• Published 18th Aug 2012
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The Successors - Portmeirion



1000 years in the future, two ponies are chosen to succeed Celestia and Luna as princesses.

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15: Ascension (Part 1)

Quila Warwing’s earliest memory was of her mother, stretching her wing over her like a blanket while she slept to keep her out of the cold. She remembered waking, looking up into her mother’s face, and seeing something in her eyes that made her feel safe, warm, loved. She liked that feeling, and she found that she appreciated it more as she got older, and began to feel it less and less often. But she always kept that memory with her: the soft, gentle smile on Frostbane’s lips, the half-open violet eyes looking down on her with motherly affection. No matter how cold and distant Frostbane became in later years, whenever Quila thought of her mother, that was the face she always pictured.

She admired how strong her mother was. When she was very small, Quila would watch her mother fly, and would try to mimic her strong wingbeats, and the way she could turn and dive and whirl with such speed and grace. And when she was a little older, she would watch her mother sparring with new troops, darting this way and that, smacking them down almost without effort. And once, not so long ago, she got a chance to see her mother summon the Windigos, bending the terrible spirits to her will, commanding the weather and kingdom at the same time. Frostbane was her hero, the one pony whose approval and recognition Quila craved, the one she most wanted to be like.

The one memory that stuck the strongest in her mind was a night ten years ago, when she was still just a foal, and her mother was still second in command of Gloomhold’s armies, outranked only by the king’s old general, Ebonshield. It was a cold night (all nights were cold in Gloomhold), and Quila lay tossing and turning in her bed, unable to sleep. At last, feeling defeated, she got up and trotted down the hall in search of another blanket.

A light was on in the foyer, and there were voices. She crept up to the door, peering around the corner, and found her mother in conversation with a tall, black-coated pegasus.

“We’ve found it, ma’am,” he was saying. It was Midnight Tempest, one of her mother’s mercenaries. Quila had always liked him; he was friendly to her, if a little stuffy, and he was always respectful to Frostbane. He reached into a saddlebag and produced a small, flowering plant with purple petals. A pungent scent filled the air, and Quila wrinkled her beak at it.

“Good.” Frostbane had her back to the door, and Quila couldn’t see her face. “You know where to plant it?”

“Yes,” he answered. “The vintner won’t notice any difference. No one will notice any difference, not until he’s already had a drink.”

“Also good,” Frostbane said, nodding. There was a pause. “Thank you,” she said quietly. “The days have been heavy lately, and… and I appreciate how much you’ve helped me to bear the burden. I don’t know where I’d be without you.”

“I could say the same to you, General. We all could.”

Without another word, Tempest put the plant back in his saddlebag and exited the room. Frostbane stood still for a moment, heaved a tired sigh, and then turned her head around. “I know you’re there, Quila. Come on out.”

“Mom?” Quila chirped, stepping timidly into the room. “What… what’s going on?”

For a second, Frostbane’s stern face softened. “Nothing you need to worry about. Just be strong,” she said softly, leaning down to Quila’s level, “and don’t be afraid. In this life, you sometimes wind up in a low place. You have to be willing to do whatever it takes to climb back out again. Do you understand?”

Quila looked away, shaking her head. “I… I don’t think so….”

Frostbane tousled Quila’s mane with a gentle hoof. “Someday, you will. Now, go back to bed. If you’re cold, I’ll get you another blanket.”

The next morning, Old Ebonshield was found dead, expired from a heart attack. Frostbane was promoted to Chief General of Gloomhold. It took Quila years to understand the connection, but eventually she did. And she learned from it.

“Be strong,” she repeated to herself constantly, never letting herself forget the wisdom her mother had graciously shared with her. “Don’t be afraid. Do whatever it takes. Keep climbing…."

She believed, and never stopped believing, that the words “I love you” were buried in there somewhere. Surely her mother just wanted the best for her. But as time went by, Frostbane spared her fewer and fewer kind, encouraging words. She trained Quila as a soldier, treating her like any other mercenary. Their time spent together became briefer, more laconic, and always tainted by a kind of cold detachment. It was as though some other voice were whispering in her mother’s ear, keeping her distant, hardening her heart against everyone close to her.

