//------------------------------// // Chapter 6 // Story: Midnight's Shadow: Succession Crisis // by Ponibius //------------------------------// “Thy plan is foolish.” I scowled as Corva’s chastisement echoed within my mind. Methodically walking in a circle around the castle in the fading daylight, I held aloft a large bag of chalk dust, one of a score in a cart pulled behind me by one of the servants. “My plan should work,” I countered. “‘Tis tactically sound and based on all I have learned of lycanthropes.” “The problem is not how likely ‘twill work, but what it foolishly risks.” It seemed that one of the consequences of opening myself to the raven spirit was that its ability to contact me even outside the Dreamscape. Where before Corva could only whisper but a few words during the night, she could now carry on full conversations of increasing length even when the sun was up. This could be useful when I had questions, but it also proved quite vexing at times, such as when Corva rather vehemently opposed mine actions. “No plan ‘gainst such as this is without risk,” I shot back. “And I will not allow such a monster plague the countryside unopposed.” “And thou needst not,” Corva said. “Honeyfield has several defenders to call ‘pon without placing thyself on the front line.” I picked up another bag of chalk and resumed pouring it in a circular line. “And I am the one most suited to defeat this monster.” “All the more reason to let the others soften up the beast first. They will be unlikely to succeed if thou wert to fall.” I paused, misliking the implications of her words. “Are you suggesting I use the rest as fodder against the werewolf?” “The ponies of the Honeyfield Guard made a solemn vow to protect their masters and the county,” Corva reasoned. “Rumble in turn defends his lands as a knight should. They know the risks of their duties, and coddling them does both thee and them a disservice.” I looked up and confirmed that Stalwart directed the weather pegasi as they blanketed the sky in clouds, some of them already rumbling with electricity. Ravens also filled the sky, their caws echoing melodically. “And I have made mine own oaths, ones I do not take lightly. ‘Tis my duty to protect ponies from monsters.” “A duty thou cannot perform if thou art dead. I will remind thee, thou hast too great a duty to Equestria to die here. Magi are too valuable to throw away their lives, and thou art far more important to Equestria than most.” “Some would say that is arrogant to say about oneself.” I finished my circle around the castle, ending up in the gardens near the castle gate, and paid the servant for his aid. “False modesty is its own form of arrogance.” I could all but hear Corva scowling at me. “Tell me honestly that thou art not important—thou, a magus who has the ear of Celestia herself and to whom thy mother would pass all her titles,. If there is war with Gryphonia, would thy presence not make a difference in that conflict? Hast thou no ambitions? Neigh, we both know ‘twould be a lie to claim otherwise. Yet thou wouldst throw it all away in a fool’s quest.” Corva had a point. The fire of ambition burned within me. Where I had felt listless before the events in Appleton, I now knew where I would take my life. While I had yet to settle on some details, I knew I wished to be an archmagus someday, and nopony who sought that title could do so without being ambitious. Mayhaps that was my mother’s blood burning within me, but ‘twas not a siren’s call I could readily ignore. I decided to switch tactics with the raven spirit instead of debating her points. “How am I to prove my skill to others if I run away from a mere werewolf? Mother advanced quickly through the magi ranks by proving she could defeat such enemies, and worse.” Corva’s annoyed hiss echoed within my mind. “Be that as it may, she was not a fool in how she fought. Thou shouldst withdraw to the inner defenses of the castle and prepare thy defenses there. Let the others fight the monster on the outer defenses—or better yet, abscond with the lycanthrope’s targets to Canterlot and deny thine enemy of his goal entirely.” I shook my head, pulling some of my rune-covered scrimshaw bones from my saddlebags. “I have effectively done so with Snowfall, but if I flee with Rumble as well, who might this werewolf kill instead?” There was a moment of silence that made me wonder if Corva had lost her ability to communicate with me again, she had been suddenly cut off on more than one occasion, but then her voice spoke within my thoughts once again. “Is this about Red Steel again?” I flinched and halted. “What about her?” “Thou art yet haunted by her death.” Corva tsked. “Thou cannot save everypony. ‘Tis the weight of thy responsibilities and station. Ponies around thee will die, no matter thine actions.” “I can still do my best,” I countered. “Aye, I feel guilty that Red died because I could not save her. There were means by which I could have.” “And thou insult’st her with thy regret.” Corva let out an annoyed huff. “She made her choices and died as a warrior should. She slew her enemy at the cost of her life. Do not belittle that by second-guessing events.” I sighed and shook my head. Corva’s argument had a logic to it. Maybe. Either way, I tired of the matter. “Fine, I will stop feeling guilty over what happened to Red. But my plan is unchanged. I cannot flee, for retreating now would cede the initiative to Roller. Right now I pick the time and place for our encounter. Will I be able to do the same in Canterlot? Where there will be even more potential victims for the werewolf to slaughter to get to his goal?” “Thy tactics are still flawed. Thy plan requires too much to go right.” “No plan is perfect. ‘Tis foolish to think otherwise.” I looked about the garden outside the castle gate, the buzz of the nearby apiaries echoing in my ears. I methodically started burying my scrimshaw bones one at a time in a circle. “If I find myself too badly pressed, I plan to retreat back into the castle where the Honeyfield Guard can come to mine aid.” “Hast thou ever tried to outrun a werewolf before?” I stopped briefly in my tracks. “Neigh, I have not. But should you not know that? I thought you said you know everything that has happened in my life.” Corva groaned. “The question was rhetorical, Midnight.” “Ah, I see.” I returned to burying my scrimshaw. “In that case, aye, I think I see the problem you present. Running from a werewolf would be ... difficult, to put it lightly.” “Hence why thou shouldst rethink thy plan.” “And I think the plan will work.” The conversation would likely had continued if not for somepony else’s voice catching mine attention. “Busy at work, Magus?” the Duke of Blackwood asked. He was flanked by a full dozen guards, each well-armed and clad in dark green armor. Across the garden, a sky carriage bearing his house heraldry was stationed. “We can talk about this later,  Corva.” I turned my full attention to the duke. “The nature of our enemy demands the necessity of preparation.” Mine eyes flicked to the carriage. “But it seems you are making your own plans for how to deal with the crisis.” Duke Ferme shrugged. “There seems little reason for me to risk my life. This is not my land, House Honeyfield is not of my blood, and my debt will still stand even if I depart for a time.” “Assuming there is a House Honeyfield after tonight,” I pointed out. “You can hardly collect your debt from a bunch of corpses.” A ghost of a grin showed itself on the Duke of Blackwood’s features. “Indeed. But still, I place my life over my money. It would hurt to lose the debt owed to me, but ‘tis a loss I can afford at the end of the day.” I narrowed mine eyes. “Your guards could be of some assistance ‘gainst the werewolf.” The words caused a near imperceptible flicker of movement in the guardponies. Whether ‘twas born out of fear or a desire for blood and glory I could not say; warriors were often prone to wanting to prove their worth, but most were not fools who sought death, and the werewolf would be a dangerous foe. ‘Twas possible I might gain the assistance of a few more warriors to defend the castle, but that depended on what the duke thought of the matter. “And the duty of my guards is to protect my house and its interests.” Duke Ferme stepped closer to me and his voice became very quiet. “So tell me, Magus, is it in the interest of my house to protect the Honeyfields?” So that was the way of it: Duke Ferme wanted something in exchange for his assistance. More than a little bit of me was irritated by him playing such games during a crisis, but it did not really surprise me. Looking to their house’s interests first and foremost was all too common amongst the nobility. ‘Twas fed to them alongside the milk of their mother’s teats. So that left me with the question of whether to strike a bargain with the duke. I could guess at least one thing he would desire: greater influence over Honeyfield. Mayhaps a guarantee that one of his house would marry the heir of House Honeyfield, for example. Indeed, considering the great debt Honeyfield owed him and the lack of a direct heir to pay it, one could argue that the county should go to his house in some manner. Either directly, or as the inheritance of his secondborn child. Another option was for me to personally give him a boon to call ‘pon later. As Corva had just reminded