Anatami jerked awake at the heavy click of the prison trapdoor opening.
She lay still, keeping her breath at the same steady rhythm as the groaning complaints of the old hinges bounced off the cold stones. The day’s meal had already been delivered, and her chamber bucket wasn’t due to be emptied for another two nights at least. Was the Duke finally getting around to her execution?
The hoofsteps that climbed out of the tower stairwell were unfamiliar to her. The jingling-mail and grumbled sighs of her usual warden were absent, though she did detect a heaviness to her unexpected visitor’s breath. The climb had left him short of breath; he was unlikely to be one of the Duke’s rigorously drilled soldiers.
Whoever it may be, Ana saw no reason to betray her alertness. She remained as she was, cuddled up on the thin pile of dry straw that had served as her bed for the past week with her back to the entrance. She had precious little advantage in this hard place, and information was something to be valued.
The stallion cleared his throat. “Anatami?”
His voice was clear in spite of his breathiness, each syllable pronounced with the careful, polite enunciation of an educated central Equestrian. He certainly wasn’t from Altalusia; even the urban ponies on the western coast spoke with somewhat of an accent.
“I imagine you’ve been rather lonely since the wedding, but I’ve brought good news, and word from Gava.”
Ana’s pulse quickened, but she didn’t allow any reaction from her body. She had watched with her own two eyes as her sister’s limp form had plummeted out of sight to the ocean below. Had she somehow recovered before impact? Gava had always had a habit of getting herself into more trouble than she could handle, but she also possessed a talent for surviving each ordeal by the tuft of her tail. She mentally chastised herself for her hopeful naivete. What’s it matter what a random pony says? You can’t know for sure either way until you see it yourself.
The stallion let out an amused hum. “She said you might do this. I’ve been told that it’s generally wise to always assume you’re awake. I admit, I’m sure I’d be more than convinced otherwise.”
The distinctive jingling of keys sounded from behind her, followed by a click and the squeal of her cell door opening. Her body remained still, but her mind jumped into action. Most ponies wouldn’t be able to react before she was on her hooves and in their face, but she hadn’t lived so long by making assumptions based on most ponies. She had met skilled warriors before who enjoyed acting like foppish politicians, and she was drained from the week of confinement and malnutrition. Perhaps instead she could evade him and bolt down the stairwell.
The keys jingled again, off to the side, and there was the sound of the adjacent cell being opened. One of the cells with an open window. “I suppose I don’t need you to talk to me, even if I’d prefer us to develop a cordial working relationship. Gava is waiting for you in what remains of the woods to the northwest. I do hope you’ll oblige me a proper introduction next time we meet, but until then, I’ll leave you be.”
The trapdoor shut with a solid thud, and Ana waited for the sound of his hoofsteps to recede before jumping to her hooves. She took the room in with one sweep of her wide amber eyes, confirming that she was alone and the two barred doors had been left open. She wasted no time in entering the adjacent cell and poking her head out of the open window. The chill breeze of the open air sent a shiver of pleasure down her back, but she focused on scanning the landscape below for danger instead of indulging in the sensation.
Laborers milled over the estate, putting the finishing touches on the repairs sustained by the manor. The pits of dirt and jagged abysses that had maimed the land had been replaced with fresh grass and brick soil beds blossoming with flowers, bushes, and young trees. The field beyond the walls wasn’t as lucky, still bearing the wounds of Twilight Sparkle’s rampage, though the largest of them had been marked out with brightly painted wooden stakes. Ana looked northwest, easily picking out the mostly burnt out forest in the distance. There were a few soldiers patrolling the grounds or watching from simple wooden posts, all facing outwards, and none of them ever looked up.
Ana gave each of her wings an exploratory flap. Sore, but her exercises had kept the damage to a minimum. She took a few steps back, feeling out the ache in her muscles, and galloped headlong for the window.
The rush of the air in her ears brought a toothy grin to her face, and she flapped hard to gain altitude before filling her lungs with a shockingly cold breath of it. She angled to one side and glanced down at the estate from above. A single pony was crouched on the roof beside a palette of vibrant paints, dutifully filling in the damage done to the battle murals depicted on its surface.
With a mocking salute to her old prison, Ana veered towards the forest. The details grew clearer as she approached, revealing the hollowed out husks of dead trees and the green of fresh growth rushing into the gaps left by the fire. Her heart soared at the sight of Gava waiting patiently atop one of the tallest remaining branches, and she angled lower, picking up speed.
She tackled the griffon with enough force that she had to spread her own wings and flap to keep balance as they embraced each other in a warm hug. Gava’s paws dug into her back. “Good to see that unicorn kept his word.”
“I thought you were dead!” Ana pulled back, tears brimming as she looked into her sister’s dark blue eyes. “That fall must have been a mile at least!”
Gava shook her head and looked away, but not fast enough to hide the wetness in her eyes. “There’s a bunch of old mines in these islands. It wasn’t that hard to grab a passing beam.”
“Well in that case, what took you so long?” Ana gave the griffon a good-natured punch with one hoof, being careful to avoid her bandages. “I would’ve had you out within two days, tops!”
Gava reacted with an exaggerated wince. “And I would’ve been back to try within a day, but stuff came up. Did you meet our new boss?”
“I’m gone for one week and you go and sign us into a mercenary job?” Ana smirked. “You remember the last time you negotiated a job without me? Now that was a jailbreak.”
Gava rolled her eyes. “You’re already making me regret this.”
Ana couldn’t help but laugh as she finally extricated herself from the hug and alighted on the branch at Gava’s side with a little twirl. “I think I met him, yeah. Talks like he knows it all. So what’s the job?”
“Well, as he put it, we’re making a new world.” Gava shrugged at her cocked head. “He wants us on support till it’s done.”
Ana blinked. “You agreed to a job with no limits?”
“Well, uh…” Gava scratched at the back of her head. “I mean, he paid pretty well, and he said there’d be more.”
