//------------------------------// // Chapter 14: Proof of Worth // Story: Contest of Champions // by thatguyvex //------------------------------// Chapter 14: Proof of Worth With a thunderous crash the doors to Luna’s private quarters were flung open, the alicorn’s magic nearly tearing the heavy wooden doors off their hinges in her haste and barely contained fury. Five of the six Element bearers trailed in Luna’s storm-like wake in varied states of anxiousness and shock, while the sixth of their number floated in an aura of Luna’s gently sparkling magic, cradled like a sleeping foal. Upon Trixie’s back, most anxious and fearful of all, was the trembling form of Dinky Doo, who looked at the floating, unconscious form of her mother with eyes wide and wet as an inland sea. “Is momma going to be okay?” The filly’s question was a whispered barb in the air, and among the mares who called Ditzy Doo friend, all of them exchanged worried looks before Trixie managed to turn an encouraging look upon her apprentice with a smoothly forced smile, “She’s in the care of the Princess herself. There’s nothing to fear.” A pause, then Trixie glanced at Luna meaningfully, not daring to actually ask what was on everypony’s mind. For her part, Luna strode straight to one of the voluminous couches in the well appointed quarters and laid Ditzy Doo carefully upon it. A look that could have meant a thousand different things crossed Luna’s face as she kept Ditzy wrapped in her magical field, eyes an unblinking wall of concentration. Ditzy was unwounded save for a small flesh wound upon one of her forelegs, where Grimwald presumably had struck her. Trixie didn’t know for sure because she had no idea what had actually happened during those tense final moments of the match against Grimwald. She, like so many others spectating the fight, had seen Ditzy and Grimwald fly all over the complex maze of stone pillars and criss-crossing columns until they both entered a point at the very center of the maze that had obscured all views of the combatants. And nothing had happened for several minutes, until it was clear something was wrong. The moment it was obvious something was amiss the Abess Serene and her monks had used the same runic magic that had constructed the arena to disassemble the maze in mere moments. When the maze cleared, leaving the entire arena as a flat, bare stage once more, Ditzy Doo had been laying on the ground, unmoving. Grimwald was nowhere to be found. There’d been an uproar of course. Gasps and cries of shock and confusion. The Abess had been very swift to go to Ditzy to check on her while also doing what she could to pacify the crowd. Trixie remembered Luna flying down to the stage with such speed that she appeared as little more than a streak of dark blue, smashing into the arena with enough force to shatter stone. From there Ditzy had been quickly found to be alive, but quite unconscious, with no immediate form of magical healing able to rouse her. The Contest of Strength was swiftly put on hold while Ditzy was taken by Luna from the field, with Ditzy’s friends and daughter following the Princess as she took Ditzy somewhere she could be more carefully examined. Now Trixie sat with her friends in a nervous semi-circle around the Princess, at a respectful distance to give the alicorn room to work while she examined Ditzy. Trixie could tell Luna was utilizing a magic sight spell, among other auguries and divinations, more at once than Trixie could ever dream of handling at one time. Every impulse inside her was shouting at her to start asking questions, or have a good freak out in the corner of the room, but Trixie kept firm control of herself. None of that would help right now, and thankfully her friends knew that as well, for as frayed as everypony’s nerves looked, nopony was pestering the Princess with questions and remained silent while Luna conducted her examination. It didn’t take long, thankfully, and soon Luna was turning kind eyes towards Dinky. “Your mother will be alright. She’s not in any danger that I can detect. She is not poisoned, and her injury is a minor one.” “T-then why isn’t she waking up?” It tore at Trixie to hear so much fear and pain in Dinky’s voice, and she reached up behind her to gently stroke the filly’s head on pure reflex. “She’s enchanted,” Luna replied, her eyes betraying a hint of grave unease, “With magic not of Equestrian making. It has been a long time since I’ve seen magic such as this at work, but I know it well enough. It is Fae magic that has been used to ensnare Ditzy Doo in a deep slumber. She won’t wake until the enchantment wears off or is broken.” Lyra let out a sharp breath, biting her lower lip as her tail twitched fiercely behind her. “Fae magic? I’ve barely scratch the top of that pool of lore, but I know every story I’ve read suggested the kind of enchantments and curses those kind can sling are... nasty is putting it mildly.” “Lyra!” Carrot Top elbowed the other mare, shooting a pointed look at Dinky, who still looked anything but reassured, and Lyra blushed, coughing. “S-sorry, was just saying what I knew.” “Which is not inaccurate, Dame Heartstrings,” Luna said, turning a focused look upon the sleeping Ditzy, “Whether it be a curse or enchantment, the spells of Faekind are not to be taken lightly.” “I don’t suppose you could clue us in on what they Fae even are, considering some of us might be a smidge in the dark here?” asked Cheerilee, “I’ve studied a lot of topics, but this doesn’t sound like standard school curriculum to me.” “They’re not one race, but a hodgepodge of many mysterious entities,” said Trixie, recalling what little she could from her own studies under Luna while growing up. The subject of mysterious creatures and magic had held a certain appeal for an imaginative filly with a flare for the dramatic, but she’d never delved very deep on the topic. Luna nodded at Trixie, “Yes, and even to those such as myself or my sister, the Fae have ever remained as enigmatic and difficult to define as the seasons from which they take their natures from.” “Huh?” asked Carrot Top. “It is of no importance right now,” said Luna, “Perhaps another time I’d be more inclined to lecture upon the nature of the Fae, as generally difficult a topic as that is given they tend towards being mercurial on the best of days. Right now what matters is that Ditzy Doo is affected by their magic, and I’m afraid my skills could prove inadequate to break it quickly.” “Whoa, seriously?” said Lyra, “But you’re... you know, you. You’re basically magic incarnate compared to the rest of us!” A flicker of doubt shadowed Luna’s face before being banished by her more stoic features, “I am powerful, this is true, but as you should well understand by now, I have limits. More accurately in this case, this is not a factor of power. The enchantment on Ditzy Doo is comparatively weak to similar things I have dealt with in the past. The issue is that I am not nearly so familiar with Fae magic as I am Equestrian, and since it is a spell affecting her mind, it is a very delicate matter to try and counter the spell. I have the power, but not the expertise. A small mistake could have dire consequences to her mind if I am not exceedingly careful in unraveling the spell.” Trixie’s gaze fell upon her unconscious friend. It was faintly surreal. Ditzy Doo looked for all the world like she’d just sat down for a quick nap, and nothing more. Inside Trixie a dire fire was ignited as she slammed a hoof to the floor, eyes flashing. “We need to find that Grimwald. He’s not getting away with this kind of cowardly strike at one of my friends. How’d a griffin like him have access to the kind of magic that would let him do this to Ditzy, then vanish out from under our noses?” “There’s no way to be certain without tearing the answer from the culprit himself’s beak, but he likely earned some Fae item in fair contest or pact with them,” said Luna. “Fair contest doesn’t seem like his style. Couldn’t he have stolen whatever item he used on Ditzy?” asked Cheerilee. Luna wore a grim smirk, “None can steal from the Fae without dire repercussions. Had Grimwald done so, he’d not have survived his actions for long.” “Uh, crazy idea here,” said Lyra, raising a hoof, “What if he is one of the Fae. I’ve red a few stories suggesting they like to sometimes traipse about in mortal form, messing with us everyday folk.” “I don’t that’s likely,” said Raindrops, “From what I’ve seen, Gwendolyn knows him pretty well, and for awhile.” “Should we try asking her some questions about him? Maybe she knows a clue as to where he might have gone or why he did this to Ditzy?” Carrot Top suggested, slowly starting to pace nervously along one side of the room. “I think the why is pretty obvious,” said Trixie, bitter anger heating her voice, “With Ditzy in this condition, take a wild guess as to who’s free to act on her own without fear of the Elements interfering?” “You think Corona put Grimwald up to this?” asked Raindrops, “But hasn’t someone already targeted her by nabbing Zecora?” “I know, but perhaps whoever Grimwald works for, perhaps they benefit from having Corona free to act?” Trixie suggested, but even that didn’t sound entirely right as she said it. Who’d benefit from the Tyrant Sun running wild? Although it was worthy of note that so far Corona hadn’t done anything, despite being present to witness Ditzy being put in this condition. “Is anypony keeping an eye on Corona right now?” “There’s no need,” Luna said simply, “My sister is coming here, now.” “Wait, what-?” Trixie started to ask, right before the doors banged open under an intense golden glow of forceful magic and Corona strode in with all the subtle and grace of an oncoming locomotive. Behind Corona was Abbess Serene, looking shaken and pale, but somehow determined as rock to maintain a visage of calm. “Luna, how fares your champion?” Corona asked, though even as she spoke she barged right past Trixie and her friends as if they weren’t there and proceeded to start examining Ditzy Doo herself, whilst Luna turned cool eyes towards her sister. “Fae glamour. Complex and thick upon her mind. You can see it for yourself,” Luna said plainly. Corona’s nose wrinkled as if smelling something putrid, “Autumn Fae by the smell of it. That is no restful slumber, but a death like state. Allow me to attend to her.” “Not on any conditions,” Luna stated flatly, and Corona’s eyes narrowed into sunfire slits. “I am superior in the healing arts, sister, and you know it. I can tend to her upon my ark and have her restored within a day.” “Or you’ll fly off with one of the Element Bearers and we may never see her again,” Trixie spoke up, bristling, “We’ve no reason to trust you.” Corona fixed Trixie with a look as if ready to reduce the stage magician to ashes on the spot, but Luna stepped between them, her own glacial gaze every inch the match for her sister’s fiery one. “You are more skilled in the area of healing magic, but this is no malady of the body. Ditzy Doo’s mind is wrapped in this glamour, and is a matter of thought and dream to unravel this web. That is my domain, Celestia, and you well know it. You shall not have the Bearer of Kindness, and if you think to take her, if you think the Elements disabled and powerless, know that I will fight to protect them from you.” “And she won’t be fighting alone,” Raindrops said, stamping a hoof, and soon those of Trixie’s friends who were conscious were lining up behind the Princess of the Night. Corona looked upon them with regal disdain, but after a second scoffed. “I did not come here to fight, and I gave my word to attend the Contest i peace. I shall not break my given word. I did not intend to break it. My offer to heal Ditzy Doo was genuine, siser. I am not a monster. I am Equestria’s rightful ruler, and she is one of my subjects. All of you are, even if you are too foolish and stubborn to realize it. Have it as you will, Luna, and attend her yourself, then.” With that, Corona teleported away, leaving Abbess Serene taking a deep breath and wiping her aged brow, “She is ever intense, is she not?” “My sister has always had a... forceful personality,” Luna said. “How are things outside?” asked Trixie, and the Abbess let out a long, heavy sigh. “People are confused and worried, which is hardly a surprise. But there is no panic or the like. All the audience saw was Ditzy Doo lying unconscious before you hurried her off, and Grimwald missing. I’m having my monks canvas the area, but I’m hardly surprised they have found nothing. If he was capable of slipping away so easily, he could be anywhere by now, including fleeing the island entirely.” “So what happens now?” asked Cheerilee, “Does the Contest continue?” Looks were exchanged all around, but the Abbess said in a soft voice, “If the ones seeking to bring harm to the island have seen fit to go this far, there’s no telling what else they may have planned. Canceling the Contest would weigh heavily upon the Order, but the safety of everyone on this island must come above all other concerns If need be-” “No,” said Trixie, and everypony gazed at her, although among them Luna wore less a surprised look and more an understanding one. Trixie glanced back at Dinky, still sitting worriedly on her back, and she gave the foal a comforting pat on the head and a wink before turning to look at the others in the room. “It's possible that halting the Contest is what these cretins want us to do. Or perhaps it is. But one thing I feel for certain is that if we halt the Contest, we will never catch who’s responsible for this. They’ll just crawl back into the shadows and wait for another opportunity to do whatever it is they’re trying to do on this island. And I don’t know about all of you, but I’m quite tired of their conspiratorial meddling. I say we continue the Contest of Champions, give it the finish it deserves, and catch the one behind Zecora’s vanishing and Grimwald’s attack on Ditzy, then make them answer for those crimes. Whatever they’re planning, we’ll stop it in its tracks, then provide a righteous flank kicking to each and every single one of those responsible for hurting Ditzy and threatening the Contest.” Her friends were all giving her stares by the end of her short speech, but all of them were approving, and Raindrops even cracked a small grin that lit up her features as she prodded Trixie with a wing. “Well look at you, and I thought getting righteously pissed off was my job around here.” Trixie flashed a pleased look, “Nothing says I can’t get my blood riled up when necessary. I might prefer subtly, but sometimes there really is no substitute for a proper flank kicking.” “Hear hear,” said Cheerilee, “Now if only we knew whose flanks we were supposed to be laying such posterior punishment upon we’d be golden, but we’re still pretty much in the dark, aren’t we? I mean, it isn’t exactly shocking news that Grimwald was up to something. That griffin was practically shooting off fireworks that spelled ‘I’m up to no good’ in the sky. Do we suspect anyone else right now?” “Sadly there’s been little headway in discovering evidence,” said Abbess Serene, “But I believe that finding Corona’s wayward zebra prophet is the key to this endeavor. There’s few places she could be kept hidden, and fewer by the day as my order’s monks and other forces such as those guards under Princess Luna are working tirelessly to search. If you wish to join that search, then once the Contest of Strength is concluded, and with Princess Luna’s permission, you may join our efforts in searched they... forbidden areas of the monastery.” It was impossible to miss the hesitance in the aged Abbess’ voice, nor the way she cast a furtive glance as Princess Luna, as if asking permission. “Wait, what forbidden areas, exactly?” asked Lyra with extreme curiosity painting her tone, and again the Abbess looked to Luna. After a contemplative moment where Luna’s face was exceedingly difficult to read, the alicorn gave the barest of nods, “You already know of there being areas of the monastery that are hidden from outsiders. There is good reason for this, as the Order of Legends has a purpose beyond what appears on its surface. Tomorrow the Abbess shall show you.” “Why not just tell us now?” asked Raindrops, unable to keep a faint cloud of suspicion out of her voice. Not that she had any distrust for the Princess, but the pegasus wasn’t fond of having information withheld. Princess Luna only gave Raindrops a patient look, her voice calm and reassuring. “It is better to see in this case, rather than merely be told. Besides, there is still a Contest to participate in. You would do well to maintain your focus on that for now.” “Fair enough,” Raindrops replied, not sounding wholly convinced, but accepting the answer for what it was. “Um, Princess, is it okay if I stay here?” asked Dinky suddenly, peering at her mother from around Trixie’s head, “I don’t want to leave mamma’s side until she wakes up. I won’t disturb you, right? I know magic takes a lot of concentration, but I promise to be quiet.” The fear and nervousness in the filly’s voice was evident as a foghorn, naked and undisguised. Trixie just wanted to nuzzle her apprentice and reassure the filly. Luna provided Dinky with a kindly smile, her voice soft as a brush of leaves. “Of course you may stay, little one. Your presence may even help ease your mother’s mind as I seek to free her from the realm of dreams. Do not fear, I give you my oath, as Princess of the Night, your mother will wake to hold you in her hooves again.” Dinky sniffed and nodded, clearly trying to hold back her tears and act more like an adult. Trixie just patted her on the head and helped Dinky down from her back to the filly could go to her mother’s side, crawling up to rest right next to Ditzy, curling up under one of her slumbering mother’s wings. Luna nodded in approval, and