//------------------------------// // XVIII: Of Actions // Story: Sunken Horizons // by Goldenwing //------------------------------// The last vestiges of sunlight traced a cool orange across the late evening sky as they returned to the relative safety of Captain Piaffe's home, and the white fog of Rarity’s breath swirled in her wake as she and Pontius swept inside and closed the door behind them. The cannons fired as it clicked shut, and the building shuddered around them. “Hi, Rarity! Hi, Pontius!” Pinkie was seated at the common room table with a cheery smile on her face and a pile of uninflated balloons in front of her. She sucked in a deep gasp and put one to her muzzle, inflating it in a single breath before tying off the end in a blur of motion. It floated silently up to the ceiling, where it bumped against several other colorful balloons loitering above her. Next to her, Whitehorn cradled a mug of dark liquid in one hoof. He looked up, and the fire in the hearth cast a flickering shadow over half his face. “Back already? I hadn’t been expecting you for another hour at least.” Rarity’s eyes darted around the room. “Where’s Piaffe?” “Out on business of some description.” Whitehorn shrugged as he looked down to the papers arrayed on the table before him. “Delivering reports, or perhaps gathering them? I admit I wasn’t too curious.” “She’s out talking to her friends at the bear racks!” Pinkie giggled as she sent another balloon up to join its peers. “I wanted to go too, but she wouldn’t let me.” Pontius closed the gap to Whitehorn with a menacing glare, towering over him. “Is that all ye have to say? Ye sent us into the middle of a riot!” “Did I?” Whitehorn arched a brow, looking to Rarity. “You don’t seem injured.” Pinkie paused with one balloon half-inflated, eyes darting between the two stallions with clear concern. She pinched the end shut as she pulled it from her mouth. “Wait, did I miss something? What’s wrong?” Pontius ignored her, swinging out a hoof to smack Whitehorn’s mug to the side. The clay shattered as it struck the back of the hearth, the fire flaring up with an angry hiss. “Quit yer games, snake! Ye know full well what ye done, and ye gave us no warnin’!” Whitehorn frowned at his now empty hoof. “Pontius, anger isn’t going to get you anywhere. Why don’t you sit, and we can discuss this matter properly?” “Wh—properly?” Pontius’s jaw muscles bulged out as he grit his teeth, his brow furrowing into a hard vee. Rarity stepped forwards, laying a calming hoof on his shoulder. “Pontius, darling, please calm down. I’m sure he didn’t mean any harm, and we made it out in one piece.” “Those soldiers were pointin’ rifles at ye!” Pontius rounded on her in disbelief. “Ye slipped out of a dungeon cell by the last hairs of yer tail, and it’s his fault!” “What?!” Pinkie’s shrill voice made everyone in the room flinch. She turned on Whitehorn with an uncharacteristic glare. “What did you do?!” “We should give him the chance to explain himself.” Rarity shot Whitehorn a stern look. “I’m sure he had good cause for all this mess.” Whitehorn smiled. “Your trust is always appreciated, Countess. Now, perhaps—” “Perhaps—” Rarity cut him off with a sharp wave of her hoof before sitting opposite him “—you could explain what exactly you did, and what you intended to accomplish with it?” She let her words hang in the air as Pontius reluctantly sat down on her left. To her right, Pinkie turned the mouth of her balloon on Whitehorn and loosened her grip, blasting him with a stream of warm air. “And then we will tell you the result of your actions.” “Fair. Pinkie, please.” Whitehorn grimaced as he held his papers down, keeping them from blowing away, before turning back to Rarity. “You recall our first meeting with Mr. Marks, I presume? It was somewhat odd to me that he seemed to care so little for fulfilling what was, ostensibly, the very purpose of his office. So I tapped some contacts to see what they could find.” “Contacts?” Rarity asked. “What kind of contacts do you have that could get their hooves on private correspondence?” A small smile pulled at the corner of his lips. “I’m a journalist, Countess, and investigative journalists have been known to expose affairs such as these before. I don’t know the details of their methods—ponies in these fields tend towards a wide variety of skills, after all—but the results were more than satisfactory.” He slid the papers across the table. “It was a simple matter to ensure the news was delivered to the right ponies, and the rest handled itself.” Rarity skimmed the papers quickly, picking out the same lines she’d read in the broadsheets at the guild