Twilight grimaced, trying not to squirm under the piercing gazes of the ponies around her.
There were only a few, thankfully. She’d been whisked away to some secluded cell as soon as she convinced the strange ponies living in the mountain that she wasn’t an immediate threat, her hooves all clasped in sturdy chains and spears pointed at her throat by at least two soldiers at any given moment. She’d been given perhaps ten minutes to collect herself while the mountain ponies deliberated among themselves as to her fate, and then the questioning had begun.
It started out simple enough. Who was she? Where had she come from? What was she?
The truth wasn’t an option, so she improvised. Luckily, Twilight had been in this situation before, back when Sea Sabre’s salvage team had first found her and her friends, so she based her story off that. She told them that she was lost, that she didn’t know what happened, that she wanted to find her friends.
They weren’t satisfied, and Twilight couldn’t blame them. Ponies would cycle in and out of her cell, asking the same questions in a hundred variations, leaving her alone for short periods while they thought of what to ask next. It was exhausting.
Midnight had been oddly silent throughout it all. Twilight would’ve expected the proud entity to protest the instant she let them shackle her in chains, to demand that they break free, slaughter everyone in sight, and resume their journey north, but no. She could feel it inside, withdrawn back to that dark corner of her mind where it seemed most comfortable. Like the ponies around her, it, too, seemed to be mulling over some mystery.
Twilight wasn’t too worried. She expected it would come back soon enough, as irritable and demanding as ever, so she used the rare solace to analyze her surroundings.
There wasn’t much to see from where she was, and she didn’t want to risk antagonizing her hosts by sending out magic pings. She was in a small, windowless room of hewn stone with a single thick iron door—a prison cell.
In contrast, she had learned much from the questions she’d been asked. She knew that she was in a mining colony on the far northern edge of modern Equestria. Rather than a miraculous holdout of pre-flood Equestria that had survived underwater for centuries, she’d stumbled across a subsurface facility not even fifty years old.
In some ways it was even more impressive than an ancient Equestrian survivor would’ve been. These ponies found this mountain peak far north of their homes, over a hundred meters underwater, and burrowed their way into its core in search of precious metals, pumping out countless tons of water and building the infrastructure to haul cargo to and from the surface! If she wasn’t so worried about them branding her a corporate spy, she could’ve spent hours questioning them.
But these were hard ponies. They were rough in every way. They were the type of ponies who left the world behind, traveled to the furthest frontier of the charted world, and risked death daily to carry out the jobs they’d taken on.
“So let me get this straight.” Brandey Buck, the pegasus mare who Twilight had learned was a shift manager in the colony, stared her down with unconcealed skepticism. “You want us to believe that you woke up in the middle of our mountain, no memory of how you got here, slit-eyes dripping blood and fangs in your mouth, met Bag End—who ye claim was out alone—fought off a crystal spider on your own, and then teleported past our main lock looking for a doctor?”
Twilight gulped. Her eyes darted between the two other ponies listening in, both with equally suspicious scowls. “Y-yes?”
The earth stallion to her left—who everyone referred to only as ‘Proud’—cleared his throat. “I think I’ve got a more plausible story,” he growled. “Yer employer inserted ye via submarine near one of our drainage tunnels. Ye ambushed Bag End and his partner, butchered one of ‘em, made up some drivel ’bout a crystal spider, and then teleported past our main lock disguised as some kinda wyrd, hopin’ t’ compromise our shell in the chaos!”
Twilight had been distraught when the questioning first began, but by now the distress had given way to an exhausted persistence. “I just wanted to help,” she said quietly. “I don’t want to hurt you. I’m t-telling the truth.”
“I think it’s pretty clear to everyone here you aren’t telling the truth.” Her third interrogator, a unicorn mare named Peony Burrows, seemed to be the one in charge. She didn’t speak often, but the others always listened when she did. “We’re miners, not idiots.” She leaned in, narrowing her eyes curiously. “What do you even have to lose in honesty? A common pony would get themselves popped for attempted sabotage, but a Gifted?
“No, I expect you’d do just fine. You give up one employer and whichever heartless richling owns this dump now would be sure to sign you on without hesitation.” She shook her head with a sigh. “Do you really think whatever sub dropped you off is still out there? We’ve gone through a whole shift since you were caught, filly. They’ve already written you off as a loss.”
“I—I’m not a spy!” Twilight insisted. How many times had she told them that now? “Please, I haven’t hurt anyone.”
Brandey snorted. “Care to explain the chunks of meat we found in your bag, then?” Her lip curled back as she shook her head. “Disgusting, butchering a pony like that.”
Why are we still here, little flower?
Twilight stiffened. Midnight was standing in the shadows behind her three interrogators, its expression distant.
These chains are bereft of magic, it observed, gesturing towards the cold iron around her hooves. We could leave at any moment.
“What’re ye lookin’ at?” Proud’s brow furrowed as he glanced in Midnight’s direction.
Brandey’s tail flicked about behind her as she turned to Peony. “This mare’s wasting our time. She ain’t gonna give us anything.”
I just—Twilight froze as she scrambled to supply a sufficient excuse—I don’t want to frighten them.
Midnight cocked its head. We have already frightened them.
Peony quirked her lip. “Yep, you’re right. Celestia knows corporate won’t give us overtime for this. You two get some rest. I’ll write it up.”
The three ponies filed out of the cell, followed shortly by the pair of spear-bearing guards. They kept the tips of their weapons trained on Twilight’s throat every step of the way, lowering them only to quickly slam the iron door shut.
The loud bang of the door slamming rang in Twilight’s ears. Once again, she was alone with Midnight.
You’re overflowing with lies, my sweet blossom, Midnight cooed. It was next to her now, leaning its cold phantom form against her side. You lied to them about our purpose, and now you lie to yourself about yours. When will you learn?
Twilight sighed. Her ears drooped as she looked down at her hooves. Midnight peered back up at her, reflected in the stone as if it was water. I was hoping things would go better than this.
