//------------------------------// // Make a Good First Impression, and Endeavour Not to Cause a Ruckus // Story: Wedding March // by Carabas //------------------------------// The next few moments happened, much as Burro may have wished they didn’t. Whatever Celestia croaked out to her Element Bearers was drowned out as the crowd commenced its best collective impersonation of a headless chicken, and the storm of jostling and agitated bodies on all sides lost her to Burro’s sight altogether. To his side, there came a low and awed torrent of blasphemy from Gellert, echoing the sentiments galloping through Burro’s own brain. To his other side, Sailears sat stock-still and uncertain, and the Crown hovered over them all, its jewels ablaze in a lightshow. What did that indicate? Burro fleetingly wondered. Frantic cogitation? Elation? Utter bewilderment? Before his eyes, over the churning heads of the crowd, he still saw the dark figure of the changeling. Glistening dagger-sharp teeth bared, and she lifted her head back and broke into cruel, delighted laughter. Burro’s forehoof rose and patted helplessly around his own midriff ‒ he’d left the dress cutlass far behind in Asincitta, and what could he have done with it if he’d had it? ‒ before he felt something thwip past his ear. His brain caught up with his eyes just in time to see that it was an arrow, loosed from a bovish longbow, that had come flying past. It whirred towards the not-Cadance, who spun round to face as it came flying in. It erupted into flames and green sparks, and another laugh came from the dark alicorn as they pattered harmlessly across her hide. “Down!” roared Gellert, temporarily deafening Burro in his right ear, just before the griffon threw both of them and Fairy Floss to the ground. Ponies yelled overhead as unseen pink and green magic flashed. Thunder briefly rolled, followed by what sounded like the real Cadance crying out and yet more changeling laughter. Burro lay prone and glanced up at Gellert. The griffon lay sphinx-like, desperately peering up and over the countless milling heads. Below them both, Fairy Floss had her eyes wide open and was breathing heavily, some sort of frantic cogitation going on underneath her usually-unflappable exterior. “So!” shrieked Burro over the roar of everything else. “First guesses as to who, how, and why?” “Rut knows!” replied Gellert and Fairy Floss in helpless unison. “My thoughts exactly!” Burro rose slightly and eyed the moving crowd. The Element Bearers were purposely galloping out, and the sections of the gathering nearest the door were beginning to follow their wise example, albeit with slightly less purpose. “Come on! We can head out towards the city and find our guards, we can‒!” What they could do was never elaborated upon, as a deafening war-trumpet abruptly blasted away everything else in the vicinity that could be measured in terms of mere decibels. Burro saw Dame Lyuba come charging through the open doorway in the Element Bearers’ wake, her trunk upright and poised and her tusks ablaze with seething black light. “What is this disarray? Shahanshah, to me!” she thundered in tones that would have done the average god proud as she bulldozed her way through the fleeing crowd, most having the presence of mind to get out of an angry mammoth’s way. Lyuba paused then as she caught sight of the changeling standing proud over the beaten Celestia, her teeth bared in a triumphant snarl and her green eyes fiery with triumph. Burro had guessed Dame Lyuba was a being that tended to judge by appearances, and in this case, happily, that tendency didn’t lead her very wrong. In mountain-shaking tones, she roared something that Burro’s nigh-constant translation charm didn’t quite get in all parts, but which pertained to exotic body parts and their regrettable intersection with crude implements, and she stormed forward in the way that only an angry mammoth could. The changeling stood tall upon the wedding podium yet, her eyes gleaming and her teeth bared in the same bright snarl. That sharpened into a smile, and a solid-green blaze of light slashed out from her horn and across the room from wall to wall. Lyuba’s stride didn’t falter as she conjured a black shield on her right to face it. There was a second of awful shrieking as the two magics met, and then a greatly prolonged second of pachydermian cursing as the green magic hammered right through the magical shield and into Lyuba, bowling her off her legs and slamming her into one of the great windows at the room’s side. The armoured mammoth smashed straight through the glass, and the moment after from down below, there was the sound that might be made when an armoured mammoth made contact with a stone roof and the roof came off second-best. “Dame Lyuba!” yelled Sailears, the little elephant sounding genuinely frightened for the first time, and he twisted around to see where she’d gone out the window. “Oh, everyone, you’re spoiling me.” That was the not-Cadance, her dulcet tones drifting right across the fresh cacophony of cries and the thunder of the gathering surging towards the exit. Another arrow sang out and was blasted apart like the first, getting Goldtorc nothing but a briefly irritated look. Burro looked around frantically, and saw that the Crown and its ibex had dropped down beside them, the ibex looking terrified and the Crown’s jewels glimmering as deep a shade of blue-green as Burro had ever seen them. “If anyone, anyone has an idea, let’s hear it!” yelled Burro. “Any and all comers, come on! Anything good!” Gellert closed his eyes and breathed out. “Alright,” he said. “Alright. Supposing some griffon were to boldly leap out and grapple with her, so that other beings could get out while she was distracted‒” “Don’t be stupid!” Burro whacked Gellert in the side with a hoof, snapping the old griffon’s eyes back into full wakefulness. “She’d strike you down in one instant and pick us apart at her leisure in the next. What could you hope to do?” There was a brief snicker from the Crown and a sigh from Fairy Floss, and Gellert’s face set in a grim scowl. “Might give her something to think about, and all of you time to get me some help.” “Yeah? She just took down Celestia! What’s she going to think about, other than, ‘Who on Theia would be so stupid as to try and