meeting. These are the original copies! “You paid someone to steal these letters from the guild master.” “And then I sold copies to a few printers around town, yes.” Whitehorn nodded. “I’m… not sure if I’m comfortable with this,” Rarity said. She pushed the papers away as if they might contaminate her. “It’s dishonest. And ponies could have died!” Whitehorn shook his head in bemusement. “Is it dishonest to steal secrets from a liar? I was merely giving ponies the truth, Countess, just as you give them the truth of the old world we’ve lost.” Rarity grimaced. She’d been living the lie of her noble blood for long enough now that it had begun to feel sincere. What would Whitehorn do, she wondered, if he somehow learned that she had been nothing more than a small-town seamstress living in the shadow of Canterlot? Would she wake up one day to find her secrets exposed in the hooves of every pony around her, and her name on their lips as they called for retribution? “I believe I’ve explained my part,” Whitehorn continued. “I’m quite curious to hear the results.” “The commoners were out fer blood,” Pontius said, still eyeing Whitehorn with open contempt. “The guild master refused to step down, and it seems they can’t vote him out while the siege is ongoin’. The soldiers were about ready to fire upon the crowd—with us in it, mind ye.” “And they didn’t?” Whitehorn looked to Rarity expectantly. “I… talked them out of it.” Rarity offered him an uneasy smile. “Goodness, I was afraid one wrong word would bring the whole room down on my head, but I believe we averted the worst of it.” “Aye. Except fer the guild master orderin’ yer arrest.” Pontius shot a glare towards Whitehorn. “It’s lucky our escorts didn’t hear the order, or I fear we’d’ve never made it back.” “I see.” Whitehorn nodded, his face grim. “My condolences, Countess. And the guild?” “The commoners are on strike,” Rarity said. “And will do so until Mr. Marks is removed, I expect.” “Which is precisely what the guilds wish to avoid.” Whitehorn leaned back with a satisfied grin. “You see, Countess? This is how you apply pressure from the bottom. The city cannot face a strike and a siege at the same time; Rhea will have to bring one threat to an end, or she risks being destroyed between both.” Rarity looked up, her mouth hanging open in realization. “So that’s your plan, then? You could’ve at least included me!” “Frankly, I wasn’t sure if it would work out. Even now there is potential for things to go awry.” Whitehorn looked away as the rumble of the cannons shook some dust loose from the ceiling. “If Rhea decides the strikes are less a threat than the siege, she may attempt to subdue the commoners by force. If it doesn’t work, the strike may turn into a revolt.” Rarity gasped, both hooves shooting up to her muzzle. “But that would be horrible! We’re supposed to be stopping the killing, not causing more!” “It would be a regrettable decision on her part, yes, but I can only do so much.” Whitehorn’s voice remained even as he met her eyes once more. “However, a revolt would take soldiers off the walls, and I expect that would finally allow the barons to make real progress. They could take the low wall, and it would cost the city greatly in blood to push them back.” Rarity’s jaw hung open as she processed his words. “What are you saying?” “What I’m saying, Countess, is that we’ve already won.” Whitehorn smiled, sending a chill down her spine. “At this point it’s just a question of how many ponies have to die.” A pregnant silence filled the room. Pinkie was the one to break it, her voice oddly quiet. “Nopony should have to die.” All four ponies jumped at a sudden, urgent knocking at the door. Rarity looked to Whitehorn, then to Pontius. “Are we expecting company?” Pontius stood. “If it was bluecoats, they wouldn’t knock.” Shuffling his wings at his sides, he slowly stepped up to the door, paused to listen, and pulled it open. “Countess!” River Pie’s voice called from outside, carried in by the chill wind. “Are ye here? Th’ soldiers won’t let me in!” “Oh!” Rarity jumped to her hooves and trotted to the open door. “River, are you okay? What about Twinkle? That whole mess at the guild was just dreadful!” River had a wide grin plastered across her face. She launched herself forwards and pulled Rarity into an excited hug, ignoring the disapproving looks from the bluecoats posted outside the door. “No, it was wonderful! We’re spreadin’ th’ word all over th’ city! Look!” She stepped back, raising a hoof to brandish what looked like a piece of torn blanket wrapped around her neck. “It’s like yers!” “What?” Rarity frowned, trying not to show her