Still, Quila’s precious memories never left her. She wanted desperately, and never stopped trying, to do something that would make her mother smile again, the way she had smiled when Quila was just a foal resting under her wing. But Frostbane never smiled.

Quila loved her mother. She loved her more than anything in the world. And that was why, as the years passed, she grew to hate her just as much.


It was just before dawn. The faint, golden glow of the sun peeked over the mountain ridges far to the east, but darkness still covered the land like a blanket. Thick, wintry clouds hung low over Gloomhold, and snow drifted down from the heights, but the wind was slower, gentler than normal, a mere breeze compared to the usual ferocious, biting gusts that plagued the region. An eerie, expectant silence ruled the predawn air, and the kingdom slept soundly – save for one small, cozy hamlet tucked between the arms of the mountain far below the castle.

It was burning.

“Fire!” Frostbane shouted. She beat her wings, hovering high above the village, directing her soldiers from the air.

At her command, a long row of armored griffons, standing on a ridge overlooking the village, squeezed the triggers of their crossbows and fired another storm of bolts. Dozens of steel-barbed shafts whistled through the air, pelting the roofs of the cottages far below. Once the bolts stopped flying, a half-dozen more griffons and pegasi swooped down over the houses, dropping lit torches onto their thatched roofs, setting fire to the ones that weren’t already burning. Griffon peasants ran screaming from their homes, some taking flight in a panicked frenzy of feathers, others dashing across the snow in a desperate search for safer cover. On the ridge, the griffons began to reload their crossbows.

“Cease fire!” Frostbane shouted to them. The artillery had done its job; there was no need for loss of life. She nodded to a small battalion of her pegasi warriors, and they took wing, sweeping down into the village and surrounding the panicked griffons, pinning them against the cliffsides, or against the walls of their burning homes. The few armed peasants immediately threw their down their weapons: pitchforks and daggers fell from trembling mouths and talons onto the snow-covered ground. There was no further struggle.

Frostbane landed, settling on the ridge beside her archers. When news of the king’s death had broken, this tiny peasant settlement had been the first (and so far, the only) community to begin clamoring for independence from the crown, and stirring up revolt. Though they had long suffered from food shortages and excessive cold, this particular village was still fiercely loyal to the old king. In truth, Frostbane would have been greatly surprised if they had simply lain back and accepted their new half-griffon queen. If only, she though with a sour grimace – if only they had waited a week to revolt, or even a day. Why, why did it have to be now?

Midnight Tempest circled overhead, then landed on the ridge close by the general’s side. Though his face was stern and stoic as ever, Frostbane could sense concern and doubt moving behind his cold blue eyes.

“To the mines, General?”

“To the mines,” she said. “If their loyalty is less than absolute, then they’re of no other use to us.”

Tempest coughed gently. “They may be difficult to manage,” he said. “With the bird unaccounted for….”

“I know, I know.” Frostbane sighed. “And I hate to give the mine wardens more work now. It’s bad enough already. The whole sovereignty is.”

This was true, and no one knew it better than Frostbane. The past twenty-four hours had been nothing short of harrowing. For years, the servants and slaves of Gloomhold had lived in hypnotized servitude to their worshipful king; but with Blacktalon dead, it was as though the spell had suddenly become void. Many of them were lost and bewildered, unsure of whom to follow, and much time had been spent (wasted, in Frostbane’s opinion) making certain they remained in the service of Gloomhold. Worse, though most of the army and guards had accepted the change in authority, there were dozens of old soldiers whose loyalties to the deceased king were too strong, and who were determined to make martyrs of themselves. The fighting had been brief, for the old guard was hopelessly outnumbered, but their resistance had cost Gloomhold a hefty price in blood.

But the diamond mines had been the worst. The countless slaves, suddenly free of their pacifying enchantment, had nearly rioted; only harsh threats of force had kept them under control. Too many of Frostbane’s warriors had to be sent down beneath the mountain to maintain order, leaving her with only just enough troops to carry out her preemptive strike on the rebellious village… and to make certain that all would be well when the Equestrian ambassadors arrived.

