A gryphon traveler seeks revenge against the Diamond Dogs who imprisoned him. However, the situation spirals out of control when his actions attract the eyes of several powerful organizations.
A gryphon traveler, prisoner to a powerful Diamond Dog pack, embarks on a personal crusade against his captors. However, what begins as a simple vendetta quickly escalates into a messy conflict that sweeps across the region as rival packs, ruthless military organizations, and even the dubious and furtive Knights of Redemption compete to take as much power as possible in the waking pandemonium.
Amidst the turmoil, this traveler has one destination in mind, and one final undertaking that must be put to rest.
Mirth’s ears rang and his lungs burned. Each beat of his heart poured seething agony into his veins. One moment he and his packmates were fighting, winning even, and the next there was fire. So much fire. It rushed through the tunnels like a hissing tide, sparing none in its path.
Where was Razor? He needed to find Razor, to warn him they were―
The sound of pawpads scattering the scorched autumn leaves approached. Mirth, exhausted and beaten, turned as much as his ravaged body would allow to regard the figure. His eyes narrowed as a growl bloomed from deep within his chest. The gryphon.
“You,” he snapped. “I should’ve just snapped your neck when I had the chance! Damned double-crosser...”
The gryphon tilted his head. “Don’t act so surprised, dog. We both knew it would come to this eventually.” He aimed the crossbow in his talons at the Diamond Dog’s head. “I did make a promise, after all.”
The gryphon’s piercing eyes met Mirth’s defiant glare, the world around them falling to stillness.
His talons trembled.
“Fare thee well,” he uttered before pressing his finger against the trigger.
Green Springs sat alone at a rickety table, absentmindedly chewing on a stale piece of bread. Her imagination wandered, for while she may have been confined to these caves in body, her mind was free.
The musty funk that clung to the damp stone floors was replaced with the sweet earthen scent of autumn that always accompanied her mother's lovingly cooked dandelion stew, made all the better by its simplicity; the cold of the subterranean air grew warm with her memories of soaking up the sun in the meadow on beautiful spring days, the grass beneath her teasing her fur and inviting her to rest in its embrace; the brown walls faded into clear blue skies under which she and her sister would frolic without a care in the world. The visions were so clear she felt as though she still had a family to go to, as though she was no longer slave to the Diamond Dogs.
The filly didn't notice she had nearly moved herself to tears, nor did she notice the warmth was no fantasy. She buried her face into the chest of her protector, her gryphon friend who had, seeing her distress, wrapped her under his working wing and pulled her into a comforting hug.
"You'll be fine, Green Springs," he said.
When she gathered her composure, Green Springs pushed away from him, looking into his eyes. "T-Thank you, Gobrend. I didn't mean to lose myself like that..."
The gryphon shook his head, folding his trembling wing. "None of that, Springs. No one blames you for thinking of brighter times."
"But... But you don't―"
“Have I ever told you about the time I ran away from home?”
Green Springs blinked. “No. You… don’t talk about yourself very much. Why would you ever run away from home?”
“I… suppose I wanted to see something new. Hear the birdsong in the spring, feel the breeze caress my feathers as I soared among the clouds...” Gobrend wistfully said. A small smile graced his beak. “Go on an adventure.”
“An adventure? You had to run away from home for that? You probably worried your parents sick!”
Gobrend’s smile lessened. “I’m not saying what I did was smart, Springs. And some part of me wanted those close to me to worry, but…” Gobrend’s eyes flicked to Green Springs' before returning to the table. Sighing, he said, “I spent about three days out there in the forest before I realized just how lonely it was. And when I thought none of the people I left cared, it terrified me.
“So I cried. I was only fourteen or so at the time, but I thought the world was coming to an end. And that’s how my father and a few guards found me: curled up in the woods mewling like a lost fawn. Heh, he and Tali absolutely tore into me when I was brought home, but I didn’t even think of just how much I’d hurt them pulling that stunt. Needless to say, I kept to books a while after that when I wanted an adventure, but that was before...” Gobrend’s gaze dimmed as he turned to Green Springs. “Hold those memories close, Springs. Cherish them. Because while they may hurt, they remind you that there is a tomorrow worth fighting for.”
Ears pressing against her head, Green Springs muttered, “Sometimes it just doesn’t seem fair, Gobrend…”
Gobrend nodded. "That’s because it isn’t. Sometimes we are dealt a bad hand, but we must make the most of it. And do you know why I consider everything I've gone through to be worth it?"
"No…? Why?"
Gobrend playfully ruffled her hair. "Because I got to meet you, you little rascal!"
Green Springs smiled despite herself, attempting to push his claws away with a giggle. "Stop that!" Her giggling was interrupted by a harsh coughing fit.
Gobrend, concerned, complied immediately and yanked his hand away from her as though she were living flame. She'd been having more and more of these sudden attacks as the weeks passed, and each time it grew more difficult for her to catch her breath after even the smallest of tasks.
He set down a bowl of broth in front of her. "Eat," he commanded in a brotherly tone. "This will make you feel better. You must build your strength as much as possible, Green Springs."
"You got seconds!?" she said a little too loudly, drawing the attention of some of the surrounding tables.
Gobrend nearly jumped out of his seat at her outburst, wildly trying to quiet her down. "Announce it to the whole bloody room, why don't you!" he hissed.
"Oh, sorry..."
He ran a hand over his fluffy head, sighing. "No, no. I shouldn't have snapped at you like that. I'm the one who should apologize."
Green Springs smirked deviously. "I'll accept your apology on one condition: tell me where you got this."
The gryphon froze for a split second, an action which likely would have gone unnoticed to those who never spent much time around him. Spring knew from that tell that he was hiding something. Her smirk fell.
"It was given to me by the yellow unicorn Val Uliss in exchange for the hay from my pillow. I saw you were hardly eating and knew you'd want more than the stale bread they offer us here as a 'meal,' " he explained.
"And you've made these kinds of deals for the past three days?"
"W-Well―"
"You haven't been eating just to make sure I do, haven't you, Gobrend Grasstalon?" Green Springs calmly said, using his full name the way her mother used to in order to express her disappointment.
Gobrend locked his jaw, narrowing his eyes at her. After a tense moment he huffed, crossing his arms. "Yes, you've caught me red-taloned and exposed my diabolical plot to the eyes of all. Proud of yourself?"
"You think this is about pride? I couldn’t care less about that! Gobrend, look at yourself!" she motioned to the skin clinging tightly around his ribs. "You― You're dying! You can't keep hurting yourself like this or you won't last!"
"Oh, that's rich! I'm trying to look out for you, Spring! Do you realize how much it hurts me to listen to you wheeze after you so much as laugh!? It’s horrifying! I am doing what anyone in my position would do. I am doing what anyone who cares would do. I am doing my best!"
"...My mom and sis did their best too. And now they're gone, Gobrend. Gone..."
Gobrend, flustered and unable to retort, fumed as he stared off into a corner of the room. Neither he nor Green Springs paid any mind to the attention their spectacle had drawn from the other ponies. "...I'll only eat if you eat. We'll split the bowl. And if you try this again, I'll starve myself to show you how awful it makes those who care about you feel."
Gobrend grimaced at the filly, eyes dark and searching. After a moment of consideration, he said, "...Very well, Green Springs. Half and half it is."
With a tired swing stone was reduced to gravel. Dust wafted into Gobrend's face as he feebly tried to heft the pickaxe once more overhead, causing the gryphon to hack and cough as he rubbed at his irritated, puffy eyes. His thoughts kept drifting to the conversation between him and Green Springs. Something was amiss. The little filly was not usually one to be so confrontational, much less demanding. And for her to threaten harming herself simply to get to him…
An angry growl came from behind as he dropped the tool and scraped at his face. "Get back to work, bird!" the Diamond Dog, Ren if Gobrend was correct, snarled, whipping the ground next to Gobrend's foot. Gobrend jumped in terror, quickly grabbing his pickaxe and picking away at a portion of the wall where his seventeenth sapphire was embedded. Ren scowled and walked further down the line, growling at the chained slaves as they worked on mining their tenth gem on average. Gobrend was nearing the daily quota of twenty-five, whereupon he'd be free to return to his small cell with a lukewarm bowl of watery porridge or a leathery strip of cragodile jerky—both hardly edible—to rest up for the next day.
"Psst."
Heavens above how he missed his warm bed back in Featherstone.
"Hey, Gobrend."
Not to mention the idea of a bath! He positively reeked! And he wished the dogs were gracious enough to give him something with which to shave; the feathers atop his head were growing far too—
"Gobrend!"
Shaken from his thoughts, Gobrend realized he was aimlessly chiseling away at a gemstone. Anxiety welled within his chest as he redirected his efforts to the rock binding it. He looked at Brocarius from the corner of his eye, the pony carving his twenty-third sapphire out of the wall and carefully scrutinizing it before gently laying the gemstone down with the others. Gobrend didn't know how they always came out picture-perfect when this pony mined them; it was uncanny.
Brocarius was a thin, bespectacled, and all around unassuming earth pony with an equally nonthreatening cutie mark of an olive branch. He looked like he belonged in an office. But Gobrend knew to never trust a pony’s looks, especially this one's. There was a reason Brocarius unsettled him so.
"What is it, Payens?" Gobrend hissed.
"Don’t. Use. That. Name," Brocarius said, his mane clinging to his forehead as he remained focused on his work. He didn’t seem nearly as overworked or malnourished as anypony else. "And face the wall; you know that dog will scourge you for the smallest slip-up." Gobrend did as he was told. Brocarius was right about Ren's notorious streak of sadism. Gobrend's back still ached after their last "session" together.
He scooted inconspicuously closer to the pony, taking a scar in the wall that served as the beginning of a new mine so that he was within whispering range. "Very well... Brocarius," he said, remembering the oddly gryphonic name. "Do you have any news?"
"Only if you consider minor setbacks as news. The Sapphires are now patrolling the eastern mines with greater frequency; something about them being worried about prisoners escaping through them."
"Haven't those mines been unofficially cordoned off for fear of a cave-in?"
"Ah, you've been paying attention. I knew I kept you around for a reason." Gobrend's next strike to the wall was particularly ferocious. "But you're right. It was unofficially cordoned off. Key word: 'unofficially.' Officially, however, it's their job to discourage any attempts at escaping, and capturing those who are desperate enough to flee through condemned caves is a rather effective manner of damaging the gusto of would-be dissenters."
"It's also stupid. Why risk the lives of your own healthy guards for an underfed slave with little hope of surviving the Yaju Forest this far away from the next town? If they escape, then let them escape. They'll either come crawling back or they'll die with the 'freedom' they so fervently thirst for. Tighten security here instead of scattering it about haphazardly.
“If they need the slaves so badly, they'd just post sentries outside those mines. But they do have competition from another nearby pack, don’t they?" Gobrend softened another small portion of the wall into dust, covering his face. "Goodness, that rotten smell! Have we been digging too deeply as of late? Is this stuff poisonous?"
"And flammable," Brocarius added. He then quickly snuck a peek around the bend of the scar in the wall, adjusting his glasses with a tannish hoof. "You're not hitting the ashflake pockets, are you?"
"The what!?"
"These Sapphires aren't going to last too long if they aren't more careful in choosing where they live. It'll be the death of them: the ashflake or their stubbornness."
Gobrend looked horrified, backing away from the wall. "By the gates of Tartarus... How can you be so nonchalant about this!"
"There is a reason we are leaving as soon as possible," Brocarius said matter-of-factly. "I was planning on sticking around a bit longer, but do you think either of us are good to anypony dead?"
"Are you even any good to anyone alive?" Gobrend said, gritting his teeth.
Brocarius chuckled for the first time since Gobrend had met him, moving around to face him once again after checking to ensure Ren was not making another round. "You and I are not ordinary individuals, Gobrend Grasstalon. How, then, can we be judged by their standards?" He carved out another sapphire, this one no less remarkable than the rest.
"We are gems: uncut, unfettered, and all the more brilliant for it." His small, almost nonexistent smile then disappeared, and in his eyes there was a flame. "Don't you ever pretend to be anything less, Gobrend. You may not be one of Us, but you know I speak the truth."
Gobrend stared intensely into Brocarius' eyes, the pony returning the stare. "...And this plan; when exactly are we executing it?"
"What plan?"
The new voice caused Gobrend to jump, while Brocarius curiously turned to the owner of the voice: Green Springs.
"Howdy! You're Green Springs, right? I don't think I'd be fool enough to mistaken the filly Gobrend's so fond of for anypony else," he said with an easygoing chuckle.
"Oh, h-hi," she said, shyly dragging a hoof along the ground.
"Green Springs!" Gobrend searched left and right frantically before pulling her into the scar with him. “What on earth are you doing here!”
"I was being escorted by a guard since I've been too sick to do much work in the smaller mines, but he got bored and stopped really paying attention to me." She looked between Gobrend and Brocarius. "So I slipped away and came over here to see you."
"And Ren didn't stop you?" Brocarius asked.
"Nope!" Green Springs triumphantly said, Gobrend motioning for her to keep her voice at a whisper. "I mean, um, no. He didn't see me, so he couldn't stop me from coming here."
"Well color me impressed! We've got us our very own little adventurer here, huh, Gobrend?" Green Springs proudly puffed out her chest before a slight cough wiped her grin off her face. She then coughed two more times, both sounding like sandpaper grated against her throat.
"Spring!" Gobrend exclaimed, rushing to pick her up, pickaxe forgotten. She held up a hoof, stopping him, the other pressed against her mouth to mute the noise. When it was clear to her the fit had passed, she fell to her flank, looking more weary than he had ever seen.
"Anyway, w-what was the... the..." she swooned unsteadily on her hooves. "What was..." her eyes then rolled into her head and she fell unconscious.
Before Gobrend could register what had happened he was already scooping her into his arms, checking her for a pulse. He was moving on instinct alone. Relief cooled his veins when he realized she was still breathing. He held her close, listening to her ragged breathing. She'll be alright. She's fine. She won't leave me like the rest!
He was snapped out of his mounting panic by the calm voice of Brocarius. "...Give her to me."
"Why? So you can use this as an excuse to make sure she doesn't wake up!? Get bent, you damned sociopath!"
"You think I want her to die, huh? Look me in the eyes and say that, Gobrend!" Gobrend did so, prepared to give him just what he'd asked for, but became less assured when he noticed the somber quality to his glare. "There is nothing to be gained for me from her death; on the contrary, there's quite a bit to be lost from it. I want her returned safely to her room just as you do, but by somepony who's thinking clearly and knows exactly what he's doing. I know how to handle this and I have none of the panic you harbor to slow me down." He motioned to the cart near Gobrend. "On top of that you still have your quota to fill, while I am finished for the day."
"B-But the—"
"Gobrend, I will give any cover necessary to ensure she isn't punished. And if that doesn’t work I'll simply tell them the truth. Trust me, even in here I can pull a few strings. Come on, there's no time to argue. Her condition could easily deteriorate!"
Gobrend hesitantly handed her over to Brocarius, accepting the logic in the face of his emotion despite his breath nearly leaving him. He was beginning to grow increasingly frustrated with his vulnerability as of late. He hated when things fell out of his control like this.
"Thank you. Now, you'll find her in your cell when you're done; and from the looks of it, you nearly are. She'll be okay, Gobrend. Alright?" he said, gently resting Green Springs on his back. His gaze shifted back to the gryphon. "I know we've already discussed this before, but it is imperative that you do not speak of the plan with her. At all. Not even the smallest of hints. Not even falsifications. Just do not entertain a chat with her, or I can't promise she'll be able to stay out of the dogs' attention if they catch wind of what we're planning."
"Right, right," Gobrend breathed, staring at nothing. "Just... Just go. Go and keep her safe. Be sure to wrap her muzzle with a moist towel; make it warm if possible!"
Brocarius nodded, adjusting his glasses as he turned around.
"And Brocarius?" The pony stopped. "I mean it when I say I want her safe. I don’t care how well connected you believe yourself to be, should any harm come to her..." He allowed the thinly veiled threat to hang between them. The pony trotted off.
Gobrend picked his pickaxe off the ground as he thought, and one more important thought seized his mind, nearly making his heart skip a beat. He ran to the edge of the scar and called softly to Brocarius' retreating form. "Hey, be sure to tuck her in as well! She can read one of my Daring Do comics when she awakes; she adores them! They make her feel..." He sighed to himself, taking a spot on the wall before Ren would have any excuse to set him in his sights. Fortunately, the dog was tormenting another unfortunate soul.
He needed to get a grip. She would be fine; he was sure of it! This wasn't going to end the way it did before. This time he was here! He’d help her get better, and then he’d help her fall asleep the way she helped him when his nightmares kept him awake for days on end, and then he’d make sure she wanted for as little as possible while confined here where no foal deserved to be. And when the time arrived, he’d save her, because for once he had the power to do something.
...So why did he feel so powerless lately?
"They make her feel free..." he muttered, picking away at the wall.
“Please, just a bit more for my wife. She’s starving, I tell you! Starving!”
“I think you need to learn what it means when someone says to leave them alone!” Gobrend said, shoving Bright Willow to the floor. The emaciated pony dropped his bowl of food, whimpering as he pitifully shielded himself from the gryphon. “Save your contemptible sob stories for those who care! You don’t think we’re all starving here? Well, now you may both starve until your next meal comes.”
Gobrend pushed through the small crowd of spectators, ignoring their glares as Bright scrambled to scrape his porridge from the floor. Others came to help, offering him kind words. Some even offered their own paltry meals in sympathy for the plight of him and his wife, as ponies are wont to do.
Muttering dark curses at the ponies, at the dogs, at the world at large, Gobrend was interrupted by a quiet clearing of the throat. Irritated, he turned, ready to offer the fist to the next idiot that didn’t quite get the memo before realizing there was no one there. The sound came again, but closer to the floor, and the gryphon slowly looked down in horror as it dawned upon him who had approached him.
“S-Spring, I—” he gulped, his throat suddenly dry. “Shouldn’t you be resting?”
“You pushed him,” the filly said simply.
His shoulders sagged. “Oh. So you saw that, did you? I admit I took it rather far, and I regret that, but—”
“Do you?”
“Spring, I only meant to—”
“To what, Gobrend!? You shoved Bright Willow down, belittled him, and then walked off as though you were in the right! And for what? For him asking for a little more broth? Or was it because he’s weaker than you and you knew you could get away with it! Is this you when I’m not around? A bully!? I thought you were a better person than that!”
Something in Gobrend snapped upon hearing that. “Now you listen here, Green Springs! The world isn’t nearly as cut and dry as you make it out to be. It’s an unfair, uncaring place! I keep telling you that, but it doesn’t seem to stick in your stubborn little head!
“The moment I allow one of those ponies to have anything the rest will come clamoring, begging for the same. The world doesn’t run on acts of kindness, Green Springs. The more you offer the more others will take, until you have nothing left to give! Regardless of what we do, there will always be hardship; there will always be hunger; there will always be misfortune.”
Gobrend clenched his talons. “These are the choices we have to make in the real world, because when there are no laws, no charities, no lines in the sand, you’ll come to find we are no better than animals. And everything I do, I do for your benefit! I make these kinds of decisions every day so you don’t have to!”
“Well I don’t want you to do anything for me if this is what happens because of it,” Green Springs said lowly. “I’d rather not be involved at all if that’s your excuse.”
Gobrend recoiled as if physically assaulted. “Y-You don’t mean that... You’re still exhausted after your last fit and aren’t aware of what it is you’re saying.”
“I know exactly what I’m saying, Gobrend Grasstalon! And if this kind of behavior is justifiable to you, then I also know you’re not as good as you pretend to—” Green Springs was interrupted by her own cough, this one drier and harsher than all the ones preceding it. As Gobrend set down the bowl he had prepared for her and stepped forward, she backed away, looking fearfully up at him. He trembled at the gesture.
“Who are you, Gobrend? Are you really concerned about me? About anyone other than yourself? Is Gobrend Grasstalon even your real name, or is that made up too?” she croaked.
Gobrend’s violent shaking stopped. He stood there silently, his face an emotionless mask.
Green Springs blinked away her tears. When he did not answer, she hung her head, picking up her own bowl as she walked past him. “...I’m going to see if I can go help Miss Amber and Mr Willow. I’ll tell them you had a change of heart and offered your bowl as an apology.”
Gobrend sat there for a long while, thinking. He lifted a talon, gazing upon the claws once made for doctoring and writing, now more suited for cruelty and destruction. Who was he? Was everything he did still for the greater good? Did he somehow lose himself along the way?
A furious growl snapped him out of his thoughts, and he followed it down a darker tunnel to discover a dog hovering over Brocarius, who had his hooves up in a placating manner, and another petrified dog who cowered in its presence.
A wicked smile twisted Gobrend’s beak. Perhaps I’ll find the answer to all my questions here. And like that, he skulked into the tunnel, his chains dragging silently under the growling of the beast, eager to put his claws to good use.
"Where’s Gobrend?” the filly asked. “I haven’t seen him at all for two whole days! I’m beginning to really worry about him.”
Brocarius dipped his head in thought, closing his eyes. That idiot! Does he have some kind of death wish or something? To attack and nearly kill a Sapphire… He tried not to think of the harrowing screams he’d heard coming from deeper within the mines. Not much phased Brocarius, but this particular pack was well known for their brutality. There was a reason so few dared to raid their mines despite how lucrative the gems mined here were.
“He’s… He’ll be fine. He’s gonna be away for a little while, but I’ll make sure to visit him as often as possible to convey any messages he has for you.” But I owe him one; he really saved our flanks back there. If he hadn’t shown up when he did… Celestia, I don’t make mistakes like that. Still, I could use this to my advantage…
“Will he be alright? Can I see him? I don’t want him to think I’m still mad at him,” Green Springs pleaded. “Please, Mr Brocarius, I have to see him!”
“Give it another few days, Green Springs. I’m sure he’s just aching— I mean, he’ll be able to see you then.” By that time Hagley should get Gobrend everything he needs while we scrape together some Nectar. She doesn’t need to see him in his condition right now.
The filly was silent, huddling in Gobrend's covers. “I, uh, I take it you really like him, huh?”
Green Springs looked to the floor. “Mhm. I can’t smell his scent anymore, but being where he spends a lot of his time is comforting. He’s not… He isn’t angry at me, is he?”
Brocarius sighed, removing his glasses. “Gobrend is a… complicated gryphon. But you don’t come to realize just how deep the rabbit hole goes until you really get to know him. Unfortunately, as much as I’d like to, I feel I’ve hardly scratched the surface with that crazy bird. We’ve known each other for nearly two years and still he manages to surprise me! And I’m not accustomed to being surprised.”
“You knew him before?” Green Springs said. “How did you two meet? Are you friends?”
“Oh, uh, it’s... it’s—”
“Let me guess: it’s complicated,” Green Springs deadpanned.
“Believe me, it’s very, very complicated.” Let’s just say the dogs aren’t the first who wanted that cantankerous chicken dead. Brocarius hemmed into a hoof, noticing he now had the filly’s full attention. “You see, I’m a businesspony. I pride myself on getting done what needs getting done as efficiently as possible. Less headache that way. Gobrend, on the other hoof, is an... ‘adventurer’ of sorts. It’s his job to expose and exploit others’ weaknesses, and he’s very good at what he does. Naturally, his work and mine clashes every now and again: ‘Who deserves this widget more, you or I?’, ‘What contracts should be pursued and by whom?’, ‘Does the four-in-hoof look better than the full windsor?’ Things of that nature.”
“So… you’re enemies? Like Daring Do and Ahuizotl?" Green Springs asked, narrowing her eyes at Brocarius. "Why hasn’t Gobrend kicked your flank yet!”
“Hey, hey, take it easy! Sun, moon and stars I can see exactly why Gobrend likes you so much,” he said with a chuckle, lifting his hooves in a calming gesture. “As long as I can help it, nopony aside from my wife is laying their hooves on my flank. A lot of our disputes aren’t even face to face. Tartarus, I even had the guy work for me once! Though, uh, he didn’t really approve of how that turned out in the end…” he said, scratching embarrassedly at his shaggy mane. “Still, I’d like to get the guy on my side if we could see eye to eye for once. He’d make a valuable asset, and he and I would get so much more done together than we do butting heads.”
“...You’re a criminal, aren’t you?”
“Woah, woah, woah, wait just a second. Do I look like a criminal to you? Criminals are all muscular and boisterous and in-your-face, aren’t they? I fit none of that criteria.”
Green Springs smirked. “Gobrend’s told me a bit about you. Not much, but enough for me to know not to take anything you say without a grain of salt. I know the best criminals are the ones who are smart, the ones who present themselves as normal, everyday ponies to hide their insidious nature,” she narrowed her eyes at the businesspony. “Like you.”
The silence in the room was audible. “Is that so? Well then, missy, if I’m such a bad guy, why aren’t I behaving like one?” Brocarius said, snootily lifting his nose into the air as he crossed his unchained forehooves. “Do ‘bad guys’ nurse innocent fillies back to health at no benefit to themselves? Is it a part of my ‘insidious nature’ to look out for my friends? Well, come on then, detective, I’m waiting.”
“I-I, um…” Green Springs’ face flushed as she gave a light cough. “B-But you—!”
“Aha!” Brocarius said, pointing an accusatory hoof at the filly. “You’ve been found out! Mayhaps it is not I who is the villain, but you!”
“M-Me!?”
“Yes, you! Who else would accuse a stallion of my stature of being evil other than an evildoer!”
“What? No!”
“Yes!”
“This is ridiculous!”
“You’re only saying that because you’ve been caught red-hooved, ne'er-do-well!”
Green Springs grumbled to herself. “You’re a real jerk, Mr Brocarius.”
“And don’t you forget it,” Brocarius responded with a wink before slipping his glasses back on. “Anywho, that’s enough of that. It’s about time I got going. It’s been fun chatting, Miss Green Springs. I hope you enjoy Volume Six of Daring Do’s Amazing Adventure Safari. If you ask me, that one’s got one of the best twist endings of the series!”
The filly smiled, waving her hoof before she remembered something. “Oh! Mr Brocarius, what about your plan!”
The stallion froze in place. “...What plan?” he asked icily.
Green Springs suddenly felt like she had made a grave mistake, remembering that for all his quirks and amicability she was still speaking with a complete stranger.
“T-The one you and Gobrend were talking about in the mines.”
“Miss Green Springs,” he said, turning around, eyes hidden behind the lens of his glasses. “Whatever are you talking about? The only ‘plan’ I have for today is getting some shut-eye.”
It was said conversationally enough, but the filly felt like pressing the matter wouldn’t be a good idea. “O-Okay, Mr Brocarius. Enjoy your day. And thanks for helping me…”
“Not a problem, Green Springs! Don’t let the bedbugs bite!” And as he left, so did the tension in the room.
Brocarius stepped outside of the cell, looking left to right and finding Hagley leaning against the wall waiting for him. “The coast is clear I take it?”
“That it is. The guards are rotating for their shifts. I only came to listen five minutes ago after checking up on the bird.”
“How is he?” Brocarius asked, his tone low and businesslike as they walked to his cell.
“Not good. They would’ve broke him if I weren’t there. But I gave him the antibiotics and patched up any wounds that weren’t readily healing.” Hagley shook his head. “In his condition he shouldn’t have survived what they put him through. He shouldn’t have survived half of it. Tough bastard, he is.”
“Hm." Brocarius said disinterestedly. "Yeah, he’ll pull through. That’s not even a concern. And—” he yawned, stretching out his hooves. “Goodness does it feel good to not be bound in those cold, weighty, uncomfortable—” he looked up to see Hagley dangling a pair of shackles in his paw. “Oh.”
“Sorry, boss, but we still have to keep up appearances. We're not outta here yet.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Brocarius grumbled, lifting his forehooves. Hagley secured the chains with an apologetic smile. “The next time I have the bright idea of getting myself enslaved, be sure to smack some sense into me, yeah?”
“Tried it last time, and your ideas only got worse. Remember how what was supposed to be a simple interception of love letters for blackmail escalated into one of the region’s longest-standing monarchies crumbling due to an illegitimate heir taking the Goldwind throne? The civil war the power vacuum sparked was devastating!”
“Hard to forget. We did make some good bits off of that particular conflict, though…”
Gobrend sat curled up in a corner of his cell, fighting a three-front war against the bone-chilling cold, the gnawing hunger and sleep deprivation. He could handle freezing and he could handle starvation. This wasn't the first time he'd endured such hardships. It was the lack of sleep that was getting to him. Between the humiliation and the beatings and his hazy conscious, it could have been a few days or a few weeks since he'd been thrown into this cursed cell.
He may not have looked like it, scrawny as he was, but Gobrend knew how to take a punch. Even though his interrogators were oversized brutes with more muscle than manner, they were sloppy and didn't know nor care how to ask the right questions. Fortunately they preferred to use the fist over the flail. Of course, he allowed them to continue until they were frustrated and worn down.
Oddly enough, there seemed to be a few times where, when they had left, one would stay behind merely to look him over. In his dazed state, he would have even believed that he was given some tonic that dulled the inflammation.
He decided to stop screaming soon enough. It only seemed to energize them. Then it became a game of attrition, the rules and boundaries set by stubborn pride above all else. Will against will. And Gobrend's constitution was that of steel. But when exposed to the elements, steel rusted just as any other metal did. And rusted steel was far more prone to snapping.
After three days of nothing, the fun had been sucked out of it, and the sessions became a chore. And one thing the guards did not like on top of work was more work.
So it was in lieu of more refined methods (yes, they had eventually brought the flail, but considering they lacked Ren's finesse it was to little avail), they took to the much more effective method of leaving him to wither and rot in his cell. At first it was bearable. They yet brought him water, but they resolved not to feed him until he spoke of why he attacked a Diamond Dog, who he was conspiring with in the attack, and to name an accomplice.
Gobrend knew there were no good answers to these questions. He knew that the dogs knew the answers to these questions as well. One thing he came to learn about torture was that it was not used to extract information or to avenge oneself upon he who brought harm to one's ally. Indeed they cared little for Ren, only groaning about the extra work they were now left with in his wake. That, and the awful rank. No, torture, he found, was for torture's sake. An outlet, if you will. Torture needed no objective. It needed no trigger. Torture simply was. Were Gobrend to answer any of their questions, he knew there'd be no reward, for they sought to bring him harm simply because they could. They were strong and he was weak. They could take from him and he could not fight back. It was the natural order of things.
So Gobrend, in his idleness, took to his usual isometrics both to strengthen his body and to relieve his mind of the stress weighing it down. His bruised and abused joints protested every second of the exercises, but he couldn't let that stop him. He even made sure to stretch out his torn wing. This continued for hours at a time. He swore long ago whatever wasn't bone must be muscle. He swore to survive. He fell asleep for cumulatively sixty minutes over the past week; each time he dozed off two dogs would throw open the cell door and relentlessly lay into him, leaving him a quivering mess.
But there was a change today. While Gobrend sulked in a freezing cell of his own accumulated filth, he noticed that for the first time in the last week it was silent. Completely silent. He wondered to himself whether or not this was a trick to lull him into a sense of false security so that should he fall asleep he'd be in for yet another rude awakening, and despite that he was willing to risk it if it only meant just a minute of rest.
His eyes slowly slid closed.
They then snapped back open when he heard the sound of a key turning and the cell door swinging open.