disdain for the raggedy cloth. “Aye, t’ show my support!” “Oh.” Rarity looked down at the brilliant white fabric of her scarf, feeling her cheeks warm. “Well… that is rather flattering.” There was a sudden clicking of hooves as the two bluecoats standing on either side of the door snapped to attention, followed by the growing clatter of a wagon. Rarity looked up to see Captain Piaffe approaching with four stony-faced soldiers behind her—two of which were hitched to a hard-edged cube of dark metal. “Cappy!” Pinkie poked her head past Rarity’s shoulder with a toothy smile. “How’d it go with the bears?” “As well as it could go, Pinkie. And you’ve certainly had an exciting day, haven’t you, Countess?” Piaffe smiled as she paused at the bottom of the steps. She beckoned at River Pie with a hoof. “Come down from there, would you, dearheart?” “Huh?” River blinked, looking open-mouthed from Piaffe, to Rarity, to the wagon. “What’s goin’ on?” Piaffe let out an exasperated sigh. She nodded to one of the soldiers by the door, and he reached up and bodily yanked River down from the stairs, sending her tumbling down into the thin layer of snow on the street with a yelp. Rarity gasped. “Captain Piaffe! That is no way to treat my guest!” “Apologies, Countess, but I’m on a schedule.” Piaffe cleared her throat. Behind her, one of the soldiers swung open a barred door on the back of the wagon, revealing the dark, windowless interior. “Countess Rarity, at the order of Guild Master Marks, you are hereby placed under arrest.” “W-what?” Rarity took a step back, her eyes shooting wide open. “On what charges?” “Subversion of the state during a state of emergency. Your fate shall be decided at a trial held tomorrow afternoon.” Piaffe arched a brow. “I do hope you won’t make this difficult, love.” Pinkie’s smile had turned to a confused frown. “You’re not being very nice, Cappy.” “Sorry, Pinkie. It’s work—nothing personal.” Pontius shouldered past Pinkie, blocking the doorway with a snarl. “Ye’ll have to get past me before ye lay a hoof on her!” In the street, the four bluecoats not hitched to the wagon each dropped their rifles down to a firing position, leveling their barrels on him. “No, wait, wait!” Rarity pulled Pontius back with both hooves, taking his place. “I’ll go! There’s no need for any violence!” Piaffe smiled. She stepped down into the street, looking back to beckon Rarity after her. “I had hoped you would say that. Come on, then, let’s go.” “But my Lady!” Pontius began. Rarity cut him off. “I will not tolerate blood being shed in my name, Pontius, no matter how righteous you may think it!” She took a deep breath, bracing herself as she eyed the open door of the prison wagon. “I have to believe that Harmony will prevail.” “Your conviction is admirable, Countess.” Whitehorn gave Rarity a firm nod as she looked back to him. “Don’t worry—we’ll do everything in our power to see you through this ordeal.” The idea of Whitehorn doing ‘everything in his power’ stirred a pit of unease within Rarity, but she couldn’t think of the proper words to tell him, so she offered a grateful smile instead. “I appreciate that, darlings.” Piaffe cleared her throat. “Yes, that’s all very nice, but I did tell you we’re on a schedule, didn’t I? Let’s get on with it.” “Well if she’s going, I’m going!” Pinkie declared. She scooted back to the table, grabbed a hoof’s worth of uninflated balloons, and stuffed them into her mane before returning to Rarity’s side. Piaffe let out an exasperated sigh. “Pinkie, I’m only supposed to bring the Countess. You have to stay.” “No!” Pinkie snapped. She barged past Piaffe, wheels bouncing loudly on each of the steps, and parked herself next to the prison wagon with an exaggerated, “harumph! I’m her hoofmaiden, and I’m not leaving her side!” The soldiers looked to Piaffe uncertainly, and she rolled her eyes and waved them off. Pinkie turned, lifted her rear up high as if she was about to buck the wagon, then pushed off with her front legs, hopping inside wheels-first. “As for the rest of you—” Piaffe shot a meaningful look to Pontius and Whitehorn, each of which were looking over Rarity’s shoulders “—don’t get any ideas. You’ll be allowed at the trial, but until then, you’re not to set a hoof outside this house.” With one last look back, Rarity followed Piaffe to the back of the wagon. Piaffe gestured up to the open door with a hoof, and with a resigned nod Rarity climbed inside. The door swung shut with a harsh squeal and a bang that rang in her ears. Rarity’s world was reduced to the three narrow slits between the bars of the window, everything else cut off by cold steel. Someone banged