shook his head. “No, sir.”

“Good. Now help out or get out; I have work to do.”

Braeburn and Little Strongheart darted from the tent.

“I’ll … I’ll fetch the doctor,” Braeburn mumbled when they were outside. “From town. I’ll go back to town. To fetch the doctor. And we should send a message to Canterlot to find out what’s goin’ on there. This ain’t … this is … ponyfeathers!” He stamped his hooves in frustration.

Little Strongheart laid a comforting hoof on his shoulder. “You’re shaken up. I will go back with you to Appleloosa and help you do what needs to be done.”

Braeburn gave her a smile as wan as her own. A deep dread had settled over both of them, like a layer of dust settling over a disturbed attic. “Thanks, partner.” He looked past her to her father’s tent. “Could I just, ah …?”

“Of course.” Little Strongheart moved aside, allowing him to go back in.

Braeburn once again picked his way over the sick ponies and past the buffalo cow who had crossed the way to tend them as well. He knelt to just his forelegs, lowering his face to Applejack so he could murmur into her ear and nopony else could hear. “I’ll be back soon, cousin. You just hold on there and get well, y’hear?”

She didn’t move.

“Ponyfeathers,” Braeburn cursed under his breath. He half raised himself up before, on a whim, crouching again to press a kiss to her forehead. He hadn’t done that since he was a young stallion, really more of a colt and she was the little filly in a diaper he used to give rides around Sweet Apple Acres when they were kids at the Apple family reunion. She still didn’t stir, so he got to his hooves and hurried back out into the blazing sunshine.

Trapped in the Tower

8. Trapped in the Tower

The door to the tower room had a small slat at the top that periodically slid back to reveal a baleful griffin eye. It was too small to use more than one eye at a time, which led to the guard turning this way and that trying to see inside without opening the door. Evidently there had been a shift change and this guard was not as lazy as the last one, because he gave up and opened the door for a better look. His big frame took up almost all the light behind him, casting himself and in the interior in silhouette.

“Overgrown pigeon!”

He frowned and peered around. “Who said that?”

The five pegasi chained to the curved walls stared back at him. All wore the blue uniform and goggles of the Wonderbolts, their manes and individual cutie marks sewn onto the flanks the only distinction between them. In the poor illumination it was difficult for even griffin eyes to see the marks, since their vision was geared towards long distance hunting, like eagles, rather than low light hunting like owls.

The guard ground his beak in irritation. “You ponies had better learn some manners, or it’ll be curtains for you.” He waited for a response but none came. “Whatever. You’re al dead meat anyhow. You just don’t know it yet.” Threat made, he turned away.

“Ooh, we’re so scared!”

He whirled back, eyes darting, but none of the pegasi had moved. He swished his tail and let out a small growl, but they could have been part of the stonework. “Ponies,” he muttered as if it was a dirty word, shaking his head. He backed out and slammed the door behind him, pressing one eye to the slat before sliding the cover across that as well.

It took a few minutes of silence for anypony to speak again.

“Are you mentally deficient, Soarin’?”

A blue pony with an even darker blue mane grinned. Since he, like all the others, had been spread-eagled on his hind hooves against the wall and chained into place, he couldn’t push up his goggles to meet the angry stare of the mare across from him. “You expected me to stay quiet?”

“I expected you not to bait the guard with the sharp claws and short fuse while you’re strung up like a plucked chicken,” she replied.

“Hey, I resent the plucked part! I still have my feathers.”

She exhaled harshly. “You pick the weirdest times to focus on stupid details.”

“That’s why you love me.”

“Whatever.” The mare wiggled back and forth, trying for the hundredth time to loosen the coils of rope around her middle.

“You’re gonna pull a wing muscle that way, Spitfire.”

“You expected me to stay still?”

Soarin’ nodded. “Touché.”

All their wings had been bound before they were manacled. The griffins had used their prodigious strength to bend whatever metal they could find and use it to encircle their hooves: light fixtures, candelabras, ornaments, plus whatever other trappings were around Canterlot Castle. The manacles had a cobbled-together look but did the job they had been designed for: no matter how much she had struggled, Spitfire had only rubbed her own legs raw without making a dent on her restraints. Their captors had made extra sure they could cause no problems. In a way it was complimentary that the Claw Army thought the Wonderbolts were enough of a threat to merit this kind of special treatment, but the griffins’ precautions had made escape almost impossible. Still, she tried again and again while they weren’t looking, as if she was trying to wear down the metal and rope against the cool stone of the tower wall. Since there was only one small window and none of them could fit through it even if they were free, it begged the question of what she intended to do if she ever DID untie herself.

Eventually she loosed a gusty sigh and hung her head. “Well this sucks.”

“Understatement!”

“Yes, thank you, Soarin’. Once again your contribution has lowered the collective IQ of the room.” She twisted to look at the mare next to her, also in a Wonderbolt uniform with goggles pulled over her eyes. “How are you holding up, newbie?”

“Um-I’m-okay-Miss-Spitfire-thanks-for-asking-and-thanks-again-for-what-you-did-I-really-appreciate-the-risk-you-took.” Fluttershy spoke so fast her words blurred together. Spitfire blinked as she slowed them down in her head.

“MISS?” Soarin’ translated first and grinned. If you didn’t know any better and couldn’t see the tightness around his mouth you could mistake his tone for genuine cheerfulness. If there was one thing the Wonderbolts did well, it was put on a show. “You’re sure going up in the world, Spitfire.”

“Put a sock in it, Soarin’.” Spitfire nonetheless shot Fluttershy an encouraging smile. “Don’t worry about it. Like we were going to leave you high and dry out there for those griffins?”

“It’s not like Cyclone needed his uniform anymore,” muttered one of the other pegasi.

For a second Spitfire’s expression twisted up in pain. With her eyes on show it was much easier to read her emotions and Fluttershy’s own heart twisted in response. She had been injured and cornered when Spitfire and Soarin’ rescued her. Reasoning that they needed to conceal her identity from the Claw Army when it became clear the battle was going south, they presented her with a uniform and protected her while she put it on. Their plan had been to smuggle her out of Canterlot in one of their formations but that had failed when a platoon of griffins brought what was left of them all down. A team of ten Wonderbolts had come to Canterlot but only four remained.

For a while they had all thought they were going to become casualties too, but against all odds the griffins had instead spared their lives and brought them here instead. What they had planned for the remaining Wonderbolts remained to be seen. Twilight had called on the team to help the besieged capital as warriors, but they were a pretty powerful emblem of Equestria and parading them around in chains would certainly send a clear message to the rest of the land.

Fluttershy tried not to think about the whirlwind cutie mark masking her own butterflies. She was acutely aware she was wearing something another pony had died in. It wasn’t as if Spitfire and Soarin’ would have just happened to be carrying a spare uniform onto a battlefield, after all, but they had been sparing with details and point blank refused to answer when she asked. Their teammates, on the other hoof, were not as considerate.

“Poor Cyclone didn’t stand a chance,” said the pony who had spoken; a lilac mare with a green mane that hung in tendrils like a mass of leafy vines. Her cutie mark was a green parrot but Fluttershy didn’t know her name. Rainbow Dash would have. She knew the entire roster of Wonderbolt members, including those benched through ill health, retirees, tech help and every single standby. “Neither did Quicksilver. Two of those creatures just knocked him out of the air right in front of me. They were ripping him to pieces all the way to the floor. Just … ripping him to pieces ...” Her voice choked up until she couldn’t speak anymore.

“We all saw stuff out there,” said a stallion whose frothy white mane and blue coat resembled clouds on a sunny summer day. “Try not to think about it.”

“How do you NOT think about something like that? Quicksilver was my wing-pony. I should’ve saved him!”

“And Cyclone was my lead-pony,” the stallion replied tightly. “But I’m not beating myself up about somepony else wearing his uniform because I wasn’t fast enough to save him.” He hadn’t looked once at Fluttershy since they were brought in here. His goggles were perched on his head, making his avoidance of her easy to see. Now his behaviour made a lot more sense.

“At least Cyclone went quickly: they broke his neck before he had time to feel anything. I can’t get Quicksilver’s screaming out of my head.”

“Try.”

“What about Snow, Flicker, Gallant Heart and Tempo? You saw what happened to them. You can’t just FORGET something like that. It’s … it’s too heartless!”

“Try,” the stallion replied inflexibly.

The leafy mare glared daggers at him. “Screw you, Cirrus.”