Tartarus! I overslept! he thought, panic failing to return control to his shrunken body. The questions would start. Then he'd be tossed around for as long as his captors pleased. All he could manage to do was tremble in place.
Gobrend braced himself when he heard the fall of pawpads closing nearer and nearer until they were almost right on top of him. To his surprise, however, all he felt was the warm embrace of a blanket. The pawpads then retreated back towards the door, Gobrend curiously turning toward the sound. There he found the forms of Hagley and Brocarius. The two were whispering amongst themselves, appearing to have an argument of sorts before Brocarius sighed and gestured to the dog. Hagley nodded, producing a small jar filled with a glowing, honey-like substance and a spoon from a pocket in his vest. Gobrend shuddered, his fear lighted anew.
"Hold my glasses, will you?" Hagley furrowed his brows as he did as asked. Brocarius cautiously approached Gobrend, noting his pitiful condition. "Don't worry, Gobrend. If I were here to kill you it wouldn't be with something so bland." He placed the spoon in the jar. "This is Nectar, an exceedingly rare potion with healing properties second to none. When applied externally, it is a warm, soothing balm that expedites the recovery process from weeks to days. Upon ingestion, however, this process is accelerated even further, from days to minutes. Incidentally, it is severely painful upon ingestion. Your lungs will inflate; your vertebrae will contort to such a degree that you will fear it should snap in two at the slightest twitch; your eyes will roll into the back of your head. The greatest danger, despite all of this, will be of you swallowing your tongue by mistake. That is what I am here to prevent as I observe. Now," he said, pulling out a spoonful of the Nectar, "Drink."
Minutes later, Gobrend lay in a twisted heap, a silent scream on his beak and a heavy sheen of sweat covering his body. Every symptom Brocarius listed was exhibited by the gryphon over the course of three hundred seconds. Brocarius counted each. Before his flailing began, the pony had the foresight to remove the blanket from his shoulders to prevent it from being reduced to shreds. Other than that, however, he merely watched.
Hagley tried to intervene, hoping he could provide some form of comfort. This notion was promptly eradicated when Brocarius turned his cold gaze to him.
After a few more tense moments, Gobrend fell completely still.
...
"Brocarius...Is he dead?"
The pony pressed his ear against Gobrend's chest. He then opened his mouth and checked for irregularities, shaking his head with a sigh. "Of course he isn't; that'd be too convenient..." he muttered. As he wondered aloud just what in Tartarus this bird was made of, Hagley hazarded a closer look for himself.
"You didn't expect him to survive?"
"I fully expected him to survive."
"Then why by the Flame do you not seem pleased about it," Hagley demanded.
Brocarius looked up at the Diamond Dog. "Do you know what chance there is of somepony living through Nectar ingestion, Hagley? Thirty percent. And that's not taking into account possible cardiac arrest or the respiratory complications that all too commonly result from it. This is all if you have a team of trained medical professionals on hoof the moment you swallow this baleful concoction. Away from all of that, though? The chance of survival drops to as low as sixteen percent."
Hagley balked at this information. "He saved us! He ensured I kept my head and helped you because of it; and you repay him by forcing something lethal down his gullet!"
"As I said, Hagley, I fully expected him to survive. Not just anyone can be a prospect for the Knights, you know. Besides―" he grinned lopsidedly at his old friend "―have a little faith, will you?"
Hagley huffed, handing his superior his glasses, which he pushed back over his nose. "I wonder how far faith will get us, if anywhere," he growled.
"Try placing your faith in me, comedian. We have our results; that’s all that matters in the end."
Hagley wisely decided not to comment, gently lifting Gobrend by the head and slapping him until his eyes opened. The first thing to greet the gryphon was the maw of a Diamond Dog. He shrieked, nearly slashing the dog's throat with his talons before Hagley on reflex grabbed both his forearms. He shushed him, trying to calm his panic. When it became clear that wouldn't work, Brocarius conked him on his feathery head.
"Gobrend, it's me, Hagley. We've never formally met, but I need you to calm. Down. Alright?"
Gobrend spared a glance to Brocarius, who nodded in encouragement, before sighing and relaxing. "Alright, dog. I'm calm."
Hagley cautiously unhanded the bird, backing away with a smile. "I wanted to thank you for what you did. You, uh, you saved me and Brocarius, and I just had to―"
"Save your gratefulness for those who wish to hear it, dog," Gobrend cut in, rotating his shoulder. "I didn't attack that dog to rescue either of you. I attacked that dog because I wanted to attack a dog. Nothing more, nothing less. It would behoove you especially to remember that, dog." The intensity of Gobrend's eyes and the malevolence in his words shocked Hagley into silence.
Brocarius watched Gobrend with narrowed eyes as the gryphon wrapped himself in the discarded cover. "Where is Green Springs? I believe it is time to leave this awful place."
“Not so fast, Gobrend. That’s not our reason for visiting you today, I’m afraid.”
Gobrend eyed the pony warily. “...Then what are you here for? To see me in this pitiful state? You did always take pleasure in my―”
“We’re here to bring you to the Alpha,” Hagley interrupted. “He ain’t happy about you toppling one of his dogs, not one bit. Luck has it that I was assigned your transfer, so we were able to make sure you didn’t die before you got there.”
“It takes a bit more than a few beatings and the cold to kill me, mutt.”
Hagley’s eyes widened at the slur, but he bit his tongue when a growl boiled within his chest. Brocarius stepped in before tensions rose. “I was content to let you writhe and rot in your failure considering your rashness, but Hagley insisted I come along to administer the Nectar. If it weren’t for him, you’d still be one paw in the grave by now.”
Gobrend blinked, looking at Hagley in bemusement. “Why? You know I wasn’t doing it for you.”
“That might be true―” Hagley shrugged “―but it doesn’t change the fact that you saved our hides, Gobrend. We’ll call it even.”
“...The gesture is… noted…” Gobrend muttered, looking to the floor. "...Hagley."
Hagley smiled, tail wagging.
“But you’re not off the hook yet, Gobrend. You still are meeting the Alpha, whatever that entails. From what I’ve heard, he’s a cruel, spiteful little freak.” Brocarius frowned. “This set-back couldn’t be more inconvenient.”
“Very well,” Gobrend said. “I can weather this out. If you two get Green Springs and I out of here in one piece, I will be in your debt.”
A calculating look crossed Brocarius’ eyes, almost hidden beneath his spectacles. “I’ll hold you to that, Gobrend. Maybe you won’t be able to run from this one.”
The world spun as Gobrend was tossed bodily past the door. Shaking away some of his dizziness, he glanced around to find he was in an office. A very shiny office. There was an ostentatious display of wealth in the form of gold, sparkling gems, vintage Equestrian portraits of obscure aristocrats, ornamental weapons—diamond-studded gryphonic maces; savage knobkerries; curved Saddle Arabian daggers forged from sleek steel—and, of course, sapphires, all neatly tucked away on weapon racks or chests so that none touched the floor.
Gobrend was born into fortune once upon a time, but he never saw such a bizarre collection of riches in his life, let alone in one place. These goods, ill-begotten though they were, could purchase a small country. Seated behind a desk at the far end of the room was a Diamond Dog with a crossbow in his paws.. As he toyed with the contraption, delicately smoothing his hands over the intricately embellished, yet worn down and dirtied, surface, it dawned upon the gryphon that that was no ordinary crossbow. It belonged to him, and this mangy mutt's dirty paws were sullying everything it represented!
Never did it occur to him that he charged so foolishly toward the preoccupied dog; so intent was he on ripping from its paws his birthright, the fearsome screech of a bird of prey fell deaf upon even his own ears. He leapt through the air, claws extended, tears streaming down his face, bloody murder in every cell of his body as like to Nature's machines, before his world came crashing down.
Pain erupted throughout his body like a dry wave of molten heat. He felt as though someone lit him on fire. He screamed and struggled against the flame, but its hold on him pressed down even harder in response. The dog's attention was on him now, his face betraying his amusement. He said something and the weight of the fire licking at his back lessened, yet Gobrend could feel that it was just a command away from breaking him.
"Eager to be sent back to Refrigeration, are we?" said the dog in a conversational tone.
Gobrend, upon regaining his senses, turned his gaze upward to find the dog he targeted sitting on the desk above him idly kicking his feet. He was a diminutive, slim thing with pretty features beneath a well-tended coat of white fur. He had rings with gems of every color on each finger of each paw, a diamond collar and a vest of red leather.
"That's my crossbow, you bastard!" Gobrend exclaimed.
The dog raised his brow as the flame enclosed around Gobrend. "Finders keepers. This is mine now. You'd do well to remember that, featherbrain." He looked above Gobrend, at the flame.
It wasn't until then that Gobrend came to realize that it wasn't fire holding him down, but a monstrously sized paw. A monstrously sized paw connected to an even more monstrously sized guard dog who glowered at him. Gobrend would have shrank into himself if it was possible.
"Flint, let him go." Immediately the vice grip on Gobrend disappeared. He could feel himself breathe again, but the aches from being slammed into the floor by such a behemoth still flared, making so simple a task as pushing oneself from a prone position become an exercise in agonizing frustration. "Since we're making introductions, this massive slab of muscle here, as I've mentioned before, is Flint, my bodyguard. Flint, open your mouth." The mountain obeyed, revealing he had no tongue.
"He's not very talkative. He used to be a family dog, one with an annoying habit of asking too many questions. So I took his taster. What use does dumb muscle have for one anyway? Then I sicced him on those closest to him to see who he valued most: his Alpha, who provides for him in every way he can, or his family, the weaklings keeping the Sapphires from achieving greatness." Gobrend balked. "I'm happy to say he chose the Pack over the individual. And he did it without question. Nowadays, he does everything I tell him to without complaint. He's my number two, after all."
Avarice turned to Flint, hopping up on his desk. "Jump, boy!"
He jumped.
"Now, sit!"
He sat.
"Squash the bird to paste!"
Flint lifted a paw, muscles tensing.
As Gobrend's death came plummeting down upon him, he closed his eyes, waiting for the end. "Halt!" He opened his eyes, mystified, to discover his doom had stopped a feather away from grinding him to bonemeal.
"You see that, wormeater? Flint is mine. And like I said, you'll soon be mine, too. Until I get bored of you, of course." He set down Gobrend's crossbow, pulling out a dagger and picking his teeth with it. "And while we're at it," he grumbled, "Name's Avar Th'lyuum Chalypto, or Avarice for short. Easier to remember, easier to sign, easier to make strangers feel smart for making not-so-subtle connections.
"But you," he said, pointing to Gobrend, "may call me Master." The bird stared in stunned silence. "So, what's your name? Is it something exciting? If not, I'll give you a better one, one I think most suits you." Gobrend gulped, not wanting to upset the unhinged lunatic smiling down at him in childish glee. He opened his mouth to— "Oh oh! Is it Sir Featherhead?" Again, he tried to— "Or is it Krankenbeak? Crow Bar? Horus!"
"Gobrend! My name is Gobrend."
"...You're sure it isn't Krankenbeak?"
"Yes!"
"Well, 'Gobrend', we're going to have to work on your manners. Otherwise Flint over there is going to have to twist off your working wing." Gobrend trembled at the sound of knuckles cracking. "Now, what do you say?"
"Y-Yes, master?" he said shamefully, seething.
"Good. Now, kiss your master's paw." He presented his rear paws to Gobrend's beak. Gobrend stepped back, repulsed and infuriated, ready to take this mutt's head off his shoulders before a breath down his neck reminded him of the murderous, elephant-sized bodyguard in the room. Swallowing his pride, Gobrend reached to grab Avarice's paw. "Don't touch me with your filthy talons or you'll regret it," the small sadistic sociopath said, uncharacteristically serious. "Use only your beak, pet."
Gobrend bit his tongue. "Of course, master.”
Closing his eyes and taking a deep breath to calm his nerves, Gobrend leaned in to quickly kiss the fiend's paw as he requested, disgusted in his own actions.
"Again, slave. Longer this time." He wanted desperately to kill Avarice, but he knew he'd be killed in turn. Tears welled within his eyes as the dregs of his shattered pride warred with his wish to survive. This situation, on top of his week in Refrigeration, was quickly becoming more than he could handle. His breathing became irregular as he fought off a sob, the sound coming muffled as he pressed his mouth against Avarice's paw once more, keeping it there until the Diamond Dog decided he had humiliated him enough.
Avarice, for his part, was swimming in ecstasy. How he cherished those sobs, how he loved the sight of tears on the face of a member of such a proud race, how he relished in reducing this gryphon to nothing.
"That's enough, bird." Gobrend silently pulled his face from Avarice's paw, looking pitifully away. "Now, Gobrend," he said, again taking hold of the crossbow, "Tell me about my new toy. I like to know the history of the things I possess."
Gobrend seemed to debate something with himself as he gazed at the ground. "I-It is—was—a family heirloom. It underwent many redesigns outwardly but functionally it has remained the same for over three centuries. It uses the same loading mechanism after all that time, and it has seen many hunts. It is passed down to the eldest son whenever he becomes the head of the estate... Master," he added hurriedly.
Avarice smiled, nodding to Flint. The mountain of a dog dragged over a worn saddlebag that was close to falling apart at the seams and placed it on the table. Undoing the buckles securing it, Avarice rummaged through the inside, tossing aside knives, preserved plants, beakers and rope before something piqued his interest.
“I presume you were something of a researcher, pet,” he noted, tracing a paw over the untitled, leather-bound notebook he held. Within were journal entries… “‘I cannot return home without a cure. I must find the cure. My world depends on it.’ ” On top of this, myriad scrambled notes and sketches of strange flora and observed behavior of wildlife filled the pages; later entries were written in a messy, frenzied crimson scrawl that greatly juxtaposed the neatness of the earlier records. Everything was dated up to approximately three or so months before the dates were completely disregarded. In addition, more than half of the pages which were written on forever lost whatever information they held; water damage which had long since dried irreversibly destroyed the original text beyond legibility in the tattered journal, and desperate claw marks shredded these pages into further obscurity. Held between the text was a single flower which emitted a small glow, its color constantly shifting.
Avarice’s eyes widened as he looked over one particular entry which described the common hunting techniques of the Manticore. Lowering the tome, he spoke to no one in particular. “You crazy bastard. You’ve survived the Everfree…”
Gobrend’s face was absent of expression. Yet, if one were to gaze into his eyes one would see flashes of horror and feel the terrible weight of inevitability. It would be like staring into the lethal edge of a dagger.
“You’ve survived the Everfree,” he repeated. The wonderment in his voice was still present, but gone was the shock. Now, with a shark-like grin warping his face into a cruel, ghoulish parody, the wonderment was tainted by the lustful veins of conniving. This was a declaration of intent. “Oh, you just became a hundred times more interesting, pet! You’re a gift that keeps on giving!” he laughed drunkenly, falling to his back. “Finally, a challenge.” He rolled over, placing his forepaws under his chin as he absentmindedly kicked his hind paws through the air. “Tell you what, bird,” he began, “If you can choke back your pride and endure being mine for a month, you’re free to go. No hassle. However, if I win, and you still see fit to continue your insubordination…” he pulled out a knife from his pocket, jabbing it forward at the gryphon. “...I’ll have your working wing to show for it.”
“And if I refuse to accept these terms?” asked Gobrend, unconsciously pulling his wing tighter against his back.
“Well, you’d make an excellent statue after I send you back down to Refrigeration.”
Gobrend grimaced. “Why do you so badly wish to... own me?”
“Because breaking in living, breathing creatures is so much more rewarding than taking their trinkets.” The gryphon seemed to pale at that. “So whaddya say, bird?” said Avarice, extending a paw. “Deal?”
Hesitating, Gobrend slowly reached forward and met the Diamond Dog’s hand with his own. Avarice smiled, pulling Gobrend up closer to him with surprising strength to look him in the eye. “Don’t count on winning.” With that, Gobrend was released. “Now, tell me, pet, why you attacked one of my dogs. I don’t much like it when others break my things.”
Gobrend remained stoic despite his heart crashing madly against everything in his chest. “I attacked him because I saw a pony being harassed by him. I was worried he’d hurt him.”
Evidently, Avarice did not like that answer. He scowled at Gobrend for a moment, sizing him up, before stabbing his knife into the table. The gryphon again found himself in the same situation as when he’d first tried charging the little dog, on his belly with a gargantuan paw pressing him down so hard into the ground that his ribs threatened to cave under the pressure. He struggled fruitlessly, fighting for freedom and the chance to breathe.
Avarice jumped down in front of Gobrend and slid the knife slowly up his beak, stopping just shy of his eye. “We can call the deal off and I’ll simply take your looker as a trophy before having Flint toss your broken body into Refrigeration.” Gobrend couldn’t do anything but shudder in abject terror. “I’m quite good at detecting deceit, and you’re not as clever as you think. So tell me the honest truth as to why you attacked Ren!”
“I-I did it because I could! I wanted to hurt him and the opportunity was there! That’s why I attacked him!”
The knife drew closer to his eye before tearing away. Gobrend was left a sputtering, whimpering mess. “I’m s-sorry! I won’t do it again! I just―” His begging was interrupted by a slap across the face. He questioningly looked up at Avarice, who sat crouched in front of him.
“Don’t gutter the respect I have for you with such a pitiful display, pet. We haven’t even begun!” With a snap, Flint let Gobrend go, but he didn’t dare move from his spot on the floor. “Don’t you see how much easier life is when you’re honest? Sure, the truth may hurt at times, but I can guarantee you that a lie is positively crippling! Let this be an ‘eye-opener’ for you, yeah?” he said, laughing at his on cruel attempt at humor.
Gobrend awoke in the middle of the night, greeted by the sound of Avarice’s snoring. Now was the time! He’d been given less than encouraging news regarding Green Springs’ health since his sudden disappearance thanks to Hagley, who’d been tasked with her care, but he was certain she could hold out just a bit longer.
Tonight was the night Brocarius intended for them to escape.
Shifting, he rose to his paws, careful not to rouse the sadistic pack leader from his slumber; this was a monumental task considering Avarice kept Gobrend on a leash since the start of his twisted games two weeks ago, but Gobrend, accustomed to skulking silently through the dark, managed in spite of that.
The dog slept on a mattress with the gryphon’s treasured crossbow in his filthy paws, drool spilling from the agape maw which produced such ghastly sounds. As he drew closer, he caught sight of the key hung ‘round the neck of the Diamond Dog. Gobrend would have to be very cautious in his approach, for one errant twitch could spell disaster for him. He also didn’t want to wake Avarice’s brute of a guard dog.
He reached, and the key was just out of his grasp when Avarice drowsily flipped away from him on the mattress. Persistent, Gobrend quickly but quietly rounded the dog to get a better angle, only to find that with him nuzzled up against his crossbow he would be hard pressed to do so.
Gobrend trembled as he reached toward the string the key was attached to, feeling this would be much easier if he were to simply sever an artery with a talon and let the dog bleed out, but he didn’t need the Sapphires out for his blood if it put Green Springs’ safety in jeopardy. So it was with great patience and even greater restraint that Gobrend hooked a talon around the string, but as he lifted it up, he noticed Avarice’s eyes were open and staring into his own. His blood ran cold. Yet, after half a minute, something struck him as off: in particular, the vacancy of Avarice’s eyes, and, given Gobrend had been frozen in place for just as long, the distinct sound of his snores.
The gryphon had endured many terrors, but he never wanted to experience that kind of scare again. Releasing a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, Gobrend quickly lifted the string over Avarice’s head before any new exciting developments occurred, spending the next thirty minutes slowly prying the leash from the dog’s fingers.
He felt a wave of warmth wash over him when he realized at last just how much closer to freedom he was, after all these months, after these past few weeks! He’d of course return for his crossbow after everything was sorted out. He searched the top of Avarice’s desk to find a blueprint of the mines detailing their inner workings just for the purpose of plotting a convenient route for just that. He also grabbed a coin from the desk as a memento, ignoring the rolled up parchment which would no doubt be little more than dead weight.
Gobrend allowed himself a hopeful smile before he felt the feathers on his neck raise. He was being watched. Animal instinct bid him to freeze yet again, but the feeling wouldn’t go away. Steadily, he turned his head, discovering two beady black orbs boring into him in the darkness. His heart pounded like a war drum when it became clear that glower belonged to the forgotten third resident.
Flint stared intently at Gobrend, and Gobrend hesitantly met his gaze, the two sitting motionless. To be sure this was not the same case of open-eyed snoozing Avarice was undergoing, Gobrend moved slightly to the left and right, and to his distress the eyes followed his every movement from the corner of the room nearest the door.
The gryphon took a trembling step forward. He was met with apathy. Yet another step. Still no response from the guard dog. He walked until finally he was directly in front of the hulking mass of muscle, his throat dry and beak quivering.
“I-I’m sure you can guess I don’t intend to stay,” he began, his voice a low murmur. Flint gazed impassively at him. “I have someone I wish to save from… this. She wants to see the sky again.” Flint narrowed his eyes. Gobrend took a deep breath, steeling himself. “Are you going to try to stop me?” Flint cocked his head, a motion almost imperceptible, his gaze turning curious. At last, as an answer, he lowered his head, closing his eyes.
Astonished as he was, Gobrend didn’t take a moment longer than necessary in taking his leave, lest Flint change his mind. He headed straight to the cells where Green Springs was being held, ignoring the nagging feeling of something strange on the air.
He arrived as quickly as he could, avoiding the patrols on the way to his objective. In time, he made his way to his old cell, only to find it empty. Worry for his cherished friend poisoned him in that instant, and he checked every other cell as well, finding nothing. Where was she!? On his way back out, he was snatched up, his mouth covered and limbs held to his body, rendering him near helpless.
“Shh, shh! It’s me, Hagley!” a familiar voice whispered. Gobrend muffled a response, still resisting, though less frantic. “I’ve got info about Green Springs’ whereabouts.” That got Gobrend’s attention. “Brocarius and I were waiting for you for some time, but he’s gone ahead to ensure the path is still clear and safe. He couldn’t grab the filly before that because that’d risk the mission. Now, I’m going to put you down. Don’t attack me, alright?” With that, he did as he said.
Gobrend wiped his beak off in disgust, taking a few deep breaths to stem his fury. “Where is she?”
“She was moved to her own private cell some time after you were tossed in solitary for attacking Ren, said she was feeling sick and couldn’t stomach anything. They’ve supposedly been keeping her isolated to make sure whatever she has doesn’t infect the rest.”
“Is she alright?”
“Right, well, shortly after that I was rotated out of guarding that particular area, so I couldn’t keep tabs on her, but she seemed to be making something of a recovery during that time. You remember where they kept you before Avarice?”
And so Hagley explained where Gobrend was to find Green Springs, offering his own key before the gryphon showed him that he already had one in his possession. He also made mention that Gobrend’s old cell had been cleaned out and that he and Brocarius would be waiting for him on the outside. Gobrend thanked the dog less harshly than the customary way he thanked dogs—that being with slight disdain as opposed to overt repulsion—and was on his merry way.
As Gobrend neared his destination, that sense of wrongness from before grew more poignant. Try as he might he could not shove aside the thought of this all being too easy, going too well. If his time on the road told him anything, it was that there was always silence before the snare. He took note of the agitated twitching of his working wing. As he approached the door to the prison cell containing Green Springs, he could swear he was walking toward the hangman’s noose, as the crushing weight of finality sunk its teeth into his exposed neck and ripped his equilibrium away in a fetid shower of searing despair.
He ran.
Gobrend skidded to a halt in front of the silent cell, tears in his eyes, breaths shallow and panicked, and he fumbled with the key for a moment before unlocking the cell door and throwing it open. What he discovered inside that hollow, sullen cell caused his eyes to widen in horror.
Brocarius looked up at the sky, narrowing his eyes.
“What is taking that damned bird so long?” he growled.
“He’s on his way, boss. He does have that filly tagging along, y’know? Likely slowing him down.”
“With or without him we’ve gotten what we came here for; if he doesn’t kick it into high gear, and fast, they’re going to have to find their own way back to civilization.”
An echoing of dragging footfalls caught their ears, and the two hid in the underbrush. Out from the tunnel stepped Gobrend, the gryphon staring out into nothing. In his hands, he carried Green Springs.
“We’re outside, Spring. Like I promised. You can see the sky once more. See? Because I promised you would…” he muttered.
After a long pause, he inhaled, closing his eyes. “Even out here I’m not spared the stench of dog.”
Brocarius furrowed his brows, looking to his partner. Something wasn’t quite right. Hagley seemed just as, if not more, confused than even he, and they both cautiously stepped out of the foliage. Brocarius’ eyes immediately settled on the filly in Gobrend’s arms, his lips parting in mute shock.
“By the Flame…” Hagley stammered, his voice warbled and unsteady. “I-Is she…?”
Gobrend inhaled deeply yet again, gently resting the filly on the ground before stepping over her, his tail whipping from side to side and his good wing flaring. His deadly eyes pierced Hagley when he reopened them, and the dog’s hair had nary a moment to raise when he realized that this gaze held murderous intent within.
Gobrend was on him in an instant, claws tearing away at him, ripping and shredding. The dog was screaming, howling in terror and confusion, his arms covering his neck and most of his face.
Brocarius sprung into action, slamming a hoof into the side of the frenzied gryphon’s skull, neatly knocking Gobrend unconscious and leaving his friend whimpering in the grass but a few feet from Green Springs’ lifeless body. All three friends… His head churned violently.
Gobrend awoke gasping for air. A cold sheen of sweat coated his emaciated body.
A moment of struggle revealed he was handcuffed to a bed, and with that his panic skyrocketed.
He needed to get out out out!
“Well, it would appear you’ve finally returned to the realm of the lucid,” a voice said. Gobrend noticed a silhouette sitting in the corner.
“It's been three days, right? Took you long enough, high-born,” said someone right next to the bed. Gobrend’s blood ran cold as he turned his head to face a distressingly familiar gryphon, pale of coat and baleful of gaze. “And here you got my hopes up that you’d just die already.”
“Eve… What is the meaning of this?” Gobrend demanded, fruitlessly pulling against his restraints. “Release me!”
“Not so fast, Gobrend. We’ve got a few questions for you first.” The pale gryphon pulled a knife from her belt and began picking at her talons with it. “Well, boss?”
The silhouette stood and came forward; the clop of hooves on hard stone and the glint of light reflecting from spectacles revealed it to be none other than Brocarius. “Don’t mind her, Gobrend. This shouldn’t take too long, and I doubt we’ll need to resort to torture to get what we want from you.”
“And what could I possibly have that you don’t already possess? Where am I?”
Gobrend went rigid at the sensation of cold metal pressing against his soft underbelly. “We are the ones asking the questions here, pal,” Eve warned.
“Of which there are only three,” Brocarius added. “You are in no danger of dying here, if it’s any consolation.”
Gobrend gritted his teeth. “What a well-worded threat.”
“Honesty will be your friend here. If you wish to be stubborn, then you will become well-acquainted with Eve and the rest of the Nectar we have in stock. Do you understand?”
Gobrend took a deep breath to calm his rapidly beating heart.
Brocarius nodded. “Good. Firstly, how were you captured by the Sapphires?”
“Violently,” Gobrend deadpanned. He received a punch to the gut for his trouble, Eve smirking at his pain.
“You’ll get one of those at the very least every time you try acting clever.”
Coughing, Gobrend said, “I was visiting Silvercrest! As it happens, the path I took was infested with those meat-headed barbarians. They ambushed me, and the rest is history. Was that a good enough answer for you, you vicious sow?” He was answered with a harsher blow to the stomach.
“Eve, that's enough,” Brocarius said. “He’s given us an answer. If you can’t control yourself, you will leave. Understood?”
“But boss, he―” Brocarius held up a hoof, silencing the gryphon. She huffed. “Understood, sir.”
Brocarius turned his attention back to Gobrend. “What business did you have in Silvercrest, Gobrend?”
Gobrend gave an exasperated sigh. “What do you think, Brocarius? I am a wanderer. Wanderers wander, in case you were unaware.”
“You said you were visiting.”
“Yes, and?”
“And so you are familiar with Silvercrest.” Gobrend went silent for a moment. “You were there for a specific purpose, weren’t you? You must have returned with the intention of seeing something. Or someone.” The gryphon’s continued silence spoke volumes. “I see," he said.
“Alright, this is the last question, and the most important one,” Brocarius continued. Gobrend looked at the pony to be met with a deadly glare. “Why did you attack Hagley?”
Gobrend seethed at the question. “I attacked that mutt for being a mutt! He’s worth as much as the rest of his flea-ridden kin as far as I’m concerned.” He shook his head. “To think I trusted a dog...”
Brocarius’ nostrils flared as he glowered at the gryphon. “You’re lucky he’s no worse for wear, Gobrend. And you’re lucky he requested no lasting harm come to you, because I would have personally seen to it otherwise.”
“You’re on very thin ice with the both of us for that, high-born,” Eve said. “I don’t know why that big softie was so concerned about you after what you did to him, but he’s my Brother Knight, so I guess I have to heed his wish.”
“Oh, spare me,” Gobrend sarcastically said with a roll of his eyes. He scanned the room for a moment, eyes widening. Turning to Brocarius, he cautiously said, “Where is Green Springs?”
Eve furrowed her brows, her and Brocarius sharing a look, before her gaze settled on Gobrend. “That foal? Aren’t you the one who dragged her out of the mines? Isn’t she the one you attacked Hagley over,” she demanded. Gobrend remained silent.
“Eve―” Brocarius began.
“No, Brocarius! This bastard hurt my friend over some lifeless child. That’s right, she’s dead! And you already knew that, so why would you ask such a stupid question!”
“Eve!” Brocarius shouted.
“What? Am I supposed to beat around the bush to spare his poor, poor feelings?”
“She’s… She’s truly gone?” Gobrend quietly asked, his throat dry.
Brocarius sighed. “Yes, Gobrend. Eve put it rather bluntly, but yes. Green Springs is no longer with us. We buried her in a clearing about three hundred meters west of here.”
Gobrend seemed to deflate, his beak trembling as he calmly closed his eyes.
Brocarius opened his mouth, then shut it, pursing his lips. He looked to the floor, nodding to himself as he turned to leave before his ears perked up. “One of the perimeter runes has been shattered!”
Eve was already making a beeline for the door. “Damn! Must be a scouting party the dogs sent after you!”
Brocarius trotted up to the window in the room, seeing movement in the trees. He shook his head. “No. No, this is far too soon.” He spared a glance at Gobrend, who did not appear shaken out of his stupor, before galloping out the door. “Eve! Wake Hagley! We’ve got to get out of here!”
A moment later, Gobrend opened an eye, breathing deeply as he rolled his wrists.
Brocarius and Eve dragged Hagley out of his room and brought him up to speed before rushing back to where they left Gobrend. Fortunately, the search party didn’t seem particularly interested in the watchtower, likely believing the group would still be on the run and deciding against wasting time scouring the rooms, passing by it. But it was still too close a call.
Eve nearly kicked the door down, her eyes widening.
Brocarius entered behind her shortly after, wondering why his Knight had frozen before he spied what had her jaw agape:
The breeze blew in through an open window, fluttering over a vacant bed.
Gobrend looked down upon Green Springs’ grave, his face unreadable.