“Whatever, it’s fine. I can renegotiate it.” Ana waved the matter away with a wing. “Are we gonna be needed soon? I need to get some meat in me.”
“Yes, actually,” Gava said. “Him and the Duke are attending a conference between the bigshot nobles in Altalusia. He wants us keeping tabs.”
“Ah, no wonder he finally bailed me out then.” Ana winked as Gava frowned down at her. “Any particular requests?”
“Just to not be seen, and to watch out for anything exploitable. Looks like they’re leaving now.” Gava nodded towards the estate, and Ana turned to follow her gaze. Three wagons displaying orange banners pulled out from between the open gates, escorted by eight soldiers in similarly-colored tabards. “His name is Whitehorn, by the way.”
“Whitehorn, huh? Sounds kinda familiar.” Ana narrowed her eyes. “How far is the meeting place?”
“Far enough for us to find something to eat on the way there.”
Ana grinned, meeting her sister’s eye. “What are we waiting for, then?”
Together they spread their wings, falling off the branch and letting the air catch them. Ana’s grin only grew wider as they weaved between the trees in search of prey. It had been months since the two of them had gone on a simple hunt together, and the sun warming her back promised a good time to come.
It was a bumpy ride to the conference, though not a quiet one. It never was when Pinkie Pie came along, and the bouncy mare had kept up a steady stream of conversation for the whole journey, pestering poor Pontius with questions about every village they passed and every landmark they saw. He had been enthusiastic in answering her at first, but his resolve was flagging under the endless onslaught. Every now and then he would glance towards Rarity with a desperate, pleading look, and she would grant him a small smile and say a few words, but her mind was elsewhere.
The meeting was to take place at Kingsfall Field, an open, grassy stretch between two forested hills in central Altalusia, and nearly every noble outside the western city was to be there. Tensions were high after the calamity preceding Twilight’s departure from the island, and the nobles were keen to pin the blame on someone.
“Don’t be surprised if it comes to open war,” Whitehorn had warned her. “The Altalusians have never been overly fond of peace, and after years of calm no doubt some of them will be eager to take advantage.”
Rarity winced as the wagon passed over a roughshod wooden bridge spanning a ragged tear in the land. They had needed to use two others before it, sometimes backtracking to do so, and there were more signs of damage besides. She saw windmills lying in pieces on the ground and shattered homes surrounded by sweating families rushing to repair them. In one instance they had passed an entire village burned to the ground. A lantern had been shaken from its place, Pontius had said, and the wood and thatch homes were little more than tinder. No deaths, thankfully, but the villagers had been unable to put the blaze out in time to save their livelihoods.
“Oooh, I think we’re here!” Pinkie exclaimed. She leaned her head out the window, mane bouncing in the open air, leaving Pontius to lean back with a sigh of relief. “Wowee, Rarity, these ponies camp like you do!”
“These ruffians?” Rarity scoffed, waiting for the wagon to turn and bring the meeting grounds into view from the window. “I find that highly—oh my goodness, is that a three-story tent?”
Kingsfall Field was awash with colors. Tents bigger than a villager’s hovel dotted the green expanse, massive banners waving in the air displaying the crests of their owners while soldiers leered at their neighbors underneath in aggressively polished barding that gleamed in the sun. Servants in every color rushed across the encampment with messenger bags slung over their shoulders, darting from one tent to another. In the center one great white tent rose above every other, bereft of flags but bearing far more traffic than the rest as ponies filed inside.
“It seems we’ve arrived just in time,” Pontius said. He shook his head in disdain. “Father says th’ most insignificant nobles always bring th’ gaudiest tents. He’ll be glad to get straight to business.”
“There’s so many,” Rarity said, counting the rows. “There must be at least a hundred tents!”
Pontius nodded. “Aye, but only a few that matter. Th’ earls and barons come mostly for scheming among their rivals, and are unlikely to speak during th’ conference. It’s th’ dukes and counts that shall do th’ decision making.”
“And you know them all?” Rarity asked.
“Aye, my Lady, mostly.”
Pinkie gasped. “Oh, oh, what’s that one?!”
Pontius leaned forwards, squinting out the window to follow her hoof. “With th’ gear and propeller?” Pinkie answered with a trio of vigorous nods. “House Windstrider, from th’ Percheron Demesne to the northwest. I hear th’ heiress recently obtained a cutie mark.”
“Ooooh, snazzy! What about that one?”
Pontius blinked, mouthing hanging open a few moments as he thought. “Ah, that’s Count Tatom’s crest. Aye, his land is just north of ours.”
“And that one?”
Pontius shot Rarity a nervous glance, and she caught Pinkie’s attention with a polite cough. “Darling, surely you don’t expect dear Pontius to recite the details of every noble on the island for you?”
Pinkie cocked her head. “I mean, there’s only a hundred.”
Pontius paled, but was saved by the wagon finally rolling to a stop and the click of the door being opened. Onyx stood on the other side, the soldier’s dark coat only barely visible under his mail and tabard. He looked to each of the occupants in turn, dipping his head in greeting. “We’ve arrived. Countess?”
He extended a hoof to Rarity, who accepted it with a gracious smile as she stepped out onto the springy grass. “Thank you, darling.” She spared a moment to straighten out her outfit, a bright yellow affair that caught the sun like a flower atop a grassy knoll, and ensure the matching hat was properly positioned between her ears.
Next was Pinkie. Rarity and Onyx helped support her weight as she slid out of the wagon, and a second soldier approached to help secure the wheelchair that had been stowed for the journey. She took in a gigantic sniff of the air, scanning the field with an eager grin. The scent of spiced soups and stew drifted past. “Rarity, if you need me, I’ll be at the nearest kitchen!”
She darted off, wooden wheels squealing in complaint. Onyx gestured towards the second soldier with a hoof, and he nodded before jogging gamely after the mare.
Pontius sighed in relief as he climbed out of the carriage. “Yer friend is very energetic, my Lady.”
