Extended Holiday
Ch 146: A Turn of Phase
Act 23
The scent of seasoned wood smoke permeated the room as the elders and chiefs of the villages gathered in the newest structure they had built. Now that the other Zebras has arrived from their retreats, the council could meet properly. Occasionally, one of the older shamans would cast a powder over the flames, causing them to writhe and shift colors as they flared up to fill the air with a fruity smell. Mwalimu looked pensively into those flickering tendrils as Hammer Strike passed through the door and into the council’s presence.
“You called?” Hammer Strike questioned bluntly.
“Yes, we did,” Mwalimu confirmed. “There is a certain matter that has been troubling us for some time now, Hammer Strike, and we were hoping that you might be able to clarify this matter for us.”
He raised his brow questioningly. “And that would be?”
“To put it bluntly,” Bayek said as he stepped forward, “we would like to know why Luna’s Wraith is fighting his battles here, when a war of far greater significance rages even now in his own homeland.”
“A complicated question with a complicated answer,” Hammer Strike chuckled. “You need not worry of what goes on in Equestria. I’ve got that end covered.”
“And how, exactly, do you ‘have it covered?’” another elder asked.
Hammer Strike’s eyes glowed as the shadows writhed nearby, before another him stepped out of it, taking form in front of the group. “Is that a good enough answer?”
The council gaped collectively at the lord.
“Is it … tangible?” one of the members asked.
Both Hammer Strikes stomped their hooves against the ground, resulting in two simultaneous thuds that kicked up a faint layer of dust and ash.
“How long are you able to sustain such a manifestation?”
“Indefinitely,” both replied.
“And distance?”
Both shrugged. “I haven’t felt a limit just yet.”
“And is there another of these manifestations working in Equestria at this very moment?”
“Do you believe I would be physically here than my homeland at war?”
“You sent a magical manifestation of yourself all this way, while simultaneously fighting a war?”
“More or less.”
“That defies the very laws of logic, unless you utilized some artifact to assist you in creating physical copies. We know enough of the laws of your magic to know that a Pony can only sustain so much for so long.”
“If you knew enough of the way our magic works, you would understand that it is also quite impossible for an Earth Pony to possess magic of these kinds as well,” Hammer Strike countered. “If you know part of my legend, you know that I do not work by the rules established by any nature.”
“But you do work by rules?” one of the council members pressed.
“In some manner, yes.”
“In that case, then we have no qualms, so long as these rules of yours are unbroken.”
“Is that all? I’ve currently got five sets of weapons sitting by that need to be finished, before our plans can progress.”
The others nodded. “We thank you for your time.”
Both Hammer Strikes stepped into the shadows, leaving the council to themselves. Then one single Hammer Strike sighed as he stepped through into his forge once more, before rubbing his neck.
“Hey, Hammer Strike.”
Hammer Strike looked over to Vital. “Hey, what’s up?”
“Something that’s been bothering me. I was wondering if you might be able to help at some point, after things aren’t quite so dire here.” The Unicorn stepped forward to observe some of the spearheads and other pieces the smith had forged.
“And that is?”
“You have an ability that lets you,” he furrowed his brow, “find things that are in the past? At least, I think that’s how Grif put it.”
“It’s not exactly something easy for me to manage,” Hammer Strike replied. “What are you looking for?”
“The event that prompted the signal to be sent to the main invasion force in the Stampede Grounds was an assassination, one that was supposedly caused by another Zebra. Mwalimu is convinced it was an outcast. If we were to take you to where the attack occurred, would you potentially be able to figure out who did it, and possibly how to track them down?”
Hammer Strike sighed. “Is it that important to know?”
“It might go a long ways towards solidifying a lasting peace between the Longhorns and the Zebras, instead of the neutrality that’s usually been kept. That, and culturally speaking, the Longhorns can’t stop searching for their chief’s murderers, until they succeed. The only things keeping them from resuming that quest are the war and the hostage situation with their cow. It would free their minds to focus more on the combat and less on that particular wound.”
Hammer Strike frowned as he thought things over. “Even if I tell you, it depends heavily on my legend for the validity of it. If they don’t believe it, I can’t help you there.”
“Do you know how far back in time your legend spreads in this region?”
“Not a clue. I don’t really pay attention to it.”
“It sounds like I might need to have a talk with Grif, then. I’ll let you know, once I get a little more homework done, but thanks for being willing to help.” Vital Smiled. “I really missed you guys, you know. Even without my memories, I still got a few glimpses of each of you during my stay.”
“Should I wonder how you got some of these glimpses?
“I don’t think so. I’m pretty sure it was just bits and pieces of my memories surfacing. They only triggered during events where traits or physical characteristics that bore a resemblance to you occurred.”
Hammer Strike shrugged. “All right, then. In any case, is there anything else you need?”
“I don’t think so. I need to go, though. I’ve got a meeting with Zecora, and I’m going to be late, if I don’t hurry. Anything you need from me, before I go?”
“Nothing,” he shook his head. “Off with you. I’ve got weapons to finish.”
The humid jungle air left everything in a muggy state as the light began to fade. The leaves of the trees shed drops of moisture, after having endured yet another downpour. Despite the conditions, the warriors had continued to train, and many a recruit were off to wash the mud out of their fur and manes. Vital Spark waited patiently at the village’s edge, his legs folded and forehooves meeting in the hollow between as he meditated. It didn’t take much longer for the familiar sound of hooves squelching in the mud to greet his ears.
“I’m here,” Zecora said somewhat sulkily.
“So I see,” Vital said as he raised himself back onto all fours. “Are you ready for our patrol?” he asked, casting a quick glance toward the Zebra on sentry duty.
“Did you find someone to replace you?” she asked. “I doubt Grif will be very happy, if he needs a translation and you’re not available.”
Vital shrugged. “Mkuta agreed to cover for me, and I was able to convince Grif that this was important enough not to wait.”
“Lead on, then,” Zecora said. “We haven’t got all night.”
Vital Spark chuckled. “True enough.”
They journeyed deep into the reaches, guided by a dim phosphorescent powder the Unicorn had sprinkled on his staff. At last, they stepped out into a clearing teeming with life. Great glowing mushrooms jutted out from the trunks of trees, like steps, as they spiraled ever upward toward the leafy canopy, interspersed with long, thick green tendrils. A pallid blue light filtered through the air as golden flecks bobbed gently on unforseen currents.
“It’s not your sanctuary, but I thought it would be appropriate for our talk. The spores keep predators at bay, so nobody will be here to disturb us.” His horn glowed as he concentrated his magic, then fired a beam into the air to enclose the pair of them in a pulsing blue dome. “And now nobody will be able to hear us either, if we were followed.”
“So, you wanted to talk?” Zecora pressed.
Vital nodded. “Did anyone tell you what happened, after you were knocked unconscious?”
“I know Mustafa did something to provide an opening for the rest of you to escape.” Her face fell somewhat. “And I know it cost him his life to do so. I really am sorry, Vital Spark.”
“He warned me it was coming.” Vital shook his head. “You are aware that certain spirits that you speak to have more power than others. They are older, stronger, and hopefully wiser.” The Pony began to pace as he took on a lecturer’s tone. “When Mustafa first met with me, he identified the Earth Mother by another name, one that is well known to me, because we have spoken once before.”
“You what?” Zecora balked.
“Questions can be saved for after the discourse, thank you,” Vital said primly. “Few, if any Zebras know that name, Zecora. I’m not surprised, frankly. She’s a mother, after all. She prefers to be called such. Mustafa knew, however, because he was old, far older than any of us could have guessed, I think.”
“It’s not unusual for a Zebra to live to be a hundred, if they take good care of themselves,” Zecora noted.
“Try multiplying that by at least ten,” Vital said. “When Mustafa sacrificed himself, he called on an ancient power, one that his body was no longer fit to handle, but one he chose to wield for our sake. He literally became an embodiment of fire, Zecora. It poured from his eyes, his hooves. It surged from the ground, consuming any unfortunate enough to get too close to you or your father.” He looked wistful as he recalled the old Zebra’s final moments. “Before the flames consumed him, he talked about fire, and he dropped some very heavy hints about where his power stemmed from, or rather whom. Since the air is soundproofed, I feel safe enough to divulge that name here.”
