Chapter VII
Usurpation
"Do not wait to strike 'til the iron is hot, but make it hot by striking."

"... Message repeats:

"It was yesterday, Apollania.

"It was yesterday when the bulk of your resistance shattered itself against the might of the Roaman Legion. It was yesterday that wanton death was dealt, taking thousands of lives and damaging countless families. It was just yesterday that diplomacy failed and gave way to war -- and with that war, chaos and cruelty, suffering and injustice. It was yesterday, Apollania. And since then, I've felt nothing but regret and sorrow. I wish it could have gone another way.

"I have never wanted to kill. I have wanted only the prosperity of a unified Roaman empire, free of scum like raiders and slavers and bandits. I would have it that my children -- your children -- could grow up free of war, and fear, and terrible uncertainty. I would have them sung off to sleep with lullabies, told stories of valor and courage. I would have it that the Imperial highways be restored, bringing trade and progress to all four corners of mighty Roam. I would have all cultures and ways of life proliferated, spread within the welcoming medium that is a working civilization. I would have peace reign, under the watchful eye of Roam.

"Yet sometimes the hand of change must be forced, and for that I am truly, truly... sorry. It was wrong to let it come to that. It was wrong that violence had to be the answer. Maybe it was the answer! Perhaps in more savage times, when war was the only resolution, violence was the all-solving variable. But these are not those savage times of ignorance, whatever the state of the land. There's a difference between the cruelty of now and the cruelty of two-thousand years ago. That difference is comprehension.

"We now comprehend that no one people is fit to survive whatever the world may throw at it. We now comprehend that unity and cooperation are necessities to advancement to the next echelons of existence. We now comprehend, Apollania... that conflict is, and always has been, a defining yet hindering stage in the growth of every nation. It alone teaches the bitter lesson of the need to self-preserve; for if it were not for the wounds of war, would we treasure peace? I doubt it. There's an Eastern concept, Yin and Yang, that comes to mind. Nothing exists without its counterpart. There can be no peace without war.

"But we have warred long enough, I say. The time for quiet afternoons and safe evenings is dawning. We of the Legion stand at the edge of the Sun, ready to bring that dawning light to you. Will you hide from it, as the despicable, unnatural wasteland would have you do? Or will you embrace it, and in so doing usher forth a new age of knowledge? The choice is yours, Apollania. It always has been. My staff and I await the presence of your chieftains and lords at the base of Marediolanon's mountain. There we may discuss terms for peace.

"This is legate Thanus of Legio IV Valere Victrix Equestrius, signing off. This message shall be repeated in another language shortly, as recorded by me.

"... Messagus repeaatus:

"Naledun en solariste, Apollania..."

I laid still in my bed, listening as Thanus' message repeated in tribal Trevarii and echoed through the room once more. My thoughts were swimming, yet focused down into one sentence by the quiet, stuffy room that Tavish had given us as a refuge:

"I find that hard to believe."

Lampshade turned his head, looking at me as he laid on his bed as well. "Oh, sure, the Legion's been a bit of an ass as of late, what with the forced assimilation of various tribes and settlements, but I find it nice that they're calling for peace. You know, everybody likes peace. I myself love the piece of pie I had yesterday."

I breathed deep and clicked my tongue. "I'm sure the piece of pie you had -- no, that peace is nice and all," I said with a pointed glare, then grumbled and continued, "But I find it hard to believe, still. I was... there, when that slaughter happened. I saw all those deaths... and I saw how Thanus was like afterwards. Cheery, glad his plan -- whatever it was -- had fallen into place. Maybe it all had to happen, but he didn't express the slightest regret then. Why now?"

I narrowed my gaze, staring at the ceiling. What exactly was Thanus, I asked myself. Was he merely doing his job, as his irritated, tired side professed? Or did his times of satisfaction show a person that reveled in his accomplishments, be they at the expenses of others? I couldn't tell. He'd displayed opposite spectrums of his character in such quick succession that I found it hard to discern him. Friendly one moment, charismatic... then the next, ruthless yet with morals and with a smile. Could one be so diverse naturally, or had he become so through all he had gone through?

Lampshade's eyes widened. "Wait. You... saw it all? You were actually there? You know him?" he asked, with each question sounding more and more incredulous. Then he sat up on the edge of his small bed and looked over at me with surprise. "Damn! That's a hell of a revelation there. I'd have liked to know that the guy I shared a prison with knew the zebra who practically claimed every settlement I passed through for supplies. This kind of knowledge happens to be... you know, important to me. It happens to be a big deal for a lot of people out here! Anything you know could be something that could save ways of life, Goldwreath!"

I rose a brow and looked over at him. "While I'm all for preserving people's lives, it wasn't information that seemed important at the time. I'm only out in this wasteland because I need to make sure my own people stays on the Legion's good side, alright? I... I don't want my opportunity to keep them safe jeopardized any more than it already has been. So you'll have to excuse me if I didn't just bring it up like casual talk about the weather. And you'll have to understand if I don't exactly want to talk about it or how completely fucked up my situation is. I shouldn't even be here, doing this... but I can't just stand by. So damn it if it costs time and puts the thing I'm fighting for at risk, because these people need help."

I turned away and looked off at the wall of the tiny, dusty room, barely illuminated by the single flickering candle in the corner. "Now go to sleep. It's been a long day for both of us, I'm sure."

To think, I'd woken up to an explosion. Then I was forced to watch a battle, and after that got involved in some convoluted business to preserve my people at my own expense. I'd hoped my plan would go unnoticed, yet mere hours later it was found out. Now here I was, trapped underground for who knew how long, in the indirect custody of people who wanted my help for their agenda... really, if Tavish were more like Thanus, it would have been like Marediolanon all over again: complicated, confusing, and right out of the blue. My life had gotten far more tiresome and burdened in just two days than the rest of my years combined, and now all I wanted was some sleep. Sleep... and the far-off hope that maybe it would all be okay again. That in less than a month's time, I could go back to patrolling Marediolanon's halls without a care in the world save making sure late-night partiers and ruffians didn't cause trouble. Was normalcy so much to ask for?

"Fine," Lampshade said, clearly not content, and with an undertone foreboding of many questions yet to come. He wasn't going to just let me keep it all to myself, I knew. It was 'important to him', after all.

With that, the radio turned off and the candle was blown out. Thanus' message kept replaying in my head as I scrutinized every word, trying to discern his true intent. Was he indeed looking for peace, or was this another cog in one of his plans? Would it endanger my home? I could only hope not. I laid there on my bed, hearing nothing but the faint clamor of activity outside in Spiderhole's caverns and seeing nothing but the wooden wall opposite my bed, illuminated by the crack of light seeping in under the doorframe.

Tavish chose well to give us a place outside Arachna, where there was noise. Even in my predicament, I found it easier to fall asleep knowing the world was still going on. And so lids growing heavy, I closed my eyes and fell to a tired, hopeful slumber.

"Um... excuse me. Can you please wake up? If I'm not disturbing you, that is."

I could feel a hoof gently prodding my shoulder, the touch soft and hesitant. For a good, long moment I forgot all about the outside and the Legion and all such tiresome things, and I smiled and twisted in bed. The voice piqued an ancient memory of mine regarding a friend from before I joined the centuria. "Come on, Wonderglue," I murmured, "Drop the helpless filly act... there're no spiders in the maintenance closet. Your overdone mare eyes won't work on me anymore..."

There was a moment of silence, punctuated by suppressed whimpers of uncertainty. "Erm... okay?" the voice replied, sounding so cutely unsure it brought a grin to my barely-conscious facial muscles. Such a sweet voice, but Wonderglue wasn't going to get me to kill nonexistent spiders this time. "Um, so... I'll just wait over there, until you, erm... wake up."

"Well, while I certainly would love waiting," another voice said, unfamiliar from my memories and thus bringing a frown of confusion to my face, "I'd really like to step outside for some relatively fresh air. You know, the smell of caves is always nice. The moss is just so much more fragrant in the morning. Not like I miss seeing the sun at all or anything. Sigh."

The unfamiliarity of the second voice had me lift my head up, blinking for clearer vision in the wan light. "Who... who are you two?" I asked groggily. Then Lampshade's face became clear, as did the room I was in. Suddenly the vivid memory of the past few days rushed into focus. Everything came back to me in an instant -- that horrible alarm blaring through Marediolanon's halls... the subsequent days... falling into the river... and then finally the terror of having a sack thrown over my face. The devastation wrought on my blissful, wishful fantasy was heart-breaking. I slumped and frowned as I stared at Lampshade, almost laying back down onto the bed out of sheer disappointment.

My sudden morose demeanor must've been quite evident. "Well, someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed," he said, smirking as he lifted up a small white cup situated right on his hoof. Steam emanated from it, along with the smell of coffee. "So did I, but then I had some of this stuff. I have to tell you, Myst, nothing is more welcoming to a stallion waking up than a nice hot drink. Really gets the noggin working. So... thanks!"

My eyes immediately went to the grey mare from whom the hoof and voice that'd woken me came from. Her own eyes were like dinner plates as she stared at Lampshade with a trembling gaze, her expression blank yet obviously masking great terror. Finally, she put on a forced grin and stuttered, "Y-you're welcome. I, uh, just wanted to... you know, make you both feel welcome and... stuff."

She then caught me looking at her and blushed the pinkest shade I'd ever seen. With an almost desperate need to prove her intentions, she declared, "That's why I came here, honest! It's not like mister Tavish wanted to meet you two again or anything..." She paused, and quickly amended, "W-well actually, that's the real reason I'm here, but... he wanted me to make you two feel welcome, so really both reasons are true..." Now we were both eyeing her, making her cram her limbs and tail as close to her main body as possible as she whimpered and darted her gaze around, chewing her lip nervously. "I, uh... I should just, um, keep quiet."

But she didn't need to speak to be the center of my attention. Venus, deity of beauty, how did this mare manage to look so... so captivating despite her efforts to draw little attention? My heartbeat reached record speeds as I realized she was right there in front of me, less than a meter away. The notion came to mind that if I wanted to touch her, all I needed to do was extend my foreleg. A tempting thought, so strong...

... but I suppressed it. How improper of me to even let such distractions take root in my mind at such a time! If anything, I should have been working with as much haste and intensity as needed to see to it that my objective and all prerequisites were accomplished in the shortest period. Marediolanon was at stake -- my friends, colleagues, and family were at stake. It was not proper to even entertain such... fantasies. Duty first, anything else second. And so reminding myself of what was at stake and thinking over and over that it would just be a passing admiration -- for I had had many and knew their feeling well -- I straightened up and sat on the edge of the bed.

"Thank you, Myst," I said with a smile, and she swallowed and stared at me anxiously. "Your efforts are appreciated. Really. I'm... not from around here, so it's nice to know there are some hospitable people around." Looking over to the small table next to my bed, I spotted a white cup filled with coffee. I carefully picked it up in my hooves and let her see me holding it. "And thank you especially for this," I said, and drank of the beverage prepared for me. Hm. Bitter, but far sweeter than any other of the few coffees I'd had. Better yet, it was hot, and thus spread a reviving warmth to the very tips of my limbs.

When I was done and set the cup back down, Myst dutifully took both our empty glasses and put them onto a wooden rack that she then hung around her neck. Seeming particularly self-conscious as she did so, she made every effort to appear as unimportant as possible. Lampshade and I only focused on her, though, seeing as the rest of the room was sparsely furnished and wasn't the least bit interesting.

She noticed us watching her and faked a cough. "So..." she drawled, then swallowed and looked around, head hung low and face angled to the ground so that we couldn't see her eyes. "I, um, was supposed to take you to mister Tavish as soon as you wanted to go... d-do you want to go now?"

There was something about her that intrigued me. Aside from the, uh... passing sensations I felt in my chest every time she spoke or looked my way, that is. Clearly she was a servant, one of the 'serfs' Caridin mentioned. But there was an air over her that I concluded was uncertainty -- uncertainty of how to do her job, or something else? Whatever the case, a shy, anxious, soft-speaking servant wasn't exactly an ideal one, especially for someone as high-up as Tavish. Thus she seemed out of place, and from that notion grew the suspicion that she hadn't been in Spiderhole long, and therefore hadn't been in servitude for long as well. She wasn't from here. Just like me.

"I believe I do," I replied, standing up. The remaining vestiges of my mind that threw fits of excitement at merely being in her presence rose up in rebellion, but once again I stomped them down.

No distractions, I reminded myself. Not now. I work so that others may be comfortable, not the other way around. I chose to serve, not to be served. Duty to others is my priority, not acceptance.

"There is much Tavish has not explained yet, and if we're to work together to change this place, we must do so soon before any complications arise. Please, do lead the way."

Minutes later we were trotting outside again -- outside being the rocky, lamp-lit caverns of the underground museum complex, of course. Tavish had supplied us the night before with new clothes, much nicer and less itchy than the rags Caridin had initially given us. Yet they were only comfortable physically; my mind was on guard, self-conscious, for almost every pony or zebra we passed looked at us in awe. Tavish had given us the clothes of civilized nobles, and we stuck out like sore thumbs to the common working populace of Spiderhole. Only the few dressed like us paid us little heed -- and no doubt they were real nobles, for they were tended to by entourages of servants.

"I think we're the center of attention," Lampshade commented as we made our way down one of the leg-caverns, at the very tip of which was our built-in-the-rock wooden room that'd once served as residence for the museum's maintenance workers. With his sentence was used a tone suggesting he wasn't entirely put off by the idea. With a devious, scheming little smile he asked, "Does that mean we can get what we want for free? I feel like a celebrity. Do you?"

"Remember why we're here," I told him, feeling like how Myst must have as I trotted along -- anxious and out of place; worried over the discovery of my identity by an individual who'd sought to enslave me. "We're stuck together down here until people can trot about freely, because only then can we leave. I don't know about you, but in the span of time from now until that state is achieved I have about eight people I need to find. In a way, I got them all into this mess... I have to get them out. So no distractions and tomfoolery."

He deflated at my words, then shrugged and kept quiet. The silence had me focus on the heavy, anxious energy building up in me with every person we passed by. This early in the morning, the caves were alive with crowds of multi-colored, multi-cultural zebras and ponies; occasionally, I'd even see a griffin among them, and even one minotaur. The people were hauling wooden crates and wicker baskets, trading at shops built into hollows in the walls. The higher-ups among them totted elaborate weaponry and wore glittering jewelry. They wore the finest clothes of the time and people they represented, some bearing massive collars of feathers and others fine, simple silks. It was as though centuries of Zebrican history were alive right in front of me -- animated, breathing expressions of the world's older times.

And yet for all its beauty, it all felt horrible. Not only because of the troubled circumstance through which my presence here had been forced, but also because I knew all of it had been tainted and built by slavery. No peace, no stability, no civilization should be built on the backs of slaves, no matter how 'fair' or 'just' their treatment. Greatness was to be achieved through one's work, the Greater Good accomplished for the benefit of all. In enslaving others, the denizens of this settlement had forfeited all right to pursue their ends because they took away others' rights to pursue theirs.

The slaves down here were easily picked put from the crowed. They trotted about the tunnels in tattered work clothes, in rags the likes of which I'd worn the day before. There was no open brutalization nor was their public humiliation of these forced laborers, yet on the faces of each we passed I saw misery and despair. When they looked up at me, their eyes lit up with fear and anger, and I felt sick just from wearing the clothes I did. I saw elderly and youth alike pulling crates and bearing massive earthen jars, and they rushed about the caves with a desperate urgency. Wooden scaffoldings were built up from the stony floor to the rocky ceiling, and workers labored along these to create new hollows in the cavern walls. With hammers and chisels they carved out the dwellings of their masters, and the clinking and clanking of their tools came not only from one tunnel, but from every one of the many caverns connected to Spiderhole. The underground community had grown large since its inception, with much of the original spider-shaped tunnel having been mutilated to dig for more room.

A hundred years of labor was evident here. A hundred years of toil had left its mark, and for it the community had prospered. It had survived, and created a rich tradition of culture and diversity -- better yet, it had managed to bring all of that together in peace and governance. But it had done it all with slavery. Like water with a corpse thrown in it, the good this place had achieved was tainted and diseased, deceptive and harmful. They stole people from the surface and gave them only hardship in return. Parasitic. They took and gave no recompense: the very definition of unfairness. And for that they had to be destroyed.

When we finally passed beneath the stone arch that marked our entry of Spiderhole's main body, we made our to the silver rod that was Arachna. Entry into the Stable was easy, and better yet it didn't draw any attention from any of the multitude of people swarming around it; clearly visits from Spiderhole's denizens was common enough to not be strange. Ser Merturiel closed the door behind us, and with a reverberating clang it silenced all outside noise.

I hurriedly took off all the clothing I wore. The robes were hot with the anger of a thousand burning glares that'd been thrown my way, and I wanted none of it. I did not want to feel the guilt for things I had not done. Lampshade did the same, though I suspect it was out of general discomfort rather than sentiment; he was soaked head to hoof in sweat. The tunnels weren't exactly cool, and in here the airconditioned air must've been a blessing.

