Twilight opened her eyes, blinked, and then closed them again. Her brain was foggy, her mouth tasted terrible, her muscles ached, and she wanted nothing more than to go back to sleep.
Her brain, lacking any regard for what she wanted, was waking up faster than her body, and it demanded that she get up and move. Never one to ignore her brain for long, Twilight rolled out of bed with a sigh.
Her limbs were unsteady at first, but after shaking the sleep from them, they warmed up to their task. She opened her eyes, and kept them open this time. Kevrana was nowhere to be found. She felt an initial wave of panic rise in her throat, but a few deep breaths quelled her fears. If Kevrana needed to be there, she would be. She wouldn’t just abandon Twilight for no good reason.
Right?
Twilight resolved to wait. Kevrana couldn’t have gone too far, and leaving Twilight alone for too long would be irresponsible, wouldn’t it? Twilight sat back on the bed before springing up again to pace. She glanced toward the door, then shook her head. After a few more steps, she looked at the door again, her gaze lingering this time. Then, she started toward it. There was too much to see for her to stay cooped up in that little room; Kevrana had said that the Rach’thar wouldn’t be leaving for a few days, so why not get to know Druthi? She rationalized it as “coming to terms with her new reality.”
As she reached the door, though, memories of the previous day came flooding back. Did she really want to go out there and face this world again? This place where ponies ate fish, and knowledge was controlled by a church, and refugees were forced to live in hovels? Where there were ponies who lived on boats that seemed as if they could barely stay afloat? Where she was a stranger, an outcast, a freak?
Twilight bit her lip. Was this really what she wanted?
With one last look around the room, Twilight grabbed her cloak and fastened it around herself with her magic, making sure to hide her horn in the folds. The room lacked a mirror, so she just had to hope she had done a good job.
The hallway outside the door was empty, as was the stairwell that led down to the bar. Twilight stopped when she reached the main room. Some of the ponies seated at the tables glanced in her direction, but she apparently didn’t hold much interest for them, as they soon turned back to their breakfast.
Or was it lunch? Twilight realized she had no idea what time it was. She walked over to the bar, where the barkeep washed a glass with a rag that looked like it hadn’t been clean for decades. When she cleared her throat to speak, it was raw and scratchy, and she ended up coughing instead of talking.
“Reefer, your order’s up!”
Twilight froze with her mouth open, startled into silence by the booming voice of the huge mare who had just appeared from what must have been the kitchen. She had a plate balanced on her back, and she carelessly transferred it to the bar as a pony at one of the tables in the back stood up.
Twilight looked at the plate and gulped.
Fish. There was a whole fish sitting on the plate just a few feet away, with tendrils of steam rising from it. It still had eyes, empty, dead, fishy eyes, and they were looking right at her. She held its gaze, unable to look away.
The mare turned to Twilight. “You need something?”
Twilight didn’t respond. She could smell the fish, the butter and the garlic and the other spices that it was drowned in, all masking an unmistakable fishy odor. She turned and retched. Nothing came up save for an acid that coated and burned her throat like fire.
“Water...” she choked out, wincing with the word. The barkeep stopped cleaning the glass and filled it with water, setting it on the bar when it was half full. Twilight was a moment away from grabbing it with her magic before she realized what she was doing and stopped herself. So she grabbed it with her hoof instead and, careful to keep her hood in place, drank it down.
“Thank—” she started.
“Are you gonna pay for that?” the barkeep asked, cutting her off. “Or are you just gonna take it as a ‘tithe,’ like all your friends?” His voice brimmed with venom.
Twilight was taken aback. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me,” he spat back.
“I don’t...” Twilight started before she had to clear her throat again. “I don’t have any money...” She trailed off. Her brain was not equipped to deal with conflict this soon after waking up.
The bartender laughed bitterly. “Of course you don’t. Your kind never do. You take all you can, and claim to have nothin’ when it comes time to pay. Well, I don’t like ponies who don’t pay takin’ up space in my bar.”