Vital took a deep breath and released, then looked back to his foster sibling. “The entity of which he spoke is a divine being whose power rivals that of the gods, and could possibly even exceed a god’s, for all I know. His species is formally known as Titan. His name is Prometheus.” He shook his head. “I can’t even begin to conceive the nature of the contract or magics involved. All I can tell you is that, for lack of a better term, Mustafa was Prometheus’ avatar, granted the ability to channel the Titan’s spirit, consciousness, and power. For all intents and purposes, he was Prometheus’ eyes and ears, keeping an eye on all of you and waiting patiently, quite possibly for the very day that he would sacrifice himself for the sake of the future, a future that he heavily implied would have to do with you.
“To be specific, he said the time had come for his story to end and a new one to begin. He then looked directly at you. At the time, I thought it was sentiment, and possibly the future you would help bring as the next chieftain of the Moyo Wa Roho. Now that I have my memories back, however, I know better.”
Vital Spark approached Zecora’s flank and prodded the new mark. “If I’m not mistaken, you are his chosen successor to inherit a contract that is perhaps the greatest honor any Zebra could ever ask to receive, but also the heaviest burden.”
“Stop talking in riddles and say what’s on your mind already, Vital Spark,” Zecora snapped as she batted the prodding hoof away.
“All right,” Vital said as he drew himself up and pulled back a ways to sit comfortably on his haunches. “To be blunt about it, you are now an avatar of a higher power, Zecora. And the name of that higher power is none other than Gaia, the Earth Mother, Mother of all Living. She has many more titles, but frankly, I don’t know them all, and we don’t have the time to list them, regardless.”
“That’s a ridiculous claim to make, Vital Spark.”
“Zecora, it’s also the truth, and you can drop the act, because I’ve already seen her twice. Your secret is out. If your contract with Gaia required your silence, you can break it with me without consequence. Besides, if I’m not mistaken, she’s been preparing you for this role for years now.”
“And what makes you say that?”
“Why else would there be a hidden sanctuary only you and those you give permission to can access growing right next to the mountain?” Vital stared his sister down. “I understand the need to keep this under wraps, Zecora, but come on. If you keep this up, I’ll abjure her to show herself, though, frankly, I need her to do that, anyways, so if you could get her to take over for a bit, I’d really appreciate it.”
“Vital Spark–.”
“It’s important, Zecora.”
Zecora sighed and shook her head. “What am I going to do with you, Vital Spark?”
“Trust your little brother to actually know what he’s talking about?”
Zecora rolled her eyes, then sighed as her shoulders slumped. When she opened her eyes again, they glowed a brilliant green as the clearing came alive and Vital watched the vines and greenery spread across the mare’s body as it had in the future and as it had appeared through his adder stone.
“What is it, Vital, dear?” her suddenly dual-toned voice asked. “You know I’m still very tired, after that incident with the windigos.”
“I’ll try to keep this brief, Gaia, but there are some things you need to know about the future, where I met you for the first time, and we need some answers to help with this war. I’m not going to ask you to take any sides, just for some information to level the playing field, so to speak.”
“Speak quickly, then, Vital Spark.”
Vital Spark drew himself up to stare at the monarch of nature. “All right. Let’s start off from the beginning.”
Pensword nodded as he finished drawing his hoof across the stone wall of the bathroom. A diagonal line now stretched across four others, an indicator of the time that had passed since his new imprisonment. His wings were still sore and stiff, but it didn’t hurt as much to move them anymore. At this rate, it would only be a few more days, before they were fit to fly again, or so he hoped.
Now that he was properly detained, the Minotaurs had lessened the salt doses, allowing the Pegasus to regain his senses as he wrestled with the headache of a hangover. How could salt even do that? He frowned as he heard the familiar crunching rumble of stone grating on stone as his captors entered. Three burly warriors approached, while one hung back to guard the entrance. The leader of their party held a gold-embroidered leather leash and a shining metallic collar that glinted gold.
Pensword narrowed his eyes in distaste as the creature approached. It seemed they wanted to take him on a walk. He glared at them, but allowed the humiliation. It was too soon to start being a pain. He needed more time to plan, and he needed to make sure his wings were in top shape, before he attempted an escape. The roof had a few shadowed ledges he was able to pick out before. He could get away from them up there, for a while, assuming he could be stealthy enough. Unfortunately, he didn’t have much more time to focus on that particular plan as a harsh yank nearly jerked his head off his neck, causing him to stumble in response. Pensword barely managed to suppress his growl of outrage at the bull’s cocky sneer. He was not some dumb animal for them to parade and train at their convenience.
They would learn the error of their ways.
They passed through a series of streets and alleyways, the bulls’ heads held high with pride as they paraded on either side of the hybrid. Calves, heifers, bulls, and cows of all ages looked on with intrigue, curiosity, and perhaps a hint of jealousy. Pensword’s ears practically buzzed with the sound of hushed whispers, gentle lowes, and loud cries, all directed at him.
It was a great relief, when they finally passed beyond the hustle and bustle of the busy streets and entered a side alley that led to a thick set of perfectly carved stone stairs. There was no sign of decay or even a hint of misalignment as they began their ascent. Whoever had laid the staircase in the first place was either exceptionally skilled or this was something more, possibly the result of some alien magic. He tapped a hoof along the material experimentally as he cocked his ears, straining to hear any sign of a fault of weakness.
Unfortunately, he was not to find his answer as his guards and jailers yanked at the collar, yet again, sending him sprawling onto the hard steps and leaving several marks he knew would blossom into bruises by the end of their outing. This time, Pensword did allow himself a growl.
“Watch it,” he snapped.
The Minotaur holding his leash just tossed his head back and laughed raucously with his fellows as they carried on with tears of mirth standing in their eyes. Pensword glared as he eyed his captors. All he had to do was watch and wait, for now. He continued to remind himself of the vital nature of that patience as he watched the bulls more carefully. Information gathering would be his best weapon, at least for now. The more he knew about his captors, the more easily he could defeat them, when the time came to escape.
Their path ultimately led to a long arching walkway high above the city and its sprawling rooftops. The wind blew pleasantly, and Pensword could feel the familiar current of an updraft tickling playfully at his wings, teasing him with its invitation of forbidden delight, the freedom of the open sky. Then the wind changed its direction and the overwhelming scent of his guards reminded him only too well what would happen, were he to give in to those temptations, even if his wings weren’t already injured. The bulls would haul him up short and he would find himself choking as the collar yanked at his throat, restricting his windpipe.
They didn’t allow him much time to enjoy the view. Instead, they continued plodding along, before taking another series of confusing turns. It seemed almost as though the city itself were designed as a maze. Then again, considering the nature of his captors, it was quite possible that was the case. They descended once more and passed through a series of buildings and halls, each one unique in its own right. Pensword still felt like they were crossing their tracks, but the scenery said otherwise. Finally, a few floors down, they came to a dead end.
The bulls reached out to the great wall and shoved it aside with a slam of a shoulder. The fearful trilling and alarmed shrieks of birds assaulted Pensword’s ears as the portal revolved behind them and ground shut on its axis, leaving neither mark nor seam behind. Three familiar peacocks drank with a calm aloofness from their pool as the other birds tried to flee, smashing into the net above. Pensword immediately set to work analyzing his surroundings. Now that he was actually outdoors, he could search for any potential weaknesses or tools that he could stow or hide. He still didn’t know how often these outings would be taking place, but the fact they were willing to let him out for fresh air this once indicated it would at least have a certain amount of repetition involved. He just needed to remain alert for how often that repetition occurred.
After taking his time to get his bearings from the sun’s arc overhead, he found his cell windows in the northeastern corner of the garden. Assuming the Minotaurs continued to take him along this route each time, or at least the same entrance, then there would be a likely means he could utilize to escape, though it would be risky. He needed a proper plan first: a means of escape and a distraction to keep his jailors occupied, until it was too late. With that purpose firmly in mind, he went about his task, searching through the garden’s wide grounds for anything he might be able to use.
