I

Volume 1

“It’s only the beginning now,
...a pathway yet unknown,
At times, the sounds of other steps,
...sometimes we walk alone.”
-Gertrude B. McClain, New Beginnings

Darkness.

He needed to get his bearings, but he just couldn’t see anything. His hooves scrabbled against the ice. Searching. Moving over the floor. He tried to drag himself across the ground. If he tried to stand, he might step on it.

Where is it? It should be here, where is it?!

Cold.

He was shivering. He’d lost his jacket. His wings were covered in frost. He could barely feel his hooves anymore. There was a terrible numbness in his forelegs.

Move. Keep moving. Never stop moving. Stop, and you freeze.

Pain.

His back ached from the fall. His hooves burned and stung with the cold. His face was dribbling blood. Wiping it away, he tried to catch his breath.

Don’t panic don’t panic don’t panic don’t--

His foreleg brushed against something warm and metallic. He breathed a sigh of relief. The lamp was still here.

Running his hooves over it, he found the handle. He lifted it, and felt across its sides and bottom. A slim smile spread across his face as he found the smooth glass unbroken. He shook it gently. A soft sloshing told him it was still full of oil.

He heaved an easy breath as his fear slowly faded. He was fine. He was going to be fine. He would not die in this cave.

Sitting up, he reached back and slipped his pack off of his shoulders. Roads rested the oil lamp on the ground, set the saddlebags beside it, and dug into them. He felt around inside it until finally his hooves found a small wooden box. Matches. Thank Celestia.

After sliding the thin wooden cover off the box, he drew a match and struck it. Hefting the lamp, he lit the wick and tossed the match aside. Squinting as his eyes adjusted to the light, he got to his hooves, picked up his jacket, and looked around.

He was standing in a narrow, icy crevasse, stretching far past the edges of the lamplight to his right and left. Just before him was a steep, jagged wall. Too steep to climb. Glancing upwards, Roads caught sight of the ledge he had fallen from. It was twenty feet up.

As he put on his jacket, he shook his head, giving a grim whistle. It was a lucky thing he was a pegasus. An earth pony would’ve broken something. Then again, an earth pony probably wouldn’t have found this cave in the first place. And if he were a unicorn he wouldn’t even have to live in this damned forest. He could be sitting by a fire in Canterlot right now...

Roads felt a twinge of bitterness rise in his stomach. He gritted his teeth and tried to tell himself it didn’t matter. Living in the Everfree Forest had taught him more about magic than most unicorns learned in their entire lives.

And besides, he thought, unfurling his wings, can a unicorn do this?

With a leap, he launched himself into the air, feeling himself grow nearly weightless as he stretched his massive wings to their full span. He flapped once, twice, then grabbed the ledge above him, and pulled himself over. Tucking his wings against his back, he flopped over onto the ground. He rolled over and pushed himself to his hooves, feeling the odd shifts in his balance as his body regained its natural weight. Princesses, how he hated that feeling.

Then again, he didn’t really like flying all that much to begin with. It was too much like exercise, and if there was one thing Roads hated, it was exercise. No, if he was going to strain himself, he would rather the effort be mental. And inside. Preferably in a library somewhere, with good books and a warm hearth. None of this ‘tramping around in underground caves’ nonsense.

But then, he thought as he hefted his lantern a bit higher and continued deeper into the cave, work is work.

And it was better than nothing. His job had its downsides--long hours, miserable conditions, isolated living--although it was better than weather patrol. Or, Celestia forbid, factory work in Cloudsdale. He really should have been more thankful. At least out here he got to study magic, to write, to research...

Not, he reminded himself, that anyone respects my research.

It was true. His theories had been met with near-universal rejection almost as soon as he had published them. The academics in Canterlot had requested he give up research.

Stuffy old bastards.

But he could always prove them wrong with the next book. He had more data this time. Or, he would, anyway. Especially if this cave panned out.

It would. Of course it would. The prickling along his back and legs was practically nauseating. There had to be something here. A font, at least. Maybe even a nexus.

It’s certainly cold enough, he thought, glancing around as he walked.

The whole passage was slick with ice. Here and there, icicles hung from the ceiling, casting ephemeral shadows in the flickering light of his lamp. From somewhere behind him, the steady dripping of water from the walls echoed through the chamber. The sounds mingled with the heavy clacking of his hoofsteps as he wobbled across the slippery floor.

He was heading deeper into the earth, and it was getting colder as he went. Roads was shivering now--though that might have been apprehension. If there was something here, the trip would actually be worth it.

The descent grew steeper, the air even colder, the passage narrower. Roads gripped the walls to steady himself as he tried desperately not to fall again. He didn’t want to tumble into another crevasse. He might not make it out again.

Before long, he reached a small ledge which overlooked a wider tunnel. He paused, listening. A deep droning had filled the air around him, faint but resonant. Curious. The fonts he had seen before didn’t give off sound...

Spreading his wings, he glided down onto the other path, and peered down it in each direction. To his left, it grew wider and steeper, and he could just make out hints of light glinting off the ice. Checking the oil in his lantern--plenty left, nothing to worry about--he teetered off into the tunnel.

Within moments, the ground leveled, and the walls widened as he came to a sprawling antechamber. Roads let out a low gasp as he entered the frozen rotunda. The walls here gleamed with an unearthly blue light, the ice sparkling bright as day. Intricate patterns of frosted stalactites lined the ceiling, quivering with the baritone hum that echoed through the room, now loud enough that he could feel the sound in his chest. In the center of the room, hovering just above the ground a massive blue orb was shaking with the force of the din.

A nexus...

Roads was awestruck. He had only seen fonts before, nothing with this kind of strength. The surface of the orb shifted and rippled with power, and the backs of Roads’ legs and head throbbed in resonance. He stared into it, transfixed.

Finally, he thought. Finally...

His reveries were interrupted as the nexus flickered, letting forth a burst of cold. Shivering, Roads set to work. Sitting, he unshouldered his pack, and pulled from it a lengthy copper contraption, covered in gleaming tubes, wires, and gauges. Smiling, he held it up, admiring the way it caught the light. An arcanometer. His very own, built from scratch, using his own schematics and everything.

Flipping open a tube on its underside, he jammed a rolled up length of parchment into it, set down his lamp, and crept carefully towards the nexus. With each step, the air got a touch colder, and his breath, a touch faster. It was imperative that he didn’t get too close. He didn’t want to lose a hoof...

Finally, he stopped, as close as he could get without risking his limbs. As gently as he could, he tossed the arcanometer into the nexus. It rolled directly under the orb, then sat, motionless and quiet. Roads’ brow furrowed. This couldn’t be right, the arcanometer had worked on all of the other--

A loud bang. A blast of force. Roads was sent flying backwards.

He landed on his wings with a muffled thump, and when he looked up again, the orb was shifting, coiling into a loop. A mighty roar filled the cavern as it bore down against one end of the arcanometer. The light of the nexus grew blinding, reflecting off the walls so harshly that Roads was forced to cover his eyes. Laying on the ground, he cowered in fear. This was not supposed to happen. None of the fonts had done this.

None of the fonts had been this powerful.

Roads swallowed, curling into a ball as the temperature in the room dropped further. So, he thought. This is it. This is how it ends, freezing in a cave, killed by the magic I just wanted to study. Fitting. Dad would be so proud.

Then it was over.

Roads blinked. He lowered his forelegs from his face and looked around. The nexus was gone. The cavern no longer hummed or glittered with light. There was only the quiet drip of water and the flickering flame of Roads’ lamp. He stood up, and walked over to the arcanometer. On its surface, a needle was pointing to the third dot on one of the gauges.

Three. The entire incident had lasted little more than three seconds. Roads let out a low whistle as he flipped the device on its side and pulled out the piece of paper. A scattered mass of numbers and letters, so small they were almost intelligible, was now scrawled across the page. At the bottom, he found the line he was looking for.

“Amb: -90 E, Curr: -12o E”

Roads smiled. Perfect. He whipped out his notebook, jotted down a few notes on what had happened, and tucked the page just behind the leather cover. Sliding the book back into his pack, he picked up his lantern and strolled out of the chamber, whistling a jaunty tune. For once, it looked like something might just be going his way.

He made his way out of the cave more quickly than he had come. Roads was familiar with its layout now--or at least, familiar enough not to fall into any more pits. Within moments, he was outside, blinking in the light of the fading afternoon sun.

Roads looked around and frowned. Was it getting dark already? He had so much more work to do! With a sigh, he checked his watch. He let out a groan as he saw the time; if he left now, he would be lucky to be home by sundown. Everything he had left to do would have to wait until tomorrow. Roads wasn’t getting caught outside in the Everfree at night. That was when the manticores came out.

Roads shuddered. There were things in the forest he wouldn’t want to be within a mile of, then there were manticores. Dreadful, beastly things, with teeth like daggers and claws like... well, larger daggers. Roads had long since decided they were only one step down from chimeras on his long mental list of things to be afraid of. And, of course, they woke right at sundown, emerging from their dens to scour the Everfree for food.

No, no, no. He was not sticking around out here any longer.

Flaring his wings, he kicked off again, flapping hard to gain altitude. Within moments, he was soaring above the trees, dodging densely packed clouds. They were such a nuisance out here where the weatherponies couldn’t control them. One wrong move and you were liable to--

Crash.

Something in the air hit him in the side, something fast and heavy. Flipping onto his back, Roads went spinning out of control, spiraling towards the ground. Something was grabbing at him, pulling at his chest and jacket. Flailing wildly, he pushed it away as he struggled to gain control.

He closed his eyes and braced for impact. It was no use. He was falling too fast.

Then, suddenly, he wasn’t. Roads opened his eyes. A pair of warm, gold ones stared back at him. Or, rather, one warm golden eye stared at him. The other stared at something a few feet above his head.

“Ditzy?” he cried, looking around to find himself laying atop a cloud, the walleyed mailmare sprawled atop him.

“Roads!” she replied breathlessly. “I’m so glad I ran into you! I was just looking for you!”

“Well, that’s great, Ditzy Doo, but could you, uh, you know...?”

She stared at him absentmindedly, a wisp of blond mane hanging between her eyes. “What?” she asked.

“You’re crushing me.”

Ditzy blinked. “What? Oh! Sorry!” she said as she finally hopped off of him and helped him to his hooves.

“Thanks,” he said, looking her over.

Hat, check. Jacket, check. Mailbag, check. Everything seemed to be in order, except...

“You forgot one of your horseshoes again,” Roads pointed out.

She frowned and glanced down at her hooves. “Oh, no! It must’ve slipped my mind. I just had so much stuff going on this morning, and I totally forgot because I had to deliver to, uh...” she paused to think, ticking off names as she remembered them. “...Mrs. Cake and Mr. Rich and--”

“--Ditzy--”

“--Mr. Merriwether and--”

“--Ditzy--”

“--Mrs. Merriwether, they don’t live together anymore, and--”

“--Ditzy!” Roads shouted, interrupting her.

“What?” she looked up at him, confused. “Oh. Monologuing again. I’m sorry.”

Roads sighed. “It’s fine, don’t worry about it. You said you were looking for me...?”

“I did?” Ditzy asked, cocking an eyebrow.

“Yes, just now!”

Roads groaned inwardly. Every time she brought the mail, it was the same thing. She would crash into him--or a tree--or his house--tell him ‘good morning’, and then promptly forget why she was there in the first place.

Ditzy Doo, the most absent-minded mare in Ponyville. And of course they send her with my mail.

Her eyes lit, suddenly. “Yes! You’re right! I did. Because I was. Or, am. Right.”

Roads heaved another sigh. “Great.”

She nodded, then stood there, staring at him. He glanced from her face to the mailbag on her shoulder.

“Well...?” he asked.

“Yes?”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

Roads shot her a look, exasperated. “Why were you looking for me?”

“Oh!” she said, finally catching on. “Because you have a letter. Or, had a letter. We--or, well, I--kind of had a mix up down at the post and lost it--”

“--Ditzy!”

“--but then I found it again this morning! So I thought I would bring it to you as soon as I could,” she finished.

“As soon as you--it’s almost sunset!” he cried.

“Well, it’s a long way out here from Ponyville!” she protested. “And then you weren’t at your cabin and I had to look all over the forest for you and then I found this frog and I really wanted to catch it but it was too fast so I--”

“--Ditzy...”

“Oh! Sorry. So, uh, it took me awhile,” she said.

Kneading his brow with one hoof, he closed his eyes. “Well, do you have it?”

“Yes!”

Roads stretched out a foreleg, waiting for her to hand him the letter. He waited for a moment, then looked up at her. She stared back at him innocently, and he realized his mistake.

“Well, hand it over, then.”

“Oh! Right, yes, sure, definitely...” she said, taking off her mailbag and digging through it as she mumbled affirmations.

Roads stood for a moment, waiting, as she sifted through the bag. He stared at her for a while, until he realized this was going to take a while. Kneeling, he began scooping the cloud below him into a makeshift chair. Just as he finished and was about to sit down, she whirled around again, triumphantly clutching a tattered envelope.

“Found it!” she cried.

“Thanks,” he said, taking it as he sat down.

Before tearing open the letter, he glanced at the wax seal holding it closed. His heart leapt as he realized it bore the mark of the Princess.

A letter from Celestia!

His hooves shook as he ripped open the envelope. Trying, failing, to calm himself, he pulled out the letter, unfolded it, and read it aloud. As was their custom, Roads read it aloud so that she could follow along. She was his only friend, after all.

“Roads, please excuse my delays in responding to your last letter, things have been awfully busy around Canterlot these days. I fear I cannot go into it all in detail here, but rest assured I shall give you a full account when next we meet. I am sure you will find certain recent developments quite fascinating--”

“What?” Ditzy asked. “What developments?”

Roads shrugged. “No idea.”

“--speaking of recent developments,” he continued, “I was pleased to hear that your current line of research is going well. Rest assured that I look forward to hearing of your findings, and will spare no expense in lining up a publisher once again. Perhaps, though, be sure that you have more data this time--while I have had no issues with your last book, you and I are both aware of how the so-called ‘old guard’ of academia can be. But I am sure that the work you are doing now will persuade them to see things your way.

“However, I regret to inform you that for the moment this work must be put aside. As you are well aware, I have many close ties to the Royal Expeditionary Aggregate. As such, when they discovered that some ‘errant natural magiks’, as they so crudely put it, had been wreaking havoc on expeditions of late, they came to me asking for help before sending out their latest crew. You’ll be pleased to hear I volunteered your services.

“The Aggregate, you see, is attempting to map out Starbeard’s Triangle, and, due to the nature of the area, I assumed that your latest line of inquiry would benefit from a research trip there. I trust you have come across the Triangle in your studies and understand why--”

“Wait,” Ditzy interrupted again. “What services? What’s the ‘Starbeard’s Triangle?’”

“I’m not really sure what he wants me to do, but I have read about the Triangle--just about as much as there is to read. Which isn’t saying much, given that few people ever travel there, and even fewer come back and write about it. What I do know, though, is that the whole place is absolutely brimming with natural magic. Even more than the Everfree,” he explained.

Ditzy crossed her forelegs, thinking. “So... is it like... here, then?”

“What do you mean?”

“The weather, and everything. You know, no weatherponies controlling the weather, no tenders working the plants. You know... wild,” she explained.

“Oh. Yes, actually. The natural magic there changes the seasons, weather, and wildlife, just like it does in the forest. And wrecks expeditions, apparently. Which I suppose is why they’re sending me in,” Roads said.

“Sounds creepy,” Ditzy said, peering off the edge of the cloud to the forest below. “I mean, somewhere being even weirder than the Everfree.”

“There’s nothing ‘weird’ about the Everfree. Everything that goes on here is completely explicable! Did you even read my book?” he asked.

“No.”

Roads sighed. “Yeah, neither did anyone else.”

“Yeah, but I can hardly read,” she pointed out.

“Oh. Right.”

He glanced at her uncomfortably. She stared innocently back, utterly unphased.

“--so,” Roads continued, “you will be shipping out with a crew headed into the heart of the Triangle. You will need to head to Canterlot as soon as possible, as they cast off from the Skydocks on the thirtieth, at noon. Your purpose and the specifics of your assignment will be explained to you upon your arrival. I have already been in touch with several pegasi who will be happy to take on your duties as Warden of the Everfree during your trip.

“Sun shine upon you, Celestia.”

He glanced down at the letter again. “Hey, there’s a postscript!”

“--P.S.” he read. “Due to the impending monsoon season, you will only have around a week in the Triangle. As such, I have arranged for quarters for you in the Castle. Tell whomever is manning the gates your name, and that I sent for you, and they will direct you from there. I look forward to seeing you again.”

“And... that’s it,” he finished. “That’s all there is.” He looked up at Ditzy, beaming. “I can’t believe it, I really can’t! I’m going to the Triangle--this could be a huge opportunity for my research!”

Ditzy’s face fell. “Yeah, but... that means... when I come to deliver the mail...” she mumbled, staring at his feet.

“Relax,” he said. “Didn’t you hear? It’s only for a week! Besides, I’ll bring you back something exotic from the tropics.”

Ditzy’s characteristic smile returned to her face. “Promise?”

“Promise.”

He was taken aback as she threw her forelegs around him, embracing him--and grinding the mailbag into his ribcage. In a moment, she drew away and kicked off from the cloud, drifting slowly away from him.

“Thanks, Roads! Have I told you you’re my favorite stop on my route?” she said.

Roads smiled. “I’m pretty sure you say that to everypony on your route.”

“Only because it’s true! I have to get back on my route, though. Goodbye!”

“Bye, Ditzy,” he said.

He stared after her as she flew away, turning violent corkscrews in the grey winter sky. She waved at him as she zigzagged back in the general direction of Ponyville. Roads waved back, mildly impressed--for all her erratic flapping and lack of coordination, she moved absurdly fast. He was convinced she could give a Wonderbolt a run for his money--if she could ever learn to fly in a straight line.

The Wonderbolts... Roads shuddered. Don’t think about that. Not today... You’ve got other things to do. Things like getting home before the manticores wake up.

He needed to get moving. Pulling out the envelope, he prepared to stuff the letter back into it when something caught his eye.

“...Skydocks on the twenty-seventh...”

What was today, again? The twenty-seventh... when was that? Surely it wasn’t--

Tomorrow.

Roads stomach dropped like a cinderblock. He had to be in Canterlot by noon tomorrow? If he flew all night--even if he could fly all night--he would be lucky to get there by sunrise. How long had the letter been lost at the post office?

He felt his temper begin to rise. If Ditzy blew his one chance at a research breakthrough, she could cost him years worth of work. How could she be so thoughtless? How could she do this to him?

No. He took a breath. Don’t blame her. Don’t panic. You can still make it. There’s a ferry out of Ponyville that runs all the way down the river to Canterlot every night and gets there the next morning. If I can make it to that, I’ll be fine.

He would need to move, though, and fast. Most of his equipment was at his house, he would need it if he wanted to get anything done. Fortunately, his house wasn’t far. It would be flying all the way back to Ponyville in the dark that would be difficult.

Folding his wings, he let himself fall through the cloud. For a moment, he let himself free fall, wings tucked tight against his back. Then, as soon as he was moving fast enough, he flared them again, swooping low over the trees, speeding back home. He soared easily over the forest, gliding made easy by his massive wingspan. His oversized wings were one of the few things he had in common with his father, a former competitive flyer, a former Wonderbolt, whose impressive physique had won him countless races. That was before his injury, though, before the middle-aged pegasus had been forced to retire from the team, and had gone to work at the weather factories.

Roads could not recall exactly when the stallion had given up his dreams of returning to the team. He could, however, still remember the day in his father's recovery process when he had decided that if he couldn't be a Wonderbolt, then his son damn well would.

He remembered being called down to his father's room, being told that he was going to be a Wonderbolt, that his dad would teach him to live the dreams of so many other pegasi. He wouldn't just flop around in the air as he usually did. No longer would air travel be just means to get from one place to another. His old stallion would teach him to fly, to really fly! His only response:

"I don't want to fly."

Wrong answer.

Roads shuddered and tried to shift his thoughts to lighter things, determined not to let his memory cloud what was shaping up to be a wonderful day. He had found a perfect endothermic nexus, he had gotten a letter from the Princess, he was headed out of the forest. Things were going as well as he could possibly hope, why be unhappy?

Because even after you leave the Everfree, you will always be alone, a small voice in the back of his head told him.

He was about to retort, about to find something to refute the tiny voice, when the clearing around his cabin swept into view beneath him. He smiled at it, a burst of gratitude for the Princess rising in his stomach. The alicorn had set him up with the house as soon as she made Roads the Warden of the forest around it. The house represented everything the Princess had given him, from his education to his job.

And what a job it was--the forest was wild, and as such, there was little to do besides make sure no passerby ventured too deep into its depths. Celestia had gotten him the job knowing full well it would give Roads a stable income as he worked at his research. And then she’d built him a house to go with it.

Leaning forward, he swooped into a dive as he approached it. He angled himself into the descent, wings tucked into his sides, steadily gathering speed. The earth seemed to rush up to meet him, and after a second he was almost to the ground. He unfurled his wings, trying to shift his course a bit more forwards and a bit less... into the ground.

It didn’t quite work. He angled one wing too steeply, and as it caught the air he found himself flipped onto his back. And he was still falling.

Roads had just enough time to realize how much pain he was about to be in before he hit the ground. As he crashed into the dirt and rolled into a tree, he found his estimate was about correct.

His estimate being: a lot.

Still, nothing was broken. Or seemed broken, anyway, after he gave himself a cursory inspection as he dusted himself off. Thank Celestia for pegasus resilience. Centuries of crashing into mountains and falling out of the sky had left Roads’ ancestors with a keen resistance to blunt force trauma.

Not that it didn’t still hurt, but aside from a small gash on his elbow, Roads was fairly sure he would be fine. Shaking off the crash, he staggered over to the door of his cabin and pushed it open to reveal the miniature disaster inside.

He really needed to clean this place up. He had spent the entirety of the past week rewriting old magic manuscripts, and had completely neglected housekeeping. Now, books, music orbs, clothes, quills, and parchment were strewn haphazardly across the floor of his den, an untameable mess, the product of a mind equally unruly.

Yep, definitely needed cleaning—later. He had more important things to do.

Stepping over a pile of half-molded towels--how did those get there?--he made his way through the den to a stairway in the corner of the room. Pulling open a flimsy wooden door, he made his way down a dusty set of stairs into his basement.

The cellar was ill lit and damp, its stony walls half coated in cobwebs and mold and its hard-packed dirt floor uncomfortably moist under Roads' hooves. He stumbled blindly over to a wooden cabinet that stood against the far wall, and, feeling around beside him, lit a nearby lamp. Finally able to see again, he pried open the cabinet doors.

Roads was immediately assaulted by the pungent odor of musk and brewed magic. Trying—and failing—to hold his breath, he searched through the tiny collection of mixtures and herbal remedies until he found what he was looking for: Attunement potions, wedged between weak camouflage elixirs and his flask of amontillado. He thanked the Princess he had brewed so much yesterday. Had he been out, it would’ve taken hours to round up all the necessary ingredients, and even longer to actually make the concoction.

Scooping the potions into his bag, he breathed a silent thanks to Celestia for his good fortune, then turned and scurried back up the stairs. Rushing up to his room, he packed all of the clothing he thought he might need--he would dress lightly, this was the tropics, after all--as well as a few quills and notebooks and some research equipment.

He glanced in the mirror, checking his appearance. There were deep circles under his eyes, visible even through his light grey coat, and his dark mane was as disheveled as ever. Roads considered running a comb through it, but thought better of it. His mane hadn’t lain flat a day in his life, why would it start today? He turned to leave, then realized something. Turning, he pried open his cabinet and drew out a flask of whiskey. He stuffed it in his bag and closed the door.

Then, he promptly pulled it open again and grabbed another. It was best to be safe. Who knew how much he might need?

Packing finished, he headed back downstairs and burst out the door, only to see that the sun was setting. Dismayed, he clapped his hooves to his forehead.

No, no, no, no!

He had an hour to get to Ponyville. Maybe less. Spreading his wings, he took off again, racing for the city. He flapped as quickly as possible, moving as fast as he could stand. Roads was a weak flyer, and tremendously out of shape, but desperation spurred him on. Dodging cloud after cloud, he zipped through the sky, panting and straining, but forcing himself to keep going.

After half an hour of flying, he thought he might die. His breath came fast and shallow, and his wings and back were aching, his coat laden with sweat. His mouth was dry, and he was fairly sure that at some point he had accidentally swallowed a bee. Still, he had to keep going. The sun was low on the horizon, now, and swiftly getting lower. The ferry would be about to leave the dock. Exhausted and hurting, he pressed on.

By the time a full hour had passed, the sky was completely dark, but the lights of Ponyville flickered in the distance. Finally! he thought. He had never been so happy to see the town, not once in the six months since he had moved from Canterlot.

Swooping lower, gaining speed, he dove into the town, headed for the banks of the river. He passed the taverns and homes and shops indifferently, hardly giving them a second thought as he rushed for the port. Within moments, he had passed over all of Ponyville, and he landed hard on the wooden docks at the outskirts of town.

Stumbling, he collapsed against a wooden post, out of breath and on the verge of unconsciousness. He sat for a moment, wiping the sweat from his brow, trying to slow his racing heart. Roads was fairly certain it was going to explode. It was precisely the kind of thing he would expect from exercise.

Finally, though, he caught his breath and looked around him. The port was empty, save for a lone, mint-green earth pony sitting at the end of one the docks, lazily flicking a fishing pole. Roads groaned. After getting to his feet, he stumbled over the the fishermare.

“Have you... seen... the Canterlot... ferry... lately?” he panted.

The ancient mare turned and peered at him curiously. When she spoke, Roads could smell apple cider on her breath. Princesses, could he use a drink right now.

“Yep, Ah seen it. Went headed down the river three, maybe four minutes ago. Weren’t long. Yeh could prob’ly cetch it, if you fly fast enough,” the mare said, slumping against the post beside him.

Ah, sweet Celestia. Rural dialect.

“Yeah... thanks...” he said as he struggled for breath.

Turning, he peered down the river. In the distance, right on the horizon, he could see the dim flickering that just might have been the steamboat. If only he had been a little bit faster. Any other pegasus would have made it. Ditzy could probably make the trip in thirty minutes, and she couldn’t tell a right turn from a loop-the-loop.

With a groan, he unfurled his aching wings and lept from the dock. He was so tired he could barely stay airborne, but within moments, the ferry was within view. Sweeping low over the water, he gave his wings a few last pumps, then let himself fall onto the boat. He didn’t even bother landing. He simply collapsed onto the deck. Closing his eyes, he rested his burning wings.

Thunk.

He opened his eyes again, twisting around to find the source of the noise. An arrow had embedded itself in the deck of the boat, just inches from his head. It took him a second to realize what had happened, and in that second, another arrow buried itself in the wood of the deck. It had come so close to his foreleg that it sliced open his jacket at the shoulder. With a shriek, he leapt to his hooves and turned to dash for cover.

As soon as he turned around, he found himself face to face with the business end of a lethal looking saber. He barely retained continence. Screaming, he leapt backwards, falling to the ground and curling into a ball.

“Don’t hurt me! Take whatever you want, just don’t hurt me!” he cried, forelegs wrapped tightly around his head.

A grunt came from somewhere above him. Roads flinched, waiting for something sharp and deadly to rip into his flesh.

The blow never came. Sliding a foreleg away from his face, he peered cautiously up to see an earth pony wielding a wicked looking blade scowling down at him.

“You’re no pirate,” he said, an unsubdued hint of condescension in his voice.

“Uh--uhm--what?” Roads stammered.

“Ah said, ‘you’re no pirate’,” the stallion repeated, somewhat louder this time.

Roads stared up at him, confused and terrified. A grizzled, elderly stallion in a weatherbeaten fur coat stared back at him from beneath a wild, matted shock of grey mane.

“Well... no.”

“Hmph,” the earth pony said. He sheathed his sword, looking rather pleased with himself. “Thought so. Pirates don’t usually scream when they see weapons. Well, sometimes they do, but usually not like small children.”

Roads felt a pang of humiliation rise in his chest. “I was just--I needed a ride,” he stuttered.

The stallion nodded, and looked away from him, speaking to someone Roads couldn’t see. “Just a passenger, Wensley.”

From somewhere behind him, a disgruntled-looking unicorn levitating a crossbow sauntered into view. He stretched out a foreleg, and helped Roads to his hooves.

“I figured you were just a pegasus who was late,” he explained. “But these days you can never be too careful. Boarding parties are all over the place, and its almost always birds.”

Roads bristled at the slur, but did not say anything. The stallion was holding a crossbow, after all. He nearly leapt out of his skin when the earth pony beside him extended a foreleg.

“Calm down, son,” he said, shaking Roads’ limp, trembling hoof. “Ah’m Brindle Young, the captain, an’ this here’s Wensley. He’s the ticketmaster an’ head crewman. He’s also the only crewman, ‘side from the engineer--but then, if you see him out of the engine room, then start runnin’, because somethin’s about to blow up.”

“Uh--” Roads started.

“Welcome aboard,” Brindle said, then raised his crossbow, aiming at Roads. “Now, it’s fifty bits for a ticket.”

“Fifty? Normal fare around here is only fifteen!” Roads protested.

“Fifteen’s for folks who’re on time. You weren’t. Now, unless you wanna go for a swim, Ah’d suggest you hand over the money,” Wensley interjected.

“I, uh, I don’t even have fifty bits...”

Wensley prodded him in the chest with the tip of the crossbow. “Oh, you have fifty bits, alright,” he said, a steely edge in his voice.

Glaring at him, Roads reached into his bag, dug out his coin purse, and handed over the money. “Crooks,” he muttered as they took the money.

“What was that?” the captain asked, hoof on his sword.

“Nothing,” Roads said with a sigh as he stalked off the deck.

Throwing open the heavy wooden door he found at the aft, just below the wheelhouse, he made his way below the deck of the steamboat, into a lengthy hallway lined with open cabins. Moving down the hall, Roads peered into the narrow cabins, checking for open bunks. He found none, until the very last cabin at the end of the hall. Stepping into it, he glanced around at the quarters.

It was nothing special, little more than four hammocks strung up against the walls, with a rickety wooden table half-collapsed between them. Two of the hammocks were already occupied, one by a giant, brick red earth pony with his face buried in a newspaper, the other by a unicorn reading a book. She glanced up at him as he entered, and he noticed a Celestia’s School for Gifted Unicorns crest on her jacket.

“You a student?” he asked, pointing to her coat.

“Hmm?” She looked down, following his gesture. “Oh, at the CSGU? Yes, I’m just about to graduate. I just have to head back for one last visit.” She glanced back up at him. “Oh, where are my manners? Chelsea,” she said, shaking his hoof. “Chelsea Sparks.”

“Roads,” he replied.

“Roads...?”

“Just ‘Roads.’” he said.

“Ah...”

There was a brief pause as Roads struggled to think of something to say.

“So... uh... Celestia’s School...” Roads said finally, nervously taking a seat in the hammock across from her.

“Yeah... great school,” she said quietly.

Roads winced internally. Why did it go like this every time he introduced himself? Couldn’t he, just for once, have a comfortable conversation with someone new?

“It’s my alma mater, actually,” he said.

She laughed at that. “Good one.”

“What?”

“A pegasus, at a magic school. It’s a funny thought, you know?” she explained.

“No, I actually went to school there. I studied magic for years.”

Another awkward paused. Roads cringed inside. This was not going well. He glanced over to the earth pony on the hammock. The stallion hadn’t moved. His eyes were still locked on the paper. The two might as well have been alone.

“I didn’t even know they let--”

“--They let pegasi in, on occasion. I had special permissions from the Princess. ‘Extenuating circumstances.’ There’s legitimately enough material available that it is possible to graduate without actually performing any magic. Well, as long as you’re exempt from the exit exams,” Roads explained.

“Huh. I didn’t even know that was possible.”

“Well... it is,” he finished hesitantly.

The uncomfortable silence returned. Roads considered digging the whiskey out of his pack.

“So... uh, what does a pegasus like you actually, you know... do?” she asked finally.

“Uh, what?”

“With an education in magic, I mean. What kind of work do you do?”

Finally, something he could talk about.

“Well, it’s kind of tough to explain, actually, not many people are familiar with the field, but, ah, you know where magic comes from, right?” Roads asked.

She stared at him blankly. “Yeah, it’s just arcane energy that you can use to create movement at various levels of organization of matter, what of it?”

Roads fought back a smirk. “No, you didn’t answer my question. That’s what magic is, that’s not where it comes from.”

Her brow furrowed, then she seemed to realize something. “You’re talking about ley lines.”

“Precisely. Lines of arcane power that run through your body and feed off of your metabolism.”

“So... you work with anatomy?” she asked. “Like, unicorn physiology?”

“Not quite. I work with ley lines, but not the ones in ponies,” he explained.

She narrowed her eyes. “Oh. You’re one of those guys.”

Roads sighed. “No, not ‘one of those guys.’ I study natural ley lines, and I study them scientifically. I put as much rigor into my research as any other academic.”

“What’s there to even research? Evidence for natural lines even existing is scant at best, and even if they did exist, it’s not like they actually do anything. Everypony knows that,” she said, with accompanying eye roll.

“No, everypony thinks that. Or, thought. Anypony who’s been reading the newest publications knows the consensus has moved in support of the fact that natural lines exist. It’s how they work that’s got everypony confused,” he pointed out.

“That’s because they, you know, don’t.”

“Really?” Roads asked, leaning forward. “Come on, didn’t you ever wonder just what it was that made the Everfree tick?”

Chelsea crossed her forelegs. “I thought that was--”

She was cut off as another unicorn entered the room. “Chelsea, have you seen my--oh, who’s this?” he asked.

“Just somepony from the boat who wandered in. He says he went to Celestia’s School, too,” she explained.

“Really? Well, how’re you, then?” the unicorn offered his hoof.

Roads stood and shook it, eying the other man. He was handsome looking, in an odd sort of way, with square jaw and a crooked muzzle that looked as if it might have once been broken. He was also big. Much bigger than Roads, who was as short as he was thin. With his light, characteristically pegasian frame, he felt downright scrawny next to the dark blue unicorn.

“Roads,” he said, barely meeting the other stallion’s eye.

“Cobalt,” the unicorn said. “When did you--”

There was a horrible pause as Cobalt caught sight of Roads’ wings. He felt the stallion’s eyes move over his forehead.

“You’re a pegasus...” he said quietly.

You just now noticed? How did you miss the lack of horn? Or did you just think it got lost in my mane? Roads thought sarcastically, but instead he just said “Um.”

“You’re a pegasus and you went to the CSGU...” he continued.

“Yes, I did, and I can assure you that I--”

“So you’re a race traitor?” Cobalt finished, a deadly calm in his voice.

Roads’ jaw clenched. “Now really,” he said, desperately trying to keep his temper in check. “In this day and age? And headed to the capitol nonetheless...”

Cobalt’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t take kindly to race traitors. And I know for a fact they don’t put up with race traitors in Canterlot.”

“Really?” Roads challenged. “Because I lived in the capitol for six years and I can tell you they sure as hell put up with me.”

“Yeah? And why is that? Family connections?”

“Uh... Well, I haven’t exactly got any...”

Cobalt cocked an eyebrow. “What happened? Lost your parents? Orphaned?”

Roads gritted his teeth. “Disowned,” he said quietly.

“Well, well, a race traitor and a bastard.” He grabbed Roads by the collar, pushing him roughly against the wall. “You picked the wrong cabin to come nest in tonight, bird.”

Suddenly, a red hoof separated the two. Roads looked up to see the massive earth pony standing between them, towering over both of them.

“You, unicorn,” he said. “That’s enough. Ah’ve got a paper to read, and Ah don’t appreciate the noise.”

“Like you could even read, oaf?” Cobalt sneered.

The stallion’s eyes narrowed, and he took a menacing step towards Cobalt.

“Pardon?” he demanded.

“...nothing,” Cobalt coughed feebly.

Roads cocked an eyebrow. Even a unicorn like Cobalt wouldn’t dare tangle with an earth pony that big. Not in close quarters, anyway.

“And you,” the earth pony said, turning to glance down at Roads. “You’d best sleep somewhere else tonight. Ah don’t wanna spend this whole time breakin’ up fights.”

Roads nodded. He wasn’t one to bite the hoof that fed him. So, he took his pack and dragged himself out into the hall, humiliation and shame settling into his stomach. He moved into the stairwell, and set down his things. He cracked open the porthole and laid down, resting his head against his bag.

He heaved a heavy sigh. Another night alone. It was no different here than in his cabin in the woods. Sure, there were people all around him, but for all intents and purposes, he could have been by himself, out in the woods for all the good it did him. Roads simply wasn’t made to be anything other than just ‘alone.’ Always had been. Always would be.

Rolling over, he pulled the flask of whiskey out of his bag. He poured himself a small helping into a cup he had brought with him. Why not? It had been as bad a day as any other...

Twisting back over, he stared out the window, looking at the stars. At least, he thought through the grim haze of his abjection, at least it's a beautiful night. He held up his glass. Cheers to you, Luna. Kudos, wherever you are. He took a doleful swig of whiskey. Outside, the stars hung resplendent, dancing gleefully through the scopic cosmos.

They mocked him in their splendor.

The words “bastard” and “race traitor” ringing in his ears, he looked up into the night as long as he could, admiring the stars until he could stand it no longer. He shifted his gaze to the abyss between them. From the chasm of his mind words began to echo in his ears.

Why are you so useless?

It was his father's voice. Quiet, only a hiss. Roads took a sip of whiskey, emptying his cup.

You aren't a real stallion. You'll never be one.

Roads refilled his glass.

My only son, an embarrassment...

He took a swallow of whiskey. Half of the glass disappeared down his throat.

What kind of pathetic excuse for a pegasus doesn't like flying? What's wrong with you, boy?

Another swig. The glass was empty again. He refilled it.

You're the reason your mother is gone.

He drank the entire glass this time.

You make me sick.

Another glass, gone.

It wouldn't hurt a real stallion. Stop crying, boy.

He drank straight out of the flask now.

Love you? I could never love something like you.

He drank until the flask was empty.

You will always be alone.

The last voice was his own. Roads threw the flask through the open window. He looked spitefully up into the sky, then sank into a fitful state of drunken unconsciousness.

Far above him the stars shone brightly on, basking in the tranquility of another perfect night.

II

View Online

Roads groans as he opens pale blue eyes. Looks out and sees a small pond. Around it, thin, bright green ferns and towering oak trees. He stands slowly, his entire body aches. His coat is matted with dirt and blood, wet from recent rain. He is covered in bruises and cuts. One wing hangs limply from his side, twisted painfully, possibly broken.

He is not sure how he got here, but he remembers being hit. A hoof to the face, to the side, all over. Then falling. A storm. Striking tree branches on the way down. Nothing more.

He is young. Younger than he thinks he should be. Just a colt, coated with mud. Everything dripping; there has been a storm. He picks a twig out of his mane and inspects his surroundings. A forest. Bright green, slightly blurry. Lots of brown. Bushes, trees, ferns. It is very bright, the sun is rising. It moves up from the east, towers over Canterlot.

Roads is not sure who he is, not sure where he is, not sure he dislikes it. It is nice here. Pleasant. He has never been to the Ground before. He likes it better here. The air is so harsh in Cloudsdale.

But he can't stay. He has to go east, to Canterlot. He knows he needs to hurry, but isn't sure why. He moves as swiftly as he can bear; he is not yet fit to travel. He drinks from the brook, looks for the right plants. Healing Ivy. It should be here. His books have told him it should be here. He searches for a while, finally finds a long patch of it. He picks it, crushes it, mixes it, makes a poultice. Binds the mixture around his wing. Over his wounds. Rubs it against his face. Holds it still with reed stems.

Numbness. Blissful numbness. The plants take away the pain.

The ivy is a path. Following a ley line, but he doesn't know that yet. Someday.

Roads follows. He is led to a grove. An aura in the center, billowing, it beckons him. He does not know that it is a f.

Not yet. Someday.

He steps into it. It surrounds him, resplendent, shining. He feels some of his cuts begin to heal, some of his bruises begin to fade. A bone begins to mend.

But the aura is weak. Its energy drains into him, then it fades. He is confused, but content. He feels better. All will be well, in time. He sets out. Heads west. To Canterlot. To safety.

The forest is not expansive. An hour of walking, he emerges. Soft grass under his hooves. A blue sky, bright, clear. No clouds. He sees a road in the distance. He goes to the road, stares down it. A long walk. One hoof in front of the other.

Suddenly, a speck on the horizon. Coming in from the west. Fear. He knows the speck. It flaps dark against the sun. Coming for him.

No, not yet. He can't be found so quickly. But he is. The speck grows closer, larger. It is a pegasus. It calls his name.

"Roads!"

The voice is dark. Malignant. Vicious. He fears it, he knows it. Far away, faint, but getting closer. He hears it again.

"Roads!"

It is different this time. Softer. Closer. A deep baritone. He likes this voice. It calls again.

"Roads!"

Very close now. Good. Comes with a sudden shaking. A world rising. Fading. A third time, very loud.

"Roads!"

The world shimmers away. The speck is the last to go. He is waking.

Volume 1

"And not by eastern windows only,
When daylight comes, comes in the light;
In front the sun climbs slow, how slowly!
But westward, look, the land is bright!"
-Arthur Hugh Clough, Say Not the Struggle Naught Availeth"

Roads awoke to warm sunlight streaming through the open window, birds chirping high in the air, and a throbbing, miserable headache. A headache that was definitely not being helped by the captain shouting in his ears and shaking him awake.

“Come on, now, get up!”

Brindle gave him one last, forceful nudge, pushing him into the wall. Finally roused from his groggy slumber, Roads sat up, palms over his eyes, and groaned. He had really overdone it last night. An entire flask of whiskey, gone, and now he had to meet his new co-workers hungover. Great.

The captain’s voice interrupted his thoughts. “On your hooves, now, let’s go. ‘Less you figure you wanna pay fifteen more bits for another ticket.”

Roads looked up at the captain, confused. “What?” he asked, staring blankly. “Why would I need another ticket?”

“One ticket per ride. ‘S mah policy,” Brindle explained.

“What? What ride? What are you talking about?”

The captain grabbed him under the shoulder and hoisted him to his hooves. “We’re about to head back to Ponyville. You wanna come with us, you gotta pay.”

“Wait--why are you--we’re in Canterlot already?” he asked.

“We’ve been at port for four hours, son. Everypony else already up an’ left. Walked right past you, but Ah guess you never woke up.”

Roads clapped a hoof to his forehead, staring at the captain in open-mouthed shock. “Four hours?! What time is it now?”

“Oh, about half-past,” he said lazily.

“Half-past what?” Roads demanded.

“Noon.”

Roads didn’t know whether to panic or cry. He thought he might just do both. He sank against the wall, shaking. How could he miss this opportunity? How could he be so stupid. Why did he always have to--

“Are you gonna pay, or what?”

Roads stared up at the captain. “No.”

“Then get the hell offa mah boat!” he said, grabbing Roads by the foreleg once more and hauling him up the stairs. Roads barely managed to grab his bag.

In an instant, he was tossed roughly onto the dock, where he got to his feet and stood, blinking in the sunlight, feeling as though he were about to be sick. He wasn’t sure if it was because of the hangover or his nerves. He didn’t particularly care. Instead, he walked to the edge of the dock, fell to his knees, and vomited into the lake.

Rising, he wiped off his mouth and turned to peer at Canterlot, a sinking feeling settling in his stomach. The mountain city rose high above him, jutting through the clouds into the sky. Around its base was a sprawling metropolis, near its summit, the Royal Palace. On the other side of the mountain were the Skydocks, the wooden ports where he was supposed to be.

Well, if he wanted to even try to make it onto the expedition, that is. It was a lost cause, after all. His chance was gone. He had missed it, screwed it up, the worthless miscreant.

Although... he might as well check. Just to be sure. But he wouldn’t get his hopes up.

Spreading his wings--and wincing at how sore they were--he took off, headed for the top of the mountain. It would be freezing cold at the peak, and the low oxygen up there would starve his lungs. He would have to fly all around the top of the mountain, instead of straight over. And that would take time, time that he didn’t have. He would never make it.

But... he needed to be certain. He had to know they had already left. Going and finding the Skydocks deserted would be bad, but giving up without making sure would be even worse.

Straining stiff wings, he pushed harder, racing towards the top of the mountain. As he rose, the air thinned and chilled. Though the temperature on the ground had been tolerably warm, as he ascended, a sickly cold washed over him. His teeth chattered as he flew.

It was not long before he approached the summit. He burst through the clouds near the top of the mountain to find the entire Palace gleaming beneath him. It sat, stoic and resplendent, in a rocky cradle between the two peaks of the mountain. It was beautiful. Roads ignored it. There were more pressing things to worry about.

Banking as a burst of wind caught him in the side, he angled around the mountain. Soon, the Skydocks were within view. A powerful, complex wooden framework anchoring a series of massive platforms to the side of the rocky slope, the Skydocks were a feat of masterful earth pony engineering. They looked so spindly that it seemed they might blow away at a moment’s notice, but in reality they had weathered many a storm with impunity.

It wasn’t long before Roads reached them. Swooping low, he landed gracelessly at the end of an empty dock, and sat for a moment, trying to catch his breath. The ascent had been rough. Hell, the whole past two days had been rough. He hoped it was worth it.

Standing up, he glanced around at the nearby platforms. They were nearly all empty. A few tourist’s enchanted hot-air balloons here, a row of military airships there, but no expeditionary vessels to be found.

It was over. They were gone. They had left without him. He sank to the ground, sitting against one of the massive wooden beams, cradling his head in his hooves.

He’d known it. He’d known it was too good to be true. Him? Pull off an opportunity like this? It was laughable to think something wouldn’t go wrong. If only he hadn’t drank so much. If only he had woken up, he could have--

The tip of somepony’s hoof nudged him in the ribcage. “Hey. You. You’re the new guy, right?”

Roads looked up to find an annoyed looking unicorn standing over him.

“Uh... what?”

“What, don’t understand Equestrian?” she asked. “You’re the guy, right? The magic expert they sent us. They showed us your picture at the expedition briefing.”

“You’re--you’re with the expedition? You’re part of the crew?” he asked.

She laughed, leaned over, and pulled him to his hooves. “I am the crew,” she said, extending a hoof. “Summer Dew, cartographer extraordinaire, pilot, and the noble leader of a fearless crew of two. Or, well, three, counting you. You're the Warden from the Everfree, right?”

He shook her hoof, looking her over. She was almost as tall as him, and athletically built, her body rippling with lean muscle. She stood with a jaunty, at-ease posture, leaning against the pier rail, forehooves crossed. He noticed that her forelegs were covered in unhealed scrapes and cuts, as well as a number of small scars and marks that stood out against her cyan coat. It seemed the scars, though, didn’t stop at her forelegs. Instead, most of the her body seemed slightly scarred or nicked somewhere. This was not a pony who lead a relaxed life.

As he peered at her, she sized him up with light green eyes, staring out from under a loosely cut green mane, streaked with white that might have been attractive had she bothered to fix it. In fact, Roads was pretty sure she might be striking--if she had thought it worthwhile.

A moment passed as the two stared each other down. Roads realized he was probably supposed to say something--but as soon as he opened his mouth, she cut him off.

“Try not to stare, new guy. I know I’m gorgeous, but you’re gonna have to keep your eyes--and hooves--to yourself.”

“I wasn’t--”

“Sorry bud, I don’t get with coworkers. So don’t go falling in love with me, Romeo, or I’ll have to shove you out of the zeppelin a couple hundred feet up,” she said, shooting him a haughty smirk.

A flicker of annoyance rose in his stomach. She’d been staring him down--he’d just responded in kind.

“Gee, what an inconvenience to a guy with wings,” he said, not minding to check his tone.

Summer cocked an eyebrow.

"Sarcasm? I like that. Maybe having a new guy won't be absolute hell," she faked a sigh, clearly relishing what she got to say next. “Still though, you could never replace the last specialist the Aggregate sent. If only he hadn't lost a leg on our previous trip..."

A what? No... no, that couldn’t be right. He must have misheard her.

"He... he lost a--?"

"A leg, yep. There was a rockslide, it wasn't pretty. But hey, nothing to worry about, right?"

"Uh..."

Oh, no. What have I gotten myself into, he thought.

“That’s what I thought. Now, what was your name again? Ronin, was it?” she asked.

“Roads.”

“‘Roads?’ Huh. Weird nickname, how’d you get it?”

“It's my given name. My parents decided to call me 'Roads' because I was born on the side of one,” he explained.

"Huh. Interesting folks."

"You don't know the half of it."

There was a brief silence.

“So, where exactly is the zeppelin you mentioned?” he asked finally. “I was looking around, I couldn’t find it.”

“I figured as much. The Aggregate’s got its own dock. See that crook down there?” she asked, pointing to a spot where two steep cliff faces met to form a sharp bend in the mountain.

“Yeah.”

“It’s over there. When you didn’t show up on time, I realized no one must have told you we were parked around on that side. Figured I’d wait around here and see if I could find you,” she explained.

Roads saw an opportunity to save face. “Oh. Yeah, right, no, I was just waiting here--I showed up at twelve, you know, and wasn’t really sure if--”

“Nah, you were just plain late,” she interrupted. She winked at him, seeing the dismay that crossed his face. “I saw you fly up from a mile away. No worries, though--no one’s at their best after a night of drinking, right?”

His brow furrowed. “How did you know that I--”

“They’re called breath mints, rookie, use ‘em. I think everyone on this dock probably knows you’ve been hitting the bottle like a freight train.”

“Uh--”

“Well, are we just gonna stand here and chat all day?” she asked, turning and walking down the dock. She gestured for him to follow.“Daylight’s burnin’, you know. Chief got a head start while we were waiting on you, but we’ve still got some more cargo to load onto the zeppelin before we can head out,” she explained as she led him along a walkway around the side of the mountain.

Before long, they came to a long, solitary dock, at the far end of which was moored a massive zeppelin marked “Royal Expeditionary Aggregate.” At the near end of the dock, a pallet of cargo crates sat, waiting to be loaded. As they approached it, Summer directed him to help carry the wooden boxes aboard.

Mutely, he grabbed one of the lighter boxes and started down the platform, the words “lost a leg” ringing in his head. He stared at the ground as he went, worrying that he might be in over his head, unaware of where he was going.

With a thump, he walked into something bulky and solid. Unbalanced, he toppled to the ground, the container landing heavily on top of him.

When he looked back up again, he found himself face to face with the largest earth pony he had ever laid eyes on. The chestnut-colored gargantuan glared back down at him, two beady eyes peeking from under a close-cropped mane. A frown crossed his twisted muzzle, bent in two places where it had been broken. His face was half covered in pinkish scars, one of which ran all the way down his nose, across another that ran horizontally across his head, narrowly missing an eye.

They also covered large portions of the rest of his body, which was covered in dense, heavy muscle. On his flank was a cutie mark of a sword crossed over a shield, and on his face was a horrendous scowl. When he opened his mouth a voice gravelly and disdainful rang in Roads’ ears, a voice that carried more grunts that actual speech.

"Watch it," he growled. He fixed Roads with a scornful glare, then whirled around to keep working. Somehow, he was just as menacing with his back turned.

"Uhh... sorry," Roads said as the gargantuan marched away.

"I see you met Chief," a voice beside him said. He turned to see Summer standing just behind him, smiling, watching him pick himself up off the ground.

"Chief?"

"That's his nickname. They call him that because he once wrestled a buffalo chief into submission somewhere in a desert south of Appleoosa. Most folks think he doesn't even have a real name," she said.

Roads couldn’t tell if she was joking again. He decided it was probably best to assume she wasn’t. Better safe than sorry.

"What does he do?" he asked.

"He's ex-Royal Guard, the Aggregate pays him to protect my expeditions. In case we end up somewhere where the locals—or the animals—are less-than-friendly. He's also an expert survivalist, and he does whatever else calls for serious muscle."

"I think he hates me."

"Of course he does. Chief hates all the newbies. A word of advice: stay out of his way, and work hard and he might just resist the urge to punt you across Equestria."

She spoke amicably, but what she said still scared him.

These were the people he was traveling with? Into the middle of the tropics? With no one around to hear his agonizing screams as Chief slowly murdered him?

Seven whole, glorious days with a dagger-tongued sadist and a murderous giant--he was loving it already.

"Hey," Summer said, interrupting his inner laments, "help us load up the rest of these crates and we'll be on our way."

She gestured to the stack of dark wooden boxes, each marked "Property of the Royal Expeditionary Aggregate" in large black letters. Roads walked over to one that was only slightly larger than what he had been carrying when Chief knocked him over. He grasped its rope handle and struggled to lift it. It didn’t budge. It seemed most of the cargo consisted entirely of bricks. How useful.

“What’s in these?” he asked Summer after letting go of the box.

"Erm... supplies. Surveying equipment—sextants, sun compasses, A-frame range finders, optical transits and that sort of thing, a good bit of food, a number of cases of fresh water, in case we can't find any and... hmmm... a few odds and ends. First aid stuff, tents, blankets, mountain climbing equipment—"

"—mountain climbing equipment?"

"You never know. A lot of the islands near where we're going are volcanic, and the older ones have mountains in their centers. Granted, the area where we're going is totally uncharted, so we don't even know if there are any islands..."

"So what do we do then?"

"Basically, we head out, and map whatever we find. If there's an island, we land and map it. If there's not, we note that there isn't an island. Basically, we're heading out to add as much as we can to the map in seven days. And you're supposed to do... whatever it is you do with all of your magic stuff."

"Research."

"Research, sure. Research it if you can, and stop it from killing us if it's dangerous. I'm pretty sure that's what they said you'd be doing." She paused for a moment, as a thought occurred to her. "Hey, wait, if you're a pegasus, how exactly are you the magic expert?"

“Well,” he said as they loaded more crates onto the zeppelin. “Have you ever heard of ley theory?”

“Sure,” she replied.

He blinked. He wasn’t expecting that. “You have?” he asked.

“Yep. When they told us you were coming along, I read your book. Well, I read the inside cover of your book. And the author bio. Actually, the first few lines of the author bio, then I got bored and left the bookstore.”

“So you only know the basics?”

“I think ‘basics’ is putting it a bit strong. I know you think there are a bunch of ley lines all over the place, and Celestia thinks that has something to do with all of the expeditions in the Triangle that’ve gone to shit in the past few months,” she said.

“Well, that’s the short version, anyway. But, to answer your question, I’m the magic expert because I’m one of the only CSGU graduates that’s interested in studying natural magic. Because, you know, it’s the only field I can even be on the same par as anypony else in--well, except for alchemy, but alchemy is about as interesting as watching paint dry.”

“So, how exactly do you plan on helping us, you know, not die?” she asked.

“Well, I’m not actually entirely sure what the Princess wants me to do about it, but I do have an idea of what your problem is.”

“Which is?”

“Nexi.”

“Which are?”

“It’s hard to explain succinctly, but basically... for the most part, natural lines balance each other out. No one line in nature enacts too much change on the land around it, because it’s constantly being hampered by other lines in the area. The way they do that is insanely complicated, so I won’t even try to explain. But there are cyclical shifts in which lines are the most powerful. That’s why places like the Everfree have shifts in seasons without pony intervention. Ley shifts control everything out there.”

“And what, exactly, does this have to do with ‘nexi’?”

“Well, whenever ley lines aren’t in proper balance, cyclical shifts can cause some lines to become so strong that they physically manifest at certain focal points. Ley theorists call these manifestations ‘nexi’ and they can be insanely powerful. You wanna know what’s wrecking your expeditions? I’d guess the other crews ran abreast of some seriously powerful nexi,” he explained, grabbing a particularly heavy crate and struggling to carry it over to the zeppelin.

“Wait... do you have any plans at all for helping that not happen to us, then?” she asked.

Roads was about to reply when he was interrupted by Chief, who had just slammed one last box onto the floor of the zeppelin's undercarriage.

"That's it. Let's go," he barked.

“Time to move out,” Summer said. “You can explain the rest later.”

She grabbed Roads’ crate, lifted it easily, and moved up the gangplank, into the zeppelin’s boxy metal underside. With a flap of his wings, Roads followed her up, flying through one of the paneless windows and landing on the floor of the undercarriage.

It was a sparsely furnished metal expanse, bolted to iron plates on the bottom side of the zeppelin’s balloon. On one end was a navigator's table that was conjoined with the control mechanisms for the gargantuan propellor affixed to the zeppelin. In the center of the room the stack of boxes rested. Apart from that, it was bare, just white-painted metal slats and rods. And the two lunatics he was spending the week with.

"Everyone ready?" Summer called, manning the controls.

"Yeah," Roads said.

Next to him, Chief gave an affirmative grunt.

"Alright then," the unicorn said, releasing the aircraft from its moorings and steering it into the sky.

Summer piloted the craft away from the pier and through a cloud bank. Roads peered out the window. As the zeppelin rose and he stared out into the roiling fog, into the misty banks of the unknown, he wondered once again just what he'd gotten himself into.

III

View Online

A quiet night. A colt entering an old house, bags laden with library books. A light on in the kitchen. He enters it and finds his father, sitting in a stool at the table, a glass in his hoof. Amber liquid sloshes inside the cup. Whiskey. Again.

"I'm home."

Silence.

"Where's mom?"

"Gone."

"Gone where?"

No answer. The stallion takes a long, slow drink from the glass.

"Gone where, dad?"

"Away."

He knows something is wrong now. Very wrong. A chill runs down his spine.

"Dad?" The voice is quieter, more hesitant, a whimper.

"What?"

"Dad, where is she?"

"She didn't come home today.”

“Dad...”

“She's not coming home anymore."

There is a hollowness in his voice. Something in the colt’s stomach sinks at that.

"Why?"

"She left. Went to Fillydelphia." The deeper voice is slurred with whiskey and dripping with disdain.

"Is she coming back?" he is almost crying now. He knows he musn't. He fears he won’t be able to hold it back.

"No."

"Is it because you were yelling—"

"—no—"

"—and because of the other night when you were shouting about losing your job—"

"—no—"

"—and because of the black eye?" He is crying now.

The stallion is furious. This is disgraceful; nothing is weaker than crying. To have a son so emmasculine is embarrassing. He can fix that. He has to.

"No!"

"What did you do, Dad?" The words are coming all at once now. He knows he should stop them but he can't.

"I didn't do anything!" A glass slammed down on a table. "You're the reason she's not coming back."

"What?"

"Isn't it obvious? She couldn’t love you!"

He has to say that. It has to be the fault of the child. It can't be his. There's nothing wrong with him. There can’t be. They’re all wrong, he’s fine...

"Why?" Crying, whimpering, blubbering. A son pathetic in his father's eyes.

"Just look at you. Weak, scrawny, miserable...” He stares, searching. Looking for a reason. It has to be there, it can’t be him...

“And those!" A hoof pointed at the bags. The books are to blame. She left because the boy is a race-traitor. That must be it. It’s all about the damned books. Without them the son would fly. Without them the son would be great. Without them things would be fine again, alright again, happy again. A family again.

"There’s nothing wrong with them!"

"I told you!" Shouting now, in a rage, a blind frenzy. “No more of that in this house! It’s useless! They're useless! All of it, worthless, shameful! Don't you get it? You're a pegasus! You don't do magic--you can't do magic. And they know, all of them! Don’t you see how they look at you? How they look at me? Damned race-traitor, that’s why she’s gone! It was you, it was always you! Why don’t you just listen to me, why don’t you just let me teach you? Don’t you want anyone to care about you?"

“Stop, just stop--”

The stallion grimaces. The boy’s mind is corrupted. Warped by the damned books. Well, he can fix that. He will fix that. Will make everything right again. He has to.

The bags are ripped away, the books are spilling out. The father is walking to the fireplace, the son too small to hold him back.

"No, no, no—"

Pages falling into the flames.

"Get off me!"

A kick.

The books are in the fire and he is sailing across the room...

Volume 1

III

"And not by eastern windows only,
When daylight comes, comes in the light;
In front the sun climbs slow, how slowly!
But westward, look, the land is bright!"
-Arthur Hugh Clough, Say Not the Struggle Naught Availeth"

Roads was bored. Unequivocally, inexorably bored. They had been flying all afternoon, and he was sick of it. At first, soaring slowly through the mountain range of Canterlot in the gargantuan aircraft had been fun. What could be better than a bird’s eye view of the frosted peaks’ stark beauty?

Just about anything, it turned out. So now he sat, leaning against a tall stack of wooden crates, preening his wings, staring out the windows, and waiting. As he looked out at the snow-tipped peaks, he was sure that the mountains had been majestic to him once. They had definitely once held a timeless beauty.

That had lasted about an hour. Now, they were just big stacks of rock, and he was tired of them.

He was not in the mood to just sit, think, and wait for the zeppelin to arrive at-- well, wherever they were going. He wanted to talk to somepony, to converse--but Chief and Summer did not seem to share the sentiment.

The former seemed to be wrapped up in doing... whatever it was he spent his time doing. At present, this appeared to be simply checking the inventory of the shipping crates. Roads wasn’t fooled, though; he was sure Chief was actually secretly plotting his demise.

Summer, on the other hoof, was busy piloting the zeppelin. She had warned him shortly after they took off not to bother her. Apparently these balloons took concentration and skill to keep steady, and she didn’t want to be distracted.

She certainly seemed focused at the moment. Glancing at maps and compasses, Summer danced frantically about the controls, steering the balloon around mountain after mountain as it descended, horn glowing as she guided it.

Wait, why was her horn glowing? Was she piloting the vessel—turning the propellor and rotating the air fin—all on her own?

Leaning on the boxes, Roads studied the busy unicorn. Her horn gave off a blue glow as it worked the engine. The rotor of the propellor, though, gave off a light red, nearly pinkish light. Which meant that—no. Could this be what he thought it was? Surely not. That type of thing was absurdly expensive.

But Roads had to know, even if Summer was busy. Hooves clacking on the iron floor, he walked across the undercarriage to her.

"Hey, Summer?”

“Mmm?” She didn’t look up.

“I’ve got a question—is this a Zephyr?"

Ordinarily, she would've just waved him away, but this got her attention. It was surprising, coming from Roads. She hadn’t pegged him as the mechanical type--he was so bookish, so indoorsy.

"Yeah. You know about that sort of thing? But you're just a spec!"

"'Spec'?"

"Specialist. Anyway, you know about aircraft?"

"Usually, no. The only airship in Equestria to make common use of fully integrated magical machinery in a base model, though? Definitely. I studied them in a few mechanomagical engineering classes that I took back in school," he said.

"Of course you did.” She glanced up at him, a thin smirk on her face. He was so excited his wings had fluttered open.

"I never got to see them, though, because of the price tag. Oh, this is awesome! This one has a crystalline powering system right?” he asked, peering at the humming metal column behind the navigation table. “A gem enchanted to produce powerful movement spells wrapped in a magically conductive copper matrix? That's what's turning the propellor, right?"

"Yeah." Summer grinned despite herself. His enthusiasm was amusing--and understandable.

The Zephyr line of aircraft had been heralded in the Equestrian aeronautical community for its innovative use of enchanted, rechargeable crystals to turn propellers and steer the vessel. It was a job that had previously been done by either a powerful group of unicorn aviators, or by a less efficient, less durable, and far heavier steam engine. However, society as a whole--save for pilots and aviators--ignored the breakthrough, because Zephyrs were simply not commercially viable.

Because they packed a massive price tag due to the rare gems that powered their engines, they were a rare buy for anypony without a government check. For those with the money, though, the Zephyr were reliable, versatile craft, suitable for expeditions in areas too distant for normal vessels, or in waters too dangerous for most ships. The Zephyr were some of the rarest magitech systems in Equestria--so much so that when Summer had first seen the zeppelin, she had been almost excited as Roads was.

"Can I see the energy core? Please?" he pleaded.

Summer gave a small sigh. As fun as stomping on the rookie’s dreams would be, should she really deny him now? His enthusiasm was almost amusing, and perhaps she could reward him for brushing up on essential knowledge before the trip. Most specs never even bothered.

"Fine," she sighed.

Summer slid a panel above the controls open to reveal a pulsating scarlet stone, glowing with the red energy she had been directing into the rotors. Roads let out a gasp as he glimpsed it through the copper wiring. He stared into the heart of the glowing stone until the vessel shifted suddenly, throwing him off of his hooves and into Summer.

As the zeppelin tilted wildly, they tumbled over the control panel and crashed to the floor. Summer cursed violently, and shoved Roads off of her as she stood up, desperate to regain control of the craft. On the other side of the deck, Chief, who had been tossed into a pallet of crates, let out a snarl that would put a manticore to shame.

"Dammit, Roads, these things take a lot of concentration to fly," she growled as she struggled to right the floundering aircraft.

"Hey, you're the one who stopped paying attention—"

"And you're the one who distracted me. I told you, these zeppelins are unstable, and if I can't concentrate on controlling it, it'll wreck, so stop bothering me!" she said, clearly frustrated.

"I was just trying to see if—"

"I said stop bothering me! Do you want us to crash?"

Roads could tell that he had been beaten. As the balloon restabilized, he walked dejectedly back to the front of the undercarriage to look out the window once again. He sat for a moment, staring off into the distance.

Glancing over his shoulder, he saw the mountains receding in the distance, giving way to the forest that was now below them. He glanced down over the rail, inspecting the green tips of the broad trees that swayed below.

Life on a balloon, he decided, was perhaps the dullest thing he had ever endured. Sitting and waiting simply wouldn't do. If he couldn't converse with Summer, then that still left... Chief.

He could talk to Chief. Why not? Somewhere, deep, deep, under that gruff exterior, there had to be a pony. A pony he could talk to. It couldn't be that hard, could it?

Just walk up and ask him something about himself. Everypony’s favorite subject is himself, he mused.

He took a deep breath and walked around the stack of crates to find the earth pony staring off into the horizon. Chief gave no indication that he noticed Roads’ presence.

"Uh, hey," Roads said timidly as he edged towards the gargantuan. "I don't think we've been properly introduced. I'm Roads."

He stuck out a hoof. Chief’s eyes flickered down to the outstretched appendage, then back to the horizon. He was silent for a moment.

"Chief," he said in what was more a grunt than a voice.

He didn’t move. Letting his foreleg drop, he tried desperately to think of a conversation starter—perhaps if he could get Chief talking, he might worm his way into having a relationship a bit less... hostile.

"So, uh, how long have you been working with Summer?" he asked meekly, hoping Chief wouldn’t snap his spine for attempting to speak with him. There was a lengthy silence. Roads wasn’t sure whether Chief was trying to remember the details of his work history—or to decide if he should hurl this new intrusion over the railing. Finally, he gave a curt reply.

"A while."

"Oh... fascinating," Roads replied. That was vague. Whatever. I can talk about that. "So, uh, what’d you do before this?" he asked.

No response.

"You were in the Guard, right?"

No response.

"I just figured you were because, uh, Summer said...”

Still nothing.

"Just wondering, you know, what your work was like..."

"Classified." Chief said finally.

"Really? Wait, so were you in one of those secret units? You know, the ones that do all the undercover stuff--spying, espionage, that kind of--"

"Shut up.”

So much for that.

There was a long pause. Finally, Roads piped up. “Well... see you around, I guess,” he said, edging back around the pallet. He cringed as he rounded the corner. That definitely could have gone better.

Nothing to be done now, though. Nothing but sit, and wait. Resting back against the crates, he looked out into the distance, and realized that they were quickly approaching the ocean. The pungent scent of fish and salt wafted up to him as he stared out into the waves. He forced himself to relax; there was little else he could do to fight the boredom.

With a sigh, he gazed out over the railing into the rippling waters, allowing the scents, sights and sounds of the sea to wash over his senses. He let himself slip into his own head, getting lost in his own thoughts. He reminisced, memories flickering through his head, wispy shadows on an old cave wall. He saw himself, reading; himself, in school; himself, failing a flight lesson.

Books in a fireplace... a bleeding eye... his father shouting...

Oh, please not this again...

His concentration was broken--just in time--as his eye caught swift movement below him. Roads stood up and peered over the railing, curiosity piqued. He stared at the water as a familiar tingling feeling worked its way up his back.

It felt almost like a ley line--but that was impossible. After all, he hadn’t drank an Attunement potion since yesterday. And besides, there were only two places where he should have been able to feel a line. One was the Wilds, and that was miles away. And the other...

The Triangle. But surely they weren’t anywhere near it yet.

He peered out over the bow, searching. If it were indeed a line this strong, it would surely have a nexus somewhere along the—wait, there it was! Nearly a mile away, the waters converged into a raging maelstrom. He shuddered.

It was far larger than could have ever been produced naturally. Even from so far away, Roads could make out an eerie whitish glow that stood out against the fading sunlight. Above it, an ominous formation of clouds rotated along with the water below.

Perhaps he had been zoned out for longer than he thought. Perhaps they were in the Triangle after all...

"Hey Roads, you seeing that?"

The pegasus turned to find that Summer had noticed the storm, and was pointing to it in the distance.

"Yeah," he replied, crossing the undercarriage and making his way past the crates to the navigator's desk.

"What is it?"

Just a nexus, Roads thought, and was about to tell Summer the same, when suddenly he realized what it really was.

"It's the Sea Legs Maelstrom," he said in a whisper, now even more interested in the whirlpool.

"The what?"

"It's a famous nexus, named after Sea Legs, the sailor from the First Era who discovered it on a sea voyage in this area. Of course, back then, they didn't know what it really was; so everypony thought it was just an exceptionally large maelstrom. Well, actually, not everyone believed in it because the maelstrom doesn't manifest constantly--it surfaces and sinks all the time. So when sailors went back into the area, it was gone. Everyone thought Sea Legs was making it up.”

“Huh. I wish,” she interjected.

Roads shook his head. “I don’t. I mean, everypony thought it was just a myth, so if you think about it, we've just discovered a legend!" he said, thrilled.

Summer was somewhat less than impressed.

"Well, that's great, Roads, but your little myth over there is pulling us off course, and I'm not sure if there's anything I can do about it."

She looked so unconcerned that Roads didn't immediately grasp what she had just said.

"What do you mean?" he asked happily.

"What I mean is that this zeppelin is bulky and slow, and catching a lot of wind. Which means we’re headed right into that."

She gestured to the cloud formation roiling over the water. He looked over to see that they had indeed drifted far closer to the maelstrom than Summer had probably intended. What had been at least a mile away was now much closer.

"Well turn around, then! Don't fly through it!"

Roads felt panic rising in his chest. We're going to fly through the most famous kinetic nexus in Equestria?!

"Too late now,” she said with a shrug. “Hey, maybe if I would've seen it a bit earlier, we probably could've turned around. But at this point, the wind is at our backs, and if we turn sideways it'll be cutting across the whole side of the balloon. This thing is made for endurance, not maneuverability, you know."

She sounded entirely too unconcerned. They were beginning to pick up speed now, moving swiftly with the air that was being sucked into the nexus.

"So that's it? You aren't even going to try?!"

His fear was building; he didn't want to die in the first few hours of the trip—or at any other time, for that matter.

"Yep. Just figured I'd let you know. You might want to hold on to something so you don't get blown out. Tie yourself down, maybe," Summer said calmly.

“It’ll tear us to pieces!”

Summer shrugged. “We’ll survive.”

"You're crazy! Completely crazy! Chief, do you hear this? Tell her she's crazy!" Roads now had to shout over the sound of the wind.

Chief glanced over at them from the other side of the zeppelin and shrugged. He opened a crate next to him, drew a few lengths of rope from it, then began tying down their cargo.

"Oh that's just great. Wonderful. A few hours into the expedition and I'm already about to die at sea. That's just great," he fumed.

"If it helps, we've never lost a spec this early on," Summer said. "So you get to be the first. Now, don’t you feel special?”

Roads glared at her. The clouds were nearly upon them now, drawing closer as the zeppelin barrelled towards them. He turned and grabbed a rope that was strung around one of the larger boxes, anchoring himself down. Gritting her teeth, Summer hunched over the controls as Chief reached up to grab some of the metalwork on the undercarriage. There was a palpable sense of anticipation in the air as each of them finished securing themselves.

They didn't have to wait long.

After only a moment, the sound of the wind grew to a roar as the zeppelin began to shake and quiver with the force of the turbulence. The craft pierced the grey clouds, rain whipping violently through the windows as the balloon moved deeper into the dark abyss of the storm. Roads braced himself against the cargo as the vessel was buffeted by the winds, ears pounding with the roar of the wind. Lightning cracked across the darkened skies just outside of his window, thunder booming in his ears.

The zeppelin nearly turned sideways and he was thrown against a crate, the edge slicing into his forehead. The streaming blood obscured most of his vision. Still, he could barely make out Summer struggling with the controls, straining as she tried to keep the vessel on course. He wasn’t sure, but she seemed to be smiling.

She really is crazy, he thought, just before a gust of wind caught the front side of the balloon and jerked it sideways. He lost his hold on the rope and careened into the railing.

The backside of the balloon tipped steeply and sent Roads sliding backwards on the rain-soaked metal floor. For a moment, he was terrified that he might fall out of the balloon. Flight would be impossible in a storm this violent. He managed to catch himself on an anchored piece of cargo, and he held himself there, clenching the crate in fear-stricken hooves. He looked up to see that he had slid right next to Chief.

The earth pony hadn’t moved an inch.

The vessel quaked once again, more violently than before, and he heard a wrenching metallic sound. Somewhere above him one of the metal struts that held the balloon together was ripped from its base. To his right, several cargo ropes were shorn, letting supplies spill freely into the storm. The balloon gave one last shudder.

Suddenly an unsettling quiet came over them. The wind died, the zeppelin was still, and for a brief moment Roads thought they were out of the storm. Until, that was, he felt a horrifying tingle that spread throughout his body, a twisting, stinging feeling the likes of which he had never experienced before.

Moving to the side of the undercarriage, he stared out in awe. They were in the eye of the storm. A sickeningly large wall of clouds circulated around them, but there was no more wind. Instead, there was only a glowing mist and a strange magical hum.

Roads gazed down to see that they were hovering over the center of the vortex, its heart glowing in the rippling water. The nexus... A formless mass of magical energy that moved everything around it with a force unparalleled. It was massive and terrible, beautiful in its interminable power. The ultimate vindication of his study.

The peace was broken as quickly as it had started. The zeppelin soared into the other side of the cloud bank, and was jostled and buffeted even more intensely than before. As biting winds cut through the cabin, Roads clumsily made his way back to the center of the deck. He grabbed another rope as the floor beneath him heaved and shook.

There was a loud crack as another piece of the metal framework was shorn from the underside of the balloon. As the undercarriage lost another support, it tilted crazily. In his peripheral vision he could see that Summer was now slumped over the control panel. She had tied herself to the nearby navigator's table to keep from slipping away. The crystalline engine was running at full power, the propellor straining to move the vessel out of the storm. They were being sucked backwards, but Summer managed to keep the zeppelin angled into the wind, giving the air as little purchase on it as she could.

As the unicorn strained to keep the craft upright, they moved steadily away from the heart of the storm. They flew more and more easily as they increased their distance. After a while, they finally escaped the pull of the tempest.

As soon as they were clear of the raging storm, Roads and Chief moved to help Summer. She had collapsed onto the control panel, horn glowing feebly as she strained to keep the vessel in line. It seemed she had used every last iota of energy keeping the zeppelin under control.

"Are you okay?" Roads asked.

"Yeah," she panted, a smile spreading across her face. "That was awesome."

Roads rolled his eyes. "You’re insane."

Her only reply was a shrug.

"What do we do now? We can't really keep flying, not like this," Roads said.

He gestured around at what remained of the cabin. It was in shambles. Most of the cargo had come loose and was spread across the floor, the contents of the boxes sopping wet on the metal floor. Above them, the latticework that held the zeppelin together was twisted and mangled, many of the iron struts ripped from their bases.

"Now?” she asked. “We land, I guess."

She pointed out the window, and Roads followed her hoof to see an island rising in the distance.

In the fading daylight, he could barely make it out. The sun sank behind the massive stretch of land as it set, painting its trees in a bloodred glow. In its center was a cylindrical, volcanic mountain, covered on all sides by trees waving steadily in the dying light, casting long, flickering shadows across their fellows. Pockets of darkness, hidden away from the sun, flickered serpentine and ethereal through the trees. The entire island was moving, eerie in its splendor. For a split second, Roads wanted to resist her suggestion.

"Why there?" he asked, eyeing the land in the distance.

"Why not? It's exactly the sort of thing we were hoping to find out here."

"What do you mean?"

"Here, look at this," Summer said. Opening one of the waterproof drawers of the navigator's table, she pulled out a map and spread it across the desk. She pointed to one area.

"We're right here, right in the middle of a part of the Triangle that's totally uncharted. See that island? It's not on the map. And it's huge. Even if we hadn't just nearly torn the Zephyr in half—"

"—You mean, even if you hadn't nearly torn the Zephyr in half..." Roads pointed out.

"—that would still be the sort of place we would need to set down and map out."

"And, if it's this close to that one line, it's sure to have more run through it..." he said, now a bit more optimistic about the prospect of exploring the island.

"Uh... Sure, I guess," Summer said, one eyebrow cocked.

"Well, alright then," Roads said, satisfied. He walked back across the zeppelin, leaving Summer to pilot the vessel.

_________________________________________________________

Within an hour, they had reached the island. On one side, there was a vast beach, where they landed and moored the zeppelin. It was designed to be docked in any environment, thank the Goddess, so they had little trouble.

Roads stepped quickly out onto the sand, glad to be back on dry ground. He lay down, exhausted, legs splayed, wings open.

His rest was interrupted when a heavy box landed in his lap. He looked up to see Chief scowling at him.

“Get to work. Gotta unload what’s left while the sun’s still out.”

Roads stood and helped Summer and Chief as best he could. As they unloaded food, water, surveying equipments, and the tents, he idled along, carrying whatever he could manage. It wasn’t much. He was dismayed, however, to find that his tent was missing.

"What do you mean it's gone?" he asked Chief, who towered over him, holding the inventory list.

"We lost a lot of cargo, your tent included. You'll have to go without it."

"But—"

"Allocation of resources goes as follows: Summer. Me. You. Got it?"

"But—"

"Don't argue," Summer chimed in, "There are two tents left, and good luck taking mine. If you want, you can see if Chief'll let you double up in his."

Roads looked up at Chief. Chief glared down at him.

"I'll sleep outside," he decided.

"Alright then. We'll sleep here for the night. Tomorrow we can move camp further inland. The light's fading, no use doing it now," Summer told them.

So they set out their tents while Chief disappeared into the woods on the edge of the beach to go get firewood. Roads and Summer popped the tops off of the food crates and set up the tents.

A moment later, the earth pony returned hefting a stack of logs.

Roads looked at him curiously. “You didn’t take the axe.”

Chief just stared at him.

“How’d you do that without the axe?”

Chief set the logs down in the sand and shrugged. “They just break off,” he said.

Roads blinked. He opened his mouth to say something more, then stopped. It wasn’t worth the effort. Turning, he saw Summer magically build a small campfire between the tents. He walked over and sat down on a rock beside it.

She rummaged through her sack, dug out a few tins of beans and a pack of dry rice, cooked them, and offered a plate to Roads. He took it and ate heartily, starving after such a rough day.

Chief, on the other hoof, happily found himself a few “dry ration bars”—which to Roads resembled nothing more than slabs of concrete—and retired to his tent, chewing contentedly.

The other two sat and ate silently, Summer too exhausted to make small talk, Roads too distracted by the scenery to care. Eventually, Summer finished her dinner and, taking a swig from her canteen, moved to her tent with a quick ‘goodnight.’ Roads returned the gesture, took a sleeping bag from one of the crates, and spread it across the sand.

He lay down on his back and gazed up into the moonlit sky, wondering what mysteries hid in the jungle, waiting to show themselves in the days to come.

IV

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His saddlebags are full of ashes, and his face is full of shame. His father says he has to bring them back. Atonement, he says.

He also says the glasses will hide the bruises. He stands in front of the library and tries to force himself to go in. It takes a while. Two cloud-doors open and he is standing in the building. He looks around. Empty, only a librarian and the books. Tomes with high faces, looking down on him with scorn. Their fellows are cinders and he carries their remains.

Roads finds his way up to the reception desk and rears to look over it. A librarian, turning to greet him. Smiling, auburn mane, shining spectacles. Finally, somepony happy to see him.

"Roads." A voice full of warmth.

"Miss Quill." The words echo with guilt.

"Here to return the books you borrowed last week?"

A nod. Slow and hesitant.

"I'll take them."

No movement. A sinking in his chest.

"Well, give them here."

No response.

"Roads?"

Bags opened slowly. A gasp. Ashes spilling out on the floor. Soot and shame collecting around his hooves.

"Roads, what happened?"

"I dropped them." Quiet, only a whisper. As if lies unheard are somehow better.

"In a fire?"

A nod. Her face looms before him. No anger, only confusion.

"I thought you were more careful than that..."

"I'm sorry."

"It's fine, dear."

She knows the father.

The compassion shocks him. The tears are coming now. Relief, not sorrow. He moves the sunglasses to brush them away. No one must see. Tears are shame.

It is all in vain, the glasses fall away. A black eye bared to the world, another gasp hanging in the air.

"What happened? Are you alright?"

"I fell down the stairs."

"You live in a one story house."

He averts his eyes and inspects the ashes around his hooves.

"I fell down the stairs."

She nods, thinking.

"Why don't you find something else you like. Feel free to stay in here to read as long as you need. I wouldn't want anything else to end up in a fire." A wink.

A slow, sniffling nod.

"I'll be right back. I've got... uh, a letter to write. Pick out something off the shelf."

He goes to the bookshelves, she to the mailroom.

Roads will never see her letter. It will save his life.

Volume 1

"Am I to doubt and yet be given to know
That where my demon guides me, there I go?
An island? Be it so.
For islands, after all is said and done,
Tell but a wilder game that was begun..."
-Edwin Arlington Robinson, An Island

A hoof nudged Roads awake. He jerked into consciousness and found that he had shifted in the night; he was lying with his face in the sand, almost in the coals from last night's fire.

"Rise and shine, sleeping beauty. We've got a lot to do today."

He rolled over to see Summer staring down at him.

"What time is it?" he groaned, wishing he could go back to sleep. He looked over to the horizon to see that the sun had only just risen.

"I dunno. Morning. Chief and I have been up for about an hour; you got to sleep in because we figured you'd wake up by sunrise. Seems we were sorely disappointed... but then, nopony ever made a mistake overestimating how soft specs can be, so we probably should've known better."

"It's too early," he said, rolling over. Had he not closed his eyes just then, he would have noticed Summer's devious grin.

"I'm afraid it doesn't quite work like that, spec," she said.

The orb of cold sea water she had been levitating behind her back crashed down into his face. In an instant, Roads sprung to his hooves, sputtering and shivering.

"What the hell? Why did you do that?" he shouted.

Chief looked up from across the camp and gave a small chuckle at the soaked pegasus.

"You didn't get up fast enough. We've got work to do today, spec, and I needed you awake," she explained, clearly relishing his discomfort.

"Mmff. Any coffee?"

"Nope. We had some caffeine tablets, but we lost them in the storm. If you really need to wake up, I could always just douse you again," Summer said.

"I'm good, thanks," he said with a groan.

A whole week without coffee? He couldn't remember the last time he'd started a day without a cup. Was it even possible to function without it? He wasn't sure.

"Hmm... well, if you're sure. If you need to, bathe in the ocean," she said, tossing him a bar of soap. "But be quick about it. We've got so much time and so little to do. Wait," she paused, thinking. "Strike that. Reverse it."

Trying to shake off his sleepiness, Roads walked across the beach and waded into the water. His skin went numb and his muscles quivered; the ocean was frigid. After a quick cleansing, he emerged, now awake—but freezing.

"Cold?" Summer asked as he walked back to camp. She sat on a stone, cooking breakfast over the fire she had built atop last night’s coals.

"Freezing," he replied.

"Mhm. It's like that this time of year. Something to do with the currents or something—I never really paid attention in oceanography class back in school. Eggs?" she asked.

"Sure," he said, taking a plate. He glanced down at the greenish-yellow mass Summer had lumped onto his dish. “Uh, are you sure these are eggs?” he asked.

“No, not really,” she said, pausing to glance down at her plate. “But they were in a tin marked ‘edible,’ so they should be fine.”

He sighed and took a bite. "So, what exactly do we have to do today?" he asked between bites.

"Well, we've gotta move the camp inland, for a start. If we keep having to come back to the beach every night, we'll never get anything done."

"And after that?"

"Then we start the fun stuff. Surveying. I've got to get a basic map of this half of the island laid out, then start doing some rough topography estimates, then we'll move on to the other half."

"And what am I supposed to do during all this?"

"Well, after I get the groundwork laid, you can go on and do your whole 'island magic' thing. Today, though, you're on herbological detail. Magical plants and the like are apparently all the rage in Canterlot, so usually we bring a naturalist. You know, gotta find new species and such. Unfortunately, the Aggregate wouldn’t send more than a three pony crew. Weren’t willing to lose any more than that, I guess.”

Roads paled. “Uh—”

“—They said you were a passable alchemist, though, so we figured you'd do. Then we wouldn't have to bring along another spec, you see. It's a fairly simple job, really. Basically, if you see any weird plants or something out there, you write it down and take a sample. You should be able to handle it,” she explained.

"Hold on, I'm not wasting a day picking flowers for you! I've got six days to study magic out here, nothing more."

"And tomorrow you'll have five."

Roads groaned. "If I can't finish my research now, I'll have to wait months to get another chance to study this island!" He scowled, feeling his feathers ruffle as tension roiled in his stomach.

"Too bad," she shrugged. She hadn't even moved from her rock. Instead, she had reclined, forelegs crossed behind her head.

"That's it? It's the only reason I'm out here, and you're just going to dismiss it? Just like that?" he asked.

"Pretty much. You're just a spec. What you do out here isn’t exactly our highest priority."

"Maybe I'll just go out on my own then, and get some real work done!"

"Well, if that's what you want, feel free to go off exploring this island by yourself. Chief and I can map this place out while you get lost.” She paused, eying him. “Or eaten."

Roads glanced over to the darkened edge of the forest, into the shadows of the swaying fronds, and a shudder passed through him. As much as he hated not getting to study the island, he wasn't going into that jungle alone.

"Fine. I'll handle herbological detail. But only for today, " he said, grudgingly.

Inside, he still fumed. Plants grew everywhere; the magical properties of this island were unique, and he was missing a rare chance to study them.

"Good. I was hoping I wouldn’t have to lose another spec.”

She turned to Chief, who had replaced the cart they had lost in the storm by fashioning a makeshift sled out of a medical stretcher. There was little enough of the cargo left that he had managed to pack most of it onto the sled.

“Ready to head out?" she asked.

He gave a stiff nod, and Summer quickly folded her tent, draping it over her saddlebags. Roads rolled up his bedding, stuffed it in his pack, and hefted it over his back. Summer's dismissal left a bitter taste in his mouth, but he trudged up to meet his comrades at the edge of the jungle, anyway.

At the edge of the sands rose an impressive wall of flora. Thick ferns sprung up under massive ivy wrapped trees, vast palms that towered over leaning branches of bamboo. For a moment, Roads was inclined to stop and find an easier path inland, but Chief simply crashed headlong through the plants, a thunderous snapping noise announcing his entry into the forest.

Roads turned to see Summer following closely behind the earth pony, hacking and slashing with magic at anything green in her path. With a sigh, he trudged over and began to plod along behind the two, walking hesitantly in the trails they left.

"Where exactly are we going?" he asked.

"To find fresh water. If we find any near the middle of the island, that's where we're setting up camp."

"How are we supposed to find it? By just cutting our way through the jungle until we come upon a stream?"

"Nope. There's water about a klick north of here," Summer replied.

"How do you know?"

"Freshwater detection spell. One of the only advanced spells I ever bothered to learn."

"Not big on magic?" he asked.

"Not big on anything that requires reading. Too stuffy. I'm more of the outdoorsy type," she said, tearing her way through a particularly dense fern. "If you hadn't noticed."

"Never would've guessed."

As they progressed, the jungle grew darker. Roads looked up to see that massive tropical trees had formed a dense canopy far above them. The foliage here thinned, choked by the lack of light.

What was left, though, was massive. Flytraps with gleaming white pods towered over them, hanging above gargantuan hoya flowers. Still larger were the wide-fronded ferns that fell before them, crushed against giant habisci. Roads wondered if the size of the vegetation had something to do with the innate magic of the island. It was disturbing. The size of the flora made keeping track of their surroundings difficult. He felt lost, disoriented, anxious.

The feeling wasn’t helped by his physical discomfort. This place was nothing like the Everfree—it was hot and muggy, so humid Roads wasn’t breathing, so much as he was slowly drowning in the open air. His legs burned from walking, and every so often he would step through a patch of brambles or sawgrass and feel the plants cut into his calves.

Before long, he realized the blood from the cuts attracted mosquitoes. That, or the parasitic bugs just found his shins excruciatingly appealing. Roads heaved a sigh as he slapped away a swarm of the flies. This wasn’t what he had expected at all. He had hoped for more people, and less jungle. Or, at the very least, to be able to actually do the research he came all the way out here for...

Eventually, the party made its way into a depression cut between tall, craggy ridges. They opted to travel through the gorge rather than climb over the steep hills.

The ground here was soft and soggy, teeming with pale mushrooms and verdant mosses, nothing to impede them. Before them stretched a path that was several hundred meters long and nearly ten wide, isolated from the rest of the jungle. For a moment, the trio stopped to catch their breaths and take a break.

As they rested, Roads began to get the uncanny feeling that he was being stalked. He shook it off.

It was probably nothing.

"That stuff's thick," Summer said, panting.

"Seen worse," came Chief's reply.

He unhinged himself from the makeshift sled, drew out a few strips of bandage, and set to work covering the scrapes and cuts left on his chest and forelegs by the thick underbrush.

"Doesn't that hurt?" Roads asked.

"Used to it," Chief said as he patched himself up. Suddenly he stiffened and glanced around, head swiveling, eyes wide. "We're being watched," he growled to Summer.

Roads felt the blood drain from his face. Summer didn’t even blink.

"I know,” she said, her tone even. “They can't tell we've seen them, though. Where?"

"What are you talking about?” Roads butted in. “What's going—"

"Shh," Summer said, cutting him off. "Chimeras, they're—"

"What?!" Roads shouted.

"Shut up!" Summer hissed. "Don't let them know we’ve seen them yet. Chimeras prefer to ambush their prey, they won't attack yet—unless they know we're on to them. Act like you don't know they're there."

"Chimeras?!" Roads' wings flared open, ready for flight. He could barely force himself to stay on the ground.

"What? You're surprised to find predators on an island this big? Really?" Summer asked.

"Well..."

"They're all over these islands," Chief said. "Clever little beasts. Always trying to get the jump on the prey. Probably hunt in this gorge all the time."

"Where?" Summer asked.

"Two on the ridge, two in the front, two behind. Hiding for now." Chief replied.

"So we're trapped?" Roads asked.

A few beads of cold sweat trickled down his neck. He had read about survivors of chimera attacks. He had read even more about those who had died in them. The only thing they liked more than jungles was the taste of pony flesh. They were lion headed, snake tailed, dragon middled, fire-breathing beasts that stood almost as tall as Summer and only left behind the mangled bones of their victims.

"Don't worry. I've seen 'em on islands like these before,” Summer said. “Haven’t been eaten yet. Just back up, real slow, against the wall. Don't make any sudden movements yet. Try to keep your eyes open, and either me or Chief in between you and anything with pointy teeth. You're just a spec, so don't try to get in on the fun of chimera wrestling just yet.”

Roads gulped as he backed against the wall, eyeing Chief and Summer as they faced opposite ways down the path, moving slowly and carefully with a confidence and grace he utterly lacked. His knees knocked as he waited; he could feel the eyes of the beasts upon him.

He remembered reading a book about how predatory animals always targeted the weakest of a pack first. What was the example again? Something about lions picking off the sickly gazelles in the savanna. He'd always felt pity for them, unable to defend themselves against their impending doom...

"Alpha, leading down the gorge on this side," Chief called.

"It's starting.”

"Yep."

"I'll make the first move," Summer said.

Roads took a panicked breath, and shut his eyes.

"I see the first one from this side. I'll take it in three... two...”

The sound of rocks falling echoed through the gorge.

“He's down!" she shouted.

Roads’ eyes jerked open when he heard a feral roar. He twisted his head to see one of the chimeras fall to the ground, trapped under a boulder Summer had magically ripped from the canyon wall.

All at once, predators descended on them, some leaping down from the ridge, others sprinting down the gorge. He barely saw the beasts rush down at him, howling and screeching, before panic enveloped him.

His vision grew tight—he panicked. He felt death closing in at all sides—adrenaline pumping through his system—taking to the skies—leaving behind Summer and Chief. The roars of the animals filled his ears—visions of their massive teeth and claws tearing at his flesh—shooting out of the gorge like a bullet—flying faster than he ever had before. A sick feeling welled up in his stomach as he barreled away from his companions.

_________________________________________________________

Far below him, Summer had already dispatched two of the animals. One lay on the ground, unconscious after being thrown into a wall; the other was motionless, trapped under the boulder. A third leapt at her, teeth bared, mouth gushing flames. She barely had time to erect a magical barrier before the beast reached her. The chimera crashed into the enchanted wall and it folded in, shattering. The animal fell onto Summer, stunned from the collision, but still very much alive.

Meanwhile, Chief had already downed his first attacker, one of the smaller, more foolish predators who had charged him only to have its skull crushed by a massive hoof. Now he faced down the two remaining chimeras. The alpha and his mate. They kept their distance, lashing out with claws and flames, though Chief stayed well out of range. Eventually, the smaller one got too close, and found itself tackled by the earth pony. His back hoof crushed its snake headed tail, and as it tried to bathe him in flames, Chief collapsed its windpipe with a blow to the throat.

Still, the beast found purchase with its draconic claws and raked his underbelly, opening wide gashes as the pony grunted in pain. Chief thrust himself off of the animal as its companion charged towards him, opening its jaws for a fatal strike. The crushing bite met only air. Chief dodged away from the attacker, bashing its side as he retreated. Ribs broken, the thing roared in pain as its underling gagged and hissed on the ground, trying desperately to breathe again.

The alpha male charged him again, flames pouring from its mouth. This time Chief darted into the fire, head down, baring the brunt of it with one shoulder. He winced as his coat singed away, but quickly caught the chimera around the throat. Momentum carrying him into the air, he pulled the animal off the ground.

For a moment the two hung almost still, the chimera clawing at his legs as he crushed the life out of it. After a second, the two hit the ground, Chief on top as he slammed its head into the dirt. The thing hissed and roared, its venomous tail pinned underneath it, desperately slicing with its foreclaws at Chief. He beat its head once more into the ground and the beast ceased its struggle.

Chief rose, and, seeing the other chimera trying to rise, ended it with a swift kick to the head. As roars and shouts echoed across the canyon walls, he turned to see Summer struggling with the last animal. She lay on the ground underneath it, desperately pinning the serpentine tail with her rear legs as she held its head away from her. Fortunately for her, its two foreclaws were pinned beneath her back, harmless beneath their combined weight.

Sprinting over to her, the earth pony bit down on the back of the chimera’s neck, and with a flick of his neck, hurled it away. With a sickening thud, it smashed into the rocky wall and fell motionless to the ground.

He helped up Summer, who, with but a few mild burns and gashes, seemed only slightly worse for the wear. Trudging over to the boulder-trapped chimera, he leaned down and quietly brained it with one hoof.

"Sweet Princess, Chief, doesn't that hurt?" she asked, looking him over.

He glanced down to see that his right shoulder was burnt to a crisp, and his coat was stained red with blood.

"Used to it," he grunted.

He found the first aid kit he had been using earlier, handed it to Summer and eased himself into a sitting position to let her bind his wounds.

Thank the Princesses for stitches and burn salve...

"You gonna be alright?" she asked.

"Yeah. You?"

Summer shrugged. "I’ll survive." She patched the major wounds, then looked up and realised something.

"Hey, Chief? Where the hell is Roads?"

"Flew off," he growled.

"I’m going to kill him," she growled.

Chief grunted in agreement.

_________________________________________________________

Panic. Distress.

His heart beat loudly in his chest—louder than the wind in his ears. His mouth was dry, his eyes wide—flying frantically across the island—heading for the beach. Behind him, the roars of the chimeras faded. His terror remained. Every shadow between the trees was a predator; every cloud a bird of prey, swooping in to devour him—everything fading into a haze of hysteria and terror.

Finally, he reached the beachfront—fear passing slowly—near where their camp had been the night before. He wasn’t sure why he had come here—he could be attacked on the sand as easily as anywhere else. Nowhere else to go.

Folding his wings, he landed hard. He whirled around to stare at the jungle, breathing heavily with aching lungs. For a moment, he thought he would be sick. Eventually, though, his fear began to subside, fading away as he gazed into the forest. Roads tried to collect himself and his thoughts, but his mind continued to race.

Princess alive, they're going to be pissed that I left them there! Was I told that I had to stay? I think it was implied—they'll skin me alive when they see me again! Unless the chimeras got them... he gasped as a second bolt of fear ran through him.

What if they're dead? What if I left them and now they're dead? What will Celestia think? How will I even get back home? I can't pilot a zeppelin, and I sure can't survive by myself out here long enough to be rescued. Even if I could survive I'd never get rescued; no one even knows where we are! I'll have to go find them...

He dreaded returning to the gorge, but he had to know if he was going to be alone on the island. Unfurling his wings, he took off once more.

It took him a while to find the canyon; he had been so terrified before that he could hardly recall where he had been flying. Finally, though, he located the twin ridges that formed it and dove towards the gorge. As he flew closer, he noticed two spots, brown and blue, moving below him.

They were alive, thank Celestia! Perhaps they wouldn't even notice he had left them. What was he even supposed to do anyway? He was scrawny and helpless, utterly unsuited for combat. How was he supposed to defend himself? Surely they would understand that he had simply recognized that he couldn't further the situation, so he removed himself from it. Fear never entered into it. Never. He was just doing what was logical.

How he hoped Chief would see it that way.

When he landed, he was greeted by an icy smile from Summer. Perhaps she didn't mind his absence.

"Oh, Roads, so glad you could join us."

Perhaps not. Her voice was cold and malicious, burning with a disgust only thinly veiled by a disturbing pleasantness.

"Oh, uh, hey. Good to see you're alright. I see the chimeras have been dealt with..." he said, looking over the bodies of the predators. He attempted a grin, but could manage only a sheepish grimace.

"How nice to see you're concerned with our well being. Have a nice trip?"

Her voice dripped with sarcasm and her eyes bored into him. If she could kill with a glare, Roads would've died then and there.

"Um, yes, well, sorry about that."

He could not meet her gaze.

"Oh, quite alright. The penalty for desertion is normally death, you see, but—"

"—desert? I never deserted! What could I have done? I was just leaving to let the two of you—" he tried to explain, but Summer cut him off.

"Stop. Stop right there. You’ve screwed up once already, don't you dare feed me an excuse!” Her voice rose with unbridled wrath, a cold fury that left Roads feeling tiny and insignificant, an ant about to be crushed. “You will take responsibility for your actions on this expedition. No excuses. Am I clear?" All pretenses evaporated. Her false smile was gone, leaving behind a burning scowl.

"Y-yes," he said with a gulp.

He was not sure she was right, but he was not going to make the mistake of voicing that particular opinion.

At that, Summer restrained herself once more, and when she spoke again, her voice was lowered. "Good then. As I was saying, the penalty for desertion is usually death. That's how I wanted to deal with this. But you got lucky. Chief was in a particularly merciful mood today, despite being charred nearly to a crisp. Isn't that right, Chief?" she turned her head to look at him.

From his seat on the medical stretcher, Chief gave an affirmative grunt as he brushed dried blood off his face. "So," she continued, "instead of being beheaded, you've only been demoted."

"Demoted? What do you mean?! You can't do that, I just—"

"Shut up," Chief growled. "You left your team. Coward. At least take your punishment like a stallion."

Take it like a stallion... Roads had heard those words before. They echoed loud through his mind. All of his explanations and excuses faded away as he realised just how wrong he was. Something sank in his chest, and he hung his head, not willing to look Chief in the eye.

"Where was I? Oh, yeah. Demoted. Right. Anyway, since you've made it very clear that you can't handle being a spec, you've been field demoted. And you might ask, in your ignorance, 'but Summer, what station could possibly be more degrading and base than that of a lowly spec?'

“Well, I'm glad you asked, Roads, because I've an answer for you: pack mule. Here's how this works: you carry our stuff—all of it—wherever we go, and in return, we don't tie you to a stake in the middle of this gorge and leave you to rot. Maybe if you work hard enough, you can get re-promoted. Or not. That's up to you. But—listen carefully, I’m only saying this once—if you ever even think about pulling shit like this again, you're done. Over. Capisce?" Summer asked.

Roads nodded his head, feeling a sudden pressure on his shoulders as Chief strapped the sled across it. The other two tossed their bags onto the sled, and their weight ground it into his back. Roads gave a small sigh.

I deserve this, he thought. His mistake was clear to him now, burning in his mind, all of his excuses replaced by a seething self-loathing. His father had been right the whole time. He didn’t belong out here, or even deserve to be on the trip in the first place. He was weak. And now Summer and Chief knew, and now they hated him. Wonderful. He’d had something perfect going, and it had only taken him twenty-four hours to blow it.

Great job, Roads, bang-up job, he thought. One day into a research job and you already alienated your coworkers and got yourself demoted. Fantastic work.

"Ready to go?" Summer asked, eyeing him.

"Sure," he sighed.

The two turned to leave, and Roads struggled to follow them. It took him a few tries to get the sled moving, and once it did it dragged heavily across the ground. Under its weight, he had to strain to move at a pace just slower than walking.

Chest heaving, he managed to walk all the way to the end of the gorge, where the ground steeped into an incline, merging with the flattened ridges. Halfway up the slope, though, he could pull it no farther.

"Can you help me out?" He called to Chief, "I can't move this."

"Don’t tell me you won’t. Just move."

"I didn't say I wouldn't, I said I couldn't!"

"Same thing." Chief glared at him and turned away.

Roads sighed. Seemed he would be on his own on this one. Gritting his teeth, he pulled as fiercely as he could. Slowly, the sled began to move, inching its way through the mud as he clawed his way to the top of the hill. After nearly a minute, he had moved fifty feet to where the incline leveled off. He stopped for a moment, panting, and wiped the sweat from his brow.

"Let's go," Summer said, "daylight's burning."

With a shrug he moved on. As they moved away from the canyon, the foliage thickened once more, and Roads was forced to follow the narrow paths left by Chief as he struggled to drag his new burden. Legs aflame as he pressed on, all Roads could think was 'I deserve this.' Periodically, Summer would look back to make sure he was keeping up with the group.

Each time she did, his face burned with shame.

They walked farther and farther, making their way to a lake Summer estimated was only a half-mile away. As they moved, Roads’ breath grew ragged and heavy, his back aching, his neck sore. He wondered if he could make it all the way to the new campsite, but he knew he could not give up. Even as his body threatened to collapse, he pressed on, muscles exhausted, mouth dry, silently desperate to prove his worth to himself and to his colleagues. The weight of the sled was nothing compared to total humiliation.

Finally, after what seemed like hours, the party came upon a wide, steady stream. They followed its bank a ways to the north to find a small, glistening lake. It was perhaps the most beautiful thing Roads had ever laid eyes on.

Cool and clear, the trees around it thinned into a rocky shore that lined smooth, glassy waters that sparkled under the sun. On one edge, the bank was interrupted by a series of asperous cliffs that jutted from the water, towering over the rippling pool. By the time they reached it, Roads felt as though he was on the verge of passing out. His legs wobbled underneath him. He couldn’t get his eyes to focus, and he was beginning to gag on his own tongue.

"We done?" he asked Summer, his voice slurred from exhaustion.

"Not yet. I figure it'd be best to set up camp on the other side of the lake."

He couldn't tell if she actually meant it, or if she was just tormenting him. He groaned inwardly, but made an effort not to give off a sign of his despair.

"Alright then."

Had he been less delirious, he might have noticed Summer studying his reaction, but at the moment, he was having trouble even standing up properly. If she was satisfied with his answer, she didn't show it, instead turning around and continuing around the lake. He followed her to the opposite bank, stopping where the shoreline met the cliffs. After Roads moved next to one of the stony outcroppings, Chief unhinged him from the stretcher and he collapsed. Dragging himself a few feet to the edge of the lake, he drank greedily from the fresh, cool water.

Having drunk his fill, he got to his hooves and staggered back to the new camp, where Summer and Chief had already unpacked their things and arranged the tents against the cliff. They stacked the now unloaded cargo around them, forming a circle around a firepit Chief had dug and lined with large stones.

Roads made his way into the camp and collapsed onto one of the rocks, his legs numb and weak from the trip. He closed his eyes as he lay against the stone, resting. It was cool and smooth, comfortable against his aching limbs. He was just getting settled when he felt a hoof nudge his ribs.

"All right, we've got more work to do, I've got an island to map, and you've got some herbs to pick. Ready to be a spec again?" Summer asked.

"I guess," he said, opening an eye to look at her.

It seemed his punishment was over. Somehow, it didn't feel over. He still cringed with humiliation under Summer's scrutiny, chest tight with shame.

"You guess?" she asked, eyeing him closely.

"Yeah."

Summer looked down on the pegasus, who seemed to shy away from her words like a dog expecting to be hit, and gave a sigh.

"Alright, then. Let's go. We've got a good bit of area to cover. Check the crates for sampling equipment and our ecological journal, then let's head out."

Roads nodded and struggled to his hooves. He rolled out his sleeping bag and emptied the contents of his pack onto it. After making his way to the cargo, he found an odd assortment of clippers, vials, mounting pastes and papers, and a miniature plant press. He shoved them in his pack and heaved it over his aching shoulders. Groaning as the newly filled sacks weighed on his back, he tottered over to Summer. She stood at the edge of the lake, marking down a series of numbers and illustrations as she peered through what looked to be a small, tripod-mounted telescope, replete with a complex array of tiny knobs, levers, and levels.

"What's that?"

"Theodolite. Measures horizontal and vertical angles so I can get precise information on distances and such. Makes mapmaking easy."

"I see." He didn't.

After a moment, Summer pulled away from the 'theodolite,' and her horn began to glow, casting a translucent blue aura around her eyes. She stood still for a few seconds, staring at something Roads could not see, then turned abruptly.

"This way," she said.

Chief, who had been assembling a makeshift barrier around the camp out of logs and sharpened sticks, heard her and rose from his work to meet her at the edge of the forest. Summer marched confidently off into the jungle, levitating a sun compass and the theodolite behind her. Fortunately for the now heavily bandaged Chief, the jungle was thinner here. He and Roads were able to easily follow Summer as she made her way through the trees. Every so often, she would stop, set down her equipment and take a few minutes to mark down illegible scribbles onto one of the sheaves of papers she carried with her.

Whenever she did this, Roads found himself free to scout out the area for anything green, interesting, and unusual. He did so silently and compliantly. It was hard to feel entitled when he was so busy kicking himself for screwing up.

It helped that he found the job not entirely dissatisfying. As he worked, he came across a wide variety of enchanted plants, most of which were not uncommon. Every so often, he would come across an herb he didn’t recognize, but for the most part, the magical plants here were similar to those in the Everfree—though larger, and much more potent.

He found this especially true when the group was forced to circumvent an entire field of dark brown flowers that grew almost to the height of his chest and gave off a foul, rancid odor. Chief cracked his neck and stepped forward, ready to thrash his way through them.

“Stop,” Roads called out, grabbing him by the tail.

“What?” the earth pony grunted.

“It’s baneweed. Walk through it, and you won’t be able to keep food down for three weeks.”

“Roads, that’s not baneweed,” Summer said. “I’ve seen that stuff before. Baneweed flowers are tiny and grey, nothing like this.”

“Maybe in some places, but in the Everfree, it looks and smells just like this. Only smaller.”

“See? ‘Smaller.’ Stuff’s not baneweed.”

“Have you noticed that every plant on this island is about twice as large as it should be? You think the poisonous stuff is going to be any different?”

Summer narrowed her eyes. “Fine. Better safe than sorry. Let’s head around it, Chief.”

He noticed her mark a few coordinates on her papers along with a large 'X.' He carefully took a sample of the plants, then the three moved on.

They worked for hours, following Summer as she wandered across half the island, stopping frequently to work on her map. Roads did his job as quietly as possible, ego still smarting from his punishment. He tried to draw as little attention to himself as he could, and was happy his two colleagues were virtually ignoring him.

After a while, he had nearly filled his bags with samples of magical herbs. The size and potency of the plants intrigued him. Roads wondered if it could have something to do with the powerful magical properties of the land itself. He was hesitant to make any judgements, however, as his Attunement potion had long since worn off, and he was unable to tell anything about the magic of the island.

Still, one couldn't help but wonder...

The island did seem to have plenty of places suitable for nexi. As he followed Summer through the green overgrowth of the jungle, they came across numerous geological aberrations. The unicorn seemed to sense the presence of grottos and springs and craggy fissures; she led them to numerous areas where the grass and trees appeared to have been cleared by magical forces.

Finally, Roads had to ask.

"How are you doing that?"

"What?"

"Finding landmarks like that. Stumbling across them is one thing, but you're leading us straight to them."

"It's called an eagle eye spell. Lets me see nearly the whole island from above."

"I've never heard of it."

Roads was not an expert on arcane magic, but in his reading he had still come across almost every type of spell imaginable.

"Figures you wouldn't have. It's not exactly useful to your average unicorn, so it doesn't get brought up that much outside of cartographical circles."

"Huh. Still, I should’ve at least heard of it."

Roads made a mental note to look up the spell later. Summer just shrugged and went back to work.

Eventually, after the three had covered nearly every inch of the island on one side of the volcanic mountain, the sun began to dip slowly across the horizon. Summer declared them finished for the day, and the group turned to make their way back to camp. Trekking across streams and fallen trees, they came upon a strange grove they had not discovered before.

Here, rows of squat trees grew in perfect lines, each of them covered in odd yellow flowers. The trio moved into the grove slowly, perplexed by the unnatural pattern of the flora. Besides grass, no other plants grew along the bases of the trees, which were each spaced almost exactly five meters from each other, creating a perfect grid.

Summer immediately pulled out her papers and began to scribble down notes across them. Moving tensely between the trees, Chief stalked about the grove like a tiger, scowling as he searched.

"Something's not right here," he said, measuring out the distance between the trees and finding it even. His eyes darted this way and that, head swiveling at every sound. "The trees didn't just grow. They were planted. Cultivated."

"This island is uninhabited," Summer replied. "It wasn't even on the map."

That did little to ease his tension.

Roads, on the other hoof, didn’t share his companions' apprehension. As they discussed the grove, he turned and lurched away from them, inspecting one of the trees. Approaching it, he reared and grabbed one of the branches, bending it down to inspect one of the flowers.

It appeared to be a sort of lotus, round and yellow, the tips of its petals open wide, circling around a gleaming white core.

That's strange, he thought, lotuses don't grow on trees. I've never seen anything like it.

Dripping with a strange nectar, the flowers gave off an odd, sweet scent that made Roads' stomach growl. Some of them had borne fruit. He picked some of it, suddenly intensely hungry in a way only the mysterious pome could satisfy.

Ordinarily, he would never have eaten anything off of a strange tree growing on a magical island, but the longer he held the fruit, the harder it became to think straight. The inhibitions faded away as his brain became increasingly addled.

Before he could think to stop himself, he stuffed half of the fruit into his mouth, chewing voraciously. The fruit was sweet and juicy, better tasting than anything he had eaten in months. The sensation was surreal, and as he ate, a warmth and contentment spread through his body. Hunger sated, he walked back over to Summer and and Chief. Sitting down next to them, he swallowed, an odd euphoria washing over him.

"...it's not natural. We aren't alone here," Chief was saying to Summer.

"Hey, guys..." he said, his voice slurring, a strange smile spreading across his face as he took another bite of the lotus-fruit.

Summer turned to him, and was about to reply, when her eyes grew wide.

"Roads, what are you eating?"

"I dunno," he said, swallowing the last of the fruit, "I found it on one of the trees. It's really good, you should try it."

"What?" Summer leapt to her feet. "You ate Apathy Lotus? What were you thinking?"

"Is that what it's called?"

Roads couldn't understand her alarm. Why yell? Everything was so wonderful. He felt enveloped in a warm, content glow, and as he looked around him, his surroundings seemed softer. Hard lines disappeared, dark colors tuning into bright, happy hues. He wanted to stay on this island forever. It was so pleasant here.

"Idiot," Chief said gruffly.

Roads turned to look him. Such a nice pony. He'd never really noticed before just how charming Chief could be; he had such a way with words. So handsome, too. Those scars really complimented his physique. He couldn't think of anypony who could possibly be a better friend—he was always ready for conversation, always ready to listen. Roads was glad they were conversing. It was just... nice.

"Thank you," he said with a smile, his eyelids drooping.

Chief gave a dismissive snort.

"Roads, that fruit you ate was magical. It causes delirium and euphoria. And total, utter, uselessness. But then, I guess that wouldn’t be much of a change," Summer said.

He looked over to her as he laid down on the soft, cushy grass. Wow. She was so beautiful. He hadn't caught that before. With her partially matted, uncombed mane, and stiff, efficient movement, she was the essence of feminine grace. So lovely.

“That’s okay. Everything’s okay.” He stared at her and smiled. “You’re really nice. I’m glad we met.”

She buried her face in her hooves. That was cute. She was cute. She probably had to beat the stallions off with a stick back home. He'd never really met a girl like that. Except for maybe Ditsy. And also, Chelsea. And everypony. Everypony was just so great. He really liked everypony.

"You know what I'd like to do?" he asked his companions.

They didn't ask what he would like to do, so he continued.

"I'd like to give the world a hug. I mean it. All of it. I just wanna hug the whole world, and everything in it. Starting with you, Chief." Roads made a slow, unsteady movement towards Chief, forelegs wide, and was bowled over by a hoof to the face.

"Close enough," he said.

He smiled euphorically up at him from his spot on the ground. He tried to stand again, but all of his muscles seemed so loose. Like gelatin.

He liked gelatin.

Summer slipped a foreleg under one of his and lifted him from the ground. "Let's get you back to the camp," she sighed, steadying the pegasus as he swayed on his hooves. Chief nodded as Summer magically lifted Roads into the air and draped him over the earth pony’s back.

"Why thank you," he said, giggling from his spot on Chief.

Summer was so helpful.

"Hey Summer?" he asked.

"What?"

"You wanna go with me to the ball? I don't have a date yet."

He tried to flash her a winning smile, but his lips didn’t seem to be working properly. The end result was a lopsided rictus grin. Good enough.

"What are you talking about?" she asked flatly.

"The island ball. Where all the islanders dance. At the ball. On the island."

How had she not heard? He thought everypony had heard. He'd most certainly heard, though he couldn't remember when. Come to think of it, he couldn't remember much of anything. Oh well. It wasn't anything to worry about. Nothing was anything to worry about.

"No," Summer replied.

"Okay then. Suit yourself."

"Why couldn't he have eaten something that would shut him up?" Chief grumbled.

"Eaten what? Do we have food? Can we stop? I'm hungry. I think I'd like a hamburger," Roads said. He had very suddenly found it difficult not to say whatever popped into his head.

"You'd like a what?" Summer asked.

"A hamburger."

"What's that?"

"I dunno."

Summer sighed. For a moment, they walked in relative silence, only the sounds of the island birds and bugs breaking the stillness. Then another thought occurred to Roads.

"Hey, guys, did you ever think about birds?" he asked, eyes wide.

"...no?"

"Because I was just thinking... like, what if there were birds that could talk? Did you ever think about that?"

"...no." Summer said flatly. "Don’t talk so much."

"Okay." Roads nodded sagely, then stared off into the distance, eyes unfocused, lost in his own mind.

Summer eyed him as they walked. She supposed it wasn't his fault that he had eaten hallucinogens—he didn't know any better—but that didn't make him any less annoying. Though she supposed it was entertaining to watch him get under Chief's skin; at the moment, the earth pony was nearly trembling with suppressed rage and frustration. She chuckled at him for a moment, then looked up to see that they had reached the camp.

"Home!" Roads babbled excitedly.

Chief shrugged him off of his back, dumping the pegasus into the dirt.

"Got anything that'll fix him?" he asked.

"I don't think Roads can ever be fixed—but I do know a way to reverse the effects of the lotus," she said with a smile.

Her horn glowed, and Roads was enveloped in a blue aura. The magic lifted him off to the ground and sent him sailing into the lake. For a moment, the water was still, then Roads burst through the surface of the pond, hacking and gagging.

"What the hell?!" he cried between coughs.

"Well, that was easy," Summer remarked to Chief.

He gave a dismissive grunt and lumbered over to his tent.

"What's going on?" Roads shouted from the water as he paddled to the shore. "What happened?" His eyes grew wide as memories from the past twenty minutes made their way slowly back into his brain. "Oh, no. No, no, no... What was I talking about?!" he asked in dismay as he climbed out of the lake.

"No idea," Summer replied, sitting down to start a fire.

"I'm an idiot," he said, drying himself off. "A grade-A moron."

"Yeah, well, that's what Chief kept telling you. I believe you said something along the lines of 'thank you.'"

"What was that stuff?"

"Apathy Lotus. Grows occasionally on islands in the Triangle, and never anywhere else."

"I'd never heard of it, I swear!"

"Well, I figured."

Summer popped open a cargo crate and began cooking dinner. Moving over to the fire, Roads sat back against a rock, resting aching legs, and sighed.

"It doesn't matter though. They say ignorance is no excuse for stupidity."

Summer looked over at him, unspeaking, and cocked an eyebrow. She had figured something like this would be coming.

"And that's all I've done today, isn’t it? Act stupid and drag your stuff around," he paused for a moment, pressing a hoof against his forehead.

"Geez, I mean, it was just one thing after another. First desertion, then I nearly passed out walking to camp, then this? And I never even got any real work done. Never did what I was sent out here to do. Never mind that I was supposed to be picking herbs—I mean, I didn't even do that right! I got high off the plants I was supposed to be taking samples of.

“It's stuff like that that makes me wonder if I should even be out here. I mean, it's obvious I don't belong out here, on an island. And, really, I don't belong with you guys."

He looked up at Summer, who stood next to the fire, cooking dinner. He wasn't sure if she was listening, but he continued. Talking put him at ease, loosening the tightness in his chest.

"It's just like Chief is always saying, you know? I'm 'soft.' Not all outdoorsy like you two, just a soft, squishy race-traitor who never should've left the library. I don't fit in out here, and you guys hate me for it. I mean, really hate me. And why shouldn't you? I'm a screwup. Have been all my life..."

He stared pensively into the fire. He was quiet for long enough that Summer finally looked up at him.

"Oh, is that it? Done feeling sorry for yourself? Is the pity party over, or should I wait a bit longer? Do you want confetti?"

Roads just shrugged. Summer sighed.

"Look, spec, you're right. Mostly. You've spent most of today messing up this expedition, and that kinda ticks off me and Chief. But no, we don’t hate you. That’s stupid. Up until right now, I thought you might actually be able to hold yourself together on your first day, which I thought was kind of decent. Obviously, I overestimated you, but that's irrelevant. Catch my drift?”

Roads shook his head. Summer sighed again.

“Look, what I'm saying is, you gotta get over yourself. If Chief and I are tough on you, that's only because we think it'll help you out. Because in case you haven’t noticed, we need you to be on your game out here. There’s only three of us when there should be six or seven. That means we can’t carry your weight.”

“Neither can I,” he mumbled. “Too soft.”

“Yeah, Roads, you’re soft. Really, no denying that. But honestly, if there're two ponies in all of Equestria that can get you to get over that, it's me and Chief. I mean, if we didn't care, we wouldn't even bother, now would we? You might just have a shred of potential, spec, and it'd be a shame if you wasted it by going around moping.”

He looked at her, confused. Potential? Him?

“So, if you're done being all pathetic and whiny, then the food's ready. I'm about to crack open some booze, and you're free to join me. Otherwise, roll over, go to sleep, and I'm just gonna hope you wake up tomorrow morning with your head on straight."

Summer stood and offered him a bowl. He looked up at her, simultaneously insulted and complimented by her speech, and, after a moment of reflection, took it.

"You're right, I guess. And thanks, it really helps to hear that you c—"

"Alright, whatever, spec. Don't be getting all sappy on me just because a beautiful woman tossed you a compliment for the first time in your life," she said with a grin.

"I don't really think 'beautiful' is the right word—though you do have a sort of rugged, masculine appeal that some guys might find attractive. Y'know, if they're into that sort of thing."

"I oughta slap you," Summer said.

"You wouldn't dare.”

A magical blow knocked him off the rock he was sitting on. Groaning as he stretched sore muscles, he pulled himself back up just in time to catch a flask Summer tossed him.

"What's this?"

"Rum. I'm not the best cook, so that's what you get to wash your meal down with."

“You? A bad cook? Really?”

“Just drink it, spec.”

Roads took a sip. "Huh. Not bad. Pretty strong."

"Yep. Try not to give yourself a hangover. Splitting headaches and tropical climates do not mix well, trust me."

"I see." He turned to Chief, who was emerging from his tent to get his nightly fill of D-ration bars. "Ugh. How do you eat those things?" he asked.

"Tastes good,” he replied. “Like a boiled potato.”

"Suit yourself, I guess," he said. He raised the flask. "Want some?"

Chief turned and glared at him, suddenly scowling heavily. Summer's eyes grew wide, though Roads didn't notice.

"No. Never. It's weak. Stupid. Don’t need it." He spat the words, voice dripping with derision.

"What are you talking about?" Roads cocked his head to the side, raising an eyebrow.

"Can't deal with the world on your own. Need alcohol. Stuff gets ponies killed," he growled almost incoherently.

"What? What is he talking about?" he asked, turning to glance over to Summer.

"Drop it," she said tensely.

Roads turned around to look at Chief, who was still glaring at him.

"Never mind," he said, dropping his gaze.

"That's what I thought," Chief replied. He turned and stomped back to his tent, muttering something about 'distractions' and 'escapism.'

"What was that all about?" he asked, shocked.

"Long story, really personal. He'll tell you when he's ready. Or when he thinks you're ready. Or never, most likely. Don't worry about it, just remember that Chief can get touchy about alcohol."

"Touchy? That’s 'touchy'? He was furious! I didn't even do anything!"

"Try not to think about it."

"Fine." He sat quiet for a moment, eating and drinking as he tried to think of something to talk about. Finally, something occurred to him.

"So, how long have you been doing this, anyway?" he asked, breaking the silence.

"Just about forever, it feels like. Something around eight years—that's when I left vocational school."

"Vocational school?"

"Yep. Enrolled after I got this," she said, gesturing to her cutie mark, a red and blue compass rose.

"How’d you get that?"

"It's kind of a long story, but basically, there were these woods out by this one house I lived in for a while, and whenever I got bored or felt like being alone for a bit, I'd head out there and explore. Got to where I knew just about every inch of it within a mile of the house.

“One day, though I decided to see how far out I could go. I ended up getting lost for two days straight. Had to live off the land, all that jazz. Anyway, it took me forever, but I finally found my way back, as soon as I did, I realized something. That this was how I wanted to spend my life. Out, where no one had ever been, just finding my way around. Just... surviving. By the time I made it back in town, this had appeared.”

"No one noticed you were missing for two days?"

"Ehh, my folks weren't the most attentive bunch. What about you, how'd you end up a magic expert? Not exactly common for an pegasus, is it?”

He gave a bitter laugh. “No, not really. It’s... it’s a long story."

"What, you think I’ve got somewhere to go?" she asked. “I mean, the island ball isn’t for another few days...”

“Island ball? What are you—oh. Right. Hilarious, thanks.”

“Any time, stud. Seriously, though, I’m curious. What’s your story, spec?”

"Okay," he said, wings ruffling as a nervous pang worked its way through his stomach. "I'll just, uh, give you the short version. So, when I was younger, I used to spend all my time reading. I read just about anything, really, and never exactly thought a whole lot about it. I just sort of picked up whatever was available around the house.

“This one day, though, my mom took me to the Cloudsdale library and I stumbled across this book on magic. It was the best thing I'd ever read, and after that, I spent all my time studying magic at my house instead of practicing flying like the normal—like everypony else.

“That's basically how I spent my childhood, really. Locked up in my room studying because my parents—because I didn't have any reason to come out. Anyway, eventually, the local librarian took a notice to my habit and penned a letter to the Princess.

“Apparently she found out there was some program at Celestia’s School for Gifted Unicorns for those who were considered 'gifted' but not... well, unicorns. I ended up getting really, really lucky and getting an audience with the Princess herself. After passing an oral exam, she let me into the school. I studied hard, graduated, and went into the only field I thought I had a chance in. Ley magic," he finished, out of breath.

"That's the short version?" Summer asked.

"Yep."

You don't know the half of it, he thought, contemplating how much he had managed to omit.

"Well, good for you. I'd been meaning to ask about that, by the way. The whole race-traitor thing. What's with that?"

"What, you’ve never heard about that?”

“I thought people stopped saying that years ago. Before we were even born, you know?”

“Nope. It’s definitely still a thing. At least where I’m from. Read a magic book as an pegasus? Race-traitor. Tend a crop as a unicorn? Race-traitor.”

“And if you work in a weather factory as an earth pony?”

“Not a race-traitor. Because no one’s gonna call an earth pony who can cast a cloudwalking spell any names.”

Summer laughed at that.

“So, you’d really never heard anypony talk about that?” Roads asked.

“Not in a long time. Not since I heard you say it just now. If you work where I work, with the ponies I work with, you find out pretty quick there’s only one thing that’s important: how well you can do your job. Doesn’t matter if you’re a pegasus, a unicorn, an earth pony, hell, even a zebra. No sweat.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. In our world, you can’t afford petty differences over stuff that doesn’t matter. That stuff, that’s for folks who don’t have to worry about survival.”

"Huh."

"Yep."

They sat in silence for another moment, dinner finished, each taking small drinks from the flask. Another thought popped into Roads' head, one he might have felt silly for asking, but now the alcohol was beginning to take effect.

"Hey Summer, do ponies really sing campfire songs on trips like this? You know, out in the woods... drinking and singing..." he asked.

"No. That's just a stupid cliche."

"Oh. Right."

“You read too many books.”