“Gobrend!” a voice called out, ignored by the gryphon. Out of the brush stepped Brocarius, the pony tailed by Eve and a hesitant Hagley. “There you are. Gobrend, we’ve got to get out of here; we’re compromised.”
Gobrend, back to the group, didn’t acknowledge the pony.
“Did you hear me?” Brocarius said, approaching. “They’ve sent out scouting parties for us; we have to go!”
“I heard you, Brocarius. But I’m not going anywhere,” Gobrend said quietly.
Eve groaned. “Can we just leave the idiot? If he wants to die so badly, then he should be obliged.”
Hagley grabbed Eve’s wrist, frowning. “Be considerate! Let the gryphon grieve for a moment before―”
“Oh, pardon me, then!” Eve interrupted, roughly snatching her wrist from his grasp. “It’s not like we’re being pursued by bloodthirsty slavers or anything! Go on, then, Gobrend, take all the time you need!”
“Enough, Eve! Green Springs was only a filly! She doesn’t deserve to have you brushing her death aside as though it meant nothing!”
“Who said I was doing that!? The filly’s dead! Moping about it in the middle of the woods isn’t going to change anything! We need to shake the Sapphires off our trail and get out of the region before worrying about sentiments! Tell him, Brocarius!”
Gobrend remained silent, his eyes never leaving the grave as Eve and Hagley continued arguing.
Brocarius studied the gryphon carefully, noting the slight twitches of his head.
Hagley’s and Eve’s shared glares were broken by a question: “Green Springs? Who is that?”
Hagley balked at Gobrend, his blood boiling. Even Eve stared at him wordlessly.
Brocarius continued studying the gryphon, his eyes narrowing.
“What the hell, Gobrend!?” Eve shouted.
“You’ve… You’ve got to be kidding me,” Hagley growled. “We went through all that trouble, all that pain… You attacked me like an enraged manticore only to pretend the one you did it for never existed?” He pointed at Gobrend. “You’re a coward, you know that!”
Gobrend tore his gaze from the grave, staring the two down. “You both think you know so much, don’t you? Well, no one asked you! I’ll sooner be spat on by a Griffonstone whore than listen to your holier-than-thou prattle!” He pointed to Green Springs’ grave. “I thought she was different, that maybe for once something would go right in my life, but in the end she abandoned me like the rest!”
Hagley scoffed. “What is your problem? That filly saved you! And now you write her off like she never meant anything?”
“How can she mean anything if she’s dead!” Gobrend cried, his good wing flaring.
“So that’s it, then,” Brocarius said, nodding to himself as though he’d come to a realization. “You weren’t doing this for her; you were doing this for you.” Gobrend glared dangerously at Brocarius, who ignored it. “Maybe in the back of your mind you knew she’d leave you the second she got the chance. She was bound to realize there are ponies far more suited than you to watch over her once she got outside that cave.” Gobrend’s eyes widened at the insinuation.
“Maybe you knew you’d end up hurting her in the long run, and this act you put on is only to mask how furious you are at yourself for the relief her death brings you. Now you get to be justified in your resentment toward the world and everypony in it.
“You didn’t need a reason, Gobrend. But now that you have one, you’re clinging to it the same way you clung to Green Springs.” Brocarius adjusted his glasses, his eyes invisible. “You’d make the perfect Knight.”
There was no response from the gryphon. Gobrend trembled violently, clenching and unclenching his talons as he stared at the ground.
Eve kept her talons on the sword at her side, Hagley taking a wary step back, rubbing at the bandages on his forearms.
“You had best be going, Payens,” Gobrend icily said to Brocarius. “While you and your ‘knights’ are fleeing with your tails tucked between your legs, I’m going to finish what was started here.” Gobrend turned around, once again observing the grave.
Brocarius shared a look with Eve, nudging his head toward Gobrend. Eve took a few steps forward, dropping a satchel behind him. She never took her talons off her sword.
“In that bag is a map of the Sapphire mines. That, and a few odds and ends such as matches, bandages and dried meats. I’ll be seeing you very soon, Grasstalon.” Brocarius quickly about-faced and began walking back to the watchtower, Eve and Hagley sparing Gobrend one more glance before following.
“Brocarius, what gives?” Eve said alarmedly. “This location is compromised, remember?”
“Give it a few days, Eve,” Brocarius calmly said. “By the week’s end, I doubt the Sapphires will be anypony’s problem anymore. We’ll know the task is done when we see the fireworks.”
“All due respect, sir, but you're overestimating him.”
“And you are underestimating him. Or did you forget about the thieves’ guild in Miikshall?”
Eve set her beak. “You’re still being complacent.”
“I don’t like wasting energy when there’s no need.” Brocarius looked at Hagley. “You’ve been silent. Something on your mind?”
Hagley tenderly brushed his paws against his bandages, looking down. “...I’m going with him.”
“WHAT!?” Eve grabbed him by the collar of his vest. “Are you out of your mind, Hagley? If you go with that mental case you won’t come back! Look at what he’s already done to you!”
“And he’s done so much more for me! It wouldn’t be right to let him march to what could be his death alone knowing he’s the reason me and Boss aren’t on the chopping block.”
Brocarius placed a hoof on the Diamond Dog’s side, saying, “Hagley, you hardly know the gryphon. He’s dangerous. You said yourself that he’s tougher than he has any right to be. He can get through this on his own.”
Hagley’s ears flattened against his skull. “Even so, I still owe him. I should have done more to help that filly of his.” His eyes filled with determination. “Even if it kills me I’ll help him.”
Brocarius sighed when he caught that glimmer in Hagley’s eyes. “I see I cannot dissuade you from going through with this… Fine. I will not stop you if this is truly your heart’s desire.” Hagley smiled.
“He’ll try to kill you. You know that, right?” Eve asked, her voice wavering. “This could be the last time we see each other.” Hagley nodded solemnly in response. Eve jumped up, wrapping her arms around his neck. “Prove that high-born feather duster wrong, big guy. Alright?”
“I will, Yvette,” Hagley muttered, returning the embrace. “I don’t come back, give Conrad a good punch to the shoulder for me, yeah?”
Breaking their hug, Eve giggled, playfully shoving Hagley as she wiped a tear away. “You got it, Hagley.”
Hagley turned to find Brocarius slowly approaching him. “W-Well, then, Hagley.” Scratching at the back of his head, Brocarius said, “I, uh, guess this is goodbye, huh?”
“Guess so,” Hagley affirmed, a sad smile on his muzzle.
“We had some good times, Hagley. Didn’t we?”
“Like when we crippled the Kilfune crime family?”
Brocarius chuckled. “Or when we hijacked that train running through Appleloosa?” He turned to Eve. “You were there for that one, weren’t you, Eve?”
Eve smiled despite herself. “You idiots had us on the run from Canterlot’s Royal Guard for a whole two months because of that stunt. Oh! Remember when Hagley had to dress up like an escort for that field marshal in Saddle Arabia?”
“How could I forget,” Hagley said with a shudder. “Umi really had a thing for paddles.” Eve choked back a laugh at that.
“I still can’t believe you didn’t just slip the arsenic in his wine like you were supposed to. It would’ve been much quicker in accomplishing our task,” Brocarius said, rolling his eyes.
“Hey, the food was good and the experience wasn’t as bad as I thought it’d be.”
Eve snorted. “Maybe you just enjoyed being pampered and playing dress up for geezers.”
“At least I've never managed to set an entire wheat farm ablaze trying to boil water.” Eve went bright red at that.
Brocarius and Hagley shared a laugh at Eve’s flustered state. Eve huffed, crossing her arms with a small grin.
Their glee faded after a moment, the three sobering as Hagley glanced silently toward the direction of the Sapphire Mines.
“It’s been a pleasure, Hagley,” Brocarius said, extending a hoof. “We’ll be seeing you, yeah?”
Ignoring the offered hoof, Hagley scooped Brocarius into a hug, the pony giving an uncharacteristic squeak. “I’ll always be right here,” Hagley said as Eve joined the embrace. “Always.”
Off in the distance, as the sun set on the horizon, Green Springs’ grave was left unattended in its lonely clearing.
"Why don't we just take you, furry chicken? More us than you, and you'd make fine gem slave." The pack which surrounded the dirty, battered gryphon chortled in agreement, eager to beat and chain the idiot who willingly waltzed into their mines. All but the leader.
"Thank you for the kind offer, but regretfully I will have to decline." Despite his nonchalant appearance, the gryphon's shifting eyes and perked ears betrayed his unease. "I've already played the part of a slave, and I must say you dogs are harsher taskmasters than even Madam Barb. And that's not an easy feat, believe me."
Mirth, the Alpha, a dog who wore a Glasgow smile and was mean and muscular, glowered at the intruder, trying to get a bead on him. He was hiding something. He shouldn't've been this tranquil. The gryphon's piercing brown eyes, filled not with fear, but determination and rage, found his and the two had a silent battle of wills.
"Your command, Boss. We can rough him up a smidge before sending him to the mines," said Yorm, his Beta. Growls reverberated from the walls; the glare of sharp teeth reflected from pools of saliva; muscles tightened, prepared to spring.
Then Mirth stood. Just as suddenly as the advance began, it stopped, every one of his subordinates looking at him questioningly.
"We've had a lot of prisoners in our mines, but none of them came of their own accord. Why're you here, little bird?"
"Well, it's certainly not to skimp on your hospitality, mutt."
"I can have Yorm here pluck your feathers one by one before we roast you over a fire."
The gryphon grit his teeth. "No need for any of that."
"Why are you here?" Mirth repeated.
"I have something that you might find useful."
"What could you give me that I don't already have?"
The gryphon tapped his beak. "Well, that depends, uh..."
"Mirth, Alpha of the Frayed. It'd behoove you to remember that, you overgrown pigeo―" Mirth silenced his Beta with a glance, returning his gaze to the intruder.
"...Right. Mirth. Little wonder I didn't guess that from your cheery disposition. At any rate, I can offer you..." The maverick reached inside his satchel, an action which caused the guard dogs to raise their maces. "This!"
Mirth felt his patience thinning. "That's just a coin."
"Right you are, Mirth! But not just any coin; this is a coin from the bowels of the Pack of the Sapphire."
Mirth snarled. "Lie to me again, bird, and I'll personally ship you to them as a gift! Something as scrawny as you could never dream of escaping a pack as large and bloodthirsty as them."
"And next you'll say something as scrawny as I could never dream of retrieving an intricate map of their mines." By now, everyone was more perplexed by the gryphon than they were hostile. Before Mirth could snap them out of that and order him to be pummeled for wasting his time, however, the bird retrieved a folded up piece of paper from his satchel. He unfolded it, and unfolded it, and unfolded it, until finally it was revealed to indeed be a very large, very intricate map.
"That still don't tell me anything about why you're here. What in Tartarus am I supposed to do with this!"
Yorm had taken a seat next to the map, studying every detail with a glint in his eyes. "Boss, they even have their caches mapped! Gold, weapons, prisoners, even their supply of sapphires and gems!" The other dogs crowded around, the gryphon backing away, forgotten.
"We could be rich beyond our wildest dreams!" said a grunt.
"Yeah, and we'll have the rep of tearing apart one of the most feared packs in the region!"
"We'll be the top dogs!"
Cheers and hugs filled the mines, the dogs elated at the prospect of being rid of their pesky competition.
"Enough!"
At Mirth's shout, all again went quiet. His eyes were settled on the smirking gryphon.
"What do you have to gain from this?"
"First off, I have one less pack of dogs trying to enslave me. But the question isn't about what I have to gain, it's about what I have to lose. And to be quite frank, I have nothing to lose. All that is important is I want the Sapphires destroyed, and I couldn't think of a better way to accomplish that than with a rival pack."
Mirth growled. "I want him in chains. He gives you any flak, make him kiss the ground. Then we'll head out and find the Sapphires' mines."
The gryphon panicked when two large enforcers beset upon him, grabbing him by his arms and making to drag him off deeper into the mines. "Wait! You need me!" Mirth ignored his cry. "You will all die without my guidance! Your young, your able, and your elders, all damned to the same grisly fate!"
The Alpha's ear twitched. One of his enforcers slammed his fist into the bird's stomach, causing him to cough and heave. "And what makes you so sure of that?" asked Mirth, turning toward the prisoner.
The gryphon spat. "T-They will come for you in the dead of night and slaughter you while you sleep."
"I doubt that, gryphon." Mirth waved the enforcers to let the intruder go, leaning down over him. "They don't know where our hideout is."
"And you don't know where theirs is, either. Have you thought of that?" He looked around the room. "There is a mole amongst you! Open your bloody eyes! How else could the Sapphires grow to their size without intimate knowledge of the workings and structure of the opposition?" Looking back into Mirth's eyes, the intruder continued. "And yes, that includes the location of your hideout."
A deathly silence permeated the room, only broken by the panting of the winded gryphon.
After a long, tense moment, the quiet was broken by Mirth. "When?" he softly whispered, but this question thundered through the very foundation of everyone's souls. "When do they plan on attacking?"
"I don't know. But it will be soon. It could be tonight, tomorrow, or a week from now. Tartarus, they may already be waiting outside! You're wondering how I found your mines in next to no time with no familiarity with the forests of Warg's Pass, correct? Well, they too will arrive when they are prepared to exterminate the Frayed."
Mirth stared off into the distance. When it became clear he had nothing more to say, Yorm gulped. "Then that means..." He growled. "We have to ready ourselves." He turned to the nearest dogs, barking orders. "Call in every able-bodied dog from their shifts! Wake them if they're asleep! Put a weapon in the hands of everyone; our defense is the top priority!"
"No. You must attack them!" Everyone looked at the gryphon as though he grew an eye in the middle of his forehead. "You will not have the opportunity after tonight. The thought had wormed itself into the minds of those imbeciles that they should devote today to a preliminary celebration. That's how I managed to weasel my way out under their noses.
"They've been drinking and partying the day away for their victory―a victory that is assured if you do not strike first, and with everything you have. They all must die tonight while they are out of commission if you lot are to see the end of the week."
Mirth looked down at the gryphon as he picked himself up, dusting off his feathers to no avail. "Yorm."
"Alpha?"
"You had the right idea, but make sure every dog is ready to raid, not defend. Get a scout too. We'll leave a few behind for the scout to warn in case we fail and the rest need to jump ship."
"Sir!" The place became a flurry of activity, Yorm giving commands to leaders who then carried them out with their underlings.
"And you." The gryphon frowned. "Do you have any idea who the mole could be?"
"You really should focus on attacking the Sapphires first."
"Not with the possibility of a leech in my ranks! Do you know what that information does to morale?"
"They'll be plenty encouraged with death as an ultimatum!" Gobrend hissed. "Look, I don't know you mongrels, nor do I wish to work with you. This is something that must be done for the good of the both of us. But what I do know is that your little 'leech' will not stick around when the executioner's axe hovers overhead.
"So, who do you know who has rank, status and autonomy? Someone who'd benefit from your fall?"
Mirth's eyes widened. "It couldn't be..." His hair stood on end as fury welled within him. "The bastard!"
"Hey, hey, calm!" Gobrend said, grabbing Mirth's wrist. "I have an idea who you imagine to fit that description, and you have every right to want to flay him, but let's not jump to conclusions just yet. Right now―look at me!―right now, you must lead these dogs, your soldiers, and focus on surviving the night. You can root out the rat after the Sapphires no longer are a threat."
As much as he wanted to tear the suspect limb from limb, Mirth couldn't help but find reason in the bird's words. Taking a deep breath, he put his anger born of betrayal on the backburner in order to more clearly comprehend the situation at hand. "You're right. I hate to say it, but you're right. Alright, I'm calm."
The bird smiled, pulling his hand away. "Glad to hear it."
But one more thing bugged Mirth. He didn't know why it bothered him so much, but there was a question he wanted answered since the strange little gryphon had so boldly marched into his mines.
"I got one more thing to ask... I never got your name, gryphon."
The gryphon's smile grew wider. "I've been waiting for you to ask that." He then bowed in a courtly, practiced manner, swiveling one wing around, bringing his beak to the floor. "Gobrend Grasstalon, at your service."
Dearest Taliana. Her eyes sparkled with the brilliance of emeralds. She was a proud creature, one with grace befitting her stature, while also being sharp enough to put even him off balance. It was little wonder that she was able to so easily steal his heart. In much the same way, it was little wonder she so easily broke it with naught but a desperate plea the last time they spoke to one another. He could still remember how those beautiful eyes lost their radiance when he announced his departure.
Gobrend blinked away the memory. Now wasn't the time for sentimentality.
He, Mirth and Yorm were situated outside the entrance to the mines of the soon-to-be-defunct Pack of the Sapphire. A small scout who went by the terribly bland name of "Razor" had been sent to search the perimeter for anything suspicious. They were at the edge of the dense Ravenwood Forest, and the entrance to the cave was at the base of a bordering mountain. It was perfectly hidden.
"This it?" Yorm asked for the third time.
"Yes, this is the place," Gobrend answered yet again, his patience dwindling.
"No guards stationed outside, plenty of foliage for concealment, and an entrance leading into possibly narrow mines to slow any frontal assault to a complete standstill. We'd never have found this place on our own..."
Gobrend looked at the Alpha of the Frayed in astonishment. Mirth looked down at him and for a moment the two shared a moment of begrudging respect. "Fantastic observations, Mirth. I'll be sure to toss you a bone when you're done here." Mirth huffed, turning his eyes back to the front.
"I'm getting tired of your disrespect, bird," hissed Yorm. "Nothing's stopping us from gutting him, Alpha. He's no longer needed!" Mirth responded by centering a withering glare at his Beta, who wisely decided to not press the matter.
"He's right," Gobrend said. "I am no longer needed. I was actually planning on leaving you dogs to your devices after showing you the way. So, if you'd be so kind as to let me go..."
"You're going nowhere until the Sapphires are cleaned out, Grasstalon. I can't have any wild cards here."
Gobrend fought back a smirk. "You flatter me, truly. But what can a gryphon as small as I ever hope to achieve by fighting a single one of you dogs, let alone two packs of you? You have nothing to fear from me."
"There's a difference between fear and caution, Gobrend. I'm more worried about what's going on in that conniving head of yours, so I'm keeping you on a leash for now."
Gobrend reached for the offending object around his neck. "Speaking of which, this is demeaning. There really is no need for―" a rustling came from the bushes. Mirth shoved Gobrend out of the way, him and Yorm raising their maces toward the disturbance.
"Two," said Mirth.
"Eight," replied the voice.
Out of the bushes stepped Razor, looking at the Alpha and Beta with confusion.
Mirth lowered his weapon. "Razor. Be quicker about the call-out next time."
Razor nodded.
Gobrend looked at Mirth with a question on his beak. "Not much you can do with this info, so I'll tell you: First thing’s first, whenever we leave the mines we coat ourselves in dried clay to mask our scents. When we send scouts, to make sure they aren't spies we give a number from one to nine, and they add that up to ten. They don't answer quick enough, or they look confused, they get clobbered."
Yorm looked at Mirth in askance before turning to Razor. "What's the news?"
"The two other tunnels birdbeak here pointed out were where the map pointed to. Took a bit o' searchin' an' a bit o' diggin', but they're definitely there. Problem is they're tunnels that ain't seen as much use and are a bunch smaller'n the main entrance."
"Then they're useless," growled Mirth. "Damn! We could have used them to our advantage otherwise. Trap and starve them in their own mines." Gobrend's eyes lit up at that, unseen by the rest.
"Maybe we can, I dunno, jus' make some poison gas an' toss it inside those. We won't even have to fight anyone!" Razor proudly declared, sure his genius plan would impress the Alpha. He looked into Mirth's eyes and found that his genius plan had, in fact, not impressed the Alpha.
"He's got a point," said Gobrend. Razor's tail wagged unbidden. Mirth and Yorm only stared at the gryphon, Mirth wondering whether his head struck a rock when he shoved him. "If we had poison gas, it's the way I'd go. But just because we don't doesn't mean those tunnels should be completely disregarded."
"I can't stretch my forces too thin based on what-ifs, Gobrend."
"Mirth, give me the benefit of the doubt here. I've yet to fail you, after all," Gobrend said with a wry grin. "Here's how I see things: we could make use of the rear entrances, and our options are to either go in loud and stupid or smart and stealthy.
"The first option involves you and your ragtag motley crew attacking from the main entrance and providing a distraction, allowing a smaller group to sneak in from behind and cut them down while they aren't paying attention; the second involves the use of one quiet group of maybe one or two who sneak in first, kill as many as possible, and you all wait for small window of time before falling back to option one."
"But wouldn't the second option need someone small enough to fit into the―" he bit his tongue when he saw Gobrend's smug expression. "We'll go with option one then."
"But Alpha!" Razor whined. "I like the second one a lot more than the first. It's less dangerous overall considerin' they'll already have a bunch smack-dead before they all get a chance to retaliate."
"And the more time we spend arguing out here, the less time you and yours have to prepare your assault and get a clean victory over this scum." Gobrend tugged at his leash. "Come on, what do you say, friend? You'll trust me since our goal is one and the same?"
"I can't trust you not to wake them up and tell them we're waiting for them outside!" Mirth growled.
Gobrend recoiled as though struck, fury glowing in his eyes. "Look at me, Mirth! Tell me you believe I was treated kindly by them during my stay!" he said, gesturing to his dirtied and thin body. Mirth narrowed his eyes. "I can assure you they will not see another day if I can help it. Not a single dog will be making it out of those mines, I promise you that."
Mirth frowned. "You'll go with an escort." He pulled a key from his vest pocket, unleashing Gobrend, who thankfully rubbed at his neck. "And they'll kill you if you try anything funny."
Gobrend shrugged. "I'll take what I can get."
"We need to get this underway. That way I can be rid of you, and I'm sure my dogs are itching for this fight.”
"Shall I, Boss?" Yorm said.
"No, Yorm. You're staying right in front of the rest of us for this raid."
Yorm blinked, his tone becoming defiant. "But― But Betas don't lead advances―!"
Mirth snapped his jaws, nearly taking off his beta's nose. Saliva poured from his mouth as he glowered over his quivering packmate. "Save your 'buts', Yorm. You talk lots about loyalty and respect, and I feel you need to put yours on display." He looked back to his scout. "Razor, you stay here. Someone'll come out to update you on the situation when this starts and you'll go back to our mines to either warn them to leave or to bring everyone else to help."
"Yes, Alpha, sir!" said Razor with a salute. Yorm was dangerously quiet.
"I'll send another few dogs to help you out, Gobrend. Don't get them killed, or I'll hold you personally accountable."
"I'm unarmed."
"And you’ll stay that way."
Gobrend reeled. "What!? How am I to help if I can’t even defend myself!"
"You don’t need to worry about anything other than guiding your escorts through those mines. Come on, Yorm. Let's get this done." Yorm followed close behind, fists clenched.
Razor looked to Gobrend and shrugged. “C’mon then, birdbeak. Sooner we start, sooner we're finished. Then you’ll be on your merry way.”
Gobrend eyed Razor’s neck for a long moment before closing his eyes, chuckling. “Yes, yes you’re right. Wouldn’t want to keep everyone waiting, would we? Lead the way.”
Mirth huddled his raiding party together, the dogs smearing clay and herbs into their fur as he laid out the plan: Gobrend, since he knew the mines better than everyone, would lead two stormers who could squeeze into the rear tunnels. They would kill any Sapphires they came across and work their way to the entrance. He would not be armed. As for the enforcers who made up the rest of the Frayed’s raiding party, they’d hold off for five minutes before they, with Yorm leading the brawlers, descended into the mines of the Sapphire.
This was a war of annihilation, Mirth warned: if the Sapphires weren’t all dead by the end of this, the Frayed stood no chance of surviving their wrath.
“Got anything to add, Gobrend?” Mirth asked unexpectedly.
Gobrend, who was busy preening his molting feathers, blinked. He glanced to his left and right before his eyes settled on the Alpha. “Me?” he asked, pointing to himself.
Mirth rolled his eyes. “No, the other Fire-forsaken gryphon here. Yes, you! Does anything seem out of order?”
Gobrend looked at Mirth in surprise before quickly clearing his throat. He adopted a lecturer’s stance, looking each dog in the eye. “The Sapphires have scouting parties in the area, so you should anticipate the possibility of an attack from behind. Press on, and be quick and terrible in your conquest of their mines to keep those within on their heels.” Mirth nodded, noting that. “I will not pretend that I like you dogs, but I despise the Sapphires more. Many of you will die facing them, but as I gaze upon you, I cannot help but feel sorry for that hapless bunch huddled in those mines unaware of what is coming for them. Every individual Frayed is worth three Sapphires at the least! So why don’t you go show them who the top dogs are!”
The bluntness of the gryphon’s words, combined with his enthusiastic call to arms, stirred the gathered dogs into a proper fervor. They bashed their weapons against the ground, whooping and praising the outsider’s speech. Those immediately next to the gryphon roughly slapped him on the shoulder.
Mirth allowed himself a small grin. He may be a smug, conniving little vulture, but somewhere in there he’s got the heart of a Diamond Dog.
Mirth still only trusted the bird as far as he could throw him, but…
His eyes narrowed when he spied Yorm surreptitiously speaking with two grunts a little ways away from the rest of the pack.
...At the moment, he trusted a few others within his own ranks even less.
He approached the gryphon, who was adjusting the satchel slung over his shoulder. “Nice speech, bird. Can’t say I was expecting that.”
Still rifling through his belongings, Gobrend said, “What can I say, dog, I’m a spontaneous gryphon,” without bothering to so much as raise his head.
Mirth snorted. The jewels on this bird! After looking back, he placed a paw on Gobrend’s shoulder, ignoring how the gryphon tensed, leading him a bit away from the pack, who were gathering the last of their gear for the raid. “Alright, you’re gonna be going with Hex and Mannix. They’re good dogs, so keep them alive and they’ll keep you alive. Got it?”
Hesitantly, Gobrend nodded. “You seem tense, Mirth,” he commented.
Mirth scowled, removing his paw. “It’s nothing. Just amped up over this raid.”
“And Yorm, I presume.” Mirth’s scowl deepened. “He’s going to try to kill you, you know,” Gobrend said conversationally, observing his claws. “It'll be a nasty fight in those dark, clogged tunnels. In the midst of all the chaos, what better opportunity would there be for an ambitious, unfettered no-name to ‘accidentally’ bash in his Alpha’s head in order to take his place? There is no low some will not stoop to in the pursuit of power, my canine friend.”
Mirth sat in silence as he absorbed the gryphon’s words. “Get yourself ready, Gobrend,” he muttered, standing up. “We both survive this, we should talk.” He walked back toward the main group, shouting a few things to get their attention.
Gobrend sneered as he pulled out what it was he was searching for: a matchbox.
Razor whistled as he relieved himself. Sentry work was mind-numbingly boring, but it sure beat risking his muzzle in a raid!
Wiping his paws off on a tree, he went back to staring out over the various boring shades of green in this boring forest on this boring assignment before the rustling of foliage caused his ears to perk. Blinking, he called out “Four?” cautiously, only to receive no answer.
Gulping, the dog backed away, his eyes shifting over the brush, which was no longer any kind of boring. What was once monotonous and uninteresting had grown confusing and threatening, reminding him of whose turf he was on. Before he could turn tail and warn his pack of the enemy, a paw clamped over his muzzle.
“Hey, watch your elbows, Hex!”
“Why don’t you watch your tail, Mannix!”
Gobrend groaned, crawling through the tunnels as Tweedledum and Tweedledee continued their bickering. Rubbing his temple with a talon, Gobrend hissed, “Might I remind you imbeciles that we’re meant to be stealthy in our approach! Save the tomfoolery for later.”
The two looked at each other a moment before sheepishly saying, “Sorry,” in tandem.
Gobrend grumbled darkly to himself. “Of all the dogs I could be stuck with…”
Hex grunted as Mannix’s tail once again swatted him in the face. “So, you been a Sapphire slave, huh?”
“I said as much, yes,” Gobrend replied.
Mannix grimaced in discomfort when he received an elbow to the ribs. “Why’s it you barking revenge against ‘em?”
“Yeah,” Hex added. “You know they big and bad. You think you bigger an’ badder, bird?”
“My reasons are my own, dogs,” Gobrend snapped. “They took something from me so I’m taking something from them. Quid quo pro.”
“Ooh, he tough, Hex,” Mannix mocked.
“Yeah, he bad,” Hex replied, the two snickering derisively.
Gritting his teeth, Gobrend paused, sniffing the air. “Do you dogs smell that?”
“Pretty bad,” Hex affirmed. “Reeks of ashflake.”
Mannix nodded. “Death down thataway.”
Gobrend solemnly sighed, his eyes hardening. “Right you both are.” He pulled out a tattered cloth and wrapped it around his beak. Even so, he’d never get the reek out of his nostrils.
“We’re drawing near the hub of Sapphire activity, so keep quiet, ready your weapons, and follow my lead and this should go smoothly.” The dogs nodded and the rest of the trek was spent in silence.
Gobrend huddled against the wall, his ears twitching every few seconds. Looking back, he motioned to Hex and Mannix, holding up a finger and pointing to each side of the opening. Nodding, the two dropped low, crude stone knives at the ready, and moved quickly forward. Glancing toward each other to ensure they were in position, they sprung.
A small struggle was heard, followed by the sound of two bodies hitting the ground. Gobrend swiftly moved ahead, pointing down the corridor. They came upon an empty mess hall, Hex asking, “Where are they?” The question was answered by a unified roar, and the sound of dogs scattering about ahead as the tunnel awoke with the cacophony of battle.
“Mirth, you fool!” Gobrend hissed. “They started too soon!”
“What we supposed to do now, then? Go back? We can’t take them on separated from the pack!” Hex said.
“Absolutely not!” Gobrend immediately responded.
“What else can we do!?” Mannix demanded.
A calculating expression crossed the gryphon’s face for a moment before he muttered to himself, “Yes, that might work...” The dogs looked at one another. “You!” he said, pointing at Mannix. “Throw on the armor the guards were wearing! And you, Hex, I need you to go tell Razor to send for help!”
Hex’s brows shot up in surprise, Mannix looking slightly fearful. “Why?”
“Your packmates will be crushed otherwise! Now go!” Hex, still slightly confused, nonetheless complied, running back the way they came. Gobrend smirked at Mannix. “As for us, we’re going to give the Alpha a quick visit.”
Everything started well enough. With Yorm at the head, the Frayed had caught the Sapphire with their pants down, smashing through their defenses with lightning ferocity. Nevermind how his Beta seemed to know exactly where to strike. It wasn’t until they managed to fight their way into the main area that something became apparent: the Sapphire were most certainly not drunk off their tails.
That feathered rat lead us into a trap! Mirth thought with a growl as they were beset upon by a horde of teeth and armor.
Guided only by the light emanating from the veins in the tunnel walls, Mirth shouted orders for the pack to tighten their formation in order to weather the brunt of the storm.
Then came a rumbling as something came tearing down the hall, trampling over even its own forces. Mirth’s eyes widened as the monstrously large Diamond Dog came charging at them.
Avarice swore to himself as he stuffed as many jewels into a rucksack as he could, the thing filled to the verge of bursting. With a good chunk of his forces out scouring for that gryphon and those other escapees, all his property, there couldn’t have been a worse time for them to come under attack. To think the Frayed had the nerve!