glanced at the rest of them. “I will be indisposed for some time. I won’t be able to leave Ditzy Doo until I unravel the magic upon her. Until then, keep yourselves safe, and be watchful.” “We will, Princess,” Trixie said with a bow of her head, her friends following suit. With that, the Abbess led them out of the chamber, Trixie only pausing once as the doors closed to look back at Ditzy’s sleeping form. She took a deep breath and adjusted her hat on her head, eyes burning with fresh determination. The Contest awaited, and after that... payback. ---------- “Why are you not wearing your hood?” one of the cloaked figures asked of the griffin relaxing against one of the massive stone pillars within the chamber Zecora remained trapped within. This griffin, seemingly unconcerned with much of anything since he’d arrived in the huge, cavernous room, merely yawned from where he lay with talons resting behind his head and turned a bored look towards the cloaked figure, the only other one present. “Figure there’s no point. I’ve implicated myself to get the job done, so once things are finished here, I’m either going to have to change identities, or otherwise vanish. ‘Grimwald’ is history. I wonder what name I ought to grab next? Tell me, does my face look more like a ‘Gregory’ or a ‘Guilian’ to you? Honest answers only, please.” “You’re quite at peace with abandoning your previous life. Did you not have a wife? Children you’ve sired?” “Oh, yes, and my wife has got to be absolutely furious with me right now, heheh!” the griffin laughed, and Zecora, laying in a feigned attempt at sleep, wondered if it was madness or regret she heard in that laugh. “She’d gut me alive if I went back now. I’m going to miss her, actually. The kids too. They say ‘never get attached’, but I can’t help it, I do enjoy being around interesting folk, and my wife... well, ex-wife now, was quite the firecracker. Going to take me awhile to find another like her. As for the kids, they’re taken care of. Payment in advance, going to suitable nest eggs for each of them. I’m a bastard, but I’m not a irresponsible bastard.” The cloaked figure was silent for a moment, then Zecora heard a mutter under her breath. It sounded vaguely familiar, and her ears twitched slightly. Had that been a tribal dialect? She couldn’t be sure. “Speak up, buddy, can’t hear you,” the griffin said, and the cloaked figure turned to leave. “It is nothing. I imagine you have motivations for your actions I can’t personally fathom, but that is the nature of things between those who are so different, is it not? I came to ensure you knew of your remaining orders, which is to guard our prisoner until our leader gives you other instructions. I must return before my absence is unduly noticed.” “Break a leg up there,” the griffin replied with a sharp little smile as the cloaked figure left the chamber, vanishing into the shadows. Once the figure was gone, the griffin turned towards Zecora. “Enjoying listening in?” Zecora paused, her breath halting, then realized that there was no point in pretending to be asleep any longer and sat up in her cage, eyeing the griffin cautiously. “I find little else at the moment that I can do, for surely I have no hope of escaping you.” A series of manic little snickers escaped the griffin as he rolled to his feet and prowled over to her cage, his eyes gleaming in the gloom of the cavern. “Yeah, sure, let’s pretend you’re not thinking of ways to get out of here every minute you’re stuck in that cage. Seriously I’d be happy if you tried, because it’d give me something to do. Now that my big scene is done with, I’m going to be stuck sitting here bored out of my skull until something goes wrong.” “You fear your plans may go awry? Then why do you even try?” “Is the rhyming thing something you have to do, or is it that you really just like having a personal schtick that messes with people? I mean,I can relate to that. Messing with people is one of my few joys in life, hence my profession as a meddler-for-hire, but what’s your deal, lady?” Zecora chose silence, staring at the griffin with narrowed eyes as she adopted a meditative posture. It was difficult with her broken leg, but she let the pain run through her, and closed her eyes to focus upon clearing her thoughts. “Oh come on, did I hit a nerve or something with the rhyming question? Well, if you prefer the silent treatment, I’m not going to bug you about it. I figure it's only a matter of time before one of the ‘good guys’ finds this spot, so I might as well catch up on some sleep until then. Or until the real show starts. Whichever comes first.” Good on his word, the griffin went back to his spot by one of the stone columns and plopped down as comfortably as if he were lounging on a pile of silk pillows. Though Zecora heard his breathing turn towards a rhythm of sleep, she somehow suspected he was as alert as ever to any noise or movement she might make. She had no idea what mischief this one had caused outside this chamber, but she doubted it, or any further plans his cloaked comrades had, boded well for anyone. ---------- The gentle ambiance of the crowd was somewhat subdued as Trixie and her friends cantered back to the coliseum. Abbess Serene was met with several monks near one of the coliseum entrances who whispered to her quietly before she gave a quick gesture and they hurried off. “Something amiss?” Trixie asked, then frowned and added, “As in, more amiss than what we’ve already had happen?” The Abbess turned to her with a smile akin to worn out parchment, a combination of dry amusement and tiredness showing in her eyes. “Merely the repercussions of this latest incident being gradually played out. Since it was a griffin champion who has done this to your friend, there has been some... conflict among the various nobles and monarchs here representing the Griffin Kingdoms. Grimwald’s wife has been taken for questioning, and there’s generally a great deal of tension between the remaining griffins who are on edge concerning what this incident means for their own standing in the Contest.” “Going to go out on a limb and say if the buzzard’s wife was still hanging around here, she probably had no idea what hubby was about to do,” said Cheerilee, “I mean, if she knew, she’d have flown the coop well before Grimwald had his match with Ditzy.” “Unless she’s trying to look innocent by not running away,” pointed out Lyra, but Carrot Top just shook her head at the bardess. “That’s probably overthinking it, Lyra.” The farmer turned worried eyes towards the Abbess, “How’s everyone else taking it? The other champions and guests?” “There’s understandable confusion, but as far as most know so far this was merely an isolated incident of a participant cheating and fleeing the scene of their crime,” the Abbess replied, “As of now I’m uncertain just how much more needs to be told, but I will consult with the Princess tomorrow and decide a course of action. For the moment, the Contest must resume.” Entering the archway that led to one of the many wide, carved tunnels through the coliseum stands, Trixie caught a glimpse down one of the offshoots of a dark form standing and looking her way. The tengu, Kenkuro, beckoned her with a wing and the group paused, the Abbess casting a concerned look back towards the tengu. “Deepest pardons, Abbess,” said Kenkuro, bobbing his black feathered head in a deep bow, “I beg a moment of Dame Lulamoon’s time. I shall not keep her long.” “No need for apologies, honored Kenkuro,” replied the Abbess with a wispy smile, “Dame Lulamoon is not an active participant in the Contest of Strength, so there’s no delay in her speaking with you. Indeed, I’m no one’s keeper, so aside from asking that Dame Raindrops and Dame Cheerilee be present at the tournament stage as soon as possible, all else are free to go about as pleases you. Excuse me.” Returning Kenkuro’s bow, the Abbess hurried off. Raindrops touched Trixie’s shoulder with a hoof, casting an uncertain look Kenkuro’s way as she whispered, “Want me to stay? Just in case?” “I’ll be quite alright,” Trixie said, “He’s shown himself to be trustworthy enough.” “If you say so,” Raindrops didn’t sound entirely comfortable with leaving Trixie alone, not that Trixie blamed her. With Ditzy in such straights, all of them were slightly rattled. Raindrops being a bit paranoid wasn’t without merit. Still, if Kenkuro had wanted to harm them, or had any connection to the conspiracy, he’d had earlier opportunities to act against them. Trixie trusted him, as much as she was willing to for the time being. With that Trixie let her friends go on ahead, Lyra and Carrot Top to return to the coliseum stands, Raindrops and Cheerilee to the side of the arena where they would join the remaining contestants in the tournament. Trixie was left with Kenkuro, her eyes keeping careful watch on the avian creature, her horn warmed up with an aura of magic underneath her magician's hat... just in case. “So, what did you want to see me about?” She noticed his head remained bowed from his earlier gesture to the Abbess, his voice smooth but somehow tight with a hint of regret. “First allow me to apologize to you and yours for what has happened to your friend.” “Whatever for? You’re not responsible.” Are you? She left that part unsaid. “Perhaps, but I am the Blade of Heaven, and while it is my duty to be both counsel and bodyguard to the Empress and her heir, it was still a failure of my skill in that area that I did not see the danger to Dame Doo until it was too late. My eyes must be becoming clouded by my age, and yet they remain keen and I held suspicions that the one called Grimwald was concealing dishonorable intentions. As I had warned you of the threat to this Contest, I suspected he was connected to it. Yet even watching him, knowing this... I still failed to act in time, and your friend has paid for that inaction. And so I offer my apologies, and swear repayment for this debt.” There was crystalline sincerity in his words, which a part of Trixie still thought it would be smart to doubt, yet at this point she had no reason beyond an innate paranoia to do so. That, and perhaps the fact that Grimwald had managed to hurt one of her friends on her watch had struck a nerve with Trixie, and hence she wasn’t eager to extend trust. But she just didn’t have a valid reason to doubt Kenkuro’s words. He’d been nothing but up front with her so far. She returned his bow with one of her own, although she dipped out of it quickly, trying to enforce a more casual note in her voice, “If you blame yourself, then you may as well blame all of us who were there and watching just as much as you were, and weren’t able to protect Ditzy. Grimwald is the coward to blame here, so please, raise your head.” Kenkuro did so, like a spring being unwound, and he made a sighing chirp of noise as he rested his wings behind his back. “Thank you, Dame Lulamoon. I can only hope your friend will recover from what was done to her.” “The Princess is on it. I have complete faith in her.” There was a hint of flashing thought in Kenkuro’s solid black eyes, and he took one wing to rub at his beak, “We still don’t know what our true enemy seeks to accomplish, yet it’s distressing that both your Elements of Harmony and Tsukihime have been taken out of play, however temporarily. It leaves the island vulnerable.” “You’re not the first to say as much,” Trixie admitted, “But since we don’t know where the bad guys are hiding, we’re stuck continuing on with the Contest like normal.” “Then a time for more drastic measures is upon us. As Tein Zhu wrote; ‘Only a fool ignores the silverpike eating his oar.’ I shall drop out of the Contest.” “Are you certain of that?” Trixie asked. “You’d be leaving Dao Ming alone to represent Shouma.” A crease of a smile appeared at the edge of Kenkuro’s beak, his voice warming, “She is growing very quickly these past few days. She shall do fine without this old bird perched upon her shoulder. It is more important that I am free to roam the island and spot any mischief I may. Besides, I had my duel with Nuru. That was all I really desired out of the Contest.” “The elderly zebra? How long have you two known each other?” “More years than I care to count. Our philosophies may differ, but he’s remained an honest friend and one of the few I have left. Him and Greysight.” “You did get around back in the day, didn’t you? A zebra, a minotaur, and a tengu. And I thought I had an eclectic collection of friends,” Trixie said, “I’d be interesting in hearing how the three of you met, someday.” “Assuming some horrible cataclysm doesn’t befall the island and kill us all, I’d be more than pleased to regale you with such tales over some fine tea, Dame Lulamoon,” Kenkura said, bowing once more, albeit in a swifter and less formal fashion, “But for now I suggest we go see what the rest of today’s Contest has in store.” ---------- Cheerilee was trotting besides Raindrops on her way to the champion’s benches when she caught sight of a familiar, burly form walking down the coliseum bleachers, waving towards her. “Catch up with you in a sec, Raindrops,” Cheerilee said, turning towards the minotaur trying to get her attention and hoping Iron Will would stop elbowing folk aside on his march down to the edge of the bleachers. He was a decent fellow, but still had a minotaur’s mindset when it came to personal space. Raindrops glanced at Iron Will, then at Cheerilee, nodding her head, “Don’t be long.” As Raindrops flew further on, Cheerilee moved up to the bleachers at a swift canter. The seating for the coliseum was a good six feet up from the ground level where the stage was, but Cheerilee had little trouble craning her neck to look up as Iron Will leaned over the stone railing. “Cheers,” he said, and she smiled up at him, although almost immediately she fell into a more subtle form of both reading and projecting body language. Iron Will was nervous. It was clear as written ink in he way he held his shoulders like a tense rock slab, and in the manner he had his head tilted enough so his horns were pointed down, a simple danger response. She responded with projecting confidence, ears perked, chin up, chest out. A signal of strength and not to be worried about anything. “Iron. Come to watch me flatten Steel Cage in the ring?” Good, she kept the fear out of her voice. Nice, smooth, and filled with casual confidence. She could see in the way Iron Will let out a long breath through his nose and eased up the whipcord tension in his shoulders that she’d had the right effect, relaxing him. “That’s the plan. Ol’ Iron Will just wanted to make sure you knew where to look in the stands to see me shouting away for you to win. Of course  most of that’s because I’d rather not lose my business and get dragged back home, but it’d also suck if Steel got the better of you out there.” “Ain’t happening. Steel Cage is about to learn to respect a teacher like me, because he’s going to get taken to school.” The hearty belly laugh from Iron Will did wonders to ease Cheerilee’s own tension. For all the smack talk, she knew what she was in for when she fought Steel Cage. Chances were, even in a best case scenario, it wasn’t going to be pretty. She had a plan, but wasn’t sure how well it’d pan out. Still, no reason to let Iron Will know about that. He needed to be put at ease, given what was at stake. Minotaur honor could be an odd thing, but however strange their ways might have seemed to outsiders, they took it with ironclad seriousness. If she lost to Steel Cage, he’d make good on his promise to drag Iron Will back to the minotaur lands, and for as much as a rebel as Iron Will was, he’d probably go without a fight at that point. The only way to prevent it was for Cheerilee to establish herself as the ‘alpha’ here. Nevermind that Steel Cage was, even by minotaur standards, a ludicrously strong physical specimen. Doubt would end the fight before it even started, however, if she let it take root. In a fight between minotaurs, attitude was everything. If one believed the theory of minotaur ego-driven magic, that concept could even be taken literally. Today, Cheerilee was going to put that to the test. Iron Will looked at her with a knowing light in his eyes, one that brought her back to when she’d traveled with him. They hadn’t even been together that long, back then, but he’d given her a whole new appreciation for what lay outside of Equestria and she knew she’d given him a taste of what the world had to offer beyond the rigid traditions of his homeland. They’d both helped each other become the people they were now. She’d be damned if she was going to let it go to waste now. “You’ll win, and when you do, I’ll make sure you get a cut of the profits off of all the ‘Champion Cheerilee’ merchandise i’m going to sell. I’m planning a whole line of action figures here.” “Make sure you get my cutie mark right,” Cheerilee said, turning back towards the arena with a wink. Back at the benches, which had a significantly thinned out number of champions present compared to when the Contest of Strength started, Cheerilee sat next to Raindrops. The pegasus gave her an odd look, glancing back to where Iron Will was grabbing a seat near the front. “Sooooo, how exactly are you planning to beat Muscles Maximus over there?” Raindrops asked in a low voice, tilting a head towards where Steel Cage was sitting a few benches down. The towering slab of minotaur muscle was pointedly ignoring those around him. His burly chest was thrust out in a confident display of projected uncaring, as if the proceedings were beneath his notice. Beside him, the other two minotaur champions that had lost their matches were keeping more of an eye on the other champions. Steel Cage spared a narrow eyed look towards Cheerilee before snorting and going back to observing the other champions. “The plan, Raindrops, is to hit him in