//------------------------------// // Chapter XXV: The Rescue // Story: The World Within the Web // by Lord Max //------------------------------// Chapter XXV: The Rescue * * * * * * She does not trust us anymore. We must assess possible options. Trust. Never trusted you. No one did. Her reaction was unfortunate, but we can redouble our efforts and correct this. We failed. She said so. We failed completely. It was an error. Momentary. Error. Delusion. . . you deluded yourself. They hate you. You never should have cared. Do not listen to that one. We acted in an antipattern, but we can ameliorate it with the proper steps. Pattern. All you do is one pattern. If one part fails, all failed. You were always wrong, to try and help them. What we did was wrong, and we can’t change it now. It was a mistake, to send us. We can’t do this. We don’t know how. We know more than that. We know things they do not. We can support them where they will fail alone. We should have trusted her. We didn’t know what we were doing. Doing. Done. . . you will never escape what you have done. We can choose to act only in self-pity, or we can choose to simply act. Self is, and has always been, the enemy. The instrument will fail if we forget that. We must bind ourselves to our duty again. No doubts. We can’t keep the doubts away. They slip through. Then try harder. We must try harder, for her. For all of them. * * * * * * “What was that?” Lady Violet gave a coy, knowing look and raised a hand to her ear. “I’m sorry, I could not quite hear that. I’m certain that you weren’t referring to that ‘unofficial’ celebration that I have certainly ‘not’ approved of, should anyone ask, were you?” Dustario gave a barely restrained smile. “I would never dream of it, ma’am.” Violet gave a wink to that, and filed out, with Proximo following closely at her side. He heard Dustario say something behind him to Sir Coin, but Proximo did not listen, still trying to contemplate all that the knight had said to them. “I can scarcely believe it, my lady,” Proximo said as they departed from their interview. “And yet it’s true,” Violet remarked. “Our first priority will be learning more about these passages—this one we’ve found and any others there might be.” “And Dabrius?” “Oh, I haven’t forgotten.” Violet clenched a fist. “There’s no way that Arcadio can delay us much longer. That vicious idiot has kept us in the dark for too long—I intend to learn what our friend knows, and soon.” Proximo couldn’t help but relish the idea of putting Martes in their place, unkind as it might have been. Another thought came to mind, however. “If it was truly Arcadio that Coin heard…” “...then there is something else afoot here,” Violet finished. “Arcadio clearly has a larger stake in this than we realized. I had my suspicions, judging from how dedicated he’s been to keeping us away from any evidence, but now I’m more certain than ever.” “My lady,” Proximo said, speaking his mind plainly, “do you believe that Arcadio might had played a part in Sir Harald’s murder?” Lady Violet gave him a look. “A dangerous theory. But not one to go uninvestigated.” The Warden of Honesty, who had followed closely behind Violet silently, stirred. “Send us to question him. We will find truth.” “Haven’t you done enough damage as it is?” Proximo asked bitterly. He still remembered Sir Alwin, not to mention all the other times that the Warden had acted outrageously and threatened their position. The Warden gave Violet a pleading look. “We can help.” Proximo’s temper flared. “You already know the kind of ‘help’ he means, my lady. Bullying and threatening, and killing if that doesn’t work. Is that meant to save our friends?” He pointed a finger at the Warden. “By all rights, we should have already sent him back to the Citadel, where he can’t—" “Stop," Violet interjected, visibly frustrated. “Enough about this. I won’t have fighting amongst us, not now of all times. We have more important things to worry about.” Proximo glared at the Warden, who kept his eye locked to the floor as they walked. He certainly hoped that Violet didn’t expect him to apologize to the Warden. “We need to investigate this tunnel-system that Sir Coin unearthed,” Violet continued. “I’ll go myself, so as to better understand what we’re dealing with—this is too delicate to leave for a report. I shall need a team to accompany me.” “I will go gladly, my lady,” said Proximo immediately. “We will accompany,” the Warden said simultaneously. Proximo narrowed his eyes. “Perhaps he should stay here.” The Warden responded firmly. “We cannot let you go out unprotected. City is dangerous. We were ordered to defend you. Cannot let friend be hurt. Our purpose.” “And what if we’re stopped by guards, hmm? Or Moderators? What if they get in our way?” Proximo put a hand on Violet’s shoulder. “This is just another chance for him to make our job that much harder, or to ruin everything we’re working towards. Just order him to stay.” Violet frowned at him. “I’d thank you if you did not speak of him as though he’s not standing next to us.” “It is fine,” the Warden responded quickly. “This one has performed… poorly,” he admitted. “No fault but its own. But we are meant to protect you. You say, ‘do not leave your sight?’ We will not. We will defend you.” “If you’re worried about what he’ll do if he stays, just order him into a corner somewhere,” Proximo said bitterly. “If he’s as obedient as he claims, he’ll stay there.” His expression was pleading. Trust me, please, Proximo thought. Right now, their success rested on the Warden being kept as far away from important things as possible. “We can have another six guards with us, and go in disguise. There’s no need for him. The risk is too great.” The Warden of Honesty simply looked at her. “Violet,” he said softly, “please. This is a bad idea.” Lady Violet looked between the two of them, contemplating what they said. She breathed deep, and spoke in a leveled, authoritative way. “Honesty,” she said carefully, “I believe that it would be best if we searched out this tunnel incognito—so that the Dreamweavers and the guards cannot trace us. I am sorry to say so, but you would give us away. I would like you to remain here, at the Palace.” Proximo expected the Warden to argue with her, or try to force himself on the mission. Instead, he just looked at her, then nodded his head. There was a slight twitch in his emotionless face—so small that one would never notice it with anyone else. “We obey,” he said quietly. “I know,” said Violet sadly. There were silent all the way back to their rooms. When they arrived, the Warden broke off, while Violet went to work finding the right people to accompany them to the tunnels. Dustario had taken a small group out for his impromptu Summer Sun Celebration, but there were still close to fifty trained warriors on hand, and Violet did not want to leave this another moment—every second was one more that the city watch might stumble across the Changelings. As he watched the Warden of Honesty sulk away, Proximo turned to Violet. “It’s the right choice, my lady.” She nodded, but did not answer. Proximo did not press the point, but felt vindicated nonetheless. She’ll see, he thought certainly, it’ll be far better this way. There was too much at stake for someone as uncouth as the Warden of Honesty to be involved. Proximo did not intend for Dabrius and Greenglade to die here. In time, they had their team—six Honest Friends, all trustworthy, all discreet, all fierce in any fight. They were dressed in plainclothes, so as to avoid attracting attention, and kept their weapons out of sight. Jorama, the dark Sajlic woman, took the front, the only concession to her ordinary uniform being a gold bandana that she never seemed to take off—she tucked it under her shirt, just to be safe. Alongside them were Applewood, who had protected Proximo earlier, as well as one named Appleblossom and another named Apple Orange, oddly enough (the Honest Friends were not well-known for creativity in naming). In addition, Dalwin Faust joined them, staying taciturn and subdued even when he was told of their exciting assignment. Finally, there was Crispin Peck, whom Proximo trusted more than anyone else to be silent about what they found. He bounced along in the back, cheery as ever. Violet had dressed herself in a long, red coat with a dark hat on the top that hid much of her hair, so as to cover her whilst she was sleuthing. With Proximo disguised as well, it seemed to be doing an admirable job—none of the Dreamweavers, whether in the Palace or on the streets, recognized them. Aside from one incident, where the guards in the Palace appeared to notice who they were, of course. They were headed for a place named ‘Saffrongem Street,’ the one where Coin had found the alternative entrance—something that Proximo was infinitely grateful for. Had Coin not done so, it would have been immeasurably harder to investigate what he had found. Examining the city as they moved through it, Applewood whistled. “Pretty friendly, now that we don’t look like ourselves, ain’t they?” He asked Lady Violet in a quiet, perhaps too-casual way. Violet gave a small smile as they passed through the passive crowd. “It’s almost pleasant, when everyone isn’t trying to throw things at us. Strange how that works.” “Few men know what they hate,” said Dalwin in a distant voice. Apple Orange barked a laugh. “Har! Know or not know, what does it matter? They’d gladly dash our brains out on the cobbles if they could, the savages,” he said with a broad smile through his black beard. Proximo thought he seemed surprisingly upbeat, considering what he was talking about. “C’mon AB, am I right?” Appleblossom, the pretty guard with the appropriate orange bow in her tied-back hair, just nodded. “Yep,” she said plainly. “I’ll say!” Apple Orange replied. “Well, that’s why we’re here after all. Don’t worry, m’lady, we won’t let them kill you.” He grinned amiably at the lady. “I’m glad for the assurance,” Violet replied, sounding distracted. She was looking at a street sign. ‘Saffrongem,’ it said, albeit obscured somewhat by graffiti. “We’re here,” she said. They got to work finding the entrance, and eventually came across the alley Coin had described. Printed upon a wall was the green heart, precisely where he had placed it. Jorama was scanning the street outside, checking if anyone was watching. “They seem to not pay us mind, Lady-Warden,” she said. “For now, we appear safe.” “Didn’t Sir Coin say there was guards sniffin’ ‘round ‘ere?” Applewood asked, casting a glance around, just in case. “I don’t see any on the street.” Apple Orange strained to look all the way down the lane. “Nope, not a soul in uniform. You see any, AB?” “Nope,” replied Appleblossom, observing the other side. “I think we’re safe, then,” Apple Orange said. “Crack ‘er open!” Crispin elected to do the honors, pulling out the brick with the heart printed upon it, and pulling at the inside of the wall. Proximo watched in amazement as the stones moved on a hinge, opening the door to the inside. “I can stand watch out here, if it please m’lady,” said Apple Orange cheerfully. “You can all investigate inside, and I’ll be nonchalant while I wait. Best not to leave the rest out here, in case they get killed or raped or something.” Lady Violet raised an eyebrow to Appleblossom, as though asking if this kind of attitude was normal for Apple Orange. She just shrugged. “Sure,” said Appleblossom. “We’ll