The sun continued to beat harshly, and though Pensword was no longer being drugged, he still felt weary under the blistering desert heat. His dark fur coat certainly didn’t help in that regard, nor did the light’s effect on his head as the headache began to intensify. After taking a much needed drink from the pool, he slunk his way over to the shadiest spot he could find. As he lay huffing gently against the wall, trying to get the pain under control again, his ears twitched to the sound of faint scrabbling. His head immediately swung up towards the source. He winced slightly, but endured the pain. Long vines wove together as they strove to climb up the building and cling to its structure, finding rest and purchase within the window sills as their tendrils poked through gaps in worn planking.
Pensword listened again, and as the throbbing in his ears dulled to a low thrum, a smile pulled at his lips. Through the beating haze, a familiar scree passed into his ears, barely louder than a sigh, but he knew it for what it was immediately, and what it meant. There were bats in that building, and they were within easy reach, once he got his wings back, anyways.
“Hello, distraction,” he purred delightedly.
There weren’t many tools he could make proper use of in the place. The pebbles were too smooth, the plant life too supple. The only place he might be able to find what he was looking for was also the same place he needed to keep as shut up and undisturbed as possible. Yet, if they had nails holding those boards, even rusted, then his search for a proper cutting implement could be over. It would be a conundrum to work out on another day. For now, he had lush grass and open sky. He was going to enjoy it, while he could.
He traced his hoof idly over the turf, carving out the symbols in his mind’s eye as he pondered which might be the most useful in disturbing his captors. That being said, he knew it was a gamble, and one he should approach with caution. Giving the wrong impression could easily make him a bargaining chip, rather than a prisoner, and he didn’t fancy being sold to the Gryphons, if they’d landed in a time period near the Third Gryphon War, like Zecora had mentioned.”
“Perhaps Luna’s cutie mark, then,” he mused. “And Celestia’s, too. Surely, they must have heard of their strength in combat.” He nodded decisively. “Yes, I think we’ll start there. I’m sure a few stones from the garden here would work quite nicely for the task.” He chuckled then. “And maybe a few kilroys to liven up the place.” He smirked. “Yes, I like that.”
Grif sat by the firelight. The hour was late, and nearly everyone else had headed to their tents to sleep. A small redwood box lay cradled in his talons. The wood showed some age. The lacquer had worn away, allowing the wood to start to dry and splinter in places. On each face of the box was a mural, or at least Grif assumed such, since each mural was made of several intricate squares that had been arranged and rearranged several times. In the silence of the night, with the firelight to guide him, he worked. His talons clicked gently with each slip. In truth, Grif had managed to solve the puzzle on the top face of the box with ease. It was a depiction of Gryphelheim as it had once been, before the winds had been lost. This, however, was the only image he’d managed to solve so far. He’d tried on several of the murals over the last few hours, only to uncover small pieces. A Gryphon here, the depiction of a Zebra there. He had been allowed up to three days to attempt to solve the puzzle. Afterwards, the box would be returned to the tribe.
He sighed as he set the box down and turned to the other toys and gadgets left behind by the famous inventor. Picking them up, he studied each for what felt like the hundredth time, trying to find some connection, some hidden clue that might help him determine how to open the box. First thing when he got back, he’d ask Avalon for a divining spell, but Avalon couldn’t help him now.
There were several smaller metal figures that came with the box. Three Gryphons: an older one; one that seemed to be a depiction of one of the kings, with a large pointed crown on his brow; and a cub; as well as several Zebras. There was also a device the inventor had left behind, a large flat plate of volcanic glass bordered in steel with a moonstone set upon it. As Grif tried to find some hidden mechanism or feature, he held the plate up high. The clouds above parted and the dim light of the waning crescent moon shone down from overhead. Several clicks sounded as the moonstone on the plate glowed brightly. The obsidian split and slid into the frame, revealing rose glass beneath. The rose glass magnified the light caught by the moonlight and the stone, before shining down on the figurines. As it did so, certain of the toys began to glow.
The figures of the child Gryphon and the king glowed a brilliant red, while the figures of the older Gryphon and the Zebras glowed a gentle blue. Curious, Grif reached out and removed the two Gryphons. The instant they were out of the light, the remaining blue figures began to move. With clockwork precision, the older Gryphon stood in front of the crowd of Zebras. The figure grabbed a rock and began to carve at it with retractable talons. Then he handed the now box-shaped rock to one of the Zebras, a child, Grif thought, while the others danced. Then the figures froze, standing perfectly still in their new configuration.
A spark of inspiration hit Grif, and he carefully reached for the box. Using one hand, he shuffled it with his talon, until he had the back panel before him. Sure enough, he could already see matching shapes among the jumble he had barely managed to match on his own. Now that he had a proper idea of the scene, he got to work moving the tiles as fast as he could. Just as he slid the last tile into place, the clouds covered the moon and the tablet slid shut. The figures immediately reconfigured themselves, until they looked exactly as they had before.
“Gandalfi, you snake,” Grif laughed as he looked at the image on the box, a picture of a Gryphon handing an object to a young Zebra as the others celebrated around them. And then Grif suddenly found himself trapped with a dilemma. How does one get all the phases of the moon, within three days?
“All right, gentlemen,” Vital said seriously as he sat at the table one of the mares had carried in from the training grounds. Grif fiddled occasionally with his puzzle box, while Hammer Strike stared with his usual neutral gaze. “Gather close. I’m going to cast a few protective charms, and then we can proceed.”
“Whats up?” Grif asked, still not looking up from his work as he drew a little closer.
Vital looked briefly in Hammer Strike’s direction, before nodding and firing off a stream of magic into the air above them. It coalesced into a glowing ball of energy encased in a series of runes, before streaming a cascade of light down to touch the floor in a rigid structure.
“Gentlemen, welcome to the cone of silence,” Vital said with just a hint of a smirk. That soon faded, however, as he looked to both of his friends. “What I am about to reveal to you here cannot be spread to anyone else in the village, Unity, or anywhere else. I know that I can trust you, but the promise I made requires me to ask this of you. Will the both of you swear to keep this between the three of us, barring extenuating circumstances?”
“What, exactly, has you so cautious as to do this?” Hammer Strike questioned.
“To be perfectly blunt, the fact that if the Zebras here knew, there would be intense complications for the party involved, not the least of which being the issue of the age-old grudge between Minotaur and Zebra. You guys remember when I took my violin to visit Zecora, back in the present, right?”
“Yes.” Grif nodded.
“Well, to identify the nature of the magic in my violin, I had to cast a certain spell. That spell would have normally put me in touch with a powerful spirit of nature. Well, I suppose it still did, technically, but not in the way either of us expected.” Vital took a deep breath. “Gentlemen, Zecora is the avatar to Gaia.”
Somewhere outside, a cricket chirped.
“I suspected,” Grif offered, after a few minutes.
“And did you also suspect that the stones of power used to banish your gods came from her children?”
“That, I didn’t know,” Grif admitted.
“After I alerted Gaia to our current situation, and of certain facts she would need to be aware of for our first encounter in the future, I asked if she knew of a means we could utilize to help control the divider across the land, rather than having to try to force our way through, as the Minotaurs did. As it turns out, the wall was the doing of said children as an act to stop the fighting between their adopted children, the Zebras, and the children of the hecatonchires, whom you already know are the Minotaurs. If we want to bring that wall down, we’re going to have to convince them to do it. More importantly, we need to convince them to get involved, thanks to a certain prophecy about this war that the rest of the shamans and diviners finally deemed fit to reveal.”
Vital sighed. “Unfortunately, these Titans decided to do what all sulking deities do, when things go south: come up with an extremely convoluted magical requirement to open the way to wake them in the first place. Fortunately for us, we already have what we need to do so. It requires at least one Zebra and one Minotaur to arrive in peace and work in unison to break their seal. Gaia recommended we take a prominent and skilled member of the shamans among the Zebras. I assume, because they are the ones who are most closely attuned to the spirits of the land. Under normal circumstances, I would recommend we send Fjüra as the representative, since she is their sacred cow, but since she’s currently our leverage, we’ll need to choose another candidate from their tribe for the journey.”
“Has there been much trouble over her decision to stay as our hostage?” Grif asked.
“Not much that I’ve seen outwardly, but I doubt it sits well with them that she agreed to it in the first place,” Vital replied.