“Don’t bother sending them to the Underhold,” she instructed Tempest. “Take them directly to the mines. We need to get this place emptied before the hour is out. We can’t afford to have the Equestrians see us in this sorry state.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He said nothing to indicate his mood, but Frostbane could see the weariness in his face, and the dark circles under his eyes. It had been a long night, and he had been working tirelessly on her orders. “We’ll do what we can.”

As Tempest began barking orders to the troops to move out the captured peasants, Frostbane leapt into the air, winging her way back up towards the castle, leaving the smoking ruins of the village far below her.

Gloomhold was a vast, heavy fortress of stone, chiseled into the southeastern face of the mountain; the great gates faced inland, and from the eastern windows the gray, icy sea was visible crashing against the cliffs far below. The keep was accessible to non-flyers only by a narrow, winding, rock-strewn path that wound its way up into the mountains. Frostbane landed on the road just before the gates, and turned for a moment to look down southward across the land from her high perch. The sun rose over the eastern mountains at last, and, with the snowstorm in an unusually subdued state, she could see the whole of her modest dominion spread out before her.

Plumes of smoke drifted up from the burning village at the foot of the mountain, but otherwise all was still, looking exactly the as it had for the past twenty years. Steep mountainsides covered in rugged pine forests, icy rivers rushing over the rocks and streaming through the deep valley, all coated in a thick blanket of snow. Something about the familiar sight quelled Frostbane’s worries. Though she was loath to admit it, Blacktalon’s “Doctrine of Eternal Ice” made a good deal of sense: keeping the land cloaked in a year-round winter had a way of freezing opposition, fostering dependency, and giving their subjects the impression that nothing would ever change, no other regime would ever come to power. Well, now another ruler had taken over, but Frostbane continued to hope that she could maintain the stability of Blacktalon’s rule.

And yet….

And yet she wasn’t Blacktalon, and she knew it. As far as Frostbane could tell, he had reigned for decades with absolute self-assurance and smugness, never once doubting his decisions. She was different; doubts assailed her every day, doubts and unwanted feelings, unwanted weaknesses. Her time in Gloomhold had made her colder and harder of heart – it had been necessary, of course, and she was a stronger pony for it – but there were times when she felt that her perfect, icy shell was cracking. She had been down into the mines more than once in the past day, and she had seen the hopeless, empty faces of the slaves who had only just received their free will, and those faces had haunted her. They reminded her of Blacktalon, of his pitiful expression moments before his demise. But Blacktalon had cruelly insulted her daughter; what had that poor slave ever done to deserve the same scorn?

A breeze began to pick up, lightly caressing her face. The winter storm was broiling to life again, the snow began to fall more heavily, and the ghostly wail of the wind came echoing down from the north, filling Frostbane’s ears with its distant howl. She stopped, and shook her head, suddenly remembering herself. What had she been thinking? What did she owe those worthless, disloyal peasants? Ponies, griffons, her own daughter, it didn’t matter; if they lacked the strength to resist, then she had every right to make them her tools, her slaves, her puppets. That was how she had always figured it, at least, ever since she had come to Gloomhold.

Then why did something still seem wrong about it?

It didn’t matter. All her strange thoughts and worries disappeared the moment she opened the gates and set hoof again inside the castle. Opinicus came scurrying up to her side, coughing her usual cough, and Frostbane’s mind turned at once to more pressing matters.

“What is it?” she barked, nearly making Opinicus jump.

“Ah! Well, first of all, General,” the griffon began, “The meeting room has – *cough* – has been made ready. Well, almost ready.” Her voice was softer than usual, with a noticeable tremble in it. She was nervous, and trying to hide it. “We’ve hung the tapestries you requested, and we’re still working on procuring appropriate refreshments for ponies. But when the ambassadors arrive, I assure you they’ll find it most hospitable.”