As we stripped down, Myst shuddered as she stared forward into the divided chamber. "Oh, I really hate going out there. So many people..." she whined. Then she anxiously glanced back at us. "I'll, uh... go call him. Please wait, okay? Okay..." With that she left, but not before casting me a look a second too long to be just a regular glance. All sorts of thoughts and suspicions and fleeting hopes flared up in my mind, distracting me and rendering me frozen where I stood even long after she left.

"I know what you're thinking," Lampshade said next to me, and I looked to him. He was grinning, raising his eyebrows up and down repeatedly in quick succession.

I cleared my throat and and feigned ignorance. "Really now? What?"

His devious, scheming little squinted eyes darted down the hall and back to me. "Myst sure is a fine mare, eh? Shy. Probably submissive. Passive, too -- yes, passive! The perfect target, and the perfect object for imagination."

I'm quite sure my cheeks were redder than my coat as I collected my disguise off the floor and looked away in embarrassment. "I... don't think on such... ideas. I have more important things to consider." I cleared my throat again and looked around discreetly, then located a seat near the thrice-divided hall that separated the sections of each of Arachna's defending groups. I made my way to it. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to, uh... sit down."

But he followed. "You know... I read a book once," he said with a drawl, looking up to the ceiling as if recalling something. "A book about biology. Fun stuff! Did you know that, ultimately, the only reason for biological creatures to exist is to procreate? I suppose I could've misread, given how old and rotten the pages were. But! -- and there's always a 'but' -- I rather like the idea that I only exist to procreate. Gives me something to focus on, hehe."

"Please, I really don't-..." I muttered, going even redder.

"Therefore!" he cut in. "Technically... and you can't really argue with technicalities... I think you're going along with your nature. Nothing bad about that... nothing bad about that all."

"Lampshade-..."

"I mean, me, I've only only ever nearly done it a few times. Nearly! Most mares are such teases... all foreplay and no do. But hey, even that was worth the caps! Though now that I think on it, I may have been scammed..."

I turned around and faced him, presenting a forced smile. "Hey, Lampshade?"

"Yeeessss?"

"Please. Shut up," I said as nicely as I could. "I, Lampshade, do not want to speak of or think of such things. They are distractions. They are things meant for the people I work for; that is, I, as a worker for the continued ordered state of my charge, toil and suffer so that others may be afforded the privileges of life -- to love, to enjoy, to be happy. I have my duty, and it is to serve; they have their duty, and it is to prosper so that my toil was not for nothing. Put this in your mind now: I cannot indulge, because it is not my place to. No matter how much I may desire it."

He rose a brow. "Er... what?"

"It means what it means!" I snapped. "Simply put, my life and profession are dedicated to serving. Service requires utmost focus. Thus I cannot let anything distract me. Not even things I would dearly want. Alright?"

"Oooh! Okay, now I get it," he said with a comprehending, proud little smile. Then he frowned and narrowed his gaze. "Wait a minute... that's a boring-ass life. Ever heard of making your own way? You know, living like how you want? Life isn't some single corridor you have to follow. It's a path, with more than a few forks and turns twists. You take the ones you like so that by the end of it all you can look back and feel like you've walked the road that defines you. In doing that, you've left your own mark on the earth, and not just added to the humdrum of commonality. History is made by those that walk roads less travelled -- and in walking their own roads, people walk paths that've never been marked before. That's why the unique have the biggest impact on history, not the common."

I narrowed my gaze. "Perhaps. But I toil for the Greater Good. I sacrifice much of my own freedom to ensure that those of others are unharmed. And when they are harmed, I have the directive to restore it. What you suggest -- finding our own paths? -- that can lead to chaos, especially when there is no authority present to combat it. People who pursue their ends without restriction are like charged particles flying through the air. They may achieve greatness when the situation is right, and it is my job to make sure the situation is right as often as it can be. Thus my kind, the peacekeepers, are the foundation for many other things. If I deviate from my duty, things shall spiral out of control. And that is why indulgence is as a plague to me: poisonous and destructive, and must be avoided at all costs."

He sighed, eyeing me pitifully. "Alright then, fine. Different strokes for different folks." With a rueful smile he said, "Well... there must be balance. Too many of you and the world would be boring. Too many of me and the world would be... well, fun! But maybe too fun. So fun that fun becomes common and boring. Guh, a nightmare..."

He shuddered and stepped away, pursing his lips in thought. At last, feeling his argument over, I sat down. But then he said, "I'll leave you to yourself, then. Just know that it isn't a crime to want, or to feel, or to do. Even you 'peacekeepers' have got to relax sometimes."

I didn't answer, but I did take his words into account. Of course relaxation was necessary. We were not machines, so yes even my kind had to slack off from time to time. "Just not with 'nature-enforced' copulation," I muttered, leaning back against the wall. "Such things draw attachment. Attachment is the greatest distraction. Duty first, and when that is done... be vigilant, still. Vigilance must never end."

Such is what I said to myself, over and over. But I frowned, for even to my mind the lure of indulgence was great. How would it have been, I wondered, if I were not a guard charged with keeping peace? The extra freedom -- freedom afforded for me by the toil of others -- would be great. I would be able to pursue whatever feeling or idea I desired, not simply bask in their temporary bliss as they came upon me before being turned away by the demands of my role. Wasn't that what every feeling of wonder and joy I'd felt since coming outside was? A passing thing, temporary in the face of my lifelong duty? A dream forever to be chased, a freedom out of reach? I wondered if they were... and the bleak answer that came to mind had me shut the topic down immediately.

After a while Myst returned, and with her came Tavish. As they neared, Myst wandered off from the knight leader and idled nearby, trying to be discrete -- her demeanor was the polar opposite of Tavish, who strutted up to us confidently and with clear intent. Nonetheless my eyes drifted to her, and the second I realized I was ogling I mentally slapped myself and forced my attention to the matters at hoof.

"So you two have arrived," Tavish said, and we both gathered near to meet him. "I take it the room I sent you to was adequate? It was all I could secure, given how many people live down here. I could not risk your discovery."

"It was fine," I replied. "Perfectly suited to keeping us out of sight. As was your goal, I presume."

"Bit stuffy in there, though. We're going to live there until we sort all this out?" Lampshade asked, and drew looks from both of us -- from me, a flat, disappointed look; from Tavish, a sorry gaze and the tiniest of sheepish grins.

"Yes, I suppose so," Tavish answered. Lampshade frowned but then shrugged. "Well then, since you're here it's time to discuss details: the means, or modus operandi, if you wish to call it, of our plan. That plan being either abolishing the slavery or -- gods forbid it -- neutralizing all its practitioners within the premises of Spiderhole. We need to accomplish our goal within a small timeframe, so we must take action immediately after a course is set."

"A small timeframe? Why?" I asked. While I certainly wanted this business done with as soon as possible, rushing it could only compromise whatever it was we needed to achieve. I could live with whatever rant my father or Horus could throw my way, so long as I was successful in my initial goal of securing a future for my people; I could not live with having lives lost on my account, on my watch, or of my own accord. If we needed weeks to get this done right... then home could wait.

"The Legion," Tavish replied simply, and gestured for us to come along as he turned and made for the stairs. Myst noticed us ascending the steps and followed, but maintained a safe distance. I once again found myself casting glances back at her as she scampered along anxiously, but my attention was redirected when Tavish spoke again.

"There was a message sent out yesterday. If you had the radio on, you'd have heard it," he explained. "Thanus, the commander of the Legion's nearest army, has called for the leaders of all tribes and factions within the Roaman province of Apollania to attend a peace meeting. Technically, Spiderhole is within Apollania's jurisdiction. As such I and my colleagues here must depart soon and make for the assembly, lest the Legion assume we don't care for peace. We will not risk this place being destroyed by the Legion's wrath, nor will we risk leaving it as volatile as it is. Thus what we must do, we must do soon."

We reached the second floor of the knights' section -- the place we'd eaten at the day before. The difference was that this time there were quite a few knights here now, all sitting and standing and talking, with helmets off and on as they seemed to argue among themselves. There must've been thirty or more them in there. Caridin was there on the side, idly leaning against the wall. But at our approach, he stood straight.

"Gather, knights!" Caridin called, and immediately all activity ceased. The knights came together near the stairs, where Tavish had us stop. When all of them were in a semicircular formation in front of us, they all put a hoof to their chests and bowed their heads. Caridin was the last to do so. "Ser Tavish, we await your command."

Tavish nodded. "Be at ease." And so Caridin relaxed, breaking out of the formal posture. Then Tavish took a step forward and looked each of his knights over, breathing deep.

"You all know why I've gathered you here," he said. "And you all know, also, that I am not one for speeches. So straight to the point -- you know what's at stake. Our charge, tainted and perverted by a century of slavery, can soon be cleansed. Ensconced within this place are a vile people, who have grown to think slavery natural and acceptable. They are wrong. Slavery is a callous act, one that we have permitted for too long in the name of preservation."

He shook his head and frowned, making a sweeping gesture with a foreleg. "No more. Our oof is forced by circumstance. The Imperial Roaman Legion, the remnants of the government that birthed our home, has surfaced. They demand compliance for the restoration of Roam, and I have heard it that they have little tolerance for resistance. They are here now, in Apollania; less than a day's trot from our very own Arachna. I am sure you have kept yourselves up to date."

Many of the knights nodded and muttered among each other in agreement; many simply took the news without reaction, but then it was hard to see if they reacted at all underneath their helmets. Clearly knowledge of the Legion's presence and activity was common, even underground.

Tavish continued, "We of the Court of Zebrica have allotted a maximum of two days to purge this place of its plague. Any means are permitted, but deaths are to be avoided if possible. Be systematic. Find the true supporters of this... ill-meaning madness, and sort them out from the more adaptable. The victims of this place are not to be harmed under any circumstance. I repeat, under any circumstance. There is no concrete plan, just a goal to which you must work. That is all. Dismissed."

The knights all gave a bow, and with a focused silence they went on their way; some stayed and continued as though Tavish hadn't come along at all, which surprised me; others proceeded with haste down the stairs, and the shy grey mare waiting anxiously along their path could only squeal and stay still, almost as if she believed that if she didn't move then she was invisible.

Tavish looked over the few knights left on the floor and gave a nod. Then he turned, gesturing for us to follow. "Now, let us proceed," he said, starting to step down the stairs. But I stopped him with a hoof.

"Hold up. So there's no actual plan? Only the goal? What... what manner of..." Surely such an important event needed more spine to its fulfillment! I'd expected a meeting to discuss steps, obstacles cited, opinions put forth -- had the knights no thought on it? They just hear 'do this', and they would do it? I shook my head incredulously, "How could your people even agree to just doing this? I thought this place had been keeping itself up on slavery for a hundred years. Caridin himself said the practice can't simply be stomped down! Yet all I saw just now was that you basically gathered some people, told them to do something, and then they went off and to do it. Whatever happened to prudence? Whatever happened caution?"

Lampshade nodded in agreement, then opened his mouth wide and threw a hoof in the air to give a loud, boisterous statement. But Tavish simply beat him to the intent, saying, "I dare say I've taken more cautious steps than you think."

He gestured at the few remaining knights in the area, "See these people? Not a one among them has been up here for more than two years. They grew up in this Stable, sheltered by its walls, housed in its corridors. But even in here they felt what was transpiring right outside their shelter. Previous generations of knights -- their fathers, their grandfathers -- came back and retired, old and frail and crippled. They returned marred by incidents of violence and injustice that occurred with rampant frequency out here.

"And it wasn't so just with us knights. Our fellow praetorians and hoplites sustained casualties, too. In fact, I'd say they had it harder. They actually lost lives to the time of violent integration, and in the end the result is slavery? Do you realize what manner of insult that is to us guardians, we who were given identities as champions of the best Zebrica had to offer? Us knights were raised on the code of chivalry, that the weak and helpless must be protected; the praetorians, on the revised Imperial code that declares all Zebricans as Roamans, and defends their rights as such; and the hoplites of Mac'adon, who believe that in the face of hardship a poor person can fight just as well and honorably as a noble. In partaking in this... foul practice, the people here have earned nothing but our ire from the moment they first enslaved each other down to the moment they began abductions from the surface."

"I agree wholeheartedly," I replied, keeping my tone calm and stern. "But I fail to see what precaution it is you've taken. I fail to see how all this justifies sending your people out to chase after a goal with nothing but an order, and no means."

He looked between me and Lampshade, then twisted his mouth into a half-smile. "The means, Goldwreath," he said with a deep breath, "Lies in my belief that the fury bred within the hearts and minds of my brethren will move them to a unified effort. I have confidence that they have made their own plans; I couldn't trust myself to make one even if the world were to end. I'm a terrible planner, but I know my fellows. I know that they're convening right outside at this moment, discussing how to identify exactly who and where the supporters of slavery are. And I know also that with some help, they can succeed. That is where you come in; you, who are the final straw, the catalyst of change, can make sure they succeed. Because your desire to be free will inspire others in the face of adversity, and only because of that will they believe that they can be free, too."

So he said. Yes, I wanted to be free; yes, I wanted the others to be free, too. But why bet everything on me? Why form a nigh-nonexistent plan on the chance that others would look to me for inspiration? The thought made me uncomfortable, and made me think that perhaps, under all his lordly and magisterial air, Tavish wasn't simply very lazy. But if it was really the only shot we had... fine. So be it. Not like I knew the place well enough to try to make my own plan.

"Fine. I'll go help your people accomplish... well, whatever they feel needs to be done. But I'm not so sure about this."

Lampshade threw me a quizzical look, then rolled his eyes and smiled with a sigh. "Well, it seems we're trotting off to another adventure; and one without plans, too. Wonderful! Not like I'd like something more reassuring to depend on if things go badly. You know, plans are overrated like that."

Tavish smirked. "In times of hardship, people will appreciate you. They will realize that sometimes it takes just a bit of humor to make the world seem so much less grey." Then he looked to us both with brows upraised, "Now, before anything else: your disguises. Lampshade, I've found nothing that could suit and fit you better than an old jester's dress. Believe me, jesters are more common down here than you think, so people won't look at you twice."

"Oh. Lovely. Maybe I can distract them all from enslaving by asking them to throw pies in my face. Wonderful," Lampshade said with a little grumble, then muttered, "I'm not like a jester... jesters are stupid. Comedians are much better. More modern and more... comedic."

"And for Goldwreath," Tavish continued before Lampshade could continue down his train of thought, "I managed to secure a suit of armor. It may lack the emblem of your home, and maybe it won't fit you as well. The purple crest is a new addition, too, but aside from that you should look just like a guard again. Feeling like one is up to you."

I rose my brows in surprise. "You found me a suit of modern cohors urbanae lorica segmentata?" (Lorica segmentata being the classical suit of segmented Roaman armor known by all peoples around the world)

He smiled, "Even better."

"It suits him well, yes. He's like a guard of Marediolanon again."

Well, I looked close to being a guard, for sure. The helmet was tight though, and made me stare at myself in the mirror; the large purple crest was quite the odd sight. The purple cape hanging off my side was likewise queer. The gladius strapped to my side was similar enough to my own -- almost an exact match, and for that I was grateful. The armor's fit was fine, but moving felt awkward and stiff with my wings crammed beneath the plates. The cold metal lining the inside of the ballistic praetorian lorica felt strange, unwelcoming. Over months of wearing my own armor back in Marediolanon, the interior of my suit somehow came to feel warm, soft... as though greeting me each cold morning with refuge and comfort. Not at all like what I wore now. This was the armor for the Praetorians, the elite of the elite in Roam's military. Wearing it was like declaring myself to be of a superior race, of a higher tier of being. It felt wrong, like I was trying to be someone I wasn't.

But that was the point. It was my disguise, after all. And it wasn't so uncomfortable when I remembered those words Dad had said to me, about my cutie mark: about my destined importance in times to come. In fact, for a few seconds of time as I looked at myself in that glass, it almost felt like fate -- like some kind of... divine will, as though I was supposed to be wearing the armor. That by wearing it, greatness would suddenly be much closer than it had ever been. The thought and notion made me smile, feeling oddly fulfilled and proud as I raised my head high and felt an empowering air of authority and duty over me -- the authority and duty, as endowed by my new identity, to right the wrongs committed in that... underground slave ring. Except this time duty didn't feel like an obligation, as I'd earlier come to think of it and of all my previous actions as a peacekeeper. Now it felt like something natural to me, something... I was born to do. Something to make the world know me for.

Tavish nodded and smiled. "The Praetorians were a fairly diverse bunch, especially in the late empire if my knowledge of that section of history is accurate. It justifies their current roster of ponies and zebras, at least. You'll fit right in."