Flint should make short work of those morons. But just in case...
He jumped when the door flew open, trying desperately to draw the string of his new favorite crossbow, but the thing may well have been made of iron. The diminutive dog breathed a sigh of relief when he realized it was only one of his guards.
“What in Tartarus are you doing, grunt! You nearly gave me a heart attack!”
“Makin’ sure you alright, Alpha,” the dog said calmly, standing in the doorway.
Avarice blinked, finding something about the dog to be off: the stench of blood rolled from his armor, but beyond that... Avarice cautiously approached. “Yeah, yeah, of course... Hey, grunt, what’s with your scent? You’re next to invisible,” he said as he reached in his vest for his knife. The dog watched his every move, his muscles tensing. “Almost as if you’re…”
As soon as he pulled out his knife, the dog yelped in surprise before falling to the ground, grasping ineffectually at a gaping wound at the back of his neck as blood pooled beneath him. Shocked, Avarice didn’t notice the knife flying toward him until it embedded itself into his shoulder. He screamed in pain, falling to the floor and losing his grip on his weapon.
“Hello, master.” Avarice’s eyes widened when a familiar gryphon stepped into the room. “So nice to see you again.”
“Gobrend!” he wheezed. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“Your pet heard you were worried about his disappearance, master, and so he returned for a short visit. As it happens, your pet also has a few questions for you…” he said as he approached.
Avarice pulled himself away until he bumped against his desk, his paw on the knife, hissing in pain. When the gryphon was close enough, Avarice ripped the knife out, swinging at the gryphon. Gobrend grabbed the dog’s wrist and twisted it, making him cry out. Gobrend grabbed the blade and pressed it into Avarice’s mouth, staring the dog in his terrified eyes with an intensity that made him shiver. "How does it feel to be so small?”
Hex charged through the forest, searching for any sign of Razor.
He called out time and time again, only to receive no answer. Eventually, after minutes of searching, he heard muffled screams. “Razor?” He pushed through the foliage, forgoing usual protocol, and found the look-out bound and gagged. “Razor!”
The dog looked at him with an expression of fear, one of his eyes swollen shut, shying away from him as much as he could in his current state. “What the…” He made a calming gesture as he approached, Razor shaking as he pulled out his knife. “Hey, hey, let’s get you outta this. Quit the squirming!”
He cut the ropes binding Razor’s paws behind his back, the dog hastily pulling the gag from his mouth and shouting, “Look out!” Ears perking, Hex turned around and was slugged in the face, falling to the ground. An arm wrapped around his throat, pulling him into a headlock and cutting off his oxygen supply. Hex stabbed his knife into the arm and his attacker yelped, pulling away.
“Razor, go warn the others! Get them to help the Alpha! I’ll keep this Sapphire bastard busy.” He stood, turning to face his attacker, whose face was wrapped in a concealing mask of cloth, his scent camouflaged. He pulled the knife from his forearm, spinning it around in a way that suggested great familiarity with the weapon.
As the dogs circled each other, Razor, conflicted, looked between them and his exit. “B-But―”
“Go!” Hex commanded.
Razor hurriedly nodded before bolting, ignoring the horrible clamor of two dogs desperately doing their best to tear each other limb from limb.
Gobrend was having a good day.
He hefted his crossbow, firing a bolt into the back of a Diamond Dog’s neck, easily drawing the string back.
He was having really good day.
He ripped the bolt from the Sapphire’s writhing body.
The pony the dog was leading by chain scrambled off deeper into the mines. Gobrend almost told her she was heading right into a hotspot, but he didn’t feel like spoiling the surprise.
He grabbed an unlit torch off the wall, stuffing it into his old, worn down satchel which rested upon his newer one. With a little encouragement, Avarice was more than happy to fill in the blanks in Gobrend’s knowledge of the Sapphire mines. What came next was pivotal to his plan, but he needed as many dogs in these tunnels as possible if it were to go off without a hitch.
Next stop: mead storage.
The beast was dead! The Frayed basked in the brief respite as every dog gathered into groups and made off into different tunnels, the din of combat echoing through the mines. Somehow Yorm had been grouped with Mirth, the Alpha keeping a wary eye on his Beta. Or at least he thought he was his Beta. They’d be having a long chat about that when they got out of this.
Mirth couldn’t shake the thought that prying gryphon sneak had planted into his head. But he’d been right about pretty much everything he’d told them so far, parting the fact that the Sapphires were on alert for this raid, which meant the rival pack was in danger of crumbling tonight after all, so it wasn’t a stretch to believe everything else Gobrend had told him before the raid.
Mirth, Yorm and the rest of his group were swift and brutal in their work, bashing heads and clearing tunnels as they pushed forward, Yorm at the head. The Sapphires had grown so desperate they were using their slaves as meat shields, but the Frayed cut down everything in their path without prejudice. The somber fluorescence of the sapphire gems embedded in the walls was tainted, slick with the blood which coated them by this point.
With how well things were going, Mirth was having second thoughts about the dubiety of his subordinate. Maybe the gryphon was wrong. They pushed into the main tunnel when they heard the echo of dozens of pawpads coming from the direction of the entrance. Mirth turned around, his eyes widening. Yorm scowled.
“Ambush!”
Razor drained a canteen, sweat pouring from his body as he panted like a trout washed ashore. He needed to get back out there, to check on Hex. Wiping his muzzle with the back of his paw, he tossed the canteen to the ground and began the trek back to the Sapphire mines, his aching body protesting every motion.
Dammit, dammit, dammit!
Yorm skidded around a corner, bleeding from his side, his muzzle a misshapen mess. His weapon was long forgotten, the only concern on his mind at the moment being escape.
Screw Mirth, and screw the Sapphires, too! I just need to get out of here!
He tossed a cowering pony out of the way, dodging a spear and smashing a Sapphire’s head into the wall all without losing his stride, ignoring the hair-lighting stench of the place.
Yorm turned into another tunnel, finding the pain-in-the-neck gryphon hurriedly rolling barrels of alcohol into a pit.
“You!” Yorm growled through his bleeding maw.
The gryphon looked up, their eyes connecting. He backed away, muttering to himself as Yorm stormed toward him. He grabbed the crossbow at his side and fired it, Yorm ducking to all fours as he charged. Gobrend dropped his weapon and jumped out of the way, keeping his wings tight against his body.
Stopping himself before he fell into the pit, Yorm turned around, swinging for the bird’s head. Gobrend ducked beneath the swipe, stabbing his knife for Yorm’s neck, only for the dog to grab his arm and yank him forward.
The gryphon uttered no sound aside from a subdued grunt when the Beta’s fist collided with his stomach. Yorm slammed the gryphon to the ground, Gobrend rolling to the side to avoid having his head crushed under his fist.
Gobrend swiped at Yorm’s bleeding side, causing the dog to howl in pain as the bird attempted to put distance between them. Yorm blindly reached out, grasping the gryphon’s wing. Gobrend squawked in pain when he was pulled back.
Yorm pinned the gryphon beneath him, bringing his fist down into the struggling gryphon’s beak before wrapping his paw around his neck. Gobrend sputtered, panicking, as he clawed ineffectually at the enraged Beta’s arm, tearing away flesh to no avail before he was punched again.
Gobrend fought for air, his eyes rolling into the back of his head with blood and drool leaking from his gaping beak as he pushed uselessly against the larger, stronger dog. Yorm looked up from the dying gryphon as he heard something approaching from the tunnel, Gobrend taking the opportunity when the iron grip round his throat lessened to dig his talons into Yorm’s ravaged side. The dog screamed before the gryphon slammed his palm into his broken snout, sending him reeling as stars filled his vision.
Gobrend coughed and sputtered, hardly registering when a masked dog tackled Yorm off of him, the two wrestling on the ground as Gobrend crawled toward his crossbow. Yorm bit the dog’s arm, the masked dog baying as he weakly hammered away at the dog’s head with an injured arm. The gryphon drew the string of the crossbow, loading it with a bolt from his quiver before aiming it in the general direction of the dogs and loosing.
There was a yelp, and one of them fell limp. Gobrend blinked, finding that it was Yorm who had been shot. The other exhaustedly pushed the weak dog into the pit. Gobrend, still panting, pulled down the cloth wrapped around his beak to greedily gulp at the rancid, precious air of the mines, eyeing his ‘savior’ with malice as he loaded his crossbow with another bolt.
The masked dog looked back at Gobrend with resignation in his eyes as the gryphon pointed his weapon at him.
“Remove… your mask… now,” the gryphon commanded in between rasps.
The dog complied, revealing his face. Gobrend’s eyes widened before narrowing in rage. He put his finger on the trigger. “Hagley,” he said. “What are you doing here?”
Hagley panted, looking at the gryphon with a sad smile. “I’m helping.”
“You’re helping no one in your condition, dog,” Gobrend hissed. “And I’m not carrying you out of here.”
“Yeah, I wasn’t expecting to leave these mines when I returned. I’ve made my peace with that.” He stared Gobrend in the eyes. “So what? Are you going to shoot me now?”
Gobrend stared back, trembling in place before snarling and lowering his weapon. “You’re… You’re just another dog! What makes you think I wouldn’t kill you? I have all the reason in the world to do just that!”
“Well? This ‘dog’ is waiting, Gobrend.”
Gobrend paced, never taking his eyes off of Hagley. “I want this… I want nothing more than to kill you for what you did to me. I’ll show you, Hagley; I’ll…” He shook his head, his tail whipping wildly. He aimed his crossbow at Hagley once again. “I won’t let you get away with what you’ve done!”
“Will taking my life finally make you feel better, Gobrend?” Hagley sadly asked.
“Yes! Yes it will!”
“Then why haven’t you done it yet?” Gobrend froze. “Here’s your opportunity. You want to kill me? Do it, then!”
Gobrend grit his teeth, breathing deeply. “You… You…!” Gobrend screamed, throwing his crossbow to the floor. “I want to… I want…” He cast a withering glare at Hagley, who was now frowning. “Get up, damn you. We’re leaving.”
“I’m not going anywhere, Gobrend.” Hagley looked down, pulling up his shirt to reveal he had a deep gash in his side. Hagley shakily exhaled. “Told you I wasn’t leaving these mines.” He looked at Gobrend, shaking his head with an ironic smile. “You’re a damn tough bird to track, y’know that?”
“Why in Fulryn’s name would you do such a thing?” Gobrend asked, furrowing his brows. “I’ll never understand you, Hagley.”
“Because a Diamond Dog―” he winced, shifting along the wall he rested on “―is loyal to the end. Even to those who don’t really deserve it. You saved my hide, Gobrend Grasstalon. I couldn’t not be there to save yours.”
Gobrend chewed on his tongue, unsure of how to respond to that. After a long moment he approached, reaching out his hand, Hagley looking inquisitively at him, before he stopped, pulling it back to his chest and looking away. “...I’m going to burn the Sapphires’ heart out, Hagley. I’m going to take back what’s mine.”
Hagley tiredly nodded. “Go on, then. Leave me something to spark that flame. Wouldn’t want you to get caught in it, right?”
“Right…”
The two stared at each other for a long moment.
“You’re one of the good ones, Hagley.”
Hagley, in spite of himself, felt his tail wag. “You too, Gobrend. You too.”
Mirth had a bad feeling. An awful feeling. He couldn’t trust anyone. No one here was on his side. He fought fiercely to the entrance, forgetting about his dogs, uncaring about the familiarity of the dogs they were fighting in the murkiness of the tunnels. When there was an opening he took it, running through the dogs locked in combat without looking back.
He had to find Razor or Hex―someone whose loyalty was without question. Even the bird was preferable to these motherless, backstabbing wolves!
Then he spotted it: the exit! He was almost home free! He’d gather Razor and Hex and Gobrend, if the bird was agreeable, get out of Warg's Pass and restart his life where he wouldn’t need to sleep with one eye open all the time.
And just as he neared the entrance, he couldn’t ignore how hot the tunnels had suddenly become.
It was raining by now. Gobrend had emerged from the tunnels just before everything inside was reduced to cinders. He looked up to the sky, allowing the cleansing droplets to caress his face.
He was calm. He was calm.
The gryphon looked down to the earth, trembling, as he hugged himself. The rain came heavier.
He squeezed his eyes shut, trying and failing to empty his mind of all the noise crowding it, not realizing he was bleeding from the shoulders as his talons dug into his flesh.
Mirth’s ears rang and his lungs burned. Each beat of his heart poured seething agony into his veins. One moment he and his packmates were fighting, winning even, and the next there was fire. So much fire. It rushed through the tunnels like a hissing tide, sparing none in its path.
Where was Razor? He needed to find Razor, to warn him they were―
The sound of pawpads scattering the scorched autumn leaves approached. Mirth, exhausted and beaten, turned as much as his ravaged body would allow to regard the figure. His eyes narrowed as a growl bloomed from deep within his chest. The gryphon.
“You,” he snapped. “I should’ve just snapped your neck when I had the chance. Damned double-crosser...”
The gryphon tilted his head. “Don’t act so surprised, dog. We both knew it would come to this eventually.” He aimed the crossbow in his talons at the Diamond Dog’s head. “I did make a promise, after all.”
The gryphon’s piercing eyes met Mirth’s defiant glare, the world around them falling to stillness.
His talons trembled.
“Fare thee well,” he uttered, but before he could pull the trigger, his ears twitched at the sound of something rushing toward them. Gobrend lifted his head, aiming his crossbow, only to be tackled off Mirth.
The eruption of a violent struggle tore the deathly silence which had settled over the blackened ruins of the mines and the surrounding Ravenwood Forest asunder, and as Mirth lifted his head with the little strength he had, he found the gryphon beneath his scout, Razor swiping at him as he shielded himself with his crossbow to prevent himself from being gutted.
Mirth’s vision faded for a moment, and when the fog clouding his mind had cleared, he found Gobrend stabbing a knife into Razor’s shoulder, the dog howling in agony as the gryphon effortlessly dodged a sloppy retaliative swat, punching the dog below the ribs.
Mirth dragged himself toward the crossbow Gobrend had dropped, the scuffle between the two calming as the gryphon, now pinning the dog beneath him, was steadily pushing his knife toward the struggling look-out’s throat, Razor unable to completely stop the blade’s slow descent due to his injuries.
Razor bit Gobrend’s arm, misdirecting the knife and allowing it to plunge into his already bleeding shoulder, the gryphon gritting his teeth to stifle any cry and responding by twisting the knife.
When Mirth got his paw on the crossbow he sluggishly pushed himself up, the movement feeling like thousands of needles of liquid anger being stabbed into his side all at once. He ignored the pain, shakily lifting the weapon with one hand and aiming it at the gryphon, who had freed his arm and was now beating Razor’s already swollen face black and blue.
He laid his finger on the trigger.
Gobrend, suddenly remembering that there was another on the field, raised his head, his ears twitching. As the gryphon turned around, his eyes widened in horror.
Mirth growled, firing the bolt.
Gobrend unfurled his wings, but was too late to react. The gryphon shrieked as the bolt hit him before falling to the ground, unmoving.
Mirth let the crossbow fall to the ground before he slumped over, joining it. The world spun, and the pain was unbearable. Maybe… Maybe he ought to take a nap…
He failed to notice the stirring along the charred leaves as he faded into entropy.
Eve stared over the grisly scene before her with more than a little disbelief. She was familiar with violence, almost intimately so, but for such devastation to be wrought in such a short period of time…
Did Gobrend do this…? she wondered, awed as she observed the state of the Sapphire Mines. There were groaning slaves and dogs of both sides, as well as the horrifically scorched bodies of their comrades near the entrance. Of course, in the middle of it all was the high-born.
And no sign of Hagley. While Eve had already grieved for him, she couldn’t shake a dark desire which swelled with every step as she approached Gobrend's fallen form. He was bleeding from his side, a bolt having been the cause of his less than stellar condition. Eve checked his pulse, finding that he was still alive, if not well. She placed her palm on his head. He was burning up. Fever.
As she observed the wound, she noticed that the bolt had scorned one of his wings. If she were more naive and this were any other gryphon, she’d assume it was fool’s luck that saved his life, but knowing Gobrend, he’d purposely used his lame wing to cushion the blow and prevent any serious damage. She almost praised his insane ingenuity.
She lightly pushed him, causing him to groan.
“I don’t know what it was Hagley saw in you, high-born, but he paid for your vendetta with his life.” Her ears pressed against her skull. “And for what? For you, you who treated him like trash? He would have gone to the ends of the earth for you because he was just that damn good a friend, and you killed him for it! The boss was right, you don’t care about anyone other than yourself.”
Gobrend’s talons clenched, peeling the sodden earth.
Eve’s head perked when she heard the sound of chains rattling through the mud. A pony with the scarred remnants of what was originally a dark green coat pulled himself to them, panting at the great effort it must have taken to accomplish such a task in his ruined state. He reached out a hoof, which Eve swatted away before she carefully lifted Gobrend from the ground.
“H...Help…” the pony drily croaked.
“Why would I help a dead pony?” she asked, not bothering to look his way.
“Don’t let me die… a slave…” the pony pleaded.
Eve, against her better judgment, looked down to the pony, ready to draw her sword and simply bring his misery to an end, when she looked into his eyes. They were golden. Just… Just like…
Eve scowled, pulling from her saddlebag a small jar filled with a glowing, honey-like substance. “It’s not like you have anything to lose anyway,” she said, placing a spoon inside. “Open wide.”
Brocarius quietly observed the two graves before him, thinking. He’d shed no tears, for this was to be expected of a Knight; the same could be said for those unfortunate enough to be victims of fate, much like the filly. He appreciated them both for what they were. One could even say he considered them friends. But he’d shed no tears for them.
The pony chewed on the words Gobrend had said earlier, about how there was no value in the dead. Was that true? Did the dead have no value? Death came for everypony, that was the one certainty of life, but did a pony’s departure, premature or otherwise, render all that they had accomplished in their lives moot? Did the mouse have no bearing for the hawk? Did the grass not wake upon receiving the sun’s tender kiss? Did the wind not weather the rockbed?
The very idea ran counter to the philosophy of the Knights of Redemption, did it not? When he felt the brush of dusk every waking morning, it fueled him. When the sound of laughter tickled his ears, he smiled. When the chill of Death teasingly stroked his fur on Her way by, he was thankful for the chance to experience the warmth of Life’s embrace.
No, Brocarius didn’t want to live forever. He was content simply to live. And because his mission in life was to embrace change, he’d accept it regardless of what form it took: Life, Death, Chaos, New Order. It was a shame so many feared change.
Even so, the gryphon did have a startling point: at the end of the day, here lied two individuals in unmarked graves in the middle of some large, scarcely civilized forest, their names already being washed away by the indifference of time. Sad as it was, history would not remember them, even if he did.
So did the dead have value? If not, then why mourn in the first place? If so, then again, why mourn?
Brocarius lifted his gaze to the sky, thanking the Lost Sister for the masterful beauty with which she crafted this night under which Hagley and young Green Springs rested. At least the night, he thought, was everlasting.
“Are you sure you don’t wanna go back for the others, Alpha?”
“What others?”
Razor paused, rubbing the makeshift sling his arm was in. “The rest o’ your pack, Alpha.”
Mirth, whose side was wrapped in a dirty layer of bandages, scowled. “My pack? I have no pack, Razor. Every one of those backstabbers are dead or good as dead.” He roughly tore a bite from a spitted rabbit as Razor lowered his head.
“...Alpha, what if the others need help? You’re the Alpha; you’re supposed to look out for your own!” Razor immediately covered his muzzle with his paw.
Mirth growled, baring his frightful teeth as saliva ran down his muzzle. He looked over the fire Razor had set up with a wild, dangerous look in his eye.
“A-Alpha, I didn’t mean―” he cowered when Mirth bellowed, charging through the fire and looming over him with an open, slavering maw.
“One more word out of turn, and I’ll have your head on that spit, runt,” Mirth slowly said. “There are going to be a few changes in this pack. Seems there isn’t any loyalty in a dog when he has nothing to fear from his betters, so I’ll put the fear of the Flame, as an acolyte reborn through Her embrace, into every dog from here to the Equestrian borders!”
He stepped away, giving his subordinate room to breathe. Razor uncurled from the ball he’d fallen into, pointedly keeping his gaze away from his Alpha.
“The Frayed had no loyalty: My second in command was the wretched son of a jackal; and a vulture was led to our mines by the rotting stench of deceit that not even I could smell when it was right under my nose. But my eyes are open now. And I won’t make the same mistakes twice…” After a moment, he looked at Razor. “Where is Hex, runt?”
“I-In the forest, Alpha,” Razor hastily responded.
"Yorm?"
"Likely in the Sapphire Mines."
Madness crept into his unhinged gaze. “And the gryphon?”
Razor, still quivering, sorrowfully turned his gaze to the ground.
Mirth's eye twitched. He smiled, a chuckle escaping his lips, before he pulled his head back and laughed, truly laughed, for the first time in a long time, the fire warming the two burning on apathetically.
Bright Willow stared incredulously at his reflection in the pond, running a hoof down his face. With how unbelievable it was that he was restored, he’d nearly convinced himself that the nightmare of the past few days―including the yawning inferno which had swallowed everything in the mines―had never even occurred.
But then he recalled awakening from a horrific, stinging agony, one which made him feel as though his insides were tearing, and finding himself in front of the Sapphire Mines. After restlessly searching for his wife all through the night, overturning boulders with strength he never knew he had and stepping over unrecognizable bodies which made him heave, he ran off into the forest hoping against hope she’d be there.
In the back of his mind he knew she’d never left the mines, and it wasn’t until he’d screamed himself hoarse and his feeble legs had no strength left in them that he simply cried. He cried until sleep took him. He solemnly hoped Gobrend at least took that kind-hearted filly with him when he escaped.
“Amber…” Another tear welled within his eye, spilling to the earth as Bright Willow hung his head. His grief was interrupted, however, when the buzz of dozens of wings shredded the ambience above the treetops, headed in the direction of the destroyed mines. Bright Willow’s heart fluttered, the earth pony filled with hope as what was likely a gryphon rescue team had come to save him and the others.
He excitedly bolted after the sound, tripping over his chains and crashing into the dirt. Not to be deterred, he laid one of his shackles against a sizable rock and smashed it with his hoof, the thing snapping. He did the same with the other, rolling his hooves and grimacing at the grotesque burns the metal had left behind on his fetlocks. Bright Willow ran, fueled by the promise of salvation.
As he approached the clearing the fire had blasted into the Ravenwood Forest, he was confused to discover no one there. He looked around, not exiting lest he be attacked by remnants of the Sapphire, fearing he had mistaken the sound of flyers in his addled state. His ears drooped. The awful smell of ash and seared flesh caused the pony to retch, but just as he was about to turn around and brave the forest in search of the nearest town, a shadow danced in the light of the morning sun, followed by two more. Soon the ground itself hypnotically shifted with the silhouettes of airborne figures.
Bright Willow looked up, shielding his eyes as the sun reflected off the steel covering them. Twelve shapes descended, spears in hand, and Bright glowed with relief when he spied the golden-bull insignias emblazoned on the tangerine-hued tabards covering their armor: these were soldiers of King Greygleam’s Bison Company! He thanked his lucky stars, nearly stepping out of the brush, but decided against it when he noticed how guarded the Gryffonians were. He didn’t want to be skewered for surprising them, after all.
And so he waited. The soldiers above continued doing their rounds as those on the ground set up a perimeter around the entrance to the mines. Something about this situation struck Bright Willow as peculiar now that his mind was sobering from the initial flood of elation: Wasn’t the Ravenwood beyond the Coalition's territories? Why in Equestria were armed soldiers of this caliber the first to respond to this mess and not more traditional militia?
Now less enthused about approaching the gryphons than before, Bright Willow simply waited where he hid, watching as another dozen landed in the midst of the perimeter, the last dozen flying overhead. One of the Greygleams, this one wearing a distinctive red plume, barked out orders, those forming the perimeter lifting their weapons as those within spread out, gathering the remaining survivors and dragging them into the protected center.
One of the dogs who was lucid enough to growl at an approaching Greygleam had the butt of the soldier’s spear driven into his snout before he and another pulled him with the others. They were grouped separately, dog and pony, and even the deceased were piled into the perimeter.
What in Equestria…? The dogs and slaves were checked for weapons by one of the soldiers, who passed off anything with an edge to another, who tossed them into a pile as another began digging a small hole to toss them within. The plumed gryphon walked up to one of the dogs, asking him a question, only to have him spit in his face. He wiped the offense off his brow, staring at it for a moment before punching the dog across the muzzle. He said something else to the dog as he pressed his face into the ground, and the dog scoffed. Rolling his eyes, the Greygleam gave a command as he moved to the next, the dog being dragged off toward the pile of corpses as he hollered in fear.
Bright Willow’s eyes widened in terror. “By Celestia’s sun… What kind of rescue party is this?”
He began backing away as slowly as he could, careful not to alert the soldiers, when the fierce screech of a bird of prey pierced the air from above. Bright jumped before falling to the ground, making himself as small as possible. One of the Greygleams circling in the sky dive bombed through the trees, followed by two others, and returned to the air with a mewling pony in their grasp.
Bright took that as his cue to leave. And so he ran. He ran as fast as his legs would carry him, not stopping or looking back.
Gobrend stared into the mirror. His reflection stared back. Old, damaged feathers and dirty bandages littered the floor around him; his coat and plumage were scrubbed clean of anything resembling blood or detritus; his beak shined.
Gobrend slowly ran his palm over his face, putting down the scissors in his talons. He looked almost familiar, but something―so subtle that it was unmistakable in its loudness―had changed. Maybe it was deeper than how he appeared: Maybe it was how he now looked at himself.
So what was it?
After gazing numbly into the portal for a long while, Gobrend’s eyes finally settled on those of his doppelgaenger. His breathing hitched. It was as though he were staring into the sinister gaze of a prowling beast. Gone was the youthful, wide-eyed curiosity and wonder from times long passed, his eyes now hardened, dark and analytical. He had to admit they unsettled him. The body would recover, carry him to his next destination without protest. Somewhere deeper than the flesh, however, would forever ache.
Gobrend sighed, straightening as his good wing unfurled. His metamorphosis was complete.
He winced when a stinging jolt crashed through his nerves, his claw moving to his ribs. A week had passed since the incident at the Sapphire Mines, but his newest scar, courtesy of his good friend Mirth, still jeered at him unhappily with every disagreeable movement.
Letting out a shaky breath, Gobrend limped from the watchtower’s restroom into the bedroom. He carefully raised himself onto his lumpy mattress―the thing being a welcome change from stone floors and uneven earth―panting from the exertion. He let out a breathless chuckle. “Well put, good sir. Well put indeed.”
Gobrend rested his head upon the pillow, staring at the ceiling before something flashed in his mind. Slowly rolling over, he spied his old saddlebag near the nightstand. Gobrend weakly dragged it into his lap. His talons brushed against a copy of a Daring Do comic, the gryphon eyeing the thing for a time before he hesitantly set it aside, fishing for the notebook within. He glossed over its contents, his expression grim. He flipped the pages, happening upon a single anomalous flower which lowly glowed.
Gently picking the flower from the notebook, Gobrend stared at it in silence, allowing himself to be pulled into a peaceful haze by its hypnotic, ever-shifting luminescence.
That was how Eve found him when she opened the door. She frowned. “You’ve been out of the bed again, haven’t you?”
“It is in our mutual interest that I heed Mother Nature’s call,” he said, still eyeing the flower. Turning to her, he said, “Unless you wish to hold my hand as I take the harrowing three-meter toil to the lavatory.”
“Surprising that you’re competent enough to manage that without need of a roomful of servants, fop.”
“A shame there is not a whetstone in the world that would sharpen your wit to the same effectiveness of your sword, jouster.”
“Too bad there isn’t a bolt in the world that could pierce that slimy aura of conceit about you, you scrawny earth trampler!”
“And yet my conceit shields my ears to the ramblings of the loud, chest-beating hedge knight plaguing my room with her pretense!”
Before any more barbs could be exchanged, Brocarius knocked on the already open door, alerting the two gryphons to his presence. They continued glaring at one another as he stepped into the room. “Gobrend. I see you’re well.”
“I was until this maddening hen plodded her way in here,” Gobrend said.
“Keep talking like that, high-born, and I’ll give you another sufficiently-sized hole in your side.”
Ignoring the verbal joust twixt the two, Brocarius walked up to the bed, giving Gobrend a once-over with a critical eye. He raised an eyebrow, humming. “You clean up well, Gobrend. And that’s saying something since you were lugged in here like a leaking sack of rice not too long ago.”
Gobrend rolled his eyes, placing his flower in his journal. “You have all the subtlety of a burning hippogriff, Brocarius.”
“Gobrend, you blew up a Diamond Dog mine and somehow managed to get shot with your own crossbow. If anypony is giving out lessons in subtlety, it certainly isn’t you.”
Eve smirked at that, Gobrend fuming. “With all due respect, pony, if you and the scrapyard strumpet have nothing to provide me aside from your sterling personalities, then I would prefer my own company.”
Eve’s eye twitched at that. “I’m going to kill him, Brocarius. I’m going to kill him and I’m going to laugh as I do it.”
“Another time, Eve,” Brocarius said, patting her trembling shoulder. “As a matter of fact, Gobrend, we do have more to offer on this visit than our hurrahs at your speedy recovery―”
“Even if you are a cold-hearted brother killer,” Eve interjected.
Eve scowled. “You didn't save him either. It should have been you, Gobrend.”
Gobrend flinched as if struck, but looked down, silent. Eve attempted to will him dead for a moment before snorting and turning her gaze elsewhere.
After a moment, the gryphon asked, “Why did you wish to see me?”
Brocarius tilted his head. “Certain… complications have made themselves known since your little confrontation with the Sapphires.” He pulled out a red gemstone, laying it flat on the table. “Activate.” At his command, the gemstone sprang to life, glowing a sinister shade of red which made Gobrend leap from his mattress, only to land in a heap of pain and loose feathers when his formerly bolt-acquainted side shot shockwaves of animosity through his body.
“What in… Tartarus… is that?” Gobrend wheezed.
“Seeing stone,” Brocarius answered. “Now shush, you need to see this.”
A three-dimensional hologram sprouted from the seeing stone, revealing a captured frame in time that made Gobrend’s eyes widen.
“The Sapphire Mines…” he whispered. “What are Fulryn’s soldiers doing there?”
“Nothing good,” Brocarius answered, furrowing his brows curiously at Gobrend. “And that means the suspicions of the High Council were correct.” Gobrend looked at Brocarius. “There is something rotten in the heart of Silvercrest, Grasstalon. The Diamond Dogs aren’t the only ones benefiting from the use of pony slaves.”
“...Why are you showing me this, Brocarius?”
“You know what it’s like to be a gem slave, Gobrend,” Eve said. “Don’t you want to keep that from happening to anyone else?”
“That’s none of my concern, Eve. I owe nothing to a slave, and the only Diamond Dog pack I had a quarrel with has been destroyed. There is no reason for me to remain here once I have fully healed.”
“You’re just going to ignore everything? Look, Gobrend! Does the fact that soldiers of the Coalition are in on this not matter to you?”
“Well, what do you expect me to do!” Gobrend demanded. “I have no stakes in this twisted game of yours, Knight. Leave me out of it.”