me, I was a pony of no small importance. His guards would be of immense help at this point in time, and their aid could mean the difference for all our lives. The issue was that I could not foresee what the duke might desire of me, but I suspected ‘twould not be to my liking. If I made a deal now, Duke Ferme would likely hold the debt over my head for a long time—and ‘twould be a heavy one, for he would be able to claim he saved my life. What could he not demand in repayment for such a boon? I met the duke’s eyes. “Neigh, Duke Ferme. ‘Tis not within your interests.” “A pity. I had hoped we could make some sort of arrangement.” The duke shrugged, then nodded to his guard. “Come on then, no sense dallying here.” He started towards his carriage, but I called out to him. “I will remember this day well, Duke Ferme. Know that you could have offered your help as a friend, but instead you attempted to take advantage of me and House Honeyfield. Your character is now known to me, and ‘tis not something I will forget.” The corner of Ferme’s mouth turned up into something resembling a smile. “And I know thee too, Magus. Thou couldst have made a powerful friend this day, and instead thou hast scorned me.” “Some friends are not worth having.” The duke frowned at me for a long moment. “Do try and survive the night. ‘Twould be a pity if thy new house’s future was extinguished due to a single misguided venture.” “Aye, I would not seek to displease Mother by doing so,” I answered. “And living is far preferable for my constitution. Good night to you, Duke.” Duke Ferme and his guards were soon away, likely not to return until the crisis was over. That unpleasant conversation past, I returned to my work of preparing for the night. Stalwart flew down and landed near me, his eyes on the shrinking dots of the duke and his guards. “They did not cause you any trouble, milady?” I shook my head. “Nothing I could not handle. He merely sought to make a deal with me while I was at a disadvantage, but his prices were too high. I would not give a conniving stallion such as himself a boon, nor sell Honeyfield’s future in the name of saving it.” Stalwart’s eyes narrowed at the shrinking dots. “He has no honor or courage. He called himself Count High’s friend, but will not lift a hoof to aid his house in its time of need.” “Because he is no friend of House Honeyfield,” I told him. “He took advantage of a weak count in High Stakes and sought to bring Honeyfield into his orbit, nothing more. He attempted to do the same to me, but I would not play his game.” “And you are wise for doing so,” Émeraude said, suddenly appearing beside me and my bodyguard. I had not even heard her approach, much less saw her come out of the castle. “I never liked that one, and warned Stakes more times than I can remember not to trust him. He is a snake that slithers his way into your affair before it strangles you.” “And he owns Honeyfield’s debt,” I reminded her. “An unfortunate thing when you neither like nor trust him.” Something flashed behind Émeraude’s eyes and she flashed her teeth. “Indeed. ‘Tis my hope that you find some solution to that in your duties.” “I might have some thoughts on how to deal with it,” I admitted. “Unlike some nobles, I have been taught the value of economics.” Émeraude smiled. “That is good to hear, at least as long as whatever you are thinking benefits my family.” “As you know, I take my duties most seriously.” I buried the last of my scrimshaw and turned to the fey. “And speaking of duties, I would know whether you will aid us in the defense of your family and castle.” Her gaze turned away from mine and towards the ground. “Do you remember the story I told you about the conflict between Jasper, Azurite, and Ruby?” “‘Twas told to me just last night, so I can hardly forget it.” I blinked slowly, remembering Émeraude’s fey-like ways of trying to convey information. “You are saying that you cannot directly interfere in a conflict ‘tween members of your family because of the Compact?” Could it be that she was telling me that the pony claiming to be her long-lost nephew actually was the real Roller? Mayhaps … or maybe she only wanted me to think that for some other purpose, like tricking me into a bargain with her. This was the problem with fey: they were maddeningly difficult to understand. Émeraude’s smile did not quite reach her eyes. “We all have our natures, Magus. Some are more constraining than others. Though...” Her pupils flashed and contracted to slits as her grin turned predatory. “I do have some room to move in. Especially if somepony were to make a bargain with me.” Corva screamed unbidden in my head. “Do not make a deal with this one! She is like Duke Ferme—she seeks to take advantage of thee!” “I know the dangers,” I answered, struggling to keep irritation from my tone. ‘Twas difficult enough to concentrate on Émeraude’s words without a competing voice in my head. Not to mention I did not want to look like I was carrying on a conversation with a third party when ‘twas but the two of us. That would make me seem mad when I most certainly was not. “And what would the price be for your assistance?” I asked her. “And what assistance would you be giving?” “It depends on what you want, and what you would offer,” Émeraude stated in a deliberately vague tone. “If it is within my power to give, we can form a bargain of equal exchange.” I was in treacherous waters now. There were plenty of stories where somepony had overpaid for their desires. One stallion had said within earshot of a fey that he would die to have the mare of his dreams; he went on to marry the mare in question only to die when the room collapsed on him as soon as they had exchanged their vows. Naturally, I wished to avoid any bargain that would result in my whole body being turned into a red paste which leaked blood all over the floor. Yet, that just highlighted the question of what I might be willing to bargain over. Émeraude had talked of my firstborn, naturally. Almost all fey loved the idea of having a young mind to mold to their desires. I could offer a boon to her, but giving an open favor to one such as she rarely ended well for the bargainer in question. Mayhaps I could do a quest for her, to be completed after I was done here in Honeyfield. In that event, I could get a clear idea of what was desired of me. “Quests from the fey are rarely as simple as they appear on the surface,” Corva warned. I stiffened. “I was not speaking to you.” “Thou wert thinking out loud,” she explained. “As much as I mislike thy plan for the danger it puts thee in, I like the idea of bargaining with this creature even less. It is even more dangerous than the coming battle. Send her away and concentrate on the task before thee.” I sighed and rubbed my throbbing head. Between the lack of sleep from the previous night, my journeys throughout this day, and that dreadful poison ivy, I was exhausted. Not ideal circumstances to make a dangerous deal with one such as Émeraude. “Mine apologies, but I must turn down any bargain for the time being,” I informed her. “Now if you do not mind, I have more work to do to protect your home and your family.” Émeraude sighed and her head drooped. “That is a pity. A great deal of trouble might have been avoided if an agreement could have been made. For what it is worth, I wish you the best. It may be hard for you to believe, but I do like you, and hope no harm comes to you.” “I would like no harm to come to me as well,” I said. “No harm coming to me is in my best interest.” Émeraude’s smile returned to her. “Then make sure to guard your life. You know your foe, even if not as well as you think. I will leave you to your task. May the night be kind to you.” “Goodnight, Émeraude,” I said as she departed. I was not entirely sure what to make of the fey. ‘Twas possible she was merely trying to manipulate me, or mayhaps she was actually trying to aid me, if in her own odd way. Of course, ‘twas entirely possible she intended both. Whatever the truth of the matter, I still had work to do. I yawned and concentrated on the circle I had set up earlier, enchanting it with an alarm spell. High Roller might have been able to avoid me when I sought him earlier, but he would not so easily be able to bypass this magical tripwire. Stalwart looked at me as I did my work. “You look tired, Magus.” I rubbed mine eyes, yet another reminder of my fatigue. “Between last night’s events and Émeraude’s request to speak with me in thine absence, I did not get much sleep.” It seemed best not to mention to my bodyguard that I had gone to the crypt alone with the fey. That was the type of thing that would upset him, for obvious reasons. The sergeant's eyes narrowed. “Will you be ready to face the night?” I yawned again and nodded, mine alarm now complete. “I will be fine. I will sleep as much as I need to once the werewolf has been defeated.” Stalwart grunted. “If I may suggest something, milady, mayhaps you could retire to take a nap?” “I am not so sure that is wise,” I said. “There is no telling when our quarry might arrive.” “Aye, but...” Stalwart trailed off as a raven descended in our direction. I lifted a leg and allowed the bird to perch upon it. Archduke Glittering Coin, Sixth of His Name, Lord Protector of Many and Varied Baubles of the Great Unkindness, and Assistant to the Wise and Powerful Midnight Sparkle