I turned away from the mirror to face them as they scrutinized my new look. Tavish seemed impressed, but Imperius -- the Praetorians' pony leader, who sported a white coat and a gold mane, and who'd come shortly after his subordinates handed me the disguise -- seemed skeptical. He stood, rubbing his stubble of a beard and inspecting me with narrowed eyes.

"Perhaps. But the people will suspect, nonetheless. Kabal's rantings were fiery, Tavish. I would not be surprised if that insufferable dog had his goons out there searching for a body -- and as they will not find one, I can only conclude that Kabal will be on his guard. You know him. He does not let grudges die."

Tavish frowned, then pursed his lips and clicked his tongue. "Perhaps we can use some of the hoplites' warpaint. Your group does use that, right? Warpaint?"

"No," Imperius answered flatly, and stepped close to fix me with a glare. Then his gaze softened as he gave the helmet a light smack. He grumbled as he then proceeded to adjust the tightness of the cheek guards against my face. I felt oddly embarrassed, and made some effort to adjust the chestpiece, which was also a bit constricting. But Imperius just frowned and shook his head, then put it back the way it was. Then he stepped back and looked me over again, eyes hard and unkind. I looked to every piece of the equipment, trying to spot something to straighten out. But there was nothing to be corrected, not to my awareness.

Finally, he sighed. "It will do," he said in a resigned tone. "It will have to do."

Tavish rose a brow, looking to his colleague in confusion. "Is something wrong? We've wanted to take action for years now. Now that we're actually going to do something, you seem... well, like you usually seem. Grim."

A tiny snort of derision came in reply. "Well, between you having no plan and Onosander being all-too-eager to 'finally get things started', someone has to think of the risks. Someone has to face reality, Tavish."

"And that person is you?" Tavish questioned, turning to him. "What sort of reality are we facing, then?"

"Need it be said?" Imperius growled, shaking his head. "One-hundred years, Tavish. Two generations before us could not stop this madness. When they tried, they died -- so ask yourself: are we really what we say we are? Are we actually the protectors of this place, or are we ourselves slaves to the twisted desires of these people? We bent knee for too long. If we do this, they may just scoff at us. And we can't just kill them; oh no, because that 'goes against all we stand for and would put us at their level', right? What makes this time different, hm? Him?"

Imperius pointed a hoof right at me, making me shrink back slightly as all attention was focused on me. Then he grumbled and covered his face. "Gah, I loathe this whole idea. I loathe that we are, once again, risking everything -- our dignity, our credibility, our standing -- on a fool's errand."

He pulled the hoof away and stomped it down in frustration. "The reality I speak of, Tavish, is that we are in both no position to act nor do we have a solid foundation to put ourselves in that position! We hear the Legion is coming, so we panic. Then this one falls down into the hole and escapes. Apparently that's impressive enough for you, because you then think making him the catalyst of the change we desperately need is a good idea. Ridiculous! Is that prudence and wisdom, or desperation? What are his qualifications? A guard he is, yes, but just a guard! I doubt he has any real tactical or psychological intelligence to benefit us. Why, then, do you entrust our future to him?"

His words cut right at me like a hot whip, and by the time his rant was done I felt heavy, with weak legs and a crumbling resolve. I could not deny that he was right. I really was just a guard. Everything I'd done was done off the immediate impulse of the situation, and honestly none of my actions had led to any benefit -- worry and frustration for my home; death and capture for my retinue... and I could only imagine what I'd bring to this place, with such weight placed on me. Nothing good, I was sure.

But Tavish didn't seem to agree. "Ah, Imperius..." he said softly, smiling and stepping close to his seething compatriot. "First off, I'd just like to say that it's nice you finally got to blow off that steam. It's been swelling up in there for a while now, I take it."

Imperius glared, but then sighed and softened his gaze. Suddenly his expression was much less merciless. "You know that very well. While you and Onosander have been pursuing ideologies, I've had to bear with actually keeping order."

"And I'm sorry for that," Tavish replied calmly, looking apologetic. "It wasn't fair to put the weight on you. I'm sure Onosander would agree. And yes, you're right... we really aren't in a position to do anything. I know what it must feel like for you: a big, swirling mess, full of heat and tension; it's reaching it's most volatile point, and then we decide to throw some random thing in there in the hope that it stabilizes. A fool's hope."

"It is, yes," Imperius replied with a grumble. "What are you getting at?"

Tavish stepped right up to his fellow, and with a deep sigh he bowed his head. Then he looked back up, smiling. "Well, don't you see it? The pattern, the chain of events? You've never believed in coincidences. So how could it be that the most determined, most courageous would-be slave we've ever encountered comes to our doorstep just as necessity reaches its peak? What were the chances that Caridin would be there, waiting for him as he broke out of his cage, and no one else? Why, what were the chances that the commotion Goldwreath has caused by infuriating Kabal would distract the creature so much that he can't seem to spend a waking second not raving about it? He is vulnerable now, paranoid. He is making Goldwreath into a demon, 'the only one that ever escaped his grasp' -- a person to be feared and hunted down. They key word there is fear; and as you know, fear twists and corrupts. Makes people vulnerable."

"It makes people cautious!" Imperius retorted. "Kabal will only be on the lookout for Goldwreath, then. That only makes things harder, because we can't put him to work as easily. Where, then, is our advantage? Where, then, is his use in all this?"

Instead of trying to directly defend his claim, Tavish just grinned, "You've said it yourself. Kabal will be cautious. And when his fears are realized, he will be crippled with indecision. You know how he is. We will reveal Goldwreath at an opportune time, and use that to our advantage."

My eyes went wide. "Wait. What?"

"You heard me," Tavish said easily, smiling at me. "Nothing quite unsettles a person like the realization of their fears. Which is why you will be attempting to incite civil unrest, Goldwreath -- success is secondary, but paralyzing this place's toxic committee is paramount. We will use that opportunity to strike. And when Spiderhole's sickening government falls, the people can easily be sorted out. There are only two types of people here, after all: the type that advocates liberty, and the type that promotes slavery."

I expected Imperius and the small band of gathered knights and praetorians to disagree -- I sure as hell wanted them to. Me, the focus of all that? Me, the cause of paralysis and the reason for the fall of a government? Nonsense! I couldn't possibly do any of that, especially the whole 'incite civil unrest' shit. Surely the more sensible people in this bunch would know better, and all of us would be spared whatever mistake I'd make.

I looked to Imperius, expecting him to brush the idea off. To my horror, I realized he was actually considering it. And then I looked to the others -- they all were.

"I thought you said you had no plan," Imperius said, eyeing Tavish with a narrowed gaze. "This... actually sounds like a plan. And it actually has some sense to it."

Has some sense to it? Oh, gods no...

"Well, listening to your down-to-earth rants has its uses," Tavish smirked. "I made this one up just now. And judging from your tone, it's struck a note. You're good with this aren't you?"

Imperius growled softly and covered his face. Then with a sigh he replied, "I'll not give you the satisfaction of hearing the answer. Just tell me what's next, because all of this has left me with a terrible headache."

"Uh... yeah, I do get to say no, right? Right?" I asked, drawing glances. Imperius gave me a narrow-eyed, somehow pitiful look. Tavish just chuckled.

"Oh, my dear boy, of course you do! Of course you get to say no, of course..." the zebra said, "But necessity demands you do it anyway. So! Without further delay, the next step." He looked to two of the knights in the area, then gestured to me.

"Take him near Kabal's last know location. Send Lampshade along, when he is done strapping on that jester's outfit. Remember, he is to be revealed at a timely moment, when anxiety and fear can cause tremendous paralysis. When it is done, we will know. In the meantime, we will be gathering the others. This madness will end at last."

With my mouth agape, I was taken and dragged over to the stairs, and barely did I gain enough sense to climb down the steps on my own. I felt sluggish, like I'd been whacked on the head so hard all feeling and thought was reduced to an empty numbness. So this was the plan? Made up on the spot, and somehow I'd become its centerpiece? From no plan to this... fuck, it was like the whole universe was conspiring to have me placed always on the forefront of all these ridiculous endeavors.

But I just sucked it up. It was my duty, I reminded myself. All endeavors necessary to restoring my home to its former peace were to be done, whatever the cost. And as Arachna's doors once more opened and I stepped out, a temporary but new addition to the ranks of the local peacekeepers, I found some faint but steadily increasing solace in knowing that I was not alone. Like in all previous instances of my acting on behalf of civility, I was with others. People of similar intent, and who needed me as much as I needed them. And once their grievance was settled and they could begin anew and establish an order fit for the solidification of localized peace, they could serve as a message that even in the harshness of the world, it only takes work and the right mindset to rebuild what was lost.

And likewise, it takes adversity for goodness to spring forth, with each higher tier of challenge yielding a greater good each time. So why should my home's troubles be the only cause for a world-fixing order to show itself? There was no reason any place could not be a proper catalyst for such change, for every location brought to a harmonious state was like a bone in the skeleton of the Greater Good -- a piece, yes... but an integral piece. That is why I imagined, as I was lead out once more into the tunnels and among the people that Arachna was my home. And thus it deserved my equal effort to sow peace so that others might see and realize the goodness that could be.

The journey beats the destination, Tavish had said. Yes, perhaps... in fact, thinking on it, I wondered if I couldn't do more good outside than in my home, where routine patrols were all I contributed to keeping the peace. Marediolanon was ordered enough, exemplary enough; the wasteland, though, needed help. I could wander, trekking the wastes in constant search of wrongs to be righted... and the idea at the time did not bother me at all. Radical, yes! But the notion activated a fervent desire in me, a kind of relentless zeal to purge all evil from the world. Spiderhole might only be the start of a glorious crusade, a long and arduous journey that, from the strain required for it, could yield such wondrous things that all people might be inspired to dedicate their lives to it.

Hm. Purge evil from the world... surely that was a goal worth indefinitely prolonging my return home for. Surely that was the only goal truly worth an individual's full, undiluted attention. And quite surely it was the only goal that would yield things the world desperately needed: peace and order, and a future for all.

And when it is done, a thought said in my mind, Chaos shall know that in the end, all things must be reunited with the Primordial Pattern that spawned us all, and that deviating from it only causes misery. So work, Goldwreath, and be not afraid. This is just the beginning.

I thought I was thinking those things. Really, I did. But the moment the 'Primordial Pattern' was mentioned and my name was uttered, I knew that I was not alone in my mind. A chilling sense of horror spread out within me... followed immediately after by the strangest, most natural feeling of satisfaction and contentment, as though I'd stumbled upon some bliss-inducing truth. I should have been worried. I should have shut down all thought in a desperate attempt to not think that maybe some horrific mind-monster was taking over me from within. But I didn't... and somehow that only intensified the sensations.

The mark of great people is a welcoming attitude to the unknown, said the thought again, and then chuckled, I have a feeling I did right choosing you. But for now... you will not remember me. You will only feel as you do at this moment, for you will need this zeal to accomplish the task ahead. But let these words echo within you: be not afraid of greatness, for it will come naturally to you. Such is my promise. Also, watch for the one who will help you. You will know him when he speaks to you. Now, go... and forget.

And just like that, I simply trotted along down the halls towards Kabal's last know location, fervent and eager in my desire to purge wrongness from the world. A noble goal, and one I felt more than happy to chase.

Now... genuine happiness, or implanted happiness? Even now I cannot quite say.

*

Rhythmic vibrations pulsed through the rickety wooden flooring in accordance with the rise and fall of a nearby clamor, causing an irritating creaking to squeal into our ears as we ascended the steps. An orange, eldritch light emanated from the end of the upwards-leading tunnel, and along with that light came the roaring of a crowd -- clearly, some event was underway. And from how their cheers dropped to surprised gasps and rose back up to excited shouting, I could only guess that some kind of sport or competition was the context in which the event was occurring.

"It's routine down here," one of the praetorians said, voice just loud enough to be heard over the increasing noise. "The slavers, they like to pit the 'acquired laborers' against each other. There're two stages to it: one lethal, wherein the weak are separated from the strong -- for only strong, capable workers are wanted down here, after all -- and the second purely for recreation, enjoyment. Honing of skills, friendly competition. As close as you'll get to that down here, anyway."

"Right. So, w-which stage are we dropping in on?" Lampshade asked, fidgeting uncomfortably in his jester's outfit. From the way he moved, I couldn't quite tell if he found the disguise itchy, or if it was infested with ants. Given how old and worn it looked, though... probably both. With a quick glance to me and a sour frown right after, he hissed under his breath, "Fucking cuntsuckers, why do they even need me? Not like this style of comedy is really appreciated anymore... and I look ridiculous." He glared at the ground as we went along, and his jingling hat fell to one side of his head. Moving it back into place with a hoof, he grumbled, "Damn medieval entertainment culture..."

A knight noticed his sour demeanor, and under his visor I saw his cheeks rise up into a smirk. But then answering the question, he said, "The latter, and thank thy luck for that." Then he nearly fell to the ground as one of the old boards snapped underneath his weight. He reeled back, nearly losing his balance and almost knocking down one of his fellows.

"Gods, how I loathe that occurrence!" he fumed as he recovered, holding a hoof to his chest as he panted and pressed his other hoof against the stone wall. Then shaking his head and returning to the topic, he continued as we resumed our journey up, "See, as of late, the Aeolians, to whom Kabal is like a chief, have had little luck in their foraging. Thus Spiderhole's denizens cannot simply kill off new arrivals for minor imperfections, as they did before. And likewise the balance between fatal and non-fatal combat has been rather lopsided. A fortuitous circumstance. Maybe the surfacers have finally realized the cruel deception harbored by the drylands above."

"Speaking of new arrivals," another knight interjected, "I overheard how a bunch of recent zebras are to be thrust into the program, ignoring all semblance of schedules and queues. Quite the show the crowd was promised. 'Fighters from the dreaded Legion' shouted that starved little slave-colt. The one who greeted the first few waves of shoppers in the market this morning, remember?"

I went rigid at his words, and promptly stopped dead in my tracks.

"Oh. Yes, I remember," the other knight replied, and noticed me motionless behind him. The praetorians ceased trotting and bade the others do the same. Then the knight approached, "Something wrong?"

"No," I replied flatly, looking over the decayed wooden floor. Then I met their eyes. "But we have to get that bunch out of there. Looking for them is the reason I even wound up in this place. They risked their lives for me, and I shall do the same. Now, when are they to perform?"

The knight shrugged. "I know not. But if thou needs them released, thou shall have to wait until the crowd grows bored of them. And depending on the competence of the cagemaster, thy endeavor may prove difficult. But we shall help in whatever way we can, so long as this shan't waylay our plans."

"It won't," I promised, and cracked a little smile. "In fact, I'd like to think our plans will begin with freeing them. If Kabal is to be paralyzed by my mere presence, then having the one he fears free those he managed to capture will surely mean his downfall. So long as you people will be ready to take advantage of the opportunity?"

"We here with you will be, yes. All four of us. Him..." The knight glanced to Lampshade as the pony struggled to not trip over the loose sleeves of his outfit, "... I can't be sure of. Perhaps he can distract so that you may get yourself into position. But ultimately our plans hang on the hope that lords Onosander, Tavish, and Imperius will have the rest of the Committee under their heels soon after Spiderhole's foremost slaver is brought down. How they will know when it is time to strike, I do not know. But they will find a way."

"Well, for a plan made less than an hour ago to meet a goal needed in just a few days, it will have to do," I replied in a resigned tone. Then swallowing down a lump in my throat, I nodded over to the tunnel's exit. "Now, let's go finish this. Let the slavery here end with this swift strike, and may nothing go wrong." Under my breath, I murmured, "Please, let nothing go wrong..."

Cautiously, for fear of the old boards beneath us snapping, we made our way up. And when at last we passed underneath the cavemouth and entered the chamber beyond, the glow of orange flames dancing on countless torches attached to nearby walls beamed into our eyes. To such conditions of illumination my senses were not used to, and so I paused and covered my face. Meanwhile the others proceeded. With my eyes still covered I stepped forward, over a stone path this time. I heard the noise all around me, bouncing off the walls; not deafening, but there was nothing else to be heard now but wild whistling and cheering. At length, I withdrew my limb and gazed around.

An arena. A wide, metal-caged circular space floored with rough stone and surrounded by terraced cave rock that sloped up towards the ceiling of the almost perfectly spherical chamber. The terraces were divided into four equal sections, each one separated from the others by stony steps that led down to a flat area of smooth and polished cement that acted as the foundation for the arena itself. Only two of those stairways proceeded from a cavemouth; one of them the steps I myself walked upon, and the other on the opposite side, running down from a metal gate in the walls of stone. To both sides of the metal gate were dense screens of barbed metal -- like windows, I thought, but clearly meant to prevent any kind of movement through them.

That was what I saw, thanks to the light of nearly a hundred torches that lined in tiers the circular walls of the chamber. And I also saw that the area was packed full of onlookers of all kinds of species: zebras, ponies, griffons. They occupied all the space provided for them, to the point that some of them were squashed in between others. There were even some minotaurs acting as guards, clad in fiendishly sharp plates of armor and armed with wicked scythes and axes. There were six of them -- one for each stairwell, and to my dread I realized the closest was right next to me, glaring through a helmet with vertical eyeslits. I had no doubt his weapon could cleave me in half in one strike.

