Chapter 39
Written orders given to Inquisitor Salamander, Knights Mystic
We’ve discovered the leak in our ranks, and traced the informant to a spy hidden among the nobleponies of Canterlot. He’s the one who leaked Sir Steadfast’s location to the heretic Emberglow.
Your target is crafty and resourceful. Take him alive if possible, but it is not necessary. All servants at the house may be considered complicit in his and his grandson’s heresy.
Spare the foal. He is the family’s legal heir, and it would be tragic to lose the last known son of the Apple bloodline. He is to be given to his aunt, Graceful Tale and uncle, Jackpot. They are both in custody and currently appear innocent in all this (though further interrogation is warranted).
Good luck, and the blessings of Saint Twilight go with you.
1113 AF, New Canterlot City
“I can’t believe I’m standing here,” the ‘pegasus’ stallion next to Lofty said, his eyes darting about the imposing manors they were trotting past. Lofty rolled his eyes.
“Yes, I get it already,” Lofty teased. “You’re a small town pony in the big city for the first time. Now could you stop drawing attention to yourself by acting like such a tourist?”
“Sorry,” Escher muttered, fluttering his wings a little in embarrassment. “I was never trained as an infiltrator. That was always my uncle’s job. I went straight into the guard.”
“It’s fine. You won’t have to do much talking, I don’t think,” Lofty said. “Hopefully, we’ll find this contact of yours without any trouble.”
Indeed, Lofty didn’t expect much trouble at all. Nopony around was giving them a second thought. They’d dressed in the casual clothing of day laborers — simple cotton trousers and shirts — and they walked down the street quickly, but not urgently. Lofty walked down the street, thinking bland thoughts.
“Have you been to Portia Rock Park before?” Escher asked.
“Once. Back when I was an investigator, I was working on a case with a serial bank fraudster. We’d actually gotten a tip that she might be burying the bits she was skimming in bags in the park. Turned out to be a neighborhood gossip’s overeager imagination, but that didn’t stop me from having to stake out the park for three nights straight.” That had been the very last case he’d worked on before…
Before.
That was how he thought of things now. How he thought of his old life, before True. As if nothing else before that point really mattered as much.
“Sounds boring.”
“It was, but at least I know the lay of the land. I’ve been past the public chess sets a few times, so I know where we’re headed.”
Portia Rock Park was a park for the common ponies. There were several throughout the city, but this was one of the cleaner spots. It was near enough to the Valley Ward cathedral that the local confessors wanted it kept clean and nice, but was also situated in the middle of a large tenement for well-off day laborers and the servants of the wealthy, so less well-to-do ponies made use of the grounds regularly. In the northeast corner there was a row of public chess tables, carved from stone, where somepony could bring a set of pieces and play a game in the clean, open air. Often, retired ponies would sit around the area, chatting and waiting for opponents.
The two stallions made their way under a canopy of willow trees to the rows of stone tables. Most of them were full, with mostly older stallions hunched over the stone slabs with looks of intense concentration on their faces. Chess, after all, was serious business. But the two of them did find one empty table, and sat across from each other. Lofty fished a battered wooden case out of his saddlebags, and began unloading the pieces onto the table.
“Would you think less of me if I admitted I’ve never played chess?” Escher said, his eyes on the pieces as Lofty quickly put them into place.
“They don’t play chess where you’re from?”
“My uncle always tried to get me to learn,” Escher said. “I never had an interest. Or a mind for tactics, for that matter. I’ve always been more of a rank-and-file stallion. I follow orders, let the smarter brains pick where to send me.”
“So you’re a pawn,” Lofty smirked, and Escher scowled. “Don’t worry.” He placed a black pawn in its spot, right in front of Escher. “They may look like the weakest and most common of pieces, but under the right circumstances, they can change into any other piece on the board.”
“Changing into more powerful pieces, huh?” Escher picked up the pawn, eyeing it closely. “Okay. I don’t mind being a pawn, then, I guess.” He put it down in the wrong spot, and Lofty sighed, sliding it back to the pawn row.
“I might as well teach you how to play while we wait,” Lofty offered. He quickly set up the rest of the pieces, and began to explain each one, from the pawns, to the castles, the Knights, the Saints, and the Solar and Lunar Diarch.
“Wait, I thought the Diarchs were supposed to be equal?” Escher poked at his Lunar Diarch, fidgeting with it a litte. “Why is the Lunar Diarch so powerful, and the Solar Diarch so weak?”
“She’s not really weak, she’s the most important piece. If I trap your Solar Diarch, you lose.”
“You don’t have to capture her?”
“It doesn’t work like that,” Lofty shook his head. He thought of his own lessons in chess, one of the few memories he had of his father.
He’d been merely a foal, but he still remembered Moral Tale’s firm, authoritative voice, explaining the intricacies of the game to a foal still just learning to write. Lofty didn’t know why he hadn’t given up on chess like he’d given up on most everything else his father had tried to teach him.
He opened his mouth to explain the metaphor, the philosophy. Maybe he could parrot back some of the things his father had told him. There’d been lessons there, buried ideas and suggestions about being a leader, about value and strategy and all sorts of subjects he’d ultimately disappointed his father about before Moral had died. Then without a word on the subject, he closed his mouth again.
“You know what? It’s just a game. There’s not really any deep answers or metaphors here. Just do your best, and try to learn by doing. Don’t worry too much about the more complicated stuff.” It felt cathartic to toss aside something that had been so important to his father.
