//------------------------------// // Book Two: Chapter Eleven: Sweetie Belle and the Tower of Lemarea // Story: Myths and Birthrights // by Tundara //------------------------------// Myths and Birthrights By Tundara Book Two: Duty and Dreams Chapter Eleven: Sweetie Belle and the Tower of Lemarea “Ever feel like you suddenly shifted stories?” Apple Bloom’s voice echoed in the narrow stone passageway, a concerned note to her country twang. Slowing her long, impatient strides, Sweetie shot her friend a quizzical look. It was the first reaction she’d given since the four fillies entered Thornhaven’s ‘dungeons’. To call the castle’s depths a dungeon was a gross exaggeration of the word beyond even the Crusaders’ prodigious imaginations. There was an appalling lack of straw strewn cells, rusted chains hanging from walls, and fat wardens playing dice in a windowless room. No torture chambers existed, with implements covered in dried blood, iron maidens waiting to be used, and racks with leather straps and iron buckles. Instead, there were a series of storage rooms stuffed to the vaulted rafters with old furniture that smelled of mildew and tannen. At least there were only a few thin windows through which murky grey light slanted, even if they lacked rusted iron bars. For hours the fillies wandered the damp, wide passages in search of anything interesting. It would have been easy to assume that the castle of a goddess, in lands ponies had not seen in thousands of years, would have been filled with all sorts of interesting things or places. Instead, it was closer to being in the basement of any typical grandparent’s home. They were denied even the thrill of being lost. The castle basement was laid out in such a typical, orderly manner that even those most prone to losing their way could find the stairs out after only a few turns. “What do you mean?” Scootaloo shot back to Apple Bloom as she poked her head into the same room they had explored a half-dozen times already. The most interesting thing in the room was a heap of ancient spinning looms that somepony had set on fire, and then smashed with hammers at some point. “Like, it seemed as if we were headed for some great big adventure, and then nothing. No monsters, magic, or hidden lore. No secret societies that we stumble over. There ain’t even been a decent bit of fun since that star fell. I think we’ve been cursed, girls. A place like this; we should have found something, not a bunch of gravy saucers!” Apple Bloom waved her hooves at a couple overflowing crates of tarnished brass oil lamps. Nodding, Scootaloo muttered, “Yeah. Daring Do would have been in two hoof fights, snuck onto a ship, and decoded at least one ancient text to solve a puzzle by now. I think we’ve lost our mojo. Cutie Mark Crusader Dungeon Delvers is officially a bust.” With this she slammed a door shut, crossed her hooves, leaned against a bust of Iridia, and promptly vanished into a yawning black void with a startled yelp. The remaining fillies blinked as the bust slid back out of the wall to cover the secret trapdoor. “Well, that was fast,” Apple Bloom chuckled as she pushed the secret door open, careful to avoid falling in after Scootaloo. “You okay down there, Scoots?” No response, just the fading sounds of a happy squeal echoing along a confined space. Sweetie and Shyara shared the same incredulous looks. Neither had spoken since Apple Bloom and Scootaloo all-but dragged them from their rooms. It was not that they were miserable, just silent, their hearts far away with thoughts of those they’d lost. Sweetie saw a mirror of her own pain every time she looked at Shyara. An unspoken bond linked them, and just being in each others presence was enough. Shyara rolled her wings in a way that said, ‘We better keep an eye on them. They’ll get into more trouble without us,’ and jumped into the hole. Sweetie followed a moment later, and then Apple Bloom with a delighted yell. Along a twisting slue Sweetie slid, glowing moss lighting the way in a soft blue glow. Charging her horn, she added a silvery-green shimmer to the smooth stones zipping past. Cool, stale wind whipped through Sweetie’s mane, and stung her eyes. As abrupt as its beginnings, the slue ended, sending Sweetie into the air. A dozen hooflengths below stretched a pool of crystal black water. She barely had time to suck in a long gasp of breath before hitting the water with a loud splash. Oddly warm water engulfed her. She tumbled about, direction lost in the foaming bubbles and dark. Another splash signalled Apple Bloom’s arrival. The ripple of her friend hitting the water showed Sweetie the way to the surface. A few strong kicks pushed her towards air, which she sucked in with greedy gulps. Rubbing her eyes clear as she spat out a mouthful of the purest water, Sweetie looked around at the startling beauty of the natural cave they’d found. Towering mushrooms covered in glowing green and violet stripes stood tall as trees, forming a strange forest in the cavern. Dotted among the mushrooms were stalagmites, with stalactites as wide as a cart at the base thrusting down from the ceiling so high overhead. The walls of the cavern stretched out and vanished to either side. Sweetie was overcome by the impression of size, of everything being too large, as if she’d been shrunken down to the height of a mouse. “This place is amazing!” Scootaloo shouted from deeper within the cavern, the echo of her voice lending her a deep boom. “You girls have to see this.” Droplets of water flying from her as she shook herself dry, Sweetie spotted the wet trail where Scootaloo and Shyara had pulled themselves from the pool. She found a pathway of some ancient reddish cobblestone brickwork, broken and heaved where long dead trees had grown and then fossilised. Her friend’s prints made their way along the forgotten, buried road. Once Apple Bloom crawled out of the pool, grinning like a mad cat, Sweetie set off. Suspicion pulled at her. Already prone to grim musings, the road struck her as too out of place. Worn tops spoke of frequent use, and not by a people long since vanished into the mists of forgotten antiquity. Rough hewn stairs, narrow and steep, suggested more recent occupants. Cut into fallen stalagmites, they darted back and forth with glittering quartz illuminated by the luminescent fungi. Sweetie took the stairs slowly, eyes darting across deep shadows. She could feel eyes on her, like she was being watched by the road’s ancient engineers. At the top of the stairs she was confronted by an even more incredulous spectacle. Twisted, misshapen, and half crumbled, the ruins of some nameless tower thrust partially from the cavern walls. Red bricks, similar to the road, littered the tower’s shattered base, fallen from where zig-zags formed in th the once stately structure. In its prime the tower had been greater than any other of its age, or those of modern Equestria. Even bowed and broken, it stretched the entire height of three hundred lengths of the cavern sides, and into the rock above. At the top, where it merged into the stone above, hung hundreds of hexagonal emerald chandeliers. Brow pinched tight, Sweetie cautiously approached the large, off-kilter frame that had held a door long since rotted away. Apple Bloom caught up, and then slowed to trot along at her side. There was a complete lack of concern from the farmer. Stooping down, Apple