bowed to me and spoke in the raventongue. “Raven Queen, everything is ready as you ordered. The wolf-pony will not come within sight of the castle before we spot him, that I swear on the part of all ravenkin.” “Then thou hast pleased thy raven queen,” I answered in kind. “After this night is done and the beast struck down, ‘twill be a time of festivities.” There was a sparkle within the black orbs of Glittering Coin. “And then there will be corn?” I nodded. “How could I not reward those who serve me so well?” A thunderous cry rose up from the Great Unkindness circling overhead. “Corn! Corn! Corn!” Stalwart sighed and pulled off his helmet to run his hoof through his mane. “No matter how many times I experience that, ‘tis always unsettling.” I raised an eyebrow in the sergeant’s direction. “Why so? They are just ravens who desire corn.” He shook his head. “Nevermind me, milady.” Since he asked me to pay him no mind, I returned mine attention to Glittering Coin. “Thou knowest my desires. As soon as the wolf-pony is seen, report to me immediately. I will deal with the monster myself.” Glittering Coin bowed again. “Of course, Raven Queen! By your leave I do your work.” He flapped his wings and took off to rejoin the rest of the Unkindness. Between their presence and my magical alarms, it should be all but impossible for High Roller or the werewolf to approach the castle unnoticed. That finished, I turned to face Stalwart. “Thou canst return to thy station, Sergeant.” Stalwart did not immediately move. “I would feel better being at your side.” “And I would feel better if thou took thy station and played thy part in my plan,” I informed him. The sergeant stiffened and did not heed my command. Mine orders probably went against the order Lady Shadow had given him to always stay at my side. Mayhaps a different approach would work with him. “Do not worry, the werewolf cannot sneak up on me in the gardens when I have placed so many wards, and thou wilt be able to spot the werewolf well before it reaches me. And thou wilt have our first surprise ready when our foe arrives, wilt thou not?” Stalwart grunted. “That is true.” He picked up a spear with a silver-tipped head that had been propped up against the birdbath. The spear was not of a craftmareship that any artisan would take pride in, but time had necessitated expediency in the weapon’s construction. “I will do as you have commanded, but I will return to your side if the battle continues for too long.” “That is fine,” I allowed. If that logic was what let the sergeant follow mine orders, so be it. “Is there anything else?” He shook his head. “Neigh, milady. By your leave.” He spread his wings and took off for the sky, the clouds’ rumbles mixing with the caws of the ravens. That left me to the final touches of my preparations. Returning to the birdbath and my runic scrimshaw, I activated its latent energies. The runes flared to life with blue fire, and an energy entered the air. Something felt sharper in the area, like I was running through the forest in the middle of the night during a hunt. The runes seemed to be working. They should draw the werewolf with its sanguine tastes to the garden, its primal instincts pulled by the scent of a plentiful hunting ground. I had made this particular scrimshaw to draw in predators into traps, though I had never had the opportunity to use it before. It should work in theory, but there was a big gap between theory and practice. Thus, I waited. I quickly remembered why I did not like waiting. I thanked whatever gods were out there that I was not born a common soldier, for spending hour upon hour on guard whilst nothing happened would have driven me to madness. The idea of pulling out a book to read came to mind, but that would not do; a book could easily distract me in a poor moment, and there was a good chance that the book would end up drenched in the lifeblood of mine enemy. I did not wish to ruin a perfectly serviceable book in such a manner. A pity there was nopony to talk to. Rumble, Freezy, and the rest of the house guards were inside the castle, setting up their defenses in the feasting hall. Stalwart was in the clouds, and Subtle Song should be exactly where I wanted her to be. Thus, I was alone by mine own design. I was so very, very bored. I scratched where the blisters from the poison ivy flared up again. I pulled out Herbal Remedy’s ointment and slathered it on. That done, I was reminded about how bored and tired I was. I sat down and waited as the sun sunk over the horizon. I closed mine eyes and... “Magus!” I returned to consciousness with a start, suddenly aware of somepony shaking my shoulder. Stalwart stood tall over me as I rubbed the blurriness from mine eyes, grimly staring towards castle. The ravens were cawing with great excitement and the clouds continued to rumble, arcs of electricity flashing in the night sky above us. He shook me again, jolting me to full wakefulness. “Something is happening in the castle. We must go.” Oh no, nonono, I had fallen asleep at the worst possible time. Damnation, I had been able to keep myself awake as long as I kept myself busy, but the moment I sat to rest... Before I could finish chastising myself, a great howl echoed from the halls of the castle. How? How had the werewolf gotten into the castle? A quick check of mine alarm circle showed that ‘twas not breached. It would surely have awoken me if it had been triggered, to say nothing of the swift response the Great Unkindness would have delivered if they saw the beast approaching. I had made mine orders clear to them, and Raven Queen or not, I would have found myself roused from slumber quickly enough with a  swift peck or two from their beaks. My mind whirled as I tried to make sense of this breach. A terrible realization struck me. High Roller would not have needed to breach my defenses if he had already been inside them. Had he not spoken of secret passages into the castle? Aye, I recalled I had even goaded him to tell me where to find them as proof of his identity. I had not considered that Roller might do something as bold as hide under our very noses after fleeing from Glazing. There were so many places he could have gone, but I had not considered the mind of the pony I sought. Honeyfield Castle was his home, his rightful seat, and there were invaders in it. What is more, he was desperate. If he did not slay his perceived enemies outright in a single night as a werewolf, we were likely to hunt him down and either capture or slay him the following morning. I had been a fool. Was this the information Émeraude wanted to bargain for? Doubtless she knew of the secret passages, and probably even exactly where Roller had been. She might have been able to lead us right to him if I had bargained with her earlier, and we could have easily captured him before his transformation. Another howl rang out in the night, this time joined by equine cries. Stalwart roughly shook my shoulder. “Magus, what should we do?” I shot to my hooves. Now was a time of action, not of reflection. “Sergeant, return to thy station. I will pull the werewolf outside to do battle with it. Be ready for me.” “But—” “Do as I command!” I barked, turning towards the castle gate. “And remember to take the potion I gave thee!” I did not look back to see if he heeded my words, for I had set my full concentration on finding the werewolf. ‘Twas not difficult to locate our quarry. I found a dead guard not far into the castle, so much of this throat torn out that his head nearly parted. There was no time to lament the fallen, for more of the living would soon join them if this werewolf was not stopped. The blood trail was not difficult to follow, and it led me exactly where I expected it to. The sounds of battle rang down the stone hallways, guiding me to the feasting hall. I arrived just in time to see the werewolf sink its teeth into the throat of another guard. Her scream was cut short as the werewolf broke her neck with a swift jerk of its head. I got my first good look at the lycanthrope as it stood before me, blood from its latest victim dripping from its jaws. The beast resembled a massive wolf with thick grey fur, one which stood taller and broad as Stalwart. It bared its wicked teeth, its yellow eyes flicking about the room for more prey. The monster’s latest victim joined two other ponies in death, their bodies ravaged and cast aside by the rampaging beast. More pegasi guards fluttered about the ceiling, looking for a moment to strike, while a trio of earth pony and unicorn guards stood around Rumble on the opposite side of the hall. “Get the bastard!” Rumble roared. He charged with the guardponies around him, silver spears levelled. With the hall’s tables and chairs pushed aside, they had plenty of room to make their advance unobstructed. Rather than retreat or try and flank the ponies charging it, the beast charged right at the pony that stood between High Roller and the succession. Rumble stabbed with the skill of a longtime hunter and knight as they closed. The werewolf dodged at the last moment, a line of red streaking the speartip as it scraped along the back of the beast’s neck. In a single fluid movement, the werewolf brought its whirled its head around and snapped at the offending weapon, shattering its shaft and sending the speartip clattering to the floor. Without so much as