Sentry duty was the most boring thing imaginable for Hammer. The only perks the job had was that it was easy, and every once in a while a slave would bring him a pitcher of mulled wine to warm him. The stronghold he guarded was a circular compound of sturdy, story-high logs with tips that had been carved into points. When looking down on it from above it looked like a rounded row of massive wooden stakes protruding from the ground.
Hammer and his brother Sickle patrolled along the lofty deck which gave them as much a view over the tips of the log wall as the snows and fogs would allow them, occasionally meeting up near the front gate to chat. It was the beginning of the sixth hour in their twelve hour shift when they finally met up at the usual place for some refreshments. Sickle was already there when he arrived.
Sickle was the smaller of the two Pegasus brothers, who's cutey mark was, as one could guess, a sickle. It represented his willingness to work hard and do whatever he needed to in order to survive. To him, the world was but a field of plunder to be harvested. It was a philosophy that made him perfect for his occupation. He could lead raids, he could fight, he could track down caravans and unsuspecting travelers from leagues away, he didn't mind guard duty, and he made for an excellent overseer. His whip arm was strong, and despite him being small in stature, he could be intimidating. His versatility was what made him useful to their boss. The thin, lean stallion was pouring two cups of hot wine for his brother and himself as Hammer approached.
"Always the first to the wine, I see," Hammer laughed, his muscular barrel chest heaving with amusement.
"Are you to be implying that I am greedy?" chuckled Sickle. "Do you not see me pouring a cup for you as well?"
"You probably meaning to pour two for yourself," Hammer accused, though it was in a humorous sort of way.
Sickle pulled up a stool with his cup and gazed over the wall with a pensive expression. "Do you think boss will return soon?"
Hammer took a seat at the small wooden table and reached for his mug. "Hard to say. The scouts reported large house with lots of ponies. If they put up fight it could take a while. It all depends on their numbers." He downed his wine with one hard swallow, then eyed the bowl of fresh produce that had been set out for them on the table. Drawing his dagger from a sheathe secured with a leather thong around his left arm, he skewered a fresh red onion and bit into it. Hammer preferred beats, especially when cooked into a borscht, but beggars couldn't be choosers.
Sickle, unlike his boar of a brother, sipped at his wine to saver its flavor. He smiled and said, "It would be stupid of them to fight back."
"I agree. Though, I am looking forward to getting an eye full of that plunder. A mansion must have lots of valuable trinkets."
Sickle grimaced, as if the wine had gone sour upon passing his lips. "Not like I'll get any of it. Tauren insists I still owe him. He will take my share for himself again, I have no doubt."
"He still going off about that slave you killed?" Hammer inquired as he helped himself to another cup.
"He won't let me forget. I ask you, what good is slave who says no to you? She was slave. I was master. She say no to me, so I teach her lesson."
"Stupid brother, what will slave girl learn from being dead?"
Sickle shrugged, as if the act he had committed was on par with forgetting to take the trash out. "I didn't mean to kill her. I only meant to chastise her... I get carried away, I suppose." He took another sip from his cup before adding, "The girl became slave recently, I can tell. The ones who are born into it, following orders is all that they know. But the ones who are captured and made into slaves, they are trouble makers. They must be constantly reminded that they are nothing but property, or they will forget."
Hammer noticed a large black bird fluttering to the tip of one of the spiked logs. Its feathers were the darkest shade of black he had ever seen, with the most peculiar green eyes. It sat perched upon the point and looked as if it was making deliberate eye contact with him.
"Hey brother," Sickle said, seemingly oblivious the strange bird's presence. "The scouts mention lots of potential slaves. Do you think boss will bring back some girls?"
"Perhaps," Hammer replied, but his heart was no longer in the conversation. Strange birds of the same variety were now landing all around them. On the deck, around the wall, upon the structures within the keep. They crowed and squawked like normal birds did, but there was something about their lack of movement once they had landed that was unnerving. "Hey, brother."
"I see them," replied Sickle, who was now beginning to look rather unsettled upon noticing the winged creatures. "What is happening?"
