An Extended Holiday

by Commander_Pensword

156 - Raiders of the Lost Artifacts

Extended Holiday
Chapter 156: Raiders of the Lost Artifacts
Act 28

It had been a good two hours, based on the sun’s movements. Pensword had improvised a hat and mask from the materials in his saddlebag to keep the sun out of his eyes and sand away from his nose and mouth. Still, the sun was hot on his fur, and it was difficult to find any place for shade or rest. The thermals brushed his wings with euphoric grace as he glided low over the sands toward the mountains in the distance.

The desert air was silent, save for the hot winds that stirred the shifting sands. He banked toward a nearby crevice to get out of the sun. Now that he had a proper idea of the lay of the land, he needed to ground himself before he used too much of his magical reserves. His keen sight revealed the passage led straight toward his destination.

He followed the new path and eventually arrived at a spring a few hours later. As he leaned down to drink from the water, his ears perked and his eyes darted over the oasis. The wind arrived a few moments later with a deafening howl as sand was tossed and spat in a rapidly forming cloud.

Pensword coughed as the unnatural cloud thickened and stung at his eyes and nose. “Sand storm,” he muttered darkly. “Of course.” He leaped back into the shelter of the crevice, but he knew it wouldn’t be long before the passage would likely be filled. He had to move quickly. The Pegasus tied his cloth over his mouth and used a wing as a shield to protect his eyes as he pushed forward.

The wind bit at the Pegasus as the sands tried to bury him. He had little choice but to use his wings and magic to generate a counter gale from time to time as he stumbled through. The wind whistled through his ears as the storm raged.

“Anubis….”

Pensword froze. His ears swivelled nervously. The voice was little more than a whisper. Was he hearing things?

“Anubis, where are you?”

This was definitely not a hallucination. This was someone on the hunt. The voice was filled with murderous intent. He shuddered as the winds intensified. This wasn’t natural. “Show yourself!” Pensword yelled.

“What’s this?” the wind hissed. “Do my eyes deceive me?” The winds parted into a sand devil that circled the Pony. “What is one of your kind doing in my hunting ground?”

“Reveal yourself, and then we can talk, spirit,” Pensword repeated.

“Very well. I may as well give the coward a little respite before I resume the chase.” The winds died down. The sand cloud sifted back into the dunes, and as it did so, a figure slowly phased into existence through the curtain. Pensword tore off his makeshift mask and gaped at the sight. The Gryphon was a large male with a long neck and smaller black feathered head that sprouted a long curved beak. His feathers from his neck down were white with deep black rosettes covering his body as it translated into fur. His strong wings were rimmed with black, and he was dressed in refined armor of polished bronze with sections of glowing blue that covered his chest. He held a bow that looked like a much more advanced version of the Gryphon bows Pensword had seen. A curved sword lay on his hip with a bronze shield slung across his back between his wings.

“A Gryphon.” He shook his head in disbelief. “What are you doing on Earth? And more importantly, what era do you hail from? That armor clearly predates the Third Gryphon war.”

“War?” The Gryphon’s gaze locked on the Pegasus. “What war? The only war my people have is with those who call themselves ‘the children of Faust.’ Allow me to follow your question with another question. What is a pony doing here?” His gaze narrowed suspiciously as he bore his teeth. “Do your masters send you to stop my pursuit of the traitor Anubis?”

“I have no master,” Pensword growled back, then smacked his forehead with a wing. “I don’t have time for this. Let’s just leave it at the fact that a lot happened after your death.” He took a few steps forward, then paused and turned to face the Gryphon again. “Anubis? As in the god of death?”

“A god? You dare to call that lowly mutt a god?” The sands began to whirl again as the spirit’s anger mounted.

Pensword raised his wings placatingly. “I am referring to the mythology of the humans in this plane. They once worshipped a god by that name in these regions, and there are some who still do as one whose duty is to prepare the dead to face judgement. I meant no offense. Who is this Anubis that you hate so much? Why do you pursue him?”

The proud Gryphon puffed his chest and began to pace. “Anubis,” he spat, “is the accursed Diamond Dog who led the ritual that sealed the Winds, our gods, true gods, away from us.” A low growl rumbled from his chest. “I will chase him down and flay his hide every day for all of eternity.”

“A Diamond Dog?” Pensword gaped incredulously. Could it be that this Anubis was the very king Grif had so heartily despised? And if so…. “Uh, did he happen to carry a weapon they call a khopesh?” he asked worriedly. “And pray, forgive my impertinence, but who am I addressing?”

“He doesn’t carry a khopesh,” the Gryphon said as he drew his sword. This time, Pensword could take in the full sickle blade. It was twenty-four inches long, straight slightly from the handle before curving outward into a hooked C with a tearing barb at the end. The blade was sharpened on both the outer and inner edges and shone with its own brilliance. The metal resembled bronze, but something about its shine or maybe the color felt … off. “It was this blade that spilt his blood in life. And so I use it to flay him every night in death.”

“And so, you repeat what you did in life, even to this day?”

“Joyfully.” The Gryphon grinned. His beak gleamed as he bore the polished white teeth beneath. “And so be it to any who would disgrace the gods.”

Pensword paled and swallowed heavily. “Yeah, uh, funny you should mention that. It’s been a long time since you left Equis. A lot has changed. And, well, you see, I have a Gryphon friend who … kind of … needs your khopesh? He’s very close to restoring your gods to their rightful place,  but he mentioned the need for a khopesh. Something to do with the blood of the enemy?”

The Ibis-headed Gryphon regarded Pensword with a quizzical gaze. After a time of serious scrutiny, he finally spoke. “You know the one our prophets spoke of, then?”

“Yeah, I do. We fought together in war and, in a way, we’ve known each other longer than a single lifetime. If I may, could I ask another question?”

“You may ask,” the Gryphon said. He whistled sharply and a swarm of scarabs the size of german shepherds rushed past them as they scuttled over the sand dunes. “My hunting companions,” he explained. “They will follow the trail. While I hate to let the betrayer gain a lead, this is more important.”

Pensword cleared his throat and did his best to push the horrifying image he’d just witnessed from his mind. “Do you know of where a book that a race we call Alicorns might have hidden in this land? We are trying to recover our lost knowledge that they stole and threw into this world.”

The Gryphon’s face hardened as he rounded on Pensword with a snarl. “‘Our lost knowledge?’ You work for the children of Faust?”

“No,” Pensword said hastily. “For the Ponies. The book contains knowledge of Unicorns, Pegasi, Thestrals, and Earth Ponies. The Alicorn who complied the information tore it into sections and flung it into this world. It is our knowledge because it speaks of our kind from a time that was destroyed by a being of chaos called Discord.” He was especially careful not to mention anything about Luna or Celestia.

“I know not this Discord you speak of, but if the knowledge of you Ponies from my time has been lost, perhaps it is better that way.” He sighed. “Still, I cannot deny a quest for knowledge. But you may regret what you find. The book you seek, I know of, though it was only knowledge of Pegasi, which lends credence to your story. It was a little after my time when a young ruler came into possession of the book. He showed such spirit, such vibrance, such thirst for conquest that he took control of most of Asia before he died. Even now, the book lies with him. I will take you to his resting place.”

Pensword choked on that surprising revelation. “You—you speak of Alexander the Great. Even in the present, my generation learns of him in our schools. His tactics are still used in my nation’s military.” He blushed as he realized he overspake, and decided truth would be the best remedy to the situation. “I … once was a human who, through a strange twist of fate, became and now live as a Pegasus warrior.”

“What a coincidence. I was once a Gryphon, and came here only to live as a god.” The ghost laughed. “I would advise that you be careful about what you see. I have watched this tomb remain a secret for centuries. Many would do terrible things to find it.”

“If I have my way, I will never step hoof into any of the cities of Egypt. I’m here for the quest, not to gab with the locals.” He gulped. “For the sake of full disclosure, I will say that a part of me is excited at the prospect of seeing the embalmed body of Alexander the Great, himself, but I will tell no current human of what I saw.”

“What is your name, Pony?” the Gryphon asked.

“My name, once you strip away titles, ranks, and clan names, is Pensword.”

“Saberswift,” the Gryphon said and pounded his chest. “Thoth Saberswift.”

It took a few moments for Pensword’s brain to reboot. “You said you were treated as a god, but I never suspected…. Your name is still known to the Humans as one of the Egyptian pantheon of gods, except in those interpretations, you worked with Anubis. You didn’t hunt him.”

“And most humans believe that Hades kidnapped and raped Persephone,” Thoth noted. “Honestly, if anything, it was closer to the other way around. Humans have short memories and tend to connect dots where there aren't any or miscommunicate relationships. I taught them mathematics and how to build and they called me a god of knowledge. They saw Anubis’ ghost when dying and praised him as a god of death. Some gods are or were real. Some were just seen as gods.”

“I am learning so much,” Pensword muttered. “In the words of one Teal’c,  ‘Indeed.’” He nodded. “In that case, I humbly ask that you lead the way, so I may avoid Anubis and the sands that seek to eat my flesh. I doubt he will take kindly to our efforts to break the Winds’ seal.”

“You have food and water?” Thoth asked.

“I have three days’ water evenly spread in the bottom of my saddlebags, and enough dried food to last four days.”

“Understand then, Pony. I am dead. I cannot interact with this world, save to kick up the wind or displace some sand. I will guide your way, but cannot help you against obstacles or dangers.”

“But you will keep at bay one danger, getting lost. I can handle the others.”

“Then follow me.” Thoth gestured as he began to make his way.

Pensword nodded, wrapped his head gear again, and trotted behind.

“Welcome, Trixie, to New York City,” Conor said as he waved over at the skyscrapers and other buildings that surrounded them. The sound of car horns and general traffic rang through the air. A cool breeze blew through the folds of Trixie’s dress, causing it to billow like Luna or Celestia’s mane. Her white hair flapped behind her like the flags that clattered against the metal poles.

“It’s larger than I imagined,” she noted as she looked around. “Larger than Manehattan.”

“Funny you should mention that. I’ll have to show you Manhattan sometime.”

“Is that a pun?” Trixie asked.

“I asked the same question the first time I heard about Manehattan. You’d be surprised at the parallels between our worlds.” He smiled. “Come on. I think I still have my security clearance in my wallet. Facial recognition should be able to tell it’s me, and I’m sure my staff will be waiting on me.” He groaned and facepalmed. “And I just realized they’ve had months to pick my staff for me. This is going to be a nightmare.”

“Well, at least they’re prepared,” Trixie offered.

“Yes, but they could also be ignorant people with no patience or sense of love and friendship that Equestria needs and prefers. I’m going to have to screen as many as possible before we go back. After I report in. And set up an emergency meeting with the UN. And arrange to get that book for Pensword.” He sighed. “Yeah, this is going to be a lot of business, not so much pleasure.” He smiled gently. “But at least I’ll be able to show you some of the fun parts of the city while we’re here.”

The checkpoints into the UN were heavily guarded, as Conor knew they would be. He approached the desk and motioned to one of the guards. “Could you kindly let whoever is currently in charge that Conor Vulpes is back and would like to arrange his meeting with the various ambassadors of the UN before any incidents occur to make him disappear again? Thank you.”

The Guard raised a brow, and sighed as he moved into another room. Conor and Trixie both noted the sudden increase of guards flocking nearby. They each spoke casually with one another, but the furtive glances and general body language were unmistakable. A few minutes later, the guard returned with a flemuxed expression. “If you’d come with me to a room, I just have a few questions for you. Mind you, trying to impersonate an ambassador or United Nations official does carry penalties.”

“Would you like to see my security clearance? It was rather hastily issued, but I had it on me when I … left.”

The Guard raised a brow. “If you wouldn’t mind showing it. But we do need to ask a clarifying question, something the President felt would show if you’re the real McCoy. Also, who’s the lady?”

“A delegate from Equestria, Miss Trixie Lulamoon,” Conor explained as he removed a pristine laminated card from his wallet and handed it to the guard. “She also happens to be my wife.”

The Guard held the card and frowned, both at the information and that Conor didn’t have the lanyard badge. “This way, please.”

The pair soon stood in an empty room with a blank table and three chairs. When the door had shut, the three took their places, and the guard returned to his narrative.

“Okay, I only have two questions. First, can the Equestrian delegate please show her Equestrian Form? And as for you, how many did you interview for your assistant’s position?”

“You’re asking me about how many I interviewed when you could have just asked me to turn into my Unicorn form?” Conor asked as he raised a curious brow. Then he shrugged. “The answer is none. I had a secretary appointed to me, and I received assistance from Barry, but that’s about it. I don’t even remember the names of the rest of my staff. I only had the one meeting with them before I had to go back to Equestria.”

The Guard nodded. “That fits the profile and answer structure. May we see your Equestrian forms? Just as a formality, of course. Then we’ll get you to your embassy office. It’ll take a day to spread word of your return. An emergency session should be prepared by tomorrow to open the floor for the Equestrian debate.” He shuffled a few of his papers. “And, apparently for simplicity’s sake, I am also going to be your guard for the duration of your stay on UN Property. You should probably expect a call from the president after you settle in. He’ll want a report from you at the earliest possible convenience.”

“Ready to blind them with your radiance, dear?” Vital asked his wife.

“Always.” She grinned.

The room was filled with the light of their change, followed by the appearance of the stallion and the taller Alicorn.

“Trixie here recently ascended to become an Alicorn, much like Twilight. While she has not been granted the title of Princess, she does still wield the power of an Alicorn, and should be treated with the same respect as one might offer to Twilight or the other princesses.”

The guard stroked his chin thoughtfully. “That throws out a few theories around the UN about Alicorns and royal status. And … that only four Alicorns exist. Still, if you would return to human form, we’ll get you to your office.”

