YOH 1409: Cadet Guidestar Flight is on sentry duty at the West Hoof Arsenal when he encounters an intruder!
YOH 1409 (91 years Before Luna's Return): Third-year Cadet Guidestar Flight is on sentry duty at the West Hoof asenal when he encounters an intruder! But the identity of this intruder will surprise him -- and change his life.
Guard duty at night in the heart of a fortress was boring.
Third Year Cadet Guidestar Flight, attending the Equestrian Guards' Military Training Academy at West Hoof, thought this for far from the first time in his military career; indeed, for far from the first time this night. His watch was solitary, and consisted of standing before the thick and locked metal doors of Magazine Number Two, behind which reposed under one-sixth of the fort's total stores of black powder, banefire, shot, shell, wadding and other supplies required for the shooting of artillery-pieces.
Ignoring the issue of the immensely strong fortified mountain that was West Hoof, and the section of soldiers on the walls, and the fact that the Hoof was sixteen leagues upriver from Manehattan and the other forts, such as the South Battery, Fort Barkskin and Fort Green, that guarded entry to the Half Moon River from the Stormy Sea and the Albionic foe -- and of course ignoring the whole rest of the garrison, cadets, instructors and other staff who were sleeping in the barracks of the fort -- Guidestar was the sole defender of the magazine.
Which was to say, he was simply the last line of defense for that chamber, the last of a line of very much stronger ones. He was, in fact, on a very safe sentry. And he knew it, which was one reason he was so very bored.
He leaned on his half-spear -- a short stabbing and slashing weapon, well-designed for fighting in close quarters; and easy enough to manage that even first-year cadets, who ranged in age from 14-19, could be trusted not to poke their fellows with the sharp end, though several reliably succeeded in accomplishing this accidental feat every year. He was clad in light leathers, which might just manage to turn a point that wasn't going to do much more than scratch him anyway: the good thing Guidestar could say about the cadet duty armor was that it was at least comfortable, and easy enough for him to fly in.
Guidestar Flight was a fairly skilled fighter for a teenaged cadet. He had come from a small town in Northern Mane, a rough-and-tumble sort of place where even somepony of good birth had to be prepared to defend himself with his hooves at the drop of a hat. His family, while not one of the great military High Born Clans, nevertheless had a tradition of service. His superior intellect and determination had gotten him nominated to West Hoof at only fourteen, one of the two youngest accepted in the history of the Academy so far, and indeed the youngest allowed in the regulations. He was no stranger to struggling for what he wanted.
He was a good fighter for those reasons, and because he had always been able to keep a level head in a tussle. In combat training so far, he had made a name for himself due to his ability to wait for the exact right moment, ignore the distractions of his opponent's goading or his own bruises, and strike decisively to win. He was adept with crossbow, spear and sword, and a decent wrestler -- for a cadet.
Against a serious enemy raiding party, full-armed for battle, he knew that the best he could hope for was to hold them at bay long enough, while blowing the alarm on his whistle, that he would live to see the Sun rise the next morn. And that will only be, he reminded himself, if I see them first.
He remembered all the adventure stories he had read, in which somepony had silenced a sentry, and reflected on what the grizzled old master-at-arms had told them: that "silenced" generally meant "killed." The master-at-arms had then proceeded to show the students some of the most effective ways to accomplish this end. All the students in Guidestar's class had winced as the old sergeant had demonstrated the moves with a fighting-knife and a straw-stuffed dummy; the straw had been red-dyed for added visual impact. Then, the sergeant had taken a wooden-practice knife and demonstrated the moves upon their own tender hides.
Guidestar judged that he had cquitted himself well in that training; he had only winced internally, keeping up a stoic facade in the best Old-Mandatial tradition. He had picked up the fighting moves quickly and well. And at least -- unlike poor Speedy Chaser -- he hadn't actually thrown up: a disgrace worsened by the fact that Speedy had sufferered this accident not in the physical part of the exercise, but in watching Sergeant Nail Biter slashing the dummy. Speedy had never really lived this down, and had resigned from the Hoof a few weeks later.
The point, as Guidestar reminded himself, was that he was now the sentry to be "silenced." Thus, if there was an enemy raiding party approaching the magazine, his only way of avoiding an ignominious death -- and winning a heroic one, or maybe even a continued life -- was to remain alert. He worked through all sort of fantasies of improbable attackers, amusing himself by imagining their navigational and logistical problems, and working out rough solutions in his head. Guidestar loved mathematics.
By around 1:45 am, this entertainment had begun to pall, and he still had two hours and fifteen minutes left of his watch.
He sighed. It had been a long watch already, longer than usual because there had been absolutely nothing to break it up. The great fort was asleep, save for sentries like himself. Nopony had so much as idly strolled past his post, let alone come to converse with him on any business, nor visit the magazine. He was so bored, he would have welcomed even a critical officer or instructor, or even senior cadet. Even the threat of demerits would have been better than this grinding tedium.
It should be stated here that Guidestar was but seventeen years old, and while he was an exceptionally calm, intelligent and mature seventeen, still he was but seventeen. And, for all the serenity of his external manner, he was energetic and high-hearted and he would not have aspired to the Guard in the first place had he not hoped for excitement: for adventure in an honorable service.
All this should be borne in mind, for it would prove important to the decisive turn his life was about to take: one which would prove ultimately of importance to all Ponykind, though neither her nor his future partner in this destiny would live to see that birth.
Guidestar would remember, however, for the rest of his life just what he was thiking, the moment his life forever changed.
Gosh, this is dreary. I wish something interesting would happen!
A Pony should never think such a thought. The consequences are almost Nature's Law, or possibly Fury, though the Tutelary Spirit involved be unknown. For it be an invariable rule that at least those occasions that the wish is remembered, it is because it was fulfilled.
And causality moves strangely, in any case, at the Cosmic Level.
This time was no exception.
The three cloaked, robed and hooded Ponies who ran around the corner of the corridor, took one look at Guidestar and then bolted back around the corner caught Guidestar by complete surprise.
But they did fit the pattern of why one should not tempt Fate.
For a moment Guidestar was frozen in astonishment at the trio of garment-swathed Ponies who first ran toward him around the corner, then bolted and ran away in the direction they had come. But only for a moment.
In the next moment, Guidestar leaped into action, launched himself down the hall, half-spear raised and ready for mortal combat! Alert to the possibility of a trap, he whirled about as he rounded the corner; quickly scanning in all directions to ensure that he could not be taken unawares by an attacker.
Nothing -- nothing but a door slamming shut at the end of the corridor in the direction the trio had vanished clearly showing the direction they had taken. His duty was plain.
