A young stallion paced the halls of Gallopilli. For the seventh time that day, he checked his appearance in the reflection of a window. He wondered if his straw-yellow mane was cut too short, if his white robes were cut too long, or if he was thinking about it too hard.
“Count Holdfast?”
The stallion whirled about to find a rust-colored royal guardspony standing at attention behind him, a grim expression on his face. “Sir Glorious,” Holdfast said with a nod. “I have seen your exploits in the coliseum many times. I look forward to seeing your next victory.”
“Thank you, sir,” Melee Glorious said with a bow of his head, “but I have been reassigned by order of the king to his guard.”
“Well, congratulations. It is good to know that your talents are being recognized.”
“Thank you.” Holdfast stepped past the guardspony. “Best of luck to you, Sir Glorious.”
Melee saluted the snow-white stallion. “And you, Count.” His serious expression turned even more grim as Holdfast passed through the gate-like doorway. “I feel you will need it more than I.”
Holdfast turned back. “Wha-” Before he could finish, the door swung shut; the sound of its closing echoing down the throne room hall. He turned back, tilting his head up slightly to view the throne on its raised dais.
On the throne was a pony who lived up to his name. A giant of an earth pony, perched on a throne of antique greatwood and ornate wrought iron. His grey coat and white mane stood in stark contrast to his piercing purple eyes; currently focused in on Holdfast like a bird of prey eyeing a rabbit. “Aye?” he asked, the words little more than a growl that carried numerous hidden threats within.
Holdfast began to wonder if he should have become a cobbler, like his mother wanted.
“Approach the throne of King Behemoth, lord of House Tarponyen, sovereign ruler of Roania,” a young dark blue pegasus said, appearing at Holdfast’s side. The colt couldn’t have been any older than Holdfast was, and likely much younger, and yet Holdfast followed his command as if it came from the King himself.
Holdfast knelt at the foot of the dais, his eyes locked on the ground in front of him. “My lord Behemoth,” he said, praying to any gods that might be listening that his voice stayed strong. “I come as an envoy from the town of Roads Crossed, and humbly request your wise judgement on a matter.”
Behemoth waved a massive hoof dismissively, taking a full wine glass from a servant. “Go on.”
“My lord, our town has been plagued by bandits for many months. Our hunters have tracked their camp to our southern forests, but their numbers are too great for the guardsponies.” Holdfast hesitated. “We humbly request the assistance of the-”
The sound of shattering glass interrupted the young stallion. He looked up to see shards of the now empty wine glass scattered about, as if tossed carelessly. Behemoth leaned forward in his throne, his face stony and expressionless. “Well?”
Holdfast swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry. “We humbly request the assistance of the kingdom to rid us, and the realm, of this menace.”
“Hmm…” Behemoth settled back in his seat. “Know you of the struggle to the north?”
“My lord?”
“Answer the question, boy.”
Holdfast flinched as if struck by the earth pony’s words. Of course he knew. Everypony in the kingdom knew. “The United Kingdom of Phloren-Ghuilder has requested-”
“Requested?” The laugh that came from the king was humorless. “They’ve demanded our land under threat of war. The kingdom’s eyes and swords are turned to the north, and you ask for help with a few bandits?”
Holdfast was really beginning to wish he had become a cobbler. “They threaten our livelihood, my lord,” he said, his mind spinning in an attempt to create a persuasive enough argument that didn’t get his head chopped off. “Should war come, would it not be better to have healthy reserves of gold, food, and ponies from our town, rather than what we have left after the bandits take their fill?”
Behemoth scratched an itch on his side. “Bastion,” he said, not looking at either of the ponies before him, “where is that brother of yours?”
The blue pegasus stepped forward and bowed his head. “Boomer is at his lessons, my lord.”
“Off making deals with unsuspecting merchants of ill repute, you mean,” the king said. He took a new wine glass from a new servant. “Send him with some guards to deal with the bandits.”
Holdfast’s heart lightened to the point he thought it might work its way out through his throat, but paused when he saw the dour expression on Bastion’s face. “How many guards?” Bastion asked.
Behemoth grumbled something around his rapidly draining glass. “As many as it takes,” he said finally.