“One of her most charming traits, dear.” She offered him a prim smile before turning to Onyx, who was eyeing another pair of soldiers as they set up a large tent under the guidance of one of Titus’ servants. “I haven’t seen you all week, Onyx. How are you doing?”
He nodded curtly, but didn’t look at her. “Fine, Countess.”
“And where’s Ivory?” Rarity looked around, searching for the dour pegasus mare. “This must be the first time I’ve seen you two apart.”
Onyx grunted. He turned and met Rarity’s eyes, his lips set into a firm line. “Dead, Countess.”
“O-oh.” Rarity drew back, one hoof rising to her chest. Stupid girl! A soldier disappears after a battle, and you go asking after her like a witless filly! “I, uh—”
“Twas a good death,” he said, cutting her off. “She saved th’ Duke with it, and he honors his warriors.”
Pontius stepped forwards with a stern frown. “Ye interrupt her again and ye’ll be getting lashes when we return home, soldier.”
“It’s fine, darling, really.” Rarity warded him off with a wave, keeping her eyes on Onyx. “I’m terribly sorry. I didn’t know.”
Oynx’s face twisted into a grim smile. “Aye, ye wouldn’t. I don’t blame ye. Ye two had best get t’ th’ conference, if ye plan t’ attend.”
Pontius was still glowering at the other stallion, but Rarity guided his face towards her with a hoof and a smile. “Shall we go, then, Pontius? I’d hate to miss anything.”
Pontius snorted, nostrils flaring, but he relented. His ears twitched low against his head as he led her away from the wagons and deeper into the sea of tents. “Ye shouldn’t let th’ commoners speak to ye that way, Countess. Ye’re a Lady of Canterthusia now, and it isn’t proper.”
“I have little care for what words they use, as long as they’re said with respect,” Rarity countered. “Onyx has been nothing but kind to me since my arrival, and I won’t have him punished for speaking honestly when he’s in mourning.” She pursed her lips as she eyed the soldiers and servants alike milling past in their myriad of colors. “I can’t believe I never heard about her death until just now. How could I be so heartless?”
Pontius shot her a confused sideways look. “My Lady, two dozen soldiers died th’ night of th’ attack. I would hardly expect ye to know of every one.”
Rarity stumbled, one hoof crossing over another and catching on the hem of her dress, and she toppled forwards. She let out a cry, cutting off with a sharp “Oof!” as Pontius stretched out a hoof to catch her.
“My Lady, are ye well?” he asked, looking her over with a concerned frown.
“Oh goodness. I’m fine, dear, thank you.” Rarity got her hooves back under her, using his larger body for support. Then she remembered why she had tripped in the first place, and would have fallen over again if Pontius wasn’t still holding her up. “T-two dozen, you said?”
He gave her a grim nod. “Aye, my Lady, though Nettlekiss lost at least twice as many. Twas a victory, but a red one.”
She took a deep breath to steady her nerves. “I see.”
“Ye’re shaking.” Pontius glared at the few ponies that had stopped to watch, sending them on their way. “Would ye like to head back?”
“No, no, thank you.” Rarity shook her head as she gently pushed him away and adjusted her mane with a hoof. “Your concern is admirable, Pontius, but we really should keep going. I’d hate to miss anything.”
“Aye, my Lady.” He dipped his head, gaze lingering on her for just a moment before he turned away.
Rarity followed him wearing a mask of carefully measured politeness, her eyes taking in the campsite without seeing. Two dozen dead, including a pony that she had counted among one of her friends, and she hadn’t even noticed. Had she not spent hours in the hectic dining hall of Titus’ manor tending to injured soldiers? It had all become such a blur, and she found that she couldn’t remember if any of the wounded she and Fluttershy had attended had died in their care. She only remembered the tearing of fabric, the stench of blood, the heat of the fires, and Fluttershy’s soft, kind voice guiding her through it all. Her lip trembled as she realized that she couldn’t even remember any of their faces.
She should have noticed the change in the guards. She hadn’t left her room much in the week following the battle, but she had done it enough to walk past guards posted in the halls several times, and what of all the time she had spent peering out from her balcony watching the repairs being made? She had spent so much pointless attention measuring the growth of the new plants, appreciating the masonry of the repaired walls, and not once had it occurred to her that she was walking past soldiers she had never seen before.
Had Ivory had a funeral? Had she been invited? She had sent servants away from her room many times during those dark days.
Despite her brooding, snippets of conversation came to her attention as they weaved between tents, almost all of it carrying the heat of argument. She heard ponies fighting over taxes, conscription, and scandal. A pair of nobles reared up across from each other, armored forelegs jabbing out as they danced around an open clearing surrounded by solemn onlookers, spewing insults about each other’s parentage and honor. Everywhere she looked, baronlanders were arguing, and not one of them mentioned Nettlekiss.
She looked to Pontius. “Isn’t this meeting supposed to be about the attack on your father’s estate? It seems as if they’re discussing everything but.”
“Meetings such as this do not happen often, my Lady,” he said. “Disputes between neighboring lords and ladies often pile up before it’s worth taking th’ trip to resolve them, but as long as we’re here, one pony can confront many others without even leaving camp. Nettlekiss is just one great issue among many smaller ones.”
Rarity nodded, her ears twitching at a barrage of expletives booming from a nearby tent. “I see.”
Not a minute later, she and Pontius were standing in front of the great white three-story tent she had seen earlier at the center of camp. A servant pulled the flap open with a flourish, and Pontius gave him a small nod before beckoning her inside.
“Presenting Sir Pontius and Lady Rarity, hailing from the Duchy of Canterthusia!”
Rarity’s eyes widened as she stepped into the shade of the tent. Lush carpeting had been rolled out over the hard earth and a long wooden table stretched down the middle, laden with steaming plates of colorful foods and flanked by a dozen sitting cushions. Every seat was taken and the nobles in them were all shouting over each other in an attempt to be heard.
“That Nettlekiss has gone too far!”