Twilight looked around. Some ponies were looking at them, but more had found something more interesting at the bottoms of their glasses. Twilight smiled sheepishly before turning back to the bartender.
He leaned in close. “That means get out, love,” he whispered, nodding toward the door.
Twilight did not feel it in her just then to argue. She just looked down and walked toward the door, trying to puzzle out what had just happened. Did he mistake her for somepony else? Or was he just mean? Either way, Twilight did not look forward to coming back and facing him again.
As Twilight stepped out into afternoon, she breathed a sigh of relief. The cold air felt good, and the way it chilled her nostrils as she breathed help to clear her head. She decided not to dwell on what had just happened; she came outside to explore Druthi, so that’s what she was going to do. With one look back at the sign to the Drunken Uncle to memorize it, she started walking.
She didn’t know where she was going; she didn’t care. The Drunken Uncle must have been near some kind of merchant district, because it wasn’t long before Twilight came upon several stalls full of various wares and sundries. Merchants called out what they were selling: “Pearls! Jewels and pearls!” came from Twilight’s left, “Pots and pans, here, get your pots and pans!” from a little up the way, and “Fresh fish!” on her right. She gave that stand a wide berth.
Up above, groups of pegasi flew. Ropes wrapped around their midsections, connecting them to their boxes of whatever they were selling. Twilight saw a transaction happen on a rooftop where a pegasus had flagged down one of the flying merchants.
It all reminded her of Ponyville’s market, but there was something different. Twilight listened as she walked, but she heard no laughter, no cheerful merchants handing any free samples to little colts and fillies. Everything was sedated, the buyers and the sellers always glancing around and narrowing their eyes at one another. As Twilight passed one stall, a fight almost broke out over a deal, and she hurried past with her head down.
The street was wide enough to fit six ponies across, even with the stalls. As Twilight maneuvered through the throng, she caught several glances aimed at her. A few merchants glared at her as she walked past, some ponies seemed to avoid her, taking their time to go around and keep their heads downs. Each instance made her heart rate speed up.
Do they know? she thought, glancing around. A moment earlier, these ponies were just stern and cold, but now they seemed malicious. Oh, Celestia, they know. They can see it on my face. Every wayward glance, every shifty stare, every cowed individual was another nail in Twilight’s coffin. She had a vision of the crowd surging toward her, grabbing her from all sides, pulling her hair and tearing the cloak from her body to reveal her as their monster. They would drag her into an alley, too many to fight off even with her magic, and they would string her up and burn her at the stake or do something equally horrifying.
Her breaths became gulps of air. No, not here! she thought. I can’t panic here. Have to get away.
The crowd had grown infinitely thicker, and it pushed her along without her control. Then she saw an opening on her right, and she ducked into it. The alleyway was mostly empty, save for some stacked boxes and a couple children at the opposite end. Twilight took several deep breaths, trying her hardest to ignore the looks she was getting even now from some ponies as they passed the mouth of the alley.
Twilight looked toward the other end of the alley, which connected two large streets together. The one furthest from Twilight seemed a bit less crowded than where she had just come from, so she resolved to go out that way.
As she approached the other end, she could hear the children, a colt and a filly, playing. The colt had a stick.
“I am the great and powerful King Gaymede!” the colt said in a gruff, childish imitation of a stallion’s voice. “Fear my power!” He made a few vaguely magical noises as he thrust his head and the stick toward the filly. “Pow, I got you! You’re dead!”
The filly stomped her hoof. “No fair!” she whined. “You always get magic! How am I supposed to win?”
The colt opened his mouth to speak, but then caught sight of Twilight staring at them, mouth agape.
“Come on, sis,” he said, dropping the stick and leading the filly out the other end of the alley.
Twilight just stood there, dumbstruck.
