//------------------------------// // Chapter 7: In Which Literary Allusions are Made, and Dark Forces Gather // Story: Night Watch // by Crossed Quills //------------------------------// No pony would have believed, near the beginning of the second millennium that Equestria was being watched keenly by intelligence greater than ponies', immortal and waiting for the right moment of weakness in the planar folds. With infinite complacency, ponies went to and fro about their business, serene in their assurance of their empire over nature. Was it not by pony labour that the seasons shifted? That rain and snow fell from the sky, that the leaves fell from the trees? Was it not their immortal diarchs that raised and lowered the very sun and moon? Perhaps this belief had been shaken at least a little, of late. The manifestation of an elemental god of chaos, a magic-devouring monster that had attained seemingly divine levels of magic, and whatever the tyrant Sombra had made of himself within swift pace of one another certainly had opened the minds of many of Ponyville's residents to the threats that their nation might face. It was still a distance from there to the idea that otherworldly horrors, straight out of a novel by H.P. Hoofcraft or a portrait by M.C. Pasture might genuinely exist.(24) For the most part, Equestria's residents were quite certain that, extremely powerful magic notwithstanding, the threats that would plague Equestria fell firmly in the categories of the cult, the canny, and the natural – or at least, the supernatural, which suited an assortment of horned, supernaturally resilient, and winged ponies just fine. Alas, it was not so. The only upside, if so it could be called, was that the barriers between realities were quite strong – particularly from their outside. It took dedicated, concentrated effort to open a breach large enough for a predatory intelligence to come through, and not a little preparation or effort. Be they ever so powerful, no unicorn could do it by themselves, much less accidentally. To open a breach, a great number of ponies would have to be trying. The downside – and so it could well be called – was that some ponies were quite trying indeed. * * * It was a bright and stormless night. Ponies that preferred purple prose were perhaps a trifle disappointed, but the lights of Canterlot, both mystical and candlepower, were sufficient to cause a glare off of the low-hanging cirrus cloud cover. The result was that, even in absence of stars, at least in the vicinity of Canterlot, there was enough light to see by, although fine detail would have been difficult, and reading all but impossible. Ser Sable Jet and Ser Ardent Tempest were maintaining their watch over Canterlot's weather factory. While most of the nation had to make do with mobile weather production facilities, the capitol was considered important enough to warrant its own. It had been some years since anyone had tried to lay siege to the city that had grown up around Celestia's castle, but the possibility still existed, and thus it was strategically important that the gardens of Canterlot have a steady supply of rain water whenever the need arose. Given the lack of military threat however, the position of guard to the Canterlot weather factory was more or less an honour guard, and the two pegasi had been the regular guard at the post for a few years now. Both were Wonderbolts veterans, decorated for courage and integrity, and named to the Order of Equestria as knights for valor. Currently, they were playing cards. Sable and Tempest played a lot of cards, and had done so ever since having been appointed to their current post, a semi-retirement that helped to buoy a military pension that more or less covered the costs of living. Neither was the fighting pony that they'd been in their prime; Tempest had a trick hip that pained her when it was going to rain (which, given her position, was something she could usually predict with the accuracy of clockwork), and Sable had found that his flight speed had dropped precipitously with the onset of arthritis. All told, while they recognized that the position was mostly an honorarium, they were happy to have it, not least because they enjoyed the company of one another. Unlike border towns and other smaller settlements, Canterlot's weather was precision tailored for the city, and rainfall tended to be temperate, and happened almost exclusively at night. No rain was called for this evening however, as careful application of rain had all gardens, lawns and beds registered with the weather department well-watered, at least for the next few days. Thus, the weather factory, excepting its honour guard, was empty, dark, and quiet. Rows of still machinery and apparatus for controls had no