Guidestar flashed down the hall to that door; reaching it just in time to hear a key turn in the lock aned a bolt sliding into place to bar the door from opening. He heard the sounds of receding hoofbeats on the stairs beynd that door, while he frantically fumbled for the key to the door.
I don't have it! he suddenly realized. For this watch he had been issued only with the keys to the magazine and to some of the adjacent doors which contained ancillary supplies: two small arms lockers, some artillery loading and maintenance equipment, and a few supply rooms.
He groaned to himself. He knew a little lock-picking, but lacked specialized tools; to attempt to force the solid oaken door with only his puny half-spear would be laughable. It would probably destroy his weapon, to boot.
He needed help. He raised his whstle to his lips, then suddenly asked himself the obvious question.
While I'm here, who's guarding the magazine door?
At that thought, he leaped back to the corner around which he had first seen the trio. It had occurred to him that there were two corridors leading to that post, and that the trio might have been feinting to draw him off. Reaching the corner, he peeped around it.
As he had half-expected, there was a figure at the magazine door. The figure was obviously a Pony, wearing the same concealing hood, robes and cloak as the others. The Pony looked short and stocky, though it was difficult to tell through the all-obscuring garments; and it was bent over the door; trying to work a key in the lock -- trying, and evidently failing to do so. There was absolutely no sign of any confederate, and the lone Pony was not keeping any watch on the corridor.
If Guidestar blew the whistle, he would alert the intruder, who would probably run. To catch the intruder, Guidestar would then have to leave his post in the other direction. If he acted alone, he risked being overpowered before giving the alarm. But he was larger than the would-be burglar.
He decided, and leaped, holding the whistle in his mouth and blowing it at the absolute last moment.
The whistle emitted an ear-piercing shrill voice as he closed with the mysterious figure at the door. THe figure whirled round, and Guidestar was able to get a god lok at its face as the head lifted and the Pony cried out in surprise at the sudden interruption. That face was surprisingly young -- and feminine -- with a solid but fillyish muzzle, light yellow coat and ice-blue eyes, stray wisps of bright orange hair escaping from under the hood.
The first revelation was not entirely surprising, as though West Hoof normally admitted cadets at around eighteen, for the exceptionally gifted it made exceptions, taking them as young as fourteen -- the age that Guidestar Flight himself had entered the Academy. The second was a bit more surprising -- the Academy had been established as co-educational on the founding of the school fourteen years ago, but the students were more than nine-tenths male.
Most mares aiming for a military career went to the (in some cases literally) sister school of Hussar, on the eastern shore about 10 leagues upstream along the Half-Moon. Cycle suppressors had been around for a century now, but sexually-integrated schooling was still seen as a rather new and daring development -- and one with potentially-scandalous implications, for the obvious reasons.
Guidestar was expecting the sudden sharp shriek of the whistle, and had his ears folded back. The filly was taken unawares -- Guidestar saw her visibly wince from the that shrill sound -- and in that moment of paralysis, he was upon her. He flung aside the half-spear -- he did not wish to stab or slash a young teenaged filly -- and tackled her.
Guidestar flung his forelegs around the filly, bowled her over and brought her down. He got her into a solid hold -- he was by no means the champion wrestler of the Academy, but he had a firm grasp of technique, and the skill to use it -- and immediately discovered that he had a real fight on his hooves.
The filly was smaller, younger and female; but she was also powerfully and solidly built. She could almost have been an Earth Pony, though Guidestar could feel wings moving under her robes. Despite her femininity, she wasn't that much weaker than Guidestar himself. And, despite the disadvantageous position from which she had started, she was struggling gamely, trying to get a limb free so that she could kick him.
More than once, she did just that, but was able to land only glancing blows on him, because he held her in a position in which she could not use her own strength effectively. Nonetheless, those blows stung, demonstrating to him the ferocity of her defense, and making clear to him that -- had they started from an equal footing -- he might have been losing the fight.
And he had more to worry about than her hooves. At one point, he made the mistake of letting his left cannon get within reach of her mouth, and she bit down hard on his limb.
"Yeowch!" he cried, clipping her on the head with his right hof, and managing to make her gasp and enable him to retrieve the wounded appendage. Then he had to scramble to get her forelimbs properly pinned, taking several hits from her hooves to his barrel in the process. "You fight like a Canal-Pony!" he grunted angrily at her. The rough close-in brawling tactics of the Ponies who dug the canals, and manned their locks and the canal-boats which plied the inland waters of Equestria were infamous. Many of them were big Shirish brutes as well, half-savage recent immigrants.
"I fight to win!" the filly snarled at him. Her voice was girlish but determined. She tried to butt his nose with the back of her head, a move which he avoided by turning his own head so as to take it on his right cheek. "I'll give you a proper drubbing, when I work loose!" She squirmed wildly, and screamed in rage -- almost like a wild animal.
Guidestar had however marked her educated, upper-class tones. Guidstar had himself come from the lower Pegasus gentry, the squirarchy of a small town in northern Mane. She had plainly come from the true Pegasus aristocracy; one of the families which could trace their origins to Old Equestria. She's from one of the High Clans, he realized. Better-born than me.
And that was as far as his cool reasoning took him, because then he noticed something else, as their struggles together wafted air up from inside her cloak and robes, from what must have ultimately been under her tail.
The filly was starting her Cycle. Unsuppressed.
He had missed this before, because of the muffling effect of her concealing clothing, but now this clothing had become disarranged by their battle, and every time she squirmed, more marescent puffed out over himself. He had her in an excellent full-body hold, grasping her from behind and he had managed to stop her from trying to bite him by biting her own neck, just hard enough to grasp the loose skin firmly. It was a really good hold, he was proud of having achieved that hold in a real fight; it let him control her with minimal effort and little harm to her; it had plainly been the correct tactical decision.
The only problem was that it was uncomfortably close to the position a stallion might assume with a mare he meant to mount -- and at this point, the indelicate term seemed the more appropriate one, since Guidestar did not envision himself making love to a mare by tackling her and defeating her in a fight, with bruising blows given and taken on both sides. And, when that unsuppressed marescent wafted up from her privates past their barrels, where her back pressed up against his chest in a violent parody of spooning, and he smelled it when he was biting her neck in a manner which no decent mare would have permitted of a stallion unless there existed between them a certain, very tender understanding.
There was, manifestly, nothing at all tender at present between Guidestar Flight and the mysterious filly, judging by the numerous bruises and several bites they had already inflicted upon one another. Guidestar's big intelligent brain knew this all too well.
Unfortunately his big nose and vomeronasal organ, filling with the exciting tang of marescent, suddenly and irresistibly flehmened, aroused into action certain basal parts of that big brain, parts which had their own opinions on the matter. They were telling him -- and his most private parts, which were woefully lacking in any equine intelligence, that he was about to mate a mare in estrus.