A question nagged at the back of Holdfast’s mind, even as he watched Bastion nod and turn away. “Thank you, my lord,” the snow-white stallion said, “but forgive me. When you say ‘deal with the bandits’, what do you mean?”
Glass cracked and shattered between Behemoth’s forehooves, leaving a sharp point of the glass’ stem behind. “Burn them all.”
“My lord, with all due respect, but that part of the forest is where our town harvests much of our food. A fire there would-”
“There are other towns to supply gold, food, and ponies, boy,” Behemoth said, tossing the sharpened point of glass away. “When war is coming, a king deals with his problems quickly. Go back to your town and tell them to find food elsewhere.” The corners of the king’s mouth turned up slightly; a motion that did not reach his eyes. “And be ready with water, of course. Fire is notorious for being unable to tell the difference between loyal citizens and treacherous bandits. Now go.”
After a moment of stunned silence, Holdfast was led away by Bastion and found himself outside of the throne room’s doors. “Well?” Melee Glorious asked from his post at the door.
Holdfast looked back at the doors, his jaw set tight. “If I were king-”
“Ponies like you or I shall never be one,” Melee cut him off. “Without the royal blood in your veins, you may as well ask to be a dragon.” He bowed his head. “With all due respect, Count Holdfast, somepony like you will never be king.”
Holdfast thought for a moment. “No, you’re right,” he said eventually. “But somepony like me can get very close.”
Melee raised an eyebrow. “How close?”
Holdfast turned, walking at a brisk pace away from the throne room. “Right behind the throne.”
* * *
“The most honorable Holdfast, ambassador to United Kingdom of Phloren-Ghuilder!”
Holdfast entered the throne room at a swift, yet controlled, trot. Age had set streaks of white through his mane and the experience that came with it had eliminated any signs of discomfort around life in Gallopilli. He stopped at the foot of the dias and bowed. “My king.”
“Holdfast.” Bastion sat on the throne; straight backed, eyes sharp. The crown of Roania sat on his head. “What news from the north?”
With a shake of his head, Holdfast stood back up. “I’m afraid my title may need some adjustment, my lord. The once United Kingdom has fractured. Phloren and Ghuilder are separate nations once again.”
“Is that so?”
“It is, my lord. The death of the queen and her heir has dissolved their mutual claim to the throne. They are as separate to each other now as we are from them.”
King Bastion’s eyes hardened. “And you know nothing of the killer responsible, I assume?”
A smirk crossed Holdfast’s face for a moment before resettling. “My king, we both know I am no killer.”
“No, but you know a great number of them.”
“My lord!” Holdfast said with mock surprise, the sound of soft hooffalls from behind the throne approaching the king’s side. “This is hardly a topic to discuss in front of your sister and her young princess, wouldn’t you agree?”
Bastion turned in his throne. The hooffalls stopped as Princess Vale Blossom stood at his side; the exhaustion on her face not detracting from her beauty in the slightest. A handmaiden carried a young filly—barely more than a month old—with her magic, standing slightly behind the queen. Bastion’s expression softened for a moment, before he turned back to Holdfast again. “Your report is appreciated, Holdfast. Leave us.”
“My lord.” Holdfast bowed. He started to turn back to the throne room door, but paused. “Have you decided on a name for your daughter, my lady?”
Bastion’s eyes narrowed. The fact that he didn’t trust Holdfast with any personal information was obvious enough on his features. The princess, however, seemed to have no such qualms. “Amber,” she said cheerfully. “Amber Glitter.”
Holdfast smiled. “A lovely name. Good day, my lady. My lord.”
The throne room doors closed behind him. Holdfast sighed, more contented than concerned. He nodded to the royal guards standing outside as he passed by, making his way down to the archives. It wasn’t that he had any particular information he wanted to get there, but the archives kept records of what had happened in Gallopilli in the time he had been away. There were… plans he had in motion, and he needed to see their progress.
After a short conversation with the keeper of the records, Holdfast sat down with a ledger of trades and purchases within the capital. According to the trends he was seeing, his investment in building supplies last time he was here would be paying off soon enough.