“Gobrend,” Brocarius interjected. “If we don’t do anything to stop this, there will be countless more who suffer Green Springs’ fate.” Gobrend stared at Brocarius, his face that of stone. “You said you were visiting Silvercrest before you were abducted, correct? Well, what’s to stop you from being captured again the moment you step outside to resume your journey? You won’t last another year in Diamond Dog captivity, Gobrend.
“We both have the same destination in mind and we both are wary of the roads. Something tells me Silvercrest is central in what is going on here in Warg's Pass. With your help, we will put an end to this nightmare, and, should you still wish it, you will be free to go on your way when this is over. Besides―” Brocarius leveled Gobrend a steely gaze “―my friend died saving your life. You owe us.”
Eve nodded at that. “Damn right.”
Gobrend set his jaw as Brocarius extended a hoof. “So what do you say, Gobrend Grasstalon? Will you work with the Knights of Redemption one more time?”
Exhaustion was something a Royal Guard was trained extensively to endure. That, and pain. Both went double for anypony who worked the Equestrian border and beyond: lawless lands, rife with roaming monsters and bandits and numerous other dangers. Warg's Pass’ landlocked borders, nestled between the back and breast of Griffinstone to the west and the Gryphon Coalition eastward, were no different.
In all the years he’d spent protecting his country, fending off threats most ponies nowadays weren’t even aware existed, with only Her Highness’ best at his side, Captain Iron Prospect had never faced fatigue the likes of which he was presently experiencing.
He sucked in a breath through a nose crusted with dried blood, only able to open his unswollen eye fully. Wiggling his hooves, he found they were still tied to one another, tight enough to dig into his skin painfully, only allowing enough room to walk. Celestia, he did not want to take one more step.
“I see you’re awake.” Prospect tiredly lifted his head, glaring at the green-coated pony across from him in the mud. His armor was busted and coated in filth from the marsh. It looked as though something large had tried clawing its way inside. “Good. Bright and early, and you’ve still got a lotta miles to cover.”
Prospect continued glaring as the pony approached, pulling out a canteen and holding it out to him. “Drink,” he commanded.
“You’re making a grave mistake, Short Order,” Prospect said, clenching his teeth. “Untie me, and I give you my word this will be overlooked. You're not just endangering yourself here. Think about your family.”
Short Order didn’t even blink. “Drink,” he repeated. “Or would you prefer I get out the rag again?”
“I’m telling you, Short Order, it wasn’t my intention! Stop this demented game of yours so we can go home!” A hoof crashed into his jaw, throwing him to the ground.
“Not your intention!” Short Order cried, dragging Iron Prospect up against a tree and pressing his forehead against his. Prospect couldn’t ignore the large, bloodied wrapping covering the remains of the stallion’s right eye, the grisly bite marks over it nearly as seizing as his furious glare. “You led us into an ambush, Iron, and you disappeared the second things went to Tartarus!”
“It was supposed to be a simple in-and-out! The ponies we were there for were going to be marched out to us, no hassle!”
“And you decided the best way to guarantee that was to conspire with a Diamond Dog slaver!”
"He was willing to negotiate, and I knew the rest of you wouldn’t understand,” Prospect spat. “I was acting to save lives! To prevent blood from being spilt! If it meant bargaining with them instead of blindly charging into those deathtraps they call homes, I was willing to bargain!”
“And look where your 'bargaining' got us, Iron! You got twelve of the brightest Royal Guards Equestria will ever see―twelve of my best friends―killed!”
“They were my friends, too!”
Roaring, Short Order threw Iron Prospect to the ground. He narrowed his eye, pulling from his bandolier several knives, the blades looming threateningly overhead, all pointed at the wide-eyed stallion. “You had good intentions, Iron? You want to make things right? You’re gonna prove it by going until you bleed from the cracks in your hooves. Then you’ll go further than that. Walk.”
Saiph
Saiph adjusted the knife in her mouth as she worked, eyes narrowing. Vega’s voice floated on the breeze through the campsite as she briefed everypony on their objectives for the night. The wooden figurine in her hooves resembled a pegasus mid-flight, the finer details yet to be carved into it. Saiph appraised the carving for a moment after blowing away the shavings clinging to it, carefully bringing the knife to its rough surface…
She started when somepony elbowed her in the side, dragging an ugly gash into her craft. Turning to glare at the pony responsible, Saiph’s heart leapt to her throat when she found Perichot casting her a sidelong glance. Blushing, Saiph’s gaze snapped to the ground. Somepony cleared their throat. Saiph, a chill running up her spine, looked up to find herself face to face with Vega.
“Saiph,” Vega said. “Since you appear to have the energy to goof off, you just volunteered yourself for fireguard duty.”
Saiph’s jaw dropped.
Before she could even protest, another pony cut in. “Actually, Vega, we need an extra hoof in recon,” Perichot said. The contents of his saddlebag were splayed out in front of him on the forest floor. “Sky Spiral sprained her fetlock, and I refuse to allow her to go on our mission at the risk of aggravating her injury further.”
“When did this happen, Perichot?” Vega asked.
“Not too long ago, I reckon,” Perichot said, shaking his canteen next to his ear to gauge its fullness. “Likely yesterday morning’s ruck. Spiral’s been trying to disguise it, but she’s favored her left foreleg since we stopped.”
Sighing, Vega said, “You can have Saiph fill in for her, then. I’m going to find Sky in the meantime and check on her. Gonna give her a piece of my mind, I am…”
As she walked off to another point in their camp, Saiph looked back at Perichot in astonishment. “Uh, t-thanks, Perichot. Fireguard is mind-numbing.”
Perichot’s ear swivelled to her, the pony already focused on something else. He began folding his poncho liner when he told her, “Don’t thank me just yet, Saiph. You, Vivid Root, Lilac Cross and I are heading to Brighthaven a few klicks out.” He picked up the figurine Saiph dropped, wiping off the mud clinging to it and giving it an approving glance before hoofing it back to her.
Saiph pursed her lips. “Brighthaven? The name sounds familiar, but I just can’t place it…”
“I’m not surprised. It’s an obscure village, but one with a history: Brighthaven’s one of the towns the more vocal opponents of Princess Luna fled to when she became Nightmare Moon.”
“We’re going to a settlement of sun fanatics!?”
Stuffing his poncho liner into his saddlebag, Perichot nodded. “We’ve lost two scouts and reports of Diamond Dog activity have skyrocketed. No way that’s just coincidence. Any information we can gather from the locals could lead us to them.”
Saiph grimaced. “Perichot, these aren’t just the average, paranoid yokels. They’re carrying a thousand-year grudge against the princess and anything related to her! It’s just as likely that they’re the reason Teal Gulch and Jadalaque are MIA!”
Perichot went silent, lifting his gaze to the silhouette on the moon for a moment. “I’ve considered the same thing, Saiph.” He placed a hoof on her shoulder. “And if that’s the case, well… we’ll finish what Princess Luna started.”
With that, Perichot went to brief the other members of their four-pony squad. Saiph looked down to the figurine in her hoof, eyeing the gash she’d accidentally carved into its side. Her eyes then went to the knife she’d dropped earlier. She picked it up, wiping the instrument off as best as she could on her armor, staring into her slitted eyes in the blade.
The Thestrals had inherited a monumental task in Princess Luna’s absence; they were the nameless soldiers of the Equestrian frontier, laboring a thankless, terrible task without end. But until death came for them, they would continue their grim duty without complaint. They were monster hunters, after all, and so they would do what they had for a millennia: they would hunt monsters.
The night saw Saiph and her comrades travelling through the dense Ravenwood Forest. They could not to cover the distance more quickly as Lilac Cross was not a pegasus, but they made acceptable pace regardless, taking turns carrying him. Fortunately, they’d only encountered a few skittish deer and the odd fox as they headed to their destination.
The moon bathed them in its gentle glow as, after a little over a full day of tedious travel, they found themselves staring up at the great wooden walls of Brighthaven. The wall was a string of staunch lumber erected length-to-length, as though fused to one another after sprouting from the very earth itself. A dirt path led from its entrance to a small creek teeming with game. Aside from the obvious tampering that went into crafting the village, the surrounding forest was left largely untouched; it would take a flier―and one with a keen eye at that―to take notice of the relatively small dent in the overhanging blanket of nature.
“Bit more fortress-y than I was expecting, I tell you,” Vivid Root said, standing before its gate. “The sun-lovers know how to put together a defense if nothing else. Guess Celestia, in her ‘divine wisdom’, must have planted the notion of good craftsmanship into their minds.”
Perichot snorted, appraising the sharpened stakes filed from the abundance of oak surrounding them primed to gut any unwelcome guests who got the idea to climb over the walls. “Well, it’s that or have the wildlife tear you to chunks, Root. I doubt Brighthaven would be here after all this time if they weren’t able to adapt.”
Saiph brushed past Lilac Cross, whose horn was alight as he spent what time he could spare meditating to draw from the magic surrounding them, to inspect the gate. “Unoccupied,” she muttered, suspicious. Raising her voice, she said, “I’m not sure how the sun worshippers think things work, but there tends to be a pony at the gates.”
“Saiph, it’s past midnight. What else would you expect?” Vivid Root said.
“I’d expect there to be somepony at the gate, Vivid Root. We’re in the middle of the forest; anything could crawl out of the brush at any point in the night and you’re telling me nopony’s at least standing watch?”
Vivid Root’t expression turned ponderous as Perichot pursed his lips.
Wings twitching, Saiph said, “I’ll be right back.” Before anypony could say anything, she launched herself into the air, easily gliding over the spiked walls and landing on the other side of the gate. She kicked the catch and strained, trying to pull the wheel controlling the gate.
“What the hay, Saiph!” Perichot shouted, having followed after her. “Do not run off like that!”
“Noted, sir,” Saiph grunted, pushing against the defiant wheel. “Mind helping me with this?”
Huffing, Perichot moved her aside and replaced the stick acting as a catch for the wheel. Lifting his hoof to his mouth, he whistled, and a moment later Vivid Root flew over the gate, Lilac Cross in tow.
“Celestia’s sun-plastered flanks, Cross, cut the pie out of your diet!” Vivid Root said, panting.
“If you weren’t carrying me, I’d give you a shiner for that,” Lilac Cross responded.
“Alright, stop your bickering, you foals, we have work to do.” Perichot nodded his head at Saiph, and everypony fell into step. The town had a second wall constructed behind the gates, a large door sitting closed that would allow the Thestrals entrance.
Lilac Cross praised the forethought that went into preventing large predators from waltzing in and having an all you can eat buffet if they’d ever gotten past the first gate. “Contingencies, eh? Clever,” he said.
The four pushed through the door, eyes searching for any threat, when they noticed just how quiet the town was. The roads linking the agricultural area to the communal houses were empty, and every house was absent of light. In a town of ponies who worshipped the light and despised the night, that there was next to no source of it, no sign of patrolling sentries or even the odd late-night drunk, made Saiph’s coat stand on end.
The only place that seemed to be alive was the building in the middle of the town. All roads led to the church, and so the squad followed Perichot to the nucleus of Brighthaven.
Despite herself, Saiph breathed a relieved sigh when they discovered a sign of life within the monastery. There, at the foot of the chapel, rested a lantern glowing warm with incense. Muted chanting could be heard on the other side of the door. The building was humble and sturdy in design as all others in Brighthaven were, but it was clear this was where most of the community’s attention went after the defenses in the town’s construction.
Perichot’s lips were a straight line. “Alright. Vivid Root, Lilac Cross, you two remain out here. Me and Saiph will go inside and speak to whoever is in charge. We don’t want to spook the populace, but be ready to spring if things go south. We’ll regroup at the brook outside the walls if we’re separated. Any questions?” When everypony uttered their understanding, Perichot looked at Saiph. “C’mon, let’s go introduce ourselves to the locals.”
Saiph grimly nodded. Looking back to her other squadmates, who were already watching for danger, she rolled her withers as she prepared herself for any upcoming excitement. When she reached Perichot’s side, the stallion lifted his hoof and slowly pushed the door to the church open.
“Risen the sun, upon my soul it shines…”
Upon entering, Perichot and Saiph looked around, finding several ponies, seated in rows, praying in unison. A few were roused from their recitation when the door shut, turning around to glance at the two.
“The shadow leaves me, fearful of Her light.”
At the far end of the room, sitting on a raised platform, was a black-haired unicorn clothed in a flowing blue robe. Wrapped around her eyes was a white blindfold. Saiph noticed that a small few of the gathered audience, too, shielded their eyes, and for some reason the hair of her coat stood on end. She and Perichot slowly stepped forward through the center aisle.
“Risen the sun, through me flows Her light, making me pure, worthy of Her sight.”
By now, most of the room had ceased their prayers, those with their eyes unobstructed staring expressionlessly at the two newest guests as they made their way to the cleric. The unicorn, undeterred, finished the hymn even when the voices of her chorus faded to static:
“Risen the sun, higher than all. I fear not the Moon, shielded by Her hold. Risen the sun, upon my soul it shines. To Her Divine Radiance I offer soul and life.”
All eyes remained on the visitors. The room was silent as the grave. Perichot felt a line of sweat trail down his forehead beneath his helmet, and Saiph’s eyes shifted restlessly from one potential threat to the next as she settled into a stance that would allow her to quickly fight or retreat. The cleric hummed.
“‘Twould appear we have visitors,” she said, her voice soft. The mare turned her head to the Thestrals as though unblinded, and, though her eyes were hidden, Saiph felt the penetrating stare leveled at them. “Though, moon-scented, and wearing the brand of the Bloody Revenant… What black force compels thee to defile these most hallowed of halls with thy presence, servants of the Nightmare?”
“Vicar,” Perichot diplomatically greeted. “I am Perichot. This here is my partner, Saiph.”
“I know who thou art,” the vicar said. “Forego the pleasantries, darklurker. Wherefore art thou here?”
“We’ve lost two of our own, ma'am. We came to collect any information those local to the area may be able to provide to aid us in our search for them.”
“Then thy search was in vain.”
Perichot growled, taking a step forward. Several acolytes moved from their seats at the action. “This is your problem as well, vicar. Something out there is snatching up ponies, and we have reason to believe it to be the work of the Diamond Dogs. Doesn’t that worry you?”
“It concerneth me not the disputes of thee and thy heathen, darklurker; Celestia’s light mercifully washes away such filth ‘pon her beckoning.” The vicar waved her hoof and her followers obediently took their seats once again. She then turned her head to the pair. “Thou wilt return to the shadows whence thou cam’st, and ne’er sully the paths of Brighthaven again, lest Her Majesty’s ire targets thee.”
“She’s hiding something, I just know it!”
“Calm down, Saiph,” Perichot said. “It’s not like we weren’t expecting worse. No use getting worked up over it.”
The Thestral squad was huddled up around a small campfire in a secluded patch of the Ravenwood. The crackle of the splintering wood in the flame was drowned out by the den of nocturnal ambience as insects and other creatures sang their waking songs. Lilac Cross and Vivid Root were pressed against one another, with Perichot on his belly by the fire, watching as Saiph paced about the fire.
“Yeah,” Vivid Root chimed in. “You’re a lot more restless than usual, Saiph. Why’s this got you so worked up?”
“I don’t know, I…” Saiph shook her head. “I think, no, I know that nun is involved somehow.”
Perichot plucked a blade of grass, tossing it into the fire. “I can’t fault you for thinking that, Saiph, but be rational: groups as insular as these? They never leave their walls. These ponies probably still think the princess is out there somewhere, ready to abduct them in the dark although there’s evidence enough to debunk that whenever you look up at night.”
“I don’t know, Perichot. I just have a feeling, I guess.”
“I’ll bring it up to Vega when we get back to camp. But it doesn’t make much sense for them to leave us be if they’re responsible for Teal Gulch and Jadalaque disappearing.”
Saiph plodded her plot down with a sigh. “You don’t reckon that―”
Everypony jumped to defensive stances when the snap of a twig thundered through the darkness blanketing their surroundings. Saiph scanned the forest for movement, trusting Lilac Cross to cover the source of the noise as he ignited his horn in preparation for a fight.
The bushes rustled, the Thestrals tensing, and out of the brush stepped the silhouette of a stallion. “Woah, woah, I come unarmed, black coats.”
“Are you one of the Solars?” Perichot asked, no less on guard. “State your business.”
“‘Twasn’t easy, the trip here,” the old stallion said, maintaining his distance. “Ye be warriors, yes? The hoof-chosen bloodshedders of Dawn’s Menace?”
“Choose your next words carefully, zealot,” Perichot said, his tone cold. “And then leave.”
As the figure hazarded a few steps closer, the fire revealed the weathered face of an old stallion. “I need your help,” he tiredly said.
“Pft. Why would you ask us for help, you old coot?” asked Vivid Root, confused.
“It’s about my son, Golden Shine. He’s been gone two weeks.”
“Why do you come to us asking this?” Perichot said. “What about your community?”
“Sister Dawn is not fond of outsiders, you see. Not fond at all. She hates them, she does. And she is not fond of questions about the outside, either. Ponies who ask too many questions, she sends into the woods for some time. Tells them to bring a divine offering back as a show of their faith. Radiance guides them safely on their journey in most cases, but… some are never again seen.”
Vivid Root scoffed. “What, you don’t consider that to be your goddess’ will?”
The old stallion glared at Vivid Root. “My faith in Her is not to be questioned!”
“If that’s so, then why’re you here?”
The stallion paused a moment. “How long ago did you lose contact with your kin?”
Vivid Root didn’t answer, narrowing his eyes at the old stallion.
“Not too great a difference in time, then. And that does not strike you as odd?”
Easing his stance, Perichot trotted toward the old stallion. “So you want the dreaded ‘darklurkers’ to bring you your son? I am doubtful your priestess will be pleased with that.”
“I love my son more than I fear her,” the old stallion said.
“...Very well,” Perichot said, nodding. “If we find him in our search for our own, we’ll get you your son back.”
The old stallion took a shuddering breath. “Bless you, sir. Bless you. My boy was last seen near Grainstone Peak. It would mean a lot to me to see him well.”
The old stallion shook Perichot’s hoof before turning around and fading back into the darkness.
The night was deceiving in its calm. With so many in harmonious acceptance, it was as the stars in the sky, both distant and familiar; it was under this facade that Saiph and her companions traveled, under the watchful gaze of their moonlit heiress.
Having returned to their unit splintered from the rest of the caravan, they were ordered by Vega to perform reconnaissance near Grainstone in order to confirm the testimony of the old Solar in the woods. And so they searched. Their scourings brought them closer to their destination, and yet they had come to a stop at a most unusual resting point.
“What do you make of this, Perichot?” asked Lilac Cross as he observed the dried fetishes hanging from the trees as leaves sprouted in spring.
Perichot’s mouth was a thin line, the thestral observing the sordid display with an air of stoic detachment. “We’re close,” he responded.
Saiph gaped at the macabre showings: effigies, skeletal paws, scuffed trinkets and the occasional straw doll made quite the impression on the mind of the young pony. “This… This isn’t right...”
“We have a mission, Saiph,” said Perichot. “These are nothing more than distractions. Keep your head on straight and we’ll get through this. And hopefully we’ll find the others.”
Saiph dryly swallowed, huddling closer to her superior as Vivid Root and Lilac Cross vigilantly watched for hostiles. “Yes, sir.”
Perichot’s gaze softened at the young scout’s unease. “You’ll be okay, Saiph. We’ll be okay. But you need to focus, alright? I need to know you’ll have my back.”
Saiph nodded, squaring her withers. “I will, Perichot. You can count on me.”
“I wouldn’t have you on if I didn’t think I could,” he said, smiling. Saiph smiled back, feeling already more confident.
“So what do you make of the old coot’s words?” asked Vivid Root. “Think it’s a set-up?”
“Of course not, Viv,” said Lilac Cross, a bored expression on his face. “I’m sure there’re going to be party streamers and cake and maybe even a kiss from the princess herself if we’re lucky.”
Vivid Root gave him a sideways glance, furrowing his brows. “...Are you being sarcastic?”
“No, I’m being optimistic.”
Vivid Root looked at Saiph questioningly, and she patted him on the shoulder encouragingly as she fought back a chuckle.
“Stay focused, you three,” said Perichot, stepping over a broken spear. “Even if that stallion’s story turns out to be a tall tale we’re one step closer to learning about what’s been going on here.”
“But why would anypony lie about their own son being foalnapped?” asked Saiph, frowning. “That’s not something a father would do.”
Vivid Root snorted. “You kidding me, Saiph? You think a Solar wouldn’t stoop so low if it meant hurting one of us?”
“I don’t know, I just… He came to us of all ponies for help. There was genuine concern there!”
“That’s what you get for thinking too much.” Vivid Root shook his head. “He’s rotten, I’m telling you. This ain’t even about his son, if he even exists. Our own come first, period.”
“We made him a promise, Vivid!”
“Perichot made him a promise; and he promised him that we’d bring him his little zealot back if we bumped into him searching for the others. That’s if he’s even alive.” Vivid Root glared at Perichot. “I still think you should’ve just told him to shove off.”
“Noted,” Perichot said.
The rest of the journey was spent in relative silence. The only signs of life for the next two days were the scarce birdsong echoing in the distance and a lonely, vine-entangled watchtower stoically sentinelling the Ravenwood.
Eventually, Grainstone Peak was looming over them, a great earthen lance which pierced the dark clouds above. As they approached, Saiph felt herself grow sick in the stomach. Broken weapons and chains littered the field leading to a wound in the base of the mountain. The surrounding forest had been razed to the ground, leaving behind the scorched husks of trees and a sticky, metallic odor that clung to the inside of the nostrils and stung the eyes. Saiph’s coat stuck to her skin, the air noticeably more humid around the mouth of the cave.
“What the buck…” murmured Vivid Root, taking in the grisly scene with awe. “Did a dragon blow through here?”
Saiph gulped when she rubbed the dirt off a discarded helmet, her eyes widening when she caught sight of the emblem etched into it.
“You smell that?” said Perichot.
“Yeah,” said Lilac Cross as the two inspected the cave entrance. The unicorn tried powering his horn, only for the magic around it to sputter and fade. “Ashflake.”
“That would certainly explain the lingering effects of the blast. But what in Luna’s name happened here?”
“Sergeant!” called Saiph. “You’re gonna want to see this!”
Perichot looked at Lilac Cross before shrugging his wings, the two trotting to see what had the rookie so riled up. Saiph trembled as she held up a helmet engraved with a shimmering gemstone.
“The Sapphire!?” Perichot exclaimed. “So this was their base?”
“Ashflake got them,” said Lilac Cross. “Must’ve ignited it while mining.”
"No, there's evidence of foul play here. All of these discarded weapons? They were fighting a rival pack when it went off, I'd say. Then, boom. Anticlimax," Petrichot responded.
Saiph shook her head. “That can’t be the whole story. Everything’s too… clean.”
“What else could there be to this, Saiph?” Perichot asked, taking the helmet from her and rotating it in his hooves. “I can’t see anypony altering a scene as grim as this in the middle of nowhere. There’s no motive.”
“Well…”
Vivid Root, who had approached in the middle of the conversation, kicked a wild animal’s skull across the clearing. “Yeah, fresh blood, you’re overcompensating it. Ain’t a thing we can dig up from what we’re seeing here.”
Saiph’s ears perked. “Hoh my gosh, Vivid, you’re… you’re a genius!” she said, scooping him into a hug.
Vivid Root blinked. “I am? I-I mean, of course I am!” As Saiph began pawing at the ground around the site, he nudged Lilac Cross, asking, “Uh, what’d I say exactly?” Lilac Cross shrugged.
Saiph smirked, having heard the question. “You’re absolutely right that what we’re seeing isn’t giving us the full picture.” She patted a patch of the ground, her smile widening. “But if we dig a little deeper…”
The other three thestrals gave each other sideways glances.
It had taken them a few hours, much of it spent fruitlessly unearthing empty patches of dirt and the odd forgotten gem, but just when Perichot was about to call the endeavor off as a waste of their time, Lilac Cross came across a discovery: a tattered Heartland flag. The thing was in poor condition, the once regal print with its two proud bulls being torn near in twain, blood spattered across its surface.
Saiph’s eyes dilated as horror dawned upon her.
“The gryphons have been here,” Perichot observed, his face that of stone.
“Why?” Lilac Cross asked.
“Do you think they had something to do with what happened here?” Vivid Root’s tail lashed restlessly. “I knew those feather-headed bastards were up to something!”
“Keep yourself calm, Vivid,” Perichot ordered. “The dogs probably killed them and buried this here to cover up their tracks.”
“Why the hay were they here in the first place, Perichot!? You gonna tell us the gryphons care about ponies? Those winged rats would sell their own kin for two scallops and a silver nugget!”
Saiph chimed in, running her hoof along the fabric. “M-Maybe it was preemptive. They were worried about the diamond dogs coming to their territories.”
“Then why aren’t there more here?”
“They could be the ones who blew up the mines,” Perichot said. “After their friends went dark, they assumed the worst and came to clean up house.”
“I thought the dogs’ rival pack did that,” said Lilac Cross, staring into the abandoned mines.
Placing a hoof onto his head, Perichot sighed. “There’s too much we don’t know to piece this… whatever this is, together. Anything could have happened before the explosion or after. But whoever was left buried this flag, hoping it wouldn’t be found. Or maybe they did. We don’t know! Whoever did this is long gone, and they’ve taken the answers with them.”
“So… all this was just a dead end,” Saiph said, her ears flattening against her head. “I’m sorry, sir.”
Vivid Root patted her on the shoulder. “Yeah, this was a big waste of time, but at least we know whoever toasted these flea-bags has the full story, eh?”
Saiph’s head lowered even further, the mare trembling.
“Vivid!” Perichot growled.
“What?” Vivid Root said, confused.
Lilac Cross stepped in front of Saiph. Placing a hoof under her chin, he gently lifted the mare’s head so that she was looking him in the eyes. “You did good, kid.”
Saiph gave a half-hearted nod, smiling as she raised her hoof to wipe at her face before any tears had the opportunity to spill. She was a soldier, for Luna’s sake! Feeling sorry for herself wouldn’t save Teal Gulch and Jadalaque. And if they were no longer in the hunt… tears wouldn’t bring them back.
Before she could say anything, a branch snapped in the foliage. Everypony snapped into defensive stances, staring out into the trees. The trees stared back.
Out of the woods a number of shadows slithered out into the clearing, the forms of diamond dogs skulking toward them, cautious. Many more eyes peered from behind them, eerily quiet.
Lilac Cross charged magic into his horn, only for it to fizzle and die out. At that moment, Vivid Root latched onto the stallion, attempting to hoist him into the air with wings that flapped uselessly. He crashed into the ground. Vivid scrambled to his hooves, staring at the encroaching dogs with fear in his eyes before readying himself. Perichot’s expression was grim, but he did not give an inch.
Saiph closed her eyes, offering a small prayer to the Mistress of the Night, as her heart pounded in her chest. The dogs surrounded them.
Sister Dawn
The sun was peeking over the horizon, its pinkish rays shyly yawning over the land and chasing away the overcast of yesterday. Sister Dawn smiled. Just outside the church, in a small garden, the sun’s rays always shined at their most brilliant. She spent every morning here, dazzling the foals of Brighthaven with the divine tales of Equestria’s founder and savior, the Herald of Light, Princess Celestia.
These chronicles were passed down from vicar to vicar, dating back to the Exodus. Here, they were free. Here, they were safe. They owed an eternal debt to Griffinstone for their aid in their arrival, nearly one thousand years ago.
As Sister Dawn finished her latest story, a stallion adorned in the white robes of the Choir walked next to her and whispered something into her ear. Sister Dawn nodded, not allowing her smile to slip in front of the foals, who still watched her with that wondrous innocent curiosity only those so young could have.
“My little ponies, thus ends the tale of Crystal Drift, Shield of Light and Burner of Shadows. So great was his will, his faith, that he stared into the eyes of Tyranny herself and yielded not. Such strength rests within each of thine hearts, for thou art the golden children of the Chosen Path.”
The foals cheered, laughing amongst themselves as they made their way into the church, several of them stopping to nuzzle Sister Dawn along the way, nuzzles she happily returned before urging them on. Watching them go, Sister Dawn’s smile widened. How she adored the youth.
As she tended the flowers in the small garden, each raised by her and the vicars before her, her ears perked. The hoofsteps of somepony, their beats distinctive as the gait of an old, weary stallion, approached.
“I thank thee for joining me, Cinder Quilt,” she said, turning to the old stallion. “Twin blessings upon thee.”
The old stallion bowed his head. “Dawn and Dusk, Sister Dawn.”
“Knowest thou the reason thou’rt summoned to the Garden of Eden?”
“Yes, Sister Dawn.” There was a tremble in Cinder Quilt’s voice.
“So the gravity of this most sacred of places is not lost upon thee?”
“No, Sister Dawn.”
Turning her blindfolded gaze upon him, she said, “I could have thee pressed. Or hanged. I could excommunicate thee from the Chosen Path and have thee remov’d from these walls of Brighthaven for thy treachery…”
Cinder Quilt trembled, a trail of sweat forming upon his brow, but he held his head up high. “Will you, Sister Dawn? Shall I be pressed or hanged or excommunicated?”
Returning her gaze to the garden, Sister Dawn said, “What doth thou see, Cinder Quilt, when thou layeth thine eyes ‘pon this small patch of land?”
Cinder Quilt tilted his head. “Flowers, Sister Dawn.”
Sister Dawn raised her brow. “Is that all?”
“Only flowers,” Cinder Quilt affirmed.
“Interesting…”
“Am I meant to see more?”
“Nay, thou art not incorrect in thine observation, Cinder Quilt. They are, at a glance, but flowers.”
“What are they when they are not mere flowers, Sister?”
Walking about the garden, her horn lighting at different intervals, magic washing over certain things that caught her eye, Sister Dawn smiled. “I see royal lilies, exotic azaleas, flourishing begonias, buttercups, bluebells, daffodils, forget-me-nots, jasmines, lovely lavenders and lilacs, precious petunias, rhododendrons, sunflowers, tantalizing tulips, and so much more.
“Each has a name, and no two are identical. Alone they are just flowers; they wither and fade to dust without proper care.” Sister Dawn trailed her hoof along the petal of a sleeping daisy, the flower blossoming at her touch. “But, under the right conditions, and when brought together, they are ever more vibrant!” The mare frowned at a dying leaf on one of the newest flowers, cutting it away.
Gritting his teeth, Cinder Quilt said, “Then if these flowers are so special to you, why are some plucked before they are allowed the chance to flourish?”
Sister Dawn’s mouth became a thin line. “Because those flowers that wanton may harm the whole of the garden.” She scrutinized a particularly large rose. “Should they grow to loom over the others, they drink in all of the sun’s light, leaving the rest of the garden thirsty and frail. ‘Tis order that allows every flower in the garden to live harmoniously. And order does not exist outside of the garden.” She snipped the rose short with her shears.
Cinder Quilt’s eyes widened.
“So what shall it be for thee, old friend? Wilt thou choose to remain in the garden?”
A tear ran down Cinder Quilt’s face. “I loved Golden Shine, Sister Dawn. He was my son and you sentenced him to death.”
“Nay, Cinder Quilt,” Sister Dawn said, turning to him. “‘Twas his lack of faith.”