Bloom gasped and plucked a few yellow toadstools. “Ambrowarts!” she exclaimed gleefully, shoving several into her saddlebags. “Zecora says they’re the only thing as good as Sparklepetals for easing pain.” Mouth pinched into a stern line, Sweetie ducked down as she approached the door. Pleased with her find, Apple Bloom skipped past Sweetie through the doorway. “Scootaloo, you shouldn’t touch that,” came Shyara’s voice from within the tower. Sensing eyes following her, Sweetie slipped into the shadowed heart of the tower. An antechamber used by queens to greet honoured dignitaries or hold court emerged around her. Crenulated columns that once held aloft a grand domed copper ceiling were now toppled or partially swallowed by natural stone walls curving out towards the back of the chamber. Everywhere Sweetie looked, she was met by the height of architectural wonder merged with primal beauty. Mosaics that glittered with shifting tiles trapped in silicate deposits surrounded her. A broken stub of one column grew into a stalactite, so as to be whole again. Nowhere else was the fusion of nature and craft so evident as the throne in the chamber’s heart. Glittering gold laced with the finest jewels, each worth a queen’s ransom, transformed into a jagged crown of flowing rock that sparkled in the light cast by Sweetie and Shyara’s horns. Half covered by shadows, the body of some great queen watched over her tower, sprawled out on a central throne. Cobwebs and crusted material clung to ancient armour of glittering red-gold scales. Leather straps and padded undercoat that should have long since rotted away remained supple, hanging loose over its mummified wearer. Leaning back in her throne, with a crested helm pulled low over her face, the dead queen leered at Sweetie. Over her knees, one hoof resting on the hilt, lay a broad bladed arming sword. There was something wrong with the body. Its aspect one of having died in extreme agony. With a gasp, Sweetie realised the body was deformed, with twisted hind legs splayed out, and jagged growths thrusting from one side of the skull. The back hooves were split and deformed, cloven as if they belonged to a bull. The leg not resting on the sword hung malformed at the queen’s side, brittle fingers growing from the pastern. Stomach churning, Sweetie took a step back. It was over the sword Scootaloo and Shyara argued. Tongue sticking from the corner of her mouth, Scootaloo peered at the ancient blade. “Well, she doesn’t need it anymore, and the Cutie Mark Crusader Dungeon Delvers code says; finders keepers.” Scootaloo’s wings buzzed with excitement, kicking dust across the floor. A huffy flap from Shyara’s broad wings added to the little dust storm. “Well, be it on your own head if you drop some curse or awaken a guardian.” “Hey girls, what about this?” Apple Bloom called, drawing attention from the sword to a series of words melted into the floor previously hidden by the dust. “A riddle, or warning!” Scootaloo clapped her hooves. “What does it say, Bloom?” “What makes you think I have any clue how to read it?” “Because Zecora has been teaching you magic?” “Yeah, the basics of herbology, alchemy, and only recently we started the foundations of spellcraft, like the colours of aether and its associations. We ain’t nowhere near actual runes yet.” Apple Bloom shook her head. “Sweetie knows more about magic than me.” Sweetie mechanically reminded her friends that unicorns didn’t learn any magic themselves until they received their remarks. Even Magic Kindergarten avoided the subject. The most she’d done was a little reading when being foalsat by Twilight. “Besides, these look nothing like what were in her books,” Sweetie concluded with a shrug. “That is because these are regular script, not magic runes at all,” Shyara sighed, and beat her wings to clear the rest of the dust. “It is the language of the Marelantians.” “Marelantis? That place is real? And you just so happen to be able to read their language?” Scootaloo scoffed. “Everypony knows Marelantis is one of the Sisters’ old mare's tales. It was never real. Just a metaphor.” “Parable.” Sweetie corrected. “I’m a goddess,” Shyara raised her nose into the air with a snort. “The Goddess of Secrets, no less. There is no language ever known by ponykind that is beyond my ken.” When the others just stared at her in confusion, she added, “That means understanding.” “I knew that!” Hooves crossed, Scootaloo glared at Shyara and Sweetie. “So, what does it say? Are there any curses?” “I’d rather know if there is a way out of here,” Apple Bloom quietly said to Sweetie. “I hope I ain’t the only one worried we ain’t got no way back to the surface. No way we can crawl back up that chute.” Sweetie gave an uncommitted shrug. While the idea had crossed her mind, she expected Iridia and Fluttershy to find them at any moment. Until then, it mattered little to her where their adventure lead them. The cavern and tower just so happened to be interesting enough to draw Sweetie from her morose haze. Clearing her throat, Shyara read aloud the ancient message, and Sweetie listened with rapt attention to the story that unfolded. "Marelantis is drowned. Envy swallowed my sister, and so it swallowed our city. Lemarea is devoured. Pride consumed me, and it felled my refuge. My ponies are lost. Now no better than beasts in the freezing wastes. The Seven Gods are a lie. Iridia and Faust, those barbarian fillies, are the future of Ioka. I am a fool. The shadows slither near. Pride roars in my ears. He will not have the disc. The doors are closed to Him. Beware the Seven! The Great Sins that sound in all ponies' souls. Beware the drums of Envy, Sloth, Gluttony, Avarice, Wrath, Pride, and Lust. They will be the doom of the disc." Profound silence followed Shyara’s recitation. The friends all looked to each other. “So…” Scootaloo began, voice trailing off as she peered at the script again. “Not cursed then,” she declared, rubbing her hooves together before she spun back to the throne and its mummifies occupant. Her hoof stretched out for the sword. Almost at once she leapt back with a yelp. “It bit me!” A couple droplets of blood fell from the craddled hoof, tears welling up in Scootaloo’s eyes. While Apple Bloom soothed Scootaloo with a balm from her saddlebags, Sweetie took a closer look at the sword. Razor sharp ridges in scale patterns ran the length of the hilt from crosspiece to pomel. Along one of the scales glistened the crimson tint of Scootaloo’s blood where it cut the frog of her hoof. Glad her friend had been lucky enough to use a hoof rather than her mouth, Sweetie took hold of the hilt. As with Scootaloo, the sharp ridges bit into the aura of Sweetie’s magic. With no soft flesh to lacerate, it was as if the sword returned her grip, tightening it so her hold over the hilt was unbreakable. “Hey, that’s mine! Ouch, watch it, Bloom.” Giving the grime encrusted sword a few, inexperienced swings, Sweetie said, “It was made so only a unicorn could pick it up safely.” Pouting, and hoof clutched to her chest, Scootaloo whined, “Fine, then I get the armour.” “Ew! A dead pony is wearing that, Scoots.” “So? She’s been dead a really long time, so it’s fine.” “There ain’t no time limit on it being wrong to take from the dead.” “Sure there is. Daring Do does it all the time. It’s called archeolomony.” “Archeology.” “Same thing. Point is, ponies do it all the