“Yeah, I guess I do.”

"I mean, why would anypony ever do that?"

"I dunno.”

“It's silly, really. If you think about it."

“Yeah. It’s dumb. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

Silence fell over both of them once more, until Summer, taking a large gulp from the flask, spoke again, softly.

"Mockingbird... fly away now..."

"What? Sorry, I didn't catch that."

"...You have no cause to stay around me now..."

“Are you—?”

She her voice was louder, now, and more musical. She must have had more rum than he thought. Roads smiled. On the next line, he joined in.

"...Mockingbird... fly away..."

Her voice was loud and clear now, lilting as it easily carried the tune. It was actually rather nice, in an odd sort of way. Fortunately, it drowned out much of Roads' tone-deaf drawl.

"Tomorrow... he could hear you...
He’d rise and see you there in the morning light
Mockingbird... fly away”

Their drunken voices intermingled, full and rich and slurred with alcohol.

"There’s no time... you should go now...
Take his gift and soar away from here
Mockingbird...
Fly away..."

“I love that one,” Roads said as Summer let the last note die.

She glanced over at him, a strange look on her face. “Yeah. Yeah, it’s a good one. I haven’t heard it in a long, long time...” she said, staring into the fire.

“Really? I used to hear it all the time back in school.”

“Yeah,” she said, almost absentmindedly. “It was popular around then, wasn’t it? Guy I used to know taught it to me, back when they first wrote it. I hadn’t thought about that in a long time...”

Roads stared at her. Her brow was furrowed, hooves rubbing at the stone beneath her. She was still staring pensively into the flames.

“Uh...” he started to say.

She glanced up at him. “You know what?” she asked. “I think I’ve had a bit too much rum for tonight, I’m gonna go ahead and hit the hay.”

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “Yeah, me too...”

“Good night, Roads,” she said as she wandered off to her tent.

“Yeah,” he said, laying down in his sleeping back. “You, too.”

That was strange. That was definitely strange. But really, the whole day had been strange. Hell, the whole island was strange.

Strange islands, strange ponies... There was so much he didn’t understand, so much he didn’t know. He had hoped the journey would bring answers, but instead there were only more questions.

He turned over, his eyes fluttering shut. The rum was making him drowsy. He felt himself drifting off to sleep.

Maybe... he thought as his mind raced to darkness. Maybe tomorrow will bring an answer. A small one, just one. Maybe...

V

View Online

He can hear the storm raging below him. Thundercracks. Rain falling to the earth under a twisted sky. Above, on the tops of the clouds, a temporary peace. The sun dipping across the sky, Cloudsdale cast in a deep red glow. A quiet afternoon, for now.

He stands outside the house, stares up at the door. A different sort of storm waits for him inside. A hoof—tentatively raised—moves and the door slides away from him. Inside, the cloud-house is dark. A malevolent stillness, brooding, waiting.

A voice breaks the silence.

"Where have you been?" An accusation. A glare. An indictment.

"School."

He pauses, takes another sip of whiskey.

"Liar. I checked." His words are slurred. He is already drunk.

The lie is not repeated. The child stares at the ground.

"Where have you been?" A gaze penetrating, a sternness unwavering.

"Library."

"Library... always at the damn library... studying up to trade in your wings..."

Why can't the boy see the problem? If the books were gone everything would be all right again. If he would fly right, if only he would fly right...

He is so tired. Tired of passing the old stadium in defeat. Tired of his factory job. Tired of the injury. The shame, the humiliation, the pain. A bum wing and a shattered reputation. He knows they laugh at him behind his back. They are too quick to be caught, but he knows. The boy could fly like him, he knows it. Could make the Wonderbolts, and then who would be laughing?

Nopony. Like father, like son; a glorious family.

Why can't the child see? Why won't he understand that everything can be all right again? It must be the books, the magic, the damned unicorns working at the library. They are a distraction, a corruption. A gap in focus that is eating away at his dreams. He needs to be rid of them.

"You can take the books away from the boy... but you can never keep them out of his head..."

"I'm sorry."

"You aren't. You skipped flight class every day this month to go to the library. To be with the unicorns. You aren't sorry."

"I'm sorry!"

"No... no, I'll make you sorry. If you won't go to flight practice, flight practice can come to you..."

The colt is taken by the hoof. Led outside. Above the storm, a track built of clouds in the backyard. A shove.

"Go on, fly. Fast, like I taught you."

"Where? For how long?"

"Down and back, until I tell you to stop."

A moment passes. He does nothing, a tiny defiance. He stares up at his father.

"Do it."

There is a violence in the words. Tremors shoot down his spine. Gangly wings unfold and he takes off. Down to the end of the track, then back up. Unsteady in the air. Wobbling, like a young bird.

His breath comes faster as he flies to the end and back once more. The wings are outsized, heavy and awkward, beating slowly. He begins to stop, but sees his father's glare.

Once more, down, then to the house. He is panting, sweating. An urge to go further, to move faster. He has to, if he doesn’t, it will be... bad.

He struggles to fly faster. The effort brings stars to his eyes. He is growing lightheaded...

Up and down the track, again and again. He has never flown this far. His entire body feels numb, his tongue heavy and dry. A nausea reels in his stomach and a burning sears his chest. He flaps desperately, barely able to stay in the air. Only slightly moving forward, hardly aloft. The end of the track looks farther with every lap. Each time he makes it, he hopes this stretch will be his last, but the end never comes. No respite, no pause. Only flight, until he can't breathe. Flight, until his muscles seize and cramp. Flight, until his mind slips into a dehydrated haze.

"Can I stop?"

"No."

The trial continues.

Down and back until he can hardly bear it. He can't keep his head up. His back aches. He can't fly straight. A burst of wind catches him and his body gives out halfway through a lap. Wings fold into his sides, he crashes to the ground. A limpness sets in that he cannot escape; his muscles are unresponsive, his mind addled.

"I didn't say you could stop."

Too tired to respond. It is hard to keep breathing.

"Get back on your hooves. Keep going."

Collapsed, crumpled, his father towers above him. No words from the child.

"Get up. Now."

No movement. A hoof nudges his ribs.

"Up."

He shoves him with his hoof.

"I said 'up'!"

He reaches down to grab the boy but the child feebly wriggles away.

"Fly, dammit!"

A hoof connects with his ribcage. The boy does not make a sound.

The boy must do as he is told. Spare the rod, spoil the child, that’s what his father always said. Perhaps the boy is already spoiled, already soft, but he could fix that. He could fix that if the boy would fly. He has to get the boy up, get him on his feet. It’s the essence of the thing. There’s no backing down now.The stallion’s face twists into an obscene rage. Everything that has frustrated him for so long is finally coming to a head.

“You do what I tell you!”

He is almost screaming now. He will not be disobeyed.

Another kick. Then another. A barrier has fallen. The child tries to wriggle away. It has never been like this before. Pushes, shoves, perhaps a punitive smack to the back of the head, but nothing like this. There is a change. A line crossed. Something snapping that can never be put right again.

Another kick. Such a thing is unheard of in Equestria. No going back now...

Pain everywhere. He loses track of the blows. Pent up frustration is billowing out over him. He struggles to stay conscious.

One last kick, and then the father walks away, the child left ragged on the track. The father opens a door. Turns to hear a voice. The boy is on his hooves. Somehow.

"You didn't have to..." the boy says.

He glances down, at the cloud-ground, sighs, summons all of his energy and rears. He comes down hard, hooves shattering the magically packed clouds, dissipating them. A hole is formed in the ground. He closes his eyes and falls into the storm.

The father stares at the spot where his son once stood. He should go now, before the boy gets too far, but...

It doesn’t matter. He will get him tomorrow. Another glass of bourbon is waiting for him inside.

Roads tries to stay aloft in the storm, fighting the air, wavering on exhausted wings. Wind buffets him to and fro. Rain in his eyes and flashes of lighting above him. He is soaked, shivering in the air. A gust catches him, bowls him over, flips him onto his back. He tries to right himself. It doesn’t work.

Another gust catches his wing crossways. A splitting pain. He is falling, hurtling toward trees below. Striking branches on his way down. The ground rises to meet him...

Volume 1

“The whiskey on your breath
Could make a small boy dizzy;
But I hung on like death:
Such waltzing was not easy.”
-Theodore Roethke, My Papa’s Waltz

Roads jerked violently awake. Wiping cold sweat off his brow with a quivering hoof, he tried to force his heart to stop racing. For a moment, he forgot where he was. His mouth was dry and his body ached from yesterday's work. Craning his sore neck, he looked up into the sky to see that dawn had only just broken, the grey sky above them streaked with red and gold. The sight of the sun rising over the horizon calmed him, and he regained enough presence of mind to go get a drink from the lake.

After walking to the bank, he took a few slow sips of the water, then waded slowly into the cool, clear pond. He felt himself relax in the pond, as he dipped his head underwater, clearing dried sweat from his skin and old fears from his mind.

Body cleansed and thirst quenched, he dragged himself back onto the shore, inspecting the camp. It seemed that Summer and Chief were still asleep. Perhaps he could get a nap in before they woke up...

Perhaps not, he thought, seeing Summer's tent flap whip aside to reveal the yawning, bedheaded unicorn.

"What are you doing up?" she asked as she emerged from the tent.

"I'm a light sleeper," he replied.

She snorted at that. "Sure," she said.

Summer sat down and re-lit the campfire with a gout of magical flame and, drawing an iron skillet from a pile of supplies next to the fire, began cooking breakfast.

"So, what's on the agenda for today?" Roads asked, lying back against a log as he massaged his aching limbs.

"For me, not much. I'm gonna end up staying in camp today to work on a rough draft of the map for this part of the island using the sketches and coordinates I took yesterday."

"Why not check out the rest of the island first?"

"Well, usually, I would. But I get a fat bonus if I come back to Canterlot with a finished map of ‘significant merit,’ as the Aggregate puts it. And since I can finish this half of the island in two days, I should be able to get the other side done about as quick. Which means that I've got plenty of time to get the whole thing done, and I kind of need the money," she explained.

"Well, what am I supposed to do then?"

"Whatever you need to for your little ‘research’ thing, I guess."

"Really?" Roads asked, elated. An entire day to study the island at his own pace? It was exactly what he needed, what he had been hoping for when they had first landed.

"Yeah. Just take Chief with you—wouldn't want you to get yourself eaten out there. Well, Chief probably wouldn't mind, but I have to do a lot of paperwork whenever we lose a spec."

"As if this expedition could function without me."

"I can think of a lot of things that this trip would be like without you, and 'dysfunctional' isn't one of them," she replied. “Now, ‘pleasant’, I could see...”

"Hmph. Oh, speaking of dysfunction..." Roads glanced over to Chief's tent, from which the earth pony had just emerged.

"Mornin' Chief," Summer said. He gave a stony grunt as a reply and sat down heavily on a log.

"I've gotta stay here and draw up the map, so you're with Roads today," she told him.

At that, he looked up and gave Roads an icy glare. The pegasus's eyes flickered to the ground under the force of the gaze. He was going to have to spend the entire day like this? The thought sent shivers down his spine. But then, as he looked over into the ominous shadows of the forest, a tension curled in his stomach. He glanced from one to the other, pony to jungle, and decided he would prefer Chief's company to a trek alone in the wilderness.

"Just make sure he doesn't get himself hurt,” Summer said.

Chief heaved a slow shrug.

"Also, apparently you're not supposed hurt him either. I'd really rather not have to go in front of the Aggregate Board of Trustees again for a safety sanction."

"I'll be discreet. What they don't know won't hurt 'em," he replied. A horrified expression passed over Roads' face.

"He's joking," Summer assured him.

Glancing up at Chief, he wasn't so sure. He and the earth pony hadn’t exactly started off on the right hoof, and Roads got the feeling that his antics yesterday had not helped.

Seeing the pegasus shy away like that, Chief made a noise that might have been a chuckle. Might have been. It also might have been a bloodthirsty growl. With Chief, Roads was never quite positive.

"Where is it, then?" Chief asked, peering into the jungle.

"What?" Roads asked.

"Wherever you've got to go. Where is it?"

"We're not leaving yet."

"Why not?" Chief growled.

"It's only barely morning!"

"And?"

"I haven't gotten packed yet. I'm not prepared!"

"'I'm not prepared?’ That’d make a good motto for you. Kind of sums you up, in a way," Summer chimed in.

Roads just rolled his eyes.

"Get your stuff ready. Need to head out," Chief growled at him.

"Fine, alright, just gimme a minute."

Roads turned and grabbed his bags. He dug through them to find a flask of Attunement potion that had survived the storm, as well as his intact—if rather weatherbeaten—arcanometer. He gulped down the former and shoved the latter back into his bags, then hefted them over his still sore back. Trudging over to the edge of camp, Roads felt the draught take effect as it never had before.

A sick, wrenching sensation made its way down his spine and wings. He twisted, falling to the ground as a burning nausea gathered in his stomach and an distressing restlessness filled his legs. As his eyes were forced closed by the feeling, he developed the sudden need to stretch and bend and flex his aching muscles as a writhing feeling overtook him.

He writhed on his side, eyes clenched tightly, fore and rear legs crossed and twitching, and waited for it to pass.

It took a few moments, but the sensation began to steadily fade into a dull tingling. As he came to his senses, he noticed Summer and Chief standing over him, a look of slight worry on the face of the former, and an impassive expression on that of the latter.

"What the hell just happened?" Summer asked.

"Attunement potion.”

“Come again?”

“How much do you know about ley theory, again? ‘The basics?’” he asked, squeezing his eyes shut as another burst of pain rippled through his body.

“Pretty much, yeah.”

“Well—ow—you know how ponies have—ah—ley lines, too, right?”

“Yeah.”

“And you know where?”

“Sure. Down the back, with offshoots running along the legs and neck, with endings at the hooves and forehead—or, for unicorns, the horn.”

“Right... right,” he groaned as he slowly got to his hooves. “Well,” he said, stretching his wings. “Each pony’s ley lines has its own special structure, unique as a hoofprint. This structure is known as a ley line’s ‘polarity.’”

“Wait, I thought everypony’s lines followed the same paths, though. Didn’t you just say—”

“Oh, sure, they all have the same anatomical position, but that’s not the same thing as polarity. Look, think of a ley line like... a bunch of tiny beads floating along a river. It’s the organization of the beads in the current that gives the line its polarity, and what characterizes the magic output by the line.”

“What about unicorns, though? Don’t we characterize the magic by our intentions when we cast?” Summer asked.

“Well—yes. Sort of. Remind me to explain that when we have a lot more time. It’s kind of complicated. Just... remember the river analogy.”

“Okay, a bunch of beads floating in a river. Got it.”

“Right. So, the organization of the beads is structure, and the current of the river—which determines how many beads, uh, ‘flow’ through the river at any given time—is the line’s amplitude. It’s what determines the strength of the magic,” Roads explained.

“Uh, what does any of this have to do with you throwing yourself on the ground, exactly?”

“I’m getting there, give me a moment. So, these beads, right? Now imagine these beads are... uh, spinning.”

“They’re spinning now?”

“Yeah, like... revolving. Sort of. Well, they aren’t really spinning, not in a classical sense, it’s more of an issue of angular momentum—” he caught Summer’s blank stare and hastily backtracked. “Actually, you know what? Don’t worry about that part right now. Aeton spin isn’t exactly something you’re ever going to need to understand. Forget the spinning, just... imagine these beads have little arrows pointed on them.”

“Arrows?”

“Yeah, arrows. Pointed in various directions, so that all the beads together make patterns.”

“Please tell me you’re almost finished. I’m about to fall asleep.”

“Almost there. Bear with me. Okay, so the pattern the arrows make is called the ‘alignment’. Now, we don’t really understand how alignment works, but so far as we can tell, it somehow affects both the strength and the expression of magic. Now, a few of the properties of this are known, but they’re pretty arcane—”

“I don’t want to know,” Summer said flatly.

“Okay, fine. So, one thing we do know about alignment is that if two ley lines have similar alignment to each other, they do this thing called ‘attunement,’ which generates ‘resonance.’ Now, resonance is... really tricky to explain. It has a lot to do with spin states and aeton flux harmonics—”

“Roads, get to the point.”

Roads sighed. “Alright, alright. So, resonance does a lot of weird, tricky things that you don’t really need to know about, it has a lot to do with seasonal strength cycles in the Everfree, and—and this is the part I’ve been leading up to—it can be sensed by anypony with ley lines.”

“Wow, suddenly all of this explanation has been worthwhile,” Summer said sarcastically.

“I’m not finished yet! Ponies can actually physically feel resonance, which means that if they can become attuned to a nearby ley line, they can sense it—its location, its strength, everything,” he paused, letting that sink in.

It didn’t appear to be sinking in.

“So,” he continued, “Attunement Potions are made to ‘wipe’ away the alignment of a person’s aetons—er, the river’s ‘beads.’ They keep the beads from aligning based on their natural patterns for a day or two. And, when the beads lose their alignments, they won’t just stay as they were—they automatically begin to attune themselves based off of resonance patterns given off by nearby ley lines. The closer you are—or the stronger the lines are—the more complete and accurate the replication in attunement, and the stronger the resonance.”

“So, when you drank that potion just now...”

“My aetons—the infinitesimally small particles that make up magic, basically the ‘beads’ in the river analogy—became dis-aligned, and then violently attuned themselves to the various lines of the island. Which hurt. A lot.”

“Is it usually that bad?” Summer asked.

“No, not usually. The lines around here are ridiculously powerful, though. I’d guess that’s why it made attunement so unpleasant. It’s passed now, though. I should be fine.”

Though his voice seemed calm enough, his body betrayed him; even standing still, his legs and wings still twitched violently. He knew the other two could easily see that his face had grown pale.

While he had expected the island to be the home to powerful magic, his previous potion had faded long before they landed, and he had no idea that the lines here would be this strong. He could practically feel them, in perfect detail, as they moved, crisscrossing the island, flowing powerfully through the land. Standing perfectly still, he took a brief moment to try to sense which would be the most valuable to study first.

"Let's go, then," Chief said, breaking Roads' concentration.

"Okay, okay. This way," he said, pointing to the mountain in the center of the island.

If what his lines were telling him was correct, a particularly powerful current was running through it, and he would have been surprised not to find a nexus glowing at its peak. With a few shaky steps, Roads set off into the jungle, Chief trailing behind him, headed for the conical mountain.

Roads stared up at the rocky peak as they walked. How far could it be? He couldn’t see the base from here, but the top loomed large over them, so it couldn’t be that far away.

An hour later, he realized just how wrong he was. As the two trekked silently through the jungle, the peak seemed to always tower above them, yet still be just out of reach. Steadily, though, they drew closer to it, crossing through streams and valleys, hills and ridges, groves and clearings until finally they came to its base.

The incline at the bottom of the slope seemed shallow; the rise was mild enough that trees were able to grow on most of the mountain. The pair made its way halfway up the hill, but was forced to stop on one outcrop as the ground suddenly grew steeper. Firm ground gave way to rocky cliff faces made of blackened volcanic rock, where older, shallower inclines had been shorn away by the wind.

Finally, they reached a point where Chief no longer felt safe climbing unassisted. A rock wall, steep and unforgiving, extending forty feet up before them. Unfurling his wings, Roads leapt into the air and hovered by Chief as the pony pulled a climbing harness out of his bag and tied it around himself, then slid on a pair of spiked climbing hoofguards. He worked a rope through the harness, left the rest at the base of the rock, found himself a hoofhold, and began to climb the steep face. Every few feet, he stopped to hammer a piton into the rock, attach a carabiner, and work his rope through it.

It was slow going; Roads flapped lazily alongside Chief as he struggled to make his way up the slope. He was a skilled climber, but the size of his hooves—and his incredible weight—meant it was harder for him to use the fine hoofholds that somepony like Roads or Summer would have been able to manage.

"Need help?" Roads asked finally.

"I'm fine."

"You sure? I mean, if I help you out, I'm sure we'd get moving a bit faster. Y'know, so that we'd get to the top before—oh, I dunno—tomorrow..."

"Nopony likes a smartass," Chief replied.

Hardly had the words left his lips when the tiny outcrop that was serving as his right hoofhold broke away from the cliff face. Slipping backwards, away from the cliff, he tried desperately to catch himself. Before Roads could even react, Chief fell, rope trailing behind him. A series out loud snaps burst into the air as pitons ripped free and carabiners snapped under the weight of the falling pony. There was a loud smack as Chief landed ten feet down on a slightly inclined rock face.

Just as Roads was about to breath a sigh of relief, he began to slide backwards down the rock, flailing his forelegs frantically in search for anything to hold on to. He could find none. The rock was smooth and unforgiving, and, a meter from Chief’s lower hooves, it ended in a drop off.

Finally getting his wits about him, Roads dove for the helpless earth pony. He was a split second too late.

All of it had happened in an instant, and for a second, Roads was too stunned to do anything as his partner disappeared from the cliff face. Cursing his own inaction, he dove past the dropoff to catch Chief, who was now falling in short bursts as his protections gave way one after another.

Catching the larger pony in his forelegs, Roads found himself being pulled down along with Chief. Unable to lift the gargantuan of his own accord, Roads settled for shoving him sideways with a flap of his wings, setting them both in the path of a stony outcropping.

After a brief drop, they smacked down onto the outcrop. Roads was happy to find his fall broken by Chief. He groaned as he sat up, then again as he was tossed aside by the other pony. Getting to his feet, he looked himself over.

Nothing seems too damaged, he thought as he brushed the dirt from his clothing. It seemed the natural pegasus resistance to blunt injury had come through for him again. Not that he could say the same for Chief, who appeared to have been rather bruised from the fall.

"You alright?" he asked.

"Fine," Chief replied, standing.

"I'm quite well, too, thanks for asking."

"I didn't," he snorted.

"Hm. You'd think you would be a bit nicer to me," Roads said, one eyebrow cocked, "seeing as I just saved your life."

"What? You didn't—I didn't need you to—you didn't save my life!" he said. For the first time in his life, it seemed, Chief was actually flustered. Roads tried to lock the moment in his memory.

"Of course I did. You would've gone tumbling down the whole mountain if it weren't for me."

"I had the situation under control."

"Is that what you called that? 'Under control?’ Because where I'm from, we call that 'falling.’" For once, Roads had a leg up on Chief, and he was determined to enjoy it.

"I was fine."

"Oh, of course you were. That's your idea of fun, isn't it? Jumping off cliffs?"

"Well, no, but—"

"—you just thought to yourself, ‘hey, I oughta go leap right off the side of this mountain—’"

"—you’re absurd—"

"—and you would have been totally done for, too, if it hadn't've been for me—"

"—that's not true—"

"—and you would think, wouldn't you, that the very least you could do for the pony who just saved your life is give a simple 'thank you,'" Roads finished.

Chief gave a heavy sigh and muttered, "Thank you," as quietly as he could.

"What was that? I didn't quite catch it? Maybe a bit louder?"

Chief glared at him. "You don't have to be an ass about it! You did something useful, for once on this entire trip—so what? And, of course, you have to go around acting like a fool over it. It's not as big of a deal as you think. Get over yourself!" Chief snapped.

At that, the smile faded from Roads' face. His head fell, and his eyes flickered away from the earth pony’s scowling face. That was as much as Chief had spoken all at once on the entire expedition. And all it had taken was getting the bigger pony to hate him. Way to go, Roads. He turned and cleared his throat. There was a lengthy silence.

"We should get going," Chief said, finally.

"You got any more rope?" he asked sheepishly.

Chief pulled a few coils from his bag and, after readjusting his harness, tossed them to Roads. The pegasus tied the lengths over his shoulders and around his chest, then handed the other end to Chief, who looped it through his harness. Taking off, Roads began to help pull Chief up the slope as he slowly climbed towards the peak. Once or twice, Chief lost his grip, and each time Roads was jerked backwards, only to right himself and help stabilize the earth pony. Then they would silently continue their progress up the mountain

It took the pair nearly an hour, but with some effort they both made it to the summit. They paused for a moment, exhausted and out of breath, resting as they gazed off of the precipice at the jungle below them. Massive expanses of trees stretched in all directions, multicolored and swaying in an ever-present ocean breeze. From their vantage point, they could make out lakes and streams glittering in the sun. Flocks of birds tittered below them, flying out over the ocean, over waves flecked gold with the light of the afternoon sun. On the horizon, the water curved away from them, meeting a wide, unclouded sky.

"Woah," Roads whispered, looking out over the island.

Chief gave what might have been an affirmative grunt.

Roads stared out at the sea and sky for a while, taking in the view, until finally his reverie was broken by a familiar twinge in his lines. Turning away from the sight, he gazed down at the mountain, focusing. He thought the nexus should have been at the peak; it was the perfect place for one to develop. However, he got the strangest feeling that the focal point was beneath him somehow, though not far. Turning, he peered over a ridge to glimpse the rim of the mountain's summit crater in the distance.

"Over here," he called to Chief, as he made his way across the craggy ridge to stand at the precipice of the crater.

Looking out over the crevasse, it seemed that a large tract of land, one hundred and fifty meters deep and seventy five across had been scooped out of the mountain, leaving a bowl shaped indentation. The edges of the crater were steep and dark, and halfway down met the surface of a deep crater lake that had formed in its center.

Leaping from the rim of the depression, Roads swooped down closer to the lake, landing on a ridge that had formed a ways away from its surface. From here, he noticed that the lake appeared to ripple and steam, heated by an unseen force. The churning feeling that slid across his back told him that a nexus was near.

A loud rumble announced Chief’s arrival as he slid down the stony rim of the crater to meet the pegasus, joining him in inspecting the lake.

"Heated from the volcano?" he asked, gesturing to the simmering water.

Roads shook his head. "Nope. It’s been dormant for a while. The mountain’s covered in vegetation, which means that plants have lived on the mountain long enough to break the volcanic rock down into soil. That means the volcano hasn't been active in a long, long time. No, this water's being heated by a nexus, and a strong one at that."

He scurried down to the water's surface and dipped a hoof in the water, then quickly drew it out. Finding a thermometer in his bag, he dipped it into the lake. Forty three degrees celsius. Nine degrees higher than the ambient temperature on the mountain.

"Hey Chief," he called.

"Mm?"

"How wide and deep would you say this lake is?"

"Fifty meters wide. Maybe twenty meters deep, tops."

"Let's see... fifty wide, twenty deep, assuming that the lake is vaguely cone shaped that comes out to be... roughly thirteen thousand cubic meters of water—or thirteen thousand metric tons... hmmm... heated at around nine degrees per ton above ambience—assuming water temperature to be a constant—that's subject to change, mind you—nearer to the nexus—given that it takes about four kilojoules to raise the temperature of one kilogram of water one Celsius degree—hang on a minute, I can't do this in my head. Chief, you got any paper?"

But the other pony had stopped listening to him; he merely gazed out at the water as Roads babbled calculations aloud to himself.

"—never mind, I found some.” He pulled a tattered field journal from his saddlebags. “Let's see, four-point-one-eight kilojoules for a kilogram, so four point two megajoules for a ton... times thirteen thousand means—wait a moment, I need to be working in watts! Let's see, so if this much water is being heated at a steady rate every minute, then the conversion factor should be..."

Chief gave a low sigh as the titterings and ramblings of the bookish pegasus filled the air around him. Summer should be glad she isn't here, he mused.

_________________________________________________________

Back at the camp, Summer let loose a torrent of curses for the third time that day. Come on, Summer Dew, this map shouldn't be that difficult! she thought to herself as she struggled to rescale a sketch she had made yesterday. She had been working on this map for hours, and found herself constantly stymied. Something about the dimensions of the island was off, yet she couldn't quite put a hoof on it. It was beginning to throw off her attempts to create a rough draft of the overall map.

She sighed, frustrated, and returned to scribbling on the tattered parchment that rested on the field bench in front of her. There was a small crack as the quill she had been working with snapped in half as she pressed it to the paper. With a groan, she tossed the shattered utensil aside and slumped forward, resting her forehead on the desk. Feeling utterly defeated, she sat there for a moment, trying to gather up what remaining patience she had left to get back to work.

With a groan, she rolled her head to the side, not yet raising it, and a wrinkle in the parchment caught against her horn. With a disheartening crinkle, the map slid off the desk and onto the ground. Frustrated further, Summer promptly ripped it from the dirt and rolled it back up. Slapping the paper back onto the bench, she whirled away from the infuriating work to face the camp.

She sat still for a moment, trying to regain her patience. Her ears twitched as they caught the twitter of birdsong from the trees above her. Summer glanced up at the lofty boughs and saw that they were teeming with technicolor birds. Red, blue, green, and all of them tweeting happily away under a golden sun. The sights and sounds of the forest brought a slim smile to her face. Work might be frustrating, but it was good to be out in the field again. No map could possibly be worse than being cooped up in a cramped apartment in Canterlot. Out here, the air was so much fresher, everything was so much more lively.

And the city? Summer was glad to be out of the city. Glad, because for her, there wasn’t any life there. None at all.

Not in the run-down old bars, with the fading wallpapers where she could watch the blank faced patrons order stiff drinks to chase the time away. Where she could watch them stare around the room with dead eyes that took in nothing so they wouldn’t be startled while they waited to die.

Not on the street corners, where she could watch indistinguishable ponies walk, autonomic, on the cold grey pavement on their way to indistinguishable jobs in indistinguishable buildings. Where she could watch them look around and see only themselves, because she wasn’t there every day and that was the only thing that mattered.

And not in the sad, quiet apartments, where she knew everypony was the same as their neighbor because nopony ever changed, and nopony ever wanted to know anypony else. That would be different, and different is foreign, and foreign is scary.

And after a while, not even in the silent honest mirrors that couldn’t help but show the truth when she looked in them, where she saw there wasn’t any life in her, either.

But not out here. Out here, where there was grass and rocks and trees and pain, and ponies lived and ponies died, and that meant something. She wanted to show the island to them, to all those sad, dead-living ponies. To say, “here, look, this is life, and if it isn’t, it’s at least Something, and that’s better than what you’ve got.”

Because life was fleeting for everypony, but out here... only out here could she really tell.

Yes. Summer was glad to be out of the city.

But she would only end up stuck there again if she didn’t bring back an accurate map to the Expeditionary Aggregate. That would be just her luck. To get stuck, again... She’d barely been able to stand it last time.

No, she had to get this right. If she screwed it up, not only would she lose her bonus, but she would have to wait even longer to get sent into the field again. And she couldn’t bear that. She knew she couldn’t.

So, she trudged over to the cargo crates and dug around in one of them until she found a new quill. Satisfied, she turned to—wait, why were all the crates open? She most certainly hadn't opened any of them. Summer spun back around to face the stack of cargo boxes. Each and every one of them appeared to have had its top ripped off, and some seemed to have been moved a few feet away from the main stack.

Well, that was odd. But probably nothing to worry about. Chief or Roads had probably moved them around. They must have needed something for their trip. It was really none of her concern.

And yet...

“If something seems wrong, it probably is. Never get caught unawares.” Her sister’s words echoed in her ears. Honey was always saying things like that, growing up. She had a long list of life lessons she was always reciting to Summer. And they stuck. It had been a long him since Summer had last seen her older sister, but she still remembered all of her little sayings. Mostly because they were often true.

And because they had helped her survive. She had survived on those words on countless expeditions, in countless environments. Little ideas, like “don’t get attached to anypony. It complicates things.” or “don’t let anypony inside your head unless you’re sure you want them there.” The sayings had kept her aloof—and kept her alive.

It was that attitude that kept her safe out here, just like it was Honey’s attitude that had kept her safe as a child. Growing up the sheriff’s daughter in those hot, lawless towns out past Appleoosa, Honey had learned how to survive. And she had taught Summer.

One of the things she had taught Summer was to never let the little things go. Little things, like open crates... She tried to think again if Chief or Roads had been fooling around with the cargo that morning. She couldn’t remember, though she didn’t see any reason for either of them to have opened all of them—and she knew Chief had a habit of re-sealing crates after he checked them. He wasn’t careless enough to leave useful supplies exposed to the elements.

Roads, on the other hoof, was probably thoughtless enough to do such a thing—but why would he have opened all of them? She didn't even remember seeing him use any of them this morning before he left. Perhaps some animal had gone rooting around in them while she was distracted with the map? That made sense. Her desk was all the way across the camp, and she had been focused intently on her work all day. Maybe it was nothing to worry about...

Looking around, she gathered all of the tops of the crates, then resealed each box carefully. It seemed, though, that she ended up with two extra lids. Had she missed one? She gave the cargo a cursory glance. It seemed she hadn't. Yet Summer knew that they hadn't packed any extra lids—what good would that do? Were some of the boxes missing?

After trudging over to Chief's tent, she stuck her head through the flaps and found the inventory list for the trip in a small case next to his sleeping bag. Under it rested his travel log, a sheaf of reports on security and exploration in tropical environments, and a small photo in a tiny, waterproof bag.

In the picture was a tall granite water fountain statue that vaguely resembled a horse reared onto its back legs, neck outstretched, head angled towards the sky. Standing in front of it was a small filly, mouth open, eyes gleaming with excitement, straddling the shoulders of her father, an earth pony wearing a broad, mirthful grin. Both of them were laughing at the camera. On vacation, perhaps, touring a garden. Caught in a moment by a skillful photographer.

Clearing her throat, Summer slid the picture carefully back into the pack; she got the feeling Chief wouldn't want her seeing that. Even though she had an intimate knowledge of his personal life due to the rapport they had built up over the years, this was an image he would want to stay private. Chief could get touchy about that sort of thing.

It was a shame that people so often assumed Chief's stolid nature ran all the way to the core. It was a misconception with often ended with tragic results. The case of Green Hooves, the group's previous specialist, a botanist and naturalist, sprung immediately to Summer's mind. Perhaps if he hadn't been so flippant about Chief's family, he'd've gotten him out from under that rock pile a bit quicker. Maybe then he wouldn't have lost the leg... she mused.

She hoped Roads wouldn’t make the same mistakes as his predecessor. He seemed vaguely useful enough that it would be an annoyance to lose him at this point. Ignorance of hallucinogenic island plants aside, he was knowledgeable enough to be relatively productive—for a spec, at least—if they needed him for follow-up trips to the Triangle. Then again, he wasn't exactly pleasant to be around...

Maybe if he would just get his head on straight... Summer mused as she returned to the piles of boxes at the edge of camp. Levitating the inventory list in front of her, she scanned the crates. Chief had drawn check marks next to each item that survived the storm, and next to each check Summer scrawled a second character for the items that still remained in camp. She went over every container twice and found that two boxes were missing. The first had contained the field equipment for plant samples, the items that Roads had used yesterday.

For a moment, Summer wondered if he had just moved it somewhere else while using it, but then she remembered him storing all of his samples in the container and leaving it there last night. She frowned at that; he wouldn't be happy to see all of his work lost—though she supposed it wasn't exactly his primary job anyway.

The absence of the second crate was a bit more distressing; it was the small box that had held copies of all of Summer's maps. Fortunately, it hadn't been full when it disappeared; many of the maps of the immediate area were currently resting on her field bench, where she had tried to use them as references when drawing the island.

Even so, it seemed she had lost nearly half of her field maps, and while she could easily replace most of them upon their return to Canterlot, there was something disconcerting about being without them. While she had enough left to guide them back on their trip back to the Equestrian mainland, there had been a security in knowing exactly where she was in relation to everything else in the known world. She had just lost that.

Or was 'lost' even the right word? Her mild discomfort at having lost her geographical frame of reference rose into a dull fear as she wondered if perhaps 'stolen' was more apt. There were no drag marks in the dirt where the crates had disappeared, as there were in cases where animals pillaged boxes of food from campsites. No, what was lost would have had to have been lifted and carried away. The discarded lids bothered her, too; whatever had taken the boxes had opened them first and checked the contents—and perhaps checked that of the other boxes as well. She wondered if anything had been removed from the other crates.

Working quickly as apprehension began to build in her stomach, she rifled through the contents of the containers, checking them against the inventory sheet. Upon finishing her work, Summer found that items had indeed been removed. She knew most of what was missing had most likely been taken by Chief and Roads in the morning. However, a number of things she knew the pair would not have carried off were gone, among them a hatchet, a pickaxe, a sledgehammer and tent posts for setting up tents, shaving razors, and a good deal of her mechanical equipment for the Zephyr, including two lengthy wrenches, a welding torch, and a hammer.

Something was definitely amiss here, and as Summer read over what was missing the hair at the back of her neck began to prickle. She looked up, glancing around at the jungle. Her surroundings seemed different, and for a moment, she could not quite place the feeling.

As the realisation hit her a chill crept down her back. The birds. They had stopped squawking.

For as long as they had been on the island, the noise of the island birds had been so incessant that she had completely tuned it out, until now. The forest around the campsite seemed to have been plunged into an unnerving silence. Edging backwards until she stood against the rocky outcropping that served as the border to one side of the camp, she eyed the jungle. Summer's heartbeat quickened as the disconcerting sensation of being watched passed over her, chillingly reminiscent of the pretense to the chimera attack—though somehow even more disquieting. At least then, she had known what was going on.

Now? Not a clue.

To her left, a twig snapped among the bushes to her left, and she whipped around to face it. She stared keenly into the jungle, trying to keep calm. A moment passed and the forest remained still. A twinge of anger passed through her. It seemed she was being toyed with.

That irked her.

Come on out into the open, she thought. Out where I can see you.

"Come on," she spat bitterly, glaring out at the trees.

Nothing happened.

For some time, she stood, stock still, peering into the swaying fronds of the jungle. As the seconds slowly passed, her initial chill slowly faded into a burning frustration. She did not like not knowing what was going on. Clashing with whomever—or whatever—lurked in the jungle did not bother her, but there were machinations at work behind her back, and that was incensing.

“Come out!” she shouted.

A bird in a tree above her gave a loud squawk, then dashed away. The spell was broken. The other birds slowly began to chirp and twitter once again, and Summer’s anger began to subside. Moving to the edges of the camp, her horn lit as she began to cast a tripwire spell around the perimeter. It was fairly difficult magic—for her at least—but she had been forced to master it at vocational school. Setting enchanted boundaries for a campsite was supposed to be standard expedition procedure.

Normally, she didn't bother—it was a tedious spell to cast and required a re-enchantment every few hours. Not to mention the fact that it was absurdly easy to trip, which had in the past resulted in hapless coworkers sending the bolts of alarm running through her forehead as they forgot to watch their step entering or leaving the camp. And, of course, she normally felt confident in her own capability for self defense.

For once, though, it seemed that following operating procedure as she had been taught all those years ago would have saved her a bit of trouble. She paced about the outside of the camp, horn glowing as she focused her energies into channeling the spell. Summer chided herself for not casting the it earlier; she would have been able to catch whatever it was that was stealing from the cargo crates. It was a rookie mistake, one she could have easily avoided. Still, there was no use kicking herself for it now. That wouldn’t help anything.

Not that she would be caught off guard again.

After securing the camp, she returned to her bench and sat down, too on edge to continue working on the map. Instead she merely sat, trying to puzzle out what was happening. Her discontent filled her with a bristling energy that she didn’t know what to do with. She tried to think of something productive to do, some way to resolve the situation, but ultimately came up with nothing. Frustrated, she hoped Chief would come back to camp soon. He would know what to do.

_________________________________________________________

Chief had no idea what to do with Roads. Try as he might, he simply couldn't stop the irksome pegasus from babbling incessantly. It was those cursed "ley lines" that had him all riled up. The pony had spent hours flying around and diving into the pond at the top of the mountain, dipping instruments in the water and forcing gadgets into the glowing ball of energy he called a "nexus."

Of course, all the while, as Chief had sat and meditated, silent and waiting—just as he had learned to do in the Guard—Roads had chattered on and on about magical effects on "transitional particle motion" and "aeton excitation" on a "vast scale." Alternately lamenting the loss of one of his many gadgets—a dense network of copper wires that had half-melted when submerged into the nexus—and extolling the wonders of what he had found, he was beginning to drive Chief insane.

He swore to himself that if Roads used the words "magical fabric of reality" one more time, he would snap his neck. Chief supposed that wouldn’t be difficult, given that it had all the thickness and fortitude of a toothpick. Though Summer would be fairly disappointed in him. He wasn’t sure exactly what she had seen in the infuriating whelp, but then he supposed that she had a natural fondness for other ponies. What a despicable trait.

It was a bit frustrating to him how easily she trusted and accepted others. It was a quality he saw all too often in his peers, one that he had seen often in his travels. Particularly in such towns like Ponyville and Appleoosa—detestable places. Such an open-armed approach to dealing with new ponies was exactly the kind of thing that was typical of soft folks.

No, no, he much preferred keeping strangers at hooves’ length, which was why he so vastly preferred living in Canterlot between assignments. The ponies there seemed a bit colder, more distant. Less likely to talk to somepony they did not know, because they knew not to trust everypony, or in some cases, anypony. He supposed that must have been the reason Summer always went back to Appaloosa when she wasn’t working. She had never met a stranger she couldn't strike up a conversation with, and tended to surround herself with similar ponies. Well, except for him, of course. Roads, on the other hoof...

He glanced over at the exuberant pegasus as he made his way through the jungle, leading them, no doubt, to another "nexus" he could fawn over. Roads, on the other hoof, could have a conversation with a brick wall. And what an unfortunate brick wall that would be.

Chief sighed. After a few hours of work, he had abruptly pronounced himself done studying on the mountain, and had begun traipsing back off into the wilderness. Chief, supposing it would be best if the pegasus didn't get himself killed, had followed suit, trailing Roads as he filled the air around him with empty words about "expansive magical fields" and the like. Having long since given up trying to silence him, Chief resigned to simply accompanying him quietly as he led them through the jungle.

Every so often, Roads would stop dead, mouth thankfully shut for a few blissful moments, closing his eyes and stretching his neck, apparently ‘sensing the magic in the air’. It seemed whatever potion he had taken earlier was starting to wear off, slowing his ability to seek out the lines. As such, their progress was slow and unsteady, and they were often forced to double back to circumvent land barriers—cliffs, lakes, severely overgrown areas, and such.

It seemed to Chief that they were nearing one of the beaches. He was beginning to catch whiffs of salt in the air, and the sounds of gulls rang faintly in his ears. They were heading north; it appeared they had crossed over to the other half of the island..

The differences between this side and the other side perplexed him. Here, the vegetation grew even taller, blocking the sun almost completely, casting the entire area into a deep shadow. The topography had changed, too—the land in this area was far more harsh than its counterpart; it was replete with deep gorges and steep cliffs, foreboding hills with sharply inclined faces and an uncanny number of ominous looking caves cut into rocky terrain. The ground had evened out as they approached the shoreline, but even so, it was far more difficult to traverse than that of the half of the island they knew.

It seemed Roads had noticed as well. Unfortunately.

"I wonder if it has something to do with the mountain," he mused, "it might block wind from moving across one side of the island, and skew the weather, contributing to a difference in erosion. Or maybe this side of the island is subject to some sort of ocean current. Or perhaps it could've been caused by the magical influences of ley lines in its formative years—which is definitely possible, given the strength of the magic around here, I mean did you notice how that nexus gave off those pulses from its constant flux states..."

Chief stopped listening, his interest waning as the one-sided conversation turned once more to magic. The infuriating pegasus could discuss it all day. Chief took a deep breath, hoping he could gather his patience. His hopes were dashed. Not that he had ever put much stock in things like ‘hope’; he found that often such delusions were—wait, what was that?

He and Roads had stumbled into an old clearing, a mostly flat grove a few dozen meters wide, free of trees, where the bushes rose only slightly over the ground. In its center were a few frayed stretches of waterproofed canvas, wrapped around lengths of iron poles. Scattered around them were a number of small, cracked glasses, dented tin containers, and torn bits of plastic.

"Huh. That's strange," Roads remarked, walking up to the debris. "What is all this?"

"Campsite," Chief replied.

He inspected the area. As he looked around, an ominous tightness gathered in his stomach, his head swiveling as a razor-sharp alertness overtook him, a focus taut as piano wire. Something in the dirt glinted, catching the sun, and he moved cautiously to investigate. From the ground he lifted a short metal chain. As he raised it to his face he saw that hanging off the end was a thin metal strip. It was a tiny plate, half covered in semi-flattened indentations.

"What's that?" Roads asked, catching sight of Chief holding the chain.

"Dog tag."

"Really?" Roads rushed over him to see it. "'Strongsteed, M. Petty Officer. 2 18 15 14 25 ENC. AB+.' What does it mean? Who was he? Did he die here? How did something like this even get here in the first place, this island has never before been discovered by an Equestrian. Is he even Equestrian? I mean, sure the name sounds like—"

"Yes, he was Equestrian. In the Navy. That's what ENC means—Equestrian Naval Corps."

"How did he get here?"

"Dunno," Chief shrugged. "More important is when he got here. Look at this. The metal. That coloring? It's monel—the Navy stopped making tags out of the stuff six years ago."

"So he got here six years ago?"

"At the least."

"Could he still be alive? Living on the island?"

"Doubt it. He wouldn't be running around without dog tags. And if he was, we probably would've seen him by now."

"But is it possible?"

"Maybe. What I can't figure out, though, is why there's only one tag."

"What do you mean? That there should be more ponies out here? That he wasn't alone?"

Chief shook his head. "Members of the Equestrian military wear two tags. One on a small chain, one on a large chain. So that if something happens one pair gets taken by your comrades and the other stays with the body. But there's only one here."

"Maybe somepony found this 'Strongsteed' somewhere else, and took the tag with him."

Chief nodded. It made sense. "Maybe. But in that case, what's on this island that can kill a Naval officer, and who took the other tag? And why leave it behind? Why leave behind this whole camp?"

"Maybe it was chimeras? Maybe they got the Navy guy, or maybe they ate whoever took his tags. Or both."

"Doubt it. Nothing looks burnt. Chimeras always leave burns. No bones around here either."

"Maybe they hunted him down after he left the camp."

"Without the tags?"

Roads fell silent. He had been getting paler with each question, a bit more quiet and hesitant. It was easy for Chief to tell that all this talk of death, chimeras, and mystery got to him. Just like anypony soft. Back home, ponies weren't used to dealing with this sort of thing. Roads was no exception.

"D'you think we ought to head back to camp, you know, in lieu of all this?"

"No. We've got at least three more hours of daylight left. Plenty of time for you to get your work done."

"Yeah, but it seems we've got strange military ponies running around the place, or even worse, something that eats strange military ponies."

Chief scowled at him. "Six years ago maybe. Today, probably not. Even so, still not worried about it."

"How can you not be worried about it? You don't even know what's out there!" Roads' voice was climbing with the fear. Chief could pick up a nervous tremor in his voice. The warble of the weak.

"And?"

"And we shouldn't be out here if we don't know what to expect."

"Ridiculous. We didn't know this island was even here, we never had expectations."

"That's not what I meant! You're missing the point!"

"Which is?"

"Which is that you're going to get both of us killed in that jungle!" Roads' was shouting now, the rise in his voice annoying in Chief's ears.

"Improbable."

"You don't know that!"

"Doesn't matter. I want to spend as few days marching across this island with you as I can."

"Well, if we get eaten, you won't have to worry about that, now will you!?"

"I'll be fine," he growled. "And if anything happens, you'll just fly off. Again."

"That was a one time thing!"

"Hmph. Every time you look around, you look scared. Every time you talk, you sound scared. I know you. I know your type. Cowards. Good for nothing, reliable for less." Chief's facade had finally broken, all of his pent-up frustration from the past two days now audible.

"That's... that's not true..." all of the fight had gone out of his voice. Chief could see he had struck a nerve, so, naturally, he didn't relent.

"It is. You know it. I know it. You're thin-skinned. You live what you call a life indoors. Away from danger. Away from anything that might make you sweat. You come out here, into my territory, and think you get a say in how we spend our time out here? I don't think so. You'll do your work; I won't have to come back out here later. Got it?"

Chief was nearly seething. He usually hated losing his cool, betraying his inner emotion, but something about Roads pressed on his last nerve. It was far out of the domain of professionalism that he prided himself upon inhabiting, but it felt good to finally unload on the pegasus. Real good. He looked down at Roads, towering over him as the pegasus gazed fixedly upon the ground, head drooping, brow furrowed, mouth in a slackened frown. He half-wished Roads would look up, fight back, make a retort, do something. But then, he supposed, if Roads were capable of that, he wouldn't have needed to say anything in the first place.

For a split second, Roads' eyes flashed up to him, and a small hope rose within him that the other pony might have a spine in him yet. But... no. He merely turned away, head flopping back down as he headed off into the forest at Chief's behest, following the invisible tug of some distant ley line. Eyes boring into the back of Roads’ head with all the force of his inexorable glare, Chief followed him. A steady silence enveloped them as they walked, a tense silence broken only by hoofsteps and the occasional birdsong.

It seemed to Chief that he had broken Roads' will to speak; the quiet followed them across the island, as they passed over craggy ridges and rolling hills. At one point, the two walked along the high banks of a thin stream, looking down over the clear waters as they passed. A misstep by Roads collapsed the uneven, muddy bank under them, sending the pair rolling down the embankment into the water. Both rose mutely, each covered in mud, and climbed resolutely out of the ditch.

There was no lament by Roads. No retort by Chief. To the latter, the day seemed to now be going quite well. Wiping dirt and shaking water off of themselves, they resumed their voiceless march through the jungle.

After a while, Roads stopped suddenly, staring. After nearly walking into the now immobile pegasus, Chief followed his gaze to his right to see that a green path had been laid out before them. Stretching a few hundred meters into the distance, the trees gave way to a long, narrow patch of Healing Ivy. It grew thick and dense, wrapping around the bases of the trees around it. Their thick trunks seemed to bend outward, away from the path, creating a veritable tunnel of flora; thin, viney canopy above, thick, luscious ivy below, and everything cast in the green-gold glow of sunlight filtered through thin leaves. Stepping into it, Roads finally managed to break the prolonged silence.

"This way."

With a nod, Chief accompanied him down the path cut by the nearly chest high ivy. As he walked, he felt the herbs brush against his bandaged stomach, their leaves working their way through the bindings. A strange, warm numbness gathered around the area where the chimera had raked his underside. Though to most it would have been a pleasant sensation, it put Chief on edge.

The lack of feeling bothered him greatly. In his line of work, losing one’s senses was never a good thing. Pain was helpful; it let him know that he was still alive, it served as a reminder to be cautious. Bliss, on the other hoof, was disturbing. It enticed ponies to let their guard down. Never was there so dangerous an object as a shield lowered...

Roads, though, appeared entirely in rapture. He waltzed down the ivy path, wide eyed and gaping, flashes of nostalgia crossing his face. Devoid of pain, of apprehension. Living in a memory, the tendrils of ivy clasping his legs, the spores of the past flourishing in his mind. He had seen this before. A long time ago, in a memory distant, in a moment he did not wish to recall.

It was not long before his path down the grove brought him to a clearing. Twenty meters in every direction the trees bent away, forming a circular gap filled with Ivy. The plant grew everywhere in the grove, thick and tall in all directions, except in the center. There, rose the massive stump of a tree, a great towering flatness, dominating the land. Even without the trunk, it was easily thrice as tall as Chief.

It drew in the pegasus with a tug as powerful as it was mysterious. Unable to draw his eyes off of the fractured remains of what had once been a massive, imposing plant, he made his way to its base. Carved crudely into the stump were rows of steps, slanted slightly upwards, leading to the top of the trunk.

"Roads?" Chief called behind him, wary of the spectacle, "There shouldn't be steps here. Those are pony-made." There was an edge of caution in his voice.

His words fell on deaf ears. Roads ascended to the top of the stairs, and found himself within a small, roofless hollow, where the original surface—though not the edges—of the trunk had been cut away, forming a four foot high ring around the central platform. Behind him Chief was saying something more, but he was not listening. He had found the nexus he had always sought.

It wasn't visible, but he could feel it there—without the help of the Attunement potion—roiling, hanging a foot off the ground. The energy it gave off was palpable and potent; he could feel the magic work through his body. Old bruises and sores faded away, the cut he had opened on the zeppelin knitted itself together, even the throbbing ache of his muscles dwindled off as he stood before the nexus. His previous despondency was lost, replaced by a new curiosity, intense as he had ever felt it.

As the enchantment took hold of him, Roads felt the inexorable need to move closer to it, into it. Every cell in his body yearned to bask in the unadulterated power of the nexus, to submerge himself into it. For a moment, he hesitated. Surely he couldn't. It wasn't... what?

Professional? Objective? Safe? Right? He didn't know. For the second time on the island, his mind was beginning to betray him.

Tentatively, he took a step towards it, feeling its surging presence anew with the gain of but a few inches. He was about to move closer when he felt a hoof on his shoulder. Chief was looking at him sternly, shaking his head.

"What is that?" the earth pony asked, voice subtly awestruck, but still cautious. He could feel it too.

"I—it's—it's a nexus," he stammered, his vacant mentality beginning to slip away.

"Not like the other one."

Roads shook his head, his brain slowly beginning to function again. "It's... different from the rest. Not the same kind of magic. All of the others were... elemental in nature. This one, it's just... unique."

No, not unique. He had seen this before. Felt this before. But not on this scale. Not like this. His memories were beginning to return to him—that last one, it had been smaller. Far smaller, and visible, as well. It had been safer, more benign. This one acted in the same way, but more powerfully, so much so that it might be dangerous.

Had he really been about to enter it? To expose his body to that much magic, all at once? What was he thinking? He must've been spellstruck. Not in his right mind.

"What exactly does that mean?" Chief asked, not taking his eyes off of the spot where the nexus should have been.

"I'm not sure. The others, they all affected change on a level of movement—changing kinetic energy of particles to heat or cool surroundings, transporting air, changing the weather—but this one seems to have some sort of effect on organic tissues. It also doesn't feel quite right. Its alignment, I mean. I've used potions to sense unicorn lines before, and it felt about the same as natural magic, if on a different scale. This is nothing like that. I need to run some tests on this and—oh. Oh, no."

Looking down, he eyed the half-melted copper matrix that rested in his hoof. He had forgotten about that. But... maybe... well, it was better than nothing. Raising his foreleg, he tossed it as gently as he could into the nexus. It landed with a dull 'thump' in the middle of the floor. As far as Roads could tell, nothing happened.

"Unsurprising, really," he explained to Chief, "now that it's lost most of its structure, it can't form a synthetic line, and since I didn't expect the nexus to have an effect on any nonorganic substance that it came into contact with, I mean—wait, Chief?" he said as he noticed the earth pony staring intently at the copper, his face ashen, his focus unflinching.

"Chief, what are you—wait—is that—is the copper—?"

His jaw slackened as he peered more closely at the hunk of metal in the center of the room. Was it breathing? It certainly appeared so. The metal seemed to be undergoing cyclic contractions and expansions, which didn’t appear to be the result of the metal bending. It seemed more organic than that. More... lifelike.

"Fascinating. Metal respirating under the force of the magic? That's... unusual. It must be that the nexus is forcing organic qualities on all that it touches. Curious, though not entirely unprecedented. In his early experiments, Starswirl the Bearded documented numerous successful experiments with magical animation of nonliving matter, though this is certainly... groundbreaking. I'll tell you what it reminds me of: depetrification."

He heard a sharp intake of breath from Chief as the word left his mouth. He turned to see a vacant expression in the earth pony’s eyes. A strange expression had crossed his face, one Roads hadn't seen before. Uneven parts confusion, horror, and astonishment, but under them all, a shocked sadness. It surprised him to see such a look on the face of a pony normally so stoic. For a split second, his mind began to buzz, alight with explanations for Chief's reaction to the nexus.

However, his attention quickly shifted back to the issue at hoof, the nexus. For a long while, he stared at it, thinking, before he resumed his previous observations. "The odd thing about it, though, is the fact that depetrification normally occurs in several stages and this appears to happen all at once. Well, I suppose it’s animation, actually, but the two are closely related—I would imagine that this could do both. It's really a shame, though, that I'm lacking proper instrumentation—this could be a huge find. I mean, just look at this!"

Reaching across the floor, Roads found a small pebble, and hefted it into the nexus. Within a few moments, the rock began to quiver and shake, then expand and contract along with the copper.

"Fascinating. I mean, when you think about the potential implications of what's going on here—the whole idea of magic interfering on a cellular level with living organisms and bestowing properties of life onto nonorganisms—well, we might have just stumbled onto a new facet in the discussion about how life on this planet came to be! Isn't it amazing? Chief?" He looked around.

"Chief?!" Roads was alone before the nexus.

A moment passed, filled with confusion. What was going on here? A burst of fear ran through him as the image of dogtags leapt to mind. What if—? No. No, that wasn't right. There would have been a scuffle. Roads would have heard something. Even if whatever had happened to "Strongsteed" had just transpired behind him, a pony like Chief couldn't simply be spirited away without a sound. He had to have left of his own accord.

To where, though, Roads couldn't be sure. He presumed that Chief had headed back to camp, though he didn't imagine it mattered anyway. Regardless, he decided to return to Summer; if Chief wasn't there when he reached the camp, he could ask her what to do. If he was, then Roads might be able to find out what the hell was going on.

Taking to the air, he soared up through the canopy, to glide through the crisp island air. As he flew back towards what seemed to be the general direction of the camp—he had no map, and struggled to find his way on memory alone—he tried to think of a reason for Chief to leave.

A few minutes passed and nothing sprung to mind. Of course, he had noticed that the earth pony was ill at ease around the nexus, and certainly surprised—who wouldn't be?—to see metal breathing. But surely, if he had felt that strongly about the magic, he would have at least said something. It had to be something else.

In a flash of recollection, Chief's pained look at the mention of petrification rose to the front of his mind. It must’ve had something to do with that. Whatever it was that could get somepony like Chief to inadvertently display that much emotion had to be the root of his desertion.

Wait, desertion? Had Chief just deserted? Roads had not thought of it like that before. Did it count, leaving him like that? Would he really do that, after being as disparaging as he was towards Roads?

Roads gritted his teeth as a heat rose in his stomach. The hypocrite! To act so tough, so hardened, and spend the entire trip looking down on him like some sort of coward, only to turn around and do exactly what he had condemned. Roads nearly spat into the wind. Where did he get off, acting like that? Roads hoped Chief would be back in camp. Eyes narrowed, wings flared, he flapped with increasing intensity, outrage burning in his head as the wind rang in his ears.

He passed the mountain, and caught sight of the lake, gleaming with the light of the now-fading sun. Swooping down towards it, he could see blue and brown dots below him, moving around in the camp. So, Chief was back. He must have left earlier than I thought, if he beat me back here. Roads glided to the ground, landing shakily at the edge of the pond.

"You bastard!" he called, catching sight of Chief, "You left me!" The earth pony raised his head, squinting in the dying sunlight. Without a word, he rose and began to move towards his tent, as Roads charged into camp.

"What the hell were you doing?!" he shouted, slowing as he moved to stand between Chief and his tent.

At that Summer turned to see the two. "Roads—"

"Desertion. That's what you were doing. After everything you said to me in the jungle today—" Roads snarled bitterly.

"Roads, don't—" Summer edged towards the two, eying Chief, who stared at the ground, his eyes curiously vacant, not making eye contact with the pegasus.

"—what was it you called me? A coward? Said that every time I talked, I sounded afraid, said that—"

"—you don't know what you're doing—"

"—I was good for nothing, reliable for less?"

Chief's head snapped up at that, and he fixed Roads with a spiteful glare, lips curled tight over ground teeth. What would have normally quieted the furious pegasus now did nothing. The week's pent up self-loathing was finally spilling out, redirected now, uncontrollable.

"Roads, shut up!" Summer said from somewhere beside him, but he paid her no mind.

"Well, who were you talking to, Chief, me or yourself? Coward!"

"Say that again." Chief's voice hissed through gritted teeth.

His shoulder twitched, the muscles in his foreleg bunching apprehensively. He shifted his weight to his rear legs. Roads noticed and knew what was coming. He allowed a short pause to elapse, then stared into the larger pony’s eyes.

"Coward."

The hoof came before Roads could even flinch, the blow knocking him from his feet. He was tossed several feet to the side, crumpling on the ground as he landed. Turning away from him, Chief pushed aside the flap to his tent and entered it noiselessly. Roads struggled to his hooves, forelegs flailing, wings flared.

"Where are you going?!" he screamed. "Bastard! What the hell is wrong with you?!"

He could taste something coppery in his mouth as he shouted. He spat it on the ground, defeated, the pain setting in around his face. He could feel it beginning to swell.

"What's going on here?" he asked Summer softly, shaking his head. She sighed deeply.

"Look, Roads, have you ever had something happen to you that you didn't really want anypony to know? That maybe even you didn't want to be reminded of? Ever?" she asked.

He nodded mutely. Did he ever.

"Yeah, well, Chief’s the same way. Today you just happened to have stumbled onto something that reminded him all the wrong things."

"Some reminder."

"Yeah, well, Chief's like that. That's just how it is, Roads."

"But why? Why leave? After everything he said to me..."

Summer shook her head. "He wouldn't want me to tell you—"

"—I have just been left in the jungle and beaten across the face. Somepony owes me an explanation."

"He'll tell you. Sometime. When he's ready. You'll get your explanation, just not now, not from me."

Roads gave a heavy sigh. "It's not fair."

Summer smirked at that, a small chuckle escaping her mouth. "Yeah, well. That's life for you." There was a small pause as they both settled in around the firepit.

"Say, what was it exactly that set him off?" She asked, bending to light a fresh fire as Roads tended to his bloodied mouth.

"It was—ow!—it was this nexus we found, or at least I think it was."

"What happened?"

"Well, I tracked it down after we stumbled across the campsite—"

"—you came back to camp?" Summer asked, intrigued. Perhaps this would explain the missing supplies.

"No, not this camp. The other one."

"What other one?"

Roads' eyes widened as he realized Chief hadn't yet told her. He took a moment to explain the situation, relaying to Summer what Chief had said about the dog tags. Her brow furrowed as she listened to his story.

"Another pony? On the island? That would explain the situation with the cargo..."

"What?"

"Earlier today, while I was working on the map, I went to get a fresh quill and found that a bunch of boxes and supplies were missing. Something—or somepony—had taken them. In a few cases, searched right through the crates and picked out certain items. I wonder if it's this ‘Strongsteed’ guy."

"Chief seemed to think he was dead."

"Well, whatever killed him, then."

"I doubt anything savage enough to eat a pony would have the presence of mind to search through boxes for what it needed."

"Well, maybe it's smart, then."

"Sentient? And a pony-hunter?"

"I don't know. I wouldn't doubt that whatever's out there is intelligent. Earlier, I got the distinct feeling I was being watched. Same as in the rows of lotus trees."

"That reminds me... we never had a chance to really investigate that did we?" Roads asked.

"Well, no, somepony got in the way," Summer quipped.

"Right, but I mean, those shouldn't have grown like that. They were cultivated. Rows don't exist in nature. Like stairs."

"What stairs?"

"Well, I hadn't thought about it until now—Chief noticed it—but that nexus we found, it was at the top of this giant tree stump. It was the strangest thing—somepony had carved stairs into the stump. And, now that I think about it, they looked a bit worn, too. Like they'd been frequently used."

"So it's safe to assume, then, that we're dealing with a somepony here and not a something."

"Well, I wouldn't be too sure..."

And so they proceeded, discussing and arguing into the night about the unknown facets of the island, until the sun had long since sunk and their only light came from the full moon and the fire. Eventually, Roads found himself exhausted, and Summer excused herself to her tent. Left alone, the pegasus stared out into the darkness of the jungle as the fire burned itself out. Tired as he was, he had trouble getting to sleep, each moving frond a hideous beast coming to steal him away during the night, every rustle in the bushes the slinking of whatever had gotten to Strongsteed. His heart pounded in his chest, but he forced his eyes shut and tried desperately to sleep.

He stayed that way for some time, lids tightly closed, trying to doze off, and eventually managed to sink into a light sleep. A dream or two flitted across his subconscious, dancing about in his mind, until a low rustle woke him from his sleep again. What was that?! he thought, catching sight of something moving out of the corner of his eye. He rolled over to see that it was the mere shadow of a coat rack. Nothing to worry about. Just some harmless furniture. Just as he was falling back to sleep, a thought struck him.

Wait, why did I bring a coat to the tropics? It's always warm out here... how silly of me...

He sat up suddenly, a bolt of fear running through him. The hairs on his neck stood on end as his eyes shot open. Hold on, I didn't bring a coat! I don't even own a coat rack!

"Chie—" he had just enough time to call before something soft and moist was forced against his mouth. His eyes grew heavy, and a fog swarmed around the periphery of his vision. Through the haze, he could just barely make out Chief being dragged, struggling, out of his tent, Summer unconscious beside him. Then he began to sink back into the darkness. He took a deep breath. Curious, he had just enough time to think, smells a lot like lotus...

His eyes drooped shut as he sank limply into a set of dark green forelegs.

VI

View Online

Quiet. A time of relaxation—all is dark, all is calm. A bed, a lamp, a book. He is nestled in bed, reading. Against his face rests the bag of frozen peas he dug out of the ice chest earlier. Hopefully it will keep his eye from bruising. Hopefully he won’t have to find his old glasses again.

He looks up. Hoofsteps. His pulse quickens, his chest tightens. He had thought his father was asleep.

The door to his bedroom swings open. He had thought wrong.

“I saw your light on,” the stallion says hesitantly.

“I’ve been reading.”

Something passes behind the stallions’s eyes. A flicker. “Reading what?”

The boy lifts the book, shows his father the cover. A Comprehensive Pegasus History, 1233-1742. Casio & Arembager.

The stallion nods. “Good, good. See, there’s a good book for you.”

The colt flinches, looks away. “Right. A better book.”

The stallion smiles. “See? Now you’re getting it.” He sits down on the end of the bed. He stays still, no rocking. He has sobered up.

“Yeah...” the boy replies.

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that, actually...” he says. He places a
hoof on the covers, over the boy’s shins.

“You know... you know I just want what’s best. For you, I mean,” he starts. Carefully, cautiously. A relationship is at stake.

“I know, dad.”

“Well, see, that’s what I have to make sure of. I need to know you know. I have
to see you understand. Does that make sense?”

“Yessir.”

“And when you bring back those other books, those very, very bad books, it makes me think... maybe you don’t understand.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, really. See, earlier, today, when I was—when you came home—earlier, I just... I wanted to make you understand.”

“I understand.”

The stallion nods, pats him on the leg. “Of course you do. I think maybe I finally got through to you today... but I think maybe that wasn’t the right way to—maybe that wasn’t how I should have done it.”

The boy nods. The stallion looks at him intensely. Curiously. Searching for a reaction.

“I think maybe I lost my temper a little bit, and I... I want you to know that I’m sorry for that.” He glances up, hoping, just maybe... “How is your eye?” he asks.

“It’s fine,” the boy replies.

“That was a mistake, you see, I never meant for that to happen—”

“It’s fine—”

“I mean, really, you have to know, it was completely just a mistake. A fluke.”

“It’s fine, dad.”

“Good, that’s what I like to hear. Can you do something for me?” The stallion shifts his weight a bit on the couch, rubs the back of his neck.

“Yessir?”

“You know how this was an accident?”

“Yessir.”

“Well, some ponies aren’t gonna think it was an accident if you say... if you tell it certain ways. Understand?”

“Yessir.”

“So you just gotta tell ‘em it was an accident. But maybe you’ll hafta change some details so that they see it was an accident. So that they’ll see it for what it was, for an accident.”

The boy raises an eyebrow. He knew this was coming. “You want me to l—”

“No, not lying, not really. Just... changing the details so ponies can understand the real nature of the thing. To help them see it like they should. It’s telling it so that they get one kind of truth instead of another. Does that make sense?”

“I understand,” he says quietly.

“Good, I’m glad,” the stallion says. He glances down at the boy’s bag, filled with the torn, burned remnants of what he managed to save from the fire. “You know you’re gonna need to return that.”

“What?” the boy asks, incredulous.

“I want you to take that back to the library.”

The boy is about to ask another question, about to argue. He looks up at his father.

A pause. He is thinking.

“I’ll take them back.”

It isn’t worth fighting over.

“That’s what I wanted to hear...” he glances at his watch. “You’d better get to sleep. Gotta get up early tomorrow.”

“But I’m not done reading...”

“Go to sleep.”

“Yessir.”

The stallion stands, takes the lamp, and moves to the door.

“I love you, Roads.”

“Love you too, dad.”

“Good night.”

“Much Madness is divinest Sense -
To a discerning Eye -
Much Sense - the starkest Madness...”
-Emily Dickinson, Much Madness is Divinest Sense

It was strange. Usually the sun was such a comfort to Summer. In all of her wildest journeys, her most exotic adventures, she could turn and see it in the sky, and know that Celestia's eye was upon her. Here, though... here, it was different.

Here, it filtered through the trees and leaves and grass and trickled weakly through the bars to her face and she felt no better for it. Here, she was trapped in the bottom of a pit, with no way out. Here, Celestia couldn't save her. Here, she was trapped in a pit and hog-tied and clueless and hurting and her magic wasn't working and—no.

No.

She was Summer Dew. She would be okay. She had gotten out of worse jams than this, and she would get out of this one, too. As long as she kept her head about her. As long as she stayed calm. What was it Honey had always said?

Never panic; assess. Okay, she could do that. Assessment. What did she know?

She glanced around. All she could see was the four dirt walls that surrounded her, and the shadows of palm fronds that played upon them. When she strained her neck, she catch a glimpse of the top of the pit, three meters up, where wooden bars blocked her escape. When she stopped to listen, all she could hear was birdsong. What did she know?

Nothing.

No, that wasn't true. She knew she was in a pit. She knew how she got here. Those ponies... they had come in the night. Islanders. Hostile. They had knocked her out with something, something that smelled of... what was it? She knew she recognized the smell.

Lotus. That was it.

They're the ones who cultivated the grove, she realized.

Okay, what did that tell her?

They were prepared for something like this, if they already had lotuses ready—lotuses, and a pit. They'd had a plan, too. They had watched and waited and even taken supplies from the camp. No, not supplies—weapons. It all made sense now. The islanders had taken anything their prey could have used to defend themselves. The mallet, the razors, the wood axe. But what did it all mean?

It meant they had done this before. It meant that someone else had come to this island before they had, and met the same fate. Strongsteed. The name from the dog tags. This had happened to him, too. Perhaps he wasn’t dead. Perhaps she wouldn’t end up dead.

Good, Summer, good. She was assessing, working, finding an equilibrium. She felt her confidence returning. She had figured out—well enough—what was going on. Now she just needed to fix it. She needed a plan.

She thought for a moment. Nothing came to mind. Tied up like this, she couldn’t even stand up, let alone scale the high walls of the pit she had been tossed into. She couldn’t escape her bonds with magic; every time she tried to cast a spell, a wave of nausea passed over her while her horn stayed dark and useless.

Perhaps Roads or Chief could untie her, somehow. If they were even down here with her. She couldn’t tell; she was on her side, facing the dirt wall of the pit, hardly able to see anything.

“Roads?” she called. “Chief?”

“Oh,” a friendly voice responded. “You’re awake.”

A bolt of adrenaline shot through her veins; she felt the hair on the back of her neck stand on end as her muscles tensed. “Who’s there?”

“Me.”

Summer strained against her bonds to roll over and face the center of the pit. As she flopped over, she caught sight of a lean, rust-colored earth pony sitting across from her, tied by the waist to a stake in the dirt. He gave a slight smile, tightening cheeks around sunken eyes, exposing broken, yellow teeth that protruded from a gaunt, hollow face.

“And how are you?” he asked merrily.

“Never better,” she replied. “Now, who are you, exactly?”

“You first.”

“Pass.”

“It doesn’t work like that. You first.”

Summer sighed. His insistence irked her, but what was the use resisting? “My name is Summer Dew.”

The stallion shook his head. “No, no, no. I don’t care what your name is. I asked you who you are.”

“What?” She gave him a confused glance.

“Who are you?” he repeated.

“Well... I’m a cartographer.” What did he want from her?

“A name, and a profession? That’s who you are? That’s it?” The stallion looked almost disappointed.

“I’m... I’m a mare?”

She wasn’t sure if that was the right answer. She hoped it was.

“You say that like it’s a question.”

“I’m a mare,” she said, this time more firmly.

He sighed. “No, no, no! You aren’t answering me! Who are you?”

“I just told—”

“Who are you?” He sounded almost angry.

“You already—”

“Who are you?!” He was shouting now. Definitely angry.

“I—”

“Who are you?!”

“I don’t know!” she blurted, flustered. She realized what she had said and reddened as a smile passed over the stallion’s face. She couldn’t let him get to her like that. Never let somepony in your head unless you’re sure you want them there.

“Exactly,” he said, satisfied.

Summer clenched her teeth; she could feel her temper rising. “And you? Who are you?”

“Not a clue,” the stallion replied, smiling. Had Summer been untied, she would have slapped him. She made a mental note to do so in the future, were she to get the chance.

“What’s your name, then?” she asked with a sigh.

“Does it matter?”

“Yes.”

“Petty Officer Marion Strongsteed, Miss Dew.”

Summer blinked. “You’re Strongsteed?”

“I’m fairly sure I am.”

“You’re still alive?”

“I think so.” He held a hoof up to his neck, checking his pulse. “Yes, definitely still alive. For now.”

“My friend found your dog tags out in the forest... how long have you been down here?”

“Depends on how you define time.”

“What?”

Strongsteed rolled his eyes. “Seven years,” he said.

“Seven? Sweet Princess...” she breathed.

“‘Princess’? Which one?”

“It’s an expression.”

“Which one?” he asked again.

“Celestia, obviously.”

“Oh, Celestia’s still around, is she?”

“Yeah. Where else would she be?” Summer asked.

“Not a clue,” he replied. “Brilliant, that Celestia. Master strategist.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Oh, you don’t know?” he said, surprised. Then something occurred to him. “Right. Of course you wouldn’t,” he muttered to himself. “That’d be the point.”

“What?”

“The surprise attack. I can only assume you haven’t been informed.”

“Surprise attack? On what?” she asked, incredulous.

“On this island, of course! That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? To instigate a coup?”

“No, you idiot. I’m here as part of a cartographical expedition. We were supposed to map this island, not conquer it. Who would we even take it from? The islanders?”

“No, no, no. The islanders are just pawns. We’re talking about Princess.”

“Princess?” Summer asked, incredulous.

“You haven’t even been told about Princess? My, you are in the dark, aren’t you?”

“Told what? By who?”

“Told about the island! By Celestia!” Strongsteed exclaimed, surprised by her ignorance. “You were supposed to come overthrow Princess in a surprise attack on the island. Obviously, the cartography was just a cover up.”

“Are you insane?” Summer demanded. “My team and I aren’t military, and we certainly weren’t instructed to overthrow anything.”

“Oh, of course not, neither was I.”

“What?”

“When I set out for the island, I thought the Princess was sending me and my crew on an expedition to find Starbeard’s burial tomb.”

“I thought that was out on Star Isle?”

Strongsteed shrugged. “Apparently not. Not that it matters. We were sent to this area, and we got shipwrecked on this island—just as Celestia planned it.”

“What? Why would she plan a shipwreck?”

“Because he wanted me to scout out the area, obviously. You can’t have an attack until you’ve scouted the area.”

“What attack?”

“Your attack, of course!”

“I already said they didn’t tell us anything about an attack!”

“Well, of course you weren’t told about it,” he said, rolling his eyes. “It’s a surprise attack. If you knew, it would ruin the surprise.”

“I don’t think you quite understand how a surprise attack works.”

“No, don’t you see? It’s brilliant. Conventionally, a leader tells their own troops of the attack, but not the enemy. But Celestia is no conventional leader. She’s too smart for that. An ordinary surprise attack would be anticipated. So she didn’t tell her own troops either. That way, they couldn’t give it away, even by accident. Instead, she just arranged for us to all be in the right place, at the right time. That way, when the coup happens, they’ll have never seen it coming.”

“You’re delusional.”

“Not at all. Can’t you understand? It’s so original, Princess will be taken completely unawares,” he said, crossing his forelegs and resting against the wall of the pit, confident in his assertion. “Brilliant. Just brilliant.”

“Well, you seem to have gotten wind of this whole plan somehow.”

“Well, I had no idea until Princess told me. She put the whole thing together, saw right through Celestia. Isn’t it interesting?”

“Who is this ‘Princess’ you keep bringing up? Girlfriend of yours?”

“Not in the least,” he scoffed. “A relationship with that toad? I think not. Princess is the ruler of this island.”

“The head native?”

“No, no, she’s Equestrian. Or, she was, anyway. She left, two hundred years ago.”

“Two hundred years? I think your dates might be a tad off.”

“Well, two hundred years, give or take a few.”

“Give or take a few hundred. She would be dead!”

“What? You’re crazy, of course she wouldn’t be. She’s quite clearly immortal,” he said.

“You have anything to back that up?”

“Well, she said she was, for one. I highly doubt she would lie. That’s not her particular vice. For another, she has documents, relics dating back hundreds of years, with her name on them. She said she became immortal when she set hoof on this island, because this is where she was destined to be. She became a goddess, here, and the natives recognized it and made her their queen—though she prefers to be called Princess.”

“That’s insane. She has you brainwashed.”

“Not at all. She couldn’t brainwash me if she tried. They put lotus extract in the food, you see, and it keeps my mind wonderfully clear. I can see right through any deception. That’s the beauty of logic,” Strongsteed said, smiling.

“I’ve heard a good bit of logic before, and it didn’t sound like this.”

“No, no. I’m all logic. It’s all I’ve got.” He gestured around to the pit. “I haven’t left here in seven years—all I have are my thoughts. Logic and philosophy, they’re all I have to live for. If you could call this a life, anyway.”

“You don’t ever get to leave?”

“Never. Well, except for interrogation sessions. When Princess comes to find out what Celestia is up to. That’s how we first found out she was trying to invade the island.”

“I thought you said Celestia didn’t tell you anything.”

“She didn’t. Princess did. She told me she had a reliable source who said Celestia was planning a coup.”

"A reliable source? Who was it?"

“Well, I was, of course.”

“You? Why would you tell her that the Princess was planning a coup?”

“Because she told me to tell her. She said she already knew. ‘Had it from a reliable source,’ that’s what she said.”

“But you were the source!” Summer pointed out.

“Of course I was. And I daresay I’m quite reliable. If I can’t trust myself, who can I trust?”

Summer sighed. If he couldn’t see what was going on here, she couldn’t point it out to him. This ‘Princess’ was insane, and had apparently dragged Strongsteed into her delusions as well. She was getting tired of this line of questioning.

“Whatever, Strongsteed. Look, I don’t care about coups, or invasions, or Princesses, or what-have-you. I just need to know how to get out of here. There has to be some way to escape.”

“Well, I could tell you, but it wouldn’t be worth it.”

“What do you mean?”

“You would just end up back here again. And you’d be like me.”

“Like you?”

“Blind.”

Strongsteed moved his head into the light, and Summer could see that his eyes were clouded over. They rolled and twitched independent of each other, twisting grotesquely in their sockets.

Summer was unphased. She’d seen worse. “What happened?”

“I tried to escape. When they caught me, Princess took all the sight out of my left eye. When I tried again, they took it out of the right one, too. Some kind of curse.”

“Why?” Summer asked.

At that, Strongsteed got a funny look on his face. “Why did she do it? It’s the same question as why she took me prisoner in the first place. As why she rules the natives mercilessly. As why just yesterday she had a fifteen year old colt beheaded, just to send a message. ‘No uprisings.’ Message received, loud and clear.

“Well, if you have to ask ‘why,’ you’re hardly up on things, now are you? It’s a funny thing, ponies. D’you know those older folks who always sit out on their front porches and talk about how the whole world’s going down the tubes? About how the kids these days are more violent than they used to be? About why that’s happening? Like, it’s the books or the music or the culture or ‘there’s something in the water’?”

“Uh, yeah, I guess,” Summer replied, confused.

“Yeah. They like to say that. They have to. Otherwise they might get to thinking that none of those things are what taught their children to be monsters.”

“Are you ever going to—”

“—ponies like me, though, we know. We see things. Hear things. We know that evil isn’t something that’s out there in the woods or hiding under someone’s bed. It’s around us. Every minute of every day of our lives, and we greet it every instant when we step out the front door for the mail or go to get our morning coffee. We say “hello” to it and it smiles and looks us right in the face and says something polite back.”

“You have got to be kiddi—” Summer started to interrupt.

“—And then when we come home late at night after getting hammered at the bar and we beat our wives, we look in the mirror and know that it isn’t art that’s making the kids violent. That the evil isn’t lurking outside our house,” he said, and took a long, much needed breath.

“Does this have anything to do with—”

“—We look in the mirror and we look it in the face,” Strongsteed continued. “Does that answer your question? ‘Why?’ Well, she did it because she could. Because she’s just like the rest of us. That’s why.”

There was a short silence after he finished his diatribe.

“Bullshit,” Summer said.

Strongsteed blinked. “What?” he asked, shocked.

“That was perhaps the most useless answer you could have possibly come up with.”

“How could you say that?” he asked, indignant.

“Well, for one thing, you haven’t been to a bar in at least seven years—”

“—it was a rhetorical device—”

“—and for another, you didn’t really answer my question very well. I wasn’t interested in hearing about what you think about ‘evil,’ or how she runs this island. I wanted to know if she blinded you exclusively for trying to escape, because I wanna know what I’m going to have to deal with when I bust out of here.”

“But... don’t you care about evil? Don’t you care about the truth?” Strongsteed sputtered. He had been preparing that lecture for quite some time, waiting for that magical question, ‘why?’ He had thought it was a rather good speech.

“‘The truth?’ I don’t give a damn about ‘the truth.’ I want to survive, that’s what I care about.”

Strongsteed smiled patronizingly. “But, why survive if you don’t care for truth? What’s your reason to live?”

“Don’t need one.”

“Why survive if you don’t know why to live?”

“You got a better plan? Listen, we can sit down here all day and talk about why you think it is ponies do mean things to each other, or we can actually get something done. And besides,” she said with a grin, “Maybe what’s moral is just something you decide for yourself, anyway. There’s no evil, inside or outside, save what you give a name to.”

“Don’t be such a relativist!” he fumed. “It’s no fun!”

“I’m not. But it’s fun to make you mad.” Underneath his orange coat, Summer could see him turning brick red.

“Illogical, insolent, insoluble—” he spat.

“—That last one’s probably not the word you were actually looking for—”

“Shut up! I know what I’m talking about! I’ve thought this through!”

“Well, good for you,” Summer said calmly. “But unfortunately, I don’t particularly care. You can’t help me get out of here, so you don’t matter to me any more.”

“‘Matter’? Having meaning isn’t that arbitrary!” he objected.

“Here’s an idea: you don’t have one. To me, at least.”

“That’s a lie.”

“Actually, you’re right. You do matter, just a little bit. You taught me something very valuable.”

“Really?” He calmed suddenly. “What?”

“Not to eat anything they offer me.”

Strongsteed sat back again the wall in a stunned silence, unseeing eyes wide and mournful.

“No, no, no,” he said when he finally opened his mouth again, “it wasn’t supposed to be like this. I was supposed to have somepony who would understand. Seven years in this pit, waiting for company, and this is what I get? You?”

“Well, if it makes you feel bad, I could just leave,” she said. “Oh, wait, no I can’t. How about you stop moping about what you can’t change, and see if you can get over here and untie me. Or at the very least tell me something I can use.”

“If I did... would it mean anything?” he asked timidly.

“Yeah, sure, whatever. Just help me out here.”

“I could do that. I could be... useful.”

“Fantastic,” Summer breathed. Maybe she was finally getting somewhere with this lunatic.

“What do you want to know?”

“Tell me everything you know about Princess. Just the facts, nothing more.”

“Well, it depends on what you mean by facts—”

“Just start talking!” Summer interrupted.

“Fine, fine. Let’s see... she left Equestria after her husband was killed in a dragon attack she blamed the Archon for... She landed on the island after a shipwreck and convinced the natives—who are all earth ponies and had never seen a unicorn before—that she was a goddess. Then she started setting up a guard.”

“Why?”

“Well, because of Celestia, of course. She’s been sending visitors to this island for as long as Princess has been here. Lately, she’s becoming more and more sure that Celestia’ll send a full force her way. So, the past hundred years or so, shes been building up the guard. Training them based off of the Equestrian Royal Guard, actually. She’s got stallions stationed all over this city.”

“The city?”

“Sure. We’re in the heart of it. The natives found a massive gorge around the river on this side of the island and cut their homes into it. Over a few hundred years the population grew and the village grew with it. Now it’s a gargantuan metropolis.”

“And you know this how?”

“Every hour, two guards come check to make sure I’m still here. Sometimes I get them to stay and chat—Princess has taught all the natives to speak Equestrian, you see.”

“And the natives? How many are there?” she asked.

“Tons. This side of the island is swarming with them. They stay away from the other half, though. Princess told them it was filled with evil spirits and demons, so they don’t venture to the other side of the mountain without her blessing.”

“Probably why they didn’t find us for so long. What are they like? How well trained are they?”

“The locals are a traditionally peaceful group of ponies. They hate change and they hate conflict. Anypony who wasn’t handpicked by Princess to be a guardspony is about as friendly as your average Equestrian. The others, though... steer clear of them. They’re a mean spirited bunch, save for Willow and Aspen.”

“Who?”

“The pit guards. All the others have been trained to hate Equestrian, but those two... I’ve talked some sense into them, over the years. Granted, not enough to get them to let me out of this hellhole, but still, it’s progress... what else do you wanna know?”

“Not much. I see what’s going on here. One last thing, though—have you seen my team?” she asked.

"I haven't seen anything in years," Strongsteed replied.

“You know what I mean.” At this point, Summer wasn’t worried about offending him.

“I heard them toss down two other ponies with you. I can hear them breathing, back in the other side of the pit.”

“They’re alive? Good.” Not that she would be worried about losing Roads—Chief, though, would’ve been hard to replace.

“Alive... and waking, it sounds like. One of them, at least,” Strongsteed said, one ear cocked, listening pensively.

“I hope it’s Chief.”

No such luck. From the other side of the pit came a low groan as Roads awakened.

“Where am I?”

“We’ve been taking prisoner by—”

“Why am I tied up?” he asked, voice rising.

“Like I said, we’ve been—”

“What’s going on?! Summer?! Summer, help! I can’t move, Summer, help me—” Summer heard him thrash against his bonds, giving small grunts of pain as they cut into his sides and legs.

“—calm down, Roads—”

“—I can’t get out! Help! How did we get down here?! What’re we gonna do?!” He was entering a full scale panic attack, now, flopping on the ground as he twisted every which way, further entangling himself in the mess of ropes that held him down. His voice cracked with fear and pain as he cried out for help.

“I can’t—I can’t—Summer, where are you—”

“—shut up—”

“Summer, where are you—it hurts, I can’t—”

“—Shut up!”

Roads fell silent and still, chest heaving under the ropes. He was turned away from her, and had somehow managed to get himself caught in a narrow area where the walls almost met. He quivered with barely restrained fear as he waited for her to speak again.

“Calm down, Roads. We’re fine. Don’t worry about it. Here, just... see if you can turn over to face me,” she said soothingly, trying to ease his panicking. He would be useless if she couldn’t get him calmed down.

Pushing with one hoof against the edge of the pit, Roads managed to flip himself over. Summer caught sight of his face, streaked with dirt and blood, pale as the moon with eyes wide as wagon wheels. They flickered wildly, taking in the pit; she saw them linger over the still form of Strongsteed, who had fallen silent as he listened with rapt curiosity.

“See there? Listen to me and you’ll be fine. Look, if you’ll just pull your hips to the right a little and push with your left leg you’ll slide right out into the open.”

He stared at her for a moment and then slowly inched his way out. She saw him relax a bit as he freed himself from the enclosure.

“Now, if we’re gonna get out of here, I need you to stop freaking out. Can you do that?” she asked.

Roads gave an unsteady nod. Good. That was easier than Summer thought it would be, given his usual disposition. He’s adjusting, she realized. She felt a tiny flicker of pride rise in her chest, which she quickly quashed. Don’t get attached, Summer, she reminded herself. It was Honey Dew’s first and most important rule.

“What’s... what’s going on?” he asked quietly.

Summer explained as best she could what had happened; Roads calmed as she gave him a moment to reflect on the situation. She also told him what little she had been able to glean from Strongsteed, who would, every so often, interject with wild speculation. This, of course, included his notions of Princess’ immortality. Roads’ listened carefully as Strongsteed recounted how she had stopped aging when she reached the island.

“Summer,” he said, “that’s actually possible.”

“What? You believe this crap?”

“In this instance, yes. Do you remember that ley line that Chief and I found in that massive tree stump? The one I was telling you about? She could be using it to keep herself alive indefinitely. That might be why we found stairs cut into the wood.”

Strongsteed’s head jerked up at that. “Eternal life,” he breathed, “freedom from mortality? This changes... everything.”

Summer wasn’t entirely sure what he was talking about, but she was fairly certain she didn’t care.

“So that’s how she’s been around so long? You’re sure?” she asked.

“I’m not positive. I’d need more information. But it’s definitely a possibility, if it’s only been two hundred years. Every nexus runs out of energy eventually, but one that powerful could last for centuries.”

“So it’s not eternal?” Strongsteed asked, and edge of concern in his voice.

“No. Not at all.”

“Oh. Well. Never mind, then. The world of philosophy marches on.”

Roads shot Summer a curious look.

“Don’t ask,” she told him.

He nodded. “All right then, how do we get out of here? Out of the pit, out of the city, off the island, any of it? What’re we gonna do?”

“I dunno,” she sighed. “I can’t get untied, and I can’t use my magic, so for now, we wait and hope Chief wakes up.”

“Your magic isn’t working?”

“No.”

“Must be the lotus.”

“What do you mean?”

“The lotus extract they used to knock us out, it scrambles your ley lines. That’s why you can’t use your magic right now.”

Summer gave him a blank look. He sighed and looked away, trying to think of an explanation that she could understand.

“Okay,” he said finally. “It’s more complicated—way more complicated, actually—than this but... you remember the river analogy?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“Well, basically, you know how we talked about what happens when you mess with the alignment of a ley line? Like with an Attunement Potion?”

“Lotus works like one of your potions?” Summer asked.

“Not at all,” Roads said.

“Well why did you bring it up, then?” Summer asked, frustrated.

“Because this is something very pointedly different from an Attunement Potion. Messing with the alignment of your lines, see, normally doesn’t affect your magic output this drastically. That’s why I can still fly when I’ve taken a potion—the magic that makes me lighter is still there, it’s just slightly weaker,” he explained.

“But this isn’t the same at all...”

“Exactly. I think the lotus must have changed not just the alignment of your lines, but the polarity of them as well. The actual flow structure of the aetons has been temporarily scrambled,” he explained.

“How long is that gonna last?”

“I’m not sure,” Roads admitted. “It could be a few hours, it could be a few days. Till then I guess you won’t be able to cast any spells—and I won’t be able to fly. Oh, and don’t eat any of the food, of course. If what Strongsteed says is true—”

“—it is! If you accept that anything can be certainly true, anyway, which is up for debate, and I’ve often wondered myself if—”

“—yes, okay. Anyway, if you eat anything with lotus in it, it’ll slow down the recovery process,” Roads said.

“And most likely drive me insane, if what I’ve heard about the stuff is correct,” Summer said, nodding towards Strongsteed.

“Bah! Sane, insane, only difference is which everypony else says is which,” he grumbled.

“Shut up, Strongsteed,” Summer said. “Well, if that’s it then, I guess we’ll have to wait for Chief to wake up. He can slip out of his ropes, untie us, and then when you can fly again you can lift us out of here. He’s in here, right?”

“I can hear him breathing...” Strongsteed murmered.

Roads jerked against his bonds to twist his head around. He surveyed the darkened edges of the pit behind him, searching for the tell-tale silhouette of the sleeping pony.

“Yeah, he’s over here,” Roads said finally. “He’s still pretty out of it, though.”

“He woke up while the two of you were still unconscious. Just before they tossed you in. I heard them knock him out again, but he’ll wake in a bit,” Strongsteed said.

“Can you move over to him? See if you can wake him up, Roads.”

“It’s no use,” Strongsteed asserted.

“It shouldn’t be too hard.”

“No, not that. It’s no use because the guards are coming.”

“And?”

“And they’ll most likely be taking you to your first interrogation session. With Princess.”

“But we don’t know anything!”

“Precisely.” Strongsteed broke into a jagged smile. “Should be fun. Princess is a real gem. Very good first impressions, that one.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You’ll see. I envy you, I really do.”

“What? Summer, what’s he talking about?” There was a sliver of fear creeping back into Roads voice.

“I dunno. Don’t worry about it. If there’s any interrogating going on, just let me do the talking. Just... stay quiet, and follow Chief’s lead.”

Somewhere above them, the crisscrossing wooden stakes blocking off the top of the pit were removed, and a decomposing ladder was shoved down into the dirt.

“Why? What’s Chief gonna do?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

A jagged stone knife whistled through the air and buried itself near Summer’s face. She didn’t blink as it thudded down before her.

“Cut yourself and your friends free, and climb up the ladder. Leave the knife in the pit. Don’t do anything stupid,” came a voice from above.

“Hello, Aspen,” Strongsteed called.

“Hey Strongsteed!” came a different, lighter voice.

“Willow! Shut up! We have new prisoners,” Aspen hissed to his
companion.

“Hey, new prison—” Willow called, before an elbow to his ribcage
stopped him short.

“Ignore him. Cut yourself free and climb up. Princess has requested your presence.”

“Why are you talking like—ow!”

In the pit, Summer grinned to herself. Inexperienced guards meant it would be easier to escape—later. If Princess wanted to see them, maybe she could talk her way out of this. She would comply. For now.

Summer took the knife in her teeth and sliced her way through the ropes around her hooves. Standing, she stretched aching limbs, wincing as her legs and back cramped after hours of contortion. She hobbled over to Roads, cut him free, and helped him to his hooves.

“Chief’s over here,” he said through gritted teeth as he straightened his back. His hooves had gone numb from restricted circulation, and he groaned as sensation returned to areas rubbed raw by the ropes.

Roads looked over at Chief. They had trussed him up more tightly, and used more rope because of his size. He was waking now, though, and the cords gave small creaks as he strained against them. Summer worked her way through the bonds and helped him stand; he leaned against her, still groggy from whatever the islanders had used to subdue him. As he moved into the light, Roads saw that he had been beaten during their capture as well—dark bruises ran the length of his left side, and one eye was swollen almost shut. It seemed not all the natives were as pleasant as Willow and Aspen.

Chief gave Roads and Summer a few confused glances, but said nothing. Roads supposed this type of situation wasn’t entirely foreign to him.

“Just follow my lead,” Summer said to him quietly.

Chief gave a steady nod, glancing around with his good eye. He gazed from the knife to Strongsteed, tilting his head slightly. Summer caught his drift and slipped Strongsteed the dagger.

“What’s taking so long down there?” Aspen called from above.

“My team is just now waking up. They can’t make it up the ladder yet, give us a
second.”

“Just... hurry up, or something,” Willow pleaded.

Strongsteed backed against the wall, to where neither of the guards could see him and cut himself free, leaving the ropes sitting around his hooves so that he still appeared restrained. Giving Summer a meaningful glance, he kicked the knife back into the center of the pit.

“Toss the knife back up here.”

“And try not to hit us, please!”

There was a small whistling sound as the blade soared through the air in a lazy arc and planted itself in the ground next to Willow’s hoof. He gave a small squeak and hopped daintily away from it. Beside him, Aspen let loose an exasperated sigh.

“Climb the ladder,” he said tiredly. He made a series of gestures to companions Roads couldn’t see, and within a few seconds a number of hoofsteps reached his ears. He craned his neck and saw that a cadre of fellow guards had joined their captors at the edge of the pit. He glanced over at Summer. Would she try to escape them all? He had no idea if it was possible, but if anypony could do it, it’d be Summer and Chief.

Summer caught his eye and leaned over to him. “For now, stay quiet, and do what I do. If anything changes, you’ll know.”

He wasn’t really sure what she meant, or what she was trying to do, but he nodded anyway.

“Good.”

She turned away from him and ascended the ladder, closely followed by Chief, who worked his way up the rickety wooden rungs with unsteady hooves, still not fully awake. After Chief was done, he clambered out of the hole on sore legs and dusted himself off, a small gasp escaping his lips as he looked up.

Around him was the panoramic view of a river valley, etched into blackened stone and lined with terraces. He stood on a hill overlooking the clear blue waters that flowed through the canyon, irrigating rows of crops around the basin at the bottom of the valley. Numerous islanders made their way through the fields, picking and digging and planting, as others moved across the wide terraces into caves carved into the high, rocky walls that surrounded the clearing. Some had constructed facades of wood and leather that protruded from the mouths of the caves, extending their homes out onto the terraces; others sat in huts filled with food, drink and craft, calling over bystanders to haggle loudly.

From his vantage point, Roads could see that the riverside city stretched nearly half a mile in each direction, and was incredibly well-tiered; by building their homes into the hills that surrounded the river, the natives had created a city as bustling as any in Equestria. Islanders swarmed across wooden bridges and clambered across platforms cut into the blackrock, going about their lives in the vast equatorian metropolis. He gazed out over the city in awe. These were no primitive ponies.

Summer, it seemed, was equally stunned. “Amazing,” she breathed.

Next to her, Chief gave a small grunt and a quick shrug. He was utterly unimpressed. “Seen better,” he muttered.

Roads just shook his head.

“Alright,” Aspen said. “Let’s get a move on. Princess wants to see these three now.”

“This way, please,” Willow murmured pleasantly, gesturing to a path that lead down into the basin.

The trio made their way down the slope to the river, forced against each other as the large group of guards, armed with spears, surrounded them. They passed scores of islanders, most of whom gave the group of guards and their escorts nervous glances before averting their eyes and hurrying about their business. Roads remembered Summer saying something about them being taught to fear Equestrians.

The group crossed a rickety, weatherbeaten bridge to the other side of the river and made their way up a series of ramps to the uppermost terrace. Roads felt somewhat woozy looking over the dropoff at the edge of the plateau, his ability to fly replaced by an irksome fear of heights. As a cool burst of wind blew past him, he felt as though he were being sucked over the edge, out into the void. He tried to shake the feeling, pressing against Summer as he tried to get away from the edge. She gave him an annoyed look and nudged him away.

“Cool it, Roads,” she whispered to him.

“I’m afraid of falling.”

“Then don’t.”

And that was that. Roads kept quiet as he followed the now silent procession across the terrace. Within a few minutes, they came to a massive alcove cut deep into the dark rock, its cavernous maw gilded over with flecks of gold that glinted in the light of the now fading sun.

They were ushered inside, the guards—save Willow and Aspen—remaining at the entrance. They walked along a wide hallway, lined with polished black marble and illuminated by torchlight, muggy from the poor ventilation and constantly burning fires. Pushing aside a heavy wooden door, the two guards ushered the party into a massive antechamber. For the second time that day, Roads was breathtaken.

The room was a wide rotunda, entirely covered in black marble, with a high, domed ceiling, coffered and complete with an oculus through which the smoke from a fire trailed. Through the hole fell a few rays of sunshine that did little to illuminate the darkened room; instead, the polished walls flickered with the light of the pyre that burned in the center of the room. The reflected firelight left Roads with the sensation that the walls were hazy and twisted, dancing this way and that. It was hard to tell, here, what was shadow and what was real.

Sitting directly behind the fire, on a throne of sleek, glinting bronze was a short, pudgy unicorn, whose head was wrapped in a floral crown, covered in gemstones, that barely covered a shock of red mane. She looked down on them with a wide, pompous smile, her eyes darting across each of their faces, looking for traces of awe in their expressions. Roads felt her eyes on him, and gave a small shiver as her smile grew wider.

“Welcome,” she said. “Welcome to my island.”

Roads turned to see Summer cock an eyebrow as she turned her lips up into a fake smile.

“Yes, It’s a lovely place. Wonderfully tem—”

“—You’ll notice I said my island. As in, ‘mine’,” she said, smile still etched across her face.

“I’d have to say I didn’t notice—it sounded so natural, you see.”

“I say ‘mine’ because I am the Princess of this island. I belong here. And you... don’t.”

“Well, of course, not. Good to see we agree. We’ll just be on our way then, and leave you to your little island—”

“‘Little’? Nothing about it is ‘little.’ Oh, it may look small, from a distance, but the island itself is huge. It expands constantly, like a living thing—not that you would ever be able to tell. The shoreline never expands—only the forests get bigger.”

She gestured behind her to a map of the island, stretched wide against the wall. It was enchanted somehow, green and blue lines rippling across its surface, ever-changing, certain areas growing larger and smaller at random. “I had to weave a dynamic map of it, you see. Nothing else would do. An ordinary map—for my extraordinary island—would be impossible.”

“Right. Well, that would explain why we had such a hard time trying to make one. Now, if you’ll excuse us...” Summer took a step towards the door. “We’ll just be leaving.”

A green aura caught her by the mane and pulled her back away from the door. Roads winced to see it, but Summer gave no indication of pain.

“Right,” she said. “So rude of me to leave so early in a conversation. There’s time for that later.”

“Oh, no, no, no. You’re never leaving,” Princess said, grin fading. “I know why you’re here.”

“And why’s that?”

“To scout out the island for Celestia. To prepare for the invasion.”

“There is no invasion,” Summer said calmly.

Princess’ eyes widened as a scowl crossed her face. For a moment, she was quiet and a deathly silence fell over the room. In the corner of Roads’ eye, the two guards exchanged meaningful glances.

“Don’t lie to me,” Princess said finally.

“There is no invasion.”

A bolt of green light caught Summer across the chest, lifting her off her hooves and hurling her across the floor.

“Don’t lie to me!” Princess screamed.

“Okay,” Summer said, rising from the floor, seemingly unphased by Princess’ magic. “You got us. You’re right. The Princess sent us, but not as scouts. We are the invading force.”

Princess’ smile returned. “I knew it,” she beamed.

“One question though. How did you find out?” Summer asked evenly. To her left, Chief shot her a questioning look. She shook her head, almost imperceptibly.

“I’ve always known. Always. Even as a schoolfilly I was aware of my greatness. My talent. My genius. And even then, I know that some ponies would find that threatening. I knew that Celestia would find that threatening.

“I went to her school, you see, and she always had it out for me. She knew I was the only unicorn in my class—hell, the only unicorn in Equestria, who could compete with her for the Equestrian throne. Always worried someday I might try to take her chair from her. That’s why I wasn’t surprised when Celestia did nothing to stop the dragons from invading Equestria, nor when she incited them to attack our town. She was always jealous of me, always afraid I would take over.”

“Wait,” Summer said. “How exactly would the Princess—”

She was cut off as a burst of magic knocked her to the ground.

“Do not interrupt me!” Princess screamed.

“Apologies, ma’am,” Summer replied.

“A foolish thought—who would want to rule a land as pitiful as Equestria?”—Roads heard a bitter growl escape Chief’s throat at that—“After all, it’s pathetic compared to my island. But I can’t fault her for her delusions—when you’re as stupid as she is, you’re bound to make mistakes. Mistakes like allowing me to leave Equestria after my husband died. Mistakes like not realizing until too late that I had conquered this island. Mistakes like sending an invasion force this pitiful to unseat me.” Princess shook her head. “Pathetic foal.”

“I almost wouldn’t think it was truly her intention, wouldn’t think she could fail this miserably, but it’s really the only explanation for why more Equestrians keep turning up on my island. The last ones were even dressed like military. There was a whole ship’s worth of them. I killed them all, of course, save for Strongsteed. I kept him for information first, but after a while I learned all there was to learn. Now I just like to watch him lose his mind. You know, he used to be functional.”

Roads glanced over at Chief. He was fully awake now, beady eyes burning with fury, muscles tensed and rippling, wearing a scowl deeper than Roads had ever seen. He took a menacing step forward, but Summer edged over and stood in his way. She gave him the same slight shake of the head as before. This time, though, Roads could see her jaw muscles bulging from where she had clenched her teeth, and when she turned back to face Princess her eyes were tighter than before.

Still, she spoke with the same calm monotony as before. “Yes, well, not everypony can be as brilliant as you, Princess. You have indeed defeated Celestia. Now all you have to do is send us back to Equestria so that we can inform our Princess of her failure.”

“Send you back to Equestria? Brilliant idea,” Princess said with a smile.

“I knew you would see it that way.”

“What better way to humiliate Celestia than by returning her the dead bodies of her own invasion force?”

Summer looked up her quietly, deadly calm still unbroken. “That’s a bad idea,” she said, an edge of steel creeping into her voice.

“I’m afraid I don’t care. This was a nice talk, don’t you think?”

“Why even have it if you were just going to kill us anyway?”

“Well,” she scoffed. “I’m no barbarian. Everypony deserves to be informed personally when they are to be put to death. It’s just common courtesy.” Princess looked over to her guards. “Willow, Aspen, escort the prisoners back to their pit, and let the populace know that we’re to have an execution next week.”

Summer glanced at Chief and flashed a quick nod. At that, his lips curled into a thin smile. Roads was fairly sure that this was the first time he had ever seen such a thing. It was slightly unnerving.

Willow and Aspen approached the three wordlessly, preparing to guide them back out into the hall. As soon as they were within hoof’s length, Chief leapt into the air, striking silently at both of them, knocking the pair to the ground almost instantaneously.

He hit the ground running, sprinting for the door. Summer follow suit.

“Roads, let’s go!” she called over her shoulder.

He whirled around and dashed after her, making his way to the—what happened to the door? It was right there a minute ago but now it was—

“Gone,” Princess said. “Sorry. The door magically seals into the granite. I’m afraid the only way out is to break the enchantment. Which I don’t quite plan on doing.”

Summer turned to face the other unicorn. “Let us out.”

“Why should I?” Princess asked, sick smile back on her face.

“Because if you don’t, we’ll kill you. You’ve sealed all of your guards out of the room as well.”

“Two hundred years of practicing magic, and you think I need guards to defend myself against your three?”

“Only one way to find out,” Summer said, as a dark brown blur flew past her.

There was a crack and a flash of light as Chief smacked into a magical barrier that had sprung up in a split second. He rolled to his feet, unphased, and launched himself at Princess again as beside him Summer charged into her.

She won’t be able to hold Chief back for long. An earth pony with a military background is bound to have built up resistance to magic—and how powerful could Princess possibly be?

His question was answered as a wave of green magic took Chief’s hooves out from under him, sending him crashing to the ground. An earsplitting cry filled the air as an aura surrounded Summer and she was tossed bodily into the hard stone wall of the room. She wobbled to her feet, caught sight of him, and called to him.

“Roads! Move!”

Roads glanced up at Princess, who was trying to subdue an incensed, swiftly moving Chief with magic, and having little luck. Each time she would manage to stop him short, he would only rise to his feet and charge her again, dodging bolts of magic until finally one lucky block would fell him once more. Roads sprinted quietly around the outer edge of the room, until he was directly behind Princess, out of her line of sight.

He took a deep breath, and rushed at her. He wasn’t sure what he could do when he got there, but perhaps he could buy Chief enough time to get within striking distance. He ran as fast as he could, gaining ground, moving ever closer to her.

Closer...

She still didn’t see him.

Closer...

Could she hear his hoofsteps?

Almost there...

A second more and he would be upon her. A body check, a hoof to the face, anything would do, and then Chief would be able to—Princess whirled around.

Before Roads could react he was flying towards the wall.

_________________________________________________________

Darkness.

Where is he? A pounding in his head, a shrill buzzing in his ears. He opens his eyes groggily, finds himself sitting against something cool and hard. Granite. Something warm trickles down the side of his face. He feels like sleeping. That would be nice. But there is something he needs to do.

In the distance, hazy figures dancing around each other. Flashes of light bursting through the rotunda. He closes his eyes again. Why does his head hurt so badly? The memories come slowly.

Books in a fire... kicked across the room... bashed hard against a wall...

No, that’s not right. Not this time. He opens his eyes again.

Three figures in the haze. Blue, brown, red. The blue one isn’t moving. It’s turning red, too. The other two are still dancing, though. They flow together and give off green light. Such beautiful colors. But darkness is coming again.

A storm... falling... striking tree branches on the way down...

No. Still not right. He feels his eyes open again. There are dark clouds at the edges of his vision. His own heartbeat echoes in his ears. Loud, like a drum. His mouth tastes of metal. Between the thumps in his ears, he can hear someone screaming.

“Chief!”

The brown figure is being held aloft. Kicking its legs, high in the air. It jerks. Falls.

“Chief!

It crumples to the ground. Keeps moving. Crawling. Swearing through broken teeth.

Darkness again.

Lying on clouds... hooves to the face... to the side... all over...

Not quite there yet. Closer, though. The darkness... slides. It’s still there, but thinner. He can see through it, now.

The brown one is in the air again. Held aloft by its neck. Slowly turning blue.

The darkness pulsates with the beat of the thumping in his ears. His eyes slide out of focus... then back again...

Now two are still. One is moving. Getting closer. Smiling.

A bolt of green light... caught in the chest... crashing into the wall.

That’s it. A bolt of fear runs through his stomach. Princess. She is coming closer, wearing a demonic grin. He struggles to move. His legs are far away; they respond slowly. He jerks and twitches against the granite. She is coming closer.

Darkness again, and then...

A face, pressed close to his. It says something. The sound reaches him from a distance. He can’t make out anything, save for the word “Celestia.”

Princess....

A flash of green light and all is dark once more.

VII

View Online

Volume 1

VII

“You broke the faith, and strangely, weakly, slipped apart.
You gave in -- you, the proud of heart, unbowed of heart!
Was this, friend, the end of all that we could do?
And have you found the best for you, the rest for you?”
-Rupert Brooke, Desertion

“Revenge isn’t a good motive. Sure, it sounds all well and good. An eye for an eye, punishing those who wrong you, all that jazz. Really, though, think about it. You get too caught up thinking about vengeance and you forget what’s really important: survival.

“Sure, dying in a final act of revenge sounds good on paper, but at the end of the day, where are you? Dead. Doesn’t matter how or why, you’re dead, buddy, and that’s what matters. Nope. That’s no good. Staying alive’s the important thing. And don’t forget it.”

Yep. That sounded about right. Maybe she’d use a word or two differently, but that’s about what Summer would say to the idea of revenge. But he would ask anyway. He would get his chance. He would kill Princess.

Even if Summer dragged him back to Equestria, he had contacts. He could come back to this island, with a few friends, and a few weapons, and then he would see who got tossed across that granite floor like a ragdoll...

But for now, he would have to bide his time. He would ask Summer, of course, because it couldn’t hurt. But then, he already knew what the answer was. And how she would say it. And he would get his chance anyway. He had vowed to.

Of the multitude of ponies Chief had vowed to kill, only one had ever survived. The Mole. The moniker itself sent waves of cold fury running through Chief’s stomach. Fury, and frustration. He didn’t know who--or where--the Mole was, but he would get his chance. Just as with Princess.

She had sealed her fate, really. Set up her own death. She had beaten Chief, knocked him senseless about the stony room, but it wasn’t then. She had taken down his team--his friends--with him, blasting them with magic and bashing them to pieces on the granite walls, but it wasn’t then, either.

It wasn’t when she had held him aloft by his neck, crushing the air out of him, and told him she wouldn’t let him back down--wouldn’t let him breathe--unless he renounced his allegiance to Celestia.

It wasn’t even when he had done it, blue-faced and through gritted teeth, at the behest of a panicked, half-dead Summer, and Princess had knocked him out cold.

It was when he was lying unconscious at her hooves and she had him sent back to the pit. It was when she let him live. That was her fatal mistake. And she would pay dearly for it.

Because as the last breath faded from Chief’s spittle-flecked lips, swearing off his pledge to his Princess, another vow had run through his head and replaced it, just before the darkness closed around his eyes.

I will kill you.

And the next thing he knew, he was awake in the pit.

Awake in the pit, and wracked with guilt. He had sworn undying fealty to Celestia when he became a guardspony, and even after he left the Guard, the oath went with him. He owed her his life, his livelihood, his home, everything.

And he had forsaken her. For survival. For Summer. For Roads.

For his daughter.

They still needed him--alive. He was no good to them dead over a few words, over a simple oath. An oath that can be retaken, he reminded himself. And yet...

Words meant something. His word meant something. To him, at least. Until he could revenge himself on Princess, it wouldn’t be right again. He had never rescinded a promise, never broken a vow. He had sworn to honor Celestia until death--and by staying alive, he had failed miserably. He owed her now. A debt had been incurred.

A debt that wouldn’t be fulfilled until after Princess’ last breath.

Summer wouldn’t understand. To her, there was nothing more important than survival. No words more meaningful than living. No pony worth dying for.

Things were different to Chief. Revenge meant something. The debt he now owed Celestia was as real and tangible as the island. He could feel it pressing on him, weighing him down, lodged in his mind. He would do what he had to do. He would die if necessary.

Summer and Roads would be able to manage without him. Summer was tough, Roads, toughening.

And your daughter...?

Her aunt could take care of everything. He could count on her.

Nothing left to lose, he thought. For Princess, that was a very dangerous thought. Of course, he had to get out of this pit, first.

Chief looked around. By the reddened rays of the dying sun he could see Roads sitting unconscious against the dirt wall, face bloody, head swollen. Summer lay on the ground next to him, eye bruised, gashes along her back barely covered by a thin layer of gauze. He had been afraid that she would bleed out, lying there on the dirt floor, and had convinced Willow and Aspen to root through their confiscated supplies and find a medkit. With his careful instruction, they had stitched her up and bound her wounds as best they could before returning to their posts.

In return, he had shown each what to use out of the kit to stop the swelling on their nearly identical head wounds. Apparently, they held no ill will for him, despite the prior violence.

“Oh, sure, no bad blood,” Willow had assured him. “We woulda done the same, given the chance. Well, not the same exactly, because you’re bigger than us, and faster, but assuming we were larger than you and able to--”

“He understands,” Aspen had said.

And Chief had given a gruff nod.

They weren’t bad at all, it seemed. They did their jobs, nothing more, just as Strongsteed had claimed.

Strongsteed... Where was he?

Chief twisted against his bonds--they’d tied him down again--to see the earth pony propped up against the wall, eyes unfocused, mouth hanging open. At his hooves sat a half empty bowl of what appeared to be soup. It steamed slightly, giving off a faintly sweet scent.

“Strongsteed! Hey!” he called.

One of his ears twitched, but apart from that, he remained motionless. There must have been a good bit of lotus in the food--it seemed Strongsteed was right about that, too.

Chief wondered when he’d been fed. Had his captors noticed where he had cut himself free? Chief glanced down at his hooves. Nope. The ropes were still there, but he had cut right through them. Excellent. Now, if he could just get him to pay attention for a second, he could--

“Chief?”

His head snapped around, hair on end, tensed until he realized the voice was Summer’s. She squirmed a bit, trying to sit up, and gave a dull groan as she looked herself over.

“What happened? I remember, she... she cut me, and then I was down, and she was... choking you? Something like that? Roads got tossed against the wall, he was out, I remember that. And then after that... nothing,” she said with a grimace.

“Didn’t miss much. She choked me out. Tossed us back here.”

Summer nodded slowly. She attempted to roll over, straining against the ropes, then gave a gasp of pain as she moved too far and broke one of her stitches. A look of panic flashed across her face as the gauze around the wound darkened with blood and she couldn’t move to stop it.

“Chief...”

“It’ll stop.”

“Chief... it hurts.”

There was a strange vulnerability in her voice that got his attention. He jerked against his ropes, moving a bit closer to her, and saw an unusual look on her face.

Fear.

Fear and helplessness. She was pale and shaking, quivering with nerves and blood loss.

“I’ve lost a lot Chief. I don’t feel so good.” Her quiet, worried undertones concerned him. This wasn’t like Summer at all.

“Willow! Aspen!” he called up through the bars.

A friendly voice called back to him. “Willow’s gone to bed. I’m still here, though! Wait, no. I’m Willow. It’s Aspen who’s gone to bed.”

He didn’t have time for this.

“I need the medikit and the knife. Summer’s popped a stitch.”

“Oh, Princess! Is she alright?! Should I come down and help again? I could go get Aspen!”

“No time. Just send down the kit and the knife.”

“I’m not supposed to send you the knife, you’re not allowed to take off your ropes. What if you--”

“She’s going to die.” Chief heard Summer draw a ragged gasp at that. He gave her a glance and saw that she was trying feebly to stop the bleeding, pressing down the gauze with a bound hoof.

“Well, we’re not supposed to let anypony die, either. I guess I could just help out, maybe just this once and then...” his voice faded as he walked away from the pit, muttering to himself.

A moment later, the stone dagger and the medical supplies fell to the floor between his hooves. Chief cut himself and Summer free, careful not to be too rough, lest he ruin more of the stitches. He lifted her deftly and carried her smoothly into the center of the pit, to where the light was better, and slipped the gauze away from the bleeding cut.

“How is it?” Summer asked, craning her neck to look at it.

Without a word, Chief forced her head gently back down. This wasn’t something she needed to see. From where he had been laying before, he hadn’t been able to tell how bad the lacerations were as he guided Willow and Aspen through the medical proceedings. Now, though, out in the light, the cuts were... worrisome.

The gash in question was deep, in some places even to the ribcage, and stretched halfway down the length of Summer’s side. It appeared the guards, even with Chief’s advice, had done a poor job stitching up the wound; her slight movements had torn half of them out, and blood now poured from the injury, spilling across Chief’s hooves.

He popped open the large kit, and grabbed a pair of thick gauze pads, a needle and thread, and a half-empty bottle of coagulant potion, which thankfully also doubled as a disinfectant. Summer gave a slight gasp of pain as he poured some of the coagulant across the bleeding, the potion trickling slowly into the wound, leaving trails of congealed blood. Running one of the gauze pads across the surface of the gash, he cleaned it as best he could, then began re-applying stitches.

After a moment, he was finished, and the bleeding had almost ceased as he covered the injury once again with a thick layer of bandages. He looked up from his work to see Summer staring at him, eyes wide and glassy, face white as a sheet, a pained look on her face.

“Done?” she asked through gritted teeth.

“Done.”

“Good.”

With his help, Summer got to her hooves, and tottered over to lean on the wall, still trembling slightly.

“We’ve gotta get outta here, Chief,” she said weakly, sitting down and resting her face in her hooves.

“We still have business to take care of,” he said firmly.

“Yeah? What?”

“Princess.”

“What about h--oh, no. Not a chance.” She looked up at him, a bit of blood rushing back into her face.

“I have to.”

“You won’t.” With a glance up at the bars where Willow stood, unseen, her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “We’re leaving here as soon as possible. As soon as Roads wakes up, we’ll climb out of the pit and make a break for the zeppelin, and then we’re getting the hell back to Equestria.”

“Leave me.”

“What, so you can end up like him?” With a jerk of a hoof, Summer gestured to Strongsteed. “I don’t think so. We’re leaving. All of us. Together.” A bit of tenor had crept back into her voice, an edge of command that covered her prior vulnerability.

“I need this.”

“You’re coming with us. That’s an order. You work for me on this, and I’m pulling rank. You’re under my command; it’s in your contract.”

Chief glared at her. She was technically correct, but he didn’t think she would have the nerve to bring that up. In the past, they had worked as equals, deferring to one another as each situation arose. If Summer was pulling rank, she was scared she might not survive. It was understandable, but he glared at her, all the same.

She met his eyes, and gazed back with an unwavering intensity. For a moment, they were both silent, each daring the other to look away first. As Chief stared into those cold green eyes, he realized how much Summer reminded him of her sister.

Honey Dew...

His eyes flickered to the ground. “Fine,” he muttered.

“Good,” Summer replied, pressing a hoof to her side.

Chief looked down at her, a grudging respect worming its way into his chest. As much as he hated taking her orders, there were few ponies in the world who would stand against him like that. It was why he preferred her company; her fearless treatment of him was both annoying and refreshing. It reminded him of how Honey had been...

Honey Dew...

No, no, no. He couldn’t think about her. Not now. There were more important things to deal with. Roads for instance. A loud groan from the edge of the pit announced his awakening.

“What... happened? Where am I?”

“We’re back in the pit, Roads,” Summer replied.

There was another groan. “Not this again. Mmff. Why does my head hurt?”

“Well--”

“Wait a minute... No, I remember!” He gasped as the memories suddenly rushed back to him. “Princess! She’s gonna kill us!”

“I know, I was there--”

“Summer, we’ve gotta get off the island. Out of the pit, back to the zeppelin, and away to Equestria.”

“Brilliant. Is that all we have to do? And here I was thinking we were doing to have to burrow our way to Equestria. Gee, what a plan,” she said.

“Yeah, it’s fantastic. We just have to get out of these ropes.”

“Speak for yourself. Chief and I are already out.”

“Really?” Roads wriggled out into the lit portion of the pit, where he could see them. “Fantastic. Cut me loose and let’s get out of here!”

Chief pulled him into the shadows near the walls--in case Willow happened to glance down at them--and sliced through his bonds.

“It’s not quite that simple, Roads,” Summer said.

“Sure it is. I can fly again, I can feel it. I can just lift you two out, and we can be on our way.”

“And the island full of natives who want to kill us?”

“Oh. Well... I hadn’t thought about them.”

“Shouldn’t be that bad, actually,” Chief chimed in. “Most of the natives haven’t been trained. Won’t bother us. Only have to look out for the guards.”

“And there happen to be several hundred of them. And only three of us--and despite Roads’ rapid recovery, I still can’t cast any magic. And in this state...” She shifted, rolling over onto her side and readjusting the bandages. “Well, I can barely even run.”

“The woods are safe. Just gotta make it there. The paths up the cliffs are thin enough to slow down most of the guards. We’ll only have to deal with a few at a time.”

Summer nodded, thinking it over. “Alright, but I’m not going to be able to move very quickly. Chief, you might have to carry me some of the way. When do we leave?”

“We should go now,” Roads said, gesturing up to the night sky that shone through the bars at the top of the pit. “While it still night. They might not even see us.”

Chief nodded in agreement.

“Okay. Great. Let’s get moving, then. Roads, you’ll have to fly up, and see if you can’t move the bamboo at the top. Take out Willow with the knife, and then you can--”

“Wait, what?”

“You’re going to have to kill Willow so that we--”

“I’m not going to kill somepony! Are you insane?!” he hissed. They wanted him to stab the guard? That was not happening. If they were willing to resort to something like that, were Summer and Chief even any better than the islanders? Any better than Princess?

Summer sighed. “Look, it’s the only way to--”

“No! Not a chance.”

“Roads, if you can’t do this, they are going to kill us.”

“I don’t care. I can’t kill somepony! Especially not Willow!” he objected.

Summer sighed, pressing a hoof to her face. “Fine. Just... talk to him, then, or something. See if he’ll let us go. If he won’t, subdue him.”

“‘Subdue him’? How am I supposed to do that?” Roads asked. This was ridiculous! He wasn’t prepared for this! All this talk of murder, of subduction and violence... how could they even think he was capable of that kind of thing?

“Shouldn’t be hard,” Strongsteed muttered. Roads turned and stared at him; he had been in a silent stupor for so long, the pegasus had almost forgotten he was even there.

“What? What are you talking about?” he asked, confused.

“Willow’s not even a real guard. He just tags around Aspen all the time; he never got trained. He followed Aspen around on his guard duties for so long that everypony--even Princess--forgot he was never supposed to be there. Well, except me. And Aspen,” Strongsteed said.

“Great. Well, then, he knows about as much as I do about fighting. Which is to say, nothing at all.”

Chief walked up to Roads, bringing the medikit with him.

“Watch this,” he said, digging through the kit until he pulled out a flask of coagulant. He held it out, showing it to Roads. “Eye on this. It’s interesting.” He tossed the it into the air. Roads eyes followed it, up... up... higher, and higher, the silver rim of the flask twisting and glinting in the light and--

Chief hit him across the face, his hoof catching just under Roads’ eye. He crashed to the ground, clutching his face. Chief hadn’t hit him hard, but it was enough to hurt.

“What the hay was that?! What’d you do that for?!” he cried.

“Distraction. Anypony can do it. Give him an excuse to look away and hit him when he does.”

“And after that?”

“Toss him in the pit. We’ll take care of him.”

“I dunno...” Roads said doubtfully. “I mean, it’s Willow. The one native who’s actually treated us well, and you want me to attack him? That just doesn’t seem right.”

“Do you want to die?” Summer asked flatly.

“...no.”

“Go take care of Willow before somepony who can defend himself takes his place.”

“I just... I don’t know about this...”

Chief picked the flask up off the ground and offered it to him. “Do it. Don’t even think about it.”

Roads turned and saw Strongsteed staring at him--or in his general direction, at least. The other pony shrugged. “Do whatever you have to,” he said.

The pegasus looked back up at Chief, then down to the flask. He stared into his reflection in the glass for a brief, pensive moment. A bedraggled, bruised pony, face half caked in blood, stared grimly back at him, eyes sunken under a shock of matted mane. His mouth tightened. Could he do this? Roads took the flask.

He would have to.

He glanced up at the bars, through which the dim light of a torch flickered, disappearing every now and again as Willow marched past. He shook his head, mouth twisting into a hopeless smirk. He nearly laughed.

This was ridiculous. He, Roads, the ‘soft, library pony’ from Everfree, about to go attack somepony. Had somepony told him a month ago he would be doing this, he would have laughed in their face. It was like some stupid, terrible joke.

For a moment, he felt far away, outside his own body, as though he were looking down at the whole situation from some distant tower. He gave a sad sigh at the image of himself, far away, in the bottom of a pit. Truly, truly ridiculous.

Suddenly, he seemed to rush back into his own head. He looked from Summer to Chief, gave a quick nod, and flew up to the bars at the top of the pit. Upon looking around the edges, he found that they were little more than thick lengths of bamboo, half embedded in the ground. This prison clearly wasn’t meant for a pegasus, he thought as he pried each away and tossed it aside. Within a few seconds, he was out, standing at the edge of the cliff.

Face to face with Willow. The other pony gave him a confused frown. “Roads? What are you doing up here? You’re supposed to be down in the pit.” He looked around, a look of fear flashing across his face. “You’d better get back there, before somepony sees. They might think you were trying to escape. Do you have any idea how much trouble I would get in if Princess found out about this?”

“Uhh...”

“Geez, Roads, come on, hurry up! I mean, I don’t wanna be pushy or anything but you’re really not supposed to be up here.”

Roads felt waves of guilt crashing over him. Willow was an idiot. A tiny, scrawny, untrained, unkempt idiot who only wanted what was best for everypony involved. And here he was, trying to muster up the courage to hurt him. For a second, he thought he might be sick. Willow must have noticed.