They began playing a game while they waited. Lofty didn’t go easy on Escher; his father had never gone easy on him, after all. He’d never won a game against Moral, but he had gotten a little bit better each time.
With only a dozen moves, Lofty firmly controlled the center of the board, and had demolished most of Escher’s pawn line, and both of his Knights. He even found himself becoming a little distracted, getting absorbed into his own thoughts. Then his ears twitched, and he glanced to the side as he heard the hoofsteps of an approaching stranger.
Lofty glanced up to see a middle-aged earth pony stallion, gazing at their game with mild interest. He had light grey fur, and a dark amber mane. Like them, he was dressed in unremarkable laborer’s wear.
“You’re getting pummeled, nephew,” he said softly. Escher jerked, looking up at the newcomer. The newcomer rolled his eyes and scowled at him. “Really? You got so distracted you didn’t hear me approach?”
“We don’t all have your training, uncle,” Escher murmured quietly.
“Obviously. Move. I’m going to finish your game.”
“Um, sir?” Lofty cut in. “Now that you’re here, we really do need to…”
“You want my help, you get to indulge me, Knight.”
Lofty’s jaw snapped shut, and his eyes shot open. He did his best not to glance around suspiciously, to see if anybody had overheard. Instead he merely motioned to Escher’s spot. Escher grunted and stood.
“Sure, I guess.” Escher sounded confused.
“To be fair,” Lofty couldn’t help but feel a little off-balance by whatever Escher’s uncle was doing. He needed to regain a bit of his own hoofing. “I don’t know if there’s anything you can do at this point to salvage things.”
“I wasn’t doing that bad!” Escher moaned, and both Lofty and his uncle gave him bland looks. “I… was?”
“You were doing very well for your first game,” Lofty allowed. “Not everypony takes to chess on their first game.”
“We’ll see what I can do, then.” The uncle’s eyes darted across the board, taking in the position of each of the pieces. “My move?”
Lofty’s words turned out to be prophetic, though not for lack of trying. Escher’s uncle seemed to be focusing all of his attention on the game, but Lofty was sure he was being observed, weighed, and measured with every move. The fur on the back of his neck prickled every time the older pony’s glance shot his way. Meanwhile, Lofty’s once-steady strategic gains trickled to a halt as a much wiser opponent ground the game into a near standstill.
Lofty began to feel nervous as he lost both Knights, one of his castles, and both of his Saints. He still felt like he could win, as Escher’s uncle no longer had his Lunar Diarch, but the older pony seemed to be able to render Lofty’s Diarch mostly useless through a series of clever double-attacks by his own castles.
Just when he was beginning to think that the momentum had shifted, and that he might not win, Escher’s uncle sat back with a sigh, and tipped over his Solar Diarch.
“I concede.”
“I… wha…?”
Lofty and Escher shared a glance. Escher’s uncle shrugged.
“Chess is a game of strategy, boy. Sometimes the best strategy is to retreat, to concede the field of battle in order to re-engage on a more favorable field.” His eyes were intense, and Lofty eyed him with suspicion. “Tell me, boy. When was the last time you had a drink?”
The utter non-sequitur took him by surprise. He opened and closed his mouth, before his thoughts caught up with him. “A drink? What are you talking about…?”
“You can call me Mahogany Wedge, if you must,” Escher’s uncle said with a humorless smile. Lofty narrowed his eyes at ‘Mahogany’. There was something here he wasn’t quite getting. “And I won’t help you without an answer.”
“Uncle, what…”
“Quiet, Escher.” Mahogany’s eyes darted to his nephew, and they were sharp. “You’ve already decided to trust this stallion, this… this complete stranger with our most closely held secret. You’ve literally undone centuries of work keeping certain things quiet. The best you can do now is keep your damn fool mouth shut.”
“Excuse me?” Escher’s false face reddened with anger, lowering in a harsh whisper. “I was following my orders, Uncle. I’m not a spy. I’m not an infiltrator. I’m a guard. And my job was to keep Topaz safe. I did the best I could.”
“Maybe. But you never should have been down here in the first place. What was she thinking…?” Mahogany trailed off, making an exasperated noise. “Regardless. You’re here now, you’ve spilled our darkest secret to a Knight, and I have to pick up the pieces.”
“Uncle, he’s not a…”
“Yeah, I know what he told you.” Mahogany interrupted. “But how do we…”
“What about this?” Lofty reached into his pocket and pulled out the Element of Generosity. It was no longer in its setting; instead, Lofty had secured it on a cord, tied tightly like a necklace around the artifact. Mahogany’s eyes widened.
“Put that away, you idiot!” he gasped. Lofty complied, perhaps a bit slowly, while eyeing Mahogany. “What are you thinking, bringing that out in the open like this?”
“I was thinking that this whole conversation is taking too long,” Lofty muttered. “That I need to see my son. And whatever it takes to convince you I’m not some Knight spy trying to infiltrate whatever information network the Princess has going on down here, I’ll try. Now, why were you asking about drinking?”
Mahogany was very silent for a long time, before exhaling sharply. “I’ve looked into you a little. We’ve even met, though you wouldn’t recognize me. I thought you’d be clever enough to pick up on it from the fake name, but…” he shrugged. “The last time we met, you were very drunk. Stumbling down the street wailing after a mare that had just rejected you.”