time.” The argument went on in this manner for some time, ending only when Scootaloo knocked the dead queen over as she tried to loosen one of the clasps. Grimacing at the casual, almost greedy, disregard for the dead, Shyara helped remove the shimmering scale barding and fit it over the much smaller pegasus. Sweetie and Apple Bloom had to bite back sniggers at the sight of their friend in armour made for a tall, adult unicorn. To say it hung loose would be a vast understatement. The helmet drooped so low the noseguard fell below Scootaloo’s chin. The folds of the barding pooled around her legs like she were in a heap of glistening bedsheets. Still, Scootaloo grinned madly, a wild twinkle to her eyes. “Best adventure yet,” Scootaloo decreed, shuffling in a little circle. “Wait until Rainbow sees this armour. She is going to be super impressed.” Her grin began to fade, then morph into worry as a light of panic creased her face. Yelping, Scootaloo spun as if bitten. Frantically, she tore at the buckles of the armour. When they refused to give, she flopped to the ground and rolled about in frenzied hysterics. Movements wild, like an animal covered in biting ants, nopony could help, only add to the confused screaming, yelling, and panic. Sweetie’s heart raced as she tried to grab her friend and pull her from the armour, but her magic was repelled. Over and over, the word ‘curse’ rang in Sweetie’s head. Some ancient trap lain in times lost in the fog of history was attacking her friend, and she was utterly helpless. All she could do was watch as Scootaloo howled in a writhing mass. Her friend was dying, and she was powerless to stop whatever was happening. Just as she’d been powerless to help Rarity. A cold, furious lump lodged itself in Sweetie’s gut. She refused to lose Scootaloo, too. With frenzied intensity she tried to pry her friend free. Nothing she did worked. Her magic could find no purchase on Scootaloo, and her friend just howled louder with each failed attempt. “Sweetie!” Scootaloo stretched out a hoof, tears streaming down her ashen face. Her hoof quivered, and then flopped to the ground and was still. Breath frozen in her lungs, dread twisting her insides with undirected hatred, Sweetie reached out for her limp friend. With a start, Scootaloo jerked upright, and let out a surprised, "Huh.” Around her the armour was no longer slack and ill-fitted, but was rather snug, as supple and secure as if it were a second skin. Even her diminutive wings were covered, yet had room to move and flap, slits having opened in the barding to accommodate them. Blinking in amazement, Scootaloo patted herself down, and then let out a long whoop. “It’s magic armour! Look! Look!” She spun about a couple times, struck a few ‘heroic’ poses, and then strutted back and forth in a little dance. Her antics came to a stop when Apple Bloom cuffed her over the back of the head. “We thought it was killing you, dummy!” Apple Bloom angrily snapped, happy tears in her eyes. “Never scare us like that again!” “It still has magic after six thousand years?” Sweetie hoarsely whispered. Everypony knew that even the best Equestrian enchantments required some maintenance, or they would fade after a century or two. The great Houses kept powerful wardstones designed to protect their lands and families, many of which were older than Equestria itself. Sweetie’s mother talked about them once, and how they were the most important artifact to the noble houses. The matriarchs spent small fortunes acquiring the resources and professionals to keep the monoliths charged, and they were tied to the land, drawing on its natural aether. It was a testament to the skill of the ancient craftspony that the armour was as if new after so long lost. Sweetie often overheard Rarity complain about how troublesome it was to work enchantments into clothes. Armour had to be more difficult, in Sweetie’s estimation. Her gaze drifted down to the grime encrusted sword floating beside her. It struck her as odd that the sword should be so worn when the Marelantians in the Book of Names were given to prizing their weapons more than even their own foals. With a grunt, she turned her attention from the sword to the rest of the antechamber. There was an eerie familiarity about the place, like she’d walked into some half-forgotten dream. Mouth dry, her hooves began to move of their own accord. Behind the throne there was a small alcove that broke off at right angles. One side was completely subsumed by rock, but the other ran off into the distance. The beginnings of some stairs could just be made out, as well as the empty frame for a door to some adjoining room. Fragments of bone lay heaped between stairs and the doorway. Sliding cautiously along the corridor, suspicious instincts were kindled along the nape of the unicorn’s neck. Using the point of her sword, she prodded the pile of bones, tense with worry of some monster or other leaping out. No slashing claws or beedy eyes emerged, and Sweetie let out a long breath. Her sword swung next to the archway. She slid further along the wall, enough so that she could peek around the corner. The adjoining chamber was round, with a raised dais or altar in the center. Holes in the walls showed where there’d been fittings for voluminous curtains, and a cracked stone stool was pressed up against the far wall. Sweeping her gaze further along the room, she came across a sight that chilled her. Dried blood was splashed over the faded alabaster walls, painting them in stark tales of violence. At the base of a broad rusty swath lay a body. Over-sized hands rested splayed in a lap filled with gore and entrails. Worms and insects feasted in a swarming mass on the rotting flesh. Little of the face could be seen where it sloughed off the bone. Gagging, Sweetie backed away, but was unable to pull her gaze away. Just enough of the body remained to identify it as a Diamond Dog. Lower lip pinched between her teeth to hold back a scream, Sweetie’s eyes darted about the chamber in case whatever killed the dog was still near. The trail of dried blood lead towards a rough hewn hole in a wall, prints showing where the dog had pulled himself up from down below. A piece of leather partially covered the tunnel. Every now and then it flapped as the tunnel breathed, a dank, musty wind flowing over Sweetie and carrying away the stench of decay. Fortifying her stomach, Sweetie turned back to the body, and gave it a closer inspection. Aside from the ghastly ruin of the dog’s belly, there were many deep and jagged wounds to thigh, arms, and throat, suggesting some clawed beast had shredded the unfortunate hound. Whatever had done such damage tore through hardened scale armour, speaking of ferocious violence and strength. This was no act of hunger, as no part of the Diamond Dog had been eaten before being found by the underworld’s carrion worms. Shocked at how she could be so calm when faced with such brutality, Sweetie resolved to steer her friends away from the room. Such sights would only terrify them needlessly. A yell and commotion brought a cold sweat along Sweetie’s neck. Fearing whatever killed the dog had found her friends, she darted back to the antechamber. She slowed and ducked down on reaching the intersection, peaking around the corner. In the antechamber her friends stood surrounded by a large group of Diamond Dogs. These were little like the