“Are you okay? You look pale.”

“Umm--”

“Sweet Princess! Are you sick? Oh, I think you’re coming down with something.”

“No, no, uh, I--”

“Is that why you’re out of the pit?” Willow’s face flushed red and his brow furrowed over a quivering frown. “Oh, Roads, I didn’t realize! I’m so, so sorry I was upset with you a second ago. You’re ill, of course you came up to see if I could help. Come on, sit down, and I’ll call somepony to bring you some water.”

“No, don’t do that!” Roads’ heart quickened. Willow had no idea what was going on, but if Aspen saw him up here... He shuddered to think what might happen. He might get dragged before Princess, and end up blinded like Strongsteed for trying to escape.

Willow turned away from him. “Aspen!” he bellowed. “Asp--ow!” He flinched stumbled away in pain, clutching his face where Roads had hit him. He tripped over a rock and flopped to the ground with a whimper.

“That hurt!” he cried, looking up at Roads. “What’d you do that for?”

“I’m sorry, Willow, I--”

“I thought we were friends...”

Willow looked as though he were about to cry. Roads’ heart froze in his chest. How could he have done this? How could he let Summer and Chief talk him into doing something like that to somepony. And to this pony, out of anypony.

“I just wanted to make you feel better. I wanted everypony to be happy...”

“Willow, I just, I had to--”

“Well, fine,” he spat, trying to muster up anger between tears. “Fine, maybe you don’t want my help. You--you’re such a--you’re just mean! Plain mean!”

Roads nearly began to cry with him. He sat down on the ground, cradling his head in his hooves.

“Well, I’ll tell you one thing, that’s what I get for trying to be nice. Punched. Well, don’t think you’re going to stop me from being kind--I’ll never end up like you. Going around, punching ponies. I mean, Chief, I can understand, he was upset, and we were trying to take him back to the pit, even though he didn’t want to go--which wasn’t nice, but we had to do our jobs--but you, you just came out of nowhere and--”

“Willow?!” Roads ears perked up as he heard Aspen call out from nearby. “Willow, what’s going on?”

Roads’ pity was replaced by a nerve-rending terror as he heard hoofsteps growing steadily closer. Willow got up and dashed off into the dark, off to meet Aspen. Roads scurried over to the edge of the pit.

“What happened?” Summer asked. “We heard you talking to somepony but we couldn’t tell what was going on. Did you take care of Willow?”

“Not really.”

Summer groaned. “Roads, I told you to--”

“Look, we don’t have time to talk about this! We’ve gotta get out of here!”

Summer nodded, and moved to the center of the pit. “Alright. Let’s go. Can you carry me up?”

Roads nodded. “I’ll try.”

He hopped down into the pit, gliding gently to the ground, and helped Summer drape herself across his back. He gave a small groan as her weight bore down on him. She weighed only slightly less than he did...but then, he didn’t have to carry her any more than five meters.

He beat his wings mightily, kicking off as hard as he could. His initial burst carried him halfway to the top of the pit, and with another few, desperate flaps he managed to secure a hoofhold at the top of the pit. He pulled himself up, straining against their combined weight, rolling over to dump Summer unceremoniously to the ground. She let out a loud groan, pressing her hoof to her side.

“Sorry.” Roads turned and peered into the pit, glancing down at Chief. “How do we get you out of there?” he asked.

“Easy.” Chief grunted. He turned to Strongsteed. “Alright,” he said, nudging him. “Help me up.”

The other pony fumbled blindly across the pit, making his way to the portion of the wall directly beneath Roads. He reared onto his hind legs, bracing against it, locking his forehooves together just below his chest. Chief walked over to him, reared as well, and stepped onto Strongsteed’s forelegs.

“Roads...” Summer called from somewhere behind them.

“Just a second.”

With a grunt, Strongsteed hoisted Chief into the air. He raised a forehoof to Roads, who took it and, digging his rear hooves into the ground, dragged him up out of the pit. Before moving from the edge of the pit, Roads offered his hoof to Strongsteed.

“Climb on up,” he said.

“What?”

“We’re leaving, let’s go.”

“I think not! I’m staying here. This is my home,” Strongsteed said, brimming with conviction.

“Are you crazy? Come with--”

“Roads!” Summer interrupted.

“What?” Roads turned around.

He found himself face to face with a small army of islanders. Aspen stood in front of them, next to him a sobbing Willow. The bigger pony’s face was flushed, he was nearly trembling with rage. The look on his face sent waves of fear crashing through Roads’ chest. Aspen had seemed so calm and casual before; his anger was a terrifying deviation. The guard leveled his spear at Roads.

“What did you do?!” he demanded.

“I--I, er, I h-had, uh--” Roads found himself unable to speak, barely capable of stammering out a few unintelligible syllables.

“What did you do?!” Aspen roared, his booming voice echoing from the walls of the canyon. After the sound faded, a pregnant silence settled over them. Finally, Summer took a pained step forwards and broke it.

“Only what I told him to.”

There was another pause, as Aspen and his comrades took a menacing step forward.

“And what were you trying to do?”

Summer looked him in the eye, gave a quick wink, and said, “Escape.”

With that, she pivoted and hopped onto Chief’s back just as all hell broke loose.

Roads twisted around and saw Chief dash away, carrying Summer. He heard shouting for him to follow--glimpsed the islanders charging him. Before he could gather his wits, he was running--sprinting along behind Chief--the sounds of hoofsteps heavy behind him. Charging over a rickety bridge--slipping through mud and crops--keeping his eyes fixed firmly on the blue and brown figures before him.

If he lost sight of them he was dead.

A ringing in his ears--his mouth dry and parched--legs tired, pumping away, desperate to keep up. Gotta keep up with Chief. Gotta keep up. Keep up. Keep going. Faster, run faster. Where are they? Where did they go?! His head twisting around--a desperate search--the guards fanning out behind him, trying to trap him. Encircling. Ensnaring.

Faster, faster.

The taste of blood in his mouth and the stench of sweat in his nose--firelight casting dancing shadows all around him, one a guard, one Chief, one his father. Dad.

“Keep going. Fast, like I taught you.”

Stumbling--pitching face-first into the mud. Cool, cold, protective.

“Get back on your hooves. I didn’t say you could stop yet.”

No, he wanted to stay there... wanted to stay there forever... He was so tired...

A hoof jerked him from the ground--Chief, staring into his dirt-caked face. Chief, saying something--it echoes in his ears but he can’t hear it. Gotta keep up. Chief sprinting off, Roads following. Up, onto a terrace--Chief, shoving away a guard, kicking him off the edge--up, to the woods.

Up, up, up. Faster, faster. He wanted to fly but he couldn’t leave Chief and Summer behind again. He swore. Never again. He stayed on the ground.

Hoofsteps--closer now--he twisted his head. The face of a guard--a spear, flashing through the air--a pain in his side, a long scrape. Nothing serious. He hoped. Keep going. On even ground, now--heading into the woods. Running faster than Chief--he passed him--shouts behind him, a cry for help, ringing in his ears. A mare’s voice.

No use. Gotta keep going. Charging through the woods--weaving through the trees.

Suddenly, no hoofsteps behind him. Roads slowed down--peered around. Nopony. He kept running, but more slowly now. Nopony was chasing him, the guards had all been left behind. He breathed a sigh of relief, his racing heart beginning to slow. He was safe, now; he’d left the guards behind.

And Summer and Chief.

No, no, no, no! Not this again. Oh, please Celestia not this again! How could he let this happen?! How could he be so stupid?!

Kicking off the ground, he soared into the air, heading for the other side of the island. Now that he had left Chief and Summer he didn’t see any reason not to. As he soared through the night sky, he glanced over his shoulder to see lines of glowing dots just beside the river, fires where his friends were being held prisoner. Where they were waiting to be executed.

Where he had left them to die.

Idiot! He thought. Coward! Fuck-up! He had done it again. He had sworn he wouldn’t do it again. The evening winds cut across his face as he flew, a burning building in his wings, a fire roaring in his chest. The heated rage spilled across his mind, his muscles tensed, his teeth clenched.

As soon as he was far enough away from the city, he dove, landing hard in grove filled with towering hardwoods. Pain from the impact seared through his hooves but he ignored it.

No. He shouldn’t ignore it. He deserved it.

Dad was always right about me. I’m worthless. Trash. Good-for-nothing, just like Chief said. Chief... How could you leave them?! How could you?! They were your friends. All of your life, you wanted friends, and then you get them, and what do you do? Leave them at the mercy of an insane dictator. Leave them to be murdered.

Stupid, stupid, stupid! She called for you. Right before you lost them, she called for you.

You never looked back.

His anger seethed and frothed, his muscles jerked, he drove his hoof into the ground. Idiot! And again. Foal!

He turned, backed against a tree, and bucked it, driving his rear legs hard into the wood. A howl filled the air, feral, echoing with rage and pain across the grove.

I hate you! he said to himself. He kicked the tree again, relishing the shock of pain that arced up his legs.

I hate you!

Another kick.

I hate you!

And another.

I hate you I hate you I hate you I hate you I hate you I hate you...

He drove his hooves into the tree again and again, animalistic growls and grunts filling the air, intermingling with the sound of shattering wood as the bark rent and broke. His cracked hooves smeared the pulverized bark with blood, but still he kicked.

I hate you I hate you I hate...

Everything.

Something in his chest cracked.

Princess...

The kicks were more forceful now, boring into the wood.

Strongsteed, the Guards...

They kept coming, splintering the very heart of the tree.

The island, the bullies in school, the Everfree, being alone, being forced to fly...

He could hear something, a faint whisper in his ear.

My father...

He stopped, exhausted, legs pained, chest burning, hooves bloodied. He sat back against the tree and, with a dull crack, the trunk gave way, a few muffled creaks emanating from the broken wood. With a loud crash, the tree fell to the ground. Roads stood and turned around to see somepony sitting on the stump.

No, not just somepony.

His father.

VIII

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Volume 1

VIII

“A loving father, sad for the rebellion,
the distance between himself
and his children, sad for their defiance,
their forgetting, of the things he had done
for them, the love he had heaped on them.”
-Raymond A Foss, Holding His Anger

Dad...?

Could it be? It was impossible and yet... here he was. His father, here, standing right in front of him. Had he been calmer, he might have come up with an explanation. Something rational.

But somehow, in his fury-twisted mind, his father’s presence made sense. Perfect sense.

Roads stared as the other pegasus unfurled his mighty wings and stepped down from the ragged stump. He was as large and powerful as ever, a sick grin twisted across his face, his eyes burning under a heavy brow. With a flick of his head, he shook his bright orange mane out of his eyes, the mane that had earned him the nickname “Firebolt” in his performing days.

He stalked over to Roads, steely muscles rippling under his slick black coat. He flared his wings, towering over his son. Roads flared his wings back, taking a step forward with all the menace he could muster, chest burning with fury. The other pegasus threw back his head, a booming laugh filling the grove.

“Roads!” he said, the word filled with bitter amusement.

“Dad,” Roads spat, anger seething through his voice.

“Good to see you again, boy. Looks like you’ve lived up to all of my expectations.” He glanced over Roads’ shoulder, to his bleeding hooves. “And then some.”

“No.” He had only ever openly defied his father once before, out of fear and shame. This was different. After all these years, to finally see the stallion again... Roads wanted to leap forward and tear his throat out.

“Of course you did. You left your friends behind.”

“It was an accident.”

“It was on purpose, and you know it.”

“Liar.”

“You were too weak to help them.”

“No!”

“Too pathetic to save them.”

“Shut up!”

“Look at you. I was right, I was always right. You’ve spent your whole life trying to prove me wrong--”

“You are!”

“And yet here we are. You failed, Roads--”

“I didn’t!”

“You’ve always been a failure.”

“Quit! Just quit talking!”

“See if you can stop me--”

“--I will--”

“--failure.”

“Shut up!” He screamed, and launched himself at his father.

“Shut up shut up shut up shut up!” With each word, he threw a punch at his father, and each time the stallion seemed to glide away from the blow. Seeing this, he fought with increased vigor, his hooves flying left, right, all over, a flurry of strikes glancing harmlessly away from him.

One of Roads’ rear hooves hit a rock and it sent him careening forwards, his face crashing into the ground. He gathered himself and got to his hooves, and when he looked up, his father had disappeared.

“Over here, Roads...” a taunting voice called.

Roads whirled around to see his father standing just a few feet from him. Kicking off his back hooves--ignoring the pain--he beat his wings forcefully, diving towards the other pony. He ducked his shoulder, trying to tackle him.

He landed heavily on his stomach, the ground knocking the air from his lungs. Roads twisted around to see that his father hadn’t moved; he seemed to have simply passed harmlessly through the other pony. Any other time, he would have questioned it, but now... now his mind burned with rage, and with a roar, he charged other pegasus once again.

And once again fell flat on his face.

“You’re wasting your time,” his dad chuckled. “But then, that is what you’re best at, isn’t it?”

“No.”

“You’re right. You’re not particularly good at anything, are you, Roads? Which is why your friends are going to die.”

“They’ll be fine--”

“Maybe if you weren’t too stupid and ignorant to figure out what was going on with the island before you got captured. Maybe if you weren’t so weak and useless, you could have actually taken down Princess when you had the chance. Maybe if you weren’t so clumsy and helpless, Chief wouldn’t have had to stop to help you out of the mud when you tried to escape.

“And maybe then your friends would have a chance to survive. But now?” He laughed a long, cold laugh that resonated with sadistic glee. “Now you’ve left them. They’ll die, and since you can’t pilot the zeppelin, you’ll die, too.”

“I’ll go back for them, then. I’ll save them from the pit,” he said, getting to his hooves.

“Because that worked so well last time. Besides, the islanders would slaughter you as soon as you set foot in their city,” he said, relishing the thought.

“I can take the islanders. I can figure something out,” Roads said, burning with conviction.

“Not a chance. You’ll die. Alone.”

“Come with me. You can help me.”

His father laughed again. “You’re not worth helping.”

Roads felt his anger rising even further. “That’s how it is, then? You criticize me for doing nothing, but you won’t even help me?”

The bigger pony just shrugged. “I’m not the one with something to prove. I don’t care if you think I’m a hypocrite. I’m still right.”

“You’re no better than I am.”

He chuckled at that. “You’ve got it backwards, Roads.”

“Shut up. I need to think.”

Okay, he thought. I have to go back for Summer and Chief. Everypony dies if I don’t. How do I get past the islanders? Stealth?

“Not an option,” his father said.

Roads looked at him curiously. Had he spoken aloud? He wasn’t sure. His mind was frenzied, running at a fevered pace, and everything seemed jumbled and quickened.

“...you’re too clumsy,” his father continued. “And a pegasus surrounded by earth ponies sticks out like a sore hoof, even at night. And even if you didn’t, there’ll be more guards around the pit, now that there’s been an escape.”

“Fine, I’ll do something else!”

What else is there? Negotiation? He heard his dad laugh behind him, but he ignored the noise. No, Summer already tried that.

Force?

His father’s laughter grew to a roar, booming hatefully in his ears.

“You--haha--you want to take on--hahaha--an entire island full of pissed-off natives by yourself?!” The old stallion’s sides heaved with the force of his malicious cackling.

“I could... I could make some sort of weapon.”

“He wants to make a weapon! Little Roads, attacking the village. Everypony look out, he has a weapon!” His father reared onto his back legs, gesturing wildly to the the trees around them, a showman before an audience.

Roads sat down, hooves over his ears, trying to ignore his dad, trying to think. His mind raced, fueled by humiliation and rage. There has to be something. Something the islanders left behind. Something I can use... Nothing came to mind. Something I can make, then. I could fashion a spear... but what would I carve it with? And even then, that’s not going to get me far against all those islanders.

What else could he make? And array of crude weaponry flashed through his mind--cudgels, clubs, pikes and such, each more useless than the one before it. Even if I had something real, something well made, I still couldn’t use it well enough... Conventional weaponry is out. But what if...

What about some kind of potion? I’m a passable alchemist--“You’re a terrible alchemist!” his father cried--perhaps there’s something I can brew up. A strength elixir, maybe. Or perhaps an invisibility potion. I could even make something volatile, something that might explode, or burn or... no.

It was no use. The islanders had confiscated all of his alchemy equipment along with everything else. But he was definitely on the right track. He needed to stick to what he knew, play to his strengths. But what’ll be helpful? What skills do I have?

“None,” the other stallion said flatly.

Roads just ignored him. He was on a roll, now. He was finally getting somewhere. I know a lot magic... Unhelpful. He couldn’t do any of his own. Ley lines, then. I know a ton about them. But how did that help him?

If I could move a line, maybe get a nexus to form inside the city. It could cause enough chaos that... no. Controlling an entire line required tons of preparation, and a very, very skilled magician. That was out. What if I just drew on a line, then? Used its magic as my own? That was it. That could work.

But he hadn’t felt any lines in the city, and even if he flew to a different line, attuned himself to it, and absorbed some of its magic, by the time he got back to the city, it would be long gone. Ley magic, even in a fully attuned line, only lasts a few minutes. But... he knew he was on the right track. He just needed to get the magic from the nexus, to the city. To store it somehow, to be used later. If only he had--

That’s it! The engine!

It was perfect. He could fly to out to the Zephyr, rip out the engine, and charge it with a nexus--it was already imbued with Motion magic, so the energy from the center of the maelstrom should have been compatible.

He could then use that magic to fight his way to Summer and Chief. It was brilliant. But it wouldn’t be easy. If he wanted the engine to absorb the power from a nexus, he would have to physically immerse it in the heart of a line. That would be dangerous, given that he, by extension, would also be in contact with the nexus. Which wouldn’t be too harmful, in theory, but still... it had never been attempted. Nopony had ever been crazy enough to try it.

And even then, if he wanted to use the ley magic, he would have to have enough of his own lines de-polarized to let the magic flow through. Horesapples, he thought. My lines have already recovered from the Lotus, and I can’t get to any of my Attunement potions...

Although... the Lotus extract had depolarized his lines, and he didn’t see why the fruit itself wouldn’t have a similar--if lessened--effect. If he could douse himself with water as Summer had before the delirium set in, he would probably be alright. He would retain the fractured lines, but still be clear headed.

Of course, that meant it would be difficult--if not impossible--to fly while he was still attuned. Still, though, this island wasn’t that large, no matter what Princess said. He could make his way from the Lotus grove to the city without a problem. It would just be maneuvering through the town itself that would be difficult.

Still, it could work. It was crazy, yes, and dangerous, but it was his best chance. His only chance.

“It won’t work,” his dad said, snickering.

Roads ignored him and kicked off into the air, unfurling his wings and taking to the sky. The cool night air blew against his wings as he flew steadily towards the zeppelin. His father flew behind him, barely visible in the darkness, but ever-present nonetheless. The older stallion flew smoothly and powerfully alongside him, every inch of his body streamlined, toned, and muscular, ready for great bouts of speed and control at a moment’s notice.

Somehow, the pegasus had managed to fix his mangled wing, and lose all the weight he had gained since he stopped performing; he appeared to Roads not as he had in his last childhood memories, but instead as an athlete in his prime. Roads wondered briefly what had happened to him before pushing such thoughts aside. He needed to focus on finding the zeppelin.

He knew the general area where the vessel should be, though in the dark it was difficult to make out; he nearly crashed into the balloon before he realized where the darkness ended and the zeppelin began. After flying down to the undercarriage, he found the space in shambles. Ropes and pieces of crates were strewn about the floor, rails and metal bars, bent out of shape from the storm, jutted at odd angles, almost invisible in the night.

Roads felt his way slowly across the floor, trying to avoid bumping into anything heavy. More than once he tripped and fell to the floor, raising large bruises on his sides and shoulders. It didn’t help that his rear hooves, slippery with his own blood, could barely find purchase on the slick iron floor.

After a moment, though, he managed to stumble to the control panel. Roads cracked open the metal hatch that guarded the engine, squinting as the gem within bathed the undercarriage in a red light. Twisting his head to the left, he caught his father grinning a mad, delusional smile, his beady eyes glinting in the crimson glow, black wings flared against the night sky. A hellish gargoyle.

Roads just turned away from him, focusing on the engine. He searched around in the drawers under the control panel until he found Summer’s toolbox, grabbing a set of pliers and a pair of wire cutters. Using the tools, he sliced and pulled his way through the copper matrix around the gem, then ripped the stone out of the console.

He found it larger than he had thought it would be; it seemed only one small face had been visible from the outside, the rest of the jewel hidden by copper. It was heavy and rectangular, just longer than his head, its underside set in bronze. Jutting from the sides of the bronze settings were the remnants of the matrix.

Roads took the gem and laid it across his back, wrapping the thin copper wires around his chest and flanks. He then bent some of the remaining wires into loops around his forelegs and at the base of his neck, hoping he could help conduct the engine’s energy closer to his ley lines. Ideally, he would have fixed the gem to his head, right where a horn would be if he were a unicorn. The back would have to do, though; even in his enraged state, he could still see that affixing a massive gem to his face would be... impractical.

“You look ridiculous,” his father said, looking him over as he bent the last lengths of copper into place.

Roads shrugged. “It’ll get the job done.”

“It’ll get you killed.”

“Might as well try. I just have to charge it, then I’ll be set.”

He turned and stared out over the horizon, where circling clouds caught the silver light of the moon.

His father followed his gaze, and his smile widened. “Oh, brilliant. You’re going to fly into a nexus. How amusing it’ll be to get to watch you die at sea. I was hoping to see you eviscerated by a guard, but this’ll have to do.”

“Shut up, dad.” How did he even know what a nexus was?

No, it didn’t matter. He would have time to figure that out later; right now his friends were probably being tortured by Princess. The image of Summer’s gashed and bleeding side flickered through his mind, making his blood boil. Fury reinvigorated, he dove off the side of the zeppelin, heading out over the coast. He flew out over the ocean, his father once again trailing along behind him.

It wasn’t long before he reached the outskirts of the storm and felt the wind begin to cut into his sides and wings.

“Last chance to turn back,” his father said with a smirk.

Roads ignored him and sped into the clouds. Within moments, he found himself blinded and drenched by the rain, the powerful winds of the maelstrom whipping him this way and that. At first he tried to resist being hurled about by the storm, but then the old lessons his father had taught him sprang to his mind.

Fly with the wind, not against it... Never let a gust catch you across the wing... Keep your legs tucked and watch for anything that got sucked up by the wind...

The lessons sure seemed to be working for his dad; the stallion glided effortlessly through the storm, unimpeded by the raging winds. Roads, on the other hand, was straining to stay aloft and in control, riding out one burst of wind into the next, drawing ever closer to the center of the maelstrom. He cursed into the storm, screaming obscenities at it, at Princess, at his father. His words were lost in the winds, but he didn’t care. He wasn’t shouting to be heard.

By the time he burst through the clouds to the calm center of the tempest, his wings and back ached and burned, wracked with exhaustion. He gasped for air, drained by the effort, and took a moment to gather himself. Glancing down at the whirling sea below him, he saw the towering white orb that moved the waters. The nexus. Its surface glowed and rippled, giving off an eerie, pale mist that hovered above the ocean.

He was relieved to see that it hung slightly above the surface, instead of underwater as he had previously imagined. Out of all of the ways the giant ball of energy could kill him, at least drowning wasn’t one of them. Still, he didn’t want to fly into it, what if--

“Scared?” Roads heard his father’s voice, and glanced above him to see the stallion hovering just over his left shoulder. The other pegasus wore an expression of cocky condescension as he peered from Roads to the nexus. “I knew you couldn’t follow through with it. You just don’t have the heart to--”

But Roads was already gone. He had fallen right out of the sky.

Wings pinned to his sides, Roads tried not to think about what the magic might do to him once he breached the surface of the orb. He tried not to consider being torn limb from limb, or being crushed into a tiny ball of flesh and shattered bone. He tried not to think about the magic shutting down his organs as his tortured screams filled the air and--

And he was in. He cried out in fear and surprise as he was surrounded by the glow of the nexus, panicking as he felt the magic flowing through and around him. His ley lines weren’t depolarized, yet still the energy was overpowering enough to flow right through his body, giving him the sensation of being flattened by some enormous power. He felt as though he were encased inside a giant pressure chamber, as the magic pressed and pushed against every inch of his body, inside and out.

He closed his eyes, no longer flapping his wings, held aloft by the energy around him. He waited as long as he could, face curled into a grimace, arms and legs wrapped tightly around his body as he tried to endure the feeling of being crushed to death. Somewhere in the back of his mind, his old formula came back to him.

His heart skipped a beat as he realized that he was only being affected by the tiniest portion of the nexus’ energy; were the power directed at rather than through him, he would already be dead. It was a sobering thought.

It didn’t distract him for long. As the gem on his back peaked in absorption, he felt more of the magic act on him. He screamed as the pressure began to mount, no longer merely unbearable--now actually excruciating. He had to get out.

Roads flapped his wings, straining to leave the nexus. It wasn’t nearly as easy as entering; here, the air was so thick with energy it was like flying through wet cement. The force on his body was now strong enough to force the air from his lungs; he realized if he didn’t make it out soon, he would die of asphyxiation. If, that was, his insides didn’t hemorrhage first.

No. This wasn’t fair. It wasn’t supposed to end like this. He didn’t even get a chance. He didn’t even come close to saving his friends. Maybe Dad was right all along...

“Well, of course I was.”

Roads opened his eyes to see his father, bathed in the white glow of the nexus, flying just before him. He tried to reply, but he didn’t have enough air.

“Cat got your tongue, Roads? Such a shame to die silent.”

That set his teeth on edge. If he was going to die, he deserved to at least go out cursing his father. He felt his fury coalesce into a grim resolve.

I will not die here.

Roads mustered up the strength for a few last, desperate flaps. He felt himself move a few feet and then--

Air! Fresh, life-saving air! He was free, flying just above the nexus. He gasped and coughed as his lungs resumed working again, spiraling up and away from the white orb in the meantime. He wanted as much distance between himself and the deadly sphere as possible.

“How disappointing,” his father said, flying up to meet him. “Oh, well. There’ll be plenty of other opportunities for you to get yourself killed tonight.”

Roads gritted his teeth. He was through with his dad. He had been jeered at, mocked, and followed all the way into the storm, even taunted as he was about to die. Enough was enough.

“Stop! Just stop it! Go away, leave me alone! All I’ve ever wanted you to do is leave me alone!”

His father cocked an eyebrow, peering at him curiously. “Oh, but Roads, you’re so wrong. You’ve wanted so much more from me. You always have. Even as I burned your books, you sought my approval. Even as I yelled at you, you still wanted to impress me.

“Even when I beat you, you still wanted me to love you. You know it’s true.”

He did.

“And that’s why you’re weak, Roads. No matter what reason Summer and Chief give you, that’s why you’re weak. That’s why I never loved you. That’s why no one ever will.”

Roads was silent for a long moment, head down, eyes on his hooves. On hooves that had been roughened and cracked by this island. On hooves where copper wires circled sinewy muscle and glowed with magical energy.

When he finally looked up at his father, his eyes were cold and furious.

“I'm not weak anymore.”

And with that, he turned and flew once more into the storm.

_________________________________________________________

Roads collapsed from exhaustion when he reached the shore. It had been as difficult to leave the maelstrom as it had been to enter in the first place. His father had jeered and heckled at him all the way back, relentless, even though Roads could hardly stay aloft.

Now, he lay on his side in the sand, utterly spent, his father standing over him. The stallion was saying something, but Roads wasn't listening. He was deep inside his own head, trying to find the strength to get back up and seek out the Lotus grove. Instead, all he found was anger, pain and rage.

That would have to suffice.

Gritting his teeth, he pulled himself up from the sand, ignoring the pegasus beside him, and staggered off into the jungle. His wings were too spent for flight at the moment, so he was forced to walk. The flora was every bit as thick as he remembered; he had to push and fight for every inch of progress. Eventually, though, he came to the old path that Chief and Summer had cut on their first day on the island.

He followed the path through the gorge—thankfully chimera free—to their old campsite. It appeared to be in even worse condition than the zeppelin; the islanders had scavenged it for food and supplies, leaving behind only broken wood and torn scraps of canvas. In the ashes of the previous day's fire were Strongsteed's dog tags.

Roads walked over and slipped them over his head. It clinked against the copper around his neck, so he passed it under the wiring, lodging it firmly over the side of his neck. Right over the jugular vein. Every extra bit of protection counts, he thought.

Roads took off again, wincing as pain shot through his wings. His muscles screamed for him to stop, to land and walk again, but he didn't have time. Celestia only knew what Princess could have been planning for Summer and Chief.

It was not long before he located the Lotus grove; the rows of trees stood out plainly against the chaos and disorder of the surrounding jungle, even in the dark. He landed quietly, grimacing as his broken hooves hit the ground.

Making his way over to one of the trees, he looked up at the fruit, feeling a pang of embarrassment shoot through him. The last time he had been here, he had made a fool of himself. But this time would be different. It would have to be.

Rearing back, he placed a forehoof against the trunk of one of the Lotus trees to steady himself, and with the other he picked one of the fruits. He held it away from himself, trying not to give in to its mind-numbing aroma. He ached to eat it. He needed it.

He had to fight it for the time being, though. Princesses, he was hungry...

No. Not yet, Roads. You have to get closer to water first, he told himself, taking off again. His father flitted along behind him. This time, he headed around the mountain, to the villagers’ side of the island. It wasn’t long before he could see the fires of the natives’ city burning in the distance. A twinge of desperation grew in his stomach.

Landing by the river, he scanned his surroundings, wanting to be sure none of the natives were out and about. If one of them stumbled across him while he was under the effect of the Lotus, he was done for. Fortunately, the area around the river was uninhabited this far away from the town.

With the exception of his father, he was completely alone.

Now was as good a time as ever; he needed to get this over with. Roads sat on his haunches, staring at the fruit in his forehooves. Would he be able to control himself this time? He certainly hoped so. If not, Summer and Chief were dead. And so was he.

Better not lose focus then, he thought, and bit down hard on the fruit. Its juices spattered across his chin, fumes filling his nose, making him feel dizzy and lightheaded. He chewed quickly, and in another bite, consumed the rest of the fruit. He stood up, unsteadily, and began to wobble towards the river. He could tell the muscle relaxant was already beginning to take hold; his legs felt weak and useless, his balance utterly decimated.

He fell on his side, gasping as the world seemed to rotate independently of him. Everything seemed brighter, suddenly, and fuzzier. He felt his rage begin to dissipate in his chest. The deliriant was beginning to work its way into his mind.

Keep it together Roads. For some reason, he heard the phrase in Summer’s voice.

Summer...

He wished she were here. That would be nice. Oh, but it was still nice, even without her. If only he could get into the water. Wait, why did he need to get in, again? He couldn’t remember. Everything was growing so hazy...

No, snap out of it Roads, you have to focus! Water. Right. Clearing out the deliriant.

Roads crawled towards the stream, inching along with one forehoof, unable to stand. It was just a few meters away, but it seemed so far...

Why even bother? He could get in the water, and then he would just have to deal with the pain again. He wasn’t hurting now. Not his hooves, or his head, or anything. He felt perfectly numb. Why go back to the hurt?

Because I’ll die if I don’t.

And would that really be so bad? Everypony was always so hung up on death, but really, it might be a nice change of pace. Like sleep. He could just die, just let everything go and float off into nothingness. Why bother trying to survive? No matter what he did, he would die eventually--even if he got off the island. Everypony died. Why prolong inevitable?

What else is there to do?

But was it really worth it? When he could just stay here? Just stay, and be happy for the rest of his life--however long that was?

You know what? It is. I’ll just stay here. No need to get in the water. I’m happy now. Everything is all right.

He was less than a meter away from the water’s edge. His father was standing in it.

“Having fun, Roads?” he asked.

Roads nodded.

“Good. I figured you would.” The stallion smiled a condescending smile that made Roads’ anger flare in his chest, even under the effects of the Lotus. “Nice to see that you’ve finally come to terms with yourself. With your weakness. You’ve been fighting it for so long, it’s about time you gave in. About time you’ve accepted what you are.”

Roads frowned. “No...”

“No? Oh, how disappointing. I thought that you had finally gotten over yourself. Had given up, just like you always should have.”

“No.” Roads’ voice was more forceful now.

“Oh, don’t do this, Roads. You aren’t cut out for it. You’re weak and useless. Don’t fight the drug, just let it help you. Be the failure I’ve always known that you are.”

Roads’ brow furrowed. His anger was back, and it cut right through the pleasant haze of the Lotus.

“You’re wrong.”

He dragged himself to the edge of the water with his forehooves, took a deep breath, and plunged in. It was pleasant--enough that at first he thought it hadn’t worked and the Lotus was still in effect, but then he realized it was simply still warm from the daytime. When he pulled himself out of the water, his mind was clear and pulsing with anger.

“I told you I’m not wea--ahh.”

He fell to his knees, suddenly feeling the power of the gem on his back. A familiar writhing overtook him as his ley lines realigned, allowing the magic from the gem to flow through them. After a second, the feeling passed, and he got to his hooves, suddenly invigorated. He was still bodily exhausted, but below that was a curious sensation he had never felt before.

A feeling of power. Of sheer might, moving through his body, nearly bursting from him at the endpoints of his lines. He raised a hoof, pointing it at a tree on the opposite bank. All he had to do was flex his lines and...

A bolt of white light surged from his hoof, streaking across the river and colliding violently with its trunk. There was a massive ‘pop’ and then a series of creaks as a large portion of the wood was ripped away, leaving it to collapse into the water.

Roads looked from the felled tree to the fires of the city and--for the first time that night--smiled.

He tried to take off, wanting to head immediately into the city, but found himself unable to fly. That was strange. He had intended to leave his lines in their traditional polarity, and simply change their alignment, so that he could still fly short distances. It seemed, though, that every possible “bead” of his lines had completely reoriented to accommodate the gem’s magic. Which meant that--no.

Surely not. That would be impossible... wouldn’t it? He gave a quiet gasp. He must have become perfectly attuned to the nexus. Which should have been impossible--perfect attunement required weeks of preparations, rituals performed by powerful magicians. A pony couldn’t simply shift their entire ley structure without even trying... could they?

Still, there was no better explanation for why he couldn’t fly, for why the energy coursing through his lines felt as natural as anything he had ever experienced. But how? It must’ve had something to do with diving into the nexus. That had to be it. When he had time--when he was safe--he would have to investigate.

But as for now, Summer and Chief needed him. And he was finally able to help. He glared down into the natives’ city, feeling the power of the nexus surge through his veins. It was time he stood up for himself.

For his friends.

He was ready.

Pushing exhaustion aside, he trotted briskly down the river bank, his father slinking quietly behind him. The stallion had muttered something about letting him “get himself killed, with no help from me,” and fallen deathly silent. Still, his patronizing smirk never left his face.

It wasn’t long before they came upon the outskirts of the city. Tiny shacks tilted this way and that, some freestanding, others leaning against the canyon walls. They were, at present, low, barely more than tall river banks, not even high enough for the islanders to cut their homes and caves into. This was apparently the area of the city where the less “desirable” ponies were kept; there were few guards and many beggars. Many of the islanders--several decrepit, even by the natives’ standards--slept outside here. In the dark, Roads nearly tripped over several of them.

Still, it was fairly easy to avoid detection. Here, the guards appeared less trained. Few were alert, and several were sleeping at their posts. Roads shook his head as he passed two guards, curled up back to back, deep in sleep, their spears cradled in their arms. This was almost too easy.

With any luck, I’ll be able to make it most of the way to the pit before anypony even realizes I’m here, he thought, ducking behind a shack as one of the few vigilant natives, making his nightly rounds, passed him by.

It wasn’t long, though, before the banks grew steeper, now large enough to be terraced and to accommodate cave dwellings. There were more torches, more islanders, and far more guards. Roads had to be careful to slip past each one, darting from shadow to shadow as he avoided being caught by the light of the fires. Eventually, though, his luck ran out.

He had just ducked out of the way of one patrolling islander, hiding in a patch of deep, chest-high grass, when he realized another was coming his way, armed with a blazing torch. He held his breath, hoping the other pony would angle away from him. No such luck. The native drew closer and closer until finally he stopped a few meters from Roads, peering up at the sky.

Roads took the opportunity to scurry over to a nearby shack. He ducked around to its side, pried open the door, and slipped inside. Just as he closed the door, he heard a loud scream ring out from behind him. He whirled around to see that he had awoken a rather horrified islander, who had begun to shriek hysterically about the stranger in her home. From outside, he heard thunderous hoofsteps approaching, the shouts of the guards growing ever closer.

Oh, Sweet Princesses...

He took a breath, gathered himself, and burst back outside.

He found himself staring down the points of three spears, each leveled at him by a very, very pissed-off guard. There was a small pause, then the three began to advance on him, the tips of their weapons pressing against his chest, drawing pinpricks of blood. Roads backed away until he felt his flanks bump against the shack. Inside, the mare he had awoken was still crying.

One of the islanders muttered something to the other.

“What’s on his back?”

Roads peered intently at him. If only you knew... he thought.

He heard the hoofsteps of more ponies approaching. Twisting his head, he saw that somepony had apparently alerted reinforcements; a large cadre of guards were making their way down one of the terraces towards him. He looked back at the natives surrounding him.

Now or never...

But could he really hurt these ponies, unleash the force of the nexus on them?

The image of Summer, slowly bleeding out on the granite floor, laying at Princess’ hooves flashed through his mind for the second time that day.

Yes. Yes, he could hurt these ponies.

And he did. He reared up, back against the wall, as white light erupted from his forehoof, catching one of the guards square in the chest and glancing against the side of another. Roads dove to his left as one of the spears embedded itself in the shack, rolling onto his side and firing off another bolt of magic. This one struck the remaining guard, flinging him into the air and sending him careening into one of the shacks, shattering its thin wooden wall.

Getting to his hooves, he dashed off down the river, heading towards the center of the city. He heard screams and shouts behind him, saw islanders emerging from their huts and caves to gawk at the strange Equestrian ransacking their town. Within minutes, it seemed the entire town was awake. Guards poured in from every which direction, closing in on Roads.

He just kept running, adrenaline and anger coursing through his veins. He felt sharp, alert, dangerous. A guard leapt into his path, and he sent the other pony flying with a burst of magic. Soon, three more took his place, blocking his path. Roads turned and scampered to his right, leaping onto the roofs of one of the shorter huts that rested against the base of one of the terraces.

He dove backwards as one of the guards hurled a spear at him. It missed his face by inches. Rolling over, he got to his hooves again and scrambled up onto the terrace. It was lucky--this was one of the thinner ones. Only one pony at a time could walk across it. Galloping down it, he pushed his way past the unarmed natives, nearly toppling off the side as he struggled to avoid colliding with anypony.

Soon, the terrace widened, and he came upon two guards, one carrying a torch, the other a cudgel. He skidded to a halt, narrowly avoiding having his head bashed in by the mace. Throwing himself away from the guards, he landed on his back a few meters from them. He raised both forehooves, pointing one at each, and let loose two bursts of magic.

One met the first pony’s face, sending him tumbling backwards, head over hooves. The other missed entirely, and in a split second, the guard with the torch was upon him, beating him savagely with the lit end. Roads raised his hooves defensively, trying to take the brunt of the blows with his limbs.

The islander pinned one of his forelegs to his side. Roads struggled to fend off the torch with the other. The torch cracked across his ankle and he howled in pain. Bolts of light arced over the other pony as he struggled to maneuver under his attacker. It was no use. The islander was too close; Roads couldn’t angle his hoof properly.

He tried focus, attempted to tap into the magic flowing through his head. Angling his forehead at the other pony, he gritted his teeth. Even though he didn’t have a horn, he could still use the lines ending in his forehead. If he could just ‘flex’ them properly, he could--

A blast of energy sent the other pony flying over the edge of the terrace. Roads glanced over the edge, saw that the native had survived, and then got up again as he heard more guards approaching behind him. In front, the terrace sloped downwards, meeting the natural ground a ways away from him. He sprinted down the hill, crashing into somepony who seemed to be either a very burly citizen, or an unarmed guard.

Either way, the islander was less than friendly. As he fell to the ground, Roads felt strong forehooves wrap around his chest and neck, pinning him down. He struggled, writhing and twisting, and finally managed to jam one forehoof against his would-be subduer’s chest. The bigger pony let out an agonized scream as a burst of energy ripped him away from Roads, cracking his ribs and sending him flying into a nearby torch.

The lantern shook with the impact, then fell into the thatched roof of a nearby hut, setting it ablaze. Roads glanced at it for a second, then took off again, evading the spear of a guard who had caught up to him. He twisted, glancing over his shoulder, and saw the guard gaining on him. Planting his forehooves in the dirt, he let his momentum spin him around. The native leapt at him, then cried out in surprise as a levitation field caught him mid-jump. He hovered in the air for a moment before Roads sent him flying into the canyon wall.

Looking up from the pony he had just dispatched, Roads caught side of more guards sprinting both sides of the river banks, and streaming towards him from the terraces. It seemed he was surrounded. Almost. He took a running jump and dove into the river.

Roads had never been a great swimmer, but the current was fast and strong enough to whisk him away from the guards. A few of them charged after him, leaping into the water, whereas the rest tried to follow him from the banks.

He let the stream carry him a ways before he managed to catch himself on a rock and clamber back onto the near bank. Standing up, he glanced around, and realized he was in the center of the town, a large circle where the river was deepest and the banks were widest. The area was clear of huts or houses, and instead filled with crops. He recognized this as where he had fallen during his escape.

And it was empty. He peered at his surroundings, confused, before he caught sight of the guards. They had blocked off the exits where the canyon thinned again, lining up on both banks to either side of him. Many had also made their way up to the system of terraces, preventing him from escaping up the ramps.

Still, none of them made their way down into the circle. They stood, stock still, utterly silent, staring at him. Watching his every move. Waiting for... something. He didn’t know what. It was eerie, but in his state of rage he felt no fear. Only a grim apprehension.

His father landed beside him, ruffling his dark wings.

“Where’ve you been?” Roads asked.

“Waiting. Watching. Hoping not to be disappointed.” He looked over his shoulder, staring at the guards. “Pathetic,” he spat. “Not fit to call themselves stallions, any of them. To think, all those ponies, and not a single one can even stop you. Makes me sick to look at.”

Roads shot his father a glare.

The stallion turned back to face him. “So, you came all this way, and you’re not going to help them?”

“What?” he asked.

“Your friends. They’re in the pit over there. You’re not going to let them out? Good choice. They’re too good for you, anyway.”

Roads’ eyes widened as he realized that this clearing was where the pit was located. He reared onto his hind legs, head twisting, searching for the tell-tale stakes that marked the opening of the--

There it was! Roads dashed over to it, grabbing the torch that rested nearby. He held it out over the pit, peering down into it, searching for Summer and Chief.

It was empty, save for Strongsteed.

“Hey!” he called down to the earth pony. “Where’re Summer and Chief?”

It took a long time for him to respond. It seemed he had just eaten, and was locked in a lotus-driven stupor. Eventually, he tilted his head slightly upwards and mumbled something under his breath.

“What? Say it again, louder,” Roads said.

“Princess...”

Roads cocked an eyebrow. “What do you mean, Prince--”

“Welcome back, Roads,” came a purring voice from behind him. He whipped around to see Princess grinning maliciously at him, Summer and Chief held aloft beside her in green levitation fields. “So sorry to keep your friends from you, but we had some things to discuss. Some punishment to mete out. These two have been very, very... naughty.”

The magic surrounding Summer and Chief disappeared as they were flung bodily towards him, each hitting the ground with a loud ‘thump.’ Summer cried out in pain as she landed; Roads looked down to see that she was bleeding again.

She opened her eyes. He gasped. Her left eye was... wrong. The iris had been drained of color, the pupil replaced with a milky whiteness. It stared off into space, independent of its mate, which glanced up at Roads.

“Hey... Roads...” she panted, pressing a hoof to her side. “Glad... you could make it...”

She smiled weakly--delusionally--a faint wheezing erupting from her throat that might have been a chuckle. She closed her eyes again, resting her head on the ground.

A molten fury enveloped Roads. He ground his teeth, muscles tensing, and glared up at Princess. She was still smirking.

“What’s the matter, Roads? Can’t stand what justice looks like?” She spoke in tandem with his father.

He turned to see the pegasus walking towards her. Stopping just beside her, he shot Roads a malicious sneer. Then he seemed to slide sideways, into her, it appeared, flickering translucent as their bodies merged.

And then he was gone. Absorbed.

Princess appeared the same, utterly unphased, but when she spoke again, it was his father’s voice that Roads heard.

“They got what they deserved.”

A bolt of white light caught Princess full in the chest, sending her flying backwards off her hooves.

“Chief!” Roads shouted quickly, turning to the earth pony. “Grab Summer and get out of here! Remember the first cave we came across the first day of exploring? Head over there with Summer. I’ll stay and hold off Princess and the guards to give you time to get away!”

“I’m not leaving you alone to--”

“Yes, you are! Go!” he shouted, gesturing to the nearest ramp.

Chief stared at him for a second, and had just opened his mouth to speak when a flash of green light passed just over his head. He twisted, grabbed Summer, and sprinted off.

“I’ll come back for you!” he called over his shoulder.

No, you won’t! Roads thought, and nearly said--but he had bigger problems. Princess was up again and casting spells left and right, trying to catch Chief on the run.

Her focus on the earth pony was broken as she leapt away from a burst of magic Roads sent flying towards her. A magical shield erupted around her in just enough time to dissipate a second blast of energy. When she looked up at him, for once she actually looked confused.

“You’re just a pegasus! How are you doing that?!” she called, in his father’s voice.

His only response was to telekinetically rip a massive rock from the ground beside him and fling it into her shield. The magic wavered, but didn’t break.

“Doesn’t matter,” she said, the smirk returning to her face. “I’ll kill you anyway.”

A gout of flame erupted from her horn; Roads was forced to dive away as it incinerated the spot where he had been standing. Rolling over once, he got to his hooves, just in time to dodge a blast of energy from Princess. Beside him, the natives’ crops began to burn, lit by Princess’ spell.

He scurried away from the flames, hurling another bolt of magic at Princess as he went. It dissipated harmlessly across her shield. He could hear her laughing a maniacal, demonic laugh inside the barrier as she cast spell after spell, each setting a different patch of vegetation ablaze. Roads ducked away from her, turning to see Chief finish fighting his way through several guards and sprint up a terrace, heading for the forest.

His dads’ voice rang in his ear as she bombarded him with more flame spells.

“You come to my island--”

A gout of flame exploded just over Roads’ head, singing his mane as he ducked away.

“You attack my home--”

Most of the field was ablaze now, shining red and orange against the night, smoke thick in the air.

“You terrorize my people--”

Roads sprinted and scurried this way and that, trying escape the inferno raging around him.

“And you think I’ll let you get away with it?”

The voice was suddenly softer--and much, much closer. Roads whipped around to see that she had teleported just behind him. She was standing in the flames, the heated tongues flicking magically to either side of her. The firelight danced in her eyes, flickering over an expression of devilish glee.

Roads didn’t even have time to raise a hoof before a fireball struck him in the side, hurling him to the ground. He landed heavily, winded and badly burned. Angling his head forwards, he sent a burst of energy slamming into the shield. It flickered, buckling slightly under the force of the blow, but still it held.

How is that even possible? he thought, grimacing. For all intents and purposes, he had a Celestia-damned nexus strapped to his back, and Princess was deflecting his spells like they were nothing!

Then he looked more closely at the glowing gems set in Princess’ floral crown. Maybe he wasn’t the only one drawing on a nexus...

His observation was interrupted as a glowing aura surrounded Princess’ horn. He rolled to his left just before a blast of magic ripped the ground he had been lying on to pieces. His mind raced as he dashed away from Princess, ducking low through the crops, hoping she would have a harder time hitting him if she couldn’t see him.

Okay, I can’t penetrate the shield. Not directly. Maybe indirectly? Come on, Roads, think! You’ve studied dueling, you know how this works! The first rule of duelist survival, what was it again?

Always have a shield up, right. I can do that. I hope.

He spun around, facing Princess again, a white glow forming around his hoof as he tried to erect a barrier to rival hers.

Nothing. The aura fizzled as the spell failed.

Of course it failed! he thought. Motion magic doesn’t work that way! Idiot!

Then a thought struck him. Perhaps his barrier didn’t have to be magical...

Roads spread his forehooves across the dirt, lowering his head and shutting his eyes as a magical glow erupted from his forehead. A few feet below him, he formed a magical displacement field, anchored to his lines, that pushed up a ring of earth around him. He took a step forward, a small grin forming on his face as he saw the ground ripple and move with him.

Excellent, he thought. He couldn’t see Princess, but if he lowered the displacement ring for just a moment, perhaps he could catch a glimpse of--

“Woah!” he cried, diving to the ground and raising his shield again as a ball of magical fire sped past him.

Princess had cast the spell as soon as she saw the barrier lowered. Which meant that she must’ve fired blind, simply aiming at the center of the ring and waiting for it to be lowered. And if she was going after his shield instead of after him...

He lowered his head again, channeling the nexus’ power once again. A second displacement ring split off the first, taking the ground with it, forming two identical barriers... then a third... and a fourth.

Roads could feel them draining his gem; holding up this much ground took absurd amounts of energy. He couldn’t keep this up for long.

Fortunately, he didn’t have to. He let all four drop at once, and some insane part of him wanted to laugh as Princess let loose a horrendous burst of magic--pointed directly away from him. Instead, he reared onto his hind legs and channeled as much of the gem’s energy into a single spell as he dared. There was a burst of white light as it sped through the air at met Princess’ shield.

With a flash of green, the shield faded and died. Roads wasn’t sure if the barrier had been weakened by his past spells, or if this one in particular was too much for it; either way, it worked for him. He telekinetically grabbed a gargantuan boulder from beside him and sent it flying towards her.

Princess whipped around and deflected it, just before it would have crushed her. With a burst of magic, she erected another shield. This one was more feeble; Roads dissipated it with a single spell. A horrified look passed over her face as she realized how vulnerable she was.

Dodging another spell, her horn lit again, and Roads coughed and gagged as smoke from the nearby fire settled over them, obscuring his vision. Flinging a hoof over his stinging eyes, he raised another ground barrier just as two spells came flying towards him through the haze.

Lowering his barrier again, Roads swept a glowing hoof through the air, magically dissipating the smoke. He glanced around, alert, nervous.

Princess was gone.

A burst of green energy caught him in the right wing, sending him spinning through the air. He landed heavily, an anguished scream escaping from his lips as pain ripped through his left side. Glancing down, he saw that the wing was tattered and broken, half of it bent at an unnatural angle. Its blood ran thick down his side.

He gritted his teeth, raising another barrier, trying not to black out from the pain that seared through his wing. His anger kept him conscious.

He wanted to hurt her. Wanted to hurt her badly.

Letting his shield collapse, Roads let loose a pulse of energy that spread in every direction. To his left, he saw Princess materialize in thin air, and surround herself with a weak shield. As the pulse faded, the shield faded--and so did she.

It’s an invisibility spell! he realized. Focusing hard, he whipped a massive ball of dirt and dust in the air, then telekinetically spread it through the air, evenly, in a wide circle around him. If Princess came close enough to him, she would disturb the dust and--

There! A ripple in the floating dirt. Roads sent two spells barreling towards her.

Princess didn’t have time to drop the spell and cast a shield. Two bolts of light slammed into her, flinging her into the air. She crashed to the ground, and struggled to stand up again as a third spell struck her.

Then another.

And another.

Finally, she lay still on the ground, face down, one leg twisted and mangled, bleeding beside her. Was she--? Had he--?

He galloped up to her. He had to know.

Roads stood over her motionless body for a brief moment, staring down at her. He looked up, and saw her guards standing on their terraces, weapons at their sides, many slack-jawed and incredulous.

He prodded Princess with one hoof. She didn’t move.

Roads reached down... rolled her over...

Her eyes were closed. She wasn’t breathing.

He leaned in to check for a pulse--

The eyes opened again. A malicious smile spread across her face.

“Fool.”

Before he could react, Princess grabbed one of his hooves with her good foreleg, horn glowing devilishly. He recoiled, pushing her head to the side telekinetically just as a bolt of lightning erupted from her horn. Even with his intervention, it still ripped through his left wing, leaving a burned hole between two of the bones.

He flung her off before she could cast a second spell.

“Guards!” she cried. “Kill him!”

And with a flash of green, she teleported away.

And the islanders descended on him.

Roads turned and galloped towards the ramp Chief had taken, where the line of defense was a few ponies thinner, casting spells as he ran. By the time he reached the ramp, most of the natives before him had fallen. The remaining three advanced warily, fear flitting across their faces. One launched his spear at Roads.

He caught it in the air and launched it back at him. It buried itself in the ground between his forehooves. The guard paled and took a step backwards, shaken. Brushing the other two aside with his magic, Roads continued up the terrace.

It wasn’t long before he reached the woods. He galloped a fair distance in, until he felt safe enough, then collapsed against a tree, utterly spent. His anger began to fade, replaced by exhaustion, but his nerves stayed on end, a twinge of apprehension running through his stomach. He could still feel the energy of the nexus running through his lines, but after his struggle with Princess, the gem on his back felt weaker.

He felt weaker.

His wings hurt, his side hurt, his hooves hurt. His muscles shook and tremored, threatening to give out. Sagging against the tree, he tried to catch his breath, but found it was little use. His chest heaved, tight and nervous, his mind still racing. He felt vulnerable now, entirely defenseless.

If some of the guards had followed him... if Princess teleported out to meet him...

He wouldn’t be able to fight back. He was sure of it.

The forest around him took on a grim visage; the night wind rustled the trees, pockets of darkness flitting this way and that. He twisted his head this way and that, nerves rubbed raw from constant stress. He needed to fight off exhaustion, needed to stay vigilant!

Princess could appear here out of nowhere. In the darkness, in the jungle, he would never see her coming. She would be on him before he could even react.

His eyes flitted across the trees, searching for the tell-tale outline of the malicious unicorn. It seemed she was everywhere--her silhouette in every shrub, her eyes flashing at him from between every tree, every breath of wind carrying the rustle of her grim footsteps to his ears.

Roads pressed against the tree, ears and eyes twitching, cold fear clutching at his stomach. He tried to muster up more courage, more anger, but none came. He was just too exhausted. Too tired of fighting.

But not tired enough to give up. He knew she was here, following him, watching him. He couldn’t let her take him unawares.

Suddenly, a loud crashing echoed through the forest, the sounds of leaves and twigs being broken, of hoofsteps heavy on the ground.

Princess!

Roads’ ears swiveled every which way, trying to keep track of where the sound was coming from. He couldn’t tell.

Not even as it came closer.

And closer...

And finally it was almost upon him, the hoofsteps roaring in his ears, a frightful din thundering through the trees, louder, louder, louder and then it--

A dark shape moved in the corner of his eye.

A white light flashed in the dark.

A cry.

A wet thump.

A deathly stillness.

Roads channeled magic slowly through his forehooves, letting them illuminate the forest. Just before him, the broken body of a mare lay still on the ground at the base of the tree.

Roads moved closer. Saw that her coat was red.

Princess!

No, that wasn’t her coat. Her coat was--oh no.

Nonononono!

He edged closer. Rolled her onto her back. It wasn’t Princess. The mare was young, far younger than Princess. And very, very dead.

Her coat was grey.

Roads looked up and saw the tree she had fallen under. Its trunk was coated in blood. There were bits of her stuck to it.

No, please, no...

Roads began to shake uncontrollably. He tilted her head towards him and saw that her eyes were still open.

They stared at him. Quiet. Accusing. Cold, yellow, and dead.

They asked him why. He didn’t know why.

Tears ran down his face, dripping onto hers. He fell to his knees, cradling her neck in his forehooves. Something fell onto his foreleg. A canvas bag. Filled with fish and a rope net.

She had been fishing. And he killed her for it.

No, no, no...

The yellow eyes kept staring. Kept asking. Kept accusing.

Please... please... don’t... no...

His mouth worked silently, forming empty words. Nonsense words. He gave a despairing moan. Still shaking. Still clutching at the dead mare’s shoulders. He thought he might be sick.

The eyes kept staring.

He was sobbing now, trembling, silent in the night.

The eyes kept staring.

He reached down with one hoof, intending to close them. The tip of his hoof touched her brow and he jolted to his feet, dropping her on the ground.

He sprinted into the night. Fleeing the eyes.

_________________________________________________________

An hour passed before he made it to the cave. The flickering light of a fire greeted him. Roads stumbled to the mouth of the cave, head down, breath coming in ragged gasps, tears still flowing down his face. When he looked up, Summer was limping to meet him.

He took a few weak steps towards her, expecting a harsh reproach for his desertion. Roads shut his eyes, wincing away from her, waiting for the words. He would take it. It didn’t matter any more.

A pair of forelegs wrapped around his neck. He felt her mane against his cheek. He let out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding.

“Come on,” she said, leading him into the cave. That was it. “Come on.”

She had started a small fire, arranged rocks around it as they had in the old campsite. He collapsed onto one. She sat down beside him. He tried to speak, but the words didn’t come. He felt numb inside. Cold. Dead.

He was quiet for a long time.

“So, how was your day?” Summer asked lightly. A weak attempt at humor. Her voice was laced with concern.

Roads didn’t respond for a while. He just stared into the fire. His stomach took a turn as he envisioned two cold yellow eyes staring back. He looked away from them sharply, meeting Summer’s warm green one. She looked at him quizzically.

“What?”

“Aren’t you mad?” he asked.

She raised her eyebrows. “Mad?”

“That I left. That I deserted again. Again. Even though I said I wouldn’t, even though I--”

Summer gave a weak chuckle. “Well, sure, you left--but you came back with a giant magical weapon strapped to your back, helped us escape, took out half the guards, and set half the town on fire. So, no. We’re not mad.”

A slim smile crossed Roads’ face at that. He felt as though he had lost something today. A small part of himself. Something he couldn’t quite get back. But at least he still had Summer and Chief.

Wait, where was Chief?

“Already asleep,” Summer told him when he asked. “I wanted him to head back into the city and help you--and I think he did, too--but once we got here, he wouldn’t leave. Said that in my condition, and without magic, he couldn’t afford to leave me alone in a cave. Actually...” Summer got slowly to her feet. “He asked me to let him know when you got back. Wait here a sec.”

Roads shrugged. What else did she think he had to do?

As Summer walked over to the other end of the cave, Roads’ gaze slid to her side. It appeared her gash had gotten worse.

Then she turned slightly and he saw there was another on her other side. No, the original was on that side. It seemed she’d been given a new one--a worse one--on this side. A cold fury washed over him once again.

So the eye wasn’t enough? You had to slice her open again, too? he thought angrily. He wished he could have killed Princess when he had the chance.

Like you killed that mare?

A shudder passed through him. With that, his anger subsided. He suddenly felt very cold.

Roads glanced over to Chief and Summer. Chief had gotten to his hooves, and was telling her something she appeared surprised by. She was raising her eyebrows, tilting her head back slightly. She said something he couldn’t hear, and he nodded curtly. She gave a slight shrug, leaving him to lay down again.

When Summer returned, she looked stunned. She sat down across from him, staring into the fire.

“What’d he say?” Roads asked, curiosity piqued despite his exhaustion.

“Umm... it’s hard to explain,” she replied, one hoof kneading her forehead. “Basically, that he... approves of what you did today.”

“‘What I did today?’”

“Yeah.”

“You mean coming back for you guys?”

“Well... no.”

“What?”

“He’s more interested in what you did before that.”

“He doesn’t know what I did before that.”

“He said he didn’t need to. He had a way of explaining it, like you had... found something.” Summer seemed to struggle to get the right words out. For a unicorn usually so quick-tongued, she appeared to be having quite a bit of trouble.

“Found something?”

“Or, found something out. Or--jeez, I dunno, Roads. He should really just tell you himself.”

“Tell me what? You’re not making any sense.”

“Tell you... tell you... you changed. In the forest. Before you came back. He said he knew something happened to you. Something big. Oh, Princesses, it sounds so stupid when I try to say it--”

“--no, it’s fine. I understand. He’s right, I think.”

“He is?” Summer asked, looking at him inquisitively.

“Yeah. When I was out there I saw... saw, uh--” Saw what, Roads? Your father? Saw him turn into Princess? Sure, tell her that. Tell her you’re going crazy.

“I--uh--I dunno. I saw--I--” Roads started to feel a quaking in his chest. He looked across the fire to see Summer peering intently at him from across fire, worry etched across her face.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

“I--my dad--in the forest--I--”

And then he broke down. “I can’t, Summer. I just--I can’t. I’m sorry, I just--I--”

“It’s fine, Roads--”

“I just, I don’t really--”

“Roads!”

He quieted at that, staring at her, grimacing, hooves drawn up around his chest.

“It’s fine, Roads. Let’s talk about something else.”

Roads nodded weakly. “What... what happened while I was gone?”

Summer shrugged. “The guards took us down. Knocked us out. As soon as Chief and I woke up, they dragged us to Princess’ chambers. ‘Punishment,’ they called it. She got my eye--some blindness spell, the same one she used on Strongsteed--and cut me up pretty bad.” Summer paused for a second, looking herself over. She gave a grim laugh.

“I hope the stallions back home are into one-eyed mares. One-eyed mares--and scars.”

Roads shrugged. She looked fine to him.

Better than fine, even. He blinked. What was he thinking? He pushed the thought aside.

“Granted, I’ll have to make it home, first. One more gash like this, and my chances aren’t good. Hell, I would’ve...” her voice trailed off. When she spoke again, her voice was weaker. More timid. “I would’ve died there if it hadn’t been for Willow. Stitched me up as soon as Princess was done.”

For a second, she stared pensively into the fire, lost in a thought. Then she cleared her throat, and seemed to snap back to the present.

“Anyway, Willow patched me up while Princess got at Chief. The eyesight spell didn’t work though. She cast it over and over again, but he just absorbed it. Too much built up resistance, I guess. Anyway, that drove her pretty crazy. She was just about to start beating on him when you showed up. Some native came in, told her what was going on. She told him to keep you in the city, pin you down ‘til she could get there. I guess she figured she could stop you. Or, at least wanted to be the one to do it.”

A lean smirk crossed her face. “Looks like she was wrong. What happened after Chief and I left? Did’ja kill her?”

“No. Not Princess. She was too good. I had a chance, though. But even with the nexus, I was outmatched, most of the time. I’m surprised I even made it out alive.”

“How’d you do that, anyway? The whole ‘magic’ thing?”

He took a deep breath and gave a low sigh, before launching into a detailed explanation of how he had built the weapon. He was careful to avoid mentioning that most of his work had been spurred on by his father. It was best, he decided, just to let her think he was tough enough to do all that on his own.

Although, looking back, it was now clear he had been alone the entire time.

He tried not to think about it. Instead, he focused on trying to help Summer understand the details and theory behind the weapon, finding it helped calm him down. It took his mind off... things. And Summer, to her credit, listened attentively. He supposed she wasn’t one to disregard a way to create a weapon that could go toe-to-toe with Princess’ magic.

When he had finished, she gave a low whistle.

“Wow. I never would’ve thought I’d get saved by a spec,” she said with a grin. “But, hey, there’s a first time for everything. So, do you need help getting out of that thing?”

“What?”

“You seem to still be wearing my engine,” she said lightly.

He glanced down at the copper wires circling his forehooves. He had forgotten that it was even there.

“Oh. Yeah, sure.”

Summer stood gingerly, a pained expression crossing her face as she got up from the rock, and walked over to him. Together, they bent back the wires until Roads was able to shimmy his way out of the contraption.

As the magic running through his lines faded, he felt a new wave of exhaustion roll over him. Suddenly, he felt even more powerless and vulnerable than before. Behind him, Summer set the engine gently on the floor, staring at Roads’ broken wing.

“You should probably get Chief to look at that,” she told him.

“Is he asleep, yet?”

Summer glanced over to the other side of the cave.

“Yep. Looks like I’ll have to take care of it.”

A twinge of alarm passed through his stomach. “What do you mean, ‘take care of it’? What are you going to do?”

“Just stay here, I’ll be back in a sec,” she said, walking out of the cave. She turned her head, talking to him over her shoulder. “Chief found a banana tree in the woods earlier; check by the rock on the other side of the fire, we saved a few for you.” She winked at him. “The Aggregate’d be pissed if we let another spec die of starvation.”

He nodded, suddenly ravenous. He realized he hadn’t eaten in over a day; the food in the pit had all been laced with Lotus, and he had refused to touch it. He made his way around the fire, finding a small pile of fruit waiting there for him.

By the time Summer returned, holding a bundle of reed stems, the fruit was gone, and Roads was lying on the ground, wincing as his shriveled stomach cramped from the new influx of food.

“You really shouldn’t have eaten it all at once,” Summer pointed out.

“Wow, thanks for letting me know.”

Summer rolled her eyes. “Come on, turn over, let me see that wing.”

Roads did as he was told, waiting on the ground as Summer collected a few lengths of thick wire from what was left of the copper matrix.

“What are you doing?” he asked as she knelt over him.

She ignored his question. “Okay, this is going to hurt a little.”

Roads’ eyes widened. “Why? What are you going to--AHHH!” He screamed in
pain as Summer grabbed his wing and wrenched the upper half back into place, setting the broken bone. Stars exploded behind his eyes as his entire right side throbbed and smarted, stinging miserably. It didn’t stop hurting until long after Summer had bound it in a splint made of reed and wire.

“Why wouldn’t you tell me you were going to do that?!” he cried.

“I didn’t think you’d let me do it if you knew what was coming,” she shrugged.

He gave a dismissive snort and sat back up on his rock, staring into the fire as Summer settled down across from him. He was silent for a long time.

He was thinking about the eyes.

“Hey,” she said.

“Mmm?”

“You alright?”

“I dunno.”

“Hey, listen, if you wanna talk about it--”

“No,” he said, shaking his head. He didn’t want to relive what had happened in the woods.

“Fair enough.”

He shot her a curious look. “That’s it? No ‘toughen up’? No ‘don’t be so soft’ stuff?”

“No,” she said firmly. She almost looked offended. “Why would you think that I would even--” She sighed, pausing. “Look, Roads, this kind of thing... it’s different from before. Earlier, that was just fieldwork stuff. You were being whiny. Today... well, I nearly died today. I should’ve died today.

“This is the kind of thing that gets to anypony. I’d expect you to be shaken up. Hell, I’d think there was something much more wrong with you if you weren’t. It’s hard on all of us.”

Roads snorted. “Not Chief.”

Summer shook her head. “Well, not Chief. But Chief’s had bigger things happen to him before. This whole sort of thing, that used to be Chief’s whole world. Me, I only have to deal with this kind of thing if something goes really wrong, but that pony...” She shuddered.

“Look, when you’ve been through what Chief has, nothing shakes you up anymore. Trust me, you don’t want to be like Chief. Tough’s one thing, but what Chief is... well, Chief’s just plain messed up. Not as bad as Princess, mind you. She went on and on after you were gone, for hours it seemed like. Told us all about her dead husband, and how Celestia killed him, and how everypony was out to get her. She’s completely out of it. Almost made me feel sorry for her.

“Well, until she half-blinded me and then sliced me to pieces.” Summer shuddered. “She’s a whole different brand of crazy. I don’t think Chief’ll ever be like that, though. He’s got too good a grip on reality for that. Probably hurts like hell, but at least he stays sane.”

Roads broke into a cold sweat as memories of hallucinating his father flickered through his head. He was unraveling, just like Princess. How long until he started hurting ponies because of his delusions?

Still, at least he knew they were delusions. Maybe that meant he wasn’t as insane as Princess.

Then again, he hadn’t realized what had happened until just recently. Everything had seemed real at the time. He was coming unglued. A danger to himself and the ones around him. Roads the insane. Just as crazy as Strongsteed or Princess.

No, no. It was impossible. He wasn’t going crazy. It was just the... island magic. Messing with his head. That had to be it. All that energy in the air, buzzing around, fiddling with broken ley lines... it had just toyed with his mind a little. Nothing serious.

Was that what had happened to Princess?

Roads tried to drive the thoughts from his mind, focusing instead on Summer. He had missed some of what she said, but she was still talking about Chief. He nodded, pretending to have been listening.

“...and even he’s got stuff that sets him off,” she was saying. “Except, with him, it’s little things. Ponies like me, we’ve only got problems with stuff that nearly kills us. Ponies like him... Ponies like him will kill for things most folks wouldn’t even notice.”

“What happened to him?” Roads asked. “If you’re even allowed to tell me.”

“Well...” Summer thought for a moment. “I doubt he’d mind you knowing, now. He trusts you now, after today. Still, there’s not a lot I can tell you--he keeps things from me, even. And I’m the only friend he’s got left.”

“Left?”

“All of the others are either dead, or in hiding.”

“Why? What happened?”

Summer sighed. “It’s a long story. I only know parts of it. Honestly, I think the only reason he even tells me anything is because I remind him of his wife.”

Roads shot her a look. “You and Chief are like... a thing? Really?”

Summer laughed at that. “No, no. It’s nothing like that. His wife, Honey Dew, she was my older sister.”

“Oh. So, you knew him before you started working together? Was he ever, you know... not like... this?”

Summer shook her head. “I didn’t get to know him until after he stopped working the guard a few years ago and I contracted him to do security work on a project. Before that, I’d only met him twice. Once at my sister’s wedding, once at her funeral.”

Roads’ eyes widened. “She’s...?”

“Yep.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. I hardly knew her. She left me and my dad when I was eight to move out to Canterlot. I didn’t see her again until she got married. We never really got caught up. So... I’m fine. Chief, though... not so much.”

“What happened?”

“Childbirth. Some sort of hemorrhage, or something. They saved the baby, though. Chief’s daughter.”

“Oh.”

“It tore him up, when she died. I think the only thing that kept him going was his daughter. And after he lost her... well, the pony you know now wasn’t always as stable as he seems.”

“What happened to his daughter?”

“Well, it’s hard to explain. He’s never fully told me everything that happened, he just mentioned some things once when he was drunk.”

“I thought he didn’t drink?”

“Well, he doesn’t. Usually. Except for once a year, on his and Honey’s anniversary, when he gets absolutely hammered. That’s happened twice since we’ve worked together.”

“I see.”

“Anyway, so basically what happened--so far as I understand it--has something to do with the work he used to do with the Royal Guard. Apparently he was in some special unit or something, because when I tried to look up his years of service in the public record, it said he worked for his first few years in Unit 33, then got transferred. And then several years later, it said he retired. But it never said what Unit he transferred to.

“My guess, he did some sort of undercover work, or something. I really have no idea. All I know is, it had something to do with this crazy cult, a group of madponies trying to take over Equestria by bringing back Discord or some other manure--he was drunk when he explained it, it never made much sense--and anyway, they found out where he lived and what he had been doing.

“And one night, he left his daughter with a foalsitter and headed out to a bar with some friends from the Guard. While he was gone, a bunch of cultists came to his house. By the time he got back, they had slaughtered the foalsitter and tied up his daughter. He tried to fight them, but he was too drunk.

“They got him down, too, and they created sort of ritual for his daughter. They made him watch as they petrified her. ‘Just like Discord.’ To set an example, they said. Apparently, they were going to kill him, too, when one of his friends from the Guard showed up, and cleared them off. I was never exactly sure how that worked, he was never clear on that, either.

“Anyway, what little was left after his wife died, the cultists pretty much destroyed. Chief blamed himself, mostly, for what happened, really tore himself up. Blamed the alcohol, too; it’s why he won’t touch the stuff now.

“But there was also a part of him that blamed the cultists. A very, very vengeful part of him, it seems. Chief won’t tell me what it was he did after he lost his daughter, but I did some looking around. Turns out, in the few months after the incident with the cultists, Equestria got a new serial killer. Apparently, bodies started turning up all over the place, all apparently unrelated to each other. It lasted about six months, and then the killer just disappeared.

“They said they found nearly fifty bodies, and suspected there were more that were never uncovered. My theory is, those were cultists Chief hunted down, and somepony down at the guard found out about it, and forced him into early retirement.”

“He might have killed fifty ponies, and they just let him go?”

“No evidence. Not a single trace. Moral of the story: Don’t make Chief want you dead.”

Roads shuddered. “And now?”

“Now, he’s doing better. But honestly, it’s not like he’s ever gonna be quite right again. Where Chief’s been... you just don’t come back from that.” Summer looked at him from across the fire. “So...

“No. You don’t wanna be like Chief.”

Roads sat up, burying his face in his hooves. Images of Chief’s daughter, petrified, his wife dying in a hospital, Summer bleeding at Princess’ feet flashed before his eyes. His father beating him, Princess’ demonic smile, those cold yellow eyes...

It was too much. It was just too much.

His shoulders shook as he cried quietly, trying to hold back the tears. His body was wracked by silent sobs, his hooves wet against his face.

Books in a fireplace, a filly turned into a statue, a tree covered in blood...

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. It just wasn’t. It wasn’t right.

He felt Summer’s hooves around him; she had walked over to embrace him.

“Summer,” he choked. “I killed somepony, Summer. In the woods, after I fought Princess. I was scared, I thought it was Princess again, and I just panicked, and--”

“It’s fine, Roads.”

She leaned in, sitting, resting her head against him. He tried to gather himself. Eventually he quieted, lowered one hoof from his face, returning Summer’s embrace. She snuggled up against him, taking his hoof in hers.

They sat there for a while, still against each other, utterly silent, watching the fire. She shifted slightly, gently caressing his hoof.

“It’s tough, Roads. It’s hard on all of us,” she said quietly.

He nodded, looking down at her. Into her soft green eyes. She leaned up, nuzzling him gently.

Roads blinked. Was she...? Yes, she was.

For a second, he did nothing, utterly bewildered. And then a voice rang out in his head.

Just go with it, Roads!

But did he really want to do this with Summer?

She leaned her head towards him again.

Yes. Yes he did.

He tilted his head slightly and their lips met. Gently, just a brush.

And then again. Slightly more forcefully this time, slightly longer. Summer’s lips parted slightly; without thinking, he followed suit. He felt her forelegs wrap tightly around him, her tongue, soft against his, working its way into his mouth, and he pulled her closer to him.

The kiss seemed to last for a long time, before Summer pulled away.

And then kissed him again.

And again.

She leaned back further, drawing him down with each kiss until he found himself on the ground beside her, holding her tightly. She gave him one final kiss, more gentle than the ones before, and then pulled back slightly.

She wore an amused smile, a curious sort of grin that made Roads’ heart flutter.

“Goodnight, Roads.”

“Uh...”

Don’t screw this up!

“‘Night.”

Yep, that would do.

Summer nuzzled him softly, then lay her head against his chest, closing her eyes.

He lay awake for a moment, a strange warmth in his chest, trying to make sense of what had just happened.

He couldn’t. He was just too tired. He would sort it out in the morning.

Resting his chin against her mane, he shut his eyes and drifted off to sleep.

IX

View Online

The road is long, dusty, brutal. Heat waves flow off the dirt. A young colt baking in the rays of the sun.

But still he keeps walking.

And walking.

A broken wing, a strained leg, but he has to keep going. Canterlot is before him and his home is behind. Canterlot will be safe. The Princess is there.

But here, on the road, he is vulnerable, weak, tired.

Dried trees and burnt bushes line the path. They swelter in the sun-cracked dirt. A lizard skitters past him. Charred. Everything is charred.

A speck on the horizon. Coming closer. A dark patch floating before the sun, a long shadow cast across the ground.

It calls his name.

“Roads!”

The voice is dark. Malignant. Hate filled and vicious. He fears it, he knows it. Far away, faint, but getting closer. He hears it again.

“Roads!”

He starts to run. Stumbles over his hooves. Can’t get up off the ground. He trembles, cowers. His wing hurts.

“Roads!”

The voice is close now. On the ground. Just behind him.

He turns.

A stallion, tall and black and powerful, towering over him. He blocks out the sun; the colt is cast in the stallion’s shadow. There is a scowl on his face, whiskey on his breath.

“You ran, boy.”

The stallion takes a step forward.

No please no Celestia help me.

“Now you’re comin’ back.”

The stallion grabs his forehoof. Wrenches it. Pulls him off the ground. Twists it further. A terrible crack fills the air and pain overwhelms him. He cries out. His father jerks the leg, facing him towards Cloudsdale. The city is black against the sun.

A push. He falls to the ground. His leg hurts. His father reaches for him once again.

“Don’t touch him!”

The voice behind him is furious, feminine, burning with rage. He turns. So does his father.

A Princess in the road. Brilliant, white, regal. Materialized out of thin air. A teleportation spell, but he doesn’t know that yet. Two guards at her side. One brown, one grey. An earth pony and a unicorn.

The father flares his wings. One of them is at an odd angle. Working, but crippled.

“He’s my son. I’ll do with him what I want.”

“Not anymore. He’s coming with me.”

“You can’t do—”

“I know what you did to him.” She holds up a Librarian’s letter. “Your custody of Roads has been revoked. You are wanted on charges of foal abuse in Cloudsdale. He’s not going anywhere with you anymore.”

A look of twisted horror, of restrained rage crosses the father’s face. The Princess turns to the brown guard.

“Chestnut, I’m sending you both to Cloudsdale. When you get there, hand him over to the guards there.” She floats him the letter. “Give them this. They’ll know what to do.”

The brown guard nods. Trots over to the father. In a flash, they are gone. The other guard, a unicorn, glances around, then vanishes as well.

The foal and the Princess stare at each other for a long, long time. Silent tears on the colt’s face. She walks over. Places a hoof on his shoulder.

“I’m sorry, Roads. This should have been taken care of a long time ago.”

At her touch he softens. Stops crying. Looks up at her. Awestruck. A slight, quivering smile on his face as he wipes away the tears.

“So, somepony tells me you like studying magic...”

He nods.

“Well, when we get back to Canterlot, I have a very special test you can take, one that I think you’ll do well on. It involves a lot of...”

She is drawing away from him, still talking, her voice fading. He looks at her, confused. What’s happening?

Everything is growing darker. Wetter. Softer.

He is in a forest, shrouded in night. Trees all around, the ground soft under his hooves. Something lays on the ground before him, under a trunk spattered with blood.

It is black, shifting, curling. It coils, surges, rises above him. Gives off black smoke. Its eyes are closed, but he feels it glare at him.

He looks down. He is no longer a colt. His forelegs are wrapped in copper. He tries to move. The metal holds him in place. It wraps around him, binding, constricting, taut around his neck.

The hovering shadow twitches, opens a mouth that isn’t really there. Speaks to him in a voice he only hears in his head.

“Did you really think your Princess could save you?” it asks.

A horrible fear pounds through him. He struggles against the wire. It bites into him, opening cuts all over his body. His own blood spills across him. Warm, slippery, horrifying. He cries out in pain and terror.

He must get away from the shadow. It is going to hurt him. It is going to hurt everyone. He has to get away, has to warn them.

The shadow gestures to the bloody trunk he broke himself against. Broke the mare against. Broken, broken, broken.

“Did you really think your Princess could fix you?” it asks.

He jerks, writhes, coat matted with blood. His own and somepony else’s. Get away, get away, get away.

Fear overwhelms him. He can’t move, can’t think, can’t breath. The wires are choking him. He can’t move his head, can’t look away. He stares into an overwhelming darkness.

“I’m going to kill them, Roads. All of them.”

No...

“You.”

No, please...

“Chief.”

No, don’t, please...

“Summer.”

No!

It opens its eyes. They are cold. Yellow. Dead.

A horrible, blood curdling scream he only barely realizes is his own.

Volume 1

“Of the terrible doubt of appearances,
Of the uncertainty after all—that we may be deluded,
That may-be reliance and hope are but speculations after all,”
-Walt Whitman, Of the Terrible Doubt of Appearances

It was the screaming that woke Summer up, the kick in the face that got her to leap to her hooves. Alarmed, she darted away from a screeching ball of flailing limbs.

“What the hell?”

One hoof pressed to her right eye, she turned and peered down, realizing Roads was the source of the noise. He was on the ground, thrashing and jerking, shrieking into the night. His eyes were screwed shut, a grimace across his face.

“Roads! Roads, wake up!” She nudged him with a hoof, trying to avoid getting hit again.

She heard heavy hoofsteps behind her.

“What’s going on? Did they find us?” Chief asked, tense and alert, head jerking as he glanced across the entrance to the cave.

“Nope,” Summer replied, gesturing down to the pegasus. “It’s just Roads.”

Chief rolled his eyes.

“Hey!” she shouted. “Wake up! Come on!”

His eyes snapped open and he sat up with a jerk, one last shout echoing through the cave. Roads glanced up at them, pale and sweating, trembling heavily. Chest heaving, he wrapped his forelegs around himself, utterly terrified.

“Th-there’s someone—something—i-it’s gonna—I saw it—”

“Calm down, Roads. It was just a dream,” Summer said, grimacing. This was bad. He was more shaken up than she thought.

“—G-gonna do bad things—horrible things—can’t stop it, I c-can’t—”

“Roads!” Summer said sharply, cutting him off.

He quieted, quivering slightly, nodding to himself. “A d-dream. J-just a nightmare...”

“You gonna be alright?” she asked.

“Y-yeah. Yeah, f-fine,” he said.

“Probably good you woke us up,” Chief said as he walked to the entrance of the cave. “Looks like Summer’s tripwire spell must’ve faded.”

“Oh, no, I, uh... never put one down,” she called to him.

He turned and gave her a sharp look, narrowing his eyes. “C’mere.”

Summer glanced down at Roads, who had managed to regain some semblance of composure, and was sitting back against a rock. He stared pensively into the coals of the fire.

“You good?”

“Yeah.”

“Be right back.”

Roads nodded. Summer trotted over to meet Chief just outside the cave. He looked at her sternly as she approached.

“You said you were going to stay up until you could cast the tripwire spell.”

“I forgot. I fell asleep.”

Chief stared at her for a moment, silent. Thinking.

“Roads hit your eye,” he said finally.

“Yeah. He was really freaking out.”

“He was laying on the ground and he hit your eye.”

Oh, no. She knew where this was going.

“Yeah. So?”

“Ever notice how short his legs are?” he said.

“Compared to yours, maybe.”

Chief snorted. “You were close.”

“And?”

“Didn’t see him hit you. Must’ve been while you were sleeping.”

She sighed internally. She thought about making something up, but Chief would probably just see right through it. Oh well. She had figured this would come, eventually. Just not this soon.

“Yeah. I was sleeping close to Roads. What’s your point?”

He ignored the question. “Close to, or with?”

“No! Well, yes, I was sleeping and with him, but...”

Chief raised an eyebrow. Summer was quiet for a moment, wondering how much she should tell him. Wondering how bad the fallout would be. What was the worst Chief could even do? Scold her? She was no schoolfilly; she could do what she pleased. With Roads, or anypony else. She had nothing to hide.

“It never went that far,” she said finally.

“But it went.”

Summer shrugged. “What if it did?”

“You didn’t put up the tripwire spell,”

“I didn’t stay awake long enough.”

“You got distracted.”

She sighed. “Yes.”

Chief gave a frustrated growl, stamping one hoof on the ground. “Dammit, Summer. I’d expect this from a rookie. From a spec. This is the kind of crap that gets ponies killed.”

“That’s a bit far—”

“No distractions,” Chief interrupted. “No getting involved with coworkers. That’s your rule.”

“I can handle this.”

Somewhere in the back of her head, she knew she couldn’t. Or shouldn’t. But she wasn’t about to tell Chief that.

“You already showed you can’t. We could’ve gotten ambushed because of this. Could’ve died, already.”

“I can manage it. I won’t let it distract me again.”

“Doubt it. Even so, makes this expedition complicated. No place for that at work.”

“Work?” she said, her temper rising. “You think we’re still working?! I’ve got news for you, Chief, we’re not working anymore. We’re surviving. We might not ever get off this island. This might be all that’s left for us, and I’m going to spend what precious little time I have left however the hell I please!”

“Even worse. Attachment makes it harder to survive,” he said.

“Yeah?”

“Honey always said so. You always said so. ‘Don’t get attached.’ You’re breaking your own rules.”

“Yeah, well, how did they work out for Honey? Huh? How did all her little rules and tricks work out for her when she was bleeding out in a hospital room?”

Chief winced. That was a low blow, but Summer was pissed off. At him, at the island, at all of it.

“What did they do for her then, Cheif? What did they do for me on this island? I should be dead. I did everything right, Chief, and I still should’ve died. You think this island gives a damn about rules? You think the world gives a damn about the rules?”

“You’re still alive. Means they’re working.

“They didn’t save me. Roads did. And I’ll do what I want with him. And I’m not gonna stop because Honey Dew might’ve had a problem with it.”

Chief gritted his teeth, seething. “Don’t say her name again. I let it go the first time. Won’t the next.”

Summer’s jaw clenched. She almost wanted to, just to spite him. But that would be... dangerous. Pissing off Chief without good reason was what had lost Green Touch a leg. And while Chief might’ve liked Summer more, getting on his bad side was still not a good idea. So she held her tongue.

“Fine. But don’t tell me what to do with Roads. I’m not a foal.”

“It’s a mistake.”

“That’s for me to decide.”

“It might get us killed.”

“I don’t see us getting out alive, anyway.”

“It’s possible. I have a plan. Will tell you in the morning.”

“Fine.”

Chief glared at her, one last time, before he began to walk back into the cave. “Whatever you do with Roads... don’t slip up again.”

Summer sighed with as she watched him walk away. She was so tired. Tired, and utterly pissed off. You’re breaking your own rules. She grimaced. She hadn’t wanted to admit it, but knew it was true. He was right. She had only argued to try and save face. It was frustrating that he thought he could tell her what to do, but he was right, regardless.

Roads was a mistake. A fun mistake, but a mistake nonetheless. If she wanted to survive out here, there wasn’t room for distractions.

She hoped he would see it that way. It was doubtful. He’d probably be hurt. Which would make things more complicated.

Great, she thought, as she channeled her—now restored—magic into a tripwire spell. Way to alienate Chief and Roads all in one night. Which shouldn’t have even mattered to her, given that she wasn’t supposed to care all that much about either of them, in any context.

But then, she’d broken that rule for Chief a long time ago. And blown it to hell in Roads’ case. Ironic, given that the first thing she had said to him when they’d met was “I don’t get involved with coworkers.”

And that was, what... four days ago? Five?

It seemed like forever. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she realized that the monsoons were probably approaching. It would only be a few more days before they hit.

If only Roads hadn’t ripped the engine out of the zeppelin. Then they might already be on their way home. Screw making a map. The Aggregate would have to take its losses for sending them somewhere hostile and occupied without a full military escort. Not that they could have foreseen anything like this but still...

She wished Roads could have found some other way to save them. Which, she realized, wasn’t fair at all. What he’d done was... heroic. Regardless of what he’d had to break, he had saved them.

And, dear Princesses, was that a turn-on. It wasn’t everyday that she met a stallion who would take on an entire village full of armed guards and an insane sorceress using only a hoof-full of zeppelin parts—and wasn’t as crazy and messed up as, say, Chief.

Which, of course, made keeping her distance that much more frustrating. But it would have to be that way, if they wanted to minimize risks. ‘No distractions,’ and all.

Still, did have to stay that way? Maybe once they were back in Equestria...

Summer smiled to herself while finishing the tripwire spell. It was a nice thought, but she doubted it would work out in the end. What if the only reason anything had happened in the first place was because of her fear and his indifference? If she hadn’t been panicked out of her mind about dying, if he hadn’t still seemed incredible from the rescue...

Oh, hell. She probably still would’ve liked him. Even as whiny and annoying as he could be, he had always been... likeable. At least. It wasn’t until tonight that she had realized he had any real substance to him, anything she could really value, but she’d seen a side of him that she hadn’t noticed was there before.

Still, Roads was definitely not worth dying for. And still way too whiny. But it didn’t mean she couldn’t give things a shot. After they got off the island, that is. Until then... it was best not to think about it, she decided. She had indulged herself, mulled over what happened, and now it was time to move on.

She just had to tell Roads...

Summer walked back into the cave, glancing over to the sleeping body of Chief. She found Roads still sitting against his rock, and, after re-lighting the fire, she plopped down beside him.

“Hey,” she said.

“Hey.”

“You look like hell,” she said, looking him over. He was still pale, his eyes sunken and reddened, his ears sagging with exhaustion.

“Gee, thanks. Just what I wanted to hear.”

“Anytime,” she said with a tired smile.

“I think I might be cracking up,” he said, not taking his eyes off the coals.

She cocked an eyebrow. “I doubt it. You had a nightmare, right after your first kill. It happens.”

“Sounds like you speak from experience.”

“Yeah, well... when you’re the sheriff's daughter out in a frontier town, you get that kind of experience. You grow up fast.”

“What happened?”

Summer laughed. “What didn’t? I don’t think I’ve got the time to go over everything that happened back then.”

“No, I mean just the first time.”

“The first kill?”

“Yeah.”

She swallowed, trying to remember the exact details, and not just the flashes of horror that usually came instead of true memories.

“Well...” she started. “It all started ‘cause my dad got sick. Hoof and mouth, or something, I don’t remember. Anyway, he was laid up in bed for a couple of weeks, and word got around he couldn’t defend himself. Just about that time, a guy he put in jail for a bit for petty theft got out, and decided he had a score to settle. So, he got real hammered and headed out to the edge of town. Right out to our house. Dad was unconscious, at the time.”

“Was your sister there?”

“Nah, she was already gone. It was just me, dad, and my younger brother. I think he was nine at the time. So this stallion staggers on up to the house with a machete and busts in the door and starts tearing the house apart, and I come downstairs and yell at him to get the hell out.”

“What’d he do?” Roads asked.

“Well, he started talking about how we was gonna kill dad and do...” she cleared her throat, “things... to me. I tried to reason with him, but he was either too mad, too drunk, or both, so he starts charging down towards my dad’s bedroom. And I’m just about to try and stop him when my brother comes out, still in his pajamas, and gets in his way, because he doesn’t have enough sense in his head to fill a thimble.

“Well, my brother said something—I dunno what—and then...” she cleared her throat, glancing away from him. “Whatever it was, it pissed off the stallion that much more, and he cut my brother across the face with the machete. So, he hits the ground and blood goes everywhere, and the stallion starts down the hall again and I just panic.”

“I know how that feels...” Roads said.

“I was freaking out, I didn’t know what to do. I’d been in some rough spots before, but never anything like this. So, I levitated an oil lamp off the back table and broke it over the stallion’s head. He turned on me and started coming after me with the machete so... so I lit it. The oil. Let off a spark with my magic and ‘whoosh.’ Up he went.”

“I was afraid he was gonna get the house burned down so I grab him with my magic and shove him out of a window and he lands just next to the porch. And he just stayed there. Thrashing and screaming and burning. I wanted to look away, but I just couldn’t. I just sat there and stared at him until he stopped moving... Until he stopped burning.

“I was twelve.”

Roads glanced over at Summer. Her brow was furrowed, and she was staring hard at the glowing coals, a strange look on her face.

“Did you ever... y’know... get over it?” Roads asked.

Summer nodded slowly. “I had nightmares about it for a week. I would wake up in the night and I could just smell burning flesh... but, yeah. I got over it. It took me a while. But now... it’s not so bad. Still don’t like to think about it but... It doesn’t bother me. Not as much.

“And I’ve done worse since,” she said.

“Like what?”

“Like I’m not talking about it right now, that’s what,” she said, with a gentle nudge.

“Okay,” Roads said. “Fair enough.”

Summer reached over and wrapped a foreleg around him. “You’ll get over it. Eventually. Before that, though... it’s gonna suck.”

“And at least I don’t have to go it alone...” he said, planting a light kiss on her forehead.

She winced. “Well, actually... I need to talk to you about that.”

She noticed his face darken. Oh, no. This wasn’t going to be fun. She would rather just kiss him.

“Out here... with everything that’s going on... we can’t really afford to have any distractions. It’s dangerous. Surviving from this point on is gonna be tough, and we don’t need anything else to worry about in the meantime, so... until we get back to Equestria, tonight never happened.”

He winced at that. “You sure?”

No, she thought.

“Yes,” she said firmly.

“I don’t understand... What distractions? Are you sure there isn’t a way to make it work?”

“Do you want to live, or not?” she asked him pointedly. Cutting him down like this was painful, but she couldn’t let up. They might not survive otherwise.

Roads was quiet for a moment, thinking. He sighed. “Okay. That’s... not what I would’ve wanted to hear but... I want to get off this island intact as much as you do. And if that means that... uh, if that means no distractions... so be it. But when we get back to Equestria...?” A slim smile crawled across his face.

“After that, we do what we want. But before then, we ignore tonight.”

“All right. I can live with it.”

“Although...” Summer said with a grin. “The sun’s not up yet. Tonight isn’t exactly over.”

Roads’ face lit up as she leaned over and kissed him, hard. Oh, how she hoped Celestia would be running late tonight...

_________________________________________________________

“...all I’m asking,” Aspen was saying, “is doesn’t it bother you—just a little—that absolutely none of this makes any sense?”

“Nope,” Willow replied.

“How could that not bother you?” Aspen asked, incredulous. Sometimes he just couldn’t understand how his friend’s mind worked.

“Well, it’s not really any of my business.”

“Are you kidding?” Aspen gestured to the forest around them. “Look where we are! Of course it’s our business! It’s always been our business! How d’you think we ended up out here?”

“Because Princess said it was our fault Roads escaped, so we have to go find the prisoners, duh. So we headed out to where we knew they would go—the forbidden side of the island,” Willow said.

“And there’s another thing! Why should this entire half of the island be forbidden?”

“Because it’s dangerous!” Willow replied frankly, as if stating the obvious.

“But is it, though? It’s exactly the same as all the rest of the island.”

“Well, Princess said it was.”

“How do we know she was right?”

“We don’t.”

“And that doesn’t bother you?”

“Of course not! Because it doesn’t make a difference. Because we’re out here anyway. In fact, it helps if Princess is wrong, because that means we’re in less danger,” Willow said happily as he trotted through the forest. Aspen followed, spear bundle rapping against his back, frowning as he tried to make Willow understand.

“It doesn’t bother you that Princess might be wrong?”

“Should it?”

“Yes. And not only that, but it should also bother you that you’re taking orders—once again—from a murderer. Do you remember what she did to Maple Blossom?”

“She says she didn’t do anything. She just sent her off to the bad side of the island.”

“Willow, she probably killed Maple.”

“Probably. But not necessarily. Besides, if Maple hadn’t tried to start that revolt, it never would have happened.”

“You really think Maple deserved it?” Aspen asked, incredulous.

“Of course not! But what I’m saying is that she got on the bad side of Princess. And that’s the side that we’re not on.”

“And yet we’re still on the bad side of the island. The side nopony ever comes back from.”

“Maybe they’re just hiding. Or maybe they like it here better,” Willow said.

“Or maybe Princess killed them and just said she was sending them to this side
of the island.”

“Which would mean that we have nothing to worry about!”

“Except for the fact that Princess might be wrong,” Aspen said.

“Should that bother me?” Willow asked.

“Yes! If she is wrong—which she very well might be—then that means one of two things: either she’s very, very ignorant to have not realized her mistake after two hundred years of life on this island—which is not likely—or she’s hiding something from us, and everypony else.”

“So what if she’s hiding something from us?” Willow shrugged. “I can think of plenty of things we hide from her,” he said with a wink.

“Right, but we’re not the ones sending her out into the woods to search for potentially dangerous Equestrians.”

“Well, they might not be dangerous. Strongsteed says they’re good ponies,” Willow said innocently.

“Strongsteed is crazy,” Aspen said.

“So is Princess,” Willow replied.

“Exactly! So, both of the ponies who are telling us what is supposed to be going on are crazy!”

“Yes.”

“And that doesn’t bother you?” Aspen asked.

“Not even a little,” Willow said.

“Why not?”

“Because either Stronsteed is right and the Equestrians aren’t dangerous, and neither is this side of the island, or Princess is right and the Equestrians are trying to invade. Which means we need to help stop them. Either way, everything works out for us,” Willow said.

“Except for the fact that even if we could find the Equestrians, there are only two of us, and three of them. And last time they were in town, they nearly burned the city down, all by themselves. Which, I think, proves that they are everything Princess says,” Aspen said.

“Not necessarily. Princess also helped burn the town.”

“Which means that she could be just as bad as they are!”

“Or just as good as they are.”

“Which means that we’re screwed either way.”

“Or we’re safe either way.”

“So, we’re powerless, then,” Aspen concluded. “No matter who we help—Princess or the Equestrians—the outcome is the same.”

“Exactly!”

“The fact that you’re totally helpless should bother you.”

“Why be bothered? It won’t change anything,” Willow said.

Aspen blinked. He wasn’t sure what to say. It seemed Willow had out-argued him once again. But then, it was his own fault for once again forgetting that his ditzy, happy-go-lucky friend was as intelligent as anypony else on the island.

“All right, fine. We don’t question, we don’t ask. We just go along with whatever’s easiest. But I’d like to put it down for the record that I have no confidence in anyone involved.”

“Not even me?”

“Except you. Obviously.”

Willow smiled at him, and Aspen felt something in his chest rise. It was comforting to know that whatever happened between Princess and the Equestrians, Willow would always be there to tough it out with him.

“There’s just one thing I don’t know about...” Willow said, furrowing his brow.

“Yeah?”

“Assuming we’re able to capture the Equestrians—then what?”

“Well...” Aspen thought for a moment. “We question them. Maybe they have a perspective on things that we don’t. Maybe they could help us understand what we need to do to help stay safe through this whole thing.”

“What if they’re as crazy as Princess and Strongsteed?”

Aspen cocked his head, thinking. “It’s possible. The one with the wings—”

“—Roads.”

“Roads, right. He hit you.”

“Yeah, but it seemed like he felt bad about it, afterwards. Did you see how he ran away?”

“Willow, he was escaping.”

Willow shrugged. “Same difference. Now that I think about it, I doubt he really meant it. Besides, if you were escaping, wouldn’t you do the same?”

“I wouldn’t hit you,” Aspen said firmly.

“But would you hit one of them?” Willow asked.

“I dunno. I’ve never been in that situation.”

“I’d bet you would,” Willow said, nodding to himself.

“Wait, didn’t you just say they were crazy?”

“I said they might be crazy. Which means it wouldn’t help to question them.”

“It might. Maybe they’re a different kind of crazy than everypony else,” Aspen said.

“Okay, but even if we do question them, what do we ask?” Willow asked.

“What they’re doing here, why they attacked the town, what they plan to do next, that sort of thing.”

“I dunno...”

“Okay, here, how about this, I’ll pretend to be the big one—”

“—Chief.”

“Right. I’ll pretend to be Chief, and you ask me questions.”

“Well, who am I, then?”

“You’re yourself,” Aspen said.

“So, Chief’s you?” Willow asked.

“No! For the purposes of this exercise, I’m not here. It’s just you and Chief,” Aspen said.

“Oh, okay.”

“Are you ready?”

“Yes.”

“Well, go ahead, then,” Aspen said.

“How should I start?”

“Ask me what I’m doing here,” Aspen said.

“Right. Uh... What are you doing on this island, Aspen?” Willow asked.

Aspen put a hoof to his face. “You forgot, didn’t you...”

“Oh! Right, sorry. What are you doing on this island, Willow,” Willow said, looking proud of himself.

Aspen sighed. “No, you’re Willow, and I’m Aspen.”

“I thought you were Chief?”

“Then why didn’t you address me as ‘Chief’?”

“Because you’re Willow, silly.”

“No, I—urg, never mind.” Aspen shook his head. Whatever flash of prescience Willow’d had was now passed. “Don’t worry about it.”

They trotted in silence for a few minutes, until Willow’s face lit up with a sudden realization.

“Oh, you mean you’re pretending to be Chief, while I ask you questions.”

Aspen sighed. “There you go.”

“I was confused.”

“I could tell.”

“How should I start?” Willow asked.

“Ask me what I’m doing here,” Aspen said.

“What are you doing here, Chief?”

“Just scouting out the island, Willow,” Aspen said in a faux-deep voice only vaguely reminiscent of Chief’s.

Willow paused, raising an eyebrow. “Am I pretending to be you?”

“If you want to. Should we keep going?”

Willow sighed. “No. I don’t think I’m very good at this,” he said dejectedly.

Aspen’s heart sunk at Willow’s tone. “Well, you just haven’t had much practice...”

Willow glanced up at him. “Alright, then. We should play the question game.”

“What good would that do?”

“Practice!”

Aspen grinned. He was winning already. “Statement. One-zero.”

“Hey! That’s not fair!” Willow objected.

“How so?”

“I hadn’t started yet,” Willow said.

“Statement. Two-zero.”

“Are you gonna count that?”

“What?”

“I said, ‘are you gonna count that’,” Willow said.

“Statement. Three-zero. Better get it together, Willow.”

“Fine. Who’s turn?”

“Huh?”

“Hah! No grunts! Three-one,” Willow said.

“Does it matter?” Aspen asked.

“Why wouldn’t it?”

“Isn’t there a point?”

“To what?”

Aspen was quiet for a moment, trying to think of an answer.

“Foul! That’s a pause! Three-two.”

Aspen frowned. He had never lost to Willow before in this game, and he didn’t intend to start. Then he had an idea.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“Mine?”

“Who else would I ask?”

“Who else is around?” Willow asked.

“Why do you care?” Aspen countered.

“Why shouldn’t I?”

“Haven’t you seen what’s going on?”

“Have you?” Willow asked.

“Have I what?”

“Have you looked?”

“Look at that!” Aspen cried.

“Statement! Three—”

“No, Willow! Look!” Aspen said, pointing to a cave mouth that opened just under a hill. A flickering light danced just inside it.

“The Equestrians!” he said with a smile. Aspen just shook his head.

“What exactly are we supposed to do now that we’ve found them?”

Aspen shrugged. “I dunno. We could turn around and go tell Princess where they are, but by the time we get back here again with everypony else, they could already have left this cave.”

“We could do something ourselves, then!” Willow offered.

Aspen nodded. “There should be some Lotus extract in my pack, under the spears. We could sneak in and knock them all out before they even realized we were there. And if that doesn’t work, there’s always the spears.”

Willow frowned, his brow furrowed. “I don’t actually know how to use a spear. Nopony ever taught me. They all just assumed I already knew.”

“Well, let’s just hope we don’t have to use them, then,” Aspen said with a sigh.

He set down his pack and rooted through it to find the extract, a thick, oily liquid in a hollowed out gourd. After uncorking it, he poured the contents across two coarse linen cloths and then handed one to Willow. Slinging the pack and both spears back over his withers, he crept silently down towards the cave, Willow in tow.

_________________________________________________________

Roads was having trouble sleeping. By all accounts, he should have felt perfectly at ease.

The invisible tripwire spell was hanging reassuringly across the mouth of the cave. Chief was dozing by the entrance, ready to spring to their defense at a moment’s notice. Dawn was just beginning to break over the horizon. The air was cool and still and quiet, its silence broken only by Summer’s soft, contented breathing as she slept peacefully, snuggled against his chest. She was wrapped in his forelegs, her mane tickling lightly across the underside of his chin as her kisses faded from his lips.

And she was driving him crazy.

He just couldn’t figure out what was going on. One moment, she was all over him, the next she didn’t even want to talk about anything until they got back to Canterlot. And right after that, she was all over him again. It was downright confusing.

She seemed so worried about “distractions.” Distractions from what? They were safe from Princess now, all they had to do was patch the Zephyr back up in the morning and they could head home. Her tools had been confiscated by the islanders, but she definitely knew enough fusion and soldering spells to fix the Zeppelin without them.

Which meant that by tomorrow evening, they should all be back in Equestria—which was precisely why he hadn’t been bothered at first when she had told him that everything could wait until then. It was only going to be a day.

So what was Summer so worried about? What was going to change in between now and then? She had sounded so wrapped up in ‘survival,’ but so far as he could tell, survival from this point on should have been easy. So... what was the problem, then?

Was she lying to him?

Perhaps she just didn’t like him. That made sense, in a depressing sort of way. Early in the night, she had been scared, vulnerable. Looking for something to fix that. And there he was, the only eligible stallion in a hundred miles. And she must have known he couldn’t reject her. So she had gotten caught up in all the fear and excitement, and he had been just convenient enough. And...

And she had made a mistake.

And realized it, probably, when she woke up later. Realized just how unattractive he was, how much better she could do. But she wouldn’t have wanted to hurt his feelings, not while they were still going to have to work together. That would make things needlessly uncomfortable and messy. It would be... inconvenient.

But she still needed to avoid putting up with him, so she had done the next best thing to confessing her distaste. She’d told him to wait. Until they were back in Equestria and she could get away from him and find herself a real stallion. Yes, that made sense.

Except for the fact that if she actually was making a mistake, she had made it twice. And she had seemed so... earnest, too. He could have sworn that he could see care—real, genuine care—for him flicker through her face several times that evening. Maybe even care that she didn’t want to show.

But... maybe he was just imagining things. A mare like Summer, interested in a stallion, like, well... him? It was almost laughable. They were so different, he was so... Roads. It couldn’t be real. It couldn’t be genuine. And yet...

And yet when he looked down at her, cuddled against him, hot breath ruffling softly through his coat, he could swear it was.

It just didn’t make sense. He let out a sigh that tousled her mane, and kissed her forehead lightly. He thought he saw the corners of her mouth curl up slightly at that. She gave a small contented sound and snuggled more tightly against him.

Even as his heart leapt a little in response, somewhere in the back of his head a detached, clinical part of him noted that this couldn’t just be an act. Summer would have to be quite the thespian to perform so well when only semi-conscious. Maybe she was being truthful after all...

Something still didn’t add up, but... his eyes were growing heavy and it was hard to care... hard to think... he could figure it out in the morning...

A high pitched magical screeching filled the cave as the spell at the entrance of the cave was tripped. Roads sat up, adrenaline shooting through him as Summer scrambled to her hooves. Rising, he turned to see two stallions, one brown, the other dark green, frozen with shock at the entrance to the cave. For a second, neither moved, looks of shock painted across their faces, as Chief came barreling towards them.

And then they were running. Chief caught up to the green one before he made it even a few meters, knocking his legs out from under him. He gave a cry as he fell, and his companion skidded to a halt, whirling around to face them. The islander drew a spear from the bundle on his back and leveled it at Chief.

Chief stopped, stock still, just outside the other pony’s reach. After a second of hesitation, the islander jerked forward, lashing out at Chief. There was a blur of movement Roads couldn’t track, the sound of wood snapping, a pained shout, and then the islander was on the ground. His spear was cracked in half and his nose was bleeding.

“Aspen!” his companion cried, struggling to his hooves.

Roads blinked.

Willow and Aspen? He hadn’t recognized them at a distance. What were they doing here?

Willow stumbled over to his companion and knelt next him, trying to stem the bleeding with a piece of cloth. He cried out in horror as the other pony suddenly went limp, completely unconscious. Then he looked down at the lotus-drenched cloth, and realized what had happened. He gave a sigh of relief as Chief dragged him away from his friend.

Within moments, both were tied in the hemp ropes Chief had taken from Aspen’s pack, and set against the cave walls. Chief moved over to Willow and opened his mouth to question him when Summer dragged him aside.

“Leave him for now. You won’t be able to learn anything until Aspen wakes up. And besides, we need to figure out what to do with them, first,” Summer told him.

“Question them,” Chief said gruffly.

“No, I know that. I meant after.”

Chief shrugged. “Kill them.”

Roads felt a cold shock run through him. “What?!” he asked.

“Can’t let them go back to Princess and tell them where we are.”

“So you’re just going to kill them?” he demanded.

“Yes.”

“No. No way. Not Willow and Aspen. We’ll just have to find somewhere else to hide.”

Chief shook his head. “Don’t know of anywhere. Killing’s easier.”

Roads clenched his jaw, a pit of anger forming in his stomach. There would be no more murders, not while he could help it. Not after last night. “I’m not going to let you do that.”

He fixed Roads with a cold glare that would have sent him scurrying two days ago.

“You can’t stop me,” Chief said with a low growl.

Roads felt a pang of fear flash through his chest. He knew what Chief could do to ponies. Knew what Chief could do to him. But he didn’t have a choice. “I will if I have to. It’s Willow and Aspen, Chief. They’ve shown us nothing but sympathy, and this is how you repay them?”

“They intruded,” Chief grunted. “They deserve it. It’s us or them.”

Summer shook her head. “Roads is right on this one, Chief. If it weren’t for those two, I would be dead right now. They’ve saved my life twice, and now I’m repaying the favor.”

Chief narrowed his eyes, looking down at her. “Sure,” he said through gritted teeth. “Side with your coltfriend. Get us all killed. That didn’t take long.”

Roads flashed a sideways glance at her. “He knows?” he asked.

Summer ignored him, glaring up at the earth pony. “That has nothing to do with this, Chief. Survival is one thing, murder is another.”

“No law here,” Chief said. “No murder. Only killing.”

“I said ‘no,’ Chief.”

Chief gave Summer an appraising stare. “You’re getting soft. Summer I knew would let me do it. Maybe would help.”

What did that mean? What had Summer been like before? Roads glanced over at her, horrified. “I’ve done worse since.” Was this what Chief was talking about?

“Let this go, Chief,” she said, ignoring the look Roads was giving her. “If you ever want to get contracted by the Aggregate again, let this go...”

Chief snorted. “Second time you’ve pulled rank in two days. More than you have in years. You’ve changed.”

Summer shifted her weight, giving him an authoritative glare. “Maybe so. It doesn’t matter. The fact remains that I’m not letting you do anything to Willow and Aspen. Not without good reason. And being too lazy to find somewhere else to set up camp is not a good reason.”

“They intruded,” Chief repeated.

“You don’t know that. You don’t know why they’re here.”

“You didn’t let me ask.”

“You’re going to get us all killed,” Chief said. “First you let them go, maybe next you let Princess go.”

Roads’ ears perked up at that. “Let her go where, Chief?” He rounded on Summer. “What are you two planning?”

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Chief smirking. “Marefriend didn’t tell you?”

“Tell me what? Summer?” He looked at her questioningly. “What’s going on?”

“Look, Roads, there’s only one way off this island, and Princess is standing in the way of that,” she said.

“Summer...” he warned.

“Let me finish. The only way we’re getting out of here alive is on that zeppelin, and we have to go by tomorrow before the storms hit. And in case you hadn’t noticed, the engine is sitting over by the fire, while the rest of the Zephyr... isn’t. I know you know enough about aircraft to know what that means,” Summer said.

“We’ll have to fix it,” Roads said.

“Right, but all of my tools were confiscated with the rest of our supplies... which are currently sitting in the corner of Princess’ throne room.”

“So? Precision telekinesis and a few specialty repair spells can do anything they can do,” Roads said.

“Well, I hope you can perform some, because I sure can’t.”

“How could you not know those spells? In your line of work?”

“Like I said, I’m not big on magic. I know a few dueling spells, a cartological spells, and some utility stuff I picked up over the years and in vocational school. That stuff is beyond me,” Summer said.

“So your next logical step is killing somepony?!”

“Well, yes.”

Roads gritted his teeth, stamping a hoof on the ground. “You didn’t think of maybe just sneaking in and stealing your tools back?”

“In the middle of the city? Right after you attacked Princess? Her quarters are going to be swarming with guards, and even with my magic, I still can’t risk combat so soon. Not with that many ponies and Princess.”

“There’s still Chief, and I can always use the engine again.”

Summer shook her head. “No, you can’t, actually. You told me last night that after you left the city, the engine was nearly half-empty. And since your wing is broken, so you can’t charge it in the nexus again. We still have to use that engine to run the Zephyr, and we’re going to be hard-pressed to make it back to Canterlot again as it is. We can’t risk you draining it anymore. And Chief is good, but you saw what happened last time he tried to take on Princess.”

Chief snorted. “She got lucky.”

“She beat you, Chief,” Summer said.

“Once.”

“And if it happens again, we’re all dead.”

Chief fell silent, brooding.

“Besides,” Summer said, leveling her gaze at Roads, “you didn’t seem too keen on keeping Princess alive before.”

“That was different. I didn’t have a choice.”

“We don’t have a choice now, Roads.”

“There has to be something else. Nopony else needs to die!” he cried.

“Deaths are necessary for our survival,” Chief said.

“You’re not helping,” Summer told him. “Look, Roads, I know what happened in the forest shook you up, but you have to understand that this is—”

“No. No! There’s been enough violence already. Enough death. Never again.”

“Roads—”

“Never again!”

“You don’t have to do it. Just let us take care of it.”

Roads looked at her pleadingly. “I can’t... I just can’t...”

“Do you even remember what she did to us?” Summer asked.

“Summer...”

“Do you even know what she does to her own people? According to Willow and Aspen, she’s been butchering anypony brave or stupid enough to go against her for years. The natives are terrified of her—anypony who defies her gets exiled and ‘disappears.’ Apparently they’ve even tried staging coups and revolutions, but a bunch of earth ponies without proper weapons don’t stand a chance against a unicorn with two hundred years of magic under her saddle. Look, if we kill her, we save the islanders,” Summer said.

Roads furrowed his brow. It was all so confusing—whatever they did, it seemed, ponies ended up dead. Maybe this wasn’t as black and white as it seemed. He was quiet for a moment, mulling over what Summer had told him.

“Fine,” he said finally. “Do what you have to. But how will this help anything? Even with Princess gone, your supplies are still stuck in the middle of a city that hates us.”

“Weren't you listening?” Summer asked. “The only thing that keeps the islanders on Princess’ side is fear. They’re more afraid of her than they are of us, and so they do what she tells them. But if we get rid of Princess, they don’t have the guidance or will to oppose us. Not to mention the fact that we would have just outmatched somepony they consider a deity. With Princess out of the way, we could march right into that city, and I doubt anypony would do anything.”

“And even if a few loyalists did try something, I could handle it,” Chief added.

“All right. So that part of the plan works. But if you can’t hold off Princess long enough to so much as grab supplies and run, how do you expect to actually be able to kill her?”

“Simple,” Chief grunted. “Don’t attack her in the city. Wait. Surprise her. Catch her when she’s not expecting anything.”

“And how are we supposed to do that?” Roads asked.

“Didn’t you say she would have to make regular trips to her special nexus to stay alive?” Summer asked.

“Well, yes...”

“And if she wants to be seen as a Goddess, I doubt she brings any guards with her...” Summer said.

Suddenly, it made sense. But it wasn’t going to work.

Roads shook his head. “Nope.”

“What?”

“You won’t be able to do anything near that nexus. I’ve dealt with that sort of thing before. It’ll heal wounds for as long as it still has energy left. Which means that if Princess manages to get to it, as long as she’s standing within it, she’ll be invulnerable, for all intents and purposes.”

“Well, I’ll just have to hit her before that. When she’s on her way,” Chief said.

“Princess can teleport, she won’t just walk to the nexus.”

Chief frowned at that.

“...and even then,” Roads continued, “she has an arcano-resonant gem in her crown that can hold the nexus’s restorative energy for long periods of time. I doubt she has to visit the nexus more than once or twice every few weeks. And if we really have to get off the island, we can’t afford to wait for that long.

“And even if we could, we would have to keep the nexus under constant watch—she could make trips at night—and if we missed her a single time, we would have to wait weeks before we could get another chance,” Roads said.

“It might be the only way—we may have to stay on the island for a while...” Summer said.

Roads’ heart sank in his chest. The idea of spending months, or even years on the island was beyond unbearable. There had to be a better way...

A thought occurred to him. A way to kill Princess. He opened his mouth to tell Summer and Chief, but stopped himself. If he told them, he would be directly responsible for her death. It wouldn’t be just standing aside and letting them do the work, it would be actively enabling another pony’s murder.

But it wasn’t just another pony, though, was it? It was Princess. The lunatic who thought she was at war with Celestia. The pony who had almost killed all of them. The despot who butchered her own people.

Her death would be no crime.

But a death was still a death, wasn’t it? It would still be taking another pony’s life.

But how averse was he to that, really? When it all came down to it, was he any better than Summer or Chief? Or even Princess herself? When he had cast his spells at her in that burning field, he hadn’t been aiming to stun. He hadn’t been trying to incapacitate her.

He had been trying to kill.

And look where that had gotten him. An innocent pony, the island mare, dead at his hooves.

A blue figure turning red... an earth pony’s eyes, robbed of color and vision... a mare laughing maniacally with his father’s voice...

Princess was no innocent pony. Summer was right. This had to be done.

“Actually...” Roads said, glancing at Willow and Aspen. “I might know something we can do...”

X

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It has just rained, the grass is still wet underneath her. She doesn’t mind. She is happy.

Happy to be here. To be with him. To be alive.

Goddess, she feels so alive.

His hoof is a livewire as she holds it. Sparks, up her foreleg. Through her heart. She leans, rests her head against his shoulder. Feels his breath, soft on the top of her fiery red mane. She nuzzles his neck gently. He presses his cheek against her forehead.

They sit on the hill, looking out over the forest. Out at the sunset. Breathing air still crisp after the rain. Resting just behind his house.

Our house, she reminds herself. She keeps forgetting. But she gets a rush from remembering. It’s nice, owning something with him. Being joined to him. Through property, through marriage, through love. He is hers. She is his. She is happy.

Inseparable. For better or for worse.

She looks up at him, into his eyes.

Into one of them. The other stares into the distance, sapped of color, lacking a pupil. Blind. A cruel scar from a duel long ago. Offputting to some, but she doesn’t mind. She loves him just the way he is.

She whispers in his ear. Tells him so.

He kisses her on the cheek.

“I love you, too.”

A lightness in her chest. Every time he says it, the same feeling. Never diminishes. Never fades. In sickness or in health.

The sun sinking over the horizon. Fading. The sky turning bloodred. Celestia ending a day’s work. An uneasy twilight settling over the woods. In the distance, a roar.

It’s getting dark. They should probably go inside.

Maybe just a few more moments. It is so nice out here.

Another roar. This one closer.

She presses against his side, he turns to face her. She closes her eyes, kisses him softly.

She opens her eyes. Turns away. Looking over the hill.

A forest set ablaze. A sky full of smoke and dragons. Air filled with screams and roars. She doesn’t want to look at this. She turns away. Looks back to her husband. Closes her eyes.

Kisses him again. A roar. Very close. She pulls back, opens her eyes.

And he is gone.

Terror now. The fire closes in. She whirls around. His house--their house--is on fire. Crumbling. Dying.

She calls out his name. Dashes towards the house. Pulls open a door. Scurries inside.

Flames and haze all around. She coughs from the smoke. She can’t breathe. She calls his name again. No response.

A cracking above her. A roof set aflame. The supports are burnt through. Half of the roof falls to the floor, just before her. She looks up. The other half is coming down.

She turns, dashes through the door. Dives free of the collapsing house. Outside. Sweet, clear air.

She pulls herself to her hooves. Looks back. A void where the house was. A tattered hoof sticking out of the rubble.

No.

No, not this.

Not this.

Everything grows blurry. Tears in her eyes. She drags herself to the hoof. Clears away some of the debris. He is still alive. Barely.

He is badly burned. Some of his face is gone. His forelegs aren’t bending as they are supposed to. His lower half is trapped beneath a smouldering beam. Something is coming out of his stomach. His blood on her arms as she holds him. What’s left of him.

He tries to speak with lips that are burned away.

“I love you.”

‘Til death do us part.

No, no, no, no...

One eye closes. The other keeps staring. Curses don’t die.

Her tears fall on burned flesh.

Why?

“Because you deserve it.” A voice coming from behind her. Regal, dignified, hateful. “Because I can.”

She turns. Celestia stands before her. Flanked by two ponies. A blue unicorn. A grey pegasus. The pegasus is holding a bloodied mare. Choking the life out of her.

The Princess looks around. Smiles at ponies burning, ponies dying. “I like it. It suits me. Who knew letting the dragons stay in Equestria would be my greatest triumph?

“Who knew it would help me end you?”

Her stomach drops. “Why would you do this?”

“Because you’re a threat. And threats must be eliminated.”

To her right, the mare dies. The pegasus tosses her aside. Into a tree trunk.

The Princess laughs a horrible, evil laugh. Walks towards her. She is growing hazy. Her features fading away. Drifting into shadow. The fires around her die out. The ponies behind her disappear. Night falls. She is all alone, surrounded by darkness.

Darkness, and a shadow. A haze with one cursed eye. A dark mist floating above her. It whispers to her.

“They’re coming for you...

“For you...

“For your home...

“For your children...

“They’re going to kill them all...

“And you can’t stop them...”

Darkness.

Volume 1]

“Who knows what intimacies our eyes may shout,
What evident secrets daily foreheads flaunt,
What panes of glass conceal our beating hearts?”
-Arthur Seymour, Betrayal

Dogwood was not a happy pony.

He was working the early shift as Princess’ personal guard, which he hated. He was sleep deprived, which he hated. And he was sore, which he hated.

Also, his daughter was dead.

What he hated most was the Equestrians who killed her. They had bashed her against a tree. Broken her spine. Left her mangled body for the scouts to find.

He wanted payback. Vengeance. He wanted to find the Equestrians and tear them apart, piece by piece. To hear their backs snap, just as they had done to his daughter.

But here he was, stuck on guard duty. Guard-Captain Redbud had offered him the day off, on the condition that he not leave town. The Captain didn’t want him chasing the invaders on his own. But he had decided to stay, to go to work. If he sat at home, all he would have to think about would be his daughter.

And he couldn’t stand that. Not yet. His mind hadn’t been working since... since they had shown him her body. He hadn’t shed a tear. He had just looked at her--only once--and his heart stopped cold. He wasn’t sure it had started beating again, yet. He didn’t particularly care.

It didn’t matter. Nothing did.

Nothing but vengeance.

He felt as though he were asleep. Maybe in some sort of fog. Everything was numb. Nothing really seemed real, except his anger. He couldn’t focus, could only barely comprehend what was going on. There was only one thing on his mind.

Kill them.

But he couldn’t. Not yet. He had a job to do. Well, technically he had Aspen’s job to do. Ordinarily, the other pony would have taken this shift, but he was out hunting for the Equestrians. Doing what Dogwood should have been doing.

But the Captain had assigned them where the Captain had assigned them. There was no use arguing. Dogwood didn’t have the energy anyway. He had been awake for nearly two days straight. He had worked all day the previous day, and had just been coming off his shift when the pegasus attacked them. He had been just about to go to sleep when the scouts came to his house.

And he hadn’t been able to sleep since. So he worked. He didn’t have any other options. So now, he stood, and waited, and watched Princess sleep.

She was splayed out in the bed, her broken leg tightly bound in the medical supplies they had confiscated. She kept jerking and muttering, mumbling about the Equestrians.

And, every so often, calling out a name. Her husband’s name.

He watched her for a moment. Gods, this was boring. He almost wished someone would try something. Break in and attack her, or something like that. Maybe try to steal from the treasury in the adjacent room. At least that would be interesting. At least it would give him something to do besides think about--at least it would give him something to do.

He just wanted somepony to come in and--

There was a knock at the door. A lean, tall mare poked her head into the room. Dogwood recognized her. Her name was Catalpa. She was a member of the Council, the group of elders who used to run the island, back before Princess arrived and took over. Now their job was mostly just to bicker with her. And if he remembered correctly, Catalpa was damn good at her job.

“Princess?” she asked.

Dogwood looked down and nudged her good foreleg. She awoke with a start, and sat up. She was pale, trembling slightly. She blinked once, and seemed to remember where she was, regaining some composure. She pushed the linen sheet off of herself and got to her hooves.

“What? What happened?” she asked.

“We put the fires out,” Catalpa said.

“Good,” Princess replied. “It’s about time.”

Catalpa’s brow furrowed. “It was tough. They were magical fires. You should know.”

“Should I?”

“You started them.”

“I started them to protect you. If I had let the Equestrians have their way, the whole city would have been burned down by now.”

“If you had let the guards help you, you wouldn’t have burned half of it,” Catalpa said.

“They were sealing off escape routes. So that I could handle them myself.”

“You failed to handle them. The guards failed to stop them from leaving. Perhaps if you had worked with the ponies you trained, rather than taking the Equestrians’ presence as a personal challenge--”

“Maybe if I hadn’t done what I have, you wouldn’t be alive,” Princess interrupted.

“How do you even know? The Equestrians did nothing to us before you brought them here. They didn’t even know we existed.”

Dogwood blinked. She was defending the Equestrians? The notion sent waves of anger ripping through his stomach.

“It was only a matter of time. The day before they attacked, we tracked them to this side of the island. They had found Strongsteed’s old camp, for heaven’s sake. I had to be preemptive.”

“You don’t know that. You don’t know that they would’ve attacked unprovoked--”

“That’s exactly what they were sent here to do! I’ve got information. I know what Celestia’s planning. She’s a murderer and her minions are no better.”

“How can you be so sure?”

Dogwood finally spoke up. “They murdered my daughter,” he said. “For no reason. None at all.”

Catalpa rounded on him, surprised. “What?”

“She’s dead. The Equestrians killed her,” he said coldly.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know,” she said. There was a slight shimmer in her eyes. Tears.

Probably fake, he thought. Can’t trust anypony who trusts an Equestrian.

He scowled at her. Her eyes flickered to the ground and she turned away from him.

“Regardless,” she continued, “Nearly half our crops are gone. When the fires
spread, several ponies lost their houses.”

“It’s a shame.”

“Yes, it is. Fix it.”

“How?”

“Magic.”

“It doesn’t work like that. And even if I did, I’m burned out, too spent from fighting the Equestrians.”

“I thought you could do anything? I thought you were a Goddess?”

Princess’ eyes narrowed. “I am. Even Goddesses have limits.”

“And yours seems to be dealing with Equestrians. Who, notably, also use magic.”

“What are you implying?”

“You told us you were a Goddess because you could use magic. The Equestrians can use magic--one of them even has a horn. So either you aren’t a Goddess, or all Equestrians are. Which would mean that you are, or were, one of them.”

Princess’ entire body tensed. A look of wrath passed over her face and a dangerous silence settled over the room. He could practically hear her thinking, raging internally. Then she calmed suddenly.

“Dogwood?” she asked. Her voice was saccharine and deadly.

“Yeah?”

“Kill her,” she said simply.

Delightful. Dogwood’s blood was boiling just from being in the same room as somepony who sympathized with the Equestrians. He drew a spear and took a menacing step towards Catalpa.

To her credit, she never even blinked, even as Princess signed what might as well have been a death warrant. If Princess wanted you dead, you died. And then the guards told everypony you had been exiled.

And yet she seemed utterly unphased.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

Princess raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“Kill me, and you start a revolt. Nopony will believe that I’ve been exiled. The Council won’t take kindly to having one of its members murdered. Kill me, and blood flows in the streets.”