the only place that I can actually hurt him,” Cheerilee said, smacking her hooves together, and Raindrops blanched. “I guess the rules don’t outlaw going below the belt, do they?” “Not what I meant,” Cheerilee said with a ghostly smirk, “Although that’s not the worst idea either. No, I’m talking about something else entirely. You’ll see when we fight. Assuming we fight. When are they going to announce this rounds matchups, anyway?” “Looks like they’re just getting started,” Raindrops said, pointing with a wing towards the arena stage, where Cheerilee could see Abbess Serene walking to the center of the stage. To Cheerilee's eyes the Abbess looked far more tired than she had in the first days of the Contest. Understandable, given the stress the Abbess must have been under from dealing with recent events. She did wonder just what it was the Abbess was going to show them tomorrow. Some sort of secret worth hiding within secret chambers beneath the monastery. It made Cheerilee’s tail twitch, thinking about it, pushing back a chill shudder. She and the girls had a rough track record with secret things and underground areas. Putting that from her mind, Cheerilee focused on the Abbess as the elderly pony cleared her throat, a sound that reverberated loudly with voice amplification magic as the Abbess spoke. “We apologize for the delay and wish to assure all of our guests here today that we are taking all precautions to ensure the safety of both guests and champions during the events of the Contest. Given the competitive nature of affairs, occasionally things can get a tad out of hoof. I have the assurance of Princess Luna that Dame Ditzy Doo is in stable condition and is expected to recover swiftly. For the moment the whereabouts of Mister Grimwald are unknown, so if anyone of our noble guests do see him about, please contact the nearest member of my order that you can. Now, with all that said, we shall continue the Contest of Strength. Many champions have shown us marvelous displays of physical courage and prowess today, and more is to come before a true victor emerges from among our remaining champions. Now, the matches of the third round shall begin.” As before, magical projects floated in phantom light across the air above the arena, displaying the faces of the champions in each participating match. There were certainly fewer faces up there now, only eight in total. This round of bouts would determine those going into the semi-final round, and while Cheerilee wasn’t all that competitive was mostly in this to teach Steel Cage a lesson, she couldn't’ deny feeling a few butterflies beating around in her stomach as she realized she and Raindrops has made it to the quarter finals in what was essentially a combat tournament with some of the world’s best. How in the world had that happened? She knew she was good in a fight, far more so than most ponies, and sure she and the gals had been pretty active this past year and the one before dealing with every manner of insanity that Corona and other forces had tossed their way. But to be doing this well, in a world-class tournament. Was it just luck, or had she and the other mares from Ponyville really gotten that good? Cheerilee was going with luck, honestly, but whatever the reasons were, as long as they lasted just a bit longer, that was all she cared about. Luck or skill, if it could just hold out for one more round... because she saw what she somehow instinctively knew she would see up there. Her face and Steel Cage’s, matched up together. This was it, she’d be settling things with him shortly. They were the third match in the round. First up was Gwendolyn, up against the only other griffin to get this far. Cheerilee noted with some interest it was one of the griffins from the team she and the girls had taken on in the Grand Melee. What was her name? Raquel? After that, Sigurd was up against one of Naqah's champions, and from what Cheerilee had seen so far of Sigurd’s fighting, she didn’t make much for the camel's chances, but anything was possible. Then finally after her bout with Steel Cage, however that would turn out, Raindrops had the dubious honor of going up against Dao Ming. “Ouch,” Cheerilee said, “I know my opponent’s bigger, but I’m more worried about yours. She beat Wodan, who I’m not going to lie, I kinda placed a bet was going to take the gold in this Contest. I’m out a lot of bits on that one, actually. But I mean, can you blame me, have you seen Wodan? I’m still not sure how Dao Ming beat him.” “Relax Cheerilee,” Raindrops said with a oddly serene laugh, stretching her wings, “I’m not worried about it. I’m just going to go in there and go for it, and we’ll see how it goes. You’re the one who’s got some kind of crazy minotaur honor duel going on this time around.” “Point taken,” Cheerilee replied, not sure if she should be relieved or somewhat worried by how generally chilled out Raindrops seemed after her fight with Tendaji. It wasn’t that Raindrops was acting like a totally different pony, but there was a whole load of tension that seemed to be off the pegasus mare’s shoulders, and a sort of ease to her smile that hadn’t been there before. Cheerilee decided it was a good change, and watched as the third round of the Contest of Strength began. ---------- It was hard for Gwendolyn to feel satisfied with her victories thus far. The air among her fellow griffins was souring by the moment, and in no small part due to her continued displays of martial prowess. Half of the griffin champions were whispering among themselves in respectful, if grumbling mutters, Gwendolyns esteem rising among those who couldn’t ignore her fighting ability and were impressed by it. The other half were filled with spiteful grumbles and cutting glares, incensed by being out done by a griffin who was so renowned to be in favor of the Border Kingdom’s growing need for freedom from the Inner Kingdoms. And of course, as griffins were wont to do, arguments were brewing between those two divided halves. She’d already seen at least one or two scuffles between arguing griffins, even among the audience members in the stands. Things were getting ugly, even if it hadn’t blown up yet enough for it to be noticed by the other races. Matter were Grimwald sure hadn’t helped, only adding to the tension. Gwendolyn didn’t know what to think about what Grimwald had done. He’d always been erratic in nature, but he’d clearly targeted Ditzy Doo with a plan in mind, and Gwendolyn couldn’t shake the notion that he’d been hired for the job by an outside force. Could King Gruber be involved? He already schemed to dispose of her soldiers back home, could he have further intentions beyond sparking the civil war Gwendolyn was hoping to avoid? Yet for all her swirling thoughts, she had to remain focused on what lay in front of her. Winning this Contest of Strength was her only route to gaining the prestige she’d need to call out Gruber and head off the disastrous storm that was brewing in the Griffin Kingdoms. If she didn’t pull this off, chances were the Kingdoms would be in open war with one another before the end of the week. Fortunately her fellow griffins hadn’t been much challenge so far. Most of the combatants from the Inner Kingdoms lacked the experience Gwendolyn had, and were here mostly for show. Although the griffin standing before her must have at least been somewhat competent to have made it through two rounds. Gwendolyn recognized her by her faded gray coat upon her lion’s body and the dusty tint of orange around her head crest of feathers. Raquel was the nominal leader of the Schwarzenstern, the Griffin Kingdom of Thuringia’s elite unit that guarded the capital. Gwendolyn had already taken some of Raquel’s measure in the Grand Melee, but wasn’t about to underestimate her here. Too much was riding on this for such childish mistakes. While Gwendolyn wore little more than her light flight leathers and gauntlets, Raquel was armored up in chain and wearing a black tabard with the symbol of Thuringia emblazoned upon it. The chainmail was not a common armor among griffins, given its weight, and Raquel wearing it was as much a statement of her physical strength and stamina as it was a matter of protection. She carried a short shafted halbert as her weapon of choice, managing the weapon with practiced ease if not expert skill. Gwendolyn avoided touching the hilt of her sword, determined to show no nervousness. The sword was still a warm presence at her side, however, an almost imperceptible hum seeming to buzz from it to Gwendolyn’s ears. She still didn’t really understand the sword’s magical properties, but she often felt like it was alive, somehow. “Ready to lose?” Raquel asked in a coy, probing tone. “Do I even need to dignify that with a real response?” Gwendolyn fired back. “Loosen up, I’m just joshing you,” Raquel said, her eyes narrowing as her voice took on a note of disgust, “You’re damn king approached me while everyone else was freaking out over the comatose pony. Wanted me to provoke you into a real duel.” Gwendolyn’s eyes widened for a moment, but quickly she forced her expression back to normal, “Did he now? What did you say?” “Screw that noise. I don’t need any political crap raining on my parade. Me and the girls have been nothing but getting our tailfeathers kicked this whole Contest. I’m not about to screw up the one chance we got at a good showing by letting this Inner and Outer Kingdoms nonsense get in the way. Figure if you’re the better griffin, you’ll win, and if you’re not, you’ll be eating dirt. Whatever you and your Red Shields do after that isn’t my business.” “Raquel, if things go wrong, and war breaks out, all of our countrygriffins will suffer for it.” Raquel just shrugged, “Maybe we could use a good war.” It was so clear to Gwendolyn that Raquel, like so many other young griffins of the Inner Kingdoms, just didn’t know what war really was. Things had been too peaceful for too long, and the knowledge just wasn’t there anymore. She shook her head with a saddened slowness. “There’s no such thing as a ‘good’ war. That’s why I’ve got to win this. So our people don’t have to learn that lesson all over again.” Raquel looked at her with a curious and, for a brief second, contemplative look. Then she just shrugged again and hefted her halbert. “Whatever. Let’s do this. Hey Abbess chick! Start the match already!” At the side of the stage, the Abbess Serne had been directing her monks towards the crafting of the stage’s shape for the fight. At Raquel’s shout, the Abbess glanced over at them with a tired but warm smile, “We’ve just finished preparations. You may begin as soon as the arena changes form.” That was a little different than how the Abbess had been announcing previous matches, but Gwendolyn soon understood why as Abbess Serene hopped off the stage and the monks standing at key points around the huge square of stone began the magical transformation of the arena. The faint rumble of stone through the whole stage was soon followed by the edges rising upwards into walls. More walls took form in a smaller square within the arena itself, and pointed towers of stone rose up in a tight cluster around a square rectangular base almost beneath Gwendolyn and Raquel’s feet. In short order a near exact replica of a Griffin Kingdom’s aerie castle wall and courtyard, complete with small inner keep, was replicated within the arena. It wasn’t to scale, but it was large enough that Gwendolyn and Raquel could easily stand on and fight along the rampart laden walls or fly around the keep towers. The Abbess couldn’t have been standing in the ring with them and had a means of getting out after the stage was reformed, so little wonder she’d remained on the sidelines this time. “Not bad,” Gwendolyn remarked, “Reminds me of the keep in Fairhaven-” She was interrupted by the speedy thrust of Raquel’s halbert, the other griffin spreading her wings and streaking towards Gwendolyn like a quarrel from a crossbow. Gwendolyn had been keeping an eye on Raquel, even as she’d been making her comment, and reacted in time to half-draw her sword and get its edge between her and the spear-point at the tip of Raquel’s halberd. She finished the draw, deflecting the halberd upwards and immediately stepped into a spinning slash, aiming to sever the halberd’s shaft the same way she’d cut her last opponent’s sword in half. Her blade was wickedly sharp, unnaturally so, and she knew full well how effective it could be will also being wise to how dangerous it was to use in a non-lethal competition. Fortunately Gwendolyn had excellent control and full confidence in her abilities. Raquel surprised her by stepping into the slash, rolling her whole body up and around with one strong beat of her wings. It was a stupidly risky move, as it put Raquel’s wings dangerously close to the path of Gwendolyn’s sword, but the blade misse while only taking off a few feathers. “I’m not going to just be a pushover for you!” Raquel said with a edged smile that reflected the steel of her halberd as she spun it and brought it down in a hefty overhead chop. Gwendolyn snapped into instant motion, rolling across the rampart of the wall and dropping towards the courtyard below, even as the halberd deflecting off the stone and sent small rock chips flying everywhere. Gwendolyn planted her sword in the wall as she fell, using it as a means to slow her descent and then swing herself upwards, wings spreading as she flew right back up, sword poised to strike. Raquel had come after her over the wall, only to find Gwendolyn flying straight back up at her, and let out a squawk of surprise as she flung herself back, narrowly avoiding the glinting path of Gwendolyn’s red tinted sword. The blade still cut through the stone ramparts with ease, sending chunks of it crashing to the ground below. Gwendolyn caught one of these stones, and with a spin to put her whole body into it, chucked it at Raquel. Raquel spun her halberd rapidly, deflecting the stone chunk, but that had just been a distraction. Gwendolyn came in hard and fast from above, her body flowing into a harsh and brutal combination of thrusts and slashes meant to do little more than batter down and destroy her opponent’s defenses. In this case, she imagined just cutting the halbert itself ot pieces, but was surprised once more as Raquel started falling back quickly, using her wings in short, swift hops across the wall as she continued to spin the halberd and block Gwendolyn’s strikes. Each clash brought a flash of green sparks and a shimmer of faint magic across the halberd. “Enchanted weapon?” Gwendolyn said, “Not standard issue for your group, I’d wager.” “Hey,” Raquel said, “Just because I told Gruber no about provoking you into a real duel, doesn’t mean I said no when he offered to give me an edge to help beat you in the ring.” “Do you even get that you’re just being used to get at me?” Gwendolyn asked as she changed up her direct assault to a more calculated set of thrusts, aiming to test Raquel’s guard. Gwendolyn could admit Raquel was better than she’d expected, but every second they exchanged blows she was seeing more and more elements of sloppiness in the other griffin’s fighting. Raquel was strong, naturally talented, and not unskilled, but there was a lack of real fighting instinct and edge that only comes from real experience. Gwendolyn knew she could win, once she wore Raquel down a bit. But the enchanted weapon bothered her. If King Gruber had tried getting Raquel to provoke a duel, it meant he feared her gaining influence through winning the Contest of Strength. He saw that she was winning over some of the other griffin champions, despite all of them being from the Inner Kingdoms and supposedly being poised to support a bid for control over the Border Kingdoms. There was no way Gruber was dumb enough to think just giving Raquel a magical weapon would stop Gwendolyn, so what was he really planning? The answer came sooner than Gwendolyn would have thought. She and Raquel had run out of wall and Raquel took to the air, throwing herself to the side and heading for the replica of the keep. Gwendolyn gave chase, and as Raquel spun around to face her the pair flew at each other, exchanging several blows in mid-air. The two would wheel about, weapons swinging, and the sword and halberd clashed in a rain of sparks. On the fourth such exchange of blows, Gwendolyn’s sword managed to strike the base where the halberd’s axe blade connected with the rest of the shaft. A gouge was cut in the metal and wood, but the moment that happened there was a surge of magical energy out of the halberd, crackling like arcs of emerald lightning. The energy coursed around Raquel, who gave a surprised and pained shout as she seized up in the air and started to fall out of the sky. At the same instant, Gwendolyn saw the energy surge from the magic halberd was growing rapidly out of control. She didn’t know for certain what was happening, but knew it wasn’t good, and that she didn’t have more than a few seconds to act. She rushed Raquel, catching her in mid-air, and then tore the halberd out of the seizuring griffin’s hands. That same energy surged into Gwendolyn, causing a wave of pain to boil through her. She clenched her beak against a scream and focused all of her might on just getting the halberd out of Raquel’s hands. As she did so the weapon was glowing bright green, like a blazing star, and Gwendolyn could feel it scalding her talons even as she hurled the halberd into one of the windows of the replica keep. She then flew away with Raquel in tow as fast as she could, rushing up to the courtyard wall and ramparts, taking cover just as the damaged magical halberd exploded. Emerald fire rushed out of the windows of the replica keep, scorching the stone and bursting from the windows in multiple trails of flame and released magical energy. Once it