attendants, and while the few devices that shouldn't ever be shut off entirely still glowed with a faint magical light, the majority of the factory floor was otherwise without illumination. The two elderly knights were relaxed but vigilant, and as was her usual, Tempest was kicking sable's flank at the card game which had long ago begun as a variation on poker, but had evolved over the years into something unrecognizable, excepting to the pair. “And the king of dragons consumes your nine diamonds, winning me the hoof and, I think, the game. Play again?” Tempest seemed quietly pleased with herself, and Sable sighed, and scrubbed his face. “I'm pretty sure at this point I owe you a forest's worth of matchsticks.” He smiled ruefully. “I'll play again, but only if you're willing to offer me some matchstick credit. I had a few extra set aside, but like most of my money, the moment I put them in my saddlebags, they started burning a hole in my pocket. I tried to save them, but...” he put a hoof to his brow dramatically, “my matchstick fortune was up in smoke.” Tempest gave Jet a wry look. “You're pleased with yourself, aren't you?” Jet gave back an innocent look. “Well, yes.” He took the cards, and gave them a bridge shuffle. “Shall we?” As the two knights bantered, not all was well in the darkened factory floor below. A shadowy presence, more mist than solid, had flowed in through the cloudwork that made up the structure of the building, and was coalescing into something with glowing emerald eyes. Silently, it moved toward the controls for the rain generator. Using the equipment in a cloud factory toward its proper ends was not nearly as simple as the many recruitment posters in pegasus elementary flight schools would have led one to believe. The posters, designed decades prior, showed brightly coloured ponies wearing hard hats, carrying clipboards and standing next to enormous control wheels. They had been designed by Ink Blot, an earth pony who had never actually seen a weather factory in person, and had proven to be one of the Equestrian government's most effective propaganda poster series in history. It was not wholly disingenuous – pegasi had been legally required to wear hard hats on a work site for some years now, despite the fact that the most likely thing to fall on their heads was cloud – but work as a weather specialist required a college degree and apprenticeship, and most of the controls were in the form of vast control panels, each button, tab or switch serving a distinct and important purpose to operate the highly advanced instruments that gave Equestria its weather. It was unlikely that the horrific green-eyed mist monster had ever attended one of the proper technical colleges, or undergone an apprenticeship in the proper use of the machinery it even now slunk toward. While the colleges were not strictly pony-specific, international students did not have their educations subsidized by the state, and it was therefore extremely expensive for an interested gryphon national to learn the technical skills required. There was no written ban on interdimensional students, but none of the reputable colleges had ever admitted one. It was with the eye of a novice therefore, that it approached the complex devices. Regrettably, this was not a significant impediment. True, for finesse in weather control, it took a skilled practitioner. The weather controls for Canterlot were so finely tuned that a virtuoso could give her own backyard garden a sprinkle without so much as dampening the doghouse. The mist-monster had no such ambitions, and large, unsubtle stormy weather was distressingly easy to create. The glowing panels on the powered-down equipment flared with a green aura, as the being took control. Sliders and dials moved of their own accords, being turned or shifted to their maximum positions, and then held in place. Thunder and lightning generators powered up, a low hum in the background, even as dormant systems sprang to life, marionettes to the puppeteer that had abruptly begun messing with their controls. The clouds over Canterlot darkened, and the machinery throbbed with bristling power. Both of the pegasus knights felt the barometric pressure drop almost simultaneously. Although their positions in the military had not directly involved weather control, familiarity with the controls of the factory had been one of the requirements of their position within it – not that they had ever been expected o use the machinery, but simply enough to know what to do in the event of an emergency, at least until a proper weather expert arrived. Ser Tempest's hip throbbed painfully, and Ser Jet's instincts, although less rheumatic, foretold a storm such as had not hit the capitol in decades moments in the offing. The