//------------------------------// // VI. // Story: Steel Blade! // by Alsvid //------------------------------// “I’ve heard enough,” Claret snapped, withdrawing her hoof from the unfortunate demon-beast. She folded her arms under her breasts, flicking a stray lock of her black-and red mane from her muzzle with one long, elegant hand. “Get out of my sight, you wretched creature. I’ve just had a meal and I do not intend to watch you and your pack licking their wounds here. Go.” The beasts hastened to obey, dragging their bleeding, wounded bodies out of the room. Claret turned to her two associates, who had just finished having their makeup done, and were standing behind her with no small amount of trepidation upon their faces. “Well, there you have it, Julia, Poppy. The Professor has scored several hits against me. She clearly intended to send a message.” Julia stepped forward. “Might I speak, Your Grace?” “Why not? It’s not as though you could hurt my feelings much more at this point. What is it, Julia?” “Thank you, Your Grace.” Julia, the Vampire Fruit Bat mare with a long, flowing black mane like liquid shadow pouring down her back, neck and shoulders, providing a stark contrast to her light, corpse-like blue coat, strode over to the center of the dais, her high-heeled shoes clacking sharply upon the cellar floor, producing a hard, hungry sound that rang off the walls. She turned to face Poppaea and Countess Claret, placing her hands upon her wide blue hips, resplendent in her steely crown tipped with sharp metal rays, like spearpoints arrayed about her head, her black bikini straining to contain the swells of her astonishingly huge blue breasts, her black leather thong clinging to the swells of her hips, her round, juicy flanks, her bare thighs spread. Julia cleared her throat imperiously, and then began: “Sending the Hellhound and his pack was a mistake. Your Grace, at first you said that we were to eliminate the Professor ourselves; later, you changed your mind and delegated the task to the Hellhound instead. He was ill-suited to such a task, as I’m sure you’ll agree…” “Never send a dog to do a Fruit Bat’s job, eh?” Claret smiled thinly, twitching her leathery wings. “Indeed, Your Grace. Let us do the task! We – that is to say, myself and Poppy – will corner her one dark night, when she is alone, when she is unsuspecting…Poppy will slip her blades between the Professor’s ribs, or perhaps under her throat, and the matter will be over before long.” “A charming idea, Julia.” “Then you’ll do it, Your Grace?” “No.” Claret shook her head. “Now is not the time for nervous, knee-jerk reactions, Julia. You would snap at the Professor’s bait like a wide-mouthed fish. She’d capture you and cut you to bits like a Hearth’s Warming Eve ham.” She moved towards Poppaea, placing her hands upon the shallow curves of her collarbone, caressing her flesh with her fingertips. Poppaea colored visibly, her eyes widening, nostrils flaring as she drew in a sharp breath. Claret admired the aroused look upon her face, and then spoke: “Sisters, the Professor has initiated a war against us. She intends to force my hand; attacking blindly is exactly what she expects us to do. Therefore, I shall bide my time for the next week and make the necessary preparations for the counter-offensive. In one, swift stroke, I shall destroy the Professor and all her allies, and regain the initiative. So, Julia, I want you to summon more demons.” Julia lowered her head. “As you command, Your Grace.” “Poppaea, I charge you with training them.” “Hmph. Not as fun as training the new slaves, is it? Still, I enjoy a romp with some dogs from time to time.” Poppaea grinned widely, showing her sharp little white teeth. Claret continued. “Natascha and I will continue our operation with the acquisition of ripe, tender mares. I had intended to do this later, at my leisure, but the Professor leaves me no choice; I must win the hearts and minds of the mortals of this city, and turn them against her. She will be encircled entirely, her and her allies both. There will be nowhere for her to escape this time. There is precious little time for us to bring this plan to fruition – success rests upon a knife-blade, and should we allow any interlopers to move it a fraction, we are certainly lost. Failure is certain to cost us our lives – that much we know now from the crushing blow she dealt my dogs. That Professor will mount our heads upon pikes and display them on the gates of that accursed great barracks of a castle-town she calls a university.” Claret laughed bitterly. “It wounds my pride to be driven like a staring-eyed, snorting cow before the Professor’s whip, but I must admit I am slightly relieved that it has finally come to this. If it must be war, sisters, then let it be war, with all the horror, despair, and destruction