When Vermilion returned to the room, the others were all asleep in bed. Rose woke briefly as he climbed onto the sheets, but once she’d sniffed at him to make sure he was clean, she promptly put her head back down on Zephyr’s wing and closed her eye. He squeezed between the pegasi and tried to get comfortable; as an earth pony, his mass deformed the mattress so much that the others rolled in toward him. Fortunately, their weight was just another blanket to him, good for chasing away the unnatural chill that swirled outside their window, and he quickly found himself lulled off to sleep.
When he woke the candles had all burned down to cold nubs. Outside, the streetlights had been extinguished, and complete darkness reigned. Only the rattle of the shutters and the quiet howl of the snow-kissed wind hinted at the world outside.
His eyes adjusted, and he saw through the darkness. Colors washed away, but he could make out the shapes of the ponies huddled around him. He saw the grain in their coats; each individual hair in Rose’s mane shimmered like spider’s thread as it shifted in response to Quicklime’s breath.
A cold weight pressed down on him, squeezing him. He looked up and saw Luna perched upside-down on the ceiling above their bed. Her flowing mane drifted in the air just feet above their slumbering forms. The point of her horn reached down nearly to his ears. A hoarfrost rime coated the stones around her, growing with every passing heartbeat. She opened her eyes, and like twin lanterns they filled the room with a cold, silver light.
“Luna,” he whispered.
“My Vermilion,” she whispered back. “You have reached Haselnacht.”
“Yes.” He struggled out from beneath the limp forms of his friends, careful not to wake them. “It is snowing at midsummer, just as we feared. The town is besieged by refugees, ponies fleeing from the destruction of their villages. And there are reports of monsters further afield, emptying all the small towns and turning everything to wasteland. We don’t have much time.”
“It is as I feared.” She let out a long breath, and snow drifted onto the bed. “Something stalks the town, some night-borne creature. I can feel it intruding on the minds of my ponies, but I cannot defend them so far from Equestria; my reach does not extend to you there. It is all I can do to appear like this.”
“Ah.” He looked down at his slumbering companions. “Can you appear to all of us?”
She shook her head. “I have a special connection with you, my Vermilion. And—” she inclined her head to the side, “—to noble Cloud Fire as well. You were the first two servants to pledge yourselves to me, after all. In time, I may grow just as close to your other friends, but for now this is a special bond only the two of you share.”
“Oh.” He glanced down at Cloudy, who was drooling on Zephyr’s neck. “Should I wake him?”
Luna smiled. Needles peeked out from between her lips. “No, I will dream with him separately. He and I have other matters to discuss.”
Okay. Some sort of pegasus thing, probably. He put it out of mind. “You said something stalked the town?”
Luna’s smile vanished. Her eyes narrowed into slits. “Yes, some shadow on their thoughts. Something ancient that dares to touch their dreams.”
“Another dreamora?”
“No, worse than that. The dreamora are mere parasites, animals in search of food. This monster, this… nightmare is malevolent, full of hatred and intent. It has grander designs than merely eating those poor souls.”
Merely eating. He recoiled from the words. “I met a pony. A warrior. He spoke of giant wolves that stalked the night alone, and mares whose breath turned stallions to ice. He said nothing about nightmares”
Luna tilted her head. “Amoraks and yukionnas. I have met them before. They are… middling creatures for one such as yourself, Vermilion. Compared with Blightweaver and his kin they are pale shadows. Beware of them, but do not fear them. They are not the nightmare I have sensed. This warrior, he said nothing of it?”
Vermilion shook his head. “Nothing.”
“Hm.” Luna turned toward the window. “Interesting. Enlist this warrior’s aid, Vermilion, but be careful. He may not see all that threatens Haselnacht.”
“He seems honest. He truly wishes to help this town, and he knows it better than us.”
“Use him as you see fit, then. You have a knack for making odd friends.” Luna’s gaze seemed to shift to the ponies around him. “I will visit you again tomorrow. Continue your great work, my Vermilion. Know that I am proud of you.”
He flushed. “I don’t deserve your praise.”
She grinned at that. “So humble. I would chastise any other pony for saying such patently false things, but you really believe it, don’t you? Ah, I made a good choice with you, my Vermilion. But if you will excuse me, I have another’s dreams to visit this night. Farewell.”
He opened his mouth to bid his liege farewell in kind, but by the time his lips had parted she was already gone. The cold chill evaporated in a heartbeat, and the weight of her presence vanished, lifting from his chest and letting him fully breathe once more. The darker night seemed emptier without her to fill it.
Beside him, Cloud Fire twitched. A smile appeared on his muzzle.