With how his expression appeared beneath his helmet, I actually thought he'd quell me. Instead he just looked away, saying idly in a voice that was deep with strength and low with boredom, "Praetorian."

It took me a moment to realize what he'd just said was a nonchalant acknowledgement of my presence. Then in rushed response to his statement, I stuttered, "Greetings, f-fellow guard."

The reply struck him as queer. "Fellow guard? Are you new?" he asked, directing his massive form to face me. His armor clinked and clanked, shining with reflected torchlight. "We're different, you and I. We protect different things -- I, the holders of my chains: the Committee; and you the fleeting ideals of an old Roam. Not only that, but you also protect because it is your duty. I do so because I am forced. Thus we are not 'fellows', for technically I fall under those whom you are sworn to defend. Thusly, I am merely a specialized slave. Possessing more than most down here, yes... but still just a slave."

What? A huge minotaur like him, a slave? "I... did not know."

"Then you are new," he deadpanned, sighing. "My name is Cerebrum. A title bestowed upon me by my fellows, who you may see in this chamber right now, because I thought and pondered and learned more so than they. We were of the Mountain Guard clan before we were assaulted one day; our numbers having been thinned by subsequent famine, we were easy prey. Instead of killing us off, our captors brought us here. We are fed and housed, and that is enough for some of us. But I would love nothing more than to become my own person, free to pursue whatever goal it is I desire. Obviously, being a slave is not conducive to that want."

The abrupt openness stunned me for a moment, and piqued my curiosity. I spared a look over at my companions; they seemed to be mingling with the crowd, showing no signs of worry or urgency. Perhaps they were delaying the plan in the hopes that a clearer, more feasible means would show itself? As simple as the plan already was, its success hung by a thread, and Tavish did not say to rush this first step. Perhaps just a little delay was what we needed.

"Well, nice to meet you Cerebrum. My name is Goldwreath, and yes I am... 'new'," I replied, then licked my lips said, "And you're quite open about yourself. Not really something I expected from anyone here. Why is that?"

"Because you seem like the type that will help me achieve that goal," he said with a grin. "In fact, I think all of us down here would appreciate your help, praetorian. You who have eluded Kabal must be down here for reasons other than just rescuing your companions."

I stood still, my throat suddenly feeling dry. Then I rasped out, "I don't know what you're talking about." Seriously? First my departure from Marediolanon, now this? Was no secret I desired to keep to remain as such? Was everything I partook in that required subtlety doomed to be known as though knowledge of it was commonplace?

"Oh, don't play coy." He took his helmet off, revealing a head sporting horns trimmed down to mere inches and hair dyed bright red on the scalp, patterned with white markings that made the colored fur display a painting of a brain. Then he leaned down and looked me in the eye. "Let's not play dumb here. Kabal comes home one day seething, cursing as though the opportunity of a lifetime had been robbed of him. No sign of the offender's corpse was spotted, hinting that he did not die. Kabal raves on, describing in great detail the pony who outfoxed him." He cocked an eye and looked me head to hoof, and sweat broke onto my brow and flowed down my neck as anxiety swelled within me.

"Now suddenly knights and praetorians come into this arena; an occurrence that would never happen unless the local constabulary believed some event of drastic nature were to go down -- something more sinister, still, than the organized brutality held daily within these confines," he continued, and the surety in his voice made it all the more difficult to maintain my steady face. "Other than that, and if what I have heard of this place's history proves true, they may also be here to, once again, attempt to usurp the slavers. Both possibilities are equally as likely -- and the chances of either happening at all are increased by the fact that you, a pony by the nigh-exact description given by Kabal himself, are here. Such a string of occurrences cannot simply be coincidence, no? So you are he, I take it. The only soul to ever free himself of that damnable zebra's shackles."

I sighed. "Guess there aren't a lot of crimson ponies with golden laurel, Roaman numeral cutie marks..." Looking up, "Yeah, I'm him. And I want to free these people because it's wrong to make property of others, no matter how well they're housed or fed. People should be free to make their own decisions, influenced by nature and not by the overbearing will of others. So if you want to free yourself, then you're welcome to try. But I sure would appreciate your help. There's more at stake here than the currently-enslaved."

At first, he just nodded. And he continued nodding. Then finally he smiled; a wide, satisfied grin. "Said truly, praetorian. Said truly indeed... for so few people would ever look beyond themselves, to work for things not just for their own welfare. I will help you, so that you may help all of us. There are good people here, but they are weak, scared. Passive, like grass swaying to any direction the wind desires. Time to put some spine in their backs, eh? Now, what is the plan?"

With some trepidation, I relayed the plan in hushed whispers. It took only a minute, and all the while I hid behind his massive form as he kneeled on the floor, listening under the guise of adjusting his armor.

"There is far more chance involved in this plan than I would like... but it will have to do," he said in a resigned tone. Then with some eagerness he continued, "If surprise and swiftness prove to be impossibilities, then brute force and persistence will need to be at the ready. I may provide both. If lord Tavish's plan does pull through, and in less than an hour we are hunting down slavers through these tunnels as they cower in confusion and chaos, then I will put myself to work cutting them down... and I will enjoy it, very much."

I swallowed, both glad to have an ally to call upon if things went sour and sickened by the image of cleaved slavers. "Well, let's hope it doesn't have to come to that. Now listen, I still have to find those fellows of mine who were taken. I can't risk them being killed in the mayhem that'll likely ensue with whatever next step we take. What I need now is cover; can you get over to the others there and tell them I need a distraction? Just something to keep eyes off me as I scour around."

Cerebrum looked over to where the pairs of knights and praetorians stood: against a wall, pretending (or perhaps not pretending) to chat up a bunch of young zebra mares and a female griffon. It seemed like they were actually having a good time, and thank goodness Lampshade found someone who appeared to appreciate medieval entertainment. The griffon's eyes were completely focused on him as he threw his head around, and the shiny metal balls attached to his hat were like orbs of fire in the torchlit cavern. The display was so mesmerizingly flashy and marvelous that it drew the attention of nearby onlookers away from the arena itself, where, I noticed, whatever transpiring event must have reached a lull; crowd reactions were down to a minimum now, almost as if an intermission in a program had been reached.

"It seems like they are distracting enough as it is," Cerebrum noted, and shook his head. "Besides, my presence will merely frighten the weaker-willed of the passersby. Best for me to just keep watch over you and your allies. This intermission is a time of rotation -- people will leave here, people will enter here... and all of they who move will provide you sufficient cover to travel about as you see fit. If you'll search, search now."

He was right. Now people were getting up and moving; gathering in clumps along the terraced stone seats, leaving the area or entering it... some just sat where they were, patiently waiting for the things to heat up again. "So it is a lull," I muttered, stepping out from behind him and looking the area over. With so many people up and about, flashing all their colors and showing off their expensive clothes or their meager tunics, I figured nobody would mind a praetorian being near a minotaur guard. "Why is there a lull?"

"It's possible that either one of the two sides called for rest, or perhaps someone got hurt enough that there must be a timeout," Cerebrum explained. "The fights here aren't purely for entertainment, you see. Think of them as training sessions open for the public to see, in the case of the non-lethal spectacles, under which all of today's fights fall under. So the fighting can go on all day, all night, until both parties decide to end it. There is no schedule for it. People come and go as they please, to watch for as long as they want. Sometimes their volume and fervency in watching the spectacle equals the spirit they possess for the more lethal occasions, and they cheer and scream as though the two sides were to actually kill each other. But if both those sides, or either, decide to call for a break? Well, it has to happen. A lopsided fight is no fun to watch, and so people leave."

I nodded, trying to get a good look at the fighting floor through all the moving heads of the people in my view. "So someone either got too tired to fight, or they got too seriously injured for a mere practice run. That it?"

"Yes, exactly."

I began moving forward, wading into the outer crowds to make my way to the center of the chamber. Cerebrum stood back up, tall and imposing as he put his helmet back on. Menacing as he was, I was glad he was on our side. Come a horrible mistake in our frail plan, his intervention could mean the difference between life or death. One of the knights stared at me as I proceeded deeper down, into thicker clumps of people; and he looked to Cerebrum, as well. With my own glance to the minotaur, I seemed to get it across to the knight that the titan of guard was of no threat -- so long as his words were true, and I sincerely hoped they were.

At last, through thick and thin crowds, I made it to my destination. The metal fence caging the platform was stained with ancient blood, and patches of the mesh had clearly been welded back into place. An acrid, piercing stench hung in the hot, stuffy air -- the scent of sweat and alcohol. The source of the latter was clear; the terrace right in front of the platform was littered with empty bottles of alcoholic beverages.

Breathing through my mouth, I made my way around the arena, searching for the Legionaries. Then I spared a good, long look right into the cage. The sight sent me rigid, and I pressed myself right against the metal wiring with a fiery urgency shooting through my veins.

Inside, Audrius crawled forward, stifling a bleeding bruise on his chest with a hoof. His smashed face and swollen eyes rendered him nigh unrecognizable. And inside with him were the others, slumped against the cage or laying in crumpled heaps on the stone floor. Wooden weapons were splintered and strewn about, and some pieces were clearly lodged inside the bodies of the battered legionaries.

Staring at them through the gap in the fence, I was frozen in horror. Then a hoof thumped down right onto the floor inside of the cage, blocking my vision and sending me reeling back. I fell backwards and landed on my haunches on the seats, beholding the owner of the hoof in greater detail.

Kabal shook his head, running a hoof over his mane and chuckling. There was a smugness to his tone that could taunt even the most nonchalant soul into combat. Then he approached the crawling Audrius and sat down on his back, and the Legionary collapsed with a cry of pain. The tribal zebra laid a hoof under his chin, seeming to think. "Hm. I wrong. You seven weren't a challenge. Shame. And here I thought Legion's troops would be made of sterner meat."

They'd been at this for hours. Thrust into combat with Kabal himself, trapped in a cage with no escape... it was their torture. Somehow outmatched by the one slaver, the Legionaries were now nothing but groaning lumps of battered meat. Barely able to move, barely alive; used for entertainment, jeered at by countless bystanders. One more round and they were done for.

Audrius, less than five feet from me, blubbered through swollen lips, "G-go hang yourself, slaver... the Legion won't take our loss lightly. Kill us. Go ahead, I dare you. But if you intend to keep that... the Eagle, then expect... expect vengeance to come knocking."

The mentioning of the Aquila coincided perfectly with a glitter of metal on the stone floor near Kabal's hooves and a very sudden spike of adrenaline within me. As if by gravity, my sight was drawn to the golden eagle laying on the stone, and with a similar gentle yet irresistible sensation I felt a tension swelling up within me, aching with the need to retrieve the idol and follow through with the plan to end this place.

"Ooh, more sheep to the slaughter, then!" Kabal laughed, drawing my attention. Then just as quickly as he snubbed the threat off, he put on a serious face. Glancing around and looking my way for a heart-stopping split second, he then lifted Audrius's face off of the ground. "You can't keep doing this, you know," he said. "Marching around, taking people's freedom. Destroying livelihoods and homes to try to force us to adopt your ways of life. All us 'savages' want is chance to continue the traditions passed down from our forefathers. Why you take that right away?"

The Legionary below him gasped, "Because... you all live in squalor. Disease and famine grip you all with an iron fist. Not even the most well-off tribe can say it's happy. And rights? Hah... you talk of rights, eh? Well... despite their savagery, we try to protect all people of the wasteland indiscriminately. People's rights to live in comfort and safety supersede their freedom to do what they want -- especially when what they want is to take other people's rights away." He coughed, then with a broken chuckle he continued, "You should be grateful. If you surrender now, you'd be pardoned. Forgiven for all your crimes against Roaman law. We're not the merciless crusaders you think we are. Because all it'd take for it to stop -- the wars, the suffering of both our peoples -- is just a bit of sense in your heads."

Kabal's expression was nothing but a flat stare of mock contemplation. "Alright. Well, when that sense comes, you be the first to know. But for now..." He stood up, stretching his back and rolling his shoulders. Then once more he looked around, noticing the dispersed crowd. Then he smiled and raised a hoof, calling, "Father, over here! Come see what I've got you."

At his call, a zebra stallion emerged from the crowd, clad in an old leather cloak with a feathered collar. A spiraling wooden staff was held in his hoof as he approached, his aged face grinning with a kind of mischievous delight. The stallion neared me, then made a sharp turn towards an idling pony in a leather-studded toga. At the zebra's approach, the pony hastily galloped over to a handle on the perimeter of the cage and, with a desperate fumbling, opened a section of the metal fence for the incoming zebra. The old stallion gave the trembling buck a roll of his eyes and entered the arena, then took Kabal into an embrace.

Kabal pulled away after a moment. "Father, I have such a gift awaiting you as you have not had before," he said, then without skipping a beat he knelt down and dragged Audrius over, then yanked his head up by the mane. "Seven soldiers of the Legion, father! The dreaded dogs have had a taste of the suffering they put our people through. What would you have me do to them now? They are here to entertain, you most of all."

Kabal's father let out a loud hum of contemplation, regarding the beaten legionaries with some interest. Then he looked to Kabal, his words coming out with an aged rasp, "My son, the best entertainment I could have now is watching your pony mares dance for us while we rest atop a bed of hay, eating crispy lettuce and and dried berries and listening to music. As amusing as a crowd's cheers are, you know I'm really not into this kind of thing anymore. I am old, and with age comes a need for... placidity. And really, you mustn't take your frustrations out on these heathen. That pony you lost is a small loss compared to your gain of these seven. Some would say that perhaps the loss will serve a greater purpose."

Kabal groaned and drooped his head. "Father, not more of this. I've been nagged at by sister already, I don't need it from you."

Their conversation was lost to me as I realized that the situation was fortuitous. Kabal and his father, together in a metal cage, vulnerable... the opportune moment had revealed itself. The only problem now was getting the legionaries out of there. I couldn't risk their safety in the event that our little coup resulted in more violence than anticipated -- yet I couldn't risk foiling everything by attempting, and possibly failing, to get them out. Apparently, a key point in the plan was the shock factor of my reveal, and surely something so anticlimactic as being caught would mitigate that shock.

I sighed. Well, it was time to start. If I wanted to shock Kabal into an inactive, incredulous state long enough for Tavish and the others to do their work, I had to make this dramatic... which couldn't be very hard. A caged stage dipping into the center of a spherical chamber would have a lot of eyes on it... hopefully one of those eyes being someone who'd tell Tavish it was go time.

With a swallow, I stood up. My heart began pounding into my ears, the beat so powerful the more delicate plates of my armor racketed slightly. My breath became quick and erratic as I approached the pony -- the cagemaster, I realized. Poor buck didn't seem competent at all; and why would he be? He was a slave. Just as we all would surely be if we failed and were defeated. And as I moved, I was quite certain that somewhere behind me, all the way on the highest tiers of the terraced steps, were the knights and Cerebrum, all eyeing me and getting themselves ready. They had to be ready, because this was it.

"You there. I require entry to the platform, now," I demanded, trying to sound more calm and in control than I felt I was. Sweat broke out on my face and all over my armored body, and I felt twitchy as I discreetly locked the gladius' handle on my bracer, readying it for a quick draw.

The pony froze where he stood, clearly not used to having to confront someone of the three factions. Then he shifted uncomfortably, muttering incoherently for a moment. "I... I can't unless you're going to participate in a practice fight. For that you'd need an opponent, and the only one in there that can fight is..." He swallowed, then glanced into the cage, "... him."

I nodded, and with a firm resolution replied, "Exactly." I sucked in a deep breath as his eyes widened. "For your own good and for the good of all others enslaved... let me in. Please."

The pony blinked. Then he swallowed and nodded jerkily. A soft jingling came from his hooves as the key made its way to the lock.

But I didn't enter even when the gate creaked open slightly. It turned out there was more than one entrance and more than one cagemaster -- on the opposite end of the arena, a similar gate swung outwards, and in stepped a blindfolded zony, gagged and bound in metal chains attached to a heavy metal collar. Two armored tribal zebras flanked him as he was shoved inside and fell to his front knees at Kabal's hooves.

"Fine, father," Kabal said, stepping towards the bound Vox Populi as I stared at the scene through the opened gate. All my attention was focused on the zony, and thankfully for me so was everyone else's. "The Legionaries can live. I don't know how sister take that. She lost her mother to them, if you remember. But how about this one? Spouting sacrilege and claiming to bring our doom -- a crazed 'prophet'. I say kill him and make everyone watch."

Oh no.

The old stallion smirked, his lips twisted into a half-smile. He threw a hoof into the air out of nonchalant amusement. "Very well. Do as you like. I will be watching; do show me how creative you've gotten."

Oh no.

Kabal grinned in delight. Then with a deep breath he called out into the chamber, "May I please have everyone's attention! An execution is about to take place."