Was that how these ponies saw magic? That colt wasn’t pretending to levitate objects, or teleport, or transmute things, or any of the other numerous things magic could be used for; in his mind, magic was used to kill. For murder. That view of magic trickled from the adults all the way down to the children, who saw it as so commonplace that it was a game they played on the street. Twilight started to feel lightheaded, but also had a dim awareness that if she collapsed there, she might be discovered. And now a child's game had affirmed how deadly that might prove.
Twilight found that she was no longer very curious about Druthi. She just needed to get back to the Drunken Uncle and wait for Kevrana. She knew that retracing her steps would be the easiest way back, so she turned around.
The way back was blocked by a merchant stall that hadn't been there a few moments before. Twilight gulped and turned back around. It looked like she had no choice but to forge ahead or to politely ask the merchant if she could pass.
Or I could blast him out of the way.
She pushed that thought away and, after the merchant turned around and she saw the dirty look his one good eye shot at her, she decided that her best option would simply be to forge ahead. She made her way to the other side of the alley and out into another street.
It was much easier to maneuver on this street, but Twilight still didn’t like the looks some of the ponies were giving her. She turned right when she got out of the alley, since that was the direction she had come from, but it wasn’t too long before the road curved around to the left.
Now this can’t be right...
Twilight stopped to get her bearings and felt a pony bump into her from behind. She turned around to see a mare standing there, eyes wide and skin blanched.
“I-I’m sorry!” the mare stammered. “I won’t let it happen again! I’m so sorry, sister!”
“Um... okay?” Twilight responded. Why is this mare scared of me? A quick glance up confirmed that her horn was still hidden. She opened her mouth to ask a question before deciding it wasn’t worth it. “You’re forgiven, I guess.”
The mare was flushed with relief. “Thank you, sister,” she said before hurrying away with her head down.
Twilight wondered how many more times she would feel completely lost in this place, in more ways than one. Too many. She kept walking.
Now that the streets were becoming less crowded, Twilight felt like she could breathe again. Getting back to the Drunken Uncle no longer seemed as important, so she resolved to keep exploring, at least for a little bit.
The more residential area of Druthi had fewer ponies in it than the market district. She passed some commuters, but as she walked the ponies became fewer and fewer, and the houses became bigger and bigger. Then Twilight crossed a threshold.
There was a dividing line between those who were wealthy and those who weren’t. Twilight looked back and could practically see the difference between the classes. Sure, the buildings built up gradually, but there was an obvious, illustrious change from the best middle-class building to the worst high-class building. It felt like she had stepped from one painting into a completely different one.
She looked forward, then glanced back, then looked ahead again. Biting her lip, she started forward.
It was almost like being in another world. The quiet was surreal; Twilight found herself keeping her breathing in check so as to not disturb the calm. Even the air felt different. Cleaner, somehow. There were no ponies walking the streets. The houses showed no movement inside, save for a flicker of a shadow here and there. The clopping of her hooves against the hard stone echoed all around, the sound seeming much too loud in the valley that stretched between manors.
Twilight’s breath couldn’t help but catch when she saw some of the houses. Enormous estates, some covering acres, towered above, five, six, even eight stories tall. Stout iron fences guarded the outskirts, and there was a tough-looking pony stationed at the gate to each one. Through the bars, Twilight could see large ornate fountains, inlaid with gold or silver filigree, spouting water. One even looked like it was flowing with wine. There were jeweled lawn ornaments, tall, blooming hedges tended to by gardeners, and fragrant gardens of roses and chrysanthemums.
Looking at the houses made Twilight uneasy. There were ponies with this obscene amount of wealth living in this kind of luxury, and just the day before, she had seen refugees with nothing to their name living in filth and squalor on the waterfront.
Surely some of that wealth could be used for new buildings, Twilight thought. So why isn’t it?
Twilight continued walking in the shadows of those mythical giants, the titans of wealth that looked down on her with their windows like eyes, prying at her secrets. She felt naked in their gaze, like they could see who she was down to the core. She quickened her pace.
