The sun was setting in a blaze of gold and orange glory, the clouds tinged with pink and fading to soft indigo above. The view from atop Skyclaw Rock was spectacular, yet the griffin perched upon it gazed west disinterestedly, scarcely even aware of the display before her.
“Stupid dweebs.”
Gilda lazily dragged her talon along the rock, scratching a five-inch line in the granite as a cool breeze ruffled her feathers. She had been scratching that same line for over an hour now, and her talon was dulled from the repetitive action. Normally she was much more careful of her talons, but lately she just couldn't muster the effort to care.
“Stupid lame-o bunch of featherless dweebs!”
Slamming a clenched claw against the stone, Gilda rose abruptly to her feet. This was ridiculous. It had been months since she'd last seen Rainbow Dash – since her former friend had decided that a bunch of stupid, ground-bound ponies were better than her, Gilda. She still couldn't understand it. So she'd pranked a few ponies; so what? Dash had always been a great one for pranks. The two of them had been the terrors of the Junior Speedsters, back in the day.
She still couldn't believe it.
And that pink pony – Punky Cake, or whatever her stupid name was. Following them around. Pestering them. And pranking Gilda! Oh, Dash said she had set all those pranks, and that they weren't specifically meant for Gilda, but the party had been Punky Cake's idea, and that made it her fault. Gilda had no doubt that Punky had rearranged things to humiliate her.
It burned her up, just thinking about it.
And now she had lost her oldest friend, and the stupid flip-flop still hadn't realized what a mistake she'd made. Dash and Gilda belonged together . . . at least, they did back when Dash was cool. So why was she still hanging out in Ponytown with a bunch of . . . of . . .
Gilda snarled a word that would have earned her a cuff had her father been nearby and looked around for something to vent her rage on. She nearly jumped out of her feathers when she saw the pony standing not three yards away from her. With an undignified squawk, Gilda reared back, wings, spread, talons readied.
The pony – a unicorn – was slightly larger than average, about the size of Gilda herself, her coat a grayish-blue color with a mane and tail the pale, bluish gray color of slate. She wore some sort of decorations: a plate of dark metal strapped to her chest and what looked like a light helmet, fitted around her horn.
“Who are you?” Gilda hissed, recovering herself. “And what are you doing on my rock?” To herself, she wondered how this wingless unicorn had even reached Skyclaw Rock, which was accessible only by flying.
The unicorn stared at Gilda out of magenta eyes. “Gilda,” she said in a confident tone of voice. “I thought I might find you here, looking west to Equestria.”
“What do you mean by that, dweeb?” Gilda snapped. “Who are you? And how did you know my name?”
“It must be hard,” the unicorn said as if she hadn't heard. She strolled casually along, describing a large circle around Gilda; the griffin was forced to turn to keep her in sight. “Having your oldest friend betray you in that way.”
Gilda's beak opened, by no sound came out.
“I can only imagine,” the unicorn continued, “that she decided her new friends were . . . better than you.” She stopped and eyed Gilda sidelong. “How does that make you feel?”
The griffin's eyes narrowed. In a lightning-swift move she slashed at the strange pony with her left talons.
The world spun.
Gilda staggered, convinced that she was falling, that Skyclaw Rock was dropping away beneath her. Vertigo overwhelming her, she fell flat and clutched at the rough stone with all four claws, eyes squeezed shut. She held on grimly, the stone cold beneath her, one solid point in a world gone horribly fluid. After what felt like an eternity the sickening spinning stopped. Cautiously, rage blending with fear now, Gilda opened one eye.
The unicorn stood over her in a pose of triumph. “Do not raise your claw against me again, chick,” she said, soft and sinister. “I am Fallax Equa, and I can give you your heart's desire . . . or your greatest fear.”
She brought her head close to Gilda's her voice dropping to an intimate whisper. “Now,” she said, “do you want Rainbow Dash back beside you?”
Gilda swallowed and nodded.
“Then take me to your father.”