that entails. I shall lay plots and dangerous inductions among the noble families of the city; draw them to my side, hold them in thrall before my will, for what mere mortal can resist my charm? The feel of fingers upon their flesh, the sight of my body, the warm, honeyed words I shall speak in their presences…it is child’s play to entice mortal creatures to turn against their principles. They are flawed, weak creatures, pulled to and fro by their petty little mortal cares, squirming in the residue of their lives like so many slugs in an overgrown garden.” Claret bent over Poppaea’s muzzle, her plump, full lips meeting Poppaea’s own. Poppaea shivered slightly, half-lidding her eyes, her wings raising slightly, and she raised herself upon her hooves slightly. Julia watched them, her eyes gleaming hungrily. Claret drew away from Poppaea, and gazed at Julia reflectively. “And so, I am determined to prove a villain…and hate the idle pleasures of these days. I shall awaken the darkness that lies within the hearts of these mortals, and turn them in bitter hatred against each other. If I am subtle, false, and treacherous enough, they may very well wipe each other out. Now! Julia, prepare your arts. Open the Gate; summon forth more of the devilish creatures. Reinforce my army with a nominal auxiliary unit.” Julia bowed. “Yes, Your Grace.” “When you have recovered your strength, by next moonrise, you must summon another unit, and then another. I want a full regiment at the ready before I make my move! I’m counting on you, Julia.” Having said that, Claret moved to stand behind Poppaea, sliding her arms under Poppaea’s own, encircling her upper body, and placing her hands palm-down upon Poppaea’s bare, trim abdominal muscles, kneading them slightly with the palms of her hands; Poppaea licked her lips and shivered, raising her hips a little, pressing her plump thighs together, her eyes half-lidding. Claret smiled thinly, and drew Poppaea off the dais, a little ways behind Julia. “Let’s give Julia a little room. Her incantations can be a trifle messy, aren’t they, Poppy?” Poppaea settled back against Claret’s body, resting her head upon Claret’s chest, savoring the feel of her warm flesh against her back. “Mmmh…indeed, your Grace,” she purred, sounding like a contented cat, her tail swishing back and forth. ___ The door of the Professor’s hospital room swung open, and Sir Michael Bladefield Bowes-Lyon began shouldering his way in through the crowd of guard ponies, nurses, and ministers filling the room. “Deborah! Where are you?! Let me through, you lot! Stand aside!” Princess Celestia gathered up her skirts, preparing to move from the Professor’s bed. “He sounds quite worried. I shall allow the two of you a little privacy.” She swept out of the room elegantly, her ministers and guard in tow, the nurses scurrying along in their wake, as Sir Michael entered the room, hastily making for Professor Deborah’s side; with him were a young Dragon male and a Human male. Princess Twilight Sparkle, who was shepherding her detachment of SCHOLAE PALATINAE guard ponies, or SCHOLARIANS, resplendent in their heavy gold-and-white armor, white cloaks, and blue helmet crests, stopped and stared at the young purple Dragon. “Spike! Since when did you become a hot Mercenary lieutenant?” Spike (for it was he) halted on his way over to Profesor Deborah’s bed, looking a little embarrassed under Twilight’s gaze. He approached her in a visibly uncomfortable way, his hands clasped behind is back. “Uh…hello, Twilight. Fancy meeting you here, eh? Ha ha…” “So this is what you’ve been doing with yourself the past few years! Rarity has been worried sick about you. I suppose you’ve been campaigning across the whole of Equestria, making millions of ill-gotten bits.” “Ha! I wish. It’s been kind of rough at times…we barely have the bits for new gear, we’ve just been stripping the gear from our fallen enemies and repurposing it for our own use.” “That explains why your mail shirt’s missing rings,” Twilight admitted, with a quirk of her eyebrow. Spike nodded, flicking his pointed tail from side to side. “Yes. There’s other problems, too. It’s difficult to draw our pay from our clients at times, because they don’t trust us. A lot of mercenary companies abandon the field when the battle’s going against them. I’ve heard it said that they aren’t personally invested in the fight, and they don't want to die for some ill-gotten bits. I can’t really say I blame them, either – these great lords and ladies put us in the hottest sections of the battle to shore up places where the line is most likely to crack, and since we’re not part of their own garrison, they’re quick to commit us in the opening stages of the battle. Some mercenary companies are little more than armed bandits, too, and they inspire even more distrust