“Good, good.” Frostbane took off her helmet and breastplate, passing them both to Opinicus, who set them aside for some other servant to pick up, and the two of them set off down the hall. The castle was busier than usual; soldiers, guards, and servants filled the hallway, giving and receiving orders, bustling about in preparation for the upcoming diplomatic visit.

“Do the elite guards all know their hiding places?” Frostbane asked as they walked.

“Yes, General.” Opinicus coughed another nervous cough, following close behind Frostbane. “In the event of trouble – that is, if the Equestrians make any aggressive moves, of course – they’ll be prepared to act.”

“Also good. And…” Frostbane stopped before the doors of the throne room, and heaved a tired sigh. “And how’s Quila?” she asked at length. “Has she been briefed about her role?”

Opinicus’s eyes began to dart this way and that, and she cleared her throat anxiously. “Well, actually, General, about your daughter… I mean, about Her Majesty the Queen….”

“Mom!”

A familiar voice caught Frostbane’s ear, and she turned. Her daughter was striding down the hallway towards her, confusion and anger written all over her face.

Opinicus looked down ashamedly. “We’ve – *cough* – we’ve had a little trouble keeping her in her chambers, General.”

“It’s fine,” said Frostbane. “I’ll deal with her myself. Just get those refreshments taken care of.”

Opinicus offered the general a respectful bow and scurried away in her usual skulking manner, and Frostbane turned around to face Quila. This was the second time she had seen her daughter since the latter had become queen; their first meeting had been shortly after the coup, when Frostbane had paid her a consoling visit, filling her in on everything that had happened, and everything that was going to happen. Quila had taken it all well enough, once the initial shock and fear had subsided; she had accepted the role she had always been told she would have to play someday.

And right now, that role required her to stay in her room.

“What are you doing here?” Frostbane asked sharply. “Didn’t I instruct you to wait in your chambers?”

“Mom, what’s going on?” Quila asked. Her young voice sounded hurt and indignant. “Sundiver told me I had to stay shut up there until tomorrow! I thought that, you know, since, I guess, I mean, I’m the queen now, and….” She stopped herself, cutting off her nervous stammering, and started over. “I mean, aren’t I supposed to be at the meeting? Won’t the Equestrians ask to see me?”

“They probably will,” said Frostbane. “And I’ll tell them that the queen isn’t ready to receive visitors personally. I’m going to speak in her stead.”

“But – but I am ready!” Quila stamped her foot. “I’ve studied as hard as I can! I read every book you gave me, and then I re-read them, just like you told me to! If there were ever a moment for me to prove myself, well… isn’t this it?”

Frostbane simply shook her head. She raised a hoof, pushing open one of the heavy wooden doors to the throne room, eyeing the numerous guards and servants who moved through the hallway. “Come with me,” she said. “We need to speak privately.”

“Oh.” The hope vanished from Quila’s eyes. Softly, she muttered, “Okay,” and followed her mother inside.

The throne room, as per Frostbane’s instructions, looked more or less the same as it always had. A new fire crackled in the circular pit (the old king’s charred bones had been removed quite some time ago), and the heavy granite throne sat empty on its dais. The only difference was the one tapestry that Blacktalon had destroyed during their battle; now it had been replaced with an older one, a slightly timeworn but still serviceable drapery depicting a number of old griffon-tales. Frostbane hoped that it would create an atmosphere of familiarity and tradition, since it was important that the new hippogriff queen be perceived as just another ruler in the line of succession. Just another Blacktalon.

She turned back to look at her daughter. “Yes, Mom?” Quila asked, looking at her curiously with those soft, childlike eyes. She looked nothing like her father. “What did you wanna talk about?”

“I need you to understand something.” Frostbane walked to the edge of the fire-pit, sitting down to warm herself as Quila walked over to join her. “You’re being kept in your room,” she began coolly, “not because I want to deprive you of happiness out of spite, but because we cannot afford for this meeting to end badly. We can’t afford a single mistake, a single show of weakness, a single word spoken out of turn. I think – I think – I have a method of preventing them from locating their princess by magic, but if they’re given even the slightest reason to suspect that she’s here – ”

“Wait,” Quila interrupted. “You mean, we aren’t just going to tell them up front that we have their princess? Why not? Wouldn’t that make them do what we want?”