Up ahead, a cathedral came into view. Twilight saw it long before she even came close; it towered above all the other buildings. Several towers extended into the air, with spiraling walkways and grim, low-browed gargoyles perched along the rooftop. Enormous stain-glass windows dominated the front of the building, the largest of which depicted a huge gothic tower rising into the sky beneath a blood-red moon.
Twilight realized she had been staring up at it for far too long. She lowered her gaze, and froze.
She was much closer to the church than she had realized. So close, in fact, that she could see the ponies filing up the stone steps and through the front door. Most of them were wearing white cloaks that shimmered in the sunlight, but a few were wearing black cloaks.
Cloaks eerily similar to Twilight’s.
Twilight froze, wondering if she had been seen. She stood there for three seconds, four, knowing she should move, should turn around and walk away as if she had never seen them. It was obvious now why ponies had been calling her “sister:” she was dressed the same as those ponies in black, the members of the church. That church was the last place she should be; if they found out about her, there was no telling how they would react. Poorly, she guessed.
She spun around to leave, but it was already too late.
“Hey, you there!” called a voice from behind her. “What are you doing? Get over here!”
In that second, Twilight had to decide between turning back around or bolting away as fast as she could. She ran through outcomes of both.
Run: few allies in Druthi, little knowledge of town layout, no escape. Outcome not good. Don’t run: risk being strung up, may be able to to bluff my way out of trouble, but if not, I’m in the mouth of the beast. She sighed. There was no easy way out.
She turned back around.
It was crazy. She knew it was. She was waltzing into the most dangerous place in the city for her, practically serving herself up on a platter. They could be marching up to commit suicide, she thought, or to perform ritual sacrifice. An image jumped to the front of her mind of a picture she had once seen in a book of ancient ponies sacrificing a goat. She suppressed a shudder.
Underneath it all, though, Twilight couldn’t help but to feel the buzz of curiosity about the church. And now she was being invited in.
“Sorry. I, uh, got lost,” Twilight lied as she approached, trying to keep her voice from quivering.
The pony who had called out to her rolled his eyes. “Yeah right. Hey, I don’t care what you do, just don’t go ruining things for the rest of us, yeah?”
Twilight nodded.
The pony whistled. “Don’t even got a clasp, eh? I heard they were making cuts in Druthi, but I didn’t think anything of it.” Twilight’s eyes were drawn to the bronze brooch holding the cloak around the pony’s neck, and she felt out the same spot on her own neck where the cloak was only tied. “Maybe it’s because you’re a mare, yeah? No other mares going to Camp in our group. Always seemed like a stallion’s club to me, y’know? Except for Miss Violet, of course. Anyway, I'm Orion. What’s your name?”
“Andromeda,” she said, playing word association and saying the first thing that popped into her head.
The stallion whistled again. “Parents real nuts for the king, yeah? Naming you after stars and stuff? Guess that’s why you’re here. Tar, it’s why I’m here. Pleasure meeting you, by the way.”
“Same,” Twilight responded, not sure if she meant it or not.
Orion seemed content to do all the talking, giving Twilight leave to look around. They were walking slowly up the steps. The ponies in black were mostly on the left, and the ponies in white were on the right. A few ponies in black with silver clasps ushered them through the doors. Twilight noticed that she was the only mare wearing black.
He wasn’t kidding.
“Anyway, that’s why I’m here,” Orion said. “Hey, are you even listening?”
Twilight turned back to him. “Oh, uh, sorry.”
Orion smiled. “No worries. I’m only blathering, yeah? I talk when I’m nervous, can you tell? I mean, meeting Inquisitor White, this is gonna be crazy.”
“Who’s Inquisitor White?” Twilight asked before she could stop herself. Stupid, Twilight! Stupid!
The look Orion gave her felt like a spotlight, searching her face for signs of insanity. Twilight put on her best plastic smile, but she was sure her anxiety showed through. Then Orion burst into laughter.
“Oh, almost got me there!” he said. “‘Who’s Inquisitor White?’ Oh, good one.” He sighed. “Thanks. I needed that. A little laugh to get the tension out, yeah?”