“By the way, how long have I been gone? Time between the worlds flows differently, so it’s difficult to keep track,” Conor said after the pair had changed back.

“It is currently April fourteenth, 2016,” the guard replied.

“Good. It’s nice to have a proper point of reference. Let’s get to the office. I’m guessing the next couple of hours are going to be a lot of telling and retelling to various officials. Then, after that, we’re going out to eat in style, Trixie. Tell me, have you ever tried a hibachi grill before?”

Grif landed on the even grassy terrain and took a moment to observe his surroundings before he turned the gem on his bracer and returned to his human self. He wasn’t too worried about encountering other people. If he was where he believed himself to be, it was unlikely, considering how Mongolia was a country with one of the sparsest populations on the planet.

He took a few moments to track the river as far as he could see. For the most part, it ran straight through the area, seemingly with nothing special at all about it. He opened his bag and began to unpack some basic camping supplies: a tent, a sleeping bag, a pot for boiling water, and a few other basic goods. He’d brought a healthy supply of dried deer meat from Equestria, so as long as he had a supply of water, he knew he would be fine for his time here.

Mongolia the country was definitely not where Grif would have expected to find the book hiding, but thanks to Taze’s memories, he had some ideas for just what he was looking for. Several hours passed as Grif made a fire, spread the fresh ashes around the perimeter of his camp, then made a second fire, filled a pot full of stream water and boiled it, adding a few purification tablets in for good measure. When he was sure the water was clean, he filled two canteens and sat down to an early meal. Once he’d eaten, he stowed his supplies back into his bag and sat by the fire concentrating.

He thought of the orb that Hammer Strike, Celestia and Luna had used to track the locations. Trying his best to bring up the thaumic signature the artifact had generated, he concentrated heavily and tuned his thaumic field like a radio looking for a frequency. He wasn’t sure how long he sat there. The world passed him by without either noticing the other. He must have made a strange sight, since he looked nothing like the locals and was sitting out in the middle of nowhere staring into the fire.

After what was likely hours, he managed to find it, a small faint tingle of energy that felt similar to what he had felt in that room. He reached into his bag and pulled out an arrow, then concentrated on that feeling. He willed the arrow to point him in its direction, and channeled some power into it. The arrow felt warm in his hand. After a few moments, he felt a distinct tug. He rose slowly to his feet and began turning, positioning himself in different directions until the pull was strongest. Then he looked ahead and marked the direction, followed by sticking the arrowhead in the ground for good measure.

With that task complete, he released the energy flow immediately and felt the effects of the drain on his thaumic field. He fished out one of Clover’s batteries. In one fluid motion, he pulled the energy from it into his body and felt somewhat better. Tomorrow, he would set out for his hunt. And if taze was right, one of the most famous lost tombs in history awaited him.

The tomb of Temujin.

The late morning sun shone down with golden rays on the base. The fresh scent of dew had long since faded against the onslaught of rising temperatures. A squadron of young privates stood before a firing line with their assault weapons pointing skyward with their butts firmly planted in the dirt.

“All right, gentlemen, you’ve made it past the gauntlet. Congratulations. Your mothers must be so proud,” the rangemaster said as he strode along the dusty earth. “You all know the rules of the range. You know in combat, we shoot to kill. It’s time we test just how well you can kill. My range, my rules. You will prime when I tell you to prime. You will shoot when I tell you to shoot. And you sure as hell had better cease fire when I tell you to cease fire. Any questions?”

A united, “Sir, no, Sir!” burst forth from the unit.

“Good.” The rangemaster strode behind them and surveyed the space one last time. The dummies and targets had been set. It was time to assess the newbies. “Gunners at the ready!”

As one body, the assault weapons rose to their users’ hands.

“Take aim!”

The butts found their resting places against the troop’s shoulders.

“Fire!”

The sharp retorts of the rifles going off rebounded against the base’s walls and found vent in the skies above. However, this was not what drew the sudden call of, “Cease fire!” from the rangemaster’s lips.

No, that would have been caused by the sudden explosion and literal wall of blue flame that engulfed every round that struck it. The sheer heat generated by the barrier was enough to turn the artificially arid range into a proper desert. Cracks spread over the dirt as what little moisture had been there was consumed. As the hot blast of air settled and the wall dissipated, the rangemaster breathed a soft, “my god,” as the sight of a single pale hand ringed by gold trim at the cuffs of its sleeve gave way to reveal a tall muscular form. His breathing came steadily, even as his gaze passed with no small amount of hostility over the soldiers. A slim woman with long black hair and a hairpin with a triple diamond pattern on it clung tightly to the man’s free arm.

“While I would normally humor you in the situation, this time is not the same,” Shawn spoke with a leveled tone.

“Private Barnes!” the rangemaster barked.

“P-present, Sir,” the young man said with wide eyes as he looked back and forth between his superior and the impossibility that had just appeared before him.

“Get Stark. I don’t care what trouble you face along the way. Tell him we’ve got a Code Royal Blue and to get his ass down here ASAP.”

“Y-yes, Sir.”

“Move!”

Private Barnes’ booted feet pounded across the turf as he ran for the main building. The rangemaster took advantage of the moment to approach the figure and his guest, though he made sure to keep a safe distance of approximately two feet.

“Shawn Viginti, I presume?” He pulled off his cap to reveal a sparse amount of black hair that had been buzzed down.

“That would be correct,” Shawn replied as he turned his attention fully toward the rangemaster.

“Sergeant Wilson. Forgive the lack of contact, but I’ve been … advised about the peculiarities of your clothing.”

“It just doesn’t like being separated from me. So long as that doesn’t happen, everything will be fine,” Shawn clarified with a sigh. “Well, Sergeant Wilson, is there something that I have to deal with? Or for a change, will I have an easy day and be allowed to leave?”

“No idea, Sir. That’s for Stark to tell you. I’m just the messenger in this case.”

“As to be expected.” He sighed. “Well, what now? Do we just wait here for him to show up, potentially bring the agents from last time, and continue on from there?”

“Probably. If you’d like, we can take you to a waiting room.”

“That’ll work,” Shawn replied as he held out his arm for Rarity to join him.

“And this is…?” he asked as he gestured to the woman.

“Rarity, my wife.”

“We weren’t aware you were married.”

He shrugged. “I was engaged during my last visit.” 

“I see. Then congratulations, I suppose.”

The somewhat spartan office was on a higher scale than the interrogation room where he’d stayed last time. For one, nobody dared check him for weapons. For another, coffee and tea had been provided. Stark tented his fingers as he looked over the pair, took a deep breath, and let out a longsuffering sigh. “So, how long are you two going to be staying this time, and how often should we expect you to keep appearing in the middle of a live firing range?”

“As little as four days, as much as a week.” Shawn shrugged. “It’s a little … unstable, for how we get here. As for appearing on the range, I have no idea. Our location should have been different this time, but we ended up in the same place.”

“I see.” Stark leaned back in his chair and smacked his boots on his desk. “Welp, that about covers the niceties. Pretty much, I’m supposed to keep you ‘in custody’ until your escort arrives to check up with you. You know, they’re forming a whole new department in national defense, thanks to you.”

“I’m honored.” Shawn rolled his eyes.

“And I am very much confused,” Rarity said. “For a military colt, excuse me, man, you seem surprisingly laid back.”

Stark shrugged. “One, it’s my office, so I’m free to take certain liberties and drop my namesake at the door for a while. Two, my men tend to feel more comfortable with me like this than when I pull rank. If the situation calls for it, this part of me goes bye-bye, and I’m all business. That, and there’s the fact that any act of aggression could easily trigger a less than pleasant reaction from that coat. By the way, you still owe us for all those weapons it stole.”

“I stole weapons?” Shawn questioned.

“It did. Your coat. I’d rather not list all them right now, but I’m fairly certain you remember. It also traumatized many of my soldiers.”

“I remember a 1911, but I swear I handed that over to an agent.” He hummed for a moment as he reached into his coat pocket. After a moment he pulled out said 1911 once again. He frowned for a moment before placing it on the table for Stark to take.

“... I guess it’s a start. Though you could’ve just paid us back for the expense.” Stark picked the weapon up and laid it carefully against the wall behind him.

Shawn shrugged as he reached once more into his coat and pulled out a small pouch. “Think this will cover it?” he asked as he placed the bag on the table.

He looked inside the bag and withdrew one coin. “That should more than cover it.”

Shawn motioned to the bag. “You’ll probably want to take a second, just to ensure you cover everything.”

“Are you saying you plan to take more?”

“I’m not,” he clarified. “But considering last time, I’m unsure as to what my coat will take.”

Stark grunted. “Fair point. All right, one more coin, then.”

There was a knock at the door of the room. When Stark called his permission to enter, the doorframe opened to reveal a large African American man wearing a black suit, tie, and sunglasses. He held up his badge. “Agent bubbles. I’ve been sent to take charge of the situation.” His deep bass seemed to rumble around the room as he spoke.

“I’m already aware, Agent Bubbles. Protocol told us to expect your arrival. Mister Viginti is unharmed and quite well, as you can see,” Stark said as he waved a hand at the pair.

A smaller woman with a plain expression and fiery red hair shouldered her way past the agent to finally get a proper view of the room. “You could’ve left a little room for me, Bubbles,” she said. Then her gaze locked onto Rarity. “And who do we have here?”

“This,” Shawn spoke up, “would be my wife, Rarity.”

“A complication.” Bubbles sighed.

“You brought an Equestrian here without the proper paperwork?” The woman groaned. “Do you have any idea how difficult it is to arrange for passports and diplomatic records as it is?”

Rarity rose from her chair. “I do apologize for the inconvenience, but I swore I wouldn’t let my husband leave on another adventure like this without proper accompaniment. He has a nasty habit of disappearing without telling me, and coming back after several years of his own time being spent elsewhere and when. Surely, you can understand that protective desire a wife has for her husband, Miss…?”

“Scully. Agent Scully.” Scully groaned and shook her head. Then she rested her gaze on Shawn. “You realize we’ll have to test her for foreign pathogens, the same we did with you, right?”

“So long as the tests don’t go too far, it should be fine. I have business that I need to cover with you two and some higher-ups as well,” Shawn replied as he took the bag of bits once more and offered it to one of the agents.

“More gold from this … Equestria?” Bubbles raised an eyebrow.

“Yes, but from what I remembered last time, the purest sample of gold you have is ninety-nine point nine nine, etcetera, percent pure. That right there should be the purest sample you’ll ever come across, being naturally, one hundred percent,” Shawn explained.

“As we found when we tested the bits that were sold by a family in George Park, Colorado. The buyer brought them to our attention after testing their purity. He was worried he was being scammed.” Bubbles held up a coin curiously.

“I am in need of an object, specifically an artifact that was sent here to Earth from Equestria.” Shawn frowned. “I need that object back, and I will offer more bits of this purity to obtain it.”

“I’m afraid we cannot allow you to disperse any more bits to the general public. We’ve been instructed to offer you a large cash retainer to assure these make it to government hands, so they will be transferred to the government gold stockpile.”

“I never planned on putting this out into the general public; hence why I handed it to you,” Shawn replied with a shrug.

“If you describe the object in question to Agent Scully, she’ll get to work immediately on locating it. If you’d follow her to the car outside, I have to make sure the footage of this interaction is properly destroyed, as per protocol.”

“I’ve already got a location, so your job is simpler there,” Shawn said as he took his wife’s arm and the two approached the door.

“Oh? Then where to?” Scully asked.

“The Smithsonian Museum. I can describe it later.”

“Your quarters have already been arranged. You’ll both be staying at The Jefferson,” Scully explained. “As an added precaution, you’ll both have a set of discrete guards to keep an eye on you and protect you in the event of any trouble.”

“Where is that, exactly?”

“Near the National Geographic Museum.”

“Think we can make a stop beforehand?”

“That depends on where you want to go, and for what reason,” Scully said.

“Brief visit to family, since I kinda promised Rarity I’d introduce her,” Shawn reasoned.

“It takes us out of the way, but there’s no immediate rush to get you to your hotel either, so I suppose it’s possible,” Scully mused. “Bubbles? What do you say?”

“Take them to the car, then call the agency to sweep the area before we get there.” Bubbles cracked his knuckles. “I’ll take care of the footage.” He removed his sunglasses, revealing his wide dark eyes. “And erasing the memories”.

A few soldiers laughed, but for the most part the room became awkwardly silent as few seemed able to tell if he was joking.

Thoth pressed onward, guiding Pensword to a variety of crevices and dunes that would provide shelter from the sun.

“The desert is harsh and unforgiving.Things will go better for you if we stay here as much as we can,” Thoth said.

“I am happy to hear that. How far away is the tomb? I want to set a proper pace,” Pensword responded.

“If everything goes well, it should take about half a day’s journey at a reasonable pace.”

“Thank you.” Pensword lapsed into silence. It was better to conserve what liquid he could, given the desert’s ability to absorb moisture at such a rapid rate. Instead, he dedicated his time to locating any potential dangers, such as snakes, scorpions, etc.

“You’re not likely to encounter anything in here that will attack you,” Thoth noted. “You don’t smell human, and you’re much bigger than they are.”

Pensword relaxed at the words, but still watched where he walked to maintain proper footing. “Thank you for that information.”

“How is the state of Equis?” Thoth asked. The confidence in his voice had been replaced by tension.

“In what way? Empires have fallen and kingdoms have risen. The world has seen wars and peace alike. That tends to happen when you’ve been out of touch for millennia.”

“And my people?”

Pensword was silent for a while. “They hurt from having lost their contact with the Winds. From what Grif told me, the Winds’ children are helping where they can, but much of your people’s glory has faded into history and legend.”

“As I feared.” Thoth sighed.

“I’m sorry,” Pensword spoke, and surprised himself when he discovered he actually meant it.