“No. That is precisely what we are not going to do. Equestria has two princesses, and the other would not respond kindly if she knew her sister was being held here. There’s no reason why they should give into our demands if they could simply wipe us off the map in a flash of magic.”

“I thought you said you had a way to fight back!”

“I do. And I desperately hope that I won’t need to use it.” Frostbane heaved an angry sigh, shaking her head again. “You’re still thinking like a warrior, and not a queen. We don’t need to have any demands met, we don’t need any great leverage over the Equestrians. We simply need to tread carefully, and to wait. We’ll figure out how to work things to our advantage later – after they’ve left us alone.”

“Oh.” Quila’s ears fell flat against her head in disappointment. Mother knew best. Mother always knew best. “Okay. I understand. It’s just that – I just – I wasn’t trying to think like a queen. I was just trying to think like you.” She looked up at her mother with wide, pleading eyes full of admiration. “I just wanted to make you proud.”

Frostbane’s harsh response died on her tongue before she could get the words out. She knew that look in Quila’s eyes, that sad, longing, faintly hopeful look. It was yet another face that haunted her, and it had haunted her for years. The way Quila looked up to her, depended on her, wanted to emulate her… it struck her in some deep, vulnerable place. There it was again, that strange, warm feeling. She looked again at her daughter, and suddenly looked so very small, and very young, and she was hers….

“I see,” Frostbane said quietly, and then paused in thought, grimacing. She couldn’t afford to keep feeling this way. Quila needed to learn her place, and Frostbane’s own unwanted feelings were getting in the way. She shook her head again. “It doesn’t matter. You’re not ready to take part in the meeting. It doesn’t matter how many books you’ve read or how many times you’ve re-read them. You’re still a child who lacks the wisdom and restraint necessary for diplomacy.”

“Well, actually, Mom….”

“Yes?”

“It’s just that, well, today is….”

“What is it?”

“…my birthday. Remember? I’m – I’m sixteen now. Old enough to join the army, old enough to inherit the throne….” Quila shuffled her feet, looking back and forth between the floor and her mother’s eyes. “I mean, if I’m not ready now, then when will I ever be?”

Frostbane was about to reply – yes, yes, of course I remembered your birthday, why would I forget – but she was cut short by frantic series of knocks at the door. She whipped her head around, glaring angrily at the pony who poked his head in through the half-open doorway, a was a yellow-coated pegasus with a fiery orange mane.

“What do you want, Sundiver?”

“General!” he stammered out. “Ma’am! The Equestrian princess – she’s escaped!”

“What?” Frostbane’s voice was stern and cold, masking her sudden fear. “How? When? Where is she now?”

“We don’t know, ma’am. None of the guards in the Underhold had reported for hours, so we went down to check, and the princess was gone. The guards were all asleep, locked up in the cells.”

“Kyrie,” Frostbane muttered bitterly. That blasted bird would pay for this.

“The Witch has escaped as well, along with the three foals who were being kept in the princess’s cell. We searched the whole Underhold, but the storeroom is sealed by some kind of magical barrier; we think there may be ponies holed up inside.”

“Including the princess?” Frostbane asked desperately. “And was there any sign of the bird?”

Sundiver shook his head. “No, ma’am. No sign of her. The princess may be inside, or she may be loose in the castle. We just can’t say for certain.”

Almost involuntarily, Frostbane’s right front hoof moved up to the pendant she wore around her neck. “Search for her,” she said, struggling to keep the panic out of her voice. “Search every floor, every room, every hallway. Gather up the First Battalion and scour the lower half of the castle. I’ll – I’ll be with you shortly.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Sundiver bowed his head and exited, shutting the door behind him.

“Come on,” Frostbane said brusquely, turning to Quila. “You’re going back to your chambers. Now.”