He paused. According to these records, there were under seven-hundred magical weapons in store for the royal guard. However, checking back a week, there had been a purchase of over a thousand such weapons from unicorn smiths in the south. “Now where would three-hundred enchanted blades just vanish to…” he muttered.
“Is that the start of some sort of joke?” The voice of a stallion behind Holdfast caused him to turn. An ash-colored earth pony leaned against one of the racks of scrolls and records, his body covered in the finest velvets and metals. “If it is, I’m afraid I don’t know how to answer.”
“Lord Boomer.” Holdfast stood and bowed his head. “Just some idle musings, I’m afraid. It’s been some time since I was last in Gallopilli, I thought I’d catch up on some investments.” He paused. The smile on Boomer’s face was one the snow-white stallion knew well: it was the one when the young lordling wanted something. “How can I help you, my lord?”
“You know me so well, ambassador.” Boomer stepped up to Holdfast and lowered his voice. “Where exactly do your loyalties lie, Holdfast?”
Holdfast’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Why, the good of the kingdom, of course.”
“A good answer. As expected by a diplomat.” Boomer took a seat in the chair Holdfast had abandoned. “And who do you think would be a better ruler of Roania? Me? My brother? Or our sister?”
“I’m sure each of you would be equally excellent-”
“I’m not asking the diplomat anymore, Holdfast.” The humor had left Boomer’s eyes. “I’m asking the stallion who’s not afraid to get his hooves dirty. The stallion who knows how to get things done.”
* * *
“Chancellor?”
Holdfast looked up from his letters, a pair of well-worn glasses perched on his well-worn face. Standing at the other side of his desk was a young mare, shifting uncomfortably in his presence. “Yes?”
The mare pulled at her collar. “I, uh… You asked for any new records regarding the royal family?”
Holdfast raised an eyebrow, clearing space from his desk. “You found something?”
“Well, not directly, but you mentioned a shipment of missing weapons you had found a few years ago?”
“A few decades, but I suppose at this point it’s a moot point. Continue.”
“Oh, I didn’t mean to say-” She paused, seeing the smirk forming at the corners of Holdfast’s mouth. “Well, anyway, I found more records of weapons going missing.”
“And? All records are inaccurate. It’s the problem with having ponies in charge of them.”
“Yes, but…” The mare shifted again. “Well, the weapons stop going missing right at the time Lord Boomer…”
Holdfast stopped. “Ah, I see.” He tapped the cleared space on his desk with a smile. “Leave the records here. I’ll review them and bring them to the King’s attention.”
The mare grinned. “Thank you, Chancellor, sir.” She set her scrolls on the desk, bowed, and left. Holdfast waited until she had left, then sighed. With one sweep of his forehoof, the new scrolls fell straight into the refuse can.
“No need to bring that time up,” he muttered, picking up the letters he’d been reading before the interruption. One letter was from Roads Crossed; it seemed that bandits were building up again. Holdfast sighed, pushing the letter aside along with the memories of the last time bandits threatened his hometown.
The next letter was from one of his agents across Roania, saying that tension was building between the nobility of Ghuilder and Phloren, and that war could be forced at any time. Holdfast smirked. With war on the horizon, Bastion would be compelled to regain the lands lost by his father. Once that happened, Holdfast could call to have the tyrant removed from power, and with Vale dead, Boomer removed from the inheritance, and the child Amber missing, that would make the Chancellor the effective Steward of Roania.
Finally, with the royal family out of the way, he could finally fix the problems with the nobility and kingdom. It hadn’t been easy to rise from diplomat to next-in-line, and he wasn’t proud of how he got there, but once he was in power he could make up for it.
A shining ball of light phased through the window panes behind him, merging through his back into his chest. Holdfast straightened up, his muscles tensed. Eventually, he relaxed with a sigh. His eyes turned to the fireplace, where logs burned to take the chill out of the stone room. “Yes,” he muttered. “Once I’m in power, I can…” He trailed off, his eyebrows narrowing. “I can…”
Holdfast grinned as he tossed the letter into the fireplace. The flames licked at the corners and consumed all evidence of his plan. “I can get exactly what I am owed.” He sighed in contentment as he pushed the letter further into the flames with a poker. “Now, I suppose that nice young mare will need to meet with an unfortunate accident…”