cards and matchsticks went flying as the two took to their wings, soaring down to shut of whatever malfunctioning piece of equipment was about to bombard the city, only to come face to face(25) with what was, unquestionably, a problem. In their heydays, neither of the former Wonderbolts would have so much as hesitated. Age had worked harsh lessons upon them, doing little to undermine their valour, but tempering it with caution. Here was a creature evidently soaked in dark magic – and it hardly took an imaginative leap of logic to cross the distance to the too-recent events that had wracked the kingdom. Tempest turned to Jet. “I'll hold it off. You're still the stronger flier of the two of us.” The building lurched, gauges buried deep in the red, as the Canterlot weather factory prepared to produce a storm the likes of which the city hadn't seen in decades. A thin patter of unscheduled rain started down upon the city, as merrymakers and wanderers in the streets below looked up with surprise, before scuttling off to find shelter. Jet shook his head. “If the storm that's brewing hits, there's no way that I'd make it.” He flashed Tempest a grin. “Besides, Wonderbolts don't run.” And besides, you've been my best friend for twenty years. I'm not leaving you alone. Between friends of so many years, some thought didn't have to be spoken in order to be heard.. Tempest managed a weak smile. “Wonderbolts don't run.” They fought bravely, and they were skilled. They had seen dozens of conflicts, and survived them all, and that had given the pair a sense for the melee, even against the supernatural creatures that had intermittently plagued the land. They did not break, falter, or hesitate. But at the end of things, there were only two of them. And the mist-creature was so very much stronger. The storm broke over Canterlot. * * * The storm broke over Canterlot. The Night Court bailiff, by the name of Pathetic Fallacy(26) looked up. He had been certain that the evening had been intended to be overcast but dry – consulting the schedule, he decided that he had been correct. It was odd – not that there was rain per se; the Canterlot weather corps occasionally made mistakes, and had to reschedule showers, with minimal notice – but for it to be such harsh rain, so intense, and with such durm and strang, as the gryphons would say, that was odd. He made a note in his notebook to ask Princess Luna about it, as soon as she was finished with the current petitioner. Luna, for her part, was quite finished with the current petitioner. One of Lord Clearing House's business partners, she had come to protest the lord's treatment in court – never mind that had Luna had her way, had the budget crunch not been so dire and pressing, she would have done a great deal more to the errant lord, possibly beginning with defenestration, but certainly not stopping there. This evening's court was far more sparsely attended than was the average, as many of the Canterlot aristocracy were preparing to ease the city into autumn, using the power of their magic. Luna wondered if perhaps the Earth Pony way of doing things might not be best, but Leaf Day was a celebration among the unicorns of Canterlot, and she supposed different ponies could celebrate in different ways. A crash of thunder all but shook the courtroom, and Luna blinked, bemused. Behind the thunder came the sound of driving rain, harsh and hard, beating a staccato tattoo against the windows. The court's windows flashed with vivid illumination, and Luna shook her head. If she didn't know better, she would have thought that the Canterlot weather factory had turned out a hurricane, but why would anypony possibly..? “Excuse me your highness, but I'm not finished!” exclaimed the petitioner pony, one Coin Bank of the lower east of Manehattan. Luna's eyes narrowed. “Yes. You are.” Luna drew herself up, nostrils flaring. Yes, that was dark magic. Carried by the storm, oppressive and vast, but subtle, masked by the fury of the storm and the intensity of the unexpected weather. The palace itself had been shielded against it, long ago, as had the castle that Luna had shared with her sister, but such wardings were rarely enough. And if someone is making an assault on Canterlot, while I'm here listening to this drivelling idiot of a banker... “I'm in the wrong place.” Luna didn't even realize that she had said the words out loud. She glanced at Pathetic Fallacy. “Arrest this pony. The crown may yet prefer charges. Find her a comfortable room to spend the night in, stick her in it, and have somepony watch the door.” The banker began to protest, and Luna cut her off. “Unless she would prefer to walk home this evening.” Coin Bank looked out the windows across Canterlot. Hail had begun to fall, each icy stone