was done, smoke billowed out in steaming tendrils from the keep, some of the stone wall burned charcoal black. Had Gwendolyn and Raquel not gotten rid of the halberd as fast as they had, both of them likely would have been fried by the blast. For a few moments the pair didn’t do anything except carefully peer over the ramparts, catching their breath as the last of the smoke drifted upwards. The coliseum crowd had let out a collective gasp at the explosion, but had quieted down as Gwendolyn and Raquel stood up, brushing themselves off. “Okay, note to self; no more magic weapons,” Raquel grumbled, “Nobody said anything about them blowing up like that.” Gwendolyn clenched her beak, wanting to say that in all likelihood Gruber planned it that way, but she had nothing that could prove that accusation. Magical weapons weren’t always the most stable things, and when damaged, all sorts of problems could occur. Most of the time they generally just went inert, but some were known to explode or have other violent reactions. To anyone watching this would’ve just looked like a simple accident. Even if Gwendolyn said something, Gruber could just shrug and deny he had any prior knowledge to the halberd’s likelihood of exploding like that. He of course did know about her sword and it's unnatural sharpness, so it probably wouldn’t have been hard to predict what would happen if Gwendolyn fought with Raquel. Should have seen it coming, but at least neither of us were hurt. Damn you, Gruber, do you want war in the Griffin Kingdoms this badly? Realizing Raquel was looking at her, Gwendolyn said, “Well, you want to get another weapon or what?” “Pfft, what do I look like, a newborn chick asking for a ‘do over’ after failing her first flight test? Sucks my halberd blew up, but that’s nobody’s fault by my own for relying on it in the first place. Now, we finish this the way griffins are meant to, down and dirty.” Raquel flexed her talons, making it exceedingly clear she meant to finish the fight unarmed save for the weapons nature gave her. Gwendolyn couldn’t help but feel her respect for the Schwarzenstern captain go up a notch. She sheathed her blade and cracked her neck, flexing her own talons. Raquel frowned, “Wasn’t asking for a fair fight. Use your damn sword.” “If you want to give me orders, then you’d better beat me first. I fight how I feel like, and right now, I’m feeling mighty pugilistic.” “Tch, suit yourself.” ---------- Raindrops was no expert, but she was pretty sure that ariel suplexing your opponent through a keep’s roof, albiety a small not-to-scale keep, was still outside the Equestrian martial arts tournament regulations. Good thing this wasn’t an Equestrian martial arts tournament and the Contest of Strength had very loose rules of engagement. As Gwendolyn stood over her unconscious foe, the griffiness raised a talon in a signal of victory, but didn’t even wait for Abbess Serene to be done announcing the win before she carefully, with surprising gentleness, picked Raquel’s battered form up and carried her out of the arena. “You know, I think she fights almost as dirty as you do, Cheerilee,” Raindrops said. “Where do you think I learned to fight as dirty as I do?” Cheerilee replied, “Griffins don’t have a concept of ‘clean’ fighting. You either win, or you lose, and anything goes. I’m a little surprised Gwendolyn even decided to fight unarmed after the other griffin lost her weapon.” “Yeah, that was a close call...” Raindrops said, frowning and rubbing the chest of her starmetal armor, “Hope this stuff doesn’t have the same problem.” “The Princess is too skilled to enchant a weapon or armor that’ll blow up when damaged. I wouldn’t worry about it. Although...” Cheerilee now shared Raindrops frown, “Seems oddly coincidental another accident that could’ve wiped out another pair of champions just occured, even if it wasn’t nearly as overt as what Grimwald did to Ditzy.” “You think it was more shadowy shenanigans?” Cheerilee’s frown deepened, but then she shrugged, “No way to know for sure. Wouldn’t exactly leave me shocked if it was. I don’t think that griffin Gwendolyn took down had a spear like that earlier, so she must have gotten it from somewhere. Pretty coincidental it just blew up like that.” Raindrops wore a faint scowl, but took a calming breath and brushed it away like a dark cloud. “I can say now with neither unease or restraint that I eagerly look forward to pummeling whoever’s messing with the Contest into unconscious and readily jailable heaps.” “Right there with you, Raindrops, but for now let’s keep our aggression focused on our opponents,” Cheerilee said as the next combatants entered the arena. Sigurd walked at a slow, measured pace, his armor rattling with the various bone talisman hanging from it. The water deer’s face had an even darker and more dour cast to it than usual, lips curled down in a deep and grim expression that reminded Cheerilee of the way some of her students sometimes looked when they were facing an exam they forgot to study for. Sigurd’s small tuft of tail twitched erratically, as did his brow. What was distracting him so much? “What’s eating him?” Raindrops asked. Beside the two mares there was a thick, ground shaking thud as Wodan sat beside them. The moose’s face was also dour, albeit not as scowltastic as Sigurd’s. Wodan hung his head low enough to be at eye level with Cheerilee and Raindrops as he spoke in a low tone, his own attempt at a whisper that was hardly such. “Sigurd’s heart is heavy with worry over your friend, the honorable Dame Doo. I too feel no small amount of regret over the fate that has befallen her at the talons of that winged swine.” Cheerilee and Raindrops both looked at each other, then back at Wodan, Cheerilee saying, “I’m sure Ditzy will appreciate the concern, but it's not like its yours or Sigurd’s fault what happened.” “You speak true, yet Sigurd has grown fond of Dame Doo, and gifted her the shield she carried into battle. Knowing Sigurd as I do, he takes blame onto himself, thinking his ill luck cursed her to fall prey to the buzzard’s dishonorable strike.” “That’s ridiculous,” Raindrops said, and Wodan merely rolled his thick shoulders in a hefty shrug. “If it is such or not is only for Sigurd himself to decide, but I hope it does not cloud his mind in battle. Let us watch, and see how he fares. His foe is formidable in stature.” That much was true. Sigurd's opponent was another of Naquah's camel champions, Qal Min Hijr. Unlike the previous camel, who had possessed a cobra's sinuous, smooth grace, this camel was a boulder shaped hulk, nearly on par with Wodan's size. The camel carried no weapon, but his forelegs were clad in leather bracers, covered brass studs . As the pair squared off, Sigurd drew forth his bone carved sword, holding it in his mouth with practiced ease, yet even Cheerilee could tell his stance looked too stiff. The Abbess Serene proceeded to introduce the contestants and ensure both were ready. She then signaled for the arena’s change to commence, which soon revealed itself to be a stacked set of circular rises within the center of the stone stage. To Cheerilee it looked somewhat like a squat wedding cake made of polished stone, with the top portion still wide enough to hold Sigurd and Qal Min Hijr both. Soon enough the Abbess gave the signal for the match to start, and Qal wasted not even an instant before dropping down like a pro-hoofball player and shoulder charging Sigurd in a clear attempt to bowl the water deer clear out of the arena. As the freight train of Naquah muscle bore down on him, Sigurd’s shadowed expression didn’t change in the slightest. He hardly even blinked. He simply shifted to the side, while swinging his bone sword down at the ground beside him. A pale blue, luminous set of runes blazed across the sword, and when it impacted with the stage flore there was a burst of frost. Qal found himself charging right onto frozen stone, so slick with ice that the camel’s hooves all but flew out from under him and he went sailing over the side to bounce off of the tiers of stone one after another. Normally any magic that projected beyond oneself or one’s weapon wasn’t allowed in this portion of the Contest, but since the frost runes were a part of his sword and only froze what the blade struck, it didn’t count as a projectile attack. Hence it was perfectly legal, even if what Sigurd struck was the ground, and Qal just happened to slip on that ground after it was frozen. The camel narrowly avoided falling out of the arena, deftly halting his tumble at the last moment and tumbling to an upright stance with remarkable agility for someone of his bulk. Shaking stars from his eyes, Qal shot a angry snort up at Sigurd and then cracked his neck and proceeded to start jumping up the stone tiers towards the water deer with agility that belied his bulk. Sigurd leaped to meet him, sailing down with blade upraised and swinging. Qal, in a rather bold move, caught the blade between his brass studded bracers. Ignoring the frost runes freezing over the bracers, the Naquah champion let out a roar and swung both blade and Sigurd around, clearly attempting to throw his opponent out of the arena. Sigurd responded by letting go of his sword and letting himself drop to the ground at Qal's hooves. With no wasted movement Sigurd drew the shape of a rune over his chest and his whole body, armor and all, became clad in a swiftly grown armor of ice, complete with spiked gauntlets covering his fore legs. Rearing up on his hind legs, Sigurd lashed out with the gauntlets, hammering the camel in the chest with hefty blows. Qal, not quick at all to yield, held firm and returned Sigurd’s attacks blow for blow, his own partially frozen hooves smashing into Sigurd's face. They went back and forth that way for several minutes, ignoring defense and simply delivering blow after bruising blow upon one another. Before long, however it became apparent that as muscular and tough as Qal Min Hijr was, there was something simply different in the unrelenting resolve in Sigurd’s unending endurance. Or rather, to Cheerilee it seemed less like resolve, and more like self-punishment. If anything Sigurd looked as if he was taking far more damage than his camel opponent was in the exchange of hits, but the water deer just didn’t care about the pain as he soaked punch after punch from his burly foe. Despite the blood stemming from Sigurd’s bruised and battered face, it was Qal who was looking ever more worn out and sweat soaked. While Sigurd’s own attack were certainly causing Qal to flinch in pain, it was the disturbed and unease in the camel’s eyes that was sapping his resolve. Each punch came a little slower and weaker, until finally Qal’s concentration slipped and he made a misstep, one hoof coming down on empty air instead of on solid stone. He went teetering right off the edge, hitting the ground outside the arena, still looking disturbed as Sigurd stood over him from the arena’s edge, looking for all the world like a blood soaked wraith. The Abbess announced Sigurd as the winner of the match, while Qal, clearly shaken, accepted a hoof up form Wodan, who’d approached the stage. As the camel slumped back towards the stone benches, Wodan glanced at Sigurd, who had left the arena without so much as a slight shift in his dour expression. “Your face looks worse than the arse of a mountain troll, my friend.” To the jibe, Sigurd didn’t even blink, only started to walk past the moose, but Wodan held out a hoof. Sigurd glanced at him, and Wodan returned the look with hard eyes. “Ease your self-torment. Dame Doo’s condition is not your doing. Do not shame her by acting as if this punishment of yourself does her honor.” “...You are ever the loud mouth busybody, shoving your oversized muzzle where it is unwelcome,” Sigurd said, and Wodan laughed, though without much mirth. “I am Wodan. My mighty snout goes where it pleases, including my friend’s business when they are being a thick headed fool.” To this Sigurd was silent, then let out a single, blood snort, and continued to walk back to the stone benches where he took his seat. Wodan let out a bellowing sigh, and went back to where Raindrops and Cheerilee sat, his expression sour. “Stubborn bastard.” Cheerilee patted the moose’s leg, smiling in sympathy, “Everypony gets like that where friends are involved. Believe me, I know.” Wodan nodded in silent reply. Meanwhile Raindrops stood up, taking a deep breath and stretching out her legs and wings. “Well, looks like its me and the Shouma heiress up next. I get the feeling this isn’t going to take long.” “C’mon Raindrops, give yourself a little credit,” Cheerilee said while putting on an encouraging smile, “You’ve got her beat in the strength department.” “Yeah, but do you remember how quickly she picked us apart in the Grand Melee, when it was all six of us together? Not saying I’m not about to give it my all, but just saying I have a realistic expectations.” “Well I’ve got a realistic expectation that you can give her at least one good, solid smack for nearly frying us with a lightning spirit,” Cheerilee said, and Raindrops replied with a dry chuckle. “I think I can manage that much. Wish me luck.” ---------- Trixie was nervous as she watched Raindrops take flight and slowly wing over to the center of the arena, while Dao Ming walked up with dignified steps. It wasn’t that Trixie was worried about Raindrops losing, per se. Certainly she wanted her friends to get as far as they could in the Contest of Strength, but they’d already made it to the quarter finals, which was pretty good and would nab the Equestrian team plenty of points for the overall Contest even if Raindrops and Cheerilee both lost here. And if one of them got into the semi-finals, all the better. Win or lose, things were going well, Contest-wise, so Trixie was pleased in that department. The worry was more born of a growing knot of anxiety over the underlying threat to the Contest, which Trixie suspected actually had very little to do with the Contest. Whatever the enemy was up to, they’d targeted her friends, and it could easily happen again. Granted she sincerely doubted Dao Ming had anything to do with it, but that was besides the point. Trixie just wanted her friends to be safe, and it was looking like “safe” was not an option on this island any longer. Trixie’s eyes roved over the crowds around her, especially looking at the various nobles and guests of importance in the higher seating areas. Who among them might be involved? Could King Gruber be more than just a warmonger, which was bad enough already? What about Prince Frederick? He seemed so enamored with Carrot Top, but what if that was all an act? Could the delegates from Zaldia be involved? What about Naquah? Who would have something to gain from causing chaos on the island? Trixie’s eyes narrowed as she noticed the Shouma delegation. Empress Fu Ling was seated like an arrogant, jade statue, eyes boring down on her daughter down in the arena with great intensity. Trixie’s snout wrinkled in sour suspicion. Might the Shouma Empress be plotting something? Hm? Where are they going? Trixie wondered as she noticed two of the Empress’ adopted children. The red kirin, Tomoko, had whispered something into the ear of her dark furred brother, Lo Shang. Then both of them stood, bowing and saying something to the Empress before moving with measured steps out of the seating area and down a set of stairs into the lower coliseum. What was that about? The match between Raindrops and Dao Ming was starting, but Trixie suddenly had other things on her mind. With a careful glance around she looked to see if anypony was watching her. Carrot Top seemed engrossed with talking with Frederick, and all the other onlookers had their eyes glued on the fight in the arena. Taking her chances, Trixie quickly cloaked herself in an invisibility spell, then silently trotted off in pursuit of the two kirin. She deftly wound her way through the crowd, careful not to step on any hooves, tails, or other protrusions. Trixie sped up to a canter as she reached the steps that Tomoko and Lo Shang had taken and went down them two at a time. At the bottom of the stairs she paused to listen at an intersection of tunnel pathways, and heard faint voices from the left path. Going down the tunnel she reached the end that opened up along the side exterior of the coliseum and the voices became clearer. Peeking around the corner she saw Tomoko and Lo Shang standing in the tunnel entrance. They were speaking their native language, and Trixie swore under her breath for not having a charm or spell on hoof to translate. Lo Shang looked surprised and concerned over what Tomoko was saying, whose words were insistent and almost pleading. He shook his head, giving her a confused sounding reply. Tomoko closed her eyes and spoke slowly, pointedly. Trixie heard Dao Ming’s name being mentioned. Lo Shang laughed, although it was interrupted by Tomoko speaking in a sudden, serious tone that made him go silent. Then with a solemn nod, Lo Shang put a hoof on Tomoko’s shoulder and said something that seemed to put her at ease and she replied with a heartfelt thanks. Trixie didn’t know much of Shouma’s tongue but she did know what the words for “thank you” were, at least. Lo Shang’s face was far from the energy and boisterousness that Trixie had noted seemed usual for him, and instead he now wore a still and uncharacteristically serious look as he bowed his head to Tomoko. She shook her head, flicking one of his horns with a hoof before drawing him into a fast hug. They exchanged a few more quick words, then both started trotting back the way they’d come. Trixie flattened herself against the wall, making sure to keep her illusion stable as the pair of kirin walked past her. Once they were gone, Trixie let out a breath and slowly started cantering back as