The others in the keep were noticing them now. Slavers as well as slaves stopped what they were doing to gawk at the crows gathering all around them. Hundreds were perched squawking through the keep as thousands more flew in a black spiral in the sky above, like a dark, ominous vortex. The commerce around the keep yielded to the sounds of the hawking birds and skirling winds.
One of the strange birds landed on the table near a mug and squawked. Sickle grasped his cup and used the flat bottom surface to crush the bird where it stood. "They are just birds," Sickle laughed. "See how easy they die, brother?"
"I... I suppose," Hammer stammered.
They watched the peculiar crow until its crushed body began to seize up and fidget about. Its crushed bones began to heal right before them. Its twisted neck and spine made several loud pops as it twisted and contorted back to shape. The brothers paled when the crow leaped to its feet and shot its assailant a look that resembled a green, glowing glare.
The eye of every crow in the keep and overhead, like little beads of jade, were now focused on Sickle. The Pegasus looked around nervously. "Brother, we should leave. I have bad feeling."
"We cannot abandon station," Hammer protested. "Tauren will have us flogged."
Sickle reached again for his mug, but just as he did every crow above and below squawked in unison like a warcry. The sound they emitted was unbearably shrill. Just as Sickle was clapping his hooves over his ears, the crows converged on him.
"Brother!" Hammer screamed.
Sickle thrashed and wailed until he lost his footing and fell from the scaffolding. The snow gathering below managed to cushion his fall, but the birds continued to screech and squawk and peck and rake furiously at his flesh. They gathered upon him until he was a thrashing, screaming, kicking mass of flailing black feathers.
Slave and soldier alike scattered over each other in a panic when the birds finally dispersed, leaving nothing behind but the mangled remains of the Pegasus that had once been Hammer's brother.
Hammer's state of shock rendered him unable to move as he watched the crows rip his terrified comrades to pieces, his station at the rampart offering him a grizzly view of the carnage. The chaos in the keep continued on like a writhing mass of ants clambering over each other while the crows began to assemble at the center of the camp.
Black wings flailed and feathered bodies collided to form one large shape. The dark birds' bodies swirled into an amalgamation that resembled something of an inky blot of a stallion. A horn protruded from its head. Eyes like two hauntingly green spheres lined with amethyst wisps of phantom light suddenly opened on what appeared to be the dark masses' face.
Desperation and self preservation finally kicked in. Without thinking Hammer unslung his crossbow, took aim, and fired at the specter. The bolt whistled harmlessly through the figure, as if it was nothing but a body of black smoke. That was when the thing's eyes fell upon him, and the stallion's bowels turned to water. Its horn began to gleam, and a flash of light was the last thing the bandit saw before his flesh and bone was reduced to nothing but a fine, dark ash scattering into the wind.
"Is there nothing I can do to convince you to stay?" Fluttershy pleaded with the boyfriend of the pregnant mare.
"I'm sorry," he offered, gently stroking his girlfriend's hoof. "The baby will be do any day now, and I... I don't know how to say this without offending you, but this just isn't a safe place to raise a child. Between those bandits and your husband's explosive temper, I can't believe we're still alive."
"My husband would never hurt you," Fluttershy insisted. "He protected you today, can't you see that?"
"You call that protection?" Countered the mare. "That monster slaughtered those stallions without so much as blinking an eye!"
"Honey, please," the stallion attempted in a calming tone.
"Don't you 'honey please' me," the mare cut him off. "What will we do if we're attacked again?"
"My husband wil--
"Your husband will what? Murder them? Like he did the others? I shutter to imagine the damage it would cause if our baby were to witness such violence for himself." She tenderly stroked her belly, shuttering over the prospects. "His little mind wouldn't be able to take it. H-he'd be traumatized, probably grow up to be a serial killer, or some horrible thing."
"Sombra only did what he had--
"Killing is never the answer!" The mare shouted over the queen before she could conclude her sentence. "Those stallions may have been brutes, but each and every single one of them was somebody's baby! That monster you call your husband killed them in cold blood!" The unhinged mare then broke down into tears. "No one has the right to kill someone else!" she sobbed. "No one! I don't care what the reason is..."