fight me right now’? And what help?” Gellert opened his mouth uncertainly, but he was then interrupted by Simoom sticking his worried face into their midst from behind. “Luna!” the stallion exclaimed. “Find Princess Luna and she can‒” “Luna?” Burro was aware his voice was now emerging as a modulated shriek, and barely cared. “She’s already taken down one alicorn‒” There was a warcry from the rising real Cadance, which immediately turned into a pained yelp as more magic flashed. “Two! She’s taken down two alicorns! What in the Depths is throwing a third one at her going to accomplish?” From behind Burro, there was a small sigh. “Right,” came the rigid, barely-trembling voice of Greenhorn, revealed to be speaking in a low tone to Goldtorc as Burro turned around. “I’ll challenge her. You get into the city, find my huskarls, and get back to Bovaland. Call the banners and march west. They’ll need us. They’ll need our full might!” “What are you doing, you gurgling‒” But it was too late; as Burro turned, Greenhorn had already drawn the long blade at his side and given Goldtorc a quick, dutiful peck on the cheek. He charged past Burro, gathering the stately unstoppability that was any moving aurochs’ due, and with one great bound, he leapt into the central aisle, cracking the stone as he landed. The Bullwalda turned on the changeling, his blade coming up in an overhead guard to angle straight at her. “Face me, interloper!” The interloper seemed unfazed, and laughed as she looked down at this latest noisy entity. “Oh, aren’t you precious.” Green magic flared out from the tip of her horn, but Greenhorn had been ready. Before the magic could hammer into him, he vanished in a flash of pale blue light and reappeared immediately behind the changeling, his blade slashing out. The changeling turned and lunged, and magic blazed, and the surging motion of the crowd lost the battle to Burro’s sight. A hoof bashed hard into Burro’s wither, and when he turned to swear helplessly at this latest intrusion into what had been meant to be a lovely day, he found himself face-to-face with Goldtorc, her eyes wide with terror. “Help him, any of you! Please, if you have anything! My arrows can’t touch her. He can’t win by himself!” “Oh, don’t be so cynical.” The Crown spoke then, its tone light ‒ too light for Burro’s comfort, who was used to the Crown’s reaction to stress, along with most things, being rasping snideness. “He might surprise us. Menial, elevate me to see if the Bullwalda’s surprising us.” The ibex tremblingly raised the Crown, who regarded the unseen crash and clamour with blue and gold-hued jewels twinkling. “Hmm, that certainly seems unsurmountable as magical barriers go … ooh. My word. Ouch.” There was a flash of light, a thunderous crash, and a bovine yelp. “Oh dear. No, I don’t look set to be surprised at all. Don’t worry, I’m sure you can get a new one.” “Blast it!” Fairy Floss prodded Gellert’s chest with one of her curving horns, getting his attention. “He’s following part of your daft plan, at least. Fly out, and we’ll escape as well! Get to Luna’s tower. Don’t bring her here! She won’t be able to fight that thing, but maybe she can help rally Equestria’s Legions, spirit all of us far away, bring the moon down and slam it into Equestria’s surface until the creature’s pulp, anything!” “Um,” said Simoom. “Wouldn’t that … wouldn’t that last one also result in Equestria becoming pulp?” “It’s not ideal, dear, but it’s something, and I’m open to anything after that display. Fly, Chieftain!” “With gusto!” Gellert crouched on the ground, his wings spread, poised to fly forth. Then, as the fleeing crowd shifted and the changeling was revealed again, Goldtorc let a third arrow loose. White magic blazed around her horns, the bow, and the arrowhead, and the arrow blasted straight through the sound barrier as Goldtorc loosed it at the changeling. It whipped past a flash of green magic Burro barely saw, and clipped ‒ just clipped ‒ the edge of the changeling’s wither as she ducked. The changeling rose again. Her face was set in a hideous snarl. Her eyes and horn flashed green. A great concussive wave of magic hammered across their entire section of the crowd. Burro was thrown to the ground, all his breath knocked out of him, and the world spun before his reeling vision. Goldtorc was hit with the greatest force, and her barding-clad frame smashed straight through another intact window, with a subsequent clatter and crash of much-abused masonry similar to that induced by Lyuba. Sailears skidded right past Burro and underneath a long cloth-covered table at the room’s side, vanishing from sight. There was a thunk as he hit the wall, accompanied by a startled ‘Oof!’ Gellert tumbled past Burro, his poised form replaced with indignified flailing and scrabbling. His feathery bulk at least gave Fairy Floss a soft landing as she fell into him, and past them both, Burro saw the Crown’s ibex thrown to the ground and the Crown itself spinning upside-down over the marble. Lying prone, Burro opened his mouth to drag in a desperate breath, and was thwarted by Simoom’s lanky frame toppling down upon him like a falling tree, forcing out a few last dregs of breath in the form of a squeak. “Hnk!” For a short eternity afterwards, Burro’s world was reduced to a breathless sphere of pain, where all his immediate sensations were the cold marble floor, the wind from outside, a distant and curious and ever-encroaching chittering sound, and various groans from a variety of larynxes all about him. Save for one, who had no larynx to groan with and no breath to lose. “Menial!” barked the Crown, still slowly twirling on its monde, the jewels on its side glimmering with hints of purple. “Collect yourself. Don me!” From behind Burro, the changeling hissed. The strange chittering from outside ceased. Then it resumed, sharper than ever, and in a heartbeat, a dozen or more hideous things came swarming in through the shattered windows. They scythed through the air, moving in co-ordination, and plunged down upon the stricken statesbeings. One landed by Burro, and yanked Simoom off him and flipped the old jack over with a smooth motion of green magic, pressing down hard on his torso with one strong hoof. Burro’d have given anything then to have brought the dress cutlass with