He was a healthy seventeen-year-old stallion. HIs private parts responded in a biologically very appropriate but socially very inappropriate fashion.
For a moment, the mystery filly stopped struggling, frozen in obvious shock.
"What's that --" she started to ask, and suddenly must have realized exactly what it was that was pressing against the back of her leg. "Oh, great bloody balls of Tirek!" she shouted, and at that moment, Starguide had to appreciate both her spirit and her command of Classical references, in what must have been a supremely upsetting situation. "I'll be damned if I let you do that!" the filly cried in evident outrage, and if her previous struggles had been energetic, they were surpassed by what followed: a squirming, squalling ball of female equine fury in his grasp, breaking his theoretically-unbreakable hold and hitting him repeatedly, rocking his head back and sparking fireworks behind his eyes.
"I'm not a-doin'anythin' like that!" Starguide protested, his dialect starting to slip under stress from the school-received pronounciation into the more rustic tones of backwods Mane. "I'm detainin' you, not molestin' you!"
"You're sure as Tartarus not going to molest me!" she agreed, and attempted to enforce this claim with a back-kick which -- had it landed where intended -- would have regardless of his intention at least temporarily robbed him of the capacity to rape away her virtue.
Starguide managed to avoid this painful outcme by jerking her shoulders back toward himself, thus pushing her hips forward, and away from his own body, robbing her back kicks of both accuracy and force. In the process, he unavoidably brushed his embarrassing erection against her rear, eliciting further cries of anger and disgust from his offended captive.
"Stop doing that!" she hissed.
"I'm not doin' anythin'," Starguide replied, "but a-holdin' you!"
""You may call it that up north in Mane," she snapped, "but in Cloudsdale we call it by a much less polite term!"
Her struggles were such that he feared a very unfortunate accident might happen, but luckily she curled her tail around her privates, preventing such an outcome. However, the friction of her tail hairs against his organ -- which, in another context, might have been a sexual technique short of actual conjugation -- was extremely and inappropriately distracting. As her tail moved with her, he feared that the continued stimulation might induce an emission even more embarrassing than his tumescence, if he did not alter their position, and quickly.
By main force he dragged her into a new hold; this time with her on her back. He had one cannon and hoof hooked around both of her forelegs, and he lay atop her with both of his hind legs between her own, spreading her legs so that she could not effectively kick him. It was a technically very good wrestling-hold, and Guidestar -- who with the exception of one drunken foray into a brothel in the company of some of the older cadets, was almost a virgin -- should not be blamed for his failure to realize that he was putting his captive into the second most popular Pony mating position -- belly to belly.
Neither of them realized this, until her first struggles against this new hold resulted in his stallionhood pressing into her lower belly, specifically against her small udder; which was fortunately a bit north of the most compromising and dangerous position possible in this posture. She gasped in horror; her tail almost automatically twitched between her thighs; and Starguide came very close to release in that instant -- in the process, gasping for an entirely different cause.
"Vile beast!" cried the girl scornfully. "You're no better than an animal! Well, do your worst. You may hurt me, but I shan't cry!"
The effect of this declaration was somewhat spoiled by the fact that the tears were already welling in her eyes. Those eyes might have been lovely, had they not been glaring at him in anger. Not fear, he realized. She's brave to a fault. Too bad that I'm going to have to turn her over to the commander of the watch. Not as bad as what she's worried about, but she'll still be in trouble. I wish I didn't have to do that.
He rearranged his body so that there was now no danger of unfortunate contact, and said more softly. "Look, miss, I'm not going to hurt you. I was never going to hurt you; we just wound up in some unfortunate positions -- and, well, as you may know, a colt can't control some reactions."
The blank look he got at that last part convinced him that she was every bit as young and innocent as she seemed, despite the fire in her. He was suddenly reminded of his own younger sisters, and the last of his lust receded. He would have felt protective toward her, had she not still been struggling, albiet now somewhat less frantically than before.
With the violence of her motions, her hood had fallen back, and he could now clearly see her features: sturdy, strong and determined ones, which might have seemed almost coltish, had it not been for a certain feminine delicacy in the shape of the muzzle and, of course, the marescent with which they were both drenched. Her bright orange mane had frizzed out in their fight, forming a halo of hair around her face.
The expression on that face was of course hostile -- frightening, in its implications of murderous rage. Seeing the anger on that face, Guidestar was glad that he had her in a firm hold; he recognized that this fury was no mere facade.
He recognized something else, too. Her identity.
She was a fellow-cadet. He had seen her in the new freshman class. She had stuck in his mind, because she had entered the Academy young, as young as had Guidestar himself. He had never spoken with her, but he had marked her intelligence and determination, both of which she must have had, to make it into West Hoof at only fourteen.
They stared at each other for a long moment; Leona obviously unable or unwilling to explain her motives in. attempting to break into the magazine; Guidestar duty-bound to discover her motives.
"It's a hazing prank," Guidestar said at last. "They told you to break in and bring back proof you'd been in there, I wager. Am I right?"
Leona clamped her mouth tight shut, a certain mute look of distress conveying that she was striving mightily to avoid betraying those who had sent her on this quest. She stopped struggling, and froze rigid.
That last was a relief; his muscles had begun to ache from the strain of holding Leona. He was stronger than her, but she was amazingly strong for her age, size and kind, and she was very aggressive: Guidestar suspected considerably more aggressive than himself.
"I can see you don't want to nose on your friends," Guidestar said. "But there's something you don't know about what they told you to do." He saw it clearly, now that he knew this was a hazing prank. "They're not really your friends. This could have --"
There was the sound of two sets of military horseshoes clattering on the stone floor.
Fear flashed into Leona's light blue eyes.
Guidestar came to a quick decision.
He stood up, releasing Leona, and said softly "Follow me!" He launched himself in the direction away from the not-yet-visible but obviously-arriving guards, his wings carrying him rapidly down the hall. He did not wait on the filly: either she would follow him and have a chance of getting away, or she wouldn't, and would be captured by the other guards. He told himself it didn't matter much which; she was an annoying filly who had given him nothing but trouble.
Nevertheless, he was relieved to hear her own wingbeats following in his wake.
Guidestar snapped around the corner and landed in front of a locked door. He pulled out his key ring and selected a key.
Leona landed by his side. "What are you doing?" she asked him breathlessly.
Guidestar inserted the key in the lock and opened the door. Within could be seen a small room full of blankets and other cold-weather gear. "Hide in here," he said. "I'll let you out when they're gone."
For a moment, Leona seemed about to object; then the hoofbeats drew closer, and she leaped inside.