“I lost a whole village t’ her—”
“—seized my mill durin’ th’ chaos—”
Wooden scaffolding had been erected to the sides, providing a raised surface accessible by stairway from which to watch the proceedings, and already there was a crowd of ponies all dressed in vibrant livery with prominently displayed crests on their flanks. They filled the space above and below the raised platform, snacking from trays carried through their ranks by smiling servants and reclining on wide cushions. They stood in quiet, whispering among themselves. A few curious glances lingered briefly on the new arrivals, but otherwise all eyes were fixed on the table and its occupants.
A weathered stone statue dominated the far end of the tent, tall enough for the head to look down on the ponies on the improvised mezzanine, the details of the face lost to time. It depicted a lean earth pony stallion wearing a simple tunic, his hooves wrapped in cloth and his mane covered by a wide-brimmed helmet. He was crouched in front of a large bow that stood before him, the lower limb secured in the ground with a sharp spike. A barbed arrow was nocked to the string and drawn back by his muzzle.
“—rubble th’ next day! If anythin’ ye should be payin’ me fer—”
“—a burnin’ forest, and only just escaped with his life!”
“Where is th’ harlot? Doesn’t she even have th’ guts t’ show ‘er face?”
Pontius led her deeper into the tent with a polite tug, and Rarity allowed herself to be brought towards the chaos of the table. Titus was seated near the middle on the left side, his usual breastplate hidden behind orange robes embroidered with golden lace. Whitehorn was hunched over behind him, the two in the midst of some quiet conversation, but he waved the unicorn off as he saw the two approaching.
“Ah, there ye are, lad!” He had to raise his voice to be heard even up close. “Ye stand on my right today.”
A boyish grin broke out on Pontius’ face as he took the indicated position behind the Duke’s right shoulder, leaving Rarity standing alone a few steps behind them. “It’s an honor, father.”
Titus slapped his son on the back with a wing. “Ye got yer own wife now, and ye’ve seen real battle. Ye shouldn’t be watching up with th’ riffraff anymore.”
“—stealin’ peasants from my mines—”
“—th’ price of flowers in Friesland is beyond—”
“—and that was just th’ first day!”
Rarity turned her attention to Whitehorn, who had stepped back to join her at a safe distance from the energy of the table. “The Duke seems to have taken a liking to you,” she said.
He dipped into a low bow. “Neither of us are ponies who hold grudges once the deal is struck, Countess. Am I wrong, or is that a new dress?”
Rarity blushed. She turned away with a proud smile, subtly showing off the outfit’s best angles. “You noticed?”
“After spending so long at your beautiful side, my dear, it would be a crime if I didn’t.”
There was a soft humor in his voice, and she raised a hoof to her mouth as a girlish giggle escaped her. “If only the rest of the world felt like you did, darling.”
“All in good time, Countess. We’ll see them come around.”
Rarity looked back at him, meeting his eyes, and the two shared a brief moment. After a few seconds she cleared her throat and looked away, running a hoof through her mane. A lady does not titter like a schoolfilly!
“Ye’re touched in th’ head if ye think I’ll—”
“—doubt any of yer troops could hold their own against—”
“I paid good coin fer that labor and I demand—”
She scanned the room in search of a new topic of conversation. Her attention fell on the statue at the back. “I haven’t seen any bows in Altalusia.”
“They aren’t nearly as common as they once were,” Whitehorn said. She kept her eyes on the statue as he spoke. Words were engraved in a band along the archer’s tunic, but she was too far to read them. “Legend has it that the last king of Altalusia was killed in this field shortly after airship trade began with other islands.”
“There was a king?” Rarity asked.
“There were several,” Whitehorn continued. “Unification was a simpler prospect when there wasn’t any outside interference. The nobles rebelled many times, and sometimes won, but of course another general or diplomat would gather them together in time. The nobles all despise the idea of a king, even though they all secretly dream of the title.”
Rarity nodded, looking to him. “How did he die?”
“An arrow fired by a common archer found the gap in his armor.” Whitehorn let out a low chuckle. “The nobles were so pleased that they immediately granted the archer the title of the king’s home town and declared him of noble blood. He lost the title in another war a few years later, but he did manage to secure his bloodline before he died.”
“Yes, that does sound rather like Altalusia.” Rarity shook her head, resisting the urge to roll her eyes.
“Are none of ye gonna speak of th’—”
“—completely insignificant compared t’ th’ affair in—”
“She’s my wife ’n I demand—”
Rarity sighed, curling her lip up at the uncouth display occupying the center of the tent. “Could you explain all this to me, darling?”
Whitehorn raised a brow. “However do you mean, Countess?”
“All—this.” She gestured at the table with a hoof as if she was afraid it would infect her. “I’m trying to understand what I’m seeing, but it just looks like a rabble of argumentative foals.”
“Ah, yes. Well, on a surface level, that’s more or less an accurate description.” He chuckled under his breath. “But yes, let’s see here.” He let out a thoughtful hum as he scratched at his chin.
“First is Duke Titus. You know him, of course. Most powerful noble in the countryside, and liege to much of the eastern coast of Altalusia. Directly opposed and balanced against Duchess Nettlekiss—absent, obviously—and the City of Friesland on the west coast.”
“The city is involved?” Rarity asked.
Whitehorn raised a hoof, nodding. “Certainly, but we’ll come back to it. Next we have Countess Silkie.” He pointed towards a well-groomed mare wearing a yellow tunic emblazoned with a bright red rooster on the front gesturing angrily at her neighbor. “Independent, and with several members of her house living in the city. Her lands border its territory as well, and she sends much trade through its ports. She tries not to upset the Frieslanders too much, but she’s still a country baron through and through.”
“A country baron, you say?” Rarity echoed.
“By which I mean she still hates Friesland and would be done with it at the first opportunity—but again, we’ll come back to that,” he added, seeing the question in her eyes. “That bearded stallion she’s arguing with is Count Dane, also independent, and known to be averse to risk. He’s been having some trouble securing his bloodline, and has a reputation for neutrality during times of conflict.”