Immediately the crowd sent their gazes to the platform, all showing interest of some degree ranging from eager anticipation to anxiety. They huddled closer, cramping around the first sets of terraces like moths to a fire, and it sickened me even as the predicament of Vox Populi's life fought for my full attention. None of the many among the masses I was working to free was devoid of the glimmer of excitement. Had they been down here so long they had grown used to the cruelty; maybe even become intoxicated by it? Had they who toiled under the whips of their masters come to enjoy the flagellation of their fellows, thinking that, not being subject to the pain themselves, they were rising in the hierarchy? From slave to slaver -- in control, in power? It was an illusion, a circle closing in on itself, never bringing beneficial progress. And yet I knew: some here had been taken in by it. Deluded. If they took up arms against us when the attack began, trying to protect the very institution that had indoctrinated them, then they would have to be put down.

Kabal gazed out imperiously over the assembled crowd. Then waving a hoof over them and over the chained Vox he declared, "Many years we have spent down here, growing, and thriving. Where others fight under the light of Sol, we live in contentment in the darkness. We continue the traditions of our forefathers, rightfully minding our own business while others quarrel above ground. They war, and kill, and destroy -- but us? Merely at the cost of some liberty, we give ourselves security. Merely at the cost of some sacrifice, we afford for us all some order in an otherwise chaotic world."

The gathered crowd nodded and agreed, some looking quite taken in by his statement. Yet others looked spiteful, frowning and crossing their forelimbs. I could well imagine that the lifelong denizens of Spiderhole had benefited from the slaving tradition, and as such lived comfortable and relaxed lives; the acquired workers and their descendants, however, would have had little to their name for all the work they did.

The zebra slavemaster then stepped aside, gesturing at Vox. "Yet sometimes, the surface sends us someone who will not cooperate. Someone who will not help us build our future or help in managing our property. This one, especially, claims he will end Spiderhole, despite all it has achieved and survived." With a sardonic smirk he jeered, "And he will not do it alone, he says. Hah! Who there to help him? Those three groups of dictators, who would teach and educate us but try to put us down as our true selves are revealed? You people, who know very well the consequences of rebellion? Or something else? There can be no doubt, or else all we have worked so long for will be lost."

Kabal drew a jagged knife from its scabbard, the ringing it evoked resonating through the air like the song of death. The gesture drew a thundering applause and such a roar of delight from many of the bystanders that the vibrations shook the cavern and threw loose pebbles from the ceiling and off the walls.

All it caused in me was a necessity-driven rush to burst in and save the restrained Vox Populi. Truly there was nothing that could be more pressing than imminent death. Thoughtless, I threw the metal gate wide open and charged in just as Kabal raised the dagger for the strike, and with one word I ground the entire ceremony to a halt:

"Cease!"

The immediate response to my interjection was silence, followed right after by mutters of shock and surprise. Kabal and his father looked me over in astonishment, and the longer they looked the wider the eyes of the former grew. The blade hanging over the zony's head fell to the floor as the zebra's limbs went weak, and with terror etched on his face he stepped back.

I myself was suddenly struck with fear; specifically, the terror of being focused on. Like I'd told you earlier, at that time in my life, being the center of attention was... most nerve-racking. It was as if I had a giant magnifying glass over me, concentrating all scrutiny to ridicule my every move. As a guard in Marediolanon, I was always on the sidelines of any public ceremony. I watched the doors and greeted people. Simple stuff. For so much fuss to be created around a simple guard... what if I made a mistake? Blew everything? Flinched at the most critical moment? Mere days outside and already so much was hung around my neck.

Still, breathing down my anxiety, I afforded myself just a moment to smile in relief. One of our gambits had paid off -- Kabal, true to Tavish's speculation, was now in a state of disbelieving trauma; at least, so it seemed. My next words and lines had to be careful, my actions crafted to the intent of intensifying the heavy weight of my presence while at the same time edging to a means of retrieving all my captured companions. Even as I stood there, opposite the slavemaster himself, I could feel the eyes of not only the many bystanders in the chamber, but also those of Legionaries laying still on the ground. It was going to be tough, it not being a talent of mine to effectively ridicule and belittle someone... but for this one guy, I had to. I wanted to.

"Your days of thieving people from the surface are over," I said sharply, my teeth clenched and eyes glaring. It was intended as an act, yes, but I could't help but feel sincere in my denunciation. This zebra had acted as the hand for an underground slaving operation for too long. Lives irretrievable were lost to him; relationships, shattered by the separation of loved ones. I could doubt the convictions of the other slavers, and from what I had seen I could question as well the worth of some of the slaves I was toiling to save. But Kabal enjoyed his work, and for that I could have no doubt about the need to end him as he was.

Proceeding slowly towards the surprised slaver I continued, "There is no place for you on this earth. For too long you have ruined the lives of others, sending them off to toil while callously sifting ponies to your own personal harem. Your twisted conscience holds spite for my people, who share only part of the blame for the apocalypse. In a savage and barbaric time you contribute only misery, and when you devoid a world of life you call it civilization."

Kabal's father snorted and laughed. "Nonsense! You're clearly out of your head, whoever you are. Spiderhole represents one of the last free settlements south of Roam -- here, life is dictated by the majority, not by a council of an elitist few. You look around you, and what do you see? You may see slavery, but it is not so. Our diverse people serve one another in exchange for benefits. None of it is forced. Their temporary toil is their own step towards better lives, and even those we claim from the surface can agree there is more purpose here than anywhere else. Even they can agree that they are not anymore free up there than they are here. For on the surface all are truly without choice, forced to resort to drastic measures to sate their needs and wants. Up there, desperation becomes everyone's master -- here, labor actually bears fruit! Suffering and sweat will eventually afford people freedom, as can be attested by anyone you may find here. Ask them! Ask them and you will see that down here the servant can become the master; that the borrower may become the owner; and that the lowly may become opulent. For Spiderhole was made to rouse people from their complacency, and to bring to them the lessons the past has taught us: that competition ensures that they in control are always the best, and that those below them will learn from competent leaders."

I looked around us, at the crowd, and I saw the hard gazes looking back my way. I saw the scornful looks of the masters and the contemptuous faces of the laborers. My suspicions were correct; the slaves down here had developed a mentality of competition, wherein they had to prove themselves the better worker to earn their master's favor. And when the master were to pass, they would succeed them; then, in taking up the mantle of superiority, they would lord over the next batch of laborers. It wasn't wrong in itself; competition had always been the basis for the more qualified to rise up. But this was different simply because there was only one prize to fight for, one goal to be had. There were no alternatives in this competition that didn't result in misery for anyone brave enough to say no to the enforcement of a detrimental social hierarchy. Marediolanon always had a place for everyone, no matter their aptitude or skills. My home didn't need to reduce anyone to petty strife. Why should Spiderhole?

I looked back to them and fixed my gaze on the petrified Kabal. "So that's it then? You capture people, force them to fight amongst themselves to earn the reward of power of others, and you say they have more freedom here than up there? No. I think this place is more like a furnace, tapping any in it in crushing, heated conflict. You only bring out the worst in people here, evoking their imperfections to make them concede that the only way to live is to hurt others. This cannot continue." With every bit of sincerity I could muster, "And I will not let it continue."

Just then a rumbling ran through the ground, vibrating in the chamber like a tremor. Panic spread as people jumped up, some dispersing and running for the exits. Distant screams and shouts echoed through the caverns and reverberated through the entrance tunnels, reaching our ears and carrying the cracks of gunshots and the clanging of metal; even the mighty roars of manticores. One fierce, unified cry was particularly distinct and accompanied by three equally unique horns:

"For the Senate and People of Roam, CHARGE!"

If there was any doubt as to what that panic-inducing rumble was, it was dissipated. This was it. The attack had begun.

"By the gods, it's another one of their coups," Kabal's father growled. "They'll never learn, will they? Halt their advance at the head of the Spider!" he ordered, pointing to some of his lackeys mixed in with the fleeing crowd "Mountain Guards, with me! Aeolians, to your mounts! Trevarii, get the pikes! And son..."

He glanced over his shoulder at his petrified offspring, still standing there with his widened eyes to the ground and evading all eye contact with me. Then the elderly stallion huffed and swiped the dropped blade off the ground, then shoved it right up against Kabal's chest. The slavemaster stirred, eyeing the knife confusedly.

With a seething look over at me and a snort of disgust at the incapacitated Legionaries and at the bound Vox Populi, the elder said, "I expect them to be corpses by the time I return. I will defend our home from this uprising. Do not fail to eradicate these nuisances, or we will have a problem on our hooves."

That said, he rushed out the nearest gate and, flanked by two armored zebras that shoved and pushed through the crowd to clear him a path, he moved to leave the chamber. Three of the four titanic minotaurs stomped through the chamber to join him -- the fourth, like the duo pairs of praetorians and knights, accompanied by the jester-dressed Lampshade, were nowhere to be seen. Probably swept off in the bedlam of chaos that accompanied the crowd's initial dispersement.

Meanwhile, I stood in the chamber facing Kabal. The battle engaged all throughout Spiderhole was savage, the noise flowing through the caverns like an endless clanging that could make one's ears bleed. Every second there was death, and I alone could not stop any of it. The decision to take lives was now for those who wanted to decide this place's future. So I didn't worry for anyone, simply because there was nothing I could do for them.

Such chaos was now out of my ability to stop, and yet there was a strangely isolated feeling to the arena. Everything felt concentrated, all my perception focused on just the one opponent I had to face down. If I could end him here and now, the damage to Spiderhole's slaving operation could be irreparable in the case that we won -- its total abolishment would follow suit. But first there was a matter to be tended to.

Seeming exhausted, Vox Populi slumped in his bindings and collapsed onto his side, falling limp to the ground. The sight stirred me to rush over and help, but my motion was ceased by the reminder that Kabal would not simply idle by while I rescued my companions. I took some comfort in seeing one of the less wounded Legionaries crawl over and drag him aside to where the rest of them had managed to clump together. They were alive, and I could ask for no more than that. They had faced enough torment for me to understand their desire to just lay down and let things run their course.

I picked up a battered but intact wooden shield off the ground, locking it and my gladius onto the pair of bracers just above my hooves. Then I cautiously approached Kabal, who dropped into a battle stance. Things felt surreal as we circled each other.

"We don't have to fight, you know," I reasoned, hoping that this last shot at diplomacy could spare the world more bloodshed. As dire as Kabal's removal was, I was not above letting him go to try finding a new life. Something to atone for his sins and counteract the effects of his slavery. I hadn't killed anyone yet and I had no desire to start. Only necessity made the notion bearable. "Drop the knife and run. Leave this place and all ties behind. Make use of yourself to the world you've preyed upon for so long."

"I... I dreamt of this," he replied, eyeing me with fear and uncertainty. "I stood in this very arena, holding this knife. A form made of liquid like a mixture of shadow and light faced me, encased in the armor of the ancients... and I fought it. But for three straight nights of same dream, none of my battles ever ended in victory. Always, the form's blade struck my chest and felled me. Always..." He swallowed and stepped back, stretching his blade forward and getting as much distance between me and him.

"I see now that it was a warning of this. My gods tried to tell me, but I... I would not believe it. Now the moment is here, and it will play out just as I dreamed. You say that you will let me go, but how can you? You, who have been sent here by the gods for reasons unknown to eradicate all we have done in their name? You cannot defy their order, can you, demon?"

"I can, and I will," I said, "Because no gods sent me. The circumstances of my presence here are not of my own doing, but of yours. Yet all I desire of this place is an end to the slavery. That means killing you... or running you out of here."

The statement clearly struck him, for he froze where he stood. Then slowly, he inched his way backwards towards the open metal gate. "Just like that? I can turn around and... leave? You no chase? You no kill me?"

The reply stuck in my throat a moment, held back by vestiges of doubt. Could I let him loose into the world? Would he return to a life of vice, or try to amend himself? Was there any chance he'd make an effort to do better at all? After all he'd done, the pain he put me through... the derailment of my mission, and the suffering he'd forced on so many people... was it even worth considering?

Two forces tugged at my mind. Mercy, or justice? Vox Populi would certainly have chosen the latter, but I was not him. He wouldn't have been silenced by indecision like I was. But luckily, I had a way to deal with indecision that I deemed fair and unbiased. Thus, I resorted to the mental coinflip.

So, Chance, the ruler of all decisions... is it even worth considering?

"Yes," I said at last, "It can be just like that. But I cannot say the same for your father, or anyone else. The attack has begun, and if we win I don't know what the lords of the Roaman triumvirate will do to the practitioners of this act. If they resist, they will most certainly die."

He nodded, moving out the gate. Then, step by step, he backpedalled, eyeing me the whole time with cautious paranoia. His trotting turned to cantering, and before a minute had passed he'd climbed up the stairs and left the chamber. Thus was he joined with the chaos churning beyond the eery silence of the arena, and it was my hope that he found his way through it all to leave this place... or died within it if he chose to fight.

I let out a deep breath, suddenly feeling numb and weak. My limbs trembled slightly as I stared down the way he went, my gaze narrowing. So much for that... and yet, in a way, I was glad. The chance was his to do better with himself. I just prayed he'd use that chance.

"You actually let that SoB go..." one of the Legionaries rasped. It was Lucius. "Not that I really protest. The guy packed a wallop. You'd have had your flank handed to you. I'm just glad he's finally gone."

I rushed over to them where they lay in a clump, noticing that all their injuries were all meant to detriment movement and cause pain; none of them were serious. "I did. I'd have killed him otherwise, but that just doesn't sit well with me. Maybe someday I'll really be forced to take a life. But I think that in a world that's already lost so much, adding to that loss is just cruel. So I'll hold out as long as I can."

"Eh," he shrugged, coughing slightly. "Good luck with that. Necessity's a bitch -- won't be long before that time comes. Just saying."

I nodded solemnly. "So will you be safe here? I'd stand and guard, but there's a battle out there that I started. I'm guessing the attackers would expect to see me, at least."

"Hey, you tell me," he replied, clearing his throat roughly. "Place's empty, and that's a godsend after a whole day of jeers and pain. Some nice and quiet... oh yeah. Nobody's likely to come by, but give me a gun and I'll keep a look out."

I shook my head. "I don't have one."

"Well, then go. Go fight the battle. If these people have any honor, then they'll not kill a bunch of cripples. Best I can tell, we look dead enough -- if we just lay down and not talk, we should be good."

I nodded, standing up. "Alright. Keep safe. I'll be back soon... I hope."

I hurriedly went for the gates as they set themselves up in positions they could lie down in comfortably. In my haste, I almost forgot something very important.

"G-Goldwreath," Audrius called out, his voice strained. I stopped, turning around. "The Aquila... take it. It's laid down on stone for too long. That's not its purpose. Take it and kick those slaver bastards in the ass. Do it as a favor for me... 'cause I'd do it myself if I could."

I went and picked the golden idol up by the shaft, a ripple of energy and adrenaline surging through me at the touch. At the time, I just assumed it was my mind's reaction to being entrusted with such a sacred relic. Then I gave Audrius a quick nod of acknowledgement, and was once more on my way. He smiled gratefully and relaxed, leaning his head against the metal wire.

"Thanks for coming back for us," I heard him say quietly as I left the arena and galloped out of the chamber.

It was just like the aftermath of the battle of Marediolanon in the hallway I trotted through. The smells were the same, those of phosphorus from explosives and char from burnt wood. Slagged metal oozed and hardened on the sides, the metal support beams they once were reduced to liquid. And then there were bodies -- impaled slaver warriors from all kinds of Zebrican cultures lay on the ground, swords and lances run through their chests. Slumped against a corner, a knight sat crumpled against the wall, a wickedly curved shiv run through his visor. Two praetorian bodies with limbs blown off piled together at the bottom of a smoking crater. All around me was carnage and destruction, compressed by the tight space of the tunnel. It took every effort on my part to not mind the gore and to just get to where I could be of use.

It didn't take long. I just followed the sounds and the screams, and soon enough I wound up in a curved passageway that I remembered passing through. I'd taken it earlier, when I left Arachna with my escorts in search of Kabal. To think what'd once been a cavern lined with carpentry workshops and clothing stores was now a battleground. On one side, a wall of shielded hoplites sporting a bristling array of pikes; on the other, tribal zebras armed with throwing axes and belts arrayed with glass vials of glowing, bubbling liquid.

Both groups were at a standstill, neither moving in to take the other out. The hoplites had blocked off a section of the cavern with their pikes, and were keeping on the defensive. The tribals, meanwhile, occasionally prodded at their defenses with a throwing axe or a glass vial. The latter left a hissing stain on the shield it hit, and the hoplite wielding it was forced to drop the corroding metal and let another take his place.

"Quit it. You're not getting in," a hoplite irritatedly told the offending zebras as I carefully approached from the side, relieved by the lack of blatant killing but cautious, still, of how my presence would be taken. "Whole armies broke upon phalanxes in the past. A bunch of ragtag skirmishers don't stand a chance. How about you just drop the weapons, and proceed to the designated cavern for your exclusion from this purge, eh? Do us both a favor."