New friends. Midnight frowned as it said the words, sounding them out as if they were foreign to it. Explain this.
What?
You claimed it as your goal earlier, did you not? Explain.
Twilight furrowed her brow. I don’t understand the question. You know what friends are.
It nodded. Pinkie Pie, Rainbow Dash, Applejack, Rarity, Fluttershy. It recited the names like it was reading from a list. Our friends. None of them are here. It arched a brow. Why do you concern yourself with the lives of the worms that dwell in this mountain?
They’re ponies, Twilight corrected. Not worms.
They are beneath our attention.
Why? Twilight leaned in, tucking her legs underneath her as she came almost nose-to-nose with her dark reflection. Why are they beneath us?
They are not our friends, and they are not monsters. Midnight cocked its head, eyeing her like a teacher regarding a particularly slow student. There is no reason we would ever think of them.
They could become our friends.
Midnight frowned. For a long time it didn’t say anything. No, they can’t.
Why not?
We have five friends, it said. We have always had five friends.
Twilight let out a tired sigh. She closed her eyes, pulling her senses inwards, and when she opened them she was in her old library.
Of course it wasn’t really her library. She could smell the flavorful spices of Spike’s cooking, but she knew if she followed the scent she would see only an empty kitchen. Owloysius’s cage waited by the door, empty, the bars stained with old blood. Every curtain was drawn tight, leaving the room dim except for the slowly shifting red glow that bloomed past them, casting barely visible shadows that seemed to creep around the corners of her vision.
Midnight was seated at her reading table, a blank book opened before it. It watched her curiously as she walked up the stairs to her bedroom, and when she opened the door it was waiting for her inside, perched on the edge of the bed.
Twilight’s horn glowed, and the lavender aura of her magic wrapped around a small picture frame propped up on her bedside table. “You share my memories, right? Or you can see them?”
Midnight nodded, so she levitated the picture up to its bloodied eyes. It was an image Twilight knew well. She’d spent hundreds of mornings of waking up, rolling over, and smiling at that moment frozen in time, of her with her five closest friends all together on a sunny Ponyville day.
“They weren’t always my friends, you know,” Twilight said. “We’ve only known each other for a couple years, really.”
Midnight frowned. “And before that?”
“I didn’t really understand friendship before that.”
“But they are our friends now.” Midnight frowned, looking away as it thought. “How did you compel them like this?”
“You can see my memories,” Twilight said leadingly. She gave the photograph a little shake. “Guess.”
Midnight’s brow furrowed. It looked up to Twilight, then back to the picture, and repeated the motion a couple more times. Finally it looked away with a disdainful scoff, its tail whipping out behind it. “This is a foalish waste of time. We should leave this place and resume our journey to the Frozen North.”
Twilight smiled patiently. “We were kind to each other. We shared our experiences with each other, made new ones together, and supported each other in our goals.” She turned the picture toward herself, her smile growing wider as she thought back to the memories. “That’s how you make new friends.”
“But what is the point?” Midnight asked. “You’ve yet to make any new friends since the floods. It must not be very important.”
“Well, sure I have!” Twilight said. “Dusty Tome and Star Trails are my friends, and I’d like to think Sea Sabre and Flintlock—even Crazy Rich—are, in their own ways.”
Midnight scoffed. “Nonsense. I have been in tune with your emotions since my creation, little flower. What you feel for those weaklings is nothing like what you feel for our friends.”
“Friendship is a spectrum, Midnight,” Twilight explained. “I may not be as close to Star Trails as I am with Pinkie Pie, but she’s still my friend. And could you please stop insulting everyone?”
It arched a brow. “It is not an insult to refer to a weakling as what it is.”
Twilight rolled her eyes as she replaced the photograph back on her bedside table. “Would you insult one of my friends?”
“Our real friends or your false ones?”
Twilight shot it an exasperated look.
It responded with a satisfied smirk. “No, I would not.”
“My friends weren’t always my friends, and any pony we meet could become my friend, so you might end up insulting a future friend.” She leaned in. “And that would be bad, right?”
Midnight seemed to think about this for a few seconds. “Why do we want new friends?”
“Because…” Twilight hesitated, considering the question. If she went at this from her own perspective, of making new friends because they enriched her life or made her happy, no doubt Midnight would dismiss the notion. She had to try and phrase it in a way that it would understand. “Because friends make you stronger. If you face someone more powerful than you, friends can help you overcome it. And we want to be the strongest, right?”
“We already are the strongest,” Midnight said, though not with its usual force. It was frowning down at its hooves, brow furrowed deep in thought. “If we wish to make these ponies our friends, why are you lying to them?”
Twilight blinked. She was back in the pitch-black prison cell, the door swinging open and striking the stone wall with a ponderous thud. How long had she been left alone? A pair of spearponies entered first, weapons trained on her, followed by Peony Burrows and another, limping stallion. It took her a moment to recognize him.
“Bag End!” She smiled as she stood, only to freeze as the spearponies stepped closer. “Y-you’re okay!”
“So I am.” He winced, a hoof rising to cradle his barrel. The uniform he’d been wearing when she met him was gone, replaced by a loose-fitting jumpsuit of plain brown fabric. “Some broken ribs, but I’ll survive, thanks to you.”
“He got lucky,” Peony said. She kept her eyes on Twilight as she spoke, watching intently. “The spider seems to have bitten him around one of his suit’s support rings.”
Bag sighed as he sat heavily against the wall. “A shame you weren’t able to save my partner.”
Partner? But he had been alone when she found him. Proud had mentioned her killing his partner as well, hadn’t he? She was just about to ask him what he meant when she caught the meaningful look in his eye.
She put on an uneasy smile. “I did my best.”
Peony cleared her throat, grabbing Twilight’s attention. “So Bag here has verified that you saved him from a spider, luckily for you. What he has not verified is how you managed to get into our mines, or the cause behind your—” she narrowed her eyes “—appearance.”
She left the statement hanging. Twilight glanced over to Bag, and when she looked back to Peony she saw Midnight standing in the background, watching with a neutral expression.