Rarity nodded, but saved her questions. She grimaced at the bedraggled beard drooping from Count Dane’s muzzle and the weathered old cape hanging over his shoulder. An image of a dog under a bridge was stitched into the fabric, the colors long since faded.
“Over there we have Count Armet. Honorable, trustworthy, and also independent. He has several skilled foreign craftsponies that he contracts to live on his land, and enough muskets to equip his levies with them. Rarely gets involved in scandal.”
By Rarity’s eye, Count Armet was the best dressed pony at the table. He wore his mane in a long braid, and the design of a helmet in front of a field of trees was embroidered into the shoulders of his coat. He and Titus were the only nobles sitting in silence.
“The rest are vassals of one or the other, or otherwise not worth an introduction. Now about the city.” Whitehorn paused, waiting for a particularly loud outburst from the table to pass. “Friesland holds the ports and controls trade, and is allied with Nettlekiss and her grain farms and her armies. They’ve been an irremovable thorn in the barons’ sides for decades now. Thus the hostility.”
“But now Nettlekiss is weak.” Rarity’s eyes widened. “If the barons unite, then they could have the whole island.”
Whitehorn grinned. “Right you are, Countess. And that means every noble with soldiers to supply has some sway.”
“So they’re all just bickering to make sure they get as much as they can from the opportunity.” Rarity shook her head in disdain. “Of course they are.”
Titus looked back, beckoning at Whitehorn. The unicorn leaned into Rarity’s ear. “I’m afraid I’m needed, Countess. I doubt it’ll make any difference, but you should know that the nobles will not play nicely if you choose to speak up.”
He stepped up to the Duke’s left shoulder, leaving Rarity on her own among the loose collection of less distinguished ponies that formed a circle around the table. She frowned at the implied message from Titus.
Now Titus stood from his seat. Some of the nobles shied back at the sight, but others pressed on.
“She should be stripped of ’er lands!”
“We’ll have ’er hanged!”
“I demand a beheadin’!”
“Quiet!”
The tent stilled, silent but for the flapping of the fabric as Titus projected his deep voice over the assembled ponies.
“I did not call this conference t’ hear ye lot bicker over who was most affected and declare yer punishments of choice,” Titus growled. “I’d rather not have t’ spend even more time dealin’ with foals.”
“Is it true that she attacked ye durin’ yer lad’s weddin’, Titus?” Countess Silkie asked. She dipped her head at Pontius with a small smile. “Congratulations t’ ye, by th’ way.”
“Aye, Silkie, it’s true,” Titus said. Pontius returned the smile with a nod of his own.
Count Dane turned to her, his voice nearly as rough as his beard. “Ye woulda known as much if ye had attended t’ yer invitation, Countess.”
“I had my own business t’ attend, Count Dane,” Silkie countered. “Th’ Duke knows I bear no ill will towards ’im.”
Titus stomped a hoof, cutting off Count Dane’s response. “We’re here t’ speak of Nettlekiss, and by th’ waves, ye can wait till that’s settled t’ indulge yer own rivalries!” He stared them down, receiving a nod from each in turn before continuing. “Nettlekiss hired a griffon mercenary t’ attack me durin’ my lad’s weddin’, and unleashed ’er pet wyrd on all our lands. I think we can all agree that she needs t’ be punished.”
Rarity blinked. Pet wyrd? Was Titus claiming that Twilight had been intentionally unleashed by Nettlekiss like some wild animal she’d dug up from the ocean?
“Aye!” The word came at once from each of the eleven other nobles, reinforced by firm nods, stomped hooves, and raised mugs.
For the first time Rarity had seen, Count Armet spoke up. “Th’ witch’s retinue took great losses at th’ battle. She’ll be raisin’ ’er levies, expectin’ attack.”
“Aye, Count Armet.” Titus gave a firm nod. “I’m willin’ t’ send half of my own retinue on th’ march. With support from each of ye, we could easily storm Castle Urtica. But we must act now, before she has time t’ prepare!”
A round of mutters traveled around the table and a few of the standing advisors leaned in to whisper into their lieges’ ears. Count Dane was the first to speak clearly. “What can mere soldiers do against th’ monster that Nettlekiss controls? I’ll not send ponies t’ die against that thing. We’ve had no war on th’ island fer two years now, and I’m sure Nettlekiss would be willin’ t’ pay t’ make amends fer any unmeant collateral.”
“I killed th’ monster!” Titus retorted.
The table fell silent, disturbed only by the excited buzz of the watchers. Rarity found herself glowering at the back of Titus' head, ears twitching as the ponies behind her gossiped about whether or not one of her best friends was truly dead. Oh, how she wished to round on them all and shame them, to tell them that Twilight Sparkle was not a monster, was never a monster, and not one of them deserved to speak of her that way.
After a few seconds, Count Dane leaned forwards. “Do ye have a body?”
“Are ye callin’ me a liar?”
“I’m sayin’ that ye can’t be sure, and that ain’t good enough fer me!”
With a start, Rarity noticed that Titus was physically growling, the low rumble just barely audible from where she stood. Whitehorn leaned down and said a few words under his breath.
Titus snorted, calming himself. “Ye can split ’er lands among ye. As long as she’s taken care of, I won’t make any claims.”
Countess Silkie hummed thoughtfully. “Ye make a temptin’ offer, Duke Titus, but what’s t’ ensure our own lands don’t fall t’ th’ vultures while we’re away?”
“Honor,” Count Armet said. “We are all honorable lords and ladies, and we would not stoop so low as t’ strike another in th’ back while they’re dealin’ with a clear threat t’ th’ whole island.” He scanned the table, straightening up. “Or would any of ye prove me wrong?”
Nods and appreciative murmurs passed over the table. Rarity frowned as she inspected the nobles, seeing a mixture of pride, greed, and vindictive anger reflected in their eyes. A chill ran down her spine as she understood what was happening.
