//------------------------------// // Chapter 1:21.1 - Radish // Story: Camaraderie is Sorcery // by FireOfTheNorth //------------------------------// Chapter 1:21.1 – Radish The stars shone down brightly upon the stallion as he stumbled across the snow-covered countryside. He knew there was no way for them to have caught up with him, but he still looked over his shoulder every few minutes with terrified eyes. An owl hooted nearby, startling him sufficiently that he dove into a thornbush and had half covered himself before realizing the owl wasn’t out to get him. Painfully, he extricated himself from the bush, leaving behind bits of his clothes, which were no more than filthy rags by this point. Plenty of blood already stained them, so the scrapes and scratches he’d obtained would make matters no worse than they already were. In a panic, he struggled to regain his bearings, until he realized that he could determine the direction he’d come from by his hoofprints in the snow. He set off along the path to the southwest, hobbling along as quickly as his broken body was able. The pain didn’t bother him anymore—he was numb to it now—it was fear and desperation that drove him on. At last he spotted his objective, determining its location by the shadow it made against the stars. The towers of the Mayoral Keep were the first to catch his attention, until he was close enough to the town that the palisade around it was visible. Stumbling along the path, he found the gate and banged his hooves upon it. “Open up!” he wailed, striking the wood repeatedly. Within Ponieville’s wall, the guard posted to the gate tried to ignore the incessant banging. It was a cold night, and he had no intention of leaving his fire to let in some lost traveler. They would get the hint soon enough and wait until morning. The sound, however, refused to cease, and the guard eventually considered that he could get in serious trouble if the banging and shouting woke up the townsponies in a nearby house. Cursing violently, the guard heaved himself up from the fire and trotted over to the gate. “Gate’s closed ‘til morning,” he announced as he slid open the peephole and looked around for the pony making the racket. “Please, I have to get in! I can’t stay out here!” the pitiable creature pleaded as he came into view. “Too bad. I have my orders t’ keep the gate shut,” the guard said without a hint of pity, “Now knock off that noise or I’ll come out there an’ give you a wallopin’.” “Wouldn’t you have to open the gate to do that?” the rag-wrapped stallion pointed out, and the guard slammed the peephole shut. The stallion stranded outside knew that his chance of sneaking through if he kept making noise and the guard did come out was incredibly slim. More likely than not, the guard would do just what he said and beat him within an inch of death before leaving him outside for the cold to finish the job. He had to get into the town, but it would have to be some other way. He followed Ponieville’s palisade, running his hoof along it, until he found a section newer than the rest. To his delight, there was a gap between the new and old sections. He hobbled off into a nearby stand of trees and retrieved some branches, jamming them into the gap until he had a makeshift ladder. It was a tough climb, especially with the state his body was in, but he eventually managed to pull himself over the top without impaling himself. He fell heavily to the ground on the other side and sat in the snow for a minute to rest and recharge before trotting through Ponieville’s silent streets. He’d made it into Ponieville, but didn’t know where to go next. Who would take him in?Who could he trust? He considered going to the Mayoral Keep, but the guards there were likely to be just as rude to him as the one at the gate, and they might even throw him out of the town or put him in stocks as a vagrant. That wouldn’t do. He knew one pony who lived here but had no idea where the old stallion might be, if he was even still alive. There was only one place to go. “’Ey, who’re you? What’re you doin’ out this time o’ night?” a patrolling guard demanded as she spotted the stallion hobbling down an abandoned street. The stallion paid no mind to the guard and quickened his pace toward his objective. The guard trotted toward him through the snow as he began to bang on the church’s door with his hooves, harder than he had on the town gate. The noise eventually elicited a response from within, and the priestess rose to see what the disturbance was. “Get away from there, or I’ll teach you t’ disturb the peace,” the guard said, quickening her pace and drawing a truncheon as she neared the stallion. His back was against the door, so he could face