Princess smirked at her. “I have dealt with revolutions before. I can deal with them again.”

Catalpa raised her eyebrows. “I thought you were burned out.”

“Not for long.”

“I don’t need long. Half the guard sides with the Council.”

“And the other half sides with me.”

“The other half fears you. What do you think they would do if it came out that you weren’t a Goddess? That you were merely an Equestrian, just like the invaders?”

“Some would remain loyal, even still,” Princess said.

“Some, but not enough. If you kill me, you start a war. A war that won’t end well for you, or for our people.”

Princess opened her mouth, then closed it again. She had turned pale, a stunned expression across her face. She blinked a few times, trying to gather herself. Trying to think of something to say, something to do. Some way to regain control.

Dogwood just stared at them, perplexed. One was siding with the Equestrians, one was an Equestrian. He didn’t know who to trust.

Then he remembered seeing the Equestrians--the ones who murdered his child--after Princess was done with them. And he knew who to side with.

“I could just kill her,” he said to Princess.

She shot him a glare. “Did you not hear what she just said?”

“You could tell them I was acting alone. Against your orders, even. And you were too burned out to stop me.”

Catalpa nodded. “It’s true. You could try that. Are you willing to take the risk that I might make it to the door before he can catch me. Willing to take the risk that I came here without witnesses? Willing to take the risk that everypony will believe the lie?

What if I told you I could give you an out?”

Dogwood felt Princess’ eyes flicker over to him. Sizing him up. Wondering how fast he could run. He was confident he could catch her, but he wasn’t sure. Catalpa had long legs... it would be a gamble. Princess’ life would be riding on his legs. A part of him hoped she would let him kill her anyway. He wanted to try. The feeling of sinking his spear into anypony who sympathized with the murderers would be worth the chance.

“What’s the out,” Princess asked finally.

“Let me go--and authorize a treasury withdrawal to compensate for everypony who lost their home and crops--and the knowledge that you are Equestrian stays within the Council. You still get to lead. For now, at least. The Council doesn’t want bloodshed any more than you do, even if we would win. It would be like killing family.”

“As if you knew what it was like to lose family,” Princess muttered, just loud enough for Dogwood to hear. “Alright,” she said finally. “Go. Come back later for your treasury allocations. But know that if you tell anyone outside the Council what you know, I will have your head.” She gave a quiet snicker. “I think it’d look good on my mantle.”

“Yes, Princess.” Dogwood wasn’t sure, but he could swear he heard a shade of derision in her tone.

He turned to Princess as behind him a door closed. “Is it true?” he asked. “Are you one of them?”

She didn’t answer right away. Instead, she sat down on her bed, cradling her head in her hooves. She was pallid and trembling, her ears drooping. There were dark circles under her eyes. Suddenly, she didn’t look like the powerful Goddess he was used to guarding.

It struck him suddenly that Goddessess probably shouldn’t need protecting. How had he not realized that before?

“I’m Equestrian,” Princess admitted finally. “But I’m not one of them.”

And then she laid down and turned away from him. He heard a dejected sigh.

“I’m tired, Dogwood. So tired. I’ve ruled this city for two hundred and thirteen years. I’ve seen the growth of our town from a tiny river village to a sprawling metropolis. I’ve seen the rise and fall of nine different generations. I’ve made friends with children, and watched them die as senile old ponies. And then gone out and made more. Through it all, I’ve never changed. And now, I’m tired.

“I’m not a Goddess, Dogwood. I’m just a pony.

“A very, very old pony.”

Dogwood sat back on his haunches. He had a lot to think about.

He didn’t get to think for long, though. The door opened again. He turned to see Aspen stride in, his spear at his side. Ugh. Of all the ponies to see right now.

Dogwood could not stand Aspen. He was sympathetic to Strongsteed. He doubted Princess constantly. He had questioned the danger of the Equestrians, up until the point the body was found. And even then, he hadn’t stopped questioning.

And on top of it all, he was always prancing around like a damn queen with his coltfriend Willow. Just looking at the two of them made him sick. He said they weren’t together, but he knew what was going on. He saw the way they looked at each other. And it never failed to piss him off.

“What’re you doing here?” he asked.

Aspen glanced at him. “Guard-Captain Redbud sent me. He says you’re relieved of your shift. You’re supposed to meet Willow to help hunt the Equestrians. You’d best be on your way.”

“I thought he didn’t want me going after the Equestrians,” Dogwood said.

Aspen looked confused for a moment, then said, “He, uh... he said he didn’t want you going alone. That’s why you’re going with Willow. He’s waiting for you at the edge of town. You should really get going.”

Dogwood narrowed his eyes. “I thought you were the one going hunting with Willow. What happened?”

“I gave it up. Told Redbud I’d take my usual guard shift so that you could go instead. I figured it would mean more to you, given, uh... you know...”

Dogwood gritted his teeth, fixing Aspen with a piercing glare. “Say it.”

“Given that they, uh--”

“Say it.”

“Given that they killed your daughter.”

Dogwood closed his eyes, letting a sigh hiss out between his teeth. “Right.” He cleared his throat. “Princess is asleep. There’s not much for you to do.”

“Okay.” Aspen took his place next to Princess’s bed. “Good luck out there,” he said as Dogwood walked out of the room.

“Thanks,” Dogwood grunted as the door swung closed behind him.

Huh. Out of all the ponies who could have given up a chance to hunt the Equestrians for him, it had been Aspen who did him the favor. He felt almost indebted to him. Almost.

Somehow, he doubted Aspen just wanted to do him a favor. It seemed more likely that he was just too much of a coward to risk a showdown with the Equestrians. Aspen probably just thought he was saving his own hide--by sending him to die in his place. Strange, he must’ve thought he’d sent Willow to his death, too. Some coltfriend he was.

Not that it was important. Dogwood was getting his opportunity to sate his bloodthirst. And that was all that mattered. So what if his chance came from Aspen’s cowardice?

A chance is a chance, he thought as he walked down the hall.

Although, it was funny that Aspen had thought he’d needed to lie about it. The shifty expression on his face, the oddly cautious movements, the careful parsing of his words... he must’ve been trying to cover up his fear.

Suddenly, a scream echoed through the hall.

“Stop him!” he heard Princess scream as behind him a door was flung open to reveal a wide-eyed Aspen, shoving something green into his pack.

So, maybe he was trying to cover up something else.

“Hey, what the hell are you doi--” He was interrupted as Aspen dashed passed him. “Son of a bitch!” he shouted as he charged after him.

As they rushed down the long corridor, he began to gain on the other pony. Dogwood was putting every ounce of energy into his speed, fueled by his rage. He didn’t know what Aspen was doing, but if he was going against Princess, he was siding with the Equestrians. Them or Catalpa. Either way, he was working with the ponies who killed his daughter. Which meant he had to die.

Aspen slowed when he got to the door, pausing to open it, but Dogwood didn’t slow down. He body-checked the other pony, sending them both crashing through the door, onto the terrace outside. Dogwood rolled to his feet, drew his spear, and looked up to see that Aspen had done the same, and was backing down the terrace away from him.

“Let me go, Dogwood,” he said, inching away. “Let me go, and nopony gets hurt.”

“I’m not too worried about it,” Dogwood said.

He lashed out with his spear. Aspen deflected it easily.

“Don’t do that again. I’m warning you. You know I’m better with one of these than you are.”

It was true. Aspen was a bit bigger than him, too.

But he wasn’t nearly as pissed off.

Dogwood charged him, flailing wildly, focus and technique gone, replaced by rage. He felt a stinging rise up his foreleg as Aspen knocked his spear aside, whirling around to strike him in the head with the butt of his own. Stars exploded in his vision, and he fell to his knees. The world was spinning. He closed his eyes, trying to gather himself.

When he opened them again, Aspen was gone, sprinting down the terrace. Bastard. Grabbing his spear off the ground and pulling himself to his hooves once more, he surged after him.

Aspen made his way down the terrace, cutting across a bridge. Headed for the burned fields in the river basin. Dogwood skidded to a halt, peering over the edge of the terrace. If he could make it down to the ground from here, he could cut Aspen off.

There was a five meter drop between it and the next ledge. If he landed poorly, he would probably break a leg.

Which wouldn’t be so bad. Maybe he’d get to see his daughter again. He jumped.

He rolled into the landing, sending shockwaves through his body, but keeping his legs intact. It hurt, but he was too angry to focus on the pain. He hopped off the ledge, falling another two meters to the ground, landing hard on his hooves. Hoofsteps rang out from behind him, and he whipped around to see Aspen slide to a stop in front of him.

“How did you--” he started to say, but he was cut off as Dogwood lunged forward, raking his spearhead across Aspen’s right foreleg.

The other pony winced and stumbled away, drawing his spear once more, careful to hold it with his left hoof. There was a dangerous look in his eyes, like that of a cornered animal. A look Dogwood ignored. He advanced slowly on the other pony--on the traitor.

“Please, Dogwood, you have to understand, they’ve got Willow--” Aspen was cut off again as he was forced to dodge a spear thrust.

He levelled his spear at Dogwood. “Don’t make me hurt you, Dogwood, just let me--”

Dogwood lashed out again, sweeping the flint spearhead across where Aspen’s head had been a split second before. He struck again, and again, growing frustrated as Aspen ducked and dodged everything Dogwood could throw at him, backing up to stay just at the edge of his range.

“Fine,” Aspen said finally. “I gave you a chance.”

And with that, he retaliated. Dogwood blocked the first blow. He dodged the second.

The third struck him in the neck. He dropped his weapon, and looked down to see a spear shaft jutting from under his chin.

He tried to talk, tried to say something to his murderer. All that came out was a faint gurgling. There was a metallic taste in his mouth. Something warm was spreading over his chest. He couldn’t breathe in; there was something in his lungs.

The world tipped sideways and he hit the ground, his vision growing dark. Through the haze, he could just barely make out Aspen standing over him. A sudden calm came over him, just as Aspen ripped the spear out of his throat. He didn’t have to fight anymore.

He was going to be with his daughter.

He could see the other pony running away from him, could see his neighbors looking from him to Aspen. He felt their eyes upon him. A crowd was gathering. A fog was rolling in.

His wife burst through the bystanders. Knelt by his side. Tried to say something to him. He couldn’t hear anything, only the blood pumping in his ears. The last thing he saw was his wife’s face.

Then there was only darkness.

_________________________________________________________

Roads was worried. Everything hurt. Everything. His hooves, his legs, his wings. He felt sore, bruised, and tired.

Even his lines felt strange. It had been twelve hours and they still hadn’t returned to normal. Though they had lost their attunement to the nexus when he was asleep, they had begun to re-attune to Summer. Even now, he could sense her, walking around on the other side of the cave.

He stared at her, trying to piece together what was wrong with his lines. Could it be the Lotus? Perhaps he’d eaten a particularly potent fruit. Or maybe actually casting magic had damaged his lines somehow. As far as he knew, nopony who wasn’t a unicorn had ever actually channeled magic--what if his lines just weren’t made to handle it? Or perhaps all these months of breaking his ley patterns with Attunement potions had--

“Like what you see, Roads?” Summer asked him from across the cave.

He blinked, his ruminations broken. “What?”

“You were staring. Leering, actually.”

Roads felt his face grow warm. He hadn’t realized he’d been staring for so long.

“What--uh, no. No! It’s nothing like that. It’s just... I could feel you.”

Summer winked at him. “Not until we get back to Equestria, you can’t.”

His blush grew even deeper. “No, that’s not what I meant!”

Summer put on a faux frown. “Really? You don’t want to?” She sighed. “Disappointing.”

“No, no, I do--”

“Oh?” She flashed him a demure smile and he buried his face in his hooves.

“You’re doing this on purpose.”

“Yeah. I am. Your face looks funny when you get embarrased.”

Roads sighed. “I swear you’re impossible to talk to.”

“Yet somehow you still manage. Really, though, what’s up with the staring. It’s kinda creepy.”

“I was just thinking about my lines. They haven’t reverted back to--they haven’t ‘healed’ yet. Instead they just realigned to yours. And now I can sense you. Or, your lines, anyway,” Roads explained.

“Lucky you.”

“Not really. I’m starting to worry they won’t ever go back to normal. In which case I’ll never fly again.”

“I thought you hated flying?”

“Well, yeah. But it’s useful--most of the time. And I need to be able to fly to do my job, back in Equestria.”

“Well, with a break as bad as yours, you wouldn’t be able to for a while, anyway. If I were you, I’d try not to worry about it. Although, I don’t guess trying will help you much. Worrying’s kinda your thing, isn’t it?” Summer asked.

“Hmph. Yeah. I guess it kind of is. Not a great ‘thing’ to have, I guess.”

“No, it’s really not.”

He rolled his eyes and nudged her with his elbow. He felt a slight tingling sensation as the rest of his lines slid into alignment with hers, and he became completely attuned to her. He gave a slight gasp. Summer stiffened next to him.

“What was that?” Summer asked.

“Nothing, it’s just... when I touched you just then, I got attuned to you and it feels... weird. Not like being attuned to the nexus, or being aligned to somepony. It’s kind of... clearer. In a way that’s hard to describe. And it’s no so much like my lines are sensing yours as it is that they’re sort of... echoing.”

“Huh. Weird. Makes sense though. I get the strangest feeling that there’s... there’s something next to me. I mean, you’re there, obviously, but it feels different... Wait, I thought you said you were already ‘attuned’ to me, or whatever,” Summer said.

“No, not attuned. Just mostly aligned. A few... uh--‘strands’ I guess you might call them--of my lines were still following the nexus’ alignment, and a couple more were just completely free. But now it’s... different. It’s hard to explain,” Roads said.

“Yeah.”

“Hey, I’ve got an idea.”

“What?”

“Stand up real quick.”

“What?”

“Just do it. Really quick. I want to try something.”

She shrugged. “Alright. Not like I’ve got anything better to do.” Summer got to her hooves, and turned to look at Roads, who had done the same. “Now what?”

“Channel magic.”

“What?”

“What do you mean, ‘what’? Just channel energy. Through your horn.”

She cocked an eyebrow. “Are you crazy? I can’t do that.”

“What? Of course you can do that. You can do magic, can’t you?”

“Yeah.”

“Then you can definitely channel energy.”

Summer shrugged again. “Maybe I can, but I definitely don’t know how to.”

Roads stared at her, incredulous. “You never learned basic energy channeling?”

“Nope.”

Roads sighed, pressing a hoof to his face. The things he put up with. “Alright, whatever. I know you know telekinesis. Channel that.”

“Telekinesis? Oh, levitating. Right. I can do that. What’m I levitating?”

“Nothing,” he said.

“What?”

“Just channel the spell.”

“What?” Summer asked.

“Don’t cast at anything--just cast. I’ll do the rest.”

“Oh. I didn’t even know you could do that.”

Roads groaned. He really needed to start associating with more ponies who had actually been to a magic school. Or at the very least learned the basics of sorcery. But then, beggars couldn’t be choosers.

“Okay, get ready,” he said, placing one hoof on her horn.

Summer ducked away from him. “Woah there, Casanova. Remember what we talked about?”

Roads rolled his eyes. “It’s not like that,” he said. “Just bear with me.”

“Is that what they’re calling it now?”

He put his hoof on her horn again, and felt a slight pressure run through his lines as she started the spell. Roads looked across the room, found a rock, and then focused hard on it. Come on, he thought to himself. Just like with the nexus. Just flex and focus...

A wavering glow formed around the stone. Roads focused a bit harder, and the light grew.

“A little more,” he said to Summer.

She gritted her teeth and he felt a little more magic surge into his hoof and flow into his lines. He let it move through him, out the other hoof, binding the rock. The stone floated into the air and Roads cracked a wide smile. He floated it a few feet towards the entrance of the cave, then took his hoof off of her horn. The stone continued to hover.

Roads stared at it, wide eyed. I’m... I’m still casting the spell? His mind scrambled to come up with an explanation. Perhaps her magic managed to become self sustaining and draw off of the energy of my lines. Or maybe the surge of energy she gave my kickstarted my lines into temporary activity.

Either way, he was starting to grow exhausted. He let the stone fall to the ground with a heavy thump.

He turned and looked at her, a bead of sweat running down the side of his brow. She stared back, eyebrows raised.

“Impressive,” she said.

He grinned at her. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to be able to do something like that. Might just be worth never flying again. Maybe.”

He frowned, and sat back against his rock once again, lost in thought. He stretched out his unbroken wing, inspecting it for a moment, staring at the hole Princess had burned in it. His wings...

He had always taken them for granted, but now that they were burned, broken, and useless, he felt a strange sort of hollowness. It was almost as if--

“Hey, have we got any food left?” Summer asked him, breaking his concentration.

“Uh, I think I ate it all last night.”

“Just like a spec,” she sighed. “Guess I’ll have to go ask Chief where those banana trees are.”

“Good luck,” he called after her as she trotted to the back of the cave in search of the earth pony.

What had he been thinking about?

Hollowness. Right. His wings had always been a reminder of his old life, of where he came from. Of his father. And as much as he hated it, it was a part of him. Losing his wings felt like cutting out part of his identity. Did it matter that it was replaced by a new--and rather inexplicable--propensity for magic? A loss was a loss.

Was he even the same pony now who had boarded the zeppelin five days ago? Was that a bad thing? All those nights spent loathing himself, spiteful and isolated... He had wanted to change. To become somepony else.

And now he was somepony else. Somepony different. A flightless pegasus. A secondhand magician. A pony capable of survival. Capable of defending himself.

Capable of murder.

A pang of guilt ran through him. Did it matter what he had been before, if what he had become was a killer? In Equestria, they would lock him up for what he had done. Here, they had tried to execute him. To put him down like a wild animal. And the only reason they hadn’t was because he had beaten them at their own cruel game.

Maybe Princess was right about Equestrians.

He knew what Chief and Summer were capable of. He’d seen and heard plenty of that. And he had thought he was so different, so much more innocent, so much more moral. Until he got the opportunity to kill. Was everypony else as bad as he was? Were there murderers lurking in the hearts of his fellow Equestrians, just waiting for the right situations to show themselves? Was social stability the only thing that separated pony from beast? Were ponies kind to each other not out of purity of heart, but only out of fortunate contexts?

He wasn’t sure which was worse--that he might be a homicidal aberration, or that everypony might secretly be as vicious as him. Either way, he felt utterly disheartened.

“Hey,” a voice called from the other side of the cave. “What’s wrong?”

Roads looked up to see Willow peering at him from across the fire, a concerned look etched into his face.

“Nothing. Just... thinking,” he replied.

“‘Bout what?”

Roads stared at him. “Why... why do you care?”

“What?” Willow asked as Roads walked over to him.

“Why do you care what’s bothering me?” he asked, sitting down beside the other pony.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“You’re not supposed to. You’re supposed to hate me. You’re supposed to want me to feel bad.”

“Why would I do that?”

“Look at yourself! I have you tied up in a cave!”

“Actually, Chief tied me up.”

“Regardless, I’m not untying you,” Roads said.

“I didn’t ask you to.”

“Right, but don’t you resent that?”

“Resent what?”

“Being tied up! And with me at least partially to blame.”

“Not really. I mean, what if I weren’t tied up? That would totally defeat the purpose. What kind of prisoner isn’t tied up?” Willow asked.

“You’re missing the point. I’m saying you should feel bad for being tied--for being a ‘prisoner.’ You should be angry at me.”

Willow shrugged. “I don’t mind. The ropes aren’t very tight.”

Roads sighed. He clearly wasn’t going to get anywhere with that. “And your eye? It’s bruised, swollen half shut. That’s my fault.”

It was true. Even in the shade of the cave, whenever Willow moved his long brown mane out of his face, Roads could see the black eye he had given the islander.

“Did you want to?”

“What, punch you?”

“Yeah.”

“No.”

“Then it’s okay,” Willow said happily. “I forgive you.”

“Why? Why should you?”

Willow shrugged. “Because we’re friends.”

“No, we’re not!”

The islander frowned, his brow furrowed. “We’re not?”

“No!”

“Why?”

“I punched you! I tied you up! I hurt your friends! You should hate me. I’ve been horrible to you.”

“Lots of ponies are mean to me. I’m still their friend anyway. You’re not even the worst. You don’t even want to do mean things. Some ponies do.” Willow fell silent for a moment, thinking. His frown deepened, and for a second, Roads thought he might cry. Then, suddenly, a cheery expression returned to his face.

“But I try not to think about it,” Willow continued. “And so I don’t! I think about other things instead. And then I’m not sad and they’re not sad and everypony can be friends again.”

“It doesn’t... it doesn’t bother you?”

Willow chuckled. “You sound like Aspen. That’s what he always says. He says I should be angry. He says I should always hit back. But I think maybe that means I’m not any better than them. And besides, usually Aspen hits for me. But I try not to think about that either.”

Roads got the sudden urge to give Willow a hug. He managed to resist. “Willow... what if I told you I was worse than those ponies.”

“I probably wouldn’t believe you.”

“What if I told you I had killed--had murdered--somepony. What would you say then?”

Willow’s smile disappeared. “Are you talking about Magnolia?”

“Who?”

“The mare who died the night you came back into town. Is that who you--are you talking about her?”

Roads stared at him for a long time. He wasn’t sure if he should say anything. Willow seemed so eager to forgive, to forget. Yet... Roads didn’t want to be forgiven. Didn’t deserve to be forgiven.

And, even more frightening, what if Willow didn’t? What if even Willow couldn’t accept that? How could he ever live with what he had done, if it even got to Willow? What hope would there be that he could forgive himself?

He wouldn’t know unless he tried.

“Yes.”

Willow looked away from him, thinking. “Why?” he asked after a moment. “She was a nice pony,” he said quietly.

Waves of guilt rushed over Roads. He sat down against the wall, cradling his head in his hooves.

“I thought...

“I thought she was Princess.

“I don’t know what happened. I was scared. Seeing things. Hearing things. And then... there she was. I didn’t even think. I barely saw her, but I didn’t miss. And then she was just... dead. And there was nothing I could do.

“I’m sorry,” he said, still not looking up. He just stared into his hooves.

“You made a mistake.”

“That doesn’t fix anything. That doesn’t change what I did. And it doesn’t excuse it.”

“Lots of ponies make mistakes.”

“Not this big.”

“Everypony slips up sometimes and does something bad.”

“Not like this.”

Willow didn’t seem to hear him. “Do you know what Aspen says about that?”

“What?”

“He says both good ponies and bad ponies do bad things sometimes.”

“He’s right.”

“He says the way you tell the bad ones, though, is if they do the same things twice.”

Roads didn’t say anything. He didn’t know what to say.

“Aspen is smart like that. He says a lot of things. When he gets back, you should talk to him. He’ll make you feel better. At least, if you’re anything like me, that is.”

“I don’t think I’m very much like you, Willow. I’m not really sure anypony is.”

Willow smiled at him. “Well, thanks!” He paused for a second, thinking again. “You know, I think I have an idea of what Aspen would say, if he were here. He would ask you if you would do it again.”

“Kill that pony? Kill Magnolia?” Roads asked.

“No. Well, yes. Sort of. Um... He would ask, if you were in the woods again, and it was dark, and you heard a noise... would you look first?”

“Of course.”

“I thought so. And then Aspen would ask, ‘Do you know what a bad pony would say to that question?’”

“Uh, no.”

“A bad pony would say he would do it again, just the same. A bad pony would say he didn’t have a problem. A bad pony would say he did the right thing.”

“So that’s it? That’s all? That’s the only thing that separates a bad pony from a good one? A desire to change? To do better next time?”

“Sure!”

Roads sighed. “I want to think you’re right. I really do. But... I can’t help but think that there’s something more to it than that. That there’s got to be some element of foresight. Of intention. That right and wrong aren’t determined solely by how we feel about the things we do. It can’t be that simple. That black and white.”

“Well, if that’s the way you want to think, I guess you’re always gonna be miserable.”

Roads chuckled at that. “I guess I am. Although, even by your standards, I’m still a bad pony.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I still haven’t untied you.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it. I held you captive once. Do you hold it against me?”

“No.”

“Good.”

“I hold it against Princess.”

“Well,” Willow said. “That is between you and her. And Aspen and I try not to be involved. When we can.”

“What do you mean? I thought you worked for Princess?”

“Oh, we do. But that doesn’t mean we like it. We don’t really like being guards. But we also want Princess to like us. She controls everything, after all. And the ponies who she dislikes... they usually end up disappearing--that’s a euphemism for dying, by the way--so, it’s in our best interest to do what she wants.”

“So, that’s it then? You serve Princess, and in return, she doesn’t kill you? That’s your only option?” Roads asked.

“Well... I guess we could side with the Council.”

“Who?”

“The ponies all the islanders elect to talk to Princess for us. It used to be that they controlled everything, until Princess showed up. Now they’re mostly just figureheads,” Willow said.

“What do you mean, ‘side with them?’”

“Sometimes they stand up to Princess. They tell her what the islanders want, and try to keep her in line. Usually it doesn’t work. Only a tiny fraction of the guard is loyal to them. Only enough to keep Princess from doing away with them entirely--she says she doesn’t want to be bothered with a civil war.”

“So... this whole time... the islanders have just been following Princess out of fear? And because there weren’t any other options?” Roads asked.

“And because they’re afraid of Equestrians. And Princess always says that she’ll keep us safe from Equestrians. And most ponies believe the Council is to helpless to defend us. So, we do what Princess asks of us. And usually it turns out well.”

“Usually?”

“Well...lately... ever since you, uh... showed up, more ponies have been siding with the Council. I don’t know how, or why, but apparently they’re getting stronger. There are a lot of rumors going around. Aspen and I don’t really know what to make of it. We try to stay impartial.”

“Right. For your own safety, and everything.”

Willow smiled. “Yeah! All we really want is for everything to turn out alright.”

Roads sighed. “So do I, Willow.”

“Good luck,” Willow said with a wink.

Roads laughed at him. Somehow, their conversation had made him feel better. Lighter. “Thanks,” he said. “I’m gonna need it. Especially now that my wings are all, uh...”

He ruffled his injured wings. Willow stared at them.

“Well,” he said. “At least now you can do magic.”

Roads shrugged. “Actually, I can’t really generate my own magic--”

“Oh, I know,” Willow said. “You’re just a tree.”

“What? I’m not a tree.”

A tree? Willow had jumped a mental track somewhere that Roads couldn’t quite follow.

“No. But you’re like a tree. But, a magic tree.”

“No, Willow, it doesn’t have anything to do with trees. Look, there are these things called ‘ley lines’ and they--”

“Oh, no, I already know about ley lines.”

“What? How?” Roads asked, incredulous.

“I was on duty when you explained them to Summer,” Willow said.

“Oh, right. Wait, then why exactly do you think I’m a tree?”

Willow laughed. “I don’t think you’re really a tree. That would be silly. Trees can’t even talk, usually. I just mean, you’re like a tree. But with magic instead of lightning.”

Roads blinked. “What? You realize, trees don’t make lightning, right? It’s generated by clouds.”

“Exactly,” Willow said happily.

“What?”

“You do with magic what trees do with lightning.”

“I still don’t understand.”

“Okay, look. Summer and Princess have their own magic? They make it, like thunderclouds make their own lightning, right?”

“Right.”

“Well, the thing I noticed is, magic is kind of like lightning sometimes. Unless it really has to, it goes wherever is easiest. Because it’s energy. They’re both energy.”

“Okay.”

“Well, the thing about lightning is that it likes to hit trees. Because it wants to touch the ground. And since it hits the trees, that must mean it’s easier to touch the ground through the tree than through the air. The tree passes the lightning easier.”

“It’s a better conductor than just air.”

“Right, exactly. ‘Cause it’s structured different. Well, you’re like a tree, now, but for magic instead of lightning. You used to be air--and you could fly and stuff--but now you’re stuck on the ground. Except, you’re stuck on the ground and you’re ‘a better conductor.’”

Roads blinked. Willow had guessed at the theory of ley fragmentation and conduction just by watching thunderstorms?

Well, he supposed it wasn’t that unheard of. If a pony thought about magic like they thought about other forms of energy, they might be able to come to the same conclusions Willow had.

He supposed the basics of magic weren’t much different than the basics of physics. Which made him wonder--if more ponies would think about magic as a type of energy, rather than some mystic force, would they be able to pick up the basics of spellcasting more quickly? He made a note to look into it when he got back to Equestria. If he got back to Equestria.

“Well... that’s pretty close, actually. I mean, your reasoning is strange, but your conclusions are pretty much in line with the basics of ley theory.”

Willow smiled at him. “I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about.”

“Of course you don’t.”

“You could explain it if you wan--” Willow sat up suddenly. “Aspen’s coming back!” he exclaimed.

“What? How do you know?”

“Oh, I just have a sense for these things.”

“Are you sure? I mean how could you possibly--”

The tripwire spell went off.

Pressing his hooves over his ears to block out the magical shrieking, Roads turned to see Aspen standing at the entrance to the cave. He looked bruised and worn, a deep gash in one foreleg, and streaks of blood in his dirty-blonde mane. He leaned against the butt of his spear, clutching Princess’ crown in his injured forehoof.

“Guys,” he said over the whine of the tripwire. “I think I just started a war.”

XI

View Online

Volume 1

“The weeping cannot be seen, like a plant
whose seeds fall endlessly on the earth,
whose large blind leaves grow even without light.
Hatred has grown scale on scale,
blow on blow, in the ghastly water of the swamp,
with a snout full of ooze and silence.”
-Pablo Neruda, The Dictators

Somepony was dead, and Catalpa needed to know why. Which meant she needed Aspen. And at the moment, Aspen was galloping rather rapidly away.

She was standing over Dogwood’s corpse, two guards at her sides, staring down at the body. Her mind was racing. This was not good. It changed things. How, she couldn’t be sure yet, but it definitely was not good. How could she react? What would she do now that--

She realized everypony was staring at her. The pool of blood around the body had grown. She was practically standing in it now. Jerking her hooves out of the pool, she edged away from the body, glancing nervously at her escorts.

“Dogwood slowed Aspen down enough that Princess has gotten word out to most of the guard. They’ll probably stop him at the edge of the city. I need you to get to him, and bring him to me. If anypony stops you, tell them I sent you,” she said.

“And if Princess shows up?” one asked.

“Tell her I sent you.”

The two glanced at each other. One shrugged, the other nodded.

“Well, what are you waiting for? Go!” Catalpa shouted.

The two turned and dashed off, headed down the path Aspen had taken. Catalpa looked back down at the body and sighed. This complicated things, accelerated her timeline prematurely. The blood of one of Princess’ ponies was on Aspen’s hooves, and unless she let Princess have her way with him, there would be serious repercussions.

Which she didn’t plan to do. Aspen had been open to hearing her ideas of resistance. When she had come to him and asked him to recruit guardsponies to her side, he had turned her down. But he hadn’t turned her in. Which meant she owed him her life.

And she was about to pay back the favor.

Mind still racing at a fevered pace, she pushed her way out of the crowd. There were traces of blood on her hooves; she wiped them on the grass as she walked. Disgusting.

As she made her way up a ramp onto one of the upper terraces, she looked out over the city. Over the burned crops, over the growing crowd around the body, over the bustling guards weaving through the civilians, trying desperately to keep the peace. To keep things safe for their families, their loved ones.

She wondered if they knew how futile that effort was.

A drop of rain hit her in the back of the head. She looked up and saw that the sky was grey and brooding. Monsoon season was beginning to set in. A storm was coming.

She was at the top of the ramp now, on a terrace that stood opposite to the gleaming marble entrance to Princess’ lair. Dug into this terrace was a deep indentation, lined with varnished wood and irregularly-changed floral decorations. In the center of the indentation was a simple door, little more than a slat of wood wedged against a thin frame. The entrance to the Council’s quarters. It was only slightly more impressive than the Council themselves.

Catalpa shoved the door open and made her way inside. A narrow hallway branched in two directions. The first went to the Council’s “lounge,” which was essentially Catalpa’s living space, given that the other Councilponies never used it, and she did not make it to her own home to sleep most nights. The other went to the Council’s auditorium, an underground rotunda that mirrored the design of Princess’ throne room. Except smaller, of course.

Catalpa took the first branch, and made her way into her quarters. There was a pallet in one corner, a few rough wooden tables and chairs splayed across the room, and in the center a fire underneath a smoke chute. The fire was out, as usual. The Council’s staff was supposed to keep it maintained, but they rarely did any work unless Catalpa was around. Nopony else seemed to care.

The lounge door behind her creaked open.

Speak of the devil.

“Councilmare?”

Catalpa turned around. Standing before her was Buckthorn, the squat mare who called herself Catalpa’s ‘assistant’. Catalpa considered that a very loose use of the term.

“What?”

“Do you need anything?” Buckthorn asked.

She felt a pang of hunger run through her stomach. When was the last time she had eaten? She couldn’t remember. Hell, when had she last slept? She’d spent all day yesterday dealing with Princess after the Equestrians’ escape attempt, all night surveying the damage from when one of them had returned, and all morning arguing with the rest of the Council about how to best deal with Princess.

She could feel herself fading. Slipping. She was too damn old for this. Her hooves hurt. Where had the years gone? How long had it been since--

“Councilmare?” Buckthorn’s voice snapped her out of her reveries.

She blinked. “What?”

“I asked if you needed anything.”

“Curry. Then I need you to head out in front of the Council chambers and wait on a group of guards to come with an escort. Tell them to report to me in the lounge.”

“Yes, Councilmare.” And with that, the pudgy little mare turned and bustled out the door.

Catalpa moved over to the pallet and sat down, rear hooves crossed, forehooves on her knees. She closed her eyes, trying to slow her racing mind.

Focus, Catalpa, focus. Where do we go from here?

She couldn’t be sure. Her plans were ruined. She had hoped to drain the treasury funds, use them to bribe the rest of the guards, and take on Princess while she was still burned out from the Equestrians. Everything had been in place. After hours of debate, she had won the rest of the Council over to her side. Her fellow members were spineless wretches, terrified of Princess, but when she had finally convinced them Princess could be overthrown, they had leapt greedily at the chance for a power grab.

Moths to a flame. Everything was set so perfectly.

She had already disseminated rumors of Princess’ Equestrian past through the guard, all the while using the same knowledge as a bargaining chip for her life. Princess’d had no clue what was coming. She’d been too wrapped up in pursuing her fellow Equestrians. But now...

Now the whole thing’s gone to shit. One of the loyalists is dead at the hooves of one of the rebels.

What would Princess do from here? Catalpa couldn’t be sure. If she handed Aspen over, she would execute him and that would be that. If she tried to protect him, though...

She can’t come after me. She’s too smart for that; she knows if she kills me the Council mobilizes its half of the guard.

But would she care? It was hard to say. When Princess was enraged, she tended to disregard rationality and sense. Still, though, Princess engaging in outright war with her own people over the protection of Aspen seemed unlikely.

An assassination would be more her speed.

Yes, that seemed about right. Something quiet, covert. An elite guard with a stone knife, slipping through the night. Everypony would wake up one morning and find out she had disappeared, and without her the Council would falter. And the rebellion would be over before it started.

Good thing I don’t plan on going to sleep anytime soon.

“Councilmare?”

Catalpa didn’t move, didn’t open her eyes. She heard Buckthorn waddle into the room as a sharp scent filled the air. Her stomach growled.

“Leave it on the table.”

“Yes, Councilmare.”

The door creaked again as Buckthorn left. Catalpa opened her eyes slowly and saw that Buckthorn had left a steaming wooden bowl on the table. She got up and made her way over to it. Still and quiet, she sat over it for a brief moment, just savoring the smell. Savoring the memories.

Her older brother, coming into the shack after field work... telling her about his day... handing her a bowl he’d picked up on the way home, from the wrinkled old mare on the West Terrace...

She reached down and took a bite, rolling the curry around her mouth, enjoying the burn of the spice mixed into it.

Her older brother, splitting a bowl with her... telling her how he was going to help change the world... how Princess’ time had passed and he was going to help oust her...

She swallowed, feeling the burn travel all the way down the back of her throat. Refreshing.

Her older brother, slipping out in the night to meet “friends...”

She felt her face growing red.

Her older brother, never coming back...

The burn had moved to her stomach, now, a red, hot anger. She pounded a hoof against the table in frustration. This was supposed to be it, dammit! A whole lifetime of preparation--years and years of working her way up through the ranks of the Council, of swaying the guard over to her side--wasted. All that work, all that effort...

She had been so close to vengeance. So close!

The door behind her swung open and she whirled around. Two guards stood in the doorway, their chests heaving, both bleeding from a number of gashes and cuts. Each was holding one of Aspen’s forelegs; he hung between them, limp and bruised and desperately clutching something green in his teeth.

His breath was faint, and his eyes were almost shut. Most of his coat was matted and red--Catalpa wondered how much of it was his own blood, and how much was that of his fellow guards.

“Aspen?”

He glanced up at her with one eye, gave a low groan, and then let his head flop back down. His hoof slipped out from under the foreleg of the guard to his right, and he sagged to the ground. Another groan. He mumbled something under his breath.

“What?” Catalpa asked. “What was that?”

As he mumbled something again, the guards leaned in, trying to tell what he was saying. Suddenly, his eyes flew open, and before anypony else could react, he hit the guard on his left with his free hoof. The guard went down, letting him go, and in a flash Aspen was on top of him, pummeling him viciously. The other guard threw himself into the fray, tackling Aspen.

The three thrashed wildly on the floor as the guards desperately tried to regain control of Aspen. Catalpa sighed and sat back against the table. She closed her eyes and took another bite of curry.

Stallions, she thought to herself. No sense of tact in any of them.

There was a loud cry, and she opened her eyes again. One of the guards was unconscious, and the other was on the ground, cowering in front Aspen, who was standing once more, holding a spear he had wrangled from one of the guards’ backs.

“Please don’t...” the guard cried.

Aspen glanced up at Catalpa and she saw there was a mad gleam in his eyes.

“Just let me go,” he said to her, his voice cracking as he talked. She noticed he was quivering. “Let me leave the city, or I’ll kill him.”

Catalpa didn’t move. “Aspen,” she asked soothingly, “what’s going on?”

“What’s going on? What’s going on?! I keep telling you! I keep telling everypony! You just won’t listen!”

“You haven’t told me anything, Aspen,” Catalpa said calmly. “Would you care to explain yourself?”

“They’ve got Willow!”

“Who?” she asked.

“The Equestrians! We stumbled across their camp tried to ambush them. Didn’t work. They’ve got Willow tied up in a cave and they said if I didn’t bring them Princess’ crown, they’d kill him. I had to do this, you understand. I had to,” he said.

He was looking at her with a heated intensity. The glare of a trapped animal.

“Of course I understand. Do you want to put the spear down, Aspen?”

“Not a chance,” he growled. “I’ve gotta get out of here, back to Willow. Gotta give them the crown.”

“Why the crown?”

“Dunno. They didn’t tell me. It doesn’t matter. I have to get back there!”

“That can be arranged, Aspen. Let me help you,” Catalpa said.

“What?”

“I can get you out of the city. On one condition.”

“What?” he asked.

“Lead me to the Equestrians.”

“Why?”

“I need to talk to them,” Catalpa said.

“Why?” The manic look on his face was beginning to subside.

“Put simply, I need their help. Do you remember when I asked you to recruit the guard over to the Council’s side?”

Confusion spread across his face. “Your rebellion plan? I thought you’d called that off after Roads’ attack.”

Roads? It took her a moment for her to remember who he was talking about. She had snuck down to the prison to talk to Strongsteed several times and learned everything he had to tell her about the Equestrians, but in her head she still knew him only as “the one with the wings.”

“It was never called off. Only amended. But now that you’ve murdered one of Princess’ guards--”

“Two.”

“What?”

Aspen wiped a spot of blood off his face with one hoof. When he looked back at her, he was utterly expressionless. Drained of expression. There was something hollow in his eyes.

“I killed two of them,” he said flatly. Coldly.

Catalpa had seen every horror Princess could throw at her over the years, had watched private executions of “traitors,” had faced down mortal danger on numerous occasions without a trace of hesitation, but Aspen’s tone just then... It sent a ripple of fear through her heart. It was a feeling she wasn’t used to.

The rational side of her supposed it was because she was used to ruthlessness on the part of Princess. It was to be expected. But to she had known--or thought she had known--Aspen. She had thought of him as a good pony. She hadn’t realized the lengths to which he would go to protect his friend.

That’s what the rational side of her said. The other side just told her to get as far away from Aspen as she could.

“You killed...?”

“Two. Dogwood was the first. I gave him a chance. Two, actually. He didn’t take them.”

“I saw. And the other?”

“Sycamore. I couldn’t give him as many chances.”

Catalpa swallowed despite herself. Sycamore was one of the largest guardsponies, one of the stallions who had been working at the city borders for years. I couldn’t give him as many chances. Goddess... He must’ve been too threatening for Aspen to let live. Catalpa made a mental note to never be that threat. Not to Aspen, at least.

“Aspen, if you’ve killed two ponies, in broad daylight, no matter what the reason--”

“I know.”

“What do you plan to do?”

“The Equestrians owe me a favor now. I plan on using it,” Aspen said, his tone solemn.

“Do you really think that they’ll--”

“Yes.”

The caged animal look was back, with that. Catalpa hoped for everypony’s sake that the Equestrians would comply with whatever Aspen asked of them.

“Well, in that case, it’s in your best interest that I talk to them.”

Aspen stared at her for a moment, then sheathed his spear on the tattered pack slung over his withers. He glanced around the room, found the crown, picked it up, and shoved it into the pack as well.

“Alright, then,” he said. “Let’s get going.”

And with that, he pushed his way through the door and out into the hall. Catalpa followed silently. They made their way down the corridor, until they came to the door that led out onto the terrace. Catalpa swung it open.

And found herself face to face with Princess.

“Well, hello there,” the unicorn said sweetly.

And then she sent Catalpa flying back into the wood paneling that lined the alcove. She heard her back pop as she slammed into the boards, her body filling with pain and rage. She slid down the wall, and sat on the ground for a moment, stunned, before struggling to her hooves. When she looked back up at Princess, her vision was hazy; the image of the other pony swam before her, tipping this way and that. She could just barely make out Aspen on the ground a few feet away from her. Apparently Princess had hit him at the same time.

She was too damn old for this.

“What the hell are you doing?” she coughed.

“Executing a traitor,” Princess replied innocently. Another bolt of magic caught Catalpa in the ribs. She sank to her knees.

“I thought you were burned out?”

“I’ve recovered enough for simple magic. Telekinesis, teleportation, that sort of thing. Magic’s a wonderful thing, isn’t it? Makes killing so much easier.”

“You wouldn’t dare kill me,” Catalpa coughed. “You do that, and this whole city goes up in flames.”

“Like I’d let that stop me. Or, anything else, for that matter.”

Princess’ horn flared with a sickly green light. Catalpa closed her eyes as a surge of regret filled her. She had come so close...

“Anythin’ at all? How ‘bout us?” a voice called out from her left.

Catalpa opened her eyes again. Standing on each side of the terrace was a small army of guards, each armed and glaring at Princess. Standing the head of the group to her left was a tall, broad-chested pony with a rust colored coat and a close cropped mane. Guard-Captain Redbud! she cheered inwardly. He was one of the first ponies she’d managed to recruit--his brother was one of the newest Councilponies.

She cracked a small smile. Suddenly, it looked like things might be back on track again.

“Guard-Captain?” Princess asked softly.

He grinned widely. “Yes'm?”

“What exactly do you presume to be doing?”

“Savin’ the Councilmare, ma’am,” he said. He leaned easily against the butt of his spear, jaunty grin still on his face.

“Oh. Well. In that case, you’re a traitor as well!” She whirled on him and gestured to the army around her. “Guards! Arrest him!”

There was a short pause. And then the laughter started. Princess glanced around at them, her face reddening.

“What--what are you--”

“They don’t answer to you anymore, Princess,” Catalpa said cooly, rising to her hooves.

“They’re with me, y’see,” Redbud added, beaming.

“You--you can’t do that! I’ll have you executed!”

“Well, Ah don’t quite see how you’re gonna do that, given that Ah just ordered every single guardspony who’s still loyal to you to the other side of town shortly before coming here. If you want anypony executed, seems you’ll have to do it yourself, Ah’m afraid,” Redbud said.

“Then I will!”

Redbud gave a hearty chuckle. “Really? All of us? Didn’t you say you were burned out?”

Princess fell silent at that.

“Actually,” Redbud said, his smile fading. “Ah think there may be one execution today.”

And with that, they charged her. All at once, a wave of guards, brandishing spears and clubs and crude axes descended upon her. There were a few bursts of light as she tried to stem the flow, but in an instant, even as a few ponies flew off their hooves, she was overwhelmed. There was a small pop just as the first guardspony reached her and thrust his spear where her neck had been an instant before.

And then she was gone. A cheer rang out through the ranks of the guardsponies, who now surrounded Catalpa. She glanced to her right to see a few of them help Aspen to his hooves, and when she looked back, Redbud was standing before her.

“Ma’am,” he said jovially, bending into a half-bow.

“Thank you, Redbud,” she said firmly. “What happened? How’d you get here?”

“Well, one a’ mah stallions told me Princess was headed in your direction, an’ I figured that couldn’t be good, given the state she was supposedly in. Oh, and given that she’d said she was plannin’ on killin’ you for what happened to Dogwood n’ Sycamore. So, I rounded up some of my folks, sent all the rest halfway across the island, and then headed up here to stop her. Looks like it worked.”

“Genius.”

“Thank yah, ma’am. Ah do like to think so, myself.”

“What do you plan on doing now?”

“Now? Ah’m not really sure. Ah was plannin’ on roundin’ up everypony who wasn’t gonna side with Princess, and gettin’ ‘em to hunker down on the West Bank, seein’ as that’s where most of our strength is anyway. Apart from that, Ah figured Ah’d see what you had to say,” Redbud replied.

“That sounds right. Go through with it. I’ve got to leave town, actually. I need to find the Equestrians, and see if they can help us somehow. I need to know what they’re planning, what they’re going to do with the crown they made Aspen steal.”

“Alright.”

“Can you keep things together while I’m gone? It shouldn’t take too long--but I don’t want to leave any Councilponies in charge. You know how they can be.”

“Kinda like mah brother, if I remember correctly,” Redbud said with a grin.

Catalpa allowed herself a small smile. “Exactly. Anyway, shore up what space you can, and get as many civilians as you can somewhere safe. You never know what Princess might try next, we don’t want anypony getting hurt.”

“Will do. But just so y’know, I don’t think she’ll be doin’ much of anything to us in the next coupla hours. She’ll most likely be tryin’ to get together what’s left of her guard,” Redbud said.

“Probably so. In that case, just don’t let any fighting break out. Not until I get back.”

“Ah’ll try. No promises.”

“Redbud...”

“Fine, fine. I’ll make sure everythin’ stays civil while you’re gone.”

“Good. We’re trying to minimize bloodshed, here. I want to postpone starting an all out war for as long as we can.”

“Might not be too long.”

“Postpone it nonetheless.”

“If you say so.”

“I do.”

“Right, then. You gonna leave now?”

“Yes.”

“Well, then, Ah’m gonna send a detachment with you, to escort you to the edge of the city. Just in case.”

“Sounds good.” Catalpa said. She turned to Aspen. “Ready to head out?”

He looked at her, his eyes glazed over. It looked like he was in some sort of daze. Maybe the events of the day were finally catching up to him.

“Aspen?” Redbud asked.

He snapped out of his trance, at that. “Hm? What?” He glanced from Catalpa to Redbud. “Right. Leaving. Let’s go.”

Redbud nodded, turned to a few of his stallions, and gave a low whistle. A handful of them moved forward, and he briefly explained to them what to do. One by one, they saluted, then gathered around Catalpa and Aspen.

“Goodbye, Redbud,” Catalpa said. “And thank you.”

And with that, they turned and made their way down the terrace, angling across town, headed for the woods.

_________________________________________________________

Something was definitely wrong with Roads. He was just sitting there, staring at the fire and frowning. And every so often he would twitch just a little, and wrap his forehooves around himself slightly.

But mostly he just sat there, that thousand yard stare on his face, gazing into the fire. Summer knew what he was thinking about. It had to be that mare. She grunted, and stamped a hoof on the ground. It just wasn’t good for him to be dwelling on it like this. A pony never got any saner, mulling the past over like that. It was best just to let things go--and, if possible, convince yourself they had never bothered you that much in the first place. That’s what she had done when Honey had--

That’s how she preferred to deal with things. And it worked! None of this sitting around and staring business...

Summer sighed and sat back against an outcrop, staring at Roads. She’d already found out Chief had more bananas stashed away at the back of the cave, but she wasn’t quite ready to go back to Roads yet. Or, more accurately, she didn’t think he was ready for her to come back to him.

Which was a real shame, because the longer she watched Roads beat himself up over he’d done, the more she wanted to gallop over and throw her forehooves around him and tell him not to worry about it. But, would that really get anything done? She wasn’t sure. It was best just to wait for now. Wait, and watch, and hope something changed.

And something did.

A voice echoed across the cave. She realized it was Willow, calling out to Roads. He was saying something she couldn’t quite make out, and Roads was walking over to him. They talked, for a while, stirring Summer’s curiosity, but she decided it was best just to let their conversation play out. Maybe something helpful would come of it. She certainly hoped so.

Although with Roads it’s not very likely, she thought as she lifted a hoof to brush her mane out of her face. She winced as the movement tugged at the stitches in her sides, and looked down to see they were oozing a bit of blood. Frowning at that, she wiped a bit of it away with a hoof.

It was so frustrating, having the slightest movement send pain rippling through her sides. She wasn’t used to having to check her movements--or feeling so helpless. It wasn’t a pleasant feeling, having to rely on Chief and Roads for food, shelter, and safety. Not because she didn’t think she could count on them, but more because she was used to providing for herself. If she needed something, she got it done, without anypony’s help. And that’s just the way it was.

Until Princess came along, of course. Bitch. Summer could feel fury bubble up in her stomach just thinking about the evil little mare. What she wouldn’t give to--

A sudden ringing filled the cave, a high pitched squeal that made her wince and throw her hooves over her ears. The tripwire spell.

She glanced to the cave opening and saw Aspen standing there, bruised and bloodied, clutching something green in one hoof. She walked over to him, horn glowing as she began to disable the alarm spell.

“Guys,” he said over the whine of the tripwire. “I think I just started a war.”

And with that, the noise died out and a hush fell over the cave, as Summer, Roads, Willow, and Chief stared at the battered islander.

“I’d say that’s something of an exaggeration,” said a female figure, emerging from behind Aspen. “He’s merely accelerated the timeframe for already imminent violence.”

Summer looked her over. She was tall, almost as tall as Chief, and lanky, with an angular face that peaked out from under a long, off-white mane. As she walked further into the cave, Summer noted that her movements were tense and precise; this was a pony who never had a hoof out of place. “And who are you, exactly?” Summer asked.

“I’m the unofficial head of the island Council, the leader of the rebellion against Princess, and the impromptu diplomat to Equestrians. Call me Catalpa,” she said with a slight bow. “And you are Summer, I presume? The leader of the Equestrians?”

“The leader of these Equestrians,” Roads pointed out.

“Quiet, Roads. Let me do the talking,” Summer said.

“Oh, because that went so well last time...”

“As if you could have done any better.”

“I don’t see how I could have done any worse!”

“Please, you--”

“You quibble like young colts,” Catalpa interrupted. “Please stop. There are more important things to discuss.”

“Oh? Like what?” Summer replied.

“Where’s Willow, for a start,” Aspen demanded.

“Well, I seem to recall telling you to come back alone, Aspen. Given that you didn’t hold true to that part of the bargain I might have to--”

“I’m over here,” cried Willow, interrupting Summer.

“Willow!”

Aspen dropped Princess’ crown and dashed across the cave to the other pony and ripped his bindings away. He helped Willow to his feet, and, as soon as he was steady, grabbed him around the withers and kissed him. Summer cocked an eyebrow.

“You know we were never gonna actually kill him, right?” she said.

Aspen spun around, a look of horror spreading across his face.

“W-what?”

“When we told you that we’d kill him if you didn’t bring back the crown? We never actually planned on hurting him,” Summer said.

In an instant, all of the blood drained from Aspen’s face. His jaw slackened and his eyes widened.

“Do you... do you have any idea...” he choked.

“Do I have any idea about what?” Summer asked, sitting back against a rock.

“Do you have any idea what you made me do?!” he seethed.

The color was returning to his face, along with an unbridled fury. His jaw clenched as an expression of unadulterated rage spread across his face. There was a small crack as he rapped the butt of his spear against the ground, then levelled it at Summer. On the other side of the cave, Chief tensed and began to slide uneasily towards Summer, who had dropped into a battle stand, forehooves splayed, horn pointed at Aspen.

“I killed my own people! My coworkers! My friends! Two of them!” he took a few menacing steps towards Summer. “Dead, because of you! Because them or Willow! Their deaths are on you, not me! And now you want to tell me what? That it wasn’t real? You never meant to hurt him? What, was it some kind of joke? Some sick joke you Equestrians play? Who can get other ponies to kill each other?!”

“If they’re dead they’re dead. Doesn’t matter if we lied to you or not,” Summer said.

“At least then it would have been real! Do you have any idea what happens now? Their family and friends grieve and bury them, and I can never show my face in my city again. I’m a murderer, all for your stupid lie! I threw my life away today to save Willow’s, and now you’re telling me it was nothing?! No. No! You’ll pay for this. You’ll pay for the lives you ended today!” Aspen cried.

And with that, he took off, dashing towards Summer.

“Aspen, no!” Catalpa cried.

And suddenly he stopped. At first, Summer thought it was because of Catalpa. Then she realized Willow had Aspen’s tail in his mouth. He jerked the bigger pony back, wrapping his forehooves around him.

“Stop it!” he said. She realized he was almost in tears. “Stop hurting each other! Stop hurting everypony else! Just stop, all of you!” he said. Then he looked down at Aspen. “But mostly you. You’re better than that. You don’t need to fight anypony else today...”

Aspen tensed for a moment, but then the fire seemed to rush out of him. He turned and buried his face in Willow’s chest, and said something Summer could only barely make out. “I killed them, Willow,” he said. “I killed them...”

He let out a choked sound Summer thought might have been crying as he sat in Willow’s embrace. Summer didn’t particularly care. She had done what she needed to in order to survive. Aspen had been made to think it was either Willow or those ponies because in reality it was either Summer or those guards. And if Summer had to choose between her life and that of the islanders, she was going to choose her own. Every time. That was just how survival worked.

She turned to Catalpa. “Well, that’s taken care of, then. You said you were a diplomat? Well, great. Sure took your time meeting us, didn’t you?”

Catalpa narrowed her eyes. “I haven’t had the chance. Up until now, Princess has controlled the island.”

“And now?”

“Now the Council has some power. Some say in the matter of governance.”

“What’s this Council you keep mentioning?” Summer asked.

Catalpa took a moment to explain the history of the Council, and their role in some of the islanders’ struggles against Princess, finishing with the story of what had taken place in town that day. Once she was finished, Summer gave a low whistle.

“A whole army, huh? What do you need us for, then?” she asked.

“I was hoping you could help me take care of Princess,” Catalpa said.

“I thought that was what the army was for?”

“If push comes to shove, yes, the Council’s forces can overwhelm Princess’ and most likely end up bringing down the dictator herself.”

“But...?”

“But that would involve a lot of bloodshed. If you can bring Princess down, I can find a way to diffuse the whole situation.”

Well, that had been what Summer was planning anyway. But if Catalpa was asking for her help, maybe she could get something more out of her scheme than just killing Princess.

“We can bring down Princess. For a price,” Summer said.

Roads looked at her, confused. “I thought we were already--”

“Shut up, Roads,” Summer interrupted.

“Name your price,” Catalpa said.

“You know our supplies? The ones you confiscated?”

Catalpa nodded.

“Well, we want ‘em back. We can’t leave without them,” Summer said.

“You bring me Princess’ body, and I can have somepony send them to you. On two conditions.”

“What?”

“The first is that you leave right afterwards. The only way I can bring back together all of the islanders--the ones loyal to both Princess and the Council--is to blame Equestrians for the whole affair. The islanders are angry about the deaths, each side blames the other. You kill Princess, and I can blame her death on you. I’ll blame the other deaths on you as well. Then I’ll spread rumors of Princess’ being a native Equestrian, and of the ponies she murdered over her lifetime. It should unite almost everypony against you. Which means you’ll need to be going.”

“Fine with us. We were headed out as soon as possible anyway. Monsoon season’s coming,” Summer explained. “What’s the other condition?”

“You take Willow and Aspen with you.”

“What?” Summer asked, bewildered.

She turned to Aspen. He was sitting, watching her intently. Willow was still draped around him, and staring at him curiously.

“Catalpa and I have discussed it already. I can’t go back to living in the city. Not after killing two ponies. Those two had large families, and lots of connections. There will be retaliations. It’s how blood feuds get started. I need to leave, and I want Willow to come with me. If he will.” Aspen glanced up at Willow expectantly.

“Where you go, I go,” he said firmly.

“Right, then. Besides, I’ve heard from Strongsteed that Equestria is more... accepting, anyway. He said we’d like it there.”

“Alright then. You can come with us. We’ll try to take care of Princess for you. We’ll need your cooperation, though,” Summer said.

“Do you have any ideas already? Anything we can help with?” Catalpa asked.

Summer smirked. “A few. Roads?”

He nodded. “Right. Well, basically, it all comes down to the crown. That’s why we needed it in the first place.”

Catalpa started. “Wait, you were already planning on--”

“Shut up. Just listen to Roads,” Summer interrupted.

“Okay,” Roads continued. He picked up the crown off the ground. “Anyway, do you guys see that jewel there? That gem is arcanoresonant to an extreme degree.”

“What?” Catalpa asked.

“It holds magic,” Roads explained.

“Just like a cloud!” Willow chimed in.

“What?” Aspen asked.

“It doesn’t matter. Anyway, this gem holds magic. It’s how Princess has been staying alive for the past two hundred years--every so often, she goes to the nexus on the other side of the island--”

“The what?” Catalpa asked.

“Think of it like a font of natural magic. Anyway, she goes to the nexus and charges the gem, and then channels the organic energies in the gem to ward off the effects of age--and to reverse any sort of bodily harm, or to extend her magical stamina, so that she can cast more without burning out.”

“Well, apparently it didn’t do her much good,” Catalpa said. “She says she’s burnt out after the last time the two of you met.”

“Really?” Roads asked. “Fantastic. That helps us.”

“How?”

“It gives us a more manageable timeframe,” Roads said.

“For what?” Catalpa asked.

“The attack. Basically, she drained the energy in this gem when she fought me in that field. Now, if she wants to fix her leg and recover from being burnt out faster, she’s going to need to visit the nexus again. And that’s when we strike.”

“When she’s in a nexus that heals her and augments her magic?” Catalpa asked. “That is not a tactically sound plan.”

“Well, here’s the thing about augmenting magic. Do you know what happens when two nexuses meet?” Roads asked.

“No.”

Until a few minutes ago, she didn’t even know what a nexus was, Summer thought with a grin.

“Well, neither do I. But I have a few theories. And in none of them does it work out well for anypony who happens to be standing in the nexus.”

“So, what exactly do you intend to do?” Catalpa asked.

“This gem can be recharged. I plan on charging it in the exothermic nexus on top of the mountain. Then, when Princess steps into the nexus, we toss the gem in. And when the magical energies intertwine... boom!”

“Boom?”

“Boom. I think. Or, at the very least, everything should catch on fire. If I’m right,” Roads said. “And I usually am, at least about this.”

“And if you’re wrong?” Catalpa asked.

“We’re just gonna have to hope I’m not wrong.”

“Alright, then. It’s our best bet, for now at least. When can you be prepared to do this?” Catalpa asked.

“I’m not sure. Chief, how fast do you think we can get up to the nexus and back?” Roads asked.

“Without your wings and my hoofguards? Four hours. Maybe more,” Chief replied.

Roads turned to Catalpa. “Can you make sure that Princess doesn’t leave town for at least another four hours?” he asked.

“I can try,” she said. “I’ll invite her to peace talks. If she feels threatened, though, she’ll leave. If she gets it into her head that war is imminent, she’ll want to be at full strength to have a fighting chance to stop us. But she won’t want to leave before that. She couldn’t risk us attacking her ponies while she was gone unless she absolutely had to.”

“Well then,” Summer said, “you stall her.” She turned to Willow and Aspen. “You two need us now. Can I count on your help?”

“Sure,” Aspen said begrudgingly.

“Yep!” Willow said.

“Okay. We’ll head up the mountain, to the nexus, and back. When we’re ready, we’ll send Willow to meet Catalpa, and tell her to force Princess’ hoof. We wouldn’t want her getting any extra recovery time, if we could avoid it.”

Willow nodded. “Sure!”

Aspen glanced at him. “You’re willing to take part in Princess’ murder?”

“Do we have a choice?” he asked.

“...no.”

“Exactly,” Willow replied.

“It’s settled then,” Catalpa said. “I’ll go meet with Princess, and try to keep the peace in town.” And with that, she turned and headed out of the cave.

“Okay, Willow, Aspen, you two stay here and wait for us to come back. We shouldn’t be gone long. Roads and Chief, let’s get going. We need to get up that mountain, now.”

Roads frowned. “You’re coming with us? With your sides all cut up like that?”

“Stay here,” Chief said.

Summer shook her head. “Not a chance,” she said, a wicked gleam in her eye. “I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”

XII

View Online

Volume 1

XII

“But as they speeded down the field
Across a shallow dip
The little boy who thought to win
Lost his step and slipped...”
-D.H. Groberg, The Race

Monsoon season was coming. It had already begun to rain, the first storms just reaching the island. They lashed against the island with wind and water as clouds broke across its peak. Below the storms, three thoroughly soaked ponies huddled under a canopy of palm fronds, peering up at the mountain before them. They had left the safety and comfort of the cave half an hour ago and had found themselves stuck in the rain.

As he tried in vain to keep dry by edging closer to the tree, Roads glanced around the trunk at Summer. She was breathing hard, a pained look on her face, the bandages on her sides soaked with water and blood. They were disintegrating in her hooves as she tried desperately to hold them in place. Glancing up, she caught his eye.

“What?”

“I still don’t think this is a good idea,” Roads said, with a meaningful nod towards her bloodied hooves.

“I’m fine.”

“Clearly.”

“What’d you want me to do? Sit in that cave, and wait on you? Wait on big, tough Roads to save the day again?” Summer said.

There was a bitterness in her voice Roads couldn’t quite grasp. Roads had been trying to convince her to stay in the cave—or at least at the bottom of the mountain—ever since they decided to head up to the nexus. For some reason, she insisted on coming with them, with no regard for her injuries. Roads didn’t understand it. Couldn’t she see that this was counterproductive?

He’d tried to explain it to her. She’d grown progressively more vitriolic as he became more and more insistent.

“Uh—”

“No thanks, Roads. I can take care of myself. I can make it up the mountain just as well as either of you,” she said.

“Clearly.”

“Shut up, Roads.”

“I don’t understand why you can’t just wait for us to—”

“Because I don’t need you to do this for me!” she snapped.

Roads blinked, confused. “I didn’t say that we were doing this for anyp—”

“Mountain’s not getting any drier,” Chief interrupted. “Let’s go. Got a schedule to keep.”

“Exactly,” Summer said, glaring at Roads. “Get a move on.”

Roads gritted his teeth and followed Chief out into the open, Summer trailing along behind him. He flexed his wings experimentally and winced as pain shot through each one. That was bad. This side of the mountain didn’t look as steep as the one he had climbed with Chief, but in these conditions... flying would be nice. He missed his wings.

And as they made their way up the base of the mountain, Roads found he also missed being dry. They had not been walking long, but it felt like they had been on a slog to the summit for hours. As Roads dragged himself through yet another patch of mud that clung to the side of the slope, he tried to remember a time when he would have found the trek impossible. Had it really been less than a week since he left his home? It seemed like so much longer than that.

A sudden shout snapped him out of his thoughts. He twisted around to see that the muddy outcrop Summer had been crossing to follow him had given way, sending her sliding a few feet down the slope. With a loud thump, she thudded into a pile of rock and debris that the wind had ripped from the cliff. She winced as she got up, glancing down at her injuries. Her left side was oozing blood. She gritted her teeth as her horn lit and she began to levitate the raindrops around her. Bringing them together telepathically into a small orb, she hefted it over to her sides and used it to clean out the wounds.

“Are you okay?” Roads asked, peering off the slippery ledge down at her.

“Fantastic, thanks,” she said through gritted teeth.

Her horn lit again, and the blood flowing from her side spread itself across the wound. She held it there for a moment as she let it coagulate. Roads cocked an eyebrow. Summer didn’t know much in the way of spells, but her ingenuity with simple telekinesis was impressive. He watched as she brushed her mane out of her face with one hoof, and then crawled up to meet him and Chief on the ledge.

She looked from Roads to Chief, glancing at each with a steely glint in her good eye. Roads tried not to stare at the other one.

“Well?” She asked.

“What?” Roads replied. He was secretly hoping her fall had convinced her to finally turn back.

“We’ve got a schedule to keep, right? Or do you just like standing around in the rain?”

Roads groaned. Or not. Fine. If she wanted to kill herself trying to climb a mountain, that was her choice. He could barely make it up himself, he didn’t need to be worried about how Summer was doing.

His eyes flickered down to where her coat was matted with blood, and his stomach gave a turn.

Okay, still worried about how Summer is doing.

Summer caught his eye. “I’m fine, Roads. Now, head out.”

Roads sighed and turned around, following Chief across the ledge. On the other side of the outcrop, they found the ascent to be far less steep. They trekked in silence for the next half hour, shivering and bracing themselves against the winds. They stopped only when somepony slipped, which proved to be generally harmless on the mild incline—though by the time the summit was in view, all three were covered from mane to tail in mud.

Finally, the shallow slope gave way to a rocky cliff face just below the summit that stretched for dozens of yards in each direction. Roads sighed. On either side of them were dropoffs. There was no circumventing the cliff. He glanced up at Chief.

“Now what?” he asked.

Chief shrugged. “We climb.”

He moved up to the wall and reared back, finding a tiny hoofhold on a neigh-invisible outcrop. Pulling himself up, he managed to find another, and another, and another. Within a few moments he was halfway up the wall, scaling it, lizardlike, powerful muscles rippling in his back as he climbed.

Then he stopped.

“What’s wrong?” Roads asked.

“Shh.”

Chief clung to the rock, still and quiet, ears cocked, listening intently. His head swiveled and he narrowed his eyes, frowning.

“Hear that?” he asked.

“What?”

He paused for a moment, still listening.

“Hissing,” he said finally.

“What?”

“Start climbing. Now.”

“Why? What’s going on?” Roads asked.

“Chimeras.”

Roads’ blood ran cold. Oh, why did it have to be now, of all times?

“Where?” Summer asked.

“Ridge below us. Coming up.”

Roads glanced over his shoulder. Through the rain he could just barely make out dark shapes, feral and threatening, slithering across the slope below them. His heart leapt and his breathing grew rapid. He swallowed hard and tried to force back the fear. He’d faced down Princess, for Equestria’s sake. Surely he could handle a few chimeras!

I had the nexus then, he reminded himself. And I had wings the first time.

And now he had nothing. Nothing but the wall.

He trotted up to it, and started climbing, trying to follow Chief’s path up. Beside him, Summer did the same. Glancing up, he saw that Chief was almost to the top. Chief was moving faster, nimbly moving from one hoofhold to the next; Roads was lagging. Even Summer, wincing and gritting her teeth as the stitches in her sides threatened to give way, was still making better progress than he.

Of course, it would help if the slope weren’t so slippery. He had to test every tiny outcrop to make sure he didn’t lose his grip and—

Roads fell. Hard.

He had been gripping a root when suddenly it ripped free of the ground, and before he knew it, he was free of the wall, hanging free out in the air. Before he realized what happened, he hit the ground. He groaned and brushed himself off, once again thanking his innate resistance to blunt injury. Even without wings, being a pegasus had its advantages. Brushing his mane out of his face, he prepared to try to climb again.

A furious hissing erupted behind him.

He froze. Oh, please no.

His head twisted around. His stomach fell.

There were six of them, standing a few meters away. He could swear they were almost grinning. He glanced up at the wall. Both Summer and Chief were already at the top of the ledge, staring down at him. Chief was frowning. He stared hard at Roads and mouthed something.

“Slowly.”

Roads clenched his jaw, trying to get his heart to stop racing, and took a small, tense step forward. Behind him, a growl. The sound of a claw ticking against rock.

Another step. Another growl. He glanced back to look at the chimeras.

They charged.

Roads scrambled up the wall, flying up the cliff face, hooves barely touching one outcrop before moving to the next. Flames erupted from beneath him, singing his tail. He kept climbing, as below the beasts began to slither up the slope, digging into tiny crags with claws sharp as kitchen knives.

He tried not to think about the animals below him, instead focusing on the climb.

One hoofhold... then the next... pull yourself up... don’t grab there... faster, now, faster...

A claw dug into one of his rear hooves and he cried out in pain. He kicked hard and felt his hoof connect with something soft. There was a blood curdling screech, and then a wet thump as a chimera plummeted to the ground. Roads kept climbing.

He glanced up. Nearly there. His chest and forelegs were burning, his breath came fast and short. He was suffocating in the open air. Summer and Chief were staring down at him. Yelling something. He couldn’t make it out through the blood pounding in his ears. The edge was closing in, he was nearly there—

He slipped again. He missed a hoofhold and the slope seemed to fly away from him and then he was hurtling into space.

Something jerked—a hoof around his—and then he went flying back into the cliff. He broke his swing with his face. Everything faded as darkness closed around the edges of his vision. There was a ringing in his ears. A metallic taste filled his mouth.

Another jerk, and then he was rising. Scraping against the rocks. Moving up. Over the edge. Chief’s face, swimming before his. He went limp, legs giving out, and fell back to the ground. They were saying something he couldn’t hear. They were too far away. Slipping into the darkness...

_________________________________________________________

Catalpa sat at the table, fuming. She rapped a hoof against the table before her and glared at Princess. The other pony was being more obstinate than she had expected.

“We’ve appropriated Southwest Bank as a civilian refuge area,” she repeated. “Keep your troops out of there. I don’t think either of us want casualties among the innocents.”

“Innocents,” Princess snorted. “Traitors, you mean.”

“Innocents,” Catalpa repeated. “Civilians. Your civilians.”

“Ex-civilians. If they’re taking refuge under your guard, they’re actively participating in your rebellion.”

“If you move your stallions out of the area, there might not be any rebellion,” she pressed.

“Don’t you put responsibility for this on me,” Princess growled. “I didn’t initiate military action. You did. I want no bloodshed.”

Catalpa gave a bitter laugh. “Oh no? Is that what you told my brother?”

Princess narrowed her eyes. “And now we see what this is really about. Are you taking notes, Councilponies?” she said, glancing at the two Elders sitting beside Catalpa.

“We’ve discussed the matter with Councilmare Catalpa previously. It is not an issue,” the one on her right said stiffly.

“Of course not,” she said with a frown. She turned to Catalpa. “Move your troops from the area, or I give the order to attack.”

“You would attack Southwest Bank, now? The largest residential zone in the entire city, currently filled with civilians, and you want to start a war right in the middle of it? You keep this up, and even if you win, you’ll have nopony else left to rule.”

“Wherever the traitor guards are, that’s where I’m sending my stallions. You want to start this elsewhere? Move them,” Princess replied.

“I don’t want to start this at all!” Catalpa protested. Or, not yet, anyway, she added internally.

“You should have thought of that before you tried to kill me on that terrace,” Princess replied.

“You didn’t leave me any choice.”

“You’ve had choices, Catalpa. You’ve had options. Ever since I set you up with your Council position, you’ve had options...”

“How did I know you would bring that up?” Catalpa asked.

“Well, how could I fail to comment on the irony of being betrayed by my closest protege? From a seat I gave her?”

Catalpa could feel her fellow Councilponies staring at her. Her face reddened. That she had studied politics under Princess’ guidance—and indeed been introduced into the Council at her behest—was a fact she had tried to downplay amongst her fellow Councilmembers. And in her own head. She liked to think that she had merely used Princess, manipulated the older pony into helping her, but it simply wasn’t true.

She had met Princess after her brother died. In consolation, the monarch had offered to take her in, to educate her. And she had taken the offer out of pure lust for power.

She considered the rebellion her atonement.

“This is irrelevant, Princess. Move your troops, or I will—”

The door burst open. Catalpa twisted around to see Buckthorn rush in, breathing hard, shouting with what little air she had left.

“Councilmare! Southwest—Bank—attacked—”

Catalpa finally lost her composure. “What?!” She leapt from her chair, whipping around to face a grinning Princess. “What did you—”

“Distraction, dear. Seems you didn’t learn that much from me after all.”

“Why would you—”

“You forced my hand, Catalpa.”

“No—”

“My troops are tearing through Southwest Bank right now. Those deaths are on you.” She smiled. “I hope you can live with that, Catalpa.”

Shock and fury rippled through Catalpa’s body. For only the second time in her entire mind, her mind simply stopped. Her jaw dropped.

“No...”

“Goodbye, Catalpa. I look forward to executing you.”

And with that, she disappeared in a flash green light. Catalpa sank back onto her haunches.

“No...”

_________________________________________________________

Darkness. His head hurt.

“Roads...”

Everything hurt. He didn’t want to open his eyes.

“Roads!”

It was Chief’s voice. He definitely didn’t want to open his eyes.

He felt strong hooves wrap around his shoulders, and suddenly the world was shaking as his head throbbed and pulsed with pain. Groaning, he cracked his eyes, pressing one hoof to his face. It came away bloody. He squinted at Summer.

“How long was I out?”

She raised an eyebrow, thinking. “Oh, about twenty or thirty seconds. Maybe more.”

Roads groaned again and rolled over, getting to his hooves shakily. A bit of blood leaked from his muzzle, and he realized he couldn’t breath through his nose. He lifted a hoof to feel his face, but Summer knocked it away.

“Don’t,” she said. “Trust me. Your nose is broken. You don’t want anything touching that for a while.”

“Wonderful,” he said. His voice came out nasal and breathless.

Chief glanced down at him, the barest hint of a smile on his lips. “You’ll get used to it,” he said.

Roads rolled his eyes. “Well encouraging.” He glanced around. They appeared to be in some sort of crevasse, surrounded on all sides by massive boulders. “Where are we?” he asked.

“Hiding,” Chief replied.

“Hiding from what?”

“Chimeras.”

Roads’ heart sank. “Not again...”

“Better believe it,” Summer said.

“How many of them are there?” he asked.

“See for yourself,” Summer replied, gesturing to a gap in two of the smaller rocks behind him.

Roads managed to twist himself around in the narrow space to face the opening. Craning his neck, he peered out from between the rocks. His heart froze.

Chimeras. Flocks of them. They were gathered around the crater lake just below the ledge where the three ponies were hiding, basking in the rain and the heat of the nexus-warmed water. Clutches of eggs had sprung up around the banks since the last time he had been here.

“What’s going on with the eggs?” he asked.

“Monsoon season is their breeding season,” Summer said.

“Fantastic. Absolutely wonderful.” Roads pounded a hoof against one of the boulders in frustration. Why was it that nothing ever seemed to work out for them? Couldn’t they catch a break, just for once?

“What’s the plan?” he asked.

Chief and Summer glanced at each other. “We... we don’t really have one. Not yet, anyway,” Summer said. “You were only out for a half a minute. We just scrambled in here, it’s not like we’ve had time to mull this over,” she pointed out.

“Oh, it just keeps getting better,” he said bitterly.

He could feel a strange anger building in him, a curious heat that that he couldn’t quite explain. His breath came fast as his fury mounted, and again he pounded a hoof against the ground. There was an audible crack as red-hot sparks burst from his hoof and flew into the air. With a slight gasp, he raised the hoof to his face.

It was on fire.

“Roads—your hoof—”

“I know,” he said, staring at it pensively.

“Does that not—”

“It doesn’t hurt,” he said, staring into the small flame that flickered just at the edge of his hoof. He glanced up at Summer, a slow smile creeping across his face.

“It doesn’t hurt!” he repeated.

Summer just stared at him. He glanced out at the rippling, steaming lake.

“It’s the nexus,” he explained, a tinge of giddiness in his voice.

Chief stared at him, confused.

“My lines are still depolarized from the other day,” he said. “Truly depolarized, enough so that they can completely attune with the heat lines running through the mountain, even this far away from the nexus. If I can... sort of... cast in just the right way—”

He screwed up his eyes, focusing, and the flame at the tip of his hoof flared, billowing outward and burning brighter than before. Roads’ smile widened. Turning, he glanced out at the steaming lake. There were a few groups of chimeras, huddled around clutches of eggs, between them and the water’s edge. The rest were on the other side of the lake. If he could move fast enough...

“I think I might know how to deal with the chimeras.”

Summer glanced down at his hoof. “You’re going to try to attack something that breathes fire... with more fire?”

Roads shrugged. “The fact that they can produce it doesn’t mean they’re immune to it. Perhaps a few specialized organs involved in the production are flame-retardant, but the whole body? I doubt it.”

“You’re sure of that?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“Your knees are trembling.”

So they were. The idea of facing down the chimeras terrified him in ways that even Princess couldn’t. There was just something about them, about the way they moved and hissed and spat that sent shivers down his spine. But as scared as he was of the chimeras, he was even more afraid of being stuck on the island for another five months.

“I’m cold,” he said. “It’s raining.” He took a deep breath, steeling himself. “You two stay back here. I don’t want you getting in the way.”

Chief snorted. “I can handle myself.”

Roads shook his head. “No, I mean I literally want you out of the way of the flames. I don’t know how well I can control them.”

Chief gave a resigned grunt as Roads clambered over the rocks, out into the open. Roads heard Summer mutter something about “getting himself killed,” but he could barely make out the rest. It was hard to hear anything over the pounding in his ears.

He moved further out into the open, staring at the nesting chimeras, trying to keep his footing on the rain-slicked rock. They didn’t see him yet. He tread slowly and quietly, trying to sneak as close as possible. With each step, he felt the magic in his lines surge, growing stronger as he neared the nexus.

The storm was also growing stronger. The rain pelted him as the wind threatened to blow him off his hooves. In the haze of the storm, the beasts seemed to swim his vision. He struggled to keep his eyes focused, some detached part of him wondering if that had something to do with being knocked unconscious. Maybe he had a concussion. Maybe the broken bones in his face were messing with the intraocular pressure of his eyes. Maybe—

Maybe they saw him. A shadow of a chimera moved, flickered in the rain. Heads raised. Claws unsheathed.

Oh, they saw him alright.

He glanced to his sides, making sure none of the chimeras were sneaking up on him. It was hard to tell with the weather this bad. His stomach dropped as he realized Summer and Chief couldn’t see him anymore. Not that there was much they could do against a horde of chimeras, but still...

Roads squinted hard, peering into the haze. It didn’t seem like anything was there... He looked forward again.

The chimera standing right in front of him let out a low hiss. He froze, heart skipping a beat, staring at the creature. It was three meters away, staring at him intently, teeth bared. It was just taller than him, covered in rippling muscle, with claws the size of butcher’s knives. As he locked eyes with it, he felt a chill run through him. The eyes were cold, ruthless, and intelligent. The mouth below them thirsted for blood.

For a moment, they both stood, glaring at each other, unflinching and unmoving. A staring contest in the rain. Behind the chimera, Roads could make out other figures moving swiftly through the fog.

Coming for him.

A gout of flame erupted in the mist. Roads couldn’t tell who had moved first, he or the chimera, but the screeching coming from the smouldering beast told him he was faster. Around him, roars rang out across the summit. Shadows flitted through the rain, racing at him.

Roads reared onto his hind legs, forehooves extended, small fires burning at the end of each. A creature burst from the mist to his left, only to meet a faceful of flame and fall, hissing, to the ground, clawing at a melted face. Two more sprung forwards, charging towards him. Roads let loose two wild bursts of fire, catching one across the midsection and setting it on fire, and missing the other.

The second chimera barreled into him, sending him to the ground, pinning him by his left wing with razor-sharp claws. Fighting the urge to curl up into a ball to protect himself, Roads channeled as much energy as a could into his right hoof, and sent it crashing into the chimera’s head, unleashing a blistering fireball with the blow. The beast went rigid with shock, then collapsed onto him.

As he rolled out from underneath the body, Roads saw that most of its skull had been seared away. He felt nausea rising in his stomach, but he forced himself to focus. Before he could get to his hooves, three more chimeras were upon him.

He scrambled away, wincing as glancing swipes drew streaks of blood from his back and sides. As he rolled over, they opened their mouths, all at once, sending flames shooting towards him. Without thinking, he raised a hoof, trying to manipulate the fire.

It didn’t work. The flames weren’t his to control. Heat washed over his chest and forelegs, singing away bits of his coat as he rolled desperately away—and right into the claws of two more chimeras. One opened its mouth to incinerate him, but he sent a wave of flames rolling into both creatures, and as they ducked away from the blast, he got to his hooves and scrambled back over a large boulder to his right.

Pressing his back to the rock, he peered out into the mists. He could hear hisses and roars all around him, but he saw nothing. He realized with some satisfaction that the chimeras probably couldn’t see him either. Maybe he could use that to his benefit...

Catching his breath quickly, and checking himself for injuries—nothing life threatening, thank Celestia, just a few burns and gashes—he steeled himself, trying to regain his focus.

Come on, Roads. You can’t die out here.

Gritting his teeth, he dashed out from behind the boulder, sprinting in the general direction of the lake. Dark shapes emerged to his left and he sent a blast of flame in their general direction, then turned to his right and kept galloping. He glanced behind him, trying to see if he was being pursued.

He was. The chimeras could hardly see him, but the sounds of his hoofsteps were unmistakable. Rearing onto one leg, he spun around, whipping his foreleg in a wide arc and sending a massive semi-circle of flame crashing into the group of would-be pursuers. He pivoted again, galloping once more towards the lake.

Just as he got back to speed, a silhouette formed in front of him. Realizing it was too close to dodge or attack, Roads ducked a shoulder and barreled into the chimera, rolling to the ground. Letting his momentum carry him into a partial somersault, he got back to his hooves before the chimera could recover. He ended its life with a quick burst of flame.

Before he could begin running again, however, something crashed into him from behind, forcing him to the ground. The chimera hissed and clawed, and as Roads struggled to roll over, he felt sharp claws dig into his shoulder. He screamed out in pain, letting fire gush from his hooves as he fought against the beast. Another caught up to him, and leapt onto his sides, nipping at his ribcage, unable to let loose a fatal fiery breath for fear of burning its fellow animal.

Finally, he managed to flip onto his back, protecting himself from the onslaught with his legs. As he struggled to protect himself from claw and tooth, a tiny voice in his head spoke to him in somber, quiet tones.

This is how it ends, Roads.

Another chimera burst from the mist and threw itself onto the pile.

They’ve all caught you now.

He struggled and writhed, sending fireballs every which way as he lashed out at the chimeras.

Don’t fight it.

He drew his forehooves up over his head, and his burned wing over his chest as he kicked out with his rear legs.

You’re going to die. It’s alright. There’s nothing to worry about. Just let them devour you.

He caught one of them in the face with a fireball, but it was soon replaced by another, equally vicious chimera.

It will all be over soon. Just slip quietly into the darkness...

Roads felt his eyes growing heavy. Something told him he had lost a lot of blood...

So, he thought, this is what it feels like to die...

_________________________________________________________

Rain.

Redbud liked rain. Mostly because it was a change. The island stayed warm and balmy, day in and day out—until monsoon season hit. That was his favorite time of year. It broke the monotony at gale force. It kept things interesting. And Redbud liked interesting.

He was a pony with a short attention span, and he reveled in interesting. Though, to be fair, as interesting as the coming monsoon season was, the impending battle was what held his attention at the moment.

Redbud was standing at one end of the Southwest Bank bridge, twisting a length of straw in his mouth and staring down the mass of troops milling about the other. Glancing down at Buckthorn, who was tittering nervously at his side, he flashed a wide smile.

“See?” he said. “They ain’t gonna do anythin’. Just gonna stand there. Prob’ly waitin’ around for Princess to come along an’ tell ‘em what to do.”

“I don’t know,” Buckthorn responded. “I just... it seems like... I dunno. I wouldn’t put it past them.”

Redbud rolled his eyes. “Ah trained half’a these ponies mahself. I think I know ‘em pretty well. They won’t attack their own Captain unless Princess really puts the heat to ‘em. ‘Specially not with them at mah back, at least,” he said, gesturing over his shoulder to the group of guards stationed, armed and ready, among the shacks and houses of Southwest Bank. “An’ certainly not right around all these civilians.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive. They’ll just stand there, lookin’ for all the world like they’re tough enough to do somethin’, but unless Princess comes along, not a one of ‘em’s gonna move anytime ‘fore midnight. And then that’ll only be to go to bed,” Redbud said.

Buckthorn frowned. “I dunno. I just wish Catalpa knew they were here. She’s in peace talks right now, and I don’t think she knows Princess has moved her troops.”

Redbud laughed. “Oh, Catalpa knows. Ah sent an envoy up to her about an hour ago. She’ll sort things out. An’ in the meantime, Ah’ll stand here an’ enjoy the drizzle an an’ make faces at all the stallions who were too stupid to follow their captain off to the Council’s side. I don’t think there’s anythin’ to worry a—wait, what’re they doin’ down there?”

He peered down the aged wooden bridge, trying to make out what was going on. Somepony new had just galloped up to the troops, and appeared to be giving orders. Within a few moments, the unruly mob of guards had rearranged themselves into formal battle lines.

Redbud raised an eyebrow. “Ah stand corrected.” He turned, leaned over the edge of the bridge, and spat his straw into the rippling stream below. He drew his spear from his pack and rested the butt against the wooden slats of the bridge. Glancing over his shoulder to the muddy shores of Southwest Bank, he called out to his stallions. “Looks like we’re in for some weather!” he shouted. “Y’all ready?”

The mighty collective roar of the guards was all the response he needed. His grin tightened into a challenging smirk. It looked like things were about to get real interesting. Oh, how he liked interesting.

He turned to the other army. “Y’all hear that? Better be ready, we’re waitin’ for ya!” he called.

Technically, it probably wasn’t a good idea to bait his enemy like that but... today was a good day. He felt alive today. It wasn’t often that something this big happened. Rather have war than a Monday mornin’, he thought to himself.

“Excuse me!” came the response. “I wish to have a parlay.”

“You wanna what now?” Redbud responded.

“A parlay! A talk!” the voice said.

The speaker, a charcoal black pony, tall and lanky, walked out into the center of the bridge. Redbud’s jaw tightened. Riverbirch. The most annoying, insipid pony in the guard—and, frustratingly, one of the best spear-stallions Redbud had ever had the misfortune to instruct. And, of course, Princess’d picked him to be Guard-Captain after Redbud’s betrayal. Sounds about like the kinda pony she’d trust, he thought.

“Well, we’ll talk then, if you insist,” Redbud called out. Picking up his spear, he glanced down at Buckthorn once more. “If this lily-livered son-of-a-salamander makes a move, scurry on down to the Council’s quarters an’ let Catalpa know. ‘Cause if he tries somethin’, I’ve got the feelin’ all hell’s gonna break loose, an’ you don’t wanna be around when it does.”

Buckthorn nodded silently as Redbud hefted his spear over his shoulder and trotted out to meet Riverbirch.

“Ar’right, River, whadd’ya want?”

Riverbirch smirked back at. “I want you to tell your stallions to stand down and move out of Southwest Bank,” his tone was smooth and cool, devoid of any emotion save condescention.

Redbud outright laughed at that. “Interestin’ proposal, River, but Ah’m gonna have’ta turn ya down.”

“Well, then,” Riverbirch said, without the slightest flicker of emotion or change of tone, “I suppose I’ll just kill your men and burn Southwest Bank to the ground.”

“Try it, an’ I’ll kill ya.”

Riverbirch raised an eyebrow. “Interesting response. I doubt anything of the sort will happen. Now, I’ll give you one last chance to leave Southwest Bank, or I’ll kill you—and everypony you care about.”

Redbud glared at Riverbirch. The other pony did not show so much as a hint of feeling or emotion. Damned psychopath, Redbud cursed.

“Those are innocents holed up in there, River. Even you wouldn't stoop to that kinda massacre.”

“Those are traitors,” Riverbirch replied. “Traitors deserve to die.”

Redbud nodded at the other pony, one hoof to his chin, as if in thought. He paused for a moment, sizing up the army behind Riverbirch.

“Well,” he said finally. “Ah think Ah’m gonna have’ta turn ya down. Sorry, bud.” Redbud turned to walk back to his side of the bridge. “Oh, an’ I look forward to killin’ ya, ya damned creep,” he called over his shoulder. “Ah don’t know why I let you inta the guard in the first pl—”

There was a flicker, a lightning fast movement of shadow behind him, and Redbud leapt forwards.

“aaAHH!” He let loose a feral roar as a spear plunged through his left hind leg, right where the back of his neck had been a split second ago.

Twisting, he saw Riverbirch standing behind him, hooves around the spear, a devilish grin on his face. He suppressed a groan as the other pony ripped the spear out of his leg. Grabbing his own spear from the ground, Redbud pulled himself to his hooves before River could strike again. He leveled his spear at the other pony.

“Dirty bastard. Attackin’ me with my back turned. I’ll show you how’ta—woah!”

The sound of spears smashing together echoed across the bridge as Redbud parried River’s spearthrust, and smacked him across the head in a swift riposte. Riverbirch stumbled backwards, weaving as if disoriented from the blow, but in a flash he was charging again, harrying Redbud with a series of thrusts.

Redbud backed down the bridge, trying to avoid getting stabbed, having trouble working with only three legs. He found it was difficult to balance with his spear in his hooves, enough so that it was all but impossible to get a decent counterattack in between River’s jabs and thrusts. Grunting with the exertion of fending off the attacks, he moved further and further back down to the end of the bridge.

Taking advantage of a split-second gap in River’s relentless assault, he glanced over the other pony’s shoulder to see Princess’ guards watching intently. They’re hoping if they can take me out, they can avoid a skirmish, he realized. It was a stupid plan—the rest of the traitor guard would fight on without him, but he knew it was probably Princess’ best bet. Perhaps River had just been trying to bait him earlier... He glared into the eyes of his attacker, and even from the other side of a spear-point felt a cold, reptilian bloodlust.

Perhaps not.

Not that it mattered. Redbud had wanted a fight, and Redbud had gotten a fight. And now it was probably going to kill him. He could already tell. The spear was getting heavy in his hooves. There was a spreading darkness around the corners of his vision. He knew he’d lost a lot of blood. River’s spear must have punctured an artery in his leg.

Oh well, he thought to himself. A spear duel’s not a bad way to go. He glared at River. At least, as long as I can take this bastard with me.

The thought of sacrificing himself, of taking a body shot to get close to River flashed through his mind. It would work, he knew it. It would kill him, but it would work...

A thought occurred to him. It might not kill me if it’s not a body shot... he realized. A smile gathered around the corners of his lips. He had a plan. And Redbud quite liked having plans.

When the next spear-thrust came, he leapt back with as much force as he could muster—which wasn’t much, given his punctured leg. But it got the job done. The following jab came from a bit too far away, and was a bit too extended.

Redbud took it in the left foreleg. It pierced all the way to the otherside.

He didn’t even wince, choosing instead to whip his body around, pulling River closer to him, and loosing his grip on the spear. He let the momentum swing his right hoof around, bringing his own spear in a tight arc that ended several inches under the skin of River’s neck.

The charcoal pony’s eyes widened as he let go of his spear, falling backwards, clinging to his throat. Breathing hard and wincing through the pain, Redbud pushed himself forward, and sank his spear through River’s midsection, then, with a grunt, heaved himself to the right. He landed heavily on his side, gasping for breath and trying not to let the pain in his legs overwhelm him.

He closed his eyes for a second—just one second—to gather himself. When he opened them again, River’s army was charging.

He sighed. He was stranded on the bridge, alone, with two wounded legs, no spear, and an army bearing down on him. This was it.

It’s not a bad way to go, for sure, he thought. An’ at least I took somepony with me.

He glanced up at the army. They were almost upon him now. Redbud closed his eyes and laid back against the bridge. It wouldn’t be long now until one of their spears ended his life. And then all would be darkness.

Well, he thought, death’s a change. Should be interestin’.

XIII

View Online

Volume 1

XIII

“But I've a rendezvous with Death
At midnight in some flaming town...
...And I to my pledged word am true,
I shall not fail that rendezvous.”
-Alan Seeger, I Have a Rendezvous with Death

They were devouring him, and there was nothing Roads could do.

The chimeras nipped and bit at his forehooves, trying to get to the flesh of his head and chest. Looking for an opening. Roads was determined not to give them a chance, but he wasn’t sure how much longer he could hold out. Their claws were shredding him to pieces.

This is it...

His forehooves slackened. He just couldn’t resist anymore. The chimera hunched over his chest reared back, opening its jaws to display rows of razor sharp teeth. Roads closed his eyes, and waited for them close around his neck. For the end. For the deathblow.

It never came. The chimera gave a high-pitched screech as it was lifted bodily off of Roads and slammed into the ground beside him. The creature clawing at his right side jerked suddenly, then went flying into the air as a burst of telekinetic energy caught it in the chest. The beast at its left looked up from him, surprised.

It gave a shrill squeak as something caught it by the throat and tossed it away into the fog like a ragdoll. A hazy figure swam into view before him. He forced his eyes to focus.

“Summer? I thought I told you to—”

The other pony frowned down at him. “‘Keep out of the way,’ Roads? Really? You could’ve died.”

Roads groaned as he looked himself over. “I thought I could handle it.”

“It was a stupid mistake.”

“You’re one to talk,” he said feebly.

“Cut the bickering,” Chief interrupted. “Got a job to do. You okay?”

Roads swallowed as he inspected his wounds. Lacerations covered his forelegs and haunches, the splint Summer had made for his wing was torn to pieces, his sides and chest were covered in bite marks, and the skin on his underside was rapidly beginning to blister.

“I’m not really sure,” he said finally.

“Summer?” Chief glanced at the unicorn.

She shrugged back at him. “There’s not a whole lot I can do. I’ve studied first aid, but healing magic is beyond me. All I’ve got is blood telekinesis.”

“Better than nothing.”

Her horn lit, and Roads felt the blood dripping from his lacerations work its way back up to the cuts and spread itself into a film across the top of the wounds. He tried to stay still as she held the blood there and waited for it to coagulate. Within a few moments, the aura around her horn faded, and she helped him to his hooves. He moved gingerly, trying not to break the scabs.

“Thanks.”

“No problem. What now?”

“I’m close enough to the nexus that I should be able to channel energy into the gem,” he said, reaching over to the base of his splint, where he had wedged the gem between two lengths of copper wire for safekeeping. “I had hoped to swim out to the lake and get closer, but it looks like that’s not happening. I’ll have to do it from here.”

“Couldn’t you have just taken care of it back near the boulders?”

Roads shook his head. “Nope. The further away I am, the longer it takes. And the time it takes decreases exponentially, so what would have taken three hours back there will only take a few minutes here. Likewise, if I could swim out over the nexus, I could probably be done in thirty seconds, but I don’t think I’m up to it.”

Summer nodded. “Get to it, then.”

Roads set the remains of the crown on a rock in front of him, taking a moment to strip away the last bits of wood and leaves that made up the frame. He then placed both hooves against the gem’s surface, closed his eyes, and focused.

Come on, Roads...

He forced magic through his ley lines, feeling the surging power of the nexus before him. Slowly, the gem began to fill with energy, resonating weakly at first, but growing stronger as he poured more magic into it. Sweat began to collect on his brow as he channeled as much as he could.

This wasn’t like the first nexus. The engine had been submersed in it then, surrounded by it. Now, though, Roads was being forced to act as a vessel for a force he didn’t even have physical contact with. Which was probably for the best, given that even though the magic of the nexus itself couldn’t burn him, the scalding water around it would boil him alive if he got too close.

But he was getting sidetracked. Focus, focus! He was channeling as much energy as he could—if his attention slipped and he stopped directing that magic at the gem, the release might roast Summer and Chief.

Not that he had much more to go. He could already feel the magic in the gem begin to approach saturation point.

Almost there...

A moment passed. Then another.

And then he was done.

A weak grin spreading across his face, he held up the glowing gem, displaying it proudly to Summer and Chief.

“Done.”

“Good,” Summer replied. “How long has it been since we left the cave?” she asked Chief.

“Nearly an hour.”

“Alright,” she replied. “So, we’ve got two hours to get back to the cave and send Willow and Aspen into the city, and then head to the nexus all the way on the other side of the island?”

Chief nodded.

“Well,” she said, a determined smirk crossing her face, “we’d better get moving, then.”

_________________________________________________________

“...look, Aspen, it’s like this,” Willow was saying. “Think of it like... this cave.”

Aspen raised an eyebrow. “This cave?”

“Yeah. Just think about if somepony grew up in the back of his cave, and he’d spent his whole life in here,” Willow said, pointing to dark corner adjacent to them.

“Yeah, so what?” Aspen asked, reclining on a nearby rock. He tried to suppress a groan.

“I’m getting there. So then, think—what if he always faced the back of the cave?” Willow asked.

“Why would he do that?” Aspen sighed. Willow had been trying to explain something to him for the past hour, and couldn’t seem to get anywhere. As with most of his ideas, Willow was convinced he was onto something brilliant, but couldn’t for the life of him communicate exactly what it was.

“He just... does. Okay? It’s not important. He spends his whole life facing the back of the cave, and that’s that.”

“Fine.”

“Alright, so now let’s say there’s a fire behind him.”

“A fire?” Aspen asked.

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“Because there has to be a light.”

“Why wouldn’t the sun work?” Aspen asked. Whatever Willow was talking about, it didn’t strike him as particularly practical.

“Because the sun is outside, silly!” Willow said, ruffling Aspen’s mane.

Aspen batted the other pony’s hooves away. “So what if it’s outside?”

“If it’s outside, it ruins the point!” Willow said with a huff. “Okay, so there’s a fire inside, and in between the fire and the pony who grew up in the cave, there are a bunch of other ponies moving things around in front of the fire. So, all the pony who grew up can see are the—”

“—wait!” Aspen interrupted.

“Ugh, do I have to explain it again? It doesn’t work if—”

“No, no. Be quiet, I mean. I think I hear them coming.”

“Who?”

“The Equestrians.”

“Oh.”

The pair sat in silence, ears cocked, as the sound of hoofsteps outside the cave grew louder. Within a moment, the Equestrians burst into the cave, all breathing hard. For a moment, Aspen just stared at them. Chief appeared unharmed, but was splattered with gore, none of which appeared to be his. Summer had lost most of her bandages, and was covered in mud, rainwater, and blood.

But the worst of the three by far was Roads, who was pale and trembling and gasping for breath. His muzzle appeared to now have a slight slant to it, and his entire face was covered in cuts and scrapes. Most of the coat on his chest appeared to be gone, replaced by burns and gashes, the latter of which stretched all the way down his forelegs. His left wing appeared to have been mangled, and the splint on his right had been ripped to shreds.

“Are you—” Aspen started to say, but Summer cut him off.

“We’re great,” she said. “Go tell Catalpa we’re almost ready. Tell her that we’ll be good to go in an hour.”

“Okay,” Aspen replied.

“Are you sure you don’t need any—” Willow started to say.

“Thanks, guys,” Summer said, and with that she rounded and galloped out the door. Chief and Roads wordlessly followed suit.

Aspen shot Willow a worried glance as the three departed. “What d’you think happened to them?” he asked.

The other pony thought for a second. “I’d say... chimeras. Probably.”

“What? What makes you say that?”

“Well—”

“Tell me on the way, actually. We’ve gotta get to town. Catalpa’s probably waiting on us.”

Willow nodded. He stood, helped Aspen up, and trotted out of the cave. Aspen followed, breaking into a gallop as soon as he was outside.

“Okay, so... chimeras?” Aspen called over his shoulder as Willow raced to catch up.

“Yeah.”

Aspen realized the conclusion Willow must have drawn. “Oh! Right. They were on the mountain during breeding season. So they must’ve run into at least one of the packs.”

Willow looked at him curiously. “It’s chimera breeding season right now?”

Aspen blinked. “Yeah. You didn’t know that? Why’d you think they’d been attacked then?”

Willow shrugged. “I just thought they looked like ponies who’d had a run-in with chimeras,” he said as he crashed through a particularly thick patch of underbrush.

“And won,” Aspen said.

“Impressive.”

“If there were ever a match for Princess, it’s them,” Aspen said.

“Speaking of which, what d’you think’s going on in town?” Willow asked.

“No idea,” he replied, breathing hard as he sprinted up a steep hill. “I doubt anything’s happened yet. I bet Catalpa is still meeting for peace talks with Princess.”

“You don’t think Princess might’ve made a move yet?” Willow asked as he leaped over a fallen log.

“Doubt it. I mean, if she made a move without—woah!” Aspen was interrupted as Willow slipped in a puddle of muck and crashed, headfirst, into a nearby bush.

“You okay?”

“Fine,” Willow said as he extricated himself from the underbrush and charged ahead.

“—If she made a move without full control of her magic, she’s in for a world of trouble. Catalpa’s got a lot more of the guard under her hoof than Princess,” he said as the pair raced through a narrow clearing.

“Maybe. But then, can you ever really be sure with Princess?” Willow asked.

“Guess not,” Aspen replied. The pair fell silent, focusing on speeding through the forest without with any further mishaps.

Within a moment, they had reached the riverbed. They flew down the bank, desperate to get to Catalpa in time, but careful not to lose footing on the rain-slicked rocks. It wasn’t long before the city came into view. They both came to a dead stop.

“Oh, no...” Aspen breathed.

“Is that—”

“They’re burning Southwest Bank...” Aspen turned to Willow, horrified. “That’s where Catalpa said she was keeping the civilians!”

Willow’s jaw dropped. “She wouldn’t—even Princess wouldn’t—”

Aspen just shook his head.

“Let’s go...”

“Aspen, I don’t know if I can...”

“Let’s go,” Aspen repeated.

With that, he turned, and sprinted down the bank towards the town. Willow swallowed hard and followed him. The two galloped in absolute silence, both dreading what they might find when they got to town.

Before long, they reached the outskirts of the city. They trotted through the shacks and huts of South Bank, on the lookout for other ponies. There were none to be found. There was only the roar of distant fighting and the faint smell of homes burning to cinders.

Aspen glanced around at the empty huts. “If anypony made it out of Southwest Bank, you’d think they would come here.”

“Maybe they headed into the forest...” Willow suggested.

“Maybe...”

Aspen trotted on, Willow trailing behind him. He moved at an easy pace at first, wary of running into anypony still loyal to Princess, but he sped up as they got closer to the fighting. He grimaced at the surroundings, his scowl growing deeper as the smoke in the air grew thicker. Finally, they reached the edge of South Bank, where the river cut once through the town.

On the other side of the water, Princess’ stallions were razing the houses on the edge of the bank. Before them was a retreating line of guards, each with a strip of linen tied around his or her forehoof, to show allegiance to the Council. They backed between the houses, harried by the invaders, slowing only for brief, unsuccessful counterattacks.

They’re out of formation, Aspen realized. They should be grouping around the choke points between the houses, not retreating between them. Who’s leading them? Where is Redbud?

A revelation hit him with a cold shock. They killed him.

They killed him so they could massacre civilians.

“How could she...?” he growled to nopony in particular. Willow noticed he was shaking.

“Aspen...?”

“How could she!?” he roared. Slinging his pack to the ground and taking his spear in his mouth, he charged into the water, leaving Willow standing on the banks, staring.

“Aspen!” he called.

Aspen wasn’t listening. Within a few seconds, he reached the other bank, and charged the loyal guards busy burning the houses. Before any of them could look up, he was upon them. One fell instantly, struck through the neck by his spear. His two companions glanced up, spotted Aspen, and rushed him.

Aspen ripped the fallen guard’s torch from the ground, whipping it into the face of one of his attackers. The other gave a wild flail with his spear, which met nothing but air. He was on the ground in a flash, body-checked by Aspen. He tried to bring his spear around, but the bigger pony caught it by the shaft, forcing it to his throat.

A hoof raised and fell. The guard’s head smacked against the rocky ground. Then he lay still.

Aspen tore his spear from his hooves, and spun to face the third attacker, who was clawing at his face, trying desperately to get the embers from the torch out of his eyes. His weapon lay on the ground before him. Aspen jabbed him with the point of his spear, and he lowered his hooves from his face.

His eyes were red and running. His face had been badly scalded.

“Please don’t...” he begged, eying the spear.

Is that what the ponies who burned to death in those homes asked? Aspen bellowed in his head. “Please don’t?!”

But when he tried to speak, all that came out was a feral growl.

“Please—” he repeated.

The guard was cut short as Aspen’s spear passed through his windpipe.

Pulling the spear from his enemy’s throat, Aspen turned to see other guards advancing on him warily, having heard the shouts behind them. He took a second to size them up.

Four? he thought. Can I handle—

Two more emerged from between the remains of a smouldering house.

Nope.

Grabbing his spear with his mouth, Aspen turned and fled, sprinting down the bank. The guards chased after him, looking to trap him at the water’s edge. Before they could catch up though, he took a hard turn and sprinted between two houses. He glanced behind him to see his pursuers round the corner. One hurled a spear at him; it impaled the home to his left.

Aspen looked forwards again to see a house speeding up to him. He tried to slow down, but it was too late. Closing his eyes, he slammed into the flame-warped wall, crashing right through it into the burning building. Gathering himself, he got to his hooves once again.

Peering around the room, he searched for an exit. He found none. Only smoke and flame. He appeared to be in somepony’s living room—a broken table rested against the wall, a faded linen carpet, died with some indistinct pattern, adorned the floor.

Steeling himself, he dashed sightlessly forward, smoke burning his lungs. Before long, he collided with another wall. This one didn’t give. Shuddering with the impact, he coughed heavily and turned to see that the guard had followed him into the house. He glanced from one to another, leveling his spear at them. Only two had managed to climb into the house—the others were presumably circling it in case he escaped.

He leveled his spear at the one on his left.

“Give it up, Aspen,” said the other.

Aspen peered at him, glaring through the smoke. “Almus?”

“Yep.”

“You killed innocents, Almus—”

“They were traitors. And you don’t have to die like them,” Almus said. “Come on. Put down the spear. Otherwise, if we don’t get you, the smoke will.”

Aspen glanced down at his spear. He stared at it for a second, hard in thought, still backing away from the guards. His flanks hit a wall, and he turned to see that he had backed into a corner.

“Come on,” Almus said again. “Let’s get out of here.”

“Almus?” Aspen said quietly.

“Yep?”

“You’re not leaving this house,” Aspen said.

And with that, he struck. Almus deflected the blow easily, but Aspen let the momentum of his thrust carry him into the other pony. The blow forced Almus back into a patch of flame, where one of his rear hooves slipped through a weakened floorboard. Pushing against the other pony, Aspen rolled aside as the other guard sent his mace smashing into the floor where he had just been.

Pulling out of the roll onto his hooves, Aspen rounded on the other pony.

“Better help Almus,” he said.

The other pony glanced away from him to where his comrade was stuck by his leg to a growing pool of flame. As soon as he saw the guard’s eyes flash away from him, Aspen moved. Before the guard could react, Aspen was already too close. He fell to the floor, a spear through his chest.

Aspen left Almus and the spear. His vision was growing hazy; he felt choked by the thick smoke. Wheezing, he trotted over to a wall that looked thoroughly burned, backed up to it, and bucked it. Hard. It splintered, but didn’t give. Aspen coughed again. The haze in his vision was growing thicker. Another kick.

A tiny gap appeared between two wooden boards. Aspen fought to stay conscious.

Another kick. The gap widened.

Another kick.

And another.

Aspen was sure he wasn’t getting any more air. He could barely see through the smoke.

One more, he promised himself. One more.

He reared back, drawing his hooves almost to his chest, and kicked with every last ounce of strength. The wall gave way.

“Thank you,” he breathed.

He crawled out of the burning house and collapsed, panting. From somewhere beside him, he heard hoofsteps.

Oh no...

He closed his eyes, trying desperately to get more air. If he could just breathe, maybe he could get to his feet, maybe he could get away. Or maybe he couldn’t. He felt a spear point jab against his throat. He opened his eyes, and turned to look up at the pony who would kill him.

For a second, all he saw was the spear. Then his eyes adjusted, and he saw the dark grey, linen-wrapped forehoof gripping it.

“Wait... Aspen?”

He forced his eyes to focus. “Buckthorn?”

The mare stooped, grabbed him by the foreleg, and helped him to his hooves. “Come on!” she said, pulling him away from the house.

“What are you—”

“Shh! Not here. Let’s go!” she said, pointing down the road to where the group of guards who had followed Aspen were gathered.

Turning, she led him away from the burned houses, headed for the center of town. The two made their way through a series of alleyways between houses, until they came to the Southwest Bank avenue. Crouching beside one of the buildings, Buckthorn thrust her head out into the alley.

She withdrew it swiftly, then turned to Aspen.

“Good,” she said.

“What?”

“The main line hasn’t moved since I left,” she replied.

“What do you—”

“Just... peek out into the road.”

Aspen did as he was told. A few meters down the road, a line of Princess’ guards stood, weapons bared. Past the, just in front of the Southwest Bank bazaar, a few of the Council’s troops milled anxiously around the edges of the buildings.

“Most of our troops are lined up along the edge of the bazaar,” Buckthorn told him. “We’re trying to keep Princess’ stallions from moving any further north. You need to talk to Catalpa, right?”

“Yeah.”

“She’s holed up in the center of town, just past the bazaar. You wanna get to her, this is the quickest way,” she said.

“What, down the road?” Aspen asked.

“Yep. Just make a break for it. They’ve got their backs turned to you right now—you can probably pass them before they realize what’s going on,” she said.

“And you?”

“I’m going back to scouting for survivors in the town. We got most of ‘em, but Catalpa wants to be sure,” Buckthorn said.

“What about all the soldiers?”

Buckthorn laughed. “I’m the fastest pony on this island. They couldn’t catch me if their lives depended on it. That’s why Catalpa sent me out behind the line in the first place.” Then she stood, and turned to walk away. “Good luck, Aspen,” she said as she galloped away.

“Thanks,” he said, only half-realizing she was already too far away to hear him.

Aspen peaked around the house again, eyeing the pack of guards that stood in the middle of the road. Buckthorn was right. They were focused intently on the rebels in the bazaar. He swallowed hard. He was unarmed, and up against a small horde of ponies who wanted him dead.

Better run fast, he thought as he walked out into the road. He moved slowly and cautiously, trying not to make any noise.

Eight meters...

They were still facing away.

Seven...

How could they not hear him?

Six...

Surely they heard him now.

Five...

A twitch. Was one of them turning around?

Four...

He was definitely turning around. Aspen froze. The other pony saw him, and cocked his head, confused.

“What’re you doing back there? Line’s up here—come on. Never know if the rebels are gonna charge, or something,” the guard said.

Aspen blinked. He realized the guard didn’t recognize him. And behind the lines, without a cloth around his forehoof...

They think I’m one of them!

He swallowed again and tried to look confident. Wiping a bead of sweat from his brow, he walked towards the group of guards.

“Wait,” the one guard said as he approached. “Where’s your weapon?”

“Lost it,” Aspen replied.

“Ah. ‘Ay, Cypress, ‘ave we got any more spears left?” he asked.

A tall, heavily built pony to his left turned around. “No, why? Who needs a—” His eyes narrowed as he caught sight of the other pony. “Aspen?!”

Time to go!

Aspen was only a few feet from the pack of guards. Before any of them could react, he broke into a sprint, charging right between two of them. He slammed one out of the way, dodged another, and broke through the group. By the time one of them hefted a spear at him, he was halfway down the road. Within a moment, he passed the traitor guards, charging into the bazaar.

Without slowing, he followed the central avenue through the market, into the center of town. There, standing under a granite statue of Princess and surrounded by a cadre of guards, was Catalpa, who was busy conversing with a very badly wounded Redbud. He was lying in a cot, heavily bandaged, and looking absolutely ecstatic. She appeared tired and worn, her usual stiff posture lost to the struggles of directing a war. As soon as he approached, she stood, looking eager to meet him.

“Aspen!” she said excitedly, unable to keep the glimmer of anxious hope out of her voice. “Are the Equestrians ready? What happened?”

“They’re almost ready. They said they needed an hour. That was about thirty minutes ago. What’s going on here?” he asked.

“Cowards,” Redbud coughed. “Dirty, rotten cowards. One of ‘em hit me when Ah had mah my back turned, an’ all the rest turned when they saw me go down.”

“When Princess sent troops down here to flush us out of the Southwest Bank, nearly a third of our stallions defected as soon as they attacked,” Catalpa explained. “They started fighting us from within. We lost a lot of ponies, and had to retreat to the northern side of Southwest Bank. We managed to get most of the civilians out with us, but not all of them. I’ve sent scouts through the areas we lost control of. But that’s not important right now. We’ve got to get to Princess.”

“You think you can make her teleport to the nexus?” Aspen asked.

“She will if she thinks she’s about to lose this fight,” Catalpa said.

“But she’s winning,” Aspen pointed out.

“She doesn’t know that. Right now, she’s hiding in her quarters with a full division of the guard barricading the hall,” Catalpa said.

“How do you know?”

“One’a ours is workin’ as one’a her personal guards right now. He’s sent word that she’s still in there, waitin’ this whole thing out from the keep. Oh, an’ this pony just so happens to be killin’ all the messengers who get sent from the front before they can deliver any news,” Redbud said.

“So she’s holed up in there, thinking we’re crushing her troops badly enough that they can’t even send word back that they’re losing?” Aspen said.

“Yep,” Redbud replied.

“So how do we get her out of there?” Aspen asked.

“We storm the keep,” Catalpa said. “We take every stallion we can spare and charge right through the defenses.”

“You don’t have enough ponies to hold Southwest Bank and launch an assault on Princess.”

“We don’t intend to hold the Bank much longer. We’re takin’ everypony who’s willin’ an’ able to fight and handin’ ‘em somethin’ pointy, and sendin’ the rest of the civilians out into the forest with a small detachment. An’ then we’re headin’ up to give Princess a talkin’ to, an’ after that, it’s all up to the Equestrians,” Redbud said. A wide smile crossed his face.

“Yuh up for one last battle?”

_________________________________________________________

“It should be just through these bushes,” Roads called over his shoulder to Summer and Chief.

He stepped over a fallen log as he pushed himself through the dense foliage of the forest. Ducking under a branch and through a thick clump of underbrush, he stepped out into the clearing around the nexus. Before he could go any further, a massive hoof grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and dragged him back into the bushes.

Struggling against Chief’s hoof, he glared up at the earth pony. “What’re you—”

“Guards,” he interrupted. Pushing aside a bit of the bush before them, he let go of Roads so that the other pony could peek out through the opening. Roads groaned.

They weren’t the only ones who had realize that staging an attack here would be easiest. The thought had occurred to Princess as well. Now, a detachment of guards filled the clearing around the giant stump, facing outwards, forming a protective ring around the nexus.

“What do we do about them?” Roads asked.

Summer looked over to Chief. “Remember that time we found that pack of manticores on Guadeloupony?”

Chief’s only answer was a smirk. With a contented grunt, he dashed off into the forest with Roads in tow. The two moved as quickly and quietly as they could, using the underbrush as cover, not wanting to alert the attention of the soldiers.

“Where are we going?” Roads whispered.

“Around,” Chief whispered back, as the two came to a small stream.

Chief crept down the embankment, careful not to lose his footing. Roads followed him down, then waded stealthily through the water with him. The pair pulled themselves up the other bank, then kept moving. After a moment, Chief stopped, pressing a hoof against Roads’ chest. He pointed to a nearby tree, thick branched and covered in massive leaves.

“Climb up. Stay there, I’ll be back,” he said.

Roads did as he was told, climbing until he could see out over the clearing. He perched against a thick branch, careful not to move too much, lest one of the soldiers notice the tree shaking. Below him, a bird gave a shrill screech. Across the field, a blast of light burst through the trees, striking one of the guards in the head. His entire body went limp, and he sagged to the ground.

It was only as the rest of the guards turned to face their fallen companion that Roads realized the “bird” wasn’t a bird at all. It was Chief, who had charged out of the underbrush, angling for the guards furthest from the pack moving towards Summer. Roads watched in quiet awe as Chief caught the nearest one before he could turn around, sending him to the ground with a hoof strike to the neck.

The earth pony continued to the next guard without so much as a break in his stride. He tackled the soldier just as he was turning and, before Roads could even blink, silenced him. As Chief rose to his hooves, a cry rang out among the rest of Princess’ stallions. They whipped around, and charged him en masse. Chief turned and fled, headed for the dense underbrush at the edge of the clearing.

As the guards chased him, Summer emerged from the woods behind them, firing off bolts of magic at the stallions closest to her. Three fell before anypony realized she was even there. Finally realizing their assailants were coming from both directions, the remaining guards stopped charging and once more formed a pack, half of which faced Summer, the other half staring down Chief. The ponies in the clearing froze, staring at each other.

Then, without warning, Chief broke into a sprint, tearing off to his left and diving into the forest. Summer retreated into the woods.

One of the guards broke rank to chase after Chief among the underbrush. He pushed his way into the woods, and out of Roads’ view. For a moment, Roads could hear him tearing through the foliage.

Suddenly, the hoofsteps stopped. A bloodcurdling scream echoed through the forest.

Then all was still.

There were only five guards left. They backed against the stump, weapons drawn, anxiously peering out into the forest. A bush shook suddenly, and they all jumped, leveling their weapons at it. Then, a tree just beside the one Roads was perched in began to heave and shake. He peered down at it, noticing the blue aura around its base. Back in the clearing, the guards had jumped again, and were now looking nervously from one bush to the other.

Directly behind them, the underbrush burst into flame. As soon as their attention was shifted to it, though, Summer darted out into the open to their left, striking down one of the guards. Two more advanced on her, leaving a pair behind to tend to their fallen companion. Before they could get anywhere near Summer, Chief charged out at them, dodging a spear thrust to clobber one over the head with a gargantuan hoof.

As he ripped the spear from the fallen guards’ hooves, the other three closed in on him. He was surrounded. A booming echoed through the clearing.

He was surrounded. And he was laughing.

A guard behind him took a step forward, then a telekinetic glow burst from beneath him. He fell to the ground as his hooves were ripped out from under him.

Two left, Roads thought.

The pony on Chief’s right lashed out with his spear. Ducking under the weapon, the earth pony pivoted on a forehoof, whipping his body around and catching the guard under the chin with one of his rear hooves. The islander fell to the ground, gagging on his own trachea.

One more.

Chief and Summer stalked towards the last guard like lions on the prowl. He backed away until his flank rapped against the stump. Looking from Summer to Chief with an expression of pure fear across his face, he swallowed heavily. He glanced down to the spear in his hooves, apparently thinking.

The last guard dropped his spear and sprinted off into the woods, the sounds of Summer’s chortling chasing after him.

Lowering himself from branch to branch, Roads carefully climbed down the tree. He walked out into the clearing to meet his friends. The two exchanged a nonchalant hoof bump.

“Enjoy the show?” Summer asked.

“I loved it,” Roads replied.

Summer held out a hoof and Roads tossed her the gem. “Good,” she said. “Then you’ll love the main act.”

_________________________________________________________

“This is insane,” Aspen said, glancing down at a grinning, heavily bandaged Redbud.

“Ah beg to differ. Princess’ll never see it comin’,” he replied.

The pair were standing at the top of a hill just outside the city, bracing against the rain and peering down into Princess’ throne room through the oculus in the ceiling. A few guards milled about below, with Princess’ nowhere in sight.

“So, let me get this straight... you want me to rappel down into the throne room—”

“You, backed by the shock troop we’ve assembled,” Redbud said. He gestured over his shoulder to a group of determined looking ponies fixing anchor points around the oculus and readying coils of rope for their descent.

“Okay, so we rappel down, somehow make our way past Princess’ guards—”

“Somehow?” Redbud objected. “Ain’t no somehow about it. You’re goin’ in with some’a the best ponies Ah’ve ever trained. Princess’ got maybe two or three detachments between you an’ the door—the rest’re all holed up with Princess in her quarters, back behind the throne room.”

“Okay, so we get past the guards, get all the way down the hall to the main doors, and then... what? Just open them up? And just wait for the rest of the guards to come find us?” Aspen asked.

“Well...” Redbud said. “From what we’ve heard, there’re a bunch’a soldiers down by the main door, so yuh can’t just open it.”

“Great.”

“Instead, you’re gonna burn it down,” Redbud said. He handed Aspen a small earthenware pot with a cap solidly fastened onto the top, and a length of cloth sticking out of the cap.

“This here’s tar mixed with wood alcohol. When yuh get close enough to the door, just light the cloth and toss it. We haven’t had much time down at the tar kiln, though, so we don’t have many more of those, which means yuh can’t afford to miss,” he said.

Aspen shoved the jar into his pack, picked up a rope, and wound it around his chest and forelegs. “And how is that better than just opening the doors?” he asked.

“Because then yuh don’t have’ta fight off the guards. Just toss it an’ run like hell, and our stallions on the outside of the door’ll start batterin’ it down as soon as they see smoke. An’ as soon as they’re in, they’ll storm Princess’ quarters and force her out inta the nexis, or nexum, or whatever it is. An’ then we just hope the Equestrians are as good at followin’ through as we are,” Redbud explained.

Aspen nodded. “Alright then.”

He looked around at the other rebels, who were now long finished setting up for the descent. Aspen tied one end of his rope around a nearby wooden stake that one of them had planted, and wound the other end around his thigh. He backed up the the edge of the oculus, eyeing the others as they mirrored his movements.

Redbud limped up to him. “An’ by the way—”

“Aspen!” somepony interrupted.

Aspen peered around, searching for the source of the voice. To his left, he saw Willow come charging up the hill. The other pony dashed up to him, and threw his forelegs around him.

“I thought I’d never find you!” he exclaimed. “What happened? Are you okay? What’s going on?”

“How’d you know we were up here?” Redbud asked.

Willow turned to look at Redbud. “I saw Princess’ guards on their way up here, so I figured there had to be somepony around,” he replied.

Rebud paled. “What?! They know we’re up here? They’re on their way?”

Willow shrugged. “Sure looked like it.”

Redbud’s jaw tightened. He took a step back and looked around him at the shock troop. They were staring at him, having sensed something was wrong.

“Alright, stallions,” he called. “Looks like the timetable’s been accelerated. Move out, fellas.”

A few “yessirs” arose from the guard, then they each began to back over the edge, holding tightly to the ropes. Redbud gave Aspen a quick salute, then turned and hobbled away, trying to leave before Princess’ stallions showed up. Aspen turned to follow the rest of the rebels, but a hoof on his shoulder stopped him. He turned to face a wide-eyed, frowning Willow.

“Don’t leave again,” he said. “Please.”

Apsen pulled the other pony into a tight embrace. “I’ll be back.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

And with that, he stepped away from Willow, and over the edge of the oculus.

He dropped fast, faster than he expected. Clamping down on the ropes, he slowed himself down, wincing as they burned his legs. He came to a halt, loosened his grasp, and began to slid down the rope again. As soon as he felt he was moving fast enough, he tightened down again, slowing to a stop once more.

He glanced below him. Most of the rest of the rebels had made it to the ground already. They sprinted across the throne room, quickly dispatching most of the guards. He sped up his descent, trying to catch up.

By the time he hit the ground, the shock troop had cleared most of the throne room, with only one casualty. One of the rebels had taken a spear thrust to the chest, and as more of Princess’ guards poured into the room, two more rebels caught him by the forehooves and dragged him behind Princess’ throne as they wound bandages around the injury.

Meanwhile, the rest of the shock troop grouped together near the open entrance to the the throne room, trying to cut off any more guards from entering. Fortunately, the entrance to Princess’ quarters, where the main contingent of guards were waiting, was still closed up.

Taking his spear from his pack, Aspen dashed across the throne room to meet with the other rebels, who had dragged Princess’ massive table to the door and were using it as a barricade.

“We need to get down this hall, now!” he shouted.

The rebels gave him a nod, and leapt the table, charging into the pack of guards at the other side of the door. Aspen followed them into the hallway, which he found lined with Princess’ stallions. They converged on the rebels, who formed a clump stretching across the hallway, spears leveled, a wall of ponies the guards couldn’t out-maneuver in such close quarters.

The rebels moved slowly forwards, lashing out with spears and maces, driving the loyalists back into the hall. Aspen followed behind them cautiously, protecting his pack. If the pot inside it shattered on his back, not only would he lose his chance to burn down the door, but he would also end up covered in the highly flammable mixture it contained.

All around Aspen, ponies from both sides fell, covering the floor in blood and corpses. Still, the rebels pressed on, holding a tight formation, with Aspen trailing behind them. The lines on both sides thinned, and at one point on of Princess’ stallions splintered the rebel formation. Aspen dashed up to gore him with a spear thrust before he could devastate the rebel line from behind.

Ripping his spear from the neck of the other pony, Aspen stepped up to replace on of the slain rebels, re-establishing the line. He found himself face to face with a veritable wall of guards, and he jabbed at them blindly as around him the skirmish raged.

Finally, his spear caught against something soft, and Aspen looked up to see a pony fall, leaving a gap in the line of guards. Grabbing his weapon, he dashed through the line, sprinting down the hallway, leaving the skirmish behind. Hoofsteps behind him told him he had pursuers, though.

Aspen glanced back to see three guards trailing him, weapons drawn. Looking forward once more, he saw that the hallway narrowed and forked in two directions. He took the right fork, and found himself in a wide room filled with lounging guards. Before they could react, he charged through the room, burst through the door on the other side, and dashed away.

Down the next hallway, he was met with two more guards, who stood on each side of a thin door at the end. He hurled his spear on the run. The stallion on the left fell as it ripped through his face. The other advanced on him, mace drawn. Aspen ducked under his first blow, then let his momentum carry him into the other pony.

The two went flying through the air, coming to a stop when the guard smashed into the hard granite wall of the hallway. Getting quickly to his hooves, Aspen grabbed the mace from the other pony, kicked open the door, and sprinted through it.

He found himself in the wide main hallway once more—and only ten meters from the massive wooden door to the outside terrace. A large cadre of soldiers were scrambling about the door, trying to barricade the hallway against an invasion they feared was imminent. They hadn’t seen him yet.