“So we are agreed, then?” Titus asked. He raised his mug, causing the brew inside to slosh over the edge and drip down the side. “It will be a brief campaign, and by th’ end of it ye’ll all be richer ’n lands and poorer ’n nuisance!”
They’re talking about war. Rarity let out a soft gasp as the seated nobles all shared nods amongst themselves. She thought of Ivory, and of Onyx’s grim expression when he told her of the mare’s death. Two dozen soldiers had died in the surprise attack on the Duke’s estate, plus who knew how many on the invader’s side or innocent civilians caught in the middle. How many more would die if the rest of the island mobilized to destroy Nettlekiss? Rarity didn’t know much of the Duchess, but from what she had heard it would not be beyond the mare to draft every villager in her lands and put them between her and the attacking force.
Somepony had to say something. Her eyes darted to Whitehorn, but he stood silent. Why isn’t he saying something?
One at a time, the other nobles raised their mugs with calls of “Aye!”. Rarity opened her mouth, but the words caught in her throat. She had crossed one noble before, and it had cost her hoof in marriage. What would happen if she opposed a dozen all at once? How would Titus react if she countermanded him in front of everyone else?
She raised a hoof to step forwards.
To her shock, the voice that spoke up wasn’t hers. “Friesland will not allow it!”
All eyes turned towards the front of the tent. A stallion stepped forwards with a stern glare, his eyes shadowed by the tricorn on his head. Nettle leaf designs were embroidered onto the shoulders of his long grey cloak.
Titus slammed his mug down onto the table. “What business is this of Friesland’s? Ye lot ought t’ stay out of th’ barons’ affairs!”
“Governor Rhea has extended the city’s protection to Duchess Nettlekiss,” the stallion said. “She has already sent troops with rifles to Castle Urtica, and if you march against the Duchess, you will be cut off from our ports.”
Angry jeers rose up from the nobles, backed up by bitter murmurs from the watching crowd.
Rarity watched as Titus very deliberately stood out of his seat, rising to his full height and bringing the tent to silence. “Ye best stand down, city dog,” he snarled. “Nettlekiss has gone too far, and if ye stand by ’er then ye’ll be ready t’ fall with ’er as well.”
Rarity could see the other nobles calculating, looking to their advisors and exchanging quick words. Her breath hitched as more and more of them turned back to the table with nods of solidarity. With Nettlekiss weakened, they saw their chance to solve two problems with one war, and all it would cost them were the lives of hundreds of ponies.
The tricorned stallion met Titus’ eyes without faltering. “Do you mean to go to war, sir?” he asked. “Take care with your words, as once spoken they cannot be so easily taken back.”
Countess Silkie stood up. “Aye, we mean t’ go t’ war, ye pompous rooster!”
Count Armet followed. “We’ve had enough of yer meddlin’!”
Count Dane glanced between the standing ponies before joining them with a firm nod. “Aye.”
One by one, the remaining nobles stood, declaring their support. All the while Titus and the tricorned stallion stared each other down, and all the while Rarity’s heart beat faster and faster. Could she hold them all in her magic and force them to see reason? There were so many, and what of all the ponies watching in the crowd? And above all else, why couldn’t she bring herself to move?
“Run back t’ yer walls,” Titus said, all twelve seats at the table now empty. “Th’ barons will march t’ war.”
“And you’ll march to your deaths,” the Frieslander responded. “Remember this moment when your precious lands burn.” He turned sharply, his cloak flapping out behind him, and stalked out of the tent.
The nobles all turned to each other with fire in their eyes. Titus grinned. “We’ll meet here again in an hour. Send messengers back t’ yer homes and raise yer levies. Tonight, we eat over plans of war!”
A chorus of “Aye!” filled the tent, and immediately the air was full of excited chatter. The nobles each began to file out into the open air while the crowds bustled about whispering of battles to come. Servants rushed to and fro, snatching the plates off the table and disappearing through two flaps at the back of the tent. Titus brushed past Rarity as he left, followed closely by Whitehorn and Pontius.
All at once Rarity’s body came back under her control. She burst into motion, running to follow them out of the tent. The sun was still high in the sky, and the camp seemed to throb with a new energy. Her mane flapped wildly in the rising wind as she searched for Titus among the crowd.
“Hey, Rarebear!” Rarity yelped in alarm as Pinkie Pie was suddenly in her face. “Whatcha looking for?”
“Sweet Celestia, Pinkie, don’t sneak up on me like that!”
Pinkie cocked her head with a lopsided smile, raising one hoof to boop Rarity’s muzzle. “But I’m right in front of you, you silly filly! That’s not sneaky at all!”
“We don’t have time for this, Pinkie!” Rarity grabbed the pink mare’s shoulders, drawing a shrill squeak from her. “Where is Titus? I need to speak to him right now!”
“Oh, uh, o-okay!” Pinkie let out an exaggerated hum as she looked around. “Over there!”
Rarity followed Pinkie’s hoof, finally picking the orange of Titus’ robe out of a gap in the crowd. She took off without hesitation, not even looking over her shoulder as she shouted, “Many thanks, darling!” back at Pinkie.
“Wait, Rarity!” Pinkie called after her. “Is the dinner canceled? I just finished desert!”
Rarity ran through the camp as quick as she could while dodging the ponies walking every which way. The soldiers had a grim countenance about them, and she could already see messengers galloping out of the camp with saddlebags bouncing on their flanks. Was she too late?
At last she caught up. “Titus, a word, please!”
Titus, Pontius, and Whitehorn all looked back with expressions of annoyance, curiosity, and concern, respectively. He didn’t bother hiding the irritation in his voice. “What do ye need, lass? I’ve business t’ attend.”
“Like Tartarus you do!” She marched up to him, looking up with as much force as she could muster. “You can’t start a war over this!”
Titus blinked. He looked to Whitehorn and then Pontius as an amused grin slowly broke out on his face. “What say ye, lads? Can I start a war over this?”