squat, muscular creatures known to prowl the hills south of Ponyville. Lean and spindly, there was a feral, wiry strength to these Diamond Dogs. Long, powerful paws with stubby claws held picks and hammers in tight fists. Padded jerkins of some sort of leather covered their hairy chest. Fat lips pulled back in snarls revealed long, yellow fangs. Malice shone in their small, black eyes. One of the dogs roughly grabbed Apple Bloom by the mane, making her cry out in pain and fear. Face puffed up, Scootaloo readied to charge, while Shyara growled something in the dog’s own guttural, primitive tongue. Cruel amusement rumbled in the dogs’ chests, and in that moment Sweetie leapt out like a screaming panther. Something fully awakened in Sweetie, a primal flame forgotten by most ponies bursting to life. Cold calculous took hold. Her friends or the Diamond Dogs. Gone was all timidity and softness. She refused to lose her friends as she had her sister. Tears in her eyes at the final loss of innocence, she brought the edge of her sword down on the arm holding Apple Bloom. There was an instant of pliant resistance, and Sweetie feared the sword would rebound from the armour. Then it sliced through sinew and bone with ease, severing the limb at the elbow. Howling, the dog staggered, clutching the stump, thick blood gushing between desperately groping fingers. As she drove her sword into the dog’s chest, Sweetie yelled, “This way!” And thus began the longest hours of Sweetie’s life. All at once everypony flew into action. The Diamond Dogs leapt after the fillies, crossbows twanging in the confined chamber with angry retorts. Sparks flew from Scootaloo’s helmet where it turned aside a steel bolt. Apple Bloom lead the others past Sweetie, Shyara in the middle with horn alight like a silver-blue lance in the darkness as she defended her mortal friends. The Diamond Dogs weapons bounced off her own coat with little ill effects. Had the group thought for a moment, Shyara could have held that doorway against the dogs for an eternity. Overcome with the rush of urgency, and still barely a century old, Syara acted as taught when faced by monsters away from the guardianship of a hero, and ran. Up the narrow stairs they fled. The scrapping of talons on stone, feral yowls, and the rattle of armour gave added energy in their flight. A horn sounded, terrible and long as it echoed against the stony gloom, summoning more dogs from the depths. At the rear, Sweetie worked with single minded abandonment to keep the dogs from rushing past and snatching her friends. With wild, desperate strokes, she swung her sword. In the final beat of the first dog’s heart, it was cleansed and anointed. Aurichalcum shone hungry red-gold in the light cast by Sweetie’s horn. She could feel the ancient magics of the Marelantian sword respond to her commands with renewed vitality. Each stroke became more controlled as the sword began to guide her, compelling her motions to greater effect. Yet, it was all she could do to hold them at bay without the advantage of surprise. More and more came, the scraping scramble of the Diamond Dogs, shaking the walls with their swelling numbers as they flooded in from all directions. A fierce instinct alien to most ponies burst forth in Sweetie’s heaving chest. Heiress of Bonnie Bloodrose Belle, a lineage of dozens of corsairs, and proud knights before them, flowed in Sweetie’s veins. Given enough time, with suitable training, she would have made the dogs pay a dear price for every step. As it was, by the time she reached the second landing, her sword had been driven to the hilt into the throat of a dog, and its twitching body hurled into the path of the scrabbling horde, slowing them for a few precious moments. Without consideration, the dying dog was tossed aside and trampled by its fellows. Bounding up the stairs, Sweetie searched for some method to halt the dogs’ advance. Her mind moved quicker, clearer than it had ever before. If she did nothing, the dogs would kill her friends. No rescue was coming. Not this time. She had to keep the others safe. Sweetie burst onto a wide ledge, hooves scrabbling over loose, slick stones. Ahead lay a chasm, cleft through the underworld as if by some titanic axe. On the other side, the ruined tower continued clawing its way towards the surface. In either direction the chasm ran into formless darkness. Sweetie and her friends stood on a balcony of sorts where the tower had broken in two halves, forming the great gulf over which they looked. A quick glance showed Sweetie a heavy bronze door, and beyond where it lay, a bridge formed of a toppled column over the narrowest point of the gap. “Help me with this,” Sweetie commanded her friends, grappling with the fallen door. Together, they shoved it over the doorway just in time, a push by Shyara wedging it in place. Pushing her friends toward the makeshift bridge, she urged them not to relax. “Come on, come on!” Tears streaming down her cheeks, Apple Bloom was the first to mount the bridge. Behind her came Scootaloo. “I got you, Bloom,” the pegasus said, wings buzzing to keep herself stable. Biting her tongue to keep from whimpering, Apple Bloom inched out along the slippery bridge. A bang from the door startled her. Hooves scrambling for purchase on the slimy stone, she began to tip, then slide towards the waiting chasm. Out of reach of her undeveloped magic, Sweetie could only watch in horror as her best friend slipped. Leaning out, Scootaloo clamped her teeth onto Apple Bloom’s tail. Wings buzzing, she dangled half off the bridge, Apple Bloom suspended over the bleak darkness. Jumping onto the bridge, Shyara grabbed both fillies and roughly shoved them to the far side. Before they could so much as get ot their hooves, they were forced back, crossbow bolts sparking against stone about their hooves. More and more fell from the ledge above them in deadly, steel whispers from either side of the chasm. Sweetie’s sword flew up, darting about in a meagre defense. Pain followed a heavy thump in the filly’s shoulder, like the sting of a giant wasp. Gasping, she shrank back deeper beneath the ledge where the bolts could not reach. Her gasps turned to a scream as her mind caught up with the reality of the wound, burning from shoulder to the frog of her left forehoof. It collapsed beneath her the moment she attempted to put any weight on the leg, pain growing with the attempt. She twisted her head away, too afraid to look, knowing that buried in the meat of her shoulder was barbed steel. Leg dangling uselessly, Sweetie’s furious gaze darted between the bridge and the door trembling under the hammering blows of powerful fists. Any moment, the door would give, and the dogs would swarm over her with hacking axes and tearing fangs. That was unless she was dragged into the darkness. To cross the bridge would be impossible with the sharpshooters above, and there was no other way off the ledge. Sweetie’s gaze locked with Shyara’s, and she was certain the young goddess read her thoughts before she bellowed, “Go!” Mustering all her meger strength, Sweetie reached for the column. If she could just lift it a little, it would fall and the dogs would lose the only bridge. She braced her good legs, and let out a deep growl as she strained against its unwieldy weight. The column refused to budge. Behind Sweetie the door began to buckle. Spinning about with a