well, her mind churning over what she’d seen. Strictly speaking, that conversation could have been anything, but Trixie was skilled at reading ponies (or kirin) and mentally went over the body language, expressions, and tones of the exchange. Tomoko and Lo Shang had both been worried about something. Tomoko had likely asked Lo Shang to do something. Something involving Dao Ming? Dao Ming may well have been the topic of the conversation in some way, or at least related to it. Lo Shang hadn’t been reluctant so much as just taken aback and concerned, but had seemed to agree to whatever it was Tomoko had asked of him. Her gratitude hadn’t looked false, but quite genuine. So did that mean anything? For all Trixie knew Dao Ming had a birthday coming up that they were planning for, or something completely unrelated to the Contest. Blast it all, I could speculate all day on this and it wouldn’t do any good, but I’m going to make a point of keeping an eye on those two... Trixie thought as she returned to her seat. She waited until she was sure no one was looking her way before dropping her invisibility spell, letting out a sight as she did so. It’d only taken a couple of minutes to follow Tomoko and Lo Shang, but Trixie saw the match between Raindrops and Dao Ming was already underway. ---------- Raindrops kept to the air, for all the good it was doing her. She turned sideways and made a slow but powerful turn around and make another diving swoop at Dao Ming, who was standing with easy poise upon what was essentially a stone bridge no wider than half a hoofspan. The entire arena had been transformed into a series of such arching bridges, some wide, others narrow, all criss-crossing and building atop each other. Some had stairs, others had ramps, and the whole affair stretched up a good twenty feet. For a flyer like Raindrops it offered plenty of obstacles to flight, but also cover from her opponent, who’d also have to contend with uneven and at spots downright precarious footing. But Dao Ming was so unbelievably agile and balanced that she could sprint across the narrowest of the bridges without breaking stride, and even leap between them with the grace of a sparrow flitting between tree branches. Raindrops quickly found herself struggling to find openings to attack Dao Ming, the kirin’s slender blade seemingly always ready for a swift counterattack. Like now, as Raindrops dove in, Dao Ming readily flipped over the pegasus’ strike and flashed her sword out. Raindrops rolled in mid-air, taking a light cut. Her fore hooves hit the stone where Dao Ming had been standing, cracking the narrow bridge. Dao Ming landed from her flip and thrust towards Raindrops, almost too fast to see. With her forehooves still planted on the bridge, Raindrops pivoted her lower body like a spinning top and kicked out with her hind legs. One leg swept aside Dao Ming’s sword, while the other flew towards the kirin’s face. However Dao Ming ducked right under the blow and smoothly stepped into a strike of her own, turning her forward momentum into an elbow strike that caught Raindrops in the side. Raindrops didn’t lose her focus or cool as the blow sent her tumbling. She used her wings to control her fall and landed on all four hooves, immediately galloping back into the attack. Dao Ming awaited her, gold mane shimmering as she reared up to a hind-legged stance and her sword floated evenly at her side. For a few seconds Raindrops launched into a set of steady but strong kicks and fierce punches, using her wings to ward off Dao Ming’s sword with careful precision. Dao Ming bent and twisted like coils of jade mist, never letting Raindrops get more than a glancing hit. But that was fine by  Raindrops’ measure. Her attacks were simply meant to push Dao Ming back to the same point Raindrops had hit before when she’d made her dive. When Dao Ming’s hooves brushed over the already cracked stone, Raindrops ceased her attacks and instead focused a single hoof strike downward, letting out a loud shout as she brought the punch down with all her might. The stone bridge shattered, albeit only because it was already fairly thin and damaged to begin with. Raindrops flew up as Dao Ming was left falling down. However Dao Ming turned her fall into a controlled tumble, and used one hoof to catch herself on a lower and wider bridge. She flipped herself up onto the bridge just in time to receive another dive bomb from Raindrops. This time Dao Ming couldn’t dodge, but instead blocked the blow with her sword, bracing it with both her arms as Raindrops hit. The blow forced Dao Ming back, her hooves skidding across the bridge before she managed to plant them and hold Raindrops off.  “You seem to have grown stronger, Dame Raindrops,” Dao Ming commented, pushing back with her sword while throwing her body into a spinning kick that Raindrops couldn’t dodge, taking the blow on her chest. Dao Ming might not have looked all that physically strong, but with spirit chants she was boasting a lot more than her slight frame implied. Raindrops didn’t think she’d cracked any bones, but she certainly felt the impact as Dao Ming’s blow drove her several unsteady paces back. She regained her balance in time to leap aside as Dao Ming thrust her blade forward, the keen edge once more scoring a light cut on Raindrops, scoring her cheek. “You think so?” Raindrops said, jumping back off the bridge and using her wings to slam forward and create a whirlwind clap of air with one powerful stroke. The burst of air buffeted Dao Ming, but the kirin maintained her balance, using her sword as an anchor in the bridge. “You’re more focused, as if your spirit has settled a turbulence within itself. I’m glad. Dame Trixie may be the one I most wish to defeat, but it’s good to be challenged by any of you. Properly, this time, without me making foolish errors or showing disrespect.” “Not going to lie, I kind of still don’t like you for nearly frying my friends alive,” Raindrops said, circling Dao Ming in the air before choosing her moment and swooping in for a punishing axe kick. Dao Ming waited until the very last moment to move, stepping into Raindrops’ kicking arc and using her forehooves to catch the pegasus by the leg, spinning to turn Raindrops’ momentum into a powerful throw that sent Raindrops flipping end over end into another bridge. Raindrops gasped for breath, but recovered fast, planting her hind legs on the bridge behind her and using it to spring forward, diving right back in at Dao Ming. Or rather, at the bridge beneath her. Again Raindrops smashed herself into the narrow stone, shaking it. She didn’t break this bridge, as it was still mostly intact, and thicker than the previous one, but her hit made the whole thing shake like a small earthquake and Dao Ming stumbled. Raindrops seized upon this and flipped up onto the bridge, launching into a fast and fierce series of punches. Dao Ming was left off balance, but with a deep breath the kirin maintained her focus and let her body move on long practiced and honed motions of instinct. Her sword was left forgotten in the stone as Dao Ming met Raindrops hoof to hoof, her swift, sweeping motions like a crane in flight. These were in stark contrast to Raindrops iron hard, powerful blows, like watching heavy stones fall into a placid pool. Raindrops was good, none who watched her fight with Tendaji could deny that. Yet Dao Ming’s lifetime of training and practice, combined with supreme focus, was swiftly showing itself to still be the superior form. After a tense minute of hoof strikes flashing back and forth between them, Dao Ming managed to catch Raindrops’ outstretched hoof with her own and flip the mare in a firm body throw, planting her on the bridge. Dao Ming then flowed right on top of Raindrops, bringing a hoof down for a strike that stopped just a milometer from Raindrops’ face. “It is unfortunate we did not meet under better circumstances, Dame Raindrops. I would have liked having you as a training partner, all these years,” Dao Ming said. “Heh, really have lost the arrogant attitude, haven’t you? Now if only you could knock some sense into your mother,” Raindrops replied, holding up her hooves in a gesture of surrender. Dao Ming, coughing as her expression turned scandalized, offered Raindrops a hoof up, “You still speak very boldly, Dame Raindrops. My mother is still Empress. But, yes... perhaps one day I can speak with her on matters more clearly and honestly.” “Trust me, its usually for the best,” Raindrops said, just as the Abbess hoped onto the stage to announce the victor of the match. There was little to no sense of defeat about Raindrops, however, as she left the arena with Dao Ming. Instead the air between them was bright and amiable, as if they’d simply just finished a friendly sparring match, rather than a competition. Among a growing number of the watching champions there were nods of approval as well as chatter over they technique of both combatants. Then Cheerilee and Steel Cage were called to the stage, and almost as fast the amiable atmosphere shifted to one of quiet tension. Cheerilee’s eyes looked across the seated champions at Steel Cage as he stood up, and his eyes met hers with an intensity of striking thunder. For anyone paying attention it was clear; this next match would be anything but friendly. ---------- For Steel Cage the feelings of the audience in the stands was practically a physical thing. He didn’t buy into any foreign nonsense that minotaurs has magic built around their egos, but he couldn’t deny that being watched by a crowd was downright invigorating in a way few things could be. He was powerful and damn well knew it, right down to every bulging muscle and vein in his towering pillar of a body. He reveled in it as he stepped onto the stone stage. It was game time and this was his element. His body was his temple and his spotlight rolled into one, and he began telegraphing his presence the very second he was in the arena. He stomped his hooves with potent force, arresting attention as he swept his arms out, muscles throbbing, and let out a bellowing shot. “ARE YOU ALL READY FOR THE MAIN EVENT!?” Crowds were crowds, no matter the species. There were plenty of rousing shouts and stomping talons and hooves that rained down from an audience more than happy to see a spectacle, which was partially what it was all about to a minotaur. Never do anything unless you were going to do it big. It was more than just ego. It was how their race survived. The minotaur homeland was rich in metal ores, but poor in almost every other resource. Their bombastic ‘can do’ nature was matched only by their sense of cultural order. Every minotaur found their place in the Maze, and you damn well stuck with it. That’s why Steel Cage couldn’t understand Iron Will. Out of all the minotaurs Steel Cage knew, Iron Will had the potential to be one of the best Alphas the minotaur race could ask for, but he had chosen to spend his life away from his homeland traipsing about foreign countries and mingling with the other species. Why? Sure other creatures had stuff they were good at, but the minotaurs had never needed to rely on anything other than their own gusto to get things done. What did Iron Will see in the ponies and other, weaker species? He was either crazy, or was seeing something Steel Cage wasn’t. Gonna find out, one way or another, right here and now, he thought with ironclad resolve that he let ooze out of his every muscle and pore. Cheerilee had entered the arena as well and was walking straight towards him, and just the sight of her triggered all manner of flaring angers and deep rooted resentments in Steel Cage. First of all, it still galled him the way the mare acted. She strutted across the stage like she owned it. Her head held high, her shoulders forward, with a cocksure sway in her hips just bled with confidence and command. The pools of her eyes all but glowed with intensity, and to Steel Cage’s hidden chagrin she matched his bombastic entrance by rearing up on her hind legs, fore legs pumping into the air, and met his bellow with one of her own. “THE MAIN EVENT WHERE YOU’RE GOING DOWN, BROTHER!” Steel Cage could have turned nails to putty with how hard he grit his teeth. She even knew how to challenge like an Alpha. Even the use of the honorific ‘Brother’ was correct in the ritualistic challenges between minotaur Alphas, who regardless of gender, age, or actual blood relations, were all ‘Brothers’. She didn’t really have any pecs to flex, but damn if the mare didn’t have some muscles in those legs, which she showed off unabashedly. In answer, Steel Cage almost instinctively turned sideways and showed off his prodigious back and and muscles in a slow flex, turning his head to keep his glare fixed on her as he yelled, somewhat less loudly. “Oh is that right!? You think you’re ready to handle these twenty inch pythons running wild on you!?” Cheerilee’s teeth flashed in a madcap grin as she slammed her hooves down on the stone, “I’m not afraid of those noodles you’re passing off as mussels! I, Cheerilee, the Ultimate Mare, shall demonstrate to you the true meaning of paaaaaaain!” Steam shot out of Steel Cage’s nostrils as he took another thundering step forward, clenching his fists before him and then matching her hoof pound with a fist pound of his own, shaking the arena and cracking the stones beneath him. “You think you can’t teach me pain!? I’m the grand chef of pain, and by the end of this match you’re gonna smell exactly what Steel Cage is cookin’!” In response Cheerilee sucked in a deep breath through her snout in a loud, deriding snort, “All I smell, Steel Cage, is the scent of carnage that is about to be unleashed from me unto your pitiless soul! I, Steel Cage, am the true form of your destructor and the thing you most fear! Walk with me, Steel Cage, to the edge of disaster, so that the power of the Ultimate Mare can show you why I am champ, and you’re just the chump!” To most onlookers the displays might seem ridiculous, but up in the stands, Iron Will watched on with a growing sense of pride in Cheerilee. Fear, too, because he knew damn well how strong Steel Cage was, and he didn’t really like seeing the pony he liked and the friend he’d left behind fighting. But damn if Cheerilee didn’t know how to act an Alpha. She’d paid attention to everything he’d told her about minotaur culture, but she’d absorbed all she’d needed to know about the body language too. Still, talking the talk was one thing. Walking it quite another. For Steel Cage, he was incensed as he was confused. This pony really knew how to rile him up. He was at the point he almost respected her, but now that the gauntness was truly well thrown down, he had no choice but to crush her. With a polite cough, the Abbess Serene, who’d just been standing there watching the two yell and flex at each other, said, “Can I take it you’re both ready to begin?’ The fierce nods from both minotaur and pony was answer enough for the Abbess, and she raised her own hoof in signal to her monks. The stage rumbled and shook as it was magically altered to a new form; a surprisingly simple one. A ten meter wide square rose with Steel Cage and Cheerilee on it. Four stone posts rose from the corners of this raised square, then extended rails between them. Cheerilee looked at it, then glanced at the Abbess, who smiled and nodded. “It seemed appropriate. Now, let the match... begin!” Hooves as inexorable as a locomotive, Steel Cage thundered forward in a headlong charge, his curved horns aimed squarely at Cheerilee. She waited until the last possible moment to roll under and to the side, using her hind legs to grip and trip his left leg. Only Steel Cage jumped her attempt to trip him and with expert control of his bulk he turned and skidded into the thick stone railing of the ring. It wasn’t the ropes of a proper wrestling ring, so he couldn’t bounce off them, but he used the stone railing to brace and propel himself right back at Cheerilee. She spun to her hooves, but got caught by his thick, ham-haunch of a fist and was hoisted into the air. “You talking ‘bout pain!? Here’s my patented Power Pain Slam!” Cheerilee was whipped around like a rubber chicken and then thrown straight down. She rolled with the impact as best she could, but her senses burst with pain and stars filled her vision. She didn’t dare cease moving, however, rolling away in tie to avoid a hoof stomp from Steel Cage and she was up in an instant. He looked shocked she’d taken the hit so well, and she took advantage of that with a wicked smile as she snaked between his legs and got behind him, fast as a viper. This time she caught him by surprise as she sprang up the stone railing and then launched off it to hit him in the back of the head with a drop kick that left him sprawling into the center of the ring. Cheerilee didn’t let the pressure up, rushing him as he pushed himself upward, and launched herself bodily at him. She wrapped her hooves around Steel Cage’s head and used her body leverage to slam his face back to the floor. Landing, Cheerilee cracked her neck and said, “And that was my Magenta Missile Combo! You wanna put me down, you’d better bring it ten times harder!” “Ask, and you shall receive!” Steel Cage surged up like a leviathan from the depths, veins throbbing on his forehead as he lashed out with a punishing hand chop. At his size, with those meaty hands backed by a lumberyard’s worth of muscel in his arms, each blow was like a dozen sledgehammers. Cheerilee danced away from the blow, letting the poor stone beneath her take the damage instead. Steel Cage pursued, a titan of strength smashing after her swift, darting motions. Cheerilee came in and hammered at his knees, much easier to reach than his face. He took the blows, but teetered under them. But he smiled savagely as he managed to get a grip on her, and Cheerilee was lifted up