It was surreal, that after so long with her dark passenger whispering for her to maim and slaughter and dominate, when she finally did meet new ponies, it was Midnight of all ponies that seemed to better know how to befriend them. Lies would only lead to more lies and more trouble. If she wanted these ponies to trust her, then she’d have to give them the truth, no matter how much it might frighten them. No matter how much it might frighten her.
And so, taking a deep breath, Twilight began to speak.
Jab, cut, spin, kick. There was the thud of impact, and the grunt from Sea Sabre as Rainbow’s hoof connected.
She whirled, ready to capitalize, but Sabre was quick to recover. The other pegasus pushed herself back along the floor with her wings before rolling to her hooves, out of range.
Rainbow and Applejack spent the day after the unwanted conversation with Silverblood in their cabin, each of the mares brooding over her respective grievances. The day passed slowly, broken up only by Star Trails inviting them to join her for dinner and then returning later with some apples and bread when they’d declined. The preening session brightened both their moods somewhat; it had been awkward at first, but before long both of them were laughing at Applejack’s clumsy attempts to fix Rainbow’s feathers and Rainbow’s mock exasperation at guiding her.
Still, the small relief from Applejack’s companionship was nothing compared to the mental oblivion that Rainbow found in sparring with Sea Sabre.
She pressed her advantage, blasting Sabre with gusts of wind from her wings to keep her off balance before closing in. Sabre ducked left as she deflected a blow, disappearing into Rainbow’s blind side.
Rainbow’s grin turned to a scowl. Sabre was always exploiting her blind side in their spars, using it to get around her defense. Just like Gerritt.
She flapped a wing, twirling in the air to bring a blade down on Sabre with a sudden surge of fury. She clenched her jaw as Sabre blocked the blow, the painful feedback flaring up Rainbow’s wing.
The brutality of the strike was enough to force Sabre to the ground with a hiss of alarm, and Rainbow was on her in an instant. She straddled her tutor without hesitation and brought both blades to her neck, ending the bout.
The grin came back twice as strong. “Dead.”
Rainbow sucked in a deep breath, straining to hold the position despite the burning in her muscles. She stared into Sabre’s eyes expectantly as her chest heaved.
Sabre gave a little nod. “Dead.”
Rainbow stepped back and helped Sabre back to her hooves. The gymnasium aboard the Orichalcum was everything Rainbow could’ve asked for. Weight machines and treadmills of all varieties dominated half the room, with the rest dedicated to an open area for sparring or calisthenics. A hallway on one side led to a couple buckball courts, and there was even a small side section cordoned off with showers and lockers.
It was still morning, and there were only a few other ponies there besides them, all sporting the black jumpsuits that Rainbow had come to associate with the ship’s security, so they’d taken full advantage of the space. It was exhilarating to be able to stretch her wings and lose herself in the rush of adrenaline again.
“Are you getting old, Sabre?” Rainbow asked as they walked over to the bench where they’d left their water. “Or am I getting good?”
Sabre winced as she sat down, grabbing her old canteen and taking a long drink. “Bit of the first, kind of the second.”
Rainbow chuckled. “You sure you aren’t taking it easy on me? That was four in a row.”
“I’m afraid not.” Sabre gave her a sidelong look. “Your form is sloppy, your strikes lack precision, and you drop your guard half the time you attack.” The corner of her lip pulled up into a small smirk. “If you weren’t so strong and fast, you wouldn’t stand a chance.”
Rainbow paused. After some deliberation, she decided to take the comment as a compliment. “Well, I am the most awesome pegasus in Equestria.”
“I’d tell you not to be so cocky, but with your performance lately, you’d probably ignore it.” Sabre sighed, standing up and stretching her wings. “I think we’re done with sparring.”
“Whoa, what?” Rainbow shot out of her seat. “We’ve barely started!”
Sabre arched a brow. “You need a partner on your level to learn with sparring, Rainbow Dash. You fight with several bad habits, but at this point your grasp of the fundamentals is solid enough that your physical excellence more than makes up for them.”
“So—” Rainbow bit her lip “—does that mean we’re done with my training?”
Sabre gave a curt shake of her head. “Negative. There are still drills you can do on your own to improve, and I can still coach you on technique even if I can’t beat it into you. For today, though, we are done. I’ll need to draw up some new plans.”
“Ugh, fine.” Rainbow sighed. “I guess I’ll do some solo practice, then.”
“Just don’t forget to clean your wingblades and take a shower after,” Sabre said. “The Argo should be flight-ready tomorrow. You’ve been doing a good job keeping your head down. Keep it up.”
Rainbow grinned, puffing her chest out. “Yes, ma’am!”
With a satisfied nod, Sabre turned and made for the locker area, leaving Rainbow on her own. After taking a few more seconds to sate her thirst and catch her breath, she threw herself back into her practice.
It wasn’t the same as sparring, of course. There was no competitive rush, no mindless tempo that she could lose herself in as she dedicated herself in body and mind to the defeat of an opponent. Drills gave her time to think whenever she stopped to reset her position, gave her time to see her own mistakes instead of leaving them behind in the frantic pace of a duel.
But it was better than nothing. She saw Sabre leaving the gym, refreshed after a shower, but didn’t spare the other mare much thought. It was true that she’d been winning almost all of their bouts today, and she could already feel herself receding into the same predictable patterns with every fight. It didn’t matter if Sabre knew exactly what she was going to do, because she was always there first.
Rainbow wasn’t sure how long she spent in that arena alone refining her motions; she’d learned long ago that looking at the clock only made time slow to a crawl and unwanted thoughts to creep into the back of her mind. She would go until she couldn’t go any longer, as she always had, even before the floods.
That was the plan, at least.
“Ah, Rainbow Dash!” Prince Silverblood’s lilting voice shook her from her trance. “You certainly strike a menacing figure, my dear!”
Rainbow looked up. Silverblood was watching her from a balcony set above the arena, previously unnoticed by her. Gerritt stood behind him, seeming half-asleep.