Guidestar closed and locked the door, then stepped aside and put away the key. He executed this movement just in time to avoid making it obvious what he had been doing when the two other military Ponies rounded the corner and galloped up to him.
They were Fourth-Year Cadet Bum Rush, a big lumpish brown Earth Pony from a rich Fillydelphia family, who had been appointed a Cadet Sergeant; and Private something-or-other Cross, a yellowish-orange Earth Pony who had been Rush's crony for some time. Guidestar liked neither of them, but he had to defer to Rush, because Rush was his superiority both by seniority and rank.
"Well, well, well," said Rush, smiling nastily. "What have we here?"
Rush had notably not called Guidestar to attention, nor explicitly asked for a report, but Guidestar chose to take what Rush had said in him in just that light, both because it simplified things -- and because it helped keep him calm.
"Cadet Flight reporting, Cadet-Sergeant." he said to Cadet Sergeant Rush, giving him the abbreviated salute used to ranking cadets -- they were not yet full officers, only officer-cadets, and hence did not rate the one he would have given to an actual commissioned Guards officer. "Three intruders tried to break into Number Two Magazine. Intercepted them, and when they fled gave pursuit. They went through this door" he pointed to the door to the staircase "and bolted it closed from the other side. I doubled back to the magazine door, where I found a fourth intruder attempting to break into the magazine. I tackled her, struggled with her, and she eventually succeeded in breaking loose and escaping"
Cadet Sergeant Rush sniffed him. "Phew!" he said in an upper-class accident. "Smells as if you've been rolling in whores!" He gave Guidestar a sly look. "Are you sure you didn't just bring a chippie here and try to cover it up by reporting an incident?"
Private Cross laughed crudely at what Cadet-Sergeant Rush had said, then got a puzzled look. "Hey," he asked, "why would the other young gentlecolt blow his whistle if he didn't want to make a fuss?" He winked broadly. "Unless mebbe the doxy was blowin' his whistle, know what I mean? Hur hur hur!" he laughed, not noticing Rush's look of annoyance at the way that his own crony had accidentally undermined his statement.
"The fourth intruder was a mare in unsuppressed estrus, Cadet-Sergeant," Guidestar stated. "It was from her that the marescent got upon me, when I tried to capture her."
"As you may notice, Cadet-Sergeant," pointed out Guidestar, "there is no mare present in this corridor." He pointed the ther way downthe corridor. "Our struggle ended when she bucked me to the midriff, and she ran off in that direction. She had knocked my wind out, so I was unable to pursue."
"Winded by somethin', I bet you was," Cross commented, "hur hur hur!"
Bum Rush looked at the private in even greater annoyance for his poor attempt at subtle humor, then back at Guidestar.
"Cadet Flight," Rush asked, "why would intruders trying to get into the magazine bring a mare in unsuppressed estrus with them?"
"I can only assume to distract me, Cadet-Sergeant," replied Guidestar, stating the obvious. "She was probably meant to approach me first and seduce me away from my duty station, only something went wrong and all four of them happened upon me together. Then my prompt challenge scared the others off, and the mare was less quick to react. A civilian would be slower, don't you think?"
"And she did distract you," Rush said accusingly. "You wound up fighting her while the others got away."
"With all due respect, Cadet-Sergeant," pointed out Guidestar, "there was no way for me, one Pony, to capture four intruders when I was armed only with a half-spear. I would have needed at least a bow to accomplish such a feat."
"And where is your half-spear?" challenged Rush.
"I left it by my duty station," Guidestar replied. "I needed all hooves free to tackle the mare."
"Abandoning your weapon in the presence of the enemy. You are assigned a demerit for that!" said Rush triumphantly.
"So noted, Cadet-Sergeant," Guidestar said calmly. He had expected something like this. "Do you think I should return to my duty station and retrieve my weapon, Cadet-Sergeant?" he asked.
"You're off your duty station," Rush said. "Another demerit!"
"So noted, Cadet-Segeant," said Guidestar. "Shall I return to my post now?"
"Yes, damn your eyes!" ordered Rush. "Return to your post immediately! Or I'll give you more demerits for disobedience and dumb insocence!"
Guidestar of course did not point out that 'disobedence' would require that he fail to obey in a timely fashion the order just given, nor that 'dumb insolence' required that he be silently insolent, as doing either would of course be direct insolence, which was a more serious thing. Instead, he simply said "Yes, Cadet-Sergeant," gave the regulation half-salute, turned around and flew to his duty post, where he picked up his half-spear and resumed his guard post.
Rush had, of course, been unfair to him -- which was no more than Guidestar had expected. The important thing is that, at the sacrifice of two demerits, he had won the larger game. Rush had accepted Guidestar's lie as to where the mare in estrus had gone, and the official report would now include the statement that she was probably a civilian. It was unlikely that Rush would look in the storeroom, even if he or the private had the key on them.
About ten minutes passed, Guidestar on station. Then Cadet-Sergeant Rush and Private Cross returned. Rush glared at him, and Guidestar half-saluted. Rush did not return the half-salute, but stalked back the way he had originally come.
Guidestar waited another ten minutes, making sure that Rush had really gone.
Then, he flitted over to the store room, unlocked the door and opened it.
The light blue eyes that looked out at him were distinctly agitated.
"That was Bum Rush!" Leona whispered breathlessly. "He's one of the pals of --" she paused, clearly not wanting to name a name.
"Face Kicker?" Guidestar asked.
"Yes! You know him?"
Guidestar briefly flashed over the memories of some very humiliating and painful moments two years ago, rubbed his chin.
"We've met," he simply said. "Not as friends."
"I ... don't understand," Leona said. "Face Kicker was the one who sent me to the magazine."
"I think I understand," Guidestar said. "There's no time for it here or now. Listen. Do not trust Face Kicker or any of his friends -- they meant to ruin your career tonight. If asked, tell them I chased you and fought with you but you kicked me in the barrel and got away. Clear on that?"
"Yes," said Leona. Her ears drooped in shame. "I ... I think I was trying to get in with the wrong set."
"You were," replied Guidestar. "Now. When you leave here, take a bath right away. Wash off the marescent, then use your suppressors."
"They were stolen!" Leona told him.
He felt a flash of fury. Face Kicker meant her to come to me in unsuppressed estrus, he realized. To ruin my career as well? To ruin her reputation? Would even Face Kicker arrange for an innocent fourteen-year-old filly to be violated as just a move in his power games? What a silly question. Of course he would. That's who he is.
"By one of Face Kicker's friends, I'd wager." said Guidestar. "All right. Can you borrow some suppressors, or even maskers, from another mare? One not a friend of Face Kicker?"