him that morning, and being fifty years younger wouldn’t have hurt either. Absent those happy conditions, he opted for coughing feebly as he stared up at the creature that had him pinned. It was a smaller changeling, the not-Cadance in miniature ‒ a dark chitinous body, a snarled jag of horn that seethed with acid-green magic, membranous wings, and pony-esque proportions. Its luminous blue eyes bored into his own, segmented and unreadable, and as Burro looked at it in mixed parts fascination and horror, it turned into him. Burro boggled at his own sharp, grey features, his own notched ears, his own dark eyes that were a mess of wrinkles at the sides, his own naval uniform, and the creature laughed in his own voice as he boggled. “Be quiet. Be still.” It leaned down, flashing him a rictus-grin of his own bright and crooked teeth. “Be no trouble to us.” To his sides, Burro saw similar scenarios playing out with everyone else, with others able to make themselves varying degrees of trouble. Fairy Floss was prone under herself, and whilst Burro felt he saw a wry comment pass across the surface of her mind and under her grim expression, she remained still. Simoom tried to kick out, and was kicked in the head by three separate Simooms at once for his trouble. The ibex was held by two of himself, with a third unaltered changeling holding the glittering Crown in its teeth. There was no sign of Sailears. And Gellert… Gellert was up on his back legs, his wings spread and his foreclaws low at his side, ready to come up ripping and tearing. He growled at the three Gellerts surrounding him, the sharp curve of his beak glinting in the light. His stance shifted, and he looked from side to side, and froze when he caught sight of Burro underneath himself. The Burro-changeling smirked, and rose its free hoof as if in readiness to bring it down. Burro closed his eyes and braced for pain. The pain didn’t come. Instead there was the flap of wings, a crash, a winded squawk, and Burro opened his eyes to see Gellert forced to the ground next to him, with all three other Gellerts weighing him down. “Daft old sod,” Burro muttered to the pinned griffon. “You should have flown while you had the chance.” Gellert weakly grinned at him. “You’re hideous enough as it is. Couldn’t have lived with the thought of that thing rearranging your features into something even uglier.” “To me.” The command came from the great changeling still in the hall’s centre, her tone imperious and suffused with a certain gloatish quality. “Try not to damage them too much.” The Burro-changeling roughly hauled Burro to his hooves, and the old jack blearily took in the rest of the room. All other guests had fled, with only a couple lying concussed by the door, presumably by dint of having tried to flee too hard. The great changeling stood tall and proud, with Celestia still lying at her hooves. Cadance and her prospective husband were on the podium behind the changeling, the former lying stunned with some darkly-glistening material about her hooves and horn, the latter standing stock-still and glassy-eyed as if in some deep trance. Greenhorn himself was struggling to his hooves, panting and staggering and with his barding dented all over. At one point, his blade had been torn from his hold and now swung idly in the changeling’s green grasp. As he rose, it swung down and whacked flat-on across his crowned head with an almighty clang. He staggered backwards, lowing confusedly and his eyes slightly crossed, before with a mighty effort, he shook himself back into sense. His magic scrabbled around the belly of his barding and whipped out a wickedly-pointed poniard. “I stand yet!” he said with bleary defiance. “We finish this now, interlo‒!” Clang. Whump. “Delighted to oblige,” said the changeling, tossing the broken blade to one side as Greenhorn finally collapsed insensate. She turned to the others, all dragged upright and forced into a line in front of her. The calculating smirk remained on her face, betraying little, until she reached the end of the line. The smirk became a glower. “There should be an elephant amongst them, Vespus.” she said. “The young Shahanshah.” “I thought I glimpsed him as we entered, my Queen,” one of the smaller changelings hovering overhead said, its crackling voice similar to that of a spider that had been taught how to speak and then become a chain-smoker. The Queen’s expression turned thoughtful for a moment. “Produce him,” she said. The smaller changeling nodded and flew off behind Burro’s sight. She turned back to the rest of them, her smirk re-asserting itself. Burro’s spine crawled as her green gaze fell on him, and he felt like an insect in the clutches of a cruel foal, unable to ponder anything save when she’d start ripping off wings. Metaphorical or otherwise. “Everything I ever wished for,” the Queen murmured. “And so much more to come.” “Found him, my Queen!” Two changelings frog-marched Sailears between them, adding him onto the end of the line. The little elephant looked pale, but he didn’t tremble. At least, not much. The Queen’s smirk returned, and for a long time, she didn’t speak as she regarded the company. “Many of the other guests have escaped, my Queen,” the same changeling, Vespus, ventured hesitantly. “Shall we give chase before they‒” “Let them disperse. Let them cower.” The Queen didn’t even bother looking in the changeling’s direction as she spoke. “What will a herd divided amount to aside from helpless meat for us? They can all be easily subdued, and we shall have our fill of them. And do keep searching for certain other loose ends, while you’re about it.” Burro heard distant screams and buzzing from outside in the city and palace, and he forced his fear to curdle into chilly anger. “What now?” he snapped. “Who are you?” The Queen turned on him, and the full force of her gaze fell over Burro like a stormfront. He’d seen expressions like hers before, mostly on bloody-toothed sharks. “Now?” said the Queen, amusement rich in her tone. “Now I‒” “Gchk.” The feeble noise came from Celestia, the alicorn’s great hooves twitching and her whole body vaguely stirring. One tired magenta eye cracked open, and found the strength to glare at the Queen. A wing tried to push her up from the ground. “Gcchk fkt, y’—” “Please, princess.” The Queen’s