cry of, “Enough!” Shyara launched a scintillating beam of cutting magic towards the source of the showering bolts. The high ledge blazed with blue flames and a dozen dogs burst into ash or spun, fire clinging to flailing limbs, into the abyss. The remainder retreated. Smiling, Shyara gestured for Sweetie to cross. Her grin faded, transforming into a mask of fear. Beneath them, far below in the chasm’s heart, stars began to shine and shift within a lavender blossom of light. From the depths came an unnatural boom followed by a roar that scraped across Sweetie’s heart, like granite blocks grinding together until they shattered. Primal terror pierced the fillies, Apple Bloom and Scootaloo clutching their ears as they wailed against the impossible roar. Shyara stood frozen, exposed above the abyss, staring down at whatever she’d awoken. Even limping, Sweetie raced across the makeshift bridge, and pushed Shyara to Scootaloo and Apple Bloom’s reaching hooves. “How is this possible?” Shyara gasped. “How can she be here? I watched her die.” “We’re all going to die if we don’t get moving,” Scootaloo said, verging on shouting. Almost as if she were in a daze, Shyara staggered away, staring forlornly towards the growing light crawling up the walls of the chasm. Sweetie recognized the longing in every aspect of Shyara’s tone and expression. Fragments of hope still pierced her heart every day, the belief that perhaps Rarity still survived, somehow, weathering all sound logic. Whatever was in the chasm yanked on identical strings in Shyara. “What’s down there? What have you woken up, Shyara?” Sweetie asked through clenched teeth and the pain wracking her body. The question snapped Shyara out of her haze. Wrenching her gaze away from the chasm, she closed her eyes and was silent a moment. When she spoke, her words were slow, purposeful, and carried the weight of finality. “A demon formed from the night. Something once pure, now corrupted. Twisted. Wrong! A monster that never should have been, but was made. Thuban! She hungers…She hungers for me. She hunts me! If you do not leave me, she will get you too.” Again, that unnatural roar shook the cavern. Closer, and far more dreadful, it gnawed on the edges of sanity. Screaming, the three mortal fillies clutched their ears and writhed on the ground until the terrible noise passed. Frantic, Shyara pulled her friends up and gestured towards the stairs. “Just go already!” “And what will we do about the diamond dogs without you?” Apple Bloom demanded. “You ain’t leaving us now. Friends stick together, no matter what.” Panting, sweat running in thick rivulets down her brow, Sweetie shook her matted mane. “I won’t be able to keep up. Not with this leg. You girls go on—” “We ain’t splitting up!” Apple Bloom declared with an emphatic stomp. Behind her Scootaloo nodded. “If your leg is hurt, then I’ll be your legs. A small unicorn like you, I carry heavier loads during applebuck season back on the farm. Scoots, help her up.” Deaf to Sweetie’s protests, they heaved her up onto Apple Bloom’s strong back. For a few steps she staggered, then adjusted to the weight. Across the way, the brass door at last gave underneath the dog’s assault and fell with a deafening bang. Gleefully, they raced towards the bridge spurred on by the sight of their quarry stumbling up the next set of steps. In a slobbering, beastial wave they clambered over the slick stone with expert paws. Driven by fear of what lay in the chasm, nopony dared take a moment to topple the bridge. With Shyara now at the rear, the fillies scrambled up the broken, narrow steps. Several times, Apple Bloom slipped, scuffing her knees until they were raw and bleeding. Moving faster than ever, Scootaloo dashed off ahead, the noise of her wings receding as she scouted the way. They came to a landing, a wide passage splitting off to either side. Ahead, the next set of stairs were blocked by ancient rubble. Before they could start to decide which way to go, Scootaloo emerged from the right corridor, a quick, urgent gesture signalling the others to hurry. A jagged seam marked the transition from the tower’s upper levels into a lower segment, the two pushed together during the disaster that claimed Lemarea. Vaulted ceilings, pierced by stalactite teeth, hovered above the fleeing fillies. In the height of its glory, they would have been dashing through garden squares and open pavilions. The tree that once lived in that long lost garden stood alone, forlorn and petrified, white bark turned to dark grey, the impression of broad leaves and flower petals scattered around the base. Garden gave way to apartments. Scattered remnants lay about the rooms: lamps and poles, here the rusted frame of a bed, there the rotted hulk of a wardrobe. Holes in some walls granted passage deeper into the city, while some corridors remained blocked by fallen stone. What would have once been an open map of buildings and streets had become a twisted maze which the fillies had no hope of navigating, chased by vicious Diamond Dogs or not. Riotous clatter drew nearer and nearer. Sweetie could feel the dogs’ hot breath at the back of her neck, and beyond that a presence cold and far more dreadful. As they paused at one intersection, a snarling face appeared, and Sweetie stabbed with her sword. There was a shiver of soft resistance and the face fell back in a gurgling howl. Spurred by the dog, they quit thinking and simply ran. The corridor they fled down opened almost at once into a gigantic hall larger and grander than anything the fillies had ever seen before. Floors of silver hue rang like chimes under their hooves, and ceilings of glittering gold were held aloft by crystal columns. Celestia’s throne room, if it had been stacked thrice upon itself, would have failed to reach the invisible ceiling overhead, and should it have stretched lengthwise, it could not have crossed the hall in width. Unphased by the grandeur, they sped past gemmed murals that glimmered in star strewn hues until a massive door of aurichalcum covered in Marelantian runes bound by intricate friezes blocked their path. Throwing her shoulder against the door with a grunt, Scootaloo bounced off the unyielding door. Shyara met equal resistance, even the young goddess unable to force her way through. In the grim acceptance unique to those too exhausted for despair, they turned to face the coming horde. And waited. From the distance echoed a series of screams and frothing war yowls, all ending with a stark, sudden finality. Then followed that long, terrible roar from the chasm, and a lavender glow trickled along the corridor. “She’s here! She is going to take me and kill you all. I have to lead her away.” Shyara stumbled as if in a daze toward the hellish glow. Sword sweeping down to block Shyara’s path, Sweetie said through clenched teeth, “You can read this language. There has to be a way to open this door, and I bet, by Celestia’s mane, there are instructions hidden somewhere.” Scootaloo bobbed her head. After a moment, Shyara swallowed her terror and faced the door. Her eyes glowed like jewels as she touched her domain to reveal the door’s ancient secrets. “It’s a song sealed door,” she declared, glow receding from her eyes. “You have to sing a personal song, something with deep meaning. The song itself is immaterial, it is the heart of the singer that is important. As you sing you will be judged. If worthy, it’ll open. If not, it says you will be punished.” “You have to do it, Sweetie,” Scootaloo instantly said. “If any of us can open this song door, it is you.” Wetting her lips, Sweetie darted a pleading look around her friends. She knew they were right. Scootaloo was borderline tone deaf, as much as she loved roaring out tunes. Apple Bloom had a nice, appropriately earthy voice, but prefered backup positions. Shyara… from the petrification etched on her face, had never sung once in her century of life. Sliding off Apple Bloom’s back, Sweetie limped towards the door. She knew which song the door required. Knew it though the lyrics had never crossed her lips nor had the notes ever touched her ears. It was a song she had know for weeks now, a fire kindled in her soul in the days following Rarity’s… She’d held it close, treasured its meger warmth even as she shunned it, fearing to give it voice lest it flare and die, leaving her with nothing but a cold stone marker over an empty grave. It was a song that she found impossible to give voice.  