“How did you…” And suddenly it clicked. Mahogany Wedge. Suddenly the reaction he’d gotten when he’d tried to dig into Oak Chip’s arrest made a lot more sense. “You were a spy?”
“Announce it loudly enough for the world to hear, why don’t you?” ‘Mahogany’ or ‘Oak’, or whatever his name was scowled.
Lofty had a billion questions. His jaw worked soundlessly, before managing a single word. “What?”
“Do you want me to explain the extent of the Empire’s spy network in New Canterlot City, or do you want to talk about your son?” he shot back. Lofty slammed his mouth shut with a click of his teeth.
“My son, please. Um. What do I call you?”
“Mahogany will be fine for now.” He gave both Lofty and Escher a hard look. “And I wasn’t just messing with you with the drunk question. Are you going to be a problem, young stallion?”
“I don’t get drunk any longer,” Lofty said. Alcohol had lost nearly all of its appeal after True had entered his life. “But you’re asking about more than that, I assume. You’re asking if I’m trustworthy?” Mahogany was silent, so Lofty continued, taking a chance. “But that doesn’t matter, does it? Because you got orders to help me, didn’t you?”
It was a guess. A bluff. But Mahogany’s face darkened with anger, and Lofty had to resist smirking in victory.
“Unlike my naïve nephew, here, I don’t take orders from the Imperial Guard, or the ambassador. My orders come from…”
“And what were your orders regarding Topaz? Or Lofty?” Escher cut in.
“We have no standing orders regarding Mister Lofty Tale specifically, per se,” Mahogany said, and Lofty snorted. Even Escher smirked. “Fine. Against my recommendation, the intelligence service has requested that we assist Topaz and her… stallion… in this mission.”
“We?”
“Ponies might look, but they never see.” Mahogany’s cryptic words made him shiver, and Lofty had to resist the urge to look around for hidden changelings. “You’ll have plenty of help getting your son to safety.”
“I appreciate it.” Whatever the reasons, Lofty was happy for whatever help he could get. There was no way he would allow his son to remain in Mystic custody, to be used as a hostage against him.
“Speaking of which, where is the ambassador? I thought she was coming.”
“Topaz is arranging for our transportation out of the city, once we’ve secured my son,” Lofty explained. They’d argued, but in the end Lofty had prevailed. He didn’t want Topaz in any danger, and unfortunately, she didn’t have the training or enhancements he did.
“I was told there was another. A strange mare.”
“She… is sometimes hard to locate.” Lofty said.
Mahogany’s eyes narrowed angrily. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“I don’t understand myself,” Lofty shrugged. “Sometimes she’s there. Sometimes she’s not. It would be best not to rely on her help, and her appearance might be problematic.”
“Oh?”
“She is nothing more than bones and magic, animated by powers and spells I don’t understand,” Lofty explained. He’d been hoping for more than a blank stare from Mahogany, but the spy let nothing slip. Lofty shrugged. “I imagine she’ll reappear sometime. For now, we need to focus on how we get my son to safety.”
“Very well.” Mahogany nodded. “Your son is at your family’s main estate, in the custody of your sister. As soon as we were informed we would be assisting, we began canvassing the manor.”
“There is a Mystic presence on the grounds, as well as soldiers. There were at least four Knights I could see. In addition, there is one Jubilant, an overweight elderly earth pony, who spends most of his time in the manor.” Lofty blinked at that. It seemed Sir Tarpit had taken a personal interest in his family. That was going to be problematic — he didn’t want to have to fight the old stallion. “It seems as if they’re waiting for you to come try to retrieve your son.”
“Do we know the state of our summer manor? The one where I used to live?”
“Ransacked. They killed your grandfather. I have no idea what happened to your servants, but you may safely assume they’ve been killed, as well.”
Lofty closed his eyes and blew out a breath through gritted teeth. He’d expected as much, but it still hurt to hear. He said a brief prayer for them in his mind before he opened his eyes again.
“Do you… does your intelligence network know how they found out Righteous was a spy?”
“No,” Mahogany shook his head. “We don’t. But there was probably an information leak somewhere, so you shouldn’t trust any of his old sources.”
“That shouldn’t be a problem,” Lofty admitted. “He never shared them with me. I have no idea who it could have been. As far as I’m concerned, Escher and Topaz are my only real contacts now.”
“I see.”
“So do we have a plan?” Lofty asked.
“You’re leaving it all up to me, then?” Mahogany muttered. Lofty shrugged.
“You did make sure to just emphasize how much better you are at all of this than we are,” Escher chimed in, and Mahogany scowled. “Well? You can’t have it both ways. Besides, I know you already have an idea. You’ve always been brilliant, Uncle.”
“Hah! Trying to manipulate me by appealing to my ego?” Mahogany laughed. “Very well. Don’t try to be too clever, though. There’s a reason you entered the guard, and not the Intelligence Service. It’s a shame you got your father’s brain and my sister’s look.”
“I’d rather be loved by the mares than smart any day,” Escher joked back.
“Ahem.” Lofty cleared his throat pointedly.
“Okay, Knight. We’ll get back to the plan.” Mahogany moved all the pieces off the board and began arranging the pawns like a wall. A building, Lofty realized. The main Tale manor, in a rough approximation. “Here’s the building. I need to know as much about the interior as you can tell me. I could get to the windows, but not inside.”