Destiny Vine
Destiny Vine sprinted through the woods. It was after her. The vine-armed, faceless creature of fluttering black. The Vulture.
She managed to hide herself from it for a few hours at a time, she even went two full days without seeing hide or hare of it. Maybe it had intended that, watching her from the shadows with her being none the wiser. It didn’t rest, didn’t eat, didn’t sleep. She wasn’t even sure if it was truly flesh and blood and not some horrible golem that fed on magic.
The Royal Guardsmare had been on the move with little to no rest since the botched rescue at those accursed mines. To think things could go even further south. Now, everypony on the team was either dead or missing-in-action, maybe even worse, but she had to keep moving! She could only hope at least Short Order and the captain were okay.
Right now, her only goal was to survive for long enough to make it to extract. They would be waiting for her… right?
She stopped a moment to catch her breath. The mare hid near a tree in the hopes that the shrubbery concealed her. Placing a hoof on the green-jeweled necklace Sparks had gifted her on their seventh anniversary, she whimpered to herself, exhausted. The mare never prayed before, but under the circumstances, she couldn’t find any reason not to. Destiny just wanted to see him again in their humble little home in Canterlot, overlooking the rustic countryside, and to reconcile with the sister she had steadily grown distant with since she’d been accepted to this branch of the Royal Guard. She wanted this nightmare to end.
“I’ll see you all again,” she whispered. “I promise.”
A dry chuckle tickled her ear. The mare’s eyes widened when she felt the blade of a knife press against her throat. The blade was held by a twisted, vine-entangled wooden mess of a limb that resembled a gryphon’s talons. Its other claw danced across her underbelly, leaving a trail of scarlet toward her flank.
“But not before we’ve had our fun…” the voice rasped.
The cave groaned with the sizzle of crackling wood. In the center of it sat a dark figure, his features warped by the shrieking, elongated shadows that danced along the walls. Mirth stared into the fire. He’d been staring into it for hours. In his hand was a wooden figurine that resembled a pegasus mid-flight. There was a gash that ran down its side, marring the surface. There was a strange beauty about it.
A mild ache worked its way up from the cauterized wound in Mirth’s shoulder, and his eyes flicked over to Roach, the former alpha of the Dreadmongers, who lied face down just out of the light of the flame.
The four dogs posted at the entrance of the cave growled at something before there was a shifting of paws. Down the cave echoed the clatter of chained hooves, eventually coming to a stop just before the tunnel which housed Mirth.
“Alpha?” a hesitant voice called from the entrance. “I brought the neck-munchers like ya wanted.”
“Leave us, Razor. Send word that Fang’s little insect problem is quashed.”
“Yes, Alpha.”
“Give them his head, Winston,” Mirth said, standing up and turning to the thestrals they’d captured. “Burn what’s left.”
Winston pulled a crude hatchet from his belt, smiling wickedly as he approached Roach’s body.
Mirth appraised the odd-looking ponies before him: One had a gray mane, white streaks bleeding in from the sideburns. Clearly the pony had seen a lot, as he didn’t appear greatly moved by the circumstances. He's the leader without a doubt. The other two stallions glared at him, the winged one with the messy copper hair baring his fangs and hissing at him while the unicorn―whose blue coat made him stand out amongst the rest, who were grey- or black-coated―stood defensively in front of his friend. The copper-haired one had a black eye. Grunts. Finally, Mirth’s gaze wandered over the lone mare in the group. She flinched, either frightened of the horror his face had become, the way his gaze slid over her flanks, or the unmistakable odor of blood and seared flesh permeating the cave. She was the greenest of them.
Turning his eyes to the blue-coated unicorn, Mirth said, “Names.”
The unicorn blinked. “Lance,” he said. Mirth’s gaze flicked to the leader, noticing his face sour when he went unrecognized. He was a prideful one, Mirth determined. Lance pointed to the others. “Oak, Pallor and Sapphire.”
Mirth snorted. Looking at Oak, the copper-haired one, he asked, “Who gave him the shiner?”
“Cage been bragging about socking one of ‘em, Alpha,” said one of the dogs.
“He owes me an eye for damaging the cargo.”
The dog nodded, running out of the cave.
“That old bastard set us up…” Oak growled.
Mirth nodded. “We were expecting you.”
“So what are you going to do with us?” Pallor asked.
“I don’t know yet.”
Oak bristled. “The Tartarus is that s’posed to mean!? Are you trying to play games with us, you sick mutt!”
A dog reached for Oak, but Mirth held a hand up. Sitting down, Mirth towered over the pony, who looked defiantly up into his eyes. “A thestral tooth is worth enough silver for a kingdom. Imagine the reward for all four of you.”
“The caravan won’t give you a damn thing. We’re not the long-lost relatives of some blue-blooded Canterlot noble, we’re hunters. And the caravan’s bound to raze your tunnels to the ground than negotiate with diamond dog slavers.”
“Not if your little caravan is destroyed first.”
Oak’s eyes widened before narrowing. “Is that a threat?”
“No, just the truth.”
Pallor spoke, his voice betraying no emotion. “What do you mean by that? Most ponies think we’re only myths, so what makes you think you’ll ever find the rest of us.”
Mirth’s eyes snapped to Pallor’s, as though seeing him for the first time. The pony’s frown deepened. “Myths aren’t worth much to me, but Fang is obsessed with them. It was only a matter of time before he did.” Mirth cracked a half-smile. “And he wasn’t wrong.” Standing up, Mirth walked over to Pallor, staring down at him. “After all, that’s why you’re here, isn’t it.”
Pallor dug his hooves into the ground, ready to spring.
“Wait! So you know where our friends are?” Sapphire blurted before slapping her hooves over her mouth.
Mirth studied the mare for a long while before saying, “I do. And they’re alive. That’s why I had you brought here instead of sending you straight to the Stone Jackets higher up the mountain: I wanted to cut you a deal.”
“...What kind of deal?” asked Pallor.
“Winston, unchain them,” Mirth commanded.
Winston, who had been toying with Roach’s body, casually walked over to them, blood drenching him from chest to paw. He reached inside a vest pocket and produced a key, unlocking each thestral’s bindings as the two dogs surrounding them primed their weapons.
Mirth waved them down. “If half of what I’ve heard of the Nightmare’s spawn is true, even one of them could take us all down in a flash. Winston, Ace, you two make sure my eye isn’t mishandled or I’ll have you fetch me another. Cage won’t appreciate that. And get Razor to clean this mess up!” Winston, carrying Roach’s severed head, smirked, nodding as he and Ace left.
That left four thestrals and two dogs.
“You four are free to leave if you want. Nobody’s gonna stop you so long as you don’t do anything rash.” Mirth sat down.
Sapphire looked at the others pleadingly. Oak rolled his good eye, looking at Pallor, who stepped forward as Lance eyed Mirth warily.
“How did you know about the ashflake?” Pallor asked.
“If we’re going to be honest with one another,” said Mirth, “then I’ll need your names.”
“Lance has already given you our―”
“I guess you don’t really care about your friends, hm?”
“...Perichot. Lance is Lilac Cross, Sapphire is Saiph, and Oak is Vivid Root.”
Snorting, Mirth said, “Sapphire. What irony.”
Saiph furrowed her brows. “What do you mean?”
Mirth sighed. “Because that’s why we’re here. Now, about the ashflake: the mines you visited used to belong to the Pack of the Sapphire. They got into a turf war with a rival pack and their alpha ordered the mines to be destroyed when it was clear they were losing.”
“But we found a gryphon flag buried underneath the soil. What were they doing there?” she asked.
“Your guess is as good as mine. Gryphons and dogs don’t get along like they used to.”
“And the ashflake?” Perichot said, steering the conversation back on track.
“The Sapphires entombed themselves in mines filled with the stuff for a reason. It was killing them, but it still kept the winged ponies from flying off and the stout ones from breaking out of their chains. Stuff clings to the atmosphere like a spider to a fat lizard, especially when ignited, and for a good while, too. We use the stuff on occasion when handing ponies like you off to the Stone Jackets.”
“What about the unicorns? What happens to them?” Sapphire asked, ears splaying back.
“Dunno. They never stay in the mines for long. Someone keeps buying them off.”
“How do you know so much about what happened there? In those mines?”
“Because I was there.”
The air went cold for a moment. Mirth turned his head, displaying his burns. “How do you think I got these scars?”
“What’s keeping us from walking out of here right now?” Perichot hissed, his gaze that of flint.
“Aside from the safety of your caravan and your friends? Nothing. That’s why I’m going to make you an offer that’ll benefit us both.”
Perichot raised his brow. “How so?”
Mirth’s smile stretched the ravaged flesh of the side of his face. “By hurting the Stone Jackets. They’ve been holing up in that mountain of theirs waiting for this kind of opportunity, so now’s when they’ll be at their most open. If we strike fast and we hit hard, we’ll yank out Grainstone’s beating heart. This is the best chance you’ve got at getting your friends.”
“If we leave right now, we’ll be able to warn the caravan,” said Perichot. “It wouldn’t take longer than four days.”
“By flight, I take it?” Mirth asked. “Be my guest if the ashflake isn’t still hindering you. You’ve set up shop near that walled up pony settlement, right? Well, Fang will have already gotten to your buddies by then if you don’t hurry. Don’t see much point in working with you lot if that happens.”
Perichot flapped his wings, looking to Lilac Cross, whose horn lit brilliantly, only for its magic to flicker and fade a moment later. Perichot grinned for a brief moment as he and Lilac Cross’ eyes met.
Vivid Root’s ear flapped against his skull wildly. “Something ain’t right here, Perichot,” he whispered. Mirth pretended not to hear. “We should just leave and take the caravan elsewhere. Something doesn’t add up.”
“We need to hear him out at least. If he has any clues on how and where to find Teal and Jadalaque, we could end this search within the fortnight.”
Scoffing, Vivid Root said, “Fine. But I was right about the old rat, so don’t get us into something we’ll regret.”
Perichot pursed his lips. “Why do you want to help us?”
Mirth shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t care about helping you.” Before Perichot could turn to leave, Mirth continued: “But that doesn’t mean I don’t not want to help you either. My quarrel is with the Stone Jackets.”
Lilac Cross finally added his own two bits: “They’re your employers.”
“And lousy ones at that,” Mirth replied. “I have bigger dreams than writhing in the muck. Sometimes… sometimes after looking up at the kings in their ivory towers for so long, you just want to cast them down to your level. You want to show them that they aren’t invincible. You want to show them that everything burns.”
“And if we help you, you’ll get us our friends?” Saiph asked.
“You’ll get to see your friends,” Mirth assured. “And your caravan will be safe from the Stone Jackets. I swear on the Flame.”
“And Golden Shine?” she pressed. Mirth looked at her questioningly. “He’s another friend we’re here to rescue. Will you help us free him too?”
Mirth searched Saiph’s face for something. The rookie was determined, alright, and he respected that. “And Golden Shine,” he said.
“We have to try, Perichot,” she pleaded. “Thestrals don’t leave their brothers and sisters behind.”
Looking between Vivid Root, who wore an expression of disapproval, and Lilac Cross and Saiph, who were grim, but determined, and hopeful, respectively, Perichot sighed. Mirth had to keep himself from rearing back and laughing, thankful for his scars for the first time as they disguised his expression.
“What do we have to do to protect them?” Perichot asked.
Mirth smiled.
Short Order
Blood and smoke. A rescue gone horribly awry. The Stone Jackets had been expecting them. Drift, Lavender, Wave: they were all dead before anypony knew what they’d stepped into. Spire, Trace, Harvest, Bifrost, Destiny: they were lost in the chaos. Iron disappeared well before things went to Tartarus.
Just as he searched for them all in the dust and the darkness, his magic failing him, he turned to find a gaping, razor-sharp maw descending upon him.
And then Short Order woke up.
Iron Prospect
“Walk.”
They’d been going on like this for days on end, with only about four hours of sleep between the two of them. Despite Short Order’s increasingly gaunt appearance and his labored breaths, he kept trudging on. He was only focused on his single-minded mission of making Iron Prospect’s life a living hell.
Iron Prospect slumped against a tree, cradling his burning hooves. “I need to rest,” he pleaded. “Another step and my hooves are going to split.”
A knife was pressed against his ear, the voice of the stallion holding it growing even colder. “Walk.”
Iron Prospect looked Short Order in the eye he still had, offering his neck.
Short Order narrowed his eye, digging the knife further into Prospect’s ear. When Prospect didn’t budge, he snorted, pulling the knife away and sheathing it in his bandolier.
Iron Prospect promptly crashed into the ground, teeth clenched in silent agony as he held his swollen hooves against himself.
“Extract. Where is it?” Short Order asked, gathering loose sticks and leaves and setting them into a pile.
“Where are we?” Iron asked.
“Warg’s Pass, just south of Bug Bear territory on the Guto.”
“Near,” Iron dryly croaked. “With how far we’ve walked, it’s near.”
“Where?”
“East. Outskirts of Griffinstone. So long as we keep to the Guto River we’ll get there no trouble.”
The scarring patch of flesh beneath Short Order’s eye wrap twitched. “Why isn’t extract in Griffinstone itself?”
Iron stared at Short Order as though twisting weeds had sprouted from the unicorn’s ears. “The gryphons’d tear us apart if they caught us in Equestrian colors on their territory. Why do you think Celestia had us undertake this mission in these?” he said, referring to the nondescript lamellar cuirass and faceless helm everypony in the mission’s unit had been outfitted with.
Gryphons were mercurial creatures that held notorious grudges which spanned generations. Clans today still quarreled with one another over issues from back when they were slinging stones at one another, if not outright going into open conflict over them. This avian animosity went double for outsiders, though.
Short Order snarled. “Then why the buck did Greygleam sponsor this!”
“We’re off the books, Short Order! As far as the world is concerned, we don’t exist here. Greygleam only made a suggestion and turned a blind eye.”
“So you’re telling me this entire operation was a hoax from the beginning?” the unicorn hissed, pulling a knife from his sheath.
“No! We always were here to save lives, Short Order. Pony lives.”
“And how many lives have been saved, aside from your sorry traitorous flank?”
“We’re near extract,” Iron said, wincing in pain. “If anypony has an explanation, they’ll be waiting there.”
“Whatever they have to say about this catastrophe you caused, it’d better be damn good.” A canteen was levitated before Iron’s nose. “Drink,” commanded Short Order.
The bronze-coated stallion did not need to be told twice, Iron snatching the canteen from the air and greedily gulping down its contents. He winced as he pulled the empty bag from his lips, dropping the canteen. Staring down at his hooves, red and irate and quivering, he bit his tongue to choke down a pained whimper.
Approaching hoofsteps shook him from his stupor. Short Order was looking down at him. Iron flinched away from the unicorn, curling in on himself. The stallion’s expression was unreadable as he scrutinized Iron before he ignited his horn, a rosy shower of magic bathing Iron and dulling the pain in an instant. Looking down at his hooves, Iron noticed that the swelling in his hooves had abated somewhat, though he’d need a few more hours’ rest to fully recover.
Iron lifted a questioning gaze to Short Order, who was limping away, suddenly exhausted. A small bead of blood dripped down the unicorn’s nose. He wiped it away, staring at it for a long moment as he shook on his hooves.
Eventually, Short Order struck his metal-clad hooves together over the wood he piled together, causing them to spontaneously combust. “Get some rest,” he ordered. “We still have a lot of distance to cover.”
Working the kinks out of his aching body as best he could with the rope tied around his hooves, Iron carefully laid his chin on his healing hooves. He looked at Short Order, muttering, “Thanks,” before closing his eyes.
Short Order only snorted in response, his working eye focused on the Ravenwood surrounding them.
The sun was falling on Warg’s Pass as Saiph and Lilac Cross hunkered down in the Ravenwood. Perichot and Vivid Root were currently entertaining the alpha of the Pack of the Phoenix, Mirth, in the dogs’ temporary bolt-hole, a decrepit, overgrown ruin near Grainstone appeared to have once been a great fortress.
The sun was falling on Warg’s Pass as Saiph and Lilac Cross hunkered down in the Ravenwood. Perichot and Vivid Root were currently entertaining the alpha of the Pack of the Phoenix, Mirth, in the dogs’ temporary bolt-hole, a decrepit, overgrown ruin near Grainstone appeared to have once been a great fortress.
Saiph didn’t enjoy spending time there. The stench of boiling flesh and the screams of the rival packmates who remained loyal Roach and the Dreadmongers made her sick to her stomach. She wanted to find her friends and leave with the caravan, and never return to this twisted forest. Pulling out her knife, Saiph reached into her saddlebag, only to remember with a huff that her figurine been snagged from her by one of the dogs when they were apprehended.
Her ears perked at the sound of a snapping twig, Lilac Cross jumping up and lighting up his horn, though with visible strain.
“Alright, alright, don’t overexcite yourselves, night stalkers,” said an unfamiliar, coltish voice. The brush ruffled and out of it stepped a diamond dog. He was slim and small, with a stout muzzle that punctuated his youthful face. Over his immaculately-groomed coat, which glowed like the moonlight upon the pale snow of the northern mountains, he wore a black vest, with a yellow bandanna tied around his neck. The only imperfection she’d immediately noticed on the dog was a small scar that discolored the side of his muzzle.
The diamond dog appeared friendly enough, certainly more appealing to the eye than the alpha, who appeared to be a walking mass of scar tissue. But, unlike most dogs, and just like Mirth, his eyes, a spellbinding shade of pink, held a certain feral cunning that hinted he knew something everypony else didn’t.
“We’re all friends here, aren’t we?” said the dog, smiling softly.
Lilac Cross begrudgingly quelled the spell he’d been charging, falling on his plot as he rubbed his horn.
Saiph eyed the newcomer warily. “I guess…”
The dog’s smile remained as he approached, hand outstretched. “Name’s Yen, by the way. Nice to meetcha!”
Saiph hesitantly placed her hoof into his paw, giving him her name before they broke contact.
“You alright there, buddy?” Yen asked Lilac Cross, concern etched across his features. “You don’t seem too hot.”
“I’m not your buddy, pal,” retorted Lilac Cross.
Crossing his arms, Yen said, “Just making sure you’re okay.”
“I’m fine,” Lilac Cross, muttered.
“Sure you don’t need anything? I can bring you some water or a bowl of rat-tail stew from camp. Danger’s a mean cook, if I do say so myself!”
“I’m fine.”
Raising a brow, Yen shrugged. “If you say so.”
“I’m not trying to be rude, Mr. Yen, but why are you here?” Saiph asked.
Yen turned to her, sitting on his haunches as he scratched the back of his head, chuckling abashedly. “Just, uh, curious, I guess.”
Saiph’s ears perked. “Curious?”
“Never thought I’d get to see a pony-bat up close before,” he elaborated, tail wagging slightly. “I always thought you guys went extinct centuries ago!”
Blinking, Saiph allowed herself a small grin. “Well, here we are! Living and breathing and not dusty fossils.”
“So I see!” Yen said, nodding excitedly. Suddenly he went rigid, scanning Saiph and Lilac before leaning in close, a paw near his muzzle as though to prevent the forest from listening in as he whispered, “So, is it true that you guys give blood sacrifices to the Black Crown?”
Saiph’s jaw dropped. “WHAT!?”
Yen flinched away, struggling to hide his smirk. “I’ll take that as a strong ‘No’, then.”
Standing up, Yen said, “Anyway, I gotta go and speak with Ace and Jinx about a few things,” as he dusted himself off. His head snapped up and he snapped his fingers as though a sudden epiphany had popped into his head. “Oh! And before I forget, the alpha wants to talk with you.”
Saiph’s wings flared in surprise. “M-Me? Why?”
“I’unno. I’m just here to do what I’m told. Your friend can come along too, if he likes. I can see he’s absolutely chomping at the bit!”
Saiph looked at Lilac Cross, who was watching their exchange with narrowed eyes. He nodded as his eyes connected with Yen’s. Yen grinned.
Clapping his hands together, Yen said, “It’s decided, then! Come along, friends, come along!” before turning and walking back through the brush toward the run-down fort.
Saiph and Lilac looked at one another, resolutely nodding before following.
They approached the gates of the fort without incident. Saiph raised her gaze to the faded gryphonic banners hanging from the outer wall, admiring the craftsmanship that went into building the crumbling place for it to still be standing centuries after its construction. She imagined what a marvel the fort must have been in its glory days, when it was not cloaked in overgrowth and inhabited by dogs who pissed from its towers.
It went without saying that the gruesome display of the victims of Mirth’s campaign, immolated at the pyre, lining the walls were not something she was particularly fond of either.
The fort was built like any other, no special additions to keep flyers out, something which had confused Saiph since every battle with gryphons had an aerial component, but when she asked Yen about it, he pondered for a moment, appraising the design, before answering, “If your opponent can fly, you’re just giving them something to drop on your head if you cocoon yourself.” Saiph mulled over those words as they walked through a hole that was blasted in the wall near the entrance.
Seeing as Mirth’s pack was quite modest, with only about forty or so dogs in comparison to what could go upwards of two hundred from what Saiph had heard, they didn’t guard the entrance so much as sentinel it. Those dogs had horns in their hands which they would blow to alert the rest of the pack to trouble.
They cut through a couple of rooms stacked with broken tables and with shattered windows which depicted old tales that were now lost to tim; a few of them were piled high with the findings from a weapons cache. The group eventually came out upon an open grass plain in the center of the fort that once served as a courtyard. The dogs had dug a small crater there, and the wood from the tables and the surrounding forest had been tossed inside and ignited, creating a massive bonfire.
The bodies of several Dreadmongers who refused to swear their allegiance to the Pack of the Phoenix were tossed into the roaring flame by a few grunts, who dusted their hands of the detritus before continuing about their business: several were trading stories over rat-tail stew or maintaining their weapons; a few snoozed on the ground using their vests as pillows; some were content to simply sit next to the fire as it chased away the nipping winds of the approaching winter.
Saiph spotted Perichot speaking with Mirth off on their own, with Vivid Root eyeing the dogs around them with his unswollen eye, wings twitching in agitation. When Vivid Root caught sight of Saiph and Lilac Cross, he sighed in relief, beelining for Lilac Cross and giving the unicorn a hug. “Oh, thank the stars above! I was getting worried!”
“Careful, Viv,” said Lilac Cross, a small grin on his muzzle as he patted his partner on the back. “You may give somepony the idea that you’re not the badass you say you are.”
Vivid Root squeaked, pushing away from him and keeping his gaze on the ground, cheeks reddening. “I am a badass…” he huffed.
Lilac Cross nuzzled him, making the pony blush even more fiercely. “You are.”
Yen watched the scene play out with a small smile, hands on his hips as he looked at Saiph. With a nod of his head in the alpha’s direction, Yen said, “I’ll get your friends sorted out while you speak with the boss.” He walked up to the two, Vivid Root giving him a wary look as Lilac Cross nudged him in the side.
Saiph made her way to Perichot and Mirth, whose conversation had winded down as they noticed her approaching. Perichot gave her a smile, one which she returned, while Mirth stared at her with an unreadable expression.
Turning to Perichot, Mirth said, “I just need to see if we can get the Rough Riders on board before setting anything in stone. Till then we’ve only got a ghost of a plan.”
“Understandable, Mirth,” Perichot said. “If that will be all…?”
“One more thing: You don’t mind if I borrow this one for a moment, do you?” Mirth said, gesturing to Saiph, who stiffened.
Perichot looked at her, and though Saiph wasn’t exactly comfortable with the idea of being alone near Mirth, she didn’t want to give him or his pack any reason to become displeased with her friends.
Stepping forward, Saiph said, “H-How can I help you, Mr. Mirth?”
Mirth scanned her for a time before saying, “Just Mirth.”
Perichot’s gaze flicked between the two and then he stood, brushing by Saiph with a meaningful glance.
“Sorry,” she said. “So, um, Mirth, your friend Yen told me you wanted to see me?”
“Saiph, was it?” Mirth asked.
Saiph shakily nodded.
“I think you took a wrong turn somewhere.” His powerful voice dropped accusingly, making Saiph’s coat stand on end.
“W-What?”
“It takes one glance, pony, for everyone here to know you’re not cut out for this. You’re too soft, too emotional. Too fresh.”
Whimpering, Saiph took a step back. “W-What do you mean?”
Chuckling mirthlessly, Mirth took a step towards her. “You’ll get eaten alive out here. Why don’t you just trot on back to your little caravan and leave the real work to those can get it done, hm?”
She took another step back, and Mirth advanced upon her. “I-I don’t―!”
Looming over Saiph, the alpha, jaw slavering, snarled, “Only thing I can see you being good for is wolf-bait!”
A tear spilled down the mare’s cheek as her face contorted with vicious fury. “Buck you, you jerk!”
Saiph’s ears rang with white noise, the mare standing squarely on her hooves and refusing to back down from this big, scar-faced bully. When the mare came back to her senses, drawing calming breaths to cool the fire in her heaving chest, she noticed just how quiet the courtyard had become. Dread overcame the mare when she turned to discover that every Phoenix was now staring at her, including Yen. Vivid Root and Lilac Cross were tense, ready to spring into action at any moment despite knowing the odds weren’t in their favor, and Perichot’s narrowed eyes were trained on Mirth, who sneered at her.
Just before the mare could shrink down and apologize, hoping against hope that she hadn’t just killed her squadmates, Mirth reared back and laughed a deep, hearty laugh. “So it wasn’t a one-off thing!” Mirth calmed himself down, looking at Saiph with a newfound warmth. “You’ve got fire in you, kid. I respect that.”
Saiph looked down, trying to hide herself, even as everyone else returned to their original tasks. Her squadmates were still on guard, but were considerably less jumpy when it became clear they had avoided a huge catastrophe.
“I’m sorry…” she muttered.
“Don’t be,” Mirth said. “You passed.”
“What?” she said, raising her head to meet his gaze.
Mirth snorted at her confusion. He was silent for a small time, appearing contemplative. “You’re the one who carved the figurine, aren’t you?”
Saiph’s eyes widened at that.
Mirth reached into his vest pocket, fishing out the unfinished wooden carving she’d been working on. “This thing here?”
Saiph dumbly nodded.
Mirth carefully scrutinized the pony-shaped figure, twisting it around in his paws with a certain reverence. “It’s amazing.”
Saiph tilted her head. “It’s got a nasty cut in it, though...”
Smirking, Mirth said, “If it were perfect it’d just be another nameless museum piece for creatures to gawk over. The scar gives it character.”
Saiph mulled his words over.
Mirth cleared his throat. “You, uh, don’t mind if I keep it, do you? It’s nice...” he said almost meekly. “But if you want it back, I understand.” True to his word, the alpha offered her the figurine in his outstretched paw.
Saiph stared at the figurine for a long while, thinking of all the time she’d put into carving it. It may not have been perfect, but at the end of the day it was hers. It worried her sick when she thought it’d been lost or destroyed. Then she looked into Mirth’s eyes, the powerful alpha looking like a hopeful pup as he sheepishly regarded her.
“Sure,” she said, smiling. She gently closed his fingers around the figurine, pushing away his hand. “Keep it. I can always just make another.”
Mirth blinked, surprised, before his tail wagged and his smile grew. “I…” he paused, lost for words, as he looked between Saiph and the figurine. “Thank you.”
Iron Prospect
“Why did you do it?”
The question caused Iron Prospect to stumble.
“What?”
“You heard me, Iron. What made you conspire with the dogs?”
The two were traversing the Ravenwood, their destination still a ways away. The tranquil waters of the Guto off in the distance guided them, but after a close encounter with a thirsty, territorial stag, Short Order made it a point to avoid going too near the waters unless it was to refill their canteens. Mount Reins was in the distance, meaning they had a few more days of travel before Griffinstone revealed herself.
With the brisk, still morning and the blue sky came more exhausting walking. Fortunately, however, Short Order allowed Iron to continue at a more ponderous pace these past few days. The unicorn’s face, which had grown pale and sickly, was still mangled where he’d been attacked, and the tissue was scarring uglily, but he’d managed to prevent it from becoming infected by washing it and wrapping a fresh eye wrap over the damaged eye.
Iron remained silent, the question ringing through his head like a pickaxe chewing through an ore deposit. Something swelled in his chest, causing his hooves to become lead.
“Well?” Short Order’s voice snapped Iron back to the present.
“The last time I tried to explain myself, I lost two teeth,” Iron replied.
“Then do a better job this time.”
Iron glanced over his shoulder, finding Short Order watching him with his good eye.
Sighing, Iron Prospect said, “I wanted to keep everypony alive.”
“You walked us into a massacre and were too much of a coward to even stay and fight.”
Iron feebly shook his head, as if to banish the black fugue which threatened to suffocate him. "There wasn't anything I could do, Short Order. It was out of my control, I need you to understand that! Why can't you just..." Iron snorted.
"Who are you trying to convince here, Iron? Me or you?"
Iron grit his teeth. "How could you understand? How could anypony understand?" A pain, the cracks of his physical and emotional torment, peeled away his fortitude, the mantra he'd been telling himself: "I'm not the bad guy!" Turning to Short Order, he said, "Fine! I scorched it! Is that what you want to hear? That I made a mess of this and I can't reverse it no matter how much I want to? I tried to make the best of this doomed mission in this wasteland of a forest. I don't need you here beating me down day and night to try to make some stupid point!" Iron Prospect glared at Short Order, who looked back at him neutrally, before tearing his gaze away, mouth trembling. "I'm not the bad guy. I'm not."
“Princess Celestia will know of this, Captain. Seeing justice through is the only reason I haven’t tied cinderblocks to your fetlocks and marched you into the river.”
Ears splaying, Iron said, “I didn't mean to hurt anypony…”
Short Order shook his head. “Nopony ever does, Iron. But their blood is on your hooves.”
Iron took a careless step, tripping over a root and hitting the ground. The stallion placed his hooves over his head in a desperate bid to contain his sanity. A sob escaped him. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this. It wasn’t supposed to be like this…” He tearfully repeated the mantra several more times before gritting his teeth and trembling.
Short Order stared at him for a long moment, a torrent of emotions―anger, disgust, pity―playing across his face before it was again unreadable. The unicorn then came to a decision. A knife was pulled from his bandolier, the unicorn’s magical grip on it feeble.
Iron was still quivering on the ground when the blade tore through the air. His mewling was put to an end in an instant.
Looking up, the stallion curiously brought his hooves before his muzzle, finding the bindings had been severed. Iron absently rubbed his forelegs.
“You won’t be needing those. Not for the rest of the journey, at least,” Short Order said, staring off into the distance as he sheathed the blade. “You’re my brother, Iron. I hate you, but you always will be my brother.” He glanced at Iron, and there was a great weariness in his eye that eclipsed the usual cold fury burning within whenever he regarded his captain. “Here’s a good resting point for now. We’ll get back to it when the sun’s at its highest.”
Short Order lied on his belly, resting his chin on his hooves.
Iron Prospect watched the stallion for a short time, his gaze drifting back to his freed hooves before returning to Short Order. He dragged the rope from around his burned fetlocks before rolling onto his side. Try as he might, sleep would not take him. And so, he thought. He thought long and hard.
Cinder Quilt
Cinder Quilt stared at the morning sun through the window of the church. On his chest he wore the brand of the Followers of the Chosen Path, the mark red and still tender. The old stallion was in a small gallery, the only company being the bench he sat on as he awaited judgment. That was, until the door at the end of the passageway opened.