Twilight nodded and breathed her own sigh of relief. But it wasn’t over yet; they had just reached the doors, and Twilight took her first step into the church
(*) (*) (*)
There was a small office three floors above the entrance to the cathedral. It’s furnishings were simple; a thin red carpet over hard wood, a cold, empty hearth, a few small carved tables against one wall. There was a large mahogany desk toward one end of the room, dark and plain, and scattered with papers. The only truly ornamental piece was the elaborate frame around the portrait of King Ganymede that
A pony sat behind a desk. He was stark white, with a blood-red mane that was brushed back behind his ears. He chewed the inside of his lip, gnawing on the raw skin as he read over the papers in front of him. The nameplate on the desk read “Amber Gaze,” but the pony had always hated that name. It sounded too much like a mare’s name. His subordinates called him “sir,” and his superiors called him “you.” The only time he got a name was from the other Inquisitors, or in his own head. His official title was Inquisitor White, though he was referred to simply as White.
There was commotion to his right, but he ignored it. The caged griffon wasn’t worth his time, and it would be dealt with soon enough. The creature threw itself against the bars of its cell, trying to break free as what were no doubt muffled curses tried to find their way around the muzzle that clamped its beak shut.
White wasn’t worried about it. He stared at the paper before him, attempting to sift through the nonsense phrases and discern their true meaning. The griffon hadn’t cooperated; the pony had expected that. If there were one thing Midas was able to train his soldiers to do, it was resist interrogation. This one was no different, even though it was just a messenger.
Not that it would know anything about the orders it carried anyway. That would’ve been much too careless. No, the torture to come would just be a formality, a message to any others that may hear about it: if I catch you in my kingdom, I will end you.
After a while, the edges of White’s vision blurred and he tasted blood where he had bit down too hard. He sighed and leaned back, pressing his hoof into his forehead. His thoughts wandered; what had brought him here? Why was he stationed in this Ganymede-forsaken Tartarus pit of a town? Which higher-up had he pissed off to get such an assignment?
He looked over at the griffon in the cage with contempt. It was still trying to break through the cage, but its effort had grown weaker; now it barely rattled the bars. Catching that griffon was the first interesting thing to happen to him since the war began, but since it was in the middle of nowhere, he knew that the message wouldn’t be important. Something about rations, probably, to be carried to one of the griffons’ small western outposts.
He glanced out the window and saw the city stretched before him, all the way to the waterfront, where a large metal ship sat. As if the boredom weren’t bad enough, those damned Guld insisted on coming back to Druthi every year. Always claimed it was to find “scrap” for their boats, though he could scarcely believe them. If that were true, then why would they come all the way to the other side of Centuria for it? There were few machines up here to begin with, and they had been coming for five years in a row. Surely they must have picked everything clean by now. And, to make things worse, the locals in the wharf district were fond of them. If he got rid of the Guld and lost the middle class, the other Inquisitors would tan his hide.
Wow, you even messed that one up, huh, White? he could hear Violet say. The only pony in the world stupid enough to muck up a job where he had to do nothing. Then she would tsk and laugh at him, like she always did.
He sighed again. Druthi was the largest town in Centuria where nothing happened, and he was stuck there.
White’s thoughts were interrupted by the telltale sound of hoofsteps on the other side of the wall. There was a knock at the door a few moments later. White said nothing. He could hear the nervous shuffling on the other side of the door as the pony debated knocking again. Then, when White decided that the pony had had enough, he said, “Come in.”
The door opened to reveal one of his underlings, a stallion named Frosty... something. He was wrapped in a black cloak much like the one that hung over the back of White’s chair. Frosty stepped into the room and saluted.
“Speak,” White said.
“The initiates are here, sir. They’re waiting downstairs.” He didn’t look at White, though whether it was out of fear or respect, the inquisitor did not know. He hoped it was the former.
“I will be down shortly.” The pony didn’t leave. “Was there something else?” White asked, some annoyance creeping into his voice. Frosty’s eyes darted to the griffon, who was now lying on the floor of the cage, breathing heavily.