“Very well. These are the front doors,” Lofty pointed to a pair of pawns on one side. "The first room is a grand entry hall, complete with a grand staircase.” He pointed out each room of the house, all the major windows and entrances, and Mahogany asked questions as he went.
“Where is the most likely location for them to keep your son?” Mahogany asked, when he finally seemed to have a good grasp of the layout.
“I’m sure my sister has set up a room for him already,” Lofty said. “She was threatening to take him from me legally. She probably wants to keep him close to her, as well. If I had to guess, he’d be in a room near hers.”
“That makes sense,” Mahogany said. “Now, from the window, I took a look inside one of the larger windows into the main floor. I saw your sister and your son, playing with the Jubilant. He seemed safe and healthy. But I’m guessing the two of them are going to keep a very close eye on the foal.”
“You were close enough to look in the window and none of the Knights noticed you?” Lofty was incredulous.
“I didn’t exactly look like a pony, Knight.” Mahogany scoffed at him.
“Ah. Right.”
“And that fact might come in handy when we’re trying to break into your manor. But I need to know. Are you okay with killing either the Knight Jubilant or your sister?”
Lofty’s eyes widened, his breath quickening. Grace. His sister. Could he? Would he? If it was the only way to get True to safety?
“I’d rather not,” he whispered. “I…”
But his protests felt weak. Impotent. He’d chosen to join the Knights Discordant. He had killed Mystics already. He’d betrayed his faith and his family, why stop at killing his sister? What was stopping him?
“No,” he said finally. “I won’t kill Grace. Sir Tarpit, the Jubilant…” he hesitated. “I don’t wish him harm. But my son needs to be safe.”
“I just needed to know where you stood, is all,” Mahogany said. “Okay. Here’s what I think we should do.”
* * * * *
It was dark, and a silvery crescent moon shone down on the manor. Lofty had not been back here in ages. Ever since he had become a squire, in fact, as he’d never really bothered to visit once he had entered the Seminary. There were too many memories he had no desire to revisit.
The grounds were just as he remembered them. The walls around the complex were whitewashed stone, kept clean and clear of ivy like his father had always insisted. Topiaries, sculpted into pony shapes, were maintained just as his mother had always liked. Above the walls, he could see the balcony that spread over the front doors. It was attached to his parent’s old master bedroom. Grace still hadn’t moved into the master suite, it seemed; she had been keeping it empty since their parents had died.
As much as he didn’t get along with Grace, he completely understood. The few times he’d been inside his parents’ suite had been unpleasant. Lectures from his father. ‘Lessons’ on etiquette and propriety from his mother. Endless recitations of family honor, position, and status.
Sometimes he felt like he’d joined the Knighthood to honor his family name. Other times he felt like he’d joined to escape it. Now here he was, back home again. Hopefully for the very last time.
He couldn’t see over the wall, but Mahogany had done a flyover as a sparrow, and assured him that the Mystics were in place, standing guard around the grounds. There were four of them. He’d asked if either Mahogany or Escher would be an even match for the Mystics. Mahogany had simply laughed.
“I’m going to follow my orders. I’m going to do my best to get your son out. But no changelings are going to die for your cause tonight, Knight.”
It hadn’t been the most reassuring of conversations. Lofty had even asked about the other hidden spies Mahogany kept referring to, but only got a blank look in return.
“Don’t let the old bug get to you,” Escher whispered beside him as the two of them watched the manor’s front gate. “He’ll do his best to get your foal safe. So will I.”
“Thank you,” Lofty said. He was still trying hard to wrap his head around Escher’s uncle being Emberglow’s old friend. Between that and all of the other insanity going on right now, Escher’s calm reassurances were just what he needed to hear. “How long do you think we’ll have to wait?”
“Knowing my uncle? Long enough to try our patience.” Escher laughed, but Lofty was too nervous and hyped up to really laugh along with him. He reached up idly to scratch at his face, only to have Escher shove his hoof away.
“Stop it. You can’t touch the makeup, or else they’ll notice something.”
“Right. Sorry.” He sighed and tried to ignore the sensation of the fake blood on his face.
The wait didn’t end up being as long as Escher had suggested. A few minutes later, Lofty saw himself walking boldly down the street, wearing a loose silk shirt and maroon trousers, complete with a suit coat over top. It looked like the sort of thing his father had used to wear. It was, in fact, very much like the outfit Lofty was wearing right now, though Lofty’s was slightly torn and smeared with something that looked a little like blood.
“That is uncanny,” Lofty breathed. Escher nodded.
“I can imitate a form. He can imitate how you walk, how you talk, how your face moves about when you smile or frown or laugh. My uncle is one of the best out there.”
“How did he get caught, then?”
“I don’t know.”
They were too far away to overhear the conversation, but Lofty could see that Mahogany was playing his role perfectly. He strolled casually up to the gate, even behaving as if he were annoyed that the gates were closed, rather than open. He knocked on the gate and called inside, and two of the Mystics approached. They slid the gate open and stepped out. From their faces, it looked like they were trying to remain calm, and to keep him calm as well.
As they advanced, Mahogany backed away tentatively. The Mystics beckoned inside, and Mahogany shook his head. They became more adamant, looking upset and making demands. Finally Mahogany turned as if to leave, and the Mystics dashed to secure him. Mahogany darted off in a sprint, and the two Mystics followed in close pursuit.