Fluttershy did not appreciate the accusation in her words - but she had to remember she was pregnant. The horror of the day's events, the hormones intermingling with the stresses of becoming a mother, it would concoct a volatile mixture of emotion for any mare. The queen herself should be so stable if the situation was reversed. "If Sombra hadn't done what he did, there's a good chance that your baby would be born into slavery," she said, carefully. "Is that not a good enough reason for you?"
The inconsolable mare wiped her tears away. "No, it's not. There's always another way. Killing is just the easy solution."
"That may be," Ethey came in, "but you can't argue that its an effective one." The little mare approached them, her face still puffy from her tears. "I love how all you seem to care about were the lives of those 'poor helpless bandits'. What about the royal guards?"
"I feel bad for them too, but two wrongs don't make a right," the mare insisted.
"I agree," said Ethey, "but can you show me when and where this supposed second wrong was done? Look, It would be nice if everyone in the world thought like you, but they don't, sad to say. There are only the field mice who think like you, and the snakes who prey upon them."
"And which one is Sombra?" said the pregnant mare smugly, as if she had assumed she just trapped the adviser in her own analogy. "He's certainly not a mouse, so, according to you, what does that make him?"
"Sombra is the mongoose that comes along and kicks the snakes' ass."
The mare fumed. Instead of replying to the adviser's quip she turned again to the queen and said, "Look, I'm not here to debate morality with either of you. The king offered safe passage for anyone who wished to leave. My boyfriend and I want to leave. Now."
"If that is your wish," Fluttershy conceded. "But I implore you to be patient. We need to make sure the passage is safe before we send you."
"When will that be?" pressed the mare.
"Soon," replied the queen.
"How soon?"
"I already told you." Fluttershy did what she could to restrain the ire in her tone, but it was beginning to breach the surface. She was already stressed to the point of wanting to cry, and this mare's insufferable attitude wasn't making things easier for her. "When I can guarantee you safe passage. Not. A second. Before."
"We want to leave now!"
The queen's eyes narrowed as her patience had reached their limit. "And ponies in Tartarus want ice water!" she finally snapped. The mare, her boyfriend, and even Ethey flinched under her sudden shift in tone. "We are done speaking about this. Go back to your quarters and rest. I'll send for you once I have insured the path is safe." The mother-to-be tried to say something else, but Fluttershy raised an authoritative hoof. "We will speak no more of this." And without another word, she flicked her cape and whirled around on her hooves, leaving the couple there in the feasting hall to glower indignantly at her back as she walked away.
"You handled that nicely," critiqued Ethey.
"I feel bad for them. I'll have to remember to apologize before I send them off." Fluttershy mooned guiltily at the ground while she strode along the bright rushes of the manse's corridor. "That makes ten in total who want to leave now. At this rate, there will be no one left."
"Hey now, don't say that," Ethey said in a poorly attempted upbeat tone. "I'll still be here. So will Clash. It's not like we have anywhere else to go. And don't forget that Sombra has managed to gather his own little fanbase of followers. I doubt they'll want to leave."
"Sombra," Fluttershy mused. "He was so angry when he left. When he comes back and finds out that nearly a fraction of the staff wants to leave... How will that make him feel?"
"Can't say he'll be happy, but he can't blame you for that, now can he?"
"I suppose." The queen stopped when she arrived at the library entrance.
"Checking up on the little guy?"
"I just want to make sure he's okay."
"I'll leave you to it, then," Ethey said. "If you don't have anything in particular for me to do, I'm going to go see if Clash needs help with the funeral preparations. Remember, the service will be conducted at sunset in the garden."
Fluttershy nodded. "I'll be there," she assured, and the two parted ways. The Queen shut the library door behind her, and finally she allowed herself to cry. She had been holding her emotions back for so long, she just couldn't contain it anymore. So many things were happening to her all at once, what with the PTS-inducing carnage she had been forced to bare witness to that morning, the death of Cadence's guards, granting numerous audiences with those demanding leave, overseeing the construction of the wall, her husband's outburst, not to mention him disallowing her from seeing her friends. It was as if a lifetime's worth of stress and woe had decided to strike all on one day. The phrase 'when it rains, it pours' came to mind as she wiped the tears from her eyes.