“It’s not yours to be sorry for. Sleipnir gifted us with a warrior’s spirit, and Faust abandoned us for our warlike ways. Now we exist only to be dependent on our gods to keep us from destroying ourselves.”

“I have seen that at times, but if the Winds return, you’ll become tempered. Is that not so?”

“Their laws were strict, but under them, we thrived.” Thoth nodded. “They gave us meaning.”

Pensword nodded. “What did you view my kind as during life?” he finally asked. “And what will you do when the end of time happens?”

“When I was alive, your people were little more than random tribal families. You had no unified language and had only just begun to understand the true uses of fire and magic. You were treated as cattle by the Children of Faust, and you were not requiring of our notice.”

Pensword shivered at that news. Could this have been the origin for Gryphons’ views of Ponies as prey? Could the loss of their gods’ enforcement paired with this mindset led to the countless slaughters? “I suppose I should say I am glad, then. My people, they got to thrive after the Children of Faust stopped messing with us.”

“If you are any indication, then it seems the least has become the greatest.” The old Gryphon chuckled.

“It does seem that way.” Silence resumed for another half hour before Pensword worked up the nerve to ask a question that had bothered him since the pair first met. “You sure seem eager to get this book out of the tomb. I can’t help but wonder why. And why give it to a Pegasus in the first place?”

“One human used its influence to conquer so much of the world that his empire influences culture to this day. He was a mostly benevolent warlord. Many years later, I watched as several legions attacked the world bearing the red and black standard. Their leader sent them all over Egypt to claim relics of the past. Tell me, Pony, what might have happened, had he gained the book’s influence for himself?”

Pensword stumbled as he finally made the historical connection, and his face paled. “I don’t want to think about it. Too vivid an imagination.”.

Thoth nodded. “These humans are capable of great light and great darkness, much like any race. But even when the veil was thin, their magic was weak, and as a side effect, they never truly understood it. The book is old magic, and therefore more powerful and more chaotic than other such enchanted objects. These humans clearly are not ready for it, and I feel that if you truly seek to remove it from here, it would be for the best.”

“Ah. And the Khopesh? Do I have your permission to bring the actual weapon to the Gryphon?”

“If he can truly bring the gods back to my people, then he may have it with my blessing.” Thoth nodded. “There would be nothing better for my people.”

“Understood. Thank you for giving me permission for the two items. I would rather not incur the wrath of others.”

“There are few others to incur wrath from. Most humans are incapable of becoming ghosts.”

“They move on quickly, then?”

“They are not born with magic in their soul, such as we are. They are not created from Faust. Some manage to leave a scar when they pass, but few can truly exist beyond their graves here.”

Pensword hummed and left it at that. Now was not the time to debate, and he didn’t want to explain his sight, regardless.

“And that’s about the long of the short of it, Mister President,” Conor explained as he leaned back in his roller chair. “I’m still fully capable of functioning as ambassador, but we need to have this meeting with the UN as soon as possible. We have a minimum of three days, a maximum of five, if we’re lucky. If I’m to address the nations of the world about Equestria and the desires of the government of said kingdom, it has to be sooner, rather than later.” Conor nodded as he listened. “Thank you. I’ll make sure to be ready.” He hung up the phone and sighed. “Well, I’m glad that’s over.” He smiled tiredly at his wife, who had changed into a more reserved skirt and blouse that complimented her pale skin tone and helped to emphasize the long white hair that framed her face.

“You handled yourself well. Clover would be proud, I’m sure,” Trixie offered.

“Just don’t let her hear you say that.” He chuckled. “You remember what she did last time I dared to make such a speculation?”

“She just likes to hide it.” Trixie laughed. Despite her attitude, Vital could see the fatigue on her face from the magic draining nature of Earth.

He frowned and rose from his chair to hold her in his arms. “You holding up okay?”

“It’s more stressful than I thought, but I’ll be fine,” she promised.

“Don’t overexert yourself, okay? If you need a boost, let me know.” He kissed her gently on the head. “It’s what I’m here for, after all. You’re my wife, and I’m never letting you go.”

“I’m fine. My capacity is more than double yours, after all.”

“Yes, but I have something that sustains mine and reduces the drain. You don’t.”

“I’ll be fine,” she insisted.

Conor sighed. “Fine. But I’m still keeping an eye on you till we get back to Equestria again.”

“Same to you.” She smirked.

The telephone went off again, and Conor put it on speaker. “Hello?”

“Sorry to bother you, Sir, but you have a rather urgent call on line three.”

“Who from, the President again?”

“No, Sir. Your mother.”

Conor gulped. “Oh, crap.”

“Should I tell her you’re busy, Sir?”

Conor shook his head. “No, no. I’ll take the call. I’m sure we’ve both got some important things to say.” He chuckled weakly as the line went silent in preparation for the connection. “Ready for your first interaction with the in-laws, Trixie?”

“Is anybody?”

“Touche.” Then he pressed the glowing red button.

Back in Equestria, a swift smart knock rapped on a door of one of the uniform houses in the Bladefeather compound. Despite being common, every Gryphon and more than a few of the Ponies who frequented the area knew who lived here, so there was no chance of a mistake. Still, Grif was away, and most, if not everyone, knew this. So who could be knocking at their door?

The door opened to reveal the penetrating eyes and mischievous grin of a harrier hawk’s beak rimmed by lynx whiskers. “Hello?” The familiar shape of a black Earth Pony with a tower for his cutie mark stood before her. “Well well. Come back to challenge me to another chess match, little doormouse?”

Black rook grinned. “Actually, I’m here to talk to the ladies of the house, as per Hammer Strike’s request.” Then he winked.

“Oh, it’s about that old thing, is it? I suppose I can see about rounding them up. My little hatter should be able to keep the other cubs entertained long enough for you to conduct your ‘business.’” She smirked at him. “Good luck,” she sang as she backed into the shadows and disappeared, leaving little more than an echo in her wake.

Rook chuckled as he let himself into the front room and shut the door. He waited patiently until someone came to get him.

“Hey there, Rook,” Gilda said tiredly as she descended the stairs and flopped onto a couch. Avalon and Shrial were swift to follow, albeit more gracefully as they took their own chairs. “What’s up?”

“I’ve been sent by Lord Hammer Strike, your own council of elders, and the several important members of this clan to deal with the problem at hand,” Rook told them with a straight face. “The problem with your husband.”

“What?” Gilda bolted upright at the claim, then winced and grabbed her belly.

Shrial put a staying hand on the young Gryphoness and laid her gently back onto the couch again. “Give him time to explain, Gilda. He’s very good at that, usually.” She smirked. “And he knows what happens to people who speak ill of Grif behind his back, so this clearly must be serious.”

“I have an inkling,” Avalon admitted. “There have been a few too many Gryphons eyeing our home lately for mere coincidence.” She fingered through one of her many new tomes to scan its contents, maintaining the image of poise she had been trained to hold for most of her life. “Just what’s going on, Rook?”

“It’s a pretty well known fact by now that these houses only have so many rooms, and that your family is already using most of them. At least a few of you have made your intentions to keep expanding clear.” Rook winked at Avalon. “Despite numerous attempts to convince him, your husband has absolutely refused to consider getting a larger place. Several Gryphons have told him he should. He has used the excuse that his take of the bits wouldn’t afford building a larger one.

“The council has apparently tried in no small amount of ways to attempt to partition money to build a larger house for you, and he has refused to take any such offering, quoting, ‘taking money to do this would create want somewhere else. I won’t do that.’ And despite several well-dropped hints, he wouldn’t use Hammer Strike’s money or even the town’s own building resources to do so. So, a few months ago, not long after the announcement of your next expectant children, Hammer Strike met with your elders, and they worked out a plan. Today, I am here to announce that it’s moved on to the final phase.”

“Which is?” Shrial asked.

“Your husband has given his oath to Hammer Strike, an oath to discharge any and all duties assigned to him without argument. Is this not correct?”

“Yes. Despite his technical independence as the head of the clan, he is still a direct subordinate to Hammer Strike, until such time as his lord should release him.” Shrial narrowed her gaze in suspicion. “All right, Rook. Just what scheme have they come up with to get Grif to go along with an expansion? Are you saying Hammer Strike is going to order him to build a bigger home?”

“Hammer Strike has recently begun construction on the emergency supplies cache for New Unitiy’s future expansion, a little more than four hundred feet from the compound’s official border. Built into the cliff face is the building that marks the entrance into this cache, a large house with all the necessary facilities to allow for a particularly large family to live quite comfortably. This is an official assignment from Hammer Strike assigning Grif Bladefeather to guard this stockpile and, should the need arise, distribute it to the public. As such, it is important that Grif, and therefore your entire family, live at the site.” Rook set a scroll down in front of the Gryphoness.

Shrial skimmed over the document, then passed it off to Avalon. “It has potential, but it still would require Grif being willing to take on the extra responsibility. He’ll do what he’s ordered, but if he can’t handle it, he’s going to let Hammer Strike know. Then again, I suppose you took that into account, considering how natural resources seem to follow Hammer Strike like a pack of lost puppies. Surpluses will likely never run dry around here.”

“All his duties require is that he checks the supplies are in order every couple of weeks and see that it’s defended.” Rook smiled. “It’s easy enough, just a matter of trust. This is one of the larger caches around the area.”

“There are others? And who will be running those?”

“Hammer Strike wouldn’t put his eggs in one basket, even with Grif standing over it growling,” Rook noted.

“We can’t speak for Grif. You realize that,” Shrial noted.

“But we can at least help to break the news,” Avalon pointed out. “And it would be close enough for when Gilda gives birth to prevent any complications for the delivery.”

“So we’re basically moving to a neighborhood on the edge of town?” Gilda asked. Then she shrugged. “I’ve roughed it in the woods before. Working an outpost won’t be that different. But you’re crazy if you think Grif isn’t going to get back at Hammer Strike for this later.”

“Oh, Hammer Strike expects it. Still, I would think about starting to sort things out, if I were you.” He winked.

“And we’re supposed to be the ones who break the news?” Avalon surmised as Snowy alighted on her shoulder with an inquiring hoot.

“No, but Hammer Strike wanted to let you know while Grif’s away, so you could get used to the idea and also start making necessary preparations for moving.”

“”How long do we have?”

“Two weeks.”

“And how many people are already aware of this ‘reassignment?’”

“Not many.”

“And I assume Grif will need to make an announcement to the rest of the clan when he returns?”

Rook nodded. “I would assume.”

Gilda sighed. “I guess we’d better see about getting things ready then, huh?” She looked between her fellow pridemates. “So, I’m guessing I’m on cub duty again?”

“As if we’d let you do anything else with how far along you’re getting,” Avalon teased.

“Welcome to our world, Gilda. This part of the pregnancy is always the most frustrating.” Shrial smirked as she patted Gilda on the head. Gilda hissed in response and batted at Shrial’s talons.

“Yup, she’s definitely at that stage,” Avalon agreed sagely.

Snowy nodded. “Who.”

Rarity stared out over the house as they emerged from the secret service vehicles. The townhouse was tall and overshadowed by a series of sloped blue roof tiles. Pale white paint along the walls had been bleached by the sun, granting it a yellow tint. The windows were modern, with glass panes that had been designed for curb appeal and protection against the elements.

“You know, in a way, it almost reminds me of the boutique,” Rarity noted. “I wonder, could that be one of the reasons you kept coming back?”

Shawn simply shrugged in response. “I honestly never fully took notice over it.”

“The similarity or simply because you had something else keeping your attention?” she flirted as she pecked him on the cheek.

“I wonder.” He chuckled as he approached the front door and knocked lightly.

The door opened to reveal a pouting woman with red hair streaming freely down to her shoulders. Her hands rested against her waist as she peered at the pair. “Well, it’s about time. We were wondering if you’d ever get back here again, young man.” She smiled and turned to Rarity. “Mary Viginti. And you are?”

“Rarity. Rarity … Viginti. I’m your son’s wife.”

Mary’s smile broadened into a grin. “Well, it’s about time!” She embraced the girl with a fierce hug. “I’ve been wanting to know the woman who caught my son’s attention so closely. Or would that be Pony?”

“I believe both apply in this circumstance,” Rarity said with a nervous smile.

“Well then, it seems we have some catching up to do. Your father’s in the kitchen. We were just about to have some lunch.”

“I did say that I had no idea of when I’d be back,” Shawn commented briefly. “Hopefully it hasn’t been that long?”

“Nearly a year,” she said flatly.

“Well, better than I was expecting.” Shawn rubbed the back of his head as Rarity followed Mary inside. “Time differences between the worlds are at least becoming more stable, it seems, and less drastic.” He closed the door behind them, then followed into the kitchen.

“And this must be Hans,” Rarity gushed in her most flattering voice. “I definitely can see the resemblance.”

Mary quickly caught Hans up to speed, and the man smiled. “A pleasure to meet you Rarity. Had we known you two were stopping by, we’d have made more.” He rubbed the back of his head as his smile turned sheepish.

“I’m afraid we’ll have to keep arriving like this on visits, until a means of proper communication can be found.” She sighed. “Pardon me, but could I possibly have a glass of water? The trip has been relatively normal for us, but I am rather thirsty.”

“Of course.” Hans reached into one of the cabinets and pulled out a glass before pulling out a water filter from the fridge and pouring the beverage for her.

“Thank you. Shawn told me that you and his uncle were a large influence in his talents on Equestria.”

“Really now?” Hans looked over to Shawn. “Broadening your horizons and making different things?”

“For the most part. Some smithing, painting, and minor work in a task that I’ve been keeping secret.”

“He’s very good at that last one,” Rarity said with a smirk.

“Yeah, he’s always had a lot going through that head of his,” Hans replied with a knowing smile.

“Keeps me active,” Shawn defended as he rubbed the back of his neck.