leg blurred out to kick Celestia right in her ribs, driving all the breath out of Celestia with one agonised wheeze. “Don’t strain yourself.” The alicorn choked with pain, feebly twitching where she lay on her side, and the Queen laughed at the sight. “Oh, where are my manners? Indulging myself when I’ve not even made a proper introduction.” She turned back to Burro and the others, bestowed a smile on them all, and Burro, who had had cause in his long life to stare down sea monsters, ocean-breaking storms, mad pirate kings, and Damasque before she’d had her morning coffee, found it the least friendly thing he’d ever seen in his life. “I am Queen Chrysalis. And on the off-chance your august attentions have been elsewhere, I have just vanquished Celestia, my army commands the palace and city, and you are all entirely at my mercy.” In a bar in Canterlot, far away from the palace, and secure behind thick walls and windows, Asinara came to a decision. “J’accuse … Commodore Cerise… in the coal cellar … with ...” The jenny checked the cards in the clefts of her hooves before finishing with “ … a very small and exceptionally pointy unicorn.” She looked up at the others around the table, and there was a general shuffling of cards and figures and drink glasses. Her and Berry and the excited Pollina had meandered through the city for a short time before deciding they’d have a drink or two before sampling too much of the high culture on offer. They’d made their way to a bar, met some other beings there by happy chance, and, since it looked like being that sort of day in any case, decided that the drinking session could only be improved by the addition of cards and money, with the latter ideally accruing at their end of the table. Unfortunately, after sitting down with the others, all three had discovered to their horror that none of them had a pack of cards anywhere on them. To a certain type of Asinian, this sort of situation was dreamed about, and was on a par with dreams about turning up both understudied and naked to important exams. Assuming said Asinians customarily wore clothes. Happily, Pollina had had a bright idea, and after rushing back to the ornithopter, had returned with a stack of various on-flight entertainments. Asinara and Berry chose the topmost one for gambling purposes, and calamity had been averted. The rest of the beings they’d run into had been too bewilderedly curious to turn the game down, and small stacks of rucats and drachrams and bits and rings now all glittered on the table. “So many potential enemies, this victim,” said one of the three bovish huskarls, a great caparisoned, steel-clad and phlegmatic-looking bull with ring-bound horns and more muscles than most other beings had actual body. He gently tapped the head of his own figurine with a plate-sized hoof. “Last time, it was Granny Glaucous in the walk-in wardrobe with a half-brick in a sock, and before that, it was Inspector Infrared in the billiards room with a forthrightly-appendaged fertility statue. What has he done to deserve this sort of creative wrath from so many?” The other two huskarls, a bull and cow who weren’t quite as huge but were similarly single-hoovedly keeping whole iron mines in business, nodded their agreement and chuckled as they sipped at their foaming tankards. “It’s not that great a murder, it must be said. None of them. Nobody so far’s even tried to cover their tracks,” said a louche and lean griffon slouching in his chair, his dark feathers sleek and a thin cigar held in his beak. He’d introduced himself earlier as Girard. “None of these could have been plausibly interpreted as accidental. Except maybe the unicorn.” The two sheep at one of the table were silent as they studied the board, one ewe and one ram, both black-wooled, barding-clad, and regarding the world from behind snarling steel masks. Then the ram looked up, and in tones made tinny by the mask, said, “I still don’t understand the context for this game in the slightest.” “Serrai ...” the ewe started in somewhat weary tones. “Dolly, it just doesn’t make sense. All of these characters are suspects. Why are they the ones investigating the murder? By rights, they should all be held at the pleasure of this city’s Archon and questioned sternly and in isolation. Why are they traipsing all over the scene and being permitted to rummage around for the murder implements?” “Well, maybe they’re all … um ...” Berry scratched her head. “It’s disgraceful. The justiciar for this place’s polis ought to be sheared to the pink in public.” “Well, until that happy hour‒” Asinara scooped up the money-pile everyone had chipped into at the game’s beginning. “‒ this is all going to the glorious victor. And the glorious victor’s buying the next round.” There was a general grumbling, albeit not that bitter a grumbling, and it was followed up by another round of swigging from whatever vessels were at hoof or claw. “Hmm.” The ewe, Dolly, looked towards the bar’s window briefly. “Did anyone else hear what sounded like an explosion off in the distance? Are those screams?” “Someone’ll have let off a firework early,” said Pollina blithely. “That’s probably just cheering.” “If you’re sure,” said Dolly. She sighed. “Still not that happy about leaving the Tyrant by herself, but she insisted. Something about proper courtesy and telegraphed extension of trust and such.” “They’ll all be fine,” said Girard. “We all ought to be fretting, I know, but up there, there’s nothing more dangerous to my dad and the rest of them than themselves.” No being disagreed. One of the two bulls refilled his pipe. The stalwart-looking barstallion redistributed the grime on a glass with a cloth. Something went boom in the distance, to what sounded like more far-off shrieks. “Everything’s entirely fine,” said Girard. Burro could hear the buzzing of countless wings outside the hall, punctuated by the odd crash of toppling masonry. In the corner of his eye, swarms of changelings buzzed by the window and seethed down into Canterlot. Shrieks rose on the wind. Most of his brain wibbled. But some remaining cold-blooded portion of it made him draw himself up as much as his battered frame would accommodate, and he met Chrysalis eye-to-eye. “Queen Chrysalis, eh? Queen of where, exactly?” “Equestria. Have you really not been