Vermilion spent a moment wondering what Luna was doing in the pegasus’s dreams. But just as quickly exhaustion returned to him, pulling him back down to the mattress, and the annihilating joy of sleep claimed him once again.
* * *
“Stratolathe!” The huge gray earth pony who greeted them in the lord’s chambers swept out from behind his massive oak desk to embrace the pegasus. “On your hooves already? And who are your friends here?”
The Hazelnight lord’s mansion was an unimposing stone structure in the heart of the city, closer to the geode mines that had given birth to the ancient town than the market district that now occupied so many ponies’ lives. Only two stories tall, it stood in the shadow of the high warehouses and offices that lined the streets, but in its solid stone walls, beaten copper roof and elaborate carved ivy friezes, Vermilion spied its hidden power. Well-armed and armored ponies stood sentry on the street outside, keeping a wary eye on those who approached. They had let Stratolathe pass unaccosted.
“Takes more’n a little bite to keep me down, lord,” Strato said. He stood to the side and gestured at Vermilion. “This is Sir Vermilion and company, knights in the service of Princess Luna of Equestria.”
“Just Vermilion, please.” Vermilion stepped forward and held out his hoof. “Lord Graymoor, thank you for seeing us. May I present my friends, Rose Quartz, Quicklime, Zephyr and Cloud Fire?”
“A pleasure.” Graymoor’s eyes lingered on Zephyr and Cloud Fire’s wings. “Three pegasi in one room! I never thought I would see that in Hazelnight. How times change.”
Graymoor was an earth pony of middle age, powerfully built and possessing an air of supreme confidence such as Vermilion had only ever encountered in Celestia and Luna. Perhaps it was some attribute of lords and ladies. True to his name he was gray, charcoal-coated with a dull stone mane, and he moved with assurance, more like a tiger than a pony, and in each gesture of his hoof, every word, he conveyed the iron impression of command. It was all Vermilion could do not to stand at attention in his presence. Memories of Canopy briefly shadowed his thoughts.
“The princess sent us to help however we can,” Rose said. “We saw the encampment outside your gates and the early snows. And we’ve heard Stratolathe’s tales about what’s befallen the towns outside the valley.”
“Well, any help is appreciated, no matter who sends it.” Graymoor’s eyes seemed to linger on Rose’s eyepatch, but he quickly turned away and walked over to the wall behind his desk. A map was fixed there to the stones, drawn in the military style, depicting Hazelnight in its valley and the port road leading east to the ocean. Black dots, labelled with tiny names, speckled the lands around the town. Most of them had red slashes drawn through them. Only the closest were unmarked.
“There used to be over a dozen towns within a few day’s trot of Haselnacht,” Graymoor said, gesturing at the map. “Now there are fewer than five with any ponies left. The rest are abandoned, their people either missing or camped outside our gates. We’ve tried to support them as best we can, providing food and shelter, but the town is already crowded to bursting.”
“Stratolathe told us of the attacks,” Vermilion said. “Hazelnight isn’t alone. There is a new darkness rising all across the world. Monsters are returning. They can be fought, but only if ponies are willing.”
“Willing ain’t a problem, young warrior,” Stratolathe said. He had taken a seat on a cushion near the fire, his wounded leg splayed out uncomfortably beside him. “But miners and farmers ain’t much good ‘gainst these things.”
“Yeah, that’s where we come in.” Cloudy fluffed his wings, preening a bit. “Whatever these monsters are, I’m pretty sure we’ve faced worse.”
“I don’t doubt it,” Graymoor said. He turned to Vermilion then, his eyes probing and intense. “You said something interesting there, son. A new darkness. What do you mean?”
“It’s…” Vermilion frowned. He thought back to Luna’s lair, and the image of the map table. Equestria shone bright on it, outlined in fire, while all around the world turned black, as though consumed by some dark tide. “It’s something she said. Luna. When I agreed to serve her, it was to fight and save towns like Holl… like Hazelnight.”
“Luna.” Graymoor shook his head. “I met her once. Back when my father was still lord, we visited Everfree, and Celestia hosted us in her palace. Luna was there… cold ass bitch, that one.”
Vermilion stiffened at the insult. Rose’s ears tilted away. Cloudy snickered.
“Yeah, she take some getting used to,” the pegasus. “Nice when you finally get to know her, though.”
“I’m sure.” Graymoor paused, and a look of actual uncertainty seemed to cross his face, so out of kind to the arrogance and command he projected. It lasted only for a moment, and then he was striding across the room, away from the desk and the hearth and the map on the wall, over to an alcove in the shadow of the tall oak bookcases. He paused before a low desk that was mounted with a tarnished silver mirror and bearing a collection of vials and bowls, thick candles impregnated with heavy dyes, chalk and inks, and a bamboo cylinder holding slender wood brushes.