Instead, she selected a bouncy little ditty made famous by a deva in the spring. Sweetie knew the lyrics by heart, as did most other young fillies. She’d spent weeks annoying everypony singing it over and over. Rarity even joined her a couple times. It had to be enough. Dark, red magic flowed over the rune-etched door at the end of the first stanza. Identical red lines criss crossed over Sweetie’s chest. With a sharp gasp, she lurched forward, song torn from her tongue as she tried to pull in desperate breath, as if an invisible sword had been driven through her heart. Sweat flowed down her face and body, and mingled with the thick blood coursing down her leg. Shaking the sweat from her eyes, she limped another step closer. Worried voices warbled behind her. Sweetie shut them out. There was only one song that would satisfy the seal. If she could summon the courage to sing it. She began to sing slowly, her lips struggling around the strange the foreign words of the ancient Marelantian tongue, and hesitating as ephemeral fears warred against present danger. But she pressed on. Each syllable danced from her throat gracefully, an ebbing flow of unrecognizable words whose meaning was nevertheless so clear in her heart. Threads of crystalline aether spiraled into Sweetie’s soul, sank into the depths of a life lost, beckoned by ancient ghostly essence. The aria flowed from Sweetie, from the depths of her soul, a hidden past long forgotten laid bare to the disc. Sweetie was assailed by a former life. Images, sounds, smells, the sensation of lips on her own, wine splashing over her tongue, pride swelling in her breast, sickening vengeance twisting in her stomach, and then the final gasps of breath leaving her dying body. All in the drifting note of the chorus. Focusing on memories of Rarity, she weathered the onslaught like a ship in the eye of a titanic storm. Silvery-blue magic danced between her horn and the door, activating the seal in a dazzling flash. Voices joined Sweetie’s in a high, delicate chant, a resonance forming between singer and seal. All who listened were moved. Sweetie’s voice was so pure, so beautifully Shyara wept the crystal tears of an alicorn moved to unimaginable sorrow. Upon the clear heart of the seal the song became etched, preserving for the Ages to come Sweetie’s lament. A split began to form down the door, and Sweetie was almost tugged off her hooves by some unseen force. Body shaking, legs barely able to hold her, Sweetie poured every once of sorrow, fear, and hope into the final verse. The seal responded in kind, blazing brighter still, surface aswirl with dancing runes and flowing magic. Sweetie slumped forward, the last notes of her song hanging in the air. She blinked, delirious with the confused jumble of memories vying for space in her head. Apple Bloom appeared beside her, providing a supportive shoulder. Underhoof, the tunnel shook with Thuban’s approach, the evil glow almost blinding the way they’d come, and behind the glow, darkness. One by one, the rows of columns began to vanish, consumed by some impossible shadow greater than the absolute abyss of Ioka’s underworld. Through the growing crack in the door, the fillies beheld a whirlpool of molten gold. Head still swirling, Sweetie understood the inner workings of the magical door. It lead to a realm beyond the disc, hidden in the swirling mists between life and death. It was a place not meant for mortals. Fumbling on unsteady legs, each step sending torturous lances of fire through her body, Sweetie was helped by her friends through the golden gate. There was a moment of stickiness, the gate resisting their passage, and then a sensation of spinning before they fell out the other side. Tall, half-formed misshapen trees loomed in the gentle, gloomy grey light that greeted the fillies. For a moment, Sweetie believed they’d reached the surface, but it was no forest in which they found themselves, but an odd garden of fog clouded archways. There was no sun at all, the fog itself lighting the pebble walkways. A chill swept up Sweetie’s neck, and when she looked back, she saw they’d come through one of the arches. Quickly they scrambling beneath a hedgerow that encircled a large, dead white tree and dry fountain. There they hid, and waited. And then a violet blaze around a core of total darkness thundered into the garden. Nopony dared look. Malice so thick it pressed them into the dirt coiled through the gardens. Breath froze in Sweetie’s throat with a fear so sharp she became incapable of moving. If she so much as twitched, they’d be discovered. At any moment the hedges would be torn aside, and the beast would descend on them. For what felt like hours, the beast stood there, and then it moved deeper into the gardens, each step making the earth quake. Behind it, the gate shuddered, closed, and then shattered. Stones raining down around them, a slight whimper coming from one of the fillies. The way back to the disc was lost. “I don’t want to adventure anymore,” Scootaloo sobbed. Her spirit, usually wild as the summer winds, had endured all it could manage. Tears running down her face and unable to look at the wound on Sweetie’s shoulder, the young pegasus trembled and wished with all her heart to be back home. “Shyara, I need you to help me get this out of Sweetie,” Apple Bloom said, ignoring Scootaloo’s whimpering. “She’s lost too much blood already. Here, help me.” Sweetie was only vaguely aware of Apple Bloom and Shyara’s actions as they laid her down before setting to work. Scootaloo kept a lookout, but the beast seemed to have vanished. A numbing poultice made from ambrowart and combined with other supplies in Apple Bloom’s saddlebags was applied around the wound. Waiting for its medicinal effects to take hold, Apple Bloom prepared bandages and cleansed a knife with alcohol. Poultice snatched away, and a thick thong placed between her teeth, Sweetie received only a brief warning before Apple Bloom set to removing the bolt from her shoulder. Apple Bloom had to work the barbed head to get it loose where it had burrowed into bone. Swearing as she fought with the bolt, it took Apple Bloom several minutes before she managed to push it through. Tossing it aside, she began to sew Sweetie’s shoulder shut after probing the wound to make certain no pieces remained to fester. At