Aspen slipped into the shadows at the edge of the hallway, where a line of pillars supported the high ceiling. Dug into each of the pillars was an indention, out of which torches hung, providing light to the center of the room. Aspen slipped one of the torches from a pillar, and crept slowly towards the door.

As soon as he was close enough, he sat down against a pillar—hiding from the guards—and pulled the pot out of his pack. He lit the end of the cloth with the torch, stood, stepped out from behind the pillar, and threw it as hard as he could.

The jar collided with the door, cracked open, and spilled its foul smelling mixture across the wood. And then it burst into flame. Cries and shouts erupted from the guards as they realized what had happened. Several rounded on Aspen and charged him, leaving the rest to tend to the door. Not that there was much they could do. According to Redbud, Princess had stockpiled all of her water in her private quarters.

Whipping around, Aspen sprinted down the hallway. He headed back towards the throne room, hoping there were still enough rebels left to save him from the soldiers who were now hell-bent on killing him for setting the door on fire. He sprinted towards safety, chest heaving, growing more tired by the second. His muscles were sore and aching; it seemed he’d been running all day. He didn’t know how much longer he could keep this up.

Fortunately, it seemed he didn’t have to. Within a few moments, he burst into the throne room.

And found it empty.

Both the rebels and the loyalists were gone, leaving only slew of bodies in their wake. Aspen trod carefully through the throneroom, heart racing as he heard hoofsteps approaching from out in the hall. He made his way to the side of the room that was furthest away from the open door, drew his spear, backed against the wall, and waited.

The hoofsteps grew louder. Aspen could hear shouting out in the hall. He swallowed hard. This was it. The end. Alone, in Princess’ throne room.

I’m sorry, Willow, he thought. You know I hate to break a promise.

The hoofsteps grew still louder. A large group of guards burst into the room, weapons drawn, glancing around anxiously. Aspen tensed. There were far too many for him to fight on his own. As he had expected.

He gritted his teeth and leveled his spear at them. He didn’t plan on dying without taking at least one of his attackers with him. Maybe two.

The group of guards scanned the room. One of them locked eyes with him, then looked away, still searching for something. Aspen blinked. They didn’t seem to care that he was here. In fact, they seemed... anxious. Fearful.

In the hall, he heard more hoofsteps. Clamorous shouts echoed through the throneroom as another group of ponies drew closer. The guards in the throne room dropped their weapons. Aspen’s jaw slackened in surprise. A few of them glanced at him, but most kept their attention fixed on the doorway.

A moment passed, and then a massive group of rebels burst into the throne room. Relief surged through Aspen’s chest. They had broken through the door! Every pony on the island ready and willing to fight Princess was now pouring into the throne room.

Before long, the room was filled with rebels. A group of them swept away the cadre of loyalists, picking up their weapons for themselves. The rebels milled about for a moment, before a voice cut through the chaos.

“Alright, everypony, bring out the ram!”

Aspen turned, seeking out the source of the voice. Catalpa. She was standing on Princess’ tall throne, directing a group of rebels holding a massive battering ram fashioned from a tree trunk. Into the sides of the trunk, they had carved a number of hoofholds, and one end had been honed down to a slightly blunted point. The rebels moved the ram over to the entrance to Princess’ quarters, set it down, and waited for Catalpa’s orders.

In the meantime, Aspen galloped over to the throne, eyeing Catalpa.

“What happened?” he asked.

“After somepony lit the door, it gave pretty quickly. We overwhelmed most of the guards around the entrance pretty quickly. And now we just have to get through this one last barricade,” she replied.

Before Aspen could respond, she reared onto her hind legs, placing her forehooves against the tall back of the throne.

“First Contingent, you ready on that ram?” she called.

“Yes’m,” someone called out from among the group of ponies huddled around the tree trunk.

“Okay, then! Heave up!” she called.

The stallions hefted the ram by the hoofholds.

“Rear back!”

The rebels pulled the ram away from the door.

“Ram!”

They swung the trunk forward, bashing it against the door. A loud boom filled the throne room as the door shook and splintered, but held firm.

“Once more!”

They repeated the motion, and once again the door rocked and shook with the impact, breaking slightly, but not get giving. From somewhere behind the it there came the sound of snapping wood.

“Once more!”

The door gave.

Dozens upon dozens of rebels swarmed into the room, colliding with the remnants of Princess’ guard. Aspen followed them into Princess’ quarters, walking alongside Catalpa, sticking to the back end of the line. He’d had enough fighting for today. He had a promise to keep.

Before long, the rebels had pushed through the room, into a narrow hallway. The screams and shouts of ponies on both sides filled the air, as rebels and loyalists alike fell, dying, to the floor. As Aspen and Catalpa advanced with the traitor guard, they found themselves stepping over more and more bodies. Every so often, a group of ponies would drag one of the wounded, screaming and bloodied, from the front lines into the throne room.

Aspen turned and glanced at Catalpa. Her jaw was clenched and her face was pale. Even in the dim light, Aspen could see that she was shaking with rage and apprehension.

“The Equestrians,” she said to him through gritted teeth, “better make her pay for this. For their own sake, they better not screw this up.”

“For everyone’s sake, they’d better not,” Aspen replied.

Catalpa nodded stiffly. Finally, the fighting around them stopped. The last of the guard in Princess’ quarters had either died or surrendered. Catalpa strode down the hallway, Aspen by her side, and the rebels parted in deference. As they moved aside, Aspen caught sight of one last door at the end of the hallway. Princess’ room.

This was it.

Catalpa made her way up to the door. She stood stock still for a second, breathing hard. Lifting a forehoof, she pressed against the handle. It was locked. Catalpa swallowed hard, collected herself, and turned to face the rebels. She paused for a second, staring at them.

“Stallions,” she said finally. “Have at her.”

And with that, she bucked hard against the thin wooden door. It gave easily. Catalpa turned around and found herself face to face with Princess. The air around them seemed to freeze as the unicorn sized up Aspen, Catalpa, and the rebels. She nodded sagely.

“Hello, Catalpa,” she said.

“Hello, Princess. We’re here to kill you,” she said simply.

Princess cocked an eyebrow. “Oh? Interesting. I was just leaving.”

And with that, her horn lit, and a bolt of green light smashed into Catalpa, sending her flying down the hallway. As the rebels swarmed towards her, her horn lit again, and with a flash of green light, she disappeared.

Aspen galloped over to Catalpa, who was lying on the ground, clutching her chest, gasping for air.

“You alright?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said. Reaching up, she took his hoof, and he pulled her to his hooves.

“So,” she said, between gasps. “That’s it, then. It’s all up to the Equestrians now.”

_________________________________________________________

All was still.

Around him, the storm raged. The wind howled, the rain fell heavy against the stump, thunder boomed in the sky, but in Chief’s head, all was quiet.

Quiet, and perfectly still. There was a feeling in the pit of his stomach. A feeling something was about to happen. Something big. A kill. A plan coming together. Something.

He was used to the feeling. He’d first experienced it shortly after joining the investigative unit of the Royal Guard. Back then, it had filled him with apprehension and worry. Now it brought nothing but calm. Peace. Stillness.

He was ready. She was coming. He could feel it.

Chief sat back against the tree stump, taking slow, measured breaths. The gem Summer had handed him was warm in his hooves. He had requested to be the one to do it. She had obliged. He had the most at stake, after all.

His life. His vengeance. His daughter.

He was ready.

A ways away, hiding in the bushes at the edge of the clearing, Roads and Summer were huddled together, trying to keep dry and warm. Unprofessional. But even that couldn’t bother him now.

All was still.

A flash of green light somewhere behind him. His pulse quickened. His muscles tightened. He rose, and crept around the base of the tree, head low, pace measured, trying to keep quiet. He moved quickly.

Hoofsteps moving up the steps. Into the nexus.

He came to the front of the stump. Leaned out into the open, around the edge of the steps.

Princess.

Before he could suppress it, a low growl rose in his throat, feral and menacing. Princess turned. She was already at the top of the stairs, already standing in the nexus. He could see her broken leg mending, the cuts and scrapes on her sides and face healing. She squinted, peering at him through the rain.

“What the hell?”

Her horn began to light. Chief threw the gem. Everything slowed.

The bolt of light hit him in the chest, sending him to his knees. The gem hurtled through the air, emitting a slight glow. Princess saw it too late. It clattered to the ground, between her hooves.

All was still.

Chief’s eyes widened. It hadn’t worked? Roads had told him there would be—

The explosion sent him flying backwards, into the mud. Chief got to his hooves quickly, wiping the water out of his face. When he looked up, his jaw dropped.

The stump was aflame. A massive fireball raged at the heart of the nexus, walls of fire erupting from around the center, a pillar of flame extending high into the sky. Smoke billowed from the massive stump, the acrid smell of burning wood filling the air. Chief lifted a hoof, shading his eyes. The nexus was too bright to look at directly.

From somewhere within the inferno, he could barely make out the sound of screams.

Something moved to his left. Roads. Galloping out to meet him. Yelling something. Chief couldn’t tell what; his ears were ringing from the sound of the blast. As he got closer, Chief could just make out what he was saying.

“—still alive!” he was screaming. “The nexus is keeping her alive!”

For the third time that day, Chief’s eyes widened in shock. As long as she was in the nexus, Princess couldn’t die... and nor could anypony else who stood in the nexus. The flames couldn’t kill anypony.

They couldn’t kill him.

Chief knew what he had to do. Gritting his teeth, he reared back onto his hind legs, then charged towards the steps at the base of the stump. Roads caught him before he could make it into the flames.

“What are you doing?!”

“Getting her out. Gotta kill her.”

Roads’ jaw dropped. Chief pushed him aside.

“Wait!”

Chief turned and stared at the other pony.

“What?”

“The fire won’t die until either the gem runs out of energy, or you toss it out of the nexus. You won’t be able to leave the nexus if you don’t. You’ll be burned too badly.”

“Get Princess and the gem out of the nexus. Got it.”

Chief brushed past Roads, and scurried up the steps. This is gonna hurt, he thought as he plunged into the nexus.

He was right. The pain was immediate and searing. The fire burned away his coat and his flesh, which withered for a moment, only to surge back into being as the nexus steadily healed him. He understood Princess’ screams of pain.

He understood them, and he needed to find them. The flames were too bright, too intense; Chief couldn’t see. He couldn’t feel around, either. His nerves were on end, every inch of him exploding with pain. He could barely even feel the floor.

Chief moved on instinct and sound alone, seeking out Princess’ bloodcurdling shrieks. They seemed to be coming from the center of the nexus, where the flames burned the hottest. Clenching his jaw, Chief stumbled blindly towards Princess. Suddenly, his right foreleg gave way.

The fire had eaten through the muscle. Chief peered down at it, squinting. He could barely make out the muscles as they grew back again. Repressing the urge to grunt with the pain, he rose and pressed on.

The flames were getting more intense. He was moving into the center of the inferno. A detached part of his mind realized that this must be where the gem was. He remembered to come back this way once he had dealt with Princess. If he got rid of the gem now, he would survive—but so would she.

Fighting the growing urge to turn back—or fall to the ground—or lose consciousness—or do whatever else he had to to end the pain, there and now, he pressed on, barely moving now. It was hard to get his legs to work. His mind was barely functioning anymore, overwhelmed by the agony. Still, he pressed on. Moving towards the source of the screams.

The other screams. He realized he was screaming, too. He hadn’t noticed. He hadn’t been trying. He wanted to stop, but couldn’t. He couldn’t even close his mouth. Most of the muscles in his jaw had been burned away. Somewhere in the back of his mind, a dim realization rang.

His tongue was gone.

Never mind, don’t need it. He was getting close. The screeching rang in his ears. Before long, he spotted a darkened mass in the flames.

Princess.

He reached down, and grabbed the screaming ball of seared ponyflesh. Hefting it onto his back, he crawled away from the center of the inferno. The edge of the stump was close. He knew it. It had to be.

He would die otherwise.

He dragged himself and Princess as far as he could, before the leg he was using to pull it was seared away. He bent down and grabbed her in his mouth, dragging himself along on three hooves. He felt an eerie, twisting sensation in his shoulder, and looked down to watch his leg grow back before his eyes. Within seconds, he could walk again.

Within a few more, he reached the edge of the stump. Had most of his lungs not been melted away, he would have heaved a sigh of relief. He took her in both forelegs and reared. For a second, he hung still in the air. It was hard for him to keep his balance. Hard for him to move. His brain was shutting down.

What was he doing again?

Throwing Princess. Right. Seemingly of their own accord, his rear legs jerked, springing forwards, and he thrust it away from him. It barely made it over the edge of the stump. But it was good enough.

Chief let himself fall onto his back. His chest heaved, trying to draw air into seared lungs. He tried to close his eyes, then found he no longer had eyelids. He wasn’t going to make it. But it didn’t matter. Princess was dead. Summer could take care of his daughter.

“But I thought you wanted to see me again?”

Chief looked up. There she was. His daughter, standing in the flames. Frowning at him.

I do... he thought.

“Take my hoof, then.”

She looked down at him and stretched out a foreleg. He stared at it.

I cant... move...

“You can.”

It burns.

“I know. But you have to keep going.”

Why?

“Because you can’t let her win.”

I don’t care anymore. I just want it to stop hurting.

“You’re not talking about the fire, are you?”

No...

“Dad?”

She was crying now.

Yes?

“Don’t go.”

I have to...

“But I love you.”

Something rose in his chest. The fire stopped burning. Chief wasn’t sure if it was a trick of the nexus, or if something in his brain had finally stopped working, but he knew he didn’t care. He reached up, and took her hoof.

I love you too.

Chief got to his hooves. He began to shamble once more into the heart of the inferno. He had to hurry. He knew he didn’t have long. The nexus was healing him more and more slowly. It was beginning to run out of energy. It no longer even healed his skin all the way, leaving his muscles bared to the flames. Every time he took a step, he could feel his leg brush against his ribcage.

Yet it didn’t hurt.

He pressed on. His left foreleg gave. The fire had seared it down all the way to the bone. Dragging it beside him, he crawled on, pushing with his rear legs. Something wet and slimy was pressing against the fronts of his thigh, but he didn’t care what it was. He just knew he had to keep going.

The flames grew hotter. He was getting closer. One of his rear legs gave, and his lower body came crashing into the ground.

I don’t know if I’m going to make it.

“Will you try?”

Yes. For you, I’ll try.

He pulled himself forward a few inches at a time by his foreleg. He desperately hoped it wouldn’t give, too. He stared at it intensely. The flesh was mostly gone. Here and there, some of the bone poked through. He didn’t have long.

He tried to speed up, but found he couldn’t. Blackness was closing in around the edges of his vision. His head swam, and the image of his daughter flickered before him. His face fell, smacking into the floor. His foreleg gave. He came to a halt.

That’s it. I’m sorry.

“Dad—”

I tried. I swear I tried. He realized he was crying. I tried so hard...

“Look up!”

I... can’t...

“Look up, daddy!”

He did. When his head moved, his nose brushed against the gem.

He glanced at his foreleg. It had just barely healed. Just enough. He strained, pulling at his shoulder with all his might. His foreleg seemed to weigh hundreds of pounds, he found he could barely move it. He kept trying. The foreleg twitched, brushing against the ground. He pulled again, focusing hard. The foreleg moved, swinging forwards slightly.

“Just a little more. Please.”

Desperately, he swung his foreleg again. It came to rest on top of the gem. He grasped the gem, twisted, and rolled onto his back, his forehoof laying on the ground over his head.

Almost there.

He summoned every ounce of strength he had left, pulled his torso upward, and jerked his hoof in an arc over his head. And then he let go. The gem went flying.

As the fire around him slowly died, he slumped back against the ground. Chief closed his eyes.

“Thank you.”

His consciousness began to fade.

I love you.

He slipped into the blackness. The pain stopped.

All was still.

XIV

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Volume 1

XIV

“Bound for your distant home,
you were leaving alien lands.
In an hour as sad as I’ve known,
I wept over your hands.”
-Alexander Pushkin, Bound for Your Distant Home

Smoke. Ash. Heat.

Fire.

Ash swirled across the clearing, plumes of it exploding from the inferno. In the wind and rain, it slicked into the mud under Roads’ hooves. The nexus had worked exactly as he expected it to. The storm and the flames roared in his ears, but over the sounds of chaos he was just beginning to make out something else.

Screams.

A high pitched keening was cutting through the din, sharp cries echoing from the heart of the conflagration. A sudden realization hit him.

Princess was still alive.

The energies of the organic nexus must have been able to match those contained in the gem. Even though they were--in effect--enhancing the strength of the flames, their restorative properties were counteracting the fire’s effect on Princess. Which meant that if somepony didn’t get her out of there before the gem ran out of energy, Princess would survive.

Survive, and most likely murder all of them. Slowly. Vindictively. Roads shuddered.

When he looked back up, he caught sight of Chief staring into the flames. Maybe he would know what to do, maybe he could think of some way to get Princess out of the nexus. Roads galloped over to him.

“Chief!” he shouted as he ran. “It didn’t work! She’s still alive! The nexus is keeping her alive!”

Chief glanced over as Roads approached him. His eyes were wide, his face grey, his brow furrowed. Roads could almost see the cogs turning in his head. He was about to open his mouth again when a change came over the other pony. Chief’s jaw tightened, a look of determination rising in his eyes as he began to walk past Roads, towards the stump.

“What are you doing?!” Roads cried.

Surely Chief couldn’t be about to do what Roads thought he was about to do. Surely not. Not even Chief would willingly--

“Getting her out,” he grunted. “Gotta kill her.”

Or maybe he would. Roads stared at him for a moment as the other pony marched past him.

Is he insane?!

If Chief charged into the inferno, the energy from the nexus would be split three ways. Between healing him, healing Princess, and fueling the fire, even a nexus as powerful as that one would be drained within a few minutes. And if it ran out of energy before Chief could get out... A horrible nausea rose in his stomach.

“Wait!” he called.

Chief turned.

“What?”

Just as Roads was about to tell him to stop, something Summer had said one night in the cave echoed through his mind. “If Chief wants somepony dead,” she had told him, “They die.” Roads realized he wasn’t going to change the other ponies mind. He couldn’t stop Chief. But he could help him.

“The fire won’t die until either the gem runs out of energy, or you toss it out of the nexus. You won’t be able to leave the nexus if you don’t. You’ll be burned too badly.”

Roads hoped the information might help him. And hopefully, it could change Chief’s mind, too.

“Get Princess and the gem out of the nexus. Got it.”

Or not. Roads frowned as Chief charged past him. But at least the earth pony knew what he was getting himself into. Or, Roads hoped he did. If he didn’t, Chief was in for a rough surprise.

Something moved to Roads’ left. He jerked, twisting around, afraid it might be a guard.

The unicorn placed her hoof on his shoulder. “Relax. It’s over.”

“Not quite--” Roads said.

Summer didn’t seem to hear. She peered around the clearing, searching for something. “Wait, where’s Chief?” she asked.

“In there,” Roads replied, pointing to the stump.

Summer blinked. “What?”

“He just walked right in.”

“He did what?!” she shouted. “Why?!”

Roads explained to her--as briefly as he could--what was going on atop the gargantuan stump. Just as he was finishing, a second set of screams erupted from inside the nexus. Roads felt a cold sweat break out across his body. If a pony like Chief was screaming...

Summer shifted beside him. “Is that...”

“Yep.”

Summer’s brow furrowed. Before he could stop her, she turned, and began to make her way towards the stump.

“What are you doing?!” he cried for the second time that day.

“He’s dying, Roads! He needs my help!” she called over her shoulder as she trotted away from him.

“Stop!” he called, sprinting to catch up with her. Grabbing her by the shoulders, he pulled her away from the nexus.

“Let go!” she said, struggling against him. “He needs help!”

“Listen, Summer, stay here. As soon as you set foot in the nexus, he’s dead.”

She peered up at him. “What?”

“If the nexus has to start diverting energy to you, it’s going to run out, fast. It’s already probably getting pretty close. And if it does, everypony still inside the inferno dies. Everypony. Yourself included. There’s nothing you can do,” Roads said.

“So... what? We just sit here and do what? Wait? There has to be something,” she protested.

“There isn’t. Just wait.”

“For what?”

Just as Roads was about to respond, something burned and screeching came flying out of the flames, landing a few feet away from the stump.

“That.”

Summer pushed away from him, dashing up to it. Roads followed her.

“It’s Princess,” she shouted. “It still has a horn!”

It still had a horn... and it was still making sounds. A pitiful coughing erupted from its throat. Summer glanced at Roads.

“Looks like we’ve got to finish the job ourselves.”

Her horn lit, and a large rock lifted off the ground beside her, wrapped in a blue aura. Looking down at Princess, Summer hefted the rock above the other pony’s head.

“Don’t look, Roads.”

Roads closed his eyes.

“Please...” a rasping voice begged.

Roads opened his eyes again. Princess was still conscious, if just barely. A ragged, weak voice slithered from somewhere deep within a charred throat.

“Please don’t...”

Summer glanced at her sides, then back down at Princess.

“Not a chance,” she said.

“Please... I was just trying to do what was best... I was just trying to protect them--”

“Roads?” Summer asked.

“--please--”

“Yeah?”

“--put me back in--”

“Close your eyes, Roads.”

He did. There was a muffled thump, and Princess screeched in pain. Another thump, this time accompanied by a sickening crack.

And then all was still.

Roads opened his eyes, and vomited. He felt sick, sore, and tired. He glanced up at Summer.

“Is it over?”

“It’s over.”

Roads nodded, and sat back on his haunches. He groaned, pressing a hoof to his forehead.

“I’m so tired, Summer. I just want to--”

Something warm and hard thumped against his shoulder. He blinked.

“What was--”

“The gem!” Summer cried, pointing down to the glowing stone that had just collided with Roads.

Roads’ heart jumped. Chief was still alive! He turned to look at the giant stump. It was covered in ash, leaking smoke, half-burned to a crisp. A few small fires burned here and there, crackling quietly, but the inferno was gone. It had died with Princess.

Getting to his hooves, Roads charged over to the steps at the stump’s base. He raced up them--slipping once as a burned patch gave way under his hoof--and clambered onto the scorched top of the trunk. Coughing as the taste of smoke filled his mouth, he peered through the debris, searching for Chief.

He took a step forward, walking into the haze, but stopped as a familiar tingling spread across his forehoof. He looked down to see the lacerations left by the chimeras sealing before his eyes. With a yelp, he leapt backwards. Chief might need whatever energy the nexus had left. As Summer charged passed him, he caught her by the tail, pulled her away, and told her so. With a huff, she sat down next to him, peering into the haze.

As if on queue, the storm strengthened. Wind ripped through the woods, clearing away the smoke as the heavy rain quashed the few remaining patches of flame. As the air cleared, Roads caught sight of Chief laying in the center of the stump.

He nearly vomited again.

Chief--or what was left of him--was lying on his side, breathing slowly. He wasn’t moving much, but Roads could tell he was breathing. Mostly because Roads could see his lungs.

“Close your eyes, Roads...” Summer breathed.

He did. As dry heaves wracked his body, he fought to keep them closed. Don’t look, don’t look, don’t look, don’t--

His eyes flicked open. Catching a glimpse. A ribcage laid bare in the open air. Viscera splayed around the rear legs. A forehoof missing. Eyes rolling in a fleshless skull.

His eyes clamped shut again. He tried not to think about what he had just seen. It didn’t work. He gave another heave. Turning, he pressed his head into Summer’s shoulder. She wrapped a foreleg around him. As she bent her neck and nestled her face against the side of his head, he heard her breath, cool and quiet, brush past his ears. His heart slowed a bit. His stomach calmed slightly.

After a moment, he felt her lift her head again. “Wait a minute,” she breathed. “Look.”

Roads shook his head, eyes clenched shut. “No way.”

“No, Roads, look. He’s healing.”

Swallowing hard, he opened his eyes again, turning once more to inspect Chief. He gave a small sigh of relief. Some of the skin was back, and even a bit of fur. All of the organs appeared to be in their proper places. He even had all of his hooves now. As Roads watched, Chief’s hide slowly grew back over thickening flesh, his coat steadily growing out again. Face, eyelids, mane, all gradually returned to Chief’s face.

Before a minute had passed, he was at least recognizable again. After another, his eyes fluttered, and in a third, he was on his hooves again.

“Chief!” Summer cried, galloping out to him.

Roads followed her, feeling a weak tingling as a few of the cuts on his legs slowly healed. Summer threw her forehooves around the bigger pony’s neck. Chief just grunted, annoyed. As he watched them embrace, Roads realized that the tingling was fading. He peered down to see that only a few of his lacerations had healed. The nexus was out of energy.

“Are you okay?” Roads asked.

Chief nodded. “Fine.”

“Did it hurt?” As soon as it left his mouth, Roads realized it was a stupid question. Chief didn’t seem to care.

“Used to it,” he said with a shrug. Summer gave a bitter laugh Roads didn’t understand.

“Of course you are,” she said. She seemed to freeze in the hug, as if realizing what she was doing, and she drew away from him quickly. Frowning, she shot him a glare. “What the hell were you even doing?!” she demanded.

“I had to--”

“You had to do nothing! You could’ve died!” Summer shouted, growing louder as she spoke.

“Did what I had to.”

“You should have asked first. You should have gotten my permission before trying something like that!”

“Didn’t have time.”

“You should’ve made time!” she cried.

Chief shrugged and walked away, trudging towards the steps. “Worked, didn’t it?”

Summer glared furiously after him as Roads stared at her, confused.

“What are you staring at?” she snapped. As she spoke, Roads noticed her eyes were glassy and red.

“Summer, are you--”

“No.”

“I didn’t even fin--”

“It’s the smoke.”

“Okay.”

Her eyes flickered away from him, and for a moment, she stared intently at her hooves.

Seeking to fill the silence, Roads cleared his throat. “So, what do we do now?”

Summer seemed to regain her composure at that. “Now we bring the body back to Catalpa, and see how the rebels are doing. If they’ve won, we get Catalpa to give us our supplies so we can fix up the zeppelin and be on our way. If they’ve lost, we’ll have to steal the supplies ourselves.”

“Princess’s dead and the guards’ll be busy. Won’t be hard.” Chief peered at Summer. “Princess is dead, right?”

Summer nodded. “As a doornail.”

Chief gave a satisfied grunt. It reminded Roads of the sound a normal pony might make after a large meal. “Good,” he said, and made his way down the blackened steps to the base of the trunk.

Roads and Summer followed. They watched as he made his way around the trunk and found Princess’ body. For a moment, he just stood there, staring down at it, a somber, inscrutable expression etched onto his face. Then, with a grunt, he reached down, grabbed it around the seared, crumbling midsection, and hefted it over his back. Then he silently marched off into the forest. Sharing a glance, Roads and Summer trailed after him.

“So,” Roads asked as they tramped through the underbrush, “are we really taking Willow and Aspen back with us?”

“Guess so,” Summer said. “It was our end of the deal. And it’s really no skin off our backs--we’re not exactly lacking in space on the zeppelin.”

“But what will they do? Where will they live?”

“Don’t know, don’t care. It’s not my problem, Roads,” Summer said as she ducked under a low hanging tree branch.

“Don’t you care at all what happens to them?” Roads asked.

“Not particularly.”

“After all we’ve been through, with their help?”

“Roads, ‘all we’ve been through’ is about seven days of unproductive cartography.”

“We started a war!” Roads protested.

Summer rolled her eyes as she swept away a patch of thorns with a blast of magic. “It’s not a war if it only lasts for a few hours. We started a skirmish.” She turned and peered at him. “You really oughta get out more.”

“Not a chance! Not if this is what happens. As soon as we get back to Equestria, I’m never leaving my house again,” he said.

He stared at her through the trees. She sounded earnest, but he didn’t believe she was quite so unphased. Nopony came out of this many successive brushes with death without thinking something of it.

Well, unless that pony was Chief. But Summer was no Chief. Roads was sure of that.

“Don’t be so sure,” she said. “Time spent stateside tends to get boring after you’ve experienced real living. Trust me, I know,” she said. He could practically feel the weight of experience in her voice.

“After this, I don’t mind boring. I think it might be nice to have something be boring. Mix things up, you know? It’d be such a change, it might actually get exciting.”

“Boring would be exciting?” Summer asked, eyebrow cocked.

“Yeah.”

“You sound like Willow,” she said.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Roads replied.

“He’s just so naive,” Summer said. “It’s frustrating.”

“Nothing wrong with that,” Roads objected. “I used to be naive.”

“And you’re still frustrating.”

Somewhere in the forest beyond them, Roads heard Chief give a low chuckle. He rolled his eyes.

“As if you’re really all that bothered.”

“Maybe I am.”

“Hot and bothered, maybe.”

Summer shot him a look. “Says the stallion who blushes and gets all flustered every time a mare looks in his general direction.”

“‘Looks in my general direction’?” he asked, as he trotted up to the bank of a small stream in between him and the rest of the group. Crouching, he prepared to leap over it.

“Is that what you called that?” he continued. “Because where I’m from, we called that hookin--augh!” he gave a shrill shout as a burst of magic caught him mid-jump, sending him crashing into the water.

He crawled up onto the bank to the sound of Summer’s laughter. “Hilarious,” he said. “Absolutely hilarious.”

“Oh, I know,” Summer replied, in between chuckles. Reaching down, she pulled him up over the edge of the bank, back onto even ground. “I tend to be--”

“--unnecessarily violent?” Roads interrupted.

“I was going to say ‘humorous’,” Summer said.

“Well then, you were going to be wrong.”

Summer snorted. “How would you even know, you barely ever leave your--”

“We’re here,” Chief interrupted.

Shoving aside a few saplings, he emerged from the woods onto the banks of the island’s main river. The other two followed him, peering down the length of the river to the city below. Even from a distance, they could tell something serious had happened. Roads frowned as he surveyed the damage.

One edge of the city blackened and burned. On the banks, ruined houses, collapsed and charred. On the wind, the smell of smoke and corpses...

Roads shuddered. Princesses, how he wanted to be home...

“Better get down there,” Chief said.

The three started off down the bank, trekking down towards the city. As they drew closer, they found it abandoned. The islanders that normally milled about at the edges of the city were gone, debris strewn in their wake. The heavy rain had turned the streets to mud, and in the center of town, the river had risen, lapping at the banks. It would flood soon. Roads suddenly realized why there were no houses close to the river, only fields of crops.

Fields of crops, and nopony to tend them. As they progressed further into town, they found it as deserted as the outskirts.

Roads glanced at Summer. “Where did everypony go?”

“Not a clue,” she said.

“Civilians might be in the forest,” Chief pointed out.

“How do you know?” Roads asked.

“It’s where I’d send ‘em.”

Summer nodded. “If they’re alive, that’s where they’ll be.”

“So... what then? Do we go find them?”

Summer shook her head. “It’d be best to find Catalpa.” She glanced around at the destruction around them. “If she’s still alive, that is.”

“Keep moving,” Chief said, eyeing their surroundings.

And so they did, following silently behind the earth pony, staring at the wreckage around them. A building toppled here, a field trampled there, and all around them, the smell of smoke in the air. It wasn’t long before they came to the edge of a fork in the river, across which, just upstream from them, spanned a massive wooden bridge. Across the water, on the opposite bank, the city lay in ruins.

Southwest Bank, Roads realized. It must be. That’s where Catalpa said they were keeping the civilians, where she said she would be.

His stomach fell. Here was where the smoke was coming from. There was hardly a house still standing. Everything here was blackened, burned, trampled. As the three moved up the bank and to the bridge, they began to see bodies. First sparse, scattered across the bridge, one or two corpses stuck through with a spear, or brained by an axe. Then, as they delved further into Southwest Bank, more.

Many more.

Ponies’ remains, crushed under the remains of their houses. Ponies’ corpses, strewn across the streets. Ponies’ bodies, burned and mutilated as their Princess.

Roads shuddered, casting his eyes downward. Beside him, Summer gritted her teeth and kept on. Chief just kept marching. Just another day, just another walk through just another destroyed village. Nothing to see here.

Just keep moving.

And so they did. They kept moving, as smoke burned at their eyes and caught in their throats. As the wreckage thickened and they were forced to strain and crawl and climb over it. As they grew covered in soot and blood from homes that weren’t theirs and ponies they didn’t know.

They kept moving.

Roads tried to keep his nausea down. It didn’t work. Some ponies just can’t handle the stench of scorched flesh.

“This way,” Chief said to him, as he struggled to stop dry heaving.

He turned to see yet another wall of destruction, where houses had been knocked down intentionally to form an impromptu barricade in the street. It stretched, long and tall, in both directions, merging with debris that had been created with less defensive intent.

“Up and over,” Summer said. There was an edge of exhaustion in her voice.

Roads wanted to look over to her. He wanted to say something. Explain something. Just a skirmish? He wanted to ask. Just unproductive cartography? But that seemed petty. There was an eviscerated corpse next to him and a barricade before him and scoring points in an irrelevant argument somehow seemed irreverent.

Perhaps he should say something meaningful, something poignant. Something about the fleetingness of life and the value of love or family or working hard or respect. Something to capture what was around him, to make sense of it. Some magical combination of words that would somehow, some way, put just the right perspective on things like the viscera of the dead pony next to him coagulating in the open air, or the half-fleshless head he’d just stepped over on his trip over to the wall, or the fact that everything around him was dead and for some reason he was still breathing. Something, anything, to cast it in a light that showed the heroism and the goodness in it, or at the very least, the necessity of it all.

None came. There was nothing he could say. Just “up and over,” and “find Catalpa” and “live another day.”

So, he turned, spat on the ground to get the taste of vomit and smoke out of his mouth, lifted his head, set a hoof against the rubble, and started climbing. It was easier than climbing the mountain. More hoofholds. Still, though, he had to stop every foot or so, to circumvent a spear or a sharpened edge of debris. Or a body. The rebels--or were they guards? he couldn’t tell, they all looked the same dead--had managed to keep most of them from making it over the barricade.

Roads turned, and looked over to Chief. The other pony was already at the top of the pile of debris, Princess’ body slung over his back, face and chest streaked red and black. He looked, for all the world, like an angel of death, standing atop a pile of rubble and corpses. He looked, to Roads at least, almost happy. Content. At ease.

Death among death. Roads just kept moving.

Just above him, right between him and the top of the barricade, a body was gored on a spear that jutted out of the rubble. Roads brushed it aside, averting his eyes.

He wondered why it didn’t disturb him more. He wondered how he was getting used to this. He wondered what it would be like coming home after this.

He reached the top. After pulling himself over the edge of the top of the barricade, he got to his hooves, looking out below him. He gave a sigh of relief. The destruction had not reached the other side of the barrier. What remained on the other side was approximately half of what looked to be the town’s bazaar, mostly untouched.

Untouched, and filled with ponies.

Ponies, milling about the square. Ponies, repairing armor and weapons. Ponies, standing guard. Ponies, tending to the wounded.

A hush fell over them as they looked up at the Equestrians standing on the barricade, silence slowly spreading among the crowd as one by one heads turned, tilted, regarded, evaluated. They stared up at the Equestrians--

No. Not the Equestrians. Not Roads, cowering atop the destruction, desperately trying to start dry heaving again. Not Summer, sitting beside him, tending once more to reopened wounds. Not those two. The islanders weren’t staring at them.

They were staring at Chief. Chief, towering above corpse, pony, and debris alike. Chief, unscathed, covered in the blood of others. Chief, holding the corpse of their despot. They were staring at him.

Staring at him... and cheering. At him, at the corpse on his back, at the fact that the ponies coming over the barrier now weren’t there to kill more of them. Roads wasn’t sure how they could tell it was Princess. Maybe they had been warned.

Something about it bothered him. Something about the idea of cheering for the death of another pony, about the thought of applauding a monster standing on a pile of destruction sent chills down his spine. There was just something... wrong.

But it didn’t matter. He just had to keep moving. Keep breathing. Keep calm.

He looked down and realized he was standing in intestine.

As he scrambled away, a feeling of anxiousness shot through his already-distressed stomach. This was wrong, it was all wrong.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. It was just supposed to be Princess, nopony else was supposed to die how could this have happened what went wrong it was supposed to be different I didn’t want anypony dead I didn’t want to have murdered--

He pressed a hoof to his eyes, rubbing the bridge of his nose. Don’t freak out, he thought. Breathe.

Taking a deep breath, he started down the mound of debris, following Summer and Chief, trying--failing--to not think about the corpses on the other side of the hill. Progress was faster than before. This side wasn’t covered in spears and bodies, it was just dirt, clay, and pieces of homes. Before long, he was on unbloodied ground once more, standing beside Chief as the earth pony pulled aside one of the islanders.

“Where’s Catalpa?” he grunted.

The islander stared from Chief’s face, to the corpse on his back, to the ponies around him. Finally, he raised a hoof, pointing up towards a ridge above the eastern banks of the central riverbed. Roads followed the line of his foreleg with his eyes, peering up to see a familiar terrace. The pony was pointing to Princess’ keep.

Roads felt the hair at the back of his neck prickle and raise. The door to the keep had been burned and broken apart, and smoke poured out of the opening from somewhere deep inside the keep. Smoke in an empty lair. Blood pouring from an open wound.

Roads gritted his teeth. Now that it was over, now that Princess was gone, something about seeing her old quarters left him with a cold, disturbed twisting in his chest. Brushing his mane--now limp and dampened with rain--out of his eyes, he turned to see that Chief and Summer had started off without him. Summer glanced over her shoulder.

“Taking your time, Roads?”

He blinked. “What?”

Summer jerked her head, gesturing towards down the main path of the bazaar to another one of the islanders’ massive wooden bridges. “We’ve got somewhere to be! Come on, I want to get back to Equestria by nightfall.”

He nodded, and trotted after them, head down, shoulders slackened. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Summer flashing him a perplexed look. She opened her mouth, as if to say something, but then closed it again, turning once more towards the bridge. He followed her, trying to shut out the sounds of the still-revelrous islanders behind him. The cheering reminded him of Princess’ screams.

It wasn’t long before they had crossed the bridge, and made their way to the dirt ramp that led to Princess’ massive terrace. As they drew closer and closer to the keep, the smells of smoke and death thickened, the scent of conflict, as heavy here as it was in Southwest Bank. Roads shuddered. He hadn’t expected anything different--there was no way Catalpa could have entered the keep bloodlessly--but still, the aftermath of the conflict bothered him here almost as much as it had back on the riverbanks.

Ignoring the exhaustion that was beginning to set into his legs and back, he trudged up the ramp. Mud splashed as he walked, coating his sides and forelegs, and he cringed in disgust as dirt spilled across his wounds. He couldn’t remember ever having wanted more desperately to take a bath. And preferably a warm one, he thought as he shivered in the thick rain that still fell across the river valley.

A few more moments passed, and the trio came to the charred and shattered remains of Princess’ once-grand keep door. Roads’ brow furrowed. Scattered around the broken planks were ponies from both sides of the conflict, lying gored, burned, and dead in pools of their own blood. Roads fought the urge to close his eyes as they walked carefully over the debris. Covering his nose to try to block out the smell, Roads pressed closer to Summer as they moved cautiously into the keep.

She turned back and caught his eye, then glanced around at the destruction around them and shot him a knowing look. Still, though, she said nothing. Instead, she and Chief moved carefully, deliberately, further into the hallway. Suddenly more attentive, they both scanned the room as they moved noiselessly towards the heart of the keep.

“What are you--” Roads started to ask.

“--shh!” Summer interrupted.

He realized the two were being quiet for a reason. They didn’t know what was to come. The ponies down at the marketplace might have known if Catalpa had headed this way, but they had no way to be sure she was successful. And if she hadn’t, if Princess’ troops were still holed up in some secured room near her quarters... Roads couldn’t be sure how they would react to seeing three Equestrians carrying around the corpse of their ruler. But it probably wouldn’t be to their benefit to find out.

They crept further and further towards the throne room, making their way silently through the confusing maze of side-rooms and narrow hallways, all empty save for the mangled remains of the dead. Every so often Summer or Chief would quietly crack a door open and peer inside, searching for friendly ponies, and each time, they would shut the door quickly, give a small shake of the head, and move on. After Summer left one door open too wide for too long, Roads realized what the small shake meant.

Corpses. He tried not to look into any doors after that.

Finally, as they found the entrance to one of the hallways leading into the throne room, the sounds and voices of other ponies began to reach their ears. Summer and Chief exchanged glances as the latter reached to the ground to draw a spear out of the forehooves of a dead guard. Just in case. Slowly, they made their way down the hallway, half-dreading what they might find.

As they drew closer, the sounds grew louder. By the time they crept up to the doorway, the sounds of shouted conversations and bellowed orders rung in their ears. Chief poked his head around the corner, quick and silent as an arrow in the night. When he pulled back again, he gave Summer a nod. She nudged Roads, pulling him to his hooves, and the three walked into the massive room.

Voices quieted. Heads turned. Ponies stilled. A shrill silence descended over the troops.

The dictator had returned to her throne room.

It was not as she left it. The massive throne had been toppled, it lay in pieces strewn about the floor. Half of them lay in the fire pit at the center of the room. The glowing, enchanted map had been stripped from the walls in preparation for Summer’s payment.

And, of course, it was full of rebel troops.

The ponies wavered, parted, and out from between them Catalpa strode forward. She glanced from Summer, to Chief, to the body on Chief’s back.

“Is this... is it her?”

Chief gave an affirmative grunt.

“It’s her,” Summer added.

Catalpa stopped moving, closed her eyes, and took a deep breath. “Finally,” she whispered.

When she opened her eyes again, they were filled with a fierce determination. Her face twisted into a look of exuberance and victory that Roads might have believed was true had he not seen the exhaustion she had worn beforehand. Gritting her teeth, she spun to face the horde of rebels behind her.

“Princess is dead!” she announced.

The rebels cheered. Roads winced.

“Today is truly a shining day, a glorious day for our city!” she continued.

Roads frowned. This was a shining day? This was glorious? Memories flashed before his eyes.

Princess, screeching in the flames, burning alive...

“Today, our oppression ended!”

A wet thump, cutting off dying pleas.

“Today, our new nation was born, rising upon the backs of the soldiers who fought so valiantly to bring it to fruition!”

A mountain of debris, broken old homes slicked with gore.

“We move forward on this grand day, into a bright and shining future!”

A massive inferno, searing away the flesh of his friend.

“We can look forward now, and see greatness ahead!”

Dead yellow eyes, peering into his.

He choked, then. He couldn’t take it.

“Greatness for our people!”

Roads turned away.

“Greatness for our children!”

He walked to the door.

“Greatness for our new nation!”

Roads pulled it open, shuffled through the doorway, and slammed the door behind him. He moved aside, sat against the wall, and closed his eyes. Through the door he could still hear Catalpa’s voice, muffled so that he couldn’t tell what she was saying, interrupted periodically by whoops and cheers. He pressed his hooves against his eyes.

The death, he could handle. The gore, he could look away from. The murders, he could rationalize. But to glorify it? To put it up on a pedestal?

No. There was only so much Roads could take. He felt sick again. He had felt that way all day.

A hoof pressed against his shoulder. He glanced up.

“Slacking off, spec?”

Roads gave a tired smile.

“Hey, Summer.”

She sat down next to him, nudging him with an elbow. “It gets better, you know. Easier.”

Roads sighed. “What? Killing? Massacres? That gets easier?”

“No.”

“What then?”

“Shutting it all out. Not letting it get to you.”

Roads gave a bitter snort. “Great. Good to know I won’t be too bothered the next time I kill somepony.”

Summer rolled her eyes. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”

Roads glanced over at her. “So, what? I just shut it out? Turn my brain off and ignore the fact that half of this island is dead and a lot of it’s my fault?”

“Well, if you put it that way... yes. Absolutely.”

Roads groaned, leaning his head back against the wall. He was starting to get a headache, a dull throbbing in his skull. Princesses, he needed a drink.“Do I even want to though? Even if I could--”

“You can.”

“Even if I did, do I really want to just... forget? Lock it all away? Act like nothing happened? Like it didn’t even mean anything?” he asked.

“It’s not like that. It’s just like... you just don’t think about it. And if you do, you don’t worry about it, or what it means, or what it makes you, or any of that bullshit. You just stop caring. You stop letting it get to you,” she said with a shrug.

“If I did--if I stopped caring about all of the damage I’ve done--I wouldn’t be any better than Chief or Princess.”

Summer narrowed her eyes. “Don’t you lump those two together like there isn’t any difference.”

“Isn’t there?”

“No.”

“But--”

“There isn’t.”

“You could make the argument that--”

“No. You couldn’t. Do you want to know the difference? Chief is alive, Princess isn’t.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s the only difference that matters,” she said. With a sigh, she leaned against him, resting her head on his foreleg. He hastily moved his foreleg away, wrapping it around her shoulder as she shuffled a bit closer to him.

Roads frowned. “You know, it didn’t even bother me until now. When Princess was still around, when my life was on the line, I didn’t even care.”

Summer snorted. “You call that not caring? You were practically bawling in the cave the night after you--”

Roads shot her a look and she quieted. “I didn’t care like this. It didn’t bother me like this.”

“We do what we have to to survive, Roads. And after that’s all done, we do what we have to to cope.”

A thought flashed through Roads’ head just then. There was whiskey in the supplies that the islanders took. I wonder there’ll be any left when we get them back.

“That just seems... I dunno. Messed up, somehow.”

Summer let out a bitter laugh. “Yeah, well, it’s all pretty messed up.”

“Wow. Great. I feel so much better now.”

“As though there was really anything I could say to make you feel better?”

“I mean, you could have at least tried something like, you know, ‘it’s not your fault’ or ‘you had no choice’ or something. You could’ve put some effort into it.”

“It’s not your fault,” Summer said flatly. “You had no choice. There, feel better?”

“No.”

Summer laughed at that. “That’s because I can’t make you feel good about killing. I can only tell you how to deal with it.”

“I don’t know if I can.”

“You’ll have to. It’s that or go crazy.”

Roads snorted. “That seems a bit strong.”

Summer cocked an eyebrow. “For most ponies? Sure. For you? Doubt it.”

“Hmph. Maybe.” He sighed again, pressing his free hoof to his forehead. “I’ll try.”

She glanced up at him. “Good. That’s life, you know? Get tough or get broken.” She chuckled at that. “Goddesses, I sound like Strongsteed right now.”

He blinked. “Whatever happened to him?”

“Not a clue,” she said with a shrug. “I’d assume he’s still off in that pit. I’d imagine it’s not very pleasant down there now that the rain’s picking up.”

Roads peered down at her. “What are you--”

“What?”

“Are you--”

“No!”

“Are you smiling?! Talking about Strongsteed down there half-drowning in muck?”

She shrugged again. “Hey, I never pretended to like the pony.”

“Still, though...”

“Still, nothing. We can go dig him out and take him back home with us. Assuming he even wants to come, that is,” she said.

Roads cocked his head. “Why wouldn’t he?”

“Dunno. He’s crazier than a cockatrice, though, so it wouldn’t surprise me.”

“I seriously doubt that he would--”

The door swung open and Chief burst through the doorway. “Speech’s done. Catalpa’s getting supplies. Get moving.” He began to turn around, then stopped, twisted back, and peered at them. His eyes flashed first from Roads, to Summer, leaning against his chest, to the grey foreleg around her shoulder. He frowned. “This again?”

“It’s not nearly what you’re--” Roads started to say.

“Get moving,” Chief grunted again. And with that, he turned and stormed through the door.

Roads and Summer exchanged glances, then burst into tired chuckles.

“So glad he’s still around,” Summer said.

“Definitely.”

“All right then,” she said, drawing away from him. “On your hooves, spec.”

Wearily, Roads got to his hooves and followed her through the doorway. He entered the throne room again, peering at the bustling troops around him. Looking forward again, he caught sight of Chief up ahead, speaking with Catalpa, Willow, Aspen, and a broad-shouldered, rust-colored pony with wounds on his fore and rear legs. Behind him, a few rebels loaded crates of supplies marked “Royal Expeditionary Aggregate” onto Chief’s old, makeshift sled. As he drew closer, their voices slowly became understandable.

“...drove ‘em back after they mounted uh final assault on the keep,” the rust-colored pony was saying, “an’ after that there weren’t much left of ‘em. The ones that were still breathin’ all retreated into the woods. I figure we’ll send somepony out with the body to tell ‘em Princess’ dead, an’ that should pretty much break their resistance, an’ if it doesn’t, well, we’ve got more stallions left anyway.”

“You won’t have our help with them, Redbud.” Chief told him.

“We weren’t counting on it,” Catalpa said. “We’re just hoping to get you out of here as soon as possible. Even the rebels aren’t particularly keen on having Equestrians around, and as soon as the thrill of Princess’ death wears off, they’ll probably go back to blaming you for what happened.”

Summer’s ears perked up at that. She stared at Catalpa, then glanced nervously around at the rebels around her. Roads could practically hear the cogs turning in her head. “Well, that depends on you. Have you got all of our supplies together?” she butted in.

Catalpa jerked her head, gesturing to the sled behind her. “It’s all there. What’s left of it.”

Summer scowled. “The Aggregate takes missing equipment out of my paycheck,” she muttered to Roads. “And the map?” she said aloud.

“I packed it myself. It’s rolled up in one of the crates.”

“Well, great then. We’ll just be off,” she said, turning hastily. Roads could feel the urgency in her voice; none of them wanted any further conflict. It was time to get the hell off of this island.

Catalpa nodded. “Farewell, then, Equestrians. You’ve done us a great service, and I am truly proud to--”

“Yeah, right, no problem,” Summer interrupted. “Willow, Aspen, you ready?” she asked.

“Yep,” Willow replied, gesturing to the thick packs both of them were wearing.

“Alright.” She turned to Catalpa. “Best of luck with the whole island thing, hope to never see you again.” And with that, she turned and marched towards the door.

As soon as her hoof touched the wood, the door burst inwards slamming Summer aside. Through the doorway rushed a brownish blur trailing a mangy, unkempt mane and screeching violently. Within an instant, it was upon them, and by the time Roads’ brain had registered that it was a mare, she had tackled Aspen, sending both of them to the ground in a mass of flailing limbs and shouting. Roads noticed Chief tense, but before he could move, Redbud had tossed himself into the fray.

In an instant, he subdued the mare, holding her with one good limb as he dragged her away with the other. She was screaming something, but over the shouts of the ponies around him, Roads could barely hear what. The mare shouted and thrashed, lashing out at Redbud until finally Chief seized her as well. With one last, furious jerk, the mare sent them all tumbling onto the floor once again, then fell silent.

There was a moment of stillness as everypony wondered what had happened. The silence was broken as Redbud gave a low groan and rolled out of the pile.

“Check her,” he wheezed. “She’s got a knife.”

As Chief got to his feet, leaving the mare on a heap on the ground, they saw he was right. She had a knife.

It was currently lodged just under her ribcage.

She was lying spread-eagled on the floor, mouth agape, blood leaking from the knife wound. It pooled around her in a glinting, malicious oval, glimmering with the light of the fire. It was thick enough that Roads could see his face in it. Around him, everypony bustled to help up the fallen, but Roads just stared at the body.

They heard a gasp as Aspen got shakily to his feet. He was covered in nicks and cuts, and had a deep laceration in one of his forelegs, but he didn’t look grievously injured. “It’s Dogwood’s wife,” he breathed.

Dogwood? Who was Dogwood? Roads didn’t know. He just stared at the body.

“Dogwood?” Summer asked.

“One of the guards who tried to kill me after I took Princess’ crown. I had to stab him after he wouldn’t let me go. He was just too upset about his daughter.”

“His daughter?” she asked. “What about her?”

“She died the night you broke out of the city.”

Roads’ heart stopped. That mare... The mare he killed in the forest... this was her mother.

She had the same eyes.

Roads wanted to break down, then. To just lay down, close his eyes, and go to sleep. Sleep, for the rest of the day, the rest of the month, the rest of the year, it didn’t matter. He just didn’t want to think anymore. He didn’t want to think about having gotten an entire family killed, or half a city killed, or even getting Princess killed. He didn’t want to think about nexuses, or ley lines, or chimeras. He didn’t want to think about his father or Summer or Chief. He didn’t want to do anything. He just wanted to lie down and sleep forever.

Instead, he just stared at the body.

“What was she saying?” Catalpa asked Aspen.

“I’ve got no idea,” he responded.

“‘Yuh killed mah husband’,” Redbud choked. “Now could--ah--could somepony help me up?”

He stretched out a foreleg, and Roads realized he had a gaping wound in his chest. The knife had found purchase.

“Redbud!” Catalpa gasped.

“Mmm?” he asked. His eyes were half-lidded, and he seemed to be having trouble keeping his head upright.

“Your chest!”

He lazily, he peered down, looking himself over. “Oh,” he said simply. “So that’s what that was.” He looked up at Catalpa again. “S’probably not good.” And with that, his eyes rolled back and he flopped back down onto the floor. The group rushed over to him, peering down as Chief knelt over him, checking his breathing.

“He’s still alive,” Chief said finally. “Barely.”

“Is there anything you can do?” Willow asked.

“Bring me the medkit.”

Across the room, a glowing aura enveloped the red wooden box affixed to one of the crates and whisked it over to Chief.

“Thanks.”

“No problem,” Summer said, trodding up to them.

Chief slid the top off the box and inspected the contents. He looked up at Catalpa, frowning. “The medical supplies are mostly depleted.”

“How much did you take?!” Summer demanded.

“Not much! None of our medics knew how to use most of the stuff in there!”

“Didn’t have much to begin with,” Chief grunted. “I’ll try. Need help with this, Summer.”

Summer obliged, and a few lengths of cloth hovered out of the box, then pressed themselves over most of the wound. Reaching into the box, Chief drew out an antiseptic wash, moved the cloth aside to rinse out the wound, then let Summer cover and pressure it once more. He then grabbed a length of thread and a needle, and set to work stitching it up, pausing every so often to direct Summer to move the cloths or clean away blood so that he could see. Finally, he finished, bandaged Redbud’s chest, and stood.

“Is he going to be okay?” Catalpa asked.

Chief shrugged. “For now, maybe. Could go either way. Depends on how much blood he loses. If he survives, it’s infection you’ll have to worry about.”

“Is there anything more you can do?” she asked.

“Here? No,” Chief said flatly.

“If we were at home we could take him to a healer and he’d be fine, but I don’t know healing magic, so there’s not much else to be done,” Summer added.

“If you were at home...” Catalpa said, thinking. Her eyes lit, suddenly. “What if you took him with you then? Carried him right back to Equestria, with Willow and Aspen?”

“He’ll probably die on the way,” Chief said.

“And if he stays here, he’ll probably die of infection!” Catalpa protested.

“We’re already taking Willow and Aspen,” Summer pointed out. “How much more do you want? We’re not your taxi service.”

“Please,” Catalpa begged.

Roads’ frown deepened. It was a little bit disturbing, hearing Catalpa beg for something. She had the demeanor of a pony who always got what she wanted, either by force or by argument, and this just seemed... unnatural. He wanted to turn, to help the situation, but somehow he found he just couldn’t get his limbs to work.

“How would he get back? With monsoon season setting in, he’d be stuck in Equestria for months,” Summer pointed out.

“Surely he could... stay there? For a while? It’s better than death, isn’t it?”

“But where would he live? What would he do? You can’t exactly just come to a whole different country and expect everything to be just fine,” Summer said.

Now where have I heard that before? a tiny, detached part of Roads’ mind wondered. The rest just kept trying to shut itself down.

“He won’t know anyone, he won’t have anywhere to--”

“He could--he could be a diplomat!” Catalpa said hopefully. Roads cringed.

“A diplomat?” Summer asked flatly. “Really?”

“Yes! I’d--I’d had an idea. Earlier. I’d thought about trying to open up trade routes with your country. I thought it could be profitable--”

“Sound ridiculous,” Summer said.

“There’s no harm in trying,” Catalpa protested. “I’d already explained the whole thing to him. You’d just have to tell him what happened when he wakes up, he could take it from there. He’s very capable, he’ll be able to handle everything.”

Summer cocked an eyebrow. “You sound like you’re trying to get him elected. That’s not how this works.”

“Please. He’ll die, otherwise.”

Summer glanced at Chief. Chief glanced at Summer. There was a brief pause as they stared at each other, both seemingly thinking the same thing. Finally, the earth pony shrugged. Nodding, Summer turned back to Catalpa.

“Fine. We’ll take him back with us and get him to a healer. As soon as he wakes up, he’s Willow and Aspen’s problem. We don’t take strays.”

Catalpa breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you. You don’t know how much this means.”

“Right, whatever.” Summer glanced over to Chief. “Load him up on the stretcher. Let’s get out of here before somepony else gets stabbed.”

Turning, she led Chief, Willow, Aspen, and Redbud out the door. Roads heard them go, but he didn’t look up, didn’t see them. He just kept staring at the body.

He felt a hoof on his shoulder. He finally managed to turn his head, and found himself staring at Catalpa. “Time to go, Equestrian,” she said softly.

Mutely, he nodded and headed out the door, heart pounding. Shut it out, he thought. Shut it out. He didn’t care about being different from Chief anymore. He didn’t care about being callous. He didn’t care about remorse. The eyes were in his head again, deathly and piercing, and he wanted them out.

He caught up to Chief’s sled as the party made their way into the hallway, and covertly slipped the cover off one of the crates on the back. Reaching in, he felt around until he found a weighty flask that sloshed with promises of relief. He drew it out of the box, clamped the lid back on, and ripped the stopper away.

He took a drink.

The taste was foul, at once metallic and bitter, but he didn’t care about the taste. Eight drinks later, he didn’t care about much else. He lagged behind the rest of the group, sipping away at the whiskey, listening silently as Willow and Aspen chatted with each other and Summer held a one-sided conversation with Chief.

“...and a huge steak. Like, the size of your head,” she was saying to him. “Definitely the first thing I’m doing. I know the perfect place, there’s this shop in Canterlot, right on the edge of the Market district...”

Roads knew the place she was talking about. He wanted to butt in, to say something, but somehow he just couldn’t come up with the energy. Another drink. He was starting to feel better.

“I mean, life in a box is better than no life at all, right?” Willow was telling Aspen. “It would be just like being asleep in a box. And you’d have a chance, at least. At any moment someone could come along and bang on the top and say ‘hey, whatsyername, come out of there...’”

Roads hadn’t a clue. He took another drink. It didn’t matter. Everything was going to be fine. They were going home, back to Equestria, and everything was going to be fine. Just ignore the half-dead pony leaking blood all over the cargo, it was all going to be okay.

Finally, they crossed the massive hallway to the great, burned, shattered door. Roads stumbled through the debris, desperately working to keep from tripping and braining himself on a log. After making his way outside, he stood still for a moment, letting the rain wash over him.

He closed his eyes, angling his head up to the sky. Drops of cool water slaked across his coat, washing away blood, dirt, and filth. A cool, easy wind blew through the valley, ruffling his feathers as a peaceful fog drifted over his mind. He opened his eyes to see the entire city laid out before him. Peering across it, he took in the view in pieces.

To his right, workers moving easily around the banks of the river... Pitching himself into the river, clearing the haze in his brain...

A gargantuan wooden bridge, creaking and leaning in the wind... Crossing the bridge, sprinting with his friends away from the guards...

A blackened patch of homes, no longer smoking, the rain had put out the fires... Trekking through debris, trying not to be sick...

To the left, homes still intact... Taking refuge in a home that isn’t his--hiding--a scream...

Green fields steadily irrigating... A magic duel, an engine and a unicorn, fields set ablaze...

A pit, half covered in bamboo and leaves, holding his fellow Equestrian... Lodged in a wall, Summer bleeding out on the ground...

Beyond that, the ramp that would take them out of the city... Leaving...

He closed his eyes, and smiled. He was leaving. Finally.

“Roads! Let’s go!”

He turned to see Summer beckoning him down the terrace, down to where a ramp would lead them into the field containing Strongsteed’s pit. Mutely, he trotted over to them, once again taking his place at the rear of the group as they trekked down the ramp, onto the riverbanks.

They followed the bank into the fields, and crossed through burned batches of crops until they came upon the pit. Summer peered curiously over the edge.

“Strongsteed?”

“Summer?” A curious chuckle drifted up from the pit. “You’re still alive?”

"Yep,” she said with a smirk. “Surprised?”

“Yes,” Strongsteed replied earnestly. “What happened? How did you get back here? I’d assume you’re in a hurry, the guards will probably be here any minute.”

“There aren’t any left,” Aspen said. “Not really.”

“Ah. Well, I guess Princess will have to take care of you personally, then. That should be entertaining to listen to,” Strongsteed said.

Summer’s grin widened. “She’s dead. We killed her.”

The scream that burst from the pit sent Roads diving for cover. Bloodcurdling and feral, it set the hair on the back of Roads’ neck on end. He pressed his hooves over his ears, desperately pawing at his own head. Shut it out, shut it out, shut it out--

“No!” the voice screeched. “You can’t, you can’t do that! You can’t that’s impossible!”

“Shut up!” Summer yelled over the sounds of his shouting. She turned to Chief and Roads, wide eyed and frowning. It seemed she hadn’t expected that response.

“You’ve let it loose, what did you do?!”

“Shut up!” Summer yelled again. A burst of light flew from her horn down into the pit, and Roads heard a yelp as it struck Strongsteed, knocking him senseless.

“We killed Princess, and now we’re headed home. I can explain on the way. You coming?” she asked him.

“No,” the voice croaked from the bottom of the pit. “I’ll go nowhere with you. I’m staying right here, where it’s safe. Where it can’t get me.”

Roads heart jumped. “It?” he asked, darting over the edge of the pit. Summer grabbed him and pulled him away.

“Don’t worry about it,” she said. “He’s crazy, he wants to stay here. Let’s go.”

“The thing that comes in the night--” Strongsteed called to them.

“I just want to hear what he has to say--” Roads told Summer.

“The dark thing in the dreams--” Strongsteed shouted.

Summer jerked Roads away from the pit. “Not a chance. We’re leaving, and he can stay here and scream all he wants.”

“The thing Princess saw--”

“I need to hear this!” Roads said, struggling as Summer hauled him away from the pit.

“The thing I saw--”

“We’re leaving, that’s an order!” she said as Aspen grabbed him under his other foreleg, helping her pull him away.

“You’ve seen it too, I know you have--”

“Just--let me--listen!” he said, struggling drunkenly as the two pulled him away.

“It told me you’d seen it--”

“It’s over, Roads!”

Strongsteeds’ voice faded as they dragged him further away from the pit.

“It never stops...” Strongsteed said, and then he fell silent.

Roads could hardly hear him anyway. He stopped struggling, and Summer and Aspen let go of him, allowing to move on his own once again. Focusing hard, he tried to walk in a straight line. He had dropped the flask a while ago, as soon as he finished it, and he didn’t want anypony around to know he was drunk. Somehow he doubted Chief would approve.

Falling back once again, trailing behind the sled, Roads followed the pack up the ramp and out into the forest. Strongsteed’s words echoed in his head as he trudged along behind Chief, listening to the rhythmic snapping of foliage falling beneath the bigger pony’s hooves.

The dark thing in the dreams... Why did that seem familiar? Roads couldn’t tell. Had he read about it somewhere? Heard Strongsteed mention it before? He knew he remembered something, some reason why that mattered, but at the moment, he was too far gone to recall much of anything.

Roads sighed, and gave up. It didn’t matter. He could sort it out later. He let the thought drift off into the fog of his mind so that he could once again enjoy a peaceful numbness.

Home. He was finally going home. Back to his books, his papers, warm meals. Back to civilization, where things made sense and he never had to worry about being murdered. He fixed the thought in his mind, letting it fill up his focus, letting everything else fall by the wayside. None of it really mattered, not now. He could deal with it later, when he was sober. At the moment, he was enjoying taking Summer’s advice.

Summer... One more reason to be happy about going home. For a moment, he wondered about how that would play out. What would happen to the two of them, back in Equestria? The thought made him nervous. He let it fall by the wayside as well. He was sure it would all be alright. What was the worst that could happen? He could trust Summer...

“Alright, everypony, this is it!” she called from up ahead. “I’ll climb up to the zeppelin and bring her down, everypony else get ready to load up!”

Roads looked down and realized he was standing in sand. They had reached the beach already. He’d been so lost in thought he hardly noticed. Looking up, he caught sight of Summer shimmying her way up the group of ropes that anchored the Zephyr to the land. Within a moment, she reached the top and disappeared from view. After a second or two, the zeppelin slowly began to descend, drifting down towards them until it finally hit the ground with a muffled thump.

Summer’s head popped up from over the edge of the undercarriage wall. “Load her up!” she called.

Roads walked over to Chief and grabbed a crate, watching as Willow and Aspen gently picked up each end of the boards Redbud was resting on and gingerly carried him over to the zeppelin. As Roads carried his crate over, a blue aura enveloped the boards and they hovered slowly over the side of the undercarriage and floated over to one side of the floor. Roads pushed open the undercarriage door and dumped his crate into the center of the floor. Beside him, Chief did the same.

Turning, Roads went back once more and loaded another crate, and another, and another, until finally the zeppelin was loaded. With work split between him, Chief, Willow, and Aspen, and only half of the crates even remaining, it didn’t take long. Glancing over his shoulder at Chief, Roads climbed into the zeppelin. Willow and Aspen followed along behind him, then Chief, who took one last, long look at the mountain towering in the distance before climbing in to meet them.

With everypony finally on board, Summer let the zeppelin rise a few feet into the air, then cracked open the repair crate and set to work fixing the engine. Roads trotted over to meet her as she slid open the panel above the controls to reveal the empty core of the zeppelin. Summer sighed as she looked over the twisted, broken ends of copper wire where Roads had blindly ripped away at the gem.

“You really did a number on this, Roads,” she said.

Roads shrugged. “It was dark, I could barely tell what I was doing,” he told her.

“Yeah, well, you could have at least avoided ripping out the flux maintenance rod.”

“Well, sorry, I’ll try to be a little more careful next time I’m saving your hide,” he said.

Summer rolled her eyes. “Whatever.” She looked up at him suddenly, alarmed. “Roads...” she said nervously. “Where’s the engine...?”

Roads’ eyes widened. “I... I think I left it in the cave...”

A look of anger flashed across Summer’s face, only to be replaced by a look of sheer exhaustion as she pressed a hoof to her head.

“I can’t believe you would--”

She was cut off as Willow tapped her on the shoulder. Both she and Roads looked up to see him holding a glowing gem, half covered in wire.

“I grabbed it as we were leaving and stuck it in my pack,” he told her. “I thought it might come in handy.”

Summer opened her mouth, then closed it again. She stared at Willow for a second, then leapt to her hooves and threw her forelegs around him. “Thank you,” she breathed.

“It was no problem,” Willow said as she drew away. “I mean it was heavy, but--”

“It was no problem,” Aspen finished for him, then pulled him away. “I need to talk to you for a bit,” he said quietly as the two walked away from Roads.

Roads and Summer exchanged glances. She shrugged. “Probably talking about what they’re gonna do with Redbud once they finally get back to Equestria,” she said, turning away from Roads as she set to work fixing the engine.

“Right,” he said, watching her. “Oh, and be sure you don’t cross the control wires with the stabilizers,” he said, eyeing her as the soldered the gem back into its place.

“I know,” she told him. “I wasn’t going to.”

“I mean, it just looked like you were about to.”

“I wasn’t.”

“Okay. Also, you might want to try meshing the output column with the startup pump.”

“I don’t have enough copper for that.”

“But that means you’ll have to start it manually every time,” he pointed out.

“That means I’ll have to start it manually this time. I can fix the rest back in Equestria.”

“Can you even perform a manual startup?”

“Yes.”

“Are you sure? Because--”

Summer whirled around, facing him. “Roads! I know what I’m doing!”

“I’m just trying to help!” he protested.

“Well, be quiet. Shut your mouth,” she said, holding up a hoof, “or I’ll shut it for you.”

Roads said nothing as she turned back around. He sat, silent and still for a moment, watching her.

“You’re definitely going to need to mesh that output column.”

Before he could react, Summer whipped around, pouncing on him. She sent him to the ground, landing on top of him, pinning him to the ground with her forehooves. Leaning forwards, she brought her face up to his, looking him in the eyes.

“Roads,” she said, her forehead nearly touching his. “Be quiet.”

“Or what?” Roads asked. “You’ll--mff!”

His voice was cut off as she kissed him, hard, forcing his head back against the ground.

“There,” she said as she drew away, “I got you to stop talking. Now stay that way.”

Roads blinked. Whatever he had been thinking about before was gone, lost in a haze of euphoria and alcohol. Between the kiss and the whiskey, his mind seemed to have shut down.

“Right,” he said, getting to his hooves and moving shakily across the floor. “Right.”

He sat down a ways away from her, still watching her work on the engine, trying to get his head to stop spinning. His mind kept flashing between memories and thoughts, between the death, mystery, and despair he was leaving behind, and the brighter present, between guilt and hope, violence and peace, death and life. He was finding it hard to make sense of anything. It was all just too much for his whiskey-addled mind to handle.

Finally, he simply sunk back against the wall of the undercarriage and closed his eyes. It didn’t matter. It didn’t matter now, what had happened. He had the present. He had the ponies in this zeppelin, he had a home to get back to. He could forget, like Summer said.

Everything was already beginning to fade. It was going to be alright. He was going to be alright. He hadn’t been in the past, and he doubted he would be in the future, but now, here, drunk in a hot air balloon with three islanders, a guard, and a cartographer, he felt fine. The present was good enough, and that was what he could focus on, just for a bit. Just let go, and live now.

He would survive.

Roads opened his eyes again. He looked at Summer sliding the cover back over a now-fixed engine. He looked at Chief, staring at the sea in the distance. He looked at Willow and Aspen, chatting, curled up together on the floor. He looked off onto the horizon, where home waited for him to return, bruised, bloodied, and alive, and took a great breath of the salt-slicked sea air.

He would survive.

They started turning, moving away from the island. Summer was at the controls, deftly steering the Zephyr away. Towards the maelstrom, where brooding clouds, swollen and ready for monsoon season, swirled and waited. Waited for them. They drew closer, and as the wind picked up and grew to a dull roar, Roads glanced over to Summer. She had tied herself down to the controls, and was staring eagerly at the storm.

Glancing over to him, she gave him a smile and a wink. He smiled back, for he knew what she knew. He understood, now, why she smiled at the maelstrom, why she smirked at the storm. He understood, now, the glee on her face as they steered once more into the breach, once more into the storm. He understood, now, what it was that she knew. What they both knew.

They would survive.

Author's Notes:

Phew. Well, that’s it then. That’s the whole first book. Wow. Hard to believe it’s done. Hard to believe it’s been almost a year since I started. Hard to believe how far I’ve come.

And how far I have yet to go!

This first book might be done, but there’s so much left on the agenda for me. First and foremost, there’s a special (secret) project my editor and I will be working on for the next two months or so (if everything works out, everyone who’s been following Stories of a Warden will hear all about it, don’t worry). Then there’s the fact that at the same time, I have to get a finalized outline for the second book nailed down, and as soon as I’m done with those things, I’ll have to start on the next book! And then the one after that!

You see, I’m writing “Stories” as a combination epic and trilogy. Though I’m posting it all as the same story, and for all intents and purposes it is all one story, it has three distinct main plot arcs that, while they definitely inform each other to an extensive degree, I’ve decided to split into three books. And, well, this was the first one.

I’ll be starting on the second most likely sometime around March, and will publish it serially, just as I have with this one, on the same FimFiction and EqD Story pages as before (it will start simply as Chapter XV of “Stories”). I’ll be doing the same with the third, when I get around to it (in another year or so). Altogether, I’m expecting the epic as a whole to clock in at about 400,000 words, so suffice it to say, there’s plenty more to Roads’ story where this book came from, and I’ll keep writing it as long as people still want to read it.

And now, with that out of the way, I’d like to give out a few thank-you’s at this little stepping stone, first once more to the readers, for sticking with me this long (here’s to hoping they’ll stick around a good while longer). Also, I’d like to give a massive thanks to Secondaryspine, my ever-faithful, always diligent, constantly insane editor, for his support and work over the past year, both with the novel, and with me as a person.

Thanks, Pip. You’re the best.

And, to anyone else to might be reading: see you in March!

XV

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Volume 2

“My boy's come back; he's here at last;
He came home on a special train.
My longing and my ache are past,
My only son is back again.”
-Robert William Service, The Home-Coming

He felt it. Through the rain and the howl of the storm, and the cut of the wind and the hail, through the shouts of his coworkers and the dull ache of labor, he felt it. It was malevolent, and it was strong. And it was getting closer.

Where...?

Wiping the water out of his eyes, the Watcher looked up, across the Skydocks. Searching. His horn glowed, augmenting his vision to see more clearly through the storm. He could see other ponies moving, slipping and sliding over the wet wooden piers, desperate to secure all of the airships. He could see zeppelins and air ballons whipping about in the air, docking, being tied down. He could even see the body of one of the older dock crew go flying off the side of one of the further docks. He chuckled at that. Whoops.

What he couldn’t find, though, was where this new feeling was coming from. Well, perhaps ‘new’ wasn’t the right word. After all, he had felt this before, years ago, back when he had been... important. His right forehoof instinctively moved to feel a long scar running the length of his left foreleg. He smiled. Something was coming. Something large.

Literally and figuratively, the Watcher thought, turning to see a massive zeppelin burst through the clouds and hurtle unsteadily towards the nearest dock. His heartbeat quickened as it neared.

This is the one. It has to be on this one.

He looked the zeppelin over. It was an expensive ship, a Zephyr model, but whoever was piloting it certainly hadn’t treated it well. The entire undercarriage was one short strut away from separating from the balloon, which was crumpled in several places where some massive force must have dented its frame. As it grew closer, he caught sight of a weak ruby glow, and realized that the engine must be exposed.

For a Zephyr to be that damaged, and for it to be carrying that? Where have they been?

The zeppelin turned slightly, and he saw the words ‘Royal Expeditionary Aggregate’ painted on the side of the balloon.

Ah. That explains a lot.

Grabbing a length of rope, he slunk away from the cliff face, out onto the dock nearest the Zephyr. He felt the sensation growing stronger as he moved. This was definitely it.

But why now? He wondered. Why come back to Equestria with no warning? How could the others not know?

The Watcher frowned. The others didn’t know. Right. He was in for a long night. There would be many ponies to visit. Of course, he had known what he was in for when he signed up for the job, but he hadn’t expected this to happen so soon, and certainly not on his watch...

Still, though. This was a blessing. There was so much to be done, but then, he supposed, it was right that he would be the one to handle it.

“Hey!” a shrill voice called out to him. “You, on the docks!”

The aura around his horn intensified as he further enhanced his vision. Squinting, he could make out the source of the voice, a light grey pegasus, sopping wet, clinging to the edge of the undercarriage.

“Get the ropes!” he called. “We’re coming in!”

The Watcher’s brow furrowed as he realized the ponies aboard the zeppelin intended to dock immediately.

They’re coming in too fast, he thought. If they don’t slow down, they’re going to crash right into the--

His eyes widened. No, no, no, no, no, no! Turning away from the zeppelin, he sprinted away from the end of the pier. A split-second later, he was thrown from his hooves as a great crash echoed across the Skydocks. All over the piers, heads turned.

As he scrambled to his hooves, the dock gave a massive shudder and tilted dangerously sideways. From somewhere below him came a gut-wrenching series of snaps and cracks as the pier slowly ripped itself away from the mountain. Wrenching his neck, he saw that the Zephyr at the end of the dock was now completely split in half. Its balloon was now completely gone, its undercarriage twisted and mangled, stuck halfway through the thick wooden boards that made up the surface of the pier.

There were figures moving around the wreckage. Five of them, moving to carry something. He couldn’t tell what it was.

Of all the nights for Luna to raise a new moon...

The Watcher paused for a moment, getting his bearings, then began to cautiously walk towards the end of the pier. He could feel ponies’ eyes upon him, and realized that the other dock workers had stopped to congregate at the cliff face nearest him. It made him uncomfortable. He didn’t like being seen, not by this many ponies.

One of them might remember he was the one to help these newcomers, might tell... whom? Celestia? Shining Armor? No. It was fine, it wouldn’t matter. Nopony, not even the Princess, could possibly piece together the implications of this chance meeting. And even if they did, by the time they could even try to stop him, he would already be... invulnerable.

Oh, to feel that power again... What I wouldn’t give to--

His thoughts were interrupted as the boards beneath him gave an alarming pop. The Watcher stopped dead in his tracks. He stood for a moment, breathing slowly, evenly, waiting for the floor to give, for the moment he would be cast into abyss below Canterlot mountain.

It never came. He heaved a sigh of relief, and hurried down to the end of the dock. By the time he got there, the five ponies had extricated themselves from the wreckage, and were dragging a sixth, who appeared to be leaking blood, away from the zeppelin on a tattered medical stretcher. One of them, a unicorn mare, was calling orders to the rest of them.

“Roads, take Willow up to the Castle and let the Princess know what’s happened. This whole thing’s a mess now, and we’re gonna need her help, especially with Redbud. Aspen, you’re with me, we need to get Redbud up to the medical center, now. Chief, you stay here and get as much of the cargo to safety as you can before this dock gives way. Start with my stuff, everything valuable is in there.” She looked up at the Watcher, staring at him with one commanding eye, and addressed him. “You,” she said. “You’re a dock worker, right?”

He nodded.

“Good.” She gestured to a massive, brown-coated earth pony who stood beside her. “This here is Chief. You help him move the cargo, and I’ll talk to the Aggregate about getting you some kind of commission. Slow him down, and he’ll kick you off the side of the pier. Got that?”

He nodded again, trying to suppress a smile. He liked this one. He hoped she would be involved--breaking her would be fun.

“Good,” she said. “Alright everypony, move out!”

The pegasus, followed by a small, slender earth pony, charged past him, headed down the dock. ‘Chief’ turned and delved back into the wreckage, grunting as he ripped through steel and wood to clear his path. The unicorn shouldered her pack, levitated her end of the stretcher, and marched past him. As she passed him, so close he could almost feel her cyan coat, he felt another presence, lurking somewhere on her person.

A tingle ran down his spine. So it’s her, he thought, a curl forming around the edges of his lips. Perfect. He watched her as she made her way down the dock, looking away only when she turned to steal one last glance at him and Chief.

Shouldering the length of rope he still carried, he trudged over to aid the earth pony among the rubble. He got to work as quickly as he could. The sooner he finished this, the sooner he could go tell the others what he had found. Something big was coming to pass, and he was determined to be at the heart of it. A knot of dark excitement formed in his stomach. This was it.

He could hardly wait.

_________________________________________________________

Roads was tired of being wet. It had rained on the island. It had rained the entire trip back to Equestria. And now it was raining here. As he stood at the edge of the gate to Canterlot Castle, the storms were as intense as they had ever been on the island. Shivering, he huddled against Willow for warmth.

Come on, he thought as he waited for the guard to open the outer gate and let him into the grounds outside the castle. Hurry up already, it feels like I’m dying out here.

He was hardly exaggerating. Between his broken right wing, charred left wing, fractured face, and his headache, he thought he would pass out at any moment. He was sure he was either concussed or dehydrated. Or both. Given his luck, it was probably that. Closing his eyes, he pressed a hoof to his forehead, trying to block out the pain.

“Are you okay?” Willow asked.

Roads nodded. “I’ll be fine,” he said. He looked up at the guard post at the top of the high stone wall attached to the gate. “Just as soon as I can get inside.”

“I’m sure they’ll be here soon. We rang the bell four times, after all, I’m sure they heard--”

Before he could finish, a small, wrought-iron door beside the gate swung open, and a wrinkled, grey maned earth pony beckoned them inside.

“In here!” he yelled as they approached. “Come on in, out of the rain!”

“Thanks,” Roads replied, stepping through the door into a small, cramped room that must have been built as an extension of the wall around the Castle.

As he wiped his hooves on a frayed mat next to the door, he glanced around the room. It was sparsely furnished, with a cot resting against a wall, and a small wooden bureau beside it, on top of which rested a heavy, ancient ledger, pages yellow and torn. The entire room was lit by a single lantern, hung low enough that Roads had to duck to avoid hitting his head on it, that swung just above a rickety oak table that was ever-so-slightly too large for the room.

“I figured there was no reason to open the gates for just two ponies!” he shouted at them. “So I let you use the maintenance door!”

“Um, sir, why are you yelling?” Willow asked him timidly.

“Whassat?!” the old pony asked. “Speak up, now!”

“Uh... I asked why you were shouting!” Willow said, much louder now.

“Who’s shouting?!”

“You’re shouting.”

“What?”

“You’re shouting!”

Across the room, another door swung open. “Hey! What’s all this yelling about?” another voice called. Another earth pony slipped into the room, this one shorter than Roads, but stockier, pudgy around the midsection, with a brown coat and light blue mane, slick with gel.

“It’s him!” Willow cried. He blinked, then realized what he had done. “Uh, I mean, he was shouting. I think he’s--”

“Hard of hearing?” the other pony finished. “Yes, well, that’s Old Felix for you. Deaf as a doornail. I honestly don’t know why they still let him work gate duty, he can never hear the bell.”

“Whassat?!” Old Felix asked. “I heard my name!”

“Nothing Felix!” the pony yelled. “Just get the ledger ready!”

“Alrighty!” Felix cried as he hobbled across the room towards the bureau, bumping into both Roads and Willow as he went. “Come on, out of the way you blasted idiots,” he said--quite audibly--in what he must have thought was a murmur.

“Don’t mind him,” the other pony said. “He should be retiring soon. Or, at least that’s what I’ve been telling the Captain of the Guard.” He shook his head, eyes on the ground. “Shining just never listens to me though, I just know some day it’ll get him fired...” he mumbled. Suddenly, his eyes snapped back up to meet Roads’. “Excuse me,” he said. “In all the hubbub I’m afraid I never got your names--how discourteous of me.” Roads noticed with displeasure that the he had a habit of licking the tip of his upper lip each time he finished talking, giving him an unsettling, lizard-like appearance.

“Well,” Willow said, sticking out a hoof. “I’m Willow, nice to meet you.”

The other pony looked down at Willow’s extended foreleg and wrinkled his nose. “Yes, well, I don’t shake hooves, I’m afraid. Nasty habit. Spreads disease.” He turned to Roads. “And you?” he asked.

“Roads,” he responded.

“Pleasure to make your acquaintance, my name is Poppycock. You’ll notice I didn’t say just my name, as that’s generally considered discourteous. Now,” he said, pressing a hoof to his chest. “I’m sure you’ve heard of me?”

Roads cocked an eyebrow. You have got to be kidding me. I don’t have time for this! he thought.

“Actually--” Willow began.

“No, we haven’t, sorry,” Roads interrupted. “And we don’t really have time to chat, either, we have to--”

“Yes, well,” Poppycock interrupted, frowning now. “Surprising that you wouldn’t have heard of the Head of the Royal Gateskeepers, given that I’m the pony who presides over everypony who enters or leaves the Castle grounds... What are they teaching kids these days...”

“Look, I’m sorry, but there’s really no time to talk, we need to get into the Castle, now,” Roads said, hoping Poppycock would take his request seriously.

“Mmm... urgent business in the Castle, huh? Sounds interesting, what is it?” he asked.

“We need to speak with the Princess!” Willow piped up.

“Oh? About what?”

Willow took a deep breath. “Well, you see, Roads and his friends were on this expedition when suddenly they crashed on our island and we--”

Roads nudged him with an elbow. “No,” he interrupted. “Not now. He’s just trying to stall us.”

“Stall you?” Poppycock asked. “Why, don’t be so rash. I just wanted to know what the urgent business was. If you really need to get into the Castle so badly, I’ll take you right there.”

“Thank you,” Roads said, breathing a sigh of relief.

“Just as soon as you fill out these visitation forms,” Poppycock said. “In triplicate.”

“What?!” Roads exclaimed.

“Felix! Do you have my ledger ready!” he called.

“I got it!” Felix said, then hobbled over to slam the ledger onto the table, as well as a large stack of parchment covered in tiny, dense scribblings.

“Here you go,” Poppycock said, shoving the papers into Roads’ and Willow’s hooves. “Just fill out these forms and we’ll enter you in the visitation ledger.”

“Roads?” Willow asked, reading the papers. “What is a ‘maiden name,’ and why do they need to know my mother’s?”

“I’ll tell you later,” Roads replied, grabbing the sheaves out of his hooves, and slapping them back down on the table. He looked back up at Poppycock, squinting out of one eye as his headache intensified.

If we don’t get to the Princess fast, Redbud could die. If we lose him because I couldn’t get past some bureaucrat, I’ll never forgive myself. As uncomfortable I am with conflict, I’m just going to have to get over it. He bit his lower lip, still staring at Poppycock. Come on, Roads, he thought. What would Summer do?

He exhaled harshly and slammed a hoof on the table, on top of the ledger. “Look, Poppycock,” he said angrily. “I am a personal student of the Princess, working under her orders, and if I don’t see her right now, somepony is going to die. I swear on the sun that if you do not let me through to Canterlot Castle in the next thirty seconds, I will personally make sure you don’t work another week as Gatekeeper, you got that?”

Poppycock raised an eyebrow. “Tsk, tsk,” he hissed. “Talking to me like that? How rude. If there’s one thing I simply cannot abide by, it’s discourtesy. And let me tell you something: if you don’t apologize for that in the next thirty seconds--and fill out these forms, of course--I will personally make sure you never see the inside of the Castle again. You got that?”

And that was when Roads snapped. Somehow, between his headache, his shellshock from the island, and his infuriation with Poppycock, something in his brain misfired. Before anypony could bat an eye, Roads reared, planted his forehooves on the table, and shoved it as hard as he could into Poppycock, pinning him to the wall. Grabbing the other pony by the mane, he pulled downwards, and heard a dull crack as Poppycock’s face slammed into the splintering wood of the table. The other pony gave a feeble cough, then went limp, still stuck against the wall.

“Roads...” Willow breathed.

Roads turned to see him and Felix staring at him, both wide-eyed and open-mouthed. There was a brief silence as he glanced from one to the other, breathing heavily, teeth gritted.

“Let’s go,” he said to Willow. “We’ve got to go see the Princess.”

Willow nodded and followed him silently out the door, leaving the stunned Felix and unconscious Poppycock behind. He shuddered as he stepped once more into the rain.

“Roads, what was that?” he asked.

“Not now, Willow,” Roads replied. “Later.”

He stood still for a moment, head swiveling, looking across the wide, rolling lawn, punctuated by dirt hoof-paths and cobblestone roads, trying to figure out where to go next. It had been a while since he had been in the Castle, and he didn’t have a clue where Celestia might be at the moment.

Finally, he picked out a door that looked promising, and turned to Willow. “There,” he said, pointing. “Follow me.”

And with that, he dashed out across the lawn, Willow in tow, hooves splashing in the wet grass. By the time they reached the awning that arched over the entrance of Roads’ choice, both of them were half-covered in mud. Swallowing and trying to catch his breath, Roads pushed the door open with a mud-caked hoof and stepped into the Castle.

The room they entered appeared to be some sort of foyer, a long, wide room with a pristine tile floor and vaulted ceilings, and two majestic staircases on the left and right walls, each spiraling off to Celestia-knew-where.

“Hello?” Roads called, walking into the center of the room, underneath a golden candelabra. “Anypony here?”

His voice echoed through the long hallway before him, resounding off the polished granite walls, and only slightly muffled by the tapestries slung across them depicting ponies long dead standing in heroic poses. He waited for a second, listening. No response came.

“Guess there’s nopony around this part of the Castle,” he said to Willow.

“So what now?” Willow asked.

Roads gestured to the staircase on their right. “Celestia’s quarters are at the very top of the Castle, in the center of all four wings. We’re on the ground floor of the West Wing now, facing, uh, north, I think, so if we go right and up for long enough, we should at least get closer to where we need to be.”

Willow nodded. “Alright then,” he said. “Let’s get going.”

Roads turned away from him and headed up the staircase, cringing as his muddy hooves soiled the magenta carpet that covered the stairs. For a while, they trudged in silence, eyeing the portraits and decorations that coated the stone walls around them.

Finally, they came to the top of the stairs, into a long, softly lit hallway, lined with polished wooden doors and blue-flamed candles. There were no portraits or tapestries here, but instead, stained glass windows, all colored blue, green, or violet, depicting little more than abstract shapes and geometrical patterns. Between the glass and the candles, the dark, reflective walls of the hallway seemed to give off faint, shimmering auras of cool colors.

It was silent here as well, but a different sort of silence. The foyer had carried the silence of desertion, but this place carried a fuller, richer silence, one of reverence and tranquility. The two could hear nothing save for their own hoofsteps, which gave off clear, resounding notes as they touched the smooth, hard stone floor.

“Where are we?” Willow whispered to Roads as they made their way gently down the hallway.

“I dunno,” he replied softly.

Despite the hurry both were in, somehow neither could dare to break the stillness of the corridor. Roads got the distinct feeling that unnecessary sound or movement might disturb the very building itself and send it crashing down on top of them. Swallowing, he edged over to one of the doors, and peered through the glass inlaid in it just below the top of the frame. Through it, he could see shelf after shelf of old parchments, texts, and tomes, all surrounded by a thick white mist. Suddenly, he realized where they were.

“Wait a minute,” he whispered to Willow. “I know this place. It’s the Hall of Hidden Tomes, where the master unicorns of the Castle store powerful, ancient texts. I’ve never been here, only heard of it before. They say it used to be the attic of the Canterlot Royal Library--which must be right beneath our hooves.”

Willow put a hoof to his chin. “Your people are strange,” he whispered.

“Why?”

“The texts in these rooms must be very valuable. Princess would have guarded them heavily, but we haven’t run into a single pony on our way up, and it doesn’t sound like there’s anyone around here, either. Anypony who wanted to could just walk in and take these.”

Roads shook his head. “Just because you can’t see any guards, doesn’t mean this corridor isn’t guarded. If anypony tried to gain unauthorized entry through one of those doors, the security enchantments inside would tear them to pieces.”

“Well,” Willow replied. “I sure wish there were a guard or two around here, it’d be nice if somepony could tell us where we’re supposed to be going.”

“I think the Mages’ Quarters are past the other end of this hallway, maybe one of them could help us,” Roads said.

“‘Mages’ Quarters’?” Willow asked as the pair made their way down the corridor.

“Canterlot Castle gives housing to a number of powerful, important unicorns who the Princess employs for arcane research, and for teaching at the School for Gifted Unicorns. They live close to the center of the Castle, near the Library and the School,” Roads explained.

“So much of a royal focus on education, research and learning...” Willow observed. “And all arranged to be right under the nose of your leader. Knowledge must be very important to her.”

Roads smiled. “You have no idea,” he replied. Reaching up, he knocked at the high door that stood at the end of the Hall of Hidden Tomes. For a moment, there was only silence.

Then the door creaked open. A bespectacled brown unicorn with a long, shaggy grey mane stuck his head through the crack.

“Who’s th--Roads?!” he exclaimed. “What are you doing here?” he asked. He gave a loud yawn. “And at this time of night, too.” He blinked twice and lifted a hoof to his face, raising his glasses and rubbing his eyes.

“Professor Sunburst?” Roads asked.

“In the flesh,” Sunburst replied. “And who is this?” he asked, gesturing to Roads’ companion.

“That’s Willow,” Roads said. “He’s, well... it’s hard to explain who he is. Kind of a long story.”

“I see,” Sunburst replied. “My, it’s been such a long time since we last met. Hasn’t been since, oh let’s see now--”

“Sorry, Professor,” Roads interrupted, cutting him off. “I’m afraid we don’t have time to chat. We’ve got urgent business with the Princess. Do you have any idea where she is?”

“At this hour, probably in her quarters, I’d imagine,” Sunburst said. He cocked an eyebrow. “What do you need the Princess for?”

Roads shook his head. “No time to explain. What’s the fastest way to get there from here?” he asked.

“Well...” Sunburst started.

He threw open the door, revealing a common area crowded with antique chairs and tables, all of which were covered in spell tomes and scattered magical reagents. He pointed to a staircase at the far end of the room.

“You could take those stairs. Or--” he said, levitating Roads as the pegasus tried to dash past him. For a moment, Roads hung in the air, flailing his legs as he tried to keep running. “You could be patient and listen to what I was going to say next. Do you remember that lecture I gave you on patience?” he asked.

“Yes, Professor,” Roads replied.

Beside him, Willow giggled. “I like this pony,” he whispered to Roads.

“I bet you say that about everyone,” Roads whispered back.

“Here,” Sunburst said, stretching out a foreleg. “Take my hoof. I can get us there in a jiffy.”

Willow giggled again. “Jiffy,” he said quietly. “That’s a funny word.”

Roads just rolled his eyes and grabbed Sunburst’s hoof, as did Willow. Sunburst closed his eyes, concentrating, then his horn gave a flash of light, nearly blinding Roads.

For a second, he felt extremely cold, and could neither see, nor hear anything. Willow and Sunburst were gone, but before he could look around to find them, there was another flash of light. He slammed into something cold and hard.

Opening his eyes, he found himself spread-eagle on the stone floor of the hallway outside Celestia’s quarters. Willow and Sunburst stared down at him, concerned looks on their faces.

“Sorry about that,” Sunburst said, as he helped Roads to his hooves. “I’m not sure what happened, but I lost you there for a second. You just sort of slipped... somewhere else. While we were... traveling.” He frowned for a moment, still concerned. “I’ve never had that happen before.” He glanced from Roads to Willow, bit his lip, then burst into a broad smile. “Ah, well, you came through alright. Nothing to worry about! The Princess should be just through these doors. Night, you two.”

And with that, and one more flash of light, he was gone.

“Huh,” Roads said. “That’s strange.”

“What do you mean?” Willow asked.

“He looked so concerned...”

“Why wouldn’t he be? He thought he’d lost you!”

Roads blinked. “But I was only a second or two behind you...”

Willow frowned. “Roads, you were gone for almost ten minutes... We thought we were going to have to get the Princess just to come help us find you.”

Roads’ jaw dropped. “What? It--it only felt like a moment!”

Willow shook his head. “Maybe it was wherever you were... but come on, Sunburst said it would be fine, and he seemed to know what he was talking about.”

“I guess...” Roads said, looking himself over. “I mean, I feel fine...”

“See? It’s nothing. Come on, Redbud needs us.”

Roads nodded. “You’re right. I’ll sort it out later.”

He looked up at the tall white door, emblazoned with the Princess’ cutie mark, below a crystalline mirror. The corners of his lips tightened as he locked eyes with his reflection in the mirror. Celestia had always said she had put it there instead of a window, “so that when ponies come looking for me, they find the one who can really help them.” He wondered if the saying still held true now. Somehow, he doubted it.

Lifting a hoof, he rapped on the door. Within a moment, a yawning Celestia emerged, blinking as she stepped into the light. Beside Roads, Willow’s jaw dropped.

“So that’s what a real Princess looks like?!” Willow cried, awestruck. “She’s... she’s so... what is she?!” he whispered excitedly to Roads.

“An alicorn,” Roads replied.

“She’s... gorgeous! Look at her mane!” he whispered back, jaw still hanging open.

Roads tried to stifle his laughter. When he looked back up at the Princess again, he saw she was doing the same.

“Hello, my little ponies. I’ll admit I didn’t expect to see you quite at this--Roads! What’s happened to you?” she exclaimed as she realized who she was looking at.

“The expedition was, uh, a bit rough,” he replied, unsure of where to start.

“I’d say that’s an understatement,” Willow observed quietly. Celestia’s gaze shifted to him.

“And who are you, little one?” Celestia said, extending a hoof. “I don’t recall ever seeing you before...”

Willow stared at her outstretched hoof, then up at her, breathtaken. “My name is Willow, your Majesty.” He glanced questioningly at Roads, then leaned forwards and kissed the tip of her hoof. Celestia looked down at him and chuckled.

“You’re only supposed to shake it, Willow,” Roads whispered to him.

“Oh,” he replied, blushing furiously.

“So, how did you get here?” Celestia asked him.

“On a balloon,” Willow replied simply.

“I see,” Celestia replied, a thin smile spreading around the edges of her mouth. By the time she had looked back over to Roads, though it was gone. “Roads, what exactly is going on? What are you doing here?”

“It’s a long story, Princess, and we don’t have a whole lot of time.”

“Why is that?”

“You’re needed at the medical center.”

Celestia’s eyes widened ever-so-slightly. “Who is it?”

“Equestria’s newest diplomat. Please, come with us Princess, I’ll explain on the way.”

_________________________________________________________

In the Curse Ward of the medical center at Canterlot Castle, Summer Dew stopped pacing, sat down next to Aspen, and sighed. She buried her face in her hooves, rubbing at her eyes, then shrugged and dropped them, just in time to see the door in front of them swing open. A unicorn stallion in a lab coat entered the stark-white treatment room Summer had been waiting in for the past twenty minutes.

She glared at him.

She really shouldn’t have been there. She felt fine, she could pass for fine, and none of the doctors would have known any better if one of the nurses hadn’t caught a glimpse of her lacerated sides when she was delivering Redbud to the healing wing. And, of course, when she was under physical examination by another nurse, she had made a flippant comment about her eye--great going, Summer Dew, nice one--and now here she was, stuck in the curse ward while she should have been making sure Redbud was getting treated properly.

She had discovered a whole island nation, after all, and the Aggregate owed her for that--she wasn’t about to let anything happen to their newest ambassador. Between him and the dynamic map stuffed into her saddlebag, she would be able to squeeze just enough out of the Aggregate to pay off her gambling debts. As long as nothing else went wrong.

Summer wasn’t crazy, of course, she knew that everything would most likely be fine--they were back in Equestria after all, and out of that Celestia-forsaken storm. But still... She liked being able to make sure, herself, and she certainly couldn’t do that trapped here in the damned Curse Ward.

“Summer Dew?” the doctor asked, breaking her train of thought. He extended a hoof. “I’m Doctor Fetlock, how are you?”

Summer glared up at the doctor. “Fine,” she said. “Good enough that I’m not entirely sure why I’m here, actually.”

Fetlock blinked. “What? You’re kidding! Your eye--”

“Feels fine, thanks. Now, if you’ll let me get out of here, I have an asset to protect.”

“Now, be serious,” Fetlock said. “Your eye is nowhere near fine.”

“Yeah, but it feels alright--which means I can come back here, later, when I’m sure that I haven’t just lost a whole bunch of money.”

“Ma’am, I assure you, whatever it is, it can wait. There is no way I’m letting you out of here before I’m finished,” Fetlock said.

Summer gritted her teeth. “Fine,” she said. There was a momentary pause as the two stared at each other. Aspen let out a nervous cough. “So? What’s wrong with it?”

The doctor fidgeted uncomfortably. “Well, after looking over the evaluation report the nurse gave me, I’m honestly a bit stumped.”

Summer cocked an eyebrow. “Isn’t this, you know, your job?”

Fetlock glared at her. “That’s part of my job. Now, if you’ll be quiet for a minute, ma’am, I’ll get to the other part.”

Summer tightened her mouth in a begrudging silence.

“That’s better,” Fetlock said. “Now, the chair you’re in reclines. I need you to lean back and close your eye.” He waited a moment, as Summer did as she was told, then continued, “Thank you. Now you’ll feel my hoof over your eye, and then a momentary intense tingling. Do not be alarmed, that’s just the perception magic doing it’s work. Do you understand?”

Summer nodded. Fetlock reached forward, horn glowing, and as he touched Summer’s cursed eye, his hoof began to give off a dark blue aura. The aura spread across her closed eyelid, then appeared to seep into the eye itself. Summer gave a small gasp as the magic washed over her and her eye began to burn and itch furiously. Teeth gritted, muscles clenched, she waited for a moment in silence as Fetlock finished his work. After what seemed like an eternity, Fetlock with drew his hoof.

Summer gave a sigh of relief.

“Alright?” Fetlock asked. “Didn’t hurt, did it?”

“Not in the least,” Summer replied. “I’m fine. So, what did you figure out?”

“Well nothing good, I’m afraid,” the doctor said slowly. “Basically, the curse has paralyzed the muscles around your eye, caused immediate cell generation over the pupil, and destroyed much of both the pigmentation and structure of the iris. In short, the eye has been rendered useless,” he explained.

“Gee, doc, hadn’t noticed, thanks.”

“I’m not finished yet,” Fetlock replied. “Now, normally in cases like this, we would just bring in a healer, who could use his magic to force your body to destroy the dysfunctional cells and regrow the normal ones, by energizing your ley lines in such a way as to spur a very certain type of cell development.

“Now, as I’m sure you know, while the body’s main ley lines run through only a small portion of your body, the minor lines are interwoven with your entire body on a fundamental level. It is due to this structure, and your ley lines’ positions that a healer is able to revert changes to your body via precise stimulation of your lines,” he continued.

“Dear Celestia, you’re almost as bad as Roads,” Summer interrupted. “Will you please get to the point sometime within the next half hour?”

“I’m almost there,” Fetlock replied. “See, the bad news for you, is that this healing procedure, which is really our only option, is out of the question for you. The curse was powerful enough to fundamentally alter the structure of your anatomical lines, meaning there is no way for our healers to revert the damage. In short, it seems there’s nothing we can do.”

The doctor settled into a solemn, respectful silence. Aspen turned to Summer, a concerned look on his face.

“Summer...” he said quietly.

Summer cocked an eyebrow. “Well, I guess that’s it then. Oh, well.”

Fetlock looked at her curiously. “You seem awfully nonchalant about this. You... you do understand what I’m saying, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” Summer replied. “I heard. One of my eyes is now useless. And?”

“Well, it’s a bit uncommon to be completely unaffected, don’t you think?” Aspen asked gently.

Summer shrugged. “I was already used to it. I’ll be fine, so long as I’ve got the other one. I didn’t have much hope for you doctor types anyway--looks like I was right. So, can I go now?”

Fetlock swallowed. “Yes, I suppose. Did you fill out your medical records?”

“Yeah. I left ‘em on the table,” Summer said, brushing past Fetlock with Aspen in tow. “The nurses’ll handle it, right?” she said. The doctor opened his mouth to say something, but before he could say a word, Summer was already out into the hallway, with the door closed behind her.

“Which way is Redbud’s room, again?” Aspen asked, looking around at the monochromatic, tile-floored hallway. “Everything around here all just looks the same to me, I have no idea how you ponies find your way around.”

“This way,” Summer said, pointing down to a door at the end of the Curse Ward central corridor marked, “Hospital Lobby.”

“All of the hallways are perfectly perpendicular to one another,” he grumbled, “it’s ridiculous.”

“What?” Summer asked. “What are you talking about?”

“Every hallway intersects the others at perfect ninety degree angles,” Aspen explained. “So every single intersection looks completely identical.”

“Why wouldn’t they be?” Summer asked, pushing open the door and leading them into the Hospital Lobby.

“Well, where I’m from, you can always tell where you are in a dig-in by the angles the hallways intersect at. All the angles are a bit off in one way or another, it makes it easy to remember where you’ve been when you’re trying to retrace your steps. Even if the decorations in the rooms or halls change, or something, you can always tell where you are, just because of the way it’s all laid out,” Aspen said, looking around the wide central lobby, eyeing the various sick or injured ponies that rested on the rows of cushions spread across the middle of the room.

Summer just rolled her eyes. “You islanders are weird,” she replied. Turning away, she guided him through the lobby, past the coordinator’s desk with the half-asleep unicorn who ran it, through a pair of doors under a sign marked “Healing/Intensive Care Ward.”

The two found themselves inside a hallway nearly identical to the last, but here the lighting was dim, and the walls painted a dull yellow. There was much less noise in this ward fewer nurses around, fewer patients, fewer families and visitors. The doors into individual patients rooms were fewer and farther between, each room having to be far larger to suit the heightened needs of its inhabitants.

Summer looked to her left, at one of the doors. Its window was covered by a curtain, next to which was marked the number ‘117’. She frowned. They were a long way off. The doctors had said he would be in room 171.

The pair continued down the hallway, until they came to a fork in the corridor, the left side marked ‘136-163,’ and the right, ‘164-194.’ The two took the latter path, and, upon turning the corner, found themselves standing right behind Princess Celestia, Roads, and Willow. Upon seeing the Princess, Summer sank into a deep bow, horn nearly touching the floor.

“Willow!” Aspen called. The smaller pony turned around, face brightening, and walked swiftly down the hall to meet them, Princess Celestia and Roads in tow.

“Aspen, how are you? How is Redbud?” Willow asked, drawing Aspen into a tight embrace.

“I’m fine,” Aspen replied. “I don’t know about Redbud. He didn’t look so good when we dropped him off, but we haven’t seen him in a while.”

“What? How come? What happened?”

“Well, Summer here--” he turned to see Summer bowing and abruptly stopped speaking, staring at her curiously. “What are you--?”

“It’s the Princess, idiot,” Summer hissed at him, waving a forehoof in Celestia’s direction.

Aspen paled, and immediately sank to his knees, folding his forehooves before his head and resting his forehead upon them.

“My name is Aspen, of Tyu’doh Island,” he said.

Behind him, Summer mouthed the word “Tyu’doh?” to Roads. He shrugged in response.

“I am here as an aid to our ambassador to your nation, who lies injured just down this hallway,” Aspen continued. “Please forgive my earlier discourtesy, I was not aware of your position.”

Celestia blinked once, then regained her composure, now with a small smile.

“You may rise, Aspen,” she said softly. “I was, in fact, just on my way to check on your ambassador. Roads has already explained to me what happened on his expedition, and from what he has told me, it seems I may have to attend to this ‘Redbud’s’ healing personally.”

“Your attentions are appreciated, your Majesty,” Aspen replied, getting to his hooves.

“He talks like my sister,” Summer heard the Princess whisper to Roads. She managed to stifle a laugh.

“Why are you talking like that?” she asked Aspen quietly.

“This is how our Princess told us to talk to her,” he whispered. “Does yours not expect the same? Should I try something else?”

Summer shook her head, grinning. “Oh, no, definitely keep going. I think she likes it.”

Aspen nodded. “Thanks,” he told her.

“Summer Dew?” the Princess said, turning from Aspen to the unicorn.

“Ma’am?”

“Good to see you again,” Celestia said.

“Yes, ma’am. It’s been some time, I guess, hasn’t it?” Summer replied.

Celestia nodded. “Indeed. Not since your brother-in-law’s tribunal, I suppose?”

Summer felt her face begin to burn slightly. “Yes, ma’am.”

“So,” Roads cut in. “Now that we’ve all been properly introduced, can we get down to Redbud’s room? Time is kind of a factor here...”

Celestia nodded. “Come,” she said. “Follow me.”

Turning, she strode down the hall, the four smaller ponies in tow. Shortly, the group came to the door marked ‘171.’ Celestia pushed open the door and walked into the wide, brightly lit room, which was packed with nurses and healers. They were all crowded around a padded table, most of their horns glowing, channeling energy. Between them, she could just barely make out Redbud’s silhouette. Upon hearing the door open, one of the healers looked up, and, seeing the Princess, walked over to them.

“Princess Celestia,” he said with a quick bow.

“Healer Wormwood,” she replied.

“The unicorn told us this was a privileged patient, under your personal protection,” Wormwood said, gesturing to Summer. “We were skeptical at first, but I see we were correct to believe her.”

“In a way, yes,” the Princess replied. “How is he?”

The healer frowned. “His wounds are severe. Come, see for yourself,” he said curtly. He nudged a few of the healers out of the way and gestured the other ponies over to the large, circular table. Upon it, Redbud was laying flat on his back, unclothed, legs spread.

“He is injured severely in the lower right flank, near the gluteal muscle insertion, here,” Wormwood said, pointing to the gaping wound where Redbud had been stabbed by Riverberch. “There is also a puncture wound in his left foreleg, where an object pierced cleanly through one side of the leg to the other, just behind the metacarpal bone,” he continued, gesturing to the hole where Redbud had taken Wormwood’s spear.

“There is, as well, a large laceration midway up the back, which has in fact grazed the spine. All three of these major wounds have become grossly infected, and he appears to be rapidly approaching septic shock. When he was brought in he had a raging fever, though for the moment we have managed to abate that. There are also many cuts and scrapes across his body, many of which, though serious, are nowhere near as critical as these three wounds.

“For the most part, we have managed to seal those lacerations, as well as heal two broken bones and innumerable contusions. However, these main three injuries are far beyond our abilities. Our combined magic has only been enough to keep him stable pending your arrival, Princess,” the doctor said, finishing his explanation.

Celestia nodded gravely. She stepped forward, looking over the injured pony. One of his eyelids opened slightly, and a low gurgle echoed from his chest as he caught sight of the Princess.

“...ma’am...” he croaked.

Celestia’s eyes widened. “He’s awake!” she exclaimed, peering at Wormwood.

He nodded. “Yes, Princess. He should have been unconscious hours ago, but he just won’t let go.”

The Princess nodded and turned back to Redbud. “How are you doing, Redbud?” she asked him.

“Never... better...” he replied, a bit of blood trickling from the corner of his mouth as he talked. He gave a weak smile.

“Now, Redbud, I’m going to try to heal you, but I have to warn you, it won’t be pleasant. Some of the cells I’ll be regrowing will be nerve cells, and growing nerve cells can be intensely painful. I’ve been told it feels roughly like having one’s wounds re-inflicted. Many ponies go into shock, most end up unconscious. I’m not trying to scare you, of course, I just want you to be aware of what you’re about to experience. Now, are you sure you want to go through with this?” she asked.

Redbud coughed feebly. “Bring... it...”

Summer couldn’t help but smile at that. Beside her, the Princess nodded once, then lowered her horn, letting its tip hover gently touch Redbud’s chest. A dull golden glow enveloped it, then spread across his chest. It moved slowly over his body, like a liquid, pooling more thickly along his wounds. Redbud gave a gasp.

“Are you okay?” Willow asked.

“Fine...” he responded.

“Those are just the tracers,” Roads whispered to Summer, “to direct the healing magic that’s about to come. Watch carefully, it’s supposed to be one of the most complex spells known to pony-kind.”

“Thanks, egghead,” Summer replied flatly. She wasn’t exactly in the mood to listen to a narration at the moment.

Suddenly, there was a bright flash. Summer saw a second, much brighter aura forming around the Princess’ horn, enveloping the first. As soon as it had moved completely over her horn, a thin, circular beam shot from the tip of her horn, into Redbud’s chest, just above the heart. Redbud convulsed slightly, then lay still.

“There’s the stabilizer,” Roads whispered. “It helps keep him alive while the healing spells do their work.”

Finally, a third aura, still brighter than the first two began to cover Celestia’s horn. It reached the tip of her horn, then spread further still, down to Redbud. It wrapped around him, encasing him in a cocoon of magical energy. Celestia’s horn flared, and the cocoon began to glow brighter and brighter, then lifted Redbud off of the operating table and into the air.

“This is it,” Roads whispered. “The last part of the spell.”

The three auras around Celestia’s horn pulsed twice, rapidly. A burst of energy emanated from the cocoon, washing over the room. Inside the ball of energy, Redbud began to scream in agony. The walls of the cocoon began to writhe and bulge as Redbud thrashed around inside them, his screams growing louder. The cocoon gave another pulse, rocking in midair, then a third. Summer glanced over to see that the Princess was now covered in a thin sheen of sweat.

Finally, the glowing ball of energy stilled, then began to lower itself back onto the table. As soon as it touched the padding, the cocoon dissipated. A layer of steam rose into the air in its wake, swirling through the air as the light from Celestia’s horn faded. Summer swallowed and peered down at Redbud.

He was unconscious now, breathing shallowly. The gangrenous areas and gaping wounds were now healed, leaving only a few patches of scar tissue. Even the blood and dirt that had dried in his fur had been dissolved, leaving him clean and slightly steaming on the padded table. Summer gave a sigh of relief. It looked like she was going to earn her bonus after all.

“Oh, thank goodness,” Roads said beside her, wiping his brow. He looked up at Celestia. “Princess... that was amazing.”

“Thank you, Roads. It seems you may even get to experience something similar for yourself,” Celestia replied.

“Huh?”

“You told me your wing was broken and set in the field, without medical equipment, or extensively trained personnel...” Summer tried to hide a scowl. “...so I would like to take a look at it, myself. It may be that you need a powerful healer yourself, if you ever want to fly again,” Celestia explained.

“Are you sure?”

“I will have to check it first, but I think it’s certainly possible. In fact... Wormwood,” she said, turning to the healer. “If you and your peers can take it from here, I’d like a spare room to have a look at Roads.”

“I believe room one seventy-four is open, Princess,” Wormwood replied.

“Thank you. Willow and Aspen, if you would like, you may stay here with Redbud. I’m sure Wormwood can arrange for cushions to be brought in. Otherwise, I can arrange for quarters in the main body of the Castle a night early,” Celestia said.

“We’d prefer to stay here with Guard-Captain Redbud, ma’am,” Aspen replied.

“Very well,” Celestia replied. She glanced at Roads, then turned to leave. “Alright, come with me--”

“Wait up,” Summer cut in. “I’m going with him.” She gestured to Roads.

Celestia nodded, and Summer thought she saw one of the Princess’ eyebrows arch ever-so-slightly. “This way, then,” she replied, and led the two out of the room, and just down the hall to the door marked ‘174.’ Her horn glowed, and the door swung open. She ushered Roads and Summer into the room, then closed the door behind them.

“Please, sit down, Roads. This may be a bit uncomfortable,” she said. A golden glow grew around her horn, then moved in an almost fluid motion to flow through Roads’ wing. Roads let out a shrill gasp, wincing heavily.

“Are you okay?” Celestia asked, as the spell finished its work.

“Fine,” Roads replied, the glow around his wing fading. “How’s my wing?”

“Shattered,” Celestia replied. “And the bones don’t seem to be healing correctly.”

Summer winced. She wondered if that was her fault, or the inevitable result of trying to survive on that Celestia-forsaken island.

“I’ll have to heal it,” Celestia said. “But because you may be rendered unconscious, before I cast the spell I need to ask you something. I had hoped to have an opportunity to be a bit more tactful, but your wing leaves me no choice, and I need an answer soon.”

“Yes, Princess. Whatever you need to know.”

“Poppycock. I’ve received a report about his condition that I find a bit... disturbing...”

Roads swallowed. “Did he tell you that he was keeping me out of the castle, Princess?” he asked.

“After a bit of questioning, yes, he admitted to it.”

Roads sighed, brow furrowed. “Well, honestly, Princess, the moment I realized that I didn’t have a chance of talking my way in, I was forced to choose between his well-being and Redbud’s life. And honestly, I wanted to give up, but it simply wasn’t an option. I never would have been able to live with myself otherwise...”

Celestia cocked an eyebrow. Summer just stared at him. It was exactly the line of thought she would have had. Was Roads finally learning from her? Did she want that?

Does it matter if I want that or not? It’s what’s happened, regardless, she thought.

“Roads,” the Princess said. “You broke his nose. He’ll be in the hospital for a week.”

Roads paled. “He made it between him and Redbud. I had no other option.”

Celestia’s frown deepened. “Roads, you excel in analysis and persuasion. You know it, I have seen it. Do you think even a pony like Poppycock could not be won over by words? You must have very little faith in your peers,” she said, looking at Roads, a worried expression across her face.

Summer nearly cut in then, wanting to defend Roads. Why trust ponies you didn’t know? She would expect a less naive view from a monarch who had ruled for such a long time.

Still, she thought, it probably wouldn’t benefit me to directly contradict the Princess, not if I don’t have to.

She held her tongue.

Roads just stared at the floor. “I have faith in ponies like Redbud and Summer,” he said hollowly. “For the rest, I believe in what they show me.” He looked up at Celestia. “Princess, I’m sorry, even so.” Summer saw genuine remorse in his face. “It’s my own fault for not having the capacity to get past him. I can’t defend myself, Princess, just my choices...” he said.

Celestia opened her mouth, then closed it again. She clenched her teeth and exhaled. “This is very troubling Roads, but I think it’s time you got some rest. Here, let me mend your wing.”

Roads extended his wing and winced.

“Don’t worry, Roads. This spell is a much lesser version of the one I cast on Redbud, it won’t be as painful,” Celestia said.

Her horn glowed, casting three golden auras over Roads’ wing in quick succession. The energy gave a flash, then wrapped itself around the wing. Roads gave a cry of pain as it wrenched quickly in two directions, then gave off a series of pulses. His entire body seemed to tense as the magic did its work, and towards the end of the spell, his limbs began to shake and quiver as his eyes rolled back into his head.

Finally, the spell ended and Roads fell back against the table, completely unconscious. Turning away from him, Celestia magically opened a drawer across the room, and picked up a blanket and a large pillow.

“Where will you be sleeping, Summer?” she asked, slipping the pillow under Roads’ head and covering him with the blanket.

“Here, I guess,” Summer said with a shrug. “I don’t really feel up to walking all the way home. Been a long day, you know?”

The Princess gave a quiet chuckle. “I certainly do, my little pony. I’ll have Wormwood bring you a cot, if you like.”

Summer glanced over her shoulder, looking at the table Roads was sleeping on. There was definitely room for two ponies there. And why not? They were back in Equestria, after all. She shook her head. “I’ll handle it Princess, thanks.”

“Very well. Good night, Summer Dew,” Celestia responded. Summer glanced away as Celestia was enveloped with light. By the time she looked up again, the Princess was gone.

With a yawn, she strode across the room, lifted up one edge of the blanket, and eased herself into bed beside Roads. She nudged him over a bit, and he gave a slight jerk, flopping one of his forelegs over her. Blowing a bit of stray mane out of her face, she closed her eyes and turned over. With another yawn, she buried her head into Roads chest as she fell asleep.

_________________________________________________________

“So, where exactly were you guys?”

Chief looked up from his inventory list to see that the blue-maned porter had set down his cargo crate, and was now staring curiously at him. Chief ignored the question.

“Is that the last one?” he asked, gesturing to the crate.

“The last I could see,” the porter replied. “Hey, what did you say your name was again? It was tough to hear earlier, out in the storm.” He gestured around at the small wooden shack that served as the Aggregate’s warehouse. “I mean, it’s a lot quieter in here...” he said.

“Chief,” he replied.

“‘Chief’? Huh. Funny name, don’t hear anything like that too often. What, issat a nickname?” he asked.

Chief just stared at him. The porter continued talking, unphased.

“Me, folks just call Klein,” he said. “Nice to meet you, I don’t think we got properly introduced out on the pier.” He stuck out a hoof. Chief didn’t respond, he was moving around the ‘warehouse,’ opening boxes and making marks on the inventory list.

Klein looked around at the cargo and whistled. “Lotsa stuff here. What’dja need it for?”

“Expedition,” Chief replied.

“Right, right, with the Aggregate. Yeah, work with ‘em all the time, they use the Skydocks a lot,” he said. He placed a hoof to his chin, thinking. “In fact, I think maybe I’ve even worked with you guys before. That unicorn mare, what was her name again?”

Chief looked up from his inventory list. “Does it matter?”

Klein shrugged. “Hey, I’m a curious kinda guy.”

Chief looked back down at his list without a word.

“Ya know, she’ll most likely come back through here, I’d like to be able to actually address her. And the pegasus guy, the scrawny little one, I’ve definitely worked with him before. He told me his name before, oh what was it, tip of the tongue...” Klein sat still for a moment, thinking. “Nope. Can’t remember. What was it, Chief?”

Chief looked at him, eyes narrowed. There was a brief pause. “You said you’d worked with him before?”

“Oh, yeah, definitely,” he, said with a dismissive wave of the hoof. “At least, I think so. I mean, I’m a busy guy, work with lotsa folks...”

Chief grunted. “Not every day I talk to someone who’s worked with Star Gazer before.”

“Oh!” Klein replied. “Star Gazer, that’s right, that’s what he said it was. Nice guy, how’d you meet him?”

“You ask too many questions,” Chief replied.

“Hey, just tryin’ to make conversation,” the porter replied with a shrug.

Chief didn’t respond.

“Like I said, you know, I’m a curious guy...”

“Go away,” Chief said bluntly.

Klein looked at him, flustered. “What?” he asked.

Chief held up the inventory list. “I’m done here. You can go.”

“Oh. A’right then, see ya around,” Klein replied, walking out of the warehouse, into the rain. Chief stared at him as he left.

I’ll need to keep an eye on that one, he thought. Something’s not right there...

Still, there was nothing to do about it now. Chief had bigger fish to fry. He walked over to the door, found a clipboard hanging beside it on a nail , and left his inventory list there. Tomorrow one of the Aggregate’s contracted porters would come take care of what was left of their cargo, and leave behind the personal items he had marked.

Throwing on a rain slicker somepony had left next to the door, Chief pushed the door open, and headed back outside. It was still raining, but it seemed the worst of the storm was over. There was no wind, no lightning, no thunder, just slow, heavy raindops. He gathered the slicker around him, and made his way across the Skydocks to a stairway cut into the side of the mountain.

After walking up the stairway, he found himself at the base of the Canterlot Castle wall. He glanced down both lengths of the wall. No guards. They neglected patrols just for a little weather? Chief frowned. The Guard was really going down hill these days. Sometimes it almost made him glad he had left. Almost.

He made his way along the wall, through the mud and the rain, until he came to a corner where the wall turned. Was it still here? It had been months since he had broken into the Castle grounds; he hoped nopony had found it yet. He ran his hooves over a patch of wall, feeling for the tiny grooves he had left in one of the stones.

He found what he was looking for, then pushed hard on the stone. It slipped out of the wall and fell to the ground on the other side. The rock below it, now exposed, was also grooved. Chief slid it away, too. There was now a gap in the wall almost three feet across. Chief wriggled through the hole, onto the Castle grounds. Turning, he replaced the stones behind him.

Chief sighed. As he walked over to the Castle, he wondered how long he would be able to get onto the grounds like this, how long it would take the guards to figure it out. Nothing like this would have ever gotten through on his watch, that was for sure. It was probably that damned Shining Armor’s fault. Naive little upstart. How long until his oversights cost somepony their life?

Grumbling, he slipped quietly into the Castle, into the same quiet, empty hallway Roads had found earlier. Chief, however, took the left stairwell, working his way up towards one of the Castle’s upper spires.. Soon, he reached the top of the staircase, which leveled off in a hall ending in a door marked “Blueblood,” through which Chief could just barely hear the sounds of high pitched moaning.

Is that the same Blueblood I once worked protection detail on? he wondered. For the sake of the mare in that room, he hoped not.

Chief walked quietly down the hallway and stopped just before the door. Rearing, he found a few inches of twine hanging from a hinged flap in the ceiling, only barely visible anyone who wasn’t looking for it. He pulled the twine, and the flap swung down towards him, a bar on its underside. Angling his head to the side, Chief could make out the shadows of more ladder rungs. The maintenance shaft to the attic of the spire.

Reaching up, Chief took the first bar, and used it to hoist himself into the shaft. He pulled himself, hoof over hoof, up several rungs and into the attic. He glanced around at his surroundings. The attic was small and cramped, filled with old furniture and soiled Celestian relics that had been locked away so as not to take up space when they weren’t needed on display. Chief reached down and pushed them out of his way, then crossed the room to one of the large skylights.

He pushed the window open and stepped out onto the slippery roof, moving carefully, trying not to lose his balance. One hoof grasping the windowsill, he peered over the edge of the roof and caught sight of a flying buttress connected to the spire he stood on. On the other side was a tower that rose parallel to Princess Luna’s quarters.

After letting go of the windowsill, he slipped off the roof, down onto the top of the buttress. He crawled along the length of the buttress, occasionally glancing at the long drop beneath him, until he came to the other wall. Just beneath the spot where the buttress met the other tower, there was a small outcropping that served as an awning for another window.

Clinging tightly to the hoofholds left in the side of the buttress by decorative engravings, Chief lowered himself down onto the outcropping, then reached down and used one hindleg to push open the window beneath it. He then grabbed the edge of the eaves and swung himself down into the tower.

Landing easily, he glanced around at the numerous stacks of quills and parchment around him, and at the desks that lined the room. On each one rested a mostly-used candle, an inkwell, and a prodigious amount of papers covered in tiny, flowing inscriptions. The corners of his lips tightened. Perfect. He was in the attic of the Hall of Records, in the room where the records themselves were actually created.

He walked over to the exit, and tested the door’s handle. Unlocked. Chief cocked an eyebrow. After all this time, they still didn’t lock this door? They still hadn’t figured how he was always getting in here? He pushed the door gently, then stopped.

After all his break-ins, there was no way the Guardsponies would be so careless. He looked carefully up and down the frame, and noticed an infinitesimally thin shadow across the top of the door. Chief glanced over at the hinges. They were on his side of the door.

Chief chuckled quietly. Nice try, Star Chaser. Maybe next time. Rearing, he reached up and touched the wire gently, following it across the door, and finding the spot where it was attached to something hidden behind a bookshelf. Chief slid the shelf away easily, and nearly burst out laughing.

Nearly.

It appeared the tripwire was attached to a mere kitchen timer. Chief realized Star must have been working on his own dime to catch him.

He must still be keeping his mouth shut, Chief thought, or the Guard would’ve funded more... daunting traps.

He disabled the kitchen-timer-trap easily, then opened the door and walked out into the stairwell it opened onto. Glancing around to make sure Star Chaser wasn’t lurking around the stairs anywhere, he made his way down to a doorway at the base of the stairs. After checking it for booby traps--and finding none--he pushed it open and walked through.

The familiar scent of aged parchment met his nostrils, and he looked around at the Hall of Records. It was roughly the size of an athletics field, and filled with overstuffed bookshelves, so close to each other that Chief would have been only just barely able to squeeze between them. The shelves extended from one wall to another in a path unbroken save for a narrow opening the designers had left open for ponies to make their way through the Hall.

He glanced up at the label on the shelf nearest him. “‘Zu’-‘Zy’--167-3,” it read. Chief frowned. He still didn’t know the names of the ponies in question, let alone with name the documents he was looking for would be filed under.

I could probably figure it out just by checking Roads’ guardian transfer records, he thought. Though it would be a lot easier to just use the crime ledgers.

Chief sighed. The crime ledgers, which contained a detailed list of all crime reports and their locations in the hall, crosslisted by both date and crime in question, were stored under the attendant’s desk at the forefront of the Hall. Which was precisely where he expected Star Chaser to be.

Still, though, he might get lucky. Star might be out patrolling the corridor that lead into the Hall, or off prowling around the bookshelves. And if he had to go through Roads’ personal records, it would take him ages to find what he was looking for--and the longer he was here, the higher the chance he might run into Star Chaser. Chief set off towards the attendant’s desk.

He didn’t make it far.