The Hall of the Griffin King was set within an enormous cave high on the southern side of Mount Icefang, highest of the Talon Peaks. Known simply as the Eyrie, the community around the Hall was bustling with activity, even at sundown. Torches burned everywhere as griffins hurried to and fro on errands, spoke and argued; flew from peak to peak. And everywhere were the vigilant eyes and sharp talons of the Wingblades, the griffin guards who kept Eyrie safe from attack.
Unlike the ponies of Equestria, the griffins were keenly aware of the dangers of the world, and were ready and willing to defend themselves against all comers. Often, said dangers were internal – the griffins were united in name only, and any griffin-lord was ever alert for signs of weakness from his peers. Griffins respected strength and courage, and despised weakness. If a lord was too weak to hold what he claimed, he had no true claim to it at all.
None were immune from this law, not even the king.
Gilda slunk through Eyrie, glaring at any griffin who did not get out of her way fast enough. She attracted plenty attention, though the curious stares were directed less at her than at the dark blue pony who followed close behind her. Gilda was known here, and few doors were closed to her. The fact that the strange pony – the first in Eyrie in years – followed Gilda was enough to ensure she received no worse that curious gazes . . . for now, anyway.
Gilda was not eager for a confrontation, which in itself was unusual. She never shied from a fight, but this strange unicorn – this Fallax Equa – disturbed her greatly, with her uncanny knowledge and unnatural powers. And her wings.
When Gilda had spread her wings to depart Skyclaw Rock, Fallax Equa had . . .grown wings. Not normal, feathered wings, either, but strange, filmy things that showed starlight through them, and seemed to lack any sort of supporting members. They had vanished again as soon as her hooves hit the ground, but the memory still troubled Gilda, even more than the spell of vertigo she had experienced.
Passing through the Hall, down wide corridors, Gilda snarled at a Wingblade who did not react swiftly enough to her presence. The unfortunate guard quickly snatched open the door he guarded, fumbling in his haste. Gilda passed through without a word, and before the guard could recover his wits to question her presence, Fallax Equa had followed.
The noise within was deafening. Three score griffins crouched around a half-dozen long wooden tables, laden with food – mostly meat, for unlike the ponies, griffins were not vegetarian. Raucous laughter, shouts, muttering, and the snap of bone filled the air as griffins ate. Servant-griffins, their wings hidden beneath their plain gray robes, scurried about replenishing plates and goblets as needed.
Several of the feasting griffins shouted greetings to Gilda, who ignored them. She slunk though the din, seeking the largest (and loudest) table. Behind her, Fallax Equa followed like a shadow.
At the head of the largest table in the room, a massive griffin sat, head and wings taller than any of the others. His white eagle's face splattered with blood and juices, he ripped loose a massive chunk of meat, swallowed it, then paused to regard Gilda. She stepped near this large griffin and inclined her head in a deep bow.
“Greetings, father,” she said in a subdued tone.
Aquila Goldfeather, the Griffin King, Lord-Protector of the Seven Peaks, Skylord of Griffonica, regarded his eldest daughter impassively. After a pause of several seconds, he spoke, his voice harsh but clear.
“Greetings, daughter. You're late to the feast. And who is this?” His gaze cut to the blue-gray unicorn who stood silently behind Gilda.
The pony stepped forward, meeting his gaze with those magenta eyes – a feat few creatures could manage for long. “Hail, lord of griffins,” she said with the slightest nod of her head. “I am called Fallax Equa, and I come to grant you your heart's desire.”
“Indeed?” Aquila cocked an eyebrow at the strange pony as the closest griffins fell silent. “That is a remarkable offer. And what might a unicorn offer that the King of the Griffins would value?”
The dark mare stepped forward, past Gilda, and extended her head until it was inches from Aquila's own beak. Her eyes never left his own; her stare never faltered. When she spoke, the Griffin King felt the feathers on his neck rise with a strange chill.
“Equestria.”
His eyes narrowed.
“Tell me more.”