the guard when it swung open. The stallion fell back into the church, landing at the hooves of the priestess. “Sanctuary!” he called up to her, and the town guard halted, “Please, I need sanctuary!” *** A different guard was posted at Ponieville’s gate the next day when a different sight approached. No vagrants were these eight ponies; their proud bearing spoke to that fact as much as their accoutrements. Professional soldiers were they, weapons at their sides or backs, slung across their barding. Their leader was even in full plate, the squire following him doubtless having been the one responsible for hauling it along during the journey. The livery they wore was red and black, the colors of King Hadish of Manehattan. The guard had an uneasy feeling as they boldly approached her. “What business have you in Ponieville,” she asked as firmly as she could, blocking their passage into the town with her halberd and hoping somepony would back her up if things got hairy. “I am Ser Coldrin of the Ranseur,” the group’s leader introduced himself, “My companions and I have been sent here on a quest personally by Hadish the Righteous, King of Manehattan, Prince of Brightwood, and Defender of the True Faith.” If the guard had not been so terrified that these ponies would cut her down in an instant, she would’ve pointed out that ponies only called Hadish righteous in his own kingdom. Everywhere else, he was known as Hadish the Rash for his impulsive actions, which had proved both a blessing and a curse to the king, allowing him to strike swiftly and decisively in war but also causing terrifying tales of his fickleness and cruelty to spread. Many members of his own land called him another name as well, combining Hadish and Rash into King Radish or the Crowned Radish. Of course, they never did so in public, for upon learning of this defamation of his name, Hadish had ordered the tongue cut from the mouth of anypony caught partaking. “Celestia rules these lands, not Hadish,” the guard replied, relieved to spot Rainbow Dash out of the corner of her eye watching the conversation, “You have no business here.” “Cedric, the warrant,” Ser Coldrin ordered, and his squire retrieved a scroll from his saddlebags and gave it to the knight, who passed it on to the guard, “We stopped at Trotstagor on the way here and spoke with the commandant, who granted us passage to fulfill our quest. As you can see, we are hunting an escaped criminal, a dangerous pony.” “Yes, I see,” the guard said, passing the scroll back after pretending to know how to read it. The squiggles looked official, and the stamp affixed to it looked real enough. “We have reason to believe this dangerous criminal was headed for Ponieville, no doubt intent on doing some mischief to your … fine town,” Ser Coldrin said, “Have you any idea of where he might be hiding?” “You’d have t’ talk t’ Mayor Mare about that. I haven’t ‘eard anything,” the guard replied, though of course that was a lie. Every guard and most of the townsponies had heard by now about the stranger who’d appeared in the wee hours of the morning and demanded sanctuary at Ponieville’s chapel. She felt like that was something she shouldn’t tell these soldiers from a land that had been nothing but hostile to the Dominions of Cant’r Laht, however. Let the wiser ponies handle it; Mayor Mare would know the right course of action. “Right, of course,” Ser Coldrin said, flashing a diplomatic smile, “May we pass, then?” The guard obliged, lifting her halberd and letting the Manehattan soldiers into Ponieville. They didn’t look to be up to any mischief, as they headed immediately in the direction of the Mayoral Keep, but still she was nervous. It didn’t help that there were no other guards around, and Rainbow Dash had disappeared without a trace. *** “Mother Medolia, I need to have a word with you!” Mayor Mare called from outside Ponieville’s chapel not long after the Manehattan soldiers arrived. Normally, one could walk directly into the chapel whenever they wanted to, to make their prayers to Faust or confess to the priestess their sins and ask for penance, but upon arriving at the doors, Mayor Mare had found them locked tight. The church’s attendant had responded to her initial calls to open the door by asking her to wait, followed by the appearance of his face in a nearby window, a widening of eyes when he saw the seven armed ponies assembled behind her, then an outright refusal to undo the locks. She’d ordered her guards to try to force the chapel’s other doors, but they didn’t try too hard. This was a church, after all, and they didn’t want to risk bringing down any supernatural judgement on their heads. “Mayor Mare,” the priestess replied judgmentally with