“Good. It’s clear that if we want to be effective, we’re going to need more of them in our raiding parties,” Grif said.
“True. And assuming all goes well, it would be a simple thing for them to infiltrate and kill the sentries,” Vital agreed.
“It seems we’ll need to also bring the officers up to some kind of code. No offense, Vital, but some of their methods are … not the best,” Grif noted. He looked to Hammer Strike. “Think you can take care of that?”
“I can bring some more training methods up, I suppose, though my time is currently split, due to the situation with their equipment,” Hammer Strike frowned.
“How goes the smith training?” Vital asked.
“Slowly,” he replied with a sigh. “Most of the things I’m teaching are basically entirely new concepts to them.”
“Are they at least teachable?”
“To a point.”
Vital sighed. “Who’s the troublemaker?”
“As stated, it’s not so much trouble, so much as it’s a slow learning process for them,” Hammer Strike replied simply.
“So, going back to the officers, exactly what did you two have in mind?” Vital asked. “And will we also be including the Minotaurs in some of those exercises?”
“We’re going to have to work the Minotaurs in, and a means to differentiate them from the others. We can’t have the Zebras attacking them, when the real fighting starts. As for the officers, well, we need to go over tactics and update their normal strategy. Also, there needs to be a few lessons on morale.”
“As in how to keep it high?”
“Yes.” Grif nodded. “For us to win, the troops have to believe we can win.”
“Any way I can be of assistance? Other than the obvious translating, I mean.”
“Did Clover teach you anything interesting with enchantments?” Grif asked.
“Grif, this is Clover we’re talking about. Of course she taught me ‘interesting’ things with enchantments. Are we talking the kinds you cast on foes or the kinds you use to reinforce weapons?”
“Reinforce weapons, armor, stones. I’m trying to find interesting ways to surprise our enemy.”
“Oh, yeah. Those are the low level spells. They’re easy for me to perform.”
“Okay, I want you to start thinking of things you can do to make this war a lot more interesting for the Minotaurs.”
“Ours or the enemy?” Vital asked.
“The enemy,” Grif said, facetaloning.
Vital smirked. “What can I say? The more things change, the more they stay the same, birdbrain.” He winked. “I’ll see what surprises I can come up with. Now, as for the ones to send on this little sidequest, I think we should each keep an eye out for our recruits and choose our own candidates from both sides, then meet again to discuss. Agreed?”
“Agreed.”
“If that’s all, I have some work to get back to,” Hammer Strike commented. “The ‘new’ forge needs almost constant maintenance.”
“I think that’s everything, unless you guys have something else you think we need to discuss,” Vital said as he charged up his horn to dispel his enchantment. “See you guys in the next meeting.”
Commander Pensword smiled as he woke. The sun was barely rising, and a gentle lowing echoed over the still morning air. First came the singing of a richer baritone, then the response with a series of heavy basses calling back to welcome the morning in a cascading chorus that rippled up and down the scales. There was power in those calls, and a sense of something ancient reverberating through the stones, vibrating his very hooves. There was only one word that could be put to this music: Hymn. They were singing a hymn. But what could they be singing to? Did the Minotaurs have gods?
He allowed himself the luxury of pondering such thoughts in silence, until the last echoes died away and the city was quiet, once again. It was … surprisingly soothing, in its own way, and served to help clear his mind. That and the garden were the few things that offered comfort in his imprisonment, and they certainly weren’t enough motivation to remain. He flexed his wings briefly, then rolled out of bed. The usual guards were still patrolling his enclosure, but the rest of the staff wouldn’t be arriving for a while, yet.
Seven days had passed now, and he had built a tolerance to the salt, at least to a degree where he could keep his head mostly clear. What had once struck his addled mind as a palace had now revealed itself to be little more than a glorified zoo, most likely one designed specifically for the public. Knowing that, and the arrogance of his captors, it was a simple enough thing to put himself through basic exercises.
As he always did, he sat on his haunches and slowly extended his wings. The moment he felt any sign of pain, he would retract them and allow the chance to continue healing. So it had been for the last week. Now, however, he felt no such pain, no twinges of upset, not even a hint of an ache. He smirked.
“Finally,” he said as he breathed a sigh of relief. He began to test his range of motion, when, quite suddenly, he found himself in the grasp of a bull pinning his wings tightly against his sides with one arm, before throwing him into the main room and eying him expectantly.
Pensword glared at the bull. So much for his little surprise. Still, if they wanted to have a show, then he might as well give them one. It had been too long since he’d been able to fly, and his wings ached to have the wind beneath his feathers again.
He closed his eyes and filtered out the noise, a tactic he had finally learned to master, after many painful lessons with Luna. He flared his wings, testing the muscles and the tightness thereof. He rustled his feathers, loosening the dust that had accumulated between them in a shimmering cloud. With one flex, he channeled his magic through them and smiled giddily as he heard and felt the cloud blast out into the watching bovines’ faces. The bellows of outrage were music to his ears.
Now that he had succeeded in channeling his power, he stretched his wings to the farthest extent, then snapped them down with all the force he could muster. And suddenly, he was off. The air was hot and stagnant, but it was blowing through his mane all the same, filling him with that familiar sense of exultation. He couldn’t resist. The whoop of joy burst out in a loud cry as he looped, swooped, glided, and spun in the air, testing his capabilities, probing his weaknesses. His ears twitched as a low murur rose up from the windows interspersed with oohs and ahs. He had clearly caught his captors’ attention. Good. With enough time, he might be able to use that against them.
Breakfast came shortly after his little performance, and he was quite surprised to find that his hosts had supplied him with a roasted fish. It was nothing special, but it was proper meat, something he hadn’t been able to enjoy for a while. His captors had even been kind enough to provide him with a makeshift seat in the form of a smooth wooden box. An accompaniment of fresh and dried fruits sat in a wooden bowl next to the fish. He ate with a reserved calm, despite the raging urge to tear into the meal with abandon.
The guard watching him laughed as he plodded away, uttering what equated to a grunting sort of snort, with just a hint of a low. Pensword furrowed his brow at the sound, pausing in his meal to process what he had just heard, before attempting to replicate it. The sound was slow and halting, and it hurt to drop to such a low register, but it was a sound.
And it didn’t go unnoticed.
The Minotaur froze and rounded, his eyes wide. Pensword tried again, pleased to see he had caused his captor a certain amount of distress. That pleasure soon curdled, however, as the Minotaur smirked, then began to laugh. He tried a few more sounds, which Pensword dutifully attempted to replicate. It wasn’t until he heard the repeated cries from patrons that had begun to gather at the antics that he finally understood what was going on. They weren’t interested in his learning the language. All they wanted to do was teach him how to say certain sentences. Not only was he to be a prisoner, he was to be their parrot.
Pensword glared at the spectators and quickly finished his meal, before taking flight and rising to the rafters. He would remember this treatment, when his time came, and they would know his wrath for daring to treat him like some dumb animal. He settled on a ledge and let his body begin to digest as he the warm air caressed his feathers.
He wasn’t sure how long he’d been asleep. All he knew was that, miraculously, his captors had decided to let him have the power nap undisturbed. He assumed they must have taken some pleasure in watching his sleeping posture. Such a thing was a novelty in a species they hadn’t interacted with before.
With nothing better to do, the commander stretched, then went about examining the upper reaches of his enclosure. The interior of the domes was a simple white. There were no paintings or mosaics, like one might find in the Taj Mahal or some other grand construction.
His ears twitched at the sound of grating stone as his captors entered the room. He looked down easily to see the guard looking up with a suspicious glare and what appeared to be a whip. Were they really so concerned that they thought he would attempt an escape here and now? Pensword rolled his eyes at the bull, then settled back down on the perch, before making a shooing motion with his hoof. The bull’s eyes narrowed. He snorted angrily as his hooves scuffed against the floor, but he didn’t act, a fact that was not lost on Pensword. It seemed they were authorized to do whatever had to be done to keep him in captivity, but any harm that was unjustified would likely be punished.
“Excellent,” Pensword said with a smirk as he curled up, once again, in a pantomime of the sleep he had entered before, until the guard seemed satisfied.