The night was clear and chill, with a half-moon shining in a clear sky, as an equine figure rode the winds over the Badlands. A broad area to the southeast of Ponyville, the Badlands consisted of rocky hills, ravines, and occasional stunted trees. It was said to be rich in gemstones and other mineral resources. It was also said to be very dangerous, due both to the nature of the terrain itself, and the strange creatures that inhabited it.
The night-flying mare had reason to know.
“The griffins I understand,” Trixie said – not aloud, but in the “loud thinking” she had learned was the best way of communicating with her strange ally. “And the other creatures are impressive. But why are were going to the Badlands?”
“We need an army if we are to succeed,” the soft voice replied in her mind. “Those who have wronged us are mighty, and they will not simply give way for words. There must be a demonstration of power.”
Trixie mulled this over, letting the spirit control the magical wings, vast spans of filmy blackness that never seemed to flap. When the shard – now the metallic plate strapped to her chest – had first manifested this ability, she had soared wildly about, delighting in the freedom of the skies, envying the pegasus ponies. This is true magic! she had thought, wishing Blue Flame could see her. I'll bet not even Twilight Sparkle could do something like this!
Eventually, however, the gravity of what they were seeking to accomplish had overcome her wonder, and now the flight seemed almost routine.
“An army would be . . . impressive,” Trixie agreed at length. “As long as it's carefully controlled. I don't want anypony to be hurt unnecessarily.”
“Control is very important,” the shard agreed.
“And why do we have to call ourselves Fallax Equa? I thought the point of this exercise was to make everypony respect the Great and Powerful Trixie again!”
“As I have told you,” the voice explained soothingly, “Trixie is a fine name for a magician, but you must become more. We must become more. Fallax Equa is a fit name for a queen.”
“It just doesn't seem right,” Trixie persisted.
“Have we guided you improperly yet? Place your trust in us, Trixie. Now, we are here. Prepare.”
The winged unicorn descended in a gentle spiral, coming to rest on the bare, rocky earth. As her magical wings dissolved into the night, Trixie – Fallax Equa – regarded the landscape. Despite the half-moon she could see clearly; another gift from the shard. She stood in a flat stretch, that might have been called a meadow had it borne any grass or other green things, pocked with large, round holes and dotted with mounds of raw earth taller than a pony. In the pale light, washed of color, the place looked dead and ruined, the shadows of the earth-mounds stark under the moon.
Trixie looked to the southwest, her horn lighting with a sky-blue glow as she homed in on a particular spell. She focused for long moments, then ended the enchantment, satisfied that things were progressing as they should on that front.
This accomplished, she set her mind to the task at hand. With the shard's mental voice a soothing presence in her mind, Trixie carefully channeled the magic through her horn, weaving the spell as the shard taught her. It was an illusion, in nature similar to the spells she had used to enhance her act, but it was much more besides.
True to its promise, the shard had enhanced her magical abilities significantly; a spell that would previously have taken all her effort and concentration was now simple and easy. She could feel her power growing, like disused muscles regaining their strength, and she wanted to laugh from simple joy.
There were other changes. Although she did not feel any different physically, Trixie felt that she was somehow larger than she had been; as if her legs had lengthened and her horn sharpened. Perhaps it was merely the effects of her enhanced magic, making her feel taller and stronger.
The shard itself had changed as well. When she had first accepted its bargain, it had sprouted a slender, delicate chain and instructed her to place it around her neck. As she learned from it, letting it guide her magic, it grew. Now it formed a flattened plate of metal, twice the size of her hoof, that covered her chest like a piece of armor. Delicate traceries of metal had appeared around her hooves as well, like ornate shoes, and a light helm had appeared upon her head. She wasn't sure whether these were mere ornamentation, or some sort of outgrowth of the shard itself, but since they seemed entirely benign, she didn't question it.
She wondered whether it was somehow feeding off her magic . . . but if that was true, why was her magic becoming more powerful and versatile, instead of less? She dismissed the thought; whatever the shard was getting from this arrangement, it was well worth it. Trixie focused more intently on the spell she was weaving.