The leader of the impatient zebras, an elderly stallion wearing a brightly multicolored mohawk headdress, just spat back, "No! You block us from the fight for our home. This life is all my sons know! If it takes all day and all our acids and brews, we will melt all your shields and kill you up close. Then we will go for your fellows, until this uprising of yours is put down. Just like the past coups were."

The hoplite grumbled and hook his head, then noticed me. "Hey, you there! You're... Goldwreath, right? Well, don't just stand there boy, get over here! These pikes are the only things keeping these fellows standing still, and we aren't going to break formation and move over to you. Now hurry!"

I rushed over, galloping in a curve to evade the throwing axes lobbed my way, all the while muttering curses at how the guy just had to announce my presence. I used the ruined stalls for cover as I neared the hoplite formation, and ducked as one of the tribals jumped at me, overshooting and missing me entirely. But the others were rushing over as well, and the phalanx wall was still a ways off -- I needed to hurry, lest I be assaulted by about twenty angry-looking zebras who would chop my head off with axes and corrode my body with acid.

As the zebra landed and turned around, readying to tackle me, I sent a swift kick to his face and galloped again. Reaching that phalanx was my only chance, and I sure hoped they'd move the pikes aside long enough for me to get through! The ground trembled the zebras gave chase, willing to use my entrance as an opportunity to try to break through the phalanx wall. Anticipating the possibility, the hoplites braced for impact.

"Let them come! Rear pikes, lower to compensate! We let that pony through, and that pony only! Nothing else gets past this line!"

My gladius and the shaft of the Aquila clanking against my armored chest, I galloped past the formation, narrowly evading impaling myself against the pikes. As soon as I'd cleared the tiny opening afforded for me, the hoplites tightened once more, sealing the gap. I let out a cry of relief, panting for breath as I slowed to halt.

My reprieve was short-lived, however, as flasks of acid were thrown in after me. One broke on the stony wall just next to me, splattering my helmet and shoulderplates with hissing liquid. Dispersed stinging erupted over my exposed left foreleg (the other having been covered by the still-attached wooden shield) as acidic splash found its way onto my skin. I bit back a yelp and hobbled towards a nearby corner as more acid struck the ground and the walls, splattering my protected torso but biting at my neck. Once in safety, I collapsed to the ground, my affected flesh in such pain I couldn't help but tremble.

"Goldwreath!" the hoplite shouted in between grunts and yells as the wall was assaulted by the determined attackers. Pained cries came from both sides as pikes were thrust and axes were swung, and I didn't need to look around the corner to know people were getting killed. "You okay?"

"Not... really..." I replied, hissing as I watched spots of ugly brownish red form on my foreleg. It was like maggots had eaten their way out of my flesh. "But... I'm alive. More like that and I won't be, though. Should I expect more of this over here?"

"Luckily, no!" he shouted back, and with a fierce cry I heard a squishy splatter come from their direction, followed by a shout of agony that prompted the attackers to call for a retreat. "Just head down the tunnel. It'll take you to the Stable. Our forces are consolidated just outside Arachna. Far as I know, we managed to trap the Committee at Spiderhole's head and have thus far managed to prevent their soldiers from freeing them. Plan now is to keep beating back the rescue waves, while simultaneously moving in to slowly corrode the Committee's standing defenders. Soon as we have either their surrender or their heads, Spiderhole should be ours."

I nodded, painstakingly rising to my hooves. "Sounds like you've got it all under control," I commented as I slowly trotted forward, going slow so as to not aggravate the burns.

"Heh, we do!" he boasted, sounding particularly glad about it. "Thrice these savages stopped us from ending their despicable practices. Each time we surrendered, scampering back to Arachna like beaten dogs. But now it'll end, and there's you to thank for that! Tavish did right choosing you."

Well, good, I thought, glad that Spiderhole's century-long state of unrest and tension could finally be brought to an end. I trusted the place would be in better hooves when the guardian factions took over. Maybe the peace wouldn't be immediate, but in perhaps a few months the last of Spiderhole's grim past could be scrubbed away, leaving nothing but a gleaming beacon -- an example to all of the great good that could sprout from adversity. The working infrastructure that'd been mistakenly used for cruel practices could be converted to something better, a sign of better times to come should people just do their share of work. For our suffering was our own making, and ending it was as simple as having faith in one's own potential for good.

The main market had changed drastically from how it appeared just hours ago. What was once a wide chamber lined with shops and paved with crisscrossing paths was now almost totally flat -- the wooden frames and tarps of the stalls had been broken apart, most of them thrown to the walls and leaving the entire area bare, save for the paths themselves.

Instead, where once there was a maze of a market, there were now assembled formations of soldiers. Praetorians stood in a large square just beside the massive cylinder of Arachna; they were in a formation that was not unlike the morning assembly of the centuria back in Marediolanon. Beside them stood their brethren; on their left, a glistening battalion of knights arranged into two long lines, and beside the knights were hoplites in full battle gear laid out in a rectangle, all their pikes reaching up to the ceiling like a bristling array of thorns. Behind their formations, a mass of assorted Spiderhole citizens sat -- pony, zebra, griffon, and all others alike waited anxiously for the result of the conflict. From a nearby cave more of them came to add to the nervous population, escorted by either one of the three factions. Some of the arrivals were bloodied, others even resisting the soldiers' efforts to lead them to what must have been a safe zone amidst the embattled Spiderhole.

Given clearance by a guarding praetorian (who had the kind consideration to offer me a syringe of painkillers to numb the pain of my burns), I approached the Stable and the people gathered about it. Scattered bloodstains dotted the chamber, and nearby were several white cloths covering the corpses of the fallen. I'd have thought the guardian factions would afford only their dead such a gesture, yet I saw no bodies of the slavers' causalities strewn about. If burial rites were to be given equally to slaver and guardian alike in the times to come, then the giver of such decencies had my approval and support.

The people I was seeking out weren't at all hard to find. Separate from their kin and gathered over a wooden table, as well as wearing the most imposing paraphernalia their cultures possessed, the three lords of Spiderhole's guardians stuck out like beacons. And so I approached them.

"No. The praetorians' testudo is the most effective means of mobile defense. They will approach the entrance and tank the gunfire -- your more shock-troop oriented knights can then charge in and kill them," Imperius said, looking over papers on the table as Tavish and an elaborately armored zebra hoplite that I assumed was Onosander stood by, processing the order.

"But Imperius, it's close quarters in there. The Roaman gladius is best for that kind of situation; thus, my brethren's broadswords will prove a hindrance," Tavish argued.

"Do your soldiers know how to form testudo?" Imperius asked.

"Well, no..."

"Can they handle short weapons?"

"They have training for them, yes..."

"Then the plan proceeds as I dictate, save for your troops' change of weaponry -- they may borrow my centuria's gladii until the battle is over," Imperius responded simply, and pushed himself away from the table. With a nod to his fellow lords that wagged his helmet's massive purple plumes in their directions, "Onosander, Tavish -- that is all. I have a battle to win." And then he turned away, trotting to his praetorians and shouting orders. Immediately the black-armored guards drew their gladii and approached the two lines of knights, who appeared confused at being told to swap equipment.

"I'm not interrupting anything, right?" I asked as I approached Tavish, who'd put on a grumpy face at being so blatantly ordered by someone who should have been his equal. Immediately the two's attention went to me, both smiling in pleasant surprise.

"Not at all, friend," the hoplite said, and with a smirk he gestured his armored head over in Imperius' direction. "Impy's just as he's always been, and here we are dealing with it as we always have. If it weren't for him calling the shots in times like this, the guy'd have no revenge for us causing him headaches all the time. Ain't that right, Tavs?"

Tavish snickered, rubbing a hoof over his sweaty face. "Yes. But you do realize that it's wrong to keep putting the weight of governing on him, right? For three years, Onosander, we've tortured poor Imperius until he almost wasn't willing to use the opportunity we had to finally end this. Come the time after today, we will need to share the responsibilities."

"Yes yes, of course," Onosander said hurriedly, rolling his eyes as he approached me. Then he whispered in my ear, "Can you believe this guy? Ten minutes with Imperius while putting you through the wardrobe and suddenly he's going on about responsibility." He gave a chuckle, "And here I thought Imperius's aura of boring could never influence anyone."

He slapped his forehead. "Ah, but where are my manners! Name's Onosander, and kid, I know you. We'll long be talking about the outsider that dropped from the surface like a package from heaven. Goldwreath'll be a name of legend down here, just so's you know."

The amount of praise and flattery in his statement froze me in discomfort, and it took me a whole moment and a forced smile to reply, "That's... all good to know, thanks. I'm just glad to have a part in setting things right down here." Still, I let myself indulge in just a little pride -- rightfully should people be known for their deeds, and I would not exempt myself of whatever esteem there was to be had.

"As are we," Tavish stepped in, pushing Onosander aside. Immediately I felt the unfamiliar, boisterous air of Onosander slip away, replaced with the far more welcome aura of Tavish. "I'm especially glad you managed to perform that crucial first step. Mustn't have been easy, considering... well, the lack of an actual plan, among other things. But you did it despite the difficulties, and I'm sure that took no small amount of trust in our ability to fulfill our own role."

"It did. I'm relieved to see you caught them by surprise," I replied. "I thought this'd be an hours-long, bogged-down effort. But what I'm seeing is a small organized army laying waste to unprepared adversaries. You guys did good, Tavish. Morale must be high, I take it?"

Onosander gave a single laugh. "High? Kid, it's through the roof. If it weren't for Imperius being around, these lads'd be grinning like devils, what with their heads overflowing with vengeful zeal. And looky here, you've brought over a Roaman relic of war!" He neared me and eyed the Aquila with an admiration bordering on creepy. "Wow, you show that to the boys and they'll be drunk on eagerness. The praets have got an eagle in their section of the Stable, though I think they left it there for safety. Copy as it is, it's an insult to Jupiter himself if the bearer got killed and dropped it -- or so I heard. I don't know where you got that, but it's wasted if you don't use it to pour gasoline on the fire in these lads' hearts."

"Oh, Onosander, please," Tavish cut in. "As much as the sentiment is pro our cause, we can't afford to let ourselves get blinded now. There's a proper balance to be maintained between zeal and caution. Imperius made me realize that today, just as he made me realize that luck isn't something to build plans on. The amount of improvisation used to even keep this operation aloft cannot be relied upon for all things. Now, more than ever, we cannot put our faith in the chance that the enemy will make a mistake, but rather on the knowledge that we have made our position insurmountable."

I assumed he was referring to my highly fortuitous appearance in Spiderhole, as he had so confidently put forth in our earlier meeting with Imperius. "A fair point. Though if not to drunken the soldiers with zeal, I could use the eagle as a symbol of the enemy's inevitable defeat. Maybe even make some of them surrender," I said, getting an appraising look from Tavish. "Think about it. Dozens of tribes and civilizations in Zebrica were conquered by Roam in the past, and the Aquila was at the head of those conquests. Seeing it again could put a serious dent in their resolve to fight."

As he pondered that, distant gunshots cracked through the chamber air, startling the gathered population. The guardians were likewise unsettled, for the gunfire came with rapid frequency. Curses and shouts of distress followed, and from a besieged cave entrance at the other end of the area a number of knights galloped out, all bleeding heavily as they hobbled to cover behind a line of praetorians and their gigantic rectangular shields -- the shields, called by the Roamans as a scutum (plural scuta), had been modified with bulletproof plating, and were more than sufficient to shelter the fleeing attackers.

Tavish growled, eyeing the cave -- which played host to a ceaseless torrent of bullets that shot both inward and outward -- with clear contempt and irritation. Then he looked back to me, softening his expression just slightly. "Very well, Goldwreath. The choice is yours to do with that standard as you will. But before strategies can be praised our victory must first be secured."

"You're almost there," I assured, eyeing the cave and the desperate defense the Committee was mounting. "It can't be that long now, right?"

He just sighed, "I don't know," and bade me follow him. I trotted close behind as he led me to his assembled knights. Onosander likewise went to his own troops, and over on his end Imperius was giving his soldiers the order to form the Roaman testudo -- literally 'like the tortoise', it was the ultimate in Roaman infantry defensive maneuvers, wherein the majority of the legionaries would mount their shields over their heads, while those on the sides and the front would direct their shields accordingly. If maintained with discipline and supplemented with modern suppression methods, it allowed for a highly effective defensive maneuver in the heat of combat.

"You see, we're quite conflicted as to what we actually want to do," Tavish explained. "Imperius wants the Committee dead. Onosander thinks Spiderhole would more easily follow us if we gave our decrees through them. And me, I just think we should throw them in chains and have their fates decided by the people. Letting the abused make decisions after a whole life of being commanded seems fair to me. I wished the others saw it that way."

As we moved towards the beleaguered cave entrance, the noise of the fighting intensified. The praetorians were moving now, their armored footsteps in sync with the rattling of their shields and armor as they moved with hulking sluggishness towards the front. Next to them stood Imperius, marching forward with his shield guarding his body, ready to move into the fray with his comrades. Behind them all were the knights, armed and ready, following closely behind the vanguard and ready to burst into the cave like a tidal wave of armored juggernauts. Clearly, this was the final step in the plan to liberate Spiderhole. Once those soldiers went in, there would be nothing but fighting until it all ended. To the victor would go the spoils.

We stopped behind a line of remaining praetorians that acted as shelter for the fleeing wounded and as a bulletproof barricade between any stray bullets coming from within the cave and the gathered population. With us in the safety of the barricade were the injured knights, their wounds being tended to by medics. There Tavish and I stood, away from the battle.

Suddenly Tavish asked, sounding curious, "And what would you do?"

"Hm?"

"What would you do with the Committee," he explained. "They're a bunch of old sods, set in their tribal traditions of slavery and detrimental castes. Kabal and his father were merely two members of a council of many, and I dare say only the two of them could fight. Yet for all the pain they've caused people, I can't quite find it in me to order the execution of dozens of defenseless old stallions and mares. Part of the reason I think we shouldn't put them to the sword straight away -- nor should we let them off the hook. So say you had them to the wall, surrounded, and let's say you actually had options aside from killing them. What would you do?"

Well, there was a question I had an answer to. I'd acted on that same situation not an hour ago with Kabal, after all. I let him go, and he was someone who could defend himself. All the more would I let defenseless elders go. But would Tavish like to hear that?

"I really don't know," I lied. "You know of Spiderhole's situation better than I. Do what would give the people here what they want and deserve." Even if what they would want and deserve is retribution, I thought. Given that the enslaved would likely call for the heads of their former masters, it would seem like an obstruction of justice to prevent such restitution, however violent. And so I wondered if my letting go of Kabal wasn't actually something I had the right to do, and if in doing it I had robbed the people of a justice that far outweighed whatever redemption Kabal could obtain.

The thought spread through my mind like poison. Had... had I actually chosen mercy when justice would have been so much more satisfying for the people involved? I had... and had I done so because I genuinely believed Kabal would repent, or because subconsciously I knew I was incapable of summoning up the guts to do what most others would deem appropriate? I truly did hope he could amend himself, but an insidious part of me claimed that was just a convenient alibi.

A deep regret blanketed my thoughts, and conflict sundered my conscience. I couldn't shake the feeling that I'd made a mistake too dire for anyone who'd been under Kabal to to forgive. Perhaps I should have just killed him and let all doubt of the deed's necessity slip. Then, perhaps, I'd have been much more at ease and certain with myself. One wrong to set other things right -- that wasn't so crazy, was it?

"I... see," Tavish replied disappointedly, his tone low with dissatisfaction. Clearly, I hadn't given a helpful answer when he needed one. I supposed he knew as well as I that, in the absence of logical alternatives, the only fate that would await the Committee would be death -- and that was something he was trying to avoid.

I wished I could have told him what I really would have done, but my mental clarity had been tainted. Perhaps I had done right by one of many values on the pantheon of righteousness, but I knew I'd also violated the doctrine of one of the others. The truth was just that, whatever the outcome and intentions of my actions, I had robbed the people of vengeance against one of their former overlords. And knowing that, a very dire warning dawned upon me that insisted I not do again what I had so rashly done earlier. That was playing with chance, and fortune was fickle. In the future, I promised myself, I would consult first the victims of a crime if they could find mercy in their hearts -- only if they said yes would I even consider judging someone worthy of a second chance.

I blinked as a drop of stinging perspiration rolled into my eye. I realized I had blazed through the entire issue in my head for one intense, sweaty minute, and that the entire time I had just stood there in total silence, staring forward as if frozen.

"You're alright?" Tavish asked in concern. "You seemed... unnaturally focused on that patch of dirt there. You didn't even hear what I said, did you?"