“Half of them. Well done, Mahogany,” Lofty whispered. Now there were only two Knights on the grounds, plus Sir Tarpit, probably.
“We give him five minutes, then we go in, okay?” Escher said, and blazed with green fire. In his place was now one of the two Knights who had just sprinted past them.
“Do you think your uncle can keep up the chase for long enough?” Lofty asked, helping Escher place the metal loop of the catch-pole they’d brought around his neck. It was just like the ones they’d seen on the guards inside. Lofty didn’t know where Mahogany had found one.
“My uncle is a legend. I have no doubt.” Escher’s confidence was convincing. “Besides, he has backup out there. Other spies to take up the role of ‘Lofty’, and even help if needed.”
They lapsed into silence, with Lofty slowly counting the seconds as time passed. He kept looking at the manor, expecting to see some action, maybe a flurry of activity. But the Knights left behind simply moved to cover the open gate and wait for their compatriots to return.
“They’re awfully confident that two of them are a match for you,” Escher said.
Lofty shrugged. “They probably are. I don’t think I would be able to stand against two real veterans.”
Escher fell silent once again, and Lofty returned to counting the time. It was agony; he was twitching, his limbs begging for movement and action. True was in that house. Finally he reached three hundred seconds, and he stood, stretching limbs that were a little stiff from immobility.
“Okay, that’s five minutes. Ready?” Lofty asked. Escher nodded. “Remember what Mahogany said. Short answers, given with confidence. You got this.”
“Y-yeah,” Escher said, only a little shakily. “Come on, prisoner. Move!” He gave the order, shoving Lofty in front of him while keeping a tight grip on the pole. Lofty lurched ahead, stumbling as if wounded.
The walk from their hiding place in the bushes across the street towards the front gate of the Tale manor felt like a billion miles. Lofty was unsure of his acting ability, so he just tried to let his own anxiety and worry leak into his expression and demeanor. Stumbling along the cobbled road, he tried to shoot glances towards the manor, to see what was coming. The two Mystics left behind surged forward.
“Help! I got him, but there were more! It was an ambush!” Escher called out, walking unsteadily as if he was wounded, himself. The pony form he’d taken was bruised and a little battered.
“Terra Firma, what happened? Where is Lady Orion?” Lofty had to suppress a grin. They’d managed to lure off the commander. That made this at least a little easier.
“Wounded. Badly. She ordered me back here with the prisoner. I tried to argue, but…”
“How far is she?”
“A half mile to the north,” Escher nodded vaguely. “Up Indigo Street, then to the left a few blocks.”
The two Mystics glanced at each other. “I’ll stay here, with Terra and the prisoner. You go check on Lady Orion.” The Mystic in question dashed off into the night, leaving Escher and Lofty alone with one Mystic.
“Let’s head inside and secure the prisoner. I’ll look over your wounds,” the Mystic said, leading the way towards the estate’s rear door, the entrance to the kitchens. Escher and Lofty followed behind.
The Tale family kitchen was clean, well-equipped, and dark. An excessively large gas range sat on an island in the middle, with an array of pots, pans, and tools hanging from a rack above it. It looked more like a restaurant kitchen than the kitchen for a manor house that kept only one noblepony, in addition to her array of servants. The whole thing felt excessive, and reminded Lofty that there was a time when there had been many more Tales living in this home.
The kitchen was empty of servants at the moment, a fact Lofty was grateful for. He didn’t know the servants that worked at the main manor very well, but he didn’t wish any of them to come to harm as collateral damage in whatever fight was about to take place. As soon as they were inside, he turned to Escher and said, “Now.”
Escher quickly dropped the catch-pole, hitting the release that would widen the pole’s noose just enough for Lofty to escape. As the Mystic in front of them turned to glance at them in surprise, Escher exploded with green fire, growing in size and bulk, shining scales and spines erupting around him in a new draconic form that towered above both ponies. He wasn’t a huge dragon, but he was still twice the size of a pony.
It was a good distraction, and just enough time for Lofty to disentangle himself from the catch pole. The Mystic stumbled away, mouth agape and eyes frozen on the dragon that suddenly filled the kitchen. It allowed Lofty to seize a large cast iron skillet from where the various tools and pans hung above the gas range. He held it tightly in one hoof, creeping alongside the Mystic while he backed away from the dragon.
Escher’s mouth was leaking smoke, and each exhale flickered with inner fire. He didn’t even have to do much, just loom over the Mystic who hurried to ready his spear.
“W-what?” he stammered as he backed away. Lofty rushed forward, brandishing the cast iron skillet like a bludgeon. The Mystic yelped and lurched to the side, his spear cutting through the air in an arc to deflect the impromptu weapon. “What’s going on!?”
He tried to back away towards the dining room door, but Lofty cut him off, driving him back towards Escher. Escher’s deadly claw swiped down from above, and the Mystic leaped away, tumbling right into Lofty in a heap of limbs and tangled weapons. Lofty beat desperately at the Mystic with the skillet, but without proper room to swing he couldn’t do much. It was the same with the Mystic, who couldn’t bring his spear to bear.
Both ponies tumbled about the kitchen, crashing into shelves and cupboards and filling the room with the cacophony of a hundred metal cooking tools crashing about the floor. Lofty yelped in pain as they rolled over a spilled collection of knives, and he felt the warm rush of blood oozing down his side from a fresh new wave of injuries.