“But – what?” Quila answered, shocked. “But – but I’m in the First Battalion! Shouldn’t I – ”

“No, you shouldn’t.” Frostbane was nearly frantic. An Equestrian princess was loose in Gloomhold. She had lived in Equestria once, and she knew of their power, their terrible wrath. And yet, she realized, her fear was not for herself. For some reason she could think of nothing but getting Quila back to her room, back behind a locked door, where she would be safe. She felt a sudden stabbing pain in her heart, in the same deep, vulnerable spot where she had felt so strangely warm mere minutes ago. She had difficulty getting her words out. “You’re the queen,” she said at length. “In a crisis, it’s your job to stay alive. To stay safe.” Please, please stay safe, she wanted to add. But she didn’t.

“But I can fight better than anyone! You know that!” There was desperation in Quila’s voice, and a longing, pleading look in her eyes. “If I can’t be a good diplomat, then at least I can be a good warrior! Mom, please, I need to do this!”

“No. No, you don’t.” With great effort, Frostbane controlled her voice, speaking firmly, steadily, sternly. Her protective urge made her feel weak, and weakness made her angry – at herself, and at her daughter. Outside the windows, the wind howled furiously. “You need more time,” she said, coming up with an excuse. “You need more training, more practice, more hours behind a shield. And right now, you need to obey me. Now go!”

“You… you still don’t believe in me, do you?” Quila was staring at the floor. Her voice was soft, sullen, full of bitterness. “All this time, and you still don’t think I’m good enough.”

There was a momentary pause. The fire crackled, the winter winds wailed and whispered in Frostbane’s ears, and she found that she couldn’t speak. What could she possibly say? I want – no, I need you to be safe, because you’re everything to me, because you’re my daughter, my only child, and I… I….

No. No, she couldn’t say that. That was weakness. The same sort of weakness that had held her back when Blacktalon stood helpless before her, the same kind of sentimental folly that made her sympathize with worthless slaves. She wasn’t a weak pony. She couldn’t allow herself to be weak.

“No,” she finally said. “No, you’re not good enough. Maybe, maybe, eventually, you’ll be – ”

“No!” The quiet bitterness in Quila’s voice flared up into anger. She raised her head, and a pained scowl adorned her face. “I’ve never been good enough for you! I’ve done everything you asked of me, I’ve worked myself almost to death, and you – you’ve never even smiled at me! And now, even now that I’m queen, you won’t even let me do the one thing I’m good at!”

She took a few steps forward, keeping her eyes locked on her mother’s. Frostbane lifted a hind leg, then the other, backing up slowly as fear and anger and panic and hurt all swirled around together inside her chest. “Now you listen to me….”

“What do I have to do, Mom?” Quila demanded, cutting her off, her voice cracking with emotion. “What do I have to do to prove myself to you? How much longer will it take until you believe in me? How good do I have to be for you to be proud of me?!”

This isn’t about you!” Frostbane shouted, and Quila recoiled. Her fear and frustration were boiling over, and her words came tumbling out carelessly, furiously, all things she had never meant to say. “Don’t you understand? This isn’t about you. It was never about you. I don’t care whether you can ‘prove yourself.’ I didn’t put you on the throne because I thought you were good enough. I did it because that’s where I needed you to be!”

Quila stood frozen in shock. “I… I….” she stuttered.

“You what? Wanted me to proud of you? Wanted me to believe in you?” Anger had taken control of Frostbane now, anger and contempt, and her words came out as spiteful, venomous growls. “Of course I don’t ‘believe’ in you! It isn’t your job to be a good queen. It’s your job to sit on that throne and do what I tell you, just like you’ve always done. That’s what I’ve raised you for. That’s all.”

It was true. Every word of it was true.

But… for some reason… even as Frostbane spoke them, all of her words tasted like lies.

There was a long, heavy silence. Quila didn’t move. She stared back at her mother, her mouth hanging open, her rose-colored eyes glistening with unshed tears.

Now,” Frostbane said at last, breaking the silence, “You’re going back where you belong. And you will remain there until I have further need of you.”

With that, she turned away and made for the door.

“No.”

Frostbane stopped in her tracks. Slowly, she turned her head around, fixing her daughter with a cold glare. “What did you say?”