Fluttershy wished she could flop her long hair in front of her face to shield her from their corrosive anger and grief, but Spitfire had used a piece of broken stained glass to saw her mane into a rough buzz-cut and dock her tail in an effort to make her look less like herself. Her neck felt cold and strange, as if she really had stepped outside herself and into somepony else’s body as well as their uniform. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“Don’t be sorry,” Spitfire said sharply. When Fluttershy cringed she softened her tone. “I knew Cyclone from his first day at the Academy and I can tell you for a fact that he would be honoured that his uniform helped to save your life.”

“I …” Fluttershy swallowed. Her throat was dry and she really wanted a drink of water. “I …”

“You want to say something?”

“I … I just …”

“Spit it out already!” snapped the mare with the leafy mane.

“Verdant!” Spitfire glared at her so hard she immediately fell silent.

Fluttershy took a strengthening breath. “I don’t understand why you saved me over all the other ponies out there.” It was something that had been bothering her from the start. She had been far from the only pony in trouble, but Spitfire and Soarin’ had made a beeline for her the moment they spotted her.

“Seriously?” Soarin’ laughed, but it sounded forced. “You’re seriously asking why YOU’RE an important pony?”

“Shh!” Spitfire shushed him. “We don’t know how thick that door is.”

Fluttershy’s wings twitched unconsciously against her ropes. A bolt of pain shot into her left shoulder, reminding her of the injury that had left her grounded when all that other pegasi took flight with their nets, hoping to ensnare the attacking griffins and end the conflict without bloodshed. It had been a valiant attempt but ultimately ended in failure.

“I still don’t understand,” she said. She wasn’t a fool: she understood that she and her friends were valuable because they wielded the Elements of Harmony, but the necklaces and crown that contained that special power had been stolen before the battle even began. Twilight had told the Wonderbolts this when she implored them to come and defend Celestia and Luna against the oncoming Gryphon horde. “You know that … you know about the theft.”

“Kinda hard not to figure out the Elements were stolen since we’re, y’know, in Canterlot Tower and there’s a big honking empty space where they should be.” Verdant’s brief cowed silence gave way to sarcasm.

“Verdant!” Spitfire hissed. “We may be in a tough spot right now, but I’m still your ranking superior, so I’m ordering you to keep your mouth shut unless you have something useful, or at least NOT negative to say. Do you understand me?”

“But–”

“Do. You. Understand. Me?”

Verdant turned her face away, her jaw set in a mutinous line. “Yes, Spitfire.”

Fluttershy shrank against the tension filling the little room like soup. Her wing hurt, but not as much as her heart. She was worried about her friends and thinking about the Elements of Harmony inevitably led to thinking about them. Where were Twilight, Rarity, Pinkie Pie, Rainbow Dash and Spike now? What had happened to Princess Celestia and Princess Luna? She couldn’t think anything good had befallen them if the griffins had taken over so thoroughly, but imagining their fate was beyond her ability. Her gentle nature simply could not envision the kinds of things a harsh nature like King Claw’s might do to his conquered enemies, despite what Verdant kept saying about the fates of the other Wonderbolts. All Fluttershy could do was worry, fret and desperately try to keep some small flame of hope burning inside herself. If she didn’t know the worst, there was still a possibility her friends were okay. They might have escaped – and maybe even somehow, against all probability, taken the princesses with them. She couldn’t think how, but that wasn’t to say it wasn’t possible. She had to keep hoping and do her best to free herself and these brave pegasi who had saved her.

She focussed on the window. Spitfire saw her gaze settle and followed it. After a minute or so she looked back at Fluttershy, forehead creased in puzzlement. “What’s so interesting out there?”

“I’m hoping a little bird or insect might land there or pass by close enough for me to call it inside.”

“You can do that?” Soarin’ asked.

Fluttershy nodded.

“Birds and bugs can understand you?” The stallion called Cirrus sounded sceptical. He still wouldn’t look at her, but at least he was acknowledging her presence.

“Animals too,” Fluttershy replied without rancour.

“Why do you want one of them to come in?”

“I’m hoping I can get a message back to Ponyville.”

“Somepony there can translate bug too?”

Fluttershy shook her head.

“Then what’s the point?” Verdant ignored Spitfire’s expression to demand. Evidently the chains gave enough promise of no punishment to lend her extra courage when it came to defying the Wonderbolt leader.

“My rabbit, Angel, is good at making ponies understand what she wants,” Fluttershy tried to explain.

Verdant rolled her violet eyes. “Oh, great, so we’re relying on MAYBE a bird or bug passing, who’ll MAYBE flit back to your hick town, MAYBE talk to a RABBIT, who’ll then MAYBE get some random pony to MAYBE understand what’s happened here. Brilliant plan. Absolutely top notch.”

“Have you got a better one?” demanded Spitfire.

“Well … no,” Verdant was forced to admit.

“Then quit picking on the one pony actually trying to do something constructive, otherwise when we get out of here you’ll find yourself repeating your whole time at the Academy with a special emphasis on insubordination and how to not be a pain in the rump.”

“WHEN we get out of here?” Cirrus echoed. “That’s mighty presumptuous talk. Shouldn’t you say ‘if’?”

“Why would I say ‘if’? We’re Wonderbolts.” Spitfire met Soarin’s gaze across the chamber and he nodded, showing why they worked so well as lead- and wing-pony. They knew each other so well Soarin’ needed no further prompting to follow her lead exactly.

“Wonderbolts don’t quit and don’t back down,” he proclaimed. “Am I right?”

“Yeah!” Spitfire tried to punch the air, rattling her chains. She looked at Cirrus and Verdant. “Right?”

“Yeah,” Cirrus said without enthusiasm.

Verdant rolled her eyes again. “You’re all nuts. We already lost. Canterlot lost. The whole of Equestria already lost. It’s hopeless.”

“No, it’s not,” Fluttershy said, still quiet but not quite a tremulous as before. “It’s not hopeless.”

“Says the pony who thinks a bug can save us.” Verdant shook her head and looked away, her thoughts clearly still on her wing-pony and the terrible things she had witnessed. Her lower lip quivered but she allowed no tears to fall.

Fluttershy swallowed and refocused on the window, willing herself not to cry either. It wasn’t hopeless. It WASN’T. She couldn’t let herself think that way.

Please, she thought. Please …

Dragon Delivered

9. Dragon Delivered

Pinkie Pie had gone to sleep. Octavia remained wakeful, eyes hooded but focussed on everything around them. So it was that when a pair of new griffins arrived and spoke to the guards she was the first to sense something was amiss. Her heart skittered when several sets of baleful eyes turned in their direction, but the griffins didn’t pounce on her and her pink responsibility. Instead, one of the guards stalked forward with purpose into a crowd of dismayed ponies. Octavia was wondering whether it would look more or less suspicious to leap to her feet too and whether the risk of not following everypony else’s lead was worth exposing Pinkie Pie, when a familiar wail went up.

“What are you doooooing!? Where are you taking meeeeeee!?”

The guard reappeared, walking on his hind legs with a pale blue mare across his forelegs. Her elaborate yellow hairdo fell across her face as she struggled and wailed while trying to avoid his upturned claws.

“Take this one,” the guard said over her din. “Please take this one. It just keeps making that awful noise. It’s driving me insane!”

“Noooooo!” The mare kicked harder, but the guard passed her to one of the new griffins with a sigh of relief.

“We need two,” said the other newcomer, a female whose feathers were red as a robin’s chest. “Orders were for us to fetch two earth ponies.”

The guard grinned eagerly. “I know just the one.” He all but dived back into the crowd of ponies, scattering them like a fox among rabbits. He came back up with a bigger pony that struggled even harder than the mare.

“Release me, you ruffian!” the grey stallion yelled.

“Can it, pony,” the guard snapped. His grip was poorer, since the stallion was so much bigger than the mare. Eventually he gripped the scruff of the stallion’s neck in one claw and the base of his tail with the other, carting him across the concert hall like he was a bouncer and the stallion was about to be ejected from a club. “What do you want them for?”

The red griffin shrugged as if she couldn’t care less. “The orders came from Stargazer, so probably it’s something to do with His Majesty.”

The guard stiffened. “These two are for King Claw?”

“Or Stargazer.”

He shivered. Octavia wondered who this ‘Stargazer’ character was to elicit that kind of reaction from a swaggering bully like their guard. No-one she wanted to meet, that was for certain.

The red griffin accepted the stallion by clamping a heavy collar around his neck and dragging him off. When the stallion tried to fight her she cuffed his ears, though she kept her claws carefully averted. Evidently she was to deliver him and the mare undamaged. Something roiled in Octavia’s gut: a sensation like she had eaten fermented grass or cordial left out in the sun too long.