“I don’t normally do this in front of guests, much less Equestrians,” Graymoor said. He carefully plucked one of the brushes from the bamboo holder, and Vermilion saw he’d been mistaken – rather than a brush it was a small knife, with a blade barely an inch long at the end of the handle. Graymoor held it against the bottom of his hoof, and after a moment a steady stream of dark red drops began to fall, splattering into the bottom of a silver bowl. When enough blood had fallen to collect into a thin pool, he set the blade aside and pressed a cotton swab against the cut.
Rose let out a low, quiet sound at the sight, and Vermilion realized with a start that she was growling. Her lips had peeled back from her teeth in a snarl. Beside her, Quicklime drew in an excited breath and stepped forward, stopping just out of reach of the bowl.
“Blood magic!” It came out as a hushed whisper. “This is blood magic, isn’t it?”
“It is, little sister,” Graymoor said. He glanced briefly at Rose, then back at Quicklime. “Equestrians, especially highborn, are not fond of it, I’ve found.”
“For good reason,” Rose hissed. “It is vile.”
“It’s like any other tool. What matters is how you use it.” Graymoor drew in a deep breath, then leaned forward over the bowl and exhaled. The surface of the blood rippled in response, and the glass pane of the upright mirror behind it fogged briefly. He stepped away.
A sudden charge seemed to fill the air, as though a thunderstorm had blown in through the windows. The pegasi jumped, confused, and Vermilion shuddered as an oily, cold sensation washed over his skin. It penetrated his pores, infecting him, filling him with a sense of trepidation and panic, like a blade were held inches from his throat or a crushing weight hung suspended above him by a hair. The foreboding built and built in his chest, squeezing his lungs, and his heart hammered back, rocking him. He gasped for air but couldn’t draw a breath. In the bowl, beneath the mirror, the blood began to move.
“Make it stop. Please.” A quiet, desperate voice wheezed. Vermilion turned to see Zephyr trembling, her face pale and awash with sweat. Her ears were plastered back against her skull, and every feather in her wings stood out, vibrating like a violin’s strings. She looked ready to bolt or fall apart. Cloud Fire was hardly any better – he’d fallen onto his haunches, his hooves pressed hard against his ears, his eyes wide and filled with shock.
Stop it. Stop it. Vermilion struggled to raise a hoof. It shook so hard he could barely control it. He had to stop it somehow, but—
“Not yet,” Graymoor whispered. He stared at the blood as it began to climb out of the bowl. Red tendrils rose up like shoots from a vine, questing higher, waving at the air. One of them touched the surface of the mirror, then another and another, until they all latched onto it, and they began to flow upward. A shrill, piercing keen intruded on Vermilion’s thoughts like an icepick in his brain, so high it bordered on the edge of silence. It hurt his teeth to hear.
It was the mirror, screaming. Still the blood climbed higher, until all of it had left the bowl, and it slowly coated the silver surface in a bright, shining crimson sheen. Quicklime stepped closer, her mouth agape with wonder. She reached out to touch it, and only stopped when Graymoor placed a gentle restraining hoof on her shoulder.
The blood continued its rise, consuming all of the mirror until only a thin silver strip remained at the top. And then that was gone, and a flat, ruby plane remained in its place, reflecting the room in lurid shades.
The noise and the weight and the crushing fear vanished, lifting so suddenly that for a moment Vermilion felt deaf. He stumbled into Rose and nearly fell. She held him up with the the gentle touch of her shoulder, and he could feel her heart racing.
Behind him, Cloudy and Zephyr gasped for breath. Streams of sweat ran down their barrels. Across the room, Stratolathe still reclined on his cushion near the fire and watched them in silence.
“Like any other tool.” Rose spat out the words. “Is that what you tell yourself?”
“We can’t all be highborn,” Graymoor replied. “When you live out here, sister, outside of Equestria’s safe borders, you can’t afford to be squeamish about power. You have to use the tools fate gives you.” He glanced back at Vermilion and the rest. “I’m sorry for the discomfort you felt. It gets easier every time.”
“That…” Vermilion ran out of breath and realized he hadn’t breathed in far too long. “What was that?”
“Only a simple scrying spell.” Graymoor glanced back at Rose. “Overcome your distaste for just a moment, sister, and see what it reveals.”
Vermilion stepped closer, until his reflection filled the mirror. Rose joined him, then Quicklime and Cloudy and Zephyr, until all five crowded around it. Only their red reflections looked back.
“Well?” Rose asked.