slowing, the werewolf ran right into Rumble and the guards, scattering them like bowling pins and continuing on right through the formation of charging ponies. The lycanthrope even had time to grab the rearmost guard’s hindleg in its jaw, breaking it with a savage jerk. The werewolf released the pony and continued forward, only to turn and pivot with preternatural speed and dexterity a heartbeat away from slamming into the far wall. The monster was everything I feared and more. Its charge had left Rumble and the others at a disadvantage as they desperately tried to recover from being tossed about. Seeing the danger, Captain Freezy and a pair of her fellow pegasi guards dove from the ceiling to intercept the intruder. The werewolf zigged and zagged, making it difficult for the guardponies to get a proper bearing with so little time and space to work with in the hall. One guard missed completely, having misjudged where the werewolf would turn. The second underestimated its speed and overshot, impotently stabbing as he passed and missing the target entirely. But the first two pegasi had hemmed in the werewolf, and Freezy was on target. She braced her spear for a strike, but the werewolf suddenly whirled about and leapt at the guard captain. The two of them collided in a clash of steel and flesh, and quickly fell to the ground in a tumbling mass. They wrestled about the floor in a violent grapple for several frantic seconds. Then, the werewolf’s jaws closed on Freezy’s wing, crushing the hollow bones of her wing and bending in a direction nature never intended. It then pinned its prey to the ground, its bloodsoaked teeth descending on Freezy’s neck. A solid block of ice spared Freezy from joining her companions in death. The werewolf jerked in surprise as it found its muzzle frozen open, stepping off the guard captain as it tried to register what happened. I then fired off another spell, this time sending half a dozen ice shards into the werewolf’s flank. “BEAST!” I roared, augmenting my voice with a spell. “I SET A TRAP FOR THEE, AND THOU WILT DAMN WELL FALL INTO IT!” The werewolf bit down and shattered its icy muzzle. Instead of paying attention to me it turned its gaze back to Rumble, who had re-armed himself with a spear borrowed from one of the wounded guards’ and stood guard over him. One of the pegasi took the opportunity to dive down and pull Freezy away. She screamed in pain as the momentum jostled her wing, but it at least took her out of danger. Denied easier prey, the werewolf charged the Honeyfield knight. I made it regret ignoring me. A solid wall of ice rose between the werewolf and its intended prey right as it leapt for the knight. The sharp crack of skull on ice echoed through the hall as the beast hit the wall at full speed. Not content to leave it at that, I threw all the heat energy I had gathered whilst casting mine ice spells. A small orb of fire shot at the werewolf and burst like a fire gem on contact. Rumble roared with laughter, protected from the fire by the icewall. “Burn, thou mangey mutt!” My horn glowed as I prepared to cast more spells. I was not ready to bet my life on that last spell slaying the beast. Indeed, as the haze cleared I saw that the werewolf had not been struck down; it smoked, most of its fur having been charred away, and its body was covered in savage burns that would have killed or incapacitated any mortal creature. What was worse, I could see the burns regenerating at a truly impossible rate, the ugly wounds smoothing over with fresh skin and new grey hair growing over the vanishing scar tissue. Aye, this battle was just beginning. The werewolf slowly padded forward, seeking the edge of the ice wall so it could strike at Rumble once more. Either it did not understand the threat I posed or it did not care. Whatever the case, I was insulted, and ‘twas not an insult I would tolerate. The question was how to get the werewolf to shift its focus to me. If setting the beast on fire was not enough to convince it to attack me right away, then what would? An idea struck me. Once again, I unleashed the Royal Canterlot Voice. “WEREWOLF! I, MAGUS MIDNIGHT, DECLARE THEE, HIGH ROLLER, A MURDERER! AS ROYAL MAGUS I CONDEMN THEE, STRIP THEE OF THY TITLES AND INHERITANCE, AND DAMN THY NAME BEFORE ALL! THOU WILT NEVER INHERIT THE COUNTY OF HONEYFIELD WHILE I DRAW BREATH, SO LET IT BE KNOWN BEFORE PRINCESS AND COUNTRY!” The werewolf snapped its head around and peeled back its lips in a snarl. Excellent, I now had the werewolf’s attention. The problem was that I now had the werewolf’s attention. ‘Twas a most vexing paradox. Luckily, I had expected such a contingency and enacted my plan accordingly: I turned and ran away as quickly as I could. A glance over my shoulder confirmed that the werewolf had given chase, its choler now risen. Much more distressingly, it was closing on me. I was not a fast runner even with the exhaustive training I had received from Stalwart, and the werewolf’s strides were long and strong. But this was no mere hoofrace between athletes, and I had no intention of being run down and slain. My horn sparked, and a globe of darkness formed behind me. Within the darkness I coated the floor in ice. A moment later, I heard rather than saw the werewolf lose its footing and crash to the ground. It slid along the floor until it came barreling out of darkness globe and slammed into a suit of decorative armor along the wall. Unfortunately, it recovered far too quickly for my liking and was soon back on its paws and chasing me yet again. Still, the maneuver had bought me a precious few seconds. I tried the same trick again, but this time the werewolf was prepared this time and dug in its claws into the ice to propel itself forward. I quickly changed tactics, casting the same combination of spells yet again as I continued running, only this time I placed a wall of icy spikes just beyond the darkness. Confident it had beaten my trick, the werewolf plowed forward, only to impale itself on the wall of spikes with a yelp. Not wanting it to be held up on the ice too long, I cast another fireball that set both the werewolf and the icewall ablaze. This time the beast was slower in chasing me. It knew I was dangerous prey, dangerous enough to hurt it. Its caution bought me enough time to run back out the castle gate and into the gardens. A smile blossomed over my lips as we came to a battlefield of my choosing. I reached the center of the gardens and slid to a stop. Even with its more cautious gait, the sheer speed of the monster caught me off guard, and I barely cast a barrier in time. The werewolf crashed into my shield with such violence that I was knocked from my hooves and bounced about inside it. The monster viciously clawed at my shield all the while, biting at the protective bubble to break it open and get at the pony inside. I grit my teeth as I poured on more magic to keep the shield together as cracks and tears formed on its surface. The sanguine thirst of the lycanthrope formed an aura about it, filling me with a dread as it forced its jaws far too close to my head. A great burst of light flashed in the sky, followed a heartbeat later by the crack of thunder. The werewolf convulsed as the full power of a lightning bolt coursed through its body. Seeing mine opportunity, I gathered mine energy and struck out. A powerful burst of icy wind slammed into the werewolf’s chest and sent it away from me. It flew through the air for a rather impressive period of time before slamming into the ground with bone-shattering force. I took but a moment to glance up, and saw Stalwart abandon the lightning cloud he had just expended to move to a fresh one. Satisfied that his part of the plan was going as it should, I quickly rose to my hooves. There was no time to waste; if the momentum of battle turned against me even slightly, I would die. The werewolf had shown how it could easily tear ponies apart if it could bring its teeth and claws to bear. That was simply something I could not afford. My spells and wits had thus far spared me a gruesome end, and I was determined not to let the werewolf recover. I thus pulled a potion and a ball of wax from my saddlebags, the items I had specially prepared at Herbal Remedy’s home. I was in such a rush to open the potion that I broke the top of the vial clean off instead of pulling out the cork as I had intended. I downed the honeylike potion and shivered as its magic spread through me. The werewolf was also rising back to its feet, and I could see and hear its bones cracking back into place as it steadied itself. I decided not to give it any time to recover. Carefully aiming, I threw the wax ball straight at it. The werewolf shielded its head under a still-straightening leg and blocked the missile with its shoulder. The ball exploded into a fine red mist as the alchemical pepperbomb went to work. The werewolf immediately started hacking and whimpering as searing pain swept over its eyes, nose, and mouth. Even from a distance the magically augmented pepper made mine eyes water. For the werewolf, with its preternaturally enhanced senses, the experience must have been excruciating. Shame for the werewolf that I spare no pity for it in my heart, not when it had caused so much unnecessary bloodshed. I was far from done with inflicting terrible pain to the murderous monster. Stalwart seemed to