Her horn glowing intensely as she focused the energies, Trixie cast her magic down, into a nearby hole, sinking it though rock and earth and sending it flowing down tunnels and crevices. In perfect stillness she stood there, nothing moving but her tail in a faint breeze. She stood like a statue of blue-gray stone for one hour, then two.
The light of her horn winked out and she raised her head. Small noises drifted up to her ears, seeming to come from beneath the ground: scrapings and scufflings, high-pitched muttering, and the sound of claws on earth. The dark mare prudently backed away from the hole.
Abruptly, a creature emerged from the hole, springing forth as if propelled by a mechanism. It was a dog – large and with dirty brown-gray fur, standing twice the height of a pony. Long, muscular forelegs and stunted hind legs gave it an oddly hunched posture. It wore a red vest and a collar studded with gemstones, and a smell accompanied it, a stifling scent of raw earth and roots and burrowing things.
The dog – diamond dog,Trixie knew – regarded her with large green eyes, it's under-slung jaw slightly agape. There was more movement all around, as more canine creatures emerged from the many holes.
“Pony,” rasped the first dog in a tone of surprise. The other dogs – several dozen strong, mostly smaller than the first dog and wearing heavy helmets – began gathering around. The clank of metal and scratch of claws on stone was loud after the stillness.
Trixie glared at the green-eyed dog, doing her best to ignore the others. “Greetings, dog.”
“Should we take this pony?” rumbled another canine voice. It proved to be a very large dog, gray-coated and with evil yellow eyes. The first dog's eyes narrowed to slits.
“No!” shrieked another, a small dog with a dusty brown coat and a broad, square face. “Remember the trouble the last pony gave us! All that whining! All that complaining!”
“We could gag this pony,” suggested the large dog. “No awful noises, then.”
The green-eyed dog, who seemed to be the leader, hesitated. This, Trixie decided, had gone quite far enough. Her horn flared blue and lightning rippled suddenly across a clear sky, followed almost instantly by a crack of thunder. The dogs flinched as one, and a couple of the smaller ones dove back into their holes.
“I did not come here to listen to your foalish arguments,” Trixie declaimed in her best showmare's voice. “I am Fallax Equa, dogs, and I come to offer you a bargain.”
“Bargain?” rasped the first dog again. “Is it the gems? Where did the gems go?”
“Yes! The gems!” shouted the small, square-faced one.
The spell had worked perfectly, then, as the shard had promised it would. Trixie's magic had permeated the ground below her hooves, instilling into the dogs the belief that there were gems – countless gems, of incredible size and beauty – located just up the tunnels from them. It had been a simple illusion, such as she was already proficient with, with an additional twist – courtesy of the shard – to affect the subject's behavior. The diamond dogs, Trixie had heard, coveted gems above all else, and now she had them.
“I can give you gems if that is the height of your desires,” Trixie said, a faint sneer in her voice. “I can offer you riches and servants. I can offer you – this!”
Trixie's magic flared, reflecting blue in the eyes of scores of dogs. They saw themselves, surrounded by wealth and plenty, piles of jewels for even the least of dogs. They saw ponies of various colors serving them, offering food, hauling wagons, digging gems. They saw a life of ease, if they would only follow this strange mare.
Excited canine voices broke out as the vision ended, the dogs chattering to each other or staring at Trixie with worshipful eyes. She struck a pose, feeling their admiration – their wonder – wash over her like a warm tide.
A handful of the larger, vest-wearing dogs, who seemed to be the leaders, were conferring. Trixie let them do so for a few moments, then struck the ground with a hoof. “Well?” she demanded. “What say you, dogs? Will you return to your tunnels, to your lives of labor and grubbing in the hard ground? Or will you follow me, to a better life?”
The leader-dogs turned to regard her, eyes shining with avarice.
“Lead us, great pony,” the green-eyed one said. “We follow you.”