“I always did tell him he needed to find someone to help him with that. I’m just glad I finally got to meet the girl who did.” Mary smirked. “So, I’m guessing you’d prefer a salad, Rarity?”

“I certainly wouldn’t object,” Rarity agreed with a polite smile.

“Then give me a few minutes. I’ll whip up a masterpiece for two, we can all catch up about both worlds, and I’ll get to embarrass my son to his face by sharing all his childhood memories with you.” She winked mischievously.

Rarity laughed. “Somehow, I doubt it’s so bad as it sounds.”

Mary’s answering grin was devious. “Try me.”

Pensword looked out on the sky as he put away the first of his supply of Clover’s batteries. One down, three to go. The moon was rising, and the stars were almost as resplendent as the skies back on Equis. A particularly prominent band in the Milky Way was passing overhead just now. “It is beautiful out here,” he muttered as he settled in for the night. The air was turning cold, and while he wouldn’t mind starting a fire, he didn’t want to draw attention to himself. The trip had taken longer than expected, in part because of Thoth’s caution and in part because he had miscalculated on the speed at which Pensword would be able to navigate the sands, but they would reach their destination soon enough.

Out here, there could be anything from treasure hunters to military patrols to nocturnal predators. He didn’t want to contend with any of those things, so he wrapped himself up with his only blanket from his saddlebag and bedded down for a quick nap. Night time was the optimal time to move, but according to Thoth, it was better if they traveled in the sun. Ghosts often had more power by night, and while Anubis was not a significant threat, he could delay them if he found out what they had planned. Thoth didn’t want to give Anubis the chance to ponder over the break he’d been given, and without the guide, Pensword had little means of continuing his journey with any degree of confidence.

He woke at false dawn and shivered as he folded the blanket and returned it to his pack. The shadows were long and deep now. Thoth would likely return at any moment. He pulled out some dried meat for his breakfast as he fixed his gaze on the horizon. Soon, the pilgrimage would begin again. Alexander the Great awaited.

“So, yeah, like I said before, my house is kind of out in the suburbs. In a way, the town we have is a lot like Ponyville, just more modern,” Conor explained as the car took its final exit off the highway and wove its way through a series of backroads to reach their final destination. The house was the same as it had been before, with a series of sharp slopes on the rooftop and dark shingles to compliment the lighter coloration of the paint along the siding of the building’s walls. A wavy driveway led up to a broad garage entrance. Two cars sat out in the sun next to said door. A brick walkway led up to a new set of stone steps with metal railings and a newly painted front porch, complete with a bright red door that seemed almost to glow in welcome. “Ready to meet the folks for real this time?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” Trixie said, though her eyes darted nervously.

“Trust me, they’ll treat you just fine. After all, I’m an excellent judge of character. They know I wouldn’t marry someone who wasn’t a good match for me, even if you did sort of hold me hundreds of feet above the air when you proposed. Some might call that coercion, you know,” he said with a smirk as he kissed her on the cheek.

“I wouldn’t have dropped you,” Trixie said.

“I know. But a husband does have the privilege of teasing his wife every once in a while, doesn’t he?”

She rolled her eyes. “Let's just get through this.”

“The door? Certainly.” He grinned as he unbuckled his seatbelt.

One of their guards quickly opened the car door and offered a hand to assist them from the vehicle. It didn’t take that long for Conor’s mother to leave the house with a barking dog rushing in to yap at the figures. He laughed and picked up the dog after she’d gotten to smell his hand. “How’re you doing, girl?” he asked. Then he walked over and hugged the stout woman. “Mom, allow me to introduce Trixie. Trixie, my mother.” He smiled as he motioned over to his wife. This time Trixie wore a sky-blue sundress that brought out the purple in her eyes. Her white hair shone like a halo with the sun’s light overhead.

“You can call me Liza, if you like, or whatever makes you comfortable.” Liza smiled and extended a welcoming arm. “Please, come in. Come in.” She smiled at the security guards. “You all, too. We’ve got enough for everyone. You’re just in time for lunch.”

Trixie said nothing as she took the hand, clearly a little overwhelmed by everything.

The entry hall was wide and open with a broad window that streamed light onto the second floor landing above. A ceiling fan spun repeatedly in midair to cycle the cool air that streamed from a series of vents that had been installed throughout the house. A tile hallway led into the small breakfast nook that had been converted into a dining room, where a new polished table and chairs had replaced the old ones Conor recalled from his childhood.

“I see you’ve been making use of some of the funds I left you,” Conor noted idly as he led his wife to the chair, where a large bowl filled with broccoli, bamboo shoots, onions, carrots, baby corn, chestnuts, chicken, and other items all tossed and cooked in a sauce carried the scents of the various spices and sugars that had been used. A fluffy bowl of white rice sat next to it.

“We made your favorite,” Liza said with a smile.

“Mom, I know I haven’t said this nearly enough lately, what with being on another world for so long, but I love you so much.”

Liza chuckled. “And we love you, too. Now how about we all sit down and get to eating?”

A brief prayer was uttered by Conor’s father, and the service began.

“So, Trixie, you said you were a magician back home. What sorts of illusions did you specialize in?” Liza asked.

“Oh, oh! Well, you know the old standbys. Disappearing, card tricks, making a rope dance like a cobra.” She chuckled.

“Along with teleportation, body swapping, transmutation, levitation, and others,” Conor added. “I already told you they know magic is real, Trixie. You don’t need to pretend you only do the basics.”

“Sorry,” she said sheepishly.

“And she can make the best fireworks this world has ever seen, without all the fuss of the gunpowder and dyes,” Conor added.

“Is that so?” Mister Vulpes asked as he raised a curious brow. “I’d love to see some of that.”

“Not the best idea, Dad. I’ve got a field that makes it so the drain on magic isn’t so bad here with me. Trixie doesn’t have that benefit, and Earth seems to suck more magic than it gives.”

“Is she going to be all right?” Liza asked as she looked to Trixie and handed her a steaming bowl of the stir fry.

“Given her recent ascension to what some might equate to becoming a demigoddess, I’m pretty sure she will be. She’ll just be a little weak for a while. And apparently much more shy than she normally is with me when we’re alone,” he teased.

“Thank you for your concern,” Trixie said calmly as she ignored Vital’s comment.

“So, what do you think of the Chinese food, honey?” Vital asked.

“It’s certainly … different,” Trixie said politely as possible.

“Yeah, that was my reaction, too.” Conor sighed. “It’s just how things are here on Earth. I think it has to do with the lack of mana. Things just don’t taste so alive here.”

Trixie nodded as she ate carefully.

“One of these days, you’re going to have to bring something here from Equestria, so we can compare,” Liza said.

“Along with some grandchildren, I’m guessing?”

“You know I don’t push about that sort of thing, Conor. I expect you two to take things at your own pace.”

“By the way, Mom, I’m stealing your recipe file. I have a few more romantic meals and experiments I want to be able to try with Trixie when we get back to Equestria again.”

Liza shrugged. “We can get them copied.” She turned back to Trixie. “Now Trixie, I have to ask, what got you started into show business in the first place? That’s a pretty daring choice to make, especially in a land where magic is so commonplace, isn’t it?”

Trixie carefully searched around some hidden pockets in her dress and smiled as she pulled out an apple. “Here.” She offered it to Liza.

“Is that…?” Conor asked.

Trixie nodded.

“Well, I guess you get to try Equestrian food after all, Mom. And better yet, it’s from the Apples’ orchards. I can guarantee that’s going to be one of the best apples you and Dad have ever had, bar none.”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” Mister Vulpes said in a playful, albeit nasally tone. They quickly pulled out an apple cutter from the variety of kitchenware and segmented the fruit, being careful to keep the seeds in the core.

The two adults came out of their food trance one minute later to a concerned son snapping his fingers in front of their faces. Trixie’s timid smile widened slightly as a hint of mirth softened her features.

“I take it you liked it?” she asked.

“How on Earth can something taste that good?’ Mister Vulpes demanded.

“Simple; it can’t. Or are you forgetting it came from Equis?” Conor teased.

“You know, we still can ground you,” Liza said with a smirk.

“You wound me, madam, after everything I’ve been through,” Conor said in a dramatic and exceptionally cheesy British accent.

“Though I’m curious. You said English wasn’t their native language. How is Trixie speaking and understanding us so well now, if that’s the case?” Mister Vulpes asked.

“That would be the function of her second ring,” Conor noted. “It’s engraved with runes designed to aid in actively translating sounds into Equish and vice versa. Magical engineers designed it, but Shawn was the one who managed to miniaturize the initial design.”

Trixie removed the ring and spoke a little of what sounded similar to feral horse sounds.

“By the way, we definitely have to test that with the local equine population here. It’ll be interesting if it turns out they really can speak a language that we understand.”

Liza shrugged. “If Noah could talk to the animals, why can’t we someday?”

Trixie shrugged as she slid the ring back on.

“Well, that was enlightening. So, what do we do next? Play board games, watch a movie, read a book?”

“No books!” Conor said adamantly. “I’ve had enough of a headache dealing with all the manuals I’ve had to skim just to pull off my speech tomorrow.”

“Then how about we introduce your wife to Settlers of Catan?”

Conor’s eyes lit up. “Now you’re speaking my language!”

Rarity cocked her head as she looked over the historical section portraying the life of Al Capone. She crossed her legs and swiped over the screen on the i-pad that had been provided for her personal use during the flight to the capital. The cabin was well built with large chairs that folded out into comfortable beds, a fully stocked bar, and a professional chef ready and willing to prepare any meal the guests should desire. “Well, I’ll say one thing. This gangster certainly had style. I could do better with materials and weave, but the design does seem to suit his face and build rather well.” A navy dress swept down her frame, and she smiled as the light streaming through the plane window caught on her translation band. “Perhaps I can make use of this at some point in the future. There are always higher-ups looking for designs that make a statement.”

“Certainly one way to go about it,” Shawn replied with a shrug. “Different world, different fashion.”

“But ones with such incredible possibility! Oh, how I wish I could consult with some of the designers here. The things that we could create together would be positively fabulous.” She sighed dreamily as she tapped the stencil against the screen to close the browser and opened a sketching app. “Maybe I’ll indulge in one or two now, just for the sake of getting warmed up. There’s so much more to see in that museum. I’m certain I’ll be positively fit to burst with inspiration when we get home again.”

“It’ll certainly be great for business.” He chuckled in response. After a moment, he stretched his legs and sighed. “I was never too fond of planes. Always feels too small.”

“Even in a cabin this spacious?”

“May be spacious in terms of area, but not height.”

Rarity chewed at the edge of her stylus, then tapped it against her chin in thought. “A fair point. Have you tried lying down? That might help.”

“I’m all right with the sit. It’s not like we’ll be here long enough for me to really care about the comfort, anyway.”

“Just how quickly does a hypersonic jet travel?”

“Much faster than a train. I can assure you of that.”

“Faster than Rainbow Dash’s rainboom?”

“Depending on the transport, easily.”

“Goodness! That really is something. And the fuel that makes it run. You said it came from within the planet itself?”

“For the most part. I’d have to check everything again, as it’s been ages since I’ve looked through refining processes and what fuel is used where.”

“Amazing, though I suppose this is still rather inefficient when compared to Gryphon designs. Their airships are alive in a way, and they don’t require a person to fill them again and again with all these substances.”

“True enough, but this world lacks magic, so it’s impressive in the fact alone.”

“True. If even half of these inventions made it back to Equestria, whoever controlled them could probably form quite the empire,” she mused, then smirked. “At least until they came up against you.”

“I’m sure you’re beginning to notice why I never recreated anything from this world, even if it was for myself.”

“Granted, a magical means could have been identified to neutralize the threat, but given the speed at which these creations can operate, it’s feasible they would still succeed, simply based on the idea of a preemptive strike alone. Shield magic is a difficult art to master, after all. And even then, a sufficiently strong one can take time to conjure, unless it’s your special talent.”

“And that doesn’t even cover the rest of the world,” Shawn replied as he leaned back slightly. “Without magic, this world adapted by technology, and boy, did it progress quickly.”

“Perhaps you might be able to find out why your world is like this one day. You did say there are references to magic existing here once, after all. And it would be an interesting side project, if you happen to find the spare time next time we visit.”

“Perhaps.” He rubbed his chin in thought. Perhaps.” 

“Attention, passengers. This is your captain speaking. We’re approaching our destination, so if you could please bring your seats to a fully upright position, stow your trays, secure your valuables, and buckle your seatbelts, we’ll begin our descent shortly.”

“My, that was quick.” Rarity stowed the device and followed the instructions. “Maybe I’ll keep from mentioning this part of the trip to Rainbow Dash. I’d rather not hurt her feelings.”

“She could take it as a challenge to get faster,” Shawn offered with a shrug.

“But this fast? Do you really want to risk that kind of collateral damage?”

“I mean, it wouldn’t be in my land.” He shrugged as the plane touched down on the runway. The first leg of their journey was over.

Once again, Pensword trudged through the dunes with only his headgear to shield him from the sun. He and Thoth traversed through a hidden crevice for a brief rest, then resumed the journey toward the bluff. The sun had risen high into the sky when they crested a final sand dune and reached a crag in the wall that was the cliff face.

“Through here,” Thoth said.

Pensword balked. “You expect me to pass through that? It’s barely wide enough for a wing.”

“And you claim to be a friend to Gryphons.” Thoth sighed and shook his head. “Did not the Avatar explain to you about our skills and culture?” He pointed to a rock at the base of the crevice. “The one you call Alexander was cunning. He would have made sure to make his tomb difficult to access. Stretch your wing in the crag. You will find what you need there.”

Pensword did as instructed. His wing jiggled and rustled as its feathers brushed over the surface within. “I don’t—” His eyes widened. “Got it!” A loud clank sounded, followed by a shower of sand and dust. Pensword shook the sand out of his fur, then ascended to the source of the disturbance. A smirking Thoth greeted him.