"Yes ... I think I can," replied Leona.
"Then do so!" urged Guidestar. "Now -- get out of here, while you still can! I'll talk to you more about this tomorrow."
"Yes," Leona said, stepping away and flaring her wings preparatory to flight. Then she turned and looked back at him, her eyes shining with some unknown emotion. "Thank you, Guidestar."
"It's what any honorable Pony would do," he replied gruffly. "Now go!"
She flashed away, with the speed possible only to a Pegasus in a hurry. Her wings were short, but thick and powerful; her manueverability exceptional. In the close confines of the corridor, she was a better flier than Guidstar, and he saw that if he hadn't tackled her right away, she might easily have escaped him.
Guidestar did not linger, but locked the door and flitted back to his guard post. There would be less than no point in what he had done, if Bum Rush caught him.
His deception was, as far as he could tell, successful.
Nothing more happened that watch, but Guidestar was not at all bored. Instead, he turned over and over and again in his mind what had just happened. The things Leona had said. The things she had half-said. The impliciations of the fact that Face Kicker's set -- was willing to go this far, run significant risks to themselves, to ruin the reputation and career of a fourteen-year-old filly, a mere First Year Cadet.
And Leona, rather than himself, he was fairly certain, had been the target. Oh, he had clashed with Face Kicker before, but from Face Kicker's point of view he was merely small fry; the unimportant scion of a rustic branch of a minor Clan. A target for cruel reprisal, if the opportunity presented itself, but not worth any risk to Face Kicker or any of his main minions to harm.
But Leona -- she was a Wind, and of the Winds, unless he much missed his guest. They were a family who went back before the Realm, before even Derecho, to shadowy times of legend, thousands of years when the Three Tribes dwelled in the Old Homelands, and the Winds were one of the High Clans who led them from the clutches of the Windigoes to the Promised Land of Equestria. Commander Hurricane the Great had been a Wind, and had wed another Wind, and their lineage was storied in the annals of the Pegasi.
And the legends went back even further, to doubtful tales of all Ponykind threatened with extinction by rapacious monsters, only a few Ponies surviving in hidden castles and high valleys, and a particular Wind who was the first to grasp weapons and fight back against these horrid foes. It was said that Wind had been the boon companion of the equally mythical Megan and Firefly, and had been the deadliest Pegasus, or indeed Pony, warrior ever known.
It had been the Winds who had kept the flame of Pegasus honor alight during the long dark Age of the Twister. Compared to them, the Kickers -- for all the favor that the Princess showed them, for all that they were the only one of the High Clans still permitted to keep castle and private company of Pegasi-at-arms -- compared to them the Kickers were but recently jumped-up commoners. And the Kickers knew this, and they could never forgive the Winds for this reality.
In the Old Days, the Kickers and Winds would have fought in open feud, arms clashing until one or the other Clan was cast down. But the Old Days were long departed, and all must obey the Peace of the Princess. So, instead of the ring of wingblades against shields and the rain of ghastly red dew, there was a great slow-motion struggle for social recognition; for honor and precedence, which only on occasion erupted into outright violence, and this in the form of brawls and duels, which were by their nature usually not fatal.
And yet the struggle was no less real. And lesser Clans -- or foolhardy individuals -- who took part in such a struggle, on either side, were apt to be caught between the two great Clans, and crushed to powder, just like a rowboat caught between colliding ships-of-the-line. Lesser Clans, like Flight -- or foolhardy individuals, like Guidestar, who had felt sympathy for a noble filly threatened with the most foul conduct, and seen gratitude -- and perhaps more -- in her pale blue eyes, when he helped save her from such dishonor.
So Guidestar saw the danger.
Yet he could not stand idly by and see Leona destroyed. Why was this?
He was seventeen. And male. And brave, and high-hearted -- and if he had been the sort of Pegasus to watch a young lady abused, he would not have applied to West Hoof in the first place.
And he was seventeen. And male. And she was fourteen. And female. And innocent, and brave, and in his sight not at all unbeautiful. And, despite the fact that he was a very rational Pony, he was not deaf to the lovely song implied in his becoming her champion.
And though it had been in combat rather than courtship that they had touched one another, still they had touched one another, and she in cycle and he full-roused by her marescent. Aside from that one drunken encounter with a town bawd -- and he did not see such a mare in the same category as he did Leona -- Guidestar was virgin. He had known only limited steppings-out with respectable girls, none of which courtships had gotten very far.
He knew it was dishonorable to think in regards to Leona, and tried not to dwell on it, but he could not help remembering how her hard little body had felt, striving against his own; how her muscles had moved under that enticingly-concealing robe; how her tail had brushed against him; how her marescent had drenched the air and seemed to fill the entire world, an odor enchanting in its flaming musky color. The more he tried to suppress such memories, the more they returned to him.
He also, of course, remembered how her hard little hooves had battered his barrel, how her strong mouth had bitten him. The bruises and lacerations were fresh upon his form. But that was far from a deterrent to Guidestar's fond regard. She was so brave, so determined -- such a natural fighter! She had proven her courage upon his body, and to a Pegasus warrior, that only made her all the more admirable.
And she had by her last words shown that she forgave him his actions as necessary -- even thanked him for helping get out of the situation with both reputation and virtue intact. She obviously liked him ...
For such and sundry reasons, noble and base, did Guidestar Flight decide that he would help protect Leona Wind from Face Kicker. He mused on the problem for all the remainder of his watch, and when that watch was over he made his report, which contained nothing regarding Leona Wind, but instead referred only to an unknown mare in estrus, whom by carefully-chosen but not entirely mendacious words he implied to be an adult prostitute, rather than a young teenaged cadet.
And when he bathed and returned to his quarters, to snatch a short nap before reveille, he closed his eyes still thinking of Leona. Doubtless she figured in his dreams, though in the morning he had no memory of what therein had transpired.
He faced the new day, still-tired as was often the case for cadets at the Hoof, but determined to rescue from peril his fair lady.
The cadets were deliberately kept busy, as both an acclimitization to the rigors of military life and the best way to keep the young devils out of too much mischief, but they had a little time free in the evening before bed. Officially, this was a time for meditation or study, but in practice a period in which the cadets could gather and converse, making and cementing their friendships.
The instructors did not mind; it was very much part of the intent of the Academy that such friendships should form between their young gentlecolts, so that a cameraderie and cohesion might better devel among the future Guards' officer corps. Provided that they refrained from fighting and fornication during this time, such encounters strengthened, rather than weakened, the morale of the Academy.
Of course, given that the students were hot-blooded Ponies in their late teens and early twenties, some fighting and fornicating happened regardless of regulations. The point was to keep it discreet and manageable -- yet another lesson that would serve the students well in their later careers, whether military or civilians.