“Octavia?” She looked down to see Pinkie Pie also watching the mare and stallion being led away: him glowering, her sobbing. “Where are Ritzy and Vainglorious going?”

Octavia blinked. “You remember their names?” Panic washed over her: what else did she remember? Pinkie Pie in her natural state was a bundle of energy and joy, but that same energy was uncontrollable and apt to get her noticed and then killed in a situation like this.

“Uh-huh. I was listening to them talk before.” Only when the door shut did she meet Octavia’s gaze. Her blue eyes were full of worry and confusion. “Ritzy’s always crying and Vainglorious is always telling her to shut up. He’s really mean. I don’t like him, but I don’t like the idea that he’s in trouble because of it. Do you think they’re gonna get punished for being naughty?”

The simplicity of the question floored Octavia. “Um, I … I don’t know.”

“My teacher at school keeps giving me detentions when I talk in class, but I can’t help it. I like making my classmates laugh. She never sees it that way. I don’t like Miss Hackney. I wish I was still in Miss Cheerilee’s class. She was my teacher when I first joined the school, and she was really kind to me because I started after everypony else.” Pinkie Pie frowned, scrunching up her battered face in thought. “Do you … are we in the same class at school, Octavia?”

Octavia swallowed. The story she had fed to Pinkie Pie – or ‘Jubilation’ as she was now trying to pass her off – involved a fabricated friendship outside of school. She had drawn on her childhood in Trottingham for details, reasoning that a small town like hers couldn’t be that far removed from life in Ponyville. She hadn’t even thought about school, or the fact that minor details from Pinkie Pie’s past would filter into her mind at the worst possible moments.

“No, Jubilation, we’re not.” She thought up an excuse quickly. “I’m older than you, remember?”

“Oh.” Pinkie Pie’s frown cleared. Clearly this was enough to expunge the discrepancies her mind had thrown up so far. “Did you have Miss Hackney last year? She’s been at the school for, like, EVER!”

“O-Of course I did. But do you really want to talk about school right now?”

“I guess not.” The frown returned in full force. “Do you think Ritzy and Vainglorious will be okay?”

“I’m sure they’ll be fine. They’re probably just going to get a, ah, detention or something. They’ll be made to clean the chalkboards and weed the gardens for being so loud and rude to each other.”

“Miss Hackney makes me clap the chalkboard erasers together to get the dust off. I hate that job: it makes me sneeze and I crash into stuff when I sneeze.” She gingerly touched her swollen snout. “Did I … crash into something to make my face hurt this bad?”

“Something like that.”

Griffin fists, most likely. Really, it was a wonder Pinkie Pie was still alive. Octavia couldn’t ask her how she had accomplished it, since that would involve pointing out to her that she was older than she thought, had been in a bloody skirmish with their captors and likely lost all her friends as well as any chance of ever going home. She didn’t know what that kind of sudden mental trauma would do to anypony, and Pinkie Pie was far from any pony. Until she could figure what their next move should be, Octavia resolved to keep Pinkie Pie in her little fantasy so as to keep her safe. If she felt unpleasant about the untruths, well then, that was just something she would have to live with.

“Can I have a drink of water?” Pinkie Pie asked plaintively.

“Not at the moment, Jubilation.”

“Why not?”

“There isn’t any.”

“Still?” Pinkie Pie gave a stupendous pout. “Those griffins are meanie-poops.”

Octavia boggled for a moment. “Meanie-poops?”

“Uh-huh. They’re mean and they’re poopy-heads, so they’re meanie-poops.” She crossed her front hooves and laid her chin on them, still pouting. “Meanie-poops.”

Octavia watched her for a moment. Despite the gravity of their situation, she had a sudden urge to laugh that she only just managed to squash. Clearing her throat, she crossed her own front hooves and mimicked Pinkie Pie’s posture, trying to fade into the background while also keeping an eye on everypony and every griffin around them.

Gilda pulled up short at the doors to the throne room. Her way was barred by two griffins; a buck and a hen, both considerably larger than her. They refused to even glance at her as she approached. Their only acknowledgement was a downward flick of their eyes when she was right in front of them, before they went right back to ignoring her.

“I have something for King Claw,” she said, suddenly realising how stupid that sounded. Why hadn’t she found one of the other captains if she didn’t want to speak to Captain Ripper again? Why had she bypassed all sane ideas and gone straight for the big cheese? King Claw had better things to do than give her an audience. She had been mad after talking to the dragon and it had impaired her judgement. She couldn’t back down though; not now, with these two arrogant feather-bags dissing her like this.

To distract herself from her own idiocy she held out the covered bird cage. She had discovered it in a side room. Judging by the big honking portrait on the wall and the private letters scattered across the floor and table, she presumed the room was part of Celestia’s private chambers. It might even have been where the poisoners found their mark. The cage had been empty on a stand, its previous occupant, if there had been one, long since departed. Gilda wondered whether it had been taken off by somegriffin to be prepared into a meal for His Majesty: parrot l’orange, canary parfait or, knowing King Claw’s rustic tastes, simply roast parakeet. Tired of avoiding the little dragon’s gaze, she had pulled out the perch and fashioned it into a muzzle, then shoved the dragon inside, fastened the door and covered it with a sheet. It made carrying the thing much easier.

The two griffins didn’t even bother to look at the cage she held out. Stung, Gilda stepped forward to pass between their bodies and open the huge doors behind them. The female stuck out a wing to block her and finally deigned to glare at more than empty space. Her feathers were a beautiful mix of different shades of red that made her gold eyes stand out like the centre of a flame. By comparison the buck’s brown and white feathers looked dowdy.

“His Majesty is not to be disturbed,” said the hen.

Gilda stopped. “Says who?”

“Someone more important than you.”

She riled at this and automatically started puffing up her chest and back feathers like an angry cat.

“Don’t even try it,” the hen snapped, rolling her eyes in disgust. “I could squash you like a rotten egg, underling.”

The emblem of an underling displayed on her vest burned like a hot brand. Gilda resisted the urge to cover up the evidence of how much lower down the ladder she was than everyone else. When she had left Flight School she had been full of dreams and big ideas of how she was going to make her mark on the world. She, Dash and their egos were going to take Equestria by storm until their names were famous and everyone knew who they were. Well, Equestria had sure been taken by storm, but here she was, anonymous in the crush of overeager warmongers, while Dash was –

“Will you just push off?” The hen scooped one massive wing towards Gilda, literally pushing her away. “King Claw isn’t going to see you. Why did you ever think he’d speak to an underling?”

Gilda hop-skipped backwards to avoid the red wing. Much like swans, a griffin wing could break bones if it hit you without enough force. “I have this for–”

“He’s not going to see you,” the buck interrupted. “Get that through your thick skull. No wonder you’re just an underling. Complicated thoughts really are beyond you low-rankers, aren’t they?”

Was it a quirk of nature that griffins born in Gryphona were genetically predisposed to be assholes? Gilda had yet to meet one for whom ‘being civil’ wasn’t a foreign concept. The closest was Captain Ripper and something about the way he complimented her made her deeply aware of her secrets as well as her shortcomings and keen to avoid his company. It was too bad he was her commanding officer and she saw more of him than anygriffin else.

“You’re not getting in here,” the hen said irritably, shooting her companion a dirty look. She clearly thought she was the more important of the two of them and didn’t appreciate him interrupting her. “So get lost. I’m sure there’s some gutter with your name on it that needs scraping out.”

Gilda fought the desire to launch at her for a brawl. The hen was larger, brawnier and of a higher rank, but a more powerful opponent had never stopped Gilda before. One time in Flight School, when she was still in her first semester, she had taken on a senior and won. She remembered cannoning across the storm-ball field after he kicked a particularly nasty raincloud into her gym class and fried the tails of several meek classmates. They had scattered in fear, which he had found hilarious until Gilda punched him on the nose. She hadn’t been defending them, but the nerve of somepony thinking he could get away with something like that had made her blood boil until common sense took a vacation. Later, outside the principal’s office, she had been plonked next to a filly with a bleeding lip and realised it was the rainbow-haired freak she had fought on the first day. The filly had leaped into the fray to keep her from getting her tail kicked by the senior’s teammates even though she should have hated Gilda’s guts after their first encounter. She had thrust out her hoof for Gilda to shake and the way she introduced herself had remained with Gilda to this day.

“I’m Rainbow Dash. Don’t forget it. Someday I’m gonna be the most famous flier in Equestria and you can say ‘I knew her before she was famous but not before she was kick-ass’.”