“What do you want?” Rainbow asked, unable to keep the contempt out of her voice. “Whatever it is, I’m not interested!”
“Oh, is that any way to talk to your host?” Silverblood winked as he leaned against the balcony railing. “I’m merely here to observe you in action! Everyone has need of security, after all, and it’s always good to keep an eye on the competition.”
“You wanna see me in action? Come a little closer.” Rainbow’s nostrils flared. “I’ll give you all the action you could ever need.”
He laughed, almost doubling over in amusement. “You’re quite the mare, Rainbow Dash! But I don’t pay for others to manage my well-being so that I can go about challenging Gifted to duels.” He let out an exaggerated hum as he looked to his side. “I would be quite interested to see how you fare against my dear Gerritt, however.”
Rainbow stiffened. She looked to Gerritt, who had now abandoned any pretense of laziness to regard her with a hawkish stare. A thrill of cold fear ran over her, but it was quickly burned up by a swell of anger. Why should she fear any griffon? Her lip curled back as she thought to the previous day, to him daring to touch her. She would make him pay for that.
“You’re on.”
Gerritt’s wingspan was impressive. It was nearly twice her own, and it cast a menacing shadow over the arena as he stepped off the balcony and glided down to land before her. He took a moment to ruffle his feathers before looking back up to his employer. “Rules?”
“Put your gloves on,” Silverblood said. “I’d hate to give her any new scars with those talons of yours.”
“No gloves!” Rainbow spat. “I’ve fought griffons before. This’ll be nothing.”
“Oh, you have, have you?” Silverblood mused. “Is that what happened to your eye, then?”
“Shut up!” Rainbow’s tail whipped about behind her as she flared her wings, feeling the weight of her blades. “Let’s go!”
She launched herself forward before anyone could say anything else, blasting the room behind her with a powerful gust of wind that sent a few weights crashing to the ground with ear-splitting cracks. She had just enough time to see Gerritt’s eyes shoot wide in surprise before she slammed into him with both forelegs outstretched, throwing him into the air.
His wings snapped open, arresting his fall. Rainbow grinned as they both faced each other down mid-air. He’s not so tough!
Excited applause rang out from Silverblood’s balcony. “Bravo, but don’t stop already! The fight’s not over until first blood!”
Gerritt risked an alarmed glance up at his employer before looking back to Rainbow, just in time to dodge her next charge. She roared in fury, twisting around mid-air to charge him again, and he lashed out with his talons.
She ducked to the left, easily avoiding the blow and delivering a kick to his side with the hard tip of her hoof as she passed. He grunted, losing altitude before catching himself a few feet off the floor.
Rainbow flew lazy circles around him, keeping him on her right. It would’ve been trivial for her to dash in and land a hit with her wingblades, drawing blood and winning the bout, but she didn’t want to just win. She wanted to dominate this griffon. She wanted to teach him a lesson, to leave him cowering in her shadow. She wanted to haunt his nightmares for the rest of his life.
She swept in, avoiding his slow attempt at a counter and striking past his guard with ease, and as she pressed the attack her muzzle stretched into a manic grin. Tears blurred her vision, but she never let up the pressure.
How many days had she dreamed of this moment? How many mornings had she woken from vivid night terrors of Gava stalking her from the shadows and got up to practice, to drill, to kill a hundred imaginary foes and soothe her anguished mind? She’d promised herself so many times, as her wings began to droop and her hooves grew heavy after hours of training, as she reached deep for one last kernel of drive to push her into the next drill—You’ll get your revenge. You’ll make her pay. You’ll make her hurt twice as much as she ever hurt you.
And now here she was! All the sweat, the tears, the blood, it was finally paying off. And as she brought her wings up for the killing blow, to extinguish the life from the struggling monster pinned underneath her, the tears streaming down her cheeks were of relief instead of fear.
“I yield! I yield!”
Rainbow blinked. It wasn’t Gava under her hooves, throat exposed to her steel. This was Gerritt, someone else entirely. A griffon, yes, and perhaps even a griffon she hated—but this wasn’t the rival that had consumed her thoughts for so long, and she wasn’t on some imaginary battlefield.
A cold chill came over her. Would she have killed him, if he hadn’t said anything?
She looked up to Silverblood, who was leaning over the railing with obvious interest. He hadn’t even tried to stop her.
“What are you looking at me for, my dear?” he asked, grinning like a pony waiting for the punchline to his favorite joke. “I haven’t seen any blood yet!”
Slowly, Rainbow’s brow furrowed. He hadn’t stopped her because he didn’t even care. He would’ve cheered like a foal at the circus as she killed his own bodyguard in front of him.
She looked back down to Gerritt. He’d stopped struggling, but the fear in the griffon’s eyes was obvious. There was a wetness brimming around them, barely visible, and a sudden surge of nausea welled up in Rainbow’s gut. For a moment she was looking down at herself, blood and tears alike streaming from her eyes, shivering under the monster that had hurt her.
Rainbow felt numb as she stumbled backwards, falling heavily to her haunches, and Gerritt picked himself up off the ground stiffly.
“I win,” she said, looking down at her hooves. Her voice was distant.
Silverblood let out an exasperated sigh. “Ah, well, I suppose it’s clear enough who had the advantage in that particular affair. Quite the show, Rainbow Dash!”
Rainbow looked up, meeting his eager gaze. She felt like she should be angry, but all she felt was a distant chill. “What would you do?” she asked. “If I’d killed him?”
“Well, I would have offered you his job, of course!” Silverblood laughed, slapping a hoof against the railing. “That’s how he got hired, you know? The best replacement for a bodyguard is often the one who beats them!” He let out a wistful sigh before perking up once more. “Ah, not to imply that I’m not still offering you a job. All you have to do is stand by my side, look menacing, and stop anyone that tries to harm me. I think you’ll find my contracts are quite competitive.”