mock surprise, “I’m not accustomed to you coming here to speak to me, when it is usually the other way around.” “Open the doors so we can talk,” the mayor ordered. “We are talking now,” Medolia shot back, smiling behind the solid planks of wood, “Come, what confessions and appeals have you to bring before the Goddess?” “That is not why I’ve come here,” Mayor Mare said testily, “Now, open these doors!” “I’m afraid I cannot,” Medolia said with mock woe, “Your friends have no love for Faust, and I fear they would do harm to me or to those in my care if I were to let them in. They must go if you wish to enter.” “Do you know who that stallion you’ve taken in is? He’s a criminal, a dangerous political rebel who seeks to overthrow royalty and nobility alike!” Mayor Mare fumed, forgetting that, though she acted like it, she was not a member of the noble class, “I will not have somepony like that in my town!” “This chapel is not part of your town. It belongs to the Church of One,” the priestess said stubbornly, “You have no authority in this matter, so begone!” “Listen here! I won’t have this insubordination!” Mayor Mare said angrily as she pressed herself against the door, “I’ll knock down this door and drag the criminal out if I have to!” Of course, she would never do any such thing, not if she hoped to survive and maintain her power. Most of the ponies of Ponieville were pious followers of the Church of One, and such a blatant attack on the church would not go over well at all. She’d be lucky to escape with her head if she tried something like that, and there would be no escaping Celestia’s wrath (not for attacking the chapel, but for allowing the lands she’d been appointed to govern to fly out of her control.) “I may not have official jurisdiction here, but remember whose household makes the largest donations to the chapel,” Mayor Mare tried another tactic. Money always worked when force did not. “I’m sure you did not mean that as a threat against the church, but Faust has provided through you, and She will continue to provide without you if such a thing were to come to pass,” the priestess said smoothly, “Etei fereyan ditte koto oner ye’i’r Sietir lezar ievan’r gelor, nof Zika tieri creaseloin occoscommos femasfir oro gelorel fori mepiles Zika’r tahn.[1]” Mayor Mare fumed. Why did she have to be stuck with a priestess who was pious and lived and breathed the Word of Faust. It would be so much easier for her if Mother Medolia were like some of the church officials that other leaders had to deal with, more concerned with coin or carnal pleasures than their congregations. Not for the first time, she cursed her poor fortune that such a paragon of virtue had found her way to Ponieville. There had to be some way to smoke her out of the chapel, some way to convince her to revoke the sanctuary she’d given to that dangerous stallion, but the mayor could think of nothing. A stir in the crowd made the mayor turn to find out what was going on, since she wasn’t making any progress getting through the door anyway. She was not pleased to see that, moving through the small crowd that had formed around the chapel, were Twilight Sparkle and her friends. This sorceress had interfered with her plans before and was closely connected to Celestia. Which side she would join in this dispute was uncertain, but the mayor felt in her gut that it would not be her own. The Brave Companions had stood in defense of this very chapel before when another group from Manehattan had been here. The mayor scrambled for arguments to bring Twilight Sparkle over to her side. “It’s a bloody witch,” one of the Manehattan soldiers said as he felt the amulet around his neck vibrate (though it was fairly obvious from her appearance.) “That’s not just any witch,” Ser Coldrin pointed out to his followers, “That’s the Devil’s Daughter, personal minion of the Perfumed Corpse herself.” “What is the meaning of this, Mayor Mare?” Twilight Sparkle asked as she approached the mayor, “Since when do you take orders from King Hadish the Rash? If your allegiances have shifted, I am sure you would have notified Celestia posthaste.” “This is a matter of my local government,” Mayor Mare said stiffly, cursing the fact that the sorceress was turned against her from the start, “As for allegiances, you can be sure I am still firmly loyal to Celestia. As a matter of fact, what you see here is my execution of the duties she’s entrusted me with, namely ensuring the safety of her subjects.” “I see no connection between protecting her subjects and allowing King Hadish’s thugs to ransack their place of worship,” Twilight said dryly after looking back at Ser Coldrin and his followers. “The priestess is sheltering a criminal in