a hoof against the wagon, and Rarity whimpered as it lurched into motion. She watched through the bars as the soldiers left at Piaffe’s home ushered her friends back inside, leaving only River Pie to watch wide-eyed from where she still lay in the street. The sounds of the wheels and the hooves of her captors were so loud that she could barely hear her own thoughts. Pinkie leaned herself against Rarity’s side, lending the comfort of her warmth. “Don’t worry, Rare-bear,” she said. “Piaffe’s a good pony. She won’t let anything bad happen to us.” Rarity sighed, leaning back into her friend. “I hope so, darling. But I don’t think Piaffe will be the one who decides our fate.” The wagon turned a corner, and they were alone. Ana’s ear twitched at the sound of a door opening somewhere nearby. She froze, remaining still as a shadow as she listened for the sound of hoofsteps to approach, pass, and fade away, She was in the servant tunnels, a network of unlit corridors, steep staircases, and unmarked doors that occupied the unseen spaces between every room. The keep was not designed for leisure—Nettlekiss’s manse outside the valley, long overrun by her foes, was where she lived in peacetime—and so the halls were sparse and narrow, wide enough only for one pony and a platter of food or cart of tools to navigate. They were also entirely absent from the first and second floors, which Ana had found to be dedicated to the housing of troops. The third floor had some storage—fine foodstuffs, old art pieces, silken bedsheets, and other such items necessary for the appeasement of the nobility but not the maintenance of the troops—as well as servant quarters, a kitchen, map rooms, and hidden stairs leading up to where she was now, on the fourth floor. It was this top floor, where the main structure stopped and the three towers that guarded each corner of the keep began, that seemed to be designed for the lords and officers that would command any defense. Here they slept, discussed strategy, sent and received orders, and climbed up to the towers to observe the fighting from afar. It was a lucky turn of fate, then, that it was also the only part of the keep with passages built in for the express purpose of hiding ponies that didn’t want to be seen. She’d encountered a few clusters of loitering soldiers on the way up, but they proved easy to evade. The native troops stationed here were relaxed, relieved after being cycled off the front, and confident in their safety. Oddly, it was the servants that troubled her the most. They were always buzzing around, sticking cleaning implements into all the dark corners and empty rooms that Ana favored. Even in times of war, it seemed, Nettlekiss demanded a certain dedication from her staff. So she went, creeping from hidden door to hidden door, searching for her quarry. The muffled sound of conversation leaked past a door on her right side, and she paused to push her ear up to the smooth wood. “Th’ lines’ll hold, marshal. Titus’s troops have heart, but no amount of heart’ll overcome a trench lined with Friesland rifles.” Ana narrowed her eyes. She’d recognize that smug, dry rasp anywhere—Nettlekiss. Another voice spoke back, a stallion, old and rough, but without the frailty that often came with age. “Not in a single battle, Duchess, nay. But we take more casualties every day, and th’ farms’re already near empty as is. We can’t sustain this much longer.” “What need d’we have of farms, marshal? Our granaries’re full t’ th’ eaves. Call every mare and stallion in th’ valley if we must, but that cocky bastard’s soldiers will not step one hoof past th’ ridges!” “Duchess, may I remind you of the bombing in Friesland?” This mare’s voice was young and refined, lacking the loose drawl of the baronlander accent. An advisor from Friesland, perhaps, or a bluecoat officer. “Our stocks are nearly empty, and we cannot afford to feed the city on imports alone. We need those farms.” “And I need these bodies!” The Duchess collapsed into a sudden fit of wet coughing, causing Ana to cringe in disgust. “If ye cannot afford t’ replace yer food, then ye must pay t’ replace my troops. I don’t care if it’s mercenaries or more Frieslanders, but Castle Urtica mustn’t fall!” There was a pause as the Duchess took a deep, rattling breath. “Fetch th’ scribe. I shall pen a missive t’ dear Rhea.” Ana’s eyes widened. A scribe was exactly what she needed right now. She heard the sound of a door opening and ironshod hooves marching on stone. Pulling her ear back, Ana skulked through the servant passages, pausing every few seconds to listen for the distinctive hoofsteps. They led her down to the third