I shook my head, clearing my entire mind of that complicated moral mess that I decided I'd continue to dissect later. "No, I didn't. Sorry. That tends to happen when I'm thinking really hard... almost as if I get shut out of the world. Great for study habits and problem solving, bad for keeping alert. It's a double-edged sword I've been born with and can't help."

He just nodded, eyeing me oddly. "Alright. Well, you're alert now, so I'll say it again: they're almost there." He pointed a hoof somewhere. "Look."

The praetorians and the knights were very close now, and the ricochetting of the bullets off their shields was a deafening cacophony of 'TINK-TINK-TINK!' To my shock a bullet whistled past my head, the stream of hot air in its wake like a lash of heat. I found myself reflexively ducking, and Tavish followed closely.

"Well now, it seems their aim's getting more erratic. That's a sign of panic." He pulled his visor down over his face, leaving only his eyes to twinkle at me from within the dark confines of his helmet. "And this is also the point that I join in. When my knights charge, I want to be with them. I want to see the looks on those slavers' faces as the soldiers they mocked for so long finally get their vengeance." Casting the Aquila a look, he asked, "And you? Can I expect you to charge in with us?"

I swallowed, trying to clear my head. Why not, right? This was the final stretch. My job would be to just be there, holding the eagle high to raise morale for the attack and dampen slaver resolve. And my goal in the fight would be to just stay alive and hopefully not need to use the sword strapped to my side. Shouldn't be much of a problem.

"Count me in," I nodded, adjusting my helmet's fit. If things went bad, the piece of metal on my head was the only thing keeping instant death at bay. "Let's do this."

Amidst the deafening clinks and clanks of ricochet, a whistle blew out, long and sharp. And then like a torrent of steel the knights galloped forward, their charge immediately followed by a series of thumps that turned out to be the firing of grenade launchers. The grenades flew over the attackers' heads as they swarmed through the entrance, rushing past the battered testudo that'd wasted a good deal of the slavers' ammo. Screams rang out as ponies and zebras were dismembered by explosions and eviscerated by gunfire. The fierce war cry of the knights mixed in with the desperate yet defiant battle chants of the slavers. As the armored besiegers disappeared down the tunnel and entered the chamber beyond, a great many from both sides silenced, casting an abrupt quiet that was marred only by the slicing of metal and the crushing of bones.

Before the last of the knights were gone, Tavish stood and charged as well. A metal rod on his flank extended into a long, thin lance as he gained momentum. I sucked in a breath and followed, and it wasn't long before we were galloping right beside the idle testudo -- the praetorians looked exhausted from the harrowing and taxing role they'd played, and were now catching their breaths behind the cover of their shields. Imperius stood beside them, bleeding from several wounds where bullets had grazed his exposed forelegs. But he stood fast and observed the assault with the grim eyes of a tactician, as if calculating when the best moment to commit his tired troops to the fight would be.

I slowed down for a moment and galloped sideways to catch a look he threw my way -- or rather, at the eagle strapped to my side. His gaze focused, his brows rising crookedly as he saw me canter on down towards the front. His shield lowered, and for a few seconds he was exposed to the fire of anyone observant enough to notice his lowered guard; fortunately, no such attack came.

Imperius stared on for a few more moments. Then he shook his head, and raising up his gladius he shouted, "Praetorian guards! Out of testudo and into wedge -- protect that Eagle at all costs!" Tired but obedient, the praetorians then collapsed their testudo and formed a wedge, locking their shields to create an impenetrable barrier. The spectacle was a sight to behold. Then from the very center of the first line, acting as the spearhead of the formation, Imperius bellowed, "Forward!"

A desperate and scattered spray of bullets was shot our way, and the striking of two such bullets against my wooden shield and my pauldron reminded me not to dawdle. I turned my attention forward, and took in the battlefield.

What we were besieging now was essentially an underground hill surrounded by tiers upon tiers of fortifications. The hill was tall and narrow, almost like a very large bullet standing upright, and it was clearly artificial. Its top was flat, playing host to an assembly area of some sort; four columns jutted from its corners, reaching up to touch the rocky ceiling not higher up. Winding along the hill's body was a spiral wooden staircase, upon which a number of slaver defenders were garrisoned.

All around the hill were walls of clay and wood and bricks -- none were very high, but there were layers of them, with each subsequent wall slightly taller than the last. The circumference of the outermost and shortest wall left little room between the defenses and the cave rock, forcing the attackers to have to storm a series of metal gates that lead to the base of the hill. The only place spacious enough for the maneuvering of masses of soldiers was the cave that lead from Arachna to here, but steadily that cave narrowed and encountered the first gate. Broken down and laying in heaps of scrap, it itself had proven little obstacle to the weight of the armored knights.

But perhaps the gates were not the problem -- nor were the walls, as sections of them had crumbled down to the attack, creating more entry points. No, the issue now was that there were more slavers in every layer of the onion-like fortress, and if they weren't bogging the knights down in melee combat in the tight spaces between the walls, they were atop the walls themselves, spraying bullets and throwing acids and lobbing axes and spears and glaves. The attack had ground to a gruesome halt as the knights pressed themselves against the walls, taking cover from barrages of missiles that peppered the dirt all around them with sizzling acid and incendiary ammo that set the the wooden walls themselves on fire.

The knights had managed to penetrate into three of five layers of the tiered fortress. Now they were trapped between slavers on one end and flaming and crumbling walls on the other. I could see them amassing near the next gate, as if preparing to breach it the moment a lull in the defense ensued. But every second they were being pelted with projectiles and deadly concoctions, and their shields could only take so much acid and bullets before they melted and disappeared entirely.

I galloped forward and threw myself against the broken first wall. Tavish was there, calling for the retreat of the battered assault wave. It was chaotic and messy, with shouts and cries ever ringing through the air, but bit by bit the assault dripped back behind the safety of the more intact outer walls. More sections of the fortifications came crumbling down as they pulled back, crashing through the weakened structures with their heavy armor. Thusly diminished, the battle calmed as both sides focused on recuperating.

The praetorians came up, and with caution they made their way forward into the maze of debris, taking the positions of the knights before them. They didn't bother to retrieve the weapons that their comrades had borrowed; it seemed it was standard practice for them to have a spare at all times. Now they were crouching silently, tense and waiting for the next developments of the fight. Their black armor shone dimly in the light of nearby fires, and their purple capes and crests swayed to a slight breeze created by the shift in air temperatures.

Imperius broke off from the front line and met us in the rear, eyes burning with fury. For a moment he directed his gaze to me, and I had the distinct feeling I'd done something wrong.

His eyes bore into me for a tense moment before he growled and slammed a hoof down. "Confound these slavers. They... were expecting this. Not two weeks ago I visited this place to discuss matters with the less obstinate members of the Committee, and there were the but the scantest of defenses. Now... it's a fucking fortress."

"We can still do this, Imperius," Tavish assured. "This is their last stand. Onosander's hoplites have scoured most of the defensible caverns. If they still have any ability to fight, it's only here."

The praetorian looked back at his soldiers as they blended in with unsettling ease into the blasted environment. "Perhaps... and for sure they don't have enough bullets to kill us all even if we lined up for execution. If they had the ammo to spare they'd be shooting. They must be waiting for us to attack, then." He shook his head, snarling. "But we won't. They could have any manner of nasty surprises behind those last two walls... the logical solution now would be to wait them out. Starve them. They'll surrender sooner or later."

"What? Imperius, we can't," Tavish said. "We have a deadline. The peace summit with the Legion is the reason we couldn't put this whole thing off. Speed is of the essence, and as much as I like the idea of forcing them all to surrender bloodlessly using hunger... it will take too long. We must act."

I nodded in support of Tavish. This whole underground fiasco had to be rectified as soon as possible, for I also had pressing matters to tend to with the Legion. Technically, I could have left right then. Who would stop me if all the slavers were now isolated and trapped? But leaving without the Legionaries was a dangerous and risky move -- not only would I most certainly be torn to shreds by the wasteland, but going alone would put my reputation and that of Marediolanon to question. What would the Legion think if I arrived without the zebras they entrusted to my company? Would they doubt my ability? My credibility? Maybe even hold me responsible? It was a risk I wasn't willing to take, nor did I want to stay underground longer than necessary. Tavish was right. We had to act.

Imperius seemed to ponder that a moment, but didn't reply. Instead, he sat against a chunk of warm brick and clay and gave an order to the nearest praetorian, who then rushed off along the perimeter of the maze-like ruins. The zebra went from comrade to comrade, echoing the order given. As word passed around, the praetorians promptly pulled back to the outermost wall, and pulling out shovels they began to dig into the rubble, looking for pieces of wood and strips of wires. In less than a minute they had a length of barbed wire, and with it they closed off sections of the crumbled wall.

Imperius met our befuddled expressions and locked our eyes with his own. "We wait them out. I will not risk losing more of our brothers to scum like these. And neither will I risk the ultimate humiliation of losing that." He pointed at the Aquila, and with a dark and contemptuous tone continued, "You're not educated in pure Roaman culture, Tavish. I wouldn't expect you to understand the true gravitas of bringing it to a battle."

That said, he then focused on me with the same blazing disdain I saw moments before. "And I wouldn't expect you, a mere vigiles, to understand either. What idiocy has gripped your mind? The Aquila is not meant for such petty squabbles as this, nor is it meant to be handled with such... such carelessness! If it were my century's eagle, I'd pry that thing from your hooves and leave you half dead for touching it. But since it's clearly not our own, I'll let whoever owns it dictate your possession of it. But I'll do them a favor and shift this battle to logistics, so you won't be tempted to charge in like a fool and expect us all to gallop after you."

He looked us both in the eye, gaze narrowed dangerously. "The Legion's summit can wait," he intoned. Then he trotted off, leaving us bristling and glaring in anger. I growled, then caught the look Tavish gave me; clearly, this was one of those days he did not like Imperius one bit. And for the moment, neither did I.

I stood straight and took a deep breath, trying to subdue my emotions. "He can be quite... unpleasant," I seethed, holding back the urge to use a stronger word.

"You have no idea," Tavish replied. "That's not even the worst of it. Growing up with him had its fair share of quarrels. Me, not knowing anything of 'pure' Roaman culture? Why, that discriminating piece of..." He growled, grinding a hoof into the rocks. "Truth be told, sometimes it's just professionalism holding us together. But I've worked too hard to establish even the most meager of relationships with him that I can't just cast it all aside and settle with anything less."

He sighed and took off his helmet, running a hoof through his damp mane. "Anyway... that's that. Imperius has given the order, and the troops will follow. I guess we'll just have to roll along with it. I know you need to leave, Goldwreath, but I'm afraid there's nothing I can do to override his command. We're officially equals, but he possesses a strength of presence I can never match. I'm sorry."

I slumped, crushed. My hopes of achieving Spiderhole's independence speedily were shattered about me. I needed to get out of there, and go to the Forum. I needed to return to my friends and family; to Marediolanon, the place I knew best. And if I were not to return home -- if instead I were to embark on the crusade to clean up the surface of its plague of virulent vices and rampant chaos -- I needed as well to move forward. I couldn't be bogged down. Yet there I was, trapped indefinitely. It was the worst kind of stagnation. Torturous, for all the while the world above would progress, and underground I was to idle. This wasn't a flaw of my mind -- there was no mental coinflip I could call upon to create order in the midst of a nonexistent uncertainty. For in great irony, the worst part about it all was the certainty that I had to wait. That I had to idle. That my course was set, and diverting from it would only put me and everyone involved in Chance's fickle favor.

I had developed a mechanism of mind to avoid stagnation, for stagnation bred uncertainty -- and through uncertainty, chaos. A proper Roaman would never allow such a thing to control his life. But never before had I encountered a situation wherein the inelastic walls of absolutes brought me more ire than discord did. Order was restrictive; and in this case, the cause of stagnation. It was nothing like chaos, which in its total randomness harbored the potential for the greatest goods right alongside that of the harshest evils. Order was hard, with no tolerance for chance and risks. All my life I'd tried to uphold it, convinced of the benefits of absolutes. Yet now order was a hindrance. I felt betrayed, and at no other point in my existence did the desire to turn from it tempt so seductively.

"I am sorry," Tavish repeated, and trotted off.

I was left standing there. The painkillers numbing my burns were beginning to wear off, and the stinging pain was beginning to crawl back onto my flesh. The acid's marks were still fresh, and surely when the pain returned completely the aggravation would be too distracting in combat for me to deal with. Worse, they could be made more severe by subsequent injury. Waiting was out of the question if I had any desire to do something to speed this along... but if I'd do anything of the sort, I would be alone. The soldiers had been given their orders, and they would follow of them.

So I was really to wait. Wonderful. Restlessness and worry would surely breed in me like vermin, not unlike the one time our power generators in Marediolanon were infested with mutated rats. And so hoping to find a means to alleviate my situation, I looked to the nearest praetorian and found him without task. The zebra just stood there with his eyes to the fortress, frowning; his expression of disappointment mirrored my own quite well.

"You don't like the situation, do you?" I asked him carefully, drawing his attention. His golden eyes looked into my own, momentarily uncomprehending. "This whole thing with the waiting, I mean. You don't look happy about it."

"Ah. Not one bit, yes," he replied. "There's a certain cowardice to resorting to this tactic, if you ask me. The enemy is incapable of resisting a full-on assault, yet we hold back. I understand praefect Imperius is unwilling to risk more lives given that victory can be assured through this means... but I just don't like it. We are Roaman praetorians, emulating the finest the empire had to offer in its golden years; we should be more than happy to lay down our lives for Roam's ideals -- honor among them. There is no honor in attacking a weakened enemy. The Roaman Legion's ability to defeat an enemy at their strongest was what made us feared by the world. What would others think of us now?"

Spite made me glad that one of Imperius' own troops was against him, but I wasn't going to take advantage of that. I hadn't quite descended into petty grudges just yet. There was reason to Imperius' command aside from keeping me from 'mishandling the Aquila', I reminded myself (Though in my defense, I had once acted as the centuria's standard bearer -- it wasn't the Eagle, yes, but the signum represented my unit's life and prestige. If Imperius would give me no credit for that, then I would.)

"I suppose... but still. You just said yourself: Imperius wants to spare lives. The dying-for-Roam ideal is commendable, if I may say, but perhaps he just doesn't see the need to require that sacrifice of any of you," I reasoned, and hesitantly added, "So if waiting keeps anyone from doing something stupid... well, saving lives is as good an excuse as any to grind things to a halt."

The zebra praetorian cocked his head and said, "Well, now who doesn't look happy about it? I can see it; you're just as frustrated about this as I am. And maybe you're fine with waiting despite that upsetting idea, outsider, but I'm not. My parents didn't raise their child to accept what he doesn't like. See, when Delvius wants something someway, he works for it. And unless the gods make it clear it can't be, then he keeps up the pressure. Imperius isn't a god, and I respect a person by how I feel he abides by the Roaman code of conduct. This... is cowardice, and a blatant attempt to stop others from living out the Roaman way.

"So I'm disobeying him," he surmised, not even taking the precaution to say such a thing quietly. "It's drastic. Some would consider me crazy. But if a guy doesn't live a life the way he feels it should be lived, then there's no point. You either die as yourself or bow to change just to survive. Either way, you're lost from the world. So I'm going to choose the way that lets me leave it as myself." He turned and looked at me over his shoulder, "You're free to join me. This stagnation can go hang itself."

I wanted to. I wanted to so badly. Screw Imperius and his reasons. More than lives, the very ideal that these zebras and ponies existed for -- Roam -- had to be preserved. I agreed with Delvius; more so than I thought I could. His words hit all the right spots, like we were raised on the same mentality. He wasn't afraid to take risks, to do the drastic things that would get shit done.

Admittedly, I would never have felt this way if I hadn't met Thanus. That legate revealed aspects of myself to me that I would never have acknowledged otherwise. Days ago I was just a guard, casually carrying out my duties. I never thought much of myself or what I could do or become, and I was satisfied to pay myself no attention. But ever since that one decision... my volunteering to serve the Legion... I'd been exposed to things I never felt before, things I would never have experienced if I did the safe thing and kept my mouth shut. I could yearn for freedom now, having seen the sky. I could hold disdain for my would-be superiors now, having finally experienced the tedious hindrances order could create. I could actually live now, having realized that all my life I'd been under the weight of countless restrictions... restrictions brought about by the stagnation order called peace.

Who knew the wasteland and all its chaos could make me realize that there was so much more to life? That there was more to living than being content with one's lot? Now I could be more, and I was more. Still a guard of Marediolanon, yes... but free to do as I wished. The only compulsion for anything was desire.

Yet for all that, there was hesitation. An outside force, very clearly not stemming from my consciousness. I had no reason not to agree straight away, but it was there -- it was stopping me, warning me off. I felt a slight frustration well up inside me that wasn't my own.

This is not the path you should be taking, a voice in me argued. Risks and acts of bravery are all well and nice... but often the price of failing must be considered more deeply than the potential reward. Death is irrevocable, whereas regret and sorrow can be overcome. Do not risk being swallowed by a terrible absolute just because you wish to save time. In submitting to this misguided course, you risk plunging this whole situation into chaos.

