//------------------------------// // XVI: Of Fears // Story: Sunken Horizons // by Goldenwing //------------------------------// So many pipes. The echo of Twilight’s hooves against the damp stone chased her through the dark heart of the mountain. Where does it end? She’d been going up, but that was the only thing she knew for sure. The one tarnished pipe she’d followed away from the site of the spider attack had soon met others, and then more, until Twilight found herself galloping down a craggy tunnel with a pair of massive pipes nearly as large as she was running along either side. The pipes creaked and shuddered with the weight of the water coursing through them, a hundred miniscule leaks all coming together to form a thin stream trickling between her hooves. She turned a corner, wincing at the sudden burst of light in front of her. The tunnel was blocked off by a wall of pockmarked steel. A pair of spotlights illuminated the rock beneath a great steel hatch, and a shallow, smooth trail had been worn into the stone before it by the steady passage of many hooves. “We’re here!” Twilight let out a gasp of relief as she bounded up to the door, Bag End floating behind her. She reared up, pounding against the metal with her hooves. “Help! Somepony help!” Nothing happened. Bag End let out a weak groan, barely audible over the loud hissing and clanking of the mountain’s machinery. Since when do we need permission to bypass any portal? Twilight’s horn glowed, and she blinked in surprise as she teleported past the hatch. She found herself in an unlit airlock, matching steel hatches on either side. She frowned, suspicious. Why are you helping? You don’t even want us to be here! It cocked its head, regarding her with contempt. I will always help you surmount any obstacle, little flower. Even if it’s your own idiocy. Twilight rolled her eyes, but she wasn’t going to waste time commenting on the backwards reasoning. Well, we shouldn’t teleport past things without pinging! There’s no telling what might’ve been waiting for us here. Well, what are you waiting for? Do I have to do everything myself? Ignoring that as well, Twilight sent a series of powerful pings from her horn. The magic passed through the steel of the airlock with ease, returning seconds later with the impression of straight-edged tunnels, machinery, a skeleton of reinforced steel and dozens of living ponies. The complicated structure grew muddled and hazy to her senses further out, but past it all she could sense the salty water of the ocean and—to her surprise—the surface. They were near the peak of the mountain, and couldn’t be more than a few hundred meters underwater! Another moan from Bag End pulled Twilight from her thoughts. Taking a deep breath, she held the wounded stallion close in her magic and teleported them both further into the complex. She came out in a narrow hallway, the sharp crack of her arrival drawing the eyes of two ponies that looked as if they’d just been making idle chatter while they walked. Small, shuddering pipes ran along the craggy ceiling, dripping water or venting small puffs of steam from their undersides, and the only light came from lonely bulbs strung up along one side. The ponies stared at her with wide eyes, and she stared back. Panic gripped her. “Hello!” she shouted. “My name’s Twilight Sparkle! I need help!” They blinked. One of them, a pegasus mare, looked to the wounded pony floating beside her. “Wait, is that Bag?” The unicorn stallion beside her seemed more focused on Twilight’s eyes. He gasped, pulling his companion back by the loose cloth of her jumpsuit. “Back up, Brandey! That wyrd’s got him!” “Wyrd?” Twilight frowned, narrowing her eyes. Her illusion had worked fine against Bag End, so why wasn’t it working now? “Wyrd!” Brandey turned, galloping away with the stallion hard on her heels and her voice echoing into the distance. “Wyrd on Deck Three!” The call was taken up by others, and within seconds the little tunnel was filled with the sound of pounding hooves and raised alarms, the voices carried afar from their unseen speakers to Twilight’s drooping ears. With a start she realized that she must have dropped the spell during the commotion of the spider attack, leaving her mutations freely visible. She took a moment to re-cast it before starting after the fleeing ponies, Bag End still floating by her side. “Wait! I won’t hurt you! I just want to help!” I told you this was a waste of time, Midnight sneered at her from a passing doorway. Leave the wounded one and let us be done with it. “No!” Twilight gave an emphatic shake of her head as she skidded to a stop in an intersection. Rocky halls curved out of sight in four directions, the thin metal grid underhoof vibrating in sympathy with the hooves approaching from every side. “I’m not leaving him until we know he’s taken care of!” “What does it matter, you foal?” Midnight stepped out of the shadows from one side, its lips curled back in anger. “Do you fear his ponies will kill him merely for consorting with one such as us? They may hate us, but even they cannot be so moronic.” “I—I just have to be sure!” “For what purpose?” The voice seemed to come from all around her. No matter which way Twilight looked, she always saw her own dark reflection snarling back at her. “How does this delay further our goals? How will we save Equestria in the pits of this mountain?” “I-it doesn’t! I just—” “Then why?” Midnight’s bloodshot eyes filled Twilight’s vision even when she squeezed her eyes shut, and its voice blocked out every other sound even as she clapped her hooves over her ears. “All these pointless detours and delays, all this wasted time—in the city, in the cave, now here! Why?!” “Because I want to make new friends!” The booming echo of Midnight’s voice stopped. Twilight opened her eyes, heart pounding and breath coming in heavy sobs, and she saw Midnight watching her with a curious tilt to its head. New friends? Behind it, the tunnel had been blocked off by a trio of thick-set earth ponies, their bodies covered by the same rough jumpsuits and their heads hidden behind breath masks, goggles, and hoods. Long spears were strapped to their sides in sling harnesses, allowing each pony to aim the jagged tip toward her with a single hoof. Looking around, Twilight found a similar wall of flesh blocking every exit. The spearponies shifted about nervously. The pounding of hooves had gone quiet, leaving only  their anxious voices in its wake. “Why isn’t it attacking?” one asked. “Give it