Suddenly something shoved him hard, and he spun away from his foe. Lofty forced his hooves under him and lifted himself up.
Escher was standing on top of the Mystic with both foreclaws. One pressed down on his barrel, the other was crushing into the pony’s neck. The pony squirmed and panted, his eyes full of fury and fear.
“Who…” he gargled, as Escher pressed against his neck a little harder, before shooting a panicked glance at Lofty.
“What do we do?” he whispered, his voice low and desperate. Lofty was about to open his mouth to answer.
“Ponies should not kill ponies,” came the response from the shadows of the kitchen. Both Lofty and Escher jerked as Starlight stepped over, lowering her forehead to the struggling Knight. She whispered something that neither one of them heard, and the Mystic’s eyes went wide with terror before sliding back as he slumped, twitching, to the floor. Escher jerked away in shock.
The Mystic lay there, moaning and spasming, but his eyes were closed. Lofty looked from Escher to Starlight.
“What… what did you do?” Lofty whispered. “What happened?”
“Ponies should not kill ponies,” Starlight repeated sadly.
“Is he okay, then?” Lofty asked. He’d been ready to kill the Knight, but it hadn’t been his first choice.
“Okay? I don’t know. He will wake up, though.” Starlight said in an odd moment of clarity.
“Can you… watch him? Make sure he doesn’t wake up and cause us any more problems?” Lofty asked. Starlight said nothing, but stood over the prone form of the Knight. Lofty took that as a yes. “Um, okay. Escher, we’ll… “
“Take his spear,” Escher reminded, and Lofty nodded. They couldn’t rely on Starlight to solve all of their problems. “Wait. Let me look at your injuries. Your real ones.”
Being reminded of his lacerations made them throb with pain. He turned so that Escher could peer closely at the cuts.
“I’m no medic, but they don’t look deep. But we can wash them, maybe find some bandage—”
“No time. Everypony in the manor is probably awake after that racket. Take the battery out of his gauntlet just in case, and we’ll go find my son.”
Once again green fire lit the dark kitchen, and Lofty was face-to-face with Escher’s usual pegasus form. The two of them quickly removed the battery from the Mystic’s gauntlet. The whole time, he could feel Starlight’s gaze on him, as if she were watching to make sure he didn’t harm the uncomfortably sleeping pony.
The two of them rushed out of the kitchen and into the dining room, silent and eerily empty. Lofty remembered dinner time with his family; cold, stiff affairs where the four of them would sit around the long table and discuss Lofty’s education, and his progress with his tutors. They would discuss Grace’s accomplishments, or her social opportunities. The rush of memories almost brought him to a halt, but he forced himself onwards. That was the Tale family of the past. He was going to write the Tale family’s future, and it started with him getting his son to safety.
The dining room door led to the entry hall. Lofty pushed the door open and stepped into the dimly lit, empty room beyond. He never even saw the attack coming until he felt the bite of agony as a blade dug into his shoulder.
Lofty let out an involuntary cry, falling to the side as something heavy and metallic shoved against him. In the surprise of the attack, he dropped his spear, the weapon clattering against the marble tile floor of the entry hall. Hooves slammed into his barrel, and he felt the hot, heavy breath of his assailant right next to his face.
His attacker was heavy, and Lofty had a bad angle to try to shove him off. But suddenly the weight slipped off of him, and Lofty heard a cry of pain.
“Who…” his attacker hissed. Lofty recognized the voice. It was Sir Tarpit. Lofty had never seen him in armor before. The enchanted pink plate glinted in the moonlight that floated in the window. He clutched a single knife in one hoof.
“Sir, please,” Lofty struggled to his feet. “Stand down. You don’t have to do this. You don’t have to fight me.” He had nothing against Sir Tarpit. The stallion could have done quite a bit to make Lofty’s life miserable, and he hadn’t. He was kind, and funny.
“You forced this, Lofty. Turning heretic. Consorting with foul creatures and spies.” Sir Tarpit’s voice was mournful. Lofty could barely see his face in the dark entry hall. It was flushed with exertion. “I blame myself. If I hadn’t encouraged you to continue your contact with that heathen crystal pony…”
“Where is my son, Sir Tarpit?” Lofty interrupted. He had no time for this. He began to circle to Sir Tarpit’s left. Escher got the same idea and began to circle the other way. Sir Tarpit backed away, clutching the knife that still dripped Lofty’s blood.
“I failed you, Lofty, but I’m going to keep your son safe. And if that means I have to destroy you, I will.” He brandished the knife shakily in front of him; it was a kitchen knife, not a real weapon. Lofty watched it warily; Sir Tarpit may not have been in his prime any longer, but he was still a Knight.
But he was also standing between Lofty and True.
“I don’t want to hurt you, but I have to get my son safe. You know the Mystics will hurt him to get to me.”
An uncertain look crossed over Sir Tarpit’s face, and he hesitated. It was enough for Escher to lunge at him from his right.
The changeling in pegasus form slammed shoulder first into Sir Tarpit’s side, grunting in pain as he hit the hard plate of Sir Tarpit’s armor. It wasn’t enough to knock over the overweight Knight, but it did let Lofty lunge for the knife, striking Sir Tarpit’s hoof with it.
Sir Tarpit dropped his knife with a cry, but started moving almost instantly, his hoof floating through the air with a silvery glow. He was surprisingly fast, and Lofty swiped with his hoof to try and disrupt the spell.