be of a similar mind, for he swiftly moved a second lightning cloud above our quarry and sent another lightning bolt shearing down upon the monster. Once more it convulsed as arcs of electricity ran through it, setting all its hair on ends. The werewolf fell to the ground, but I doubted that it was dead. There was only one thing that could kill such a monster for sure. Still, Stalwart had bought me valuable seconds to proceed. I created a trio of ice shards and launched them one after another, each flying out and puncturing a different box that sat scattered about the garden—each on the home of its own apiary. An angry buzz rose up from the beehives as their instincts to protect their colonies kicked in. I stood calmly as the bees swarmed around me, for Herbal Remedy’s potion made me feel like one of their number. The same was true for Stalwart, whom I was pleased to see had taken his own potion. That left but one target for the angry bees. The werewolf had barely gotten its bearings when it started yipping and howling as the bees swarmed it, unleashing hundreds of poisonous strings on the beast. The monster tried scraping the bees away from its face as they stung again and again at its eyes and nose, even resorting to rolling on the ground to try and get them off, but it was no use. As I guessed it would, the werewolf returned to its feet and ran, faced with a foe it could not fight. Letting the monster flee to terrorize the countryside again was of course unacceptable, so I reached out and touched the magic of the scrimshaw bones I had buried in the garden earlier. A blue shield rose up from the ground to surround the battlefield. The werewolf once more slammed into a solid wall and desperately clawed at the barrier in an attempt to escape. It would eventually succeed given enough time, but I had no intentions of allowing the beast the necessary hours to try. A dozen of mine ice darts joined the stinging bees, puncturing the werewolf’s back and making it howl. It turned to face me, its steps unsteady, the two of us now enclosed together. With flight now denied, fighting was its only option for survival. Now that its sense of sight and smell were yet compromised, ‘twas time to attack the last sense it could readily use to find me. My horn glowed as I cast a concussive blast right over the werewolf’s head, and it whimpered as the earsplitting boom shattered its eardrums. Still, it remained on its paws. Thus I shot a violent gust of ice-cold wind at mine enemy. It smote the werewolf square on the chest and carried it until the werewolf struck the shield. It fell listlessly to the ground, involuntary convulsions running through its body. It did not rise easily this time. As I had intended, the energies from the moonlight that powered its fell transformation were blocked by the thick clouds hanging over it. I pressed mine attack, creating a torrent of ice shards that rained down on the monster, letting up only after I felt my magic begin to wane. Scores of ice shards littered the ground and punctured the still lupine form. My breath came in deep gasps and sweat soaked my coat. Bees continued to buzz about the garden, staying above the frost-covered grounds and plants around us. Mine attack was not as efficient as it could have been, so taken I had been by the frenzy of battle. Not using Mother’s technique for fire as well as ice here was deliberate on my part, for I did not wish to burn away the bees that harassed the werewolf, but I could have taken more care with the latter. Still, it seemed to have brought the beast down. I swallowed with an all-too-dry throat and retrieved the silver spear I had placed near the center of the garden, not daring to take mine eyes off the werewolf. It was still moving, if only barely, and its whines echoed through the gardens. Unless it was doing a poor job of playing dead the werewolf was incapacitated. Though that brought forth the question of what to do now; I could attempt to capture the werewolf and wait for him to turn back into a pony, then either try and cure him of his affliction or simply keep him captive. But after thinking it over I rejected the idea. I doubted I had the means to safely keep the beast captive ‘til dawn, and this particular lycanthrope had proven particularly strong. It must have been powered by a potent curse. No natural-born lycanthrope, diseased individual, or controlled transformation could have produced the results I saw, not without some especially potent artifact or the aid of a very powerful being. After the carnage I witnessed in the dining hall, I could not bring myself to take the risk of letting this monster escape. Stalwart landed besides me, glowering at the beast. “Are you well, Magus?” I nodded. “I am fine. Let us finish this before the monster recovers.” Stalwart’s brow furrowed and his grip tightened on his spear. “Do you wish the honors of the final blow, or shall I dispatch the beast for you?” “Lead the way, Sergeant.” My horn lit as I prepared no less than half a dozen spells for use. “I have a shield ready to protect us in case the werewolf suddenly rises. Concentrate on smiting it.” “Sounds good to me.” As we carefully approached the werewolf, I got a better look at the results of my plans to bring it down. A living blanket of bees crawled over the werewolf’s blood-matted fur, dozens of ice shards laid scattered about the area, those which had struck true emerging from its scarred flesh as the wounds slowly closed. Its breath came in shuddering gasps, likely a result of all the venom coursing through its system. I cast another ice spell that froze the werewolf’s body in place, lest we risk it rising suddenly. I wasn’t confident the ice could actually hold it if it really wanted to escape, but ‘twould slow it down. For its part, the werewolf barely reacted. Stalwart hefted his spear to strike true at the werewolf’s heart. “Halt!” The command hit me like a physical force, and my body froze as the magic behind it turned my body rigid as a statue. ‘Twas only with an exertion of will and magic that I broke the spell and turned my head to the speaker. The air shimmered behind us there as a magical veil dissipated, revealing Émeraude Gracieux. She was not alone. Half a dozen werewolves flanked Émeraude, and they spread out to form a semicircle around us, each of them growling and baring their teeth. The bees around us dissipated as though driven off by some aura. Émeraude and her pack stopped once they cornered us against the shield, leaving us nowhere to run that would not involve teeth and claws. Stalwart stepped in front of me, his wing blades and spear at the ready. “Stay behind me, milady.” I appreciated the sentiment, but I did not think standing behind my guard would do me much good if the werewolves attacked. It had taken a carefully prepared battlefield and the full measure of my power to defeat one of their number. Fighting six more all at once would likely only end with mine innards dangling from my ravaged belly like oddly colored snakes. As they had not attacked yet, there might be a way to talk our way out of this predicament; if not... I stood tall and addressed the fey with what dignity I could muster. “Lady Émeraude Gracieux, ‘tis a pleasure to see you this night. Even if ‘tis something of a surprise.” Émeraude smiled in return, though ‘twas a decidedly cold gesture. “Not too much of a surprise, I think.” She pointed to a nearby bush. “Considering your little spy was ready to put a cold iron crossbow bolt in me. You can have her come out now, by the way—I assure you, she is no threat to me.” I could not help but grimace. It had occurred to me earlier that Émeraude might be a problem during the battle, and thus after I concluded my business at Remedy’s home I had ordered Subtle to sneak into the garden and be ready to counter the fey. It seemed that Émeraude had countered my counter. “How did you know?” Émeraude chuckled, making me feel as though I were the source of some joke. “Because I know what sort of pony you are, Magus Midnight. Our talk in the crypt was quite illuminating on how you think. You are a devious and paranoid mare. Do not take those things as an insult, I quite approve of how you think, but it does lead to ... a bit of predictability, we will say. ‘Twas only natural you would see me as a potential threat and thus take precautions ‘gainst me.” She chuckled again. “‘Tis flattering, really. Still, if you could recall her...” I glowered at the fey. Had she manipulated me from the start? I should have been more careful about what I said to her. Now my schemes had been for naught. “Come on out, Subtle, if thou art really compromised.” The bushes moved as Subtle stood up. The spy was covered in all manner of foliage she had sewn into some kind of camouflage suit. On either side of her head were a pair of butterfly-winged fey no larger than a writing quill, each holding a blade to her throat. Subtle’s crossbow was untensed, its string likely having been cut earlier. It seemed that my spy had been found out and disabled as a threat early on, and all while under my nose. Though it probably had not been that difficult when I had fallen asleep at an inopportune moment. Damn mortal weaknesses. “And set aside the crossbow,” Émeraude said. “I do not wish for thee to get ideas, like trying to stab me with the bolt.” Subtle smiled in a manner that