Given that part of Face Kicker's scheme had been to impune Leona's sexual, as well as military honor, the last thing Guidestar wanted to do was meet Leona alone: a meeting which might well be interpreted, especially through the lens of malice, ad a romantic or even grossly-sexual assignation.
So Guidestar spoke to a good friend, a fellow-cadet named Glint, who agreed to assist at the meeting, and at the next day's mess, Guidestar deposited the following note before Leona at her table, murmuring "You dropped this, I believe?"
Leona was a bit flustered to see him again, perhaps recalling the circumstances of their adventure the night before, but recovered swiftly enough, taking the note and saying: "Thank you. Those are important."
"Glad to be of service, Cadet Wind," Guidestar said, nodding and proceding nonchalantly on his way.
What he had written was:
Dear Cadet Wind,
I am available to hold the study session we reviously discussed in the Library at 5:45 p.m. A friend, who is also skilled at mathematics, has expressed an interest in attending. You might wish to bring a friend or two along as well.
I am glad to be of assistance.
Your Obedient Servant,
Cadet Guidestar Flight
Guidestar deliberately did not look back as he walked away; he wished to attract no more attention to his brief conversation with Leona than was unavoidable. He had passed her the note: if she could not, or did not desire to, attend the proposed meeting, this would be up to her to communicate to him. Any protracted public conversation could but only set tongues a-wagging.
Nevertheless, as he resumed his seat, Guidestar could not resist the temptation to look back at the short, slight female figue sitting at her own table -- alone, but proud. She was staring back at him, some strong emotion evident in her intent, ice-blue eyes. Tight-lipped, she nodded, evidently affirming her agreement.
Guidestar assumed that the emotion Leona showed was excitement at the strange intrigue into which they had stumbled.
Even from his limited acquaintance with the young freshmare, he knew it would not be fear.
The West Hoof Library was a large structure of solid stone, with hoofs-thick granite walls and a pitched roof of several layers of slate strongly supported by an internal framework of hardwood rafters, capable of shedding rains, snows and incendiary bombs with equal ease. The windows were narrow, high-set slits, with hoof-accessible platforms within, from which guardsponies might shoot. The building was designed to in time of battle serve as a secondary strongpoint within the fortress walls; its shelves and precious books safely stored in the basement bunkers.
Within, the Library was magelit. This was necessary due to the poor illumination provided by the narrow windows, coupled with the clear fire hazard that would have been posed by the extensive employment of oil-lamps in a building whose purpose was to store cardboard-and-paper objects on wooden shelves. The expense of this much mage-lighting would have been ruinous for most mansions of equivalent size, but not for a military base whose garrison included thaumaturgical engineers.
Thick metal-banded oaken doors provided admittance to an entry hall with wall hangings and display cases showing scenes and souveniers from the history of the Guards, and supplied with well-sited murder holes. The librarian's front desk was wide and well-reinforced, thick enough to stop projectiles, and arranged to enable the engagement of any storming-party coming through the main entrance. This was perhaps the most defensible library in the Realm.
Now, in peacetime, Guidestar and Glint were greeted not by a storm of shot, bullets, bolts and arrows, but rather by the mild regard of War Artist, one of the assistant librarians, who was sitting behind the front desk, sorting through a drawer of file cards. War Artist glanced at the two cadets, then went back to his appointed task.
The main room of the library was lined with bookshelves, and furnished with comfortable chairs and tables on both sides, at which one might sit and study. The regular mage-lights provided a soft but comfortable illumination, less bright than the late summer afternoon outside. Here, several officers, instructors and cadets were already making use of the facilities.
Behind the main desk were still more bookshelves, stretching back toward the rear of the building. It was into these aisles that Guidestar led Glint. In the back, they knew, were study alcoves -- individual, two-pony and four-pony, consisting of benches and desks, with small mage-lights over each of them. Groups might take advantage of them, provided that they conversed only in low tones.
This suited well the aims of Guidestar, as he did not want prying ears to overhear his conversation.
Reaching the back, they explored the alcoves. At first, it seemed as if Leona had decided to avoid the meeting: only one of the alcoves was occupied, and this by a big light grey Earth Pony mare with a dark gray mane, whose green eyes glared suspiciously at them. On her far side was a huddled form which at first they took to be a big duffel bag, then realized was a smaller Pony, seemingly sleeping under a cloak.
Guidestar and Glint were about to walk past them, when the big mare hissed at them. "Pssst!"
At that, her companion raised her head, and looked diectly at Guidestar: ice-blue eyes intent upon him.
He recognized Leona, and bowed slightly. "Your servant," he said, and sat down, sliding acoss to the inside end of the bench. A moment later Glint sat on the outside, so that the two stallions sat facing the two mares.
Guidestar regarded Leona Wind. The younger filly looked, not unsurprisingly, much better han she had under the trying circumstances of their previous encounter. Her bright orange mane, streaked with its reddish-brown highlights, had evidently been washed, brushed and combed, no longer frizzing out in every direction. The little square-featured light yellow face was of course excited, but no longer afraid or hostile; those blue eyes regarded Guidestar with friendliness, ears up and lips curved in a welcoming smile.
Looking at that face, Guidstar was struck by the intensity of the animating passions. Leona, he thought, would be a Pony who strongly loved, or strongly hated: but would rarely be indifferent toward anypony she knew.
He saw something else, which stirred shame in his soul. That fierce little face had been marred by blows, including one which had raised a black eye on the right side. These were, most clearly, the products of their earlier struggle.
"I beg your pardon, Miss Wind," Guidestar said, "for the harm I have done you."
"Pshaw!" replied Leona, waving a hoof dismissively. "Mere bruises, and 'twas in fair fight." Her smile broadened. "You fight well, Mister Flight."
Guidestar felt relief, and as if he had passed some sort of test.
"You as well," he said. "Though you are younger and smaller, you are still my match."
Leona smiled warmly at the compliment.
The gray Earth Pony mare loudly snorted. Both Leona and Guidestar turned toward her in startlement.
"Are you two going to do some sort of Old Pegasopolitan war dance, complete with wing-blades?" the Earth Pony asked. Her mouth quirked slyly and she arched an eyebrow. Her dark eyes gazed challengingly at both Guidestar and Leona. "Or, maybe, a marriage dance?"
Glint snickered.
My treacherous friend Glint, Guidestar inwardly amended, his cheeks flushing hotly as he regarded his laughing companion. Looking back at Leona, he saw that she, too, was blushing -- and glaring angrily at her chaperone.
Guidestar felt the need to regain control of the conversation.