once more, flipped around so that both Steel Cages arms held her barrel and poised her over his head. The suplex rattled her like an earthquake. Coughing, she rolled over and pushed herself up. Steel Cage’s hands were already grasping for her for another grapple, but this time she rolled under it and spotted an opening. Rolling and tucking her shoulder into a weak point at his hip, she gripped his overreaching arm and heaved with all her might. Shockingly, the tiny mare managed to do a full shoulder throw of the massive minotaur, slamming Steel Cage to the arena floor. Momentarily stunned, Steel Cage groaned, and Cheerilee rushed to one of the side posts and scrambled up to the top. As Steel Cage stood, shaking his head, Cheerilee launched herself from the top pillar, elbow extended. Her aim was true, but Steel Cage was a veteran of battles exactly like this, and his instincts kicked in with animal ferocity. He spun, catching Cheerilee by the throat in mid-air. She coughed and sputtered, held up like a doll under a crushing grip from Steel Cage’s iron hard fingers. She knew exactly what was coming if she didn’t do something, so desperately swung her hindquarters up and locked her hind legs around Steel Cage’s arm. “Humph, what do you think you’re doin-” Steel Cage began to ack, but then, properly braced, Cheerilee proceeded to kick him in the face. “Ow! Hey! Stop that-” Another kick to the face left Steel Cage with a face red, both with fury and initial bruising. Ignoring another punishing kick from Cheerilee, he raised her high and then jumped up himself, shouting, “This is over! It’s time for the Meteor Choke Slam!” He came down like the proverbial meteor he named the move after, bringing Cheerilee down with all of his strength and weight behind the choke slam. The whole arena shook with the impact, and as Steel Cage stood, Cheerilee was left laying on her back, seemingly unmoving. Steel Cage went to one of the corner pillars and climbed up, facing out to the crowd and throwing his fists into the air as he roared, “THAT’S HOW A REAL ALPHA DOES IT!” A combination of gasps of cheers rained down from the watching audience, and among Cheerilee’s friends reactions ran the gamut form Trixie practically frothing at the mouth and swearing profusely in Neigh Orleans, to Carrot Top gulping and unconsciously holding Frederick next to her, to Lyra shouting Cheerliee’s name at the top of her lungs, while Raindrops watched on with a keen and measuring eye, hooves crossed. Then Cheerilee stirred, and the crowd gasped, causing Steel Cage to turn around with disbelieving eyes as the little magenta mare who was a third his size managed to get up. She was bleeding, face sporting a small river of red from her scalp, but she was standing, and spat to the side, smiling. “Where’re you going, ‘champ’? The Ultimate Mare ain’t done with you, yet, so get your flabby butt back into this ring!” The provocation did exactly what Cheerilee wanted it to do. The choke slam had hurt a lot more than she was letting on, and she was both dizzy and was pretty sure her back was going to be one giant, purple bruise by tomorrow. But she wasn’t out yet, and her defiance got Steel Cage’s anger boiling hotter than ever before. Which was good, because angry and dumb tended to go hoof in hoof. He leaped from the stone pillar, a huge boulder of muscle descending towards Cheerilee and blotting out the sun above with his bulk. Too bad Cheerilee could still move pretty fast, even injured. She darted from beneath his body slam, and Steel Cage hit the floor hard. As he grunted and rose back up, Cheerilee was on him from behind. She wrapped her hind legs around the back of his neck, anchoring herself, and proceeded to start pummeling his head with a rain of punches, one after another. Hardly a ‘professional’ wrestling move, but this wasn’t a real wrestling match, despite appearances. Cheerilee was done posturing. Time to fight dirty. Steel Cage bellowed and bucked around like the proverbial bull, trying to throw Cheerilee off. She held on even tighter with her hind legs, choking Steel Cage at the same time her hooves fell with hammer blows on his thick skull. He wheeled around until he was in the opposite corner of the ring he’d jumped from a moment earlier, and slammed the back of his head into the stone pillar. It hurt him more than it hurt Cheerilee, because she deftly rolled over his head and dropped down as he slammed his head back. Stunning himself, Steel Cage was left blinking, and looked down in time to see Cheerilee had braced her front legs and was grinning back at him with malicious glee as her hing legs tensed to strike, aimed right for Steel Cage’s groin. “You wouldn’t dare...” he breathed. She dared. She dared with enough force to shatter stone. Simultaneously every single male creature in the audience, regardless of species, proceeded to wince or cringe at the sight beheld in the ring. Cheerilee trotted away form Steel Cage, mostly to give the titanic minotaur room to fall. He didn’t even clutch at his groin, instead making a rather accurate impression of an off kilter marble statue with a face frozen in mute agony. Inch by inch he teetered over, making a sound akin to a falling pine tree as his over five hundred pounds of muscle crashed to the ring floor. Dusting her hooves off, Cheerilee was about to hop up onto the side rails and wave to the crowd, but she heard a collective gasp from the audience and heard a rumbling grunt behind her. Quite disbelieving, Cheerilee turned around to find Steel Cage stubbornly trying to rise, his face flushed to cherry red. Dropping all pretense, Cheerilee whispered, “I’ll give you credit, you’re just as stubborn as Iron Will is...” “No champ, ugh... is going down from... a cheap shot like that.” Cheerilee nodded in acknowledgment of that, then proceeded to break into a full on gallop at Steel Cage, just as he was getting his legs under him. She caught him with a flying clothesline that snapped his head back, but the minotaur champ took the blow in stride and retaliated by grabbed one of her hind legs and flinging her into the nearest ring corner. Steel Cage got up, but clearly limped due to his sore groin, and gingerly approached the dazed mare. He slammed her with a chopping strike, right in the stomach, causing Cheerilee to lose her breath and sag even more into the corner as he pulled his fist back for another punch, kissing his knuckles before hammering it down at her. Cheerilee, whether by accident or instinct, ducked down, and Steel Cage’s fist hammered the stone pillar in the corner instead, cracking it through the middle. She rolled forward, gripping the back of his legs and heaving forward. Steel Cage tripped backwards, flipped into his back by Cheerilee’s roll. She then slithered out and around him, wrapping his right arm in a tight lock and pulled back. Steel Cage grunted in pain from the arm bar, twisting around to try and dislodge Cheerilee, who doggedly held on. “Give it up,” Cheerilee said through bloodied teeth, “I’ll break the arm if you don’t.” “Not... happening!” “Does the idea of Iron Will being free to make his own choices make you that angry?” she asked, increasing the pressure on the minotaur’s arm, bending it further and further towards the breaking point. With a feral roar, Steel Cage rolled his whole body over, dragging Cheerilee along for the ride, and smacked her into the ground like she was a bug clinging to his limb. Having lost her leverage, Cheerilee let go of his arm, her head swimming from all the hits she’d taken so far. She still managed to stand, facing Steel Cage directly as he tried to use his injured arm to prop himself up. With zero subtly or artistry to it, Cheerilee cocked a hoof back and decked Steel Cage across the face. “Answer the question! Why do you want to shatter Iron Will’s dreams by dragging him back to your homeland? That’s not what friends do!” Steel Cage took her punch unflinchingly, and with an equal lack of subtly or grace he used his remaining good arm to swing back and deliver a hefty punch to Cheerilee, splitting her lip and causing blood to fly. “What do you know about it!? Iron Will belongs back home, doing his part for all minotaurs! Instead he’s abandoning us to hang out with the likes of you!” Cheerilee spat blood for her mouth and her hoof crashed back into Steel Cage’s face, bloodying his snout and dislodging a tooth. “What do you think he’s dong wandering around other countries for you idiot!? He’s making life better for the minotaurs by establishing connections to the other races! He’s all about helping his kin! He never abandoned anything in his life!” Steel Cage’s own blood dripped to the stone ring as he thrust a powerful uppercut to Cheerilee’s chin, lifting her off the ground with the force of it, “He abandoned me! He deserved to be an Alpha! He could’ve been Champ! He tossed all that aside, and for what, to swap spit with a pony and play at being some half-assed salesman!?” Cheerilee landed on her hooves, blood coating her eyes, but they remained no less fierce, even feverish as she got right up in Steel Cage’s face and headbutted him, loud enough that the crack of it could be heard clearly from the stands. Both her and Steel Cage swayed like drunks from the blow, but Cheerilee still muttered, “Half-assed? Iron Will uses his whole ass, for everything he does. If you got out of his way and just let the man work then you’d see he’s all the Alpha he could be, he’s just doing it in a way that’s new. Different.” “We minotaurs don’t need different. We need strong!” Steel Cage said, huffing and puffing as he reached out and grappled with Cheerilee. He’d used up so much energy at this point he couldn’t easily pick her up anymore, and Cheerilee met his grapple with her own flagged, but still enduring earth pony strength. “Can’t you see that those two things aren’t mutually exclusive!? Strength can come from anywhere! From anyone! Iron Will’s stronger than you think, and I’m going to prove it to you if it damn well kills me! Grrrrraaaaaah!” The mountain of mintoaur muscles contended and strained with the unyielding magenta mare, the two locked hoof and arm together as they strained against one another in a deadlock grapple. Steel Cage’s size should have given him an advantage, but all that muscles also drained endurance fast, and this fight had gone on longer than most that Steel Cage was used to. On top of that, whether he knew it or not, Cheerilee’s words were hammering at his psyche. Doubt swirled within like a dank cloud, and that, more than anything else, sapped the minotaur’s usually indomitable power. Then Steel Cage happened to look towards the stands. His eyes caught sight of a familiar face, Iron Will’s expression as he watched from among the roaring crowd one of stoic pain and anguish. Iron Will was watching two of his closest friends beat each other to bloody pulps, and it was clearly tearing the minotaur up inside. Yet even then, he cupped his hands and shouted a cheer, Cheerilee’s name echoing over the din of the crowd. So that was it then. Steel Cage had somehow felt, deep in his gut, if he’d just beaten this damned stubborn pony into the ground, it’d force Iron Will to see the truth, that there was no strength outside of minotaur lands worth noting, let alone leaving one’s homeland for. But Cheerilee still fought on, and Iron Will’s cheers were for her, and her alone. Ego was a source of power for minotaurs, whether they knew it or not, and Steel Cage’s ego was deflated in that moment of revelation, his strength fading like air from a popped balloon. Cheerilee won the grapple, surging up and performing the incredible feat of lifting the massive mintoaur upward, performing a classic body slam that rocked the entire arena. She stood over the fallen Steel Cage, bruised and bloodied, barely able to see straight as sweat dripped from her. She was utterly spent as well, and it took every ounce of willpower she could muster to remain conscious and upright. Seconds ticked by, and Steel Cage remained on the ground, still breathing, but otherwise barely moving. With soft steps, Abbess Serene entered the ring and examined Steel Cage. After a few more seconds to confirm the minotaur wasn’t going to make with a sudden, second-wind, the Abbess approached Cheerilee and gingerly let the mare lean against her as she raised Cheerilee’s hoof.” “The winner of the third match, second round of the Contest of Strength... Dame Cheerilee, of Equestria!” Silence dominated the arena for all of the few moments it took the crowd to overcome its stunned state, then they positively erupted in an explosive burst of stomps, cheers, and whoops. Cheerilee herself only felt it as a faint vibration past the pounding in her own skull and the overwhelming aches in her body. She felt the Abbess gently lower her leg and pat her shoulder. “Easy, child. We’ll see you are tended to alongside your opponent. I’ll admit I was somewhat concerned there for a moment the two of you were pushing things too far, even for the Contest.” Even in her dazed, half conscious state, Cheerilee managed to say, “No...no offense Abbes but this... was never about the Contest. Not between me and him.” “Yes, that did seem somewhat personal at the end,” Abbess Serene said as she allowed two more monks to enter the ring to support Cheerilee while she went to check on Steel Cage. The minotaur champion was groaning now, his eyes cracking open as he recovered his senses. He sat up with the look of a drained man. As Cheerilee teetered between two monks supporting her, she watched Steel Cage stand up in a wooden, stiff pose. His wounds weren’t actually all that extensive. Despite her best efforts, the hardest hit she’d gotten in had been on his groin, and honestly that had felt like striking a pair of sandbags more than anything else. His face bore bruises and a bloodied nose, but otherwise their fight had left him more scuffed than injured. Compared to Cheerilee, who felt like her magenta coat was going to turn as purple as Twilight Sparkle’s from bruising alone by the time the sun set. So why had he stayed down so long that it’d cost him the match? The answer was plain in his eyes as he looked over at Cheerilee, ignoring the Abbess checking his injuries, ignoring the crowd still making noise all around them. His expression wasn’t quite hollow, but it was void of his usual bravado. In its place was doubt, confusion, and painful reflection. Cheerilee couldn’t have beaten a minotaur such as Steel Cage with martial prowess. She was good, but not that good. But the fight had never been about strength of muscle. Strength of conviction, and which one of them would lose that conviction first, determined the winner here. Cheerilee didn’t have the energy left to say anything, and Steel Cage didn’t give her time to anyway. He simply gathered what little of his pride he could and strode silently from the arena, all the while looking like a man who no longer knew what he thought he knew. ---------- “What do you mean you’re not going to fight in the semi-finals?” Lyra asked, throwing a hoof out, “You kicked that minotaur’s butt all over the place!” Cheerilee, now making an excellent rendition of a mummy with the bandages and casts covering her, just give Lyra an arched eyebrow. That movement alone caused her to wince in pain, “Look, I don’t care how awesome the monk’s healing magic is, I’m spending the rest of today, and tomorrow for that matter, parking my keister somewhere soft and plush and letting hot young monks serve me grapes and wine. I think I’ve earned some downtime.” “It is Dame Cheerilee’s right to forfeit her remaining matches if she so wishes,” Abbess Serene said as she oversaw Cheerilee’s treatment in one of the many resting chambers inside the coliseum. “While it is possible our arts could restore her to fighting condition, I will admit she took a remarkable amount of punishment in facing Steel Cage. I cannot fault her wish to recuperate after such an ordeal. Sadly, there’s no time to delay the matches of the Contest, so if she chooses to forfeit, we shall continue as planned.” Lyra let out a soft groan, but nodded, “Sucks, but I guess it can’t be helped.” “Agreed,” said Trixie, “As much as I want to win this Contest, I’d rather my friends’ health come first. Things are already shaky with Ditzy. I don’t want Cheerilee in a coma either.” “Yeah, I’m all about staying conscious,” Cheerilee said, “Have to watch you ace the Contest of Wits and Magic, after all. Besides, I did what I came to do.” “So your pal Iron Will is going to be okay now?” Carrot Top inquired carefully, “You had some sort of challenge going on with that Steel Cage guy, right?” “The deal was I beat him in the Contest, he gives up on trying to get Iron Will to return to the minotaur homeland,” Cheerilee confirmed, settling back in the bed she was laying on, a rough sigh escaping her, “Here’s to hoping Steel Cage sticks to his word on that.” “He will.” Eyes turned to see Iron Will stepping into the room, closing the door behind him. He adjusted his tie with a nervous look about the room, and said, “Um, ladies, mind if me and Cheers have a chit-chat alone?” Looks were exchanged, and Trixie gave a firm nod, “By all means. Let’s give them some space, shall we?” The other ponies, the Abbess included, left the room and Cheerilee looked at Iron Will with a faint half-grin on her face, “What’s with the sad look, Iron? Don’t tell me this is the part where you tell me you secretly were planning to return home this whole time and I just got my body tenderized like a particularly sexy side of beef for nothing?” Iron Will let out a laughing snort, shaking his head as he came up next to her bed, sitting down on a stool next to it and putting his hands on his knees. “Nah, nothing like that. Glad you got Steel Cage off my back. He doesn’t see it now, but Iron Will here’s got big plans