keeping up with recent events, Arch-Minister?” Chrysalis stalked around the group, and when Burro tried to turn his head to follow her, the Burro-changeling snarled and knocked his head back to facing forwards. “But don’t fear that I intend to make a habit of overthrowing sovereigns this day. Why, I’m certain that all of us in this room are going to be nothing but useful to one another.” “Oh, will we, now?” Fairy Floss said archly. “And how are we going to do that, exactly?” “For now? I require nothing more of all of you than to do nothing.” Nobody spoke then, and Chrysalis continued. “Remain here as my honoured guests, write back to your countries, and let them know of the change,” she said sweetly. “Have some letters sent acknowledging my rightful sovereignty, deliver them to me via your ambassadors, proclaim their contents on high to your populaces, or however you wish to do it. Stay here and don’t meddle while I see ponykind subdued and brought to heel. And once I’ve finished, I’m sure we’ll discuss other matters like the amicable neighbours we’ll be.” Her teeth parted in something that could have been mistaken for a smile. “Does that not sound more than fair?” Silence descended. Burro stared. Beside him, Gellert finally let out a disbelieving snort. “Make things that easy for you? Ha!” Chrysalis’s gaze alighted on Gellert and narrowed. “No, Chieftain. This is your chance to make things easy for you. Times have changed past your petty abilities to revert. There are so many other means and tricks at my disposal if I wanted to force or trick the compliance of you and your realms. This just so happens to involve the least amount of time and effort for myself, and saves you no small amount of distress.” “What other tri‒gah!” At a gesture from Chrysalis, one of the Gellerts holding Gellert jabbed a claw into his side and leered into his face. The groom, Shining Armour, murmured something senseless where he stood stock-still and glassy-eyed. “Use your imagination,” purred Chrysalis. “I shall certainly use mine.” “No surrender to the likes of you,” came the low, semi-concussed tones of Greenhorn from where he lay. He rose his horned head and glowered blearily in Chrysalis’s general direction. “No compliance with the honourless. Bovaland will never bow, and less still to the likes of you.” Chrysalis studied Greenhorn for a long moment, her gaze somewhere far away. Then she said, quite innocently, “Was that the Bullwalda’s consort I knocked out of the window earlier?” “I believe so, my Queen,” growled Vespus. “Some of the swarm should retrieve her. The Bullwalda finds himself in dire need of being convinced. She should help on that front.” Greenhorn bellowed with wrath and tried to scramble back to his hooves, and an instant later, several more changelings descended on him. Several horns flared green and spat coruscating bolts into the gaps in his bardings. He collapsed again, twitching and groaning, and Burro winced. “You’re presuming you’ll be able to keep us contained and the city safely suppressed,” the Crown said then, in cold tones, its jewels flickering purple. “Celestia and Equestria have this aggravating habit of pulling tricks out their sleeves. If you’ve not accounted for those, don’t expect to get too far in this foolishness.” Chrysalis didn’t turn around to look at the Crown and simply looked thoughtfully out one shattered window, her expression quite composed. “Ahhh, of course. What tricks has Equestria conjured recently? Their Element-Bearers … their regrettably notorious Element-Bearers. Rest assured, they’re going to find that accessing their precious Elements will be no easy task. Can six ponies fight an army? Don’t excite yourselves on that account.” “You’ve not accounted for Princess Luna!” blurted out Simoom, his handsome features flushed and contorted with helpless indignation. It was a terrible thing to see replace his customary amiable gormlessness. “She’s a mare that’ll show you what-for!” “Oh, little Viceroy, I have. Even if she rouses herself at this hour, do you really think I’ll struggle to defeat another alicorn this day?” Chrysalis eyed the recumbent Cadance and the still form of Shining Armour, and a sharp tongue flicked out from between her front teeth. “Every pony in Canterlot’ll soon be nothing but a larder for me and my hive. I could even glut myself ahead of time, if I felt the need … or even if I just wanted to have some fun‒” “Canterlot,” said Fairy Floss mildly. Chrysalis’s gaze shot round to the ewe. “What?” “Canterlot,” said Fairy Floss. “You’re doing an admirable job so far of getting a hoofhold here, but there’s a difference between Canterlot and Equestria, isn’t there? A rather big one. And I can’t say I’ll envy your position when word of this spreads out. Equestria has its Elements and alicorns, but at the end of the day, it still has countless regular ponies armed with everything their foundries can spit out. And these foundries will be spitting night and day, and, my dear, all these ponies will advance on Canterlot for you.” “Your point being?” “Shall I advance straight to my conclusion? Very well, then. Formidable as you and your forces may have been when taking Canterlot by surprise, I still estimate your chance against all the force Equestria can put forth as comparable to a snowball’s in hell. And even if you can fend them off, you will still find yourself isolated and staring down the forces of a continent. I have every faith in my subordinates and Archons finding me entirely replaceable should need compel it. I imagine the same applies to most others here.” Past her spectacles, Fairy Floss’s eyes glinted like polished steel. “You’ve done moderately well up to now, so I won’t do you the dishonour of mollycoddling you. But surrender now, stand down all your forces, and once Celestia’s recovered and her forces have restored order, we may advocate for your merciful treatment. If you co-operate fully while in custody, of course.” Burro approved, though he could have done without the ‘entirely expendable’ part being highlighted. Chrysalis blinked. Her gaze moved. Fairy Floss, Celestia, screaming outdoors, Fairy Floss again. A low and disbelieving laugh began to slowly escape her, rising in volume. “Are all of you having trouble keeping up with events? I’ve won, little Tyrant.” “Do