"I believe introductions are in order," he said smoothly. "I am Third-Year Cadet Guidestar Wind, and my friend with the predeliction for seeing me twitted is Third-Year Cadet Glint Camper. And the honorable ladies?" he asked, looking at Leona.
"I am First-Year Cadet Leona Wind," she replied levelly, the flush partly fading from her face, "and my perhaps over-protective -- but very true -- friend is Second-Year Cadet Grace Strongheart."
Cordialities were exchanged on all sides. Guidestar noticed that Grace was a mare full-grown, as one might expect, given that Second-Year Cadets averaged around 19 years old. He also noticed that, despite her earlier impudence, she seemed to subtly-defer to Leona, rather than the other way round, despite Grace's five years or so of greater age and year of grade on the young Pegasus.
It might have been an effect of Leona's High Born status, but Guidestar thought it was something more. Leona was full of energy and determination: a natural leader, even given her youth. Guidestar imagined that Grace might have been caugh up and pulled along in the wake of Leona's charisma.
One proof of that charisma was that Guidestar himself was here in this library, about to propose a plan to help her -- at some risk to his own prospects. Possibly even at considerable risk to his own life, if things went badly wrong. Guidestar intellectually understood his -- which decidedly did not prevent him from responding to Leona's emotional pull.
He briefly wondered if she responded at all to his own. But it was not in his nature to moon over such questions, not when there was a more urgent matter at hand.
"So," he said to them all, "as to the business that brings us all here." He looked around. He could see no eavesdroppers, but he could not be sure; there were too many places for Ponies to hide behind the bookshelves. "Glint," he said, "are you ready with that guarantee of privacy we discussed?"
Glint nodded. The magelight glinted off his gold-rimmed glasses as he did so, contrasting with his creamy brown coat; the locks of his curly dark-brown mane shook with his motion. He seemed in that moment mysterious and powerful; not for the first time, Guidestar wondered how well he understood the complex thoughts playing in the mind of his friend, a Pony his full efual in intellect, and -- as a Unicorn -- one whose mind could channel the forces of magic through his horn.
Glint concentrated and turned his head outward. His horn glowed, with a shimmering golden light that transferred itself to a bubble of air surrounding them and their benches and desk. There was a final flash of light, and the field fully separated from his horn, stablized, and faded to a barely-noticable gleam in the air.
The unicorn stallion gave a gasp of relief and relaxed, seeming to deflate slightly, sweat springing from his brow. "There we go," he said, turning and smiling at Guidestar. "Nopony can hear us through this shield, unless we either shout or they use some advanced magic."
Guidestar nodded. "Good work," he told his friend. He turned to Leona. "Now," he said, "I'm sure you understand, in general, what Face Kicker was trying to do to you?"
Leona pursed her lips tightly. "Betray me," she said, her ears drooping. "He set me up to raid the arsenal as a hazing prank, but meant me to get caught by the guard -- yourself -- and arrested on charges. That's obvious because he had his crony Bum Rush right nearby to make sure I got in trouble."
"Correct summation," Guidestar agreed. "I think he meant to get me in trouble as well, and ruin both our careers -- but you were clearly his main target."
"Wait, he wanted you to get in trouble, too?" Leona asked. "How ...?"
"Your stolen medicine," Guidestar replied simply. "He hoped I would lose control."
For a moment, Leona looked puzzled, eyes narrowing as she tried to work it out. Then they widened and her mouth hung open as she gasped in shock. "Surely he wouldn't ...?"
"He would," said Guidestar.
Glint nodded. "Face Kicker," he commented, "is not a very moral Pony."
Guidestar knew of the personal experience which had confirmed Glint in this belief -- they were part of the reason why Guidestar and Glint had originally become friends -- but judged these not matters to relate to the two mares without Glint's explicit permission. Guidestar simply nodded. "That," he said, "is if anything an understatement."
"I shall have nothing more to do with him or his friends!" Leona declared.
"Good," said Grace. "I never trusted them." There was a grim, guarded look on the gray mare's face which Guidestar felt hinted at some unspoken pain, but he felt no desire to pry into her secrets.
"I fear," Guidestar said, "that Face Kicker may prove persistent in his persecution of you."
Leona nodded. "I fear so too. Both for the enmity that the Kickers hold toward my Clan -- and a more personal enmity that he has for my own self."
"Might I inquire as to the basis for this personal enmity?" Guidestar asked.
"When I first came to the Academy," Leona explained, "Face Kicker pretended friendly feelings toward me. He claimed that he considered the old hostility between the Kickers and the Winds to be outdated in this modern era; a silly holdover from the Time of Thrones. He said that we, both of High Birth, should stick together." She looked down in shame. "It was not long, though, before I found how false were his pretensions."
Leona swallowed, looked directly into Guidestar's eyes. "In brief, he proposed to me that we should seal this rapprochement between a Wind and a Kicker by means of a romantic rendezvous."
Guidestar nodded, noticing both that Leona was able to speak very boldly on very sensitive matters, when she nerved herself up for it -- and that she took refuge in Prench terms to insulate herself somewhat from any personal embarrassment. Given that Leona was only fourteen, he was rather impressed with her composure.
"I see," Guidestar replied.
"Well ... perhaps 'romantic' is too flattering a description," admited Leona. "I fear there was little of love in his proposal. He meant to most basely use me, and I of course refused. When he attempted to touch me, by way of enhancing his attempts at verbal persuasion, I turned and struck him, on the cheek direct!" Remembered anger flared in her beautiful blue eyes, and Guidestar was glad he was not its object.
"You are quite forthright in defending your honor," Guidestar assured her, smiling. "I know this of a certain."
Leona grinned at him. "I am sorry I had to strike you," she said sweetly, "even in fair fight." Her expression darkened. "I am not sorry that I struck him. I would do it again, to him -- a thousand times again!" Contempt and fury mingled in her tone. Then her expression grew thoughtful.
"I suppose I must have made an enemy of him then," she continued, "but I did not yet know it. For he apologized, and spoke sweetly, and pretended to still desire my friendship. And I ... stupidly --" she grimaced in anger "-- believed him. I was a fool!"
Grace put a foreleg around her friend's shoulders. "No you weren't, Leona," she said. "Just young, and trusting. I was young and trusting, when he tricked me, too. He's pure poison, that one. More like a demon, than any Pony I ever met back home."
Leona smiled at Grace. "I was lucky when I met you," she told the Earth Pony. Then, looking at Guidestar. "And you. Many Ponies would have arrested me for what I did. It would have been safer for you to do that. You chose to protect me, instead, as if you had been my kin or mentor, though to you I was then a complete stranger -- even a recent foe. You are a true gentlecolt, Guidestar Wind."