time,” another said. He took a cautious step forwards, and the two ponies beside him followed. “They always do.” “Are we sure it’s a wyrd?” “Ain't nopony I recognize!” “It s-smells like blood.” “We don’t have time for this!” Twilight recognized that voice. Narrowing her eyes, she picked out one of the ponies that had originally raised the alarm—the mare, Brandey. “That monster’s got Bag, and he’s hurt!” “No, please!” Twilight lowered her posture, locking eyes with the mare. “I don’t want to hurt you!” The ponies all took a collective step back, their chatter cutting off with sharp gasps before surging back twice as strong. Brandey blinked, mouth gaping wide open. “Here, look!” Twilight’s horn glowed brighter, and the caves fell silent as the spearponies all focused their weapons back on her. Bowing her head, she slowly levitated Bag End’s silent form away and toward the nearest group. “Take him! We were attacked by some kind of crystal spider in the caves, and he’s hurt!” There was a long moment of silence, but Twilight didn’t dare look up. Finally a voice spoke; this one was a stallion. “Give ’im ’ere. I’ll take ’im t’ Doc Cleeve.” After a brief shuffling of hooves, Twilight caught a glimpse of Bag End being dragged away in her peripheral vision. When she got the courage to risk a glance upwards a few seconds later, she saw Brandey had stepped forth, standing alone in front of a line of spears. It was impossible to see any of her face behind the gas mask and hood she wore, but the suspicion in the mare’s voice was clear on its own. “What are you?” Twilight straightened up slowly. She offered a shaky smile, but it turned into a grimace as she saw the surrounding ponies shrink back. “My name’s Twilight Sparkle,” she said. “How are you doing today?” The Orichalcum was a big ship. This was no revelation to Rainbow Dash, and yet she couldn’t keep the thought from cropping up every now and then, in those slow moments when she found herself idle, alone, and without distraction. It had come to her during the walk to their cabins as she realized she hadn’t seen the ocean for over ten minutes. It had crossed her mind as she slept that night, the distant buzzing of the engines seeming unnatural after so many days lodging in the cargo bay directly under the Argo’s main propeller. And now it returned once more as she lay in bed with hoofsteps fading in and out past their cabin door. So many ponies rushing off to fulfill morning duties, and yet the only light in the room was pale, white, and artificial. “Whatcha thinkin’ bout?” Rainbow tilted her head to the side. Applejack was regarding her with a curious smile as she slipped into her drab gray uniform. “It’s just weird, how big this ship is,” Rainbow said. “I mean, it doesn’t even feel like a ship. Feels like we’re on solid ground.” “Maybe to y’all it does. No proper earth pony would ever mistake this hunk of metal for good ol’-fashioned earth.” Applejack tapped a hoof against the floor for emphasis. “Now y’all gonna get up or what? We don’t wanna give the wrong impression.” Rainbow arched a brow. “And who are we supposed to be impressing?” Applejack rolled her eyes. “It don’t matter! Now get up before I drag y’all out by the tail.” Rainbow couldn’t help but grin at the good-natured jab in Applejack’s voice as she rolled onto her hooves. “Y’know the only reason you can ever grab my tail is cause I let you, right?” “Uh huh, sure it is. Ya need a brush?” “Nah, I’m good.” Rainbow licked a hoof before slicking her mane back, pulling the unruly hairs out of her face. She chuckled at the disapproving quirk of Applejack’s lip before grabbing her uniform from where it hung by her cot. The cabin was nice enough. It was a far cry from the luxurious suite they’d been given at Crazy Rich’s island estate, and it wasn’t quite as cozy as Rainbow’s little cloud room, but she’d stayed in worse places. The beds weren’t quite wide enough to spread her wings, but they were soft, and the blanket was only a little bit scratchy, and the bathroom was small enough that it took a certain amount of contortionism to open or close the door from inside, but she wasn’t the type of mare to complain about such things. Or at least, she wasn’t the type to seriously complain about them. “Land sakes, gal, what’s happened to yer wings?” “Huh?” Rainbow looked back over her shoulders as she pulled her wings through the holes in her shirt, giving them an experimental flap. “The feathers’re all over the place. Did a fox get in yer coop last night?” Rainbow looked away with a huff, hiding the embarrassed flush of her cheeks and making a show of straightening the wrinkles out of her sleeves. “Hey, cut me some slack, alright? The wing blades always mess them up a little, and with ’Shy back in Altalusia I’ve had to handle it all myself.” Applejack cocked her head. “No offense, sugar cube, but ain’t pegasi supposed to be able to preen themselves?” “I can preen myself!” Rainbow snapped. “It’s just hard to get at some of the feathers near the base, especially on, y’know—” she sighed “—my left side.” “Oh.” A few seconds passed in silence. “Sorry.” “It’s fine.” Rainbow scratched a hoof at the back of her head. “Sorry for snapping. ’Shy and I helped each other with our wings back in flight school, y’know? Sometimes in Ponyville, too. Normally I can handle it just fine myself, but it’s been rough.” Applejack stepped closer, leaning against Rainbow’s side. “Maybe I could help?” Rainbow arched a brow, shooting the earth mare a skeptical sideways glance. “What do you know about wing care, AJ?” She shrugged. “Pretty much nothin’, but I reckon y’all can teach me.” Rainbow chuckled. She raised a hoof to deliver a hearty slap to her friend’s back. “Yeah, alright, sure.” Applejack grinned. “It’ll have to wait till after breakfast, though. I only got a few bites of that fancy dinner after we finished with all the talkin’.” “I’ve got practice today, too,” Rainbow said. “Sabre figures I’m good to start again, and apparently there’s a whole gym on this ship.” “How ’bout tonight, then?” Applejack extended a hoof. Rainbow grinned, raising her own hoof to bump against it with a resounding clop. “If you think you can handle it.” The rush of hooves out in the hall had grown quiet by then, and when the two mares stepped out of their cabin they were the only ponies in sight. The hall was about three ponies wide and well-lit, lined with identical cabin doors distinguished only by the numbers engraved into the wall beside them. Rainbow took the lead, Applejack