But Sir Tarpit was surprisingly quick, and the runes formed in the air. Lofty and Escher were thrown back just as a shield of spherical pink force took shape, forcing them away.
For a moment, there was a strange pause in the fighting. The three combatants stared at each other, panting slightly for breath in the lull.
“Whatever you’ve done, it’s not too late to come back from,” Sir Tarpit whispered. “We can find one of the Mystics. You can surrender to them. You can repent, Lofty. Be right with the Saints.” He looked at Escher. “Whoever you are as well, young stallion. You can—”
“I’ve joined the Discordant,” Lofty interrupted. “I’m leaving the city. Probably forever.” Sir Tarpit’s mouth gaped open. “What do you think the Mystics are going to do to my family when I’m gone? To my son? Do you think he’ll be safe? Healthy?”
“B-better than being in the thrall of a heretic,” Sir Tarpit hissed. He raised his gauntlet to start casting again.
“Bring down the shield,” Lofty cried out, and both he and Escher threw themselves at the pink barrier, pounding with their hooves. Sir Tarpit flinched back from the force, but kept casting; Lofty recognized a physical enhancement spell, something that would make Sir Tarpit even faster and stronger than he’d been before. He was going to keep fighting.
“Lofty. Go. I will fight this one,” Escher said.
“But…”
“Find your son, then come back to help,” Escher said. “We’ll escape together. Quickly!”
He wanted to stay, to argue, but Escher was right. They didn’t have time. He sprinted back to where he had dropped his spear, reaching down to pick it up. It wouldn’t budge.
Puzzled, he glanced up. Starlight Glimmer was standing with one hoof on the spear. He stared at her blank bone face, looking for some sort of emotion. Her blue glowing eyes betrayed nothing, but she didn’t move when he tugged on the spear again.
“Yeah, I get it,” he muttered. “Ponies should not kill ponies. I need your help, then. I want to hurt my sister even less than you do.”
He turned towards the stairs that would lead from the entrance hall to the second floor, where Grace and True should probably be. He didn’t turn to look and see if Starlight was following him. He wasn’t sure he wanted her to be or not.
The hallway was dark, but he could make out, in the dimness, a pair of House Tale guards in family livery. They were a famous house, but not large, and so did not require many retainers. Back when he had been a foal, he’d known all the guards by name. These two, sitting outside the door to his sister’s room, were strangers. From their wide, fearful eyes glistening in the moonlight, he could tell they’d heard what was going on downstairs.
“I know what you’re both thinking,” he whispered as he approached. The two guards crossed their spears protectively in front of his sister’s door. “A big, scary heretic has come to invade your home. To assault your boss. Stand down.”
“W-we will not!” one of them stammered, the other nodding frantically.
"You will.” Lofty kept his voice calm and even. “You will because I don’t want to hurt you, but I will if you stop me from getting to my son. I don’t mean Grace any harm. I promise.”
“We’re going to keep the foal safe from you!” the guard insisted. “We won’t let you pass!”
“I won’t be kept from my son. I just got past four Knights Mystic and a Jubilant. Do you really think you can stop me?”
“Y-you’re wounded!” the guard pointed out. “We could…”
Lofty didn’t let him finish. The muscles of his hindhooves coiled, and he sprang towards the guards, who barely had time to yelp and level their spears towards him.
It had been a rather long time since Lofty had fought a pony that wasn’t enhanced with Knighthood. It was as if they were moving in slow motion. As their spears descended, points flashing in the moonlight, he ducked low, slipping just underneath the pair of them and rushing inside their guard. He picked the non-speaker first, shoving him hard up against the door with his shoulder. The guard grunted in pain as he was slammed against the wood, his head impacting roughly with a loud bang. His spear clattered to the floor.
Lofty danced back, just in time to dodge the next spear coming his way, this time from the guard who had been brave enough to speak. Lofty could see, from this close up, just how young he was.
“Ever fought a Knight before, colt?” Lofty whispered as he kicked the fallen spear far away so nopony could pick it up. He considered picking it up, but rejected the idea. Ponies shouldn’t kill ponies, after all, and these two didn’t deserve that.
“Why?” the guard moaned. “Why can’t you leave us alone? Why can’t you just go?”
Silently he understood what the guard was thinking. This was way above his pay grade.
He was about to lunge again when the door the guards had been blocking opened inwards, and Grace’s head emerged from inside.
“Stand down, Shield Wall. I’ll handle my brother.”
“Ma’am? But, ma’am… go inside and shut the door, I’ll…”
“Do as I ask.” Grace stepped out of the room, holding a lantern in one hoof. Lofty stepped back to allow her room. The guard he’d knocked over scrambled to his hooves, and the two guards shared a glance, before taking up positions on either side of his sister. She sighed, but didn’t say anything about this.
“What are you doing here, Lofty?” Grace asked after a pregnant silence. “Why did you come?”
“You know why.”
“I’m not letting you take him,” Grace said. “You’re a heretic now. Fallen. I’m not letting you corrupt my nephew. He’s safe here.”
Had the circumstances been different, Lofty would have been pleased to hear his sister’s affection for his son. Now he had no time for that sort of emotion.
“Oh? So instead you’d let the Mystics use him as a hostage to manipulate me?” he asked. Grace cringed. “You know. You know that’s what they’re doing. They set him up as bait, and you knew it. You call that safety?”