“You will need to push, of course. The passage is old, but still passable, especially to a small Pony.”

Pensword rolled his eyes, then pushed. “Thank the moon for military training,” he said between grunts. The slab was stubborn. It grated against the sand that had collected beneath its hinges, but the Pegasus finally managed to get through. He absently noted the hint of a bore hole that likely once held a rope or some other device. His blue fur and silver mane were dulled into a steely gray and muddy black matted with his sweat.

The passage was carefully carved in a semicircle. He could just make out the chisel marks in the entryway before he dove in. His ears swiveled as his hooves clattered over the smooth floor. The sounds that reverberated made it easy for him to escape any sections of the passage that had degraded and could trip him. After a good five minutes of travel in the dark, Pensword emerged into the blazing sun and gaped at the sight that greeted him.

A series of expertly carved stone steps led deep into a shadowed valley, each engraved with a series of etchings that could be traced from a variety of cultures: Greek, Egyptian, and a curving script that looked eerily similar to Arabic. The historian in him wished to remain and study the structure, but the soldier knew there was a higher priority. The sun had only just passed high noon, allowing the light to stream through and illuminate the valley floor far below.

“It’s amusing to think the humans never found this place,” Thoth stated. Then he chuckled. “I do so love when a good illusion fulfills its obligations.”

“And what of the tomb?”

“Follow the trail, of course. Only one rests here. Even among their god kings, Alexander was legendary.”

 “Give me a moment.” Pensword reached into his saddlebag and removed one of the batteries Clover had provided.

“A magic vessel? Curious. Magic was siphoned from this world long ago. What allows this one to remain unaltered?”

“That is something I have yet to understand, myself. I’m still early on in my training over the techniques involved.” He reached out with his magic and connected to the power. A low breeze ruffled his feathers and helped to dry some of the sweat as the exhaustion eased. Pensword smiled as he put the spent cartridge away. “Much better.”

“And what happens, should your reserves of magic fail?”

“I’d rather not find out.” With nothing more to say, Pensword began his descent. It took him another hour to reach his final destination at the upper portion of the valley. The cliff face had been carved and widened into a pair of large stone doors sealed with crumbling plaster that had long since lost its definition. Any signs of a crest or kartouche were not to be seen. A great colonnade stretched on either side of the entrance, engraved with the reeds of the nile, the images of mighty battle, and sacred effigies like the animal-headed gods of the ancient pantheons and the legendary sun disc wielded by the ancient ruler of the Egyptian pantheon long ago. Worn reliefs portrayed scenes of battle and diplomacy, court hearings, and other such scenes befitting a mighty king and warrior. Two great lion statues stood guard on either side of the portals. Even in their weathered state, their eyes seemed to glare at the Pegasus with open menace.

A long road of monoliths and statues stretched back down the path from whence they had come. Time had done its work well, and the less sheltered pieces of art were barely perceivable with the damage the sand and dust had wrought over the centuries. It seemed a wonder to Pensword that no one had found the valley. The only logical explanation he could perceive, aside from the possibility of the place being too deep in the rock to be picked up by a satellite, was the probability of outside help. He didn’t want to dwell very much on that particular train of thought.

“And here we are,” Thoth said dryly.

“The tomb is sealed.” Pensword deadpanned and pointed a hoof to the portals. After a certain amount of nervous prancing and darting eyes, he finally squared his shoulders, rose his head high, and spoke. “Can I take pictures with my Equestrian camera to take back with me to Equis? They won’t be shown to anyone here on Earth.”

Thoth nodded as he gestured to one carving in the Egyptian style of an obviously Greek man with pale skin and long hair. “Push on the carving of Serapis and you will open the door. After that, you will have to figure it out.”

Pensword nodded, then sighed. “Puzzles, then. I suppose I should expect nothing less of a legendary tomb.” He pulled out his camera and snapped a few photos around the area. Then he did as he was bidden and waited. There was a loud rumble as stone ground against stone and the large heavy door opened to reveal a set of stairs leading down into the ground.

Pensword looked to Thoth. “You coming in, so I know which is your Khopesh?”

Thoth shook his head. “Unfortunately, this is where we must part. I cannot enter the tomb of another and disrupt their journey to the beyond. It would be abhorrent.”

“And yet I can?” Pensword asked with a raised brow.

“You are alive. The gate to the afterlife yet has no value to you.”

Pensword nodded, then put a rag around his muzzle in case of noxious fumes. A strange basin rested just within the doors to the right, with a groove that descended the stairs. He approached it and dipped a hoof inside, then sniffed the substance. “Oil?” He pulled out a rag from his pack and cleaned his hoof, then turned back to the entrance. Thoth was gone. “Well, I guess that just leaves me with one choice.” He pulled out his flint and a knife. “Lets get those sparks flying.” It took a few tries, but he finally managed to generate enough sparks to set the oil ablaze. “Please don’t let this be a trap,” he begged as the trail flowed down the stairs and curved out of sight. A second groove awaited him on the left. “Well, symmetry. I guess that’s not a bad sign, right?” He chuckled nervously, then ignited the second stream. One thing was certain. At least the trail would be well lighted.

The general assembly hall was a massive structure that more closely matched an amphitheater than an auditorium. Row upon row of desks had been set up, each with a series of chairs behind them to house a delegate or ambassador from each of the nations that were a part of the great organization. A great circle opened in the ceiling, where a series of delicate light fixtures draped down like water droplets, granting the impression of stars in a night sky. The UN’s seal, a giant laurel wreath surrounding a radar screen superimposed over the seven continents, stood proudly above the podium for guest speakers who came to address the full body of the assembly in their annual gathering. Two great projector screens flanked the backdrop of the seal on either side, so that those farther back in the room could easily watch the proceedings as speakers and delegates debated one with another.

Conor had been to this room once before during his orientation as an ambassador, but that had been when there weren’t any occupants. Now he watched in agitation as venerable men and women from across the globe assembled in their chairs, awaiting his demonstration. He sighed.

“This is either going to go exceptionally well or exceptionally poorly. You’re sure today isn’t a Tuesday, right?” he asked his wife as he ran his fingers through the collar of his suit for the fifth time.

“I double checked the calendar for you.” She chuckled. “You’ll be fine.”

“Well, I suppose I only have to worry about dealing with them for a few days, instead of the months and years I’ll have to deal with the nobles on the Equestrian side of things.” Their security guards remained close at hand to check the perimeter as the hall filled itself to maximum capacity.

In due course, the gathering was complete and the doors secured. The current president of the assembly, a tall slim woman with white skin and fiery hair, stared out over the gathering and cleared her throat.

“Ladies and gentlemen of the assembly, a little over a year ago, you were all notified of a startling truth that had been discovered. As such, in accordance with protocol, an emergency session of our international assembly was called. The UN security council interviewed the entities involved in this incident, and appropriate action was taken. Unfortunately, before our briefing could take place, our most recent distinguished member of this body took an … unexpected trip that left him out of contact for some time. It is now my pleasure to introduce Ambassador Vulpes to the stand. He will offer you all a proper debriefing and explain the situation inasmuch as he is able in his current capacity. Without further ado, I yield the floor to the ambassador.”

Conor gulped, gave his wife’s hand one more squeeze for luck, then strode up to the podium. “I thank you, Madame President, for this … unprecedented opportunity. I must apologize in advance to those who are translating. While I have prepared a general outline for what I intend to say, I have opted not to file a written speech to dictate. That isn’t how I work, and, for the most part, it’s not how the world where I have been living for the last year or so works. You’re not uninteligent people. If you were, I doubt you would have achieved these distinguished offices that you now hold.

“Doubtless, you have all received the briefs that I submitted for review before my … untimely departure. It is also likely that those briefs were edited and changed severely from their original format against my wishes and strict instructions. I have noticed that tends to be how bureaucracy works. This is a criticism of sorts, yes, but it is not intended harshly. I know this is a reality that every man and woman in a political body must live with. In time, hopefully I’ll be able to live with it, too. But for now, allow me to give you a summary about this new world with which we have made contact, and in which I was fortunate enough to have been accepted as an ambassador and delegate.

“Equis is a planet that exists in a far-off quadrant of space. As far as I am aware, it doesn’t exist in our galaxy, let alone our universe. This world is vast and rich in natural resources. It is also rich in races that are most definitely not human, many of which exist in ancient mythology. I say races, because each of these individual species is most definitely sapient in nature. There are at least ten separate kingdoms, nations, and protectorates that we know of, and my research indicates there are more besides that I have yet to include in my lists. The majority of these races are quadrupedal in nature, but there are some few that are considered bipedal. Among these races are Dragons, Minotaurs, Kitsune, Sphinxes, Gryphons, Sea Serpents, Draconequus, Diamond Dogs, Yaks, Buffalo, and a massive population of equines divided into a number of tribes and subspecies that include Zebras, Mules, Donkeys, Unicorns, Pegasi, Earth Ponies, Crystal Ponies, Thestrals, Changelings, Horses, and most important of all, Alicorns.”

The projector screens flashed to life behind him as he named each unique species and race to reveal images from pottery, artistic reliefs, and other depictions from around the world for the more mythical races.

“As many of you are doubtless aware, one Lauren Faust created a television series that is eerie in its sheer similarity to Equis, right down to the exact animated details of the current rulers of the realm and their adversaries. I am told that it also has an accurate portrayal of certain entities with whom my friends and I have become associated. Equestria does indeed focus on the power of friendship, and utilizes those principles as a means to amplify their natural abilities. I speak to you, of course, of the force that, on that world at least, is called magic.”

A low murmur carried through the room.

“For those of you who are Christian, Jewish, or Islamic, I understand that such talk will be difficult to accept. According to these various theologies, magic is considered to be something evil, born of dark forces that desire to control us and seize our very souls for themselves. This is why I have prefaced my words with the statement that the term magic is simply that, a term. It is the closest translation in our tongue. Over the last year, I have been able to perform several in-depth studies of the power in question. To put it simply, their form of magic is essentially tapping the potential energy that exists within their world, a process not unlike the scientific theory of utilizing lay lines as a means of energy. This energy is then channeled to perform various tasks ranging from something as simple as levitation to the more complex forms of warding and shielding, summoning, and much more.”

He laid his hands on the pulpit and stared the gathering down.

“Make no mistake. Magic is a real force. It exists, and these people are able to use it in one form or another. They each have their own gods, their own religions, their own cultures and morals. I’ve been privileged to meet some of these entities, and they have proven to be benign, focused on the wellbeing of those who stand under their care. Whether you believe them to be divine or merely beings who stand on a higher plane of existence, it doesn’t matter. Their power dwarfs anything that their adherents can bring to bare, and they will act if any threat or harm comes to their children. As such, I would encourage you and your various nations to act on your best behavior when we are finally able to establish more permanent relations with this world. We do not need a battle of gods and religion. There’s enough of that kind of conflict here on Earth among extremists.”

He cleared his throat and sipped from his water glass.

“The kingdom which I have been tasked to establish relations with is known as Equestria. It is a realm run on a diarchy in which two mares are the primary rulers. They also have two sister rulers, one of whom reigns within that land, the other in an empire that is a close ally to this kingdom. They function in a series of local governments not unlike the system found in England. However, these two diarchs hold more authority over their subjects and the house of nobles, due to one unique fact, which is obvious to any of you who have studied up on the subject. I don’t believe I need remind you, since you’ve had a year to prepare for my return.

“They are also no strangers to political intrigue and espionage. These diarchas have battled in and survived no less than three separate great wars with one of their neighboring nations alone. Since they have chosen to make use of the power known as magic, they have had little use for developing their technology beyond a certain point.

“Their society is a curious blend of medieval and modern, with steam engines and carts drawn by said Ponies to transport goods and people. Their architecture is much the same. In the larger cities, they have structures similar to what we have on a regular basis in Manhattan and other such places. Other locations, like the capital, keep a more picturesque appearance, including castles and manor houses designed to impress blended with shopping districts and various eateries that cater to the various races that pass through.

“As the ambassador to the Equestrians, and to Equis in general, I give you all my solemn word that I will seek to execute my duties to the very best of my ability. I will meet with and answer the questions of those who seek any understanding, and I will make sure to pass on certain messages as I am able. However, I must warn you that for now, we have no established means of communication between the worlds. We are only able to travel with the assistance of one of these more powerful magical entities. We are working on this problem, but it will take time to find a proper solution.

“As such, I must warn you all that my time here will be limited. I will be needed back in Equestria. However, before I go, I intend to have a proper staff set up to receive any requests, audiences, etcetera from the general body. They will make sure to file away any formal requests, suggestions, overtures, that sort of thing, for me to look over the next time I arrive.”

He nodded and cleared his throat. “Now then, to assure each of you as to the reality of this first contact, I would like to give you a live demonstration.” He reached up to the band on his arm and twisted the gem. In a flash of light, the human disappeared. No one appeared to be behind the pulpit. Then a light blue glow emanated from behind the pulpit, followed by the rising form of a white Unicorn.

The room burst out in an uproar, until the Unicorn’s voice, Conor’s voice, boomed over every one of them.

“AS YOU CAN SEE, I HAVE TAKEN ON THE FORM OF ONE OF THE NATIVES!” The chamber had little choice but to quiet itself as they clung to their desks against the force of the amplification. The Unicorn cleared his throat and continued at a regular tone. “Now that you’re all ready to listen again, allow me to explain. Changing forms is a simple enough trick, provided one has the knowledge and the means to charge the device responsible.” He twisted the gem again and stood before them in his human form. “There is no harm, and absolutely no means of any form of invasion that could occur, for those of you who are paranoid about such things. Even if they could, they wouldn’t without provocation. It’s against their nature.” He nodded graciously. “I thank you all for your time. With this conclusion, I now cede the floor to Madame President to take over.”