Gilda’s throat constricted. The memory disappeared and her desire to kick tail died when the double doors opened and both the hen and buck guards arched to attention like they had been carved from stone.

“What’s going on out here?” asked a sibilant voice.

“Stargazer, sir!” the hen barked. “We were just sending this underling away, sir.”

An ancient griffin slipped through the narrow gap, closing the doors behind him. He slunk to stand between the guards, though his single eye was fixed on Gilda. “An underling?” His voice drew out the last syllable as if he was savouring it.

Her heart skipped a beat. She had never heard him talk or seen him this close before, but every griffin in the Claw Army knew who Stargazer was. Magic was so rare in griffins it was impossible not to know about him and the three others with powers who served under him. No-one had ever confirmed it to Gilda, but the rumour was that those three were responsible for the poisoning of Celestia and Luna, since they were the only ones able to slip into Canterlot when the princesses were at full power. Moreover, rumour said that on Stargazer’s orders they had also managed to steal the Elements of Harmony; ancient artefacts whose sole purpose was to protect Equestria from harm. Without Stargazer and his assassins, this entire invasion could not have happened. And now here he was, standing in front of her looking expectant. He kept his face turned sideways, so that his good eye could focus properly on her – and the cage in her claw.

“Why was this underling trying to see His Majesty?” Stargazer asked. His voice sounded like dead leaves blowing across concrete. “What would prompt such a large breach in protocol? Simple stupidity or some other reason?”

“Uh …” the buck fumbled.

“She said she had something for him, sir!” the hen replied.

“What might that be?”

“We … didn’t ask, sir!”

“Didn’t you think such a flagrant breaking of rank was odd for an underling to try?”

“Uh …” Now the hen fumbled as well.

Stargazer came forward, eyeballing the covered cage. “What do you have there, underling?”

Suddenly, despite her dislike of the little dragon and her eagerness to be rid of him, Gilda tightened her grip on the cage. It was irrational and ridiculous, but she didn’t want to hand it over. This grizzled old griffin was nowhere near a threat physically; it was something else about him that set warning bells ringing in her head. Something deep in her gut told her that giving him Twilight Sparkle’s dragon would be a very, very bad idea. She unconsciously pulled the cage back towards her own chest. “It’s … it’s nothing, sir. Totally not important. Um, I mean … I’m sorry I wasted your time.” She bowed and backed off, as was proper etiquette.

“Halt, underling,” Stargazer said quietly. She froze as he took hold of the sheet and pulled it aside. When he saw the little purple dragon his eye rounded in delight. “A dragon hatchling? Where did you find this?”

“It … it was hiding … I found it by, uh, accident …” Gilda glanced at the dragon, which was no longer looking at her, but at Stargazer. It was still furious, attested by its smoking nostrils, but it no longer looked quite as sure of itself as it had when yelling at her. It sensed Stargazer’s dangerousness too.

“Celestia certainly had some interesting pets,” Stargazer breathed. He held out a claw, clearly expecting her to fork over the cage.

Gilda hesitated a moment more before reluctantly acquiescing. Her stomach coiled like a basket of overturned snakes. She felt like she had just made a terrible mistake.

“I shall keep hold of this one until His Majesty is more of a mind to think about it.” He lifted his gaze to her thoughtfully. “What is your name, underling?”

“Uh, Gilda, sir.” At his frown she added, “Goldfeather.”

“Goldfeather.” Stargazer turned the name over like a cat inspecting something interesting. “Goldfeather. An old name, but a respectable one.”

Her parents had given her an Equestrian name, but every griffin she told it to focussed more on her surname, since it was more akin to their kind of naming system. If she had been more committed to their cause she would have given herself over totally to being ‘Goldfeather’, but instead she had stubbornly held on to ‘Gilda’. It meant ‘decorated with gold’ in Olde Equestrian and the sound of it had appealed to her dad alongside his great-great-great-however-many-times-great-grandfather’s name. ‘Goldfeather’ had been turned into a family surname by subsequent generations. Gryphons didn’t bother with first names and surnames, since the population of Gryphona was so small and every griffin mother tried to think up new and fearsome names for her offspring to make them stand out. Gilda was an oddity but couldn’t bring herself to discard this last part of her pre-Claw-Army identity. If she had been more of a mind, she might have examined this, but she wasn’t and didn’t.

Stargazer gave her a sudden, brilliant smile. You could see how he might have been a handsome buck in his youth, but now he was withered and twisted. His back was hunched and his stance terrible, but he moved with incongruent speed and grace. Something about him reminded Gilda of a still oil slick floating on water with a strong currant hidden beneath. The skin around the base of her feathers prickled uncomfortably even though Stargazer’s expression was ostensibly friendly.

“Thank you for the gift, Underling Goldfeather,” he purred. “I won’t forget this.” He turned and went back through the doors to the throne room without another word. As he was so much higher in rank than her he didn’t need to worry about showing her his tail, nor did he look back, but he did pause to flip the sheet back over the cage before entering the throne room.

Gilda felt sick to her stomach, so she didn’t move fast enough with the hen guard swept a wing at her again. Instead she staggered and nearly fell over.

“Beat it,” the hen snarled, clearly embarrassed that she had been made to look foolish in front of her superior. She had abandoned all pretence at aloofness and allowed her emotions to blaze through. “Go on, get lost or I’ll rip you a new colon.”

Gilda fluffed up again. Feathers on end, she came up to the hen’s shoulder. “Just try it, chuckles.”

The hen planted her claws and paws in a fighting stance. “Gladly.”

“Don’t,” said the buck. “She’s not worth it. We’re on duty. Don’t throw away your honour on some stupid little underling.” He spat the word the way others might say ‘dog dirt’. “Do what she said and get lost,” he added to Gilda.

Gilda eyed them both and then, to their increasing anger, turned her back and flew off, swishing her tail impudently as she went.

High in the rafters, a pair of pupil-less golden eyes watched the scene unfold. They took in the exchange, the posturing, the handover and finally the retreat of the presumptuous smaller griffin. The owner of the eyes had never met any of these creatures before, but they were all intruders and thus all enemies, big or small.

Despite being fliers, the griffins rarely looked up, so the owner of the gold eyes was able to open her wings and glide silently away without being noticed. She knew this castle better than any of them and knew how to get around undetected. She had often evaded the Royal Guards when she got bored and went exploring without permission.

Her ancient brain worked on the problem now laid before it, while her young eyes searched out more information on what these intruders were doing in her territory.

King Claw's Commands

10. King Claw’s Commands

Ritzy cowered against Vainglorious’s side, trying to make herself as small as possible next to his long legs. She didn’t even comment when he did that thing he always did when he thought she was being vulgar: a cross between a snort and a shudder that usually had their entire clique sniggering at her behind their hooves.

It wasn’t fair. She had always imagined that when she finally saw the inside of Princess Celestia’s throne room, it would be because her social efforts had been given the acknowledgement they deserved. For years, Ritzy had toiled diligently at her charity work: improving the lives of less fortunate ponies by selecting those of obvious talent or merit and elevating them into high society. Many were the uncouth souls whose lives she had improved with her advice and invitations to just the right party, just the right race or just the right cheese-and-hay tasting shindig. Once or twice she had even implemented personal lessons in fashion and etiquette, especially when it came to tutoring young fillies in how to suppress their appetites and eat only when well-bred slender mares ate. Yet it had never been enough to gain the princess’s interest. The Vaniteux were an old family whose lineage could be traced back seventeen generations, all of whom had lived in Canterlot. That alone should have garnered Ritzy an invite to a royal garden party, but somehow her name had never appeared on the guest list.

Now she was finally inside the throne room and couldn’t enjoy a single moment of it. Life really was too unfair.

“Don’t stand so close to me.” Vainglorious bumped her away from him.

She tripped over her own hooves and shot him a dirty look. The Vaniteux and Rupin families had often been at odds over the last seventeen generations, but one might think him able to offer a lady support in a time of crisis. Some gentlecolt HE was; no matter what airs and graces he put on, Vainglorious would always be the foal who had wet himself at her birthday party when they both attended the most exclusive kindergarten in Canterlot so many years ago. She was about to bring him down a peg or two out of habit, but her witty remark died on her lips as she took note of their surroundings once more: beautiful, regal and unoccupied.

“What do you suppose they’re waiting for?” she asked.

“How the devil should I know?” Vainglorious tossed his mane in irritation and eyed the door they had been so rudely shoved through. He rubbed at his neck where the metal collar had rubbed. Specks of rust still graced the area.