floor, to the servant quarters squeezed together like carrots in a farmer’s field. Finding an exit, Ana slipped out into the hall and immediately took to the shadows in the ceiling. She found herself in a narrow corridor lined by doors on both sides, the quiet sounds of slumber coming from nearly every one. A soldier reared before one of the nearer doors, one hoof holding a torch while the other pounded against the thin metal. “Wake up!” he barked. “Th’ Duchess has need of ye!” After several seconds, the door swung open. A bleary-eyed mare squinted up at him. “Eh?” “Th’ Duchess has need of ye,” the soldier repeated. “Ye’re t’ report at once.” “At this hour?” the mare asked. “Can she not allow ’er scribe t’ rest ’til mornin’?” The soldier rolled his eyes. “Just grab yer things and let’s go, eh? Both of us’re tryin’ t’ grab some sleep.” With a smirk and a nod, the scribe stepped back into her room. She returned soon after, a green sash and tunic wrapped around her chest and a small trunk balanced on her back, and followed the soldier up the hall, around a corner, and out of Ana’s sight. Ana didn’t follow. Instead she dropped from the ceiling and angled her wings, sweeping through the still-open door to the scribe’s room like a silent breeze. The furnishings inside were sparse—a plain bed, a writing desk, and a small bookshelf only half-filled with scrolls and loose sheets—and she wasted no time in shutting the door behind her. She made for the desk first, squinting down at the single sheet lying on the surface. A small candle flickered on one corner of the desk, and she picked it up in a wing, holding it close as she read. You can bugger the bear, if you do it with care, in the winter, when he is asleep in his lair. Though I would not advise it in spring or in fall— but the hedgehog can never be buggered at all. She arched a brow. A local tavern song, maybe? Shaking her head, she turned to the bookshelf, rifling through the disorganized contents at a quick pace. Old love letters, copies of the alphabet, and what looked like attempts at writing some kind of news article. All of it was done in the same careful, clear script as the tavern song, so she assumed it must have been written by the scribe. She picked out several pieces and slipped them into her satchel, ensuring she had a wide variety of samples for Whitehorn to work with. Next was the bed. Ana got down low, peering underneath, smirking as she caught sight of the little tin chest hidden away in the shadows. With a small grunt she fished it out, sliding it into the candlelight and flipping the cover open. Inside were a few charcoal sketches of smiling ponies, a small bag of bits, and a sheaf of about a dozen papers filled to the brim with writing. Her gaze passed over the drawings and bits without a second thought—she had no interest in this mare’s friends or in depriving her of what little wealth she had—focusing instead on the curiously hidden text. A title had been written along the top. The Gift of Adventure. Ana skimmed the text, her eyes growing wider with every line. It was written like a diary entry, the author recounting the tale of how a Gifted mare had come to visit the keep. The Gifted had been immediately taken by the author’s beauty, and after a whirlwind romance over the course of a single day, they retired to the author’s bedroom to— Ana blinked. She looked to the bed beside her, then to the pages before her describing the heated events that supposedly occurred upon it. Well, she thought. This should be more than enough writing. There was a click behind her, and Ana turned to see the scribe stepped back into the room with a yawn. Her tired eyes were half-closed, and it was only after the scribe pushed the door shut with a hind leg that she blearily blinked her eyes open and saw the thestral before her. The scribe blinked again, rubbing at her eyes. She looked from Ana, to the papers in her hooves, to the open chest, and then back to Ana. A couple seconds passed in silence. Ana grinned, giving the pages a little shake. “Yknow, this isn’t too bad.” The mare was suddenly wide awake, rushing forwards with both hooves outstretched. Ana sidestepped the clumsy lunge, and the mare tumbled over the open chest with a gasp. “W-who’re ye?” she hissed, eyes still focused on the papers. “What’re ye doin’ here?” Ana’s hoof twitched, and her arcata snapped out. The mare’s pupils shrunk to pinpricks as she focused on the deadly blades. “Shhh.” Slowly, Ana extended a wing to cover the mare’s muzzle. “You’re Nettlekiss’s scribe?” The scribe answered with a shaky nod, her whole body shivering. Ana bared her teeth, showing her