need to map out at least part of this tunnel, to understand what exactly we’re dealing with,” said Lady Violet. “I would rather not chance trying to use any exits other than this one, seeing that we don’t know where they lead yet. But if there’s trouble out here…” “I’ll find you. Just stay safe down there, alright? Probably lots of rats and bugs and things. Diseases, y’know?” Apple Orange smiled again. Proximo couldn’t tell if he was deliberately saying uncomfortable things as a joke, or if he just didn’t realize it. Violet raised the eyebrow again. “I’ll keep it in mind, friend.” The rest of them descended into the underground, gaping at the sophistication of it as they went. The place was pitch black at first, but Applewood lit up a lantern that Violet had instructed him to bring, and suddenly the tunnel they were in lit up with yellow light and green, reflected stone. A line of that green traced its way all the way down the passage, disappearing behind corners but reappearing again. “Dalwin,” Lady Violet commanded, “start composing your map. We’ll proceed on to the central area, and then branch out from there.” “Aye, my lady,” replied Dalwin, picking out a notebook and a pencil, and starting to scribble upon it. They went through at an even pace, not wanting to linger too long, but also conscious of potential trouble—though Coin had assured them that the tunnels were deserted, they took no chances. Applewood, Jorama, and Appleblossom took the lead, while Dalwin followed behind with his notebook, occasionally asking softly for the lantern to be lifted up to aid his drawing. Violet and Proximo followed him, while Crispin took the rear. “Lady-Warden,” Jorama turned to say, “the way appears.” Proximo craned his neck forward and saw that they had indeed arrived at the central room. They lit some of the lanterns on the walls, and studied the six branching paths that sprang out from their position, all leading different ways. Plenty of choices, Proximo saw, wondering where they would start. “How does our map look thus far, Dalwin?” Violet asked. Dalwin presented his work, showing an accurate (as best as Proximo could tell) graphing off this strange system they found themselves in. Crispin elected to also show a rather good drawing he had made of Lady Violet’s hat, for some reason. He had written the word ‘Wow!’ next to it. “Very nice,” Violet said with a laugh, causing both men to look bashful. “But enough congratulations—we’ve got a job here.” She frowned, and scanned her eyes over the various ways ahead. “We’ll have to check them all, as best as we can. How about this—we shall tackle them as smaller groups, so as to take less time. Proximo and I can pair up with some of you as well.” Applewood frowned, and scratched his chin. “Might be safer iffin’ yah both stayed here. Just in case. It’d be better if we all knew where yah two were.” “Agreed, Lady-Warden,” nodded Jorama. “The Coin-knight said this place was empty, but we would see you safe here rather than wandering.” Lady Violet sighed, and gave small smile. “I’m truly not that dainty, you know. Well, mostly, at least. If you insist, Proximo and I can hold down the proverbial fort. I’m sure we can find ways to amuse ourselves.” Just at that moment, she sniffed at the air and wrinkled her nose. Proximo caught it as well—something down one of the passages smelled remarkably like sewage. Probably because it was. “Yuck,” she gagged. “I don’t suppose we have a volunteer for that one, do we?” “Applewood,” answered Appleblossom immediately. He groaned. “Dammit, do I always gotta be the guy who goes and gets t’investigate all the nasty places?” “Yep,” Appleblossom said with a small smile, before sticking her tongue out playfully. They were organized into smaller teams, each taking a different passage. The way they were spread out in the tunnels, they would stay within earshot if they needed to return quickly, but with Apple Orange covering the way behind them and the tunnels entirely devoid of other life, they did not expect any difficulties. Lady Violet and Proximo remained back at the central room. It didn’t take long for Violet to pull out a book and settle it down on the dusty table in front of them. It was a leather-bound tome, not too old but frayed somewhat. “What’s that?” Proximo asked, eyeing the book as Violet opened it. “A gift,” she replied. “You remember how I told you that Jestin gave me a book of history before we left?” She tapped the cover. “This would be it.”         She pointed to a note written on the inner-cover. It was written in a neat, but flowing hand, etched in distinctive pink ink. ‘Hey Violet!,’ it read. ‘Hope you like this—it might just help you guys out there in the Dreamweave. Or maybe not—you can’t really tell with these things. Anyways, I can’t wait to see you again! Love, Jestin.’ Below it was a another note. ‘P.S. Be sure to read the marked pages—I honestly don’t know if they’ll be useful at all, but it might just be relevant. Or not!’ Below that was yet another note. ‘P.P.S. Hi Proximo! Try not to worry so much!’ Proximo smiled at the message, but turned his attention to the other postscript. “Marked pages?” “Ah, I see you’ve already picked up on that little clue,” Violet said coyly. She flipped through a number of pages, settling on a chapter entitled ‘The Dreamweave.’ “It isn’t a long section—this city doesn’t have as much history as others, and what they have is barely worth telling. But take a look at this.” Her finger highlighted a few lines, ones that she read aloud. “ ‘...during its earliest periods of construction, Aureliano the First had the city layered with various levels of building, starting with various maintenance shafts dug in order to create the sewage systems. Oftentimes, these tunnels would be closed over by homes and other facilities, abandoned below ground and walled off. The plans to these catacombs were, sadly, lost in the unfortunate fire that burned much of the Palace’s records library during Aureliano the First’s early reign, but it is now believed that the actual tunnels were collapsed long ago, and are now unusable.’ “ “Sound familiar?” Violet asked with an triumphant smile. Proximo returned the expression. “So that’s where these came from—relics from the years this whole place was built.” He looked around the mostly intact room. “Clearly they aren’t as ‘unusable’ as people thought.” “The Changelings have been making good use of that misconceptions, apparently,” Violet continued. “Even if anyone around here still remembered that these existed, they would not think that they remain nowadays, much less that they could be used. I don’t know how the Changeling Society located these entrances, but what we see down here—the secret doors, the lights, these quaint furnishings—must have been added by them later on, to cover their tracks. Or perhaps by other furtive people before them—who knows?” Proximo thought about that. “Do you think that there might be more tunnels like this?” “I wouldn’t doubt it. We’ll have to see how far this one goes, but we might have to expand our search and try to find more places like this. If Dabrius was meeting with this Changeling Society…” “...then they might be able to testify to him not killing Sir Harald,” Proximo realized. “They could set him and Greenglade free.” “Indeed. Hopefully Dabrius can shed more light on this, when we speak to him.” Proximo nodded, knowing the wisdom of her words. There was something else on his mind, however, something that he knew was bothering her. “My lady?” “Yes, Proximo?” she answered, flipping through the book. “Permission to speak freely?” he asked. Here goes nothing... She laughed. “Bit a silly thing to ask between us at this point, don’t you think, Proxi? But go on.” “If you’re upset about the Warden of Honesty, you… you can tell me about it,” he said hesitantly. “The others haven’t noticed, but I can see it on your face.” Violet was silent at first, then sighed. “I know, Proxi. I never could hide anything from you, could I?” She looked down, her expression troubled. “I don’t like being caught between my friends like this, that’s all.” Proximo frowned. “You don’t need to be caught between anyone. We both know that he’s in the wrong.” “I know what he did was wrong,” Violet clarified. “I know that he knows that as well, now. I just don’t know what to do with him.” Proximo looked at her sympathetically. “You could just send him away.” She closed her eyes. “I can’t.” “Why not?” he asked in disbelief.          “Because Mars asked me to trust him, and I trust Mars. And because, despite everything, Honesty is my friend as well. It would crush him, to think he failed me.” Proximo scoffed. “The Warden doesn’t care about what anyone thinks, my lady.” “You only say that because you don’t know him as well as I do, Proximo. You don’t know what he bottles up.” She looked very forlorn, talking about the Warden. “He doesn’t think of himself as a person, you know. He doesn’t think he deserves to be one, and so he forces all of that humanity down where no one can see it. But there is someone in there that cares, and cares very, very much—maybe too much. You heard what he said that night? That he thought of himself as an insect compared to me? That he’d rather kill himself than fail? He said that I’d never lie to him.” She breathed deeply. “How could I hate someone that thinks that way?” Proximo crossed his arms. “He’s a danger, my lady. You know that. We don’t need him.” She eyed him. “You sound very certain of that.” “What’s to be uncertain about?” Proximo asked firmly. “When have we ever needed to bully people to solve a crisis, all the times we’ve worked together? When has some crazed killer’s help been the key to resolving anything we do? It never has before, not on any mission we’ve done together, and he only makes things worse. Why should we need him when we can speak for our friends on our own?” “Because speaking doesn’t always fix it, Proximo,” Violet replied, equal parts sad and firm. “Let me ask you: do you think pleasant words would have been enough to beat the Channic and the Moderators during the First Rise? To capture Baysmouth and hold Comchan? It wasn’t, nor would it have been. I should know—I was there.” She pressed her eyes closed, thinking carefully. “Sometimes… sometimes there are days that you cannot end diplomatically. And Six save you if on that day diplomacy is all you have. Our fandom can’t survive on words alone, no more than it could with only swords, which is precisely why we don’t have six Violet Brushshapes as the Wardens. You need both: the one that builds up and the one that breaks down. Open hands and clenched fists. The Generous and the Honest and all the rest.” “You’ve never needed violence.” Violet pushed aside a fold of her coat. “Are you so sure?” she asked, revealing something at her belt. The knife that Madelin Wright had given her, white with a purple gem. “We aren’t at war, my lady,” Proximo answered carefully. “And we won’t be, if you and I succeed. We aren’t in the Chan. His talents aren’t meant for this place.” He put his hand on hers, gently. “Can you at least think about it? About sending him back?” Violet looked at him, considering it. She let out a tired breath. “I’ll think about it.” They spoke no more about it. The rest of their time was all business: checking with their friends, compiling a map. Jorama stated that her passage led to nowhere—a dead end. The others proved more fruitful: Appleblossom’s led to somewhere populated, but she wasn’t able to check what was on the other side, due to people talking about nothing important on the other side—she guessed it was a shop. Applewood came back slightly smelly and reporting that the passage had led to a false wall that opened into the sewer—someone searching down there would never have found it. Others led to streets, or alleys. One led somewhere once, but was now blocked by something too heavy to shift. Dalwin’s map began to be filled out. After some time, they had checked most everything, and saw the lines and twists of the labyrinth take shape on the paper. A central hub with six spindly legs, some long and some truncated, branching off in different directions like insectoid appendages. They’d jotted down some cryptic marks to denote where each entrance opened to, ensuring that if the map was lost or stolen there would be no way to be certain where any intruders (aside from the Bronies, of course) could find their way in. “This,” Violet said proudly, “should be most helpful. Good work, all of you.” Their well-wishing was cut short by the sound of someone running towards them. The guards turned and drew out their arms instantly, but it proved unneeded—the man who appeared before them was Apple Orange. “We’ve got a problem,” he said urgently. “What is it?” Proximo asked, concerned. “There’s something happening out in the city. A riot, I think,” Apple Orange said with a small smile. “I just heard some noises at first, but rough sounds aren’t out of the ordinary around here. The screams definitely clued me in, though.” Proximo’s eyes widened. “Oh no,” he muttered. “Dustario and the others…” Crispin gasped, and the rest looked between one another anxiously. “We do not yet know what this rioting is about,” Jorama said, trying to keep the worry out of her voice. “We must focus on the now.” “How far is this riot from us?” Applewood asked. “Could yah tell?” Apple Orange shrugged. “I didn’t see anyone, so I don’t think they’re too close.” Lady Violet remained calm, and weighed their options. “Were any of the other exits closer to the Palace?” “Nope,” said Appleblossom. "We cannot just stay here, can we?" Proximo asked. Going out into the streets at such a time was hardly an inviting idea. Dalwin did not seem convinced. "If some kind of crisis is afoot, someone is going to notice if we are gone from the Palace. They will send people out to find us, and they might find this place too." Violet considered that. “We are not far from the high hill. If we stay out of sight, then we should attract no attention—no one knows who we are, after all. We must move quickly, though.” They did just that, filling out swiftly and leaving the tunnels behind them. Apple Orange and Jorama did a check of the exit and the street before beckoning the others to follow. Emerging out onto Saffrongem Street, Proximo could hear shouts and see flames. Off in the distance, buildings were burning, painting red over the skyline. Smoke rose in plumes above them. Screams echoed around them. Unnerved, Proximo glanced around them. Saffrongem Street was deserted. Anyone who had been out on it before had evidently fled. He breathed a sigh of relief as they went forward. “The moment we get back to the Palace, we must check for Dustario and the others. Hopefully they were already out before this started, but if not we must draft a party to enter the city and find t—" “There they are!” Proximo spun around, searching for the voice. He found it almost immediately: a few rough-looking sorts, walking towards them. They did not look friendly. Even worse, they were armed. The Honest Friends unsheathed their weapons, preparing to fight, but suddenly more people streamed in from all around—two from an alley, another six from the next street, more and more and all of them holding swords and spears and torches. The Bronies were surrounded: twelve men, encircling them on every side. The Honest Friends backed up into one another, forming a protective ring around Lady Violet and Proximo. They were outnumbered two-to-one, with no way out. Proximo breathed deep. “Stay behind me, my lady,” he whispered, trying to keep the fear out of his voice. “You’re unarmed, Proximo. At least I have a knife,” Violet pointed out. She was completely calm—she would not let her composure slip now, when others needed her. “I’m the assistant, you’re the Warden. I’m expendable.” “Not to me, you aren’t.” “Well, well!” cried one of the people surrounding them. “Took us awhile t’find ya’. You straight disappeared for a minute there, but I know we’re glad t’see ya’ agin.” Several people in the crowd laughed. Proximo looked over them, trying to gauge who exactly was confronting them. They wore no distinctive clothes—by any rights they seemed like ordinary rabble. But two of them were carrying weapons that caught his shocked eyes immediately. Authority repeaters. Lever-loaded crossbows pointed right at them. Even if the Bronies ran or tried to fight, a single one of those would end such an attempt quickly. “Really,” said one of the ones carrying a repeater, “we should jes’ kill ya’ now. Be easy, too. But let’s try this—" he aimed the crossbow directly at Lady Violet. “If you vanished like that, I figure y’must have found a little hidey-hole. And Arcadio’s been searching for jes’ such a thing. So tell us where the Changelings are, right now.” Lady Violet did not balk or shy away. “If we told you,” she said plainly, “you would kill us anyways.” “Smart one, ain’t she?” one of the others said with a sickening grin. “I like smart ones.” The apparent leader kept his crossbow locked on the Bronies. The rest of them started to move towards the trapped friends, weapons in hand, looking