“Why did they separate us away from the others?” Ritzy pressed. If she was stuck here with him, at least she would not be stuck in silence.

“Perhaps they recognised good breeding and want to parley with us in the princesses’ … absence.” He obviously couldn’t bring himself to mention their deaths. For once, Ritzy didn’t hold it against him. She couldn’t either. “We represent the crème-de-la-crème of Canterlot society. It stands to reason they’d want to bargain with us.”

“For what? They already own the city.”

“Owning land doesn’t mean you understand it,” Vainglorious said knowledgeably. “Like our estate over in Trottinghamshire; Great-Grand-Daddy bought and owned it, but hadn’t the foggiest where to go or what to do when he holidayed there. He had to have the locals explain the most basic of things to him. That’s probably the case here: the griffins may occupy Canterlot, but they don’t know how things work around here, so I expect they need ponies like us to … show them the ropes.”

“They didn’t act like we’re envoys of the Equestrian nation,” Ritzy said sourly. What Vainglorious said made sense, much to her chagrin. Still, something bothered her: maybe the metal collars and the way they had been shoved in here like prisoners in some smelly dungeon. “They acted incredibly rough and discourteous.”

“They’re griffins,” Vainglorious cut across her. “Rough and discourteous is what they are, not just what they do.”

Ritzy looked around, absently taking in the magnificent architecture and stained glass windows. The throne sat atop its gleaming white marble staircase, which had probably been chosen so Celestia’s moulted white hairs didn’t show up and make the place look untidy and … un-royal. Did alicorns moult? What about Princess Luna: now she was back did she brush her coat seventy times a day like Ritzy did, so that her dark hairs didn’t show up on the marblework? It was an interesting question, but inappropriate for the moment.

“I have a bad feeling about this,” Ritzy whispered. “I don’t like that those griffins who brought us here wouldn’t so much as step inside. Don’t you think it’s odd that they’d imprison us in a room with so many … Vainglorious?” She looked over her shoulder and then whirled around. He was gone. “Vainglorious, desist in this silliness. You are entirely unfunny and unseemly. Show yourself, this instant. Vainglorious? Vainglorious!” She almost stamped her hoof like a filly in a tantrum. Alarm at being abandoned morphed quickly into fear and anger at him wandering off without a word. The chamber was huge, yet somehow she had not heard him trot away. “Vainglorious! Vain– ugh!”

Something landed in her eye, cutting off her shriek. She swiped a hoof in lieu of her handkerchief, which she had already soaked with tears back in the concert hall. When she looked at her hoof her mouth dropped open and her rarely-fed stomach plummeted into her tasteful slippers.

Something dropped onto her head. She felt it slide through her mane to her scalp. It was warm and wet. Trembling and barely able to move, she looked up.

The biggest, most baleful eyes she could ever have imagined looked back at her. Each one was the size of her skull and sat in face wreathed in dark brown feathers that made the beak beneath stand out like polished bronze. Though it was perched on an oversized bust of Princess Luna’s head and chest that jutted from the wall, Ritzy could see every massive feather like they were right in front of her. Yet her gaze was caught, not by the feathers, or the beak, or even the unblinking golden eyes. Instead, though she tried to force herself to look away, her eyes were inexorably drawn to the red rivulets tracing the contours of stone-Luna’s face and wings. The griffin’s claw pinned Vainglorious with his head lolling over the side. Its massive talon made regular griffins’ look like matchsticks compared with scimitars. Vainglorious’s eyes were already glazing over, but one of his hind legs continued to kick reflexively, as if he was trying to run away while his life dripped onto the throne room floor.

Ritzy swallowed a scream. Her whole body remained frozen until, with a gasp, adrenaline flooded her and she galloped for the door. She didn’t care if there were a hundred guards out there: she was NOT staying in here with such a beast.

“To the hunt!” The half-roar, half-screech echoed around the throne room.

A shadow and a whoosh of displaced air heralded the monstrous griffin taking flight. Vainglorious groaned at the pressure leaving his back, but Ritzy barely heard him over her own pulse hammering in her ears.

“Let me out!” She thumped her hooves against the doors and screamed like she had never screamed before. “Let me OUT!”

“Och, at least make some sport o’ this. I thought ye were gonntae run a bit. Even rabbits give more sport than this.”

“LET ME OUT!”

“Noisome wee thing. Ye’re not gonnae be any fun, are ye?”

Ritzy filled her lungs and raised her hooves. She felt like she could smash her way right through like a common carthorse through plywood. “LET MEEEEEEEEEEEEEE–” She shrieked as she was plucked into the air. The cry echoed even more than the griffin’s roar, but ended abruptly

On the far side of the chamber a partner bust of Celestia jutted from the wall. It was the work of a few wingbeats to reach it and both were solid enough to bear considerable weight. The two statues had been constructed to honour Princess Luna’s return from the moon and herald a bright new era of peace and prosperity in Equestria.

In the light shining through the stained glass, it looked as though both statues were crying red tears.

Stargazer didn’t like to disturb the king while he was hunting. He put it down to habits learned in the highland, where life was much harder than even lowland Gryphona, but the king always retreated to a high place to eat and seemed to revel in making a mess. Maybe it was some sort of mating display: the more your meal travelled while you ate it, and the more you wore on your face, the more attractive you looked. Stargazer was well past the age where courting and mating were concerns and took no interest in learning about them.

Hunting in Gryphona covered miles of terrain, so it was easy to avoid the king there. For the moment, they were limited to Canterlot until the rest of Equestria came under the king’s rule, so Stargazer had thought up with a plan to satiate the king’s need to hunt within their restricted circumstances: use the prisoners.

Hunting ponies had always been taboo for three reasons: unicorn magic and pegasi weather-control; until they were fully grown, most griffins were only slightly bigger than ponies and couldn’t guarantee making a kill if the pony decided to fight back; and Celestia’s wrath. Careful nurturing of their forces to adulthood and not letting them kill each other during their first courtship had engendered a Claw Army full of large, zealous griffins; the unicorns and pegasi of Canterlot were locked safely away; and as for Celestia and Luna …

Stargazer frowned. Those two were still a problem. If it hadn’t been for that little purple unicorn messing everything up …

Yet wasn’t that the crux of his sudden good mood? He thought about the cage he had deposited in his brand new chambers and allowed himself a smile. Dragons were useful in so many ways: eyeballs for clairvoyance spells; scales for armour spells; their tongues were said to be lucky and the fire-sac that sat just above their stomachs was instrumental in some of the most complicated griffin magic, which had fallen out of favour centuries ago because by the time a fire-sac reached optimum power, the dragon was big enough to use it on any magician trying to get it and burn them to a crisp. That he had been handed a dragon hatchling was one of life’s wonderful quirks. If he had been five minutes later he would have missed it. Now he could declaw it, teach it not to retaliate, allow it to reach maturity and then harvest its organs at his leisure! Let King Claw have Equestria; Stargazer already had what he wanted.

Plus, even while it was still alive the dragon was useful. Spies who had gathered information on Celestia’s champions, the Elements of Harmony, often spoke of a purple dragon hatchling that was constantly around their ankles. It was too much of a coincidence that another one had been found hiding in Canterlot Castle now. Even simple clairvoyance required a focus, like a bloodhound required a scent, and a living focus was so much better than a personal object. There would be nowhere the princesses could hide now.

Being allowed to keep the hatchling long enough to use it, however, required staying on the king’s good side so he didn’t decide he wanted to try dragon for his next meal. For that reason Stargazer had hidden the cage and didn’t intend to tell the king about his find until he was good and ready. He knocked before leaving the vestibule between corridor and throne room, and kept his eyes politely down when he entered.

“Stargazer!” The happy cry was a good sign, as was the sound of crunching. King Claw was never happier than when he was fighting, mating, hunting or eating. He may have been a brilliant warmonger, but he was a griffin of simple tastes. “Any news?”

Stargazer knew he meant news of Luna or Celestia’s whereabouts. “Alas, not yet, your majesty, but soon, I hope.”

The king grunted.

“However, the generals are all gathered and await an audience with you, as you ordered.”

“Aye.” The king paused to gulp something. “Soon enough the morn becomes the streen, an’ we have t’grab the chance that’s offered to us before it disappears too.”

Stargazer searched his memory for these words. King Claw had used them before: ‘morn’ was tomorrow and ‘streen’ was yesterday. Stargazer nodded in agreement. “You’re right, majesty. Do you have a plan?”