“Excuse me, but the Hall of Records is closed. I’m going to have to ask you to leave,” he heard as he breezed past a row of shelves marked “‘Ta’-‘Tu’--110-1.” He turned around to see an athletic looking pegasus emerge from between two bookshelves, spouting a tousled, brick-red mane. Chief hadn’t noticed him; his navy blue coat blended seamlessly into the shadows of the bookshelves.

“Sorry, but--” he realized who he was talking to. “Oh, you son of a--”

“Hello, Star Chaser. Been a while,” Chief said.

“Like hell it has,” Star Chaser said. “It’s been almost six months since you last broke in!”

“Been laying low.”

“Aw, don’t tell me you’ve given up on the cult cases!” Star Chaser said, dismayed. “You know they don’t got a single pony workin’ on those? Not one.”

“There’s me.”

Star smiled. “Yeah, there’s you. That what you’re here for tonight?”

“No.”

“Aw, come on, Chief.”

Chief just shrugged.

“How’d you even get past my booby traps?”

“‘Traps?’ I only saw the one.”

“Which one?” Star asked.

“Had a kitchen timer on it,” Chief said.

“So, you came in through the attic? I had tons of traps up there, how did you not... Aw, come on!” he stamped a hoof. “The damn scribes must’ve thrown them out again. You know they think I’m crazy for even setting them up?”

Chief cocked an eyebrow.

“Yeah!” Star continued. “‘Why set up traps if nopony’s broken in for years?’ They ask me. Huh, if only they knew.”

“Still haven’t told anyone?”

“I’m offended you even asked, Chief,” Star said, crossing a foreleg over his chest. “You know I’m good to my word. Speaking of which, come on, let’s get out into the hall. You know the drill. Don’t wanna mess up any of the records.”

Chief nodded, and turned to walk out towards the hall. Every time he had broken in, he had gotten caught by Star Chaser. And every time, they had ended up fighting it out in the hall, until Chief inevitably won. They had first run into each other several years ago, when Chief started breaking into the Hall on a regular basis to check the records of ponies he suspected of being involved in surreptitious cult activity.

He would have come in the daytime, of course, but he had been banned from the Hall ever since he became a suspect in the killings of ponies with cult backgrounds, and subsequently discharged from the Guard. Shortly after his discharge, Star Chaser, a fresh faced rookie at the time, had replaced the previous Guard, an ancient unicorn named, oddly enough, Star Hunter, as Keeper of the Hall of Records.

Chief had met Star the first time he broke in. He had intended to kill--or at least severely wound--the pegasus, until he found out the Keeper not only knew of him, but actually supported his vendetta against the cultists. As it turned out, Star had a cousin who had been butchered by the Church of the New Dawn, the very same deathcult that had attacked Chief and his daughter.

Star had ended up informing him that it was his sworn oath to protect the Hall against all intruders until he could no longer fight, but that it was at his discretion to tell the rest of the Guard whether or not there were any intruders in the first place.

“If you can prevent me from being physically able to stop you,” he had said, “then go ahead and take what you need. I’ll have fulfilled my oath--and gotten what I actually want. I won’t report your break in, if you don’t let anyone know about our deal.”

“And if I lose?” Chief had asked.

“Well, if I’m strong enough to take you, I’m strong enough to leave the Guard and hunt the cultists myself. Perhaps even with your help.”

And that agreement had stood for years. Each and every time Chief broke in, he would fight Star, and each time, he found Star was a slightly better fighter than before. He had sometimes been tempted to let Star win, so that Star would come and help him personally, but he had never given in to the temptation. It seemed to him like a betrayal, some kind of physical lie. And besides, Star had been learning the ways of the pegasi Guardsponies so quickly, and testing his skills of Chief so often, that Chief knew there would eventually come a day when Star would win.

Was that day today? He glanced over at Star Chaser.

The other pony was rippling with muscle as he walked, and he carried himself with the sort of confidence and poise of a seasoned Guardspony. From what Chief knew of him, he was one of the most promising recruits of his year, and it was for his skills alone that he had become the sole Keeper of a Hall at such a young age. Normally, fresh Keepers came in pairs. In this case, it had just been Star.

“You know, Chief,” Star said as they made their way out of the Hall. “I think you might be in serious trouble this time.”

“Oh?” Chief asked. Inwardly, he smiled. Star Chaser had said that every time they met, ever since their second encounter.

“Yup. It’s been six months since you’ve last seen me. I managed to master Partial Weightlessness in that time.”

Chief cocked an eyebrow. If Star had really gotten that technique down, he might actually have a shot. Partial Weightlessness was the next-to-last step in becoming a master of the Way of the Pegasus, the fighting style developed over thousands of years specifically for Pegasi.

It was the style of martial arts taught to all of the pegasi in the Guard, to some extent, during their first year of training, and those who showed promise--Star Chaser, for example--were further instructed over the course of their career. The Way was focused on improving the speed and body control of the pegasi in question, with the goal of enabling them to perform rapid, precise strikes on their targets, while at the same time keeping out of the other pony’s striking distance.

This goal was achieved through various ways of utilizing the innate abilities of pegasi to change their body weight by activation of their ley lines. The first practitioners of the Way had discovered that the ability of a pegasus to change his weight to enable flight didn’t end simply at rendering the entire body nearly weightless.

Instead, they found that, through concentration and training, they could use their natural abilities to change their body weight at will. Those who were exceptionally skilled could reduce their weight to virtually nothing. The pegasi, a somewhat straightforward group of ponies, called it Directed Weightlessness. The pegasi used it to enhance their speed and agility, finding that, if used correctly, these abilities would enable them to run at higher speeds than usual--as their muscles had less to propel--and use dazzling acrobatics in combat to defend against a range of attacks.

Their descendants had grown even more dangerous, upon discovering that with even further mastery of their ley abilities, they could also add weight to their bodies. This would enable them to use combinations of lesser and greater amounts of body weights to ram or dive bomb their opponents at impossibly high speeds. They called it Total Weight Control.

These martial artists also discovered that their advantage in reflexes and perception over other races were not, in fact, anatomical, as previous generations had presumed. Instead, they found that they could use direction of their ley energies to sharpen these gifts, giving them nigh-superpony skills in perceiving and avoiding enemy attacks. This skill they dubbed Perceptive Enhancement.

It was the students of these descendants who first learned that they could not only make their entire bodies weightless, but, through extreme focus and direction of the ley energies coursing through them, diminish the weights of specific parts of their bodies. With these abilities, they could perform stunning feats of balance and co-ordination, and more importantly, move more rapidly.

The subsequent generation discovered that, after mastering these abilities, a select, gifted few of them could also use the ability to add weight to individual parts of their bodies. By using the former, “Partial Weight Control” as well as latter, “Partial Weighlessness,” they could manipulate the momentum of their strikes at will, rendering them as devastating as a blow from the far stronger earth ponies. They neglected to name this skill, instead merely referring to its acquisition as a “Mastery of the Way.”

Chief personally found the pomp and absurd nomenclature of the Way of the Pegasi almost as irritating as the arrogance of so many of those who mastered it, but even he couldn’t denigrate its deadly effectiveness. As such, when he heard how Star Chaser had advanced, his pulse quickened slightly. If Star was telling the truth, this was going to be interesting.

He stretched his neck and shoulders as he and Star approached the entrance to the Hall, grimacing at the pops and cracks that rose from his joints as he moved. He hoped he wasn’t too fatigued from the expedition to keep up with Star.

Not only did he desperately want access to the Hall of Records, to settle a nagging memory that had been tugging at him ever since he met Roads, but he also found the prospect of losing to Star Chaser a bit embarrassing. Regardless of how much his skill and athleticism grew over time, Chief still couldn’t help but think of Star as the overeager rookie he had met so many years ago.

The overeager rookie in question dug a key from somewhere in his Keeper’s armor and slid it into the lock of the main Hall doors, then pushed them open. Somewhere to their left, an alarm began to buzz. Star trotted over and silenced it, then walked back to Chief, an abashed grin on his face.

“Don’t mind that,” he said with a chuckle.

When he spoke, there was an eager tenor in his voice, and Chief could swear he seemed almost giddy. Chief wondered how long Star had been waiting for him to come back, setting traps and training for when his next challenge would arise. Work as a Keeper must have been boring for him.

Of course, it was a prestigious and important job--for without him, anypony could alter any record they wanted. Corporate and government credit logs, personal criminal histories, birth and death records, property transfers, and a whole lot more all stayed reliable because of Star Chaser’s constant vigil. Without Star, somepony might be able to do massive damage to the Equestrian state.

But still, while Chief was sure Star was well aware of all this, Chief was willing to bet Star would have been happier working out in the field somewhere.

Perhaps if he ever does leave the Guard, he can come work with me and Summer. I’d bet he’d love it.

“Ready, Chief?” Star Chaser asked, breaking Chief’s line of thought. The pegasus pointed out through the open double doors to the wide, tall, and nearly empty corridor that lead into the Hall of Records.

Chief nodded, and walked into the corridor. Star followed him out, and closed the doors behind them.

“Still remember the rules?” Chief asked as he walked to the center of the corridor.

“No weapons, no intentional fatalities, stop if somepony taps. And, of course, no telling the Guard,” Star said. “Oh, and try to keep from bleeding on the carpet, if you can. The cleaning staff keeps asking questions.”

Chief grinned, his heart rate increasing, pulse pounding as he readied himself for a fight. Somehow, in these situations, he always found himself smiling. Nerves on fire, adrenaline pounding through his system, staring down somepony who wanted nothing more to beat him into a bloody pulp, this was the feeling of being alive.

“Ready?” Star asked, sinking into a fighting stance.

Chief reared, lifting his forelegs. He found that when fighting professionals, he tended to do his best fighting on two legs. For some ponies, a two legged stance evoked balance issues, but for him, it had never been a problem. The doctors said he had an unusually simian bone structure. Chief just liked being able to punch with his forehooves.

Taking a deep breath, he looked at Star and gave him an affirmative grunt.

Star nodded.

And then there was stillness. It was a deadly calm, silence descending over the room as the two combatants stared each other down, waiting for the first move to be made. They were perhaps fifteen yards apart, though each knew the other could close that distance in no time. And so, they sat in a meditative stalemate.

Then Chief blinked.

Star was on him in a heartbeat, flaring his wings, and charging at him with the type of speed only a pegasus was capable of. In an instant, he had closed the distance, and, spinning on one forehoof, threw a kick at Chief with one of his rear legs. But it was a feint, and Chief knew it. He didn’t even bother blocking as the hoof missed his nose by inches, and, with a flex of his foreleg, Star sent himself flying into the air above Chief.

As soon as he did, Chief leapt forward and spun around, just in time to Star land just behind where he had been standing--for Star had bounced off the ceiling--and charge him again. Star was fast enough that Chief barely had time to get his hooves up before the blow glanced across them, and by the time he lowered them again, Star was no longer in front of him.

Chief realized what had happened, and in the split second he knew he still had, braced for impact, just as a tremendous force slammed into him from his left. It seemed Star had used his attack, a hearty left hook, to send himself flying off into the wall next to Chief. Chief guessed, as he tumbled through the air, now nearly parallel to the floor and almost a foot off the ground, that Star had rebounded off the wall and body-slammed him.

It was a solid blow, but nothing Chief couldn’t recover from. The earth pony planted a forehoof in the carpet and cartwheeled back on to his forelegs, just as Star’s momentum carried him into another wall. Star planted his rear legs in the wall and send himself flying towards Chief once more.

This time, though, the earth pony was prepared. As Star bore down on him, he readied a devastating strike, and, anticipating where Star would be, threw a massive forehoof. However, Star saw the attack coming, planted his rear hooves in the floor and stopped on a dime.

Damn momentum control, Chief thought as his forehoof met only air. He raised his other hoof to deflect Star’s counter attack, but none came.

Uh oh, he thought, just before Star Chaser slammed down on him from above, leading with a forehoof that sent sparks of pain trailing down Chief’s neck and shoulder. He crumbled to the ground, Star on top of him. Chief flipped over as fast as he could, hoping to catch the other pony by a leg, and draw him into a grappling hold, but to no avail. Star had recovered faster than him, and already retreated beyond Chief’s range.

Chief got to his hooves, panting. He was moving way too slowly to keep up with Star. This expedition had really taken it out of him.

That or he’s just way faster than before.

He supposed that was possible. Either way, he was in serious trouble. Even with his stamina, he couldn’t take this kind of beating forever, and as hard as Star had hit him, any other pony might have already been on their last legs.

He gritted his teeth. He wasn’t any other pony. He still had plenty of fight left in him.

Chief looked up, and by the time he did, Star was upon him again. Chief didn’t even know where he had come from, and barely had time to defend himself, as the pegasus unleashed a flurry of blows on him. They came as fast as he could block, a few even faster. Chief felt a hoof collide with his head, then his stomach.

He tried to counter-attack, but suddenly, Star was gone, then upon him again, now from a different angle, resorting to his wall-bounding technique again. Chief blocked the blow, but then another came from a different place, and another, and another. Finally, Star found his way around Chief’s guard and delivered a devastating kick to the chest that sent Chief flying away from him.

Great, he thought, rolling back onto his hooves. He’s deadly at long range, and I can barely keep up with him at short range, too. Come on, focus Chief. He’s too fast to deal with when he’s striking, but nopony can out-grapple me, especially not a pegasus. Get him on the floor, and you win.

The question, though, was how. Chief wondered if he could use his stamina to his advantage--he could take a punch, perhaps well enough to catch a hoof afterwards. It wasn’t a great plan, but it was worth a shot.

It wouldn’t work if Star saw it coming, though. If Chief stayed on the defensive, he might get suspicious. He dropped to all fours and advanced towards the other pony, who backed away defensively, trying to keep enough ground between him and Chief to take to the air if necessary.

Finally, though, Chief closed enough ground and Star took the bait, darting towards him, feinting left, then whirling left with no loss of balance for a roundhouse kick. Rearing, Chief saw the blow coming, and didn’t bother to dodge.

As the strike connected, Chief tightened his neck as much as possible and tensed his entire body to pull against the blow. It hurt like hell. Chief was effectively increasing the force of the strike, to the point that he felt he might lose consciousness, but it worked. Star’s hind leg stayed in contact with Chief’s head, not able to travel all the way across him.

Chief twisted his leg and lifted his foreleg, trapping Star’s hind leg against his body before the pegasus could jerk it away. Star pulled away from him, and nearly slipped free, but Chief had slowed him enough with his right foreleg to grab him with his left.

Gotcha, Chief thought, clutching Star’s calf to his chest and thrusting himself forwards, so that as Star’s free leg caught against the ground, he bent at the knee, leaving his entire body essentially perpendicular to Chief. The earth pony was just about to bring him to the ground, when suddenly he felt the weight in his forelegs slacken.

That can’t be good, he thought.

Suddenly, Star snapped upright, pulling his entire body weight with his left hamstring, and leveraging himself against Chief’s grasp on his calf. From this position, he was able to aim a kick at Chief’s head. The strike sent Chief stumbling backwards, and broke his hold on the pegasus.

Chief sank to his knees, bleeding profusely from his face. Huh, some detached part of his brain noted, I got blood on the carpet after all. He looked up at Star Chaser, his head ringing as he wiped the blood away from his face.

“You tap?” Star asked.

Chief got to his hooves, trying not to waver. “Just getting started,” he said.

Star Chaser smiled. Smiled, and charged again.

This time, though, he was cocky. He didn’t even bother feinting, and Chief was able to track his strike long before it landed. Dodging, he counterattacked, forcing Star to block. He attacked again while Star was occupied, but his hoof met only air, as Star leapt, sending himself flying into the air.

Chief looked up and saw him land on the ceiling a split second before he rebounded, and, from the way he moved, managed to predict where Star was headed.

Left, he thought, turning and raising his guard as Star, lighting quick, bounced from the wall next to Chief and into Chief himself, once again leading with a forehoof. This time, Chief was able to deflect the attack, and counter with his own, which, though glancing, sent Star spinning off away from him.

It was then that Chief realized what he needed to do. He closed his eyes and concentrated, trying to feel the energy flowing through his lines. After a brief moment, he did, and began to focus it down, into his hooves. The moment his energy became properly channeled, he suddenly felt an intense sensation of connection between him and the floor and walls around him. He felt the things touching them as though they were touching an extension of himself, he sensed the building blocks below them, in intimate detail, he could even feel the faint draft leading out into the corridor floor from the door behind him.

He also felt something big push off the floor ahead of him.

Come on, Star. Attacking while I had my eyes closed?

He felt a second, rapid series of sensations. Star’s hoofsteps. Chief didn’t bother opening his eyes, afraid it might distract him from his focus. He waited as the steps closed in on him, then felt one apply force a bit differently, angled a bit to his left. Star’s body weight disappeared from his detection, and Chief turned right, quickly as he could. He felt Star reappear just before him, then, kick off with both legs.

Chief ducked, and felt a stream of air pass just over his mane. He felt Star touch down behind him, now slightly off-kilter, and whirled, charging toward where he sensed the pegasus. The other pony’s weight left the ground and reappeared on the ceiling above him. He felt Star Chaser begin to push off, aiming for him, and he rolled to his left.

Star crashed to the floor beside him, and Chief felt him begin to recover. As Chief felt Star nearly regain his balance, he opened his eyes to see Star before him, attempting to raise his left foreleg. Chief struck him with his own left foreleg, connecting heartily with Star’s stomach and sending him flying away from Chief. He felt the pegasus’s hollow ribs crack under the blow.

He closed his eyes and felt Star recover, much more slowly this time. Chief smiled inwardly. The damage was done. Star was hurt, too badly to risk coming in close range again. He would have to try more wall bounding. And now, even though he would still be too fast for Chief to track him with his eyes, Chief would be able to see him coming.

One more strike, that would be all it would take. Chief knew it. Star probably knew it too. Chief closed his eyes again, and felt Star take off, hit the ceiling, and push again. He was angled to land just behind where Chief was standing, and Chief whipped around as soon as he sensed it. He opened his eyes to see Star already before him, surprised Chief was already turned around.

Chief feinted, pretending to throw a hoof at Star’s stomach. Overcompensating out of fear of another blow to the ribs, Star left himself open for Chief’s next forehoof strike. The blow connected solidly with Star’s head. The pegasus crumpled to the ground, unconscious.

The pegasus was out for a full thirty seconds before he came to, only to find Chief standing over him.

“Aw, dammit Chief,” he said, turning to spit a bit of blood on the carpet beside him. “I thought I had you for sure that time. You were on the ropes. What changed?”

“I’m an earth pony, remember?”

“Yeah, so?”

Chief frowned. Star should have been able to figure this out. “What’s the only ley skill an earth pony’s got?” he asked.

Star Chaser’s eyes widened. “Ground Sensation? I didn’t know you could do that, Chief! You’ve never used it against me before.”

“Didn’t need to,” Chief replied. He shrugged. “Can’t do it long, but it got the job done.”

“But it’s just a farmer’s trick,” Star pointed out. “I mean, even in the Guard, they only teach it to earth ponies so they can find any nearby hidden enemies. In fighting rings, it’s supposed to be nearly useless!”

“I used it to anticipate your attacks. Negated your speed advantage. Not very useless.”

Star Chaser stared at him, open mouthed.

“I’ve got some reading to do,” Chief said, and, turning away, walked back
towards the entrance to the Hall of Records.

“Good fight, Chief,” Star Chaser called weakly from behind him.

“You too.”

And with that, Chief walked into the Hall, chuckling to himself. Ground Sensation. Who knew it would come in handy in a fight? But then, Chief didn’t often fight ponies who were too fast to see coming. And last time he had, he hadn’t thought to try it.

It was, after all, mostly just a farmer’s trick. The only reason the Guard even knew about it was because of a report by an uppity unicorn who had gone around trying to figure out why earth ponies’ farms were always so much more productive than those of the other races.

What the unicorn had found was that, due to their ley structure, earth ponies were passively magical, just like pegasi. Of course, their only ley skill was the ability to, after becoming familiar with the land beneath them, get a sense of what was going on beneath their hooves, out of sight.

As it turned out, the farmers themselves didn’t even know they were performing any sort of magic, but instead simply found that they had gut hunches about their crops. Somehow, they “just knew” about which plants needed more water, or less water, or which plants were being attacked at the root by weeds or parasites, as well as the moisture levels in specific patches of ground, and so on.

The unicorn had found that these gut hunches were actually the result of the famers channeling tiny amounts of ley energy through the ley lines of their hooves. These ley lines were automatically structured in such a way as to cause something like a very weak Sensation spell to be spread along beneath them.

Naturally, when the Guard found out about this report, their first instinct was to attempt to weaponize this newfound ability. What they found was that through training and discipline, some earth ponies eventually managed to hone their innate skill into the ability to sense, in great detail, nearly anything touching the ground around them. In many cases, this sensation would even spread to immobile structures touching the ground, such as buildings or trees, or even ponies, if they sat perfectly still for long enough.

However, this talent proved ultimately useless for combat, as being able to sense an opponent’s hoofsteps coming at them wasn’t particularly useful, as they could just as easily gather the same amount of information visually. Thus it was relegated to a more situational role, in detecting enemy combatants in hiding, and, in some cases, ground faults or underground tunnels.

There was also the fact that the ability required massive amounts of ley energy, at least relative to earth ponies’ ley capacities (which were, of course, far lower than that of the other two races). The average guardspony, even after intensive training, could only manage to hold a complete Ground Sensation for 40 to 60 seconds, at best. Chief could do it for two minutes on a very good day, and, based on how woozy he now felt, he guessed that today was not a good day.

Still, useless as it normally is, it sure came through for me this time, Chief thought as he trudged over to the attendant’s desk and pulled out the crime ledger.
He opened it up and set it atop the desk.

Let’s see, he thought. Should be under ‘F.’

He skimmed through the ledger until the label “Forgery” caught his eye. He flipped back a few pages. “Fraud.” Too far. He turned the page.

“Foal Abuse.” Here it is. So few cases in Equestria, and even fewer reported... the whole list only spans a few columns. Let’s see, it would have been about ten years ago...

Chief checked the section labeled “992,” and checked the listings.

“Foal abuse--Fillydelphia--Perp: Sunny Acres--Accuser: Emerald Wheat. Crime report at 78-2.90, upper shelf.”

That wasn’t it. He checked the next listing.

“Foal abuse--Canterlot--Perp: Flurry Spirit--Accuser: Cloudy Skies. Crime report at 30-1.21, middle shelf.”

That wasn’t it either. He kept reading.

“Foal abuse--Clousdale--Perp: Fire Burst--Accuser: Princess Celestia. Crime report at 29-3.86, middle shelf.”

That was the one. Chief fished a quill and parchment out of the desk, and jotted down the location of the crime report. After closing the ledger and stuffing it back under the desk, he set off down the path between the bookshelves, looking for the one marked ‘29-3.’

It didn’t take him long to find it. Turning and squeezing between it and its neighbor, he walked carefully down to section 86, and rifled through the parchments stored there. After searching for a few minutes, he finally found what he was looking for. He flipped it open, read for a moment, then quietly put it back on the shelves.

Chief sat down between the shelves, closed his eyes, and covered his face with a hoof.

So I was right after all. This whole time, Roads has been carrying around something like that. He never even hinted at it.

Chief sighed. He had personally escorted Celestia to pick up Roads and his father, and he still hadn’t realized for so long that the terrified little pegasus from ten years ago was the very same one he was working with now. He could still remember the child--scrawny, trembling, clutching his broken foreleg as he peered from Princess Celestia to his father. And that was Roads? This whole time?

Chief frowned. How had he not put it together? He was supposed to be smarter than that.

And, Chief? What now? Are you going to talk to him? I doubt he even remembers you were there. Is there even anything you could say?

Chief got to his hooves and turned to walk out from between the bookcases. There was nothing he could say, nothing he needed to say. He would let the past lie, for now. There were some things worth leaving unsaid, he of all ponies knew that.

He rounded the corner of the shelves, back into the path between them, and caught sight of a clock fixed to a high wall above the shelves. One fourty-eight. It seemed he was running a little late.

Chief broke into an easy trot. There was still something he needed to do, before the medical center’s visitation hours closed. He made his way out of the hall, then through the corridor where he had fought Star Chaser--who was now absent, probably already at the medical center himself--and out into the main hall of the castle. At this hour, it was almost empty, save for a handful of guardsponies, who barely batted an eye as he trotted past.

Hoping to make it before two in the morning, he picked up the pace slightly, making his way through the castle, to the stairwell that connected it to the medical center. He pushed open the door and made his way down the stairs, into the center of the mountain. The medical center had been built there during the early days of the Equestrian state so that the wounded would always be protected from enemy attack. There was, after all, only the one way in.

Within moments, he had reached the medical center, just before visitation hours ended. He breezed through the swinging glass doors, into the lobby, and approached the receptionist’s desk.

“Can I help you?” the unicorn behind the counter asked.

“Redbud. Is he here?”

“Let me check,” he replied. He glanced down at the large stack of papers on his desk. “Do you know when he arrived here?” he asked.

“Tonight.”

“Okay, let’s see...” his voice trailed off as he skimmed over a few pages of paper. “Oh, there we go,” he piped up after a moment. “Found him.” He looked happily up at Chief, expecting a thanks.

Chief looked at him silently. There was a brief pause.

“Healing ward. Room 171.”

Chief nodded and turned away. He walked over to the entrance to the Healing Ward, pushed through the doorway, and made his way down the hall. A few minutes later, he was standing outside of Redbud’s room.

Craning his neck, he peered through the window. Most of the lights in the room were off, and he could just barely make out the sleeping forms of Redbud, Willow, and Aspen. He reached forward, planting a hoof on the door.

“You a friend of Redbud’s?” a voice beside him said.

He turned to his right to see a unicorn healer standing beside him.

“Something like that,” Chief grunted.

“Well, nice to meet you--I just got done helping the Princess treat his wounds. I’m Healer Wormwood,” he said, sticking out a foreleg.

Chief shook his hoof. “Chief,” he replied. “So, how is he?”

Wormwood shrugged. “He’ll be fine. He’s been through a lot, and he might be out cold for a while, but he’ll be alright in the end. Might’ve shaved a few years off his life, though,” he said.

Chief looked at the healer, perplexed. “Why is that?”

The healer chuckled. “Don’t know much about healing magic, huh?”

Chief shook his head. He’d frequented the healing ward ever since he had joined the guard, but most healers were usually too busy to stop and chat about their craft. Normally, they just healed him, or whomever he had escorted, and sent him on his way. Nopony had ever mentioned anything like this.

“Well, as far as the arcane arts go, healing’s one of the newer branches. As such, it hasn’t really been studied as much as a lot of the other types of magic, so I can’t tell you exactly how or why it happens, but a few decades ago, healers started noticing some... disturbing trends,” the healer said.

Chief cocked an eyebrow.

“It seemed patients who underwent magical healing practices repeatedly, especially the particularly intense ones, seemed to always die younger than expected. In some cases, by up to thirty or forty years. Eventually, we started doing studies and follow-ups with healing patients, collecting data. What we found was that something about the healing process severely diminishes a pony’s life span.”

Chief paled.

“The trend was so consistent, we’ve managed to even figure out exact numbers--this surgery takes off five years, this one nine, that one three, that sort of thing. Our current research is showing that it has something to do with cell growth. For whatever reason, growing back new tissues through magic severely reduces how long the body can sustain its natural cellular regeneration.

“We figure the body can only produce so many cells so many times, and artificially generating them really lowers that number. The weird thing is, though, that it isn’t local to the wounds we heal--it affects the whole body. Nopony really knows why. It’s scary to think about, but hey, healing’s better than dying, right?”

Chief swallowed. “So...” he said quietly. “I have a question, then.”

“Shoot.”

“If somepony’s body were to be damaged and healed continuously over a period of time... how bad would the effects be?” Chief asked.

“Depends,” Wormwood replied. “How long’s the period of time?”

“Hypothetically speaking?”

“Of course.”

Chief struggled to remember. How long had he been in the nexus? It had felt like forever, but surely it couldn’t have been too long...

“Let’s say about eight minutes.”

“Eight minutes, huh? And how bad’s the damage?”

“Full body immolation,” Chief replied.

The healer cocked an eyebrow. “How strong was the healing?”

“‘Was’?”

Wormwood rolled his eyes. “How strong is the hypothetical healing?”

“Only enough to keep up with the flames.”

“Any tranquilization magic?”

Chief thought back to the intense pain he had experienced in the nexus. “Definitely not.”

“Well...” The healer thought for a moment. “I guess I’d say, if something like that happened to a pony, they could probably expect to begin feeling the first signs of advanced aging within two months or so.”

“And then?”

“They would rapidly age. Their body would deteriorate within a period of about a year. And then...”

“Death?”

Wormwood nodded. “I hope this hasn’t happened to anypony you know...”

“It’s a hypothetical.”

“Of course.”

“Thank you, doctor.”

“Of course.”

Turning, Chief walked away from him. He made his way down the hall, through the lobby, and out of the medical center. Walking slowly, he trekked through the castle. He had time.

Eventually, he exited the castle, trudging out into the rain once more. He crossed the castle grounds, and left through one of the gates. Before long, he had made his way to Canterlot city proper.

Even at this hour, the city was alive with noise. The streets were crowded with ponies, working, carousing, traveling, loud and rowdy under Luna’s moon. The buildings here were tall and well kept, most coated with marble and cleaned to a shine. Here and there, small, privately owned shops, tiny but well built, stuck out amongst the buildings. Most had put out colorful umbrellas to protect their patrons from the rain. Due to their position on the mountain, they didn’t have to worry as much about the wind.

Pushing past slower pedestrians, eyeing ponies sitting outside of coffee parlors and restaurants, Chief got on Manechester Avenue, the main road headed into the western end of the city. Slowly, the buildings began to seem older, darker, a bit more worn. It became quieter, more reserved. There were no more colorful umbrellas.

Turning off of the main street, Chief made his way down a side road, dimly lit by a few aging lanterns. Towards the end of the street was a Guard outpost, just past that, a bar. He walked past the outpost and stood across the street from the bar, staring at the faded sign reading “Redflank Tavern.”

His eyes traveled down to the double doors between the sign, and lingered there, as he stood, still and quiet under the rush of the rain. He took a step forward, into the street. An earth pony pulling a passing carriage peered at him. Chief didn’t make eye contact.

Slowly, he walked across the street. He pushed open one of the doors, and took a calm, steady breath.

Then, eyes dull and unfocused, Chief stepped into the dimly lit bar.

XVI

View Online

Volume 2

Chestnut’s Journal: 16 May, 974

Today while I was helping clean out the old barn I found this cool journal. It was hidden under a hay bale. I dont know why it was there but I am glad it was. Mommy said I could keep it. She said I should write down what I think and feel inside and it will help me be more “stable.” I don’t know what that means. She also said I should write things about myself like what I like and what I dont like.

Now I will write some things about myself. I am Chestnut and I am an earth pony and I am eleven and Daddy says I am big for my age. I live on a corn farm. What I like are the Captain Equestria books and playing with my little cousin Honeysuckle. Sometimes she bites though. I dont like that. I also dont like timberwolves and my big brothers. Also bees. One stung me today and I squished it and that made me happy.

I also dont like corn.

Most ponies who live on a corn farm are supposed to like corn but I dont. Corn pudding corn bread fried corn sweet corn cornonthecob I dont like any of it. Mommy says thats because I am “pretenchus.” I dont know what that means either.

I love Mommy but she can be “finniky” sometimes. That’s the word Daddy uses. I am pretty sure I know what that means. Like how shes always saying I am lazy because I dont like working in the field but she doesnt know that its not that I dont like working its that I dont like being bored. Whenever I work in the field I never think about corn like my brothers do I always think about Captain Equestria instead.

Captain Equestria is the best he is the most awesome fighter in all of Equestria! He protects all of the good civilans civilians from evil and I wanna be just like him when I grow up! Of course I know that he is not real but the sherriff is and the sherriff is just like him and maybe I can be the sherriff someday too. That would be much better than corn. Corn is boring.

I hope Mommy doesnt see that I wrote that because if she did she would get mad. Mommy thinks everypony looks down on us because we are corn farmers but I think that is silly because without us what would they eat? I think Mommy thinks I look down on us too but that doesnt make sense either because I am part of us.

I wish Dad would say something but he is always too tired. He is always tired these days from working in the fields and it seems like he works for longer every year. He is not as young as he used to be I think.

Now I hope Daddy doesnt read this either because if he saw that he would be mad. Maybe I should not write any more today. I will come back later.

Chestnut’s Journal: 23 April, 975

I found this old journal again. I left it under my bed a couple of weeks after the first time I found it and forgot about it. It is a shame because I always meant to write in it every day. I like writing. It helps me think.

I do a lot of thinking these days. I think mostly when I am out working in the fields. Now that I am twelve years old I work a lot more. Dad says that normally ponies don’t work this much until they are a year or two older than me but I am so big now that I can work like my big brothers. I am almost as big as they are now. I like that because it means they can’t push me around any more.

Honeysuckle is getting bigger to too. Sometimes she follows me in the field when I work. I wish she could carry on a conversashin but mostly she just sort of says things. Still though it is better than when I work alone. Thats when I just have to think.

Normally when I am out these days I think about how the house is getting so crowded. We are having relatives move in. I had to move into a room with my brothers and Honeysuckle. I don’t like that but there is nothing anyone can do. The corn business is not so good these days and our relatives lost their land. Now they work helping us.

Dad says it will all work out in the end because having more ponies means we can have bigger fields and grow more crops. But I think he is bluffing. More ponies means more mouths to feed.

There are good things about them being here though. One of them brought his record player and now Mom can play her old records in the house. They always play piano music. I like the piano music. I wish I could play it for myself but I asked Mom and she said that we cant afford a piano right now. She said that maybe someday we can though. She says she likes the idea of me playing piano and that it is very “uptown.” I always thought “uptown” meant the same as “pretentious” but apparently not.

The piano is not the only good thing though! The other good thing is that having more ponies around means that there is less danger from timber wolves. There have been more of them around lately and we don’t know why but it is scary. The other day I found one in the cornfield. I was with one of my brothers though so we scared it away. Timber wolves can’t mess with us big earth ponies!

Sometimes I worry about Dad or Grandmother though. I don’t think they could fight a timber wolf. I hope that now that we have more ponies around that they won’t have to.

I have to go now because dinner is ready but before I go I will write one thing. That is that I met the sherriff sheriff today! I talked to him about becoming his deputy. He said that maybe I could when I got older. Mom said that would take too much time away from working with the corn.

Mom and I got into an argument about that. Now I have to work extra tomorrow. I still want to be a deputy though. Someday I will be. I am gonna be the best deputy ever!

“A Spider sewed at Night
Without a Light
Upon an Arc of White...
...Of Immortality
His Strategy
Was Physiognomy.”
-Emily Dickenson, A Spider Sewed at Night

Quiet. Dark. Perfect.

He smiled and crossed his forelegs. In the stillness, he could hear them feeding, sucking away at their prey, nourishing themselves. His children were happy, hanging on their webs, engorged in blood. And that made him happy, too.

He felt a small tickling on his left foreleg.

Oh... he thought. Still hungry... someone wants to grow big and deadly... I am sorry my dear but you’ll have to find it yourself, now. You will have to learn.

I have nothing for you, now.

The tickling stopped. He imagined he could hear the tiny footsteps as the spider slunk away, back to his web.

Sorry, child, but you are old enough now that I should not have to help you...

He frowned. It was always a shame, to deny them their blood. He knew how mad he got, when Brother did the same to him. How he hissed and screamed when the contracts stopped flowing, when the prey stopped coming.

And how long had it been now, since he had last fed? Of course, he had eaten breakfast that morning, but he had not truly fed, not drank in the blood and suffering of a struggling victim, not felt that wonderful, bloating, engorged feeling since... when? The last contract had been weeks ago. Had it really been that long?

When will there be more blood?

He shuddered. Not now, please not now...

Bring me more.

I will, I promise, there will me more, so much, give me some time...

Now?

I am unable...

Now! Bring it now!

Please, I swear I can not.

I will make you look again.

No, please, no!

He trembled, hugging himself with his forehooves. Not this again, please not this again! It couldn’t be happening now, not so soon.

You will be punished...

No, no, no, no...

He slumped against the wall, eyes wide with terror. Around him, the spiders sensed his fear, and the floor crawled as they fled, skittering, back to him. He relaxed slightly as he felt their legs move over his skin, creeping through his fur, as they made their way up his body. His mane jerked and twitched as they swarmed into it, crouching against the flesh of his head and neck, comforting him.

Yes, please, come to me, help me, help—

“Nephis?” a voice called from outside.

“Brother?”

The door to his room swung open, and he swung a forehoof over his eyes as the room brightened, revealing his bed, bookshelves, and desk. All of his furniture was covered in spiderwebs, some of which were occupied, others deserted in favor of Nephi’s mane.

“I heard you moaning,” the unicorn in the doorway said.

I was?

“Can it,” he continued. “We’ve got a client coming. It’s Watcher. He said he’s got something important. Try to seem normal, just while he’s here. We wouldn’t want him taking his business elsewhere, would we?”

Nephi shook his head emphatically, a few orb weavers dropping out of his mane as he moved.

“Good,” he replied.

He turned and left, slamming the door behind, him, casting the room once more into darkness. Nephi gathered himself up and moved onto the bed. He sat, curled his long limbs around himself, and rocked back and forth, slowly. One by one, the spiders descended on silk strings from his mane, crawling away to sulk on their webs, and wait for fresh prey.

Watcher is back? Nephi wondered. Perhaps this time I will find out if he knows where Father is.

He smiled, again, thinking of his Father, and of how good his blood would taste. The look that would be in his eyes, as he died, staring at his freak son, the monster he had made. What would it be? Regret? Hatred? Pity? Nephi couldn’t wait to find out.

I willl hurt him. Hurt him bad. Make him pay for turning me into a freak.

He pictured his Father, enmeshed in spiderwebs, thrashing, bleeding out slowly, one drop at a time. He pictured them splashing to the ground, coagulating on in the dirt before him.

One drop at a time... he thought. This drop, for malforming my legs...

This drop, for the knee-spines...

This drop, the loneliness...

This one for filing my teeth... He ran his tongue across the insides of his mouth, feeling where each tooth ended in a sharp point.

This one for the beatings...

And this one—a torrent of blood splashing against his hooves—for bringing me Neith.

He cursed silently, thinking of the spider-sage. In his life, Neith had been a necromancer, born with the ability to communicate with, and control, arachnids of all types. Nephi’s father, a necromancer as well, had killed him, and stolen a fragment of his soul, which he entrapped in the body of his unborn son. He had intended for the strength of the spider sage to empower Nephi, to give him a talent for the arcane.

In the end, what he had gotten was a freak.

Neith’s soul malformed Nephi’s developing body, leaving him with long legs, bent unnaturally at the knee and elbow. Ultimately, he stood at the height of the average pony only because of his elongated cannons, as his knees bent so that his upper legs always ran parallel to the floor, and met his body at a perpendicular angle. Due to this malformation, Nephi could only walk by rotating his legs sideways at the shoulder, effectively crawling. Like a spider.

The malformations didn’t end there, though. Nephi’s metacarpal bones were also slightly elongated above the knee, creating protrusions which were layered with thick coats of keratin. They ended in sharp points, forming half-conical horns at the backs of his joints.

The knee spikes were perfect for drawing blood, but not for fitting in with other ponies, especially not here in Canterlot. The ponies here would be alarmed to find a zebra in their midst, let alone a freakish abomination of a pony. How could they? How could anypony look on him, an ugly, disgusting, soulless waste, a malformed, Celestia-forsaken demon of a—

A rap at Nephi’s door broke his train of thought.

“The client’s here. Come on out, show him what he’s buying.”

Nephi stood slowly, and walked out of his room, squinting in the light of the cramped hallway outside his door. Brother stood at the end of the hallway, beckoning him into the kitchen. He followed obediently.

“Nephis,” Brother said. “Meet Watcher. Watcher, Nephis.”

Nephi looked across the room to see a tall, slender unicorn with a dark grey coat and a set of piercing yellow eyes. He leaned against the wall, forehooves crossed, magically fiddling with a small matchbox. Nephi stared at him as he moved, watching him slide open the matchbook, pick out a match, draw it halfway out, and close the box on the stick. Watcher bent the match against the side of the box, rubbed the coating off of its head, then levitated both the match and the powdered coating back into the open matchbox.

Ritual finished, he tucked the matchbox away in a saddlebag pocket and looked up at Nephi. Nephi stared back. The other unicorn wrinkled his nose and ran a forehoof through his dark blue mane.

“This is him?” he asked. “The second-most highly rated assassin in Canterlot?”

“No,” Brother replied, smirking. “This is Nephis. The second-most highly rated assassin is a pegasus who lives on the other side of town. My brother here is the best there is.”

“Is that so?” Watcher asked. He looked from Brother to Nephis. “Looks more like an escaped circus performer to me,” he said with a sneer.

Kill him.

Not yet.

“Well, I’ve heard ponies say before that he would fit right in at a freak show. Usually what I hear after that is Nephis eating their intestines,” Brother said calmly.

Watcher cocked an eyebrow. “A cannibal?”

Only when it is called for. And don’t you look tasty...

“When he’s in the mood, yes.”

“And how come he can’t speak for himself?”

Because I don’t want to talk to you.

Brother chuckled. “Nephis talks to me, his spiders, and his victims. That’s it.”

“Why? Is he retarded or something?” Watcher asked with a sneer.

You are going to be delicious.

“I assure you, he’s quite mentally proficient. You’ll be pleased to know that what time he doesn’t spend killing or tending his pet spiders, he spends re-reading dueling books. I’d imagine he has most of them memorized by now.”

“Good. I’m spending a lot of money on this, I want it done well.”

“Of course. As do all of our clients. And we haven’t failed any yet.”

Though I have murdered a few.

Watcher sat down at their kitchen table, and pulled four rolls of parchment out of his saddlebags. “Well,” he said, spreading them across the table. “You haven’t ever had a job like this.”

“Oh?” Brother asked. “We’ve worked with the Church before. Never with you, but in the past we were always their go-to for—”

“Yes, well, that was the past,” Watcher cut in. “In fact, you aren’t their go-to anymore, and, apparently, neither am I. And that’s precisely why I’m here.”

Enough talk. Just tell me the target already.

“Elaborate.”

“There is a certain object the Church... retrieved, and its bearer, eliminated.”

“And that’s our target?”

“One of your targets, yes. The other,” Watcher said, sliding one of the four parchments across the table, “is this pony. The aforementioned ‘pegasus on the other side of town.’”

Brother opened the roll and gave it a cursory skim. “Yeah,” he said, “we know this guy. Why kill him?”

“Because he’s the assassin the Church sent to retrieve its, uh, item.”

“I thought my brother was who the Church was sending?”

“No, your brother is who I’m sending. The Church didn’t see fit to let me handle this. I intend to prove them wrong.”

Why not just steal the “item”?

“Why have us kill their assassin, though? Why not just let us take out their target and bring back whatever it is you need?” Brother asked.

“Because they contracted the other assassin through somepony who is a bit of a rival of mine. I want to see him humiliated,” Watcher replied.

I see.

“I see,” Brother said.

“The other assassin is set to strike tonight. I want you to track him down and kill him before he can make his move.”

“And then?”

“And then wait a day. Let the Church of the New Dawn come crawling back to me. Then, eliminate the primary target. I’ll take care of the retrieval, just get the target out of the way.”

“And just who is this target?”

Watcher slid another parchment across the table. “This unicorn. Summer Dew.”

Brother unrolled the paper, looking over its contents. “She dangerous?” he asked.

“From what I gather, she can handle herself,” Watcher said, “but she shouldn’t be too much trouble. It’s this one you have to worry about.” He handed Brother a third parchment.

Brother opened it, and his face darkened. “Chief,” he breathed. “Yeah, we remember him.”

“He’s her brother-in-law and business partner. They’re together often. You’ll want to try and take her out when he’s not around.”

“Obviously,” he said. He gestured to the fourth parchment. “And that? Who’s that?”

“Another associate. Her newest business partner, a pegasus named Roads. I wasn’t able to dig up much on him, besides that he’s the Warden of the Wilds.”

Nephi raised his eyebrows. Brother whistled. “He’s the one they’ve got running that place?” he asked. “He must be tough as hell.”

“Probably so, but then, if he were that dangerous, we’d have heard of him by now. In any case, use caution. Try to get her alone.”

“We’re not idiots, Watcher.”

“Of course not,” Watcher said, standing from the table. He turned to head out the door. “I’ve also seen her with three others, Willow, Redbud, and Aspen. I couldn’t find anything on them, I think they’re foreigners. In any case, they shouldn’t be too much trouble. Just kill them if they get in the way. I want no loose ends on this one.”

“Of course. We’re the best, you know.”

“I certainly hope so. But seeing Nephis doesn’t exactly fill me with confidence...”

Nephi narrowed his eyes. How should I convince you?

“And why is that? You already know how skilled he is...”

“It’s not his skill that I question, Dusk Haven. It’s his motivation. He doesn’t seem like the type to want much in the way of money,” Watcher said slowly.

“True. But I do. And he’ll do as I tell him.”

To a T.

“So you motivate him?”

Brother smirked. “Of course.”

“Very well. In that case...” he said, turning to Nephi. “If you fail this, I’ll have your brother killed. Understand me, freak?”

Nephi just stared at him for a moment, waiting for the signal to come. It did.

KILL.

Nephi didn’t fight it this time. In an instant, he was across the room, on top of Watcher, pinning him to the wall.

“Nephis! No! NO! GET DOWN!”

Nephi raised a spiked elbow, pointing its tip at Watcher’s jugular.

Do it... Think of the blood... All of it, all for you...

“NEPHIS! DO! NOT! KILL! HIM!”

Brother said no.

Do it anyway.

Brother said no.

DO IT!

BROTHER SAID NO!

At that, the inner voice quieted, and Nephi lowered the spike.

“Oh, thank the Goddess,” Brother breathed.

Watcher stared at him, completely unphased. “Don’t make me kill you,” he said calmly.

Nephi grabbed him by the back side of his mane, pulling Watcher’s head closer to his mouth.

“I will enjoy drinking your organs,” he whispered softly.

Watcher just chuckled. He raised a hoof and pushed Nephi away. “Well,” he said, voice even. “Glad you finally decided to talk to me.” He turned to Brother. “Listen. The other assassin dies tonight. Got it?”

“Got it.”

Without another word, Watcher turned, opened the door, stepped out, and slammed it behind him. Nephi turned to Brother, eyes wide, mouth hanging open.

“You are letting him go?”

“Yeah. We need the money.”

“He might hurt you.”

“Is there a chance you might fail?” Brother asked.

Nephi shook his head.

“Then I’m not in any danger. Don’t worry about it. Go back to your room and get prepared, I’ll be in here reading,” Brother said.

Nephi turned out into the hallway and walked towards his room.

“And keep it down!” Brother called. “I need to focus.”

Nephi barely heard him. He was listening to a different voice.

You disobeyed me.

I had to.

You will be punished.

Nephi’s stomach dropped as he opened the door to his room. Please do not...

You will be punished. Find the mirror.

Nephi sighed and walked over to his bed. He dropped to a crouch and reached under the dust ruffle, pulling out the an ancient hoof mirror.

Turn on the light.

Nephi did as he was told.

Now, look.

Nephi swallowed and angled the mirror towards his face. He winced as he caught sight of himself.

Look how ugly you are, Nephis. How deformed, how freakish.

Nephi felt a surge of hatred and disgust rise within him as he stared himself down. He felt a twinge in the back of his neck, an instinctual need to turn away. He fought it. The punishment would be worse if he didn’t comply.

Smile, Nephis. Let’s see those pearly whites.

He opened his mouth, exposing his cracked, yellowing teeth, each worn to a fine point.

What a freak. Just like Watcher said.

He closed his mouth again, hooves shaking with anger.

Look at your face. Who could love a face like that?

Ugly, stupid, deformed, I hate you...

Awful, isn’t it? The worst part is that it suits you.

Looks just like me...

You’re as ugly on the inside as you are on the surface!

Murderer, cannibal, monster!

This is what you are, Nephis! Take a good long look.

I hate you... I HATE YOU!

Yes, as well you should! Do you feel alone?!

Yes, all alone.

You deserve it!

Worthless, worthless!

YOU SHOULD BE ASHAMED!

I am, I am!

Nephi was shaking now, tears streaming down his face as he desperately tried to maintain eye contact with his reflected self.

LOOK AT YOU, CRYING LIKE A SCHOOLFILLY. YOU’RE PATHETIC!

Stupid, weak, worthless Nephis!

THIS IS WHAT YOU ARE, NEPHIS. YOU ARE A MONSTER.

A monster, hideous... I hate you!

THIS IS WHY YOU SHOULD LISTEN TO ME.

Yes, save me, help me, please!

AND STILL YOU DISOBEYED!

I am sorry, I am so sorry!

I WANTED BLOOD, NEPHIS! I WANTED BLOOD!

I will give you what you want, please, just make it stop!

DO IT.

Shaking with fear and anger, Nephis raised his left foreleg, and opened his mouth.

DO IT!

He bit down, hard. Pain exploded through his leg as his skin gave way, and a coppery, metallic taste filled his mouth. He moaned in anguish as his mouth filled with liquid, then swallowed.

Good, good...

He swallowed again, body relaxing, then fell back against the floor. A heavy euphoria washed over him as he let his forehoof fall away from him, still bleeding. It was over. It was going to be okay.

He pressed his good hoof to his eyes, still panting, trying to catch his breath.

It is alright, he thought. It is alright again.

For now.

_________________________________________________________

“Roads! Save me!” Summer screamed as she burst through Roads’ front door.

“What?” he asked, getting up off the couch and adjusting his skin-tight, jet black jumpsuit. “What’s going on?”

“The chimeras!” she sobbed, stumbling forward to fall into his outstretched forehooves. “They’re back!” She reached up and slipped a hoof behind his head, pulling him closer. “Oh, Roads,” she said, staring into his steely blue eyes as her other hoof worked its way down his strong jawline. “Only you can stop them! You’re the only one who’s strong enough!”

“I will stop them, Summer,” he said, brushing one stray lock of mane behind her delicate ear. “I swear, I’ll fight for you with every last breath, until my large, well-defined skeletal muscles give out.”

“Oh, Roads,” she said breathily. “You have such a way with words.”

“Thank you. That’s probably why all of my books have become bestsellers, and why I’m so absurdly famous and powerful.”

“You’re right,” Summer said. “And maybe when you get back from saving the day, we can read them... together.” She flashed him a seductive look as he stood, headed for the door.

“Yes, hopefully we will,” he said, then turned away from her. “But as for now...” He pushed open the door. “I have a day to save.”

Roads stepped out the door. Behind him, Summer swooned and fainted, collapsing onto a well-placed cushion.

Outside, Roads stood, his back to the door, facing out at the woods around him. They were dark and roiling with fog, and between the trees, he could make out dark shapes flitting about, nearly unseen. The corner of his mouth tightened. This wouldn’t be too hard.

Reaching into his saddlebag, Roads pulled out his headband, and tied it around his forehead. He then reared and drew a long, slender katana. He stood, still and silent, as somewhere a flute played a somber, apprehensive melody.

Come on, he thought. I don’t have all day.

He didn’t have to wait long. To his right, seemingly out of nowhere, a chimera wielding a pair of lengthy daggers appeared, and dashed towards him. It slashed at him with both knives, but Roads parried, then front-flipped over the chimera, tucking his katana under his foreleg. The blade, on the other side of his back, impaled the chimera as he landed.

That’s one down, he thought.

Still, he didn’t get a chance to catch his breath. The fog around him grew thicker, and as it did, a hail of throwing knives emerged from the mist, headed right for him. He dodged the first two, just by moving his head an inch or two to the left, then snatched a third out of the air and used it to parry the oncoming knives.

Roads leapt into the air and felt himself rise high above the ground. From here, he could just barely make out his opponent. He threw the knife. A pained hiss emerged from the mist as the chimera fell, bleeding heavily from the neck.

Roads landed easily, then charged forward to find three more chimera, each armed with a hefty broadsword. One of them slashed at him, but he ducked under the strike, then leapt to the side as a second chimera attacked him. With a triple backflip, he tried to put some distance between himself and his attackers.

Then, spinning twice around, he launched his sword at one of them. A chimera fell the the ground, beheaded, Roads’ katana next to it. The remaining two charged him, hoping to destroy him while he was unarmed. They found their attempts futile as Roads dodged every attack they threw at him. Finally, the chimera to his left grew frustrated, and stabbed at him desperately, completely overextending.

Roads sidestepped the attack, then darted forward and disarmed the chimera, taking its sword for himself. In a rapid movement, he slid away from his attacker, slicing his throat as he retreated. He leveled his sword at the last chimera.

“Roads?” it asked.

His brow furrowed. “You talk?”

It didn’t reply.

With a shrug of the shoulders, Roads advanced on his enemy, twirling his blade in a series of elegant, masterful flourishes. The chimera slashed at him once, but Roads leapt over the attack, and, in a feat of acrobatic prowess, disemboweled the chimera in one fell swoop.

“Roads?” the chimera asked, as it fell to the ground.

“There, demon. You’ll never threaten another innocent ma—”

Roads’ words were cut off as the world gave a great shake, casting him to his knees.

“Roads!” the chimera croaked again, now louder.

“Why do you keep saying my—”

The world heaved once more, throwing Roads into the air. He kept rising, wings flailing, until he could no longer see the ground. Then, suddenly, he was falling.

The world went dark around him.

Roads opened his eyes to see Summer staring at him, a thin smile across her face. He looked around, realizing he was still in the hospital.

“Hey,” she said to him. “Sleep well?”

“Sure did,” he groaned, stretching luxuriously beneath his covers. Beside him, Summer hopped up onto the bed, laying down beside him. “What have you been—what is that?” he asked when he realized what he was looking at.

“This? Oh, it’s nothing.”

“That is not nothing.”

She shrugged. “Okay, so it’s an eyepatch. My eye doesn’t work any more, I got an eyepatch, what of it?”

“You look like some kind of pirate!” Roads said, barely suppressing his laughter.

“I do not look like a pirate,” she said, scowling at him.

To Roads, though, the scowl only made her look more swashbuckling. He burst into frantic giggling.

“Hey, cut it out!”

“Or—what?” he said between laughs. “You’ll—make me—walk the plank?”

Summer sighed and rolled her eye. “Fine, maybe it looks a little bit like a pirate’s eyepatch. But what am I supposed to do, walk around with a cursed eye, staring at ponies? I think I might freak somebody out.”

“There has to be a better solution than that. Maybe if you, like, brush your mane in front of it?”

Summer shook a few stray locks of mane down into her face, and pushed them over, in front of her eye. “How’s this?”

Roads frowned. “You kinda look like an amateur fashion model or something. Like you’re expecting somepony to burst in any minute, holding a camera.”

“I dunno how I’m supposed to be taking that,” she said. Roads shrugged. “Is there a mirror in here?” Summer asked.

“Over there, behind the bed.”

Summer leaned over, checked her appearance, then sat back down, shaking her head. “Nope. Not for me.”

“What, not interested in pursuing a career in fashion?”

Summer pulled down the bandages at her sides, showing him the fresh scars from her wounds. “Do I look like I would do well in front of a camera?”

“I mean, they really don’t look that bad. I think you look fine.”

“As much as I would like to think it’s my feminine beauty shining through and obscuring where I got hacked to pieces, I think you’re just biased.”

“Me?” Roads asked, pressing a hoof to his chest. “Never.”

“Oh, come on. You’re infatuated with me, Roads,” she teased. “Smitten.”

“That’s... a little true.”

“It’s a little pathetic,” she said, leaning over and kissing him.

“Hrm,” he grumbled. “Maybe. So, what’ve you been doing today?”

“Well, first went and got my head measured for—”

“I meant besides the eyepatch.”

“Oh. Well, actually, not much, besides checking on Redbud,” Summer said. “It’s only nine.”

Roads blinked. “Wait, what?”

“Uh, I said ‘it’s only nine.’” Summer said, confused.

“Huh. Weird.”

“What?”

“Usually I sleep way later than that. I figured it was at least noon.”

“Maybe I’m rubbing off on you, spec.”

“Can you even call me that? I mean, we’re back in—”

“I can and will call you that until you die. Once a spec, always a spec.”

“Whatever,” Roads grumbled. “How was Redbud?”

“Kind of an interesting story, actually...”

“What happened?”

“Okay, well, first, as I was walking down the hall, towards their room—”

“—back from the eyepatch fitting room—”

“—of course. So, I’m walking down the hall, and I hear this loud, high pitched scream.”

“Weird.”

“Yeah, right? And so I get closer, and I realize it’s coming from Redbud’s room. And so I throw open the door, you know, because what if it’s him dying in there or something?”

“Was he?”

“Well, it turns out, it’s not even Redbud who’s screaming. It’s Aspen!”

“What?! Why?”

“I’m getting there! So, I go in, and Aspen’s screaming his head off, standing on top of a chair, pointing, grabbing Willow, screaming ‘Kill it! Kill it!’ and I look over to where he’s pointing...”

“And?”

“Just a little spider. Like, the size of a bit, maybe.”

“No way. Aspen? You’re sure you don’t have them mixed up?”

“Yeah, goose, I know which is which.”

Roads stared at her. “‘Goose’?”

“What? Oh, sorry. It’s something my dad used to say. It’s like calling someone an idiot, but, uh, nicer. You know, geese are dumb, you’re dumb, it’s an apt comparison.”

“Oh, gee, thanks. Goose.”

“Oh shut up. You shouldn’t have asked if I had them mixed up. It was Aspen. Aspen was screaming.”

Roads shrugged. “Alright. Fine. I just couldn’t see him doing that, is all.”

“He was. It was the craziest thing. Willow had to kill it for him. I didn’t even know Willow could kill things.”

“Hey, if it’s for Aspen, I could see it.”

“Maybe so. But it gets better. Turns out, all the screaming wakes Redbud up.”

“How was he?”

“Alive and kicking. Actually, not just kicking. Full-on hitting on me, really.”

“What?!” Roads said, rising from the bed. “I’ll kill him.”

Behind him, Summer laughed. “Woah, easy tiger. Redbud can hit on who he wants to, I’m not taken.”

“What?” Roads asked, sitting back down.

“I said, I’m not taken. It’s not my speed.”

Roads blinked. “Um...”

Summer cocked an eyebrow. “That’s not a problem, is it?”

Roads’ brow furrowed. “Uh, I guess not. I just... don’t like competition.”

Summer rolled her eye. “‘Competition.’ I swear, you stallions are all the same.”

“What do you mean?”

“What do I mean? I mean I’m not a prize to be won, Roads. I’m a pony. A pony who really just... doesn’t really do commitment. Is that what you want?”

“I just want you, Summer.”

Summer pressed a hoof to her face. “Dammit, Roads, you are such a sap.”

“I can’t help it!”

“You would do well to try.”

“So... you’re gonna start seeing Redbud, then?”

“What? No!”

“Really?”

“Yeah, really. I didn’t say I don’t do commitment because I wanted Redbud, I said I don’t do commitment because I don’t do commitment. You, Redbud, or anypony else. So, you can stop worrying about competition, or about relationships or, just... whatever. You know? Just stop worrying, Roads.”

Roads cocked an eyebrow. “I’d bet you would commit if you found the right pony.”

Summer threw her hooves up in the air. “Roads, I am not going to—”

“Hey, hey, hey, I didn’t mean me. I just meant, like, in general. I just don’t think you’ve met the right pony yet.”

“I’ve met lots of ponies, Roads. None’ve’em have really done it for me yet. But hey,” she said, ruffling his mane. “Maybe you can be the first. But don’t get your hopes up.”

“When do I ever have my hopes up? For anything?” Roads countered.

“Good point.”

“So what exactly did Redbud say?”

“Roads!”

“What?”

“Why do you even care?”

“I’m just curious!”

“You’re threatened, aren’t you? You didn’t listen to anything I just said, and you’re still thinking about competition.”

“I’m just curious.”

Summer frowned at him. “Well, for your information, he asked me out to dinner.”

“What did you say?”

“I said ‘no,’ of course!” She looked at him, exasperated. “He’s like ten years older than me, I’m not into him. Besides, I had other plans for tonight.”

“Oh?”

“Mmhmm. I was planning on going barhopping with a certain somepony.”

Roads crossed his forehooves. “Ah, great,” he grumbled. “More competition.”

Summer smacked him on the forehead. “I meant you, idiot, stop pouting.”

Roads blinked. “Oh,” he said with a cough. He rubbed idly at the blanket with one hoof. “Me, right. Well, uh, when? Where?”

“Well, if you’d stop being such a jealous blockhead, I was thinking maybe I could show up at your place at maybe eight-ish. Where are you staying?”

“The Princess said in her letter she had arranged quarters for me in the castle. I’m not sure which room, but I’m sure one of the attendants could tell me. And you, I guess.”

Summer nodded. “Alright then. I’ll drop by then, after I’m done with the Aggregate.”

“Huh. Are they pissed you wrecked their zeppelin?”

“They’d better not be,” Summer said with a shrug. “Of the last four expeditions that left for that area, we’re the only one’s who’ve come back. Mostly because Chief and I are the best team they’ve got. Not to mention the fact that we came back with way more than they even sent us for.”

“I take it you’re getting your bonus then?”

“You bet your flank I am. After a little bargaining and threatening, at least.”

“So, uh, you’ll get sent out again, then... Is there a possibility... I might end up having to come with you?”

“‘Having to?’ Not really. I think they got what they needed out of you, as far as ley lines go.”

“Oh,” Roads said. “Right, I figured as—”

“—But whatever happens, we’ll need some kind of naturalist. And they’ll want a recommendation from me for who they end up sending. And if I ‘highly recommend’ somepony, they go. The Aggregate knows better than to ignore me.”

“So, you could be considering me?” Roads asked, swallowing.

Summer cocked an eyebrow, a smile forming around the edges of her mouth. “Well, Roads, I dunno. You’re huge screw-up and still pretty green... but you saved my flank on that island, probably twice over, and if you want to come, you’re welcome to. But only if you want to. I’m not gonna drag you anywhere if I owe you one.”

“Oh.”

There was a brief pause.

“So, wanna come, or not?”

“I... I honestly don’t know.”

Summer rolled her eyes. “Of course you don’t. Listen,” she said, turning towards the door, “I think I’m about to head out. I’ve got something to take care of before I meet my, uh, ‘bosses.’ You think about it, and let me know. It’ll probably be two weeks or so before I ship out again.”

Roads nodded. “I’ll let you know tonight.”

“Alright. Around eight, got it?”

“Yeah.”

“Good,” she said, leaning over and kissing him on the cheek. “See you then.”

“Bye,” Roads said as she walked away, leaving him sitting on the bed, head spinning.

Do I—could I—actually want to go on another expedition? he wondered. Would I be able to handle it?

But... maybe he could. After going days in the jungle with little food or shelter, heavily wounded; after spending a night in Princess’ pit; after living through a civil war, the prospect of a normal expedition seemed relatively tolerable. And it was less lonely than working in the woods. Probably more exciting, too.

And he would get to work with Summer, though he wasn’t sure what to make of her at the moment. All that about being “taken” and “committed”... if she liked him, why was that such a bad thing? He didn’t get it. After all, he liked her, and he was pretty open to the idea of commitment, so surely if she felt the same way, she would be just as open.

Obviously, she didn’t. But why date him if she didn’t like him? Was she just messing with his head, some kind of strange test or lesson or confidence booster? That didn’t really seem like her.

Could she be just killing time with him, waiting for somepony better to come along? Roads’ stomach sank as he considered the possibility that Summer thought of him as merely good enough to date, but not worth staying with. Just... filler. He hoped that wasn’t the case.

Maybe she just wasn’t sure what she felt for him. Perhaps this was all leading to some sort of confirmation for her feelings, he just had to wait until they were strong enough. Until she was sure.

That made sense. Eventually she’d like him, and that would lead to something. Or not. That was usually his luck, after all. He really didn’t meet many mares, and the ones he did, never seemed interested in him.

Would this be his only shot for a while? He hoped not. That seemed awfully desperate. And more than a bit pathetic.

Just as he began to consider the prospect more fully, the door swung open and a courier pony walked into his room.

“You Roads?” he asked, brushing a speck of dirt off his blue work uniform.

“Yeah, that’s me,” he responded.

The courier took a minute to rummage through his bag, then pulled out a letter bearing the Royal Seal and handed it to Roads. “That’s for you,” he said. “From the Princess herself.”

“Thanks,” Roads replied, tearing the envelope open and pulling out the message.

He looked down to read as the other pony left the room.

Roads, the letter began.

I have something of great importance to speak with you about tonight. Unfortunately, this matter is best kept private; as such, I cannot discuss the details until you've arrived. Please meet me in my study tonight at six-o’clock.

Sun shine upon you,

~Princess Celestia

P.S. It would be best not to speak to anypony of this message, or of our meeting.

Huh. Well, that was strange. Roads couldn’t imagine what Princess Celestia was so concerned about, or why it needed to be kept secret.

Still, I’d better just go with it. The Princess works in strange ways, but she always has her reasons. I just can’t wait to find out what’s going on, he thought. Turning over, he rolled out of bed. He stifled a yawn and stretched his shoulders, and turned to leave. There was much to be done today.

XVII

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Chestnut’s Journal: 19 July, 976

Today I got my cutie mark! I was plowing the fields like I was told when I heard Honeysuckle scream. I dropped what I was doing and took off, fast as I as fast as I could. I found her on the other side of the corn field, running through the crops. She nearly ran into me.

And right behind her were two giant vicious timber wolves. When they approached us they slowed down and crouched into a stalking position, and they. They were too close for me to run away, I knew I wouldn’t be nearly as fast as them. I got between Honeysuckle and the wolves, telling her to run away.

I figured even if I couldn’t fight them off, at least she could get away.

Honeysuckle ran off, yelling for help, and that’s when that made the wolves attack. One of them tried to bite me, but I turned away and his teeth just grazed over my back. I bucked him really hard in the shoulder and he collapsed. I felt the wood breaking under my hooves.

It kinda kind of felt good. I realized I wanted to hurt them, because they threatened Honeysuckle. When it’s its shoulder broke it was like I was balancing everything out.

But then it started wimpering in pain. It looked very afraid. And that felt even better. I don’t know why.

The other one saw I had hurt it’s its friend and it was more cautious. It wouldn’t come after me like the other one did, but I just didn’t want it to be over yet. If once was good, twice would be better. So, I charged at it and it tried to run away, but when it turned around I jumped on it.

I tackled it to the ground and pummeled it a lot. Everything goes a little blurry after that, because I was what Mom calls “in a fit.” I remember being very angry, but it felt different this time. Normally when I am angry I get frustrated because I have to hold it all up like Mom tells me and it makes me feel even worse and I do something wrong and feel guilty and worried. I always worry that Mom is going to find a blood stain somewhere that I missed.

But this time afterwards I just felt relieved because I wasn’t going to be punished this time. It was like I had needed to breathe but hadn’t been getting enough air until now.

Shortly after I stopped fighting the other timber wolf it stopped moving and breathing, I looked over, but the other one had run away. Then my Uncle and my Dad ran over, because apparently Honeysuckle had gotten them. They were the ones who pointed out I had gotten my cutie mark. I had been so caught up in what I was doing, I hadn’t even noticed!

I was so happy, and they were happy for me. It was wonderful. Well, until they saw what was left of that timber wolf, then they both just got very quiet. I don’t know what was wrong. They just walked me back to the house and told me to take my supper upstairs and go to bed for the night.

They said we could sort it out later. They said it would be okay, though, and I didn’t have to worry about it, so I’m trying not too to. I’m just going to be happy I got my cutie mark!

Chestnut’s Journal: 2 August, 977

I’m starting to really not like it here on the farm. Ever since I got my cutie mark, everypony has been acting a little strange around me, even Mom. Actually, make that especially Mom. Remember how I wrote the other day about the sherriff sheriff finding out about how I got my cutie mark? Well, a week ago, he invited me to train with him because he said I was obviously “born to protect.” He said that was what my cutie mark meant.

Mom said my cutie mark meant I was supposed to protect only the farm, and that the sheriff was a drunk and a crook. I don’t see how he could be a crook. He’s the sheriff, after all.

Well, I decided to train with him anyway. I sneak over to where he works, and he teaches me how to become a deputy. He says someday I’ll be able to become a paid employee for the city, and then Mom won’t be able to stop me, because I’ll be bringing money into the house. I hope he’s right.

Especially because I want to stop working on this stupid corn farm. I hit another growth spurt, and ever since then I have to work more than ever, even with me sneaking off all the time. And I hate corn.

I’m getting off this farm. Mom’s not gonna stop me. I’m good at being a deputy, and I like it. It’s better than farming. I can actually focus on it, without even trying. Also, sometimes, when I’m sparring to train, it’s kind of like it was with the wolves again. I like that.

Is this what its like to do something you love?

XVII

“He cares no more for warnings, he rushes through the sky,
Braving the crags of ether, daring the gods on high,
Black 'gainst the crimson sunset, golden o'er cloudy snows,
With all Adventure in his heart the first winged man arose.”
-Stephen Vincent Benet, Winged Man

“It was by the fifth day that I developed a thorough understanding of the tigers’ mating habits. It seemed that during the spring, the males of the species would seek out the females, and engage in elaborate courtship rituals in an attempt to please the female. With her approval, copulation would begin shortly thereafter, and subsequently, a period of total monogamy for both individuals.

"As my predecessors had only studied the tigers during the fall and winter months, everyone on the expedition was surprised to see this kind of behavior, as this particular species had previously been noted for their territorial and solitary behavior. I speculate that these monogamous relationships are evolutionarily beneficial, as they ensure the survival of the offspring. I suppose it must be innate. Their genes must determine their behavior. I suppose they never really had a choice in the matter.”

Roads rolled his eyes and flipped the book close. He had thought the lighthearted nature study he picked up at the bookstore would be easy reading. Great idea. Of all the things he didn’t want to think of right now... Especially when he was supposed to be focusing on powering through these new dueling books.

He looked over at the small pile of tomes that sat beside his desk. He had been reading them for hours, and had decided to take a brief break. Just to help him focus.

Roads didn’t feel very focused.

He set the study aside and stood up, glancing at the room around him. He had been reading in here for a while, but it still gave him small thrills to look around at the lavish quarters Celestia had afforded him. King sized bed, hoofwoven exotic carpet, warm fireplace, crystal liquor chest, trunk full of alchemy reagents, mahogany workstation, a very, very well stocked bookshelf... Everything he could ask for.

He felt a warm buzz wash over him, part Celestia’s finest whiskey, part gratitude. How he loved the Princess.

Leaning over, he picked up one of the dueling books and inspected its cover. A Practical Guide to Arcane Dueling, it read. Roads had picked it up on the walk he had taken through Canterlot city after he left the hospital. He had decided to go with Summer on her next assignment, but he wasn’t going to leave Equestria again without taking some precautions. Even if the next expedition was probably going to be safe, he couldn’t bear the idea of being powerless again if something did go wrong.

So, since his shopping run, he had been sitting here, reading the texts and practicing utilizing magic. As it turned out, his ley lines had completely attuned to Summer’s overnight, and it seemed that ever since he had returned to Equestria, his ley lines had gained the capacity to become truly active. He theorized that due to the exposure to background ley signatures, his ley lines had minute shifts in polarity that kept them passive enough to require an arcane catalyst from an outside source.

Now there were no lines anywhere within miles. And even if he were standing in the middle of the Everfree, the effect on his lines would be a small fraction of what it had been on the island. The lines were just so much weaker here...

He frowned. If only he could find more powerful line without having to leave Equestria. Still, on the upside—magic! With focus and concentration, he could perform perfectly identical magic to Summer.

It was amazing.

Of course, he worried about how he would do his job back in the Everfree without his wings, but for the time being, this was way better. He already knew almost every spell in the book, and now all he needed was to attune to a unicorn strong enough to cast the really tricky ones.

For now, though, Summer’s ley lines were perfect just to learn the basics. As the books guided him through creating working shields and focusing his ley energies into his movements, he steadily learned how to manipulate his copy of her line structures.

At first, it had been difficult. He discovered the reason in one of the spell tomes.

The amount of energy necessary to utilize any degree of spell is almost always constant. This means that over-charging the spell without increasing the complexity of the spellweaving will simply waste the excess energy. In order to cast a more powerful version of the same spell, you must not only increase the amount of energy going into the spell, but enhance the complexity of the spellweaving to account for such an increase. Conversely, using too little energy attempting too complex a spell will cause the spell to fail, rather than produce a diminished version of the original spell. The energy channeled into the spell may be lost in the process, depending on the spell in question.

In order to make sure one is producing magic the most efficiently, one must be familiar with two skills, without which one wastes vast amounts of energy. The first, is the ability to properly correlate the amount of energy you expend with the amount of energy demanded by the spell. To do so, one must have great control over the power of their spellweaving.

The second is to learn to cast with such proficiency, that absolutely all emitted arcane energy has perfect ley patterns, exactly matching those required by the spell. Often, unicorns will produce a volume of ley energy that is only a fraction active spell, and filled with poorly crafted ley patterns, which do not properly focus energy. With great control over the complexity and detail of one’s spellweaving, a unicorn can prevent this effect.

Over time, he managed to develop a passable level of skill at the two skills. He found it came easily to him. Probably because his contact with the nexi and frequent ley repolarization had imbued his lines with an unusual level of dexterity. Possibly because he was just talented.

He preferred to think of it as the former. The idea of him being talented struck him as heinous and heretical. It just wasn’t right.

At any rate, the texts were teaching him quite a bit of magic. Eager to learn more, he opened his ‘Practical Guide to Arcane Dueling,’ and began to skim the introduction. What he found intrigued him.

The history of the arcane dueling arts is a long and complex one. The earliest records of magical battles between unicorns describe primarily their talent at turning the tides of large battles between nations. On the battlefield, a single, highly trained unicorn could take out legions of soldiers on his own, as long as he had an army between him and his attackers.

As one on one fighters, however, the unicorns did not particularly excel. The massive, complex spells they could use to destroy whole groups at once required much time and energy. As such, if engaged at short range, they were forced to rely on only quicker, weaker spells.

This would ultimately lead to their downfall. Specially trained groups of mage-hunters, known as “spellblades,” began to crop up, used by kings to hunt down and assassinate enemy battle-unicorns. Unlike the traditionally trained unicorns, spellblades were taught both physical and arcane methods of fighting. While they were masters of using ley energies to enhance their physical capabilities, they were also well versed in one-on-one combat spells.

As such, they could easily slay classically trained unicorns and, over time, the ways of the spellblades became more and more well known. Eventually, when it came to standard self defense and martial training, their techniques became to standard. Thus, when dueling became a popular bloodsport among the populace of the older pony empires, it was the spellblades who dominated the arenas.

Eventually, the popularity of the dangerous sport waned, and dueling was forced underground. The duelists lost the respect of their communities, and their widespread fame. What they didn’t lose, however, was their bloodthirsty attitude and ruthless behavior.

Over the years, underground dueling systems were sustained by criminals and used as both venues for gambling, and combat support for the efforts of certain illicit organizations. It was at this point that most of the standards we have today for dueling were set in place, as talented young duelists from across the world met in these systems, refining the practice over years of competition.

After some time, though, the dueling systems were crippled by the concentrated efforts of the Royal Guard, who infiltrated the underground rings with leagues of undercover agents posing as duelists. Ironically, though the agents got rid of the dueling ring, the practices established in the ring lived on through them.

The Royal Guard found that the members who returned from undercover work were far more martially skilled than their other unicorns. They set a system in place for these guards to teach the rest what they had learned from the criminals.

At the present, those teachings have become the basis for modern unicorn training in the Guard. In fact, the Guard has conducted additional research into unlocking the ley potentials of both earth ponies, and pegasi. It is believed that with proper ley training, giants can become virtually immune to magic, and pegasi can begun to reach inpony levels of speed, perception, and coordination.

Naturally, of course, the private industry has come to reflect the military standards. These days, self-defense courses and martial arts styles for all ponies have increasingly come to follow the style of the Guard, and thus the duelists of old.

And that’s precisely where this book comes in! Whether it’s to make the cut and join the Guard, or to become adept at self defense, A Practical Guide to Arcane Dueling is here to teach you everything you need to know. Written by a former member of the Royal Guard with over two decades of experience training new recruits under his belt, this book will turn you into a paragon of martial prowess. Just flip to the next page, start on chapter one, and get started!

Roads cocked an eyebrow. A paragon of martial prowess, huh? Somehow, that didn’t sound like words he would ever use to describe himself, but it didn’t mean he couldn’t try. After all, what would Summer think of him on the next expedition when she saw him whipping out powerful duelist spells at the first hint of danger? He could only imagine the look on her face.

His enthusiasm quickly faded. The more spells he tried, the more he found Summer’s particular ley structures painfully limiting. It seemed Summer had practiced little magic outside the few spells she needed for cartography work, so her lines were poorly adapted for dueling. Roads could manage to cast weak telekinetic bolts of energy, and create basic, fragile shields and little else.

To make matters worse, his dueling books listed these as the most ineffective dueling spells, because they made use of simplistic, direct methods of stopping harmful spells, or harming opponents. The telekinetic bolt, the only combat spell Summer had practiced, was the dueling equivalent of an untrained punch—not very accurate, and not at all deadly.

I wish I could copy the lines of somepony who had actually spent time training. The lines of a real duelist would be complex and adapted to suit casting difficult, powerful magic with relative ease. For many duelists, the adaptations would even be obvious to somepony who couldn’t sense ley lines. Most duelists utilized only one specific type of magic, usually just modified for many different applications. And, if he could manage to actually talk to one for a while, a real duelist might be able to give him a few pointers that could come in handy later.

But where could he find somepony like that? Could Chief have a friend who might be able to help him? Perhaps somepony from the Royal Guard...

But who said he needed Chief’s assistance to get a Guard to help him out? He was one of Celestia’s guests after all, surely he could one of them to spare him a minute or two to copy his lines. The only problem was that he didn’t know where the unicorn duelists would be. Standing, Roads headed to the door.

It didn’t matter. He could ask directions from a guard. All he had to do was find one.

Roads stepped out into the hall just as a flustered looking white unicorn carrying a box full of parchments emerged from the bend at the end of the hallway. He had on gleaming purple and gold armor—he must have been a higher ranking member of the guard. Perfect.

“Excuse me,” he said, stepping out into the unicorn’s path.

The guard blinked and came to a halt, staring down at Roads. “Listen, I’m really busy right now—”

“It’ll only take a second,” Roads promised.

The unicorn sighed, running a hoof through his blue and turquoise mane. “What is it?” he asked, glancing over Roads’ shoulder to the door at the end of the hallway.

“I need to talk to one of the Guards’ unicorn duelists for a little while. Know where I could find somepony like that?”

The unicorn’s brow furrowed. “Well, yeah, but anypony near the Castle is going to be on duty, and my stallions aren’t going to have time to chat.”

“There isn’t anyone I could talk to? At all?”

“Umm...” the unicorn said, stepping past Roads. “Maybe one of the cadets down by the training fields could help you. Head down to our headquarters and ask to be shown to the training area, tell them Shining Armor sent you. There might be somepony there who could lend a hoof,” he said, inching away from Roads.

“I’ll check it out,” Roads said. “Thanks for the help.”

But Shining Armor was already halfway down the hall, nearly galloping for the door. “No problem,” he called over his shoulder.

Wonder what he’s in such a rush for, Roads thought, until a sudden realization dawned on him. Wait... Shining Armor... I know that name! That was the captain of the Royal Guard! Roads raised his eyebrows. No wonder he was in such a rush. I can’t believe he even stopped and spoke to me, he thought, turning and heading the opposite way down the hall.

Fifteen minutes and two more stops for directions later, he stood outside the doorway to the massive, heavily fortified building that served as the Guard’s national headquarters. He pushed open the heavy steel door and stepped into a narrow, brightly lit hallway. At the other end, two guards waited behind a long metal table. He walked over to them, hooves clicking on the polished linoleum floor, wondering what he was supposed to do. He’d never been here before...

The mare on the left waved him over. “You lost?”

“Well, um, Shining Armor sent me, I’m looking for the training area...”

She jerked her head, gesturing behind her. “It’s through these doors, but we don’t exactly let just anyone in here. Did he give you anything for us, a note, a seal, anything?”

Roads swallowed. Why hadn’t he realized the Guard wasn’t just going to let him waltz into whatever facilities he wanted? “No, not really. I guess if you wanted, you could try to get in touch with him, and ask him about me, but he seemed really busy—I don’t really think you should bother him now.”

The guard on the left cocked his head, leaning back in his chair. “Well, looks he’s at least seen Shining Armor lately, he’s been running around working on god knows what this whole week.”

She glanced at him. “So?”

“So, why not let the kid in? What’s he gonna do, kill somepony with a training dagger?”

The mare rolled her eyes. “Alright, fine.” She looked over at Roads. “Right through here, go on in.”

Roads nodded. “Thanks.”

He walked through the door and found himself in a large, spacious lobby, full of Guards who bustled in and out of the doors that lined the walls, carrying files, escorting civilians, and chattering loudly amongst themselves. In the center of the room was a large metal kiosk housing three busy-looking ponies and surrounded by a group of Cloudsdale pegasi looking for directions.

He walked over to the kiosk, waited until the pegasi were finished, then asked where the training fields were. One of the ponies behind the counter promptly directed him through a set of double doors on the far end of the room, which Roads found actually led back outside. He found himself standing in a large, grassy clearing surrounded by a network of tall, metal fences topped by razor wire.

“Can I help you?”

Roads turned to see a bearded old unicorn sitting under the awning next to the door, smoking a cigar and reading the newspaper.

“Yeah,” Roads replied. “Shining Armor sent me here, I’m looking to talk to a duelist. He said there might be somepony training here who could help me out.”

“Well,” the unicorn said, taking the cigar out of his mouth and tapping off a bit of ash. “I’m a duelist.”

“Great!”

“But I don’t feel like talking to you,” he finished, and took a puff of the cigar.

“Well, do you think you could maybe just—”

The unicorn pointed towards the far end of the field, where two figures were standing near one of the fences. “They could help you though. They’re idiot rookies. Go talk to one of them.”

“Oh,” Roads said. “Well, alright. Thank you.”

“Mmhmm,” the unicorn replied as he looked back down at his newspaper.

Roads set off at a brisk trot, excited to see what the two duelists might have to say to him. As he got closer, he got a better look at the pair. They were standing perfectly still, eyes locked on each other, both in combat stances. On the left was a tall, thin mare, with an olive coat and a curly chestnut mane. Opposite her was a heavily built stallion wearing a heavy winter coat with a high collar that obscured the lower part of his face, and large, tinted eyeglasses that covered the rest.

When he was within ten feet of them, the mare suddenly turned, horn alight, and from the tip of her horn emerged two long, thorny vines. They hung over her head for a moment, then shot towards Roads in the blink of an eye. He gave a shrill yelp and dove sideways just as they buried themselves in the dirt where his hooves had been a second before.

“What the hell was that for?” he screamed.

The mare’s eyes widened, then she burst out laughing. She clapped a forehoof to her face. “I thought that was one of yours, Orion!” she cried. Turning to Roads, she looked him over, a rueful look across her face. “I’m so sorry about that, I thought you were an illusion,” she said, walking over to meet him. As she apologized, Roads noticed she spoke with a slight lisp.

“An illusion?” he asked.

She jerked her head towards the stallion. “Orion and I have been sparring. He has a notorious habit of trying to mess with my head during our fights. And it never works,” she shot at him.

Orion just shrugged.

She bounced over to him and extended a forehoof. “Hey. I’m Rose,” she said with a smile, her lips curled at the edges into a pleased smirk.

“Roads,” he replied, taking her hoof and feeling a jolt run through him as he forced his lines to attune to hers.

“Oh!” she said. “That’s a wonderful name. It sounds just like mine, now we’ll have to be friends.”

Roads laughed at that.

“So, what’s a pegasus doing out on the duelist training fields?” Orion cut in.

“I’ve been needing to talk to a duelist,” Roads replied. “Shining Armor said I might find somepony out here who could help me. Are you two busy?”

Rose glanced at Orion. Orion glanced at Rose.

“Well,” Orion started, frowning, “Sorry, but we’re actually—”

“—in the mood to help,” Rose finished. “What do you need?”

“Well, basically,” Roads started, pawing at the ground and wondering how to explain his situation succinctly, “I need somepony to teach me how to duel.”

Rose cocked her head. “But, you’re a...”

“Yeah, I know. But look at this,” he replied. Furrowing his brow, he focused his magic into a forehoof, and telekinetically lifted a large rock off the ground beside Rose. Her eyes widened.

“Wow! How did you do that?!” she asked.

“My ley lines are kind of... unusual. I can copy anypony else’s lines, just by touching them, and cast the spells they’re used to using.”

“Hmm...” Orion murmured, suddenly attentive. “A copy duelist. That’s different.”

“What?” Roads asked, peering at him. He averted his eyes, then glanced over at Rose. Orion said something under his breath that Roads couldn’t make out. Rose rolled her eyes.

“Don’t mind him,” she said to Roads. “He’s weird. He made really stupid joke about some arcane texts from the Celestene Era detailing the work of groups of unicorns who used special potions and tinctures in order to steal the magic of their foes and use it against them. Supposedly, they were all very feared and respected, back when that was common.”

“I’d never heard of them. What happened to them?”

“The practice died out,” Orion said. “There are a bunch of ways to counter a copy duelist, and people started digging them up. Suddenly, copying wasn’t so in vogue anymore. In the world of dueling, it happens all the time. New dueling styles rise, stay dominant for a while, then somepony figures out its weaknesses and it falls. Only to be replaced again.”

“So, what’s dominant right now?” Roads asked.

Rose shrugged. “These days, most of the mainstream duelists model their styles off of the Guard’s Way of the Unicorn. It’s all about balancing physical and arcane martial arts, which tends to produce lots of very versatile duelists. And that’s pretty much what the Guard is looking for, and what tends to do well in the underground rings.”

“Think you could teach it to me?”

Rose laughed, and beside her Orion made a noise that might have been a chuckle. “The Way takes years, even decades to master. It’s not something you pick up in a day,” he said.

“But,” Rose cut in, “we could give you a crash course. What do you need to learn to duel for?”

“I’ve started working with the Royal Expeditionary Aggregate, and I want to be able to defend myself for the work they send me out on,” Roads replied.

Rose nodded. “Oh yeah, I’ve heard of them. They hire up a lot of ex-Guards as mercenaries.”

“Strange they would contract you to work protection detail if you don’t know how to fight,” Orion observed.

“Technically we already have protection, actually. I’m just the botanist.But I want to be able to help out in dangerous situations, you know?”

“Well, we could definitely give you a few pointers,” Rose said. “How much do you know about dueling already?” she asked.

“Only the stuff I’ve been able to pick up out of a few secondhoof textbooks,” Roads said.

Orion shook his head. “No good,” he said. “Learning to duel is a hooves-on kind of thing. It’s tough to figure it out from a book.”

“I’m afraid he’s right,” Rose said.

Roads sighed. “Yeah, I figured.”

“Were there at least some dueling spells you could practice in there?”

“There were a few, but I could hardly do any of them because my lines at the time weren’t properly adapted. That’s one of the reasons I came to see you, actually.”

“You figure you can copy my lines?” Rose asked.

Roads smiled. “I already did.”

“What? When?”

“When we shook hooves. I can do it really quickly if I try hard enough.”

“Well, in that case, let’s see you try to cast one of my spells!” she said excitedly.

“Uh, okay, which one?”

“Hmm...” she said, thinking for a second. “Let’s start with something simple. Try to match this.”

Her horn glowed, and all around her, green stalks began to shoot up out of the ground. They bloomed before his eyes, buds opening to expose bright red petals. Rose reached down and picked one, smiling, then tucked it behind her ear.

Simple? Roads thought. That’s simple? A ground-to-organism transmutation and then a growth acceleration spell? I know how to do all that in theory, but still...

This was not going to be easy. Bracing himself, he closed his eyes and focused, trying to build up enough energy for the spell. His hooves glowed with a vivid aura as he released the energy, channeling it into the spell. He opened his eyes to see that all around him, massive green shoots sprung from the ground, rising several feet into the air, then bloomed into misshapen greyish flowers, covered in thorns.

His face dropped. He’d messed it up.

Rose’s high, clear laugh echoed across the training fields. “Wow, you really put some oomf into that one. You turned it into something else entirely! Good job!”

“I don’t think that’s what he was going for,” Orion observed.

“Oh, piss off, Orion.”

“No,” Roads interjected. “He’s right, I wasn’t really going for that. I guess I just totally overloaded the spell because I thought it would be, you know...”

“Super difficult?”

“Yeah.”

Rose smiled at him. “I’ve done that spell a million times. It comes really easy to me, which means it should come pretty easily to you, too. Well, at least, in terms of difficulty channeling—you still have to know exactly how the spell is supposed to be cast. How many dueling spells do you know of?”

“Uhh...” Roads said, thinking for a second. “I’m pretty familiar with everything Class-4 and below.”

Rose’s jaw dropped. “You—what? Do you mean Class-3?”

“No, why?”

“That’s thousands of spells, Roads. Where’d you have time to learn that many? Besides the ones I know, I haven’t memorized much beyond Class-2, and I study constantly!”

“Same here,” Orion said. “I’ve been working with the Guard since I was sixteen, I haven’t even gotten through half of Class-3 yet.”

Roads shrugged. “I used to go to Celestia’s School for Gifted Unicorns. Since I couldn’t actually perform any spells, I had to pass my classes just by knowing the intricacies of, well, pretty much all of them.”

“The benefits of not having to actually practice your casting, I guess,” Orion said.

Rose rolled her eyes. “So, if you know all that magic, you should be able to figure out my dueling repertoire pretty quickly. I say, why not just go ahead and get started?”

“With what?”

“Sparring, of course,” Orion said. “It’s the best way to learn.”

“Uh...” Roads murmured, rubbing at his left foreleg. “I don’t really know if I’m ready for that...”

Rose nudged him. “Eh, we’ll start out slow. You can spar with Orion, I’ll guide you through it step by step. I’ve been kicking his flank up and down this field for months now, I could teach a monkey to do it.”

Orion snorted. “Please. We’re evenly matched. That’s the whole reason the instructors always pair us up anyway.”

“So he says,” Rose whispered to Roads. “So, want a weapon?” she asked him, gesturing to a large grey shed at the corner of the field.

“Uh, wouldn’t that be kind of dangerous?”

“What? Of course not! You know the Silhouette Shield Spell?”

“Yeah?”

“Training field rules say everypony has to duel with one out here and stop when it breaks,” she said.

Roads nodded. It made sense. The Sihouette Shield spells were a form of direct repulsion shields that contoured exactly to one’s body and only activated in the face of imminent danger. Because they would shatter after blocking only one or two blows, and generally use excessive amounts of energy, they were impractical for real dueling, but perfect for sparring.

“Well, even so, I don’t really think I’d be all that good with a weapon. I’ve never really used one before. Couldn’t I just stick to spells? I’d really rather avoid all of the physical fighting.”

Rose sighed at him. “Just like a CSGU student to try and rely on spellwork alone. Listen, Roads, the whole point of dueling is to mix physical and arcane combat. It’s the surest way to win—if you rely on just spells, the second you face up against somepony with more ley energy than you, you lose. And I’d be willing to bet Orion’s got way better stamina than you.”

“Alright, fine. I don’t really see what the point is if I can barely fight though.”

“Trust me, after you cast your enhancement spells, you won’t have any trouble.”

“Okay, okay. What do you recommend?”

“For you? A dagger. I think a sword might be too heavy.”

“What about like a shield or something?”

Rose shook her head. “Physical shields are no good in dueling unless you can imbue them with ley energy. And that’s really not my thing.”

“I guess it’s not mine either, then.”

Rose nodded. Her horn lit, and the shed doors opened. A polished steel dagger flew from between them and buried itself between Roads’ hooves. He barely managed to suppress a shriek of surprise. Gathering himself, he bent down and picked it up, surprised at how heavy it felt in his hoof.

“So, am I supposed to levitate this, or hold it in my hoof, or what?”

Rose shrugged. “Most ponies prefer to hold it with their magic—for a practiced duelist, it doesn’t take much more energy than using one’s hooves. I do know a couple of duelists who go earth pony style and use their hooves. Personally, I can’t stand running around on three legs.”

“What about those crazy calf harnesses that let you flip the blade over so you can run on all fours?”

“Well, ponies who haven’t trained with those usually end up stabbing themselves, so...”

“I’ll pass.” His hooves glowed, and the dagger rose into the air beside him. Roads found the levitation surprisingly easy, much more so that hauling rocks around with Summer’s lines. He jerked his head towards Orion. “How come he’s not using a weapon?” he asked.

“They would only slow him down. He has a pretty special way of fighting. You’ll see.”

“Now you’re scaring me.”

She ignored that, turning to the unicorn, who had walked across the field and turned to face Roads. “You ready?” she called.

“Yeah,” came the reply.

“Okay, Roads, now let’s start off slow. You know about SPAR augments, right?”

Roads knew. She was talking about the main four spells that duelists often used to enhance their physical capabilities, so that they could compete with the earth ponies’ strength and the pegasi’s speed.

“Strength, Perception, Agility, Reflexes, yeah. I’ve never managed to do them before, though. Haven’t had the right lines.”

“Well, I practice my SPAR spells every day, so it should be pretty easy for you. Remember, unlike most spells, augmentation is scalar—the more energy you put into it, the more powerful it gets.”

“And vice versa, yeah, I know.”

“Right, but the thing is, you have to make sure you don’t burn up all of your energy just on augmentations. Only use as much as you need, or else—”

“I get into an enhancement race.”

Enhancement races were the duelists terms for when opponents tried to overwhelm each other by constantly increasing the energy they used for augmentation spells, instead of mixing in other dueling spells as well. Like duels with two opponents relying on only arcane combat, enhancement races were uniformly won by whomever had the most energy on reserve. For anyone who wasn’t an augmentation specialist—a pony who intentionally trained for such races—it could be a dangerous game. It was one Roads didn’t plan on trying.

Rose smiled. “You really know your stuff,” she said. “Good for you! Let’s see if you can cast it, too.”

Roads nodded, closed his eyes again, and focused on casting the first spell. Strength. He found it came easily to him—Rose was right, she really had practiced. A feeling of incredible power rushed over him, and he felt his muscles tense and bunch with energy. He felt, well, strong, stronger than he had ever been in his life, as though he could lift carriages and smash through walls. He wondered if this was what it was like to be Chief.

Perception. This one was easier. It came quickly. He cast the spell, and his vision became... different. Sharper, clearer. Everything seemed to move more slowly, he could make out every detail of... everything. He couldn’t tell how he was processing it all, but his eyes were tracking everything in front of him, perfectly.

He pushed the thought to the back of his mind. It was time to focus on the next spell. Agility. His hooves glowed even brighter, and suddenly a second feeling washed over him. It was a strange sort of lightness, as though his body weighed nothing at all, as though with a twitch he could dash away, or send himself flying through the air in insane acrobatics. It almost reminded him of what it had been like to open his wings—back when they worked.

Then it was time for the last spell. Reflexes. The aura around around him swelled, and a strange feeling passed over his entire body. As he looked around, things seemed to move differently now, in a strange, hallucinatory way, as though he could see where everything were going to be before it was actually there. Everything around him seemed to move in a distant rhythm, and without even thinking about it, his body moved subtly along with it.

He blinked. With the combination of all four spells, he felt powerful, deadly, and most of all, alive. He could take on anyone. He could take on the world. No one stood a chance against him.

Well, except anypony else who could also cast those spells. Orion, for instance.

“Cast everything okay? Did it work?”

Roads nodded. “Yeah. I feel amazing. This is fantastic!”

Rose chuckled. “You might be putting a bit too much energy into it, then.”

Roads realized she was right. Even just standing here, he could feel his stamina being steadily siphoned away, to the point he would be drained if he kept this up for more than a few minutes.

He cut back on how much energy he was putting into his spellwork. The euphoria he had felt earlier vanished, but the feeling of strength and vitality remained, albeit diminished. That was probably for the best. He didn’t want his spells making him too cocky. From what he had read, cocky duelists never lasted very long.

“There,” he said. “That’s a bit better.”

“Good,” Rose replied. “You ready to go?”

“I guess so.”

“Alright, well, I’ll give Orion the signal in a second. He’ll come at you, but don’t be too frightened—he’ll be pulling his punches. And I’ll be following you around all over the field, giving advice.”

“You sure about that? Will you be able to keep up and dodge attacks?” he asked.

Rose shot him a haughty smirk. “Don’t worry about me. You might have my lines, but there aren’t many ponies in Equestria with my energy reserves. I can be faster than you and Orion put together when I need to be.”

Roads nodded. “Alright. Let’s do this.”

“Okay, starting in three... two... one... go!” she shouted, a plume of golden sparks erupting from her horn.

Across the field, Roads caught a flicker of movement. Orion was charging him. And he was fast. Even with his enhanced reflexes, he barely had time to think before Orion was upon him..

As the other pony approached, Roads panicked. Wait, what am I supposed to do?! She never actually told me how to start a fight! I don’t even know any of her dueling spells!

His muscles locked, his mind racing, and for a second, he just stood there as the other pony bore down on him.

“Roads! Look out!” Rose shouted.

Roads came to his senses and leapt sideways, accidentally underestimating his new strength and sending himself flying off into the fence. He slammed into it with a heavy thud but, felt little pain. Must be the shield.

He glanced over at the spot he had been, looking for Orion. The other pony wasn’t there. There was a cough behind him.

Roads whipped around to see Orion leaning casually against the wall, front hooves crossed.

“Nice moves, Roads,” he said with a wink.

Roads leapt to his hooves, and Orion was on him in a heartbeat. He threw a punch at Roads, but the pegasus could see it coming from a mile away. Before he could even realize what was happening, his body moved instinctively, almost on its own. He ducked the blow flawlessly.

For a split second, he was stunned, surprised he had managed to do something so... competent. He felt like cheering inside. Look at him, a born duelist!

Then Orion kicked him in the face and he didn’t feel like cheering anymore. The blow lifted him into the air, off his hooves. For a second, he felt himself hang aloft before crashing to the ground, landing hard on his upper back. He let the momentum carrying him backwards into a roll that ended with him on his hooves again.

He looked up, and Orion was already standing in front of him. He slashed at the unicorn with his dagger. Orion didn’t move. The blade slid effortlessly through his chest, and then he vanished. Roads stumbled forwards, stunned.

“Game over,” said a voice from behind him, and he felt a hoof touch the back of his neck.

Roads tried to turn around, but before he could move, his shield shattered and a shock traveled through his body, locking his muscles. He crashed to the ground. For a second, he just lay there, stunned and paralyzed.

“Aww, Orion, that wasn’t fair,” he heard Rose say. “I don’t think he was expecting you to bring out the illusions this early. And did you have to hit him with the Paralytic Touch?”

“I was going easy on him,” Orion said. “In a real fight, I could’ve just drained all of his energy, or at least hit him with a real paralysis. This will fade in a few seconds.”

Orion was right. Roads could already feel his muscles relaxing. He tried to move his forehoof. It took him several seconds. There were hoofsteps beside him, then two forelegs grabbed his sides and turned him over. His eye refocused in time to see Rose standing over him, smiling.

“Not bad,” she said, “considering it was your first duel, and all. That lasted seven whole seconds!”

“I figured it would only take me four,” Orion said.

“How fast were you going, Orion?” she asked.

“Half speed.”

“That’s way too fast for someone new!”

“Not at all. He kept up, at first. Let’s give him another shot, I bet he does plenty better.”

“Alright,” Rose said. She glanced down at Roads. “You up for it? Can you move again?”

Roads slowly got to his hooves. “Yeah. Just let me recast my dueling spells. When he paralyzed me they all just... faded.”

Orion nodded. “The power of the Paralytic Touch. It sends a burst of energy through your ley lines, halts all of your spellcasting. Even the passive spells, like augmentations. Oh, and locks your muscles, of course.”

“Great... how am I supposed to compete with that?” he asked, glancing at Rose.

“Well, he can only do it if he’s touching your spine—keep him from getting behind you, and you’ll be safe from that.”

“How am I supposed to do that, exactly? I can’t tell if he’s standing in front of me if he can conjure illusions that look just like him!”

“Well, you need to keep him off of you in general, for starters. Orion specializes in ley disruption techniques—he wins his fights by draining his opponents ley energy into himself, or by shocking opponent’s lines. It’s all very devastating, but very close range.”

“And you?”

“Mid-range. I like to let my plants to the fighting for me. Listen, have you heard of the Demon Roots spell?”

“Yeah.”

“How about the Striking Vines?”

“Yep.”

“The Deadly Thorns?”

“Mmhmm.”

“Those are some of my specialties. Try using them to keep Orion at bay, see how much better you do. And if you can manage to steal some of his energy with the Demon Roots, well, it’s just that much better, then.”

“Got it.” He glanced over at Orion. “Ready to try again?”

“Certainly.”

He leapt backwards, sending himself flying away from Roads, then landed easily twenty yards away. Roads let loose a low whistle. These duelists sure were something. Roads closed his eyes, cast his augmentations, then raised his shield again.

“Ready,” he told Rose.

“Okay, once again, starting in three... two... one... go!” she shouted. Another plume of golden sparks. Orion charged again.

But Roads was prepared this time. He focused, channeling his energy into the Demon Root spell. He felt a tingling in his hooves as a series of enchanted roots grew outwards a foot under the ground beneath him. He directed them forwards, towards Orion, then stopped, waiting for the right moment. In the earth, they curled in tune with his anticipation.

Orion crossed into Roads’ range. The ground beneath him exploded as a series of roots thick as Roads’ foreleg shot up from beneath the ground. The unicorn leapt into the air as the roots gnarled and twisted around the legs of a pony who was no longer there.

Orion landed hard, a few feet away from Roads, then rolled away as another bundle of roots sprouted from the ground beneath him. His momentum carried him back onto his hooves, and he dashed forwards once more.

Alright, this isn’t working. He’s too fast for the roots to catch hold.

“He’s too close!” Rose shouted from somewhere behind him. “Use the Thorns!”

He didn’t have time to question her judgement. Roads cast the spell on instinct, putting as much energy as he could into the spell, hoping it would work. It was a Class-3, after all, the most powerful spell he had tried yet.

All around him, dirt was sent flying into the air as three massive vines, covered in razor sharp thorns, sprouted from the ground and encircled him, spiked sides facing outwards. He continued channeling energy for a moment, letting them grow up around his head. Roads breathed out, readying himself. He released the energy, hoping Orion was still near.

Outside of the floral barrier, the thorns were launched away from the plants in all directions. Roads let the spell fade, and the vines dropped to the ground, lifeless. He exhaled hard, winded from the difficult enchantment. He had put way too much energy into that, wasted tons of his reserves. Hopefully Orion wouldn’t capitalize on his mistake.

But where was he? The unicorn had been in front of him, but now he was nowhere to be s—

There was a rush of air before him, and before he could process what was happening, he had already leapt forwards just as Orion crashed to the ground where he had been. Roads landed on his forehooves, and, channeling a burst of energy into his Agility Augmentation, forced his rear legs over his head and pushed hard, sending his body into the air in a half-somersault.

He landed shakily and whipped around to see Orion standing a few yards away from him.

“Not bad,” he said. “I guess I’ll have to speed up a little bit.”

Uh oh.

“But...” he continued thoughtfully, “another frontal assault would be boring, wouldn’t it?”

Not really.

The unicorn bent down into a combat position, horn pointed at Roads. He breathed out slowly, and Roads noticed his muscles flexing and rippling beneath his coat.

“He’s focusing his energy, Roads!” he heard Rose. “Do something, quickly!”

She was right. A glow formed around his horn, then spread to cover his entire body.

How is he doing that?! That’s a ton of arcane energy!

But he didn’t have time to think about that right now. He reared and stretched his forelegs out in front of him, hooves glowing as he readied another spell. A twisting feeling made its way through his forelegs as two large vines sprouted from them, sliding out of the end of his coat sleeves, spiked tips hovering in the air before him.

His breath came fast as he struggled to control them. It was another Class-3 spell, and it was draining him fast. He needed to make a move, and quickly.

Before him, Orion raised his horn, and there was a bright flash as he released the energy he had been building. Roads looked around, and his jaw dropped. He was surrounded by a small army of Orions, perhaps two dozen in all.

“Too late,” they all said in unison.

“They’re just illusions, Roads! Take them out before the real one can get to you!”

All around him, the Orions dashed towards him, closing in fast. Roads struck at four different ones with the vines. They elongated rapidly, speeding towards the targets. Their thorned tips passed harmlessly through all four, and they disappeared.

Roads’ stomach fell. He didn’t have time to try again. Seven of the Orions were already upon him. He slashed at one with the dagger, but it dodged, just as the second leapt forwards, diving at him.

Roads flinched away, right into the hooves of the real Orion.

“Game over.”

Roads struggled, trying to get away, but he didn’t have enough energy left. The spells had left him almost completely drained. Then Orion’s horn lit, and began draining the rest. Jerking and writhing, he fought against Orion’s iron grip, but soon found himself growing weaker and weaker. His strength augmentation was gone, drained away by Orion. A second later, his shield faded too, and the other pony let him go.

Roads fell to his knees, panting hard. “That’s it,” he said, sweat dripping down the sides of his face. “I’m done. I’m out of energy.”

He felt a hoof on his shoulder. “Roads, that was awesome!” Rose said happily. “You’re a natural!”

He blinked. “But... I lost. I mean, I never even had a chance.”

Rose chuckled. “Well of course you didn’t. Orion’s the second best—”

“—debatable!”

“—fine, maybe the best new Guard recruit. We’re both halfway done with our training as duelists, of course you never stood a chance. But you lasted longer than anyone could have expected—and your spellwork was perfect. I mean, really, really perfect. You cast two Class-3’s for the first time, back to back, like it was nothing. You must really know your stuff!”

Roads shrugged. “It was nothing, really,” he said between breaths. “I’ve just spent so long reading about this kind of stuff, I know the casting processes as well as anyone else—and with your lines, I can mimic your expertise.”

Orion frowned at him. “Rose excepted, duelists are an egotistical bunch. We love to cut each other down. So, when someone gives you a compliment, it’s best just to accept it. If you take that attitude all the time, you’ll get eaten alive.”

“Noted,” Roads said.

“Still. Well done,” Orion said.

Rose gave a loud, fake gasp. “A compliment? From Orion?! I never thought I’d see the day...”

Orion shrugged. “He earned it.”

Reaching down, he offered Roads a foreleg. Roads took it, and the unicorn helped him to his hooves. Roads dusted himself off, groaning as he felt his muscles ache with the movement. Now that the augmentations had worn off, his body felt tired and overworked. That he was still recovering from the injuries he had received on the island probably wasn’t helping much, either.

“Thanks for the help, you two,” he said. “But I think that’s about it for me. I doubt I’ll be able to cast another spell for a while.”

“Well, in that case, want to watch me and Orion spar?” Rose asked. “You might learn a thing or two.”

“Yeah, that would be great.” A thought hit him suddenly. “Except...”

“What?”

“I just remembered, I’m supposed to Princess Celestia soon, she wanted to talk to me at six.”

“What time is it?” Orion asked.

“Well,” Rose responded, staring up into the sky. “Based on the angle of the sun right now—and on my wristwatch—I’d have to say five-’till-six.”

Roads paled. “Uh-oh. I must have lost track of time.” He glanced over his shoulder at the castle in the distance. “There’s no way I’m gonna make it.”

“Orion could teleport you!” Rose volunteered.

“Would you mind?” Roads asked, glancing at Orion.

The unicorn sighed, shooting a look at Rose. “Of course not,” he said flatly, with a roll of his eyes. “Happy to help.”

He held out a hoof, and Roads took it. Orion closed his eyes, focusing, as a ball of arcane power formed at the tip of his horn.

“Bye, Roads!” Rose said with a wave.

Roads started to respond, but was cut off by a flash of light. He was wrapped in a sudden darkness, and a cold, deathly foreboding. Wherever he was, he hung, weightless and unseeing, trying to figure out what was going on. From somewhere far away, he heard a deathly whisper. There was no way of knowing what it was saying, but he knew it was bad. Very bad. He needed to get away, needed to—

His face slammed into something, and he opened his eyes to the same stone floor he had been teleported onto yesterday. From somewhere above and behind him, he heard voices.

“Yes, I heard something similar from Professor Sunburst. I think he should show up sometime s—”

“Look, there he is!”

He got to his hooves and turned around to see Orion and Princess Celestia staring at him, confusion on the face of the former, and concern on that of the latter.

“Roads, are you alright?” Celestia asked.

“Fine, thanks,” he said.

That was a lie. There was a coldness in the pit of his stomach, and a residual fear of that odd whisper. Still, he couldn’t show it. This was the Princess he was talking to, after all.

If she knew he was lying, she didn’t say so. “Good,” she replied. “Please, come with me.”

Behind her, the door swung magically open, and she turned to step back into her quarters. “Thank you for your help, Orion. I think it’s time you got back to your training.”

“Yes, Princess.” In a flash, he was gone.

Roads walked forward, into the Princess’ room, glancing around at the furnishings as the door swung closed behind him. Celestia’s quarters were exactly as he remembered them from his days at school. A large, majestic bed in the center of the room, a tall, gilt bookcase beside it, a glass door leading out onto the balcony that overlooked all of Canterlot. Nothing had changed. And why should it? Celestia’d had thousands of years to get everything just as she liked it.

“Roads,” Celestia started, breaking his train of thought. “Do you have any idea why you’re here?”

There was a solemn tone in her voice, one he wasn’t used to hearing, that sent a shiver down his spine. Had he done something wrong? Perhaps on the island? Or was she angry about what he had done to Poppycock?

“Uh, a-am I in trouble, Princess?”

She gave a slight smile at that. “In a manner of speaking, yes. But not with me.”

Roads let out a sigh of relief, the knot of tension in his stomach dissolving. “What kind of trouble?” he asked.

Celestia sat down on a large cushion at the foot of her bed. She looked at him thoughtfully. “The kind that’s difficult to explain succinctly.”

He frowned. Sometimes the Princess’ habit of speaking indirectly bothered him.

“Could you try?”

“I wouldn’t have called you here if I weren’t planning to. The problem is, the things I’m about to tell you are a bit... classified.”

“Classified? Have I gotten wrapped up in the Guard’s business or something?”

Celestia shook her head. “This is the sort of thing that is out of the Guard’s jurisdiction.”

Roads’ brow furrowed. Out of the Guard’s jurisdiction? What did that even mean?

“I can see that you’re confused. Perhaps I had better start at the beginning—but first, Roads, I need to know something.”

“What is it?”

“Can you keep a secret?”

XVIII

View Online

Chestnut’s Journal: 4 May, 978:

It has become readily apparent that I must leave this place. I have gleaned much about my inner workings over the past year, and amoung these gatherings is the immutable truth that I cannot hide my monstrosity under this cloak of flesh for much longer. That much is authoritatively certain.

I have always known that I cannot help my possession of the... urges, but now I do not think I can help but to act on them. It is all unquestionably the consequence of my endeavors with the sheriff. One, in particular.

There was a riot. A conglomeration of intoxicated plebeians congregated outside of the jail, intent on lynching one of the detainees, who had previously assaulted a mare and her child in a public square. We attempted to stifle their entry with a barricade, but our pursuits were in vain. The mob flooded into the jail, wreacking havoc on everything in their fury. It was chaos.

They handily subdued the sheriff, but not a soul knew that I was working for him, and I was free to drift amoung them. I found that their madness was infectious. As I walked amoung them my anger burned in tune with theirs, just as baseless and undirected, and I lashed out along with them, fighting silhouettes in the darkened mass of flailing bodies.

It felt so good. The way my hooves cracked against their skulls, the dull thump of their flesh against my solid bone, the exhilaration as they went limp under the force of my blows... I have never felt so invigorated. I got to hear the pop of a stallion’s spine snapping beneath my hooves. It sounded divine.

Then the mob dissipated. It seemed the amusement had ended, but I was not prepared for the pleasure to abate. By the time everypony else had dispersed, leaving my comrade bleeding and unconscious on the floor, the prisoner they were after was dead, but his cellmates were still alive. I knew that their deaths could be blamed on the mob, for if both were eradicated there would be no witnesses.

I took the keys from the sheriff. I let myself into the single holding cell. I seized both of them, one in each foreleg, and hoisted them into the air. Never have I felt so powerful, never have I felt such a rush. The terror on their faces was ecstasy. I ended the first by crushing his skull against the wall, and relished the way his blood and brains spilled down to the floor. The second, I squeezed the life out of, and was able to watch him die slowly. And then I fled home, shaking, and reclined awake in the bed for the remainder of the night.

This was a month ago, and few urges have come to pass since. I believe my bloodlust to be temporarily sated, but I know that I must feel that exhilaration again.

But how? I could never lay a hoof on my family at the farm—I know them, they are close to me, and I feel guilt and remorse even thinking about the possibility. I cannot injure the ones I love, only such people as the faceless men in the mob, or the strangers, the criminals, in the cells. I could go into town and find someone there, yet I would be in possession of no mob to conceal my misdeeds and would most likely be apprehended, and besides, what if I were to do a good pony, someone who could have otherwise received my affections?

The only remaining possibility is the animals surrounding the farm, but they will not satiate me for long. The fear of a beast is not as rich as that of a pony. Additionally, there is the possibility that a family member will discover remains, or evidence.

What to do, what to do...

Chestnut’s Journal, 25 May, 979:

You know, it’s kind of funny. It used to be that mom couldn’t bear the thought of me leaving the farm. Now she’s the one who forced me to leave.

I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. Finding all those old carcasses must have come as a shock to her. I think deep down, she knew she was going to see something like that one day, but she never could believe it until now.

I knew I should’ve hidden them better. It was a stupid mistake.

Still, I wanted off the farm, and I guess I got what I asked for. I never thought it would be so early, though. I figured I’d be able to keep hiding everything until I was at least eighteen, and then I could leave for the Guard. Now, to be out on my own, at sixteen... it’s kind of strange.

I guess I can’t say I’m scared. There’s really nothing to be scared of. Out here, on the road, I’m pretty much the most dangerous thing around. It’s just weird knowing that there’s not going to be anypony out here to help me if I slip up. I guess that just means I can’t slip up.

Being on my own isn’t without its benefits, though. At least there’s no corn out here. No work. No little siblings to take care of. Just me, the road, and this old, stupid journal. Princesses, I’m bored. I’ve been walking for hours, and I’ve still got another two days before I’ll be anywhere near Canterlot.

I should’ve thought to bring a book. I took food, I took a tent, I took bits, but I didn’t think to bring a book. I’d buy one at the next town, if I had money to spare. I’d steal one, but what if I got caught? It’s going to be hard enough getting into the Guard as it is, I don’t need a criminal record weighing me down, too.

Goddess, I hope they’ll believe that I’m eighteen. I certainly look it, at least, big as I am, and I’m pretty sure I’m still growing. And with all the training I did with the sheriff, there’s no way I won’t pass the entrance exams. I just have to get there.

Two more days of walking. Ugh. Kill me.

XVIII

“Behold these jewelled, merchant Ancestors,
Foregathered in some chancellery of death;
Calm, provident, discreet, they stroke their beards
And move their faces slowly in the gloom,
And barter monstrous wealth with speech subdued,
Lustreless eyes and acquiescent lids.”
-Siegfried Sassoon, Ancestors

Roads blinked. His stomach tensed. There was something in Celestia’s tone he didn’t like. Can you keep a secret?

Yes. But did he want to?

“Yes.”

The Princess sat back on her haunches and crossed her forelegs. “Where to begin...” she wondered aloud. “Well, I suppose I should warn you, first of all.”

Roads’ eyes widened. “Warn me?” This just didn’t sound right. Even though Celestia hadn’t broken her usual soft, even tone, something in her voice was just... off.

“Mmhmm. I’m afraid you may be getting wrapped up in something more dangerous than you’re used to.”

Oh no. Not again. “I get the feeling this talk is only going to make that worse.”

“Your feeling is correct. Of course, you may choose not to act on anything I tell you—though I doubt it will help much. And the truth is... I need your help.”

His brow furrowed. What could he possibly do that Celestia herself wasn’t already capable of?

“I’m sure you must be wondering what the all-powerful Princess couldn’t do on her own. As it turns out, there are some problems that are far bigger than I am.” Celestia had already anticipated his thought, as she so often did. The Princess was always thought two steps ahead of her audience.

She sighed. “Roads—you may resent me for this, but it can’t be helped.” She peered intently at him. “Do you know why your last book was rejected?”

What? “The CSGU Publishing Board didn’t think I had enough evidence to support my claims. Why do you ask?”

The Princess shook her head. “Because that isn’t the real reason. The Board never even saw your manuscript, Roads.”

Roads’ jaw dropped. “What—why wouldn’t—?”

“I regret that it was even necessary, but I intercepted it.” She inclined her head. “There was never an issue with your research. Quite the opposite, in fact. That’s why I could never let the manuscript go to print.”

“You? Why?” Roads didn’t know what to think. What reason could the Princess possibly have to sabotage him like that? After all the time and effort she had put into his education and—

“I’m sorry, Roads. I assure you, I have a good reason. I assume Chief has told you about his run-ins with a certain group of Equestrian cultists?”

Roads narrowed his eyes. “Indirectly, yes. Did you talk to him about what happened on the island?”

Another head shake. “No. But I’m familiar with the way Chief does things. How much did he tell you?”

“He didn’t tell me anything himself, Summer did it for him. All she told me was that some death cult attacked his daughter, and he may-or-may-not have murdered dozens of them afterwards.”

“I see.” The alicorn nodded thoughtfully. “Unfortunately, Chief gave you only a small part of the bigger picture. Even worse, I can’t give you much more. But I can tell you this—aside from the growing racial tensions, this cult one of the biggest threats Equestria is facing right now. They call themselves the ‘Church of the New Dawn.’

“They are a huge group of fanatics from across the world, and we don’t know much about them. From what the Guard and I have gathered, they have been active across the country, and almost everypony we have arrested has been involved in a type of necromancy that hasn’t been seen in years. We can’t figure out how it works, or what they plan to do with it.

“The truth is, they have been killing guards and civilians left and right, in ways we don’t even understand, in a pattern we can’t figure out. We have managed to get exactly two moles into the Church in the past five years. All they have gathered is that the cultists are planning to bring about something called the ‘New Dawn.’ We don’t know anything about what that entails, save that it includes some alien type of summoning and portal magic. We haven’t a clue what they are trying to summon.”

What was Celestia talking about? What had Roads gotten himself mixed up in? “What does any of this have to with my manuscript, again?”

“I suspect that some of the magic involved in this ‘New Dawn’ has something to do with natural magic. Do you remember the letter I sent you before you left for the Triangle?”

“Yes, Princess.”

“I’m sure you remember that I mentioned that something had come up in
Canterlot that you would be interested in. If you would accompany, me, Roads, I would like to show you something.” She stood up and stretched her legs. “I’m sure you’ve been down the Hall of Hidden Tomes before, correct?”

Roads nodded.

“I’m going you the inside of one of the private rooms there. If you’re interested.”
She offered him a hoof.

“I’d love to, but—I don’t know if teleportation is the best way to get there,” he said, eyeing the Princess’ hoof. “I mean, you’ve what’s been happening lately...”

“I don’t think anything will go wrong if I take you. However, you would be well served to turn down offers from any other unicorns, for the time being. Please, take my hoof.”

Roads did as he asked. As soon as he touched the alicorn, a shock ran through him and he fell to the floor with a sharp cry. He writhed in pain as his lines were forced out of alignment. They were changing continuously, trying to accommodate her influence, but something was wrong.

The Princess bent over him, eyes wide. “Roads!”

“Its—fine—” he whispered through gritted teeth. His jaws spasmed
uncontrollably; he tried not to bite down on his tongue. All at once, his muscles locked, and suddenly he couldn’t stop shaking.

There’s something wrong with her lines. It’s like they’re... infinite. They divide into fractal patterns down to such a minute level that I can’t even fully sense them.

Finally, the cramps wore off as his lines, having used up the entirety of his energy trying to match Celestia’s lines, were completely drained. What was left was a faint, imperfect copy of the Princess’ lines. He stared up at the alicorn.

Just how much was she capable of?

The Princess looked back down at him. She spoke quickly, and quietly. “I had forgotten that something like this might happen... It appears we finally succeeded. I was starting to think I would never see something like this.”

A magical aura surrounded Roads, lifting him to his feet. “What are you... talking about...?” he panted. He was exhausted, his muscles as depleted as his lines.

“I’ve been waiting for one of you to reach this point for a while now. I always suspected it would be you.”

‘One of you?’ What did that even mean? The Princess had more people like Roads doing... what?

“I understand that you must have a lot of questions. What I will show you in the Hall of Hidden Tomes should clear things up. Here, take my hoof once more. I doubt it will hurt you again.”

Steeling himself, just in case the Princess was wrong—for once—Roads reached out and took her hoof. There was a brief pause as a shimmering golden aura formed around her horn. A warm breeze blew through his mane, and from somewhere nearby came the faint sound of chimes.

A blast of cool air caught Roads suddenly, ripping at his clothes, forcing his eyes shut. It passed in a second, and when Roads opened them again, he saw he was standing in the blue-lit hallway once more. A heavy, absolute silence enveloped them as the Princess led him down the hall to a door marked 42.

The Princess stretched out one long, regal foreleg, and tapped twice on the number carved into the wood. There was no doorknob. There was a low creaking as the knots on the door began to shift and turn, collecting just below the number. Soon, they arranged themselves into a pattern. Roads stared at it, wide eyed.

It was a face. It opened its mouth, parting wooden lips. “Well, Princess, you’re back so soon.” Its dark eyes shifted, looking over Roads. “And with a visitor this time.”

“Yes.” The Princess inclined her head. “I request entry, my friend.”

The face nodded as best it could. Somewhere below the mouth, five protrusions sprouted from the door. When the palm followed, Roads realized it was a hand. The Princess reached out and it grasped her hoof.

The face smiled. “So, it is you. Come on in.” With that, the face receded back into the wood, and the door swung open. Inside was a billowing grey fog that obscured Roads’ vision, roiling just at the edge of the frame. Not a single wisp of smoke trailed out of the room.

A barrier, he thought. Whoever enchanted this room did an impressive job.

Celestia turned to him. “Stay close to me when we enter the room. The fog you see is an enchanted gas. It’s harmless as long as it doesn’t come into contact with any living beings. But as soon as it touches anything that has a heartbeat, it becomes highly corrosive. It can dissolve a pony down to the bones in just a few seconds.”

Roads stepped closer to her. “Who set this room up?”

She glanced down at him, a twinkle in her eye. “I’ll give you three guesses.”

Of course, Roads thought as he followed the Princess into the room. The mist receded away from the alicorn, forming a bubble of safe air around the pair.

“The purpose of the gas is twofold. Not only does it keep out any unauthorized visitors, but it also prevents oxygen from eating away at the relics we store in here.”

“Which are what, exactly?” Roads asked. He looked around. Due to the fog, he couldn’t see a thing. He didn’t even know how large the room around them was.

“Ancient texts from the Pre-Equestrian Era. Druidic records.”

Roads’ eyes widened. “But that’s impossible, it’s been two thousand years! How could documents have survived that long? We’ve never managed to find anything from the druids before.”

“That’s... not entirely the case.”

“What?”

“We have never publicly documented anything from the druids. But we have recovered material from them before.”

“You have?! Why didn’t you publish any of it? I’m sure the public would be fascinated, especially given that we know next to nothing about ancient pony history.”

“I’m aware. However, I made the decision to make all information relating to the druids classified. I can’t allow any of this material to fall into the hooves of the cultists— and, most of it is unintelligible anyway. The druids wrote in hieroglyphs that we haven’t yet translated fully.”

The Princess led Roads to a table, upon which rested an ancient, tattered roll of papyrus, covered in mysterious figures and scrawlings, beside which lay a modern book, open to a page in Equestria. With a gasp, Roads reached towards the parchment.

“Two thousand years…” he murmured.

The Princess caught his hoof. “Please, you mustn’t anything. The natural oils from your hooves may damage the paper. These scripts were found in a sealed vault—they haven’t come into contact with oxygen or pony hooves since we found them. We’re afraid they will fall apart before we can completely translate them.”

“’Completely?’ So, have you read part of it then?”

“Bits and pieces, yes. I have several teams of historians, linguists, and cryptographers working on it right now. Before this discovery, all we had managed to glean was the legend of Titania.”

“Titania?”

“My mother.”

Roads’ eyes widened. “Wh—what?”

The Princess smiled down at him. “I am immortal, Roads, but not infinite. Like everything else, I have a beginning—and, eventually, will have an end. Have you heard anything of Titania?”

Roads shook his head.

“That makes two of us. Unfortunately, I remember almost nothing of the first three hundred years of my life, which were spent in infancy and adolescence. Unlike Princesses Cadenza and Sparkle, my sister and I were born alicorns, and our development was quite slow. Just as an ordinary pony cannot remember much before the first five to ten years of their lives, we can remember little from the first few centuries.

“As such, most of what I know about my mother comes from legend and myth. The story has it that there was once a time before that of the pegasi, earth ponies, and unicorns, back when there were just... ponies. They had no wings, no horns, no cutie marks, no special connection to the earth. They weren’t magical in the least.

They were ruled by an ancient force, some strange being that we have no knowledge of today... until the rise of Titania. At first, She was just an average pony who led a group of followers to uncover a source of arcane power. Then things changed. She and these followers became the first druids, the first ponies to wield magic. It seems she used this power to bring about something called the Ascendance. Until recently, we had no idea what this was.”

“And now?”

“I had suspicions that the source of her power came from ley lines, and these new documents confirm my theory. They describe ‘currents of power below the earth’ that she mastered, and utilized to fight the ancient force, which the texts just call it the ‘Other Thing.’”

“From what I can tell, she somehow banished this ‘Other Thing’ using ley lines. We’ve read that Titania then ‘Ascended,’ leaving life here behind and moving on to what the texts call a ‘higher plane of existence.’ On her way, she enchanting her followers into earth ponies, pegasi, and unicorns. Then, she left behind two ponies that were different. The first two alicorns.”

“You and Princess Luna.”

“Correct. So, Roads, have you put it all together yet? Why I couldn’t publish your book, why I can’t show any druidic texts to the public?”