Quila was staring at the floor, trembling. “I said no.” Her voice was low and quiet, but dark and intense, filled with a slow-burning anger. She raised her head. Her eyes blazed, her brow was furrowed, and her beak curled into a snarl.

“You will do exactly as I say. I am your mother, and you – ”

“No. You’re not my mother. You were never a mother to me.” Tears streamed out of Quila’s eyes, and she advanced again towards Frostbane, backing her up with every step.

“All my life, I’ve done nothing but try to please you, and that’s what you think of me? I’m just your tool? Your little puppet? I’m your daughter! I – I loved you!”

Frostbane froze, stunned, as if struck by a blow.

“…love?” she half-whispered in shock and amazement. Was that it? Was that the strange, warm feeling that softened her heart towards Quila? Was that the irrational impulse that made her feel sympathy for her poor, abused slaves? Was that the weakness that had caused her such unbearable pain when she thought her only daughter might be in danger? They were almost face-to-face now, and Frostbane could see her own reflection in Quila’s angry eyes – her face twisted in pain and hate, her violet eyes burning with cruelty and contempt. It frightened her. “Quila – ”

“Don’t! Just – just don’t say anything! I don’t wanna hear it! I hate you!”

Quila’s fierce, narrowed eyes crawled over Frostbane, before finally landing on the small, glowing gem she wore on a chain around her neck. “You said you needed me to be strong,” said Quila, her voice thick with hurt and disgust. “Well, I’ll be strong. I’ll be just like you. I’ll do what you’ve always done.”

Before Frostbane could react, Quila reached out a forelimb, caught the chain with her talons, and ripped it right off of her mother’s neck. The chain snapped. Frostbane gasped. Quila stepped back and held up the gem, gripping the broken chain as tightly as she could in her awkward, clawed hand. With her free hand she wiped away her tears, and then fixed Frostbane with a scornful glare.

“I always thought I wanted you to love me,” she said. “But you know what? I don’t want your love. Not anymore.”

Closing her eyes and smiling a sad, grim smile, Quila began to chant.

Boreas… Caisias….”

There was a blinding, blue-white flash of light, and a high-pitched ring like a crystal bell resounded in the air. Outside the windows, the wailing wind intensified into a terrible, piercing whistle.

“No! No! Quila, stop this!”

Thraskias… Aparctias….”

A stiff, swirling breeze picked up inside the room, tossing Frostbane’s mane about her face and obscuring her vision. The gem glowed brighter, burning with a cold, white fire, and the sound of the wind began to change into a ferocious, animalistic howling.

Skeiron… Argestes!

The windows shattered. Frigid air and snow rushed into the throne room, whipping itself into a whirlwind that tore the tapestries from the walls. The fire went out, and ice crept onto the floor, onto the walls, onto the ceiling, onto the throne itself. Amidst all the chaos, Quila stood, gritting her teeth, her eyes shut tightly, as if she were trying to bottle up a scream. The power, the hate flowing through her was overwhelming.

Frostbane tried to reach her, but she was cold and weak, buffeted about by the powerful wind. Ice was forming on her brow, in her tail, on the tips of her wings. Her knees gave out, and she stumbled forward, slipping and crashing painfully to the ice-coated floor. She tried to stand again, brushing her mane out of her face, and looked up at her daughter with wide, horrified eyes. Ghostly pony-shapes swirled in the air about her, pale-white and translucent, howling and moaning in a horrific, hateful song. Suddenly they all stopped, wheeled about, and turned their glowing, unearthly eyes on Frostbane.

“Quila…” she murmured weakly, stricken with fear. “Please….”

At last Quila opened her eyes. She looked down at her mother, and smirked. It was the same kind of smirk Blacktalon had often worn. Frostbane’s heart shattered like glass.

“Please… I’m sorry….”

But that was all she managed to say before her broken heart was filled to overflowing with bitterness and fury and hate, unbearable, agonizing hate, so awful it made her chest ache like an open wound. A freezing chill pierced her to the bone, her veins ran with ice water, and her world turned into nothing but cold, silent darkness.