In stepped a member of the Choir, the stallion garbed in white with a rope sash tied above his waist. The stallion’s features were somewhat obscured by the voluminous hood he covered himself with, but it was clear by the wrinkles lining his face that he was only a bit less experienced than Cinder in the stress of time.
“The preparations are nearly complete. Sister Dawn will have you soon,” said the Choir member.
“I understand, sir.”
“Do you require any further considerations to make your new start as smooth as possible, Cinder?”
“I cherish your hospitality and concern, Beacon, but this old stallion wishes to put most everything behind him.”
“I do hope you are not implying what I believe you to be implying.”
Cinder Quilt gazed at Sterling Beacon impassionately.
The Choir member chuckled, taking a seat next to Cinder Quilt. He groaned, rolling his shoulders. “This ancient vessel isn’t what it used to be. And in comparison, you’re antiquity given flesh!”
Despite himself, Cinder Quilt found himself grinning, if only slightly. “I have seen but three springs more than you, Beacon.”
Beacon smirked. “As I said: old!”
Cinder Quilt snorted. His face became pensive. “Do you remember the first time we set hoof in this hall, brother?”
“Aye, ‘twas the day you were afraid Father Bloom would tell your mother you took two cookies from the offerings table despite knowing you were only to take one. You were trembling in that corner over there, praying to Divinity he would not notice.” The two shared a laugh. “I remember you attended every day for two months’ time after that incident.”
“And that was around the time you began your training for the Choir,” Cinder Quilt said.
Beacon’s smile became more forced. “Indeed it was.”
Cinder Quilt looked down. “She asked about you, you know. Mother was ever so proud that you were joining the Choir, but even before she was accepted into the Light, she asked about you.”
Beacon’s gaze fell to the floor. “I know.”
It was silent for quite some time, the two old friends simply enjoying one another’s presence.
Suddenly, the silence was broken, however, when Beacon said, “She only has our best interests in mind, Cinder. You understand this, do you not?”
Cinder Quilt stared ahead.
“What happened to your son was a tragedy, but… you must consider Sister Dawn’s duty to Brighthaven.”
“Where in our teachings was it said to toss colts into the wilderness for asking questions? You were the most skeptical of us all in the past, but look at you now: a member of the Choir!”
Beacon nodded solemnly, “But I eventually found the Light, Cinder.” Cinder Quilt turned his head. Placing his hoof on his friend’s shoulder, Beacon said, “Sister Dawn is where she is because she is able to make such decisions. You recall her sister, yes?”
“The one she banished beyond the wall as well?”
“For practicing heretical magicks, Cinder. Her black chants were meant to summon the vile tendrils of the Other. And Sister Dawn spared her not when she discovered what her sister had become, in spite of how much suffering it caused her. For she knew the health of Brighthaven was greater than her sister.
“You must confess, brother. Confess so that you may be accepted back into the flock.”
Cinder’s hair fell over his eyes, disguising the pony’s thoughts. “How can we be united under Celestia if we are willing to drown kin the moment they make a mistake?”
Beacon thought for a moment, but when he opened his mouth to answer, the door at the end of the gallery opened, in stepping another Choir member. Pulling his hoof away from Cinder, Beacon said, “The time has come, Cinder. Art thou prepared for thy baptisation?”
Nodding, Cinder raised his gaze determinedly. “I am, sir. I am prepared to confess.”
Mirth
Razor fretted over Mirth, replacing the bandages covering his scarred forearms.
Mirth took the pain in stride, nary a hiss escaping him. He was used to it by now.
“You sure you’re okay, Alpha?” said Razor, stepping back, refusing to meet Mirth’s gaze.
“Ask one more time and I’ll yank your tongue out, Razor. Scram.”
Razor quickly left, nearly bumping into Yen, who smirked at him, arms folded across his chest. Razor growled when he met the dog’s gaze, the scout slowly walking around him, watching him all the while.
Sneering at the runt, Yen walked into the room, which once served as the fort’s great hall, looking around at all the overturned, dust-laden tables and smashed vases. He made a disgusted face, pawpads reverberating from the walls as he strolled toward Mirth, who had his back to him, with his fingers interlocked behind his head.
“What a dump!” he said. “This place really could use some sprucing up, Alpha. Give it a few years and we might actually make one of these gryphonic landfills something cockroaches might consider worth their time.”
“Yen,” Mirth greeted, turning his head. “Have you sent for Cost?”
Nodding, Yen said, “Three of our fastest runners are relaying the message. The Rough Riders should be here by nightfall.”
“Good.”
“Just glad to be of help, Alpha. Now, if that’s that, then I should―”
“You’re not going anywhere just yet, Yen.”
Yen furrowed his brows. “Oh? Well, what else do you need me for, Alpha?”
Standing up, Mirth approached Yen, the dog looming over him. “Just a few questions for my most loyal dog.”
Yen blinked, feeling slightly apprehensive. “Sure thing, Alpha. Fire away.”
“Who were you before you showed up at my steps?”
Scratching his head, Yen replied, “No one, Alpha. I was just a rover before joining this pack.”
“And what made you decide to join this pack of all the packs in Warg’s Pass.”
Yen straightened, realizing exactly what this meeting was. Smiling, he said, “I’ve heard rumors. How you survived a blistering inferno, how you rose from the ashes and became the Phoenix… Dogs here believe you will unite every pack of Warg’s Pass under one Name once more.”
Mirth stared down at him. “Never took you for a fairy-tale peddler.”
Yen shrugged. “I don’t believe a whiff of it, Alpha.” He tapped his nose, grinning. “I’ve got a nose for winners. And you’re the strongest out there.”
“And what happens when I’m no longer the strongest, Yen?”
“That won’t happen, Alpha.” Yen crossed his arms. “Not soon, anyway.”
Mirth cracked a smile. “You were there, weren’t you?”
Tilting his head, Yen asked, “Where?”
“The Sapphire mines.”
Yen tensed. “What makes you say that.”
Tapping his nose, Mirth said, “I’ve got a nose for coat-tailers, ‘rover’.” Brushing past Yen, Mirth added: “But I’m not concerned with who the dogs in this pack once belonged to, not so long as they are tough and can get the job done. Schemers on the other hand…” he aimed a withering stare at his subordinate, Yen standing his ground. Mirth snorted, continuing to walk out of the great hall.
“What made you attack the Sapphires, anyway?” Yen called from behind him.
Mirth stopped a moment, his back to Yen. “Blindness.” He then exited the hall.
Yen was left alone in the decrepit hall, the dog clenching and unclenching his fist as he stared off into one of its few intact stained glass windows, the image depicting a wolf swallowing a tower and all the creatures within.
Saiph
Saiph and her squadmates were resting outside the walls of the fort, cradled in the bosom of the Ravenwood. She’d started carving another figure, hoping to create a sleeping filly this time, though it was still in its conceptual phase.
Vivid Root was fidgeting restlessly at his spot next to Lilac Cross, gritting his teeth as his ears twitched at every peep and whisper from within the woods.
“Everything’s too loud. Bucking forest, bucking mutts, bucking…” Vivid Root growled, standing up, taking a few steps, before retaking his seat next to Lilac Cross.
Lilac Cross gave him a sympathetic look, saying, “Viv, calm down. Why don’t we just―”
“Don’t tell me to bucking calm down, Lilac!”
Lilac Cross went silent.
Vivid Root’s ears splayed back, his wings twitching at his side as he wordlessly reached for Lilac’s hoof, only for Lilac to tense and not return the gesture. Vivid pulled his hoof away.
Chewing his tongue, the copper-haired thestral observed Saiph. “Why do you do that?”
Ears perking, the mare’s blue eyes were pulled to his. “Huh?”
Rolling his hoof, Vivid Root said, “The whole carving thing. Where’d you pick it up?” by way of elaboration.
Saiph looked down at the block of ravenwood in her hoof, peeling a layer away with her knife distractedly. “It’s just a hobby, I guess. I don’t remember when exactly I started doing it, but since we’re in the woods all the time…” she tilted her head left and right, hoping the message was conveyed well enough.
“Why do you do it?”
“It gives me something to do.” She smiled at Vivid Root. “I could teach you if you want.” Vivid Root shook his head in response. Saiph nodded in understanding, saying, “If you ever change your mind…”
Silence returned shortly after. Perichot was tearing patches of grass from the ground, lifting them and watching them shower to the earth. Saiph continued chipping away at the figure in her hooves. The wind caused Vivid Root to shiver, the pegasus huddling up closer to Lilac Cross, who huffed before hesitantly leaning into the contact.
Vivid Root’s tail lashed a few times, refusing to settle, his hoof tapping and his ears twitching. “Can I… You mind if I see the last one you were working on?”
Saiph looked up at Vivid Root questioningly before her eyes lit up in understanding. She gave him an apologetic look. “I… gave it to Mirth as a gift.”
It was silent for a moment. Perichot eyed her with a raised brow while Lilac Cross swept his gaze over the forest surrounding them, uncaring. Vivid Root’s unbruised eye twitched. “You… did what?”
Curling in on herself, Saiph quietly said, “He said he liked it…”
“You’re already warming up to that half-faced mutt!?” Vivid Root exclaimed, standing up. “Wonderful! Just great! Yet another one of you getting buddy-buddy with these no-good scum!”
“That’s enough, Vivid Root,” said Perichot.
“Well, pardon me, sir, but I feel like I’m the only one here with his head on his withers! The rest of you are licking this dog’s pawpads!”
“Watch yourself, Corporal,” Perichot icily said.
Vivid Root snorted. “You think that dog’ll keep his word? Just let us walk away after this? He shoves spikes into his own kind for a warm meal and a pat on the back from some shrivelled wetnose in a mountain! There’s no telling what he isn’t telling us!”
“I don’t trust him either, Vivid. He’s dangerous. But this is the best chance we have of putting this whole thing to rest.”
Saiph nodded. “He told us Teal Gulch and Jadalaque are in that mountain. We’re this close, so we can’t back out now. And we need to keep our promise to that old stallion about finding his son, too.”
“Buck that shambling prune! He’s the one who got us into this mess in the first place! Mirth even said so.”
“So Mirth wasn’t lying about that?” Lilac Cross said.
Vivid Root opened his mouth before it snapped shut. He let out a frustrated growl, pacing the clearing. “We need to leave. Now. We oughta just pack up our things, gather the caravan and wash our hooves of this moonforsaken mudhole!”
“But Teal and Jad―”
“They’re both dead, Saiph! And on the slim, molecular chance they aren’t, then we still have everypony else to worry about! We have to cut them loose and get out of here before we get wrapped up in something we can’t handle.”
“That’s not going to happen, Vivid Root,” declared Perichot, rising and walking until he was nose to nose with Vivid Root. “The dogs already know where the caravan is, and it’s our duty to cut off the head of anything that threatens us. We aren’t going to tuck our tails and run, not when two of our own, dead or alive, have been taken. You will cease questioning my orders, soldier, and this is an order!”
Vivid Root and Perichot glared at one another before Vivid Root huffed, looking away. He turned his attention to Lilac Cross for support, but the unicorn said nothing. He lied down a small distance away from Lilac, tail lashing restlessly.
Saiph glanced at him sympathetically, and when their eyes connected, he sagged for a moment before steeling himself and frowning at her. The Ravenwood grew darker as the sun dipped toward the horizon.
Vivid Root
Vivid Root snuck through the forest, wings tucked tightly against his body as his eyes shifted to and fro. The moon hovered brightly overhead, but the shadows were inky, the brush full; even a thestral’s eyes found difficulty in piercing the forest’s darkness on this night.
The hair on his neck stood on end when the ambience of the nocturnal steadily died down. Spinning on his hooves, he spotted Lilac Cross, the unicorn staring expressionlessly at him as he lit his horn, a soft light humming from the tip.
“You’re leaving,” he observed.
Vivid Root felt no less uneasy. “Yeah. I am.”
“You would betray us?”
“You kidding me, Lilac? I’m doing this for us!”
“We have our orders.”
“Buck that! You’re really gonna stand by some mutt and let our family get hurt because of your ‘orders’?” Lilac Cross’ gaze fell away from Vivid’s for a moment, the unicorn appearing to chew on the thought. “You know there’s something off about this, Lilac,” Vivid pressed. “Help me protect those of us who can still be saved. There’s still time!”
Lilac Cross’ eyes snapped back to Vivid’s, hardening. Walking around so that he was standing in front of Vivid, he said, “He has a plan. If you leave now, you’ll damn us all, Vivid. We could end all of this before the next moonrise if you just trust Perichot’s judgment.”
Vivid Root shook his head disbelievingly. “Get outta my way, Lilac. Every minute we waste arguing is a minute less the caravan has.”
As Vivid tried to step around him, Lilac Cross put a hoof in his path, his horn glowing threateningly as a small trail of blood dripped from his nose. “You’re not going anywhere, Vivid.”
Vivid Root narrowed his eyes at Lilac, the two staring one another down as the Mare in the Moon impassionately watched them from on high.
Gobrend crashed into the ground with a groan. His muscles ached, the wind ripped from his lungs. The manor’s courtyard served well as an arena: it was reasonably sized, with an excellent view of the dense, expansive Yaju Forest below and the Guto River cutting through the valley. It also provided the cover necessary to prevent errant passers-by from witnessing Eve beating Gobrend-shaped imprints into the stone.
Eve pressed the tip of a blunted sword to Gobrend’s throat, smirking. “I thought nobles were supposed to be good with swords, high-born.”
Gobrend scowled as he pushed himself up from the ground as much as the blade would allow. “Give me my crossbow and we’ll see how boastful you are, Knight.” He flicked the sword away from his neck. “What is the use of this anyhow? All I get are bumps and bruises at the end of every session, while you get to relish in every victory.”
Snorting, Eve offered Gobrend a hand, which he took after a second’s contemplation. Pulling him from the ground, she said, “It takes years of dedication and practice to become even partially competent in one-on-one combat, Gobrend. Swordplay takes even longer than that, so it’s no surprise your aristocratic flank is hitting the cobblestone more often than usual.” She brushed a speck of snow from his shoulder. “So lighten up, tough guy. Can’t expect perfection when you’ve only properly been at it for just over two months.”
“Yeah, yeah…” Gobrend shivered when a gust of wind bit at him, tightly wrapping his cloak around himself.
“That’s enough training for now,” Eve said. “Let’s get inside before I freeze my tail off. Gotta get ready for that―blech―noble’s party.”
Rolling his eyes, Gobrend took the stairs up to the manor proper, Eve at his side. Silkpyre View was modest as far as estates went. Most of its acres were hugged by the wilderness, and it had no great hall, serving as more of a small, fortified mansion than a true manor. Where Brocarius secured the funds to purchase and furnish the thing, Gobrend didn’t know, but he had a sneaking suspicion the pony was well-connected enough to comfortably purchase and maintain a petty kingdom if he so wished.
“Perhaps you’ll learn something about being a proper hen tonight, Eve. I understand your definition of ‘etiquette’ extends no further than your blade, but you must learn to at best tolerate civilized events.”
“Oh, and you’re civilized, high-born?” responded Eve, adjusting the fur cap atop her head. “The eccentric recluse who spends all his time isolating himself in the woods when he’s not burning down orphanages or whatever else it is you do?”
Gobrend set his jaw. “I adapt, Yvette.”
They approached the back door. When they stepped inside, Gobrend shook himself dry, causing Eve to flinch. “Hey, do you mind!”
Gobrend took off his green cloak, kneading the stiffness out of his lame wing. “Apologies, Eve. Archons above, this thing has been driving me mad…”
“Whatever. Watch where you do that next time.” Eve climbed the stairs. “I’m heading to my room to prep for the party. Stop by Brocarius’ office before you do anything; he wants to talk with you.”
Sighing, Gobrend picked up his cloak and achingly dragged himself up the stairs. He was greeted with an open lounge. Light of the falling sun streamed through the thin windows and breathed a spice of color and life into the otherwise ascetic, hushed entombment. Past the furniture, staunch Gryphonic craftsmanship born of the Yaju’s timber, which sat as silent sentinels, the crackle of wood in the fireplace and the unrelenting scent of pine permeating the room grounded the gryphon: It reminded him of home.
Gobrend smiled softly for a moment before adopting his usual expression of arrogant disinterest. Ignoring the stairs which led to the second floor, he climbed a post with the deftness of a jaguar, pulling himself over the railing and walking to his destination. Eve must have been in a hurry, as she was nowhere in sight.
The candles lighting the hallway walls chased away the stretching shadows, but allowed a comfortable gloom to settle over the various muted grays and browns. Gobrend’s steps were softened by the carpet which stretched down the hall, and soon enough he stood before Brocarius’ study.
Gobrend rapped upon the door. One, two, three. He waited a moment, and just as he raised his hand to knock once more, a muffled, “Enter,” sounded from within.
Gobrend took a deep breath, releasing it slowly before grasping the handle and pushing open the door. On the other side was Brocarius, seated at his desk with his nose buried in a news article. His study was a cramped space: an escritoire sat before the window; a shelf stacked with books rested along the back wall. Anything with a flat plane and four legs to separate it from the floor was crowded with parchments, candles, chests, and other inconsequential miscellany. A fire hazard, in Gobrend’s mind, but one that was not his problem.
The curtains were drawn, revealing the light snowfall, and the walls were decorated with paintings and furs and lanterns which attracted buzzing gnats. There was a fireplace tucked cozily away right next to the entrance, with two soft-padded chairs separated by a stand. Gobrend inhaled, finding himself slightly relaxed by the damp musk, not unlike that of an old library, that clung to the air. He never tired of this room.
“Don’t just stand there. Come in, come in!” Brocarius urged from behind his desk. As Gobrend stepped inside, Brocarius pointed at one of the chairs before the fireplace. “Take a seat, Gobrend. I’ll be right with you,” he said, turning to a new page with a small frown.
“What troubles you, Brocarius?” Gobrend asked as he headed for the fireplace to warm his bones. “Judging by your expression, the headlines must be horrifying.”
“More like captivating,” muttered Brocarius, running a hoof through his mane.
“And what would the cause for your captivation be, then?” Gobrend ruffled his feathers as he settled. “Has Saddle Arabia finally lowered their ridiculous prices on their Fire Lime spices? Or are you simply perusing some seditionist’s piece about this month’s blood-soaked revolution in some nameless distant land?”
“Have you been paying attention to the goings-on in Canterlot?”
“Only as much as I’ve been paying attention to the goings-on anywhere else for the past year or so. I’m unsure if you’re aware, Brocarius, but slavery is busy work.” Brocarius gave Gobrend a blank stare. Rolling his eyes, Gobrend said, “The last big thing to echo from Canterlot to my ears was of the failed foalnapping attempt on Celestia’s protégé a few years ago.”
“How much do you know about that?”
Gobrend shrugged. “There are rumors that Celestia sicced a monster summoned from the bowels of Tartarus itself to sniff the offenders out. Grisly story, really: the foalnappers were reportedly ripped apart by the beast, not one spared.” Gobrend looked at Brocarius with suspicion. “Why, is there another monster out there tearing through your kin like amateurly-weaved kerchiefs as of late?”
Brocarius raised his brow, placing the newspaper on his desk. “We rarely operate within Equestrian borders, Gobrend, and we certainly wouldn’t risk compromising ourselves in the seat of Celestia’s authority of all places. There is only one Knight in Canterlot at the moment. No, whoever carried out that foolhardy attempt had no ties to us. How did you come to learn of it?”
Gobrend flicked his talon. “I’m sure that story made rounds in every realm when it occurred. It was far too surreal to ignore.”
“Surreal is a word for it.”
“Ah, yes, you described it as ‘captivating.' ”
“Princess Celestia’s ‘monster’... he truly is shaking up Canterlot’s status quo,” Brocarius said, his eyes scanning the news once more. “He has been since he popped up. How much control she has over him is questionable, but from the reports and what I’ve heard, he acts as a guardian of sorts.”
“A guardian? Why on earth would Celestia appoint a dangerous beast with the temperament of a wyvern as a guardian to her?”
Brocarius shook his head. “No, not her guardian, but her student’s.”
Gobrend’s eye twitched for a moment before he barked out a laugh. “Madness! Absolute madness! I’m expected to believe Equestria’s beacon of justice would allow a rabid animal anywhere near her subjects, let alone her own pupil?”
“It makes sense in a twisted way. Would you be willing to face such a creature to get to a filly?” Brocarius said. Gobrend’s laughter stopped. “He has the Solar Guard in uproar with his antics and, most curiously, since he’s appeared there have been numerous groundbreaking advances in Equestrian medicine and technology that are absent of magic entirely.
“Whatever this thing is, I can’t place my hoof on his objective. He’s so… so fascinating! So chaotic!” He gathered a kettle and two tea cups, rounding his desk with an uncharacteristic bounce in his step. “He’s just what the sleeping nation of Equestria needs.”
At Gobrend’s stunned silence, Brocarius hemmed into his hoof, composing himself once more as he placed the tea cups on the stand between their chairs and poured a sweet-smelling herbal tea into the two of them. Plopping himself down onto his seat, Brocarius grabbed his cup, motioning for Gobrend to do the same. As Gobrend picked up his cup, Brocarius drained his, ignoring the scalding heat before refilling it immediately. “But I digress. We’re not here for me to gush over Princess Celestia’s servant; we’re here to talk about you.”
Gobrend blew his tea, taking a small sip. “This is about the upcoming party, I presume?”
“Well, what of it? Are you afraid a dress would fit that bladed whirlwind Eve about as well as a bonnet fits a timberwolf? Because I’m not dressing up in her place. One time was enough for me in that regard.”
“You’d be quite convincing if you were to try, but no, this is no talk of apparel. This is about Clan Ironrath.”
Gobrend’s talons tightened around his tea cup. Leaning in, Gobrend said in a carefully level tone, “Is this what that talk about Celestia’s pet was building to?”
Smiling, Brocarius said, “Perceptive, Grasstalon. Like the princess’ newfound servant, we are going to shake things up in Silvercrest, see what comes loose.”
“And how are we meant to do that?” Gobrend asked. “We hold no recognizable influence.”
“Oh, ye of little faith. I’ve not been wasting my time since we’ve arrived, Gobrend. The Ironraths know our name, and that’s something. We’re still unknowns, though; that will be our greatest advantage.”
“And our greatest detriment.”
“There is far more to be gained, my friend, from the veil of facelessness.”
Gobrend raised his brow. “Meaning…?”
“Meaning we have an opportunity to swiftly cement ourselves into the highest ranks of Silvercrest’s elite. And that opportunity is tonight.”
“Beating around the bush is all well and good, but where do I fit into this, Brocarius?”
“Good question. You will be acting as a travelling healer, one who is tagging along with Eve, Query and I under contract. The granddaughter-in-law of the Ironraths mothers an ailing son, I’ve learned, and so your job will be to get into their good graces and nurse him to health while I work to build rapport with the lords.”
Gobrend’s eyes widened. “She has a cub…?” Brocarius nodded, eyeing him curiously. Shaking his head, Gobrend continued, his throat tight. “And what am I to do about that, Brocarius? I’m better suited for other tasks.”
“You’re selling yourself short, Gobrend. You may not be a healer, but the fact that you and the filly under your watch managed so well for so long in ashflake-sodden mines tells me you know more than you let on.”
Gobrend cracked a small smile. “Look what good my help did.”
“Have a little faith, Gobrend. Another dead foal will do nopony any good.” Brocarius stared into Gobrend’s narrowed eyes as he said that, taking another sip from the cup in his hoof. His expression was neutral. “At this stage, that foal’s well-being is of utmost importance. I’ve had my assistant concoct a general all-around potion that will target and strengthen his immune system.”
“The witch? You had the witch create the potion?”
“Don’t let your prejudice jeopardize our mission. You may not like it, but she is a Knight, same as Eve and I. And she is one of the most talented apothecaries alive.”
“I’d sooner have him fed poison than allow him to consume anything she’s brewed!”
“Then why don’t you?” Gobrend clicked his beak shut at that. “If you cannot nurse the young lord to health yourself, then you’ll use the potion. Is that understood?” After a moment of thought, Gobrend gave one hesitant nod. “Excellent! That will be all for now, Gobrend. Go and get cleaned up; you smell like sweat and cobblestone.”
Gobrend groaned, thinking back to his painful sparring session with Eve as he turned to leave.
“It’s unlike you to hold back...” Brocarius muttered. Gobrend’s eyes snapped back to the pony, Brocarius staring into his tea cup as though he would find his answers at the bottom.
Since it appeared their business had concluded, Gobrend, no less perplexed by the odd statement, took his leave.
Later that night, the ascending city of Silvercrest quaked with life. It had been an hour-long flight from Lavenderblade Hill, but the quartet of Knights had at long last arrived to the gates of Castle Black Crescent. The lights of the looming Great Keep, indeed the lights of every house of the district within, defiantly pierced the darkness of the looming Mare in the Moon. Black Crescent appeared to be carved out of the very chain of the Splinter Mountains itself. It was a compact, regal thing, formed of stone and Heartland-imported bloodwood oak, leading down through taiga to the Guto River.
Street lanterns shattered the shadows to reveal brilliant flags bearing King Fulryn Greygleam’s heraldry: a base of tangerine and gold, split horizontally through the middle, with one blazing bull of the opposing color on each division of the flag; the sigils of houses Ironrath, Ashtide and Lovequarrel proudly adorned poles and homes alongside the king’s colors.
Several carriages, all holding notable passengers, landed on the cobblestone streets. Gobrend fought the bitterness he’d grown accustomed to down, his good wing fluttering as they were brought down to earth and away from the soaring skies all too soon.
Resting his chin on a fist with an inaudible sigh, Gobrend turned his attention to the streets in search of a distraction, his blood chilling in his veins as he saw Fulryn’s own at every corner and on every rooftop, scanning the gathered crowd. Their presence only grew as the carriage approached its destination.
He tensed, talons twitching when a black set of claws pressed against his shoulder. “Gobrend?” Eve said. “Hellooo? Earth to high-born!”
“Yes, yes! I heard you the first time!” Gobrend said, shrugging off Eve’s hand and turning to glare at the pale gryphon. She wore a recently-buffered steel breastplate, absent of decoration and with the ginger pelt of a fox draped over it, over a black woolen coat, with her trusty sword in its scabbard by her side. She appeared undisturbed by Gobrend’s outburst. “What,” he hissed.
Eve pointed to the other pony in the cart sitting next to Brocarius. Saccharine Query jumped in her seat, the red-eyed mare timidly waving a cloven, peach-colored hoof. “U-Uh… Just checking if your attire is to your liking, Mr Grasstalon…” Gobrend stared at her for a moment.
Just as Query began to shift uncomfortably under Gobrend’s gaze, Brocarius sighed. “Please be nice to Ms Query, Gobrend.”
Looking down to his green tunic, fastened with a sash of lilac dye, Gobrend said, “It’s rather plain, but serviceable nonetheless, I suppose.”
“Gobrend…” Brocarius said warningly.
Huffing, Gobrend pulled his cloak over him to fight off the chill of the air. In a perfectly polite tone, he said, “It is to my satisfaction, madam,” before turning back to stare outside. Query nodded, her blonde bun bouncing as she hastily added a few notes to a lengthy piece of parchment.
Brocarius frowned at Gobrend, adjusting his cravat as they approached the gate to the estate. “Alright, everypony, put on your game faces,” he said as the carriage rolled to a stop.
A Ironrath guard knocked on the door, Gobrend unlocking it and allowing the guard to pull it open. Everyone in the carriage except for Eve shivered as a cold gust of wind blew in to nip at their flesh.
The Ironrath slowly scanned everyone in the carriage, two others checking beneath it. “Who the bloody hell are you lot?”
“I am Brocarius, Lord of Silkpyre Hall.” Brocarius gestured at the rest of his entourage. “And this is my family.”
The Ironrath snorted, spitting on the floor of the carriage. Eve had her talons on her sword in an instant, and Gobrend had surreptitiously drawn a dagger from beneath his cloak, both glowering at the grunt’s blatant display of disrespect. Brocarius gestured for them both to calm themselves, and they both took their seats, still glaring at the guard, who smirked at them before turning to Brocarius. “I’ve ‘alf a mind to send you lot packing.”
“We are Lord Ironrath’s guests. Considering he’s expecting us, I believe he would be very disappointed if he found we were turned away at the front gate.”
“What makes you think he’ll care about losing the company of a couple o’ ponies? He’s more like to give me a goat’s leg and a tankard!”
Before Brocarius could speak, Gobrend said, “What is your name, guard?”
“What’s it to you, prawn?”
Brocarius gave Gobrend a warning glance, but it went ignored. “Your despicable behavior reflects very poorly on your lord, and while he may allow such disrespect, I will not tolerate your filth!”
“You can turn around and get your arses out, then!” the Ironrath said, chortling.
Gobrend narrowed his eyes. “You will learn how to speak to your betters, you insufferable―”
Eve placed a hand on Gobrend’s shoulder, silencing his rant.
“Woah, woah, what is the issue here?” a voice called out. The guard went rigid a moment, saluting as a red-plumed Greygleam flew down next to the carriage, followed by two other guards.
“S-Sir Waxfury!” he cried, turning a cunning eye to the passengers in the carriage. “These fellows have been causin’ trouble. They even insulted Lord Ironrath!”
Sir Waxfury’s expression turned to that of iron. “Is that so?” He looked inside the carriage. The moment his eyes connected with those of Brocarius, he gasped. “Count Silkpyre!” he said in a friendly tone, bowing. “I was not expecting to run into you so early.”
Brocarius chuckled. “It’s a joy to see your face again, Sir Waxfury.”
“No, no, please. Just Victor is fine, Excellency.”
“Of course, Victor.”
Sir Waxfury, still smiling, rose from his bow. “You must forgive my rashness, my lord. Might I ask what this incident was about?” he asked, his warm gaze turning cold for an instant when it met Yvette’s own before sweeping over everyone else. “Ulric mentioned an insult against Lord Ironrath.”
“Your ‘guard’ disrespected my lord, Sir Waxfury,” said Gobrend. “He was highly unprofessional.”
“You have my own apologies for this, good sir,” the knight said dismissively, not even sparing Gobrend a glance. “Please, forgive us for taking up so much of your time, Count Silkpyre. You will be right on your way,” he said to Brocarius, who nodded.
“B-But, Sir―”, Ulric said.
“These are honored guests, Shadesong! I will not hear of another incident such as this tonight or it will be your hide. Am I understood?”
“O’ course, Sir,” said Ulric, lowering his head between his soldiers.
“Good. Now, I have one more round to make for the perimeter. Lord Inheritor Zasphir’s ceremony begins soon.” And with that, he took off.
“Would you still like to see our papers?” asked Brocarius after a moment.
“No need, milord. Go on in and make yourself home.” With one final glare cast at Gobrend, one that was returned in kind, Ulric shut the door and waved them off, going to check the carriages lined up behind them.
“Ulric…” Gobrend murmured, storing the name away in his memory.
A moment after the carriage began moving once again, a pair of hands grabbed Gobrend by the collar and pressed him against the wall. “Okay, what the hell was that, Gobrend!” Eve demanded.