Roads nodded. “The cultists are after something and they want to use the ley lines to get it. You’re afraid they’re going to find out what Titania did. I still don’t get one thing, though.”

“What is it?”

“Why show me the inside of this room? I mean, it seems pretty dangerous in here, and neither of us can read ancient Equestrian, so why not just tell me what you’d learned from the scrolls in your office?”

“First, because I had to be sure nopony could eavesdrop on us. Second, because I wanted to see what you thought of something. Come here and look at the bottom of this scroll.”

She pointed out a page, and Roads inspected its lower portion, where one of the druids had drawn... something. He couldn’t tell what. It appeared to be the silhouette of a mare rearing, the insides of which were filled with spiralling, multicolored markings. In the center of her torso, just below where her heart would have been, the markings swirled together, outlining a circle filled with strange runes. Between the runes, two figures were locked in combat, one a pony, one oddly shaped, covered in limbs where there should have been no limbs. Above them, a diamond shaped patch was cut out of the page.

“What do you make of this?” she asked, peering at him.

Roads shrugged. “No clue,” he said.

“Not a thing?”

Roads shook his head.

The alicorn sighed. “Alright then,” she said. “I suppose its time we left. Even I can’t keep this mist at bay forever.”

Celestia stretched out a hoof and Roads took it. After a moment, the same breeze and burst of wind passed over him, and when he looked around he was standing in the Princess’ quarters once more.

“Princess?” Roads asked.

“Mmm?”

“Earlier, when you said ‘one of you...’ what were you talking about?”

“Well, Roads, I suppose I’ll have to admit that you aren’t quite as unique as I once had you believe. Until now, I couldn’t afford to let you know, but the truth is, I have many apprentices spread across the country investigating natural ley lines. I believe at the moment,” she said, “that there are roughly twenty of you, all working in different areas, on different projects.

“I think we probably could have found all that we needed to know by now, had I let you all share notes and resources, but I just couldn’t take that risk. If the Church had gotten to one of you, they could have acquired all of your collective research. So I’ve been forced to keep you ignorant of each other, so that the only pony with access to all of the ley research at once is one of the only two ponies. I can really trust. Namely, me.”

Roads cocked an eyebrow. “You don’t trust me, Princess?”

The Princess sighed. “To be honest, I can’t ever be completely certain that you haven’t been converted by the cult. However, as far as you have come, if the Church has access to your knowledge, all is already lost. So what I have for you is more of a de facto trust than a true confidence.”

“Well, I’m not part of the cult. I swear.”

She gave a thin smile. “Much appreciated, Roads, but that’s exactly what a cultist would say. Still, that doesn’t change the fact that I need your help, with more than just art analysis.”

“What do you need?”

“It’s hard to put succinctly, but if I had to put it into a single phrase... I need you to become a shaman.”

Roads’ brow furrowed. “Uh... ma’am?”

“A shaman. I’m sure you’re familiar with them.”

Roads nodded. He knew about as much about the shaman as anyone else did. They were secretive, disjointed bands of zebra sorcerers who worshipped the L’wha, powerful, mysterious collective consciousnesses housed in the bodies of large groups of certain animals.

They formed spiritual pacts with these nature gods, who in return granted them magical abilities different than that of the magi. Though they lived across Equestria, they weren’t Equestrians, and no one had any clue where they had come from, save that it was somewhere across the sea. And the shaman themselves certainly weren’t telling.

“Princess, I’d love to help, but somehow I doubt there’s any way—”

“That you could become a shaman? Well, not in the traditional sense, no, but you can get close enough to get what we need. Roads, do you know why it is that we know so little about shamanic magic?”

“The Blood Pact, right? They say anything to anypony who’s still, you know, ‘Locked,’ or whatever it is.”

Part of the terms of the pacts the shaman formed with the L’wha was the restriction that they were never able to share the details of their worship or magical ability with anypony who wasn’t “spiritually unlocked,” as they put it. Any attempt to speak, write, or convey the knowledge given to them by the L’wha would be rendered into gibberish by the magic of the Blood Pact.

“That’s true,” the Princess replied. “But I have reason to believe that the shaman might be able to speak to you. A close personal friend, a shaman from the Everfree, the great aunt of Zecora—I’m sure you’re familiar with her—once managed to confide in me that being Locked had a lot to do with ley lines. Half of what she said came out as gibberish, but I managed to extract that much.”

Roads’ eyes widened. His heart quickened. The shaman could speak freely to him? Princesses... he might be on the verge of becoming the first Equestrian in history to access the knowledge of the shaman. Unicorn theorists had pondered for years what they had discovered, but none had even come close to discovering anything of substance. And now it could be him?

No, that was impossible. It was too good to be true!

But Celestia thought he had a chance. And who was he to question the Princess?

He opened his mouth, his jaw working wordlessly, an incredulous expression across his face. His brain couldn’t manage to put together a coherent sentence. “I—the shaman—me?!” he sputtered.

The corners of Celestia’s mouth tightened. “That is correct. My friend, the shaman, she lives in an enchanted place where I have never set hoof. I don’t even know where it is, truthfully. But I do know how you can get there. Do you know where the Aromatic Falls are?”

Roads nodded mutely.

“She has told me that should I ever need her aid, there is a passage behind the falls which leads to her... somehow. I’m not certain what’s back there. I want you to go there, Roads, and talk to her. I think she may able to set you further down the path to the secret of my mother’s Ascension, and perhaps even what it is that the Church of the New Dawn is after. Would you be willing to do that?”

“Willing? I’d kill for the chance to learn more about the shaman.”

“Good. If you’re able, I’d like you to relay whatever you learn back to me, but only in person. Any written or magical communication between us could potentially be accessed by the Church. As such, I’d like to see you back in Canterlot in a week or two. With your help, I might finally be able to get a step ahead of those damned cultists.”

Roads blinked. He’d never heard the Princess swear before. She was always so... regal. Calm, confident, at ease. Whatever it was that was going on with the Church must have really set her on edge.

“Yes, Princess.”

“Excellent.” The Princess sat back on her haunches, and her horn shone with light. From across the room, two large mugs hovered over to him and sat gently against the table. A golden halo shone above each mug, and a trickle of steaming brown liquid fell from it, filling the cups. The Princess offered one to Roads.

“So,” she said, “now that the important business is finished, I hope that you have time for something more relaxing. I have twelve minutes to spare before my next obligation, and would love to share some tea and hear more about your trip to the island. And besides,” she said with a faint smile, “three days ago, I mastered the transmutation of air into glucose, so I think you’ll find this is much better than the last batch I conjured for you.”

Roads smiled and took the cup. He raised it to his lips, and was about to take a sip when the Celestia’s hoof shot out and took him by the wrist. “Wait,” she said abruptly. “I’ve just realized something.”

Her horn lit, and she dipped the tip of a hoof dipped into Roads’ tea. She frowned. “Ah. I did it again.”

“What?”

“I have a habit of conjuring my tea a bit too hot, I’m afraid. What you’ve got in that cup is about two degrees short of boiling. I’d suggest you didn’t drink it yet.”

Roads lowered the cup. He would prefer to go without second-degree burns. Instead, he talked as his tea cooled, giving the Princess more details about the expedition. The alicorn listened attentively, even laughing out loud as Roads described Strongsteed’s theories about her “surprise attack.”

However, just as was getting to the best parts of his story, his rendition of the flight into the nexus—any mention of his father left out, of course—the Princess raised a hoof and cut him off.

“My twelve minutes are over, Roads. I’m terribly sorry to have to stop you in the middle like this, but I’m afraid I must teleport you away. I have a meeting regarding education budgeting that I must attend, though I would much prefer to stay and hear how this ends.”

She stretched out a hoof, and Roads took it.

“We’ll speak again soon. Goodbye, Roads.”

“Goodbye, Princess.”

There was another breeze and another burst of air, and then Roads was standing in his own room once again. He yawned and fell back onto his bed. His entire body was heavy and tired, from the dueling, and from the island. Another yawn. A nap would be so nice right now... how much time did he have until Summer showed up?

He glanced down at his wristwatch. 7:55.

Shit! She would be here any minute, and he was still covered in mud from the dueling fields and reeking of sweat. Springing from the bed, he stripped away his clothes and hurried over to his bag. He dug through it, searching for something that looked half-decent. There weren’t many options. He’d mostly packed for the tropics, there would be nothing to keep him warm here on the mountain.

After setting out his clothes, he sponge-bathed with a wet cloth, getting most of the dirt off, and threw on his fresh clothes. Turning, he looked himself over in the mirror. Roads frowned at what he saw.

His mane was even more unkempt than usual, and had grown longer than he liked it, and his face was covered in a scraggly half-beard that he had forgotten to shave off. After going a week without real meals, his clothes didn’t fit him any more; they sagged around his stooped shoulders and bagged up around his calves. He was swimming in fabric. Worst of all was his face, which had gone from thin and narrow, to full-on gaunt, his eyes sunken over dark, heavy bags, the flesh of his cheeks tight against his teeth. He looked like a shipwreck survivor.

I am a shipwreck survivor, kind of, he reminded himself. Hopefully Summer didn’t have high standards for him. No, she couldn’t possibly—if she had gotten with him in the first place she couldn’t even have standards.

He glanced at his watch again. 8:03. When had she said she would be here again? “Eight-ish”? What did that even mean?

Roads stalked over to the liquor cabinet and mixed himself a drink. Something to take the edge off. He took a sip. As the burning concoction passed over his tongue and down his throat he closed his eyes and smiled. It was perfect—heavy on gin and light on mixer. He should have been a bartender.

Except that then you don’t get to drink what you make, he thought as he finished the glass. He gave a contented sigh.

Then there was a knock at the door. His pulse quickened and a knot of anxiety formed in his stomach. She was here. Oh man. Oh Celestia.

No. Okay. He could do this. He could definitely do this. They had just gone through hell together, doing on a date wouldn’t be hard.

Unless he made it awkward. Oh Princesses. What if it got awkward? What if he ran out of things to say? What were they even going to talk about? Oh no. This was going to be terrible, he was going to mess everything up, it was all over for him, she was going to ha—

Another knock.

Right. The door.

He walked over and turned the knob.

______________________________________________________________

Summer sat on her bed, turning the orb over and over in her hooves. She stared at it as she caressed its smooth surface. It was a weird little thing, not more than a few inches long, perfectly spherical, and black as night. She held it up, looking at the way it caught the light of her lamp.

The flickering light barely illuminated its dark face, the small flame reflecting off the surface in a way that was just... not quite right. The lamp was sitting off to her right, but was reflected off of the top of the orb. Its temperature was wrong, too. No matter how long she held it near the flame, it never warmed at all, and if she left it on her windowsill, it never cooled.

She wasn’t even sure where it had come from. It had been rolled up in the map that the islanders stuffed in her pack, but she was sure she had never seen any of them handling it. She hadn’t even found it until this morning, when she had gone to look over the map before her meeting with the Aggregate.

Ugh. The meeting. Celestia, that had been awful. The Aggregate was always so preoccupied with the stupidest things. ‘Summer, how could you destroy a multi-million bit zeppelin,’ ‘Summer, we’re going to have to pay to get those docks fixed.’ They had wanted to dock her pay, but she ended up talking them out of it, reminding them that the expedition to the Triangle had been a suicide mission from the start.

After all, the fact that she had come back at all meant she had done better than the last six crews. Six! After she reminded them that they sent a total of twenty-seven ponies to their deaths, they quieted down. She’d walked out with a full paystub in hoof, and even a small bonus. Not quite what she’d been hoping for, but still...

She glanced over to the big bag of bits she’d traded the Aggregate’s pay voucher for. A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. The pouch held far more than enough to pay her gambling debts—she and Roads could have their fare share of fun with that in the Underbelly tonight. Speaking of which...

Setting the orb aside, she stood and opened her dresser, looking for something to wear. The dresser was actually all the way on the other side of the room, but Summer’s apartment was so tiny it was only a foreleg’s length from the bed. She felt cramped, for sure, but this was the only place she could on her budget outside of the Underbelly, and she was partial to seeing the light of day.

The Underbelly, more formally known as the Shipping District, was the area where the river leading to Canterlot mountain met a vast underground lake, deep in the heart of the mountain. Hundreds of years ago, earth pony expedition teams had cleared out a huge area around the lake, allowing ships transporting goods and passengers to deliver their cargo directly into the city. Eventually, factories and mills sprung up around the shipyards, turning their raw materials into processed steel, textiles, and lumber, among other things.

Because the entire area never saw sunlight, it was instead illuminated by massive, bioluminescent fungi that the pegasi cultivated on its roof, leaving it in a permanent state of twilight. Nopony wanted to live there, so property rates were the lowest in the city. These days, the massive tenement houses sheltered only mill workers, sailors, and of course, all manner of criminals who were attracted to the area by its reputation as the most lawless section of Canterlot.

Between the mills, the crime, and the lack of daylight, Canterlot high society—and the Royal Guard—left the Underbelly alone, and over the years it had only festered. Now, any underground activity that went on in Canterlot literally happened underground. Summer had once taken up residence in a large apartment in the heart of the district, but had fled as soon as she could. The seedy surroundings she could handle—it was no worse than a jungle, really, you just had to bring a knife with you everywhere—but the lack of sunlight was hell. It left her depressed after a while, and depression just wasn’t her style.

So, now she was stuck in this trashy Old Town room above a run down bar. Like the rest of the buildings in the district, hers was poorly insulated due to its age and ramshackle construction. In the winters, it froze, in the summers, it stifled, but at least it wasn’t the Underbelly. At least there was sunlight.

Flat ground, too. Old Town was the first part of Canterlot that had ever been built, way back when the Castle was just a temple on a mountaintop and nopony wanted to live near it. Really, Old Town could only barely be considered to be on the mountain at all. Most of it fell in a valley between two ridges of the mountain, just behind the giant wall that surrounded the lower portions of the city. Her room was actually just a few feet from the wall, centered between the Fioran Way, the wide path that led from the front gate all the way to the top of the summit, and Bramble’s Opening, where the Equestrian River emerged from the inside of the mountain.

She often wished she were a bit further from the Opening. Crime in Canterlot tended to radiate outwards from the Underbelly, so her building was constantly being vandalized and broken into. Twice, stallions had attempted to mug her just outside the door. Twice, they had ended up running off towards the hospital, trying to hold closed the large gashes her knives left in their forelegs and faces.

But at least there’s sunlight, she thought as she dug through the drawers. Finally, she pulled out a slim, dark green tunic, and a pair of black leggings. She slipped them, combed her mane, and eyed herself in the mirror. Yup. She looked good, as always. Before the expedition, she had packed on a few extra pounds, and now she was glad she had, or she would be downright skeletal. Every trip, she always lost weight, and after coming back to Equestria at the end of her first expedition looking like a famine victim, she decided the look didn’t suit her.

She flexed her forelegs and shoulders, admiring the way her muscles rippled in the mirror. Turning away from it, she twisted her neck, checking out her flanks. Mmhm. Still perfect. Roads wouldn’t know what hit him. As long as he didn’t spend too much time focusing on her bad eye. She’d gone back to covering it with gauze and bandages she’d swiped from the hospital, but she wasn’t happy about it.

Summer glanced over to the clock mounted on her rear wall. 7:30. She’d better get going. After pulling on a large, black greatcoat, she filled its pockets with all the essentials, trying to make sure she remembered everything. Money, check. Housekeys, check. Hunting knife, check. The pass Celestia had left her to get into the Castle Grounds, check. She was all set to go.

Swinging open her door, she stepped out into the narrow, uneven hallway that connected the three rooms the bar-owner’s wife rented out to anyone willing to pay far too much for way too little. Below her, the sounds of intoxicated bar patrons rose through the creaking wooden floor. She took the side stairway, which led directly out of the building, so that she could avoid running into her landlady, who still hadn’t forgiven her for breaking a table in a recent drunken bar brawl. The vindictive boor.

After making her way down the stairs, she emerged, shivering, into the cold Canterlot air. Around her was a jumble of squat, grey stone buildings, arranged haphazardly and half-covered in graffiti and sales posters. Before her was a winding dirt path that led between the crooked buildings to the Fioran Way. She trudged down the street, eyeing the grumbling, bustling passersby and trying not to step in any of the waste Old Town inhabitants poured from open windows out into the walkways. Sanitation magi would clean it all in the morning, magic-ing it away with whatever spells they used, but at night it always began to pile up.

Summer hated the city.

It wasn’t long before she came to the well-lit, cobblestone-paved Way, filled with heavily bundled pedestrians and carts pulled by Bramas, the massive, two headed, non-sentient oxen raised in the south by earth pony farmers. They could pull several times the weight of ordinary cattle, and also disembowel a pony with a swift flick of the head, so Summer tried to keep her distance from them. Also, their dung smelled terrible, and she didn’t want to step in it.

The torchlit path led her up and away from the diminutive grey hovels of Old Town, into the hazy atmosphere of the Commerce Section. The district was built on top of the central portions of the Underbelly, where the skillful earth pony builders had cut massive terraces into the sides of the mountain. Here and there, smokestacks rose from the ground, letting off fumes from furnaces hidden down in the Underbelly.

It was here that the processed materials from the Shipping District would be bought, traded, or turned into the consumer goods that were peddled by the hundreds of tiny shops that lined the roads of the Commerce Section. In these sturdy wooden buildings, washed out by the constant Canterlot winds, most of the business of the city was done. Much of the lower tiers of the Equestrian government were also housed here; on her way up the mountain Summer passed the headquarters of the departments responsible for the city’s sanitation, transportation, fire and storm protection, and general maintenance.

The streets here were better lit, and far cleaner; few ponies actually lived around here—this was where they just worked, shopped, and ate. If they had enough money, of course. If you worked in a mill in the Underbelly, you certainly didn’t come here often.

A frigid wind worked its way down the street, and Summer telekinetically clutched at the corners of her coat, wrapping it more tightly around here. She glanced to her left, catching sight of a magazine vendor set up in a shack on the side of the Way. She scanned the covers as she walked.

Equestrian Fashion: Dress Big, Dress Flashy! 4 Mind-Blowing Tips to Making an Unforgettable Entrance!

Victory Magazine: New Ways to Get into the Castle that Chancellors Don’t Want You to Know! From the Underbelly All the Way to Bantham - The Tale of a True Innovator. Plus: Exclusive Interview with the Archmage of the CSGU, Page 23!

Summer rolled her eyes. ‘Exclusive’? Please. Roads had mentioned once that the Archmage would talk to anyone who listened. She imagined he and Roads got along well.

Soon, she came to Wall Marius, the eighteen foot high stone barrier that that separated the Commerce Section from the segment of the Fioran way that led up the uninhabited sections of the mountain to Bantham Village, sometimes referred to as “downtown Canterlot.” She waited in line at the gate for several minutes, then presented her voucher to the frowning, mustachioed pegasus sitting at a large counter next to the door. He glanced from her ticket to her clothes, to her face.

“This is signed by the Princess?” he asked in a drawling monotone.

“Yes.”

“This is obviously a forgery. And a crude on at that. Couldn’t you have at least picked somepony less prominent?”

Summer shrugged. “If you think it’s a fake, contact the Princess yourself. I’ll wait.”

“You realize it’s a crime to forge a voucher?”

“You realize you’ll be fired if you turn me away without making sure it’s a fake?”

The pegasus sighed and rested his head on one hoof. “You know what? I don’t get paid enough to deal with this.” He grabbed a yellow stamp from the counter and pressed it against the voucher. “Approved. Next!”

The gate swung open, and Summer stepped through, glancing at the earth pony guards that stood on either side of it. They wore tired, bored expressions, staring off into space with glazed eyes. Summer remembered Chief telling her something about how there were no less interesting assignments in the Guard than gate duty. Apparently, he was right.

She followed the road around the side of the mountain, then up to a large plateau just below the summit, upon which scores of tall brownstone buildings had been constructed, complete with sharply pointed wooden roofs. Bantham Village. Home to the professionals and artisans of Canterlot who couldn’t bear to rub elbows with anypony who didn’t own designer elbow patches. The place was crawling with doctors, lawyers, architects, and big-shot writers, all the sort of ponies who couldn’t fathom life outside the city, in whom Summer had no interested.

As she walked through the pristine streets, she looked with disdain through the windows of high-class coffee bars at the stallions in suits who sipped espresso and puffed on long wooden pipes filled with tobacco and cannabis. She didn’t bother to hide her knowing smirk. There were two places to get drugs in Canterlot—for a week’s pay at an officially licensed coffee shop, or for three bits from the Underbelly street dealers who might mix in some ground argus root, if you were lucky.

Here, too, were newspaper stands, but now they carried a different stock. Her eyes slid over the headlines as she made her way towards the Castle.

Life & Arts: A Portrait of Up-And-Coming Painter, Rougehoof Cloudkeeper.
An Inside Look at Pegasus Architecture.

Canterlot Insider: Earth Ponies Demand Compensation for Pegasus Separatist Attack, Strain Parliamentary Relations. Representative Burberry Announces Intent to Repeal Nondiscrimination Employment Act of 996.

Hm. Politics. Summer simply couldn’t care any less. Her walk through the Village was coming to an end—she was almost to the walls of the Castle. Brantham wasn’t very large, after all. The Equestrian upper class represented a miniscule portion of the overall population.

When she reached the gate at the Wall Cenarius, which enclosed all of the Castle Grounds, her voucher was again checked, this time more thoroughly. A bespectacled unicorn went over the ticket with a magnifying glass, checking the Princess’ signature against a register of handwriting samples of Equestrian dignitaries. After several minutes, they let her pass, and she made her way across the grounds to the Castle.

She pushed open the heavy front door, and was greeted by a cheerful secretary, who helped direct her up to Roads’ room. When she reached his door, a small tingling of anticipation set in her stomach. This was going to be fun. Reaching up, she knocked at the door.

No answer.

She knocked again. A smile crossed her face as the door swung open.

XIX

View Online

Chestnut’s Journal, 30 May, 979:

Tonight I write from a room of an old inn in Horseshoe Bend. For the first time this week, I’m well fed and clean—all because I got mugged today. Three pegasi met me on the road, and at first I was glad to see them. They made small talk for a while, until I let slip that no one was expecting me at my destination. One of them distracted me, led me off the road into the woods.

They jumped me all at once, but they died one by one. For a while I was too overcome to think straight, but after the rush passed I thought to check their bodies. Apparently, I wasn’t the first they had tried to rob; I looted nearly a thousand bits from their bags and clothes. Got a nice new dagger, too. It’s a unicorn-killer, silver-tipped so that it can pass most enchantments. I think it’ll come in handy.

Anyway, I’ve finally made it to Horseshoe Bend, a primarily unicorn town built where the foothills of Rambling Rock Ridge meet an off-stream of the Froggy Bottom River. Didn’t get here till nightfall; it took me a while to properly hide the bodies. At first, they wouldn’t let me through the front gates. Though the farmland around it is owned by earth ponies, the Bend is all unicorns.

After Celestians in Canterlot began to set up Ponyville on the other side of the Ridge as a town dedicated to racial unity, a bunch of Traditionalist unicorns started up what was supposed to be a similar operation. A multi-racial trading hub, surrounded by earth pony farmland, an economic service for farmer and Canterlotian (sp?) alike.

But while Ponyville got linked to Canterlot by rail, all the Bend had was the highway. With lax attention by the Celestial Party in the capital, the Traditionalists, all unicorns, dominated the town. Wealthy unicorn magistrates flooded the city, crowding out the earth pony farmers and jacking up the prices for housing and life expenses.

Of course, the farmers can’t pay well enough to live here, so it’s all unicorns. And there I was, an earth pony ex-farmer, trying to get in.

“We’ve had a spree of crimes committed by a ring of earth pony criminals,” they told me at the gate. “They’re terrorizing the town.”

Bullshit. They just like to keep out earth ponies they don’t know. I told them I wouldn’t steal a damn thing.

“Prove it. Let’s see if you have incentive to.”

In the end, they ended up getting a hundred bits off me, each. At the end of the day, even the Bend runs on money, just like everywhere else.

After that, I headed straight to the inn. No need to risk meeting more stuffy unicorns than I had to. Luckily enough for me, the innkeeper didn’t care who he did business with, so long as they paid well. The greedy bastard swindled me out of fifty-five bits. For one night!

And ponies said living in Canterlot would be expensive.

At least I won’t be traveling much longer. Canterlot is now just two days’ trek away. I’m setting out at dawn—I want to see the Guard Headquarters as soon as I can.

Chestnut’s Journal, 1 June, 979:

I finally made it to Canterlot. It’s not like anything I’ve ever seen before. So many buildings, so many ponies! I like it here. I blend into the crowd, and no one talks to me. At home, I stood out because of my size—there were only eight of us out there, and I was bigger than everypony—but here I go completely unnoticed. I walked from the front gate all the way through the Commercial District without anypony saying a word to me, aside from the street vendor who sold me a map.

I thought I would get all the way up to the Castle without interruption, but I found not just anypony could go up there anymore. I couldn’t even get into Bantham Village. They’ve set a big gate up across the road, complete with guards checking for passes. When they wouldn’t let me through, I asked them, how I was supposed to join the Guard without access to the Castle?

They just laughed at me. Apparently the Guard does all of its recruitment and training down in the Shipping District. Saves money.

So, I headed back down, into what the locals call ‘the Underbelly,’ and found somewhere to sleep for the night. Or at least, whatever it is folks consider ‘night’ around here. Everything’s just covered in a murky half-dark that I’ve been told never changes. I don’t really mind. I’ve always been more of a night pony anyway.

The guards at the gate gave me the address of the recruitment center. They said it would be open tomorrow. I’ll be there first thing in the ‘morning.’

XIX

“And you as well must die, belovèd dust,
And all your beauty stand you in no stead;
This flawless, vital hand, this perfect head,
This body of flame and steel, before the gust
Of Death, or under his autumnal frost,
Shall be as any leaf, be no less dead.”
-Edna St. Vincent Millay, And You As Well Must Die

Everything was red. In the fading afternoon sun, the crimson stained glass of the cathedral cast everything into a sanguine twilight. Charon sat at the back, near the exit, watching a stallion in black robes receive a ritual marking at the altar. A second stallion, dressed in white, stood before him and pressed one hoof into a wooden bowl filled with ground Gambian berries. Stooping, he marked one of the man’s temples with his hooftip and from there drew a line down the sides of his face.

Charon looked on. The markings were meant to be symbolic of the bloodshed of Corvus, one of the ancient druidic heroes, the founder of the Church of the Sun. It was he who gathered the first congregation of those who worshipped the two divine halves of the Holy Remnants—the Sun, and the alicorn Celestia. He was slain by “Ur-Morgash”—one of the last remaining lieutenants of the Other Thing, pierced through the temple by one of Its many spines. The Celestenes, the ones who built this chapel, wore the mark as a symbol of mourning for their passed hero.

What they didn’t know was that there were many in the Church who walked among them bearing it as mark of victory. Fortunately for Charon, both the stallion in the black robes and the priest were indeed Brothers.

The priest, finished with his work, stood and left the sanctuary. The pony in black sat down in one of the church pews and flipped open a book. For twenty minutes, the two of them sat there, him reading, Charon with her head bowed, as if in prayer. Finally, the stallion left.

Charon stayed in her seat. She was being watched. She could feel it. Bowing further, she let one hoof slip off the side of the pew. She grabbed the leatherbound briefcase that sat under the pew and moved it closer to her. It was exactly the type used by local businessponies to hold papers and files. It would raise no attention.

After what seemed like an eternity, the priest returned to the sanctuary, and Charon stood, stretched her aching legs. She walked over to meet the other man. Her wings ruffled. Sitting still for so long always made them restless.

She gave the priest a quick bow and sank to her knees, setting the case beside her. The priest gave her the same mark he had given the stallion. Swaying slowly back and forth, he murmured a brief blessing over Charon’s head. “In the name of Urgûl-Moresh, the Inscrutable Father, be strengthened.”

The priests’ hoof met her chin, and she felt a tremor run through her. A feeling of vigor and alertness came over her, along with a certain bloodlust. She stood and clasped the old man’s hoof in her own.

“I may not be your Sister, my Lord, but I appreciate your blessing,” she said, as was the expected thanks.

“Be wary,” came the expected reply. With that, the priest left her.

Charon walked over to the bench the stallion at before. She reached down, pretending to set the case below her, but swiftly opening a small cabinet in the leg of the pew where an identical case was waiting for her. The two were swapped in a heartbeat. She was a pegasus, after all. The fastest in Canterlot.

She slid the lid closed and sat back up, leaving the case below her. From one of the many pockets of her massive grey coat she drew a small paperback book. A Celestene holy text. She flipped it open to a random chapter and tried for some time to focus on a lengthy list of religious cleanliness laws.

When her patience finally wore thin, she put the book away and left the church, stepping out on the street. She opened her large, maroon wings, and sped off into the night. In an instant, she was far above the Castle grounds, higher than any of the guards ever thought to look. Not that they would be able to catch her, regardless.

Circling to the other side of the summit, she angled towards the distant lake at the bottom of the mountain. She dove, letting her wings nearly close. The icy wind tore at her face and the lake rushed up to meet her.

Her heartbeat quickened. Around her, everything slowed. Over the course of her long career, Charon had honed her ley abilities to incredible heights. These days, her body instinctively responded to stress by diverting metabolic energy into passive ley channels, enhancing their effects on her nervous system. Her perception and reflexes, in times of danger, became unparalleled. In her field, it was the only way she could compete with the magi.

Though it happened in only a few seconds, her fall seemed to last forever. At last she pulled out of her dive and swooped over the lake. Hooftips dragging across the surface of the water, she glid downstream to the northwest entrance to the Underbelly. Narrowly avoiding crashing into a freighter, she passed through the entrance and over the tops of the dark, deteriorating buildings.

She came to a run-down grey-brick apartment that was slowly falling apart in the shadow of a massive textile factory. Hovering outside its second floor, she opened one of the windows and stepped inside. Charon needed to move quickly. She was beginning to think there might be an Oracle tailing her.

Damn unicorns. The Oracles, while unable to defend themselves or attack her, practiced a very complex form of magic that made them unusually dangerous. They specialized in perceptive magic, a type Charon had never quite understood. The Oracles, if they laid eyes on you, would tag you with a form of magical beacon, what they called a “ley pulse,” that let them track you almost anywhere. They could manipulate the Aether realm, peering through it to find their pulse. Then they just watched.

It didn’t last long, the pulse, only a few minutes, but for the entire duration, they could see you, and everything around you. And, if they were skilled, they could deduce where you were.

The Oracle tracking her was good. Really good. He’d been trailing her all day, and she’d barely caught a glimpse of him. That was their other talent. Just as they could manipulate their own eyes, so too could they manipulate those of others. Those who had massive reserves of ley energy could bend the light around their bodies for brief periods of time, camouflaging themselves for just long enough to scurry unseen from one hiding place to another.

Of course, if she could ever catch him, he was dead. But she hadn’t managed it yet. Talented Oracles were slippery, if they discovered you were onto them they would just teleport further from you, and take more precautions in tailing you. This one she would have to lull into making a mistake.

Her tail hadn’t made a mistake yet. He was likely waiting for her to try to make the hit. What would happen then, she couldn’t know. Most likely, he would call in someone to fight for him, an actual duelist. That was the best case scenario.

She picked up her bag and took off its tiny combination lock. Worst case, he called in Guards to fight for him, or alerted the target, in which case she would have to abandon the hit. Then, she'd have to return the advance payment that should be right—with a click, the case opened—here. In the case, four long rolls of fifty-bit coins gleamed atop a group of files.

Sitting back on the bed, she skimmed them quickly.

TBE: Summer Dew, pictured above, likely to be wearing such and such etc, etc... may be traveling with pegasus thus far known only as Roads, sketched above... Also potentially traveling the earth pony “Chief”... suspected as Suppressive Person no. 115... SP-115 is to be considered extremely dangerous, his presence is to be considered an abortive circumstance, etc...

She flipped through the pages, looking for the most important details.

You should find an advance in this case worth 6,000 bits... meet Brother 4325 at the agreed upon place and time to return the advance or collect your reward... contact Brother 4324 at the agreed upon place and time for information on the target’s current whereabouts.

She checked her watch. 8:39. Perfect. Six minutes left.

Charon walked over to her armoire and changed clothes quickly, pulling on a dark red tunic with black leggings. At night, the red clothing would be just as hard to see as black, but if caught it was far less suspicious. Cold as it was, she had to wear light clothing; anything that restricted her range of motion severely hindered her ability to defend herself. Skillful pegasus acrobatics could mean the difference between a successful hit and a trip to the hospital—or worse, the morgue.

With a grunt, she slid the the dresser away from the wall and turned it around. She’d installed a false back when she first moved in; reaching to the top of the armoire she opened a hidden latch, exposing her hidden niche. From it she took two thin, featherlight shortswords, attached to cuffs that extended or retracted them past her hoof with a flick of the leg. She attached them to her forelegs, then dug around to find a sheath containing four throwing knives.

After affixing the sheath to her belt, she slid two long, rectangular smoke sticks into her pockets. In a pinch, the glass covering of the sticks could be shattered to expose a brick of compressed paper wadding. The paper was soaked in a potion which, when exposed to air, would begin to give off a thick cloud of grey smoke. In the windless conditions of the Underbelly, the fog would be dense enough to completely obscure vision in a ten meter radius for a minute or two.

Sufficiently armed, she pushed the armoire back into position, opened the window, and dove out. Spreading her wings, she took to the air, flying south towards Alver Street. The street was the most well kept area of the Underbelly, in the heart of Syndicate territory.

Some of the members of three prominent organized crime rings had opened and maintained a bunch of taverns, casinos, nightclubs, and drug dens over there. These enterprises thrived like no other, partially due to their operations as fronts for more insidious crimes. As the profits had grown, so had the buildings, and the relationships between the now-wealthy gang members.

Now, the Royal Guard stationed around the Underbelly lived in perpetual fear of the Syndicate, and the name Alver Street was synonymous with sprawling, opulent dens dedicated to openly providing all manner of legal and semi-legal services. It was the only place, besides the factory grounds, that had any real money, and was therefore the cleanest part of town. Not to mention the most well lit; in the Shipping District, light was a luxury product.

Charon’s contact was supposed to be waiting for her down by the Everwhile Cabaret, a massive half-brothel-half-restaurant dedicated to providing every manner of food, drink, burlesque entertainment, and prostitute that Canterlot bits could buy. Hm. A Brother of the Church, hanging around that place?

It couldn’t be. That wasn’t their particular vice. They had probably just hired an Oracle from the Underbelly, someone unaffiliated, like her. The Church rarely did its own dirty work. They were the creepy, slimy sort more suited for manipulation than outright violence. The greasy bastards.

At least they paid better than anyone else in Canterlot. It was only just recently that Charon had started working for them at all. In her youth she had turned them down, wanting to stay away from them and the Guards that constantly hounded them. Now she was thirty-two, her body was beginning to show signs of wear and tear from a life of violence and frequent injury, and she was still living on the fringes of the Underbelly.

Near the edge of the cave, sure, close to sunlight, but not goddamn close enough. Not for someone who had grown up here. It was enough to make her bitter.

But, hey, maybe two or three more church jobs... Who knew where she could relocate then?

No more time to think about that now, though. She was coming up on her destination. After swooping around the edge of the Everwhile, Charon flared her wings, landing just beside the building’s rear entrance. Glancing around, she looked for her contact. Was he hiding somewhere, scoping her out from a distance, or—

A massive pegasus came plummeting out of the sky, only to pull out of the dive a meter above the ground. Touching down and tucking his wings, he walked over to her, extending a foreleg.

“Charon, right?”

She tensed. She’d been expecting an Oracle. “Who’s asking?”

“Brother 4325.”

She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. “Yeah. It’s me.”

She took his hoof. “Please,” he said. “Call me Ourobor. I’ve been watching your targets for the past twelve hours.” He smiled at her with such warmth that for a moment she forgot he was conspirator in a multiple homicide attempt.

It put her on edge, and she withdrew her hoof. “Right.” She said. “You weren’t seen, yes?”

Ourobor nodded. “I’ve been watching them from the air, from so far above they couldn’t possibly detected me. What effort other pegasi put into speed and coordination, I put into sharpening my eyesight,” he said. Still smiling. She noticed his teeth were somehow too big for his mouth.

“So, where are they?”

“You know the Founders’ Lodge?”

“The casino down the street?”

“Yes. The unicorn, Summer Dew, she went in about thirty minutes ago. Her pegasus friend was with her. No sign of the earth pony, or any other company. The Lodge only has one public exit—if I were you, I would—”

She had already opened her wings. “That’s all I need, thanks,” she said, taking off. About time she got rid of that guy.

She sped away from him. Churchmembers. Why couldn’t she ever get paid that much by normal ponies? And, come to think of it, where were these nutjobs getting their money, anyway?

Probably best not to think about it, she decided as she touched down on the wide, flat roof of the tenement house across the street from the Lodge. She walked over to the edge of the building, crouching behind the crumbling stone parapets. Peering over them, she stared at Lodge’s only exit. While her vision wasn’t as sharp as Ourobor’s, it was still good enough that she would never miss a target.

She glanced down at Alver Street. Not many ponies out, she thought. That wasn’t unusual, early on a Tuesday night. There would probably be a pickup in a few hours. Until then, it wasn’t likely anypony would be in any of the many back alleys and small streets. If she just tailed them for a while, they’d eventually have to leave Alver Street—if they wanted to get anywhere quickly—and then she would be alone with them.

The throwing knives would probably be her best bet. She could swoop in silently, and, with her enhanced precision and dexterity, throw two at once with deadly accuracy. The knives were silver-edged, there would be no blocking them. If she could manage two kidney shots, this would be an easy job. She could just land and finish them off. Fast and quiet.

That would be it. Simple. Might take a while, though, who knew when they would come out of the—

There was a scuffling behind her. Tensing, she whipped around, rearing and extending her swords. Crouched into a combat stance, blades ready, she scanned the rooftop.

Nothing. That did little to abate her worries. There was at least one unicorn on her tail, and unicorns were tricky. Earth ponies and pegasi were pretty straightforward; whomever was fastest or strongest or best armed won. Standard fighting, really. But the damn unicorns always had a trick or ten in their manes.

Of course, this might not be magic at all—across the roof was the raised entrance to a stairwell. She was willing to bet there was somepony hiding behind it.

“You might as well just come out,” she said. “I know you’re there, and you know I’m onto you.”

Five meters in front of her, the concrete roof began to crack, shudder, and tear itself apart. A bulge appeared in the roof, then expanded until she could make out a dark form crouching beneath it. The form stood, shrugging its shoulders, and the slabs of concrete shattered and slaked off of its back, and she saw it was a colt, no more than fourteen.

A very oddly-shaped colt, at that. His legs seemed to be too long for him, and he stood stooped and with his knees bent, so that he was hunched over. He was thin and white-furred, with a mane so blonde it was nearly white. He stared balefully at her with unblinking eyes set in sunken sockets, his face gaunt, his lips thin and stretched over a large mouth.

The colt took a step forward. Charon noticed he was breathing heavily.

“So,” she said to him. “Are you the Oracle, or the assassin?”

“Brother is an Oracle,” he said quietly. He spoke with a rasping voice, as though his vocal cords were atrophied by disuse. “But I am just Nephis.”

She leveled one of her blades at him. “What are you doing here?”

“I prefer to be called Nephi.”

Charon blinked. What was with this kid? “Answer the question.”

“Brother sent me here.”

“To do what?”

“Feed.”

Her upper lip curled. She took a step towards him. “Get the hell out of here, kid.”

He smiled at her, exposing short, triangular teeth. “I do not get to converse much.”

“I’m telling you—”

“I wish we had more time,” Nephi said, cutting her off. He pressed a hoof to his forehead, massaging his left eye with his palm. “But I don’t have long and...” his teeth clenched and he closed his eyes, as if in pain. “I can’t—”

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

“I can’t—”

And then he cut himself off, making a sudden movement. In Charon’s head, everything slowed. Nephi’s horn lit with a light grey aura. So, this was the assassin, then. And he was making his first move. This’ll be the worst part, she thought, retracting her blades and dashing to him, fast as a quarrel, her eyes on his horn. After the first spell, you can tell what you’re up against, but right now...

When she was almost upon him, a mass of strange, glistening grey rope exploded towards her from his horn. Whatever it was, it wasn’t moving quickly enough for her. A single beat of her wings took her out of its path, and in another split second, she was upon the unicorn.

She extended and plunged her right sword into his chest, all the way to the hilt, but something was wrong. His chest didn’t give like real flesh, it merely crackled and split. As her momentum carried her forward into him, she realized that this had to be some sort of magical construct.

It was the oldest trick in the book. Conjure some sort of goon, let your enemy attack it, and sneak up behind them for a deathblow. She knew that colt was too distorted looking to be real. Well, she wasn’t falling for it. Whipping around, she slid the sword from the construct’s chest, her extending her other blade to parry an attack she knew was coming.

But none came. There was nopony behind her, and as the disintegrating unicorn fell to the ground beside her, she realized the wound she had struck was emitting black swarms of tiny glistening bugs. Stepping away, she glanced down to see that her right sword was covered in them, and they were crawling towards her hoof.

She cast the blade away, scanning her surroundings for the unicorn. Beating her wings, she moved away from the body and the blade. Whatever those things were, she wasn’t going to mess with them; it was obvious the unicorn had wanted them in contact with her.

Landing, Charon peered back at the body and finally made out what the little black things were. Spiders. Hundreds of tiny, black spiders. Something told her they were venomous; no assassin worth his salt would bring them just for show. She shuddered, but something in her was relieved.

She’d survived his first attack, and he’d showed his hand. As she looked over the remnants of the grey cords he’d tried to hit her with, she could guess his particular motif—spiders. So, what would he throw at her next, then?

To her left, a bony forelimb emerged over the parapet, gripping at its edge. So, that was his plan, she thought as she saw Nephi pull himself onto the parapet. Sitting back, clinging to the wall while his copy made the opening moves. Not bad. She stared him down, revolted to find that the construct had been an unexaggerated copy of the original.

“You know what,” she said evenly, “You’re a child. You must not realize what you’re getting yourself into. I’ll kill you if you make me. I’ve been doing this since before you were born,” she said as he stepped down onto the roof.

The boy just stared at her. He took a step forward.

She removed her remaining blade and attached it to her her right foreleg, drawing a throwing knife with her mouth. Before he could take another, she was nearly upon him. In a movement so swift that Charon knew the unicorn couldn’t have registered it, she let the knife fly.

A split-second later, she breezed past his right side, her blade raking across his neck as the knife thudded into his chest. The second her sword made contact, she knew he wasn’t another copy. Pivoting with a flare of her wings, she swung her foreleg around to bury her blade in his stomach.

The sword stopped immediately, jarring her arm. The silvered blade had barely pierced the boy’s skin. He twisted his head, looking down at her curiously, then, before she could pull away, he reached down and grasped the sword in his hooves. She leapt backwards, jerking at the sword, but his grip was iron.

Charon detached it as he lurched towards her, and as he discarded her sword a rush of fear ran through her, kicking her ley lines into overdrive. Everything came to a standstill. She stared at Nephi as she felt her body stumbling backwards.

Her knife was still lodged by the tip in his chest, and she saw that she had split the skin of his neck. Yet even though the skin had separated, there was no blood. Instead, she could make out something black and glistening beneath the skin. Whatever it was, it was stopping her swords.

It had to be some kind of magic, surely. Not like anything she’d ever seen, if silver couldn’t damage it. Given that it had stopped attacks in three different areas, it was safe to assume whatever spell this was covered his whole body. Or, maybe just anywhere that was covered in skin...

So, what about his eyes? Surely if his eyes were protected too, he’d be blinded.

Reaching—and feeling her body respond sluggishly—to her waist, she drew another knife. With a flick of her wrist, she sent one flying into his face.

He reached up and blocked the blade with a foreleg. She noticed then that something was forming on his hooves. They now glistened just as his neck did, and two protrusions were forming behind his hooftips. They elongated into sharp, deadly looking claws.

They were intimidating, but Nephi had already made another mistake. He hadn’t bothered to protect his chest, neck, or stomach, but he’d defended his eyes. She still had a chance, she wouldn’t have to bail just yet. If she could just pull this off, she could not only keep her chance at the kill, but also find out who it was that had been tracking her all day, and why.

She drew her second knife, leaping into the air with a beat of her wings. Something jerked against her right wing, and she was pulled back to the ground, towards the unicorn. He jerked his head backwards, his horn pulling at tiny grey threads she realized were attached to her.

He darted forward, closing the gap between them and unleashing a flurry of jabs with such speed Charon struggled to avoid them. He couldn’t touch her, of course—no unicorn could—but he didn’t leave her any openings to cut herself free.

Finally, Nephi made another mistake. He was advancing on her, trying to trap her against the edge of the building, using the webbing to keep her close, when he took one overly ambitious swipe at her neck. His footing failed. She twisted, then, pulling her wing under her foreleg and hacking away at the webbing as fast as she could. In the corner of her eye, Nephi righted himself perfectly, and she realized it had been a feint all along. She dove backwards as the threads finally gave, but it was too late. His claw met her ribcage, shattering one of her smoke sticks and tearing into her skin.

Thankfully, the stick was enough to keep the claw from sinking too deep. Charon felt fine as she beat her wings, rising into the air and putting distance between herself and her attacker. Her shirt billowed with smoke, clouding her vision. But as she tried to fly further away, she tipped sideways. Her right wing wasn’t supporting her weight. She twisted around to see that it was covered in a mesh of spider silk, two or three of the bugs still clinging to the webbing.

The mesh was too tight; she couldn’t extend the wing enough to keep herself in the air. I’ll have to get away through the stairwell on hoof, she realized as she came crashing to the ground. In which case the other smoke stick should help. Before she hit the ground, she let loose the other stick. The glass shattered, emitting a cloud of thick grey fog.

She landed on her side and rolled back onto her hooves as the rooftop grew covered in smoke. For a second that felt like an hour, she crouched, immobile, as the cloud grew thicker and thicker. From across the rooftop, her sharpened hearing caught the sounds of faint skittering.

As the cloud grew thick enough that she could hardly see her hoof before her face, she was just about to move again, when a voice called out from just beside her.

“Charon, did you know?”

Shit. He was closer than she thought.

The voice came closer. “My spines were coated in two different types of venom. One is a neurotoxin. It attacks your nervous system. You may soon feel the area around the wound going numb.”

Charon gritted her teeth. She wanted to believe he was bluffing, but she could already feel the toxins setting in. She could hear the blood dripping off of her, but she couldn’t feel it.

Slowly and silently, she moved away from the sound of Nephi’s voice, heading towards the door. If she could just slip through it, she could head downstairs, out onto the street, and then get someone to take her to the hospital. She could tell the healers she had a spider bite.

“The other venom was necrotic. After the first one paralyzes you, this one will gradually destroy the tissues around the wound.”

She shuddered. Someday, she hoped she’d get the chance to come back and kill this kid. A dark figure, three feet tall and just as long, passed in front of her in the mist. She froze. It turned, scuttling along beside her. She held her breath, hoping the thing hadn’t already caught sight of her. It paused for a moment, reaching out with two long forelegs, feeling around before it. Charon grimaced. Of all the things she could have dealt with today, it had to be spiders.

Nephi piped up again, a bit further behind her. “I do not tell you this to scare you. I do not relish your pain. If you come out, I will administer a more neurotoxin. Your death with be swift and painless.”

The spider disappeared into the mist. She crept towards the stairwell.

“Your brain will release endorphins as it shuts down. The end will be pleasant. You will never be troubled again. I am doing you a favor. I envy you.”

Her head was starting to get woozy. Her balance was going. She couldn’t tell if the was coming closer to her, or fading away. She tensed. Had he heard her?

“Did I ever tell you who hired us?”

Definitely further away. Thank Celestia.

“It was the Church.”

Her eyes widened. What? Those bastards had set her up? Dammit. The pay was too good, she should have known better. Followed her instincts. When she recovered, she was getting the hell away from them. And if they tried to contact her, she’d leave their heads out at the end of the street. Damn them all.

“Still not coming out? A slow death, then. Either way, you will feed my children.”

She could make out the outline of the stairway. Finally. It was time to get the hell out of—

The door swung open, she faded into the mist, and new voices emerged into the fog, all speaking at once.

“Royal Guard, what’s going on up here?!”

“Rose, clear this fog!”

“Dammit, he was telling the truth!”

A burst of heat and energy passed over her, her head swam, and she crumpled to the ground. A warm numbness was traveling down one of her legs, and breathing was getting more and more difficult. She looked up from the ground to see a troupe of unicorns and pegasi in heavily modified Guard uniforms advancing across the roof towards her.

Behind her, Nephi took a few steps backwards.

One of the Guards, a tall unicorn in a high-collared coat called out to him. “Don’t flee the scene, we will catch you.”

He turned, about to run, when a massive form emerged over the stone parapet. An earth pony, one of the biggest she’d ever seen, pulled himself in a fluid motion onto the roof. His body, from mane to tail, was covered in dark clothing, his face hidden behind a featureless black mask, his head covered by a hood. In two huge steps, he blocked Nephi’s path. The unicorn froze.

The Guard standing closest to her, an old unicorn wearing Captain’s armor, shouted at the earth pony. “Bastard! What the hell are you doing here? You weren’t supposed to come back, you swore!”

The giant in the mask said nothing. Nephis looked from him to the Guard, then, before anyone could stop him, cut across the roof and dove off of the side. As Charon watched him, her eyes began to slip out of focus. Suddenly, she couldn’t hold her head up anymore.

“Orion, Rose, take the rest of the squad and follow that unicorn. I’ll handle the situation here. This one’s a guard-killer.”

Two of the guards saluted, and Charon slumped sideways. In the corner of her eye, she saw most of the troupe silently disappear over the side of the roof. Her eyes slipped closed, but she stayed conscious.

“Chief. I know it’s you. Why even bother with the mask?”

If the earth pony was still there, he didn’t say a word.

“Respect my intelligence, will you? There aren’t many ponies your size in Canterlot, and there’s only one that would come calling right after we get a tip about cult activity.”

There was a long pause. Charon briefly slipped out of consciousness.

“Come on, Chief, why even bother to leave us that tip if you’re not gonna talk to me when I show up?”

The earth pony finally spoke, his voice was so gravelly Charon could barely tell what he was saying. “Wasn’t me.”

When the other voice spoke again, it was full of fear. “What do you mean it wasn’t you? Why exactly are you here?”

“I’m taking the pegasus.”

Me?

“Like hell you are. She’s coming with me, to Headquarters. I’m not going to stand around and let you start another spree...”

The voices were getting, softer, like they were coming from a distance.

“Not another step!” she heard someone say. She couldn’t tell who.

She slipped out of consciousness again. When she came to again, her eyes were open, but all she could see was the ground. It was... moving. Bleary shapes moved at the edges of her vision, the sides of legs that weren’t hers, then she passed out again.

When she woke up next, she was lying flat in total darkness. Voices called out all around her.

“Who the hell is she? Why would’ja bring her to mah room?” A male voice.

“I needed supplies. I figured this would be the best place to get them.” A female voice.

“And administer them.” A deeper male voice.

“Yah can’t just break into a hospitle!”

She blinked, and suddenly was sitting up, suddenly able to feel her body and open her eyes again. She she did, a bright light seared her retinas and she cried out, surprised to find her mouth working. Struggling to move and blinking in the light, she realized her entire right side was in agonizing pain.

“Fuck!” she screamed. “It h—”

A massive hoof clamped down over her mouth and nose. She couldn’t breathe.

“Do not scream. I’ll let you breathe again if you do not scream. Nod if you understand.”

She nodded. The hoof released her and she gasped for breath, gritting her teeth as waves of pain moved through her.

“Tell us who hired you,” said a hazy figure standing somewhere behind the light.

“What’s going on?” she asked. “Where the hell am I?”

“Tell us who tired you.”

She clenched her jaw as another wave of pain surged through her, and she twisted in her chair, trying not to cry out.

“The Church,” she gasped, grimacing. “The damn Church.”

Goddess knew she wasn’t protecting those bastards. Whatever they wanted, she’d tell them. Anything to get them to treat her wounds. After all, they were still in a hospital, right?

“The Church of the New Dawn?”

“Yeah,” she said, eyes shut tight, unable to take the blinding light any longer. “Please, do something about my side, antivenom, painkillers, something!”

“We’ll give you intravenous opiates, if you answer our questions.”

“Then ask them faster!”

“Who was your target?”

“Summer Dew.”

“Just her?”

“I was warned about two traveling companions. A pegasus and an earth pony.”

“Did they give you their names?”

“One. Roads, the pegasus.”

“Did you find out the names of any of your contacts?”

“Just one. A pegasus named Ourobor.”

“Who put you in contact with the Church?”

“No one, they just showed up at my doorstep.”

“When?”

“Can I have the drugs now? Please!”

“Give her some of the painkillers.”

“How much?”

“Half dose.”

She opened her eyes and saw someone move over to her, and grab her foreleg. Even if she had wanted to jerk free, she couldn’t have. They’d put some kind of restraints on her limbs. She felt a pinprick in her leg, and after a moment, the waves of pain in her torso faded to a throb. Her head swam.

“Better?” the female voice asked.

“Yeah.”

“When did the Church contact you about this assignment?”

“Yesterday, early in the morning. Apparently it was urgent.”

“The pony who first contacted you, what did he look like?”

“There were two of them, they both wore masks.”

“Did you see the faces of any of your contacts?”

“Three.”

“Give us the details.”

“The first two were in the United Temple of Celeste in Bantham. One was a priest there, or at least he was dressed like it.

“Did he give you those markings?”

She’d forgotten she was even still wearing them. “Yes.”

“What did he look like?”

“Old. Grey man, short beard, unicorn, yellow fur, not much taller than me.”

“And the other?”

“He was a younger stallion. A pegasus, all in black, with dark grey fur. Very tall, no beard, black mane, very tiny muzzle. That’s all I remember.”

“And Ourobor?”

“A big, white pegasus with teeth that look like they’re about to pop out of his mouth. Trust me, that’s all you need.” She gritted her teeth as the throbbing intensified. “More opiates. Come on, I can’t give you much else.”

“Give her another half dose.”

More movement behind the light, another prick in the leg. Soon, she could hardly feel her body, and her mind slipped into a haze.

“Did any of you contacts mention any names you remember?”

“No.”

“Did your contacts tell you anything about the recent activities of any of your targets?”

“...no.”

“Anything valuable they had in their possession?”

She didn’t say anything. She forgot to answer the question.

“Charon?”

“...nooo,” she slurred.

“How did they know where the targets were?”

“Ourobor...” her mind seemed to slip, into a blank fog, then she caught herself. “...tracked them.”

“Did they mention anything about the capabilities of any of the targets.”

“They said... said the earth pony was dangerous. Nothing else.”

From somewhere in the background, there came a laugh. She couldn’t tell from whom.

“Are y’all done?” a voice interrupted her questioning. “Somepony could come in any minute.”

“He’s right Chief, there’s nothing left to get out of her, anyway,” the female voice said.

There was a brief pause.

“What do you want me to do with her?” she asked.

“How much of that would it take to kill her?”

“Maybe two and a half more doses.”

“Give her four.”

“No...” she was trying to shout. She wanted to scream, but somehow she just couldn’t manage it. Another prick. “...no...” Charon begged, “please...”

Her eyes closed. The fog in her mind thickened. The sound around her faded into silence. Her body went completely numb, the faintest memory of her wound gone. All was still and silent. She felt as though she were floating.

And then there was nothing.

XX

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Chesnut’s Journal, 7 June, 979:

I started the guard exam today. It wasn’t hard, but it was... different than I expected. There were more ponies than I thought there would be. They crowded about fifty of us in one room of an office building at the very end of Alver Street, gave us some liability waivers, and left us to sign them for an hour.

It turned out there was a written exam mixed in with all the waivers. A basic intelligence thing—literacy, mathematics, logical thinking skills. I finished in a half-hour and sat around inspecting at the other entrants.

On the whole, they were an impressive bunch. Joining the Guard is an honor—they won’t let just anypony in. Those who pass the entry exam are trained by the guard for another two years, then re-tested. If you pass, you’re expected to work for a minimum of six years, during which food, housing, and expenses are covered by the crown, in addition to a moderate salary. And that’s nothing compared to the social capital that comes with Guard work.

That prestige doesn’t come without price. The Guard is only for the smart, the strong, and the brave. It’s expected that you’ll have significant experience before you even sign up. I heard one of the applicants telling another that a bunch of the instructors from the examinations even offer a six month long training regimen, for a price. They say it’s a lucrative business. Apparently half the new recruits end up their debtors for the first few years.

Thank Celeste the sheriff spent so much time training me. A few hours a week add up, after a year. I never had to be worried about not being able to pass.

A bunch of the other applicants did, though. I could see them sweating from across the room. But the nervous ones were in the minority. Most of the entrants looked like they really meant business. They also, most of them, looked small. For some reason, there were hardly any earth ponies there at all.

In most other ways, it was a pretty balanced group. A wide age range, mostly gender-balanced, an even ratio of unicorns to pegasi, but there were few earth ponies. Besides me, there were only two. We stood out.

Not that it mattered for long. After the hour was up, they called us, ten at a time, to come through a doorway in the far side of the room. They lined us up in a dim hallway and left us waiting for a while. I heard the other applicants whispering to each other in the dark.

Then, suddenly, the floor dropped out from beneath me. I fell about ten feet, then found myself lying at the bottom of a small steel cage. It made for a rough landing, but I got over it. It took me a second to get my bearings before I could figure out what was going on.

I found that I was in the corner of a poorly lit corridor, in a container made of wire mesh. There was a lock on the outside, and I saw keys sitting on a table down the hall, but they were much too far away to reach. I took a second to try and force the door open, but ended up just kicking my way out. It takes a lot more than some flimsy wires to hold an earth pony.

Crawling out of the twisted, broken cage, I walked out into the hallway and found a steel door and a passageway blocked by metal bars. At the end of the hall, the ceiling rose, and from the ceiling hung a cord attached to a trap door. I checked the passageway first, but couldn’t see what was down it, save for a torch and a metal lever jutting out of the wall on the other side of the bars.

Then I tried the door. An iron rung ran the width of the door, a foot below the floor. I leveraged my back hooves beneath it and bucked. It took some muscle, but the door lifted, sliding into the ceiling and revealing another corridor. This one was better lit, and at the other end was a door just like the one I had entered through.

I walked over and lifted it, and at first it gave just like the other. Yet as soon as it rose a few inches off the ground, the frame let out a mechanical click, and the door grew heavier. I lifted it a bit higher, and it grew heavier still.

Still, it wasn’t much of a problem. Years and years of lifting hay bales strengthens your back. I lifted it a foot before I even broke a sweat. After that, it started to get challenging. The weight would increase every inch, rather than every few. By the time I got it up to chest height, it was twice as heavy as it had been at my waist.

At neck-level, I gave. It dropped a half-inch, then jammed. I ducked under it and found myself standing outside, in a cleared lot behind the building. A bunch of other applicants had already emerged as well. They stood around, talking among themselves about what had just happened.

From what I gathered, we’d all had one common experience—the wire cages. The earth ponies were supposed to tear their way out as a test of strength. The stronger pegasi could do the same, but for them it was intended to be an intelligence test; the lock on the latch of the cage was supposedly easy to pick. By plucking a feather and using it to press a pin in the lock, any intuitive pegasus could get out.

For the unicorns, it was a test of magic, like everything else. From teleportation to telekinesis, there are probably a million ways those bastards could get out of a cage. There were certainly more of them out here by now than anypony else.

The first doors had been meant to separate us by race. The earth ponies took the heavy door, unicorns the bars and lever, and pegasi the the trap door. I never found out what happened to the other races after that. Apparently the trial for the earth ponies was meant to give the instructors a chance to gauge our strength. According to one shrimpy little unicorn, the examiners would record the height of our doors, and factor that into our overall exam score.

On the other side of the lot, a stallion I hadn’t noticed before approached us. He was a tall, bald unicorn, heavily bearded, with dark red fur. He crossed his forelegs, and I saw that they were covered in sculpted muscle. He cut an impressive figure. This was the first senior guard I had met in my life, and I was glad to see he lived up to the Guard’s reputation.

For a while, he just looked us over, intermittently checking his watch. When enough time had passed, he finally spoke. “I am your instructor, Captain Minos. The first trial is finished. I’ll be leading you to the second,” he said. His voice was deep and booming. “But first: all pegasi present, form a line in front of me.”

“Yes, sir!” they said in unison, and did as they were told. They strode past him, one by one, and he bound their wings so that they couldn’t fly. Next, he had the unicorns come forward, and he clapped all of their horns in silver clasps. Finally, he called for the earth ponies. The three of us stepped forward. The Captain stared at us.

“Three? I didn’t think there would be that many,” he said. Unshouldering a large, black saddlebag, he dropped it to the ground before us. It shattered the concrete when it landed. “Good thing I brought the extra weight vest.”

The three of us dug into the bag and put on the vests. I couldn’t tell how heavy they were, but they must’ve been over a hundred pounds. I was impressed that Minos could carry all of them so easily.

“If you remove your restrictions, you will be disqualified,” he told everypony. “If you fall behind, you will be disqualified. If you impede another applicant, you will be disqualified. We’ll be watching. Now, follow me.” And with that, he turned and trotted away from us.

All of the recruits around me galloped along behind him. I followed. When we turned the corner, the instructor sped up, breaking into a sprint. The pegasi in the group didn’t have trouble keeping up, but most of the unicorns—and all of the earth ponies—were pushed to our limits. We followed the Captain down a long, meandering road headed out of the Underbelly. It wasn’t until we reached Luna’s opening that we slowed down. I don’t know how far it was, but it felt like miles.

Minos slowed to a trot as we crossed a bridge over the Equestrian River, and I threw up over the hoofrail. Earth ponies like me are built for stamina, not speed. Still, I had kept up. Only one of the other two earth ponies had. The weight vests made it difficult. When we emerged onto the grassy hills to the north of the city, I saw that many of the unicorns were gone too.

The Captain stopped and rounded on us. He congratulated those who had made it, and announced that anypony who caught up at that point was disqualified. Two of the applicants who had just reached the rest of the group cursed and slunk away. Walking, he led us around a hill and into a flat stretch of land, covered in elaborate structures made of wood and rope.

I realized it was an obstacle course just as the Captain announced that it was our second trial. We went through it one at a time, Minos timing us as we went. I was one of the last to start, luckily, so I got the chance to breathe before the second trial. Even better, the obstacles weren’t nearly as difficult as the sprint to reach them. I passed with ease.

When everypony after me had finished, he rounded up the remaining applicants and told us all to take an hour to rest while he sifted through the results of the previous trials. He instructed us not to leave the course grounds, and recommended that we use this time to prepare for the next phase of the examination.

I borrowed a pen from another applicant, and sat down to write in my journal...

“...and then the spider from his dank hole
nervous and exposed
the puff of body swelling
hanging there
not really quite knowing,
and then knowing-
something sending it down its string,
the wet web,
toward the weak shield of buzzing,
the pulsing;
a last desperate moving hair-leg...”
Charles Bukowski, Death Wants More Death

Rose could tell Orion was uneasy. She glanced at him as they walked and saw that behind his high collar and blank stare lay an uncharacteristic restlessness.

“So, how is it being back down here?” she asked him, gesturing around at the dim streets of the Underbelly.

He stared at her impassively. “Fine.”

He was lying. She was silent for a moment. So was he.

“Maybe a little off-putting,” he said finally.

“Why?” she asked.

On the other side of her, old Captain Minos glanced down at the two of them from behind his massive grey beard. A pensive expression crossed his wide, square face.

“Because there’s somepony following us.”

Rose’s brow furrowed; she hadn’t sensed anypony tailing them. She glanced around as subtly as she could, but didn’t see anything.

“Where?” she asked him.

“Rooftop, 7 o’clock,” Minos cut in. Of course he had noticed it too. The old stallion probably put out an arcane field so large he could track everypony in the city block.

“Think they’re related to the tip?” Orion asked.

The Captain shook his head. “No. Just a Syndicate watchdog. He’s got the octopus tattoo on his left foreleg.”

Rose cocked an eyebrow. Even in his old age, Minos’ perception augmentations were still stronger than Orion’s. She would have loved to see him at his peak. It must have been something to see.

“Should we tell the rookies?” Rose asked, gesturing to the three trainees who walked before them. They were a group of fresh recruits in the Excelsior program, a branch of the Guard dedicated to training the most talented ten percent of each year’s boot camp graduates. Those who managed to finish Excelsior training would have the opportunity to become a part of the Guard’s Special Operations division.

Rose and Orion were already halfway through their six year long training with the program. For the past year, they had been working under the mentorship of the once-legendary Captain Minos. The Captain led squads of five trainees through assignments that were too dangerous for the regular guards, but too menial for the full fledged duelists from Special Operations.

Tonight, their assignment was especially mundane. An anonymous tip about illegal amateur dueling activity on Alver Street had come in. Since the tipster said it wasn’t Syndicate-related, the Guard had opted to actually do something about it. Not without qualification, of course. They had only sent half of Minos’ full squad, opting to replace the rest with rookies in need of training.

“Nah,” Orion replied. “Why bother?”

“Bet you three bits I can take him out without the trainees even noticing,” Minos told her.

“Deal.”

They bumped hooves and he stopped walking. He stooped to pick up a rock. Just as his muzzle touched the ground, a crossbow bolt whistled through the air. It zipped over his shoulder, and Orion, in a movement so quick her eyes could barely follow it, plucked it out of the air. He glanced curiously down at its tip, then in a smooth motion snapped it off the shaft.

He put the arrowhead in his pocket. “Silver,” he explained.

Rose’s lips tightened. The Syndicate might as well be throwing bits at him.

At her left, Minos stood, holding the rock between his teeth. A golden aura formed around his horn, then enveloped the stone. The Captain closed one eye and squinted at the archer in the distance. Rose noticed that the veins in his neck and jaw stood out as he clenched the rock. His mouth opened. The stone exploded into the air. In the distance, the archer’s head jerked, emitting a cloud of blood, and he went limp.

The Captain was one of the most highly skilled elementalists in Canterlot. A geomancer, to be specific. Of the seven types of advanced magic, elementalism was one of the most straightforward. Minos could move massive amounts of mineral aggregates by building that ley lines naturally released at their endpoints, then imposing his will through the magic onto them. He had told her once that it was easier than telekinesis.

I think to myself, ‘rock, move.’ I release the magical buildup, and it just... happens. It only works with rocks. Nothing else just naturally responds like that, he had told her.

His geomancy was effective, but apparently not quiet enough. The trainees had been walking several meters ahead of them, and now the middle one in the group, a slender, attractive unicorn turned to look at them.

“You owe Rose three bits,” she told Minos. Her hazel eyes met Rose’s, and her heart sped.

“Thanks, Autumn,” Rose said, beaming.

She looked over the light orange mare, eyes flitting over her sleek red mane, perfect teeth, and petite muzzle. Rose would have to make sure to chat her up once the job was done; she was a sucker for young, pretty duelists. And from what Minos had told her, Autumn was also promising guard.

According to him, the new unicorn was already qualified to replace the Oracle they usually worked with. Though she could perform no Oracle spells, she had advanced her aural enhancement spells far beyond the norm. With her magic active, she could pick up a pegasus’ hoofsteps from a miles away. And pegasus hoofsteps were very, very quiet.

Hopefully, it would mean she could also pick up the sounds of any illegal duels. Of course, given that this was Alver Street, there were no guarantees that there would only be one within earshot.

As if reading her mind, Orion spoke up beside her. “You know, I can’t figure out why the Guard would care about this duel. It’s the Underbelly—there are probably others going on right at this very moment, anyway. And honestly, that’s the least of this place’s problems.”

He gave a meaningful glance around their surroundings. In the past two blocks
they had come across two stores openly selling every manner of semi- and illegal drug on the market, three brothels, a casino, twelve merchants loudly advertising stolen goods, two prostitutes loudly advertising their own goods, and a tiny gang of street children who had made an ill-advised attempt to pick Minos’ pockets. Not to mention the countless Syndicate drones skulking around the edges of the small groups of Alver Street patrons.

“Because the tip came straight to the Sergeant,” Minos answered. “He looks good if we bust somepony tonight, and like an idiot if some scouts find a dead duelist laying around here tomorrow. But of course he’s not going to send in a real Special Operations squad on one brawl in the Underbelly.”

“Besides,” Rose pointed out. “It’s good training! Especially for the recruits.”

Orion snorted. “Yeah. Good for them. I hope they enjoy it, because they’re not going to see the field again for another two years.”

“You sound bitter.”

“Really?”

It was no secret that Orion hated the Excelsior program. In his opinion, trainees were given far too little field experience, and not enough time to work on developing actual dueling spells. He was constantly bemoaning the ever-rising number of hours Excelsior recruits spent working indoors, reading and memorizing magic theory and dueling case studies. And ever since a near-death experience on his first field assignment during the end of his second year, he had become particularly vocal.

“You could at least wait until I’m not around,” the Captain said.

“And you wouldn’t want to discourage the rookies,” Autumn cut in from a ways before them. The other two trainees, both pegasi, turned to look at her.

“What?” one of them—whose name Rose couldn’t remember, though she was sure it started with a ‘C’—asked her.

“Don’t worry about it,” Autumn said. Suddenly, she stopped walking. “Hold on a second,” she said.

Eyes wide, she stared into space, long ears twitching. A moment passed as the squad stared at her, frozen in anticipation. Rose even caught herself straining to listen, though she knew it was pointless.

Finally, Autumn spoke. “There’s a conversation going on way down the street, outside the Cabaret. They’re talking about tracking two targets. I think one of them is an assassin. I think it might be related to the tip.”

The other pegasus, a tall, dark green stallion, spoke up. “We’re supposed to be on the lookout for a duel, not a hit.”

“Yeah, but I’ve been doing some thinking... Unless this duel is for sport, how did the tipster know when and where it was going to go down? Outside of the underground gambling rings, there aren’t many duels that get planned in advance. One of them said the target is a unicorn. What if she’s a duelist?”

“The assassin might get sucked into a duel. So, maybe somepony’s trying to crash a hit?” Orion asked.

“They could be.”

“Why not report it as a homicide attempt, then?”

Autumn shrugged. “I don’t know yet, it’s just a hunch. But they said the targets were at Founder’s Lodge, and that’s on our way, anyway. We might as well look around when we get there. Even if it’s totally unrelated, we might still save two people from a hitmare.”

“Maybe,” Orion said. “But if we get distracted saving these two and miss the duel, we fail our assignment. You three are just starting out, but I’ve got a perfect record that I don’t plan on losing. What do you think, Rose?”

“I want to save those ponies! Who cares if we don’t complete the assignment? Let the duelists kill each other, I’d rather save two innocents than break up some fight.”

“You’re all ignoring one crucial fact,” Minos pointed out.

“What’s that?”

“What we do is my call. And I say we head for Founder’s Lodge. We need to know more about this hit—if the target’s a duelist, this could be our chance. We’ll poke around by the Lodge and see what we turn up. And Autumn?”

“Yeah?”

“Did you get any names?”

“Just two. The targets. Summer Dew, a unicorn, and a pegasus called ‘Roads.’”

Rose and Orion exchanged looks.

“What?” Autumn asked.

“We know that pegasus,” Rose said. “We met him out on the training pitch earlier today.”

Minos’ eyebrows furrowed. “They’re targeting a guard?”

Orion shook his head. “No. He’s definitely not a guard.”

“What was he doing on the training pitch?”

“He came out onto the field while Orion and I were sparring and asked us for a bunch of dueling advice. It was strange though—he could use magic!” Rose told him.

Orion nodded. “He was a copy duelist, but not a very experienced one. Knew a bunch of theory, but obviously wasn’t trained.”

“Looks like we’ve found our illegal duel then,” Minos said. “This pegasus must know he’s being targeted. That was why he came in looking for help.”

“So... could he be the tipster, then?”

Minos shook his head. “I doubt it. If he wanted the Guard to deal with it, he would
have just told us there was somepony looking to kill him. And if he wanted to deal with it himself, he wouldn’t have called in the tip—and he especially wouldn’t have framed it as a duel. In a case like that, both parties would be prosecuted rather than just the assassin. Somepony else is setting them both up to fail.”

They were now just a block from the Lodge. “We’re going to tell them that there’s an assassin coming after them, right?” Autumn asked.

Orion frowned. “I don’t see any reason to. Let the assassin make her move. When she comes out into the open, we’ll ambush her before she ever has the chance to touch the targets.”

Rose shot him a look.

“What?” he asked.

“You can’t use civilians as bait!”

“I don’t see why not,” Minos cut in. “Unless you doubt our ability to keep the targets safe.”

Rose scratched the back of her head. “Your call, boss. But I still don’t like it.”

“You know, I think it’s a moot point,” Autumn said.

“Why?”

“Because I just heard the assassin touch down on the roof of that tenement house,” she said, gesturing to a dilapidated grey-brick building across the street. She glanced expectantly at Minos.

“Let’s head in, then,” he said. “We’ll have to take it slow, though. If she suspects someone’s after her, she’ll fly off and lose us.”

The squad crossed the street and entered the building. They glanced around the lobby. The floor was adorned with torn, faded carpeting, and what had once been a varnished wood siding was falling apart, pieces of which were strewn about the room. A receptionists’ desk sat at the far end, unoccupied and dusty. There was a stained brown couch in the far corner, atop which was an unconscious earth pony who reeked of gin and vomit.

Orion frowned. “I’d bet ten bits that’s a factory worker on that couch.”

“Why?” Rose asked.

“Gin. That’s what they sell around the mills. That brand’s the cheapest around, and on a factory salary, you can either buy enough of that stuff to ease the pain from overwork, or pay your rent.” Orion gestured to their surroundings. “That’s probably how he ended up here.” He scowled. “The mill owners are a bigger threat to the Underbelly population than amateur duelists could ever be. Not that the Guard will ever send anypony after them.”

“You sound bitter.”

“Really?”

They crossed the room, directed to the ‘STA RWELL’ by a tattered sign. The group crept up the stairs, stopping every so often so that Autumn could listen more closely. It seemed her hearing was somehow impaired by movement.

“She’s talking to someone,” Autumn said when they were halfway to the roof. “It sounds like... another assassin?”

Orion frowned. “Another cohort?”

“I can’t tell yet.”

“Should we keep going up?”

“No,” Minos said. “I want to know as much as we can about what’s going on here. And if she has a partner, it’d be convenient to catch him in the stairwell.”

Rose nodded. The group all waited around her, save Orion, who crept silently up the stairs. Rose glanced at him. There was a strange expression across his face, a look of horrified curiosity. Her brow furrowed.

She’d only ever seen him like that once before. He had been lucky to survive that day.

“I don’t think that they’re working together,” Autumn said slowly. “I think they’re the ones who are about to duel!”

A ripple ran through the squad. The duel wasn’t with the target? Why was there somepony carrying out a hit on the assassin? And who had known about it?

The pegasus—whose name Rose only then remembered was Cloud Flutter—rushed up the stairs, intent on stopping the duel before it began. Before Flutter could pass him, Orion flung out a foreleg. The unicorn turned and shook his head. Pressing a hooftip to his lips, he continued his slow progress up the stairs.

Rose glanced at the Captain. He was silent. Probably letting Orion take command on this easy assignment, to evaluate his leadership capacity. In the next two years, their seniors would be looking to see who could head real squadrons, and who would be assigned supporting roles. She let Orion take the lead. Being responsible for the lives of an entire squad wasn’t a burden she intended to carry.

Minos noticed her gaze and gave a slight nod, heading up the stairs himself. She followed alongside him. As they ascended, they heard scuffling noises coming from the roof. The three trainees strained forwards, emanating a palpable urgency.

Suddenly, Rose felt why Orion had slowed them. There was something very dangerous up there. Her lines prickled in response to a large, dense arcane field coming from a floor above them. When they reached the door, the Captain stood before them and rested a hoof on the knob.

“There’s a mage up here. If they both give us trouble, I want you to focus on the pegasus. Leave the other to me.”

All of them nodded, save Orion. Something moved in the corner of Rose’s eye. A grey mist emanated from the underside of the door. On the other side, they could hear someone talking. Before Rose could say anything, the Captain swung open the door and stepped through.

The rest of them galloped after him, into a huge cloud of dense smoke.

“Royal Guard, what’s going on up here?” shouted Flutter.

“Dammit, he was right,” Orion cursed. Rose assumed he was talking about the tipster.

“Rose, clear this fog!” Minos said.

She frowned. He hadn’t needed to say anything; she was already building her magic. Closing her eyes, she let out a slow breath, her mind instinctively following the steps to spellcasting. Exercises of strong will and focus stimulated areas of her brain that converted electrical signals into aetonic energy transmissions. These transmissions were picked up by her ley lines, carrying two expressions of her will.

The first halted the flow of arcane energy at the ends of her horn, causing energy to build there instead of being released passively into the air. This would allow her to generate potent magical fields at these points. The second traveled along her entire body’s ley network, spurring it into faster flow at the expense of the ley reserves built up her body tissues. The excess power was then directed towards her blocked ley exit point.

The aura around her horntip expanded, traveling down its length towards her head. She opened her eyes, bringing fully into mind—to the exclusion of all else—one complex statement of will. It was a statement not of words, but a projection of her imagination and determination.

It pounded through her ley lines, conducted through them along channels that had been shaped by a lifetime of training. When she felt it pulse into her forehead, she allowed the magic to be released just as will and energy came together. The result was a torrent of air that emanated from her horn for a brief moment as she swept it in a wide arc through the fog.

Though she was an enchanter by nature, she had, out of curiosity, developed a weak capacity for basic elementalist spells. With extreme focus, she could force streams of air to move at her command. Though it would never be enough to damage an enemy, it came in handy, every now and again. And besides, it had only taken her four months to learn.

The pillar of air swept across the rooftop, taking with it most of the smoke. As it cleared, they found themselves face to face with the two duelists. One was on the ground, trembling, wing wrapped in a strange material, and the other...

The other was a monster. His wide mouth hung slightly open, exposing pointed teeth, emitting a throaty rasping, as though he were struggling to breathe. The unicorn stared at them, head twisted at an odd angle. He stared at the Captain. The colt took a few steps backward, heading for the edge of the roof. Orion advanced on him.

“Don’t flee the scene, we will catch you,” he said.

Behind the pale colt, a huge, black-clothed earth pony pulled himself over the parapet and darted into his path. Rose felt the Captain tense beside her.

“Bastard,” he said to the earth pony. “What the hell are you doing here? You weren’t supposed to come back, you swore!”

Rose’s eyes widened. How did Minos know this pony, and what the hell was he doing here? And, more importantly, why could she sense that Minos was afraid of him?

The earth pony said nothing. Rose stood, staring at him, mind racing. Was this the tipster? Another assassin? The pony who had hired one or both of the other two? For all she knew, he could be all three.

Her eyes shifted to Nephis. From the magic he was giving off, she could gauge how much ley energy he had left after his attack on the pegasus. His reserves were much larger than hers, and probably Orion’s as well. Yet it was the earth pony Minos was afraid of—he’d barely paid the unicorn a second glance.

She realized that if both the earth pony and the unicorn were hostile, the entire squad could be in trouble. Though they appeared to outnumber their foes, it was already evident that the trainees wouldn’t make a difference in a fight. Adrenaline flushed through her veins as a ripple of anxiety made its way through her stomach.

Instinctively, she activated her augmentations, feeling a wave of energy pass behind her as Orion did the same. As soon as her perception enhancements took hold, her eyes picked up micro-adjustments in Nephis’ muscles that told her he was about to move. His center of gravity tilted to the right, and by the time he took his first step, Rose was already braced to chase him down.

Then, he took off. He was fast, faster than her. By the time she took two strides, he was already clambering over the parapets.

“Orion, Rose, take the rest of the squad and follow that unicorn,” Minos instructed them. “I’ll handle the situation here. This one’s a guard-killer,”

He hadn’t needed to say anything. Orion was already moving, and so was she. Her eyebrows furrowed as she galloped across the rooftop. By calling out their names specifically, the Captain had put them in charge—and now they were responsible for ensuring that all of the trainees made it back intact.

As she approached the parapet, she slipped her hoof into her pocket, drawing out a small, oval seed. She gathered energy into her horn, preparing to cast another spell. This one, a simple growth enchantment, would infuse the seed with her ley energy, allowing her to guide the rapid development of the resulting plant. In this case, the plant was a rosa demascena, her favorite species of rose.

Before her, Orion simply dove off the roof. The building was only three stories tall; with his strength enhancements, he would barely notice the drop. He was soon followed by the pegasi, leaving only Rose and Autumn.

Rose clapped her hoof against the parapet, unleashing the spell, and the seed rapidly sprouted into a thick, green vine. Despite the situation around her, her chest lifted slightly as the vine quickly grew around the parapet, digging into the stone with enchanted roots. Damasks were hearty, thorny, and utterly beautiful, and she loved leaving them around the city for people to admire.

The vine swung over the edge of the building and swiftly grew to reach the ground. After swinging her body over the ledge, she slid down it to the alley below, the thorns on the stem bending away and receding so that they did not cut into her hooves. Autumn followed, and the pair of them turned to see Orion and the pegasi racing around the corner, where the path met the street.

Rose sprinted after them, shifting her energy further into her agility augmentations, speeding up as much as she could without losing Autumn. As she rounded the corner, she caught sight of Orion standing near the curb, peering down into a five foot wide hole that appeared to have just been torn out of the street. He looked up at her as she approached.

“The unicorn escaped down there. Both pegasi flew down too, neither’s back yet.”

“We’d better get down there, then. I doubt he could already be out of Autumn’s hearing range,” Rose said.

Orion nodded, and the three plunged into the darkness, dropping into what they found to be a small passageway that was part of the Underbelly catacombs, a massive network of underground tombs created from what had once been limestone mines. The mines had once provided the ore necessary to build much of Canterlot. After they were depleted, Celestene monks purchased and re-fitted the empty mines. It was here that they to put to rest the bodies of the massive lower class who could not afford to be buried in the graveyards outside the city. Even for the dead, sunlight was an expensive commodity.

The three realized this when, looking around, they found that the small shaft of light let in by the hole in the ceiling exposed rows upon rows of pony bones fixed into the mortar supporting the cave. Rose looked around in horror. Until now she had never truly realized what the word ‘ossuary’ truly entailed.

She tried to suppress her revulsion. Though her surroundings seemed macabre and grotesque, she knew that to Underbelly residents, this was a sacred place. A burial ground for countless ancestors. To have their skeletal remains stored here was the highest amount of respect the Underbelly residents could afford.

Out of the darkness walked Flutter, looking shaken, a strange expression on his face.

“What happened?” Orion asked.

“We lost the unicorn. Well, I lost the unicorn. We were right behind him when we went down the passage, but as soon as it got dark, he was just gone.”

Autumn glanced behind him, into the darkness of the tunnel. “Uh… where’s Skysong?”

Flutter shook his head. “No idea. I called for him to turn back with me. When he replied, I could hear that he was right in front of me. He said he was coming, I turned back and started walking. It was only later that I realized he wasn’t right behind me.”

Rose and Orion glanced at each other. Her face darkened. Had they lost a trainee already? So soon after leaving Minos?

She looked over to Autumn. “Can you hear either one of them?” she asked.

“Both,” she replied. She pointed off into the ossified passageway. “They’re together, about a hundred yards in that direction. Both are still breathing, neither are moving.”

A blue glow formed around Orion’s horn, faintly illuminating the passage before them. Rose did the same, adding a bright yellow aura that painted their surroundings a sickly green. Flutter glanced at Autumn, but before he could say anything, she pre-empted him.

“My magic isn’t strong enough to give off much light,” she said. “It wouldn’t be worth it.”

That was good enough for him. With Orion leading and Rose bringing up the rear, they made their way steadily down into the skeletal passageway. As they walked, the floor began to slope downwards, and after some time entered a small sepulcher. Due to the low light, they only slowly realized where they were, as suddenly the walls widened and the ceiling heightened. Orion let more energy build around his horn, and they found themselves surrounded by skulls.

The crypt was shaped as an irregular semicircle, and the entire curved section of the wall was created out of stacks and stacks of long-bones. Somepony had embedded lines of skulls into it to create perfect geometrical shapes. At the center of the semicircle sat a basin on a stone podium, situated between two limestone pillars. Reassured by Autumn that the other two were still not going anywhere, they moved through the room.

Rose looked over the skulls, still trying to reconcile her burgeoning horror with her recognition of this as a sacred space. If only the Celestenes had allowed the practice of cremation, there would be no need for places like this. Just neat little boxes of ashes in neat little urns, none of this walls-made-of-skulls business.

Orion and Flutter weren’t quite as concerned. They had made their way over to the basin, and were now peering over it. Orion leaned over the surface of the liquid and inhaled.

“It’s some kind of lamp oil,” he observed. He stretched his glowing horn out over the basin. “I don’t see any wick, though.”

Flutter rummaged through his pockets and drew out a pack of matches. “Wanna light it anyway?” he asked.

Orion shrugged. “Why not.”

Flutter struck a match and tossed it into the pool of oil. The surface lit, sending up a column of flame and flooding the room with a bright, warm light. Something in Rose settled; it looked so much less sinister in here without the nauseating green. Yet there wasn’t much time to appreciate the change.

“They’ve moving,” Autumn said. “Not very fast, but I can hear one of their hoofsteps.”

“Just one set?” Rose asked.

“Yeah.”

“Dammit,” Orion cursed.

So the unicorn was carrying off their comrade. Rose frowned. That did not bode well.

“At least he’s still breathing,” she observed.

Orion rolled his eyes. “Ever the optimist,” he muttered. He jerked his head sideways, towards the exit. “Alright, let’s go get him back,” he said.

They set off through the opening at the side of the room, and found themselves in a passageway so narrow, they were forced to rear and turn sideways to make their way through it. After shuffling along for what seemed like an eternity, the walls finally opened again. A few feet down, the tunnel split into three branches, one leading off to the left and upwards, the two others down and to the right. Flutter and the two magi turned to Autumn for guidance.

She closed her eyes, listening for a second, then pointed them down the rightmost passageway. It was not only the steepest slope, but also lined with ribcages. Wonderful. For a while, they made their way into the bowels of the catacombs, when the floor leveled off again, and Autumn suddenly stopped them.

“There’s something going on,” she said.

Rose and Orion glanced at her. “What do you mean?”

“I can hear things… moving, all around us all of the sudden. I can’t tell how many, but it’s a lot. It’s like they were all staying perfectly still until we got to this room, but now…” she shuddered. “There’s this skittering, like they’re bugs, but some of them are too large for that. At least, I hope they’re too large for that.”

Orion closed his eyes. The arcane buildup around his horn had been steadily developing a second layer of aura as they slunk through the ossuary. He took a deep breath. For a second, he stood stock still, in perfect focus. He exhaled. The second glow expanded, and the four of them were now able to just make out the walls and floor.

It was all clear. Nothing around at all. Orion glanced at Autumn. “Could it just be rats or something running around in the tombs?”

“There’d have to be a lot of them.”

“Where’re the unicorns?”

“He was moving while we were, but now he’s stopped. Something about it isn’t right. It seems like he only moves when we do.”

Rose’s brow furrowed. It seemed obvious now that the unicorn was using some sort of Oracle-like ability. But how, then, did he take down that mare...? From the looks of her, she was better armed and more experienced than that boy. If a mare like that had attacked somepony like Autumn, there would have been no contest. So, how could a unicorn—a colt, no less—have the combat magic to take her down, and the tracking magic to know their exact movements, in the dark, from hundreds of meters away?

There had to be an accomplice. Few unicorn could specialize in two completely different fields to that level of effectiveness. So, that meant that the unicorn had to have—

“He must have an accomplice,” Orion said.

Dammit. Beaten by a half a second by Orion. Though they were fast friends, he was also her greatest rival. Dueling, paperwork, classwork, chess, sports, anything that could be turned into a competition, was. And from the look he had shot at her when he said that, he had just scored a point. He was going to be personally responsible for Skysong’s rescue, if he could manage.

Rose would beat him to the punch though. If she could manage.

“Most likely an Oracle,” he added.

Well, obviously.

“Let’s hurry up then. We’ll have to outrun him, no more poking around.”

Orion nodded, and they set off at a brisk pace, navigating the now-visible twists and turns with Autumn’s guidance. Yet every time they began to catch up with him, his pace increased, so that they never could quite close the distance. It wasn’t long before Autumn and Flutter had reached their capacity. The squad slowed again and, according to Autumn, so did the unicorn.

“I could separate from the rest of you and leave a clone in my place. I’ll shift my energies to my agility enhancements and catch up to him,” he whispered.

“How would you find him in the dark?” she whispered back. It had occurred to her that if the enemy had an Oracle with him, he had most likely heard everything they had said so far.

“As we’ve sped up, he’s been forced to put out more ley energy to compensate. The arcane field he’s releasing is now at the edge of my own.”

Rose stared. Orion had vast ley reserves, and when his magic was highly active, any skilled unicorn within fifty meters would feel his presence. Spellcasting, like any other application of energy, was not perfectly efficient. Just as the kinetic energy of a moving billiard ball on a pool table was sapped by friction and converted into heat, so too would spellweaving—and even the building of magic before casting actual spells—give off ‘passive’ arcane energy. Passive though it might be, it was still bound to the spellcaster’s will.

Unable to escape the attraction of the will, a spherical field of moving aetons orbited the caster, like electrons around an atom. And just as other unicorns could pick up on the resulting field, so too could the spellcaster pick up on their arcane intrusions. Yet Orion, now harnessing a fifth of his total ley reserves, was only giving off a field forty meters in diameter. According to Autumn, they were roughly a hundred and sixty meters away. If Orion could sense him from here...

“If you can feel him from this far away, the two of us absolutely cannot split up. We would get destroyed on our own,” she told him.

Orion opened his mouth, about to deliver a rebuttal, when Flutter cut in. “Umm...” he said slowly, swallowing. “Guys, I don’t really... feel so good.”

He stared at them, pale, trembling, mane plastered to his forehead by a sheen of sweat. He opened his mouth, about to say something else, then gagged, bent over, and vomited nearly on Rose’s hooves.

“Shit!” Orion cursed, as a putrid, sickly smell filled the air.

Stretching a hoof out to Rose, Flutter took a step forward, wavering as though he were going to collapse. Autumn and Rose reached out and steadied him before he tipped over. As Rose’s foreleg passed over his back her calf brushed over something small—and moving. Her reflexes ripped her hoof away, and she pulled his shoulder downward to see what had happened.

Spiders. Spindly little spiders, white as the moon. All over his collar, all over the exposed flesh at the back of his shoulder and neck. With a stream of colorful expletives she stripped away his coat. Finding them on his undershirt as well, she grabbed it by the collar and ripped it off of him. Tossing the two pieces of shirt aside (which were then stamped flat by Orion), she swept the spiders off of him, inspecting the area by the light of her aura.

Beside her, Autumn gasped. His neck and shoulder were covered in bites, which were now reddening and swelling at a furious pace. The fur was rapidly falling away as the wound grew more and more necrotic. She bit her lip. It had probably already been a few minutes since the first bites. Flutter was fading fast. It was time to cut their losses.

“We have to leave,” she said, looking up at Orion. “There’s no way we can catch up to that unicorn, and even if we could, Flutter would be dead by the time we took back Skysong. We’ve gotta get him to the Castle hospital as soon as possible.”

“I’m... fine... don’t worry about it...” Flutter rasped.

Orion ignored him. “The unicorn will probably kill Skysong.”

“But we’ll lose Flutter regardless.”

Orion’s jaw tightened. “As much as I don’t want to let that bastard get away, you’re right. Autumn, can you get us out of here?”

The mare nodded.

Orion telekinetically grabbed Flutter and slung him over his back, setting off the way they had just come. Rose and Autumn followed. They had barely moved fifty feet before Autumn, grabbed Rose’s shoulder. “He’s moving again,” she said, voice strained. “He’s coming towards us.”

The group froze. Rose’s heart skipped a beat. Orion met her eye, and in an instant, a thought passed between them. Diverting as much energy as she could into her strength and agility augmentations, she grabbed Autumn, picked her up, and took off, Orion hot on her heels. With her body so heavily enchanted, Rose barely felt her limbs moving; her entire body reacted purely to will, without the strain and lethargy of pure muscular force. She and Orion sprinted inhumanly fast. They could have outrun a flying pegasus.

They barely made it a hundred meters. A force brushed past Rose, delivering a quick nudge. At this speed, it took her off her hooves and sent her flying into the air. She protected Autumn with her own body, smacking the back of her head into the side of a stone sarcophagus. Thankfully, due to the strength enhancements still coursing through her, her head was only bruised, rather than shattered.

Still, the blow to her head broke her concentration, and the arcane energy that had built around her horn dispersed into the air. Behind her came a shout and the sounds of a scuffle. Orion’s light went out, and the tomb was plunged into darkness. She was just about to refocus her energy into her horn when something that did not sound like a pony came charging through the tunnel.

She froze, and did not move again until the hoofsteps had passed her and faded away into the darkness. When they did not return, she stood slowly and illuminated the crypt. She glanced around. The tunnel had been widened to make space for four sarcophagi, two on each side. At one time, they had probably all been engraved, but three of them were so worn that she could only make out one name. ‘Artemis Magni.’ If there had ever been an epitaph, it was lost by now.

Much more important were her comrades who were lost some was down in the passage. Gesturing silently to Autumn, she made her way forward. When she had passed the last hulking coffin, a blue light flickered to life down the hall. After making her way to it, she found Orion and Flutter sprawled across the floor. Orion sat with his back against the wall, breathing heavily, a deep gash on the side of his face. Flutter, on the other hoof, lay face down, one foreleg propped awkwardly against the wall.

When she got closer and saw the blood, she realized he was dead. One of his legs was missing. Orion, covered in gore from his face and his comrade, was shaking with rage. His lips were moving. He murmured under his breath a steady, furious chant.

“Damn him, damn him, damn him, damn him...”

“Orion?”

He slammed a hoof into the ground, swearing. “Bastard!”

“What happened?”

“He killed Flutter! The bastard killed Flutter! He wanted to stop us from going back!”

Oh Celeste. So that’s what was going on here. Now she was sure Nephis could hear them. He knew they wanted to escape in order to save Flutter, so he removed that option. And if he had spared the rest of them...

He wanted to be followed. And he wasn’t going to let them leave. A chill ran up her spine. The unicorn had dispatched Orion so easily...

“What... what do you want to do?” she asked him.

“The way I see it, he said grimly, “we can either pursue him further, and see what is it that he wants from us—and then he’ll most likely kill us—or we try to get away. In which case he’ll kill us much sooner. Possibly one at a time.”

“Way to look on the bright side.”

Autumn pulled him to his hooves, and he dusted himself off, grimacing. “I’m ready for this to be over,” he told them. “Before we lose anypony else. Is Skysong still breathing?”

Autumn nodded.

Orion exhaled. “Well, let’s go get him back. Wherever he’s taking us, I want to get there quick. Hop on my back.”

Autumn followed his instruction, and, gathering more magic so that he wouldn’t run into any walls or forks in the tunnels, he sprinted off. Rose followed, still unable to feel the unicorn’s arcane field. He didn’t lead them much further. After running for a minute and a half at full speed, they began to pass through areas where passageways re-converged. The tunnels they sped down became larger and larger, until finally they could make out a light at the end of the pathway.

“He’s stopped,” Autumn said.

The trio slowed. Autumn got to her hooves. As they made their way towards the light, Rose noticed two things. The first was that Orion’s horn flashed subtly, and his frame seemed to twitch ever so slightly. The second was that the light was, to her disappointment, not coming from outdoors.

In fact, she couldn’t have thought of a more dreadful place for it to come from. Their path led them out onto a terrace with a perfect view of two massive, skeletal chandeliers. Their frames were constructed almost entirely of hip and long-bones, at the ends of which hung seven skulls, each supporting a burning torch. The wide space below the terrace was cast in a flickering light and striped with the shadows of bones.

That was it. That crossed the line, for her. That was grotesque and morbid and she had a difficult time stopping herself from using her plants to tear it to pieces. For this repulsion she did not reproach herself.

Orion leapt over the knee-high wall at the edge of the terrace and dropped to the floor below. Rose followed, leaving Autumn to wait in the shadows of the doorway leading to the platform. She wasn’t jarred by the landing; whether it was a shorter fall than it looked, or the effects of adrenaline, she couldn’t tell.

Rose glanced around. They were at the center of a massive hall, wide and flanked by columns supporting a high balcony. There were discolored splotches all across the floor, remnants of the furnishings the room had once borne. In the center stood two figures, one the pale, slim colt they had seen earlier, the other a tall, heavyset stallion with a thick beard.

The taller unicorn glanced at them. “Well, Nephis, looks like you’ll have to kill them now. They can’t see me and live.”

“I know,” ‘Nephis’ replied.

The stallion grabbed his shoulder. “Meet me back at home when you’re done. And like I said, no bodies in the apartment. Understand?”

“Yes.”

The stallion nodded and silently trotted off, disappearing through the one other door to this room that wasn’t cemented over or boarded up. He disappeared into the corridor, leaving Rose, Orion, and Nephis staring at each other in anticipatory silence.

It was Orion who spoke first. “Where is Skysong?” he growled.

Nephis raised his hoof, pointing to the ceiling. She followed his gaze to see hanging from the ceiling a pegasus-sized mass wrapped in the same greyish threading she had seen earlier. Spiderwebs, she thought. Disgusting.

“I put him up there for safe-keeping. He is unharmed. I gave him a mild dose of paralytic toxins, just enough to put him to sleep.”

Orion was trembling with rage. “I’m going to kill you. You know that, right? I’m going to tear you apart...”

He was speaking more to himself than to Nephis. Rose doubted that he even heard Orion.

“I could have already killed you, Orion,” the colt said evenly. He sat down on the floor. “That scratch I gave you? Injecting my toxins then would have been simple. I could have you unconscious or dead by now.”

It was Rose’s turn to speak up. “Well... why didn’t you?” she called to him from across the room. The longer they kept him talking, the longer they survived. He was trying to engage with them now. Reminding Orion that he had spared both his and his comrade’s lives was an attempt at placation. There was something this colt wanted from them. Information, validation, help, something. There had to be a reason they were here.

His eyes, cold and analytical, turned towards her. She met his gaze, and felt a tingling in her lines as the ley field around him began to focus on her. He cocked his head sideways, as though trying to understand her question.

“Well...” he said, twisting a length of his white mane with one hoof, “it would not have suited my purposes. It would have been unfair. I am not unfair. I am not.”

“Tell that to Flutter,” Orion said bitterly.

Rose felt a relief run through her as he shifted his eyes back onto Orion. “I did not have a choice. That was arbitrated by powers beyond me.”

“What?”

“I had to make you follow. I did not decide to do it, the decision was made for me.”

“Yeah? By who?”

Nephis’ eyes flickered to the ground. “Brother. And others.”

A flicker of hope rose in Rose’s chest. If this child was being forced to do something against his will, it was possible they could get Skysong back and get out of here alive by giving him an out. “So, you didn’t want to do it then?” she asked.

“Well, I never said that.” There was a hint a smile on his face. “But what I want is irrelevant. The only decision I got to make was this,” he said, gesturing around.

“This?”

“The location. The place where I kill you. I chose very well. You should thank me.”

“Why would we ever fucking thank you?!”

“You were given a death sentence. This is the most polite execution you could ask for. Down here, I can take as long as I please. On the surface, I would have to do it instantaneously, to avoid witnesses. In the tunnels, the darkness meant you would never have had a chance to fight back. In here... I will give you two hours. You can use this time as you please. Come to terms with your death. Fight for your life. Whichever you choose, this is the best gesture of goodwill that I could afford you.”

“Some good will,” Orion spat. “Flutter was in agony and then you ripped him to pieces. You lying sack of shit, you could have given him those choices, too.”

“I could have. But I did not care about Flutter. He was weak. You should not have brought him here. Beneath the Underbelly, as within it, the only thing that gives one the right to live is power. That is why you two have been spared. You are powerful. You can help me.”

“I’d rather kill you.”

“That is what I am counting on. By fighting you, I will strengthen my own existance. The two of you give me a valuable chance as training, and food. Your tissues are rich in ley energy. I will further establish my right to live. And you, should you defeat me, are awarded the same. I am fair.”

“You’re batshit.”

“I have equipped you as best I can. Between the anger at the death of your comrade, and your will to live, you should be at peak motivation to kill me. I wish to fight you at your best. That is the most validating.”

Orion said nothing. An aura began to form around his horn.

“Oh. Actually, make it two of your comrades. My children ran into Autumn while blocking the remaining exits. They killed her while we were talking.”

Autumn!

Rose drew a hooful of seeds from her pocket and slammed them into the ground, horn alight, as Orion sprinted towards an unmoving Nephis. As he approached, she made out the flicker of another Orion’s silhouette moving in the shadows of the corner of the room. She understood. The real Orion had only just left the upper terrace; the one doing all the talking had been an illusion.

But as she noticed that, so did Nephis—on the off-chance the charging Orion was real, he quickly jabbed at him. By the time the tip of his left claw passed harmlessly through the fake’s head, he had turned to his right to intercept the real unicorn. He overcommitted.

Nephis swung to disembowel his opponent, and the illusion faded. Behind him, Orion kicked his back legs out from beneath him. As the colt was flipped halfway over, he swung a forehoof alight with arcane energy crashing into his exposed neck. The boy slammed headfirst into the stone floor, a loud crack echoing through the air as he made contact.

Rose realized the real Orion had been on this floor all along. When Nephis had attacked him, he had conjured a second illusion, in the same place as him. Then he’d simply stepped back the fourth of an inch necessary to avoid the blow. Because Nephis had already turned, he never noticed. Orion’s timing had been perfect.

Kneeling over him, Orion, a bright blue light shining from his horn, jabbed him in the spine. The boy went limp. Rose stood up, mouth agape. It was already over? She hadn’t even finished establishing the root network necessary for her spells yet. Orion stood up and gave the colt a rough kick in the back. He did not react. There was no way he could get back up. No way she could see, at least.

Orion was a conjurer, a type of spellcaster who specialized in the conversion of ley energy into matter, and had discovered that he excelled at two spells. The first created moving illusions of himself. The second manifested tiny pieces of iron in a small radius around his hooves or horn. At first, he had considered this power useless—until he discovered that he could control exactly where the little bits of metal would form. By manifesting iron in the right places, Orion could block his opponents’ nerve and muscle functions whenever his hooves were close enough.

As of late, he had even learned how to block off the impulses of the spinal nerves without permanently paralyzing his opponent. Rose doubted that he had done so in this case, though. Right now, the boy’s whole spinal column was probably being ripped to shreds by hundreds of tiny metal shards. It was a terrible affliction. She didn’t feel the slightest bit of pity.

Orion gave the colt another kick, then turned to her. “Guess that’s it, then. Let’s take him into headquarters for interrogation. I want to find out what the hell happened tonight.”

Rose nodded, taking a step towards him. Suddenly, there was a blur on the floor beside him. Before she could say a word the boy had flipped over, and slashed through Orion’s back right calf. He got to his hooves as Orion stumbled away, reactivating his augmentations. Rose kneeled once more, grasping at the hub of her root network.

Her plants grew faster than ever before, fueled by her fear and desperation. What was going on here? How was that boy immune to Orion’s magic? And even if he was ley-resistant, she had heard his skull fracture! Unless—

She glanced back over to where Nephis had been lying before. Her augmented vision picked up a single cracked tile on the stone floor. Celeste. What magic was this kid using?

Orion couldn’t get away from Nephis with his injured leg. He would duck away from one blow, unbalanced, then be forced to dodge the next, never able to get his bearings. A kick from Nephis caught him across the jaw and sent him tumbling across the ground. Nephis leapt after him, coming within range of Rose’s plants. She caught him in midair with three roots the width of her foreleg.

He fell out of the air and, with a great heave, ripped all three of them in half. Rose’s stomach sank. Ordinarily, the trouble was catching ponies in her root traps—even most earth ponies couldn’t break out of them. How could this colt do it so easily?

Still, that was only a class-2. Using anything stronger this early would normally be a mistake, an unnecessary energy drain, but she was out of alternatives. Unfortunately, she wasn’t going to get to use pre-existing seeds as a crutch this time; the plant she needed was rosa sanguina, the bloodrose. It was a black-stemmed, red-flowered species found nowhere in nature, except where ley lines or herbalistic unicorns fed it the ley energy it needed to grow.

Most ponies considered this a good thing, given that rosa sanguina was a vampiric plant. Its sharp, pointed roots pierced the flesh of its prey, then dozens of tiny offshoots burrowed their way into the targets’ circulatory system, draining their ley energies into the plant. If connected to another creature, it could even transfer this energy between the two.

As Nephis charged Orion once more, Rose telekinetically drew a knife from her belt and slit open her right forehoof. She charged a massive amount of energy around that hoof and used it to conjure a bloodrose seed. It was one of the only two conjuration spells she had ever been able to master. The other created a rosa demascena seed.

She enchanted the seed, spurring its growth, and winced as its roots moved through the blood on her leg, then slid into the cut on her hoof. Her jaw clenched as she felt them spread through her viens. Extending her foreleg, she took aim at Nephis as, in the distance, his rear hooves caught Orion across the face. The bloodrose root exploded from her foreleg, jet black and tipped with a massive lancet.

If Nephis saw her, he didn’t react in time. Instead, he swung his body sideways, aiming to kick Orion in the ribs. Before his leg could connect, the thorn caught him across the face. As he twisted with the force of the blow, Rose caught sight of the skin being stripped from the side of his face.

She cheered inwardly. She’d gotten him! All that remained was to bleed him dry.

Her heart sank as Nephis twisted back, unconnected to the vampiric root. He turned to look at her. Now she saw that the flesh on the left side of his face had been removed, but there was something beneath it. A black, shining substance had been exposed to the light, a strange sort of armor that she did not recognize. Whatever the spell that created that stuff was, she had not heard of it.

Nephis grabbed the plant that was still attached to her leg.

Oh, no. Her horn lit, but she couldn’t cancel the spell fast enough. Nephis’ foreleg jerked, ripping the root out of her hoof. Blood splattered across the floor before her as she leaned over, clutching at her mutilated foreleg.

Bastard, she thought. He’s actually going to kill us.

Whatever the stuff beneath his skin was, there was nothing in her arsenal that could pierce it. Nephis turned and looked at her as Orion struggled to his hooves. He closed the distance between them in a heartbeat. Even though Rose’s augmented eyes could predict his movements perfectly, her body couldn’t react quickly enough. She stumbled backwards, casting out of sheer reflex. Fueled by her desperation, the resulting spell consumed the majority of her ley reserves instantaneously.

Black brambles burst from the ground below them, a mass of long, thin stems covered in dagger-sharp thorns ensnaring the oncoming unicorn. As she fell backwards, she heard him gasp in pain as one thorn scraped across his cornea. She hit the ground, lying on her back, looking up at Nephis as he fought free of her spell. Though the thorns couldn’t pierce his thick armor, it dug into his skin and clothes. He was forced to rip most of both away to finally escape.

When he stumbled away from the briar patch, she saw what was beneath his skin. She turned away involuntarily, disgusted. There had never been a colt, after all. It was just wearing a pony’s skin. It looked at her, the mandibles that had once formed its false jaw unfolding, one foreleg reaching up to clutch at its injured eye.

One of six. There were two more sets rooted somewhere on its back, behind its shoulders. Long, slim, covered in what she now realized was jet black chitin, they slid in between its exposed ribcage, so that they did not particularly stand out.

It stood there, rubbing its eye. “You know,” it said looking at her. “I deserved that.” It shook its head, murmuring to itself. “Playing with my food...”

It occurred to Rose that it had not used a single spell this entire time. It obviously had the capacity to manipulate spiders, and possibly to conjure them. It was likely it could also conjure and manipulate spiderwebs. It could have poisoned Orion three times now, and gored him twice more, but it hadn’t.

They were already dead. It was just torturing them first.

Nephis turned to Orion and, arching its back, began to twitch and jerk the top pair of atrophied limbs. They slowly uncrossed, expanding from his rib cage. As they moved, they grew larger, more muscular, the beginnings of hooves forming at the tips.

Nephis walked towards Orion, clenching and unclenching its new fists. The active pair of legs hung behind its first two, long enough to extend further from his body than the originals. The transformation apparently required enormous amounts of energy; the ley field around it expanded and intensified. That unicorn’s raw, agonized will choked the air around her, sending shivers across her body.

Oh goddess. They weren’t getting out of here.

It took a step towards Orion. The guard did not wait for it to take another. Horn flashing, he conjured a steady stream of illusions from a point just in front of himself. Each of them sprinted, in single file, towards Nephis. When the first reached it, he twisted, delivered a faux-blow to the unicorn’s head, then disappeared.

The second did the same, this time attacking in a different place. The line proceeded, each only a half step behind the other, attacking in a steady rhythm as Orion advanced from the back of the pack towards Nephis. They now must have taken up its entire field of vision. The unicorn didn’t react. It knew that eventually, the real Orion would be slipped in with the clones, but probably thought Orion couldn’t hurt it.

Summoning her energy for another spell and reconnecting to her root system, she worked a subtle network of roots beneath its hooves as it was distracted by Orion’s barrage. There might still be a chance. Orion had to have realized that Nephis’ eyes were vulnerable. He could fill the thing’s eyes with metal shards. They could escape, or maybe even kill it, while it was blinded and in pain.

Rose wove a network of roots around Nephis’ legs from afar. It didn’t notice. The armor probably muted the sensation. From her position, she could see Orion making his way closer and closer. Any second now it would be his turn. There were only three illusions ahead of him now.

Two...

One...

He struck at Nephis’ eyes.

It caught his hoof between two forelegs. A tremor ran through its body as its chest clenched. The sound of Orion’s snapping bones filled the air.

“You know,” Nephis said calmly, “You should have remembered to conjure those illusions with wounds on their faces, too.”

Oh Celeste. They were done for. There was only one more spell in their combined arsenal. Use the magestone, Orion! she thought.

Orion’s eyes widened as Nephis’ other hoof swung upwards, burying its claw beneath Orion’s ribcage. Flexing its foreleg, it lifted him into the air. Their eyes met, then it tossed him aside. His body hit the floor with a wet thump.

No.

Rose’s heart stopped.

No.

Nephis turned to her. Her ley reserves had nearly run dry. She was forced to end her perception enhancements. Agility would be the next to go. Nephis’ ley field flared as it channeled its energy into a new spell. It stepped out of the massive roots that had coiled around its legs as though walking out of flank-high water.

Rose blinked, and he was upon her. Since using the new pair of legs, he had grown faster. Adrenaline flooded through her system, and her muscles locked. She couldn’t think straight. Her heart raced. Orion was dead. The thing planted its new, longer legs on the floor directly beneath and lifted his torso upward so that he could look her. She saw now why he had such trouble breathing. No nostrils. The mandibles probably got in the way. Right now they were dripping. Orion was dead.

She met its eyes. She wasn’t thinking straight. He stared at her. The mandibles twitched. She wasn’t thinking straight. Orion was dead. Nephis was moving. She wanted to move, she couldn’t move, he was moving slowly. No, her mind was racing. His forelegs fastened around her neck.

I’m dead.

She was lifted into the air. Orion had been lifted into the air. Orion was dead. It cocked its head sideways and stared at her. The mandibles were still. It tossed her across the room. A blunted pain.

There was a wet rasping beside her, and she rolled onto her side to see Orion lying on his back. He... he wasn’t dead?

Struggling to breathe, he was digging through his pockets. She nearly laughed. It was about time. For years now, Orion had been working on last resort, in case ‘worst came to worst,’ as he put it. She felt like punching him. He should have realized worst had come to worst long before now, when he could have saved the both of them.

“Idiot,” she told him.

The corner of his mouth tightened even as it oozed blood. From his pocket he pulled a translucent blue rock, as big around as a bit. A magestone. The product of a skilled and dedicated conjurer. Few unicorns were capable of creating the same materials, but one thing all talented conjurers had in common was the magestone. By using an immense amount of energy, they could conjure a stable, arcanoresonant solid, usually resembling a common rock. This material could then be infused with the caster’s magic, and later re-converted into ley energy.

If a unicorn spent his entire ley reserves on conjuring a magestone, he could convert roughly 1/1000th of it into a reusable form. If he were talented. So, every day for nearly as long as she had known him, Orion would spend whatever ley energy he had left at the end of every day to increasing the mass of his magestone. It grew so slowly, she never believed it had gotten any bigger, until the day Orion showed her the measurements he had been taking once per year.

Today it contained ninety percent of Orion’s total reserves. And now he hoped to use it all at once. Nephis was making his way over to them, taking his time, when Orion’s hooves glowed, filling the magestone with a brilliant blue light. It evaporated in an instant, surrounding Orion’s entire body with a deep blue aura.

The glow was gone as soon as it had come. Around Nephis, Orion conjured a thick coating of iron shards, covering everything but its head. By maintaining the spell with the last of the magestone’s energy, Orion could keep it trapped beneath the masses of metal, immobile. He turned to her, drawing ragged breaths.

“You’ve got fourty seconds, then I’m out of energy. Run.”

She didn’t say anything. She didn’t know what to say. She didn’t move.

“Go. And tell everypony it’s the Guard’s fault I’m dead. They shouldn’t’ve screwed me out of my real squad.”

“You sound bitter.”

“Thirty seconds. Bye, Rose.”

“Goodbye, Orion,” she said as she stood and trotted towards the terrace from which they had entered. As she ran, Nephis caught her eyes as she heard Orion murmur his last words behind her.

“And stop crying, idiot.”

She hadn’t realized she was.

Nephis’ eyes flickered away from her. She followed its gaze to see a wave of spiders descending from the balcony. Massive. The size of dogs. She stopped abruptly and dashed in the other direction.

“I am sorry, but I cannot let you leave. I would not even care if you did, by now. Our duel has been so much fun. I have more food than I know what to do with. And just now, with Orion... that was very touching. But Brother says you have to go.”

Rose barely listened. She sprinted past Nephis as more armies of arachnids spread towards her from the other entrances. Her heart quickened. They were beginning to fill the entire room. Skidding to a halt, she snatched up the bloodrose vine that Nephis had thrown away earlier and, draining her last arcane reserves, reattached it to her foreleg. The pain barely registered.

Pushing herself to the edge of unconsciousness, she forced the spiked tip ten meters away to pierce the fleshy abdomen of the nearest spider. Nephis’ ‘children’ weren’t as well armored as he was; the thing shuddered, legs flailing, as the bloodrose spread its roots into its internal organs.

As it drained the spider’s blood into itself, it took in the ley energy Nephis had used to expand the creature to such an abnormal size. Rose forced that energy back into further growth, and from each side of its thorax burst two more vines.

The spiders around her were closing in.

Come on, faster...

The two vines dug into two more spiders. They soon produced two more apiece.
Rose made sure to prioritize which creatures they spread to, forming a wall of twitching bodies to slow the encroaching horde. As the bloodrose spread exponentially through the spiders, she felt energy and vigor begin to return to her body.

The bloodrose growth quickened. Each spider now produced three vines apiece. In ten seconds, she had drained every arachnid in the room. Her ley reserves were now filled to capacity.

“That was a truly exceptional counter, Rose. I admire your spell design.”

Glaring at Nephis, wishing that her restored magical ability meant that she could actually hurt it, she crouched and snapped the connection to the bloodrose vine. She inverted her hoof as the roots inside her foreleg withered and fell away. Grabbing Orion with her good hoof, she built as much arcane energy as she could muster.

“I’m going to kill your brother,” she told him. “And then I’m going to kill you.”

And with that, she began to cast her teleportation spell. Unlike combat spells, teleportation required several seconds of intense concentration. And the further you wanted to go, the longer it took. Not to mention the fact that it consumed three quarters of her ley reserves.

She closed her eyes, fixing her destination firmly within her mind. The lobes of her brain responsive to ley energy lit up as magic surged through her skull, allowing her to peek through the veil, into the Astral Realm. By channeling energy imbued with her will into this space, she was able to locate for herself the section of the Realm that spatially corresponded with her destination.

“I look forward to meeting you again. I h—”

Rose didn’t let him finish his sentence. The teleportation spell took hold, flinging Rose and Orion’s bodies through the Astral Realm. They reached their destination in an instant. Rose stood up and telekinetically hoisted Orion, still clinging to life, over her back. She glanced around at the sepulcher they had passed through earlier. The fire in the basin was still lit. She grew a thick damask stem and set it ablaze.

Recasting her agility augmentation one last time, she made her way towards the hole Nephis had left in the road. She moved as fast as she could manage. There was no way she was letting that thing catch back up with her. Somehow, she managed to navigate the twists and turns of the catacombs based on prior memory. It was not long before she found the tiny patch of light that marked the exit.

With Orion on her back, she couldn’t climb out into the road, so she sent him up on one of her plants. Then she climbed up, finding herself back in the empty side road near Alver Street. Sinking down next to him, she stared down into his eyes. They did not focus on her. Still, she could hear light, rasping breath eking from his throat.

“Orion?” she pleaded.

Come on, look at me.

He coughed feebly, spitting blood across her face. She stared down at him, cradling his head in her hooves.

“Orion?!”

His legs tensed as his body spasmed, chest convulsing as he coughed again. Blood flowed freely from his mouth, spilling across her body. His eyes twitched, meeting her own for a fraction of a second. In that instant, something passed between them that Rose would never be able to put into words.

And then he was gone. She pressed a hooftip to the side of his neck. No pulse.

Orion was dead. Her mind went numb. Orion was dead.

The street was still empty, save for one man. A grey-maned unicorn in a cloak who had emerged from a nearby building. Now, he approached her.

Orion was dead.

He approached her, stooping down, meeting her eyes. She had been staring at his knees. His blue eyes stared at her, shining behind gold rimmed glasses. They flickered down to Orion’s body.

“Rose,” he said.

How did he know her name?

“You need to come inside with me. Nephis could come crawling out of there—” he pointed to the hole in the street “—at any moment.”

“Who are you?”

She didn’t know why she asked. She didn’t care anymore. Orion was dead. Orion was dead.

The unicorn stared at her for a moment, then finally opened his mouth.

“My name is Sunburst. Please, come with me.”

XXI

View Online

Chestnut’s Journal, 7 June, 979:

Tonight I fell in love with Goldridge Forest. It is nothing like the woods I grew up with at home. I’m used to pine trees that never reach more than twenty meters tall—that’s what the loggers plant, it’s the best for timber. But this place is the home of what they call the “greatwoods.” One of my squadmates mentioned that they lived for thousands of years and grew to heights of over 100 meters. I thought he was exaggerating until we reached the forest.

Then I saw it with my own eyes. We had been walking northwest all day, headed towards pegasus territory, when the tips of the trees began to rise in the distance. It took two hours to get from there to the edge of the forest, where we came upon the massive grey trunks, covered in bark thick as I am tall. My time with the guard is already taking me interesting places, after only a day.

Tonight, I write from deep in the forest, in my squad’s ramshackle “camp.” Like everywhere else in the forest, our surroundings are mostly clear. The greatwoods block out so much light that little grows down here besides shrubs and grass. If there are any dangerous animals in the forest, we haven’t seen them. I like this place. This trial has been pretty good so far.

The march here was easy. Couldn’t have been more than 25 miles—that was much better than that awful sprint. My squadmates handled it equally well. From what I can tell, they’re all well trained and well equipped, probably better so than me. All but one were older than me, and most were in better shape. There’s no telling who’s the strongest, but it’s probably not me.

There were two pegasi, one male, one female, both about a decade older than me. They each had brought along their own weapons, real weapons, not like my little silver dagger. One of them, a broad-chested stallion named Thane, passed his around, showing it off. According to him it cost three thousand cassings. I could believe it—it was a silver-gilt zwiehänder, complete with parierhaken and a waved edge. He let me wield it. It was heavy even for me.

Thane was loud and boastful, and for a while he annoyed me. But then he took up the zwiehänder from me, stepped back, and swung the blade at my neck with incredible speed. He stopped the blade in an instant with only the strength of his wrist, a half inch from my neck. If I had tried to save myself, I could have been killed, but he had moved so fast that I couldn’t respond. He earned my respect, then.

And the other pegasus’ hatred. She was a squat mare with a short, frizzy mane and a coat nearly as dark as mine, who introduced herself to the squad as ‘Bea’ and glared at Thane when he, as she put it, ‘pulled that stunt.’ She didn’t talk very much, piping up mostly to correct Thane in his endless ramblings, or the directions of whoever was trying to read the map. Most of the time she was right.

The rest of the conversation was dominated by an easy going stallion named Canto, a unicorn accompanied by a dog named, oddly, “Dog.” He was the oldest out of all of us, and said he had taken the entry exam four times now. When we reached the forest, we mostly followed his directions—we had been assigned to search the forest for an instructor called Tera, whom he and Dog had met in an exam three years ago. Apparently Dog still remembered her scent.

Until we reached the woods, though, we were mostly led by Vili, the only squadmember younger than I. In fact, he couldn’t have been older than twelve. He was a hyperactive little colt whose head barely reached my shoulder, with an earnest, endearing way of talking and good map-reading skills. He was the first to introduce himself to me, shaking my hoof eagerly and asking my name as soon as we were grouped together by Minos at the training field.

I told him, and later couldn’t help but ask how somepony so young was allowed to take the guard exam. That was when he asked me to arm wrestle him. We found a wooden box on the obstacle course and leveraged our elbows in it. His tiny hoof disappeared beneath mine when we locked wrists.

“Three... two... one... go!”

Not wanting to hurt him, I used only half my strength. His hoof didn’t move. He looked at me, grinning.

“I know you can do better than that!”

I tried harder. His brow furrowed as he actually began to struggle against me. Soon, I was applying my full might, desperate not to lose against somepony so little. Some of the other squad members started to watch us. My honor was on the line—I could feel them staring me, wondering how I could have come this far in the exam.

Then Vili looked up at me, winked, and smacked the back of my hoof against the block. I was shocked. Another unicorn, who introduced himself as Dante, Vili’s ‘adoptive older brother,’ laughed at me. He told me, very concisely, not to feel bad. Apparently, the boy had mastered strength augmentations to a degree that most adult unicorns never reached.

“I’ve seen him take a hammer to the forehead from a grown stallion and walk away without a scratch,” he told me.

That was the most he said all day. Tall—nearly my height—and thin, with big, wide hooves and a long, dark mane, he spend most of the time on the march reading. His long legs eating up the ground, he stared impassively at a book labeled “Essays of G.H. Aulden,” speaking rarely, and always keeping one eye on Vili. Later, he let slip that Dante belonged to an estranged branch of the Magni family.

When I told him I didn’t know what that meant, he explained to me that the Magnis are a family of unnaturally talented magi. Apparently they’ve grown wealthy and powerful in Canterlot over the past hundred years as a result. I wouldn’t know. I only keep up with earth pony politics.

Dante doesn’t have access to any of that, though. Too bad. A powerful, well-connected comrade could have been useful... Not that he still couldn’t be. But for all I know, he’s not any more talented than the rest of us, even if he acts like it. He won’t talk to anypony but Vili.

Not that anypony had much to say to me. If it wasn’t for Vili and Dog, I would have been bored out of my mind on the trek across the Canterlot hills. By the third hour I was starting to ache a bit, and starting to lose focus, until Vili came over to make conversation.

I couldn’t think of anything to say to him. It didn’t matter. He chattered on and on about himself. Grew up in the Underbelly, the son of a dock worker, alone until he met Dante. At eight, he helped the older unicorn escape after a botched robbery of a butcher shop. “He didn’t steal any money, just a bunch of meat. I figured he was just hungry,” he told me.

In exchange, Dante had taught him magic over the course of a few weeks. When Vili started bringing loaves of bread to the lessons, weeks turned to months, turned to years. I can see how. I asked him why he had decided to try to join the Guard.

“It’s what Dante was doing,” he shrugged.

I envy their closeness. It wasn’t something I was accustomed to on the farm.

We reached the forest’s edge near sundown, and traveled deeper into the woods until it was so dark, we were forced to stop to make camp. None of us had brought much equipment, but we got a fire going, nonetheless. While Canto and Dog slipped off into the brush hunting for our dinner, I cleared a space for myself in the indentation of a greatwood trunk. I made a dry, soft pallet to sleep on out of layered, two meter long greatwood leaves.

Canto still hasn’t come back yet. I hope he gets here soon. I’m starved.

XXI

“It, groaning thing,
Turned black and sank.
Then from the far caverns
Of dead sins
Came monsters, livid with desire.
They fought,
Wrangled over the world,
A morsel.”
-Stephen Crane, God Lay Dead In Heaven

Chief was getting old. He’d turned thirty-nine a month ago. Bits of his mane and coat were starting to turn grey. The stress of his work had left him with the health of a stallion decades older. Concussions, broken bones, ripped muscles, torn ligaments, ruptured lungs, he’d had them all, over and over again, since he joined the Guard at sixteen. Everything serious had been healed by magic; he didn’t have time for lengthy recuperations, and doctors hadn’t learned of the long-term effects of ley healing until the past few years.

These days, each morning began with a series of new aches and pains in his joints, his muscles, his limbs, and today was no exception. That he had just been beaten half to death by Star Gazer didn’t help; he had awoken with a swollen, throbbing head, and bruises across his ribcage and forelegs. The kid was getting better.

For a little while, Chief wouldn’t even open his eyes. He just lay there, waiting a moment for the throbbing to die down, thinking of nothing. Though he never realized it at the time, these few seconds were the best part of his day. It was the only time he wasn’t angry, stressed, or sad.

Then his brain shook itself awake, chugging back to life again, and he realized he had no idea where he was. His eyelids slid open, and in the half-light he saw nothing but a dingy grey wall a half-inch from his muzzle. Chief rolled over, muscles groaning in protest, and looked around, a hoof to his head.

He was laying on a long, thin mattress, in the corner of a tiny room, covered in a sheet that smelled of dirt and surrounded by piles of alchemy equipment. Shelves lined one wall, loaded with brown boxes coated in long, complex names of chemicals, some with ‘warnings’ painted across them. There was a desk against the other, covered in haphazardly stacked books, some open and showing yellowed, decaying pages, all surrounding one lonely desk-lamp.

Around the mattress were strewn countless beakers, flasks, boilers, evaporators, mortars, pestles, burners, goggles, faceguards, sublimators, respirators, stills, rune chalk, and boxes of strange plants he had never before laid eyes on. In one corner was a clear glass tub containing a liquid he couldn’t identify that looked suspiciously like blood. Above him, a window, partially boarded up with black-painted wooden slats, let in the dim light of the Underbelly.