Once the annoyance had left, Pensword returned to his examination, before flying back down to the ground, where his original seat had been joined by two new ones. Whether they planned to expand this new menagerie or simply provide him more perches, he wasn’t sure, but he would take advantage of it, if he could. He put on some show of curiosity at the additions, for the sake of the crowd, even as he inspected each surface. A hint of a smile crossed his lips as he passed from perch to perch, flaring his wings as an extra show. He preened at them, all while surreptitiously examining the surface of the boxes. He wasn’t disappointed as his eyes spotted the dull glint of metal jutting from a corner of the surface.
He blew at his mane as the edges of it began to sway in his vision. He was going to need a cut soon, but it wasn’t likely to happen in captivity like this. He would just have to endure it for now.
With his analysis complete, he flew back up to his perch and bided his time. There were too many witnesses for now. Someone was bound to notice, if he claimed the nail now. He continued to play to his audience, until it was time for bed. In due course, he finally rose from his act, when all was still and the cold night air blew against his fur through the bars of his windows.
He was quick to his task, ghosting on dark wings to the exact box. His enhanced night vision proved a perfect boon as he gradually worked the nail out from its place in the wood, being careful not to make too much noise. After what felt like an age, the sharpened metal finally came free, and Pensword retreated with his prize. The remainder of the night was spent gradually etching away at the ceiling and portions of his enclosure, where the Minotaurs would see them. Stars, the moon, the mighty ursa, the five-pointed star that represented the heavenly guardian Polaris.
He worked, until early in the morning. As the quality of light began to change, he quickly flew back up to a ledge in the dome and hid the nail, before flying back to his bedroom. His wings cramped as he landed, and he nearly crashed into the surface as he grit his teeth in pain. Too much exertion too fast had wrought its vengeance. He panted as the muscle spasms racked his back, tying it in knots, before finally easing the tension to leave that uneasy ache that was the final result. A good day’s rest, and all would be in working order again. Hopefully, the sacrifice would be worth it.
He was surprised to find the Minotaurs hadn’t disturbed him, when he woke. The afternoon sun shone brilliantly, and a large bowl of fruit awaited him, along with a series of stones and what appeared to be wooden tools shaped like celestial bodies. Apparently, the creatures respected his artwork. Either that or they found it entertaining. Regardless, he was grateful that he would have the chance to explore. Perhaps, given time, he might even find the right combination to frighten them, without going too far. He smiled then as he went about his other exercises. The wings needed the break, but he could still work his other body parts.
“Let’s see how well I can keep you lot distracted, hmm?” he muttered.
Vital Spark frowned as he looked over the pair of spears before him. The one had been carefully carved with a series of runes along its shaft. The other remained unblemished. He looked to the makeshift production line that had been formed as various Zebras worked to help mount spearheads, craft hilts and grips, and put on other finishing touches, before laying the articles neatly into piles for the Unicorn to work with next.
“What do you think, Hammer Strike?” the Unicorn asked. “On the one side, the runes would likely last longer and grant greater durability, not to mention the ability to recharge from ambient magical sources. The standard enchantment, on the other hand, is only good for so many strikes, before the spell breaks. I can layer them, but that will only do so much for the weapons in question. On the other hand, by using the spell matrices, instead, we can avoid the possibility of the Minotaurs recreating the runic enhancements in their own weapons.”
“Pushing a bit far into this, but if it can keep things going, then go for it,” Hammer Strike shrugged. “The spears themselves can be easily managed, so it’s mostly just delaying.”
“True, but I was also referring to the other weapons, like the hunga munga. Then again, I suppose I could also include a concealment charm woven around the runes to ensure they can’t be seen by unfriendly eyes. The only way they’d be able to tell the difference then would be if they had a competent mage with them.”
“I’d suggest leaning more towards enchantments that can improve the weapon in terms of combat.”
“Fair enough.” Vital nodded as he levitated a set of spears in front of him. A series of circling sigils spun counter to one another in layers before him as his horn ignited. He uttered an authoritative incantation and the spears all glowed, before the Unicorn levitated them to rest against the wall of the supply hut, where Zebras stood waiting to add them to their weapons stockpile. “So, at this rate, how much longer will we need to stockpile, before we’re ready to push back?” he asked in Equish.
“Not much more, to be honest,” Hammer Strike commented. “As long as Grif is teaching them right, we should be moving soon enough.”
“Good. I want to get Pensword back as soon as possible.”
“We all do.”
“And thats what happened,” Grif said as he sat across from Hammer Strike. They were alone in one of the empty huts. Grif had finished explaining the incident with the onyx sheet and the figures earlier.
“Well, that’s certainly something,” Hammer Strike hummed. “And it was just left here?”
“Gandalfi was a genius, when it came to small parts and mechanisms. Before he vanished, it was said he was forced by the Empire to work on a weapon that would change things for the Gryphon soldiers.”
“And how did that turn out, exactly?”
“He supposedly died in a fire that destroyed his shop and everything in it,” Grif explained. “Apparently, he ended up here.”
“Certainly a way to escape from it all. Just fake your own death and flee in the carnage.” He frowned as he thought over things.
“Anyway, it seems he rigged the figures to play out the scenes from the puzzle box under specific moonlight,” Grif noted.
“You plan on waiting out each phase to see the differences?”
“The Zebras gave me three days. One of them is already done. I need something a little faster.”
“How many phases do you need?”
“Three, but I don’t know which ones.”
Hammer Strike frowned as he thought things over. “You need just the moonlight, correct?”
“Yes.”
“As long as nothing physical comes through, I could make minor rifts,” Hammer Strike hummed. “We would need a perfect dark space, which isn’t complicated, and I could use that to project the moonlight from the past or future through,” he replied, scratching his beard in thought.
“How long could you hold it?”
“The energy drain is only matter-based. I can open minor rifts at any point of this month, without a marker, and it would be the same energy cost, until different forms of matter and aspects are involved.”
“Okay,” Grif nodded. “I’ll have everything set up for tomorrow night then.”
“I’ll have to plan out everything on the thaumic side of things,” Hammer Strike hummed. “Perhaps I can just make an aspect filter, like a dome, and just keep light from entering it…” he muttered in thought.
“As long as you don’t push yourself,” Grif noted. “Who knows what’s coming yet.”
“I’ll keep my energy reserves well enough,” the Earth Pony replied with a dismissive wave. After a second, he pulled out his book and began reading once more.
Grif nodded as he headed to the door and slipped out into the night. It was time to hunt.
Dunmar Ironhide snorted gently through his nostrils as he trod carefully through the broad trunks and wide leaves of the rainforest. The air was thick with the scent of moisture, and blood already dripped from his great axe, after dealing with the sudden attack of a wild lion. Once they’d spilled its guts, the remainder of its fellows in the jungle seemed to want to leave them alone, a wise move on their parts. With war officially declared, it was only a matter of time, before they found the cowardly Zebras. They had abandoned all the land they claimed to care so much about. Now, the scout simply had to locate the hidden village and they could bring a swift end to this war.
He stepped out into a large clearing filled with healthy mushrooms and other fungi. The air was thick with the scent of their spores. There was something … different about this place. The air seemed almost to resonate with a golden light, while a series of delicate white blossoms bloomed and glowed. Long leafy green tendrils spanned the forest floor and rose up the tree trunks. A gentle breeze played through the air, blowing the spores and pollen all over his fur, coating it in gold. A dull smile pulled at the bull’s lips as he stepped deeper into the clearing. He took deeper breaths as his pupils began to dilate, and he let out a deep, husky chuckle as he shambled over towards a mass of the fungi that had sprouted into what formed the equivalent of a throne-like chair. The tendrils sighed as they shifted, the white flowers shaking along them, beckoning.
Dunmar was not about to disappoint. He clopped over and settled down without another thought as the ivy slowly drew itself up over his frame. His smile gradually widened into an unthinking grin. Two blossoms drifted down to his ears and inserted themselves, stretching their stamen deep into his ear canals. Dunmar shuddered, then lowed gently in pleasure.
“I hear you,” he said huskily. The wind rustled through the clearing again as Dunmar dropped his head low. “Beautiful….” he sighed, even as he gazed dreamily into space. The ivy drew tighter around him. His eyes began to glow green. “Tell me more….”