following a few steps behind and to her left. It only took a few seconds to reach the intersection where the cabin block met one of the long avenues that connected much of the ship, and after a brief pause to consult the color-coded lines painted on the wall, they were off for one of the ship’s four galleys. It was a relatively quick journey; unlike the silvered rooms where they’d met with Prince Silverblood, the galley was almost directly adjacent to their living quarters. Traffic was thin but steady in the halls, with most of the jumpsuited crew ponies keeping their eyes averted, only a few risking quick smiles at Applejack’s insistent greetings. The only exception was a single stallion in a blue jumpsuit—marking him as a member of Nav, as Trails had called it—who seemed to stare down everyone he passed. The galley was something heard before it was seen, and the enticing scent of the warm food within put a brisk skip in Rainbow’s step as they drew closer. The two mares finally turned the corner and, hit with the full force of the loud chatter, paused to get their bearings. It reminded Rainbow of a school cafeteria. Long tables were arrayed in a grid, each one seating a couple dozen ponies earnestly digging into their meals. The colors mostly kept to themselves; if any one table had two colors sitting at it, there was always a seat or two of empty space between them. A serving line took up the far wall, where tired-eyed ponies doled out portions onto the trays of those who approached them while the clatter of pots and pans rang out from the kitchen behind. A sharp gasp came from Rainbow’s left, and she snapped her head around to see Applejack staring in open-mouthed shock. “Uh, AJ? You okay?” Applejack’s eyes darted to Rainbow. A few seconds passed before she finally managed to push out a word. “Apples!” Rainbow frowned. “Huh?” “Apples, RD!” Applejack grabbed Rainbow’s head and turned it, pointing with her other hoof. “They got apples!” Rainbow followed the orange hoof, narrowing her eye as she saw that several of the ponies in the room were indeed eating the fleshy fruit. “Huh. Cool.” “Cool?!” Applejack echoed. She twisted Rainbow’s head back to face her once more. “Rainbow Dash, I ain't seen one apple in this world that ain't been dried up, fermented, or processed, and there’s gotta be at least a hundred Celestia-blessed fresh apples in this very room, and all y’all can say is cool?” “What else am I supposed to say, AJ?” Rainbow yelped as Applejack dragged her toward the serving line. “Tartarus, I don’t care if each one comes with a whole family of worms curled up inside, I am gettin’ me a gosh-darned apple!” The line was already empty by the time they reached the galley, so there was no need to wait. Applejack marched straight up to the nearest serving mare, cleared her throat to grab her attention, and spoke in a clear drawl. “Apples, please.” The serving mare—whose green, stained jumpsuit looked almost as tired as she did—extended a hoof. “20 scrip, hun.” “Scrip?” Applejack shot a glance toward Rainbow, who offered up a quick shrug. “I ain’t got no scrip.” The serving mare arched a brow. “And how did you intend to pay for your meal without any scrip?” “How about bits?” Applejack reached into her shirt pocket and fished out a few bits, grinning at the surprise on Rainbow’s face. “Y’all might have some too if ya weren’t so bad at cards.” The serving mare pursed her lips. “We don’t take bits. Company scrip.” “Wh—we ain’t got no scrip, sugar cube!” Applejack’s tail lashed behind her as she jabbed a hoof at a basket of apples behind the counter. “I’m a guest here! Y’all ain’t never heard of proper hospitality?” The serving mare narrowed her eyes, meeting Applejack’s glare with silent resolve. Seconds passed as Rainbow looked between the two, wondering which one would crack first. The moment was interrupted by a flash of soft pink and bobbing green. Sassie stepped up on Applejack’s other side, pulled a black card out of the jumpsuit rolled up around her waist, and slapped it onto the counter. A picture of her beaming at the camera took up the center of the card, with the word “SECURITY” printed along the top and “SASSIE” along the bottom. “Just get her what she wants,” Sassie said, shooting a friendly smirk toward Applejack. “She is the Prince’s guest, after all.” The serving mare stiffened, the exhaustion in her eyes quickly replaced by fear. “Y-yes, ma’am! One apple!” “Whoa, now, one apple ain’t gonna cut it!” Applejack raised a hoof, the serving mare standing still as a statue while she listened. “I’m gonna need at least a dozen apples, if that ain’t too much trouble.” The serving mare glanced toward Sassie, received a firm nod, and jumped into motion. Applejack turned to Sassie with a wide smile. “Thank ya kindly, partner. Sorry about the trouble. Nobody told us we’d need any ‘company scrip’ or nothin’ like that.” Sassie beamed back at her. “It’s no problem, really! The Prince had me come down for this very reason, actually.” She paused as the serving mare returned with a tray laden down with gleaming red apples. “My, you must have a real love of apples!” “Yeah, AJ, there’s no way you can eat all those apples,” Rainbow said, shaking her head in bemusement. “Heck I can’t eat all these apples!” Applejack shot back. “Besides, I can just save the ones I don’t eat for later.” With the issue of payment resolved, it only took Rainbow a minute to get her tray filled with as many carbs as she could fit—two baked potatoes, pasta slathered over the top, and a bowl of hay fries on the side—and for the trio to make their way to the empty end of a table. The look on Applejack’s face as she bit into the first fruit could only be described as mild disappointment. “Hay, Rainbow,” she said, pushing the words out as she chewed, “it ain’t near as good as no Sweet Apple Acres apple, but it feels  like home.” Sassie, who had taken a seat opposite the two friends, leaned forward intently. “You grew apples?” “Sure as the red on my rear!” Applejack said. She paused to swallow before continuing with a proud grin. “My family grew the finest apples in all of Equestria for generations!” “Oh?” Sassie cocked her head, eyes wide with interest. “Did you know the Prince grows these apples himself, here on the ship?” “Really?” Applejack paused with the next apple already halfway to her muzzle. “Can we see it?” It turned out they could. After speeding through the rest of their breakfast, Sassie led Rainbow and Applejack out the galley and toward the rear of the