some point, Sweetie passed out, overwhelmed by the agony. For an unknown span she floated in a shapeless void, empty of dreams, of joy and fear. Only a vague memory tethered her to the waking world. A hoof twitched, and the veil parted to reveal a turgid river slowly winding its way across a grey landscape devoid of any life. At its terminus, the river met four others to form an inland sea. Mountains grew in the great distance, and in their arms stretched a city far greater than any other in all creation. Towers of every style and sort loomed over close packed homes built at odd angles. Walls of impossible heights divided the city into ever shifting districts, the city in a continual state of reorganisation. Neighborhoods grew and shrank, like waves in a boiling pot of tar. Palaces dotted the cityscape, and only they remained unphased by the upheaval. All of Equestria could fit within a single district, and the city held hundreds. Sweetie knew this city, as did all mortals, for it was the City of the Dead. She trembled, and turned to flee, and came nose to nose with a thane. Sunken eyes of impossible black burrowed into Sweetie’s soul. Before the thane she was laid bare. The spirit said nothing, only placed the tip of a wing to Sweetie’s breast, and gave her a push. A yell lodged itself in Sweetie’s throat as she was hurtled away from Tartarus. Past worlds vivid with life and grim with death, through a timeless swirl of mists, and back into the endless void she plummeted. There, Sweetie was certain, she would be lost, until a crown of stars appeared. They raced towards her, and Sweetie held up a hoof to fend them off. At their impact consciousness returned in a vivid burst. She was immediately aware of deep aches, and a sharp, burning pain that went from the base of her horn to the end of her hoof. Growling, she sat up and found herself in another part of the ghostly garden. Scootaloo sat beside her and jumped when she moved. “You’re alive! Thank Celestia,” Scootaloo quietly rejoiced, squeezing Sweetie in a crushing hug. Propping herself against a short stone wall, flinching when she unthinkingly tried to use her injured leg, Sweetie scanned the garden with fresh eyes. Whatever it was that the Marelantian song had awakened in her was still there, the aspirations and fears, that vital force of a bygone life rekindled in her breast. She knew where they’d stumbled, and it filled her with trepidation. The archways were doors connecting Ioka to the Winterlands. Through the doorways the marelantians could send agents, or whole armies, to any corner of the disc. Where the marelantians came by the knowledge of the doorways remained lost, the methods used in their construction as dead as the Sorceress Queens. As she looked around, Sweetie was confronted by a long, glass case. Within the case lay an esoteric tome bound in flesh and possessing a single, bloodshot eye that glared evilly at her. Beyond the case lay several others in a haphazard array. Some were open, others were bound with aurichalcum clasps and spells. Following Sweetie’s gaze, Scootaloo said in a low whisper, “Shyara says this is where Iridia and Faust hid the most dangerous things they’ve found.” “Then Iridia and Fluttershy are coming,” Sweetie concluded with a relieved sigh, but Scootaloo shook her head. “We carried you a long way to get here. I think they used a different door.” With a gesture, Scootaloo indicated the other side of the cases, where they clustered around a broken arch. Sweetie’s stomach dropped. From somewhere nearby, the terrible roar of the dragon shook the garden. A heavy rumble knocked Sweetie to her tender knees and the fog flashed purple and blue, then all was quiet. Shyara and Apple Bloom emerged from the folded banks of fog, short legs blurred as they run. “Go, go!” Apple Bloom shouted at Sweetie and Scootaloo, terror etched deep into her golden eyes. Night seemed to sweep over the whole garden like a curtain being drawn. Apple Bloom and Shyara hardly slowed as they reached their friends and helped Sweetie to stand. Sweetie regained her hooves only to be knocked prone again when the ground lurched beneath her with far greater violence. A mighty boom echoed in their ears and bones, deafening in its crushing weight. With widening eyes, Sweetie realised it was not the night she was seeing, but the dragon’s shadow. The fillies clutched each other, lost in the shadow of a dragon made of shattered stars. Great feathered wings blotted out the sky, plunging the fillies into a darkness more akin to the veil between worlds than simple night. Immense as a mountain and supple as a cat, the dragon held itself with flowing graceful movements waiting to explode into violent motions. Each step caused earthquakes, and the dragon’s breath a freezing wind. Eyes like moonlit lakes pierced the fillies, alight with an incomprehensible ancient intelligence. Steadying herself with a backwards glance at the Crusaders, Shyara stood before Thuban. Before she could issue any challenge, or give any honey suckled praise, the dragon’s barbed tail lashed at the young goddess. She screamed and fell back into the crusader’s hooves where she writhed in agony. Silver blood poured between her hooves. With the last of her ambrowart, Apple Bloom tried to calm Shyara. The little goddess still shook, but she no longer thrashed in agony. Tenderly, with a soft, coaxing voice, Apple Bloom managed to pry Shyara’s hooves from her eyes. Shyara’s right eye was reduced to a gorey mess. Sweetie’s stomach lurched, and Scootaloo retched. Even Apple Bloom was green, her hooves trembling as she did her best to stem the flow of blood. Thuban watched them silently, as a lion would a squirming mouse. Lowering her head, the dragon curled her lips with beastial, dark humour. Pushing herself up, rage bright behind her eyes, Sweetie hefted her sword. “Why would you do that? What have we done to you?” With a frustrated scream, Sweetie thrust her blade. Sparks flew where aurchalcum met Thuban’s scales. Thuban snarled, and raised one massive paw. Upper lip curling, Sweetie accepted she was powerless against such a beast. Still, the fierce blood awoken within her demanded she try. Her gaze darted to the arches. Many were broken, and the few that remained were closed. Without a key, they would remain so. A song, an emotion, or even a physical key itself—the ways to unlock the doors were myriad—and without some clue, Sweetie could struggle the rest of her natural life without ever opening another gate. Her gaze next flitted to the display cases. The objects within were among the worst ever seen on Ioka, artifacts of pure evil banished even from songs so all knowledge of their existence was lost. That they were hidden indicated that there was likely no way for these objects to be destroyed, even by Iridia and Faust. Not that she could reach the cases before being crushed by Thuban. Planning came to a vivid end, a beam of light blasting over Sweetie’s shoulder. Struck on the breast, Thuban snarled and staggered back. Apple Bloom’s admonishment told Sweetie all she needed about the source. Remaining eye aglow with righteous fury, Shyara stood on splayed hooves, smokey aether curling about her horn. Similar smoke curled between Thuban’s fangs, a brilliant glow filling the dragon’s mouth. “Get Scoots and Bloom out of here, Sweetie,” Shyara barked in a rapid tumble, building a thick