White stood up, walking over to the cage, and pulled down the curtain that rested on top, hiding the griffon from view.
“I said, was there something else?” he spat, walking over to Frosty.
Frosty gulped. “No, sir.”
“Then you are dismissed.”
“Yes, sir.”
With that, he spun around and left. White thought he heard a sigh of relief, but he couldn’t be sure.
He shook his head. Every one of his cardinals was incompetent. That was what Druthi was known for: if you didn’t know what you were doing, you were sent to Druthi, where there was nothing important that you could mess up.
So why was White still there? He was devout; he was competent; he had always gotten the job done when he was just a cardinal back in Grandis. They were wasting his talents here, and they didn’t even seem to care.
And now the initiates! How was he expected to train new cardinals in a region where nothing happened and a town where even more of nothing happened? They would never become real cardinals without fieldwork, and there was none of that to be had in Druthi. The books alone wouldn’t cut it, and he was expected to somehow produce results. It was beyond unfair.
His eyes shot up to the portrait of King Ganymede that hung over his mantle. It was the king’s personal favorite portrait of himself. All intense gaze and superiority, as it should be. Ganymede was a god, and this was the only painting that did him justice.
He bowed before the painting and closed his eyes, surrendering his sorrows to his lord. He knew that, with patience, he would rise to prominence—maybe even to Grand Inquisitor someday. Ganymede rewarded the strong;
“There is only goodness in strength,” he recited. “There is only strength in power. There is only power in faith. Lord, please give me strength in this, my time of crisis. Please give me an opportunity to prove myself, to show you that I can be your most powerful servant. I only wish for the chance to let my greatness shine. Grant me that chance, and I swear that I will not disappoint you. In your name, I pray.”
It was shorter than his usual prayer, and more to the point, but it would have to do. There were initiates waiting to hear him speak, and if the church wanted results, then by Ganymede he would give them results.
(*) (*) (*)
“... and you wouldn’t even believe how many oranges he fit in his mouth. Go ahead, take a guess.”
Twilight stood with the rest of the initiates at the front of the church, near the enormous stain-glass window that depicted a pony—Twilight figured it was Ganymede—destroying a dragon with a blast of energy from his horn. The dragon was disintegrating, turning into ash wherever the beam touched it. Ganymede’s face showed not the fierce determination of battle, but a cold indifference to the death of his enemy that sent shivers down Twilight’s spine.
The church was largely empty. There were long white lines that ran from left to right across the floor, though Twilight couldn’t imagine what they were for. The walls were full of paintings of Ganymede, who stared down at them from all directions with a cold, almost righteous indignation. She had tried to examine one without seeming too conspicuous when they came in. Ganymede was tall and stout, with thick limbs and a strong jawline. His coat was a dark brown, and his mane was an unnaturally bright white. But his eyes were what stuck out most to Twilight.
They were cold. Twilight shivered just looking at them, but found herself transfixed. The eyes were judgmental and condemning, like the painting could see into every wrongdoing she had ever committed and was promising punishment for her sins.
She tore her eyes away and pulled her cloak a little tighter.
As for the rest of the church, there were a few uncomfortable-looking benches closer to the front, and tall, unlit braziers stood along the walls. There were a few steps leading to an elevated platform with what looked like a podium at the far end, where Twilight and the other ponies were walking.
Orion hadn’t stopped talking since he had met Twilight. He was regaling her with tales of his friends back home, which, while they were at least mildly entertaining, mostly just made her homesick. She thought about her own friends, imagining what they would all be doing if she were back with them. Saving something, probably, or maybe just dealing with the issues that arose in everyday life. Twilight sighed; she missed the simple problems.
“Hey, are you even listening?”
Twilight realized that she had been staring off into space.
“Sorry,” she said. “What were you saying?”