“Aye.” With a heavy thump, Claw landed in front of him. He was the burliest griffin Stargazer had ever come across in all his long years: he even made the legendary King Slaughter the Crazed look like the runt of his litter in comparison. “Dinna fash yersel’, Stargazer. The plan’s simple: we hit hard an’ fast at the muckle threats before the wee ponies can rally themselves agin’ us.”

“Muckle, majesty?”

“Do ye have rocks in yer skull? Big! Namely, the places where ponies who might actually fare agin’ us reside: Wonderbolts Academy, Cloudsdale an’ Ponyville. We can move on from there to t’other cities an’ such, but I doubt we’ll find much fight left in ‘em after that. Breakin’ morale is as good as breakin’ bones sometimes.”

Stargazer nodded. The Wonderbolts team had been crippled already, but spies sent out prior to the invasion had relayed that they kept the next generation of Wonderbolts at their training facility, so it made sense to dispose of them before they could strike back. While Cloudsdale was a city with many non-combatant citizens, any pony with wings was a hazard. The skies were the griffins’ playground and they would fly easier knowing no ponies were around to buck lightning bolts at them, or call up a blizzard as a weapon against the Claw Army. Ponyville, however, was the least threatening of all. The six mares Celestia had summoned to defend her had all been dispatched here in Canterlot. The rest of Ponyville was nothing special.

“Why Ponyville, majesty?”

Claw rubbed his beak into his chest feathers to wipe off the blood. “Insurance. A scared wee rabbit runs back to its burrow when it sees the muckle eagle’s shadow.”

Stargazer blinked. “You think Celestia and Luna might be there?”

Claw shrugged and strode away. “Unless ye can tell me different, I’m takin’ nae chances. Plus, if Ponyville falls, Equestria’ll notice. Morale an’ bones, Stargazer; morale an’ bones. Now, come wi’s.”

Stargazer studiously avoided looking at the mess on the statues and followed his king from the room.

Author's Note

A/N: 'Vainiteux' is French for 'vanity' and 'Rupin' means 'posh' or 'swanky'.

Pets and Pinkie Pie

11. Pets and Pinkie Pie

Octavia experienced a moment of panic when a shadow fell across her. She relaxed when she realised it was a pony, only to freeze up again when he spoke.

“Pinkie Pie?”

“Hmm?” Pinkie looked up sleepily. One of the upswings of her head wound was that she slept a lot, which suited Octavia, since it gave less opportunity for her to say something incriminating. Not that Pinkie spilling the beans was the thing she should have been worried about, apparently.

“Is that you?” The stallion was barely out of colthood and sported a pair of buck teeth that made him look more like a rabbit than a pony. When he spoke everything came out slightly lispy and fringed with delight, as if he couldn’t believe his luck at finding somepony he knew. His accent marked him as definitely not part of the usual Canterlot crowd, which fitted in with that idea. “It’s me, Hayseed.” He swung sideways to show off his cutie mark: three ripe turnips. “Hayseed Turniptruck!”

“Huh” Pinkie blinked at him. “Sorry, mister, but I think you’ve got the wrong pony. My name’s Jubilation.”

He frowned, clearly disheartened. His eyes travelled to her cutie mark and the frown deepened. “But–”

“Good sir, do you want something with my friend or myself?” Octavia interrupted. “Only we are trying to rest and preserve our strength, since we have yet to be fed or watered, as you well know.”

“Oh.” He fell back, disappointment hunching his shoulders and shortening his steps as he backed away. “I … I guess not. Sorry, ladies.” Yet he continued to look over his shoulder at them as he returned to his corner. A circle of empty space around him made him look like an island in a sea of upper class fretting.

“Did Ritzy or Vainglorious come back yet?” Pinkie asked with a yawn.

Octavia scanned the crowd. “Not yet.”

“Oh.” Pinkie grimaced. “Octavia, do you believe in bad feelings?”

“Excuse me?”

“My tummy feels funny, but not like before. Kind of … tingly-tumbly. And my knees ache.”

“Did you hurt yourself when you knelt down?”

She shook her head. “No, I don’t think that’s it. I don’t know how I know it, but I know a funny tummy and hurty knees mean something … bad. I just don’t know what.” She looked up at Octavia with a combination of worry and adoration, the way a small child looks up at an older one it idolises for guidance. “Does that make me weird?”

“Not at all. I have a bad feeling too.”

“Do your tummy and knees feel ooky?”

“Ooky?”

“Yeah, it’s a word I made up; a mix of spooky and icky. I feel all ooky.”

“I think we all feel a bit ooky,” Octavia said consolingly. “It’s to be expected.”

“I guess so.” Pinkie poked experimentally at one knee and then the other, as if trying to force the hurt out through the backs so it could soak into the floor and leave her alone. “I don’t like it. It feels worse whenever I think about Ritzy or Vainglorious.” She gave a melodramatic shudder. “See?”

“Then don’t think about them,” Octavia advised, though even she knew that was close to impossible. The ponies around them had talked of little else since they were taken away. “Think of something else; something happier.”

Pinkie scrunched up her face in thought. “Like what?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” Octavia watched the stallion, Hayseed Turniptruck he had called himself, as he continued to watch them. She went on absently, “Finally achieving first chair cello in an orchestra.”

“That’s something that’d make YOU happy, Tavi, not me.”

Octavia blinked. “What did you just call me?”

“Uh, Tavi?”

“Why the dickens would you call me that?” Irritation skittered through her; nopony had called her anything except her given name since … well, for years. “My name is Octavia,” she snapped.

“It just … it just sounded … right.” Pinkie quailed and tried to curl up into the tiniest ball she could. “I didn’t mean to make you angry – ow, my nose!” With her injuries she cut a pretty pathetic figure.

Octavia’s irritation instantly melted away. Pinkie Pie could not have known why she preferred to use her full name. Before today they had never actually spoken, after all. “It’s all right, Jubilation. I’m not angry.” When Pinkie stayed curled up, she added, “Why don’t you think about, uh…” She tried to think what would make a pony like Pinkie Pie happiest. “Fluffy kittens?” Was that saccharine enough? “Or, um, little yellow baby chicks.”

Pinkie sniffed. “Puppy dogs with waggy tails?”

“Yes, of course. And bunnie rabbits with wiggly ears.”

“And baby alligators with snappy nippy teeth.”

“Baby alligators?”

“Yeah, they’re super cute too. Haven’t you ever seen one?”

“I can’t say that I have,” Octavia admitted.

“When I grow up, I want to have a baby alligator as a pet.” Pinkie uncurled so she could look Octavia in the eye. “Do you want a pet?”

“I don’t think so.”

“I guess a cello could count as a pet. You have to look after it just as much as an animal.”

“That is … a remarkably astute observation.”

“It’s a what?” Pinkie tilted her head in confusion.

“A clever thing to think of,” Octavia translated.

“Oh.” The compliment elicited a smile of such proportions it nearly stretched all the way around Pinkie’s head to meet on the back of her neck. “Cool! When I grow up, I want to be smart and use huge big long words like you, Ta- uh, Octavia.”

Octavia’s smile hitched a little at the near-slip, but remained in place. More remarkable, however, was that when she stopped to think about it, she realised that her smile was not fake, as it had been before. Somehow, this annoying pink pony had actually managed to make her smile for real in the middle of the worst situation in which she had ever been embroiled.

She looked up to see that they were still being watched. Hayseed Turniptruck looked away first after a few seconds of shared staring, and though Octavia’s knees and stomach remained pain free, she had her own bad feeling about what lay in store for them all.

Braeburn skidded to a halt in a cloud of dust. Little Strongheart coughed, not because of him, but because of the other two massive stallions who had also skidded to a halt behind him. They pawed the ground as adrenaline continued to race through their systems from the gallop. Appleloosa wasn’t so very far away, but taking the journey at full tilt was enough to make anypony jittery. Her own legs felt like they were made from water and she had not been dragging anything behind her.

Two buffalo were waiting for them. Little Strongheart recognised Laughing Creek’s assistant and Talking bird, one of the bulls who had gone with her to find the fallen ponies in the first place.

“Any change?” Braeburn asked immediately. His nostrils flared and he was panting, but he barely paused to let his body acclimate to the sudden lack of motion.

Laughing Creeks’ assistant sadly shook her head.

“Ponyfeathers.” He turned to the stallions. “You fellers okay to stay hitched to the wagon while we help t’others unload?”

“Sure thing,” boomed the grey pony. His lustrous black mane reminded Little Strongheart of storm clouds, especially since his cutie mark was a bolt of brilliant yellow lightning. She wondered if that was a reference to how swiftly he could run. The orange stallion next to him bore a cutie mark of a hare at full speed, which seemed to support the idea. Even pulling their load they had kept up with herself and Braeburn.