He returned to his chair, where he clasped his wife’s hand and smiled weakly. “Here’s hoping we won’t have to deal with any major troubles.” Then he chuckled. “Brace yourself for a very long grandstanding session.”

The sun was hot in the sky above as Grif sat by a river that he did not know the name of. He scribbled down thaumic arcane and mundane quotients and problems on a sheet of paper as he attempted to figure out the issue of hand. Given math was never his strongest point, it had already taken nearly three hours.

Thanks to a careful use of thaumaturgy and judicious use of the batteries he’d been provided by Clover, Grif had found the spot where the book was located. The issue was it was more than four hundred feet below ground level in a massive, partly-collapsed chamber. There were no discernable entrances or exits, which very much fit the stories told of how the tomb was lost. The entrance had been covered completely, had several herds of horses stampede over it and the river diverted over that for extra measure.

This, of course, led to the issue of how Grif was supposed to access it with no entrance. Fortunately, he had a few ideas. Unfortunately, he was not entirely sure he had enough batteries to sustain the attempt. And so, he found himself forced to do these arcane mathematics to figure out if what he needed was possible.

Earth was a tricky aspect. It offered a lot in terms of sturdiness, but was not the most malleable of aspects. It was also of note that earth was not stone, and if Grif should encounter rock on his decent, he would have to find a way to go around or thaumically break it down in order to get past it. He’d already had several false starts, and was slower due to the fact that he had to correct his own guesswork.

It was already past noon when he finally decided he was satisfied enough with the math to risk it. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and began to concentrate. Thaumaturgy was not magic. Normally, to apply the rules of magic to this art caused a net loss of potential. But energy was not the issue Grif needed to worry about. He needed fine control. So it was that he began to think about a set of rules, to believe them, and to set them as completely unavoidable in his mind.

‘To move the earth, you must first find your calm and strengthen your stance,’ He thought to himself as he took several deep breaths and moved his feet apart, giving him a slightly bow-legged stance.

‘Become firm unmovable, like the mountain.’ Having removed his combat boots earlier, he dug his feet into the hot earth beneath.

‘Feel the earth, connect it to your being.’ He slowly bled a piece of energy into the ground.

‘Will it.’ Grif lifted a foot high until his knee was almost at his stomach and stomped down hard. There was a rumble almost like a groan, and slowly a small pillar of earth erupted from the ground beside him until it reached his waist. Grif grinned at this success as he looked to a spot a bit off the river bank and stomped again, harder and fiercer. A large chunk of earth receded inward to form a firm, albeit rough step into the earth. With a crow of victory, Grif began his work, descending slowly with heavy stomps as he vanished into the subterranean world below.

The Smithsonian grounds were positively writhing with tourists. “Your artifact is likely somewhere in storage. We’ve taken advantage of their systems to find the item’s photo and fling number in question. All you have to do is present your offer to the head of the museum,” Scully said as she handed a folder to Shawn. “You did remember to see how much money you have in your accounts on the plane, didn’t you?”

“Of course,” Shawn replied as he adjusted his cravat before double checking the contents of the folder. “Wasn’t much to focus on in said plane, to be honest.”

“Other than me, you mean?” Rarity teased. Her hand twitched feverishly over her tablet as the stylus scrawled along the screen. Sights, sounds, textures, smells, all combined in her notes and sketches for potential designs that she had yet to consider.

“Well, that’s a given,” he chuckled in response.

“Given the nature of the artifact, it’s likely be reserved for the Human Diversity section. The director’s an old acquaintance. Knows his stuff. Don’t try to outsmart him. Just be your usual blunt self. The rest will iron itself out,” Bubbles said.

“Sounds like a difficult task,” Shawn replied simply.

“Is that a hint of sarcasm I hear, darling?” Rarity asked absently.

“Me? Never.”

Rarity smirked. “I love you, too.”

The couple entered into the museum lobby arm in arm, and Bubbles approached the reception desk with his usual intimidating expression. “Got a meeting with Sallah. He’s expecting us.”

 “Mister … Bubbles?” The receptionist looked up at the agent from his computer with a skeptical brow raised. “Cobra Bubbles, like Lilo and Stitch?”

“Misdirection. People are less likely to believe a cartoon character actually works for the government.”

“Fair point.” The receptionist shrugged. “He’s in his office. Chuck’ll take you.” He adjusted a few dials on a radio console and spoke into the receiver. “Hey, Chuck, our guests are here.”

“Be right there,” crackled back over the radio. A few minutes later, a tall heavyset security guard strode up to them in his navy uniform. His head was smooth, and a hint of almost transparent bristles reflected the light. “So, you’re today’s VIPs, huh?”

“That would be correct,” Shawn replied simply.

Chuck grunted. “This way.”

He led them into a side passage and down several flights of stairs to a long corridor lit by fluorescent bulbs. The group eventually came to a large set of heavily reinforced glass doors sealed by a pin pad. A hunched figure bent over a magnifying glass to inspect an old leatherbound tome with yellowed parchment. A heavy knock was enough to rouse the man from his work. He blinked blearily at the doorway. His skin was a pale tan, and his hair was a bristly black. His face was framed by a set of large round-framed glasses that magnified his hazel eyes. He grinned and pressed a button on his desk. The doors slid open, and he strode forward to embrace Bubbles’ broad torso as best his arms could manage.

“Cobra. It’s been far too long.” His Turkish accent was strong, but his English was well pronounced.

“Yes.” Cobra deadpanned. “It has.”

“Come in. Come in, please.” He gestured to a set of simple leather-backed chairs with four straight wooden legs and bars on them to rest one’s feet. “Thank you, Chuck. You may resume your rounds.” He shooed the guard out the doors, then grinned at his guests. “I was just examining one of our more recent acquisitions. I must say, while Medieval literature is a bit juvenile and repetitive, their artistic renderings always leave me speechless.”

Rarity approached the book and looked down at the open pages. “It reminds me of the stained glass back in the Hall of History,” she noted.

“Hall of History?”

“An affectation from their home, Sir,” Scully assured the doctor. “They’re collectors of a sort.”

“I am aware,” Sallah said. “And apparently, this particular item you seek is part of a set you are assembling?”

“Correct,” Shawn replied. “My associates are currently elsewhere collecting the other segments as we speak.”

“We would have had some trouble identifying the object in question, if you hadn’t mentioned it being written with indecipherable characters.” He crouched down in front of a safe next to a filing cabinet and twisted the combination lock accordingly. When the door creaked open, he reached in and withdrew a large stone slab. “A little on the heavy side, but not impossible to carry.” He laid the artifact down on his work table. “Feel free to examine it to verify. If it is the wrong one, we can go into storage to seek out the proper item.”

Shawn examined the slab for a moment, noting the familiar text that he could somewhat translate. “This is it,” he replied as he continued to translate it in his head.

“Then it is simply a matter of negotiating a fair price for the artifact.” He settled into his chair and tented his fingers. “Shall we begin?”

“Three hundred million,” Shawn offered.

Sallah blinked, shook his head, then dug into his ears to clear them. “I’m sorry, could you repeat that figure?”

“I’m starting the offer at three hundred million,” Shawn replied once more. He had little to no use for any spare cash, and decided to just go for the end result he would be comfortable with.

“Right off the bat?”

“Would you prefer I start lower?” Shawn questioned.

Sallah chuckled. “Haggling is often a part of my old cultural heritage. But I believe that price is more than fair. I am tempted to cut it back, simply to avoid taking advantage.”

“It doesn’t bother me in the slightest whether you take the full amount or not.”

Sallah looked inquiringly at Bubbles. “He’s serious?”

“He’s as serious as I am.” Bubbles deadpanned again.

“And who are we to contact for this transaction? Such a large sum cannot be arranged to transfer in mere hours.”

“I have all the necessary information.” Bubbles pulled a clipboard from his coat and handed it to him.

“It will take a day for us to get everything in proper order, but given that this is a matter where the government appears to be concerned, I’m certain we should be able to expedite the process. Come back in the morning, and we should have the necessary papers and packaging ready.”

“That should work out,” Shawn hummed for a moment. “All right. If everything is in order, then we can continue our day wherever it leads.”

“Then if you do not object, how about I give you two a behind the scenes tour of the museum? It’s the least I can do.”

“I would enjoy that,” Shawn replied with a nod before looking to Rarity. “What do you think?”

Rarity shrugged. “It sounds interesting enough. And perhaps their medieval section will give you some ideas.” She pecked him on the cheek. “After all, I’m not so selfish as to want to be the only one who gets inspiration from this trip.”

The stairs led down for more than two hundred feet. The hallway was narrow, and ancient stone bricks covered his vision from all sides as Pensword descended. Upon reaching the bottom he found himself entering a large underground chamber

The flames in the wall sconces cast the room in golden light. Large bronze statues of lions flanked the entrance to a straight path. lined by colonnades and statues. His hoofsteps echoed as he strode cautiously through the passage. Gods from pantheons ranging from Greek to Egyptian to Persian and beyond gazed indifferently at him. Near the end of the path, an immense statue of a woman with four arms stood with a fearsome snarl on her face. A necklace of skulls was chained around her neck. One arm held a severed head aloft. A second held a dish to catch the blood. A third held a massive sword. The fourth remained empty, ready for combat. Last, but not least, he stared the mighty judge Zeus. The lord of Olympus glowered at the intruder, but his lightning bolt did not stir, and his arms remained locked in place.

Pensword marveled at the sights. He opened his wings and rose to snap a few shots of Zeus and the other statues along the hallway. It also granted him a general view of the chamber, including the location of a peculiarly placed bronze door. He drew back a heavy bolt from its surface and passed into the next chamber.

Unlit torches sat in a pair of sconces on either side of the entrance. Pensword grabbed one of them and ducked back into the warm light of the room to ignite the item and grant him more light. Then he returned to the room and raised the item high into the air to widen his view.

“Please, don’t let there be any traps,” he murmured.

The room seemed almost to breathe as the air from the passage above cycled through the door. A series of ledges had been carved into the walls. Swords, spears, and shields lay on racks, waiting to be used. They never would again. If there were any spiritual guardians meant to wield them, they were not here.

The steady drip of moisture echoed through the chamber, and Pensword frowned. There wasn’t any sign of water damage, and the stone had held well, despite the number of years that had passed. He followed the sound, until he reached a stone basin that had been carved into the floor beneath one of the ledges. The tang of iron wafted into his nose, and he reeled back in disgust when he finally saw the dark red liquid.

“Blood? Here? How?” It had been centuries. Any offerings would have long dried up, and the tomb remained undisturbed. There was no feasible means to renew the supply. And yet, there it was. The basin was a good four pony lengths in any direction, and arced out in a half circle from the wall. He prodded the liquid with the edge of his torch. When he pulled it back, the blood dripped and spattered the ground. Pensword reached tentatively with a wing and touched the lower portion experimentally with a hoof. He felt nothing. No moisture, no caking, and most of all, no drying. “An illusion, or…?” Pensword lifted his gaze to the ledge. “Maybe something more.”

He rose with torch in hoof and approached the lip. A mixture of red and gold shimmered back under the torchlight in a searing crescent. There lay the Khopesh, untouched by time, and ever shedding the blood of its sworn enemy. Its sheath was mounted on the wall beside it, waiting to house the blade again.

The warrior took his time to gaze on the weapon that would be the salvation of a race he had once hated so much. And yet, in part, the reason why they had done so was because they lacked the leadership of their gods. Thoth had said as much himself. Could it be that, were it not for Anubis, his life, Grif’s life, all of their lives, might have been entirely different? Would his family have been safe? Would his town have survived?

He chuckled mirthlessly. “How ironic. One of the leaders who helped demolish the empire in Equestria is tasked to bring the means of their salvation to their savior. Fate really can be a bitter thing at times.”

Although he had Thoth’s permission, it felt only right that he give some small offering. He bowed his head and uttered two prayers, the first in English after the manner of his former humanity, the second in Equish as an old warrior’s prayer to Faust and Sleipnir. WIth his offering complete, the commander bucked the scabbard harshly to knock it off its mount. It clattered to the ground, and the room reverberated with the harsh retort of the blow. The khopesh itself was surprisingly light in his wing as he pried it from the channel in which it had been embedded for so many years. It must have known the will of its master, or so the Pony suspected. The weapon slid soundlessly into its sheath, and Pensword watched as the blood that had flowed for so many years dribbled to a crawl, and finally halted.

Once he’d properly stowed the weapon, he glided back down to the floor. There was no sign of a passage other than the one from which he had just entered, but that didn’t make any sense. The acute sound of roiling fluid pulled his attention back to the basin. The pool writhed and seethed like a wounded animal. The fluid coagulated in one large bubble that burst open to fill the room with an unearthly howl of fear, pain, and dismay. Pensword recoiled and reached for a battery. If some malevolent spirit were stirring, he might need Dakota, and he didn’t know how much magic it would take to call the guide.

The scabbard warmed against Pensword’s side, and he gaped at the weapon as a wrathful hiss answered. Loath though he was to do so, Pensword touched the weapon and stepped forward. The sword vibrated, even as the wail intensified. The blood in the pool reared upward and teetered dangerously, as if it would smother the sword and its bearer both in its embrace.

A powerful gust of wind blew through the chamber, sending the torch’s flames toward the blood, even as the astral fluid recoiled. The gusts continued to blow rhythmically, and the blood teetered right, forward, left, backward, again and again. Always, the gusts came in fours.

“So, you help one who has harmed your children,” Pensword muttered. “You really must be desperate.”