to make the homeland a better place for all minotaurs to live in, but it’s gonna take time, sweat, dedication, a rockin’ business model, and some serious travel time. Maybe after the smack down you gave him, he’ll be able to pry some openness into that thick head of his.” “So why do you look like you swallowed one of your goat stage hooves?” she asked, and Iron Will just looked her over, gesturing at the casts. “Never wanted you getting hurt over me, Cheers. Maze alive, didn’t want Steel Cage and you fighting at all. Makes me realize that, good as my intentions are, it’s gonna be a long and tough road ahead, making changes back home. Steel Cage ain’t the only one who doesn’t think much of the other races, he’s just one of the loudest.” Cheerilee waved  a hoof. Or tried to. The cast made it somewhat difficult to move. “Pssh, I can deal with pain. And you can deal with tough roads. I don’t think I’ve seen the setback that’ll keep you down for long, Iron Will. I bet even if I’d lost the match, you’d still have found a way to make your dreams work, even with Steel Cage breathing down your neck.” A warm chuckle rumbled deep in Iron Will’s chest, “You sure do know how to pump up a fella’s ego. Beautiful, strong, and can brighten up anybody’s day. How in the Ten Holy Labyrinths ain’t you married, yet?” Cheerilee laughed, but only for a short bit. It hurt to laugh. “Guess I scare all my prospects off with my stunning array of good qualities. That or I come on too strong.” “Iron Will can attest to that.” “Hey!” “Didn’t say I disliked that about you. One of the reasons I hooked up with you, back in the day. What, too many guy ponies got issues with a gal who knows what she wants?” “Beats me,” Cheerilee said, then shook her head, “Okay, that’s enough talk about my depressing lack of love life. Did you come just to cheer me up, kiss all my wounds better? Because I’d be fine with that, honestly, but you look like you had something else on your mind.” “Heh, well other than making sure you hadn’t been given a concussion by Steel Cage’s choke slam, I wanted to let you know that now that this whole business between you and him is out of the way, I was going to offer my help.” “Help? With what?” He gave her a seriously look, “I ain’t blind, Cheers. I can tell something’s going on that’s got nothing do do with the Contest. First that zebra goes missing. Then your pal Ditzy get’s hurt and the griffin she was fighting vanishes. Something’s up. I can smell it. Heck, when I told you about those hidden chambers in the lower levels of the monastery, you clearly got spooked. So whatever’s going down, count me in. You need extra eyes and ears about, I’m it. You  need extra muscles if something goes down, Iron Will is there.” She paused for a moment, starring at him. His return look was dead serious. A second longer, and Cheerilee’s face split in a wide smile. “You’re so incredibly sappy, you know that? Can’t say I know what’s going to happen, but if there’s anything I or the other girls can think of that you can help with, you can bet I’ll call on you.” ---------- It was with a hint of disappointment that Dao Ming accepted that the semi-final match that would have been hers to face off against Dame Cheerilee was not to be. She’d been impressed with Raindrops’ skill and talent, and had been eager to see if Cheerilee’s less orthodox combat tactics would prove challenging. Her match with Steel Cage had certainly been... flashy, and quite the brutal display of endurance on both party’s counts. While Dao Ming was confident she would have bested the earth pony, it still felt cheap to simply proceed to the final round without having faced her. Then again, Dao Ming couldn’t much blame Cheerilee for it. Healing magic or not, it wouldn’t be a swift recovery from injuries such as Steel Cage had meted out. Strange that the minotaur had simply left the arena altogether after his match. Most champions remained to watch the rest of the Contest, but he and his two minotaur cohorts had left without a trace. Then again, the female mintoaur, Greysight, remained, even if she wasn’t an active participant for this stage of the Contest. Dao Ming saw the female minotaur quietly conferring with Kenkuro and Nuru about something, far from the other champions. She raised a curious eyebrow at that, but her attention was drawn back to the arena, where the first and only semi-final match was underway. Sigurd and Gwendolyn were facing off across a pit of sand. The arena had become like one large sandbox, the stone converted to fine grains by the monk’s runecraft, and simulating a field of small desert dunes. It was a truly difficult plain of terrain to fight upon, one’s hoofing constantly in danger of slipping upon the artificial sand. Gwendolyn was seemingly at an advantage due to her ability to fly, by Sigurd was hardly letting the sand slow him down and was taking advantage of it by flinging sheets of sand into the air anytime Gwendolyn tried to dive in from overhead, leaving her coughing and sputtering. Soon enough Gwendolyn abandoned striking from the air, and faced the water deer evenly on the ground, matching her fine reddish hued blade of steel with his slightly longer, jagged blade of bone. Sigurd’s devil-may-care fighting style from his match with Qal Min Hijr was still present, the sour faced cervid lacking any semblance of defense as he brutally pressed Gwendolyn with swift, punishing fury. His all out offensive put Gwendolyn on complete guard, forced to give ground while fending off Sigurd’s frost-rimed sword with stalwart parries. As she scrambled backwards down one short sand dune, Gwendolyn used some of Sigurd’s tactics against him, furiously beating her wings to stir up the sand around them. Sigurd ignored it, pressing his attack blindly, and Gwendolyn danced back from his searching blade, continuing to beat her wings until a miniature sand storm had been kicked up. The sand made it nearly impossible for the onlookers to make out what was happening as Gwendolyn dived back in at Sigurd. All anyone could see were blurred shapes in the swirling sand. The clash of blades continued to ring out, a rising and falling staccato that echoed out from the concealing wall of sand. As the sand storm started to dissipate, the ring of blade on blade reached a fever pitch, ending with a final clarion call of clashing edges. This was followed by a sharp whistle as an object came sailing out of the sand, twirling about until it planted itself in the ground, causing several griffin champions to squawk and leap out of the way as the blade stuck between several of their benches. It was Sigurd’s sword, still vibrating from the blow that had knocked it out of his grip and sent it flying. The sand storm fell away finally, revealing Gwendolyn standing before Sigurd with her sword poised beneath his chin, point at his throat. Sigurd’s expression remained grim and stoic, but Gwendolyn looked furious. Her eyes were glaring with undisguised rage at the water deer. As the Abbess climbed up on the stage to announce the winner, Gwendolyn fixed her with a glare, “No! Let him retrieve his sword.” “Pardon?” Abbess Serene asked, and Gwendolyn repeated herself, voice humid with a livid tone. “I said let him retrieve his sword. I refuse to accept this as my victory. He’s not even focused on the fight, damn him!” “You’re wrong, griffin. I fought, and you bested me,” Sigurd said in a flat, tired voice, “It’s as simple as that.” “Bloody feathers it is! I’ve been watching you this whole Contest, and you were fighting ten times harder at the start of this... before that Ditzy mare got hurt.” Sigurd’s eyes turned dangerous as thin ice over a winter lake, “I would watch what you say. If you truly wish to see me fight seriously, continue to press this matter, and we can settle things outside of this arena with a true duel. You would not enjoy that, griffin.” Gwendolyn’s eyes narrowed in challenge, “So you admit you weren’t taking this seriously? Then take up that sword of yours and give me a proper fight! Did your companion Wodan not make it plain enough in his fight with Dao Ming how insulting it is to not fight at your best?” Sigurd’s face twisted with an ugly smile, but it was also a self-deprecating one, “For the moment, this is the best I have to offer. If you dislike it, I believe the Equestrians have a saying for such moments. How does it go? ‘Bite me’. Yes, that’s it. A good turn of phrase.” Gwendolyn looked ready to take that advice literally and start using her beak on him, but Abbess Serene stepped in quickly, her gentle voice rolling over them like a cool blanket. “Peace, Lady Gwendolyn, Sir Sigurd. If Sigurd claims this as his best effort, then you must accept this victory as yours, Lady Gwendolyn. If it eases your ire, do consider that the final match shall be you and Lady Dao Ming. Such a match should prove a more than adequate test of your skills.” Gwendolyn was silent for a moment, her expression firmly displeased, but considering. Dao Ming sympathized with her, for Wodan had certainly taught her the value of fighting honestly, and it seemed to her that Sigurd had been doing anything but. Yet whatever his reasons were, it was clear the desire to compete had fled the water deer. It tainted Gwendolyn’s victory, true, but Dao Ming simply resolved to brighten the griffin’s day by giving her a worthy match she would not soon forget. That said, it appeared Sigurd’s day wasn’t about to get any easier. Even as Gwendolyn was declared the winner of the match and he exited the ring, Sigurd was accosted by the towering form of Wodan. Dao Ming didn’t hear if the moose said anything, but Sigurd was summarily grabbed like a small child and hoisted over Wodan’s shoulder with all the dignity of a sack of offal. Face like a storm cloud, ignoring Sigurd’s protests, Wodan dragged Sigurd off towards one of the tunnels out of the coliseum, and Dao Ming suspected there was going to be words between those two. It was none of her business, however, and she had other matters to occupy her attention as the Abbess stood in the center of the stage and spoke with magic amplified volume to address the entire coliseum. “It has been a long, arduous, and at times unexpected series of matches that has brought us to this final moment of the Contest of Strength. Through all of our champions’ valiant efforts I hope all who have watched have seen just how many different kinds of strength there are across our wide and varied world. Each race, each culture, produces its own unique warriors who face danger through power, speed, endurance, or pure skill and will. While each champion has shown us such traits, only two have proven themselves against each challenge before them to face one another in the final round. Lady Dao Ming, Heiress of Shouma, who’s grace and talent are unquestionable and who is aided by the very spirits of her homeland! Lady Gwendolyn, leader of the Band of the Red Shield and a peerless warrior among griffinkind! These two shall soon match strength against strength, and show us their own definition of what it means for a champion to have strength. Is it determination? Skill at arms? Muscles alone? Let us watch, noble guests, and see their answer in the Contest of Strength’s final round!” ---------- “Put me down you insufferable, mountainous oaf!” Sigurd grumbled, and for his trouble was roughly deposited on the ground outside the coliseum by Wodan, who loomed over the water deer in a manner not unlike a smoking volcano. Sigurd looked at the moose’s displeased thunderhead of an expression and dusted himself off as he stood, “What? If you have words to speak, Wodan, speak them now and cease your fuming!” Wodan leaned down, and proceeded to smack his head straight into Sigurd’s, speaking words in bitten off chunks with head headbutt. “It. Was. Not. Your. FAULT!” “Gah! You blasted stone headed moose!” Sigurd rubbed at his head, dazed on the ground as he scrambled back from Wodan, glaring at him. “What are you on about!?” “Our honored friend, Ditzy Doo, her condition is not your fault. I have lost the very last stretch of patience I have for your self flagellation over this matter, Sigurd. What happened was beyond your control, and I’ll not continue watching you piss your honor down the drain over it, let alone piss on the honor of our fellow champions.” A flash of red hot anger and pain crossed Sigurd’s otherwise shadowed features as he stood once more, prodding the unmoving moose in the chest with a sharp hoof, “Says he who fell in the very first round! Are you saying, half trying, I still reach further than you, o’ mighty Wodan?” A billowing snort blasted from Wodan’s flared nostrils, his expression unimpressed, “I fell in honorable combat against a foe who proved herself superior. You fell not to your opponents blade, but your own self punishing arrogance, while failing to give that honorable foe her due match against you. You’ve been lacking all honor and you know it, and all because you will not grasp the obvious; that you could do nothing for Ditzy Doo.” “What do you know of failings? You, who’s ballad contains narry a mar to its sterling praise, nor a dark deed or moment to tarnish it? I know I failed, because I know the feeling as intimately as any lover, Wodan. You say I didn’t fail Ditzy Doo? Prove this, then. My shield availed her not. My senses were too dull to see the scoundrel who brought her low for what he was. In what manner did I not fail?” “What fool expects himself to see all ends?” Wodan said, stamping a hoof, “And you know full well the shield you crafted for her was a fine and sturdy work that any warrior would be proud to carry into battle; as she did. It is neither the failing of you, or your craft, that the knave who struck her was skilled and underhanded.” “You waste your time, friend Wodan,” said a melodious voice, and Andrea walked from the tunnel into the coliseum, tuning her lute as she turned her spring green eyes towards both her fellow cervids. “Sigurd is relieving his past, determined to blame himself for the same ending that befell his son. Most foolish.” “Andrea, word yourself carefully,” Sigurd warned, but Andrea wore a fierce look as she stared at him directly. “Why, because the truth stings you deeply? You are a friend, Sigurd, but one who is thicker skulled than even Wodan himself! I know the fate that befell your son has always bled beneath that grim face you carry. Do not deny you saw a similar light of kindness within Dame Doo. Seeing her fall has brought you back to the day your son fell to a bandit blade. The blame was yours neither then or now, but unlike Wodan, I understand mere words won’t convince you of that.” “You both speak out of place,” Sigurd spat, and Wodan growled. “We speak as friends concerned for another who is hurting himself pointlessly, but I am seeing Andrea has the right of it. Pfah! Come, Andrea, let us leave this sad grouse to his business and go procure some proper drinks! I would hate to miss the final match because I was arguing with a wet stump!” As the moose stomped back into the coliseum, shaking the earth slightly as he went, Andrea turned to follow him but gave Sigurd one last, pointed look. “I may have said words are wasted on you right now, but I shall leave you with this, friend Sigurd. Blame yourself if you must and heap all the self pity you wish upon yourself, but that will never be of aid to Ditzy Doo, who unlike your son, still draws breath in this world.” With that she departed, leaving Sigurd to sit alone with his sunken eyes filled with dark contemplation. ---------- The time had come. For Gwendolyn Var Bastion, she knew little else mattered past the next few moments of her life. For her, at least, the rest of the Contest of Champions was of small consequence. She knew she’d have little to offer in either the Contest of Wits, or Magic, even if griffins would be allowed to participate in the later due to having similar weather control magic to pegasi. No, her fortunes would be made or broken here, in the final match of the Contest of Strength. Already she could tell, just from the looks she got from the other griffins representing the varied Inner Kingdoms that her performance thus far had earned her no small amount of respect. There were still resentful glares, but there was grudging acknowledgment even in those sharp eyed looks. Saving Raquel’s life from her own exploding magic weapon had done more for Gwendolyn’s reputation than she would have imagined. King Gruber had seriously miscalculated his ploy to get rid of Gwendolyn. Now all she had to do was put on a good enough fight here and she’d have enough clout to properly challenge Gruber on his plans to incite war with the Border Kingdoms. Winning was preferable, and Gwendolyn was fully intending to give Dao Ming everything she had in this match, but even if she lost the simple fact that she was the only griffin to get this far more than established her superior prowess. She did feel a slight strain of guilt towards Dao Ming, however. Since the very first match the kirin had with Wodan, Dao Ming had devoted herself fully to fighting purely for the purpose of winning, with no ulterior motives other than honoring the spirit of the Contest and showing her worth beyond merely being heir to Shouma’s throne. Gwendolyn wished she didn’t have the dirty stain of griffin politics and the threat of war looming over her people to taint what should have been a clean and pure competition between her and a warrior whom she respected. She took a deep breath, resolved to fight without the weight of her people on her shoulders. Dao Ming deserved that. Still, it was hard not to catch sight of her mother in the higher VIP stands, seated nearby to King Gruber. Beatrice was watching her daughter with the unblinking eyes of an statue, giving no signal as to whether she approved or disapproved of Gwendolyn’s actions. Beatrice