you know what the most tragic and important thing is about victories, dear? They’re transient. And everything you’ve accomplished here’s sown more seeds of your own destruction than I care to estimate. Keep us here, and every ambitious lieutenant or minister or whichever we have back home will fill our positions. And they shan’t like this precedent you’re trying to establish any more than we do.” “You really are the old battle-axe of this company, aren’t you? I’ve heard much, and I’m not disappointed. And let me assure you, I am not intimidated in the slightest. I have more tricks and resources and allies than you can possibly know of. And if Equestria’s armies march on me, do you not think they’ll find me ready? Do you not think I’ve thought that far ahead?” Poison-green light stabbed down from her horn and at Celestia. Burro watched in horror as the listless alicorn rose up in the air and twisted like a marionette. Bleary magenta eyes cracked open and glowered helplessly right into Chrysalis’s leer. “How boldly do you think they’ll advance when they find blades at the throats of their fair princess? How long will they hesitate when they find out I’ve got all three?” “Put her down! You’ve made your damned point!” snapped Burro, while Simoom choked with appalled anger. “A poor threat, dear,” said Fairy Floss, but Burro heard a catch in her voice. “If they call your bluff and you’re actually so stupid as to hurt one of the alicorns, Equestria’ll hunt you to the ends of Creation. Nowhere on the continent’ll be safe enough to hide. No-one will thank you for shattering the peace.” “Won’t they?” Chrysalis casually dropped Celestia back on the floor, eliciting a pained, “Gchk!” “But that doesn’t matter in any case. I am done with hiding. No more false-faces, no more scared secrecy, no more discretion in my hunts. By the time any pony or any army is in a position to try and force me from this city, I will have drunk enough ponies dry to have rebuilt my strength. And there will not be a thing in all the world that could stand against me and my hive then.” “I wouldn’t be so sure,” the Crown said softly then, its jewels aglow like red-and-purple embers. Burro had rarely seen that combination before, and wished he remembered what it meant. Chrysalis regarded it, her expression a frozen mask, and then laughed. “Careful now, little crown. I was about to indulge in reckless kindness again. If we’ve dispensed with all the pointless defiance, your graces, then I make my offer once more. Acclaim me as rightful ruler of Equestria, keep your noses out of my business while you stay here, and all manner of unpleasantness will not wind your way. What are your answers?” There was no answer forthcoming at first, and all around Burro, there was nothing but a general shuffling of limbs and a coldly hostile silence. His head and sides still hurt from where he’d been knocked about, and frustrated helplessness snarled up inside him, briefly overcoming whatever fear Chrysalis still induced. “Asinia’ll acclaim you when the Depths boil,” he hissed. “I … we do not negotiate with presumptuous, cowardly, would-be conquerors. Did you seriously expect me to forswear our ally? Do you really think what you’ve done would get you anything?” Chrysalis regarded him coldly for a long, long moment, before the shark-like smirk slid back onto her features. But that wasn’t a fair comparison, Burro realised. Even in the weirder depths of the Asinial Main, no shark had ever been known to gloat. “I confess, Arch-Minister, I did expect this little of you. And truth be told … I’m not all that sorry to have received it.” She turned to the others. “Does the Arch-Minister speak for all of you?” “You mustn’t have heard him properly.” Gellert said. “I’ll repeat it with harsher language if you like.” “Ah,” sighed Chrysalis. “The hard way, then. Vespus!” “Your Majesty?” said the changeling, flitting upright to attention. “Take them all away and secure them. I spied a shed out in the gardens that should suffice. Keep them there, and keep watch until I call for each in turn. Once Canterlot has been brought to heel ... I’ll have all the time in the world to work on them.” That too-familiar sharp smirk, those narrowed poison-green eyes. “Perhaps there’ll be some satisfaction value there after all.” More defiant invective came to Burro’s lips, and he prepared to spit out as much of it as he could. But before he could, changelings dove at them all at once from every angle. And that was that, as far as initial negotiations went. Two other Burros contrived to put him in a combined headlock and wrestled him around and back towards the main door. He fought and kicked and tried to bite, it being a time-honoured Asinian tradition to approach captivity with all the grace of a grand piano being forced through a letterbox, but the pair were too strong, and he was already too tired and bruised and … well, old. About him, other clusters of changelings had the rest comfortably in hoof; a rising bellow terminated by yet more flashes of concussive magic indicated that Greenhorn’s ongoing periods of senselessness weren’t finished for the day. The others offered up their own fair share of struggling and harsh language, but didn’t suffer anything harsher than a cuff or two. No sense in damaging new toys just yet, Burro coldly supposed. As they were frog-marched out, Burro twisted his head around to glimpse Chrysalis one last time. She was already turning away from them and back towards the fallen form of Celestia. One of the Burros whacked his head back to face the front, and, with a faint patina of wheeling stars added to his vision, he found himself outdoors again. It wasn’t Canterlot at its scenic best. The pinkish hue of the great shield had gone from the sky, true, but had instead been replaced with swarms of chittering changelings, arcing and slashing through the city’s skyline and descending here and there. Screams and the odd boom rang out, and he sighted distant clusters of royal guards being taken down piecemeal beneath storms of hooves and concussive magic. Prone forms littered the green, of guards and wedding guests. Burro’s gorge rose briefly on seeing them … but then diminished when he realised they were all alive. Some were struggling helplessly and fastened to the ground by some