As she ascended toward the nook she forced her emotions back. The terrified little griffon looked to her for comfort. She couldn't let him sense her distress. Upon entering her lofty study that overlooked the library, she could see that the child was asleep under the pile of blankets where she had left him. A stack of plates lay on the desk where he had devoured every leftover from breakfast she could gather for him. It broke her heart to watch him eat. It was as if he went into a state of berserk the moment he caught a scent of the rolls and omelettes she had brought him.
When the griffon had finally had his fill he wanted to be held again. Fluttershy had to force back a tear as she cradled him in the corner. He was still so scared, the poor thing.
Why he wasn't speaking, she couldn't tell. The Queen had asked him several times if he could speak, to which he would nod, but that's all he would do. She had asked him his name, if he knew where his parents were, how old he was, but he would just give her that same silent, pitiful look each time. She toyed with the notion that he was perhaps mute, but that couldn't have been true. She knew she heard him scream when Sombra incinerated the bodies of the bandits outside the feasting hall in his fit of rage.
Fluttershy had left the griffon there to rest, but not before she brought him some blankets and a pillow to rest his head on. She had decided that this would be the best place for him at the moment. Being a sufferer of anxiety herself, she could understand the need to hide away in a small, cozy, secluded place such as this, away from prying eyes.
When Fluttershy laid down next to him, she noticed the remnants of deep cuts under his thick coat of feathers. Most of the scars were on his chest and wings, which he had most likely earned from fighting with rival bandits or participating in raids. Upon her inspection she was able to discern some sort of round symbol that had been burned into his haunch. The flesh had been seared long ago and the fur had refused to grow back. Old cuts like stripes of raised skin covered his forearms. Defensive wounds, perhaps - when he had naught but his talons as a means of protection when fending away an attacker armed with some kind of blade...
Overwhelmed with pity, she wrapped her arms around the boy and held him. 'How did you get those scars?' she wished she could ask him. 'How many terrible things have you seen in the few years that you've live?'
The griffon let out a chirp before its feathery chest continued to rise and fall with its soft little snores.
What kind of hell was this peninsula, Fluttershy thought, where such a young child could be subjected to this kind of cruelty? It was then that speculation struck her: Was this the real reason why her husband was here? All the time his spirit had to roam the land, he must have traveled and witnessed countless horrors in this place. She could imagine how, over time, it may have changed him. This must have been his reason for forsaking his rule of the Chrystal Empire, in spite of it being his birthright, and wanting to return to this literal Celestia-forsaken piece of the country. Sombra's ambitions were not motivated by a hunger for power or innate desire for conquest, but a want to bring rule to a savage land where there was none.
That was his declaration of intent he had made when he delivered his first speech to his subjects in the feasting hall: To extend his reach across this wild land. To destroy, to conquer, and then rebuild. To forge a great nation that Celestia and her 'intrepid band of pompous Alicorns' could only dream of. Those words... Those powerful words... They were not truly resonating with her until now. His claims didn't mean much to her then, but now, they were giving her goosebumps.
The Queen could not be sure if her husband's goal was merely a road to Tartarus that was paved with good intentions. There would be war. There would be death. There would be more pain and misery before his ultimate aim would be realized. Could the ends truly justify the means?
It wasn't until she looked down at the boy again when the iron will of conviction began to set in her heart. There was no philosophy to morality. There were only the cold, hard facts she had realized upon reflecting on the day's experiences: There was evil, there are those who set out to punish evil, and there are those who stand on the sidelines and criticize both sides for their methods without offering any kind of effective resolution. Neutrality was not a solution. You either aided one faction to victory, or become a victim.
The snake. The mongoose. The Mouse.
Fluttershy held the child firmly against her chest, as if the helpless little griffon was the very symbol for which she was ready to fight. She would no longer be a mouse, and she refused to join the snakes. If fate would force her to take a side, she would be left with only one option.
The emotionally exhausted queen eventually closed her eyes. Her intentions were to rest them for only a few short moments, but without meaning to she drifted into a light slumber alongside the child. Her last thought was a reflection upon her husband's wisdom that he had imparted unto her. There are two types of rulers in this world: There are those who do as they will, and there are those who do as they must.