Unable to find the words to convey just how disgusted she was by the Prince’s offer, it was all Rainbow could do to shake her head in denial.
“Ah, well. Never let it be said that I don’t always make an attempt!” Silverblood’s robes swirled around his hooves as he turned away, throwing the last words over his shoulder. “Looks like you keep your job, Gerritt. I’ll be taking lunch in quarters, so do come up once you’re all settled here.”
Rainbow looked after him for a long moment, straining to comprehend how any pony could be so heartless towards their own.
There was a cough from her right, and she turned to see Gerritt regarding her warily. “You alright?” he asked.
“Wh—” Rainbow shook her head in amazement. “I’m fine. Are you alright?”
He gave her a strained grin. “Not my first time losing a fight. I’ll be fine. You just seemed kinda… distracted.”
Rainbow sighed, looking away. “I got carried away. I’m sorry.”
A few seconds passed. Rainbow had been expecting to hear the soft clicks of his talons against the metal floor as he walked away, but she was surprised to hear him coming closer. “Is he right? About a griffon taking your eye?”
A shiver passed through her. Her jaw worked side to side. “Yeah.”
There was a long silence between them, and when Gerritt spoke, she could hear the sincerity in his voice. “I’m sorry to hear that.” He paused, and she could feel his eyes on the back of her head. “It must’ve been hard for you, fighting me.”
A choked laugh escaped her. “It was like a dream, until it wasn’t.” She risked a glance in his direction, the corner of her lip pulling up into a tentative grin. “I’ve, uh, had a lot of practice since the last time I fought a griffon.”
He grinned back at her. “It shows.”
“Is it true, what he said?” she asked, nodding towards the now vacant balcony. “About you killing his last bodyguard?”
He nodded. “I was hired by a competitor to assassinate him. His last bodyguard was a pegasus too, actually.” His eyes flicked up towards her mane for a brief moment. “Though not quite like you.”
Her grin grew a little wider, and she turned to face him fully. “I’m sorry about snapping earlier, when you asked about my mane. I get it a lot, is all.”
“No, I understand. It can be annoying hearing the same question everywhere you go.”
“So if you were hired to assassinate him,” Rainbow began, “how did you end up his bodyguard?”
Gerritt shrugged, wincing. “It was pretty clear that he was far wealthier than my old employer, so I gave him some time to make me an offer. It was a pretty good offer.”
Rainbow frowned. “So you betrayed him?”
Now it was Gerritt’s turn to let out a sharp laugh. “You must be younger than you look. People like us? Gifted, griffons, all the little toys that the rich banter and scrap over? We can’t betray them anymore than a bit can betray its spender. Do you think my last employer cared about me anymore than Silverblood does?” He shook his head. “They bind you with paper. Our paper is better than the deals the rabble at the bottom get, but it’s still paper.”
“So leave.” Rainbow gestured away with a hoof. “Fly off, be free.”
“Heh.” He shot her a lopsided smile. “You want to sit?”
He padded off to the nearest bench, the same one that Rainbow and Sabre had been sitting on before. After a brief hesitation, she followed, and the two sat facing each other on opposite ends.
“I’ll tell you a story,” Gerritt began. “It’s a story most Gifted go through, and one I went through as well, when I was younger.” He paused, his expression growing distant. “People like us, we’re told the world will be ours one day. So you go out there and someone offers you a job—a good job. Every street or hall is full of exhausted workers in ragged clothes scrambling to find the time to feed themselves, and you’re offered a job that pays more than they’ll ever see, given a home for yourself larger than a whole family’s, and promised a trip that’ll take you all around the world. All you have to do is sign the contract.” He shrugged. “So you do.
“Time passes, and the job doesn’t seem so good anymore for one reason or another. You realize that nobody cares about you, that you’re just a tool, and everywhere you go you’re offered better jobs. Better deals. If you break the contract, your old employer will put a bounty on your head, but if you sign a new one, your new employer can protect you. Maybe you take it, maybe you don’t.” His expression grew hard, and his voice bitter. “Maybe you’re given a choice—break the contract or die.
“However it happens, there’s a bounty on your head. And all these merchants and their sacks of gold? They have rules that they play by, to keep it fair.” He spat the word as if it was poison. “Hunting bounties that are contracted under someone is considered rude. So you always need a contract, and the only way to get out of a contract without wasting half your life on it is to break it, so the bounty gets bigger and the paper chains get tighter.”
“Can’t you hide?” Rainbow asked. “Or fight, if you have to?”
“Spend my life living like a rat when I could be living here, with my own room, ponies jumping to obey me, and all I have to do is look menacing?” Gerritt snorted, shaking his head. “No, I’m content here. Once you’ve been in the game long enough it doesn’t really bother you anymore, you know? Maybe someday I’ll jump ship and find a new job, and Silverblood will put another thousand bits on my head, but as long as I’m with someone that plays fair—as far as the merchants see it—no hunters will come for me.”
“But it’s not fair!” Rainbow stomped a hoof. “How do these ponies get away with it? Why doesn’t someone do something?”
“They all get what they deserve in the end.” Gerritt smirked, meeting her gaze. “Eventually they cross the wrong pony, whether it be a competitor, an employee, or just some wildcard passing through. Someone they can’t buy off or scare with the threat of bounties. Or maybe they get greedy, break their rules, and their peers tear them apart like vultures.” He raised a talon to his chin, rubbing it thoughtfully. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard of these ponies dying peacefully in their sleep. That’s the trade-off, I guess. We get good deaths, and they get good lives.”
They lapsed into a companionable silence, each one lost in their own thoughts. After several minutes, Rainbow stood.
“I’m gonna hit the showers,” she said. She looked back, offering up a tentative smile. “Sorry about the bruises, Gerritt. I’m glad we got to know each other a bit.”
He dipped his head, returning the smile. “Same here, Rainbow. Wherever the griffon that did that to you is, I hope he gets what’s coming to him.”
“Yeah.” She turned away, waving with one wing. “She will.”
If only the bluecoats weren’t so obsessed with always moving in pairs, Ana’s life would be a lot easier.