was King Gruber’s personal guard captain. Could she truly know nothing of his plans? Did her mother support the King of Grandis and the notion of war with the Border Kingdoms. Mother never truly agreed with my actions with the Red Shields. But she’d never support war, or Gruber’s underhanded tactics... Then again, her mother was a very practical sort. Honorable, yes, but also very loyal to the crown. Beatrice would do what was right for Grandis, more than the Griffin Kingdoms as a whole. However, since war wasn’t good for Grandis in the long run, and if King Gruber was shown to be a dishonorable knave he was proving himself to be an unfit ruler for Grandis, then perhaps Beatrice would side with her daughter. Regardless, Gwendolyn had to push those thoughts aside and concentrate on what was before her. Lingering heat remained from the sun, but it had largely set behind the horizion, courtesy of the Equestrian monarch, or so Gwendolyn supposed. Corona’s ark remained hanging in the sky above the collesim like a golden reminder of the sun’s pressence, even as twilight settled upon the island. Light was now provided by shining magical crystals mounted along the edges of the collesiu’s walls, illuminating both the crowds and the arena stage itself in a potent white glow. As Gwendolyn entered from one side of the arena, Dao Ming glided with soft steps towards her from the other end. Even at a distance, Gwendolyn had to admire the practiced ease of Dao Ming’s motions. Less a predatory gait like Gwendolyn’s and more a motion akin to the flow of water own a stream. Having watched Dao Ming fight over various matches, now, The young kirin’s strength stemmed from the absolute devotion through which she’d trained herself since practically being old enough to walk. Her technique was so fluid because it was so utterly ingrained in her, so each motion required no hesitance before being enacted. It was even tempered by some level of practical battle experience, keeping Dao Ming’s fighting skills from becoming too rigid or predictable. However Gwendolyn still felt confident she held the edge in a stand up swordfight. She’d trained, much as Dao Ming had, since a young age. Beyond that, she had far more real battle experience, with all the instincts earned in blood that came with it. Physically Gwendolyn was much larger than the admittedly somewhat dainty kirin, but Dao Ming had already shown that muscles and size alone weren’t enough to defeat her when she’d beaten Wodan. Wodan had experience as well, but cervids viewed battle much differently than griffins did. Cervids fought for glory. Griffins fought to win. Her victory, if it was to come at all, would be in the difference between the experience of her years of fighting not for glory, or to impress an Empress, but to survive and ensure her comrades survival over countless bandits and monsters that had sought to end her. That raw, blooded instinct would be her key to winning. She and Dao Ming stopped a respectful five meters from each other, and without prompting Gwendolyn inclined her head, sweping her right wing across her chest in a bow customarily only exchanged between griffin warriors who held one another in high esteem. Dao Ming might have known the specific cultural significance of the gesture, but recognized the respect behind it and responded with a bow of equal formality, dipping her own head low. “For this final match,” Abbess Serene said with formal gravity, “The arena shall be left as it is. Your strength alone will be what much carry you to victory or defeat, brave champions. Are you both prepared?” “I am, honored Abbess,” said Dao Ming, her twin horns springing alight with golden magic as she unsheathed her slim jian sword. “Same here,” Gwendolyn replied, drawing her own larger blade with a clear, steel song. “Very well, then let the final match of the Contest of Strength... begin!” The Abbess stepped back, giving them space, and just in time, as both kirin and griffin flashed into motion the moment the words left the old pony’s mouth. Steel glinted off of steel under the glaring coliseum lights, both Dao Ming and Gwendolyn moving in tandem in a fluid storm of motion. A harsh lateral cut from Gwendolyn was deflected up in a rain of sparks, Dao Ming springing in with a flurry of hoof strikes like green thunderbolts. The griffiness spun away from the blows, sweeping her sword around in a low, wide arc. Springing like a frog, Dao Ming went over it, the ground being cut asunder by Gwendolyn’s sword. Dao Ming managed to use one hind hoof to step off of Gwendolyn’s sword, flipping backwards while thrusting with her own slender blade. Gwendolyn ducked the blow, losing a head feather in the process, and viciously pressed into the attack, wings flaring out as she took to the air in a swirl of feathers. She dove with a combination of speed and power that made each swing of her sword feel like a direct hit from a catapult, and Dao Ming’s body turned and twisted like a jade serpent to avoid them. Even a glancing parry numbed the kirin’s limbs and sent a ring like a massive bell echoing across the audience stands. Up in the stands, Trixie watched with silent interest, but with half an eye keenly turned towards the seats above her where the Shouma party sat. There, Dao Ming’s siblings all seemed on the edge of their seats, although even Lo Shang was keeping himself under control and wasn’t hollering as he had before. As for Empress Fu Leng herself, her face was shadowed by the long falls of her black mane, but from those shadows her eyes were golden arrows, aimed unflaggingly at the arena. Trixie could only wonder what was going on behind those eyes. Did the Empress understand, or even care, about why her daughter had come this far? Trixie didn’t really imagine the Empress did. On the ground, amid the watching champion’s, Kenkuro’s own eyes were glued to his student as she fought. Warm pride warred against a tide of unease in the tengu’s gut. As hard as Gwendolyn was pressing Dao Ming, he could see something he never expected to see on Dao Ming’s face while she was focused upon achieving a goal. She was smiling. It was a simple, thoughtless, honest smile of enjoyment, and Kenkuro was infinitely glad to see it. So much time spent trying to achieve perfection for her mother, Dao Ming had so rarely smiled, especially while concentrating on a task. For once Dao Ming was enjoying pursuing something for herself, rather than for her mother. Kenkuro would have been ecstatic to see it, if not for the dark cloud that now hung over his thoughts. Greysight had spoken with him and Nuru between matches. She’d been investigating the island herself, and while she had not found anything conclusive, she had discovered something unusual concerning the Shouma party. Greysight’s powers of observation were unquestioned in Kenkuro’s mind, and he knew that if the female minotaur wanted to follow and observe people unseen, she was deceptively good at stealth. She’d been following various champions and high ranking dignitaries, looking for clues. In so doing she’d observed each member of the Imperial Family vanish from view at least once or twice. Even the Empress had been unaccounted for at several points, including the final clash during the Contest of Art. Furthermore, she’d seen Lo Shang exiting the northern forest the day before that. Kenkuro wasn’t sure what to make of that. There was nothing in that forest besides Rengoku itself, and it was behind an impenetrable barrier. Tomoko and Xhua had mostly stayed close to the Empress, but much like Fu Leng herself, both of them had been out of sight at one point or another during the times Greysight had been trying to observe them. On the surface it seemed inconsequential, and Greysight herself admitted she couldn’t keep track of everyone, and had seen plenty of other champions be momentarily unaccounted for. She was just one minotaur, after all, no matter how skilled she was. But it remained a possibility someone among the Imperial Family was involved in the events underlying the threat to the island. If that was the case, the duty of dealing with it would fall to Kenkuro, as the Blade of Heaven, a thought he did not relish. The only consolation he had was that, in truth, his firmest loyalty, deeper even than his sense of honor, was to the young kirin fighting in the arena at that moment. Kenkuro knew without a single shade of doubt in his mind that Dao Ming was innocent, and so whatever may come, he knew his loyalty to her would not be in question. So he cast his worries aside, and focused upon watching her final match, captivated by both Dao Ming and her opponent. It took a master of the blade to see the subtle differences in their technique and skill levels. To most audience members, perhaps even most of the champions present, Dao Ming and Gwendolyn’s horrifyingly swift and fierce collision of blades would appear like utter, uncoordinated chaos. Yet Kenkuro could see the flow if it like two river rapids smashing together in distinct, channeled motions. Gwendolyn was pushing to overwhelm Dao Ming’s defenses, but was being stubbornly stonewalled by Dao Ming’s own precise parries and dodges, each one so well timed as to allow only millimeters of room for error. Kenkuro knew Dao Ming’s movements well, for he’d drilled them into her nearly all her life, since she was a tiny doe barely old enough to stand on all four legs. He could remember getting her up before the sun’s lips even kissed the horizon, the soft trickle of the meditation garden’s stream the only sound besides the crack of their wooden practice swords. Kenkuro had seen Dao Ming grow every year, in stature, grace, and skill. He knew she was good, perhaps good enough to one day match him. He also knew she’d fought battles against oni in the Dark Lands, and against bandits and rebels on rare occasion. But there was a marked difference between her and Gwendolyn, not in skill but in intensity. There was a tempo to their exchanges of harsh steel that Gwendolyn’s furious beat was gradually overtaking. Kenkuro watched, eyes unblinking, as the hail of strikes reached a blinding crescendo. Gwendolyn moved so fast she all but seemed to be in two places at once, hammering her sword down then up, breaking Dao Ming’s guard. The griffin thrust forward, and in any other battle it could have been a killing blow. Yet even Kenkuro had been fooled by Dao Ming. Her steady rhythm of defense, her practiced dodges and expert parries. He saw now the lure for what it was. Dao Ming had moved to bait Gwendolyn into committing fully to a ‘sure kill’ strike, and now that Gwendolyn had, Dao Ming made her own gambit. Almost all of Dao Ming’s attacks had been using her sword, save for one or two hoof strikes early on. Now she used her sword while stepping into Gwendolyn’s attack in an utterly reckless maneuver, so utterly unlike Dao Ming’s usually calculated moves. Her sword, rather than strike, locked into place to take the tip of Gwendolyn’s sword. The jian bent, and the thrust still struck Dao Ming on the left side of her chest, but the steel of her own sword kept Gwendolyn’s from penetrating. Still, even Kenkuro could hear the snap of ribs in the kirin’s breast, gasping as he heard it. Yet gritting her teeth through the pain, Dao Ming carried herself forward into Gwendolyn, who by her wide eyes had not expected such recklessness from Dao Ming. The kirin wrapped Gwendolyn around the neck and spun, using Gwendolyn’s own momentum to pull her into a savagely powerful throw that crunched Gwendolyn to the ground and blasted the air from her lungs. Dao Ming, wincing from her broken rib, inverted her jian and plunged it down, seeking to trap Gwendolyn’s sword arm. Incredibly, Gwendolyn moved, instincts born of countless brutal battles alerting her to danger her regular senses failed to. She rolled, sword lashing out. Dao Ming danced back, her leg taking a deep cut, but she’d gained what she’d wanted... time. Gwendolyn had pressed the attack so completely that Dao Ming hadn’t time to do any spirit chants. Her entire gambit was to buy herself those few precious seconds, if she could just daze Gwendolyn long enough. Scrolls flowing out of her side satchel, Dao Ming floated them in front of her and began to chant the mantra. Gwendolyn heard it even as she shook her head to clear the cobwebs and regain her feet. She rushed at Dao Ming, hoping to stop the chant in time, but only reached Dao Ming just as the kirin’s body lit up with the auras of mystic light of summoned earth and wind spirits that fortified her physical abilities, much as they had when she fought Wodan. Now it was Gwendolyn forced onto the defensive, Dao Ming leaping over her slashing sword and coming down with a powerful heel kick that destroyed the stone where Gwendolyn had been standing. Gwendolyn herself went to the air, wings flapping rapidly to gain height. Dao Ming, physically enhanced, literally leaped after her, flipping in mid-air and swinging her sword. Gwendolyn’s blade parried, but the blow sent the griffin stumbling through the air. She recovered, just barely in time to evade another leaping strike from Dao Ming. Now a game of cat and mouse ensued, Gwendolyn flying around the arena, just below the legal height allowed to her, and Dao Ming pacing the ground, waiting for opportunities to attack. Gwendolyn would dip low to bait Dao Ming up, and the two would pass each other in a glint of trading sword blows. Gwendolyn knew she couldn’t overpower Dao Ming as long as she was enhanced by that spirit chanting, but couldn’t fly around forever, so she took a deep breath and decided to risk a desperate move. Flying to get distance from Dao Ming, Gwendolyn went to one side of the arena, then dove low until she was skimming no more than a few feet above it. With powerful wingflaps she propelled herself like a cannonball at Dao Ming, who took up a ready stance, blade held high, ready to receive Gwendolyn’s attack. At the last moment Gwendolyn dipped her sword low and dug it into the stone arena. The magical blade tore through the stone in a jagged line, tearing rock upwards. She then swung it up in an arc that sent a flurry of rock chunks flying at Dao Ming. The kirin didn’t flinch, to her credit. She spun around, her jian and hooves all working in tandem to deflect the pieces of rock. Yet doing so also left her vulnerable, for Gwendolyn landed in front of her, and brought her sword down in a gleam of crimson steel. Dao Ming spun in a jade flash. Parried. The angle was just small sliver off, and the jian snapped in a loud ping of shattered metal. The moment past, and dust from the chunks of flung rock settled around the pair. Gwendolyn’s sword was right at the joint between Dao Ming’s neck and her shoulder, the edge having not penetrated deep enough for more than the lightest of cuts due to Gwendolyn being able to pull back at the last second. Both champions stood panting, starring at each other, as a bit of blood seeped from the shallow wound on Dao Ming. Dao Ming’s magic floated her broken jian up for her to inspect, and with a remarkably good natured laugh she set the blade down and smiled, inclining her head to Gwendolyn. “Well struck, Gwendolyn Var Bastion. I concede the match to you.” Sucking in deep breaths, a bit of blood trickling down her face from a chunk of rock that struck her from her desperate trick, Gwendolyn smiled, “Good, because if you didn’t I think I was a few seconds from having a heart attack. I really didn’t think that last move would work.” “It was unexpected. Have you used it before?” Dao Ming asked cordially. “Actually no, I, uh, heh... kind of got the idea from you,” Gwendolyn admitted, “When you carved up the stage to knock Wodan out with that avalanche. Really bloody brilliant move, there.” “Hah, so you’re saying I lost to my own technique? Hm, trying to assuage my ego, are you?” “Hardly. Just giving credit where it’s due.” Gwendolyn took her blade away from Dao Ming’s neck, and lowered it, and raising a talon balled into a fist to hold out to Dao Ming, “Hell of a fight...” Looking unsure at the gesture, Dao Ming gingerly mirrored Gwendolyn’s motion with her hoof, until Gwendolyn bumped it with a grin. “Indeed. A, ahem, ‘heck’ of a fight.” “Oh bloody hells, I need to teach you to swear properly, don’t I?” As the pair laughed weakly, both exhausted now that the adrenaline was wearing off, the audience itself veritably erupted with a cataclysm of cheering and shouts. Both Dao Ming and Gwendolyn let it wash over them in waves, the pair sitting down as they worked to catch their breaths. Dao Ming in particular was drained, with the power of the spirits flowing back out of her and leaving her feel light headed. She even nearly tipped over, only to find a steady wing of black feathers holding her shoulder. “Kenkuro?” she turned to face him, the tengu having flown up onto the stage, joining Abbess Serene who’d trotted up to the pair. There was nothing but warmth in Kenkuro’s eyes, even as Dao Ming smiled sheepishly at him. “I lost.” “Bah, what of it?” he said, beak turning in a smile that Dao Ming could only call fatherly, despite never having known her father. “Your victory was over yourself, Dao Ming, and I could not be prouder of you.” For a few seconds his words seemed strange to her, until she realized that she’d just lost such an important competition in front of her mother, under the very eyes of the Empress... and it didn’t bother her. She glanced towards the stands, only barely able to make out her mother’s form high up in the seating. She couldn’t see what expression the Empress wore. Whether it was pride, or disappointment. Yet at that moment, having fought with all she had, and only to prove her own value to herself, she realized it didn’t much matter what expression the Empress wore. She laughed, and leaned into Kenkuro, just a bit, and let the moment linger.