“Patience, please,” Graymoor said. “What you said back there, Vermilion, it reminded me of something I have seen lately in my dreams. I see the world spread out before me, like I am flying high above it. Where my town should be, I see instead a flickering glow, as of a candle’s flame. Around it are other sparks. And in the distance the horizon is lit from below by the shining fire that is Equestria.”
Graymoor’s words took on a trancelike quality as he continued, and Vermilion found himself lulled by them. His heart slowed, and the mirror seemed to expand before them. He saw the image Graymoor described, a world like a map laid out before them, filled with light and life.
“But the lights are dying,” Graymoor continued. “The world is growing dark around our cities, swallowing the little lights, snuffing them out. In my dreams I cannot stop it. I do not even know what it is.”
The image in the mirror grew clearer. It filled Vermilion’s sight until nothing else remained, and all he saw was the world of Graymoor’s description. And out there, above the vanishing lights, he saw a dark shape flitting across the night. Winged, tenebrous and silent, it spread itself over the land, consuming everything. A nightmare on the waking world.
Something snapped in his mind, and the vision vanished. The blood on the mirror darkened, relaxed and began to flow downward in thick rivulets. It collected on the wood sill.
“Can you fight that?” Graymoor asked. He seemed weary, as though the spell had exhausted him, and he limped back to his desk, favoring the cut hoof.
“It…” Rose shook her head. “What was that?”
“That’s our real enemy,” Stratolathe finally chimed in. “The giant wolves and the demons I’ve been fighting, they’re just… moths, compared to it. Drawn by its darkness. And I cannot fight even them without nearly dying.”
“We’ll help,” Vermilion said. The words came like a reflex to him. Of course they would help.
“You have a plan, don’t you?” Quicklime asked. She glanced between the soiled mirror and the lord. “You’ve been thinking about this for a while.”
“Plan is… perhaps an ambitious word for it,” Graymoor said. “I have a hope. For months I have been gathering materials for a great spell, one that will protect Haselnacht. It may not destroy this thing, this… nightmare, but it will keep us safe. And just three nights ago, I nearly had the final piece in my grasp.”
“And?” Vermilion asked. “What’s stopping you?”
“Me.” Stratolathe said. His voice was full of bitterness. “I stopped him. My failure doomed us.”
“Hardly,” Graymoor said. His voice cracked like a whip. “You did not fail me, Stratolathe, and I will not let you slander yourself in that way.”
“I don’t understand,” Zephyr said. “What happened?”
Graymoor was silent, as though he hadn’t heard Zephyr’s question. For a long minute he stared up at the map. Vermilion was about to ask again when he finally spoke.
“A few days south of here, there is… well, there was a village known as Cirrane, and in it was a shrine of sorts, for the ponies there worshipped Luna. A silly, superstitious practice, but such are the ponies who live outside Haselnacht. If they had met Luna, known her like we know her—” he gestured with his hoof, encompassing Vermilion’s party and himself, “—well, perhaps they would not worship her. But they did. And in their shrine they built a mural of her night sky, and in the place of the moon they put a wondrous gem, like none you’ve ever seen. A Heart of Winter Sapphire, it is called, one of only three in the world. That gem was the final piece…”
“So?” Cloudy shrugged. “You’re the lord here. Send somepony to go fetch it.”
“I did. A quarter of a moon ago, I sent my most trusted agents to retrieve it.” Graymoor gestured at Stratolathe. “He can tell you the rest.”
“I touched it,” Stratolathe said. He hung his head and spoke into his chest. “I held it in my hooves. It was so beautiful.”
“Where is it?” Rose asked. Suspicion still tinted her voice.
“Lost, now,” Stratolathe said. “We were attacked before we could leave the town. They… my brothers and sisters all died. Only I made it back.”
“I don’t know if this nightmare understands the importance of the gem to me, or if the monsters were merely drawn by the presence of warm blood,” Graymoor said. “The outcome was the same, though. The gem is lost. Unless, well...”
“Unless we can retrieve it?” Vermilion’s gaze went back to the map. He found Hazelnight’s dot, and walked his eyes south until he found Cirrane. A red slash cut through its name.
“If you dare. I have no power over you and I cannot order you to risk your lives on our behalf.” Graymoor leaned back in his chair and regarded them. “But this spell is the only plan I have to save Haselnacht. And I need that gem.”
“I understand.” Vermilion looked around at his friends. Cloudy and Zephyr stood beside each other, staring up at the map. Quicklime was already nodding to him. Only Rose showed any visible reluctance. Distaste for Graymoor’s blood magic was still written on her face. But finally he caught her eye, and she offered a grudging nod of her head.
Vermilion nodded back. “We’ll do it.”