there!” Mayor Mare pointed at the church, preparing to launch into a tirade. “What business does the Dominions of Cant’r Laht have enforcing the laws of the Kingdom of Manehattan?” Twilight demanded before the mayor could go on, “If he has committed no crime in our lands, then what concern is it of ours to see him brought to Hadish’s justice? Furthermore, what right have Manehattan’s enforcers to cross our lands and demand his return?” “He’s dangerous!” the mayor fumed, “He’s a political rebel, and intends to overthrow the nobility.” “And you have proof of this? Other than the testimony of these fine gentlestallions from Manehattan?” Twilight asked sharply. “The Commandant of Trotstagor issued them a warrant granting them passage within the Dominions until they found this dangerous pony,” Mayor Mare collected herself, “Ser Coldrin, show her the warrant.” The knight motioned for his squire to retrieve it and took it upon himself to personally deliver it. He approached the Brave Companions and gave Twilight a sour look before passing the warrant to Pinkamena, the closest earth pony to him. The bard passed it to the frowning sorceress, who perused the document. Everything was in order, though Celestia might need to have a talk with the commandant about issuing things like this. “It is a legitimate warrant … but that is not enough proof,” Twilight said, throwing the warrant back at the Manehattanites, “All this proves is that the commandant was convinced by your story, not the legitimacy of the story itself.” “Will anything convince you to allow us to carry out our quest?” Ser Coldrin asked, looking like it physically pained him to address the sorceress directly. “Yes, I would speak with the accused,” Twilight Sparkle announced, loudly enough that everypony could hear it. “You believe that he—a dangerous and deranged criminal—would be more truthful than us?” Ser Coldrin laughed, though that laughter never reached his eyes. “I do,” Twilight said without a hint of humor in her voice, “There is, or course, an alternative if you believe he would lead me astray. I could question you and your companions, with the aid of a truth spell.” At the mention of a spell, the Manehattanites grew incredibly uneasy. Some reached for their weapons, others closed their eyes and ears, and some backed up a step, making guarding signs with their hooves that were certainly not taught by the Church of One. “Mmm, perhaps not,” Twilight said with a slight smile, “Mother Medolia, would it satisfy you if the Brave Companions and I questioned the pony in your care and determined the validity of these accusations?” “Yes, it would,” the priestess replied with hardly any delay. Good, she was listening in the whole time. “Please, kindly back away,” Twilight Sparkle addressed the soldiers from Manehattan. To ensure their cooperation, she cast a spell that made sparks dance threateningly along her horn. It was little more than a parlor trick, but it did the job of convincing them to back off from the church. The sorceress gave the mayor a look, and with a frown, she too left the front of the chapel and trotted away to join her guards. Locks were undone, and one of the doors to the chapel swung open, allowing only six ponies (and a dragon) to enter before it slammed shut. “Where is he?” Fluttershy asked as Medolia relocked the doors. “He’s staying in the chambers along the crypt. Come, I’ll lead the way,” the priestess answered as she left the chapel’s attendant to watch the crowd through a window, “Madam sorceress, I have not seen you in service or confession.” “Not now,” the sorceress said sternly, and the priestess inclined her head with a slight smile. She could get to her one of these days. The chambers beneath the chapel were cold and dry, and there were many blankets to dispel the former. The stallion they’d come to see was not wrapped up in any of them, dressed only in the simple shift the priestess had provided as a replacement for the rags he’d been wearing. He was an earth pony—which surprised Twilight—with a mottled green coat, and a green mane and tail that were just beginning to grow back after having been shorn in prison. He sat tilted to one side, to reduce the pain from the abuses he’d sustained. Even though the shift covered his body fairly completely, there were plenty of cuts, scars, and burns visible on his flesh. “Who are you?” the stallion said as he looked up at the ponies that now filled his empty chamber. “We’re th’ Brave Companions; maybe you’ve heard o’ us?” Applejack said, and got a response. “I’m Applejack, this is Pinkamena an’ Fluttershy, an’ over here we have Twilight Sparkle, Rainbow Dash, and Rarity.” “Spruce Halfbiter, charmed,” the stallion introduced