“Much obliged,” Braeburn said as he moved to the back and unhitched the debarking board. A clutch of ponies, all much smaller than the stallions, got down with varying degrees of ease.

One mare in particular had trouble. She wobbled on stiff legs until Braeburn helped her down. “Thank you kindly, niblet,” she said in a voice like tumbleweeds fetching up against a wooden fence.

Little Strongheart had rarely seen the older residents of Appleloosa, since most were nervous creatures who hid inside in the shade whenever she and the buffalo came to town. This mare, however, looked her square in the face as soon as they were level. She had done the same back in Appleloosa, when Braeburn followed her out of her wooden house and asked five times between there and the wagon whether she was sure she wanted to come along.

“Of course I do!” she had finally snapped. “You expect me to sit here twiddlin’ my hooves while young Applejack’s in trouble? Use that there brain of yours, boy.” Her tirade had ended only because she had spotted Little Strongheart and hobbled right up to her. “You’re the one who found ‘em?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Little Strongheart had picked up some of the ways ponies talked to each other and understood this to be a term of respect when you didn’t know a mare’s name. For some reason calling a stranger ‘brother’ or ‘sister’ was frowned upon in pony society while it was quite normal for buffalo.

The old mare had nodded. “Thank you kindly. You’ve done the Apple family a great service an’ I hope we can someday repay y’all in kind.”

“You’re related to Applejack?” Little Strongheart had concluded. It wasn’t a great leap of logic, since the mare’s cutie mark was apple-themed and her coat a pale shade of orange that looked like it had only grown paler with age.

“Her grandmother’s my favourite cousin.”

“Grammy Apple Rose, we’d best get you outta the sun,” Braeburn had advised, ducking his head a smidge as if he expected her to swipe at him for his impertinence.

“Darn thing ain’t gone down in so long I’m beginnin’ to forget what the moon looked like. All right, niblet, help your grammy’s old bones on board.”

After they had finished loading up all the ponies who had volunteered to help, Little Strongheart had looked sidelong at Braeburn as they took their places at the head of the entourage.

“That is your grandmother?”

“Grammy Apple Rose ain’t my real grandmother,” he had explained. “But she raised me good as any ma or pa ever could. Most all ponies in Appleloosa call her ‘Grammy’ even though they ain’t related.”

“Oh.” It was such a buffalo thing to do it gave Little Strongheart hope for the future between their two communities. She had looked sidelong at him before they set off, however. “Niblet?”

His smile had been tight but genuine. “Hey, I was a late bloomer, okay? T’ain’t my fault if I was the smallest colt in my class at school. I’m still faster than anypony else now.” As if to prove it, he had let out a holler and galloped away, leaving her and the other Appleloosans to follow.

Apple Rose now looked at the buffalo encampment with a critical eye. “Never would’ve believed it if I didn’t see if for myself,” she said with the candour of the old. “Y’all really do live in tents.”

Little Strongheart didn’t take offense at the statement. “Yes, we do.”

“Strange. Don’t y’all like solid walls around ya?”

“We prefer the ability to move whenever we wish. The idea of being tied to a place by wood, bricks and mortar is one we find strange.”

“I guess it takes all sorts.” The old mare licked her dry lips. “Go on then, niblet, take me to her.”

Little Strongheart led the collection of ponies to the two largest tents but it was Braeburn who nosed aside the flap for the old mare to enter. Talking Bird stayed to help unhitch the two big stallions while Laughing Creek’s assistant took a contingent of ponies to the Medicine Bull’s tent.

Apple Rose’s breath caught the moment she was inside. “Landsakes …” was all she could say.

The buffalo dabbing water on Applejack’s mouth looked up. Little Strongheart nodded that she could leave and she hurried out so the ponies could take her place. As if drawn by a magnetic force, Apple Rose knelt beside Applejack and nuzzled her cheek. Applejack, of course, did not respond. Dipping her head made Apple Rose’s tinted spectacles slide down her snout, revealing rheumy eyes that were wet with grief.

“What the heck did you get yourself mixed up in, young ‘un?” she murmured. Applejack’s breathing was rapid and shallow, as if she was having a nightmare. The pot of water was still by her head, the stick with a rolled scrap of cloth on the end soaking up water within. Apple Rose took the stick gently between her teeth dabbed water around Applejack’s open mouth as the buffalo cow had done, trying to keep the younger mare’s lips from cracking and bleeding.

The simple act resonated inside Little Strongheart like a crow’s call echoing down a tunnel. It spurred a long-forgotten memory to the front of her mind. She recalled when she was very young, no more than a calf really, and had spent too long out in the midday sun. Her mother had stayed with her throughout the subsequent fever, tending and comforting as she needed it. Little Strongheart rarely thought of her mother anymore. Heartache was too quick to take hold when she did. Her father had done his best, but he couldn’t be both parents. Watching Apple Rose and Applejack in that moment made her wish fervently that her mother was still alive.

“If y’all can pick a pony to tend, that’d be grand.” Braeburn allowed the other ponies to enter and drew close to Little Strongheart. “How are the princesses?” he asked softly so nopony else could hear.

“No change,” Little Strongheart replied equally softly; glad to have something else to focus on. “No better, but no worse either.”

“I guess we all should be thankful for small miracles,” he said, though his face didn’t match his words. Rather than thankful, he looked increasingly worried. “We get mail from outside Appleloosa once a week on the train,” he went on. “So if this hadn’t happened we wouldn’t even have suspected anythin’ had happened in Canterlot for another three days.”

“Do you have a way of contacting the place quickly? Or anywhere else?”

“Best I could say is to send a pegasus to check it out, but it’s a mighty long way to fly, an’ if sumthin’ bad really has happened there…” He trailed off. “Appleloosa’s a simple town. It ain’t really a place most pegasi like to live. The weather don’t change much an’ there ain’t much call for flyin’ jobs. We only got three amongst us so far, an’ one kinda ended up here only because her cousin’s our librarian an’ she had no place else to go, so I ain’t sure if we can rightly call her an Appleloosan. Thinkin’ about it, I ain’ sure whether any of ‘em could even make the trip to Canterlot an’ back, especially if it’s a dangerous trip. I ain’t sure what to recommend. Neither the sheriff nor the mayor could think of nuthin’ neither.”

Little Strongheart respected Sheriff Silverstar but disliked the mayor. He was a recently elected portly pony who tolerated the buffalo because he had not been around during the orchard crisis. She wondered how he had come to preside over the town and why it needed two leaders when the sheriff had seemed perfectly adequate before. Ponies certainly could be strange creatures. Right now the sheriff had stayed in town to keep order with the antsy citizens while the mayor did … whatever it was he did in his office all day while other ponies kept order in his town.

“Didn’t y’all say Applejack would be the first pony to wake up from this here sickness?” Apple Rose broke into their conversation.

“Our healer said it was the most likely outcome,” Little Strongheart replied.

“Hmmf.” Apple Rose looked back at the bedroll and sighed. “You better wake up soon, girl. You’re an’ Apple an’ Apple’s don’t quit when the goin’ gets tough. You hear me in there? Your granny an’ brother an’ lil’ sister will want you back soon as possible, mark my words, so you’d better darn well wake up, y’hear? Wake up, wake up, wake UP–”

Which was when the white unicorn with the purple mane on the other side of the tent sat bolt upright, eyes wide with terror, and screamed at the top of her lungs.

Confrontation at the Castle

Disclaimer: Combatively not mine.

A/N: Inspired by the song ‘Bones Shatter’ by Hedley. Originally that was going to be the title of this fic, too, but I came to my senses in time. Feedback is appreciated, please!

Friends and Enemies

© Scribbler, December 2012.

1. Confrontation at the Castle

Rainbow Dash twisted her body into a nearly perfect circle. It made her spine ache but let her pull off a perfect loop, which had the added benefit of avoiding the claws aimed at her stomach. The griffin was big and wore the dopey expression of one whose brain had not yet caught up with his eyes. He looked startled when her hind hooves made contact with his head and he dropped out of the sky.

“Score one for the good guys!” she crowed.

She looked around for more invaders, but the part of the battlements she had been assigned were now clear. Her legendary speed and total lack of caution had made short work of them, to the point that she wondered whether she should seek out her friends in case they weren’t faring as well. Each had his or her own special skills to repel those who would have breached the walls, but, as ever, Rainbow Dash held true to her core belief that nopony could pull off daring heroism like she could.