Chief sat up slowly, kneading his forehead. Hena. He’d been drinking at the Redflank, drinking heavily, and by the time he got up to leave he was already gone. That was where his memory went fuzzy. After that, there was nothing. Almost nothing. A fragment of a memory floated to the surface of his mind.

He is laying on his back, looking up at a streetlamp. There is a hazy, glowing roof far above. Alver Street. It must be Alver Street. A figure is peering down at him, obscuring the lamp. Her face is silhouetted by the light, he can’t make it out, but it must be Hena. Or one of her associates.

That must have been it. She, or somepony working for her, must have come across him after he left the bar and taken him to the alchemy shop. He recognized this room as her old storage cabinet. He’d been in here once before, years ago. She’d had the same mattress then, too.

Besides Summer, Hena was the closest thing Chief had to a friend. She had earned that distinction by being the only pony, other than Summer, to remain on his side after his daughter’s death. Without her, Chief’s onslaught on the Church back in ‘96 would never have been possible. Her grassroots ‘intelligence network’ and alchemical skills gave him the steady stream of resources he needed to destroy the cult’s presence in Canterlot.

After the Guard caught up to him, they never got to Hena. Even now, she still worked on commission as a weapons designer for them, and, as a bonus, had intimate access to the inner workings of the Guard. And when they forced Chief into retirement, Hena kept working in his absence, keeping a watchful eye on Church activity.

Though she now couldn’t be seen with Chief, in order to avoid garnering the suspicions of the Guard, she’d promised when they cut ties to contact him if something big happened. She never had, until now. This could be big. He certainly hoped it was; the island trip had gotten his blood up. Chief hadn’t had that good a time in years. Whatever his next trip with Summer was, it didn’t promise that much excitement.

And besides, he wasn’t going around much longer. His stomach sank as he replayed the doctor’s words in his head for the thousandth time. Their body would rapidly deteriorate within a period of about a year...

He sat up, his entire frame aching. He rubbed at his left shoulder with one hoof. His body would have to hold out for a while longer. He needed to go out with a bang.

Especially given that it was impossible to get back to the island until next year, when the storms would end. He wasn’t going to last that long. And if he couldn’t see his daughter, what was left?

Bang.

He stood up, a tremor rippling through him as his head swam. He looked around. Where were his things? His eyes wandered through the half light, catching sight of the his coinpurse sitting atop a stack of books on the desk, next to his pack.

Chief walked over, put one on his belt and slung the other over his shoulder, beneath the jacket he had found on the floor beside them. His shoes, Hena had left under the it, and after putting them on, he looked across the room. The door was at the far wall, across a minefield of delicate glass instruments scattered haphazardly around precarious piles of books.

He made his way carefully through them, a bull in a china shop. Just before he made it into the free space around the door, the side of his shoulder grazed the corner of a roll of parchment left on top of a stack of the brown boxes. He twisted in panic as it rolled off the stack at plummeted towards a group of beakers.

He caught it just before it hit the ground—then lost his footing. His leg moved instinctively to keep him from falling, and the sound of shattering glass filled the air. He froze, eyes wide. A moment passed, and then—

“FUCK!”

Loud footsteps rang out from the room above them, then from the stairs.

“YOU GOD-DAMNED SHIT-HEAD BASTARD!”

The door swung open, revealing a tiny, elderly mare, with wild eyes and a short silver mane. Hena. She was a half-Equestrian, her mother a unicorn, her father a wayward Zulian, from one of the nation-states in the southernmost region of the Sothenlands. As such, she had a jet-black coat, and when he had last seen her, she was blonde. Now, she was wrinkled, a few inches shorter—somehow—with a scowl fiercer than ever.

She pointed a twig-thin foreleg at him. “YOU!” she cried, glaring. “You lumbering oaf! What are you thinking? Why are you not looking where you are going?”

Had her accent somehow gotten thicker over the years? She couldn’t have spoken to a Zulian in years...

“Sorry,” he shrugged.

“Sorry? I do not think so. You will be paying me, yes?”

He pulled out his coinpurse. She waved her tiny hoof dismissively. “Not now, we are much too busy. Come! We have things to do. I have things to show you.” Reaching up, she grabbed the bottom of his shirt and yanked him towards the door.

“What’s going on?” Chief asked. “Where’d you find me?”

“The Village, darling, passed out nearly in your own vomit. We are drinking again, hmm?” she asked as they passed into the front room of her shop.

“Got some bad news,” he said, looking around.

Here, vial after vial of potions were scattered across the wooden shelves, some labeled, some not, next to piles of bat wings, death vine, and every other alchemical reagent under the sun. Secondhoof lab equipment and safety gear gathered dust in one corner, beside the crumbling front desk supporting a moldy, yellowed business ledger. Every bit the Guard paid her went either into more weapon designs or the pockets of her informants, and her shop averaged a customer a week. As a result, the storefront received little of her money or attention.

“What news?” she asked, leading him up the staircase to her massive alchemy lab.

“I’m dying.”

“How long?”

“A year, maybe.”

“Ach,” she said, shaking her head. “Me too. Oh well. Lots to do before we go.”

He snorted. Of course. Hena didn’t give a damn about anything that wasn’t alchemy, weapons design, or the cult. Goddess forbid a little thing like death break her focus.

She pushed open the door at the top of the stairs, ushering him into the lab. She went to dart around one of her many rune tables, but he grabbed her foreleg. It felt brittle beneath his massive hoof, as though the slightest pressure would shatter it. “Like what?” he asked, eyeing her. “Why am I here?”

“I am getting to this!” she said, pulling out of his grasp. “Always so impatient! But first, you come here. I make a new weapon. Very exciting, darling, come and see!”

Scurrying over to a table in the corner, she grabbed something dark and shiny off its surface and gestured at him to join her. When he got closer, he saw that it was some sort of crossbow, a large tube mounted on the stock, with strips cut out of its sides for the bow strings. A cranequin rested behind it, its handle sticking out next to the grip.

“A crossbow?” he asked.

She scowled at him. “This is no normal crossbow. It’s to fire these.”

She held up something that looked like a normal silver-tipped quarrel, but with a bulkier shaft. Chief took it from her and held it up to the light, inspecting it. It was lighter than he thought it would be.

“Hollow?” he asked.

A malicious grin spread across her face. “Full of explosives. My own, custom made explosives—nitroglycerine mixed with ultra-fine powdered sparkroot and doused in TXF elixir. Each reagent on its own is highly illegal. Mixed together, they are violating three separate international treaties. Twenty megajoules per kilogram!”

Chief stared at her blankly. Was that a lot?

“You are not exciting?” she asked. He didn’t bother to correct her diction. “This will make you exciting. Look!” she said, pointing to the head of the bolt. “The arrowhead is mounted on a spring. The spring is held in place by a mechanism that is released when you are firing. After the spring is release, the arrowhead can press down on it when it meets the target. Pressing spring down activates detonator, detonator activates explosion. Boom! No more target.”

“Is this all you contacted me for?”

“Ach!” she waved a hoof. “No, this is just a prelude. Pay attention, you will be liking this.”

Hena held up the crossbow, gesturing to the prod. “Look! I make crossbow prod out of greatwood heart. Very magical, very hard to come by, also very illegal, but stores one-point-seven times as much energy as an ordinary prod of the same length. I was having to soak the whipcord in strength elixirs to stop it from snapping. I mixed expansion elixir in, too, and now the cord can stretch further and contract with much greater force than ordinary. Fires the bolt at four-hundred-forty-five feet per second. This is two-point-four times as fast as leading competitor using more aerodynamic bolts.”

“What are you planning to do with it?”

Her beady eyes gleamed in the twilight of the lab. “I was thinking you would never ask. This, I make two years ago, and show to no one. Not the Guard, not the patent office. As soon as I release a new weapon, somepony else finds a way to defend against it. So this, I never release. I built it to kill magi, very powerful magi, members of the cult we could not kill any other way. I wait for my chance for seven-hundred-twenty-three days.”

“And now?”

“The cult is up to something, all of the sudden” she said, her voice dropping low. As if the cult could ever get ears into Hena’s lab. “Something big. Since last night, I am picking up lots of chatter in cult communication lines. They’re after something, some kind of object, and they want it bad. They talk of weapons purchases, mercenary payments, recruitment drives. They’re gearing up for something.”

Finally, she was speaking his language. “Then we have our work cut out for us. What’s on the agenda?”

“This morning they are making multiple payments to two different assassins in the Underbelly. Then my ears in the Guard came to me saying a tip has come in a few hours ago about a duel tonight, on Alver Street. I am thinking that these are related. Target must be a duelist—why else would they hire two assassins? I say we go and see. The identity of target tells us much about what the cult wants. If we capture one, or both of the assassins, we learn what the cult is after and put a hitch in their plans. We are killing two birds with one arrow.”

“It’s ‘stone.’”

“What?”

“Killing two birds with one stone.”

“Ridiculous. How are two birds dying from one stone? How is stone piercing all the way through one bird? Two birds, one arrow makes much more sense.”

Chief shrugged. “I didn’t come up with it.”

She wagged a hoof at him. “This is problem with today’s youth. Always repeating, never stopping to think.”

Chief was about to tell her that he hardly qualified as a “youth,” when Hena once more seized him by the shirt. “Come!” she said. “I have something to make you really exciting.”

She led him across the lab and up another set of stairs, then through a door and into her bedroom. A tiny, dingy mattress lay in one corner, sandwiched between massive bookcases crammed full of texts. Apparently, the bookcases weren’t enough, as more books were scattered across the floor and stacked in piles around the bed, oil lamps resting precariously upon them. Against the far wall was a huge black wardrobe, which Hena waltzed over to.

She pulled open the bottom drawer, exposing stacks of grey shirts identical to the one she was currently wearing. Hena scooped them all up and tossed them in a heap on the floor beside the wardrobe. There was a tiny latch in the corner, and she flipped it sideways, then pulled, revealing the drawer’s false bottom. Hidden beneath were a ringmail vest, a dark grey cloak, gloves, and a black mask, featureless save for a telltale bloodstain on its left side.

Chief’s eyes widened. “You kept it...”

“Of course, darling.”

She lifted the garments out of the drawer and handed them to him. As he took them, the cloak slipped sideways, exposing a long, wicked blade and a small, silvered dagger, both in their sheaths. His gear...

Years and years ago, when he had terrorized the Canterlot populace as a faux-serial killer, he had worn these for every kill. The ringmail was carefully woven so as to prevent the rings from clinking against each other, the sword made of a silver alloy, the dagger, the very first weapon he had ever owned.

The mask and cloak had originally belonged to an earth pony cultist. Decades ago, they had been standard issue for high-ranking cult members. Now, they struck fear into the hearts of cultist and Equestrian civilian alike. Though he had not laid a hoof on an innocent—at least, not during his Canterlot killing spree—the cultists he had tracked came from every race, and every background. To the Guard—and more importantly, the media, the killings had looked random. At the time, he was dubbed BMK. The "black mask killer."

It was a trite name. Journalists were idiots. But he appreciated having the mask back, nonetheless. He put on the ringmail, then strapped the sword to his side and the dagger to his lower back. The mask went in his pack, and the cloak over his shoulders, its flowing, shapeless form concealing his weapons and armor. He looked over at Hena.

“Ready to go?”

“Yeah,” he grunted. “Where’re we headed?”

“The target is supposed to be somewhere in the vicinity of Founder’s Lodge. I expect the assassins won’t be far away.”

“How long have we got?”

Hena checked her watch. “I am thinking... twenty minutes. Maybe fifteen.”

“Damn it,” he cursed as he headed out the door. “No time to prepare, then. You should’ve woken me up.”

“Eh,” she said as they walked down the stairs. “Why bother? Preparation takes all the fun out of it.”

“It’s not supposed to be fun.”

Hena led him back through the lab to the other staircase, grabbing her pack and crossbow as she went. “We are blowing people up with explosives, darling. If we are not having fun something has gone wrong.”

“We shouldn’t be blowing up anypony. We need the assassins alive.”

“Well, yes—but not the Guards.”

“The Guard isn’t going to send anypony on a tip about the Underbelly. Not unless it affects the rest of Canterlot.”

“And yet they are,” Hena said, stepping out of the alchemy shop and into the street. “This is why I’m sure the duel and the assassination are the same. Somepony at Headquarters knows this is important.”

“Who are they sending?”

“One of your old friends. Captain Minos, and a squad of Excelsior trainees.”

“Must not think it’s too important, or they would’ve sent a real squad.”

“Minos is a squad all on his own. The rest are probably just tagging along to watch.”

“Thirty years ago, yes, but the stallion is in his seventies now.”

“And the Guard is filled with cult infiltrators. Whoever is sending Minos probably couldn’t do any more without arousing their suspicions. Sending anypony into Underbelly seems strange enough as it is—this is why trainees are involved. Somepony is wanting it framed as a training exercise. If they were pushing for a full Spec Ops team, they would be ‘disappeared’ by tomorrow morning,” Hena shrugged, stepping out of the way of an oncoming buggy and into a pool of unidentifiable bodily fluids. She wrinkled her nose. “Ach! Thank God for boots.”

She stopped to wipe off her shoes on the pavement. Chief ignored her and kept walking toward Alver Street. When she had caught up with him, he opened his mouth again. “Wait,” he asked. “Did you find out who the assassins were?”

“Yes. A pegasus named Charon and a unicorn named Nephis.”

“I’ve heard of them.”

“Are they any good?”

“Some of the best. If they’re working together, Minos doesn’t stand a chance.”

Hena’s wispy eyebrows furrowed. She scratched her head as she walked. “If somepony at the Guard has enough ties to know this duel is a cult assassination, they’re better in know than me. They have to know Minos is outmatched.”

Chief’s eyes narrowed. “In that case they’d be better off sending no one at all. They’ve signed the whole squad’s death warrant. Why?”

“They must be hoping assassins will clear out if the Guard confronts them.”

Chief shook his head. “Know what happens to people who fail the cult without a fight?”

“Hm. Yes. And they would have to know, too. There’s no way that squad survives this. Well, not without our help, anyway.”

“If you were planning on helping, you wouldn’t have brought the crossbow.”

Hena grinned. “Maybe you are not a shithead after all. We need the assassins. And there is no way Minos is letting us walk away with valuable suspect while he is still breathing. One way or another, he’s got to go.” She glanced at him suspiciously. “You okay with this? I know he was mentoring you once.”

Was she kidding? Hena must have been getting senile to forget how he worked. He would kill Minos without batting an eye if it meant hurting the cult, and he told her so.

“Good,” she replied. “I was afraid your years as mapmaker might have made you sentimental.”

Chief didn’t respond. He was thinking about other things. He was developing a hunch that whoever sent Minos knew the target personally. Yes. That had to be it. That pony must have been hedging on the squad’s presence as enough to disrupt the assassination. There was no way Minos could stop the assassins, but he might delay them long enough for them to miss their opportunity. And if he was willing to let an entire squad die just to prolong the life of the target...

Either he was a ruthless bastard who knew the target, or he had an unjustified amount of faith in this year’s training squads. He was about to let Hena know when they stepped out onto Alver Street and she cut him off.

“Alright,” she said, pointing to the Lodge, which was now only a block away. “There is Lodge. We need somewhere we can see everything.”

Chief glanced around. Across the street from the lodge, there were two neighboring buildings that looked suitable—one, large, multi-storey tenement house, the other a brothel. The brothel was a half-storey shorter than its neighbor, but closer, and probably with easier roof access. He pointed it out. The pair crossed the street and entered the building.

A blonde, monkey-faced pegasus approached him as he stepped through the door. “Hey there big boy, can I help—” her eyes fell to Hena, who stood beside him and took his foreleg. “Oh,” she said. “Just looking for a room?”

Chief nodded.

“We are wanting the roof, please,” Hena told her.

“I can’t really let you go up there, but we have many luxurious rooms for—”

“The roof,” Chief said gruffly.

He dug into his coinpurse and slapped a stack of bits into the mare’s hoof. She glanced around, eyeing her coworkers. “The stairs are down the hall to the left. There’s a door all the way at the top that says it’s rigged to an alarm. It hasn’t worked in years,” she whispered, leaning close to him. She wrapped her forelegs around him, and he felt her drop a key into his coat pocket. “Be gone in thirty minutes,” she said as she drew away.

“Now, would you like to make any rentals for apparatuses or—”

Breezing past her, Chief glanced around at the other patrons as he made his way through the foyer. To his left, a slack-jawed earth pony offered a pipe that gave off bright blue smoke to his escort. Next to him, a squat, squinting unicorn was arguing with two of the mares. On Chief’s other side, a pegasus with a huge muzzle was apparently trying to pay the clerk in liquor.

Turning the corner, the pair trekked down the hallway, doing their best to ignore the cacophony of exaggerated moans and shrieks resonating through the corridor. It reminded Chief of the times he had visited the Guard torture chamber. Not that the Guard would ever call it that. Formally, it was just an “augmented interrogation” chamber, reserved only for the most heinous of rapists, murderers, and terrorists. And, of course, political prisoners.

At the end of the hall, they found the staircase, and climbed to the top floor. Neither said a word; there was an apprehension building in the air Chief didn’t want disturbed. He could feel his heart rate mounting with every step. Oh, the feeling of impending bloodshed. No matter how long he worked, the thrills never stopped running through him. Age-old threats of the Guard be damned—this was how he would live out the remainder of his life. Only by bringing death could he forget he was dying.

Chief swung open the door at the top of the stairs and stepped out into the cool night air. He looked out over Alver Street, taking in the calls of the merchants, the shouts of the drunks, the screams of the mugged and the damned. He saw nothing. Nothing important, at least. A few street rats were stealing some mare’s purse, but there were no signs of assassins or duels. Looked like they had a few minutes to spare.

“See anything?” Hena asked.

“No. You?”

“Now, why would I be asking if I had already—wait, do you smell that?”

Chief sniffed the air. “Smoke potion,” he said. Shouting echoed from the roof of the building beside them, and a burst of wind ruffled Chief’s mane. He looked up to see wisps of grey fog dissipating in the in air above him. He and Hena exchanged glances.

Reaching into his pack, he slid his mask over his face and turned to the building beside them. The gap between the buildings wasn’t more than a foot wide, and just below the parapets of the other roof was an indentation for a windowsill. With a running start, Chief cleared the gap and reach up to grab the parapets, his rear legs catching the ledge below. Pushing off of the windowsill, he pulled himself up onto the roof, crouching on the parapet like a gargoyle as he surveyed the situation.

One assassin, Charon, was on the ground, gripping an injured wing. The other, Nephis, stood between him and the cadre of trainees headed by his old mentor. Behind the mask, Chief raised his eyebrows. The assassin was younger than he expected. The boy had first appeared on his radar three years prior, but now he couldn’t have been older than fifteen.

Colt got started early. Good for him. What a shame he might have to end such a promising career.

“Bastard,” Minos shouted at him. “What the hell are you doing here? You weren’t supposed to come back, you swore!”

It was true. Chief had sworn. That and the word of the Archon were the only things that had kept him out of the gallows. But a stallion with a month to live doesn’t have much of an incentive to keep promises.

Chief wondered if Minos realized what his presence here meant. Obviously he hadn’t realized he was dealing with cultists before; otherwise he shouldn’t have been surprised Chief showed up. But could he put two and two together, now that the truth was staring him in the face?

“Orion, Rose, take the rest of the squad and follow that unicorn. I’ll handle the situation here. This one’s a guard-killer.”

Apparently not. He watched the trainees dash off the rooftop after Nephis and sighed inwardly. Minos was either overconfident in his recruits or an idiot—anypony hired by the Church would eat those greenhorns alive. He should have just told them to let Nephis go. He might have had a chance to survive, then. But as it stood now, he had condemned himself and his squad to death.

Poor Captain Minos. He had never been very bright. Powerful, yes, talented, certainly, but never smart enough to move beyond his position as an instructor. Even now, he was so focused on Chief that he didn’t notice the little black hooves inching around the parapets where Hena, no doubt assisted by some potion or another, was dangling off the side of the roof, circling around behind him.

“Chief. I know it’s you. Why even bother with the mask?”

Chief said nothing. Minos was afraid, he could tell. Minos would want to speak with him face to face, so that he had the best chance of getting an empathetic reaction out of him.

“Respect my intelligence, will you? There aren’t many ponies your size in Canterlot, and there’s only one that would come calling right after we get a tip about cult activity.”

Chief nearly let loose a chuckle. The tip never mentioned anything about cult activity. It was about time Minos realized what was going on here.

“Come on, Chief, why even bother to leave us that tip if you’re not gonna talk to me when I show up?”

Oh? That was interesting. Minos was clutching at straws now. Hoping Chief had put in the tip just so the two could talk. Well, Chief couldn’t let him die deluded.

“Wasn’t me,” he said.

“What do you mean it wasn’t you? Why exactly are you here?”

Minos’ voice was nearly quavering now. The Captain was close to breaking. The hatred would come next, if he knew Minos.

“I’m taking the pegasus,” Chief said.

“Like hell you are. She’s coming with me, to Headquarters. I’m not going to stand around and let you start another spree.” He glared at Chief. “You’re lucky I wasn’t on that committee, Chief. You would have hanged.”

Chief said nothing. The two stared at each other. Minos’ forelegs were shaking.

“Well? Say something! Talk to me, you bastard, you never did last time!” He stamped a hoof on the ground. “You killed guards—my friends! Your friends! And you never had the goddamn decency to tell me why!”

A deep golden glow was forming around Minos’ horn. Good. Now Chief was getting somewhere. Minos’ full focus had to be on him, otherwise me might sense the arrow coming. Chief glanced down at the unconscious pegasus before him. She was little more than eight feet away. He had to make sure she didn’t die in the blast. He took a step forward.

“Answer me, dammit! Why?!” All around Minos, rocks the size of golf balls began to spring into existence, orbiting in slow arcs around his body. His face contorted with fury. “Say something! I’ll kill you!” he screamed.

Chief could see pure, unadulterated hatred in his expression. Good for Minos. Everypony needed something to hate. Something to hold on to. Somepony to fight. Chief hated the cult. Summer hated weakness. Roads hated himself. They had to hate to go on living. Whenever they hurt, ponies needed someone to blame.

Chief stared at Minos as the stones circling his body grew in size and speed. “Feels good, doesn’t it?” he murmured.

Glancing past the guard, he saw that Hena had stood up on the parapet, and was taking aim with her crossbow. She met his eye, her horn lit, and a glowing number three popped into the air beside her. Three seconds. He needed to get closer to the pegasus.

Three...

He stepped closer to her.

“Not another step!” Minos shouted.

Two...

They locked eyes. A moment passed.

One...

Chief dove forwards, covering the pegasus with his body. Hena fired the crossbow.

XXII

View Online

Chestnut’s Journal, 8 June, 979:

I did it. I’m in the Guard! I passed the last trial!

Well, technically, I didn’t particularly do anything in the last trial, besides follow my squad around. We rose with the sun, ate the leftovers from the eggs Canto found last night, and left camp following Dog. He led us deeper and deeper into the forest, until finally we came to a small, dilapidated house nestled between two greatwoods.

We rummaged through the inside, but found little besides dust and cobwebs. Bea would have been crushed by a section of roof that collapsed above her, but fortunately Vili was standing right beside her. He caught a load of timber and plywood as big as he was with one foreleg. I need to stick around him. That colt is going places.

Finally, in the shambles of what was once a dresser, we found what Dog had been smelling—an old jacket, covered in dust. Somehow, Canto told him that wasn’t what we were looking for, and he set off again, barreling through the doorway, long black tail swinging through the air. We followed him, headed still deeper into the woods.

The trees got larger and larger as we went, the forest, darker and darker. As far as we went, we still saw few animals. Every now and again, we would catch a glimpse of a deer, fox, or bear before the sounds of our hoofsteps sent them scurrying back into cover. We did see a lot of opteryx roosting on the limbs of the giant trees, and every now and again one would swoop through the air above us. I’d never seen one before, I’d only heard stories. My grandmother used to tell me about them. “Like a mix between a giant lizard and a bird,” she’d say. “Four legged, bigger than a pony, with wings on each leg. They’ve got heads like lizards, but beaks like hawks, and they’re some of the most intelligent animals in the world.”

I don’t think she was wrong. Whenever we would pass beneath one of their nests, their heads, covered in neat rows of spines, would peer down at us, watching with sharp red eyes. I made eye contact with a few, and it gave me a strange feeling. They don’t watch like predators watch, with cold gazes sizing you up, looking to see if you’d make a good meal. It’s more like when you see ponies at a zoo, just looking at the animals. They were curious. They wanted to learn. So they stared at us. It was strange.

Vili loved it. He would wave up at them whenever he caught them watching. Once, one of the lizards lifted a clawed hand and waved back. He beamed, tugged at Dante’s mane, pointed, and shouted, but the older unicorn never looked. He had a new book today, “The Racial Consciousness of Pegasi”, and he was more interested in that than the opteryx. I thought he was missing out.

As we trekked deeper and deeper into the forest, the ground steepened into an incline. The leaves on the trees above us changed in color, from dark green to bright yellow. As we climbed higher and higher, I realized we were making our way up the eponymous Goldridge. I hadn’t realized the name was so literal.

Finally, we came to the top of the ridge, where the ground abruptly dropped off at a 90 degree angle, giving us a breathtaking view out over the rest of the forest. The tips of the giant trees swayed just below us, and only when I saw them did I understand how high up we were. But we weren’t here to admire the view. I didn’t look for long. This was a timed trial, after all.

So, we made our way along the ridge, following Dog, until finally we came to a greatwood much larger than all the others, growing off the tip of the ridge so that it towered above the rest of the forest. I peered over the edge of the cliff and saw that its massive roots ran all the way to the ground below, gripping the whole length of the ridge.

Dog turned to Canto, and looked at him, head cocked sideways, and the two stared at each other for a moment. Then the unicorn turned to us, and told us that this was it, the instructor should be here. He guided us closer, and we saw that a spiraling series of steps had been meticulously carved into the tree, created by removing a series of eight foot strips from its trunk. They began where the trunk met the ground, and spiraled sideways out of view. I looked up and saw they came back around to our side of the trunk about forty meters up, then ended just below a pony-sized hole in the tree. When I looked closely, I could see a flickering light coming from somewhere inside the hole. I pointed it out to my squadmates, and they agreed that this was where the instructor must be.

We made our way over to the tree and started climbing, our pegasus comrades hovering along beside us, on the off chance that anypony lost their balance. When we circled around to the side facing away from the ridge, looking out on the forest below, I made the mistake of peering out over the precipitous drop that awaited me off the side of the steps. It was a longer fall than I’d ever seen in my life. My stomach sank to my flanks, my heart leapt into my throat, and I became faintly dizzy, a horrible tingling in the bottoms of my hooves. The Goddess never intended for earth ponies to be that high up. It’s just not natural.

I concealed my fear from my squadmates. None of them noticed but Vili, who had the presence of mind not to say anything. When we finally came to the hole in the trunk, I silently thanked Celestia. I’ve never been afraid of anypony, but you can’t overpower gravity.

One by one, we entered the hole. Vili walked in easily, but I barely squeezed through. We emerged into a massive, hollowed out cavern in the trunk, forty meters across, forty meters high in some places. It was a miracle the tree was still alive. I suspected some magic was at play.

Across the hollow sat the mare we assumed was our instructor, in front of a small jar that contained a flickering yellow light. I couldn’t tell what was inside, but it was no candle. I didn’t really care. That was unicorn business.

As we crossed the floor, the instructor looked up at us and I saw she was wearing a horned, silver mask with a pointed nose, its face contorted into a wide smile. She stood and approached us. Dante didn’t even look up from his book.

“Hello,” she said. “I’m your instructor, congratulations on finding me. My name is Aurora Rhythm. Call me Rhythm. Nice to meet you.”

“You too! I’m Vili, and this is Dante, Chestnut, Bea, Thane, Canto, and Dog. So,” Vili asked. “What’s the next trial?”

“Just take my mask,” she said. She reached up, grabbed it by one of its three horns, and tugged gently. “It comes right off.” It lifted from her face, and I saw that there were no straps or twine fixed to its sides; the only thing keeping it on was magic. “Assuming it takes you a day to return to headquarters, you have about six hours. Take the mask, return to Canterlot, and you’re in the Guard.”

Beside me, Dante snickered. I couldn’t figure out why.

“In order to pass the trial, you may have to attack me with deadly force. Don’t be afraid, or pull your punches. It would be nearly impossible for you to kill me—and if you did, you’d probably get a promotion. And regardless of what you do, I won’t harm you or attack back in any way.”

Thane let out a loud laugh. “That’s it?I thought the Guard exam was supposed to be hard!”

With a beat of his dark blue wings, he propelled himself across the room, reaching Rhythm before any of the rest of us had the chance to join him. She didn’t move until he was almost on top of her, when he stretched his hoof out to grasp one of the mask’s horns. Then, in a rapid movement, she sidestepped him.

Thane, turning with the level of control that characterized well-trained pegasi, grabbed at the mask again while she was off-balance. Without moving another step, she bent forwards, balancing on one foreleg so that his hoof passed just behind the tip of the mask’s horns. Thane adjusted, and tried again. Rhythm evaded him once more. The two became locked in a fluid, intricate dance, Thane a flurry of grasping limbs, Rhythm avoiding him with fluid, minimalistic movements.

Finally, Thane, panting, gave up. He turned to the rest of us. “Okay, I might need some help.” The rest of the squad, save Dante, did not need any further invitation; we had been riveted by the pair’s display. Vili moved first, charging forwards, and then we were all galloping, converging on Rhythm. All but Dante who, still reading, walked calmly over to the jar of light and sat down beside it.

As I approached Rhythm I heard his voice ring out from somewhere behind me. “All of you can go on without me. It would be over too quickly if I got involved now. Have some fun.”

At the time, I fumed. There was a quiet arrogance about Dante; he looked at everything with the same bored expression, as though he had seen it all before and it did not amuse him. As though he were above everything the squad was doing. It ticked me off. It seemed like he was mocking the fact that we were even trying to pass the exam.

I channeled my frustration into my assault on Rhythm. It didn’t do much good. She was faster than any of us, even the pegasi, and seemed to have eyes in the back of her head. For instance, if Bea advanced from her front and I from her side, she’d sidestep the pegasus, bumping into me, and duck under my outstretched foreleg (from her perspective, I was moving in slow-motion). If Canto and Dog attacked from behind, Vili from the front, and Thane from the side while Bea and I recovered, she would leap all the way over Vili, away from Thane, then land and roll past Canto and Dog. There was just no touching her.

Our uncoordinated frenzy went on for a solid twenty minutes, until we were all left exhausted and thoroughly humiliated. Rhythm didn’t appear to have broken a sweat. As we rested, we huddled together and came up with a plan. We would charge her all at once, and cover every angle. Dog from the left, Canto the right, Vili the front, and me behind, with Thane and Bea hovering overhead if she leapt above us. If we timed it perfectly, she wouldn’t have anywhere to go.

It took us two tries to get the timing right. On the third, we closed in on her, all at once, and she had nowhere to go. I was sure this was it. Then, with a small pop she disappeared leaving us staring at the place where she had been. Dog growled, and I turned to see Rhythm was now standing behind me.

“Good job,” she said. “You forced me to teleport.”

The group let out a collective groan. How were we supposed to get a hold of that mask if she could teleport anywhere, anytime?

Vili had the presence of mind to ask Canto if he knew any dueling spells. He shook his head, and informed us that his only magical talent lay in communicating with Dog.

“I can also play the harp using only telekinesis,” he told us. “But I don’t think that would help much.”

“Dante knows a couple of spells that could probably help,” he said in a hushed tone, keeping a wary eye on Rhythm. She didn’t appear to be listening, so he went on. “He knows a tether spell that would be perfect for right now.”

Thane snorted. “Too bad he isn’t helping. He’s too good for the guard exam.” He looked up stared right at Dante, who was still reading, and sent a few choice epithets his way.

Bea nudged him. “Don’t be an asshole.”

I didn’t say anything, but this time I was with Thane.

“It’s not like that! He’ll get involved when he needs to,” Vili told us. “Trust me. We’ve got five more hours to do this ourselves. He’ll help us when we really need him, don’t worry.”

Thane murmured something about being ready to be “done with the whole thing,” and the group went back to planning. Over the next two hours, we came up with a series of increasingly complex attack patterns. Feints, diversions, sneak attacks, anything we could come up with, we put into action. At one point, we even had Canto telekinetically toss Vili into the air towards Rhythm after she teleported out of a particularly well-executed assault. It didn’t work.

Nothing ever did. Every time we got anywhere close to removing the mask, she just teleported away. I read somewhere once that teleportation was supposed to be one of the most energy and time consuming spells a unicorn could use. They say it can take up to a full minute to gather the focus necessary to cast those spells, but I watched Rhythm’s horn—it would light only a split second before she disappeared. And over those two hours, she must have teleported over forty times. I don’t know how that’s possible.

What I have come to realize is that I’m in the right place. Guards are freaks of nature. Just like me.

What finally did work on Rhythm took us all by surprise. A particularly ambitious strategy involving Thane air-dropping a terrified Dog onto Rhythm’s head, the instructor was forced, off balance, to step past Dante and the light jar. Lightning fast, without even taking his eyes off the page, his right foreleg shot out and tapped her on the calf, horn alight with a silver glow.

He looked up at us. “Alright,” he said. “That’s it. Well done, all of you.” He flipped his book closed and slipped it into his jacket pocket. “Well, let’s head back to Canterlot, then, shall we?”

The rest of us just stared at him. He turned to Rhythm.

“I tagged you with a tether spell. You can’t move more than four meters away from me until I end the spell. You might as well just give us your mask.”

“A four meter tether?” Rhythm replied. I swear I heard a smile in her voice. “That leaves me a hundred cubic meters to work with. That’s more than enough.”

Dante shook his head, and gestured to the room around us. “These walls are far more than four meters thick. If I walk into a corner, I can cut your space down to around fifty cubic meters meters. Actually, you’re tethered to my right forehoof specifically, so if I had to, I could use a strength enhancement to ram my whole leg into the wall cutting your room down even more, down to around forty cubic meters. And if you hadn’t noticed, the ceiling slopes around the edges, too. You wouldn’t be able to evade us by air, so you’d have been better off calculating square meters, of which you’d have around fifteen. In which case you’d hardly be able to teleport at all—you can’t teleport anywhere where there’s already solid matter. If the squad disperses evenly around your remaining range, there won’t be much of anywhere for you to go.

“So, will you give us your mask, or do we have to go to all that trouble?”

Rhythm took of the mask and tossed it to the ground at Dante’s hooves. I saw that she actually was smiling after all. I also saw that her face was covered in a mass of burn scars. I wonder what happened to her. I wonder if a similar fate is in store for me.

She glanced over to the rest of us. “Congratulations,” she said. “Assuming you make it back to Canterlot all in one piece, you’re in the Guard.”

Dante spoke up again. I was starting to get tired of the sound of his voice. The way he talked down to our superequine instructor. His ability to sound somehow disinterested and arrogant at the same time. It all bothered me. “Actually,” he said, “I’m willing to bet that we’ve all been in the Guard since yesterday.”

“How’d you know that?” Rhythm asked, eyebrows raised.

“Well, mostly because you just told me. But I’ve had a hunch this entire time that something was... off with the Guard exam. It’s too unconventional. Equestria doesn’t maintain a standing military in peacetime, so the Guard fills that role, and that of the military police. That takes a lot of people, more than you could ever expect to pass tests like these.

“And besides, do you really expect us to believe that you would base your acceptances into the institution that maintains civil order and national defense based on stupid tests like the one with the cage and trap-door? Or stealing your mask? There’s no reason for most Guards to be able to do any of that; all they need to be is fit and disciplined. They don’t need the dueling spells necessary to pass a test like this. There’s no way the Guards stamping tickets into Bantham Village are all potential duelists.

“And you really showed your hoof by including the intelligence tests, the endurance tests, and the obstacle course. I’m willing to bet that’s all that factored into whether we got in or not. You probably even let the recruits who couldn’t make it through the first trial out of the cages and told them not to tell anypony.

“This exam obviously wasn’t just to look for new Guards. You’re looking for something else, too. Duelists. It has to be. There’s no way anypony could pass a trial like this one without dueling knowledge, and the cage trial, at least for the unicorns, was obviously looking to coax out the kind of resourcefulness that characterizes a dueling mindset.

But what I don’t understand is why it was all so ‘covert’. Why not have separate exams for Guards and duelists? Why don’t you want anypony knowing the Guard is looking for duelists, and more importantly, what do you want with all these duelists in the first place? Given that we’re all Guards now, you might as well explain what’s going on here.”

When he finally closed his mouth a heavy silence hung in the air. Thane and I just stared.

“Who the hell does he think he is?” the pegasus murmured to me. “And why does he talk in speeches?”

Rhythm’s smile cooled a bit, but did not fade. She held an expression I couldn’t quite place. “Good questions,” she said. “Acquire Grade A-5 security clearances and I’m sure you can all have them answered. For now, though, you should just be content with entry into the Guard. I’ll see you all in Canterlot. Oh, and Dante?”

“Yes?”

“I’ll put in a good word about you for our dueling program.”

And then she was gone. Silence settled over the room. No one moved.

It was Thane who broke the pause. “What the hell, Dante?!”

“What?”

“Why did you tell us that’s what you were doing? We would have forced her over to you sooner.”

“I couldn’t. As soon as she mentioned taking the mask, I knew the tether spell would be the deciding factor—assuming you guys didn’t get it first—and I figured it would be better for me to see what Rhythm was capable of rather than show my hoof too early. And when I saw her move, I knew I was right, there was no way I would be fast enough to even touch her. So I waited for her to make a mistake and come to me, rather than the other way around. I knew if it looked like I was conspiring with the rest of you, she would never let her guard down around me.

In case you didn’t notice, for the most part, she still didn’t. She was avoiding coming anywhere near me at first. But eventually all of you wore her down, tired her out, and she lost focus. That’s why I congratulated you. If you hadn’t figured out how to press her so hard, I never could have caught her. So, good job. Not that it ever mattered anyway. Now let’s get back to Canterlot.”

And then he fell silent, took out his book, and walked out of the room, the rest of us staring after him. His flattery worked. No one gave him a hard time after that. We followed after him, and traveled until nightfall, stopping on the outskirts of the Canterlot hills to sleep.

Dante didn’t say another word the entire time. I preferred it that way. I was sick of hearing his arrogant voice.

I swear, someday I’m going to fight him, and win. And he’ll never be able to talk down to me again.

XXII

“Death arrives among all that sound
like a shoe with no foot in it, like a suit with no man in it,
comes and knocks, using a ring with no stone in it, with no finger in it,
comes and shouts with no mouth, with no tongue, with no throat.
Nevertheless its steps can be heard
Pablo Neruda, Nothing But Death

No matter how much his captors had pressed him, Chief had never admitted to having a partner. To the Guard, that seemed plausible enough. Absorbed in their own fear, they had overestimated his capabilities. They had bought into the lie, and circulated it among themselves. There was no way Minos could have anticipated the explosive bolt that was speeding towards his back.

At four hundred and fifty feet per second, the arrow closed the seven and a half meter gap between Hena and Minos in a twentieth of a second. Minos did not see it coming. But still, moving faster than should have been possible for a stallion his age, he stepped to the side, dodging the projectile. Despite his single-minded rage, he hadn’t let Chief get the better of him. He had paid attention to his ley field, and when the oncoming silver head of the quarrel entered it, the field was ever-so-slightly disrupted. Minos had sensed that disruption, and acted accordingly.

But he forgot about the rocks.

The bolt dug itself into a stone that had been passing just in front of Minos’ neck. The spring behind the arrowhead compressed. The explosive mixture inside the shaft ignited half a foot from Minos’ right ear.

Chief closed his eyes as a burst of light and smoke erupted on the other side of the roof. He pressed his head to the ground, covering it with a foreleg, and prayed that he wouldn’t be hit by any shrapnel. Something lodged itself in his shoulder anyway, sending a wet, hot pain across his right shoulder. Somehow, it had penetrated all the way through the ringmail.

A second passed. Chief’s ears were ringing. The whole block had gone silent. He looked up to see Minos’ body, sprawled across the ground, smoking and headless. Standing, still staring at what had been his old mentor, he tossed Charon over his good shoulder. He looked over to Hena. Her eyes were fixed on the corpse.

Then she met his gaze. A moment passed between the two, the grim, solemn sharing of moral responsibility for the death of their fellow pony.

Then she reared with a whoop. “Yes!” she cried. “It is perfect! I knew it! Hah! This is wonderful, I was not exploding anypony for years!”

Or not. Chief laughed. To anypony else, it would have sounded like a grunt. But he and Hena both knew. He walked over and clapped a hoof to her shoulder. “Save it,” he said. “Gotta get out of here.”

Hena nodded. The blast was sure to bring unwanted attention. Lots of it. Not from the Guard, perhaps, but in the Underbelly, as everywhere else, it was best to keep your murders to yourself.

Chief swung open the door and the two hurried down the stairs of the tenement building.

“Is she alive?” Hena asked.

“Yeah.”

“Is she wounded?”

“Dunno. We’ll find out when we’re somewhere safe.”

Hena nodded, and the two exited the stairwell into the lobby. Fortunately, there was no one there save one semi-conscious drunk. He looked up at them from atop a shabby couch, eyes bleary. “Whossere? Who’re—d’ja heara noise jussnow?”

Chief and Hena glanced at each other.

“It was nothing,” Hena said. “Go back to sleep.”

The earth pony blinked, eyebrows furrowed. “But... I knnnow Iheard—” Then he vomited, and the pair swept past him. By the time they reached the door he was already asleep again. They stepped out into the street and found themselves face to face with a growing crowd. Hena shrank behind him, one foreleg over her face, keeping it out of their view. He realized he was still wearing the mask.

They stared at him, wide-eyed, every race, age, and gender among them, just quietly watching. For a second, he stared back. A quiet tension grew among the crowd.

And then he took a step. Like a unified living thing, a massive, many eyed amoeba, they recoiled away from him, and as he walked forward they averted their eyes and parted to make way for him. They were smart, these ponies, smarter than they were curious. As much as they wanted to know what happened on the roof, they did not forget the rules of Underbelly survival. Those who lived down here saw nothing, knew nothing, got in no one’s way, took nothing from anypony. Don’t get involved. It was the cardinal rule for those who prized survival. Those who prized money, power, or knowledge lived by a very different code. Fortunately, none of those ponies were here.

And so the crowd parted.

Chief passed through them, walking authoritatively, Hena clutching at his cloak and trying to stay out of sight. These ponies could be questioned later, by any number of forces. It was best they get few details.

And then, the last row parted, and they were clear.

The pair ducked down a side street, and slipped out of sight from the road. Chief moved quickly, glancing over his shoulder every so often to make sure they weren’t being followed. They moved quickly, erratically, through canals and alleyways, doubling back as was necessary, until Chief was sure no one was tailing them. There was still the possibility of an Oracle tagging Hena—Chief was so magical-resistant that no Oracle could track him—but she had stayed mostly out of the crowd’s sight, and besides, the possibility that a fully trained Oracle had been present were slim as a slip of parchment.

Finally, they returned to the alchemy shop. Hena cleared the clerk’s desk and Chief lay Charon down on it. As he set her down, Hena caught sight of blood running down his foreleg.

“Are you alright?” she asked.

“It’s nothing.”

She reached over and pulled his cloak and mail away, bringing to light a shoulder caked in half-congealed blood that ran the entire length of his leg.

“Gods,” she swore. “You have been losing a lot of blood.”

“I’ve got a lot of blood.”

“Take off your mail. I’ll be finding a potion for this.”

“No time. We’ve gotta get her awake.”

Chief gestured down to the pegasus between them. Her eyes were closed, and her breathing was faint. There were no signs of injury that they could see. In fact, there was hardly a scratch on her. They peeled the dense spiderweb from her wing, hoping to find something there, but there was nothing. Then Chief noticed a tiny puncture in her shirt, a quarter of the width of his muzzle, tinged with blood. He ripped her shirt away. A putrid stench filled the air. Hena drew a sharp breath.

The assassin’s side was rotting away. The skin around her ribcage was blackened, like a massive bruise. In the center, the skin had sloughed off, revealing bloody, yellowed flesh, blackened at the edges and covered in a thin film of pus.

“Gods,” Hena breathed.

“Venom,” Chief said. “I’ve seen Nephis’ work before. He sent dozens of the cult’s enemies to the coroner’s with ‘spider bites.’ Combination necrotoxin and neurotoxin, the doctors said. Have anything for it here?”

Hena shook her head. “I could make something, maybe, if I knew specifically which venoms it was. And had a few hours. It is not looking like we have either. Look,” she said, pointing to the weeping wound on Charon’s ribs. It had already grown since they took her shirt off. They were running out of time.

“Hold on,” she said, and scurried upstairs. Thirty seconds later, she was back, syringe full of a deep red elixir, tipped with a hypodermic needle. Pushing Chief aside, she took Charon’s left foreleg and jabbed the needle into a vein on the inside of her elbow. She emptied the syringe.

“There,” she said. “This is a healing aid. It is helping the body repair damaged tissues. What would take a week to heal is taking two days. I give her a double dose, I think maybe it will slow the venom down.”

“We don’t have to save her,” Chief said. “Just wake her up. An interrogation takes minutes, can you get her awake for that long?”

Hena waved him away, one hoof pressed to her forehead, eyes closed, thinking aloud. “No, no, no... could maybe use adrenaline—but her ion channels are still being blocked... There is only antivenom...”

Chief cursed. “Even if we could get some, we don’t know what kind—”

Hena held up a hoof. “Wait,” she said. “There is an elixir, a very potent elixir—all-purpose antivenom. We get her some of that, maybe she wakes up. Maybe.”

“Can you make some?”

“The ingredients are costing almost as much as my shop, and the alchemy is taking days. We cannot make it, we cannot buy it—but maybe we can steal it.”

“From whom?”

“There is only one place in Canterlot that keeps something of that potency on hoof. The Royal Hospital. They keep it for assassination attempts. Someone is always trying to poison food. If you can get me onto the Castle Grounds, I can get us the antivenom.”

“How do we get into the hospital?” Chief asked.

Hena drummed her hooves on the desk, a grim expression on her face. “Well...” she said slowly. “How do you feel about necromantic alchemy?”

Chief shrugged. “I don’t.”

“Killing innocents?”

Another shrug.

“Okay. I may have a plan. One moment,” she said, heading upstairs once more, leaving Chief with Charon. He glanced at her wound. It had gotten larger. The healing aid wasn’t working very well.

The door in the corner swung open once more, and Hena stepped through them carrying five flasks, two filled with inky black liquid, two with clear liquid, one with yellow liquid. She set them on the counter.

“Okay,” she said. “How much do you know about necromancy?”

“Not much.”

She exhaled. “I was fearing this when you were so nonchalant. Listen... you will not be liking this plan. Maybe we find some other way to get this information. Maybe we track down the other assassin.”

“Too late for that. What’s the plan?”

Hena rested her elbows on the table and put her hooves together. “Well...” she started. “These are impersonation potions. Very effective, makes you somepony else. You look like them, smell like them, talk like them, everything. Lasts until you take the antidote,” she said, gesturing to the clear elixirs. “This is very effective for spying, why I have a half liter pre-brewed. I often give it to my informants for tough jobs. But there is—I think the Equestrians call it—a catch.”

“You have to kill the pony?” Chief guessed.

Hena scratcher her head. “Well... yes, you do kill the pony, but this is not the end. My informants are more unscrupulous than me, if you can believe it. ”

“What else?”

“You are really not liking it. In fact, it is a bad plan, we should come up with—”

“What else?” Chief growled.

“Well... you are having to... you are having to eat the heart.”

Chief blinked. “What?”

“The heart. You must eat it.”

Chief had seen many things in his days as a Guard, things that would drive lesser stallions into asylums. He had personally witnessed the aftermath of nearly every heinous crime imaginable. He had been certain, up until now, that there was nothing left in the world gruesome enough to shock him. He was wrong. His jaw dropped.

“Is this a joke?”

“You think this is time for games? I do not joke. This is the price of necromancy. It is necessary for potion to work. First you drink the elixir, then you... you know...”

“Eat the heart?”

“Yes. You eat the heart.”

A heavy silence filled the air. Chief rested his forehooves on the table and leaned forward, exhaling. He had done a lot of things that were morally dubious—no, morally wrong, but this... This was different. This was gruesome. Disgusting. Revolting.

Cannibalism? His stomach turned at the thought of him eating—eating!—part of another pony. He could kill, sure. He could kill without thinking. But this was on another level entirely.

He stared up at Hena. “Why? Why the heart?”

Hena shrugged. “I am no expert of necromancy. I merely... dabble. This magic... it is bad for the soul. Bad for the mind. The necromancers, they are saying that the heart is the nexus of the soul. The center of the spiritual form, they call it. They are always using euphemisms. Makes them feel better. They say by consuming the center, you ingest part of the soul, and this is what fuels and directs the potion’s magic. I suppose they are correct. The magic does not work otherwise. I have seen it.”

Chief closed his eyes, rubbing the bridge of his nose, thinking. Could he do this? Could he become as horrible as the cultists he was hunting? An image floated through his head, from his days working with the sheriff in his home town.

A fur trapper who had spent years in the Equestrian mountains came to town, and stabbed a stallion outside the local bar. The pair had tracked him to a filthy camp at the edge of the woods, where they found him sleeping on the ground, still half covered in blood. When they arrested him, he put up a fight, and dislocated the sheriff’s jaw. Chief beat him half to death and they hauled him back to town and threw him in jail. The entire time, the stallion never said a word. When Chief had asked what was wrong with him, the sheriff just shrugged.

“Maybe he was born that way, or maybe it was the mountains that did it to ‘im. You gotta think like animals to hunt ‘em. Spend too long doin’ that an’ it’ll turn you wild. When a pony hunts wild animals long enough, he starts to become one. Don’t you firget that, boy.”

That was the price of hunting animals. This was the price of hunting necromancers. He would have to pay it. That’s just the way it was. He didn’t have enough time left in this world to track down another lead.

Bang.

This wasn’t the way he wanted to go out. But since when was he ever given what he wanted? All his life, had he wanted something, he had to take it. Why should now be any different?

He opened his eyes, meeting Hena’s.

“Okay,” he said. “Let’s do it.”

She heaved a grave sigh. “Here,” she said, tossing a huge black bag onto the counter. “Put her in there. To carry a body around in the open is not smart outside of the Underbelly.”

Chief maneuvered the pegasus into the sack as gently as he could, tossed it over his back, and the two made their way out of the shop, heading to into the center of the Underbelly, towards the Hullman Center. Ten minutes later, they stood before the sprawling, multistorey facility dedicated to the maintenance of a series of huge lifts that provided quick transport between central shipping docks and the outer gates of Bantham Village.

They were used primarily for moving large shipments of raw material and manufactured goods to their buyers in the Overcity, but there were also a few lifts for personnel. These provided a speedy commute for the managers and owners of Underbelly industries, who invariably lived in either Bantham or the Commerce Section. At this time of night, the personnel lifts would be shut down—unlike the workers, the executives didn’t work through the night. Those responsibilities were delegated to the night managers, who weren’t paid much more than the laborers they supervised.

Fortunately, the industrial lifts ran around the clock, for bits held the same value whether earned day or night. Even more fortunately, Hena had extensive connections within the Hullman Center, as it wasn’t difficult for her to double the paychecks of lift operators who made next to nothing to begin with. A pony who can’t afford a doctor and is surrounded at every turn by death and disease is easy to buy out. The pair approached the tall fence that kept the operators in and the Underbelly civilians out.

Because this was the most direct route from the Underbelly to the Village, a lot of money from a lot of paranoid pockets went into the maintenance of the fence, and the security guards who patrolled it. Unfortunately for the more restless Overcity civilians, whose children feared no bogeymen, but checked under their beds at night for the poor, no one seemed to realize that the easiest way for criminals like Chief and Hena to reach Bantham was not to go over the wall, but through the operators.

One such operator, who tonight manned the rear gate, spotted the two and waved them over happily.

“Hena!” the pudgy pegasus beamed, “How’s my favorite patron tonight?” He smiled, exposing large, spotless teeth.

“Well, thanks,” Hena said, a hint of exhaustion creeping into her voice.

“Ah,” he said, his eyes flickering to Chief. Try as he might, he couldn’t keep the gleam of curiosity off of his wide, flat face. “Another visitor. Who’s this?”

“He’s no one,” she said, handing him a ten-bit coin through the gap in the gate. “You were not seeing him.”

“Seeing whom?” he asked, opening the gate for them.

“Exactly.”

Glancing around for security guards, he piped up as they slunk through the gate. “Unfortunately, we’ve already shut down the personnel lifts for tonight, but if you head to industrial seven, Silver Spring should be sending up some lumber shipments, and I’m sure you can hitch a ride with them.”

“Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.”

And then they had moved beyond him, down a gravel path to a rusted iron door on the backside of the main building, a large rectangular structure with eight long, symmetrical offshoots. Each one housed the massive, mechanomagical engines that powered its respective industrial lift, with one smaller engine reserved for the personnel lift in the center of the main building.

Altogether, the building took up two city blocks. After all, it was the Underbelly. Space was cheap, and the lifts provided so much service to so many industries, it paid for a year of operations every two weeks. Had the eponymous Hullman not been dead for the past five years, he’d have been enjoying one of the most lucrative businesses in the city.

Given that Hena and Chief, who had now entered the main building, were using it to further their necromantic ends, the industrialist was probably rolling in his grave right now. Unhappily for him, Hena and Chief were able to make their way down to “industrial number seven” unmolested, despite passing numerous guards and workers on their way.

As it turned out, walking with purpose, as if they were supposed to be there, rendered them all but invisible to the ponies around them. Of course, they probably could have been dragging Charon’s bloodied body in plain sight across the concrete floors and still have had no trouble; no one was awake enough or being paid enough to invest much energy in what went on during a graveyard shift.

And so they reached lift seven, and the mustachioed, broad shouldered earth pony Chief presumed was Silver Spring, without incident. As soon as he saw Hena, he stopped the trolley of dark-stained hardwood bundles he had been pushing and ushered the pair into the lift without a word. As he guided them behind a particularly large stack of lumber at the far corner of the lift, Chief noticed deep bags beneath his glassy, bloodshot eyes. Some folks just never got used to night shifts—even down here, where the word “night” had no meaning.

And so Chief and Hena huddled against the wall, out of sight from any bypassers, and waited until Silver Spring wordlessly loaded the last lumber onto the lift. Finished, he surveyed the chamber, then slid the doors closed. A moment later, a loud rumbling filled the tiny room as somewhere in the distance a great engine roared to life, slowly dragging them towards the surface.

It took twenty minutes, and by the time they reached the Overcity, Chief was sure Charon was already dead. But no, after they slipped passed the operator at the top of the lifts, and out of the other, much smaller section of the Hullman Center, he set her down and slid the top of the bag down below her head to find that she was still breathing, if barely. He stared at Hena.

“How is she still alive?”

“I am thinking Nephis did not give her enough neurotoxin to kill her. Which means the necrotoxin will have to shut down the major organs before she is going to die. Or maybe my healing aids are better than expected. Who knows? I am no doctor.”

With a grunt, he slid the bag back up over her head and picked it up once more. The duo headed up the mountain a short ways, until they came to the Bantham Village gate. By now, there was no one manning the entrance—all that was left was a skeleton crew of guards patrolling the top of the walls.

“Hello!” Hena shouted, waving to one of them as he passed. “I need to be let in, I will be having urgent business on the Castle Grounds!”

The tall, heavily bearded guard peered down from atop the wall, reddened cheeks pouting at them. “What, now?” he called. “It’s a quarter past eleven, there’s hardly anypony awake in there—and just who are you, anyway?”

“My name is Hena Porfiry, I designed half your equipment, I am late for a business meeting with the Guard, and if I lose my next design contract because of you, I will be seeing your head on a pike!”

The guard scratched his head. “Porfiry... As in Porfiry Armaments?”

“No, that’s a different weapons designer named Porfiry! I thought there was an intelligence exam required to join the Guard?”

“Alright, alright, I’ll be right down.”

The pegasus stepped off the back of the back of the wall and landed behind the gate.

“Can I see some ID?” he asked, sticking his hoof through the slats.

Hena rifled through her pockets, found her identification cards, and handed them over. The guard looked through them.

“All right,” he said. “Looks good. And who’s this?” he asked gesturing to Chief.

“Rhodion. My assistant. Don’t bother with him, he’s a deaf-mute.”

Chief tried his best to adopt the expression of a ‘deaf-mute.’ Did they look any different from anypony else? He hadn’t a clue.

The guard’s eyebrows furrowed. “Have I seen him somewhere? I feel like I’ve seen that face before...”

Trying hard not to look as though he were inspecting the pegasus, Chief tried to study his face. Had he run into this stallion before...? Judging by his age, it was certainly possible.

Then Chief realized. The pegasus had once worked security at the main entrance of the Guard headquarters. He had seen this stallion before, hundreds of times, though only in passing. He silently prayed that the guard wouldn’t remember him. Surely he couldn’t remember every face that passed him by on the average day. And besides, that was years ago. Surely...

Hena spoke up again. “I’m sure you have. He has come to the Castle many times, he is the one who is carrying all of my prototypes. It has to be him, they are all classified, no one else can see them.”

The guard nodded. “Yeah,” he said. “That’s right. I remember now, I saw him come through here a couple of times before.”

Chief suddenly remembered a study he’d been shown in the Guard a long time ago about false memory implantation. Get a pony in a position of authority to tell someone they remember something, and they’ll invent a memory, even going so far as to supply their own false details. If they sufficiently lack skepticism. Apparently it was easier for some to trust an authority figure than their own brains.

“So,” the guard said. “Is that what’s in the bag, then?”

“I can’t comment on the contents of the bag. That would be treason.”

The guard nodded obligingly. “Of course, of course,” he said, as he opened the gate for them. “Off you go, then.” And he returned Hena her ID as she passed by him.

“Thanks,” she said.

Chief looked at him blankly.

She chuckled to him once they were safely out of earshot. “I guess if you act entitled enough to something, ponies are believing you’re actually supposed to have it.”

“Hm,” came Chief’s only reply.

He was more focused on the task ahead of them. Bluffing wouldn’t get them through the Castle walls. Especially not at this time of night. Security was tight enough there that someone would have to actually check up on Hena’s claims, at least without an explicit entry pass signed by some official or another. No, they would have to circle around to the area near the Skydocks, and slip in through the hole in the wall he had left for himself.

He relayed as much to Hena as they came to the area where Bantham met the Castle. So the pair ascended to the base of the wall, and began making their way counterclockwise around its circumference. As they left the confines of Bantham, walking out to where the cliff faces were too steep for construction, they hugged closer and closer to the wall, hoping not to be spotted by Castle guards. The flat terrain builders had cut into the mountain in order to build the wall grew thinner and thinner. Chief had to fight a sense of dizziness and vertigo as the ground to his right gave way to nothing but the void.

Eventually, though, as the edges of the longest of the Skydocks came into view, and the ground began to widen around the base of the wall, their progress was halted by a voice.

“You there!” Somepony cried from the air. “Stop! What are you doing?!”

Immediately Chief hunched over, in one fluid motion removing the bag from Charon’s body and setting her down on the ground.

“Help! Help!” He cried, faking hysterics. He stepped over the body so that the Guard, a passing pegasus, could see it as he flew down to meet them. “This mare—we found this mare—you have to help us!” He crouched over the body, pressing here and there as though he were trying to give medical attention.

He looked pleadingly up at the guard as he, a heavily built, muscular pegasus, sword already drawn, landed beside them. “I don’t know what to do, she’s gonna—”

“What are you talking about? What are you doing out here?!” There was an edge of alarm in the guard’s voice. He knew something was amiss.

“Look!” Hena cried, tugging at his cloak. “Look what happened to—”

As she spoke, the guard took a step closer. Too close. In an instant, Chief slammed him against the wall with one foreleg, stepping in close so that he could not draw his blade for a counter attack. With the other foreleg, he drew his dagger, embedding it in the guard’s windpipe so that he could not cry out. He then cut sideways, through the jugular, then down the front of the throat, all the while pinning him against the wall as he bled out. The guard thrashed against him, spilling blood across Chief’s front, a gurgling coming from deep within his throat.

Finally, his spasms came to an end, his eyes closed, and he went limp. Chief seized him by the front of the shirt, and tossed him casually over the side of the chasm beside them. The pair peered over the drop, watching the body disappear into the trees hundreds of feet below them.

They glanced at each other.

“Better get going,” Hena said.

Chief nodded gruffly and they set off again. He glanced over his shoulder as they went, looking at the spot where the guard had gone over the edge. He wondered if the guard had a family off somewhere, waiting for him. Had he a wife? Kids? Pets? Was there anypony out in the city who loved him? Who would miss him?

Chief tried to make himself care about the guard, tried to muster up some empathy. Little came. His atrophied conscience barely prickled. The rush from the killing was much stronger. Had there really been a time when murder had really, deeply troubled him? When he was young, he supposed. Back when he was still equine.

And what of his own mortality? Would anypony miss him in a year, when he was gone? Hena? Doubtful. She wouldn’t miss him, if she were even still alive by then. She’d lost too many people over the years. She’d calloused over completely. One more dead friend wouldn’t phase her.

And Summer? Would she grieve over him? Yes, probably. She wanted to be like Hena, for sure, impervious and invulnerable, but she hadn’t managed it yet. She would be upset when he died.

Something in him stirred, at that. What little fragments of emotions he had left, besides anger and disdain, were roused at the thought of Honey Dew’s kin remembering him. At least he wouldn’t be forgotten. Of course, he wouldn’t care then, nothing would matter to him then—but some part of him cared now.

He couldn’t quite figure out why. He shouldn’t be bothered. He must have been getting sentimental in his own age. A pity. Sentimentality was a form of weakness, and he intended to die strong.

So be it. He turned his mind away, stamping out the thoughts. There were more urgent things to focus on. The hole in the Castle’s outer wall, for instance, which was coming up just before them. He tapped Hena’s shoulder as they passed the first Skydock and came to it, then reached down to pry the rock away.

Hena stepped through first, passing effortlessly through the gap. She barely had to duck. Chief passed her the bag, then followed, wriggling through with some difficulty. Finally, he emerged into the bushes on the other side, now covered in dirt in addition to blood.

He picked up the bag again, now carrying it under the formless cloak. It was more uncomfortable this way, but far more inconspicuous. Passing the side of the huge granite building that housed the High Court, they stepped out into the open, on the pavement beneath a lamppost. They were now standing at the end of one of the two short paths in the Castle Grounds, Millin Avenue. Millan ran perpendicular to the last segment of the Fioran Way, at the very end of which was the entrance to the Castle itself.

The hospital they needed was at the far end of Millin Avenue. Chief had worried that this would mean they would need to cross through the intersection, which was usually be busiest part of the Grounds, yet tonight it looked all but deserted. He decided he had the weather to thank for that, as somewhere in the distance thunder rumbled through the sky.

The pair made their way down the street, then took refuge in the shadows between the hospital and the building adjacent to it, one of the lesser parliamentary houses. Between the two, somepony had cultivated some neatly trimmed bushes and a few trees. They squatted down among them, Chief laid down the body, and Hena drew out her potions.

She gazed up at him, scanning his face. “Okay,” she said. “You are ready?”

He nodded. He wasn’t actually ready, not for the necromancy, but he wasn’t going to get any more comfortable with it.

“You will stay hidden, and I will draw them over here,” she said. “Do them quickly, then we are drinking the potions, and... well, you know.”

He nodded, and she left. When she was out in the light of the streetlamps again, where she could be seen through the glass door of the hospital, she began to walk more quickly, and more stiffly, like a mare much older than she. She pushed open the door, crying out for a doctor, then went inside, out of his view.

Moments later, she emerged again, a doctor and two nurses in tow, one a stallion, one a mare. She was talking to them, gesturing wildly, pointing over to the bushes where Chief was lurking. “Out for a walk, for a perfectly good walk, and then there she was! Lying there, blood everywhere! God, so beastly, it was frightening me to death.”

They came closer, stepping into the shadows, just a few yards from Chief. He drew his blade silently. He had been hoping there wouldn’t be so many ponies; three was a lot for only one man, if everything had to be quiet and fast.

“Look here, look here, right over here!” Hena led them just past where Chief was hiding, and as soon as their backs were turned he stepped out of his hiding place and beheaded the nearest one, the male nurse, in an instant. By the time the body hit the ground, making enough noise to alert the other two, Chief’s blade was already up again. His next blow embedded the sword in the skull of the female nurse, and she dropped like a stone.

By now the doctor had turned and seen what was happening and he started to cry out, but Hena was upon him before he could, clamping a foreleg over his mouth. Before he could shake her off, Chief, whose sword was too firmly lodged for quick retrieval, stepped forward and slipped his dagger into . He died in seconds, heart pierced.

Quickly, the two murderers dragged the bodies off into the bushes, where they were virtually impossible to see from the road or the air. They crouched down around the bodies, inspecting the three of them.

“I will be taking this one,” Hena said, gesturing to the mare.

“I’ll be the doctor, then,” Chief grumbled.

He rolled the body over, and to his astonishment saw that it was Healer Wormwood. He took a sharp intake of breath.

“It is someone you know?” Hena asked.

“He saved one of my comrades. He’s the one who told me I was going to die.”

Chief put a hoof over his eyes. This was worse than expected. This hurt him. This, he actually felt bad about.

Dammit.

Out of all the doctors in that hospital, he only knew one. And it had to be this one. A feeling of shame, the first in a long time, settled in his stomach. His breathing came fast and shallow.

Dammit!

Chief didn’t know what was worse, the fact that he’d killed Wormwood, or the fact that he felt guilty over it. He really was getting sentimental in his old age after all. He was starting to crack. His mind was breaking down along with his body. Damn it all. Maybe he should have let himself die in that nexus...

There was a cracking sound beside him. He looked over to see Hena already at work breaking through the chest cavity of her body. There was a rueful, disgusted look on her face. Damn it all. She was feeling it too. There had been a time, once, when the greatest strength of the pair was their utter ruthlessness. They had been capable of anything back then.

Well, look at them now. Simultaneously at their most depraved and at their weakest. So this was what happened when monsters got old.

Hena handed him a gore splattered bottle filled with a yellow liquid. “Put this on your blade. It’ll help you cut through the bone faster.”

He did as he was instructed, silently. Chief removed Wormwood’s cloak, shirt, and pants, and set them on the ground beside him. He would need them, after the transformation was complete. Somehow, there were only a few flecks of blood on them

Then, grimacing at the healer’s bare chest, he set to work.

Chief could hardly look at what he was doing. Over the course of his long career, he had produced many bodies, for certain, and wasn’t squeamish. But never in his life had he so defiled one of his victims. Not so coldly. Not intentionally. There had been once or twice when, in a rage, he had continued chopping away at an opponent after they had already died, but this... this was different. It was purposeful. It was brutal. It made him sick.

He had thought, when he woke up this morning, that he was above nothing, that there were no lines left that he would not cross, but when he drew out the poor stallion’s “center” and held it in his hoof, he knew he was wrong. There was never a time when he put much stock in morality, but this violated something deep within him, something that he could not rationalize away. He could not think that this was necessary, for the greater good of himself, or anypony else. At that moment, he realized that after the cult was over and done with, after he had hunted them all down, the last, worst necromancer to kill would be himself. If the advanced aging didn’t get him first.

He turned to Hena, and saw that she, too, had finished working on the body.

“Do...” he started to say, then his throat caught. He tried again. “Do we have to eat the whole thing?” He could hardly believe the words that were coming out of his mouth. Now there was a question he had never expected to ask. Like a damn child asking if he had to clean his plate. Horrible.

“One good bite should do it,” she replied.

At the same time, they looked down at the grisly lumps of flesh in their trembling hooves. They both wore the same expression, a mixture of contempt, disgust, and utter shame.

“So...”

“Okay, let’s do it.”

Neither could bring themselves to even move their forelegs.

“Maybe if we were closing our eyes...”

“Yeah.”

“And if we did it at the same time...”

“Yeah.”

They both closed their eyes. A knot of anxiety gathered in Chief’s stomach. Goddess, was he really about to do this? There was no coming back from this. Every cell in his body cried out for him to stop, to turn back now. Could any information ever be worth this?

“Three...” Hena murmured beside him.

At the same time those thoughts passed through his head, and he listened to Hena speak, some other part of his brain, detached from the rest, seemed to shrink away from the rest. No, it thought, this can’t be happening. It can’t be. It’s ridiculous. Over-the-top. Absurd. How did you ever end up here? How did things go this wrong?

“Two...”

This is impossible. This is impossible. You’re not going to do it, you can’t do it. You can’t. You cant!

“One...” His shoulder muscles tensed.

Goddess. Goddess, no. You’re really going to do it. How could you? How could you?!

“Go.”

He raised his foreleg. He opened his mouth. He chewed. He swallowed. Tilting his leg, he let the awful, slippery thing in his hoof drop to the ground.

How could you...

Monster.

He opened his eyes and looked at Hena. There was no longer any anxiety or disgust on her face. It had been replaced by a gaze as empty and sorrowful as the northern tundras. Something in both ponies had snapped. Chief’s entire body felt numb.

No...

Hena mutely handed him the potion. He took it. They drank. The black concoction was vile, it tasted and smelled of rot. He didn’t care. He couldn’t care. Not any more. Not after this.

Princess help me, for I am lost...

And then the transformation began.

XXIII

View Online

XXIII

“To wash and rinse our souls of their age-old sorrows,
We drained a hundred jugs of wine.
A splendid night it was . . . .
In the clear moonlight we were loath to go to bed.”
-Li Bai, A Mountain Revelry

When Roads first awoke he was still drunk. The floor beneath him felt like it was moving, rolling with the gentle motions of a boat at sea. The room was still dark; apparently it was nighttime.

That was strange. He felt like he’d been asleep for ages, and he wasn’t tired at—

Wait. Why was he on the floor? He pushed himself up off the wooden deck with one foreleg. His other was caught up above him on the bed, entangled in blankets and trapped under the sleeping form of a mare. Resting on his haunches, he blinked, clearing his eyes, and realized who it was.

Summer? he thought hazily. Why is she in my bed...? Did we...?

But, wait, that wasn’t his bed. In fact, it wasn’t a bed at all—it was a hammock, suspended over the still-moving floor. And, he realized, he was sober. The floor really was moving, and the hammock was swaying with it. He slid his hoof out from beneath Summer and stood up.

The floor rose up beneath him as he did, sending him toppling into the hammock. Summer’s eyes flew open.

“What the—Roads!” she cried.

“Good morning,” he said as she pushed him off of her.

He realized he had fallen asleep fully clothed, boots, overcoat, and all.

Summer sat up, one hoof on her stomach. “Goddess. I think I’m gonna be sick,” she groaned. “Why did I do this to myself?” She flopped back down on the hammock.

Roads had once heard somepony describe drinking as “borrowing happiness from tomorrow.” That hadn’t been true for him since he graduated. He rarely got hungover anymore, his body was too used to the alcohol. His headaches went away within a few minutes of waking. He supposed the same couldn’t be said for Summer.

“Wait,” she asked, flopping a foreleg over her face, so that the inside of her elbow covered her eyes. “What are you even doing here? Did I sleep over? I can’t remember...”

“Does this look like a room in the Castle?” Roads asked, gesturing around. “You think Celestia sleeps in hammocks?”

“I dunno. I figured maybe they put you in the Guards’ barracks or something. It’s what I would’ve done.”

“No. I got a great room—and this isn’t it.”

“Well then,” she started, sitting up. She looked around, squinting despite the fact that there was hardly any light. “Where the hell are we?”

Just then, there came two quick knocks at the door. “Docking in ten minutes, be in the hallway,” someone said, then walked away.

“Hold on, I recognize that voice,” Roads said, listening as the same knock and alert were repeated down the hall from their room. Though to call it a room would be generous. It was more like a closet, just wide enough for a hammock, and not deep enough for a second one.

“Docking?” Summer asked. “How the hell did we end up on a boat?”

Roads scratched his head, thinking. Where had he heard that voice before? It seemed like it was ages ago but—Jim. That was it. The ticketmaster from the Equestrian River ferry.

“I don’t know, but I think I have an idea of where we are,” Roads said, digging through his pockets. His hoof brushed across a thin slip of paper, and he pulled it out, inspecting it. Below the date were a list of ferry stops, each with small boxes beside them. He skimmed through them. Radha Beach, Fillydelphia, Brynn, Canterlot, Appaloosa—ah, there it was. Ponyville . And of course, a small hole was punched in the box next to it.

“Last night we decided to come to Ponyville. Goddess knows why.”

An image flashed through his head. He and Summer, stumbling down Alver Street, forelegs around each others shoulders. Not so much out of affection, more so that neither will fall. A stallion in a white robe is walking the opposite way down the street. He stares at them for a moment as they wobble around. His eyes meet Summers’, and then he passes them and they are alone on the pavement.

They stop under a streetlamp, steadying themselves.

“You rrrreally wanna... see it?” he asks.

“I’ve wanted to... my uhh... mmmy wholelife,” she replied.

“‘Cause we’cn go. We’cn go righ now, f’you want.”

“Seriously?”

“Nnnot even joking. The ferry’s... Uh... The ferry’s right down the street. Wecould be in Ponyville by, um, by... later.”

“You know what? Why not... Wait. Lemme go get my things... from mm’room.”

“Nahhhhh,” Roads slurs back. “We donnnneven need that shit. Letsjuss go. Letsjuss get on the ferry and go. Right. Nnnow.”

“To Everfree!”

Roads buried his face in his hooves. “Wait, no, I remember the reason.”

“What was it?”

“You wanted to see the Everfree Forest.”

Summer pressed a hooftip to the bridge of her nose, sighing. “Dammit. Well,” she said, looking down and finding her pack on the floor beneath her. “I guess I’ll have to buy a ticket back.”

“What, you’d rather be back in the city than out seeing the Everfree?”

“No—but I’ve got expedition reports and expense logs to write. It’s a pain, but it’s more hours I can bill, and it looks like I’m gonna need the bits.”

“Alright, then. I guess this is goodbye—I’ve gotta get to work figuring this stuff out,” he said, and reached into his coat to draw out tiny crystal vial full of opaque pink liquid. He held it up, showing it to her.

“What is that?” she asked.

“Lotus essence. I wanted to test some in an alchemy lab and Aspen had some on him. He said he didn’t think he’d need it in Equestria.”

“Why do you have that with you? We never went back to your room.” she asked flatly.

“I was in a hurry to get dressed and forgot to take it out of my pocket before I left last night.”

“ You brought knockout drugs on a date? Creepy bastard.”

“You had an eight inch long knife on you the whole time. We’re even.”

“Well yeah, never go into the Underbelly without one. Now,” she said, rooting through her bag. “Where the hell is my—” her face fell as she lifted up a small, empty pouch to the light. “Coinpurse... Dammit! I went out last night with a hundred bits!” She pressed a hoof to her forehead. “How the hell am I gonna get back to Canterlot?”

“Relax, I’ll pay for it,” Roads said, reaching for his own coinpurse. Then he felt how much it weighed and his heart sank. “Or I would, if I had any money on me.”

“You’re broke, too?”

He held up a coin marked .5. “All I’ve got is a halfling. That’s just fourteen and a half bits short.”

Summer groaned.

“I’ve got more money at the house though. Come with me, we’ll get the bits, and then you can head out tomorrow morning. When’s your next assignment?” he asked.

“I dunno. Usually they give me a few days to recuperate between expeditions, so probably three days. A week at most.”

“Well then, surely you have a day to spare.”

Summer sighed. “Doesn’t look like I’ve got much of a choice.”

“Well,” Roads said, “Let’s head out.”

The two picked up their bags and stepped out into the hallway, standing in between a trio of earth ponies in ragged clothes who smelled of sweat, dirt, and steel mills, and an elderly unicorn couple who bickered quietly with each other.

The wife was talking when Roads took his place in the line to exit the ferry, exposing the tiny, evenly set teeth behind her overfull lips, her small, upturned nose wrinkled. “I’m telling you Argent, you have to find somewhere else on the way back. What would people think if they saw us in there?” she asked, and her voice dropped lower as she brushed a strand of thinning blonde mane from her face. “This boat is full of earth ponies. This is why travel agents exist.”

“This was as early as I could make plans,” her husband replied flatly. He ran one hoof through his wispy mane, then began packing a well-polished wooden pipe full of tobacco, his thick, bushy eyebrows furrowed. “But this was the best I could do on short notice.”

“It would’ve been better not to come, then,” she murmured. “I mean, just look around, it’s like they let anypony on board.”

In front of Roads, the earth ponies were snickering, turning every so often to eye the diminutive mare. “Shh, shh, here he comes,” Roads heard one, the shortest of the lot, whisper.

“Mmmm,” replied her husband, striking a match and lighting his pipe. He drew out a fresh newspaper from his gleaming, embossed leather pack. Roads scanned the front page as the unicorn opened it to one of the articles in the middle. Class Warfare! Labor Party Legislators Demand Progressive Tax System, read the main headline of the “Millar Avenue Journal.” Earth Pony Riots Break Out in Brynn, read another.

Just then, a light brown, pockmarked earth pony emerged from a door down the hall and, trying to join the other three, tried to squeeze beside the unicorn couple. Just as he passed the mare, the ferry swayed to the right and he half-stumbled, bumping into her. She let out an indignant snort.

“Watch where you’re going, mule!” she shrieked at him. Roads cringed. ‘Mule’ was as offensive as ‘bird,’ as far as Equestrian slurs went. The earth pony turned, frowning, and surprised Roads, who had expected anger on his part.

“Ah’m sorry miss, Ah guess Ah’m just clumsy,” he said, head bowed remorsefully. “Won’t happen again.”

The unicorn, expecting the same as Roads, was taken aback. For a moment, she said nothing. Then, finally, she opened her mouth again. “Uh, yes,” she said, then cleared her throat. “See that it doesn’t.”

Then she turned away, and the earth pony stepped dexterously between Roads and Summer to join his friends.

“I got it,” Roads heard him murmur to his friends, accentless. “She never even noticed.” He surreptitiously passed a fluffy pink coinpurse, bulging with bits, to the short earth pony beside him. Roads and Summer exchanged glances.

“Did you see it?”

“No, you?”

“No. I should ask him to teach me.”

“You’re a terrible person,” Roads whispered back.

The mare behind them piped up again. “You know,” she said. “I ran into Fleur yesterday at the luncheon.”

“Mmmm?”

“Did you know, she’s been having some trouble with the gardener...?”

Roads stopped eavesdropping as the hatch at the top of the stairs before him opened, revealing Jim’s leathery, weatherbeaten face. “We’re here,” he said. “Everypony who’s going to Ponyville, time to get off my boat.”

The earth ponies started up the stairs, Roads and Summer following them. When they had reached the top of the stairs, where there was a gap between the stairs and the deck, Jim offered Summer his foreleg. She didn’t take it, but Roads did. The mare behind them did as well, but not before putting a glove on.

Roads trudged across the rickety deck, blinking in the light, welcoming the familiar sight of Ponyville. It was refreshing, after being in the city. There here were no walls here—unlike Canterlot. To the north was the capital itself, standing between them and incursions from the Frozen North. In the west, there was nothing but miles and miles of forest and farmland, and the Chrystal Sea, so named for its lack of wind, and lack of activity. To the west, Baltimare stood between them and the Gryphons of the Eastern Ocean.

And to the south was Everfree, sprawled across the land, utterly impenetrable.

Most of the time, this was more curse than gift. The mysterious guardian forest itself was what they feared more than any foreign invader. What did it matter to them that the intrepid ranks of farmers who lived at its edges took it upon themselves to beat back the occasional, wayward dangers that strayed out of the woods? What did it matter to them that there were miles of inhabited land between them and the first knotted limb of the first gnarled tree at the nearest reaches of the forest? What did it matter to them how many papers Roads published declaring the forests essentially safe, at least during the daytime? There was a reason they were called “irrational” fears.

As such, the southernmost walls of the southernmost buildings in the village were built a little thicker than the rest, and spaced a little closer. At the southern entry by road, there was even a waist high gate. It even had a latch. No one minded that the gate only stretched to either side of the road, nor that the latch was the was the width of a chopstick and had rusted into redundancy years ago. This was an idyllic little town, and that was all they needed to sleep easily at night.

And the idyllic look suited Ponyville. The houses and marketspaces were built no higher than two stories. Their roofs, whether thatched or wood shingled (there were no slate or sheet metal roofs here, as in Canterlot), were all painted light, cheery colors, with the exception of one building, the nameless tavern that served as Ponyville’s only bar. The owner had intended for it to be painted with blue and red stripes, but due to a misunderstanding with roofers, had ended up with a solid, foreboding black that stood out between its pink and bright green neighbors.

As the tavern had been built just beside what city officials referred to as a ‘port’ but was really just two large, public docks, Roads pointed out all of this to Summer. She was less taken with the black-roofed tavern than he was, and stared at him blankly.

“Why do you know so much about the roofs in Ponyville?” she asked him flatly. She hadn’t even looked at them yet, because her hooves had not yet left her aching eyes.

He shrugged. “I’m a pegasus, I see them more than anything else.”

“You’re giving me a headache.”

“Actually, I think that’s the sun.”

“Nopony likes a smartass. Is there anywhere we can rent a sky-carriage in this town? From what you’ve told me, walking to your house would take all day.”

“Yeah, there’s a travel station around here.”

“Where?”

“It’s right next to the tavern.”

“I’m rolling my eyes. You can’t see it, but I am.”

“Dunno how we’re gonna pay for a ride though.”

“Is there a pawn shop in Ponyville?”

“Yeah.”

“Where?”

“Next to the travel station.”

Squinting, Summer lowered her hooves, then elbowed Roads when she saw neither the pawn shop, nor the travel station.

“Hilarious, Roads,” she said. “Are any of them actually here?”

“Yeah, just right—”

He was cut off by a peal of anguish somewhere off to his right, in the midst of the throng that had gathered near the narrow gap in the ferry’s railing that opened onto the dock. It was the old unicorn again. It seemed she had discovered the theft. Roads looked around, searching for the group of earth ponies, and saw that they had already disembarked. They were now headed away from the docks, into the Ponyville marketplace.

Roads and Summer joined the crowd, trying to get off the boat—and to gawk at the old mare, who demanded that the thieves be “drawn and quartered in the public square.” As more ponies stepped out onto the dock, they drew closer to the exit, and to the woman. Soon Roads wasn’t the only one surreptitiously watching the couple. Roads tried to step past her without meeting her eyes as she alternately shouted slurs at the long-gone criminals, and reproaches to her unphased husband.

“Why don’t you care!?” she demanded. “That’s your money the dirty mules are running off with!”

He turned a page lazily and puffed contentedly on his pipe. “What am I supposed to do?”

“Go after them!”

“Chase them? Hrmmm. I haven’t broken a jog in decades, he said, blowing a large, thick smoke ring for emphasis. The mare reddened.

“Fine. I’m going to the local Guard! And I’ll do it without your help,” she said and then, pushing bystanders away with unexpected force for such a frail old unicorn, marched off the boat.

“Good luck,” the stallion replied, watching her stride off towards the Guard station.

Roads and Summer stepped off after her.

“Well how about that?”

“Wish we got a show with every ferry ride. Now, where’s the pawn shop?”

Roads looked around. It had been a while since he had navigated Ponyville by hoof—usually he found his way around by looking at the tops of the buildings. Directly ahead of them was the tavern, at the intersection of Main Street, which ran directly into town, and Portside, which followed alongside the river. The pawn shop, he knew, was on the southern side of the village, crouched between the joint bail bond and bounty hunting agency, and the liquor store.

Southern Ponyville, where the cobblestones gave way to gravel paths, was the town’s own little Underbelly. It was a block and a half long, consisting only of a small arms dealership, low-end apartments, three small shacks whose residents changed by the year, and the aforementioned businesses.

It was this part of town that housed Ponyville’s criminal element, made up entirely of three petty thieves, a five-man gambling ring, the town drunk, and a self-pronounced assassin who, to his perpetual embarrassment, had never killed anything larger than a beetle. There had once been a forger as well, but he had left town last year. The local Guard reported his absence as a ten percent drop in crime rates.

“The pawn shop is that way,” Roads said, pointing down Portside. “So,” he asked. “What’re you gonna pawn? A trip out to my house should be about, oh, ten bits or so.”

“That’s almost as much as a ferry ticket... I might as well just buy one and head back.”

“Yeah, but then you couldn’t buy your stuff back tomorrow morning.”

“True. Let’s see...” Summer unshouldered her pack and rooted through it. “I’ve got my knife, I guess, it’s nice enough to get five bits. The money pouch, worthless... toiletries, worthless... ID and Aggregate papers, illegal to sell... lip balm, worthless—”

“Lip balm? What’s lip balm?”

“What, really?”

“What?”

“You don’t know what lip balm is? Do you live under a rock?”

“No, in the middle of a forest. Is it like lipstick?”

“No. It’s to keep your lips from getting dry.”

“That’s what saliva is for.”

“That just makes it worse, idiot. Trust me, I need this stuff. My lips crack up and bleed without it. It’s some kind of condition. Everypony in my family’s got it.”

“Well, what else’ve you got?”

“What’ve you got, huh? I wouldn’t even be stuck here if it weren’t for you.”

“I’ve got a halfling, and my clothes. You can have the halfling—I’m keeping the clothes.”

“Hrm,” Summer grumbled, still sifting through the bag. “Oh!” She said, bringing something tiny, silver, and gleaming into the light. “My earrings. They’ve gotta be worth at least five more bits”

“That should be enough for the sky carriage. Let’s get—”

He was cut off by a hoof on his shoulder. Roads and Summer turned around to see the old stallion from the ferry standing before them, now wearing a fantastically unfashionable hat. Roads looked him over.

The unicorn was balding; his thinning grey mane grew only on the sides of his head. His eyes were magnified to comic proportions by a thick pair of gold-rimmed spectacles, which rested atop the large, wrinkled muzzle that matched his large, wrinkled ears. In accordance with the fashion trends of fifty years ago, he wore a green coat that nearly brushed the ground, over a plaid-patterned pair of pleated pants.

He gave them a snaggletoothed grin. “Excuse me,” he said, in a voice with the faintest tinge of a northeastern accent. The northeasterners, who lived in and around Manehattan, were the type to pronounce “me” as “mae” and “tomato” as “to-mah-to.” This old stallion had mostly lost his accent, but because Cloudsdale, for some reason, was often toured by vacationing Manehattanites, Roads still picked up on it.

“I hate to eavesdrop,” he continued, adjusting his hat, “but I happened to overhear that the two of you are in a spot of trouble, and I think I can help.” He stretched a withered hoof out to them. “Argent Heart,” he said. “Vice Regional Sub-Executive of Finance, Walthers Travel.”

Roads’ ears perked up at that as he took the unicorn’s hoof and introduced himself and Summer. Walther Travel was a company that owned ferries, sky-taxi stations, protopteryx stables, and railways all over the country. Even now, there was talk of them constructing something they called a “Maglev” between Ponyville and Canterlot.

“Walthers Travel...” Summer echoed. “You wouldn’t happen to have any connection to the travel station in town, would you?”

“I would. Glad you recognized the company. Our ad agency is earning their keep, after all. Come on down to the station with me, I’ll see if I can get you a sky carriage.”

Roads raised his eyebrows, taken aback. The unicorn hadn’t seemed the random-act-of-charity type. “Oh... thank you sir, that’s very generous—”

“But we’re okay, thanks,” Summer finished for him.

“Are you sure?” he asked. “I wouldn’t want you to have to sell your things, not when I can take five minutes out of my day to get you a free trip.”

Beside him, Summer narrowed her eyes. “But why help us?” she asked.

Argent chucked. “Try not to sound so suspicious, young lady.” He rubbed the side of his head with one hoof. “I’m just bored. What’s there to do around here? A stallion needs something to get through the day.” He turned, walking down Main Street, towards the travel station.

They exchanged glances, and followed him.

“These are trying times. The Celestenes say philanthropy is good for the soul. ‘He who feeds the beggar enacts my will; in will enacted I walk the Earth. Book 2 verse 45.’”

“Are you religious, Mr. Heart?”

“I don’t know,” he replied. “I mostly just need somepony to talk to. I’m new in town, I’m afraid.”

“Here on business?” Roads asked.

“Pleasure,” he replied. “My wife and I—mostly my wife—needed to get away from the city for a while, get some peace and quiet and fresh air. They say Ponyville is the most tranquil town in Equestria. I think they might be right. Do you two live here?”

“Nope,” Summer responded. “Roads lives out in the Everfree, and I... don’t really live anywhere in particular.”

“Oh? And why is that?”

“Work. I’m a cartographer for the REA.”

“Oh, yes, I’m familiar with them—they commission our ferries and protopteryx sometimes. And what about you? You work for the Aggregate as well?” he asked, turning to Roads as they stepped into the town marketplace. It was busy out, as busy as Ponyville got. There were nearly two dozen shoppers in the bazaar today.

“Umm...” Roads said. “Not exactly.”

“He’s something of a contractor.”

“I see. So what’s your day job?”

“Magical research,” Roads said reluctantly, waiting for the inevitable judgement.

“Hrmm. A pegasus doing arcane research,” he said. Neutrally, which intrigued Roads. “How very interesting. I expect there aren’t many more like you in the field?” he asked.

“No, sir.”

“Yes, yes. I always ask people what they do when I first meet them. You can tell a lot about a person from their choice of careers.” He whirled on Roads, pointing a gnarled hooftip. “You, for instance, are something of an isolationist. I’m right, aren’t I?”

“Uh, yeah, I guess you could say that,” Roads said, thinking it over.

Beside him, Summer rolled her eyes. “He is.”

“You don’t tend to go with the flow of everypony else around you and would rather follow your own passions. You may not have much interest in ponies or society at large, but you follow your passions with vigor.”

“Kind of vague,” Summer murmured.

“But not wrong,” Roads said.

“You’re rather bookish, and prefer to stay indoors, but there’s an adventurous streak in you somewhere, even if you’d rather not acknowledge it.” He had spoken rapidly, and when he was finished, a pause filled the air. “Well?” he asked. “How did I do?”

Roads stared at him. “Pretty well.”

Summer wasn’t as impressed. “Well,” she said. “A walking horoscope. Although Roads is pretty easily pidgeonholed.”

“If you’re skeptical, I can do you too. It’s all about the career choice.”

“Try me.”

“Hrmmm,” Argent murmured, a hoof on his chin. It took a moment for him to speak up again. “Well, you have a fondness for the outdoors and an excellent sense of direction.”

“Like every other REA worker,” Summer pointed out.

“You’re skilled in the art of survival, and have a knack for pragmatic solutions to real-world problems.”

“Sounds about right,” Roads said.

“However, you have difficulties staying in one place and settling down, probably due to your lust for novelty,” he said, one grey, bushy eyebrow cocked.

He looked pleased with himself. A flicker of annoyance passed over Summer’s face; whether it was directed at her own transparency or Argent’s perceptiveness, he couldn’t tell.

“Neat trick. You must be a hit at parties.”

“I haven’t been to a party in six years, young lady.”

“To old?”

“Not interested. All I’m ever invited to are ‘business cocktails,’ but why go if I’m happy with the job I have now? I could’ve already retired if I wanted to.”

“Why haven’t you?” Roads asked.

“My work is all I have. That and conversations with random ponies on the street.”

“Sounds lonely...” Roads murmured. He doubted the old stallion heard him.

“Not enjoying your family life?” Summer asked with the slightest of smirks.

“Summer!” Roads objected. Why was she goading him? He seemed like a nice pony, not to mention their ticket to a free ride back to his house. Argent was the only reason she wasn’t pawing her remaining possessions right now. At the moment, he was leading the way to the Walthers franchise, a half-step in front of Roads, so he couldn’t see the stallion’s face. A painful, apprehensive second passed in silence. He was sure the unicorn was angry.

Then Argent looked over his shoulder at them, and Roads saw only amusement on his wrinkled face. “Is that supposed to be a subtle dig at my wife?” he asked, a trace of humor in his voice.

“Not very subtle,” Roads said.

“Sorry,” Summer replied, her confrontational facade slipping for a moment. “I guess I’m just wondering how, if you’re such a great judge of character, you ended up with someone so, uh...”

“Spirited?”

“That’s one way of putting it.”

“I wouldn’t judge her too harshly if I were you. Today isn’t a good day for her.”

“What’s she like on a good day?” Roads asked. He was brimming with secondhand embarrassment for Summer, and wanted nothing more than to change the track this conversation was going down.

“The most loving, understanding woman I’ve ever met,” Argent replied, mopping at his brow with a white handkerchief. He was getting out of breath. They had been walking for a while now, and were almost to the other side of town. “The only problem is she hasn’t had a good day in six years.”

There was that number again. If they wanted to exaggerate or approximate, most folks would use five years, not six. It felt more even, more rounded. Six was specific, and, intentionally or not, the old man had dropped it twice now. Roads’ sense of curiosity prickled, and he ached to know what had happened to him and his wife. But nopony wanted to discuss tragedy with strangers. And of course Roads wasn’t improprietous enough to ask.

But Summer was.

“So what happened?” she asked.

Argent paused, thinking. “You remember BMK? The earth pony serial killer?” he asked finally.

“Yeah,” she replied. She had suddenly gone pale.

“My son was in the Guard. He was off duty when he saw one of the murders taking place. He intervened. The stallion killed him.”

“Oh,” Summer replied. “I’m—I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize it was that—”

“Don’t trouble yourself, young lady. I’m the one spilling my life story to strangers. Hrmmm,” he mused, stroking his beard with his free hoof. “How forward of me. But I guess when you’ve lived seven decades observing propriety, eventually you earn the right to stop caring.”

“Sorry for your loss, sir,” Roads murmured anyway.

“So there you have it,” he said, striking a match and lighting his pipe once more. “My wife hates earth ponies, and I give all my money away to strangers—or I would, anyway, if it hadn’t been stolen. Everypony copes differently I guess.”

“It’s too bad about the robbery,” Roads said. “You’ve got bad luck, Argent.”

The old stallion waved a hoof and blew a roiling smoke ring. “Bah, it’s nothing. Golden Heart carries her money around in halflings, to make the purse look bigger. I’ll just have make a trip to the bank when it opens tomorrow.”

“Wish I could be that carefree with my bits,” Summer said.

“Hrmm. Spend a couple decades toiling away for a wealthy company, then. They say money can’t buy happiness, but indifference is nearly as good.”

“If only the Aggregate were more profitable.”

The unicorn stopped then, and turned the corner around a building marked “Stein’s Fences & Gates.” He pivoted to face them and gestured to a small, run down stable affixed to a grey brick building bearing an iron post from which a sign hung reading “Walthers Travel.”

“This is it,” he said to them, then looked more closely at the building. “Hrmm. I remember it being cleaner...”

“When was the last time you were here?” Roads asked.

“Oh, about twenty years.”

“That probably why,” Summer told him.

They followed him through the thin wooden door into the main—and only—room of the grey brick building. A bomb packed with garbage seemed to have exploded inside. There was one clear path to a rickety receptionist’s desk, on either side of which was a jumble of chariot-wheels, cart shafts, saddlebags, packs, cloaks, bags stuffed full of God-knows-what, reins, broken oil lamps, protopteryxhoes, boots, goggles, pitchforks, regular forks, wire brushes, hammers, nails, plyboard, oats, sandwich wrappers, half-eaten sandwiches, ants (going after the sandwiches), and two copper tenth coins Roads was sure to pick up on the way to the desk.

Everything was covered in straw.

The receptionist, a snaggletoothed, bespectacled pegasus reading by the light of a cracked lamp and a misshapen candle, sat before them with his hind hooves wedged on the corner of the desk so that his chair stood on only two legs. He didn’t hear the door open, and didn’t even notice them until Argent walked up to the desk and rang the and rang the call bell. Startled, he slammed the book closed and put his hooves down, the front legs of the chair meeting the ground with a loud crack. He was tipped forward so forcefully that his straight-templed glasses slipped from his head onto the surface of the desk.

“A customer!” he squeaked, scrambling to open the massive business ledger that sat before him with one hoof as he grabbed at his glasses with the other. “So sorry folks! We haven’t had anypony come in in days!”

“No problem,” Roads said.

“Now,” he said as he flipped the ledger to the right page and put his glasses back on. “Ready Spark, what can I help you with today?”

He looked up at them expectantly. The right lens of his glasses was now cracked.

The old man extended his hoof. “Hello Ready. Argent Heart. I’m sure you’ve heard of me.”

“Umm,” Ready replied, scratching his head. “I don’t think so... should I have?”

“Hrmm. How lackadaisical. I’m the Walthers Vice Regional Sub-Executive of Finance! Your boss’s boss’s boss.”

“Ohhh,” Ready said, awed. He took Argent’s hoof, shaking it vigorously. “Well, I don’t really have a boss! Sorry, I don’t actually work here, I’m just filling in for my older brother. He’s ill. Nice to meet you, sir!”

“You too,” Argent replied. He glanced around. “So, who’s responsible for all this mess?”

Ready shrugged. “I dunno. The real employees, probably.”

“Well... who’s the manager? How could he let this happen?”

“I dunno.”

“What do you know?”

“Uhh... I dunno?”

Argent sighed. “I think corporate will need to hear about this. Ready, write a letter for me to headquarters, tell them what’s going on here.”

“Okay. What’s the address?”

“142 North Grove Lane, Canterlot.”

“Okay. What do you want me to tell them?”

“Just let them know Argent Heart wants someone down to this franchise for an inspection.”

“I can do that.” Ready glanced around. “Ummm... do you know where the paper is around here?”

“On second thought, I’ll do it myself. Later. Right now, I want you to give these two—” he gestured to Roads and Summer, “—a sky carriage, right away, and send another—when do you leave?” he asked, turning to Summer.

“Tomorrow,” she replied.

“Tomorrow,” he finished.

Ready scratched his head. “Umm... We don’t really have any sky taxis available right now. What about a protopteryx?”

“Fine. They’ll take two, for two days.”

“Actually,” Roads cut in. “I don’t have anywhere safe I can keep them overnight. I wouldn’t want something from the forest to get them. Just let us use them today—I’m assuming they know how to get back here on their own?”

“Oh, yes. The protopteryx are quite intelligent, and very well trained.” Ready pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Or at least I think they are, anyway. Alright, that’ll be ten bits each.”

“Actually,” Argent replied. “These will be on the company.”

“Umm... I don’t know if I can do that, sir...”

“Has the manager been in since you started working here?”

“No, sir.”

“Then you can do whatever you want. Come on, let’s go out to the stables.”

All four of them passed through a doorway on the side of the room. At one point, there had been a door there, but all that remained now were a pair of rusted hinges. Ready lead them into the stables, a large, foul smelling enclosure that could have housed sixteen protopteryx but at present only kept three.

As they walked through the doorway, the protopteryx stood, peering over the high wooden walls of their enclosures to inspect the new arrivals. Their cold, beady eyes sized them up. The protopteryx much like their more developed cousins, the opteryx, were quadrupedal reptiles, dark brown in color, with bird-like beaks and eyes. Though they were less intelligent and lacked wings, they were far larger, almost nine feet in length, and moved much faster on land.

Across the rural parts of Equestria, where sky-carriages pulled by pegasi weren’t available, the ultra-light chariots were fitted to the lizards. In areas with well maintained roads, multiple protopteryx could work together to pull larger carriages, but around here they required the increased mobility of small, one pony chariots. When they weren’t overburdened, they were not only faster than ponies, but had far greater stamina, and could run for days without tiring.

“Well, looks like most of the protopteryx are out on rental,” Argent observed. “At least this franchise is doing something right.” He lit another pipeful of tobacco.

Ready shifted his weight uncomfortably. “Actually,” he said, fidgeting. “That’s all the protopteryx we have.”

Argent sighed again, rubbing his eyes. “And this was supposed to be a vacation... Just give them the best two. I think it’s time I went for a drink.” He turned to Roads and Summer. “Best of luck to the both of you. Thanks for keeping an old stallion company.”

“No problem,” Summer said. “Thanks for helping us out.”

“And nice meeting you,” Roads added.

Argent didn’t seem to hear him. “Anytime, miss. If you’re back in town sometime and need anything else, ask for me at hotel... hrm...” He puffed on the pipe and rolled his eyes upward, thinking. “Ah, well, I’ve forgotten the name. Well, there’s only one hotel here anyway. That’s where I’ll be.”

“Sure thing,” Summer replied. “Bye.”

“Good day,” he said, then turned and left. It was only after the front door closed behind him that it occurred that there were, in fact, three hotels in Ponyville.

And then they were alone with Ready. “So, which of these are the best?” Summer asked.

“Well, I didn’t want to mention this in front of Mr. Heart, but one of them has a sprained back and can’t pull any riders right now...”

“We’ll take the other two, then.”

“All right.”

He set to work securing them to their harnesses, then went to fetch the reins and dressage whips. When he was finished, Roads and Summer mounted up, thanked him, and guided the protopteryx out of the stables. Well, Summer guided hers out of the stable. Roads’ just followed hers. He had never ridden behind a protoperyx before, and had no idea what to do. There was no way he could’ve asked Ready any questions. He didn’t want to look stupid.

Well, it was too late for that—he was sure he looked like an idiot jerking around with every step his protopteryx took, a nervous look painted across his face as the pair left town. It was worse than flying. The carriage jolted this way and that, dipping through potholes and drainage ditches due to his complete inability to guide the protopteryx. For the first time since returning to Equestria, he wished he still had functioning wings.

It certainly didn’t help that the animal largely ignored him. Twice on their way out of town, it had stopped in the middle of the road to sit down and bask in patches of sunlight. Once, it nearly got them hit by a passing carriage. Roads nudged its tail with the tip of his dressage whip, but it just stood there, chewing lazily. It only moved when Summer turned and called it.

“You big, stupid animal,” Roads whispered at it when it finally started moving again. It didn’t seem to mind.

Finally, the pair came to the edge of town and rounded the little south-facing gate, stepping from cobblestone to dirt path. And then, seeing that there were no pedestrians around to get in its way, Roads’ protopteryx took off. It broke into a gallop, sprinting off the road and down the hill it was build on, into a nearby corn field. Roads pulled at the reins, shouting at it to stop, but it paid no mind.

“Dammit! Stop!” Roads screamed as it trampled corn stalk after corn stalk. “Stop you bastard! You son of a lizard whore! Your father was a lizard alcoholic and your sister works in a lizard brothel! Stop! Stop!”

Then he caught the sound of hoofsteps behind him and turned to see Summer riding up alongside him. She gained on him slowly until she was right beside him, then reached out, snatched the reins from his hooves, and jerked them, hard, forcing the beast’s beak sideways. The protopteryx came to a stop.

Summer stared at him and shook her head. “Never ridden before, have you?”

“How’d you know?”

“Mine’s a lot more docile. D’you wanna trade?”

“Yes. A thousand times yes.”

They both dismounted and swapped chariots, and Roads found himself behind a protopteryx that was physically identical to the one he had ridden before—which had now, under Summer’s hooves, become the picture of obedience.

“Sorry about that,” Roads said. “I’d always just flown everywhere.”

“Yeah, I figured. What’s it like? Not being able to fly, I mean.”

“It’s... kinda weird.”

“When my magic got blocked on the island, it really got under my skin.”

“I’m getting used to it,” Roads replied. “Besides, it’s worth it to be able to use magic. I’ve always wanted to, you know?”

“Really? Never would have guessed. Bet you got a lot of shit for that back in Cloudsdale, huh?”

Roads gaze slipped to the ground. “Yeah,” he said. “You don’t know the half of it.”

Their protopteryx finally made it back to the path that wound around the edges of the farmlands. Just three more miles ‘till we get to the edge of the Everfree, Roads thought. It would be nice to get back. To feel at home again. He knew Ponyville pretty well, after all, but it wasn’t home. He only made trips into town once a month, at most.

“Well, at least now you’re finally profiting off of it,” Summer said, breaking his train of thought.

“Yeah, it—wait, what do you mean?”

“What, you don’t remember?”

“Uh... no?”

“Come on, you weren’t that drunk. Remember? Last night, when you cheated all those suckers at the poker table?”

Hazy memories were starting to float back to him. “Wait... I think I do remember that.”

It is dark, and loud. Music plays somewhere, there’s a crowd around them. Summer, pushing him against the wall, leaning seductively into him. He feels her hoof on his the inside of his jacket, then she slips something into his inside pocket. She is warm. Soft. He feels her breath on his neck. His face reddens and his heart races. Then she whispers quietly into his ear—

“Okay, I just slipped you a pack of cards. You’re not too drunk to do magic are you?”

He blinks. “Um... no?”

“Listen, we’re about to go into the back for a poker game with some of the higher-ups in the Syndicate.”

He paled. “W-what?”

“Everypony’s gonna be cheating,” she whispers. “With them, it’s more about the cheating than the game itself. If we don’t cheat, we’re gonna lose a lot of bits. The boss of the whole thing, Lucky Chance, she uses invisibility and telekinesis to sneak winning cards onto the table, and losing cards off. Can you copy her lines?”

“If I can touch her, yes.”

“Good. Okay, watch me after the hands get dealt. I’ll be drumming my hooves on the table, ‘idly.’ There’ll be so much going on in there, they won’t notice. Count how many times I do—and that’s card I want you to send me. One is an ace, two is a two, and so on. Then, I’ll check my hand again by folding the backs of each of the cards up. Whichever one I look at first, I want you to replace. Got it?”

“Yeah,” Roads nodded, his head spinning.

“Okay, so pick out the card I need, make it invisible, float it across the table, then slide it under the card I want replaced. Then, make that card invisible and bring it back to your deck. Hey, are you listening?”

“What? Oh, yeah. I am.”

“Also, make sure you don’t drink too much, or you won’t be able to cast properly anymore. Oh, and if they offer you something to smoke, don’t take it.”

She leads him through the crowd, between the blackjack tables and the stage where scantily clad stallions and mares dance with fluid, sensuous movements. They move past the bar, and turn down a long hallway ending in an inauspicious metal door. A female earth pony nearly as huge and muscular as Chief, with a flat face and an enormous mane, stands before the door.

Her face breaks from a stalwart scowl into a wide smile when she sees Summer coming down the hallway.

“Summer!” she says. “How’re you doin’, girl?”

“Hey, Justice!” Summer replies. “Long time no see.”

“You’re tellin’ me,” the mare says. “‘Bout time you showed up back here, where’ve you been? The boss’s been askin’ ‘bout you.”

They reach the end of the hallway, and when Summer is close enough, she and Justice lock hooves, then Summer is pulled into an engulfing bear-hug.

“I think that might be because of the money I owe her, not because she misses me,” Summer says as she draws away.

“C’mon, you know the boss likes you. Prob’ly ‘cause she wants to get in your pants,” she said with a laugh. “Speakin’ of which, who’s the little guy?”

“I’m Roads, nice to meet you,” he says, extending a foreleg.

She shakes it, then ruffles his mane patronizingly. “Oooh, he’s cute isn’t he? Where’d’ja find him?”

“Work,” Summer replies.

Justice shakes her head, blows air through her teeth. “Tch, one of these days you’re gonna get in trouble doin’ that stuff, girl.”

“What, you don’t go after the dancers here?”

“One of them skinny little buggers? Uh-uh. I’d break one’ve ‘em. I need me a man with some meat on his bones.”

“You know, I was just thinking that myself,” Summer replies.

“Alright, you better get in there, they’re still between games. You’ve got good timin’.”

“You know it.”

Justice steps aside and opened the metal door for them, and as Roads steps through the doorway, he sees it is three inches thick, and its other side is covered in locks. He gulps as he enters the much brighter room.

“Hold on,” he said to Summer after realizing what had happened. “Those were members of the Syndicate we were playing against. You tried to make me cheat organized criminals out of money!”

Summer laughed. “Oh, come on, it’s not such a big deal. They want you to cheat. That’s the whole point. Nopony cares who’s the best poker player—they all want to know who can cheat the best. Besides, we’re both still here aren’t we?”

“Only because we didn’t get caught.”

“Roads, I’m pretty sure we did get caught. That’s why we don’t have any money.”

“Yeah,” Roads tells her. “I remember now, I got too messed up to cast. I’m surprised all they did was take our money.”

“Oh, they weren’t even mad. Chance’s a friend, she expected as much. Besides, she was doing the same thing—or did you think she got three straight flushes because she’s lucky?”

“I just can’t believe you’re that close to the Syndicate. How are you not afraid of getting mixed up in all that? What if the Guard had come in for a raid that night? Or one of the other Underbelly gangs? What would have happened to us?”

Summer waved a hoof. “No gang is crazy enough to attack the Syndicate. They’d wipe out everypony in it by the next morning. And the Guard’d never gonna raid the Syndicate. They’d never get any charges to stick. Besides, the Guard probably likes the arm Chance runs. She told you herself, but I guess you’ve forgotten.”

Chance... Another image finally begins to take shape in his head. He is drunk. Too drunk. The game has gone on for an hour now and they’ve been drinking the entire time. There is a large pile of bits in front of him. There’s one in front of Summer, too. Someone passes him a pipe giving off wisps of blue smoke. He takes it without thinking and inhales. His head spins.

The card that he had been sliding across the table pops into visibility. A burly pegasus beside him with a bald head and a flat nose laughs and points it out. “Well, boss, would you look at that,” he says. “A pegasus who can cast.”

At the end of the table sits a slim, hawk-eyed unicorn, her dark red mane in a pixie cut, her forelegs folded beneath a light blue blazer. She has small hooves, a slight build, and an angular, coltish face. One of the dancers, a slender earth pony in a thong and a blue cap, sits in her lap. He doesn’t look much older than Roads.

She raises her thin, arched eyebrows, the nostrils of her sharp nose flaring. “Well, that’s new,” she says. “Good for you, Summer. Where’d you find him?”

“Work,” Summer replies.

“Well, better keep him off the pipe next time. Looks like you’re out of the game. Steel Aegis, why don’t you take their bits and show them back out to the lounge...”

Aside from his entrance and his exit, Roads didn’t remember much of anything that happened in the back room of the Founder’s Lounge, and he told her so.

“Look, it’s like this. There are some parts of the Syndicate that are better than others—they all run different hustles, get it? All Chance runs is illegal gambling and a protection racket, with maybe a little bootlegging on the side. Oh, and tax evasion. She’s a genius at getting ponies out of taxes. Chance’s probably the best thing to ever happen to the Underbelly. Honestly, the Guard wants her there.”

“What? Why?”

“Because the Syndicate can do what the Guard can’t. The Canterlot government gave up on the Underbelly a decade ago. The Guards down there get no funding, and no horsepower. If it weren’t for Chance’s branch of the Syndicate, it’d be anarchy.”

“What do you mean?”

“The Syndicate basically owns the Census Agency’s offices in the Shipping District. Whenever they get word there’s somepony new in their territory, they send in some Syndicate boys. They give the new tenants a deal—twenty percent of their income goes to the Syndicate, and they never have to worry about criminals, Guards, or tax collectors again. Or, if they turn the deal down, the Syndicate itself targets them. But of course, most ponies don’t go that route.

“It’s a lot easier living under their protection. Nopony’s stupid enough to steal from someone with Syndicate connections, and no Guard is gonna poke a hornet’s nest by hassling them.”

“How does anypony afford to pay taxes to them and the city?”

“They don’t, because of the Census Agency. They’re in charge of tax collection, and Chance’s in charge of them. She’s got a million different ways to cook those books to keep the central branch off their backs..” Summer explained.

Roads scratched his head. “How are they getting away with that? Surely central realizes that they’re taking in way less money than they should be.”

Summer laughed. “Oh, they do, alright. But it’s tough for them to prove the Syndicate’s behind it, even tougher to make the charges stick, and ponies who try to bring Syndicate members to court have a nasty habit of turning up dead.”

“You’d think that kind of thing would get a lot of press. How have I not heard of it before.”

“They do, you live under a rock. This has been going on since before we were even born. And before it was the Syndicate, it was the crime families who would eventually become the Syndicate.”

“Sounds like they’re good friends to have.”

“Well... the Syndicate’s not all sunshine and flowers, obviously. A lot of crazy stuff goes down in its other branches. Drugs, extortion, hits, prostitution, heists, counterfeiting If it’s illegal and profitable, they’re doing it. It’s just that’s not Chance’s area of expertise is all.”

Roads shuddered. “I don’t think I could survive, living in the Underbelly.”

“Oh, I know you couldn’t survive down there,” Summer said as they passed into the shadows cast by the first trees on the outskirts of the Everfree. She stopped the protopteryx to look up at them, then peer into the darkness of the forest. The canopy and foliage was thick, wrapping around the sides and top of the trail as if threatening to engulf it in any moment. A slight breeze moved through the trees, stirring the dark plants into a chorus of whispers.

“So,” she said. “This is it, then?”

“Yeah,” Roads replied as they continued down the path. The Everfree looked a lot more grim from this angle. He was used to seeing the trees from above.

Summer whistled. “So, the rumors aren’t far off,” she said, looking around. “This place is foreboding as hell.”

“Yeah, that’s one way of putting it,” Roads murmured.

“So how far is it from here to your house?”

“Oh, about eleven miles.”

“Is that by hoof or air?”

“Uh... air. I’m not used to thinking of it the other way around,” Roads said, leaning sideways to avoid being clotheslined by a low hanging vine.

“How long do you think it is by hoof?”

“Well, I’ve never traveled any of the paths in the Everfree... but from the maps, I’d say it can’t be more than thirteen miles.”

“Damn. This is gonna take a few hours.”

“Yeah, well, at least we’re not walking.”

“I guess.”

Roads took the vial of Lotus extract out of his pocket, rolling it in his hooves, inspecting it carefully. He held it up to the light. “I really can’t wait to get this into the alchemy lab. I’ve gotta figure out how this stuff works.”

“D’you think that’s why you can use magic? The extract?”

“I think it has something to do with it, but there’s really no way to know what effects it has exactly. I doubt it’s only the Lotus though—Chief had some too, and he’s the same as ever.”

“Yeah, but you had more than Chief did.”

“True. Either way, I should be able to find out within the next few days.”

“Oh!” Summer said suddenly. She stopped the protopteryx, unshouldered her pack and reached into it. “Speaking of stuff we found on the island, do you have any idea what this might be?”

She drew out an orb, such a deep, perfect black that it nearly looked flat, and offered it to him. A deep sense of dread settled into his stomach, similar to that he had felt reaching for the flask on the island. He took it hesitantly, and immediately dropped it. The orb was freezing, so cold it burned his hooves, and incredibly heavy as well. It must have weighed well over forty pounds.

“It’s so cold!” he cried. He stepped off the chariot and crouched down to inspect it. “How could you hold it?”

Summer dismounted as well, bent down, and picked it up. She held it casually in one hoof. “What are you talking about?” she asked. “Feels fine to me...”

Roads’ eyes widened. Whatever this thing was, he had a very bad feeling about it. And, naturally, that made him incredibly curious.

“Does it not feel heavy to you, either?”

“Uh, no, not really.”

Roads reached out and touched it with the tip of his hoof. He withdrew it quickly as it burned him once more.

“Where did you get this?” he asked, removing his coat.

He took the orb from her, holding it in his folded jacket. Now, it didn’t feel cold at all, though he still strained to hold it.

“I found it rolled up in Princess’ map after we got back to Canterlot. No idea how it got there.”

Roads stared deeply into it, eyebrows furrowed. The longer he looked, the more he thought he saw faint, inscrutable shapes moving deep below the surface of the orb. He raised it to his face, squinting, trying to make them out more clearly. The closer to his face he brought it, the more the feeling of dread at the pit of his stomach grew. His blood began to pound in his ears as his heart raced.

Between the deep sanguine thudding and his own shallow breaths he heard heard—or thought he heard—a whispery, indecipherable chanting, so faint he wasn’t sure if he was just imagining it. But, there was definitely something there, something he needed to see. Something he couldn’t let Summer see. He leaned closer, until his nose nearly touched it. What were those shapes? They kind of looked like—

Taking a deep breath, as though he had just emerged from underwater, he ripped his eyes from the orb. It had been sitting in his hooves long enough that he could feel the cold through his jacket. He gave the orb back to Summer, and put his coat back on.

“I don’t know what that is,” he told her. “But I’ve got a bad feeling about it.”

“Really? I kinda like it. It looks neat.” She held it up to the light, inspecting it. “I figure it had to be Princess’ at one point, and it was in her treasury, so it must have been important to her. But what does it do? Maybe it’s just some kind of gemstone.”

“No. I think it’s magic. And I’m going to find out what it is as soon as we get back. I’ve never heard of anything like it before.”

Which means, he thought, knowing he couldn’t mention this to Summer, it belongs in a very, very unstudied branch of magic. So either it’s an incredibly obscure arcane artifact, or... No, it couldn’t be. He wasn’t even going to let himself think the word. It was simply unheard of, how could they get mixed up in it?

“We’d better get going then. I don’t think we have more than four hours of daylight left.”

“Yeah,” Roads agreed. “You’re right. It’d best to be inside by the time it gets dark.”

Summer stuck the orb back in her bag, and the pair got back on their chariots. Summer turned the lizards back around and guided them deeper into the shadowed wood, past the fringes to the point where the sun was invisible from the forest floor...

____________________________________________________________

Today was turning out to be a peculiar day for Tillage Greenhoof. First there was the hysterical, horrible old unicorn who had fainted at the police station, and cursed her “filthy farmer’s hooves” when Till had revived her, and now... this.

She’d spent six years as a medical examiner at Ponyville General Hospital, and four as a resident in Canterlot, and she had only ever seen something like this once. And that wasn’t even her case, that was just something a colleague had consulted her on, seven years ago. She sat on her haunches next to the metal table her “subject” had been laid on, pressed a hoof to her head, and sighed.

It was hot in here. Stuffy, too. It was a warm day today, for winter. Sixty degrees. And of course, stuck in the basement of Ponyville General, it was inching closer to eighty. If only they had windows down here. Maybe then she could have a smoke. Princesses knew she needed one.

Her subject today was an old unicorn, in his seventies, she guessed, who seemed to be in relatively good health—except for the gaping, perfectly circular hole in his chest, and his total lack of a face. She peered down at his exposed skull, looking at the edges of his muzzle and neck, where burned bits of skin gave way to open muscle and bone. Except these weren’t normal burns—this looked more like a chemical burn than anything else.

Stranger still, the two local guards who had found the body had brought him in completely naked—underneath the white sheet they had used to keep him out of the eyes of the public. Whomever had murdered him—and she was sure he had been murdered—had left not only his coinpurse, but also his pocket watch, which was solid gold.

At first, she had thought the killer had burned his face to prevent the body from being identified, but on the back of the watch was etched “Argent Heart.” The killer had taken the time to undress him, take his clothes, burn his face off, but hadn’t made sure his name was absent from any personal effects?

This was bad. In all her time in Ponyville, she’d seen precisely five murders. All of them had been unmediated, spur of the moment acts resulting in open and shut police cases. In four of the cases, by the time the body even got to her table, the guards had collected statements from multiple witnesses. But this... this was different.

The body had been found in a back alley near the tavern, half-hidden beneath a pile of rubbish, as if the killer had wanted him found. The guards found no sign of a struggle, no hoofprints, no blood trail, no weapon, no witnesses, nothing. And they were just local boys, too, not real guards from Canterlot

In peacetime, the Military Police branch of the Equestrian Guard worked as a vast hierarchy. Every single true guard, every “Royal Guard,” was trained extensively in Canterlot, and only Canterlot. Only the the three largest cities, Canterlot, Manehattan, and Fillydelphia, had an entire force of true guards. Then, there were the groups of “Regional Guards,” fourteen divisions in all, who held jurisdiction over the fourteen Equestrian states. Whenever the local guards got in over their heads, they called in the Regionals.

One rung below in the hierarchy were the local guards. These were ordinary ponies from the immediate vicinity, who had never been to Canterlot, but were instead trained and overseen by royal guards dispatched from the capital. The smaller the town, the higher the proportion of local guards to royal guards. Cities like Brynn worked at a 2:1 ratio. Ponyville, however, only had two royal guards. And one was mostly retired.

The other, Captain Jacobs, was—or should have been—en-route to Till’s office, at the moment. She had sent one of the two locals who had seen the body to fetch him. The other was currently posted outside her door, keeping visitors out. She had made it clear to both of them that they weren’t to speak with anypony but her and Jacobs about this case. It had probably been unnecessary. The local guards knew this was above their pay grade.

Really, it should have been them giving her the orders—but no one gave Tillage Greenhoof orders. She was a tall, fierce looking earth pony, her long mane twisted into an intricate series of massive dreadlocks, her wide face and sharp brown eyes capable of the most intimidating of stares. And she wasn’t just tall, she was big, covered in a thick layer of fat, and below that, an even thicker layer of muscle. She wasn’t obese, nor even fat, exactly, but as her mother put it, “built like a brick shithouse.”

Till was farmer’s stock, born from a line of ancestors who had worked the same fields and the same crops for hundreds of years. They had lived on the southern border of Equestria, a border flexible enough that they had at times been considered Sothenlanders, and had the rich, black coat to show for it. Her mother, her mother’s mother, and many generations more had lived on that border, growing beans, agave, chili peppers, and squash, undaunted by the brutal heat and the Sothenlands lawlessness.

Till had grown up doing just the same, until her mother had made the remarkable discovery that, unlike her brothers, and her father, but much like her grandmother, she had a “helluva brain,” and damn well knew how to use it. And so, home taught, she had moved first to Brynn, then to Canterlot on money scrounged by her family, to study medicine. And, determined to make her family’s sacrifice worthwhile, she had studied and memorized and worked hard enough to earn the credentials as a general practitioner.

All this, despite the unceasing efforts of a society determined never to let her dream beyond fields and guard work, in which a farm mare from the far south setting hoof in a hospital as a nurse was far-fetched, and as a doctor, beyond belief. She had gone through a crucible of ignorance to earn her degrees, and after that, there wasn’t a local guard or a hospital administrator alive that give her an order.

She worked hard, and diligently, earning a slowly climbing paycheck and faster growing respect from her peers, and now had returned her family’s investment tenfold. She had worked as an ME for a time in Canterlot, and for even longer in Ponyville, worked with paramedics, EMTs, firestallions and military police, earned their cooperation, seen everything there was to see in forensic pathology.

Or, she thought she had, anyway. But this was something else. This sent chills running through her stomach. It wasn’t out of her league, exactly, for as far as she was concerned, nothing was, but above her head, for sure. She had seen murders before, and rapes, and arsons, and suicides, but this was different, because she could think of only one explanation for what was going on here. But that was almost unthinkable. Almost.

But then, what else could it be? What else could explain the corpse without a face—or a heart? The the flagrancy of the act, the absence of clothes, but presence of valuables, it all added up to one thing. But until Captain Jacobs got here, she wasn’t going to let herself even think of that one, dreaded word. She was going to think of every other possibility first. Just ‘til the Captain got here.

She didn’t have to wait long. She there was hardly enough time to sit back down in the rickety old chair next to the examination table before the glass door on the other side of the room slid open. Captain Jacobs stepped in, finishing an order to one of the locals before closing the door.

“...and I want her in my office by the time I get back. Go!”

“Captain,” she said as she moved over to meet him.

She extended her hoof, looking him over. It had been a while since they last met. He looked the same as ever.

As far as appearances went, she and Jacobs were polar opposites. Where she was tall and dark, he was short and white-coated. Her mane was long and curly, her body and face all smooth and rounded. His mane was short and spiky, everything about him hard lines and sharp angles. He had narrow, beady eyes, a straight, pointed nose, and thin, pursed lips. She was heavy, even for an earth pony. Jacobs was a rail-thin pegasus. Till rolled and lumbered, swinging gracefully to her own internal rhythms; Jacobs’ movements were all quick, efficient, and precise. He wasted no words, no energy, and no time. A hawk-like model of military efficiency.

“Till,” he said. “PFC Towne already filled me in on the victim’s ID and injuries. Tell me you’ve got more.”

Till blew a puff of air through tightened lips. “Nothing you’ll want to hear. Not much that’s all that helpful.”

“Give it to me anyway. What’s the T.O.D.?”

“Five to seven hours. Blood work gave us nothing. No drugs, no alcohol, no poisons.”

Jacobs glanced at the body on the table. “I didn’t think he was poisoned,” he said, looking pointedly at the hole in the stallion’s chest. What else’ve you got?”

“The burns on the face were pre-mortem. It’s the wound to the chest that killed
him. Come look at this,” she said, leading him over to the table. She pointed to the edges of the perfectly circular wound in his chest.

“No jagged edges, or abrasions, hardly any swelling. Whatever did this killed him quick and clean. What kind of weapon do you think makes a wound like that?”

“Nothing conventional. Magic?”

“Could be, but I really hope not.”

“Why?”

“His heart is gone.”

He didn’t say anything, but she felt him stiffen beside her.

“It gets worse. The burns on the face were made by acid, not fire. And look at the pattern they left. A slightly irregular circle, with more severe damage at the perimeter?”

Jacobs was going pale. “A hoof print.”

“Yep.”

The Captain sighed, running a hoof through his short, greying beard. “Celestia help us. I never thought I’d have to deal with this again. It’s the reason I asked to be reassigned to Ponyville in the first place. I talked to his wife, you know?”

She looked at him sharply. “What? When?”

“A bit before noon. A Mrs. Golden Heart came into the station, demanded to talk to the highest ranking officer. Unfortunately, that was me. She reported a theft of her purse while disboarding the ferry from Canterlot. Reported a lot of other things too, including a fight with her husband—“Argie”—just before coming in.”

“Where is she now?”

“Last I saw, the hospital. She worked herself up so much she passed out.”

“Oh, I know who you’re talking about. I had the fortune of treating her.”

“And?”

“Smelling salts and a discharge. I dunno where she is now.”

“Great.” He checked his watch. “It’s 5:14 right now. He must’ve died right after he got off the boat.”

“Or before.”

For a moment, he said nothing. He just stared at the body, rubbing his temples, thinking.

“You really think that’s it?”

“No clothes, no face, and no heart? What else could it be?”

“How do you even know about the skinthief spell?”

“Same reason you do. I was working in Canterlot six years ago.”

Jacobs sat down, looking grim. “Princesses...” he murmured. “A necromancer in Ponyville...”