himself, “I heard rumors, but I thought it was more like folk tales.” “We’re real all right. You’re lucky you got here when you did. We just got back from Appleoosa yesterday, and who knows what Mayor Mare might’ve done had we not been here,” Rainbow Dash boasted, before catching the look Twilight was aiming in her direction, “I mean … why are those Manehattan cretins after you?” “I escaped King Hadish’s dungeons,” Spruce said plainly. “I believe her intent was to find out what you did to get thrown in those dungeons in the first place,” Rarity spoke up. “Oh, right,” Spruce said, looking at his hooves, “It might not make much sense out here, but here it goes. A holy day turned into a pogrom against unicorns, and I found a family of them at my doorstep. Their house had been torched, but they’d escaped, and begged me to conceal them until the violence was past. Nopony would probably consider me friendly with unicorns, but I wasn’t outright hostile, like most. I am—was—a smith by trade, and apprenticed with a unicorn, so I know they’re not the evil monsters the priests try to tell us they are. My family—we let them stay in our house, hid them until the riots were over.” “That wasn’t the end, though. In the morning, it looked like everything had passed, but who should show up at my door but Ser Dreyis, Duke of Bucklyn. They call him The Hornhunter—he keeps a necklace of the things around his neck. He’s been Hadish’s closest ally since he was a young prince, and might even be more zealous than the king himself. He knew—I don’t know how, but he knew that I was hiding unicorns in my home. His soldiers found them in an instant, slaughtered them, and dragged my family away to the dungeons as enemies of the king.” “We were tortured, together at first, but they soon separated us to strip us of any hope. I hadn’t seen my wife and daughter for weeks, when the opportunity came. One of the guards was too drunk to shut me in my cell properly, and I escaped after he’d left, using what little strength I had left in my broken body. I searched for my family but couldn’t find them, and I have to assume they’re dead. I barely made it out of the dungeons without being caught, and I went on the run, trying to put as much distance between myself and Manehattan as possible.” “Why Ponieville?” Twilight asked when it became apparent Spruce’s story was done, “It is under Celestia’s protection, yes, but it is nearly a two-week journey from Manehattan to here. Surely it would have been easier to go to Fillidelfiyaa or to have stowed away on a ship crossing the Shimmering Sea?” “Fillidelfiyaa is not safe, not with Hadish’s son Robar residing there,” Spruce said, shutting his eyes and shaking his head, “I knew they would send somepony to hunt me, and I had to find somepony who would hide me, protect me. Yes, Ponieville was my choice because it is under Celestia’s protection, but I also thought I could find help here. I mentioned I apprenticed with a unicorn, yes? He was forced to leave Manehattan years ago and moved to Ponieville. I was hoping to find Gascoigne and prayed he would help me even if nopony else would.” “Sorry, but Gascoigne has been dead for years,” Rarity apologized, “With Mayor Mare more concerned with your criminal history than protecting runaways from Manehattan, coming here was the best choice you could’ve made.” “Criminal history? What?” Spruce said in surprise, “Surely the unicorn hatred hasn’t spread even to here!” “The knight hunting you told her that you wanted to overthrow the nobility,” Pinkamena explained. “You don’t actually believe that, do you?” Spruce asked, looking around. “Who cares? It’s not like you could actually pull it off. Besides, Mayor Mare isn’t nobility anyway,” Rainbow Dash said, before catching another look from Twilight, “That is to say, we believe your story.” “What do we do now?” Fluttershy asked. “I have th’ feelin’ that Hadish’s soldiers aren’t just goin’ t’ leave wi’out a fight,” Applejack said. “Mayor Mare might never break down the chapel’s door, but they have no such compunctions. We have to get you out of here. You should head for the White Tail Woods,” Twilight formulated a plan on her hooves, “I will write you a letter to present to Duchess Periwinkle requesting asylum. She will be able to protect you, and Hadish’s troops would never emerge were they to enter the forest.” “I’m in no fit shape to travel a long distance at speed. I won’t be able to outpace them,” Spruce bemoaned his misfortune, “They don’t know the country, but neither do I, and I won’t be able to lose them if they see me leave.” “They do not have to see you leave. Maybe in the east, you burn anypony with a spark of magic in them, but here sorceresses are able to