The artifact radiated heat now, and Pensword winced at the sheer spiritual pressure the scabbard exerted. He approached the pool. “I’m going to assume whatever this is is guarding what I need,” he guessed. The blood cried out as the wind swirled it into a towering spiral. Every attempt it made to leave its bounds resulted in the substance breaking apart. “And here’s where I wish I had the power to banish,” he muttered. He would have summoned Dakota, but he didn’t even know whether the bear would be able to do anything. It was one thing to drive away an invading spiritual force. It was quite another to battle an entity that had made its anchor in a space one was invading. “What am I to do here?” he shouted over the gale. “I don’t understand!”

This time, a low moan carried over the stone. A rush of whispers stirred, nearly lost in the howls of the gale. Pensword frowned. His ears twitched. He crouched to the ground and listened. Suddenly, the scabbard turned cold. The torch’s flame guttered, and the shadows within the walls of the tomb deepened, seeming to reach toward the Pegasus and the spiritual construct.

For a moment, everything was still. The gale stopped howling. The tower of blood froze in place. Somewhere, Pensword could almost swear he heard the creaking of a heavy door swinging open, even as his body shook against the cold. The sheath bit like winter’s ice. One breath rasped through the still air. One foreign word dragged the air from his lungs and left them burning as his heart hammered in his chest.

This time, there was no howl, only a scream of absolute terror. The tower gradually disintegrated from top to bottom, breaking off into puffs of red that curled and blackened, then were swallowed by the shadows. When the mass had completely dissipated, the creaking groaned again, and Pensword heard a final slam as the last echoes of that disembodied voice faded into the silence.

Warmth returned, and Pensword gasped for breath. “What was that thing, some sort of avatar for Anubis’ anger?” He eyed the khopesh worriedly. He could still see the blood when he drew the blade from its sheath. Could the blood be harmful to others? Could it influence them? He would have to be careful. For now, at least, though, it seemed the sword was back to normal.

He approached the basin and peered into the shadows. What he thought to be a shallow divet turned out to be a large pit at least ten feet deep. He glided to the floor with trembling limbs as his body recuperated from the adrenaline rush. An iron-bound door lay embedded in one of the walls. The door yielded reluctantly, and Pensword stepped inside.

The royal burial chamber was everything he had expected of such a rich king and so much more. Gold, silver, cups, jewels, sheptis, shields, helmets, garments, chests. Everything had been carefully laid and preserved. Jade and other precious materials had been embedded in the walls and filigree of various artifacts, and piles upon piles of coins sat next to the moldering remains of food and the sealed bottles of wine that had yet to be opened.

Further examination yielded the revelation that this treasure room was but one of the first. It took two more rooms before he was finally able to pass into the inner sanctum where the god-king lay. The curtains that guarded his sleep had long since decayed into fragments. The image of Alexander’s face had been beaten into the Egyptian gold after the manner of the Greeks. And there, beside the stone sarcophagus, sat an ornately carved desk no larger than a nightstand. A single scroll lay atop it, sealed with wax and cord. Two wooden handles on either side would allow the reader to move forward or back in the narrative with ease. The material was undoubtedly papyrus, but the scroll looked brand new. No dust had coated it. No cobwebs had formed around it. There could be no doubt what lay before him.

“So, this is the book.” He took the scroll and laid it reverently in his satchel. Then he took his time to look over the tomb, and most importantly the sarcophagus. There laid a ruler who had changed the world forever, and whose influence still touched that world today. “It is an honor to behold the earthly remains of the general that teaches even our modern militaries.” 

Pensword bowed his head and rose into the air, then saluted the old king with his hoof. It was an honor only given to fallen officers as the cloud ships bore them away. “I am sorry to disturb your earthly resting place, but our land has need of this book. If you would be so kind as to let me return it to the land it came from, I will leave a few of our land’s jewels in exchange.” he slowly placed the gems onto the table. “I will also leave something as fair trade.” He pulled a new printed copy of Commander Hurricane’s writings on war. He turned, and a single feather drifted off his wing to settle on the sarcophagus’ chest. “Goodbye, Alexander. May I meet you when my time comes many decades from now.”

And with that final farewell, Pensword departed the place of death and sleep for the world of light and life that awaited his return.

Conor groaned as he stepped out of his office. “First the security council, then the general assembly, and now an onslaught of delegates determined to offer platitudes and ingratiations.” He stretched, and his whole body cracked. “I really need to hire that staff ASAP.”

“We’ll be looking into that tomorrow. The majority of applicants have been required to have knowledge of My Little Pony as part of the job,” the secretary said as she adjusted the pins in her hair bun.

“Smart thinking. By the way, have we gotten any word on Lauren Faust? I’d like to have a discussion with her and see just how much she really knows about Equestria.”

“Her agent has been screening our calls. About the only way we might get her to come is if we send someone to fetch her.”

Conor rolled his eyes. “Great. Just great.”

“Looking for another mare already?” Trixie asked.

“Not at the moment. Though I suppose that could change, if I’m caught in a rut.” He smirked at her blush and pecked her on the cheek. “Now then, where do you want to go tonight? I assume you’ve been plotting out potential places to visit for sightseeing while we’re here?”

“I’m not sure. I’ve heard a lot about broadway, though.” She smiled.

Conor raised a curious brow. “I’m surprised you’re interested in seeing a musical, when your life has literally been one from the moment you were born. The slightest thing can set off a whole production in Equestria. Heck, talk to Twilight about finding the perfect book or the ideal genre, and you’ll have the whole town joining in.”

Trixie laughed. “I suppose that's true.”

“Then again, there’s one musical that I think you’ll fall in love with as deeply as I have. It’s the story of a charismatic young woman who only wants to be loved for who she is, rather than how she looks, and the journey she takes in that quest. Trust me, you’ll love it.”

“I look forward to it.”

“I promise. It’ll be downright … wicked.”

Grif wiped sweat from his brow as he sat against the wall of earth that made up one part of the boundary of the chamber that his journey had led to. He’d used up three of the arcane batteries to get here, and was still low on energy, but trying his best to hold off on another refill. Aside from packed earth, the chamber was filled with crumbled stone walls. Broken pieces of wood lay scattered around to mingle with time-eaten metal.

However, further down the chamber and closer to where Grif had felt the magic of the object he believed he was looking for was a set of stairs that looked completely untouched by time. They lead up to a stone platform. Grif wasn’t sure what waited there, but he looked forward to seeing it.

When he was certain he’d rested long enough to recover his energy, he began his ascent. The stairs were large, and the climb took some time, but eventually Grif found himself approaching the top. What he found gave him pause. Qin Shi Huang was the name of the emperor of China who commissioned the terracotta army, the large clay sculptures depicting more than 8000 forces ready for battle. It seemed that temujin kahn likewise desired an army to watch him in death. Though not nearly so numerous, Grif guessed there had to be at least three thousand finely made clay riders on the platform, each on a horse and dressed for combat. Most wore traditional mongolian garb, but Grif recognized others. Chinese, Polish, Russian. Warriors from the coast of Asia to the coast of Europe lay arrayed for a battle that would not come. Unlike the terracotta army of Qin Shi Huang, however, none of these had degraded.

Grif made his steps carefully through the rows of warriors. Several times, he found himself giving respectful nods while a hand went for the knife he kept at his side. He laughed to himself and shook his head as he strolled to the army’s center. There, he discovered what he guessed to be a funerary procession. Bannermen held up sticks that once boasted glorious standards. Horses where hitched to a wagon that held what appeared to be a coffin. Around it were several goods. Tools, a bow and arrows, things that Grif guessed at least one culture he ruled over would have thought he needed. A single book laid atop the coffin’s lid written and bound in the old style. Numerous pieces of bamboo had been tied together by cord, and each wooden piece had symbols written on it that at first resembled chinese calligraphy. On further inspection, however, Grif later realized it also looked nothing like that language. It felt strange to look at. Unlike the other organic materials that had been buried, the book was untouched by time. The bamboo was still supple, the words still crisp and clear. Power emanated from this book, and it took only a moment for him to realize that this was the artifact he sought. Approaching the wagon, Grif bowed his head in salute to the legend whose earthly remains rested before him.

“Forgive me. I don’t mean to do this, but I have need of that far more than you do. May your rest be undisturbed by my actions.” With that, Grif approached, carefully lifted the book from the coffin, and placed it in his bag. He dug around the vessel and pulled out one of his finer knives, slightly more intricate than the rest, with a cut ruby in the guard. He placed it on the coffin and bowed once more. Then he made his way quickly to the entrance. He could already feel the magic in this place waning, and he wanted to seal the entry before the paint started to decay on the statues.

“Rest well, great Temujin Khan, the one called Genghis Khan, conqueror of the world.” With those words, he willed the earth back over the hole and began his long slow walk to the surface, covering his tracks as he walked. It may be that someday people would stumble upon this great tomb, but Grif had no intention of leading them to it. He’d let the ruler rest in peace, a final gift between warriors.

“Well, for such an unassuming artifact, it certainly has a lot of magical power,” Rarity noted as she brushed her fingers over the rough-hewn stone block. The tour through the museum had been an enlightening experience for the mare-turned-human as she viewed fragments of Earth’s history from a scientific perspective. Now they both sat in their limousine under the shelter of its blast-resistant windows and armor-plated doors. “But if it’s supposed to have so much information in it, then why are there so few words?”

“It’s most likely just a cover, an illusion of sorts.” Shawn hummed to himself. “A security measure to ensure the information was kept hidden.”

“I wonder what they’ll be like when they all come together again. If this magic is on all of them, then they should each have taken a camouflage of sorts, right?”

“Correct, though they all follow the same frequency.”

“I wonder how they survived in such a low-magic environment, though. We have to use those batteries you designed to keep our reserves up. What’s kept them going?”

“Perhaps they’re more resilient to the drain of Earth,” he offered with a frown as he thought it over. “It could be some form of drain resistance put into it to keep them stable.”

“Why do I get the feeling you intend to study it intensely when we get home?” She smiled and kissed him on the cheek.

“I doubt I’ll be able to.” He sighed. “Once they’re in a magic enriched environment, they’re bound to reconnect to one another.”

“And that will impede your study, how, exactly? Won’t the magic engraved in it remain the same?”

“I was curious to study them in their current state to figure out how they managed to last this amount of time. I could still do so before we return, but I am unsure how much power it’ll take from me to do so on Earth.”

“In other words, risk versus reward.” Rarity frowned. “That is a predicament. Have you considered asking whether there might be an arcane research division that the government here has set up? Perhaps they might have some tools that could assist you.”

“The world is too magically dead for anything significant to take place. That, and it’s unlikely they’d take me there, if it existed.”

“Then I suppose the decision lies solely in your hands.” She frowned. “I wish there were some way that I could make it easier for you, though.” She chuckled. “I suppose that’s the generosity in me talking.”

“I’ll figure something out.” He smiled. “Say, where were we heading again?”

“I would assume the hotel, but I’m not Mister Bubbles.” She giggled.

“I’m leaning toward another round of tests.” He sighed. “They’ve been talking and hinting about it for some time now.”

“Well, you are a captivating subject,” she teased. “Or have you forgotten how many times you tested my designs?”

The divider lowered, and Cobra’s shades stared at them from the rear view mirror as he drove. 

“Strictly procedure. We need to confirm you aren't carrying foreign agents,” Cobra stated.

“Interesting, given the fact we do have shrinking and growth spells.” Rarity laughed. “For all you know, we actually could be.” She sighed. “In all seriousness, though, I assume you intend to test the both of us?”

“Public safety.”

“Let’s be honest, there’s more tests than just one for foreign bacteria,” Shawn commented.

“Naturally,” Scully said. “Your unique anatomy showed potential for further change. It’s my job to document any such changes that might occur. Though we may need to borrow another of your knives for the blood test.”

“His knives? Whatever for?” Rarity asked.

“They’re the only things that can pierce his skin. Unless he’s crafted some needles we can use, instead, that’s our best way to get his blood for testing.”

Rarity clutched the skirt of her dress. “And there’s really no other way?”

Scully looked at Shawn with an inquiring brow raised.

He shrugged. “Sorry, needles aren’t exactly a standard weapon on Equis.”

“Then, no, there’s no other way we know of for now,” Scully said. “I suppose you could ask him to forge some for future use.”

“Actually, I might have a method or two that could work.” Shawn hummed, then murmured, “Perhaps I could shift the aspect...”

“Care to share with the class, Mister Viginti?” Scully asked.

“Well, I could shift the aspect that makes up my blood out,” he replied as he continued thinking to himself. “Wouldn’t have to add another cut to the list, and it should work out fine.”

“Wouldn’t it materialize as a crystal, though?” Rarity asked.

“Shifting the aspect wouldn’t crystalize it.” He smiled. “Though, I would need an active container to shift it to.”

“That shouldn’t be possible, but then again, neither was your blood steaming,” Scully noted with a flat expression.

Rarity shrugged. “That’s my Hammer Strike. He always makes the impossible possible, somehow.”

“Let’s hope his world-saving antics aren’t needed on this side of the veil, shall we?”

“Who said it would only apply to world-saving?” Rarity said mischievously, then chuckled and kissed her husband.

Scully groaned.

The doors ground to a close as Pensword engaged the mechanism, and he looked upon the place with a mixture of profound respect and overflowing relief. The sky had faded to orange, and the temperature had begun to drop, though the change was negligible to one who had just emerged from underground. Indeed, for Pensword, the air felt hotter, not colder.

He ran as fast as his legs would carry him. With the passing of this day, it likely wouldn’t be long before he was called back to Equestria. If he was going to let Alexander rest in peace, he would need to close the original hidden door.

The moon lit his steps by the time he emerged from the passage, and a makeshift rope gave him the leverage he needed to yank the door shut. Now all he had to do was wait for the call. Thoth was likely chasing Anubis again by now. It was a pity he wouldn’t be able to say goodbye, but at least he would succeed in granting Thoth’s fondest desire, the deliverance of the final puzzle piece Grif required to restore his gods.