Off in the distance, Vital Spark shuddered at the sight. “Boy, am I glad Ivy’s on our side,” he said as he turned to face Zecora.
“It’s not just her, you know. Sure, she’s the one influencing his mind, but the whole forest is upset over what the Minotaurs are doing. They broke the peace. You’ve heard the saying, hell hath no fury, I assume.”
“And nature is always described as a she.”
Zecora smiled. “Very good, Vital Spark. Treat her right, and she’ll return the sentiment in kind. Don’t, and, well, that is the result.”
“Will she let him go?”
“After he’s received instruction, yes,” Zecora said. “I’m not sure if he’ll kill the people in his camp or try to bring them here for the forest to deal with them. Either way, I’m afraid his life is forfeit.”
Vital sighed. “I wish it didn’t have to be this way.”
“We all do, Vital Spark.” Zecora laid a hoof on her adopted brother’s shoulder. “Come. We should check the other traps. It won’t do well to allow a body to give away our tricks just yet.”
Vital Spark nodded morosely. “Yeah. Let’s go.”
Vital Spark stared pensively at a small spherical stone about the size of a globe. It sat atop a carefully shaped pedestal as he paced slowly around it in the training yard.
“So, to clarify, to the spirits, earth is earth, correct? They don’t mind if it takes another form or breaks apart. That’s a part of the natural cycle, after all. What matters, really matters, is when someone threatens the balance that they’re trying to maintain, right?”
Mwalimu sat with Fjüra on his left. A group of Zebra guards maintained a perimeter with a wide enough berth to avoid any potential … accidents, as Vital Spark had put it. Considering the stories that had spread about his ice magic and how deadly it could be, especially in a humid environment, they knew better than to risk something potentially going wrong and getting caught in it.
“That is the long of the short of it,” Mwalimu agreed. “Provided what you’re considering won’t negatively impact the balance of nature and life in the region, it shouldn’t cause any offense.”
“Of course, one could always council with the spirits about what one has planned and save any potential trouble,” Fjüra noted.
Vital Spark shuddered. “I’d … rather not bother Ivy. This week is hers as envoy, and she can be a little … clingy.”
Mwalimu chuckled. “Has she taken a liking to you, Vital Spark?”
Vital Spark blushed and quickly turned aside to redirect their attention to the stone. “This rock is highly condensed, as per the request I made of the spirits, and with some help from Fjüra, since she has more experience in the finer aspects of manipulating earth. Now, I’m not sure if you two are aware of this, but where I come from, there is a theory of what we call harmonic resonance.
“The basics of this theory are that there is a key tone in the sound spectrum that exists that is uniquely keyed to a particular item or substance. One of the greatest examples would be a crystal. Strike a note at just the right pitch, get the vibration moving, and suddenly, the crystal will sing.”
“And singing crystals are supposed to help us, how, exactly?” Mwalimu asked.
“I was about to explain. The theory continues that if one could make those vibrations happen fast enough and strong enough, it will cause the bonds connecting the crystal to break apart, at which point, the stone will shatter. Keep vibrating, and the power of the sound can literally reduce the crystal to dust, and the dust to little more than so much liquid. If I’m correct in my theory, then it may be possible for me to replicate a similar effect in our spear and arrowheads. That way, we wouldn’t need to worry about getting too close to the enemy, and can employ a technique that would devastate their forces.”
Fjüra smiled. “My people are familiar with this theory of resonance, young Unicorn. However, to be able to execute so fine a tuning is impossible. Many of our number have tried in the past and failed miserably. Had we managed to achieve such a feat, the great wall would have fallen long ago.”
“Impossible for you, yes,” Vital agreed. “From what I’ve heard of your voices, your range is limited, as is my own. However, I’m not suggesting using my voice to try to break this stone. Well, not for the final spell, anyways. I’ve never really dabbled in this particular branch of magic before, so it will likely be a series of trials and errors, but I think I can at least manage to crack, if not potentially cleave the rock today.”
“You are free to try,” Fjüra said simply as she folded her arms.
Vital frowned. “This would be a lot easier, if I had my violin,” he said as he ignited his horn with its usual musical note and enveloped the stone in its glow. He gradually tapped the rock at varying points, his ears twitching and his head cocking occasionally as he pondered over it. Finally, he sighed as he released his magic. “Okay, I think I’ve got the right feel for it. I’m just not sure if this will work without my focus to channel my intent.”
“Do you not have Mustafa’s staff?” Mwalimu questioned.
“Not the focus I was referring to,” Vital said. “This one is … special. It can’t be replicated easily.” He shook his head. “I’ll just have to make do without.” He closed his eyes and conjured a series of ice crystals laden with runes to regulate their temperature. Then he kept them levitated in the air in a circle at varying heights. He took a deep breath and the crystals began to pulse, releasing a series of tiny chimes.
And then he began to sing. A sense of longing throbbed in his voice as he began. Then the tempo picked up as the chimes grew faster and faster, sending light thrumming along the crystals in an ever-accelerating cycle. As if to substitute for the lack of his instrument, the tones of his magic took on a sudden glissando, like the shift of a vibrating string as he swayed his head back and forth with every note.
His song rang with the frustration at his inability to do more, his desire to remain peaceful, but to also do something for the people he loved. Frustration at his old self mingled with a fear of regression, and of what might happen, should he continue down the path he had begun at the warrior’s compound. He wanted to help. He needed to help. And this … this could do it. It had to work. It had to.
“Somebody shine a light. I’m frozen by the fear in me. Somebody make me feel alive and shatter me!”
His friends had already put so much blood on their hands and hooves for his sake and the sake of his tribe. Tears coursed down his cheeks as he broke into the final lines.
”So cut me from the light, dizzy, spinning endlessly. Somebody make me feel alive and shatter me!
Blue and white cracks lined the globe as he poured his energy into his final efforts and belted out the final words twice more. The ice crystals shattered, followed by a loud detonation from the pillar as the stone burst apart, leaving a dust cloud in its wake that obscured the zone. A few moments later, Vital Spark emerged from the cloud coughing as he approached the pair. “It worked,” he croaked hoarsely as he swallowed and rubbed his throat. “Definitely needs refinement, though.”
Fjüra stared at the pedestal where the rock had once rested, then looked back at the Unicorn again as she cocked her head. “Curious. You reinforced the harmony with the your race’s magics, though it would seem at some cost,” she noted. “I hope you do not have to do that every time you intend to use such a magic.”
“Like I said,” Vital coughed. “Needs work.”
“I think after some tea,” Mwalimu suggested. “You can work on refinement, after you’ve had time to rest.”
Vital’s legs shook as he stood in place. “Come to think of it, I am rather tired.” He chuckled. “Should we adjourn to the hut?”
“Not a bad idea,” Fjüra agreed. “I think I have an old remedy that might be of assistance to you.”
“Thank you,” Vital croaked, then swallowed and left it at that as the trio departed, escorted by some rather wide-eyed Zebras.
Hammer Strike frowned as he stood out in an empty space near the forge, thaumic book in hoof, reviewing several theories once more, before puttin them into practice. It was simply creating a rift through time to display the position within a dome from different points in the temporal stream.
He sighed to himself. Sure, he could try and call it simple, but it wasn’t going to be that easy. As long as he was just projecting things visually, he could get away with only a quarter of his energy being used.
“So, is everything ready on your end?” Grif asked as he entered, carrying the assortment of items.
“As ready as I can be,” Hammer Strike replied. “Worst case scenario, it doesn’t work.” he said with a shrug.
Grif set the puzzle box down on a nearby table and placed the onyx slab on top of it, before placing the figures down in order. “When I tried this, it was the waning crescent moon, so I guess we need to work from there,” Grif noted.
Hammer Strike nodded, before stepping near the table. “All right, I’ll work backwards to not draw conflict in energies,” he hummed, closing his eyes as he focused on the area around them, creating a dome of thaumic energy that quickly enveloped them, before it suddenly wasn’t visible to Grif.
It didn’t take much time, before the sun stopped and started rotating backwards around the planet, shifting the perspective of time around them, until Hammer Strike was able to get them to the next appointed moon phase.