murderous. Proximo was running through possible plans in his head, ways to escape. None seemed possible. “Last chance,” said the one with the crossbow. “I respectfully refuse,” answered Violet. He sighed. “Fair enough, then. Here’s how we’ll do this—I’m gonna start killin’ ya’ in order, with your little pretty boy—” he said, pointing to Proximo "—dyin’ last. Y’feel like talkin’ anytime, fancy-pants,” he said to Proximo directly, “you jes’ yell out where the Changelings are. Oh, and jes’ so y’know, yer really, really not gonna like what we do when we get t’ yer lady there.” He smiled a truly ugly smile. Proximo was burning with anger, but there was nothing he could do. Lady Violet silently unsheathed the knife she kept on her, white blade shining softly. She was whispering something Proximo couldn’t hear. He looked around him at the others. Appleblossom and Applewood had their swords out, watching silently. Jorama guarded with her mace, pulling her gold bandana over her mouth, saying a prayer. Crispin and Dalwin prepared themselves, looking intensely at their foes. Apple Orange was smiling a sardonic, cutting grin as he weighed the odds. The man with the crossbow stepped forward—the rest of his men did the same, moving forward carefully, knowing that there was no reason to fight in close-combat when the crossbows could rip the Bronies apart. “Now, where t’start?” the leader said, aiming at the friends. Just behind the man, Proximo caught the faintest movement. “I know, I’ll start w—" The man did not get another word in, before his head exploded. The side of a warhammer crashed into the crossbowman’s skull with such ferocity that it was reduced to a smeared pulp, the body flying to the side. Where the man had once stood, a nightmare came, a giant with a single eye burning with more fury than Proximo had ever seen before. The Warden of Honesty had come. The men closest to him never had a chance. Before they could even raise their weapons he smashed his hammer across one of their jaws, ripping it clean off, before driving it into the chest of another. He rushed forward in a blink, drawing his ugly sword with his other hand in an instant and ripping it through the neck of another attacker. Four men dead. The Warden turned to face the rest. The other one with a crossbow, wide-eyed with fear, fired off a hasty shot—the Warden dodged to the side effortlessly, charging forward. The Warden moved like lightning—Proximo had never seen a man so large act so quickly. The rest of the attackers were trying to form up and fight, but he broke through immediately, easily swiping through a sword parry and lodging his blade in the man’s skull. The crossbowman prepared to fire again, but at that moment Crispin charged into him, catching him off-guard before he could fire at the Honest Eyes’ master a second time. Rather than waste a moment retrieving the sword, the Warden moved fluidly past the dead man before he even hit the ground, bringing down his warhammer and crushing the head of another. One daring fool tried to swing at him with a sword, but the Warden simply grabbed the blade with his armored hand, snatched it away, and threw it at a person behind him, hitting them across the face with the hilt and sending them reeling back. Six men dead. The assassins had the Warden surrounded. It did them no good. He moved like a machine, his body jerking back and forth, dodging, striking, parrying, moving. He seemed to know where to go, where to turn, where an attack came from, all half a moment before his attackers, and tore through them like tissue paper. Another swing from his hammer was enough to kill one and knock another away, crashing to the side like a limp doll. One of the others managed to hit a blow with a sword, but it glanced harmlessly off the Warden’s thick armor. The Warden simply punched the man with a huge, metal fist right to his throat, flattening it sickeningly and leaving the man to grasp to his windpipe and suffocate to death. Before the choking man fell over, the Warden’s hand shot down and grabbed a dagger the man had kept at his belt. Another one of them, panicking, tried to shove a spear into the Warden’s face—it only scraped the side. Before the first drop of blood fell, the Warden drove the dagger straight into the spearman’s throat with enough force that the Warden’s whole hand was soaked in red. One man with better sense was running away. The Warden pulled the dagger out and casually threw it at him, almost as an afterthought. It struck the fleeing man on the back of the head, dropping him instantly. Ten men dead. Crispin had been brawling with the crossbowman and managed to slit his throat, but the rest of the Honest Friends were still staying by Violet and Proximo’s side. The only assassin left was the one the Warden had tossed aside, trying desperately to crawl away with a broken arm. The Warden strode up to him, expression now blank. The last man turned and pulled out a dagger, as though it would help him. He began to scream something. “I—!” The Warden brought down a steel boot on the man’s head, smashing it like a melon with a horrible, wet sound. Then, he ground his foot into the dirt twice for good measure. Bodies were everywhere. Broken weapons on the ground. In distance, there were faint shouts. Proximo looked at the scene agape. All twelve assassins were dead, in near as many seconds. He doubled over and vomited. At some point during the confusion, Lady Violet had stumbled over and fallen. As soon as he finished with the last man, the Warden of Honesty looked over to see her there, threw down his weapons, and calmly walked over. The Honest Friends were going down to one knee, bowing in amazement. The Warden saw they were unharmed and