fangs. “I require the Duchess’s seal.” She paused, giving the mare time to process her words before pulling her wing back. “Where can I find it?” The mare gulped, blinking tears out of her eyes. “S-s-she’ll k-kill me!” Normally, this was where Ana would lean in, making a comment about how delicious the mare’s scent was, and perhaps pricking her neck with her fangs to drive the point home. But she noticed how this mare’s eyes kept flicking to the sheaf of papers in Ana’s hoof. “You had this story very well hidden,” Ana lied. “Is it true?” The scribe gulped. “P-p-please don’t.” “Please don’t… what?” Ana teased. “Please don’t slip one of these pages under every other door in the hall?” She let out a hum as she eyed the name of the fictional diary entry’s supposed owner. “Star Eyes, is it?” “No no no, please!” Star Eyes shook her head frantically. “I c-c-can show ye! I h-have a copy of th’ seal, fer mundanities she d-d-don’t wanna bother with! Just g-g-give it back!” “Hmm.” Ana narrowed her eyes, struggling to keep her mirth out of them. She was beginning to wonder if this mare had even noticed she was a thestral. “Oh, I don’t know, I hadn’t quite finished reading yet.” She licked her lips, frowning at the strange shiver the act drew from her captive. “And I was just getting to the good bits.” “N-n-no! That’s p-private!” Star Eyes’s cheeks, which had been a pale purple when she walked in, were now entirely red. “I-I’ll d-d-do whatever ye say!” Ana cocked her head. “Oh, very well, then. Since you’re so… willing.” The scribe let out a sigh halfway between relief and… something else. “But I’ll be holding onto this.” Star Eyes whimpered. Her voice was quiet, even for Ana’s sharp hearing. “Y-ye like it?” Ana narrowed her eyes. “Don’t push me, cutie. Where’s the seal?” The mare’s blush grew deeper still. “I have a c-copy, in my office. It’s on this level, n-n-next t’ th’ k-kitchen!” She paused, seeming out of breath. “There’s a little wood b-b-box with ’er crest on it, on m-my desk!” Ana regarded the scribe for a long moment, letting her stew, before stepping back with a small nod. She stashed the mare’s story in her satchel, never taking her eyes off her. “You’ve made a wise decision tonight, Star Eyes. I’ll leave you be for now, but if you dare tell anyone of my presence here, or give any indication that I’ve taken the seal, you’ll find this story being shared all over the valley. And I’ll be sure everyone knows your name.” Star Eyes grimaced. “B-but th’ Duchess!” “Not my problem.” Ana smirked as she turned away, blowing the candle out and setting it back down on the desk. She flipped her arcata back up, pausing at the door to look back. Star Eyes still hadn’t gotten up. She lay on her back, squinting into the darkness open-mouthed. “Mistress?” she whispered. “Can I c-come with ye?” Ana rolled her eyes. She slipped back into the hall without a word. It was a little odd getting information out of a servant without some kind of threat. She must’ve threatened hundreds of little ponies in her life with fanged promises of slaughter and consumption, but this was the first time she’d ever menaced them with the idea of distributing their amorous scribblings. It didn’t take her long to find the scribe’s office, or the little wooden box marked with the Duchess’s crest and the seal tucked away inside. She wrapped the stamp in a thin cloth before slipping it into her satchel, nestled between her last two sticks of celery and the hopeful diary entry of a lonely mare. A small sigh of satisfaction escaped her as she turned and poked her head back out into the hall, checking for any traffic. She was halfway there now. All she had to do was get back to the city, and she could spend a night regaling Gava with the tale of her infiltration before falling asleep at her sister’s side. The shrill song of a Friesland bugle sounded from outside, sending a chill down Ana’s spine. She flew to the nearest window and peered outside, catching sight of the hundred Friesland troops returning from their sortie, fresh casualties dragged on stretchers behind them and torches lighting the night around them. “Oh, buck me,” she muttered. They were back too soon! Her gut twisted in unease as she watched the troops spread around the yard, lighting campfires around their tents. She’d never get past their pickets on hoof, and between the starry sky and the light of their torches, she’d be silhouetted from every direction if she tried to fly over. Her ear twitched at the sound of hooves climbing the nearest stairwell, and she just managed to fly up to the ceiling as a colt bounded past, galloping towards the servant quarters with his