ship. The halls were mostly empty at this time, but those ponies they did pass were quick to get out of the way, dipping their heads and murmuring quiet greetings to the pink-coated mare in the lead before darting away. Sassie responded to each one with a kind smile of her own, talking all the while. The Prince had purchased some apple seeds—an expensive commodity, they were assured—almost seven years ago, both to supplement the crew’s diet and as a new source of revenue. He’d had an orchard built along the top of the ship, and had already made plans for a shipboard brewery now it was fruiting. Applejack listened intently throughout the walk, asking several questions along the way, but Sassie waved them all off, assuring her that more educated ponies could speak to her once they arrived. The tree talk didn’t especially interest Rainbow, so she kept her eye on their surroundings. There was no sunlight this deep in the ship, and the halls weren’t very well lit or maintained either. Bare piping could be seen in parts, sometimes with ponies in the process of repairing them. Sometimes a group of five to ten ponies would trot out of one hall, their jumpsuits soiled with sweat, and rush to disappear down another, but to Rainbow’s disappointment they never got to see where they were going or where they came from. After several minutes a yellow line appeared on the wall, and they followed it to a wide elevator. Rainbow couldn’t get a good look at how many floors there were from where she stood on the left side of the lift, and before long they stepped out into clear daylight. Rainbow blinked in surprise as she felt dirt underhoof. Indeed, the whole orchard, despite being contained by steel on four sides and glass on top, was covered in a thick layer of soil. A few dozen trees were lined up in neat rows running the length, with ponies in yellow jumpsuits making rounds with hoses, shovels, and wheelbarrows filled with tools. “Here we are!” Sassie presented the long room with a flourish. “The very first Silverblood Orchard!” “Hang on a minute.” Applejack frowned as she stepped up to the nearest tree. She extended a hoof, rubbing it softly against the bark before looking back. “This is it? This soil ain’t even three feet deep.” Sassie blinked. She shot a glance toward Rainbow, who winked in response. “And how could you possibly know that?” Applejack snorted. “Any Apple worth her mark could tell ya that. Y’all could work on yer drainage, too.” She brought her hoof down to the dirt, pushing down and causing a small puddle to form in her hoofprint. “That ain’t good for the roots. Heck, I wasn’t quite expectin’ a blue ribbon display, but this is just sad.” “My, my. You certainly know your trees, dear Applejack.” Rainbow stiffened. Her head whipped to the left, where Prince Silverblood was standing next to a tree with a wide, toothy smile. Gerritt was there as well, the griffon leaning against the tree and watching with quiet interest. The other Sassie was standing behind Silverblood with a wide-eyed smile. She raised a hoof in an excitable wave. “Hey, sis!” The Sassie standing next to Rainbow winked and blew a mock kiss to her twin. “Hey, filly!” Had they been standing there when they’d entered the orchard, Rainbow wondered? She couldn’t help but feel as if she’d just been ambushed. The Prince didn’t wait for any response. He stepped closer, coming up to Applejack’s side. “It’s a shame you weren’t here when the orchard was first planted. Am I correct in hearing that your talent regards apple farming?” Applejack narrowed her eyes. “I don’t see how that’s any of y’all’s business, to be frank.” “Oh, is it a trade secret?” He grinned, and Sassie suppressed a quiet giggle at his joking tone. “Pardon me, I hadn’t realized! But let’s just imagine for a moment that this was your talent, hmm? I would be willing to pay many bits for a mare of your skills.” “I ain’t interested.” Applejack turned away with a disdainful grunt. “And don’t think I don’t see what ya did, leadin’ me up here just to make this offer.” “Can you blame me? Ponies of such prodigious talent can make or break an investment, and I’ve invested quite some capital in these trees. Why, some ponies might even resort to violence to ensure a proper payoff down the road.” He chuckled as Applejack and Rainbow both glared in his direction. “Not that I’d ever do such a thing, of course! But a little hard sales tactics never hurt anyone.” “This is stupid.” Rainbow’s tail lashed behind her as she beckoned with a flick of her head. “C’mon, AJ. Let’s head back to our cabins.” “Oh, you won’t even hear me out?” Silverblood slid in front of them as they started back toward the elevator, teeth bared in a lopsided smile. “I never quite had the chance to finish my pitch earlier, you see. You know it’s bad luck for a pitch to go unfinished? A businesspony such as myself can scarcely sleep until I have my proper say.” “Shove off!” Rainbow’s wings flared wide, and suddenly Gerritt was standing behind the grinning Prince. He didn’t say anything, or even move, but his presence alone was enough to give her pause. Applejack let out an exasperated sigh. “Alright, fine. Go on and spit yer poison, ya snake. It won’t make no difference.” Silverblood dipped his head in thanks, turning to face Applejack fully. “All the funding you could ever need. Unlimited freedom to nurture the trees as you see fit with a team of experienced farmhooves underneath you. A fair cut of the profits added on top of a salary that would make some of my merchants green with envy, as well as the usual benefits of high employment within my company.” One hoof slipped out of his layers of robes to gesture toward Sassie, who nodded emphatically. “Any of my Gifted could tell you that my benefits package is unrivaled within the trade fleets.” “It’s true!” Sassie added. “Sometimes it barely even feels like I’m working!” Applejack rolled her eyes. “I ain’t no airpony, Silverblood. My hooves belong on good old-fashioned dirt—dirt that goes down as far as ya can dig—and these piddly three feet’s barely even enough to get my hooves dirty. I ain’t interested.” She made to pass him, but he stepped in the way once more. “Your own farm!” She paused, one hoof frozen mid-air, and he pressed on. “Of course an airship can’t compare to the real farm life, can it? I can provide you with land—real land, that would take you years to dig through. What was it you called your old farm, Sweet Apple Acres?” Applejack’s lips pressed together as she stared at him. “You could