Orion waved her off. “Eh, don’t worry about it. Wasn’t important anyway. Just try not to let it become a habit, yeah? ‘Unbecoming of a Cardinal,’ or whatever they say. Can’t really blame you, I suppose; I’ve just been jabberin’ on. What about you, Andromeda? What’s your story?”
“Oh, uh...” Twilight silently cursed herself for not thinking of a suitable backstory. “I’m nothing special. I’d probably just bore you with—”
She was interrupted by a loud slamming from a corner of the church. A door had been flung open, and a pony strode purposefully toward the group. Everypony around Twilight dipped their heads in a bow, and Twilight followed suit, too quick to get a good look.
Orion was next to her, his nose practically touching the ground. Twilight did the same. She could only hear hoofsteps and a sound like something being dragged. Then the noises stopped, and Twilight could tell that the pony was right in front of them. There was a soft thunk before the pony spoke.
“Rise,” he commanded.
They rose. Twilight was careful not to let her horn show.
What she saw was a white stallion with a red mane. He was wearing a black cloak like them, but the clasp holding his was golden, as opposed to the bronze that the others wore. There was a knife stuck into the floor next to him, and beside that, there was another, larger shape.
It was a griffon—Twilight assumed a male because of the generally lighter feather coloration—and he was in bad shape. He was bruised, there were patches of clumped feathers where blood had soaked through from a wound underneath, and there was some kind of muzzle holding his beak shut.
“I am Inquisitor White, the Keeper of the North, though you will only refer to me as ‘sir’ until you either surpass me in rank or die. I’ll let you guess which will happen first.”
There was a feeling of electricity in the air. Twilight could tell that this stallion thought himself important, and apparently, so did everypony else in the room. She remained quiet.
Inquisitor White started pacing, slowly, in front of the group. “I suppose you all think you got off easy, hm? Being assigned to Druthi? I bet you think that it will all be fun and games, all merriment and songs and simple patrols.” He smiled a smile that showed too much gum. “Well think again. I run a tighter ship than any of the other fools who like to call themselves inquisitors.”
There was confused muttering. “Did he just insult the other inquisitors?” Twilight heard a mare to her left ask. “Isn’t that heresy?”
“Quiet,” Inquisitor White said. Everypony went silent.
“Now,” he continued, “I assume you are all here because you are devoted to our Lord of Power, King Ganymede.” There was a general affirmative. “Good, because it is only by his doctrine that you shall live. You!” he shouted, pointing to Orion. “What are the three truths?”
Orion gulped. “There is only goodness in strength. There is only strength in power. There is only power in faith.”
“Correct.”
Orion let out a sigh of relief. White continued pacing, eyeing the ponies in the line as if they were his prey. Twilight pleaded for the universe to let him pass by without even a second glance, trying to make herself invisible without actually casting a spell to make herself invisible.
White’s gaze settled on Twilight, and he smiled. Apparently the universe wasn’t listening.
“You,” he said. “Come forward.”
Twilight’s mind jumped to a passage in a book she had once read. ‘When faced with a situation that causes anxiety, or in which one must lie to protect a secret, there are many physical symptoms that accompany the emotional stress. Increased heart rate, dilated pupils, and overproduction of sweat glands can all accompany the “fight or flight” response that is attributed to extreme anxiety.’
She stepped forward. Her heartrate felt like it had tripled. She took another step. Suddenly her cloak was too hot, too tight, too oppressive to stand. Her eyes were pointed straight down so that the inquisitor wouldn’t be able to read her as easily. Twilight fought her instinct to turn and run with every step, making the short journey feel like an eternity. Finally, the inquisitor’s hooves came into her vision, and she took a deep breath to steady her nerves.
When she looked up, though, he was paying her no mind. Instead, he was leaning over the griffon, undoing the bonds that held his wings and legs tight. Twilight opened her mouth, then closed it again. Asking questions just didn’t seem worth it anymore.
The griffon was still unconscious. White called for smelling salts, and one of the robed church-ponies hurried over and set a small container down. Wasting no time, White grabbed it, popped the top off, and waved it around the griffon’s beak.