scratchy voice raised. “Th’ blues’re back!” he called, voice breaking as he turned a corner. His voice bounced off the stone, echoing in Ana’s ears. “Th’ blues’re back! Up, up! Meal in thirty minutes ’n menders t’ th’ camp!” At almost the same time, Star Eyes’s shaky voice rang through the halls. “Intruder in th’ keep! Intruder! Guards, guards!” “Oh, fuck me!” Ana’s heart raced as she scrambled along the ceiling. She wasn’t sure where she was going, but she knew she needed a better place to hide. We’re hungry. Twilight pursed her lips. You’re always hungry. Not when we’re fed. Midnight stalked around the edges of their cell, glaring at the door. They took our food. They’re just scared. Give them time. Midnight snorted. We could teleport back to the pool and eat, and be back before they noticed. Twilight sighed. Is food all you ever think about? It is when we’re hungry. You know what you need? Twilight smirked as Midnight turned its scowl on her. You need a hobby. I have no need of frivolous time sinks, little flower. Come here. Twilight blinked, and they were in her treehouse. She and Midnight were seated on opposite sides of the centerpiece, the hazy red glow from behind the curtains silhouetting its form. A chess board was set up on the table between them, occupying the space where her wooden horsehead statue normally sat. “You know how to play, right?” Twilight’s horn glowed, and the white pawn in front of her solar princess slid two spaces forward. Midnight narrowed its eyes, mirroring the move with one of its black pawns. “Just as you do.” It was obvious that Midnight wasn’t really paying attention. It looked up at every sound that reached the hall outside their cell. Sometimes it would stare at the board for nearly an entire minute after Twilight made her move, only to blink and rush a piece forwards as if it hadn’t realized it was its turn. “Checkmate!” Twilight had it beat within fifteen minutes. She looked up with an encouraging smile. “I wouldn’t feel too bad if I were you. I was actually the youngest member of the chess team at Celestia’s School For Gifted Unicorns.” “And why would I feel bad?” Midnight countered, tossing its mane petulantly. “You only won because I was barely trying.” “If you say so.” Twilight winked. “But I think it’s because I’m a better chess player.” “You think you’re clever, don’t you?” Midnight sneered. “You can tell when I speak falsehoods, so listen closely. If I wanted to win, I would win!” Twilight waved her horn, returning the pieces to their starting positions. “Prove it.” “So you seek humiliation? Very well, then.” Midnight turned its attention to the board, its eyes sharp. “Make your move, little flower.” The game progressed at a quick pace, with knights coming to bear within two turns. Twilight took her time, cautiously setting up a strong line with her pawns and rooks, while Midnight opted for a more aggressive strategy, probing her defenses with long-distance attacks from its bishops. Twilight was forced to sacrifice her lunar princess in order to take Midnight’s, and soon both sides of the board were near perfect mirrors, with only pawns, rooks, and their vital solar princesses remaining. Twilight watched Midnight’s expressions with unabashed fascination, marveling at the way its brow furrowed before each of its moves or how its lip curled back in reaction whenever Twilight took her turn. Is that what she looked like when Celestia had first taught her the game as a filly, so determined to win and hanging on the outcome of every move? And this was the pony that had pointed out her folly in lying to the strangers she tried to befriend? “As I expected.” Midnight straightened up with a victorious grin. “You are defeated!” Twilight blinked, focusing back on the board. There were only a few pieces left on either side, but it still took her a moment to find her solar princess, trapped between the three pincers of Midnight’s last rook, a pawn, and its own princess. “Is it really such a shock? I have always been the more rational of us.” Midnight spent a few seconds posturing before waving its hoof, causing the pieces to rearrange themselves in the starting positions. “Prepare yourself. It is time for a second demonstration.” Twilight cocked her head, a small smirk pulling at her lips. “Are you sure this isn’t a waste of time?” Midnight scoffed. “It is never a waste of time to establish my dominance, little flower.” “Mm. Well, okay then.” The next game went by nearly as fast, but Twilight was more cautious this time. She varied her strategy, hoping to confuse Midnight with the unusual moves. Rather than hesitate, it seemed to relish the new