bring it back, with my help. I can provide land and seeds, and once you pay me back you’d be free to run the business however you wish, provided I get my cut of revenue! That’s what you want, isn’t it? To get your farm back?” He spread his hooves wide, gesturing to the stubby trees around them. “I can give that to you, and it won’t cost you a bit.” For a long moment, Applejack didn’t say anything. Rainbow looked between her and Silverblood, wings half-flared. Could she actually be considering the offer? Silverblood’s smile grew wider still. “Well?” Finally, Applejack gave a small, quick shake of her head. Her voice seemed strained when she spoke. “Sweet Apple Acres wasn’t just the farm and the trees.” She brushed past him without another word. He twirled, robes fluttering around him and muzzle open as if to make yet another attempt, but Rainbow was in his face before he could make another sound. “Shut up,” she hissed, lip curled back. “She already told you she isn’t interested, so screw off!” Silverblood didn’t seem cowed. He looked up at her with an unabashed shrug. “It’s just business, my dear.” A trio of sharp talons came to rest gently against Rainbow’s left shoulder, cutting off her rebuttal. Red heat surged inside her, followed by a sudden flare of pain in the gap where her left eye had been. She rounded on the griffon with a wordless snarl and slapped his claws away with a vicious swipe of her wing. He stepped back, making no attempt to block her passage. Heart pounding, she followed after Applejack, hoping he hadn’t noticed the tears budding in her eye. It was a little strange, Anatami thought, not hearing the Frieslanders every day. Not that the valley was especially quiet. A stone flung by a trebuchet still hit the ground with a crack sharp enough to make her ears ache, and even if the air wasn’t vibrating from cannonfire, when enough rifles got together it sounded almost like a string of firecrackers going off. The fighting was the most frantic at dawn, when soldiers on both sides rose from their foxholes refreshed, driven toward the enemy by the shouts of sergeants that echoed faintly across the valley. There would be a great, long barrage of fire that rose to a fever pitch, each crack coming faster on the tail of the ones before it, and then the guns would fall silent as the baron troops closed into melee. A few lonely shots would still persist, like the last few kernels in a bowl of popcorn, but never for much longer. Ana licked her lips. She could really go for some popcorn right then. Navigating the valley was never easy. Any pony that looked stout enough to heft a rifle was likely to be accosted by roaming bluecoats, and unless they could supply written proof of their significance to the home front, they were dragged off to the lines. Blending into the crowd with a hood and a downcast expression simply wasn’t an option here. It didn’t help that there was so much traffic going in every direction. It had been a full day since her arrival, and she still hadn’t even made it halfway to the imposing stone bulk of the Duchess’s keep. She had spent the day tucked away among the branches of a small copse of trees—one of the few that had survived the ponies’ aggressive hunger for farmland—watching as the sizable reserve of troops garrisoned around the keep rushed off to one front or another. The thick wall at the mouth of the valley held strong, but the defenses along the north and south ridges were far more tenuous, and so it was up to the small cadre of Friesland bluecoats stationed around the keep to rush off and secure the line when the Nettlekiss troops threatened to give ground. Sometimes they’d split in two and race to opposite sides of the valley, but for the most part they moved as one. Ana was confident in her ability to bypass Nettlekiss’s guard, but the bluecoats would give her trouble. There were a hundred of them at least, every one armed with a rifle and proficient in its use. Once she did reach the keep, she’d have to wait for them to leave to bolster a front. And if she didn’t get back out before they returned, she might be forced to spend the night. So she was forced to travel in the dark hours between sunrise and sunset, dodging the torch-bearing patrols that floated around the valley like motes of dust, dozens of eyes all searching for baronland infiltrators. The valley was all farms and farmhouses, leaving little in the way of cover, and if not for the fact that most of the locals had been forced out of their homes and into the trenches or atop the walls, she might have been caught already. The chatter of an approaching patrol tickled at Ana’s ears, and with a muted curse she rolled out of the bush she’d been hiding in and picked her way downhill, toward a thatch-roofed stone hovel that looked largely abandoned. It was in good condition, most likely having lost its residents to the siege only days ago. If she was lucky, it would still have some food inside. The farmers couldn’t afford glass or wood for their windows, so the only sound Ana made as she slipped inside was a soft rustling from the cloth curtains. She paused, holding her breath as the patrolling soldiers walked out of earshot. She counted ten more seconds, listening for any sign of life within the hovel. Nothing. She set to work in earnest, going from cupboard to cupboard. She found a threadbare blanket and laid it out across a table, stacking her loot on top. Stale bread, sticks of celery, an onion and—jackpot—a clay jar of orange marmalade. Movement. Ana’s ear twitched at the sound of light hooves on stone. In one swift motion she wrapped the blanket around her steal before stashing it in her saddlebags. With silent flaps of her wings, she took to the darkness of the ceiling. Several seconds passed before a pegasus colt crept into the room. He was tall, probably just on the brink of adolescence, and if the dirt smudged into his pastel yellow coat and the chips in his little hooves were any indication, he’d been hard at work in the fields. The colt scanned the room with wide eyes, barely breathing. His gaze fell on the open cupboards, and he rushed forwards with a stifled gasp. “Cob?” The foal stiffened as another colt stepped into view, a lit candle cradled on his back between his wings. He was about the same size as the first, and just as disheveled, with a coat only slightly darker. Brothers. “They t-took our food,” Cob whimpered. “They took Ma ‘n Pa, and now we ain’t got no food either.” “Who?” The colt ran up to one of the open