Pontius looked to Rarity with an apologetic shrug. “My Lady, perhaps ye don’t understand what—”
“No, I understand, darling, though I appreciate your input!” Rarity snapped, keeping her eyes fixed on Titus. “You’re willing to burn this island to the ground if it means a little more power for you, and I won’t allow it!”
“Neigh, ye won’t allow it?” Titus echoed, his eyes wide with false surprise. “What are ye gonna do t’ stop me?”
“I’ll—I’ll—” Rarity’s horn sparked to life as the anger welled up inside her. Why hadn’t she said anything sooner? She had just stood and watched.
Whitehorn stepped in between them. “Countess—”
“Don’t you ‘Countess’ me, you scoundrel!” Rarity rounded on the other unicorn. “Why are you letting this happen? I thought you wanted to help ponies, and now you’re ready to send them to war?!”
He raised his forehooves in surrender. “Rarity, please, let me speak before you try to take my eye out!”
She clenched her jaw, nostrils flaring as she spat the words out. “Go on, then.”
“We need this island unified if we’re to see success at Parliament,” Whitehorn said, speaking cautiously. “Friesland is unlikely to allow a delegation to depart that doesn’t favor them, and they certainly won’t listen to diplomacy.” He sighed, placing a hoof on her shoulder. “War is a terrible thing, yes, but it’s what must be done.”
She slapped his hoof away, jabbing her own into the soft fabric of his vest. “You haven’t even tried diplomacy!”
Titus let out an exasperated sigh. “It’s too late, ye daft mare! Friesland and Nettlekiss have had this reckonin’ comin’ fer longer than ye know, and nothin’ is goin’ t’ stop it happenin’ now.”
“Why not?” Rarity demanded, turning on him. “Let me do it! Pinkie and I will go to Friesland, and we’ll get them to see reason since you clearly won’t! There’s no need for anymore bloodshed!”
Titus laughed in her face. “Aye, and ye’ll accomplish what no noble has in a century, then?”
The light of Rarity’s horn died down as she pushed her anger down into a cold ball of determination. “I think you’ll find that I’m not like any other noble, darling.”
The two of them stared each other down. After several long seconds, Whitehorn cleared his throat. “Perhaps I could offer a compromise?” Both ponies turned to him, and he flashed a quick smile before continuing. “It will take time for the levies to be raised, and I’m sure you’ll be laying the city to siege before any kind of assault, correct?”
Titus nodded. “Aye. A direct assault would be foalish t’ th’ extreme.”
“So then you’ll need time to prepare siege engines.” Whitehorn nodded along as he spoke. “It’ll be weeks before you’re ready to take the city, and maybe months before you finally do. What harm could it do if the Countess and I attempt a diplomatic approach in the meanwhile? At the very worst, we’ll be taken prisoner for you to free after your eventual victory. At best, we’ll unify the island and strike back at Nettlekiss with no unnecessary bloodshed.” He paused to let the words sink in. “I know you have no wish to waste the lives of your ponies on a needless war.”
Titus frowned down at him. His jaw worked side to side for several seconds before he finally gave a small nod. “Aye, there’s no harm t’ it.” He snorted, his frown turning to a small grin. “Yer not much good in a war either way, so I’ll not stop ye if ye seek yer own means of victory.” He leaned in, lowering his voice to a stern growl. “But ye don’t tell anyone outside th’ city I agreed t’ this. I’ll not be seen lookin’ weak fer one mare’s foalishness.”
Whitehorn dipped his head. “You’re quite gracious, my Lord.” He looked sideways at Rarity.
Rarity pursed her lips, brow furrowing, but eventually let out a sigh. I suppose it’s the best chance I’ll have. “Fine, then. Just be ready to put your weapons down when the time comes.”
“Ye have my word, lass.” Titus turned to leave.
“I shall accompany them!”
He paused. Slowly he looked back over his shoulder at Pontius, who was standing resolutely at Rarity’s side. “Ye what?”
“She’s my w-wife,” Pontius stammered, meeting his father’s eyes. “She’ll need someone with martial skill to protect her within th’ walls.”
Titus sighed, turning back to face his son. “Lad, it’s yer first real war. Ye should be marchin’ with troops of yer own and standing by me at th’ war table, not prancin’ around Friesland searchin’ fer peace.”
Pontius gulped, but remained steadfast. “She’s my wife, father. I won’t leave her unguarded.”
“I could assign ‘er a guard,” Titus offered. “And th’ Friesland troops won’t harm ‘er when they know they can ransom ‘er off.”
Pontius just stood there in silence. Rarity laid a hoof on his shoulder. “That’s quite sweet of you, Pontius, but I can take care of myself, and I’ll have Pinkie and Whitehorn with me.”
His eyes darted briefly in her direction before turning back to his father. “It’s th’ right thing to do.”
“Ach, fine!” Titus turned away with a flick of his tail, his wings shuffling with annoyance. “Yer a stallion, I suppose. Do what ye will, lad, but I best not hear ye let yerself be beaten by soft Frieslanders!”
The Duke stalked away at a brisk trot, leaving the three ponies alone in the crowd. Rarity’s heart was still pounding in her chest as she exchanged looks with each of her two companions.
“I’ll need to make some arrangements,” Whitehorn said, turning away. “Meet me at our wagons once you’re both prepared.”
Rarity watched him go before turning to Pontius, who had gone pale in the face. She couldn’t help but smile when she noticed that he was shivering. “That was very brave of you, darling. I appreciate it.”
“A-aye, m-my Lady.”
“Whoa!” Rarity’s heart skipped a beat as Pinkie Pie shrieked into her ear. “Pontisnack, are you okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost!”
Rarity sighed, turning to Pinkie with an exhausted smile. “I’m afraid we won’t be making desert, Pinkie,” she said. “At least not until we stop this war.”
Twilight couldn’t stop the butterflies fluttering about in her stomach. She had suffered them ever since waking up that day, and she was beginning to fantasize about pulling them out with magic and eating them whole.
Oh, how vicious, Midnight mused beside her. I like that.