Gobrend winced when his head collided with the wood. “What do you mean!?” he said, wrapping his hands around her wrists.
Eve bashed him against the wall once more. “Which one was it, high-born? Which blow to the head turned you into such an utter idiot!”
Saccharine Query hopped out of her seat, trembling. “P-Please stop, Eve! Hurting him won’t accomplish anything!”
“He nearly sabotaged everything before we even passed the gate, Carrie! For pride, this moron almost brought us right back to square one!”
“I was only defending Brocarius!” Gobrend protested.
“By what? Dragging his reputation through the muck?”
“Damn it all, Eve, that filth at the gate was already doing that!”
“And you couldn’t keep a level enough head to realize he was goading us. You fell right for the trap of a damn nobody!” Eve said, slamming Gobrend against the wall.
“I… No, I― I just…” Gobrend’s eyes widened for a moment before he began squirming in earnest. “L-Let me go, you crazy hen!”
“Are you two done?” Brocarius asked, rubbing his temple.
Eve stared at Gobrend, the smaller gryphon unable to meet her gaze. “Brocarius, he’s a loose cannon. We should leave him at the manor or cut him off entirely if he’s going to pick fights with everyone he runs into.”
“No!” Gobrend shouted. “I-I have to be here… I need this.”
“If you think you can win this battle on your own, Gobrend, I will cut you loose from this operation. Just say the word,” said Brocarius, adjusting his glasses. “You call me your lord? Then you will do my bidding and you will not step out of line as you just have. Just as you stated to that guard, everything an underling does reflects on his lord, and I will not have you risk everything at the smallest provocation. Do you hear me?”
Gobrend deflated in Eve’s grasp. “...Yes, my lord...”
Brocarius nodded, his face neutral. “Eve, let him go.”
Eve roughly pressed Gobrend against the wall before releasing him.
Saccharine Query lifted her hoof, opening her mouth as though to say something, but thought better of it when she looked at Eve, who was scowling at the floor, and Brocarius, who watched Gobrend for a moment before taking off his glasses and rubbing the space between his eyes.
After rubbing the sore spot on the back of his head, Gobrend silently went back to staring out the window at the approaching castle.
“In Fulryn’s name! Blood and Vigor!”
“Blood and Vigor!” chanted the assembled crowd.
“And for our lords and ladies, united in common cause under our king: Pierce the Heavens!”
“And Skewer the Stars!”
Gobrend raised his glass, emptying the wine surreptitiously into a nearby plant before pretending to down its contents. Pinkies up, of course; he wasn’t some Northborn savage. “Nationalistic fervor and mindless idol worship: lobotomization without the scalpel and spoon.”
“Simply marvelous, isn’t it?” a pompous voice said from his right, the noble clearly misinterpreting Gobrend’s muttering as he clapped and wiped a tear from his eye. “Long may Fulryn reign!”
“For the glory of the West! Long live the True Gryphonia, ha ha!”
“May his enemies tremble before him!” Gobrend said, a practiced smile carving its way onto his beak. He then muttered, “And may his ‘comrades’ remain fat, free and complacent.”
Eve elbowed him in the ribs for his crass remarks, but she couldn’t fight down a growing smirk. “I’m going to go find Brocarius and Carrie. Try not to do anything stupid while I’m gone, high-born,” she said, walking off and leaving him to sulk in the corner they had procured alone.
“Try not to do anything stupid, high born,” Gobrend mocked, miming her beak with exaggerated yapping motions of the hand. “Pfeh. I need no babysitter, you maddening nag. I am in my element…”
He looked around, finding himself alone and surrounded by countless strangers, any of whom could be conspiring against him, ready to kiss his throat with pointed steel. There were too many faces, producing too much noise.
He immediately felt exposed, as though he were being watched by both everyone and no one. He stilled his breath, eyes snapping from one face to the next as his talon wrapped around the dagger at his belt. The innocuous became threatening: a laughing, jolly face stretched to become sneering and derisive; the pouring of wine stung his ears as his senses sharpened, the steady flow like the trickle of water down damp tunnel walls. Gobrend felt the world gradually compress, and the walls warped, ready to constrict him.
“Greetings, stranger,” a soft, sultry voice said. Gobrend’s mounting panic dissolved in an instant, his tail no longer whipping around in agitation, but a cold sweat still caressed his brow. His attention was captured by an approaching, stunningly beautiful gryphon, sleek in form and modest in dress.
She was a proud creature, one with grace befitting her stature. Gobrend was captivated by her eyes, her emerald, distressingly familiar, eyes. It was as though he was placed under a spell. He fought the urge to flee, to flee and get as far away from her as possible. “I pray you do not mind my disturbance, sir. I am Taliana Ironrath.”
Brocarius mingled with the Silvercrestian elite, wearing a practiced smile. This was the most boring part of any assignment, but it was the most important as well. Even gryphons dallied in diplomacy where it suited them instead of going straight for the jugular of adversaries. Disappointing. They’d always given him the impression of being more candid than the other races, and they certainly were in most respects, but he was still a bit underwhelmed. This was just like every other noble’s party. Some things were universal, he supposed.
His daydreaming was interrupted when a claw tapped on his shoulder. He noticed the visiting minotaur artisan who was loudly posturing at him and everyone within speaking distance as he half-listened while smiling and nodding had also gone quiet for the first time since the festivities had begun, his eyes wide and staring over Brocarius’ head. Turning to find Eve, a bread roll stuffed in her beak as she chewed noisily, Brocarius gave a questioning glance. Eve simply pointed behind him.
Approaching was an elderly gryphon―a short cane in his grasp―and a plump gryphoness, both elaborately dressed and beset by armed guards. These two were none other than Lady Lovequarrel and Lord Ironrath himself. Brocarius exchanged a few whispers with Saccharine Query, who nodded as she scratched something down onto a scrap of parchment, before he walked to meet the two Talons.
Giving a polite bow, Brocarius said, “Lord Ironrath. Lady Lovequarrel.”
“Oh ho ho!” Lady Lovequarrel exclaimed, her tone jolly. Her voice had a musical lilt, motherly in quality. “So this is the one I’ve heard so much about. I must say, Count Silkpyre, I was not expecting a pony.”
“I wouldn’t expect you to expect such a thing, my lady,” said Brocarius.
“You simply must allow me to take you on a tour of our great city, Count. Ooh, I’ve always wanted to show a pony the highlights of my home!” she gleefully said, bouncing up and down. Suddenly, her cheerful disposition fell into one of seriousness, and, leaning forward, she whispered conspiratorially, “Except the more… uncouth rungs of our society, of course.”
“I will keep that in mind, Lady Lovequarrel,” Brocarius promised, reaching out a hoof. “It is good to finally meet you in the flesh.”
Ignoring his hoof, Lady Lovequarrel pulled Brocarius into a warm, feathery hug, “The pleasure is all mine, Silkpyre!” She released him, smiling as she appraised his flustered form with a cunning glint in her eye. “You did not tell me he was quite so fetching, Byric. Why have you been keeping this one a secret?”
Lord Ironrath, who had been watching everything with quiet amusement, chuckled. “Do not mind Lady Lovequarrel, Count. This she-devil adores getting a rise out of others and nothing more.”
Lady Lovequarrel gasped, pressing a hand against her generous bosom. “My lord, I’m aghast! This is how you treat a fellow Talon?”
“The day you behave yourself in accordance with your station is the day age takes me, Penelope. With this in mind, I divine I shall live forever.”
“Oh, hush. What would you do without me, you old grouch?”
“At any rate,” Lord Ironrath said, looking at Brocarius, “it is good that you have arrived with little difficulty, Count. Although, I hear there was an incident at the front gate involving one of your servants…” He swept his gaze over Saccharine Query, who held the parchment in her hooves closer to her chest, and Eve, who continued disinterestedly stuffing bread rolls into her beak.
“It was of little issue, Lord Ironrath,” said Brocarius. “There was a misunderstanding between one of your guards at the gate and my underling.”
“Yes, the ‘Grasstalon’, I presume. Pray tell, where is he?”
“He is…” Brocarius glanced into the crowd to find Gobrend being led up the stairs by Lady Ironrath. His eyes narrowed. “...Around.”
“In spite of his recklessness, you see fit to allow him free reign? You have him on quite the long leash, Count Silkpyre,” Lord Ironrath said, frowning.
“With all due respect, Lord Ironrath, he was only acting in my defense.”
“You would insinuate that my gryphons are unfit for their duties, Count? That is to suggest I lack the competence to select those who represent the Ironrath name.” Lord Ironrath’s frown deepened. “I do not take kindly to insults within my own home.”
Brocarius’ expression became carefully neutral. “Lord Ironrath, I am under the belief that we are allies, if not friends. If you find what I say to be insulting, then consider the civility with which I have weathered your doubts to my judgment and how I treat my own servants. To insinuate that my servants are unfit for their duties is to suggest I lack the competence to select those who represent the Silkpyre name, so I am left to believe you exempt yourself when you insult others within your home.”
It was quiet for a long moment. Eve was tense, eyeing the guards at the sides of the Talons, and Saccharine Query was nervously whispering incantations as she hid behind the pale gryphon. For his part, Brocarius unflinchingly stared into Lord Ironrath’s cold eyes.
The tension surrounding them dissipated when Lady Lovequarrel giggled, fanning herself as an unladylike snort interrupted her growing laughter. “Oh ho ho, he has spunk, Byric. My heart’s just all aflutter. Bravo, dear, bravo!”
Stroking the greyed feathers on his chin, Ironrath squinted at Brocarius. “Agreed. I do ever respect a gryphon with grit, even if he be a nongryphon.” Finally, Lord Ironrath cracked a small smile. “I will leave you to your jollity, Count. And you have my sincerest thanks for acting in Ashtide’s place this eve. Now, excuse me, I must be by my grandson’s side for his promotion.”
As he turned, Brocarius had a thought. “Before you go, where is Master Ashtide? I was hoping to finally meet him.”
Lord Ironrath stopped in his steps, facing away from Brocarius. “He is… around,” he hissed. With that, he and two of his personal guards left Brocarius and Lady Lovequarrel, along with their assembled posses, alone.
“What does he mean by that?” Eve said.
Lady Lovequarrel, who appeared to have fallen into a daze, perked at the question. “Hm? Oh!” Looking between the three Silkpyres, she bit her beak, thinking. “I don’t suppose it’s my place to say, dear,” she said with an apologetic glance. “Now, I would love to continue this conversation, but I am just starving.” She looked to Eve, who was now wiping her butter-slickened talons off on her coat. “Dear, can you point out where they’ve hidden the confections? I swear, I’ll have to quarter someone if my drones keep purposely misplacing them to spite me.”
Eve straightened up, not expecting the noble to speak to her specifically, before pointing off in a corner. “They’ve set up the hors d'oeuvres on that table, the main courses over there, and the cakes and stuff next to the wine. I personally prefer the buttered bread rolls myself.”
“Oh ho ho! Splendid! I think I’ll have some of everything, then!” She bumped against Eve good-naturedly as she passed, giving her a thankful grin, one which Eve awkwardly returned.
“She’s cuckoo in the head, Brocarius,” whispered Eve when the jolly ball of aristocratic fluff and her guards disappeared into the crowd.
Saccharine Query smiled. “I like her. She’s nice.”
Brocarius shook his head, leading the two to the wine. That could have gone better, but it could have also gone much worse. He simply hoped Gobrend wasn’t doing anything stupid that might end up shafting them all.
“Where are we going, Lady Ironrath?” asked Gobrend.
“Please, Mr Grasstalon, just Taliana shall suffice. And in regards to our destination…” Taliana pushed open one of the glass-pane doors, sauntering outside before Gobrend could rush to hold it open for her. Wing fluttering, Gobrend looked both left and right before reluctantly following after her.
Taliana had already made herself comfortable, sitting down and leaning over the railing. If it weren’t for the twitch of her ear at his approaching steps, Gobrend would have guessed she’d already forgotten about him. He followed her gaze, staring up at the stars surrounding the Mare in the Moon. A companionable silence settled over them for a time.
“Beautiful, aren’t they?” Snapped out of his daze, Gobrend looked at Taliana, questioning whether the soft words uttered were simply the whispers of the winter breeze. She was resting her elbows on the railing, supporting her beak with her palms. “The sight never grows old. Simply breathtaking, don’t you think?”
Gobrend’s gaze fell to the courtyard, the gryphon twiddling his thumbs. “They’re lovely, my lady.”
“You think so?”
“...Why are we here, Lady Ironrath?”
“Well, that is a rather difficult question to answer, Mr Grasstalon. Stoics believe the strength of will and virtue to be what drives us on. Meliorists fancy the thought that we’re here to make the world a better place. Nihilists believe the question to be useless, as purpose does not exist.”
Gobrend pushed off the rail, pacing as he eyed the ground. “With all due respect, my lady, I believe you have misconstrued my query.”
Taliana allowed a subtle smirk to grace her face. “Whatever do you mean, Mr Grasstalon? My company does not bore you, does it?”
Gobrend took a deep breath, looking at Taliana, who now watched him closely. Gulping, he said, “My apologies if that is what it seems like, Lady Ironrath. I had no intention of insinuating such. But…”
Taliana waited patiently for a question that did not come. “You appear to be pale, Mr Grasstalon. Are you well?”
Gobrend sighed, leaning against the rail once more. He ignored the chill on the wind, saying, “I… am not much for small talk, my lady. I am sure you are a wonderful gryphon―and I congratulate you and your husband for his outstanding service to the Gryphon Coalition and the prestige it brings to your already distinguished name―but my talents lie not with the sharpness of my tongue. They lie with my talons.”
“Hmm.” A mischievous twinkle sparked in Taliana’s eye. “I don’t believe you.”
“M-My lady?”
“I don’t believe you are being very truthful with me, Mr Grasstalon. You think to fool me with your theatrics, but let me say your execution could use some work. Wonderful performance, otherwise!” she said, clapping.
Gobrend froze. “...I’m afraid I don’t follow.”
“Come, Mr Grasstalon,” Taliana said. “Let us try this again.”
Something clicked in Gobrend’s mind. The lady was pretty much saying to his face, “Get your act together, gryphon! This showing is pitiful!” without outright telling him to shut up. He wouldn’t survive another second in there if he kept this sad display up! It was with this knowledge in mind that Gobrend took a deep breath, loosened his grip on the bars of the railing, and, steeling his resolve, turned to this blessed gift from the heavens.
“Very well, Taliana,” he said, a frown on his beak that told of annoyance from being caught in the act. “We shall try this again. Agren’s bones, must you spoil my fun?”
“You were laying it on rather thick, Mr Grasstalon. Disbelief can only be suspended so far before it is bent out of shape.”
Gobrend snorted. “I suppose my technique requires a touch of refinement, then. Dreadfully sorry, my lady.”
“You had a question, sir?”
“Indeed I did, my lady: What is it that you require? I highly doubt you picked me out of the crowd out of coincidence or kindness. You need something.”
“Mayhaps I wanted simply to meet you, Mr Grasstalon. You are a gryphon of mystery, after all.”
“Taliana, I do believe you implored we leave the acting behind us.”
Taliana giggled, slyly placing a hand over her beak. “Oh, fine! A few of my friends suggested I speak to ‘the handsome rogue with the healing hands’.” Gobrend looked at her with a raised brow. “I will freely admit that wasn’t my only reason for approaching you. You are one of Count Silkpyre’s shadows, are you not?”
“I do not believe you would ask that question if you did not already know the answer.”
“Hm. True.” A cheer rang through the house. Taliana’s small smile fell to a thin line. “It appears my husband has at last been formally awarded his decoration.” Directing a grin towards Gobrend, Taliana looked him up and down appraisingly before saying, “How about a dance?”
Gobrend was hardly granted the chance to widen his eyes before he was dragged by the wrist through the halls and down to the center of merriment yet again.
Gobrend sat on the edge of the crowd of dancing attendees, his eyes flicking to and fro nervously. “I-I’m not quite sure about this, my lady. I’m not much for dancing. Or crowds.”
Pouting, Taliana said, “It is poor form to leave a lady to her lonesome in such an event, Mr Grasstalon. Now, enough of your act; I wish to join the fun!”
“As you wish, my lady...” You deceptive imp...
Taliana giggled, dragging him to the middle of the floor, weaving them through the crowd. Before he knew it, Gobrend was beak-to-beak with Taliana, the hen smiling at him with an expectant look on her face, her eyes sparkling with the brilliance of emeralds. Gobrend’s face exploded with a blush, and he pulled back slightly, only for Taliana to tighten her grasp on his wrist.
“Relax, Gobrend,” she cooed. “Allow me to guide your steps. Imagine it is only us.”
With that, Taliana, pulled away. Slowly, she spun, in tune with the music, dragging the stiff form of Gobrend along as his body caught up to his mind. Eyes to the floor, Gobrend watched how Taliana’s paws moved: each step had a purpose, and she glided across the marble floor with a grace that resembled a willow leaf drifting atop the surface of a pond, never disturbing it. He moved to follow.
Before long, Gobrend’s focus cured his anxiety, the gryphon likening the situation to an elaborate skirmish. He’d been here before. Gobrend tentatively placed a talon on Taliana’s hip, the other tightening in her hand as he fell in step; while he did not have Taliana’s fluidity, he matched her in care. This was instinctual at the end of the day, wasn’t it? It was with this in mind that Gobrend stared into her eyes as they moved.
They were rose petals flowing in the wind as they drifted through the field, playfully twirling and shifting in one another’s embrace, uplifted by the soft, melancholy tune echoing through their veins. The highs and lows accompanied them on their journey, their flight never stagnating. In time, however, the wind which carried them softened, and the song calmed. As the drifting rose petals fell back to the earth they were lost to each other.
Gobrend found himself hovering over Taliana, who had a talon pressed against his beak and a distant gaze as they mournfully stared into one another’s eyes.
Pulling away, Gobrend cursed his heart for its frailty. “T-Tali, I…”
A talon once again pressed against his beak. Taliana smiled sadly at him. “You are a fine dancer, Mr Grasstalon. Thank you for humoring this hen.”
Before Gobrend could say anything else, a commotion arose, the crowd parting as someone stormed their way toward them.
“Out of my way! Move, curse you, or I’ll have your head!” a voice roared. A gryphon couple who wasn’t quick enough to get out of the way were shoved aside by an enraged gryphon donning an immaculate white dulcet adorned with golden froggings and several medals.
The blue feathers of his plume were pulled into what resembled a ponytail, and his pomposity was a mere micrometer from being tangible. His hazel eyes connected with the browns of Gobrend’s. The gryphon stomped to Gobrend, puffing out his chest and grinding his teeth. “You dare to take the first dance with my Taliana? I ought to have you declawed, you wretched stonegobbler!” The gathered crowd, who had been silently murmuring among themselves at the gryphon’s outburst, collectively gasped at the slur.
Gobrend stood his ground, unmoved, returning the gryphon’s glare even though he stood a full head beneath him. Taliana frowned, placing herself in front of Gobrend. “Zasphir! This is a guest, the villein of Count Silkpyre. You are causing a scene over nothing!”
“No gryphon lays their claws on you but me!” he cried, firmly pushing Taliana aside and standing before Gobrend, who positively seethed at the display. “You’re as good as wolf dung to me, softshell, you and the master you serve.” Gobrend remained silent, his gaze never wavering. “Oh? What’s the matter, cat got your tongue, or are you too simple to understand what it is I’m speaking at you?” Zasphir said, poking Gobrend in the forehead.
Gobrend’s talons brushed against a dagger beneath his cloak, the thought of delivering this blustering lord back to the soil sounding quite promising at the moment. “Gobrend,” a voice beseeched. He recognized it as Taliana’s. “Please, just walk away.”
Taking a deep breath, Gobrend reluctantly broke eye contact with Zasphir’s taunting visage, turning around.
The sound of smooth steel singing thundered through the now deathly silent room, and Gobrend felt the weight of a rapier resting upon his shoulder. “Don’t you dare walk away from me, coward.”
Gobrend was perfectly still. “Are you sure you want to do this?”
“Draw your weapon. I will teach you to respect your betters.”
Gobrend grinned, turning around to face his challenger.
“Enough!” The crowd was snapped from their daze, once again chattering as a gryphon, shrivelled with age, limped forth, a short cane in his grasp. He was shadowed by two guards, who, at his silent bidding, came to a stop at the edge of the gathered onlookers as he made his way to Gobrend and Zasphir. Zasphir tensed. “What is the meaning of this, Zasphir? Why have you roused your blade against a guest beneath our roof?”
“Grandfather, he affronted our name by taking the hand of my Taliana,” Zasphir said, glowering at Gobrend.
“He mingled with your lovely companion? Very well. Now I say again, pray tell why you seek his destruction. For what offense is he guilty of besmirching the title Ironrath?”
“Grandfather, he is― he is a mere commoner, and in his arrogance, he has violated the height of his station. Taking the first dance with a lady during her partner’s party… This one must learn respect!”
A moment passed before Lord Ironrath chuckled. The sound caused Zasphir to break his attention from Gobrend, gawking at his grandfather. “G-Grandfather?”
“Bid your steel rest, Zasphir.”
“But―”
“Bid it rest, I say!”
Casting one last glare to Gobrend, Zasphir sheathed his rapier. Approaching, Lord Ironrath whispered, “We shall speak of your behavior later. Now get thee gone.” Zasphir tugged on his collar before nodding and hurriedly walking away.
Turning, Lord Ironrath levelled a calculating glance at Gobrend before smiling. “Gobrend Grasstalon.”
Despite the elder’s feeble appearance, Gobrend couldn’t help but feel he was in the presence of a giant. “Y-Yes, Lord Ironrath.”
Lord Ironrath’s smile grew before he pulled Gobrend into a surprisingly strong embrace. “I have heard many great things about you, youngling. Allow me to be the first to apologize for the inclination of my grandson.”
“It’s nothing to fret over, my lord.”
“Hah! Hogwash, boy, hogwash!” Lord Ironrath eyed Taliana with a grin. “I can see why you chose to play with this one, my dear: he is a great oak tree!” Returning his attention to Gobrend, Lord Ironrath said, “Come. I’ve a comrade to introduce you to.”
As he dragged Gobrend off, the crowd having returned to their gossiping since Zasphir’s exit, Taliana raised a claw. “Grandfather?”
Lord Ironrath turned to her, his grin smaller. “Without you, Taliana. Perform your duty as a wife and comfort young Zasphir.”
“But―!” Taliana’s plea was cut short by Lord Ironrath’s glance. She lowered her head, quietly saying, “As you wish, my lord.”
He spoke to two guards: “Bring her to her quarters.” The guards nodded, jumping to each side of Taliana and leading her off further into the manor. She cast one last glance at Gobrend before returning her gaze to her destination.
Gobrend frowned. “Does Lord Zasphir truly require tending to at present, my lord? He was fuming but a moment ago.”
“It is a hen’s place to be by her mate’s side no matter the forecast, youngling.”
“And what of your wife, my lord?”
Lord Ironrath smiled sadly. He picked up his glacial, hobbling gait when he caught sight of Brocarius. “Count! This servant of yours is quite the specimen! Where did you find him?”
Brocarius ran a hoof through his hair. Saccharine Query was in a similar boat, chewing on her lip nervously as she looked around, as though searching for an escape route. Eve just looked like she was ready to drive Gobrend through a wall. “Lord Ironrath, I apologize for any inconvenience. I will―”
“Bah!” Lord Ironrath said, wrapping a hand and a wing around Gobrend’s shoulder. “Nonsense, my friend. Why, in my day ‘twas not a proper party till blood was spilt. The fault lies solely on my grandson regardless. It was my wish to introduce this underling of yours to Lady Lovequarrel.”
Brocarius looked relieved, as did Query, but Eve’s expression did not change. “Actually, Lord Ironrath,” said Brocarius, “our lady has retired for the night. She left just before the incident with Gobrend and your grandson.”
Lord Ironrath’s smile became more strained at that, his features darkening. “Is that so? Well, in that case, I shall leave you to your gaiety.”
“We were just about to take our leave as well, Lord Ironrath,” Brocarius said apologetically.
“Ah. Then it was, as always, a pleasure, Count. I cannot thank you enough for your generous contributions to this event in Master Ashtide’s absence. We’ll be seeing one another soon.”
Brocarius gave a slight bow as Lord Ironrath turned around and, personal guards in tow, limped back to the festivities.
Gobrend groaned as three sets of eyes bored into his skull. “Would you all believe me if I were to say that I was simply minding my own business?”
Zasphir sat at a long table, staring wrath into the wall opposite him as he lifted his goblet to his beak. The top three fasts of his uniform were unbuttoned and his hands were unsteady. On the wall was the ancestry of the Ironraths, going as far back as two hundred years.
The Gryphon Coalition―comprised of the vast, frigid North Gryphonia to the northeast, Heartland in all its jingoistic glory at the heart and the fledgling Westlock at the edge of the Ravenwood, but excluding the defunct and honorless kingdom of Griffinstone―always seemed to be teetering on the edge of falling apart due to territorial disputes, ancient grudges twixt high nobility and an inefficient, antiquated taxation system, but somehow it stubbornly survived century after century.
What had Zasphir’s attention, though, was the framed painting of Galshor and Reine Ironrath, a young, bright-eyed cub in their grasp. Zasphir glared at the painting. They all looked so happy... Grimacing, he lifted his goblet to his beak and sent his bitterness careening into a confused maelstrom down his gullet.
The creaking of a door interrupted his reverie. “You’ve been drinking,” a soft, feminine voice said at large as the intruder’s steps tapped toward him.
Zasphir poured more wine into his goblet. Before he could lift it, a grey palm rested over it.
“You’ve had enough, Zasphir.”
Zasphir swayed slightly in his seat. “What do you want, Taliana? Come to reprimand me for what getting between you and your new playmate?”
Taliana pulled the goblet from his grasp, placing her hands on the table as her eyes burned into Zasphir’s head. “You know that’s not what was happening.”
“Oh, really?” Zasphir challenged. “Then tell me why you were demeaning yourself in such a way; or does that come as simply as breathing to you?”
Taliana quivered. “I have been nothing but good and faithful to you, Zasphir. You will not call my devotion into question.”
“I think I will, my dear,” Zasphir growled, clenching his talons. “You don’t even have the sense to be discreet about your interest in that mud-trotter.”
“You almost sound concerned, Zasphir,” Taliana hissed. “The night is still young. Perhaps you’ll go and fetch the attention of another harlot and blame your wretched behavior on your drunkenness come morning.”
A loud clatter pulsed through the room as a goblet crashed into the wall, its contents spilling out onto the floor. Zasphir was out of his seat, staring furiously into his wife’s defiant eyes.
There came a knock on the chamber door, and a moment later a pony cautiously stuck her head in. “L-Lord Zasphir, Lady Taliana? I’m not interrupting anything, am I?”
After a moment, Zasphir relented. “What is it, maid?”
Stepping further inside, the maid looked around the room, taking note of the overturned goblet and the palpable tension of the room. “Is everything alright?”
“WHAT DO YOU WANT!” Zasphir bellowed, causing the maid to flinch.
“L-Lord Ironrath seeks your audience, my lord.”
Zasphir set his jaw before leaving the room without another word. The aged mare gave him a wide berth, giving Taliana a questioning glance.
Sighing, Taliana approached the mare, placing a hand on her withers. “Don’t mind him, Treble. It’s been an… eventful day for all of us.”
“Would you like to talk about it, Lady Taliana?” Treble asked, no less worry in her violet eyes. “I can escort you to your chambers, if you wish.”
“I’m fine, Treble,” Taliana wearily said. “Just tired, is all. Have someone clean up this mess. I shall retire to my chambers alone; I must attend to Oliver.”
The maid fidgeted as though she wanted to protest, yet in the end Treble gave a small curtsy. “As you wish, milady.”
Zasphir walked down the hall to his father’s office with a scowl on his face. The nerve on that infuriating hen!
The Ironrath guards lining the halls, adorned in their silver armor and purple capes emblazoned with the family sigil―a golden morningstar with two green feathers tied around the hilt set before a full moon―straightened as he passed, halberds gleaming in the candlelight.
Coming upon the door to his grandfather’s office, Zasphir knocked twice. The sound of shuffling armor came from the other side, and a moment later the door opened to reveal the visage of Sir Waxfury, who bowed his head slightly at Zasphir. Zasphir brushed past the Greygleam without so much as a second glance.
“Is there anything else you require of me, Your Grace?” Sir Waxfury asked.
“Nay, Sir Knight,” answered Lord Ironrath, who was seated at his desk with a quill in hand and a pince-nez resting over his hooked beak. “Simply remain vigilant until further notice. Should anything enlightening manifest henceforward, report to me post haste. You are dismissed.”
Sir Waxfury bowed before removing himself from the room. When the door closed behind the knight, the room was calm, the only sound coming from the scratching of Lord Ironrath’s quill. Zasphir stiffly strode across the study and planted his flank on the seat directly across from his grandfather, who had yet to acknowledge his presence as he continued perusing the documents set before him, pausing only to dip his quill in an ink jar on occasion.
Zasphir waited as the dragging of the quill persisted. It soon enough became clear he would be waiting some time. Gritting his teeth, the lord inheritor turned his eyes to the room around him. A coat with several military decorations lay under a glass pane on a display case near Lord Ironrath’s desk. Aside from that, and the walls lined with taxidermy, the room was spartan; nothing was there that served no purpose.
Zasphir despised this room.
“Grandfather…” Zasphir ventured, his patience finally nearing its end.
Despite his grandson’s urging, Lord Ironrath showed no sign of having heard anything. Just as Zasphir was going to open his beak, his elder said, “Do you know why I summoned you here?”
Zasphir thought a moment, calming his nerves. “To tell me that what I did was unbecoming of a lord?”
Lord Ironrath raised a brow, dipping his quill in the ink jar before setting it to paper once more.
Zasphir clenched his talons over the arms of his chair. Silence hung on the air before he said, “Grandfather, you don’t always have to―”
Lord Ironrath glanced into Zasphir’s eyes.
“L-Lord Ironrath,” Zasphir said, correcting himself, “I did not mean to make a spectacle of myself.”
Setting down his quill, Lord Ironrath placed his hands on the desk separating them, giving Zasphir his full attention. “What did you mean to do, then, Zasphir?”
“I wasn’t thinking, my lord.”
“You’re going to blame the wine for allowing Lorr’s shadow to envelope your senses tonight?”
Gulping, Zasphir lowered his gaze. “No, my lord…”
“So how you behaved tonight was your doing. Your doing alone. And because of that you’ve no excuses to parade my way, correct?”
Zasphir shook his head. “No, my lord.”
Leaning forward, Lord Ironrath, his face that of stone, said, “Ironrath is not a title to be worn lightly, Zasphir. Every action you take reflects upon the generations that built the bedrock of this dynasty today and those who will tread these halls after us. And your showing tonight was rash and despondent.
“You realize the gravity of the lion lowering himself to the level of the field mouse, do you not, my child?” Zasphir trembled in his seat, his throat dry. “Your folly tonight has given the impression that the mighty lion is starved. What happens when the lion shows weakness, Zasphir?”
“The lion becomes the gazelle...”
“Precisely.” Leaning back in his chair, Lord Ironrath looked at his grandson for a long while before saying, “And here is how you are going to right this wrong...”