“Please keep things active at a decent pace. It’s easy enough for me to hold this, but takes a constant stream of energy to do so,” Hammer Strike warned.
“It shouldn’t take long. We’ll know if there’s a reaction,” Grif assured his friend as he held the slab to the moonlight. When the tool didn’t react, he shook his head. “Next phase.”
Hammer Strike nodded as everything followed suit, moving back to the previous phase.
Immediately, the slab responded with a snap, opening up and throwing it’s light onto the figurines. At this point, the only figures to light up were the crowned Gryphon and the older one. Grif carefully removed the others, and the two began to move. Taking a small rock, the older Gryphon produced a piece of metal and began to work it, while the crowned Gryphon watched, brandishing a sword. The moment the crowned Gryphon turned aside, however, the older Gryphon produced flint and began to spread sparks all over. Ethereal flames sprung up, and the figure froze into inaction in the act of slinking away.
Grif quickly retrieved the box and got to work, rapidly moving tiles with his talons. It took a few minutes, and he made several mistakes, but, finally, he was able to finish the split picture depicting an aged Gryphon being forced to work, only to turn and run under the cover of flames, when he was no longer being observed.
“Let’s try moving back two phases,” Grif said on a hunch. Hammer Strike made no response as time moved back once more.
Once again, the figuringes began to glow, this time focusing on the three Gryphon figures. The older Gryphon was working again as the younger one played with a rock as though it where some kind of toy. Suddenly, the crowned Gryphon broke into the scene and used his sword to lead the older Gryphon away. Grif’s talons were already moving as the scene froze. As he expected, he was presented with the scene of the older Gryphon being forced from his home. So, Gandalfi was taken on the point of a sword, Grif observed as he turned to the last face. He nodded for Hammer Strike to move ahead.
The final, or Grif supposed first scene, was a simple portrayal of the elder Gryphon working, while the younger played. The elder Gryphon handed the younger one a toy, and Grif could have sworn he saw the beak turn in a smile out of the corner of his eye as he slid the last tile into place on the final panel. The top of the box clicked, then popped open as the figures froze. After a few tense seconds, Grif finally reached into the container to remove a tube wrapped in parchment.
“So, this is it?” Grif said to himself. “Looks a little small for a weapon.”
“Anything else, or can I finally stop?” Hammer Strike asked.
“You can stop,” Grif said absently, rolling the item in his hand.
The area around them suddenly shifted in lighting as the dome around them disappeared. “So, did you figure out everything you wanted to figure out?”
“Yes, and it’s led to more questions,” Grif said as he furrowed his brow in thought. “Thanks for your help.”
“No problem. Have fun with your conundrum,” Hammer Strike replied with a smirk. “As per usual, I’ve got to get back to work on equipment.”
“I’ll … talk to you later,” Grif said as he stowed the item gently in his pack, before gathering the rest of the toys and he box. “I need to contemplate this.”
Pensword smiled as he looked at the slogan he had scrawled into the stone, alongside a curiously large nose peeking over what appeared to be the border of a wall, along with two great big eyes. Kilroy was here read loud and clear on the wall of his restroom. He had never expected to be performing graffiti on a bathroom stall, and yet here he was. It was a most curious turn of events. The tally on the wall now read fifteen days. Half a month had come and gone in his imprisonment. The Minotaurs had been courteous enough to modify his cage to allow regular access to the garden now, so at least there was a little solace in that. It was probably their way of dangling a carrot in front of his nose, after all his “good behavior.”
Thanks to the open nature of the passage, birds now flitted around from time to time, before flying back out into the full light of day. One of the peacocks had even gone so far as to build a nest in the corner of the main display room. Since he still couldn’t shower, he made the best of it by diving into the pond in the garden. If the Minotaurs had a problem with it, they would get the message eventually. And besides, if someone did complain, it would allow him the satisfaction of seeing his captors squirm for once.
He finished in the bathroom before heading out to the chamber to do his morning callistentrics and weight training. As usual, his practice drew a crowd, and this time in particular proved quite amusing to his spectators as he attempted to balance himself upside down on his wings and perform pushups with them. He had yet to master the stance properly, but he was drawing closer each day. It was only a matter of time, until he found complete success. In the night, he would set aside time to create and dissipate thaumic crystals, so that he could keep his field active, then go back to sleep.
When he’d finished his exercises for the day, he made his way to the pool, while birds went after his mane to take a few strands for their nests, while others sang their greetings. Gravel crunched under the stallion’s hooves as he walked, until he reached his destination. Birds bathed and trilled in the shallow end. A set of new steps had been installed, when the Minotaurs noticed his bathing habits, allowing him easier access. He didn’t have soap or shampoo, but at least he could get the dirt off his fur and cool down on the hotter days. The pool was deceptively deep. A few steps in, and the floor gave way in a slope, allowing the commander to eventually dive under the water, so the birds couldn’t land on his head anymore.
After spending a few seconds under the rippling surface, he emerged, shaking the water from his mane and wiping it from his eyes as he treaded water, before he paddled slowly back to the steps. He found a comfortable patch of grass, then began his sun bath as he waited for the arid desert heat to dry him out.
He idly passed over his itinerary for the rest of the day as he shifted a wing to give it better exposure. First would be more carving. After seeing he could scrawl images, the spectators simply couldn’t get enough of this new trick their pet had exhibited. Then, later that afternoon, he would practice shadow sparring and various combat techniques Luna had taught him during their dream sessions.
In short, it was going to be the same as yesterday, and it would likely be the same tomorrow, and however much longer it would be, before he was ready to mount his escape attempt. He sighed forlornly. He almost wished had a ghost would appear, just for the sake of having someone to talk to. But, of course, even if there were, it would be a difficult thing to locate one of his own kind out here. Knowing his luck, he’d probably encounter another Minotaur or a Zebra. No, much though he hated it, he had to wait, and wait he would. Now it was just a matter of figuring out how to pass the time better.
“All right, I think I’ve finally got the spell formula down properly,” Vital Spark said as he finished drawing a diagram in the dirt. “Now I just need to plant the test subject and see what happens.” He levitated a single refined spearhead down into the center of the circles he’d drawn. He took a few moments to get the patterns set properly in his head, then lit up his horn. Energy flowed like water through a channel, lighting the configuration up. Then the energies rose up from the markings in the dirt and hovered in place. Next, a blue aura enveloped the spearhead as it rose to be covered by the seal, which wrapped like a great ribbon, before the sigils engraved themselves with a bell-like tone. The metal vibrated gently as it slowly lowered itself to the ground again.
Vital Spark nodded. “So far, so good,” he muttered to himself. “Next, he enveloped the head in his magic and flung it at a wooden target they’d set up to practice the hunga munga. The metal embedded itself neatly into the wood, but no visible effects occurred. “I wondered if it might not follow the same principles as the sonic,” the Unicorn said as he removed the sharp point from the target. Next, he turned to a piece of carefully molded mud and clay and stabbed the head into it. The spearhead vibrated, followed by a gradual stirring beneath the ball’s initial surface, before it began to roil. Liquid spurted out from the edges where the spearhead had been inserted, until, finally, the whole thing collapsed, causing the spear head to clatter to the ground as the outer shell sloughed beneath it like a lanced boil.
“... Okay, wasn’t expecting something that drastic, but if it works, it works,” Vital said with a shrug. “I should probably see what Grif thinks about this. It could prove useful for some of his weapons,” he mused as he picked up the spearhead and trotted towards the forge. After all, he’d need a lot more spear and arrowheads to enchant.
“Aim!” Grif called to the line of archers standing before him. Each raised his or her bow and carefully took aim along the shaft. He gave them time to sight the target. “Loose!” Immediately, arrows filled the area in front of them. None found the center of their targets, but all landed close enough to be lethal on a living one.
“Drop,” the warrior ordered. “Second line, draw and aim!”
The front row of archers dropped to their knees as the archers behind them drew arrows and took aim. For the next few moments, Grif continued this cycle, observing the four lines of archers operate with a shaky but obvious precision. They weren’t warriors yet, but they were getting there. Satisfied with the progress, he gave Bayek a nod to continue and left the range.