“Well, what is your plan, then? Running? Hiding? The life of a fugitive? How can you possibly think that life is okay for a foal?” Grace shot back. “He’s my heir, Lofty. The last chance for the Tale family, now that you’ve thrown all sense to the wind and ran off chasing some pretty eyes and a nice flank. Tell me, brother,” she spat. “How long did it take her to corrupt you?”
Lofty gaped. Is that what she thought happened? He shook his head.
“It wasn’t because of Topaz, Grace. It was because of me. I made the decision.”
“Why?” she hissed desperately. Her eyes were wet; he could see that much in the dim light.
He opened his mouth, then closed it again. “You wouldn’t even listen if I told you, Grace.” He sighed. “It’s all lies. All of it. The Diarchy, the Knighthood. It’s a house of cards. And when it all comes down, our family is going to survive.”
Grace laughed bitterly. “Oh, I know all about the Tale Family failsafe. That’s what got grandfather killed. What an idiotic—”
He cut her off suddenly. “Grace, tell me where my son is. I’d rather not go through you if I don’t have to.”
“Go through me?” Grace whispered harshly. “I suppose you’re going to have to, because I’m not…”
“Auntie? Too loud!”
Everypony froze. From the next room down the hallway, True’s tiny face was poking out of the cracked door. He was dressed in blue silk pajamas, and clutched Smarty Pants in one hoof. “Daddy? Daddy!”
“True! Stay in your…” Grace began, but it went unheeded. True Tale scampered down the hallway towards Lofty, throwing himself into his father’s hooves. “Lofty. Don’t you dare.” Her voice changed from demanding to pleading. “Think of what is best for True, Lofty. Leave him with me. I’ll keep him safe.” Her tears were now streaming down her face.
“No, Grace. If I leave him here, he’ll be used against me. He’ll be safer by my side,” Lofty whispered, squeezing his foal tight to his chest.
“No!” his sister shrieked, snatching the spear from the guard next to her. She lunged forward to shove Lofty back, away from True. True fell backwards and began to cry, squeezing his enchanted doll tightly in his hooves. Grace set herself to charge, ignoring the foal as she leveled the shaking spear at her brother.
“I can’t let you take him!” she screamed. “So you’re either going to have to leave, or kill me, because I’m not letting our family die!”
Time seemed to slow down. Lofty stared at his sister as she took first one hoofstep, then a second, setting the spear and putting her weight behind it as she moved towards him. He gaped; she’d never been violent. Never seemed so desperate. He raised his hoof, ready to try and strike away the spear and dodge.
Lofty blinked.
There had been no flash of magic, no loud noise or fanfare, but suddenly, a cloaked figure had appeared between him and his sister. There was a dull thud as the spear tip impacted something solid — the tip of the spear had gouged deep into Starlight Glimmer’s collarbone. She stood, motionless, seemingly unaffected by the weapon.
Grace’s jaw worked wordlessly, her eyes open wide in horror, reflecting the flickering, glowing light that emanated from Starlight Glimmer’s eye sockets. A low moan of fear slipped past her lips, and she fell back, the spear clattering to the floor in an echoing racket.
The guards fared no better. With a shriek of terror, both turned and fled down the corridor, babbling about demons and heretics and horrors of the night. Lofty didn’t blame them; he’d had much the same reaction when he’d first encountered Starlight.
“W-w-what are y-you?!” Grace managed. “L-lofty, what have you b-brought into our home?”
“Ponies should not…” Starlight began, but then froze. “Ponies…” She turned her head, her gaze on Tale, who had stopped crying and was now staring, open-mouthed, at the creature in front of him. Her glowing eyes seemed to narrow, and she let out a gasp of surprise…
And recognition.
“Sunburst?” Her echoing voice was thick with emotion, and Lofty could swear her bony hooves were shaking. “Sunburst, is that…”
Before Lofty could stop him, True stood up and trotted over to the skeletal figure. Grace reached out, panic evident in her eyes, but not in time for True to reach Starlight. His eyes were full of wonder, and he lifted a hoof towards her face. Starlight shrank back nervously.
“You can’t be… I don’t…”
“Sad pony,” True whispered, lifting his hoof to finally touch Starlight’s cheekbone. “Why sad?”
“I don’t remember,” Starlight whispered. Lofty and Grace stared on, frozen as they watched the scene unfold.
“Oh.” True said. He glanced between Starlight and his doll, before hurriedly shoving the stuffed pony at Starlight. “Smarty Pants wants hug you.”
“S-smarty P-pants?” Starlight stammered. “That used to be Twilight’s. I remember!” She took the doll reverently, turning to face Lofty. “We have to leave. Now.”
“I…” Grace tried to stand, but Lofty shoved himself between his son and his sister.
“Grace. You can’t stop me,” he whispered, trying to hold out a hoof to her. She swatted it away. “The best you can do is not get in our way, so we’re not in any more danger as we flee.”
Grace glared up at him, lips pulled back in rage. Lofty stared back at her fiercely, locking eyes with her as he stood firmly in front of her. Finally, Grace let out a scream of frustration, fresh tears staining her cheeks.
“Fine! Get out!” Grace wept. “Just remember that the family dies with you, brother.” She lowered her gaze, finishing in a quiet, desperate whisper. “I hope you’re proud.”