did not seem at all friendly. “Take away all my fun.” She tossed the crossbow away while one of the pixies cut the belt holding the bolt quiver, sending it tumbling to the ground. “And here I thought you were the type that liked getting poked now and again.” Émeraude grinned. “I thought much the same of thee, but it seems thou art not as eager as I first imagined. Well, some of us do ... suffer anxiety, and we all know how that can affect a pony’s performance.” “As can an uncomely partner.” Subtle turned her head so as to not face Émeraude. “And I hear the smell of wet dog is most uncomely.” I raised an eyebrow as I looked between them. “What in the world are you two talking about? This make no sense in relation to what we are doing.” Subtle’s sides heaves in a long, deep sigh. “Midnight, when or if we manage to survive this, we are having some more talks.” “What about?” Subtle slapped her face with a hoof. “What say we concentrate on survival for now?” Émeraude nodded. “That is a highly relevant topic for you.” One of the werewolves stepped forward and growled at me, serving as an ample reminder of the danger we were in. Still, I let none of the fear I felt reflect in my voice. “Very well. You did not attack us when you could have ambushed us. There must be a reason for that.” “I hardly desire to kill you or your retinue.” Émeraude flashed me a smile that showed her teeth. “Surrender to me, and nopony dies.” I tilted my head. “And place myself at your mercy? I can think of many ways for how that could end poorly.” I knew of many stories about ponies who had been captured by the fey and stolen away to their strange realm. Most of them were not pleasant. “More poorly than how fighting me will end?” Émeraude shook her head. “It took all your strength to beat but one werewolf. You have used up much of your magic while we are still fresh. Let us be honest, you are beaten. You were as soon as I revealed myself.” “And I say ‘tis not as simple as that.” I pointed my spear to the werewolf at my mercy. “If I guess correctly, you wish to save this one. If you attack I could deny you your prize.” Émeraude’s brow furrowed into a glower and the werewolves all growled, taking a step forward. “Slay him and you will not survive the night, that I promise you.” “No doubt.” I met the eyes of each of the werewolves, not removing the spear from their defeated kin’s throat. “But your victory would be a hollow one. What is more, if I am slain you can be assured that more magi and guardponies will come to Honeyfield looking for you.” I narrowed mine eyes as I stared the fey down. “I am sure you can imagine how my mother will react to my murder, and Her Highness to that of her royal agent. You will know no peace.” “True.” Émeraude ran a hoof through her mane. “But I can always retreat to the plane of the fey. Even Princess Celestia will have trouble reaching me, and from there I can simply wait out the threat and return to the mortal realm at a time of my choosing. ‘Twould likely be when everypony that is a threat to me is long dead and I have become but a legend at most.” She had a point there, but with logic I found a threat she could not ignore. “That is perhaps true, but what of your house?” She became deathly still, and when she spoke again, ‘twas not in a voice that had the boundless confidence of before. “What do you speak of?” “‘Tis quite simple,” I answered. “If my mother cannot strike at you directly, she will find other means by which to get her revenge. And she has the perfect means by which to do so: the succession of Honeyfield is in dispute. In such an event, Her Highness is well within her rights to absorb the county into her own royal demesne.” Émeraude stepped forward, apoplectic. “She would not! The Compact...” Now I had her attention. By threatening to take away the one thing she could not afford to lose, I had reversed the momentum of the conversation. “Do you wish to take the chance? My mother can be a very vindictive mare, and would argue against maintaining a house which enables creatures that butchers Equestria’s magi and guardponies. If I am slain, the argument for Her Highness to end House Honeyfield would be ... persuasive.” I blinked slowly. “Tell me, if the Compact were broken, would it strike you dead? Or mayhaps you would be reduced to a mere shell of what you are now? Perhaps you would merely fade away.” Émeraude did not answer my question. “I am not going to give up so easily. Aye, ‘tis a profound risk to me, but where the Compact might be broke, you will be killed if it comes to battle. The promise of retaliation is a cold promise to a dead mare.” “Indeed so.” I removed my spear from the werewolf’s throat. “That is why instead of surrendering, I propose a parley. Violence benefits neither of us, while negotiations might bear fruit.” Émeraude stared at me for some time before finally nodding. “Very well, a parley then. But one that will only last an hour—I will not have you delay things ‘til daybreak and see mine advantage stolen from me.” Unfortunate, ‘twas my hope that I could string out the debate until the dawn as a worst-case scenario. Mother had taught me plenty of delaying tactics for negotiations, but it seemed they would not be wise to use this night. “Agreed.” “And you and your companions will drop all of your weapons.” Émeraude’s eyes flicked over me. “And you will remove everything from your person, for I know how magi can turn anything into a weapon. Nor will you cast any spell for the course of the parley.” I frowned at this suggestion. “You would have me leave myself and my companions defenseless? That strikes me as a poor idea.” “I cannot bring myself to break a parley. Ponies on the other hoof... Well, how many parleys have been broken by ponies in the past?” Émeraude shook her headhoof. “Very well; you may pick up your weapons at the end of the parley, but you will drop those weapons where you stand.” I saw another problem with such a deal. One always had to be careful about deals with fey, and right now I was negotiating with our lives on the line. One misstep would undoubtedly prove fatal. “And what about your ... hounds? You cannot break a parley, but they are not fey.” Émeraude sighed and rolled her eyes. “Very well, I promise that they will not attack you during the length of the parley. But one more thing: you will let me heal my nephew and make him comfortable. His suffering distresses me, and ‘tis not something I will tolerate.” Ah, so that proved it conclusively: the werewolf was High Roller after all. “I cannot help but worry that you wish to heal Roller so that he might escape under his own power. He might even be allowed to slay more ponies, something I cannot allow.” Émeraude grumbled something under her breath that I doubted was flattering. “Allow me to heal Roller and I swear that he will not be allowed to escape for the duration of the parley.” Subtle snorted and shook her head. “So that you can add his strength to that of the other werewolves if it comes to a fight? That sounds like a stupid allowance.” Émeraude narrowed her eyes at the bard. “My nephew’s strength would make little difference. The balance of power is already decisively in my favor, and one more werewolf will make little difference. But I will concede the point, and promise that he is not to be allowed to leave the garden ‘til the parley is over.” ‘Twas not hard to see the loophole in that proposal. “He will not be allowed to hurt anyone during the course of the parley, and you will do everything in your power to stop him from leaving the garden or hurting anyone else—even if that means slaying him. No half measures, he is to be stopped by whatever force you can bring to bear.” I could all but hear Émeraude grind her teeth. “Deal.” I nodded. “Deal.” A shiver ran up my spine that had nothing to do with the cooling night air. “Then let us negotiate.” “First thing’s first,” Émeraude said. “Drop your weapons while I see to my nephew.” I nodded to the others and dropped the silver spear. They dropped what remained of their weapons, and I removed my cloak, saddlebags, and silver dagger I had at my waist. Once all of that was on the ground I sat opposite of Émeraude, thinking how to respond. I needed time to think. I had but one hour to find a solution out of this. I did not wish to see High Roller get away from his crime and kill again, but I was at a sore disadvantage. For her part, Émeraude stepped over to her nephew and knelt down beside him. She sighed and waved a hoof over him, shooing the bees away. “Oh my poor nephew, what has become of thee?” In an intricate example of spellcraft I could not have hoped to replicate, she melted away the ice holding her nephew in place, healed the worst of his wounds and, to my surprise, reverted him from his werewolf form. His features slowly returned to that of a pony, leaving a groaning High Roller lying on the ground. Roller’s face was still swollen from so many bee stings, but his eyes fluttered open and he looked up at his aunt. “H-help me,” he rasped, reaching up with a hoof that Émeraude grasped. “I am, my nephew.” She pecked his forehead. “Just give me a few minutes and everything will be fine.” “B-but—” “Shhh.” Émeraude stood up, leaving her nephew on the ground. “Leave this to me.” She walked over to a table and set of chairs that had survived the battle between me and the werewolf. The