shield of black crystal. Fire from the heart of a star shrieked in a brilliant white geyser, forming a pure line of unbridled fury. With a hissing crackle almost deafening in its ferocity, starfire slammed into Shyara’s shield, spraying molten puddles in every direction. Cracks formed across the crystal, and a deep, dreadful heat washed over Sweetie. “Go, go! I will hold Thuban here!” Shyara yelled, straining with the effort to halt Thuban’s breath. Sweat covered her brow, mixing with her silvery blood, and her legs shook beneath the unending stream of starfire. Sweetie wanted to protest. Every fibre of her recoiled at leaving a friend behind. She wished she could stand shoulder to shoulder with Shyara. With a slight start, Sweetie realized it was impossible. As Shyara found her second wind and stood straighter, she stood a full hoof in the shoulder taller than she had but moments before. Gone was her round filly features, replaced by the lean frame of a mare in her later teens. “Why are you standing there gaping like an idiot? I told you to go!” Shyara’s voice hit Sweetie with almost physical force. Grabbing her oldest friends with her magic, Sweetie galloped with an odd, lopping sort of gait as fast as she could with her injured leg. Direction was immaterial, only escape was important. Sweetie put out of her thoughts the rumble and flash of explosions behind her, of the shrieking protests of Scootaloo and Apple Bloom, and the ground shaking underhoof. Her singular focus was on finding a familiar arch, or one that was already open. A flicker in the corner of her eye caught her attention, a stout marble archway filling with a molten mercury sheen only a few yards away. Lowering her head, tears racing down her face at leaving Shyara behind to face certain doom, Sweetie put on a final burst of speed. Three strides away, she was knocked off her hooves as Shyara and Thuban came crashing down into the heart of the garden, banishing the fog. Tumbling, Sweetie caught only a fleeting glance of Shyara prone beneath Thuban’s paws, starfire building in the dragon’s mouth. Sweetie and Shyara’s eyes connected, and Shyara smiled in the instant before Thuban’s starfire was unleashed, and Sweetie lost all sight as she fell between worlds. The slick shuffling of hooves against the blood soaked streets of Lemarea surrounded Applejack in an appalling bubble. Beside her, Soarin held his mouth in a deep frown, wings tight at his sides. It was only natural. Applejack had yet to meet a pegasus that felt at ease underground. The carnage that surrounded them only added to his rigid posture. Soarin was far from alone in his grim demeanor. With them marched a procession of Halla. Warriors scouted ahead and guarded the group from ambush. Several priestesses lit the way with balls of magic. Finally, a few scholars clung to Iridia and Fluttershy like ticks. Altogether, three dozen Halla accompanied their queen. From the moment they’d descended a hidden set of stairs behind the throne room, Iridia had marched with single-minded purpose. Tension only grew when they crossed the mushroom forest and entered Lemarea to be greeted by the still warm body of a diamond dog. Worry for the fillies quickly turned to horror as the group encountered more and more dead diamond dogs, and patches of unexplained blood. All culminated in the carnage through which they now passed. Bodies were burnt, torn apart, smashed, and strewn about in haphazard lumps. Places held only shadows burnt into stone, while others contained bits of bone, flesh, and gore dripping down the walls or from the ceiling. Applejack had seen much in her time serving Equestria, and before that life on a farm engrained certain fatalistic qualities, but even she recoiled in horror. Iridia hardly seemed to notice all the death, or that her fetlocks had been stained a bright red from all the blood. Crimson streaks ran down her cloak like teardrops. “All this is under your home?” Soarin asked, a nervous twitch in the corner of his mouth. “Why would you build here?” “Thornhaven was a gift from my sister. As you can imagine, Faust never does anything without reason. It was because of these ruins she selected Thornhaven’s location.” Iridia ran a wing down a cracked column. “Had I been aware the ruins were infested with these things, I would have cleansed them myself years ago.” Bodies gave way to the final, grand hall, and then a dead end. Slowly, the group spread out, inspecting the area for any sign of the fillies. Iridia silently inspected the doors that lead nowhere. The queen bent down after a moment, and picked up a long, silvery-black crystal. A hard lump rested in Applejack’s stomach. Around every pile of rubble, behind each column, she expected to find her sister’s body. There was only momentary relief when the girls remained missing. “Where are they?” Applejack demanded, looking around the rubble strewn between the giant doors. “Where are my sister and her friends?” Instead of answering, Iridia asked, “You taught your sister to pray, Lady Apple?” Applejack gave a stiff nod, “Aye, we honour Celestia, like Granny Smith taught us.” “Hmm, that won’t do. I need them to pray to me.” Iridia made a slight clicking noise at the back of her mouth. “Celestia tunes out her prayers. Not that I blame her. You try having millions of voices vying for your attention. I have far fewer to sift through. My Halla are, thankfully, not all that prone to prayer, and finding the resonance of a pony among their toneless chants is as easy as finding a vibrant rose in a garden of daisies. No, we will require my sister if we are to track the girls down.” “Faust?” Soarin asked, coming up beside Applejack. “But, nopony has seen her since—” “I have ways of finding my sister,” Iridia interrupted Soarin with a raised hoof, then pointedly looked at Applejack. “Thanks to you, actually.” “Me?” “Yes. You are the Element of Honesty, meaning you are tied to my sister as one of her champions. A tiny portion of her powers was bestowed upon you when the Element chose you. I can follow that to my sister. Mind you, there is no guarantee she will let us catch her. She will know we are coming. With your permission…” Applejack stepped closer without hesitation. “Do what you got to so we can find my sister.” Iridia gave a motherly smile, and touched her wingtips to Applejack’s temples. At first nothing happened. Applejack felt a bit silly, standing there with Iridia leaning over her. She was about to ask if she needed to do anything, when there was a yank in the back of her throat, and she found herself on a brightly lit balcony overlooking a foreign skyline. Dry, dusty wind filled with exotic spices and warm vibrance blew over her face. An inarticulate voice made her turn, and she saw her; Faust, relaxing on a chaise lounge as she cuddled with a very grumpy looking stallion. Faust stopped what she was doing, and looked right at Applejack. The vision broke, and Applejack was back in the ancient, buried great hall. “Zebrica, I should have known.” Iridia tutted as she retracted her wings. To the Halla, she commanded, “Return to the castle and prepare a proper expedition. I will lead it myself when I return with the fillies. Until then keep a sharp watch. There is no telling how many Diamond Dogs remain in these warrens.” Then she wrapped a bubble around the ponies as she teleported them towards the distant lands to the east.