cast spells freely, and I can think of a few that would be quite useful to this situation,” Twilight Sparkle said with a wicked grin. *** Mayor Mare didn’t take the news that Spruce would be staying where he was well, at least not before she learned his true crime. Even so, she half-considered turning him over to the Manehattanites anyway. Ser Coldrin wasn’t just any knight, he was a powerful member of King Hadish’s court, and connections to him could be beneficial. Besides, what would be the harm in throwing this pony to the wolves? In the end, she decided not to do so, however. Word of this would surely travel back to Celestia, who could strip away her title with a word. Any connections she had would be worthless without her status as mayor. The Manehattan soldiers were surprisingly (and suspiciously) satisfied with the Brave Companions’ decision. Certainly, they made a fuss about their quest and the warrant from the Commandant of Trotstagor, but they didn’t try to force their way into the chapel. Instead, they headed to a tavern as the crowd dispersed, leaving one soldier behind to keep watch and make sure Spruce didn’t try to slip away. His sanctuary only protected him so long as he was within the stone walls of the church, after all. Mayor Mare also posted guards to protect the chapel from attack by the Manehattanites, but it didn’t take long before they were sitting down to roll dice with the soldier on watch. It was late at night when the blaze broke out on the other side of Ponieville. What began as a fire in a grain storehouse quickly spread to the row of merchant shops around it. Ponies rushed to help put the fire out, and the bells of the Mayoral Keep rang out for the guard to help. Those around the Ponieville chapel wondered at what their move should be. A fire was an emergency that they were required to respond to, but they had also been ordered by the mayor to guard the chapel. The Manehattan soldier that had been keeping watch on the chapel had left hours before, though, professing that he had to leave before he lost any more money and couldn’t afford a bed for the night. In the end, it was the angry shouting of one of the guard corporals for them to get their tails in gear as he passed that convinced them to join in fighting the fire. No sooner had they abandoned their posts than the Manehattanites emerged from the shadows. Knowing the guards could return from the fire at any minute, they hurriedly moved into position around an empty wagon parked in the street and began to push. The wagon slammed into the doors of the chapel, taking more damage than it gave. Repeatedly, the soldiers rolled the wagon against the doors until it was a splintered mess and the doors were bowing in. Ser Coldrin finished them off with a strike of his ranseur and a kick with his armor. “Begone! This is a holy place! You have no place here!” the priestess ordered as she moved into the path of the seven armed ponies. Ser Coldrin was through with being diplomatic and clubbed her across the head with the butt of his ranseur, knocking her to the stone floor. The chapel’s attendant charged from a vestibule, screaming, and was impaled on one of the soldiers’ swords. Ruthlessly, the soldiers searched the chapel, turning it upside-down. They broke down every door, threw every screen to the floor, and overturned every table and chest, but still there was no sign of their quarry. He had simply vanished. Of course, Spruce hadn’t actually disappeared. He’d been gone since that afternoon, when Twilight Sparkle had teleported him outside of town. He was now long gone and outfitted with warm gear, a weapon, and a signed and sealed letter from Celestia’s personal protégé that would ensure his safe passage to Duchess Periwinkle’s court. As Ser Coldrin and his followers prepared to make their escape from the ransacked chapel, they found that they had spent too long in their search. The fire was out, and the Ponieville guard blocked their exit. With a sigh, Ser Coldrin threw down his weapon, and the others followed suit. There was no escape, except through the wall of town guards. As poorly trained as they might be, it would still be a challenge, and then they’d have to deal with the town’s witch. The risk wasn’t worth it, and they’d rather be taken to the Mayoral Keep’s dungeons than die here. They’d be treated roughly, but the dungeons here were nothing compared to those beneath the Kings’ Redoubt, and Hadish would pay their ransom soon enough. *** One Month Later “Well, I’ll be. You actually found him,” the clerk at the entrance to the dungeons beneath the Kings’ Redoubt said, comparing the stallion before him to the sketch of him, “Where was he?” “Wanderin’ through White Tail