furniture was made entirely out of wood, but as seemed to be the case with all the furniture in the castle, there was no iron in its construction. She sat down and smiled at me. “Shall we proceed?” “I think so.” I sat opposite her, and the two of us stared at one another. Silence hung between us for a long time. ‘Twas a contest of wills to see who would break the silence first. Perhaps ‘twas not the wisest thing for me to delay negotiations with an hour long parley, but I needed to show I was not afraid either of Émeraude or the time limit. In the end, ‘twas Émeraude who broke the silence. “Let us get to the point. I only desire that my nephew not be slain, and granted his freedom.” I still needed time to think, so I asked a question to delay the decision on what should be done. “So you admit he is your nephew now? ‘Twould have saved a great deal of time if you had told me that when he first arrived at the castle. Ponies might still be alive right now.” Émeraude shrugged. “If only I could have, but I could not while my family quarreled over the succession, and that information was too valuable to you for me to give it away for free in any event. But ‘tis irrelevant now that Roller has been defeated. He cannot be the count now, for you would not allow it, and you have proven the victor of your contest.” “And now that he is at my mercy, you think I would free him to kill again?” I narrowed mine eyes. “I would be remiss in my duties to allow that when he has already slain multiple ponies.” Émeraude shook her head. “Neigh, I would not suggest such a thing. Surrender him to my custody, and I swear to take him to the realm of the fey where he can join my hounds and bring no harm to any in the material plane. I promise he will not be allowed to return, and will be bound to that promise.” “No!” Roller tried to push himself up onto his hooves, but he proved too weak to do so. “The county ... it belongs ... to me!” Émeraude sighed and gave her nephew a forlorn look. “Thou undid thyself, Roller. I am sorry, but thou art unsuited to be the Count of Honeyfield.” Roller glared at his aunt. “This is all your fault! You-you turned me into a monster!” Émeraude crossed her legs over her chest. “I gave thee my blessing, Roller. ‘Twas up to thee to do with it as thou desired.” “You... you tricked me!” Roller tried to push himself up again, but only collapsed in impotence. It seemed that while Émeraude had healed him, she had not left him in a state where he could do much. “This was not what I desired!” Émeraude raised an eyebrow. “Was it not?” When she spoke ‘twas with a perfect imitation of Roller’s voice. “‘I want the power to take back what is mine—to be given the opportunity to seize my birthright.’” Émeraude’s voice returned to her own. “That is what you bargained for, Roller. Do you not remember?” I looked between aunt and nephew, the pieces of the puzzle sliding into place and confirming what I had suspected. Roller had made a poorly worded bargain with his fey aunt, and she had granted his wish after a fashion. She had given him power, undoubtedly, but one he seemed unable to control. Then Émeraude gave him every opportunity to claim the title of count, even if his methods had ultimately undone them. “So that is the truth of it. You visited Roller at his room in the inn and made a bargain with him. What is more, he bargained poorly, and you gave him this curse.” Émeraude’s eyes narrowed. “My blessing, thank you. ‘Tis Roller’s own fault if he poorly used the blessing I gave him. He could have controlled his transformation, but instead he let the red rage consume him. He launched a headlong attack that you defeated. All his misfortune is his own fault.” “I did not know what you would do to me!” Roller slammed his hoof against the ground, groaning after doing so. “I did not wish for any of this to happen!” “Is that why you decided to hide in the secret passages under the castle?” I asked. “Where you would transform and slay everypony in the castle? I find your motives suspect.” That momentarily stunned Roller. “But ... I did not...” I crossed my legs over my chest. “I would have given you the benefit of the doubt if you had surrendered to me after the night you murdered Shining Quest. I would have sought to cure you of this affliction—or blessing as your great aunt calls it—and considered you a victim of your aunt’s wiles. But instead you ran, and deliberately created a situation where ponies were slain by your rampage. As far as I am concerned, you are a murderer and should receive nothing but my contempt. You should hang for your crimes.” Not that I considered Émeraude innocent in all of this, but being too hostile towards her this nought could undo me. Roller’s ears wilted to his head and he ceased his attempts to rise. “But...” Émeraude tsked and shook her head. “As I said, thy misfortune is of thine own invention. If thou hadst shown patience and measured the character of the magus, thou wouldst have realized that she would not have stopped ere she had discovered the truth and made thee count. Instead, she will deny thee thy prize because of thine actions.” “What?! No, she...” Roller’s gazed flipped back and forth between me and Émeraude. “She would not have granted me my title! She was conspiring with the others to deny me mine inheritance!” “The only thing I conspired to do was to discover the truth and act accordingly,” I countered. “It is as your aunt says, if you were the rightful heir to Count High Stakes then you could have become the count. But your terrible crimes now supercede your rightful claim.” “No, it cannot...” Roller slammed his hoof time and again against the ground. “No, no, nononono! Not after I came so far...” He broke down into sobs and curled up upon himself. Émeraude turned to me and let out a heavy sigh. “You see what those slavers have done to my poor nephew? They have made him mean, spiteful, short-thinking, and unsuited to rule. And after all the work I did to help prepare him to be count someday.” She let out another long sigh. “Nothing to be done now except repair the damage as best I can.” “Though I have to wonder what part you played in this, Émeraude.” She tilted her head at my words, and so I continued. “I cannot help but wonder if you sabotaged your nephew, whom you would have identified as unsuited to rule Honeyfield. ‘Tis clear he was distressed by the succession being in dispute, and after what he experienced in Freeport as a slave. This made him a prime target for your manipulations, and as we have seen, the bargain he struck cost him the very thing he desired in the end. What is more, the first night he attacked, he struck down Shining—a false claimant to be sure—but nopony else. In doing so, he both eliminated somepony who would pose a threat to the Compact and gave the rest of us time to prepare for the next night. There are plenty of spells I can think of that you might have used to cause the werewolf to flee the castle.” Roller’s mouth worked wordlessly before he found his voice. “Aunt Émeraude, is this true?” Émeraude leaned back in her chair and steepled her hooves. “That is certainly an interesting theory.” “And you have attempted similar manipulations in the past, if the story you told me about Azurite is any indication.” Little surprise she hid the truth behind a veil of mystery, but I was relatively certain I was right. “So tell me, what did Roller trade for in his bargain? What did you receive in exchange for your ‘blessing’?” Émeraude grinned widely. “Nothing. Yet.” Mine eyes widened as I slowly turned to Roller. “You fool, did you honestly make a deal with a fey and not negotiate what you were to pay?” Of all the things one could do with the fey, one of the worst is to make a bargain without first settling one what one would give. To be in debt to one of the fair folk was to invite disaster, for they could demand anything of equal value to what they gave, and they could do so from their own queer judgement. Roller’s ears flattened. “I did not think...” His shoulders hunched and his eyes turned to the ground. “Neigh, you did not think.” I turned my attention back to Émeraude. “So what do you intend on taking from him? Surely you must have some plan.” “That is part of what I wished discuss during the parley,” Émeraude said. “I intend to take Roller to mine estate in the realms of the fey, where he would join my pack.” She gestured to the gathered werewolves around us. “He will enjoy the liberation of running with his kin through a pristine forest under an aurora sky with a sanguine moon, where bountiful prey will be his to slay and feast upon.” “But I do not wish for that!” Roller exclaimed. “Then thou should not have bargained so poorly, my nephew,” Émeraude chided. “There was much thou couldst have asked for, and thou could have been more mindful of the price. But thou wert not. I do not wish to be harsh, but thou simply must face the truth of it.” I examined the werewolves and remembered something she has said within the crypt. “So this is the form your ‘liberation’ takes? That of monsters who give into their beastial instinct with the rising of the full moon?” “And how does it compare to the existences of so many ponies?” Émeraude demanded. “To endlessly toil in a mundane existence day after day, bound by duty ‘til their nasty, brutish, and short lives finally end? How many ponies are alive but do