cupboards, holding the candle higher to peer inside one. “Did they take th’ jam?” “Of course they took th’ jam, Mash!” Cob spat. “Them city folk couldn’t leave us anythin’, could they?” Oddly, Mash didn’t seem to have any reaction to this. After a few seconds checking the other cupboards, he turned back the way he’d came. “We should go back t’ bed. Plant’s’ll still need tendin’ in th’ mornin’, and maybe Ms. Hazel’ll help if we ask nice.” Ana grimaced as she watched the two young brothers slink back to their bedroom. These kids had probably had their parents conscripted and were left to tend to the farm themselves, and now she’d gone and stolen what was most likely the last of the food their parents had left them. She let out a heavy sigh before dropping from her hiding spot. She unfurled her makeshift loot bag and placed the bread and onion back on the table, as well as half of the celery. Last was the orange marmalade. She licked her lips as she looked down at the little jar of sweetness, considering her options. It wasn’t that filling on its own, so it wasn’t like she’d be particularly hurting the kids if she took it with her, right? It could be a little splash of color in her days, a shock of flavor to accent whatever scraps she scrounged around the valley whenever she found a place to rest. She could even bring it back to Gava as a gift. Her mouth began to water as she thought of the possibilities. The kids could probably use the color far more than she could, though. It only took her a few seconds to open the top, dip a stick of celery inside, and pop the end into her mouth. A shiver passed through her as she relished the flavor, but only for a moment. She slipped back out the window and into the valley, leaving the jar and ten bits on the table. It was a quiet night in Friesland, and Rarity was taking full advantage of it. She and Pinkie had accepted River Pie’s invitation for drinks, spending several daytime hours with the eager ex-bandit in the humble apartment she’d rented above a rather noisy carpenter’s shop while they traded stories about their past. River had been enraptured by their stories of the old Equestria, and Rarity had been equally interested—if at times disturbed—by their host’s tales of youth in the Altalusian countryside. Pinkie had been notably more energetic in both her storytelling and her drinking then Rarity had, and so Rarity was granted a rare moment of peace while the excitable mare slept the day off with quiet snores on their bed. Now it was just her, the soft pattering of rain against the window, and the thin book floating in her magic. At not even twenty pages, Rarity wasn’t sure if “book” was the right term. Pamphlet, perhaps? The cover was plain, with the title, A Treatise on Harmony, printed in clean black letters along the top, and the author’s name lining the bottom in small, blocky type. Whitehorn. She’d found it downstairs, on the top shelf of Piaffe’s little book collection. It was so thin that she’d nearly passed it over; sandwiched between a book on military doctrine and a photo album, she could almost believe it was meant to be hidden. Piaffe herself had been asleep, thankfully. The mare was sprawled out on the rug in front of the hearth, coat bundled up into a makeshift pillow, and Rarity had been forced to gingerly step around her, heart pounding at the thought of having to explain why she was sneaking about the common room at night. She was safe in her room now, but the butterflies still flitted about in her stomach, and she wasn’t certain as to why. It’s just a book, she assured herself. You’ve read hundreds of books in your life, and it’s not like you didn’t know he was a writer. A lady should not shy away from mere words on paper. She remained still, eyeing the cover. She peeled a corner of the paper up with her magic as she bit her lip. Surely he isn’t trying to hide anything from me. No, such a notion was outrageous. Whitehorn had always been honest with her and noble of heart, even if he’d had a few moments of weakness during their time together. You’re stressing over nothing, Rarity. Did you expect him to give you a sealed list of everything he’d ever written? Let’s get this over with, and it’ll make for a pleasant breakfast chat in the morning. Shaking her head at her own antics, Rarity flipped to the first page and began to read. “Across the Islands, a ghost lingers from the age of Old Equestria: Harmony.” The text began with a quick—albeit sensational—summary of Equestrian history. Whitehorn wrote of the floods, and how the Equestrian ideals of Harmony had brought ponykind together during its darkest hour to ensure their continued survival. A small smile pulled at her lips as she read of ponies helping one another, as they once did in her own time, and she let out a breath of relief as she realized that she truly had been worrying over nothing. But it wasn’t to last. Over time friendship was eroded by hardship and gradually subsumed by self-interest—or in Whitehorn’s words, greed. As he put it, it had cost ponykind their Harmony, and with that, their magic. “In light of this,” he wrote, “I hold these truths to be self-evident: That Harmony is the birthright of all Equestrians. That it is the responsibility of all Equestrians to restore Harmony.” The text spoke on at length on these two points, affirming and reaffirming the significance of Harmony and the necessity of its restoration. Whitehorn wrote of the oppression of ponies across Equestria; of peasants and factory workers and crewponies ground down to a scant existence under the careless hooves of barons, politicians, and merchants; and the Gifted, expounding on how they were used as tools of oppression against the lower classes. Rarity found herself nodding with a growing smile as she read along. He went on to focus more on the Gifted, emphasizing the power they held and lamenting how it was used for so little good in the world, and he wrote of his idea of the Gifted Table, a single body of Gifted ponies that could restore the old order. “As the mantle of Harmony was once borne by the Princesses of Old Equestria, Celestia and Luna, so shall the Gifted become the new Pillars of Equestria, Servants of the People, Guardians of Harmony.” Rarity’s smile faltered, though only for a moment. Servants of the people? She wasn’t quite sure how she felt about that one. The Princesses had certainly never felt like servants to her. They were more like watchful mothers, protecting their little ponies from their own folly while helping them