darkly-glistening substance, some had been knocked out, some were locked in auras of glittering magical paralysis, and all were undoubtedly the worse for wear … but still alive. Why? Burro regretted the question as soon as it had occurred. They were forced to the left, and moved past the great long shape of the gift table. Charity regarded their procession from within her cage and Kee’ed suspiciously at them as they went past. “Come on,” Burro muttered to himself. “Break out of that cage with impeccable timing. Be a living, breathing atrocity in our favour, would you?” No such luck. Charity watched them pass, safely secured behind steel as she was, and past the end of the gift table, they came to the end of the Crystal Hall, where the palace gardens began. Walls of greenery rose up all around them, peppered with brightly-flourishing flowers, and half-hidden within the green shroud, there rose the imposing shape of a garden shed. Burro had never visited Canterlot’s palace gardens, but he’d heard plenty about them, and he’d heard plenty about the legendary earth pony gardener who’d cultivated them several centuries back, Sod Green, who was still invoked as a bogeymare to scare aspiring young gardeners into proper respect for their craft. Sod Green’s approach to the beauty of nature had been to terrify it into obedience with overwhelming force, and the great sheds she’d erected and equipped with every manner of terrifying gardening tool known to ponykind had been a testament to that. The one up ahead was only a minor example of her work, and its fortress-like wooden walls could have probably held off no more than three armies at most. “Hold them here,” rasped the changeling lieutenant at the front, Vespus, and as the changelings holding the group cuffed them into stillness with varying amounts of excessive and/or gleefully applied force, Vespus and several others flew up to the shed’s unlocked door. They dove inside, and after a moment’s clattering, Burro cursed as many perfectly serviceable and sharp metal implements were tossed out onto the grass — spades, trowels, several breeds of rake, buzzing things with curved bits and magical mechanisms one presumably needed a decade of education to even fathom, let alone use. Eventually, once the pile had reached suitably mountainous proportions, the crashing ceased. Vespus ambled back out and smiled unpleasantly — it seemed to be a catching quality amongst changelings — and gestured into the shed. “Show their highnesses their new accommodation,” he growled. “Chitin, Thorax, assist me with raising wards. The rest of you, take up guarding positions and get comfortable.” Two changelings stepped forward with lit-up horns, one of them betraying something that seemed like reluctance in his compound eyes. Burro and the others found themselves forced into the musty confines of the shed, with much grumbling and squeezing when the larger members of their company, Gellert and the semi-conscious Greenhorn, were shoved in as well. Burro clawed out a bit of breathing room and rounded on the entrance, where he saw Vespus hovering with a stout padlock in his grasp. “Stay there, donkey,” the changeling hissed. “Do you know what comes to beings who act on clever ideas?” Burro gave Vespus his best look of Grade 2 Thinly Veiled Scorn. “Satisfaction?” “Nah. Kicks to the jewels.” Vespus smirked. “Queen Chrysalis wants you all kept alive. Think about what a broad and all-encompassing term that is.” And before Burro could reply, the door slammed shut, and the whole of Burro’s musty, earthy-smelling, and exceedingly cramped world fell into darkness. The sounds of the outside world came in muffled, but the distant thrum of wings and screams could still be made out. Inside, there was nothing to see by but the purple glint of the Crown’s jewels, and the Crown itself was remaining unsettlingly silent. The walls glimmered as various enchantments were laid upon them from outside. Then there was a groan as Greenhorn roused himself where he lay. Light spilled into the gloom as his horns glowed with magic, and Burro saw the young aurochs’ head turn here and there. He wearily seemed to come to some internal decision, and his horns briefly flared. “No, don’t, not yet,” said Gellert, reaching out to clap one of the Bullwalda’s horns and disrupt his magic. “That way lies kicks to the jewels, apparently. Besides, I suspect they’re warding against teleportation as we speak.” Fairy Floss sighed. “It is entirely possible we could have handled all of that with more delicacy.” “What the deuce was she?” Simoom blurted out. “Where did she come from?” “Good questions, dear, and I’ll add a few more. She knew far too much about us. How on earth did she know so much? What made her so confident?” “Not to distract from those vital questions,” purred the Crown, “but how are we to get out of this? Did none of you come here with guards? Where did you leave them?” Burro just kneaded his forehead with a forehoof. Everyone else seemed to be getting through the most essential questions, so he indulged in something less so. “Why does it always have to be bloody you, Equestria?” he muttered. “Asinia doesn’t do this sort of thing. Not on a semiannual basis, at least.” And at one side, Sailears, who had remained silent thus far, looked up at them all, Greenhorn’s light dancing in his wide, cheerful eyes. “Don’t worry, everyone!” he said. “I’m sure everything’s going to be just fine.” Back in the Crystal Hall, at that very moment, Sailears was preoccupied with hiding under a table at the room’s side, trying to unravel what was going on, trying to figure out what he should do, trying to work out where Dame Lyuba was, and why a look-a-like of himself had gone off with the others. He wasn’t a natural multi-tasker, but he felt he wasn’t doing a bad job of the first one at least. He lay stock-still under the table at the room’s side, tentatively lifting up just enough of the dangling tablecloth with his trunk for him to see by. Princess Celestia lay where the evil new queen had beaten her, and the groom whose name he couldn’t remember (he’d tried, but he wasn’t old enough for his memory to have become perfect yet) and Princess Cadance (who was very pretty for a pony, despite looking like she’d just been in a prolonged hoof-fight after not having a wash