half the size of a ping-pong ball. She swallowed hard, and no longer seemed to have the stomach for further protest. Pathetic Fallacy had a bit of a wicked smile. In truth, he was a nice pony, gentle and kind, generous to the charities when they came by for Hearth's Warming, and a better pony for comforting children called before the court Luna could not ask for. But he was a large pony, broad of shoulder and of barrel, and while he would of course be as gentle as possible in throwing his weight around, he had no qualms about seeing to it that someone who had been annoying the princess stayed in her room for the evening. “Alright you.” said Pathetic Fallacy. “You're coming with me.” Thunder rolled. * * * The storm broke over Canterlot. Water from the rain found its way through the inexpert repair to the thatching in the old house that the Fellowship of the Golden Scoop rented for its meetings. It spattered across the leader's face, and he snorted himself awake, wiping the rainwater from his eyes. Right. He was here. A brief survey suggested that most of the Fellowship was here. Memory came flooding back to him. They had summoned... something. None of the ancient texts or relics had been reliably specific about the exact nature of the creature, but that hadn't mattered. It had taken the combined efforts of two dozen unicorns, the sacrifice of dozens of potent – to say nothing of expensive magic items, and hours of preparatory work. And the process had been draining – the sudden enervation hitting like a bottle of Celestia's Old Peculiar on an empty stomach. The power had been heady, and he had channelled it. They had succeeded! The creature had appeared, formless but unquestionably present, and they had held control over it. There had been a plan... the leader furrowed his brow, straining to recall. Yes. Using the Canterlot Weather Factory to spread an aura of hopelessness and despair, such as only the great heroes of Equestria could undo. And when great heroes arose... the leader smiled. Yes. The creature would disseminate the darkness of its essence, and then zero in on the relics that had been seized by the Night Watch. Once it had destroyed them, it would return for further instructions. Other unicorn wizards might not be able to bind it, but the summoners held the keys. An old memory returned to him. His tutor in magic, years past, speaking to him on the matter of summonings, of calling upon greate powers,and of binding them to his will. The foolish old mare should see him now! But the words fluttered out, unbidden, in his memory, and he felt a slight lump in his throat. Never. Never conjure up that which you cannot put down. Fine then. Everything was alright. He was in control. The process of the summoning and binding had knocked out most everyone in the room, whether or not they had contributed to the spell. Well, the leader mused, perhaps it would have been more apt to say 'whether or not they had intentionally done so. He might as well see to it that the rest of the Fellowship were roused, such that he could explain to all of them – probably several times – the nature of their triumph. The thought occurred to the leader that, oh surely, the gathered ponies must be truly exhausted. It might be best just to allow them their rest, to regain the energy, and to avoid long, pointless digressions. But for their own good, of course. Emotions fought within him for a few minutes, and 'desire to have someone to boast to' won out over 'persistent, extreme consternation with those around him'. He walked from sleeping pony to sleeping pony, rousing them. He had a speech to give. * * * The storm broke over Canterlot. The Night Watch were not all assembled in one place, but their jurisdiction were the hours from dusk until dawn, and so they were on their way, mostly, to the furnace room in the palace basements. Some were closer than others – Sharp Salute, given both his age and the fact that he no longer held any personal or private residence in Canterlot, had been afforded a room in the palace. In somewhat stark contrast, Sticky Wings had used her new pay as a member of the Night Watch to lease a cloud condominium in an adjacent pegasus town, and was now fighting her way through the storm, growing increasingly concerned by its fury and power. Sticky wasn't the only one. Hot Streak and Ice Pick, working together, managed to raise a shield that did double duty, repelling both raindrops and hailstones, as they made their way to the palace with Zorada. The zebra and the two unicorns had met at a nearby pub, comparing notes on the mystical threat, from different angles. The sudden storm had almost – almost – masked the dark magic underpinning it, but the unicorns had known what to look for. Zorada, for her part, had