The commander found a crevice and settled down to write in his journal. These strange events would need to be reported to Grif and Hammer Strike. A few hours later, he finished his record and removed the scroll from his bag. There was nothing of any special note about the artifact, other than the fact he experienced a sense of unease when he drew too close to it. Perhaps the item was starved for magic? Or perhaps it was a warning to avoid meddling with it. It was of Alicorn make, after all. Those magics were far more advanced and potent.

If the scroll had remained sealed, however, it begged the question how the knowledge and power were imparted to the king. The most likely answer would be a link of some kind to the owner’s mind. Perhaps it communicated through Alexander’s subconscious? He would have to ask Hammer Strike about the specifics when they all returned.

Finally, he had his fill of pondering the object and returned it with his materials to his satchel. He took a final swig of water from his supply, then curled up for the night. The mystery of the Alicorns would be solved soon enough. That reality both excited and frightened him as he slowly drifted into sleep.

“So, aside from that rather unpleasant blood test, I’d say our little vacation here has been rather productive.” Conor smiled at his wife as he turned his head on the hotel pillow. “And showing you the sights in my world has been wonderful.” He leaned over and kissed her on the brow. “So, what do you think? Do you like it, hate it, feel neutral and/or disinterested?”

“It’s interesting, the food aside.” Trixie laughed.

“Hey, it’s not our fault we don’t have an overabundance of manna to boost the quality, you know.” He sputtered and blew some of her hair into her face, then smirked as she giggled and pulled the stray hairs back into place.

“Fair enough. Still, I look forward to getting home.”

“Missing your wings?”

“Among other things.” She nodded.

“Such as?”

“Our lessons.”

“You miss being threatened on a regular basis and sleepless nights? Well … ones that don’t have to do with us having our,” he cleared his throat, “alone time?”

“You act like you haven’t enjoyed any of it.”

“Touché. It has been cool learning all this theory. And I suppose after everything in Zebrica, it’s a lot easier. Part of me just likes to vent and/or complain about stuff, I suppose.” He shrugged. “At least I don't whine.” He smirked. “Though I can be exceptionally cheesy.”

“Careful. You might scare Twilight.”

“How so?”

“Haven’t you heard? She’s afraid of quesadillas.”

Conor cocked his head. “... Que?”

“Apparently, they’re too cheesy.”

“That makes absolutely no sense. It’s a thin layer of cheese. How are they too cheesy?”

Trixie shrugged. “I don’t know. Ask her.”

“I think I will. Somepony needs to set her straight. A little salsa fresca, or maybe some mango salsa would go a long way to helping her get over that.”

“If you think you can.” Trixie chuckled.

“Worst case scenario, it’ll be an excellent experiment in our shield casting.” He winked at her. “And an excellent combination for date night.”

“I’ll make a note of it.” Trixie winked back.

“Good. And just think, the next trip you get to take is to show me the sights in Manehattan. I can’t wait to see all your old haunts.”

“There won’t be much. I was a traveling magician. Not a lot of haunts you can afford on an entertainer’s bits.”

“You mean I can’t see some of the places that booked you? You were a pretty big stage magician at the time, weren’t you?”

“I had my audience.” Trixie blushed. “I’m sure we’ll be able to see some things.”

“Good. And then I can treat you along the way, with some much better tasting food.” He smirked. “But for now...” He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. “How about we produce some of our own entertainment?”

“I think I might have one special performance in me.” She grinned and kissed him as a magical aura surrounded the light switch, and the room was cloaked in darkness.

Grif felt the tug a moment before the world began to shift around him. Ducking into the forward momentum, he rolled forward and triggered the gem on his bracer as he tumbled. He managed to stop his momentum on all fours and gave a contented sigh as he stretched his wings. “Good to be home.”

Hammer Strike appeared alongside Rarity a second later, both already having reverted back to their Pony forms. Hammer Strike sighed to himself as he felt the flow of energy shift to a positive.

A moment later, Pensword rolled around on the ground and flapped his wings in a disjointed mess. He had just been rudely woken from his sleep. He finally settled back to his stomach as he cooed and shivered from the magic and energies of Equestria flowing back into him. Unfortunately, that did nothing about the sand and dirt that still clung to his fur and feathers.

Lastly, Vital Spark and Trixie strode into existence with a large parcel held on the Unicorn’s back. The band and bracelet both shimmered as they drank in Equis’ magical field while the Alicorn perked up and smiled confidently.

“Everyone accounted for?” Vital asked.

“Seems like it.” Grif nodded as he scanned the group. “Can’t say I want to have to do that again.”

Pensword looked at Grif and he stood up to stretch out his kinks. “And I feel like you just jinxed it.”

“Nah. Didn’t feel the spine tingle this time. Pretty sure Murphy is gonna wait on that one for a while,” Vital said as he stretched. “So, Pensword, catch.” He levitated the parcel and tossed it at the Pegasus.

Pensword spun and caught the parcel. “Is it what I asked for?”

“Naturally.” Vital smiled. “I hope Moon River enjoys it.”

“I do as well.”

“I assume everyone obtained his artifact?” Hammer Strike questioned.

Grif pulled the bamboo parcel out from his bag. “Got mine.”

Pensword pulled removed the scroll. “I got mine.”

Rarity hovered the stone tablet in front of Hammer Strike. “There you are, darling.”

“Thank you.” Hammer Strike smiled as he took the tablet. After a moment, he took each artifact and placed them in close proximity to each other and the core. After a moment of nothing happening, he sighed. “If it is anything like the other part….” His hooves ignited with blue fire. “Then they’ll need sufficient energy.”

His field surrounded the three objects as he slowly pushed power into them. While it looked like nothing was happening, Hammer Strike felt as the artifacts latched onto his field, drawing significantly more than he was initially giving. Each object started to glow and draw near each other as their forms began to change. The light reached near-blinding proportions as their forms warped and merged. When a full shape had been formed, the light began to dim. What remained was a small leatherbound object. While it had the outward appearance of a book, the inner segments were simply a black mass, while the outside remained a well-made and cared for cover, much like the cover for a book.

Hammer Strike frowned to himself as he reached for the object, turning it over a few times to read faint markings that were clearly Alicorn script. Opening the case revealed a few pages of notes, followed by a rectangular glossy black object within. Thaumically, he could feel the magic flow within the object shifting and changing as it seemed to probe the world around it.

“Strange,” he muttered to himself as he touched the object.

“User Identified.” The voice emanated from the artifact in perfect Latin. “Updating registry. Please hold. Error, networks disabled. Adapting … complete.” Lines formed through the glossy tablet glowing a soft blue before shifting to green, then red, and back to blue. “Language identified and translated,” it said in perfect Equish.

“Well, glad to know that wasn’t for nothing.” Grif chuckled.

Pensword’s ears perked and swiveled as he looked over Hammer Strike’s shoulder from his place in the air behind. “This feels very Sci-Fi like. Crazy. You think that contains more information than a normal book could hold? Might it hold a dictionary?”

“Considering it’s meant to be a compendium of all their analyses of the various Pony races, I’d say it’s a safe bet the thing holds hundreds of volumes worth of data, Pensword,” Vital Spark noted. “So, it’ll speak Equish now?” he asked curiously.

“I’m sure that certain parts are bound to be untranslatable.” Hammer Strike frowned. “I’ll have to study this further before handing it off to Daring.” He looked up with a smile. “Thank you all for your efforts. It will take some time before I can give you the results of today, but I’ll keep you all updated.”

“Well, if that's everything, I think I'm going to return home.” Grif yawned. “Be nice to get a warm meal and a soft bed.”

“Could I come, too? I’ve got something I think I should show you in your home, in case you freak out,” Pensword said.

“Pensword, I just spent a few days in a hostile environment finding a location that no one in history has found before. Can it possibly wait?”

“Well, I’d rather not carry the blood of Anubis home with me.”

Grif blinked in dumbfounded silence. “...What?” he finally asked.

Pensword raised the scabbard gingerly and winced as he stared at the hilt. He could see the blood dripping again, though there was no sign of whatever intelligence had struck at him before. “I found this in a similar place, specifically the tomb of Alexander the Great. I wouldn’t have gotten there without the assistance of a Gryphon. I believe you know him well. His name was Thoth.”

Grif’s eyes widened as his breath quickened.

“I told him about you and why I had come. He didn’t question it, and gave me his blessing to deliver it to you.”

“This is real?” Grif walked over and unsheathed the blade in a quick smooth motion.

Pensword flinched at the action as the blood spattered, then gradually dissipated.

“Zarvarian brass, taloned steel blade with zanite coating, just like the warriors of the lost city used to forge, and an—” Grif frowned as he looked over the handle, seeming bothered. “—Alicorn leather handle,” he finally said. His next words were soft and filled with awe. “This is it.”

“I am twice as glad to not be taking that home at all. Still, I fulfilled my promise. You have your blade. Do what you have to, and please … give me a warning if you need me to help out.”

“I don’t need anything else.” Grif smiled, then chuckled. “Just time. I have the jewels, and Avalon is studying. We can construct a focus, if the dwarves can get a large enough piece of quartz.” This time, he laughed. “You don’t know what this means, Pensword. The winds will finally return!” Grif crowed as he held the khopesh aloft victoriously.

Pensword winced as the spectral blood spattered, then dissipated. “Just be careful, Grif. You hold the Gryphon version of the Spear of Destiny. Remember one of the traits of that spear?”

“Well, you won’t have to worry about seeing it anymore,” Grif promised. “Hand me the sheath and I’ll keep it safe.”

Pensword offered the sheath hastily, but respectuflly. “Thank you.” He paused. “Should I be prepared for any dinner at your place? Because this would be…” His eyes widened as the full impact of what was to come landed home. “This is going to be big for the compound, isn’t it?”

“Tomorrow,” Grif told him. “Or possibly the day after. But tonight, the Gryphons must celebrate with the Gryphons.”

Pensword nodded. “I understand. It’s like recovering the first cave for us, or Hurricane’s blade.”

“Exactly. I need to go. There’s a lot to do and little time to do it.” He sheathed the blade and took wing without another word.

Hammer Strike chuckled. “I’ll give him fifteen minutes before he’s back.”

“Why is that?” Pensword asked, “What did you do?”

“Nothing to worry about.” He smiled as he pocketed the artifact before turning to Rarity. “Will you be staying the night, or would you like to head home, instead?”

“I am home, silly,” she said as she kissed him on the cheek. “And I definitely would prefer another night with you.”

Pensword chuckled to himself, “This, I have to see,” he muttered about Grif.

“Would you mind heading toward our room right now?” Hammer Strike asked Rarity. “And sorry, Pensword, but I require the rest of you to leave this room for some time. There’s something I need to do.”

“Don’t keep me waiting too long, darling.” Rarity smiled and kissed him again, then sauntered out of the throne room.

“I assume top secret somethings only you can manage,” Vital said, then sighed. “Come on, Trixie. Let’s get going. Clover will probably be waiting for us to report, anyway.”

Trixie nodded. “Agreed.”

“Fine,” Pensword grumbled. “But I want to know what you did to Grif that’ll have him coming back here,” he insisted as he trotted to the doors.

Once everyone was out of the room, Hammer Strike sighed softly. “Discord,” he called out. “I know you can hear me. Would you kindly come here?”

A tired sigh echoed through the room as a series of off-color paint drops slipped from the ceiling and pooled on the floor before slowly drawing themselves up into a drooping Draconequus. Heavy bags sagged under the chaos spirit’s eyes as fragments of sand and gold dust sifted with every blink. His normally crazy mane hung limply, and his goatee had broken aside into bristled tufts that were far from a proper accentuation. “Do you have any idea how monumentally tired I am right now? One portal of banishment is an easy thing to manage. Four individual portals and ensuring the ties that bind you here hold? I won’t be able to get up to any proper chaos for a week, at least.”

“I know, Discord. I remember last time was not as bad for you, but you had two additional individuals to bring this time.” Hammer Strike nodded. “This time, I have something for you in return.”

“Another task, a special rule, some new form of class to help me become, ‘normal?’” he snarked.

Hammer Strike remained unruffled. “I have been … somewhat unfair in my treatment of you.” He reached into his coat and pulled out a small dark crystal. “If the others have so much faith in you, I will give you a fair chance.” His hooves ignited in thaumic flame before he directed his hoof toward Discord. The crystal in his hooves slowly vanished as it returned to its source.

The bags under Discord’s eyes receded as the gray bristles of his mane darkened to their usual black and stood up straight again. His goatee returned to its typical jagged appearance as lightning flashed and thunder crashed outside. The Draconequus laughed exultantly. “Oh, now that felt good.” His eyes glinted manically. “This doesn’t necessarily mean I trust you either,” he said with a narrow gaze. “But I suppose I can live with a … truce of sorts for now,” he said as he dusted off his fur and let his hand pop off to form a peace sign that hovered before the pair. “Oh, stop that, you. I’m not going that soft just yet.” It wagged a chastising finger in front of his face. “Now don’t you bring Fluttershy into this.” He snatched it and plopped it back onto his wrist. “Honestly, how rude.”

“Know this.” Hammer Strike focused his attention back to Discord. “I am giving you a fair chance. The same applies to you. I do not trust you, and it will be long before I can after what you have done, especially to Conor. Though his life is fine and happy now, he suffered the same fate we had. Do not make me regret this. While I have returned you to your former energy, I can just as easily take it back.”

“You act as if I were unaware of the fact,” Discord said pointedly as a spiked dog collar appeared around his neck, complete with leash. “So, what’s it to be, house arrest, a GPS tracker, perhaps?” he asked as a set of handcuffs and a familiar band with a blinking red light materialized in the air next to him.

“You’re free to go, Discord.” Hammer Strike gave him a soft smirk. “I have my own methods.”