All at once, the griffon’s eyes shot open and he inhaled a huge breath, jerking his head back in the process.
“Wh-where am I?” he asked, his eyes darting around wildly. Some of the ponies that Twilight had come in with stepped away or turned their heads.
“Get up,” White commanded.
The griffon looked up and Twilight saw recognition in his eyes. She thought for a moment that the griffon was going to lunge at the inquisitor, but he just stood up instead. He winced as he placed his weight on one leg, and his breathing was labored, but his gaze was intense. It seemed like he was trying to burn a hole through White with his eyes, but behind it, Twilight thought she saw a little fear.
“The doctrines of Ganymede place power above all else,” White said, standing an equal distance from Twilight and the griffon. “This includes physical strength and prowess in combat.” Now he turned to Twilight. “This is what you will be demonstrating today. This griffon was intercepted attempting to skirt around Druthi on his path to deliver vital intelligence to the griffon army to the west, and he must be dealt with accordingly.” He kicked the knife over to Twilight and nodded toward the griffon. “Kill him.”
Twilight’s mind stalled. “What?”
“I do not like to repeat myself, worm. Kill him, before he kills you.” And with that, White stepped back.
The world seemed to freeze for a heartbeat. Twilight locked eyes with the griffon, and before she could even realize what was happening he was one her.
He lunged forward, scooping the knife up and slashing wildly at her with it. Twilight, without thinking, jumped back. She felt the breeze that the knife left in its wake tickle her snout. Then she landed, hard, but the griffon was on her again.
“Ferocious” was how Twilight thought of him then. “Desperate” was how she thought of him later. He swung with no precision, no finesse. Twilight dodged left, dodged right, ducked. Her robe hindered her movement, but she didn’t dare shed it. The griffon’s injuries slowed him, but Twilight lost speed to the robe.
“What are you doing!?” White shouted from across the church. “Kill him!”
The griffon swung too hard and stumbled, giving Twilight the time to speak.
“Stop!” she shouted. “I’m not here to hurt you!”
The griffon slashed again. “Why should I... believe you?” He was panting, but he didn’t stop.
“Because I’m here to save you!” The lie came out before Twilight realized what she was saying.
The griffon hesitated. “What?” He furrowed his brow and frowned. “No! You’re a pony. Ponies can’t be trusted.” He lunged with a savage battle cry.
Twilight ducked under a slash, then sidestepped a lunge. A shape loomed in her peripheral vision. She grabbed the brazier and heaved. The brazier, full of ash and soot from a hundred lightings, fell. The griffon, who was already in mid-lunge, was clipped by top of the object. The knife flew from his grasp and slid to a stop where Twilight was standing.
“Don’t just look at it!” White was walking toward them now. “Finish him!”
The griffon was groaning, but was starting to get back up. Twilight turned to run, but was yanked backward off her hooves. Her robe was caught on the leg of the brazier and had wrapped around her body, squeezing her forelegs against her chest. She twisted and wrenched, grunting through gritted teeth. Any second, the griffon would pick up the knife and open her exposed belly if she didn’t get free. With one last desperate yank, she stumbled away from the robe.
A chorus of gasps went up. Twilight’s robe had decided not to come with her when she had torn free. She was exposed.
White’s jaw had dropped. “What... what is the meaning of this?” he asked. His face twisted into a snarl. “Seize her! Seize both of them!”
The church-ponies were hesitant. Twilight could tell they didn’t know what to make of seeing a unicorn in their midst.
“Don’t just stand there!” White shouted at them. “Seize this heretic!”
All at once, they came. Mostly it was the ponies with the silver clasps, but a few initiates came after them, too. Twilight’s eyes darted around, searching for a way out. There were black cloaks everywhere, closing in all around. There was only one way out.
She turned to the griffon. “Time to go.”
“Wha—” He didn’t get to finish. Twilight crouched, lunged, and tackled him. At the moment of collision, they both disappeared in a brilliant flash of purple light.