not live? What I give my pack is freedom from all of that—to truly live and do as they wish.” “If it is so wonderful, then why should I allow you to abscond with this murderer?” I narrowed mine eyes at Roller at he lay pathetically near my discarded equipment. “He should face justice for his crimes, not reward.” Émeraude chuckled as though to herself. “But you would be punishing him by giving him to me. Do you not see? When I collect my price, the Roller before you will be dead for all intents and purposes. His old identity would vanish, his goals in life quashed, and for the rest of his days the reality of his failure will press on him.” “So you argue that ‘tis both blessing and curse?” Émeraude shrugged her shoulders. “One could argue that ‘tis a matter of perspective. However you see it, I have the advantage, and I plan on taking my nephew as part of my price. ‘Twould be wise of you to accept that. Stand aside, and you and your companions will remain unharmed. Know that I hold no malice for you—you sought only to defend my home and family, and I can hardly seek redress for that. What more would you desire?” What was I to do? Roller would be punished in a fashion, but would that be justice for the slain? What is more, would it be right to leave Roller to the fate he inflicted on himself? Aye, his aunt played a part in it, but she was a being without morals, or at least those known to pony standards. ‘Twas like dealing with fire: it could benefit or harm ponies, depending on its application. I did not wish for me and my companions to die, either. That would be the most likely result of a battle, but if I did not fight, Roller would slip through my hooves. In that case he would both escape pony justice and subsist as nothing but a slobbering beast for who knows how long. ‘Twas a dubious situation, and one for which I had no true answer. Roller looked between me and his aunt, a bewildered expression on his face. Mayhaps his mind had become rattled by all his experiences. He was certainly in a desperate situation. Then an idea struck me. “You make a persuasive case, Émeraude,” I said, shrugging. “‘Twould be foolish for me to risk more lives to try and stop you. When the parley is over ‘tis mine intention to take my silver weapons and equipment and withdraw, leaving you to take your nephew.” Émeraude let out a relieved sigh. “‘Tis good to see that you see reason, Magus. I knew you would make the right choice.” “Though I do wish to say one thing before I retire.” I leaned forward to meet Émeraude’s gaze. “I take umbrage with your ‘blessing’, for I think your freedom is but another form of slavery.” Émeraude’s eyes narrowed. “You would consider my blessing to be a curse, for all the power and freedom it offers?” I held my stare. “If I am denied control of my mind or body by another, then I declare it to be slavery. Furthermore, if I found myself in such a loathsome situation, I think I would take my silver dagger, remove it from its sheath, and then plunge it into my heart. For I would find death preferable to the fate you offer High Roller.” Émeraude squared her jaw. “Then be glad that thou did not make such a bargain for—” Her eyes widened and she bolted up. “No!” She had only gotten out of her chair when Roller plunged my silver dagger into his breast. He grunted in pain and went limp. Émeraude was immediately at his side, cradling him as blood flowed from his wound. Her horn glowed as healing magic flowed into Roller in a doomed attempt to save his life. Inherited silver was anathema to the lycanthrope, and the wound was a fatal one besides. But still, Émeraude tried. Roller was of her blood, her nephew, and he was hurt. What else could she do but try and save him, however forlorn the hope? “No, no, no!” Tears streamed down Émeraude’s face as she poured more of her magic into Roller, even as he became less and less responsive. “Stay with me! Thou wert going to be fine, you fool! Why didst thou do something so foolish?!” High Roller, son of Count High Stakes and heir to the County of Honeyfield, died in his many-times-great aunt’s embrace. I watched on as Émeraude tried to deny the truth and repair a wound that would not heal. Though Roller’s death was a product of my plans, it brought me no pleasure. I had convinced a pony to whom life had been nothing but cruel to kill himself. I knew that the last thing he would want to be was a slave again. After all he had gone through as a Freeport slave, death would surely have been preferable. Mayhaps ‘twas justice, and mayhaps ‘twas saving him from a fate worse than mere death, but this was not the victory I desired. Strange I should feel pity for the aunt and nephew when but a little time ago I was determined to slay him myself. Mayhaps ‘twas because all the blood, suffering, and death was ... avoidable. Émeraude’s sides heaved as she wept over her dead nephew. I considered walking away, but knew that would be unwise—for I knew what was to come. “You!” Émeraude’s head snapped in my direction. “You did this to my nephew!” She gently laid Roller onto the ground and rose to her hooves. Her yellow eyes glowed in the darkness, her lips curled back to bare her teeth as they slowly sharpened and lengthened, her body twitching as it grew, and her features becoming more lupine by the second. When she spoke her voice came out as a guttural growl. “You are going to pay in blood for killing my nephew!” The werewolves growled and closed on me and my companions. Subtle’s eyes flicked to her weapons, but the nearest of the lycanthropes would be on her before she brought them to bear. ‘Twas much the same for Stalwart, though he held stock still, probably guessing how it would end if it came to battle. The critical moment had come, and I kept my body as still as possible. Any hint of fear would be the end of me, so I kept my tone steady as I addressed the fey. “Did I? I think you are mistaken. I have done nothing but follow the letter of our parley. Have I picked up any weapons? Neigh. Have I cast any spells or retrieved any of mine equipment? Of course not. All I have done since the beginning of this parley is sit here and negotiate with you. Nothing more, nothing less.” I blinked slowly. “If your nephew preferred death over fulfilling his half of the bargain and slew himself with a weapon you demanded I discard, then that is your own fault.” To the fey, there is no spirit to an agreement—only the letter. They were most often the ones to creatively interpret the rules and the agreements they made, but that blade could cut both ways. Émeraude blinked and stopped her advance. “But you, you...” “Have done nothing,” I said in an even tone. “Correct me if I am wrong, but I have not broken the parley. Do you intend to?” Émeraude hissed and flinched back as though struck by an iron poker. “You are ... correct. And I will ... not be breaking the parley.” Her features morphed back into something closer to that of a pony’s, and she held up a hoof for her pack to stop. She took several deep breaths as she glared at me. “Damn you, damn you to Tartarus for being right.” Mine ears wilted, and I could no longer meet her gaze. “I am sorry for your loss.” “Sorry? You are...” Émeraude’s shoulders twitched and she chuckled. “She is... How dare you be...” Her head rocked back as she laughed. ‘Twas no laugh born out of pleasure, but of madness and pain. She collapsed to the ground, clutching her sides as she laughed without restraint. Tears ran down her cheeks as her mad laugh rolled on and on. ‘Twas ... not what I expected, and I knew not what to do but sit there as she laughed. Eventually the laughing stopped, and Émeraude pulled herself onto shaky hooves. “Damn you. You do not even have the decency of enjoying your victory over me.” She wiped tears from her eyes. “You killed my beloved nephew and y-you look at me with ... pity? What type of cruel creature are you, Midnight Sparkle? You give me hope one moment only to strike me down with despair the next. You do not look pleased with yourself, or like you have delivered justice. This was of your design, your intention, but you sulk in that chair like ‘twas you who was thwarted this night. I can understand the self-righteous paladin, the heartless magus, and merciless acts of the depraved. All of them act out of some passion or to achieve some aim. But not you. What are you, Magus?” I considered the question before answering. “I am myself.” Her sides heaved in a harsh chuckle. “Now I see the blood of your progenitors running in your veins. My, what a creature they created. I think I underestimated you now. It has been too long since I faced an opponent as worthy as yourself.” I did not say anything. I knew not what to say. What could I say? Émeraude walked over to her nephew’s corpse, her ears lying flat as she stared at his still body. “If you have no objections, I will take my nephew and retire. There ... is a place I have for the members of my family who cannot be buried with their kin in the crypt.” I flicked my hoof for her to go. The whole experience had exhausted me, and I wished to be done with it. “You may retire as long as your pack withdraws with you.” She nodded and placed Roller on her back. “Goodnight to you, Magus.” She and her pack disappeared from sight, leaving me and my companions alone in the garden. I had slain my monster, but I did not feel the victor that night.