flourish by their own merits. Perhaps it was just a turn of phrase. She could bring it up with him over breakfast. The next section discussed his plans for making the Gifted Table a reality, for getting it passed in Parliament against the wishes of those few powerful ponies who would be against the notion. Oddly, the text seemed to gloss over how it would get the Gifted themselves involved. “Even if it shall take those resistant to our idea to die from old age, that small Act will have set in motion the process toward the new Harmonic society.” Rarity let out a thoughtful hum as she turned to the next page. Surely any who objected at first would come around as soon as they saw the benefits of the new system? She didn’t like the idea of simply waiting out those who disagreed—Harmony should exist in the hearts of all ponies, not just the ones who outlived the rest. She continued reading. “The importance of Harmony is that we must punish every slack, every waste with extreme prejudice. Furthermore, to ensure that Harmony will be maintained even a century from now, all Gifted must serve. The soul of Equestria cannot be left in the idiosyncratic hooves of independent Gifted. A Gifted must devote their life to serve the Islands, their whole life if possible. As soon as it is known, they must leave their old life behind and journey to the Table to serve.” “What?” Rarity’s brow furrowed. It sounded almost like he wanted to force Gifted to serve against their will, but that couldn’t be right. Whitehorn had never tried to make her do anything she didn’t want to, and the idea of him forcing ponies into a life of servitude felt more like some surreal joke than any actual possibility. She read the rest of the text in a blur, not truly processing the words. It was more rhetoric about the significance of Harmony, of Whitehorn’s dedication to the cause even if he didn’t live to see it himself, and a brief section on how the restoration of Harmony would stop the islands from falling. She took it all in without thought. That one paragraph continued to linger at the forefront of her mind as she read. What did he mean by “extreme prejudice?” And what would he do to any Gifted who didn’t want to dedicate their entire lives to public service? A deep frown had marred Rarity’s muzzle by the time she closed the book, matched only by the unease settling in her gut. The rain drummed against the windowpanes, and she drew her scarf tighter about her. She glanced back to the bed, watching Pinkie Pie’s chest rise and fall with her snores. Had Whitehorn been trying to hide this from her? No, that would be preposterous. Hiding a published book? There must be some misunderstanding. Yes, that must be it. She could talk to him about it over breakfast, clear up the details that bothered her, and then she could focus once more on her efforts to stop the war. She set the book down on her bedside table, raised a hoof to pull back her sheets, and hesitated. A tired groan escaped her. She wouldn’t be able to sleep with this nonsense bouncing around in her head. It wasn’t so late yet, was it? Perhaps he hadn’t gone to bed yet. Even if he had, he would understand if she woke him. He was always courteous and polite. She winced at the click of the door as she stepped out into the hall and shut it behind her. A bluecoat stallion was stationed at the window at the end of the hall, opposite the stairs, and he watched her with an impassive stare. She shot him a quick smile. He didn’t smile back. Taking a deep breath, Rarity adjusted her mane with a hoof and delivered two hesitant knocks to the door opposite her own. There was no answer for several seconds, and Rarity shifted her weight from side to side as her nerves grew stronger. She could feel the bluecoat staring into the side of her head, and she looked over to shoot him another quick, flustered smile. He didn’t smile back. She jumped as the door swung open before her. Pontius squinted out at her, blinking in surprise, before straightening up. “Did ye need anything, my Lady?” He sounded almost hopeful. She grimaced at the realization that he probably wouldn’t take well to what she was about to say. “I had actually been hoping to speak to Whitehorn, darling.” “Ah.” His expression fell, but she only caught a glimpse of it before he turned back to the room. “She’s asking fer ye.” There was a brief shuffling of hooves, and soon it was Whitehorn facing her from across the threshold. “Countess?” “Could we talk?” Rarity leaned in, lowering her voice to a whisper. “It’s about your book. The one in Captain Piaffe’s collection?” He arched a brow, lips quirking up into a bemused smile. “Surely it could wait until breakfast? I was just preparing for bed.” “No, it can’t,” Rarity said, sharper than she had intended. “I’d like to speak to you now, please.” “Of course.” He stepped back, opening the door wider, and beckoned her in with a shallow bow. The room was identical in shape to Rarity and Pinkie’s, but far more spartan—as made sense, Rarity figured, considering that it was the guest room. While Rarity and Pinkie had been enjoying the use of Piaffe’s bed and other personal furnishings, Whitehorn and Pontius had little more than a pair of narrow bunks and a single wardrobe. It looked like they’d been using their own luggage as furniture, with several papers and writing instruments scattered over a metal chest, and Pontius’s breastplate leaned against a corner on the floor. “I apologize for the untimely intrusion,” Rarity said, stopping in the center of the room. “I’m afraid it just can’t wait.” Pontius frowned. He was leaned against his bedframe, eyes attentively kept on her. “What troubles ye, my Lady?” “Well…” She hesitated, grimacing. “Pontius, darling, perhaps you could step out for a moment? This is somewhat of a private matter.” He cocked his head, brow furrowing. “A private matter?” Rarity nodded. “Between Whitehorn and myself.” “More private than ye can share with yer own husband?” Rarity blinked. She opened her mouth to say something, but no words came to her. Pontius sighed, pursing his lips into a tight line before pressing on. “I don’t understand why ye treat me like a colt, Rarity. I am yer husband, am I not? Do I not treat ye fairly?” “Now, Pontius,” Whitehorn cautioned, stepping in front of him. “I’m sure she meant no offense.” “Her meanin’ is irrelevant to this matter!” Pontius snapped, making the smaller stallion flinch back. He brushed past Whitehorn, keeping his eyes on Rarity’s. “Ye’re makin’ a mockery of me, mare! I