She bit her lip, scanning the ruins again. She could only see a single pair of changelings, the two bug-eyed creatures watching the odd procession pass through the cratered street beneath them in silence. Star Trails was in the lead, followed by Sea Sabre and Flintlock on either side. Rainbow Dash and Applejack were walking just slightly ahead of Twilight, close enough for them to feel the comforting warmth of their bodies, but far ahead enough that they didn’t disturb Spike, who was following dutifully behind her.
They had their helmets back on, and Twilight’s newly acquired night vision had allowed her to take in every detail of their dive suits during the walk to the edge of Canterlot. Her eyes lingered on the stains of changeling blood that painted drooping shapes down their sides. The lack of color in her sight made Applejack’s suit almost look like the bloodstains were an intentional paint job, like the camouflage patterns she had sometimes seen on the outfits of bird watchers and forest rangers that sometimes passed through Ponyville. No such illusion was possible with Rainbow’s; the brash pegasus had painted her armor with lightning bolts and racing stripes, and the blood splattered over the designs obviously didn’t belong.
Applejack glanced back at her. “Y’all sure ya don’t want to travel with us, Twi?” Her voice was dulled by the bulk of her helmet. “It can get mighty lonely on the open road all by yourself.”
Twilight offered up a false smile. “I’ll be fine, AJ. Thank you.” I wish I could be lonely.
No, you don’t, Midnight whispered into her ear. Twilight didn’t waste energy on arguing the point.
“You could at least let us take the Elements,” Rainbow said. She kept her voice low, though it was unlikely that the salvage ponies would hear her from how far ahead they were. “It doesn’t feel right leaving them behind.”
“They’ll be safer here with Spike,” Twilight said. Spike let out a low rumble at the sound of his name, and a pang of anxiety stabbed into her heart. “And we can’t use them anyways.”
“Yeah, I guess.” Rainbow sighed.
Twilight’s pulse quickened as they turned a corner and the tunnel leading out of Canterlot came into view. It was wide enough for many ponies to travel abreast, and tall enough to fit an alicorn with room to spare, but far too small to fit a fully grown dragon. She glanced back at Spike, who snorted curiously at her.
Her hooves seemed to carry her forward of their own accord. She lifted one to Celestia’s necklace, taking comfort in the jewelry hanging over her chest as the tunnel drew ever closer. She had packed everything she would need for the trip: navigational tools from Shining’s kit, his logbook, Spike’s journal, and a few other books containing spells that might be useful and topics that interested her. It was a shame that she could only fit a half dozen books in her bags, and she had spent an agonizing hour deliberating over what to grab. She was almost tempted to run back and spend another couple hours on the matter, but what was the point? She had to leave Canterlot, and stalling wouldn’t accomplish anything.
She just wished she could take Spike with her.
Finally they reached the mouth of the tunnel. Twilight’s hooves came to a stop, and the other ponies looked back questioningly.
“I-I’ll catch up,” she said.
Sea Sabre nodded, leading her team deeper into the tunnel without a word. Applejack and Rainbow exchanged concerned glances.
“Y’all take as much time as ya need, Twilight,” Applejack said.
Rainbow trotted back and gave Twilight a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “Don’t worry about Spike, Twi. He’s the big bad dragon around here.”
Twilight huffed out a short laugh, and by the time the two other mares were beginning to disappear behind the curve of the tunnel, that laugh had turned into a sob. She turned around to face Spike, who was hunched low to the ground, his massive head just barely fitting into the mouth of the cave behind her.
He was just lying there watching her with those glittering green eyes, and she could barely form a word. It took her several tries before she was able to get her tears under control enough to speak.
“I-I’ve got to go, Spike,” she said, her voice wavering. He snorted at her, twin gouts of green flame flaring from his nostrils. “Y-you take c-care of the Elements for me, o—okay?”
He cocked his head, the scales on the top and bottom of his head scraping against the stone.
“I’m s-sorry,” Twilight whispered. She raised a hoof and scratched at the tip of his muzzle, and he squeezed his head a little closer to her with a low hum that echoed around the cave like thunder. “You k-know you’re m-my number one assistant, right?”
He shuffled his wings behind him, the ensuing gust tossing her mane into her face, and she choked out a tearful laugh. She reared up and did her best to wrap her forelegs around his muzzle, reaching her hooves around his twisted fangs.
“I love you, Spike.” Her voice was hoarse, and it cracked mid-word. “I-I’ll come back f-for you. Y-you—you’ve d-done good, okay?”
She lay there against him for perhaps a minute, feeling the vibrations of his content humming. He had so many scars. She rubbed a hoof over the hard ridges, trying to connect the marks left by the life he had lived without her to the stories from his journal.
Midnight draped a hoof over her shoulder, the chill contrasting sharply with the heat of Spike’s scales. He’s alive, little flower, and he’ll be alive when we return.
Twilight sniffled. How can we know?
He’s survived this long. It paused, and she could feel its hesitation. Perhaps he could have even beaten us, if he was one of mind.
Spike huffed, and Twilight imagined him laughing at the confession. She smirked, looking up as Midnight looked away with a curl of its lip. Are you trying to comfort me?
I’m trying to get us moving, Midnight shot back.
That’s okay, Twilight teased. It worked.
With one last shuddering sigh, she tore herself away. Spike’s humming stopped as she stepped deeper into the tunnel.
“Goodbye, Spike,” Twilight said. “Be safe.”
She heard him snort behind her, his scales scraping against the stone as he tried to push himself after her. She kept her eyes forward, focused on Midnight waiting patiently ahead, because she knew that if she looked back she would never leave Canterlot again.
We shall return, dragon, it said, and then it too turned to walk by Twilight’s side.
Spike growled. His claws scraped against the rock and his wings beat vainly against the air. Twilight sped up her pace as more thick tears began to fall. The growling turned into a keening whine, and her heart broke.
Twilight’s horn glowed as she cast a bubble of silence over herself, and she wept as she galloped away from the oldest, most loyal friend she’d ever had.