"And you, Miss Wind," Guidestar said, half-choked by emotion, "are a true Lady of the High Clans." The sentiment was mostly conventional, but he believed it; perhaps more wholly than anything he had said in his life. This was, after all, exactly the sort of situation for which his manners -- and his underlying morals -- had been trained.
Leona's blue eyes shone as she gazed at him. Then she continued:
"The rest of my story you have probably surmised," she said. "He feigned friendship for me, keeping me company and conversing with me in a respectable fashion. He led me to believe that his previous conduct sprang from an unworthy impulse of which he was now sorry. He assigned me the task of bringing back a trophy from the magazine to prove my courage -- nothing serious or valuable, just a single lead ball from a grape-cartridge -- and gave me the key to the door to that end. And betrayed me --" she looked sad, ears drooping, "-- as he always intended. To punish me, no doubt, for refusing to be his paramour."
"Say, rather, his victim," interjected Guidestar. "Your first instinct regarding him was correct. He meant to use you. Had you yielded, he would have accompanied you only long enough to make his conquest obvious to everypony at the Hoof, then dropped you in some humiliating fashion, to ensure everypony remembered this achievement. He would have made you his instrument for counting coup against the Winds."
"I see," said Leona, blanching at the thought. "That would have been a bad start to my military career, to say the least!" She put up her chin, and added in a firm, clear voice. "Understand this -- I would not have withdrawn from the Academy."
"I can believe it ... of you," stated Guidestar, feeling a warm admiration for the young mare's moral courage. "Still, he would have deeply wounded you."
"Surely I am now safe?" Leona asked. "He has, after all, tried twice to do me harm, and has in the process entirely lost my trust. I shall scarcely fall for his blandishments a third time!"
"I would hope so," replied Guidestar. "But ..." His voice trailed off helplessly. He had to tell her the truth, but he hated to have to say it to her face.
Leona met his gaze levelly. "You don't think he's going to give up. Do you?"
"No," said Guidestar slowly. "I don't think he's going to give up -- at least, not unless he believes that you have a protector."
"What about me?" asked Grace. She snorted, and her forehooves scraped the table as if she were preparing to charge right over its surface. "Anypony who wants to hurt Leona will have to come through me!"
"You're a loyal friend to her," interjected Glint, approval evident on her face. "She is lucky to know you."
The statement surprised both Guidestar and Grace, though from the way Grace beamed at Glint, it pleased the Earth Pony mare.
"The problem is that I think that Face Kicker is far more likely to strike indirectly at Leona," Guidestar said. "And in ways calculated to strike at her pride as a High-Born Pegasus."
"Wait," said Grace, the smile fading fom her face. "Are you saying that, just because I'm an Earth Pony, I wouldn't understand his high-flying machinations?"
Guidestar was caught aback by this. To imply that an Earth Pony was stupid or uncultured simply because of her Kind was the height of impoliteness, but there was an important point he was trying to make. "I --" he began, then floundered.
"Hold on," interrupted Leona.
Grace turned to look at her.
"I understand what he's saying," Leona said. "He's not saying you're simple -- he's saying you're just not familiar with the details of traditional Pegasus culture, especially among the High Born. Aside from me, how many High Born Pegasi have you ever known well?"
"Well ... none," Grace was forced to admit. "But that hardly makes me useless."
"You're not at all useless," Leona said. "If you hadn't been there with maskers, I could scarcely have ventured out into public today. You're a really great friend, and you've helped keep me safe already. But ... Face Kicker is going to try every dirty aristocratic trick he can to hurt me that he can get away with, and some of the most effective will draw on our shared background, the traditional culture of the High Clans. Guidestar understands that better than do you, or Glint ... he's also an upper class Pegasus."
Guidestar coughed delicately, getting their attention. "Scarcely High Born," he pointed out. "My family and Clan are minor ones. But I know enough that I may hope to be of some service. And ..." he paused. "I have a plan. One that if successful will force him to act against you only in an extremely indirect fashion in the future."
Leona and Grace leaned forward with interest. Glint had heard the plan before, so he merely looked worried.
And Guidestar told them.
When he was finished, Leona's eyes had gone very big.
"Isn't that dangerous? she asked Guidestar. "For you, I mean?"
"Somewhat," Guidestar acknowledged. "But it probably won't come to blows. And even if it does, probably not fatal ones." He affected a calm demeanour; the truth was that his mind roiled with the several ways things could go wrong. But he could not let these considerations stop him. Not if he was to protect Leona.
Grace looked at him earnestly. Then she leaned over the desk and clapped him on the shoulder with one hoof, just short of hurting him.
"Well, I'll admit," Grace said. "You're no coward. If you're all right with this, I want to be there as well ..."
"You don't have to be ..." Guidestar began.
"Nonsense!" replied Grace. "Leona's one of my best friends! And it's not me who'll be running the real risks here."
"I will," said Glint, "of course be there."
Guidestar gave him a grateful look.
"Somepony" continued the bespectacled Unicorn stallion, "has to save your feathery tail if things get dicey."
Grace snorted, and Leona giggled with unrestrained mirth.
"Thanks," said Guidestar, and meant it.
"Five-thirty tomorrow evening, same place?" asked Leona.
"Yes," said Guidestar, and the others nodded. "And then, on to our meeting with Face Kicker." The others assented to this as well.
"Very well," suggested Leona. "We should depart now, and separate before we leave the Library, lest one of Face Kicker's friends see us and wonder why we are putting our heads together."
"Good idea," agreed Guidestar.
They got up and headed for the front of the building. But, as they did so, Guidestar saw a slim-built Unicorn leaving the Library ahead of them, moving with suspicious alacrity -- almost cantering. He caught a brief glimpse of a deep-blue coat and a long black mane, on which was a streak of polychromatic color. Though Guidestar could not see the Pony's face, and the Pony was wearing robes, he saw enough to realize who it was.
"Starlight Spectrum!" Guidestar said to the others.
Leona nodded. "One of Face Kicker's pals."
"Do you think he saw us together?" asked Grace.
"Almost certainly," said Glint. "If not, why would he bolt like that?"
"Does this change our plans?" asked Leona, looking at Guidestar.
Guidestar thought for a moment. "He's a skilled mage," he said. He glanced at Glint. "Do you think he could have scried through your shield?" Guidestar asked.
"No," said Glint. "I don't think so. I didn't feel anything."
"Then no change of plans," replied Guidestar. "It's unfortunate in one sense that he saw us all together -- but in another, it makes what we're doing more credible."
"So tomorrow at five-thirty?" asked Leona.
"Yes," replied Guidestar. "It's still on."
They departed, Guidestar with Glint; Leona with Grace; to face the uncertainities of the night -- and the next day.