She should have paid more attention. All the griffin warriors she had met so far screeched right before they attacked. It was like some sort of ritual they all performed no matter what; even though it let her know it was time to kick more tail-feathers. The breath left her lungs in a whoosh as a solid body burst from a cloud bank and cannoned into her so fast it was a blur. She flapped reflexively, but that didn’t stop her being slammed against the very walls she was defending. She kicked out, but the starburst behind her eyes momentarily dazzled her.

“Dash?” said a shocked voice. The weight crushing her against the stonework vanished abruptly. She fell several feet before righting herself and weaving drunkenly back into position, raising her hooves in a parody of boxing.

“C’mon – ugh – is that all you got?”

“Damn it, Dash!”

She blinked. It couldn’t be. The invading griffin army were all outsiders. King Claw had declared war specifically because he thought Equestria sat on land that rightfully belonged to the tiny mountainous country of Gryphona. Gryphons famously hated any griffin cousins who had settled in Equestria or didn’t think ponies were the enemy. There were no sympathisers in their ranks and any who showed weakness got an up-close-and-personal demonstration of why they were called the Claw Army.

Rainbow Dash shook her head, but the face before her remained the same. “Gilda? What the hay are you doing here?”

Gilda’s expression vacillated between guilt, anger, defensiveness and the cool indifference Rainbow Dash remembered so well. It was an uncomfortable mix to see and, apparently, experience.

“I didn’t know you’d be here!” Gilda said accusingly.

“Well, duh. Invading army? Poisoned princesses and a besieged capitol city to defend? Awesomely brave and dramatic heroic acts to be performed? What part of that doesn’t sound like me?”

Gilda looked around, as if expecting more griffins to appear and back her up at any second. She turned back and hissed, “Get out of here, Dash.”

“Uh, how about no?”

“Dash! Stop screwing around. I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

“Do you know what my superiors will do to me if they find out I even gave you the option to go? Leave. Now! Before it’s too late. The rest of my squadron is on its way. I’m just the fore-flier because I’m the fastest. I was supposed to scout things out but when I saw there was only one pony here …”

Rainbow Dash’s expression hardened. She shoved down memories of falling bodies and bursts of stained feathers. There had been more pegasi here at first, all eager to defend the castle while healer unicorns worked to leech poison from Luna and Celestia before there was no country left for them to rule. If King Claw could rid himself of the two most powerful ponies, he figured the rest of Equestria would fall to his forces. For that reason he had targeted Canterlot with the kind of determination Rainbow Dash could have admired if not for the whole psychopathic megalomaniac douchebag thing.

“Why the hay are you even here, Gilda?” she demanded.

Gilda’s expression also hardened, but into pure resentment. “Where else was I supposed to go?”

“What does that mean?”

“You’re seriously asking me that?”

“Well duh.” Rainbow Dash rolled her eyes. “This isn’t exactly primo timing to goof around.”

“This is Equestria, Dash. There aren’t many opportunities for griffins who like to fight here.”

“What?” Rainbow Dash’s jaw actually dropped open a little. ”You’re telling me you joined the bad guys because you didn’t like how peaceful Equestria is? That’s … that’s insane!”

Gilda’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t be a doofus.”

“There’s only one doofus here and it’s not me.”

“There was more to it than that!” she spat.

“So explain it to me, because I can’t believe you’d be that stupid without–”

“I was a laughing stock, Dash!”

Rainbow Dash paused. “What?”

“Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten.”

“So … what, now you’re blaming Pinkie Pie for this most epic of epic bad decisions? Or are you blaming me and a few dumb pranks? Which you totally overreacted to, by the way.”

“Among other things.”

“Ponyfeathers!” Rainbow Dash snorted. “That’s complete ponyfeathers! You looked silly in front of a few ponies at a party and that made you want to destroy all Equestria? I don’t buy that!”

“It’s not like that!” Gilda’s neck feathers fluffed out in frustration and anger. Her eyes thinned to slits and her tail lashed behind her. “It was more complicated. It IS more complicated! You never got that about me – you always want everything to be simple, but it’s not, Dash!”

“So explain it to me!” Rainbow Dash yelled back. Her nose wrinkled as she added, “And use small words, if you think I can’t understand complicated ones.”

Gilda snarled, her claws bunching as she spoke. “I burned a lot of bridges before I came back to Ponyville to see you. Didn’t you ever wonder why I never made contact after Flight School?”

“I figured you were working, like me.”

“Yeah, because weather patrols totally welcome job applications from griffins.”

“Did you ever try?” Rainbow Dash demanded defensively, though she knew no creatures except ponies had ever worked to control the weather in Equestria. She told herself it was just coincidence; that no-one except pegasi ever wanted to do the work, but Gilda’s hostility planted seeds of doubt she didn’t have time to weed out right now.

Gild looked shifty as she replied, “Well, no, but I knew that’s what would happen if I ever did, so why even bother? I lived by my wits; did some wheeling and dealing, stuff like that.”

“Legal stuff?”

Again, she looked shifty. “Mostly, but it … I made mistakes. Pissed off the wrong ponies. Pushed my luck too far. Things got hot and I had to disappear for a while. I figured I could hide out with you until everything blew over, but that was a big fat bust.”

For the first time since Twilight got the letter about the attempted assassination and they all set out for Canterlot, Rainbow Dash’s resolve wavered. She remembered some of the things Gilda had got up to in school and could easily imagine her falling in with the wrong crowd and getting in over her head. “Things were that bad for you?”

“Yes.”

“You never said anything.”

“Yeah, like I’m gonna fess to those kinds of screw ups to someone who performed the first sonic rainboom in decades when she was just a filly? Someone tapped to be the next Wonderbolt? Someone who helped save the entire frikkin’ country from Nightmare Moon? Yeah, right.” Bitterness clung to Gilda’s words like decay that had started at the core of the apple and worked its way outward to the surface. “I couldn’t afford to stick around after that. I had to get out of Equestria. Who was I gonna ask for help after everything that went down?”

“It was just some stupid pranks! For Celestia’s sake, G, you could have told me the truth! Did you think I’d turn my back on you if you’d been straight with me?”

Gilda looked away. “King Claw’s generals gave me a chance when I needed one. I owe them – and him.”

“No way!” Rainbow Dash reared, cycling her front hooves at her friend. “Turn back, G. There’s no way you’re getting past me and I don’t want to fight you.”

“I don’t want to fight you either, but –” Gilda stopped at the sound of an approaching battle-cry. She turned her head to stare at the clouds and then back to Rainbow Dash with panic in her eyes. “Just go already! Please, Dash; escape this while there’s still time.”

“I already told you: no way!”

“Dash, please!”

Gilda had rarely ever said please in all the time they had known each other; right back to when they met on the first day of Flight School, when they had tussled over who got to be team leader in their practise group. The desperate note in her voice added a fresh layer of surreal to the situation: Equestria on the brink of all-out war; trained warriors trying to get at the princesses and finish what their comrades had started; griffins fighting ponies; ponies fighting griffins; and now her estranged best friend telling her to become a deserter so they DIDN’T have to fight each other. All this needed was a couple of flying pigs and it would be complete.

“Dash,” Gilda pleaded. “You’re my friend but I can’t stop them hurting you. Get lost already!”

A burst of magic on the east side of Canterlot reminded Rainbow Dash why she was here. She had spent enough time around Twilight to recognise the fallout of one of her spells, even at this distance. “Sorry, Gilda. I got a job to do and this is it. It’s nothing personal,” she threw out with a small, fierce smile, like she used to use right before she and Gilda kicked off on some new crazy race they had dreamed up. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry. I would’ve helped you if you’d told me the truth before.”

Regret flashed briefly over Gilda’s features. “Dash, I –”

The clouds parted as a dozen brawny griffins broke through, each wearing the red tunic and gold insignia of King Claw. The biggest at the apex of the V screeched and went into a dive when he saw Rainbow Dash, leading the others straight towards her.

“Gilda Goldfeather!” he shrieked. “What are you waiting for? Attack!”

Gilda gave something slightly too long for a blink and shot forward. It was her last concession to their friendship. Her claws opened and her beak erupted in an impressive battle-cry. Her form was perfect; she was a streak of gold and white against the brilliant blue of the Equestrian sky.

Rainbow Dash grinned without humour, already planning the acrobatics she would use to avoid the squadron’s attacks and knock them out of the sky like all the others. It never even occurred to her that these were majorly bad odds. Hadn’t she once helped defeat an entire changeling army? This was no biggie for a pony like her. Not even Gilda.

She gave another fierce smile and beat her powerful wings. “Bring it!”