haven’t slept in the same room with ye since we made our vows! I come into this city lookin’ to support ye, against the wishes of my own father, and yet ye barely involve me in yer matters at all! Ye barely even speak to me unless ye need somethin’!” He groaned as he fell back onto his haunches, looking up at the ceiling in exasperation. “And now ye come knockin’ in the middle of the night so ye can ask me to step out of my own quarters? So ye can speak to another stallion?!” Rarity raised a hoof. “Pontius—” “What have I got to do, Rarity?” he pleaded. He reached out, taking her hoof into his own, and she couldn’t find the heart to pull it back. “I know ye didn’t want this union, aye! I didn’t want things to happen this way neither, but I’m tryin’ to make this work, and I—” he took a deep breath, his voice going hoarse. “I’d just like for ye to meet me halfway.” Rarity sighed. She stepped forwards, pulling the shivering young stallion into a hug. “You’re right. I haven’t been treating you fairly, and I’m sorry.” She ran a hoof over his muscled back as he leaned into her, his head resting in the crook of her neck. “It’s just—well, there’s no excuse really, is there? No good one, anyways.” She let out a soft titter before stepping back, looking him in the eyes. “I’d like you to stay.” He nodded, lingering anger, joy, and relief all passing over his expression in quick flashes. “G-good.” Rarity offered him a reassuring smile. “Good. Now, then.” The smile fell away as she looked past him, to where Whitehorn had been politely averting his gaze on the other side of the room. “I want to talk about your work, A Treatise on Harmony.” Whitehorn nodded. “One of my proudest pieces. I remember it well.” “And yet you never mentioned it to me?” Rarity asked. “I hadn’t been aware you’d ever written more than the standard articles.” He shrugged, a wry smile coming onto his face. “If you’d like me to recount the history of my career, Countess, I’d be more than happy to oblige you. Frankly, I’ve yet to meet a mare outside the business who sees my kind as anything more than a pest.” “I’m not joking, Whitehorn,” Rarity said. “Some of the things you’ve written in that pamphlet are downright concerning. Have you been hiding it from me?” He frowned, brow furrowing. “Countess, have I ever given you any reason to doubt my honesty? You’ll simply have to trust me when I say that it was a simple oversight. And if I was trying to hide anything from you, a political piece I published years ago would be a long lost cause.” The wry smile came back as he slid into his bed. “Would you sit? Tell me what’s troubling you.” With a glance toward Pontius, Rarity walked over and took a seat in the opposite bed. Pontius sat beside her, keeping some distance, but still close enough for her to feel his warmth. She didn’t pull away. “What’s troubling me,” she began, pausing to consider her words. “Well, I think maybe I’m misinterpreting some of your writing. It sounds almost like you intend to conscript Gifted into the Table against their will.” He nodded. “That is the message the text aims to convey, yes.” Rarity blinked. She had expected some sort of denial, or at least an attempt at concealment. Unsure of how to respond, she tried another tack. “And… you wrote we should enforce Harmony with, ah, ‘extreme prejudice.’ Perhaps you could elaborate on the meaning there?” “Meaning no breach in Harmony should be allowed,” Whitehorn said. “Those who attempt to subvert it should be punished swiftly and irrevocably. I think young Pontius here would agree that the threat of death goes a long way to keeping ponies in line.” Pontius nodded. “Aye. It’s been the traditional punishment fer banditry fer centuries.” Rarity shot him a sideways look, and he shrugged. “I support ye in yer decisions, Countess, but I won’t lie and tell ye I think it was wise to have those bandits released.” “One of those bandits has become my friend since then,” Rarity reminded him. “And she’s done much good in the city.” Pontius grimaced, but he didn’t back down. “Aye, one. But there were six bandits.” Rarity huffed as she turned back to Whitehorn. Why wasn’t he denying anything? How could he talk about these things as routinely as he might discuss the weather? The rain picked up outside, beating a staccato rhythm against the rooftop. She was so stunned by it all that she wasn’t even sure if she should be angry. “It just seems… unlike you, Whitehorn. Ever since I met you I’ve felt like we saw things the same way, like we needed to make Equestria more like it used to be, but this doesn’t match at all! We never forced ponies to do anything against their will in my time! And we certainly never threatened them with death!” Whitehorn cocked his head, his eyes narrowing. “Ah, I think I see what’s going on here.” Rarity let out a sigh of relief. “So it is a misunderstanding?” He nodded, smile widening. “Yes, Countess. You see, in politics there is often a significant gap between what one says and what one wants.” Rarity arched a brow. “I’m not sure I follow.” “It’s a matter of posturing,” Whitehorn explained. “By presenting a strong position, I attract far more popular support than I ever could with an actual reasonable proposition. Ponies are not happy with the way the world is, Countess, and there are some that would never give me a second thought if I told them I would politely ask the Gifted they resent to make their lives better. I’m merely speaking with a voice they’ll relate to.” “But surely they’ll expect you to follow through on these matters?” Rarity asked. “Or is it all a lie?” “Not a lie, exactly. More like… a lofty goal.” He shrugged. “Inevitably compromises will have to be made in the political process, and the end result will be more relaxed. More reasonable. Some of my supporters may grumble, but they’ll come around once they see their lives improve.” “I don’t know, darling. It feels like lying to me.” “Ah, Rarity.” Whitehorn sighed. “This is what I love about you. You always speak your heart, and it’s always in the right place. If nothing else, your presence at my side will keep your worst fears from coming to pass.” “Of course if you do step out of line, I shall have to take action,” she said, shooting him a sideways glance. He held her gaze, and a moment later she broke out into a nervous giggle. “Oh, this is a relief! Here I was beginning to worry I’d thrown in behind the wrong pony.” “Well,” Whitehorn said, a bright smile on his face, “I’m certainly glad I could help put those fears to rest.”