Wood,” the bounty hunter tied to Spruce said, “Got hisself turned around in a blizzard, I reckon, an’ couldn’t find his way out.” “Was he any trouble?” the clerk asked. “Not after we showed him th’ hair y’ gave us an’ told him what y’ said,” the second bounty hunter answered. “Yes, of course. We’ll take him from here,” the clerk said as he motioned a dungeon attendant forward to take custody of the prisoner, and pulled down a thick ledger book from the shelf next to him, “Now, about your payment …” Spruce was dragged down into the dungeons he was familiar with for all the wrong reasons. He’d escaped once already, and several attendants shackled him, a cuff around every limb. Once he was thoroughly secured, they hoisted him up by his forelegs until he could barely stand on his hindhooves. He tried to get their attention, but they would only strike him across the face before he could get his question out, and soon he was drooling blood. “Well, well, well,” a voice he’d heard only once before, but he would remember forever spoke, and he looked up in shock to see Ser Dreyis entering the torture chamber dramatically, “The one that got away, returned.” “I need to know. Prove to me you’ll honor your word. I have to see,” Spruce babbled, and Dreyis nodded to one of the attendants, who struck the prisoner in the ribs. “You don’t get to demand anything,” Dreyis said with a grin, “But, because I’m feeling generous since you didn’t struggle, I’ll humor you. I assume you’re talking about your wife and daughter, and the promise that they’d be freed if you came willingly, yes?” Spruce nodded painfully. It was what had kept him from trying to escape from the bounty hunters, the only thing as they’d been plenty sloppy, and he could’ve easily gotten away again. “Well, it’s not my word at stake here, but that of our gracious monarch, and a king must always keep his promises, mustn’t he?” Dreyis said condescendingly, “Well, I assure you that he has, and I even brought your lovely family with me today to prove it to you that they will be freed.” Ser Dreyis reached into his saddlebags and Spruce’s heart shattered. The Hornhunter placed the two skulls on the table with his torture instruments, one of a mare, the other of a young filly. Spruce screamed and tried to pull free of his restraints, but it was pointless. An attendant walloped him across the back and he fell slack, weeping. “What? Displeased with our deal?” Dreyis asked mockingly, “They were dead before you ever left, of course, so the only way to free them would be to free their remains. The promise will be kept, and their bones will be freed to the river in the morning.” Spruce was crushed, enraged, and terrified all at the same time. If he’d thought himself a broken stallion before, things were far worse now, and it wasn’t even over. He had the feeling that Ser Dreyis hadn’t strung him up here just to gloat and then execute him. This suspicion was confirmed as the sadistic stallion picked through his different torture implements, looking for something suitable. Another pony entered the torture chamber, and Spruce’s heart, already fluttering in fear, skipped several beats at once. There wasn’t a single pony in the city who wouldn’t recognize the crimson-coated stallion with a jet-black mane and tail that had entered. A golden crown atop his head set with rubies glittered in the torchlight, seeming almost to be on fire. Flames of madness burned in the stallion’s eyes as he approached the immobile prisoner. “I am delighted you chose to arrive today, though if only you’d come sooner,” King Hadish spoke without warning, a crazed grin on his face. “Your Majesty,” Ser Dreyis snapped to attention, having been taken by surprise by his sovereign’s silent entrance. “A pity, really, for I have a sssummit I really must get to,” Hadish continued to speak directly to Spruce, “Ser Dreyis here will take good care of you, and make sure you die nice and slowly. Nothing but the worst for scum who’s caused so much trouble for me. Do you have any idea the sum of coin I had to pay to ransom Ser Coldrin and the others? But, it wasn’t all bad. The knight of the ranseur told me how you spoke to the ‘Brave Companions’ while you were away. We’re going to know everything you know about them, and Ser Dreyis will make sure you speak only truth. It will be a slow, agonizing death for you, though not slow enough, I’m afraid, for me to return in time to watch your end. A pity, so let’s make this time we have last!” Without warning, King Hadish grabbed a red-hot poker and jabbed it into Spruce’s side. The prisoner screamed at the excruciating pain while the king grinned and drank it all in. It was going to be a very long night for both of them.