“They’re learning quickly,” he told Vital as they walked away.
“You have to out here in the jungles and the savannah.” Vital shrugged. “And they have a strong motivation to learn.” He looked casually at the Gryphon’s bandolier. “So, have you come to a decision about my offer yet?”
“As tempting as it is,” Grif smiled, “I think there’s more moral in the body count I’ve racked up without the extra help.”
“Even when dealing with a Minotaur squadron?”
“You remember who you’re talking to, right?” Grif chuckled.
“I don’t know. You do tend to hit me pretty hard with those put-downs of yours,” Vital teased. “You know how easily a blow can mess with a person’s memory, especially when the ego’s involved.” He winked at his friend as they continued their walk.
“Let me tell you a little secret,” Grif leaned in. “I remove half the momentum from any blow they land on me, a little technique I’ve been working on in thaumaturgy, projecting a momentum-dampening field.”
“In short, you’re combining physics with thaumaturgy to devastating effect?”
“The more you work the muscle, the stronger it’ll get,” Grif reminded him.
“I know. I remember,” Vital chuckled. “This is definitely going to be an interesting turn of events to see you apply in combat.” He sighed. “But moving on to a better topic, do you have any ideas for who you want to recommend to send on that mission with the escarpment yet?”
“I’m still considering the squad. Why? You have suggestions?”
“Not just yet. It’s easier for me to befriend some of the Minotaurs, since I’m not technically a Zebra, but they still prefer to keep to themselves, until others prove themselves in combat. Frankly, you’d probably have better luck, once you have an understanding of their language. They’ve seen how you fight. They know you’re strong.”
“Maybe I should send you with the squad,” Grif chuckled. “Give you an opportunity to show them your strength.”
“If by strength, you mean evasive spell casting. I’m not so sure they’ll deem that proper strength.”
“I think you underestimate yourself,” Grif chuckled again. “Anyway, what’s next?”
“We’ve been hiding here in the forest for long enough. Once I finish enchanting enough of the spear and arrowheads with my new formula, they’ll be ready to do some proper damage to our enemies. They’ll drop like flies, and they won’t even know why. I don’t like the idea of mass killing, but if nothing else will get them to stop, I don’t see much other choice.”
“Better get back to work then,” Grif said. “We’ll talk later.” And with that, he took wing towards the trees. It was time to hunt.
A great gray Minotaur with long horns and a sweeping set of arms lashed out with his lochabre as a trio of Zebras danced around him. Vaelar Plainswalker narrowed his gaze and snorted indignantly as he tossed his head at the Zebras.
“He says you’re not trying hard enough,” Vital noted. “He can still block your attacks, and he knows how to read your movements. If you want to hit him, you have to be more coordinated and stop giving so much away with your body language. Their language is a literal extension of body language, and he’s calm enough to keep his cool, rather than allow surprise to overwhelm him. Use your heads, calm down, and keep the fear out of your muscles as much as you keep it off your expressions.”
“Easy for you to say,” one of the sparrers grunted, after he took a sweeping blow to the chest from the axe head. Fortunately, the spell Vital had applied to its edge ensured it remained blunted and unable to cut flesh.
“And now you’re dead,” Vital said pointedly. “And you’re right, it is easier for me to say than to do, but all of us have to learn to do it, if we’re going to stand a chance of maintaining our element of surprise.”
“Then why don’t you try it?”
Vital shrugged. “If you want.” He raised a hoof and snorted a challenge as he lowered his head towards the great bull. “Stand aside, all of you,” he said. “This spar could get dangerous.” He levitated one of the polearms and spun it in his hooves as he stared the Minotaur down. Then Vital grinned. “Let’s give them a show, shall we, Vaelar?”
The older Minotaur returned the smile. “Let’s.”
Vital Spark was the first to act. He lunged forward, waiting for the Minotaur to perform his usual swing. At the last moment, Vital Spark jumped, using the momentum of the lochaber’s arc to avoid any possibility of redirection catching him. He then stabbed with his pole-arm, striking the Minotaur’s shoulder, or he would have, if Vaelar hadn’t had the sense to back out of range.
Vaelar surged forward next, with his horns lowered to gore.
Like a skilled matador, Vital Spark danced aside, throwing his spear at the Minotaur’s back and landing a strike, even as the protective enchantment prevented the spear from making proper impact. “And there’s a point for me,” Vital said. “If that spear had made proper contact, it would have caused some serious damage,” he noted idly as he turned away from the bull.
Vaelar snorted and charged up behind Vital Spark, only for the Unicorn to jump out of the way and fire a stream of magic at the ground by the Minotaur’s feet. The great creature’s hooves couldn’t find purchase, and he skittered and scrabbled, until his legs finally came out from under him and he came crashing to the ground.
“And that, my friends, is another rule to keep in mind,” he said casually as he retrieved his spear and closed his eyes, nodding sagely. “Always use the environment to your advantage.” When he opened them again, he found himself suspended in the air. The Minotaur chuckled as he spoke to the Unicorn. “Yeah, yeah,” Vital muttered. “And never let your guard down,” he finished morosely.
The three Zebras couldn’t help but laugh at the situation. Then Vital looked questioningly at Vaelar, and the Minotaur grinned viciously. Vital soon returned it as the big Minotaur lowered him back to the turf.
“Now then, since you three feel so cocky, how about we even the odds, hmm?”
The three warriors weren’t laughing anymore, and by the end of the day, that laughter had been replaced by groans and a single satisfied, “Lesson learned.”
Pensword sighed as he flopped down on the garden’s soft grass again. Twenty one days. Twenty one days had passed, and he was still in captivity, still dealing with the same dull grind. His exercise was finished, his bath taken, his meal eaten. The only relief from the monotony of it all came from his carving. Equestria’s standard had been coming along quite nicely along the wall, with a personal twist of a familiar crystal heart. He sighed again as the three royal siblings flashed through his mind. How were they faring? Was Cosey continuing to grow? Were the citizens of the Empire satisfied? He hoped so.
When enough time had passed, he flapped back to the main room hovered in the air, looking over the scenes that were growing around the sun and moon he had drawn. Depictions of the ponies of the day were worshipping Celestia, while bats, Thestrals, and creatures of the night looked on in adoration as a stick carving of the princess and high chieftess flew in the act of slaying a mighty Ursa Major. He heard the sound of snorts and other noices that he took for derision or displeasure at his crude artwork. That being said, it was his, and he didn’t give a damn what they thought. Annoying them was sort of the point, anyways, so it was just two birds with one stone.
Of course, as he considered the state of the mural, he couldn’t help but think of his own personal state. It had been ages since he’d had a proper discussion with anyone. It seemed so pointless to talk now, but not expressing himself in some verbal form wouldn’t be good for his mental state, and that was something he would need to keep sharp for when he escaped to rejoin the war.
Occasionally, he would try to catch and mimic the words the Minotaurs used, but that proved a mostly fruitless endeavor. The one Minotaur that seemed to actively be trying to teach him useful words had been transferred out, and all the other Minotaurs refused to utter a syllable while the Pony was around. Clearly they’d received new orders not to encourage the Pony to learn the language, a clever strategy, all things considered. It was difficult to befriend someone, if one couldn’t speak their language.
With little else left to offer, he turned to the one thing every Pony in Equestria used, when all else failed. Harmony was a powerful thing, after all, especially when a good heart song got involved. He let the memories of home infuse him, then took a deep breath as he channeled those feelings to a familiar tune playing through his head. “Yesterday, all my troubles seemed so far away....” As he continued to sing, he flew to an unused part of the dome and began to carve the faces of his family, both living and dead. Even as he hummed the last few bars, he’d only managed to achieve the barest outlines of faces. He sighed, the returned his tool to its place, before descending to the floor again. For once, the room was silent. Had they finally left him in peace?
A single glance at the windows answered that question only too well. He snorted angrily. Couldn’t the big oafs leave a stallion to mourn in peace? He sputtered angrily, then stormed toward the bathroom. The stench was terrible, but he found it preferable to the relentless eyes that followed him everywhere he went.
“Faust, I wish they’d just leave me in peace,” he swore. Then he sighed as he settled in for the long wait for dinner.