for a week) were hors-de-combat on the room’s platform. The evil queen herself stalked around the room, just after sending away all the other leaders, and barked the odd order at changelings who flew momentarily into the room. He wished Dame Lyuba was here. She’d drilled their contingency plans into him until he could repeat them back-to-front while standing on his head, and most of them were some variation on ‘Be removed from the vicinity of any danger by Dame Lyuba’ or ‘Hide somewhere and stay there while Dame Lyuba reduces the danger to a fine paste’. Now there was a certain critical component to all the plans missing. The evil queen had just bowled her right out the window like she was nothing. Uncle Trumpeter had told Sailears that Lyuba had once held off a whole army by herself, and if she’d been beaten … Sailears stayed hidden, it being the only thing he felt he could do, though it didn't feel very Shahanshah-like, and when the evil queen turned around and trotted back towards Princess Celestia, he let the tablecloth fall again and kept as still as possible. He heard the queen speak, her tone smug and languid. “I must say, princess, it was such a pleasure to meet at long last.” From the floor, there was a rasping cough, and then a rasping voice raised with great effort. “I’d say the sentiment’s shared ... but my mother didn’t raise a liar. ” The queen laughed. And then Sailears heard her kick Celestia hard, her hoof thudding into the alicorn’s ribs and forcing out a cry of breathless pain. The queen laughed harder yet, and several more heavy thuds echoed around the room. They ceased, and Celestia was silent then. “Everything I ever wished for within my grasp at last,” said the queen. “The greatest obstacle overcome and mewling at my hooves! Your Element Bearers will not save you, your fellow princesses will not save you, and all Equestria and all your allies will not save you when they see you at my mercy!” A hush, followed by a thin wheeze on the very edge of hearing. “Is that the best you’ve got?” Another kick and a grunt rang out, and the queen laughed yet again. “Oh no. Maybe I should make a statement of intent, just so your ponies and the rest of the world are under no illusions.” Her tone lowered to a purr. “Three alicorns may be one too many, don’t you think? Shall I flip a coin to decide which, or do you have a recommendation?” Celestia hissed, and Sailears heard her hooves scrape against the stone. “Come now, don’t strain yourself,” said the queen. “I’ve such plans for you, after all. How much love do you have within yourself to feast upon? How much love for your ponies, for your country, for those closest to you? I think I’m going to enjoy your company for a very, very long time. And by that time’s end … ‘Queen’ may be too small a title. What do you think? My allies may object. But I suspect they’ll soon become too small for me to take seriously.” The thinnest and most pained of thin, pained coughs was offered up by way of defiant response. Sailears heard the queen snorting with disdain, turning on her heel and striding away across the stone. “I’ll see that events are proceeding as they should, and then come back for you. A nice, comfortable cell all to yourself, my personal handiwork. Am I not generous?” Celestia muttered something inaudible but probably unrepeatable. The queen just laughed once again, and there was the sound of her hooves clopping off across the floor. She shortly left the hall, and then there was no sound at all. No sound, that is, except for a hushed mutter further up the room from Sailears, underneath other tables on the same side. “Quick, Scoots, while she’s gone.” “On it!” Wings flapped, and there was a scrabbling at glass. “Sweetie, give me a boost!” “Boosting!” “Ow! That was my face.” “Sorry! I’ll try again.” “Ow!” “Guys, keep it quiet!” That was a new speaker, and they sounded like a boy. The others had all sounded like girls. “We’ve got to be stealthy, otherwise that changeling will hear us and do … well, nothing good, I’m guessing.” “We’ve gotta rush if we’re going to help our sisters, though,” said the first speaker. “Scoots, Sweetie Belle, how’re you getting on up there?” “These window latches are stiff! You got any know-how to get them open? Hey, I can see them! They’re already fighting!” “What? Spike, Sweetie, hoist me up. I’ll give ‘em a‒” “Hello?” ventured Sailears. “Who’s there?” The voices hushed, and they whispered in brief conferral. “Er,” said the boy speaker, trying to pitch his voice to sound low and gruff, “Friend or foe?” Sailears gave the question due consideration. “Maybe a friend?” he eventually ventured. Whisper, whisper, whisper. “What do you mean, ‘maybe’?” said the second speaker. “Well, I don’t know who you are. Maybe you could be either?” “Who’s talking?” came a nigh-unhearable whisper from the room’s centre. There was another whispered conference, the patter of hooves on the ground, and then the tablecloth separating the end of Sailears’ table from the next in line twitched up. Green light spilled into the darkness, and the elephant found himself face-to-face with a little purple-scaled dragon in formal dress and three flower-fillies; a yellow-coated earth pony, an orange pegasus, and a white unicorn straining to keep her horn glowing. “I’m Spike,” the dragon said warily, eying up Sailears. He puffed his chest out slightly and added, “Personal and hyper-competent assistant to Princess Celestia’s most faithful student, Twi‒” “And we’re the Cutie Mark Crusaders,” the earth pony filly interjected. “I’m Apple Bloom, and these here are Sweetie Belle and Scootaloo. You’re an elephant, aintcha? Who’re you exactly?” “Oh, um, I’m Shahanshah Sailears the Second of Ancient and Glorious Pachydermia,” replied Sailears. “Do you know what’s going on?” “Whoever it is, come out. I won’t bite.” “I reckon some evil bug-queen’s trying to take over Equestria and my big sister and her friends are trying to stop her with the Elements of Harmony. We’re gonna help them. Wanna join in?” Sailears brightened. He still understood very little, but at least it was an ill-understood thing he could do. “Okay! What’re you going to do?” “Ah,” said Apple Bloom after a moment’s silence, broken only by the distant screaming and explosions. “That there’s one of the difficult questions.”