nodded sagely but inscrutably, upon being informed of the storm's mystical nature. The three made it to the palace, just as their magical shield gave out. The unicorns had hoof-bumped – neither was particularly adept at raw magical manipulation, but the weeks of training had paid off. Ice Pick's careful shaping of the energy provided by Hot Streak had allowed them power and nuance that neither could have worked individually. The ponies were, if not strictly dry, merely damp instead of soaking as they found their way down to the furnace room, for once grateful for the boiler's intermittent periods of scorching heat. Gawain was wringing out his feathers by the furnace, when they came in. The gryphon gave a brief smile, and pointed toward the back of the large room. “Oh, Zorada... Sharp Salute wanted to speak with you when you got in.” The gryphon shook, the remainder of his drenched feathers shedding their water in a small dome around him, leaving a damp mark on the floor. “Thank you. I will go and speak with him right away.” Zorada nodded to her colleagues, before trotting off in the direction of the elderly pony, who was looking through the contents of an envelope with a look of mild consternation. That look was transferred to Zorada as she approached, and the two began speaking in muted but argumentative tones, as the rest of the Night Watch tried to warm up around the furnace – which, predictably, had chosen just that moment to disengage, the heat rapidly leaching into the stone floors of the basement. Sticky Wings came in through the door not five minutes later, bedraggled and upset-looking. She made a vague gesture toward the heavens, and then at herself, and gave a moue of displeasure. “What in Tartarus was this all about? The forecast didn't call for anything like this. I think I passed a couple of weather ponies making their way up to the weather factory on my way here, but I'm not sure what they planned to do when they got there! This storm is intense!” Hot Streak scowled a little bit, but shrugged. “We're still sorting out the details, but if I had to bet any money, I'd put my bits on our enemies showing their cards – some of them, at least. Ice Pick had a diagnostic spell that determined that there's some genuinely bad hoojoo in it.” She rubbed the back of her head. “He was talking with Zorada, and I'm a little hazy on some of the details, but they used the words 'major invocation' and 'grand summoning', and I'm at least mostly sure that bodes ill for those of us who have been traditionally opposed to such things.” Ice Pick interjected. “Actually, we don't know for sure what if anything was actually summoned, but this 'dark rain' that's falling is definitely unseasonable, not to mention tainted by dark magic. I compared notes with Zorada over at the pub, and I'm pretty sure that whatever the tablet described could be causing all of this, but I'm hesitant to jump to conclusions. Our foes have shown themselves to be inconsistently capable – sometimes they're brilliant, and sometimes they make some serious errors. It's hard to determine which of those this is, until we have some kind of idea what they're trying to accomplish.” Sticky nodded, following the stream of consciousness as best she could. “I think I follow. So this dark magic is... doing what, precisely? Apart from making it rain, which I'm pretty sure is the result of someone mucking about with the cloud factory, more than anything else.” Ice Pick rubbed his chin. “I'd need more of a sample to determine for sure – the water on us got denatured when we entered the palace – but I think it's supposed to just be... oppressive. Bring up bad emotions – guilt, anger, fear. Whatever is being powered by that is not something I'd care to deal with, personally. Hopefully, the wards on the palace will keep out anything that hasn't been welcomed in.” Without notice or explanation, the lanterns that kept up a cheery glow – and indeed, the light from the furnace itself – suddenly extinguished, plunging the room into a claustrophobic darkness, broken only by a sickly green light coming from the evidence locker, as the tablet fragment within began to glow, softly. “... This could be a problem.” 24: True, many ponies believed in the goblin king, a powerful being with a strange fascination with orbs, but that just went to show that even a blind squirrel would sooner or later find a nut. 25: Well, face to amorphous black cloud with glowing green eyes. Common idioms were so cruel to the non-equimorphic in Equestria. 26: He went by Pat. Pony-parents with a fondness for pun names didn't always consider the consequences of their naming choices, but neither 'Pathetic' nor 'Fallacy' were good short-names for a bailiff of one of the highest courts in the land.