where we’re concerned. Technically, we’re within a grey area of Equestrian law – we aren’t supposed to engage in conflicts and can be killed outright if we’re captured on the field of battle. Other mercenaries tell us of entire companies that were wiped out entirely in a single battle – ridden down by Equestrian knights, chased as they were trying to flee the battle. One company was killed by the very same Lady that hired them; she fell into a rage when they retreated under withering longbow fire and ordered her mounted knights to chop them to pieces.” Spike rubbed his nose. “I’ve heard it said from the Commander that this new lord – some knight called Sir Michael, he’s called - intends to garrison us within his own roof, though. I’m looking forward to getting some proper quarters for once, Twi. He seemed friendly enough. I think things are really turning around for us. I might even be able to draw enough pay to see Rarity again…” “I’m sure she’ll be very glad to see you, Spike,” Princess Twilight said, kindly. “Let me look at you. Stand over here,” she said, indicating a spot just before her. Spike moved closer. He was wearing a beaten-up, dirty old chainmail hauberk obviously made for a taller and larger owner that hung nearly to his knees; he was slim and athletic, but showed signs of not having had a proper, square meal for a while, the bones protruding under his purple scales. His dark brown leather breeches showed tears and slashes here and there; his longsword bore patterns of rust, and the grip was merely some tightly woven black cord. Princess Twilight viewed him fondly, her eyes growing a little moist. “I hope you and your Commander enjoy yourselves with your new client. I know Sir Michael; he visited Celestia’s School from time to time. He is both wise and very brave. You have my word that he shall take very good care of you all. And, Spike?” “Yes, Twi?” “It was very good to see you.” She raised on tip-hoof and pressed her lips to Spike’s snout briefly, smiling. Then she left the room before Spike could react. The purple-and-green dragon colored visibly, raising his hands to touch where Twilight had kissed him, gazing at the open door at her retreating back. Sir Michael embraced Professor Deborah warmly. “I came as soon as I heard the news. You’ve been hurt! What did they do to you?” “A few scratches. These nurses are all heart,” Professor Deborah smiled. She grew pensive rapidly enough, however. “Michael, my students were not so lucky. Some of them are really badly hurt. I failed them again.” “Don’t blame yourself. There was nothing you could have done to prevent it,” Sir Michael urged, taking her hand in his own. “We’ll be ready for them this time, Deborah!” He squeezed her slender fingers. “I have made contact with the Commander of that mercenary company we chose! He insisted I take him and his executive officer along the moment word came of their attempt on your class. Let me introduce you to him. This is Leo Serrano de La Cruz.” The human male at Sir Michael’s back approached the Professor’s bed, allowing Deborah to get a better look at him. A youthful man with shaggy black hair the color of a moonless night, he appeared to be barely out of his twenties, with burning red eyes, a heavily muscled body; wide shoulders, a slender waist, thick arms with jutting, prominent, steely biceps, ridged, rock-hard abdominal muscles clearly defined under his swarthy, dark skin, prominently displayed with the way he wore his black leather jacket open. His faded blue jeans seemed barely capable of containing his prominent quad muscles, drawn tautly around them. He clearly seemed to be a capable fighter. He had an open, carefree face, with black brows, a narrow, sharp nose, and sensuous lips; when he smiled at Professor Deborah she blushed and tore her gaze away from his muscular belly. Leo took the Professor’s hand, and briefly brushed his lips upon the back; Professor Deborah colored even deeper. “A pleasure,” he said, his voice a firm baritone. It seemed to resonate in the pit of the Professor’s belly, kindling a warm fire. “D…delighted to make your acquaintance,” she murmured. Leo let go of her slim hand, and sat in a chair, carelessly kicking his tan leather boots upon a nearby table, gazing at the Professor. “San Miguel tells me you have a foe in need of killing. Care to tell me about it?” “Four foes, even, Mister Leo…or Lord Leo, if you’d prefer.” Leo laughed. “Just Leo is fine. Don’t call me a Lord, either. I’m just an ordinary soldier.” “Very well, Leo,” the Professor said, furious at herself for blushing so readily. She fluttered her wings slightly to steady herself, glanced up at the ceiling for inspiration, and began to tell her tale again; having repeated it before she knew the words down pat, not that she was likely to forget such a horrible experience.