walked past, striding to Lady Violet. He was absolutely soaked in blood, red splattered all over his golden figure. The wound on his head was dripping down, covering his eyepatch. Lady Violet stared at her gore-covered friend wide-eyed. The Warden stood over her and extended a hand. “Hurt?” he asked, voice full of worry. In stunned silence, Violet shook her head. After a moment’s hesitation, she took the hand and stood up. Proximo heard the sound of shouts, and feet rushing towards them. He turned, expecting a fight, only to notice that all of the people arriving were wearing orange-and-gold uniforms. Around two-dozen more members of the honor guard. Leading them in the front was an Honest Eye with short blonde hair, armed and armored. “My lord?” he said frantically as he entered the street. “Are you—" He froze and looked over the field of corpses. “Six save us,” he said in shock. The Warden was wiping blood off of his sword, smearing it on his gold-orange cape instead. “We must return to Palace immediately,” he ordered, emotionless again. “Will be safe there. Way forward was clear when we came, but will accompany you.” Violet seemed to need a minute to catch up with everything that had happened. “Yes,” she said at last, “yes, you’re right. Before anything else, we need to get off the streets.” The Warden turned to the Honest Eye that had brought the troops. “Take dozen men. Search for other friends. Escort them back if found. Kill anyone that hurts them. We will join after return to Palace,” he said coarsely. The Honest Friends bowed, a dozen branching off to find Dustario and the others. Proximo hoped that they were alright—he knew that those ones could take care of themselves, but if these assassins had known where to find them… The Warden turned to all of them, unfazed by anything that had happened. “Follow,” he ordered simply. Everyone did so immediately, picking up their pace to join the Warden as soon as they could. Violet was by his side, the giant deliberately slowing his pace so she could keep up with him. Glancing down at his feet, Proximo saw that the Warden of Honesty was leaving bloody footprints, his boot still covered in the brains of the head he had crushed beneath a metal heel. Proximo’s body apparently felt it was time to vomit again. After a moment’s recovery, he raced back to Lady Violet, catching up beside her. She still looked a bit ill, but nevertheless immediately turned her attention to her assistant. “Are you well?” she asked right away. Proximo found it amazing that, even now, she was still more concerned with others than herself. “Me? What about you, my lady? Are you—" She waved a hand. “I’m fine, really. Though if my honest friend had not arrived…” She swallowed sharply, and looked up at her fellow Warden. “How ever did you find us?” she asked him. The Warden glanced his eye down. “Knew location of entrance. Was watching from Palace. When riot started, we alerted others and left immediately.” He grimaced, and looked at her. “We were ordered to remain at Palace. This one apologizes for disobeying command.” “No!” Violet said quickly, half-frantic. “No, Honesty, don’t… don’t. You…” She was at a loss for words. A first, surely. “Thank you, my friend. I owe you my life.” She put a hand on his arm, careful to avoid the bloodstains. The Warden looked down at her. He had the oddest expression on his face. It might have been a smile. It vanished quickly, and he simply nodded. “Hrm,” he grunted. They arrived at the Palace without further issue—if any rioters had noticed them, they had thought twice of attacking. The dozen and half armed soldiers led by a blood-drenched giant probably did that. Climbing the steps of the Palace of Aureliano, the Warden threw open the double doors and strode inside the building proper. Proximo entered to find a number of Moderators and nobles assembled, all in the main hall. Lord Halforth was standing in full black battle attire, speaking coldly to Arcadio Martes, both their subordinates around them. “I am interested to know how you justify this disgraceful behavior,” the Lord Moderator said with an icy chill to his voice. Arcadio’s smirk turned to a scowl. “I’m not in the business of taking lectures.” “That explains your ignorance. A shame. You might have learned something about the proper conduct of an executor of laws, which is what a commander of guards is meant to be. Perhaps you might have also learned the need to defend people placed under your protection.” Aureliano Martes, standing beside his brother, took offense to that. “Wh— you cannot mean to blame this riot on my brother or I, can you?” “I can,” Lord Halforth said plainly. “As a matter of fact, I just did.” “How can you say it was our fault that a bunch of rabble decided to start burning down my city?” Aureliano asked petulantly. “Because it is, as you say, your city. The fact that this was not prevented, or that my subordinates had to respond to it instead of your guards for so long is absolutely absurd.” Percy Cartwright stirred from behind the Lord Moderator. “ ‘Scuse me, your honor? Looks like the Bronies have— whoa!” He was staring wide-eyed at the Warden of Honesty while the giant dripped blood onto the carpets. Aureliano paled considerably when he looked at them, while Lord Halforth gave one glance at the Warden of Honesty and cocked his eyebrow slightly. “It would seem,” he said mildly, “that you encountered some difficulty, my lord.” “Twelve men attempting murder of friends. We killed them all,” the Warden replied, equally neutral. “Holy shit,” Percy said, amazed. “Mister Cartwright, your composure,” Lord Halforth scolded. “I am glad to see that you are not harmed, Lady Violet. I was about to march into the city to retrieve you, the moment these blithering idiots sent in their guards to quell this upset alongside mine own staff.” Arcadio was glaring at Lady Violet and the rest, a look that was somewhere between disappointment, loathing, and smug satisfaction, complete with odious, insincere smile. Violet matched it with a cold look of her own. It was a stare that said, ‘we know it was you.’ Out of nowhere, someone else barged into the conversation, looking like a mess as usual as he swaggered over. “Well well!” cried Withins-Bei. “My dear friends, my colleagues, my relations. You’re alive! Praise the Logos-On-High and whatever horse-thing you worship!” He gave an off-kilter bow to the lot of them. “I was beside myself when I heard the news. I would have gone in after you, truly, but I really did not want to, so I stayed here instead. And thank heavens I did, or might have missed the truly exciting news—so might have you, friend,” he said while wagging a finger at Proximo. Withins-Bei sidled up to Lord Halforth, striking casual conversation. “So, do I have you to thank for saving this lot, chappie? Or was it…” He glanced over at the Warden of Honesty, and smiled. “My my, red truly is his color, isn’t it?” “Mister Cartwright,” said the Lord Moderator, not sparing Withins-Bei a glance, “please remove this annoying thing from my presence.” “ ‘Ey, annoyin’ thing!” said Percy. “Get removin’.” He gave him a shove out of the way. “We must return to the city,” said the Warden, not giving thought to the interruption. “Other friends still there.” “That will not be necessary,” the Lord Moderator said immediately. “They have already been returned to the Palace. They were in some difficulty themselves, as it happens, but my staff and I were able to recover them.” The Warden had just slaughtered eleven men not a half-hour ago, and yet only now did he seem at all surprised. “Rescued them?” he asked skeptically. He gave a look as though he suspected trickery. “Why would outsider rescue friends?” “The same reason you did. Duty.” The Lord Moderator turned to the side, to see another one of his subordinates approach. “Ah, and here is Miss Ravenry. I am certain she can answer any questions about the condition of your friends.” “Their condition?” Violet asked, cautious. “I regret to say,” Lord Halforth replied, “that we did not make it in time to leave them unscathed. Some were seriously injured in the scuffle.” He frowned, as though perturbed by the suboptimal result. “They are being quartered in the barracks, should you wish to see them. Your medical agents have already begun treatments, with which Miss Cawtler has lent her aid.” “We came as soon as we heard,” Cellia Ravenry explained. “I only wish we had come sooner. They will recover in time, as I understand it, but some of the injuries were severe.” The Warden of Honesty narrowed his eye. “Outsiders do not help friends,” he said, as though trying to convince himself of that. “A simple ‘thank you’ will suffice,” Lord Halforth said, his face expressionless. “You may direct it to my staff in the future.” “Proximo,” said Lady Violet with concern, “we must go and see to our friends.” “Agreed,” he replied. He only hoped that Dustario and the rest were not too harmed. Being in danger himself was one thing, but his friends put in harm’s way made his stomach knot up. “Then I bid you farewell for now, Bronies,” said the Lord Moderator. “I have a city to cleanse.” He tipped his hat and marched out, his staffers following behind. Aureliano Martes looked as though he might have said something, then stopped himself. He turned away instead without a word. Behind him, Arcadio followed… but not before giving a mock-bow to the Warden of Honesty. Violet’s eyes locked on him with cold fury not unlike that of her honest friend. Before they left to check on the others, however, Withins-Bei staggered back in. “Mods,” he muttered, "so unappreciative. I hope all of you are more agreeable.” “We have important matters to attend to, Withins-Bei,” Violet said frankly. “Oh, I know. But you don’t know—not yet. Because I happen to be the one that knows about this particularly important business that you haven’t heard yet,” he said unctuously. Violet sighed. “What is it?” she asked with only mild impatience. He turned to Proximo and grinned. “It’s for you, Hart," he said with a sly tone Proximo did not like. Proximo frowned. “Now what are you talking a—" “That couldn’t be dear Proxi speaking, could it?” Proximo froze. A woman’s voice. A very familiar woman’s voice. Oh no, he pleaded, no no no no, please, no. She was sitting in a side room, in a shadow but still very visible. Gowned in green and white, with emerald dye running through her bangs, exactly as she was all that time ago—not a hair out of place. Her dark eyes studied Proximo when he came into view. “Two years, Proxi,” she said coyly, glancing at his shirt and pants. “I leave you out of my sight for two years, and you manage to get vomit all over your nice clothes.” “What are you doing here?” Proximo asked angrily. “Not even a kind hello for the weary traveller. Honestly, I’m hurt,” she said with mock-offended expression. Violet looked at the woman in front of her, then to Proximo. Then back to the woman. “I’m afraid you have me at a loss, Miss…” “Hart. Gallia Hart.” She looked up and down Lady Violet, then smiled at her brother. “Well, Proximo, now I know why you left home. Bravo.” * * * * * * “Dear Princess Celestia, “It’s a tad bit easier to be proud when you come in first than it is when you finish further back. But there’s no reason to hide when you didn’t do as well as you hoped. You can’t run away from your problems. Better to run to your friends and your family.” — Season of Expansion, Fourteenth Episode