The sun was setting for the second time since she’d entered the valley, and she had spent the entire day burrowed into the core of a pile of hay, barely moving. The individual strands clung to her, itching and poking and tickling at her nose, and often she’d have to wait entire minutes for a patrol to pass by before she could scratch.
On the bright side, it was edible. Dry, but edible. She chewed at a glacial pace, grinding the hay down between her molars, and watched.
Nettlekiss’s keep was built on top of a slight rise in the land, and a wide radius around it was kept clear of trees. These were precautions taken against potential sieging armies as much as potential infiltrators like herself, and it made things complicated.
She’d hoped to find an unwary soldier wandering out on their own, take them down, and steal their uniform. A peasant might be stopped for approaching the castle or even just strolling the valley without good purpose, but a soldier with enough urgency in her step could get many places on confidence alone. Unfortunately, the bluecoats never did anything alone. The troops Friesland had sent to Nettlekiss were veterans, and they knew better than to go traipse about a siege without a friend to watch their back. Even if they weren’t concerned for spies or ambushes, it was all too easy to fall in an old foxhole or trigger a trap and be forgotten about. And conversation made the time pass quicker.
As far as Nettlekiss’s own troops, they were nowhere to be seen. They were either on the front or within the keep itself, out of sight and out of reach.
So she waited, nestled under her blanket of hay, sheltered from the wet chill of the rain drizzling down.
Movement caught her eye. She shifted, honing in on the green-uniformed stallion galloping towards the keep from the trees to the northwest. An undecorated messenger bag bounced at his side as he skidded up to an older Friesland soldier that’d been leaning against a well, smoking pipe tucked between his lips. There was a brief, hurried exchange of words, and the older soldier replaced his pipe with a whistle.
The shrill shriek of the whistle rang out over the keep, summoning bluecoats from seemingly every nook and cranny. Within five minutes, a hundred deadly Frieslanders were marching west along the road.
Ana narrowed her eyes. If they were going west, following the well-trodden road that ran the spine of the valley instead of immediately sprinting north or south, it meant they had a ways to go. There was a shout from a sergeant, and the column sped into a trot.
She couldn’t see the sun from any of the little peepholes she’d made in the hay, but she had a good sense of time. It would be dark within a half hour at most, and based on her previous observations the garrison would be gone for at least four times that length, probably longer. That meant she’d have ninety minutes to get in, find the seal, and get back out unseen.
Or she could go now, when the reserves had just left and the garrison was still reacting to the commotion, and give herself some more time.
She scanned the field before her and the wall of the keep itself, searching for watchful eyes. There was no way she could be absolutely certain that there weren’t any sentries looking in her direction, and it would be impossible for even her to cross the field without being spotted. No, she would wait. She’d take her time, like she always did, and she would finish the job with minimal theatrics or fuss.
When the sun finally dipped below the horizon, she moved. It was a bright night, with the moon and stars bathing the field surrounding the keep in pale silver, so she waited for a cloud to pass overhead before crossing, using its shadow for cover. Her ears swiveled and twitched at every sound as she crept through the open, moving with the rhythm of the swaying grass.
She paused to assess her situation as she reached the base of the keep. There were no windows close to the ground, and attempting entry through the gate would be suicide, but it was unlikely any sentries would be staring straight down the walls from above. She waited for another cloud to pass over before beginning her climb.
The stones were fit loosely together, giving her ample supply of small ledges and cracks to heft herself up with her hooves and wing claws. It only took her a few minutes to reach the lowest windows, but she passed them over. Sneaking into the first window you came across was a rookie mistake.
The window was a tight fit, caught halfway between the need for good ventilation and the need to protect any soldiers firing from within, but Ana made it through with minimal struggle. She let out a breath of relief as her hooves touched down on cold stone. The hard part, she hoped, was over.
She was in a hallway that ran all around the edges of the keep, with doors along the inner edge leading deeper inside and pillars of moonlight blooming past the windows opposite. The hall was dark and silent; with the reserves out on the front, there would be only servants, a small garrison, and perhaps Nettlekiss herself left to guard it.
The question, then, was where she could find the seal she needed.
She flapped her wings, inverting herself and using the little claws at the ends for purchase as she crawled along the ceiling beams. She had a lot of ground to cover.
“Ready to depart, my Lady?” Pontius gave Rarity a smile, his good mood clearly visible.
She returned the smile, extending a hoof for him. “Certainly, darling.”
They were in the hall between their two rooms, each dressed and ready to go for a night at the Commoner’s Guild meeting. Rarity wore relatively simple dress: her burgundy cloak over a lighter red blouse, with a white scarf wrapped around her shoulders for warmth. Pontius, as usual, wore an orange tunic beneath his polished breastplate, with a brown cloak hanging from his shoulders.
Whitehorn’s voice called out from his room. “Are you two leaving already?”
“We are.” Rarity poked her head inside to see him seated in front of his makeshift desk, polishing his glasses with a small cloth. “We should be back for dinner, but don’t wait on our part.”
He shot her a quick smile. “Fair warning—I’ve been busy on my end. I won’t be there to see it, but I’d appreciate hearing how it all goes upon your return.”
Rarity cocked her head. “Busy with what, precisely?”
“Oh, you’ll see.” He waved with one hoof as he slid his glasses back over his eyes. “I trust you’ll be able to handle it, Countess.”
Rarity pursed her lips, but there wouldn’t be time to press him for more info. Whatever it was, she’d have to witness it herself.
After taking a moment to bid goodbye to Pinkie and Piaffe, who seemed occupied with some drinking game in the common room, Rarity and Pontius stepped out into the street. A pair of bluecoats fell in behind them as they started on their way, but Rarity paid them little mind. After so long in the city, the ever-present soldiers trailing her every step were only slightly more unsettling than the occasional thunder of cannonfire from the walls.