The hesitation was like a solid wall. No matter how much I tried, I couldn't get past it, couldn't say anything. For moments, it was as if I was being forcibly kept quiet. And all the while I felt my desire slowly seeping from me, like blood draining through a wound. Perhaps... perhaps it was right. Maybe it was just impatience driving me to such nonsensical radicalism...

There we go. Much better. An ordered reality is always more beneficial for all involved, Goldwreath. Why risk when you can be assured? Given time, all things will be put back into place, and all strife will end. Chaos can only be a bad thing, afteral-

Suddenly a crackle shrieked through the chamber, alarming and shocking us all. All work on building the barbed wire ceased as knights and praetorians alike sent their gazes upward, looking for the source of the noise.

"Is that it, then?" the voice of Kabal's father mocked. "Is that all the finest of the great Roaman empire can throw? Hah! And all this time I wondered how the Germanes could have once destroyed not one, but three legions. Your Eagles of conquest were nothing but symbols of your fragile ego. Let it be clear now, Roamans, that you're not better than any of us. You're not superior in any way, not more capable or more adaptable. No..."

His words had us all up on our hooves, and quite a few of the present knights and praetorians were grinding their teeth and growling. I could see Imperius and Tavish off to the side, the former looking so murderous that the latter looked uncomfortable just standing near him.

"... no. That delusion of yours of a world under Roam died centuries ago. It died when you were all so stupid as to let your pride doom everything to the apocalypse." Then came the zinger that sparked an uproar of zealously infuriated anger: "Roam is not the world's salvation. It is it's doom, and all of you are death's harbingers."

It may have been nonsensical to shout at the ceiling and the hidden speakers, but that's exactly what many of us did, myself included. No proper Roaman would ever take such insult from anyone, especially from savages! No proper Roaman would leave such blasphemy unanswered. I could see it in the eyes of the soldiers, in their furious scowls and in their murderous demeanor -- it didn't matter what Imperius had ordered. Retribution was going to be had, and there was only one way to get it.

"Kill them! Kill them all!" was the collective consensus, shouted over and over again by an increasingly impatient legion of infuriated Roaman soldiers. The clamor reached such an intensity that only the mightiest, most breath-exhausting bellow from Imperius silenced them. The praetorian praefect took a moment to breathe, then looked out over the tense troopers.

His gaze fell upon me, and with clear hesitation he approached. I rose my head and held back a smirk. Such a sweet thing it is to see humiliation and contempt on the face of one's irritators. Delvius stood off to the side, and I caught him smiling similarly. I guess deep down we were both glad that we hadn't needed to resort to disobedience to get what we wanted. As Imperius neared, Delvius smirked and put his helmet on before trotting off to join his fellow praetorians.

Imperius approached. "Goldwreath," he hissed, then swallowed. His eyes couldn't meet mine; clearly the amount of pride he was compromising for this one conversation was eating away at him. "We... need you. My order is... superseded. The troops want war, and as Roamans our honor is challenged. As such, I must negate my previous edict, and ask you to bear the Aquila for our attack." I couldn't help but grin slightly, and though he growled he added right after, "Please."

"You'd be fine with a mere vigiles bearing such a standard?" I asked.

"It's fate is tied to yours. You drop it or disgrace it, and your head comes off," he warned, and he sounded like he wouldn't mind being my decapitator. "I trust that's incentive enough for you to do your best."

I nodded. "And you realize, still, that this attack will be dangerous? They could be preparing anything behind those walls.

He snarled. "I know. It's exactly why I wanted to simply starve them out. That and... other reasons." He glared at me, and his gaze was as heavy as the hundreds of eyes all about us. "So be glad. You and Tavish get your attack after all. I just wish my comrades had the sense not to want it, too. Many of them may be marching to their doom, and without a way to bring those walls down... I fear for them."

I sighed, leveling with him in that regard. If it wasn't for my hurry, I'd have taken the safe option. If these were my fellows from Marediolanon, I'd do everything I could to keep them safe. But such was the cost of being a Roaman: as stewards to the power of Roam, we had to be ready to die for her. Delvius made that very clear. But indeed, if only there was some way to lessen the risks... like a siege engine for surmounting the obstacle ahead of us...

"Wait," I suddenly said. "There is a way."

"What in Tartarus are you talking about?" Imperius questioned.

I ignored him, instead turning around to look for Tavish. Next to him stood a familiar knight, though bloodied and tired-looking.

"Tavish, Caridin -- I need your help with something."

The latter of them limped over, staunchly biting down a grunt of agony. It was then that I noticed half of his left foreleg was held to the rest of his body by bandages soaked in blood and coated with filth. "W-what is it?" He panted for a second as I eyed him concernedly. Then he waved a hoof dismissively. "Ah, this? 'Tis but a scratch."

"A scratch? Caridin, your leg's almost off!"

"I've had worse. My duty is my medicine. Now what is it?"

I sighed and shook my head. "Don't blame me if that leg comes off. Now listen, I need you to find Cerebrum the minotaur. If he still lives, we may have a use for his... immense size."

He nodded, already starting to limp off. "He yet lives, yes. Killed the slaver that nearly took my leg off. He said he was going to make the tunnels a 'free place' to walk down again, though. He may not be done."

"Call him anyway," I replied, then turned to look at the fortress. "Against him, those walls will mean nothing."

"This idea is ludicrous," Cerebrum grumbled, shaking his head. "This was the best you could think of? 'Oh, a minotaur is big -- let's use one as a siege engine!' I'm offended."

The praetorians and knights were ready. When Caridin left, word quickly spread among them that an attack was authorized. Eager, they followed their orders to the letter. The praetorians now were in square formation, ready to be morphed into testudo or wedge as Imperius saw fit. The knights, reduced in number, were to serve as a secondary force. For that Tavish was glad (and without letting Imperius hear him, he commented that it was fair for the praetorians to lose some of their own this time, rather than sacrificing even more of his own kin -- an unexpectedly dark thing for him to say, but not untrue). And when Caridin returned atop the shoulder of the titanic minotaur, spirits soared and cheers rang out -- and clear despair rocked through the enemy, as their sentries beheld the sight of the one who would render their defenses useless.

Now it was just a matter getting Cerebrum to like the idea -- if clearly witnessed as such, a halfhearted effort would be just as demoralizing as a failed one. Yes, Cerebrum was here. Yes, his monstrously large battle axe (taken from a defeated minotaur, or so he said) was ready and could easily cleave down the feeble clay and wood walls. But these soldiers were raising their hopes on his shoulders, and if uncommitted his presence could sour the otherwise elated mood of the troops.

I turned to him, looking up to meet his gaze. "I understand if you feel stereotyped. But you have to realize that this is the final blow. We end this here, and Spiderhole can be free. You will be free, your brethren can be free. No longer will you have to bow just to receive sustenance. You can be proud Mountainguards again."

"Ironic that the means to being 'proud Mountainguards' again is by attacking a mountain, then," he snorted. His gaze was hard, cold as he looked down at me. I stepped back, having the distinct feeling I may have crossed some sort of line. Noticing my discomfort, he sighed. Then he looked over at the assembled Roamans, all just eagerly waiting on him. "I want to be free, yes. And I wish my brethren could have been free, too. But they chose to serve and protect a master who caged and blinded them... and so I ended them. Perhaps their spirits may find freedom in the afterlife, but there was no liberty to be had here, not with their mindsets. But how can I be free if always I shall be called upon to help a cause that I care nothing for?

"This attack, it should not even be happening. I heard over the intercom. Roaman pride is why you called me here. I am a weapon, something to be flaunted in sight of the enemy to further your own goals. Spiderhole can be free without my help. It just needs patience, something you've all disregarded for the sake of bravado. Why should I do this and allow the pointless risking of lives? Give me one good reason, and I shall."

I had no words. I wanted to protest, but he was right. Roaman pride and a sense of urgency were driving me to support this -- those, and... a strange urge to do something risky. I couldn't describe that other sensation; it was just there: a want to be done with any boundary and to take a chance. So indeed, why should he help? He had no allegiance to us, no reason to risk his life... there was only his desire to be free of compulsions. So how to convince him?

"Because... because this place, these people... they need a reminder," I began, slow in my uncertainty. But taking a moment to think on what I'd just said, I realized it had meaning. So I continued, "They need to remember that... that slavery is a blight, not to be tolerated by anyone. Some people here have been under it for so long that they've put themselves in the system, that they've involved themselves in the grind. They've forced their wills on others, but I'm willing to believe that they can be made to see reason again. This act of intolerance... it will get the message across."

Yes. Yes, that sounded right... for indeed, I had seen what occurred in that arena. I saw the slaves cheering and screaming in delight. Perhaps they did it out of necessity; forced labor must take its toll on the mind, and so they may have had to indulge the distraction just to stay sane. It was my hope that they would no longer need to resort to twisted means of relief when this was all over.

I looked to the fortress, then pointed at it and stared right up into his eyes. "Every second those slavers live is a reminder to the opposite, Cerebrum. They tell them that making property of others is a practice both necessary and justifiable -- testaments to the 'invulnerability' of an order built upon superiority complexes. Our Roaman pride has us prove ourselves against the accusations of others, Cerebrum; but the pride that breeds in the mind of a slaver has them see the whole world as inferiors. Do you believe that there is even one person so devoid of redeeming qualities that he can be considered less than others?"

He sucked in a breath, groping his axe with his fingers. "All people are equals, somehow. We all have potential."

"Exactly. Those slavers there are people who would rob others of that potential, who would take credit for their works. They either die now or die later, but ask yourself: what gets the message across? What will tell them that they are no longer welcome here? What will tell them that the vast majority rule, not an elitist few -- indirect tolerance, or outright destruction? Which, Cerebrum?"

He cocked his head. Then he closed his eyes and nodded, seeming to relax and think. "You... have... made your point, praetorian. You speak of immortalizing the idea of intolerance to all things that may harm freedom? Now that I can fight for, and never think I helped to sate your own bravados. From now on, these arms swing the axe for liberty only."

"Then swing it well," I replied, smiling gratefully. "And thank you. Some of us may die today... but I think we can rest easy knowing that the sacrifices made will work towards a good cause."

I breathed deep, bowing my head just for a moment and listening to the hushed noises behind me. I was sure one of those impatient grumbles was Imperius'. He was surely wondering what the holdup was; they all were, I suspected. And so I looked up and gave Cerebrum a final question, "Ready?"

"Now that I have cause, yes."

"Good. Because I don't know how this will end for either of us. Now, let me up on your shoulder." He gave me a sideways look, and I elaborated, "This Aquila in my hooves, it must be seen by both sides -- by the enemy so they may fear, and by us Roamans so we may be fearless. It's a sacred icon representing the highest god, Jupiter, and his favor on the battlefield. The higher up it is, the better."

He spared me a bemused gaze before rolling his eyes and picking me up. Onto his shoulders I went, and I took a moment trying to find balance behind his neck so that I could stand. For someone of his size, my weight was nothing, but he did let out a grunt of discomfort.

Now came the moment we were all waiting for. I turned around to face the soldiers, taking care not to aggravate the minotaur as I held onto his horns for balance. I raised the Aquila up, and the Roaman host roared with such ferocity that the cavern shook. I smiled, then pointed the eagle's head towards the fortress: the signal for the attack. Immediately three distinct horns blew, and in organized fashion the soldiers went -- praetorians at the front, flanked by knights, with their rear protected by a line of hoplites. The collective crunch and stomp of nigh a thousand hooves rumbled through the earth, and as they moved Cerebrum joined them. We waded through the ring of debris, not slowing down as slavers rushed along the tops of their last two walls.

The praetorians stopped and hurried into the wedge formation. The knights braced themselves, taking cover off to the sides in the ruins of the fortifications. Then Cerebrum jogged forward, swinging out his axe as he broke into a sprint. I felt my breath leave me as he jumped high up, and it was all that could be done to hold on for dear life and bite back the urge to scream -- a restraint the slavers weren't able to afford themselves. Their distressed shouts were drowned out by the violent crash that followed. Sand and splinters shot into the air as I rocked forward, the air blasting out of me as I smashed against the back of Cerebrum's helmet, my armor morphing. I had only recovered my breath before Cerebrum yanked his axe out of the wall, tearing the clay apart in the process, and struck it again, rendering a massive section nothing but dust. Then he dashed forward and swung his weapon at the second wall, ignoring the puny slavers that cowered beneath his legs as he shattered the fortification. When that was naught but dust as well he quickly withdrew as fast as he entered, stepping back out beyond the realm of the first wall as slaver warriors lobbed spears at him. Despite his size, Cerebrum was amazingly dexterous and level-headed in the face of danger; for my part, though, I was drowsier than ever before in my life.

Luckily I wasn't going to actually fight, then. That was the soldiers' job; mine, for virtue of keeping the Aquila safe, was just to stay alive.

"Soldiers of Roam! To glory!" Imperius shouted, and acting as the vanguard himself he rushed into the gap, colliding with and cutting down the first slaver he encountered. Behind him roared the Roaman host, and into the breach the praetorians galloped in. Cerebrum's hulking form stepped aside to let them through, and I atop him heard gunshots mixed in with the screaming -- the last of the slaver ammo was thus dispensed ineffectively against the shields of the praetorians, as well as into the the thick hide of the minotaur. Many a ping resonated off his helmet until Cerebrum ducked, shielding us both behind the wall.

Merely inches from the gap, and leaning right against the edge of it, I noticed a deluge of noxious, multicolored liquid bleeding from the insides of the walls. Inspecting the source, I realized the slavers had filled hollowed areas of the walls with metal barrels full of poisons and acids -- had we tried to besiege this place without the intervention of a minotaur, we surely would have fallen prey to the trap. And so, though Cerebrum's axe had sacrificed itself (as it was now a slagged stump of metal), it had bought us the safety we needed to boldly charge on. The trap had been reduced to an easily avoidable trickle of what it could have been, and the slavers had no other cards to play. Even as we sheltered ourselves until the end of the gunshots, the death cries of a withering slaver force echoed through the cavern. At that point, I didn't even think the soldiers needed the Aquila's presence to inspire them to be fearless; their pure hatred of the slavers who'd insulted our Roaman honor was more than enough. Truth be told, I felt a slight inkling to join them.

But I couldn't do that. My duty was to keep the Aquila safe, so fighting was out of the question. But I could cheer them on.

When Cerebrum at last decided he should partake in the fight, he dashed around the corner, avoiding the acid, and hurtled like a train into a disarrayed formation of spear-wielding zebra warriors. The shafts of the weapons splintered on impact with his armor, and as he smote them with his massive fists I stood atop his back, pointing to the fortress itself and the Committee staring down at us. Then drawing up my breath I shouted, "Forward, Roamans, forward! Death to all who continue to fight! Take! That! Fort!"

I was surprised to see my order being heeded. The fighting in the small courtyard beneath the underground hill was utterly lopsided -- clearly the slavers had made preparations to passively resist us using their trap, not to fight us head on. Like a swarm, the Roamans rampaged towards the stairs, Imperius leading the way. They galloped up the spiraling steps, throwing aside any slaver who dared to raise a hoof in defiance. It wasn't long before they were a throwing distance of the plateau.

Even more surprising was the fact that Cerebrum joined them. But he didn't take the stairs; no, with his fingers, he climbed along the sheer slope, digging his extremities into the dirt as he snorted and glared murderously. Homicide was in his eyes as he neared the top, clawing his way near where the last few slavers were mounting a futile resistance against the advancing Roamans. It seemed victory was near.

But something happened then that I didn't expect. A heavy feeling washed over me; a great numbness too strong to resist. Moving my muscles was impossible, and every second my heartbeat became slower and weaker. Darkness edged my vision as my breath shallowed, and I slumped limply against the minotaur's head.

You should not have done this, that voice said again, sounding disappointed and frustrated. Disobedience can't be tolerated. You are to adhere to my orders, not to the influence of chaos. So I'm sorry, but you need to be taught. Your mind needs to be... reshaped. You brought this on yourself.

I felt myself slipping. The polished metal of Cerebrum's helmet was too smooth to find any grip on. Suddenly all sound muffled -- screams, bellows, and cries all seemed far-off, alien. Feeling drained from my skin like blood through a wound. And then I was weightless, the Aquila sliding out of my hoof as my body slid off the minotaur and plummeted to the ground below.

In the blackness that ensued, there was only a sigh, Don't worry. I haven't given up on you yet. Just... cooperate, and order will be restored. Trust me. This is how it should be...

Entry #7
Today... was a good day. For the first time ever, I got to be the centuria's Standard Bearer! I did good. Horus said that if we used it often enough to be a standard piece of equipment, then I'd be the one to hold it always. Mom and Dad are gonna love this!

The Aquila and all other Roaman standards provide a +10 bonus to Speech, and a +2 to Charisma when equipped.