It was the day after her discussion with Whitehorn concerning his writings, and to make up for her poor treatment of Pontius she had offered to take him with her to the guild meeting in Pinkie’s stead. He’d accepted eagerly, and had been in a good mood all day. A small smile graced Rarity’s lips as she watched him striding confidently beside her, head held high as if to challenge any who might think he didn’t belong there. It was a far cry from the uncertain young stallion who’d first gawked at her upon entering his father’s dining room or the frustrated noble brooding in Piaffe’s household since they entered the city, and she quite approved of the transformation. If only she’d shown him some trust sooner, perhaps she would have spared him some anguish.
Winter was hitting its stride as they passed through the city. The sun still hadn’t quite set yet, but the streets were already all but empty, and every citizen had some cloak or coat or similar attire to hold back the wind. The vapor from Rarity’s breath made small puffs of white in the air, and after a few minutes out in the open she could feel the tip of her nose going numb as the chill settled into place. Even the town criers seemed diminished by the weather; instead of crowing their news from the tops of stacked boxes they called it out from the shelter of storefronts or awnings, their voices hoarse from the dry air.
The Commoner’s Guild was surprisingly full when they arrived. When it was so cold out, minor grievances weren’t worth the walk to raise them, and so it was usually only the most diligent or vindictive petitioners that would come, but nearly every seat was taken. Rarity led Pontius to their usual table, where River Pie and Twinkle Smith were chattering urgently.
“Did ye hear, Countess?” River Pie asked. “‘Bout th’ guild master?”
Rarity arched a brow as she sat, casting her gaze around the room. She caught a few eyes looking back in her direction, but that wasn’t unusual for her. “I’m afraid not, darling. What’s all this commotion about?”
“He’s a no-good traitor is what he is,” Twinkle Smith hissed. He pulled a trio of broadsheets out of his vest and slapped them onto the table. “Can’t believe I ever trusted him!”
Rarity frowned down at the sheets curiously. The headlines jumped out at her, grabbing her attention with bold, blocky letters. COMMONER’S GUILD ON THE TAKE, one said, and the next, CART MARKS EXPOSED.
“A reliable, anonymous source from within the Commoner’s Guild administration came to the Friesland Trotter’s office yesterday with written correspondence between Mr. Cart Marks, master of the Commoner’s Guild, and several other prominent guilds within Friesland. The letters portray Mr. Marks as a businesspony, accepting payment from managers and owners across the city to make complaints disappear.”
Rarity skimmed the rest of the text, her eyes growing wider with every sentence. Is this what Whitehorn was talking about? “He’s been working against you all, all this time?”
“Lying to our faces, he has,” Twinkle spat. “All this nonsense about choosing our battles? Bah! Every victory we’ve ever had has been given to us, and we’ve taken it without complaint like stray dogs happy to get scraps off the table!”
“Well, what are we going to do?” Rarity asked. There was a tangible energy filling the room, being driven ever higher with every new pony that stepped in from the street. “Goodness, it feels like the room could explode at any moment.”
“He should be deposed,” Pontius said, shaking his head in disdain. “This behavior is unacceptable fer any lord.”
“He ain’t no lord, and we’ll be sure t’ remind ’im of it,” River Pie said, thumping a hoof against the table for emphasis. “Soon as he finds th’ courage t’ come down from that office of his, that is.”
Twinkle snorted. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he tried to slip out the window.”
There was a sudden uproar from the room, and Rarity looked up to see Mr. Marks descending the steps. His face was grim, his movements stiff as he climbed up into his seat behind the bar, and he had two bluecoats walking on either side of him, the bayonets on their rifles like flags waving overhead with every step. Howls of accusation came from the assembled ponies, followed by thrown mugs and rotten vegetables.
“Order! Order!” Mr. Marks thumped his hoof against the stone of the bar, ducking an old tomato aimed straight for his head. “Shut up, you rabble!”
“Traitor!”
“Get out of that seat!”
“Leave this place before we throw you out ourselves!”
The jeers came from every direction, and a couple ponies even rose from their tables and tried to approach him, only to be roughly shoved back by the guarding bluecoats.
Mr. Marks stood up, shouting to be heard over the commotion. “I will not vacate the office I’ve worked so hard to obtain over the baseless accusations you read in your favorite broadsheet!”
Twinkle Smith shot out of his chair. “We demand a vote of no confidence!”
“Sit down, Mr. Smith!” Mr. Marks shouted. “Governor Rhea declared a state of emergency the very day the siege started, and there will be no votes until this crisis has passed!”
A chorus of boos rose from the crowd, and more ponies surged forth to be pushed back by the bluecoats. The sergeant barked an order, and after a brief hesitation the soldiers swung their rifles down into firing position, leveling them on the room.
“It’s not safe here.” Pontius leaned over to be heard in Rarity’s ear. “Blood will be shed.”
“Surely Mr. Marks wouldn’t order the troops to fire on civilians.” Rarity looked nervously between each of the soldiers, watching their expressions. The sergeant seemed unshaken, but the other three were visibly nervous. “There would be a riot!”
Despite her words, Rarity could tell there was disaster approaching. More and more commoners were getting out of their seats, stomping their hooves and calling for the disgraced guild master’s resignation, and he shouted back his denials and refusals. The bluecoat sergeant ducked as a mug was thrown from him, the clay shattering against the guild council’s bar and spraying drink over the soldiers.
She could see it clearly in her head. A soldier would fire, either out of nerves or in reaction to whichever pony was bold and mad enough to attack directly, and the room would collapse into chaos. There had to be dozens of ponies facing down the four troops—even if the two bluecoats that had come as Rarity’s escort were to involve themselves, they’d stand no chance. Mr. Marks, perhaps the entire council, would be dragged from their seats and beaten to death by the furious crowd.
Is this what Whitehorn had wanted? It must have been him that had circulated the incriminating evidence to the broadsheets, though she couldn’t imagine how he might’ve obtained it. Surely this kind of bloodshed was the very thing he wanted to avoid. She thought back to what he’d said before she left.
“I trust you’ll be able to handle it, Countess.”
Before she knew it, she was standing up. “Stop! Stop this!”
There was no reaction. She could barely hear herself over the crowd, so how could she expect them to hear her? With a frustrated groan she shoved her way to the front of the room, flicked her mane disdainfully at one of the soldiers as he leveled his bayonet towards her, and turned to face the crowd.
“Listen to me!” she shouted. “Please!”
There was a brief dip in the clamor as the ponies near the front paused in their jeering to look her way. Rarity opened her mouth to take advantage of the break, but was cut off by Mr. Marks.
“Return to your seat, Countess!” he barked. “This is a Friesland affair!”
That caught their attention. She had just been another unfamiliar mare when she stepped to the front, but now she was an unfamiliar mare that the guild master didn’t want to speak. More eyes turned to her, but there was still some commotion towards the back.
River Pie came up to her side. “Quiet! Let ’er speak!”
Twinkle Smith, still standing near their table, eyed Rarity suspiciously. “Why should we trust her? She’s one of them!”
“Twinkle!” River snapped. “She ain’t th’ one that took yer horn from ye, aye? She’s th’ one that worked herself t’ exhaustion after that bombin’, before ye even showed up! So pull yer head out yer plothole and let’s help ’er help us!”
He flinched back at the steel in her voice, and some of the fire seemed to leave him. More and more ponies began to quiet, and Rarity suddenly found herself the subject of many curious or suspicious gazes. She gulped, adjusting her mane and scarf with her hooves.
Pontius came up to her side, keeping his voice low so only she could hear. “Calm yerself. This is what ye want, aye?”
“Yes,” Rarity whispered back. “Though I had been hoping for a situation with somewhat less imminent violence.”
“Fret not, my Lady,” Pontius said. “I shall fight every pony in this room if I must to see to yer safety.”
“Oh.” Rarity let out a breathy titter. “Well, that’s a pleasant thought, isn’t it?”
Soon, all eyes were on her. The outraged yelling had diminished into suppressed grumbles and venomous glances towards the guild council. The air was thick with expectation.
“What’s this, then?” Mr. Marks asked from his seat. “Have you all finally seen reason? Can we finally get this meeting started?”
Rarity glanced up at him. He was frowning down at her with obvious contempt, regarding her as he might to a pile of garbage he’d stepped in on the side of the road. She looked away, turning her attention back to the crowd. He wasn’t the one she needed to speak to, after all.
“Some of you may not know me,” she began, raising her voice to be heard clearly. “My name is Rarity, and I came to this city only recently, hoping to prevent a bloody war. Clearly I’ve already failed in some respect on that matter, but I hope we can avoid any violence here today.”
“We know you!” a stallion called from the crowd. “You’re that baron mare that’s been spying on us!”
“Shut it, you idiot!” another voice countered. “That’s Countess Rarity! She saved my cousin’s life on Fellis!”
“And she cleaned my brother’s wounds at Old Westfort!” a mare added.
A few approving stomps rose up from the crowd, quieting the heckler, and a warmth welled in Rarity’s heart.
“This pony—” she nodded her head back towards where Mr. Marks was seated “—has betrayed you all. He has lied to you, used you for his personal gain, and callously ignored your pain. But you do not need him!”
“This is your last warning.” Mr. Marks growled. “Return to your seat, or you’ll be spending tonight in a dungeon!”
She ignored him. She couldn’t stop now, not when she had the whole room hanging on her words. “He is not the one who’s helped you in times of need! He is not the one who saw to the wounded at Old Westfort, the one who carried the cranes that allowed you to clear the rubble from the roads, or the one who laid the stones to fill the craters left behind. That was you!” Her heart pounded as she cast her gaze over the crowd, seeing nods of approval reflected back at her. “You are the ones that hold the power!”
“Arrest that mare!” Mr. Marks bellowed. She glanced back to see him leaning over to push the soldiers into action. “She is a foreign agent, and she has no right to speak here!”
The soldiers looked to their sergeant for approval, and he stepped forwards. Pontius silently positioned himself between him and Rarity, and a trio of thick-bodied commoners rose from the crowd to join him.
“You don’t need any guild’s approval to help each other!” she continued. “All we need to do is be friends to each other, to help each other when it’s needed, no matter what the guild masters say! There’s no need to call for this pony’s blood for his abuse of power, because he doesn’t have any power!”
“She’s right!” A stallion stood up near the back of the room. “If the city won’t help us, then we won’t help it! I say we strike, and buck what the guild says!”
A second passed, and then another pony stood up. “Strike! Strike!” More rose to take up the chant, and soon ponies were pouring out of the street, stopping only to kick over tables or jeer at the gaping guild council.
Rarity’s legs went weak, and she fell back onto her haunches with a gasp of relief. She’d done it. It wasn’t a war by any means, but she’d stopped some bloodshed.
“Shoot her, you idiots!” Mr. Marks clambered down from his seat and limped over to the nearest soldier, pointing her rifle at Rarity and the ponies standing protectively in front of her with his own hooves. “Fire! Fire!”
“Hold fire!” the sergeant barked, stepping in the way. Mr. Marks shot him a look of furious disbelief, but the sergeant held firm. “They’re civilians, sir!”
“Pontius, dear,” Rarity said, horn glowing as she tugged on his cloak. “I do believe we should get going.”
“Aye.” Pontius nodded. “That would seem wise.”
“Go, go!” River Pie shooed them away. “We’ll hold ’em up! Good luck, Countess!”
“Oh, thank you, darling. Until next time!”
They rushed out of the guild hall at a brisk pace, the doors hanging limply on their hinges after the passage of a particularly brutish guild member. Their two escorts were standing outside with the confusion clear on their faces, but they seemed to relax as they saw Rarity and Pontius emerging from the room unscathed.
“We’re just heading back early, dears,” Rarity said, offering up a thin smile. “Urgent matter! Nearly forgot! Come along, now!”
Together the two of them ran up the street, their confused escorts following behind just as the first motes of snow began to fall.