challenge, its cocksure sneer growing wider with every passing second. But Twilight kept her focus squarely on the board, allowing no distractions. She lured Midnight’s lunar princess into a trap, taking it with a pawn, and less than five moves later had placed the other mare in checkmate. Its bloodshot eyes widened. It leaned back, scanning the entire board. “What? That wasn’t there before.” “Yes, it was.” Twilight smiled. “You just didn’t notice.” Midnight’s gaze flicked up to meet hers, and she could feel it scouring her heart for any sign of trickery. There was a brief pause. “Another!” Again the pieces reset themselves. “I will not fall to the same ruse twice.” Twilight couldn’t help herself—she laughed, failing to smother her snickers with a hoof. “Are you sure?” “Do not think that you’re better than I because of a foal’s game!” Midnight spat. It pushed the board towards Twilight with a hoof, nearly dislodging the pieces with the force of the motion. “Make your move!” Twilight smiled widely as she opened with a knight, shaking her head in bemusement. It was almost endearing seeing Midnight’s typically single-minded determination focused on something as benign as a board game, especially when it had been complaining of their hunger not even an hour earlier. She left herself open this time, inviting Midnight to strike without punishment, and it only took a few minutes for her solar princess to stumble into checkmate. Midnight let out a frustrated growl. “Do not toy with me, little flower! Do you seek to mock me with empty victories doled out at your leisure? Bah!” The pieces returned to their starting positions as reality blurred around them. “Again, and properly!” “Okay, okay, sorry!” Twilight chuckled as she moved a pawn forwards. “I’ve just never seen a pony who wanted to win so bad!” Midnight’s ears perked up. It fixed her with an odd look, and Twilight’s laughter died as she met its piercing gaze. “What did you call me?” The door to their cell squealed as it was pushed open, rousing Twilight from her trance. She was back in the little stone room, looking wide-eyed at the pony limping through the door. “I imagine you’re hungry,” Bag End said. He grimaced as he took in her mutations—she had opted not to try hiding them anymore in her attempt at honesty—and hesitated before his next words. “Bread and veggies alright?” No. “Yes!” Twilight sprung to her hooves with an eager smile, causing him to flinch back. “That would be perfect!” She followed him out into the hall with a cheerful bounce in her step. It was poorly lit, with only flickering bulbs strung up above them to light the way. She could see the firm metal doors of two other cells, as well as a roughshod staircase leading up to a much more clean-cut corridor. Bag End led her up the stairs stiffly. “Quite the tale you told Peony and the others.” He glanced back at her as he reached the top. “All true?” She nodded. “They’ve finally decided I’m not lying?” He shrugged as he started down the corridor to the right. A thin cloud of steam floated along the ceiling, swirling about as fresh jets hissed out of the pipes, making the air stuffy and hot. “Not really, at first. They drilled on my story a bit, and Brandey pointed out that you killed a crystal spider on your own, levitated me all the way back, and teleported past our hatch, so you could probably just pop out of that little cell and kill us all whenever you wanted.” He looked back as if to ask for confirmation, and she offered him a demure smile. Midnight sprawled out lazily over her back, whispering into her ear with a toothy grin. They would’ve deserved it. He turned his attention back to the path in front of him. “Right. So then Peony said that if you were keeping yourself restrained out of sheer courtesy, we might as well soften up a bit. You know, before you, uh, changed your mind.” “I would’ve just left without hurting anyone,” Twilight said. “But really, you have no idea how much I appreciate it! It’s been so long since I was able to just sit down and talk to anypony.” Oh, I don’t count? Hush. “I imagine it must be rough,” Bag said, oblivious to Midnight’s teasing. “Celestia knows most of us down here ain’t right in the head, and we at least got each other for company. Doesn’t stop a couple rookies from breakin’ down every year, though.” A pair of miners approached from the opposite direction, the metal grid rattling under their hooves, and Twilight smiled and waved as they drew closer. They avoided her eyes, stealing quick glances at her fangs before picking up their pace and rushing past. Twilight resolved not to let it bother her. “How many of you are down here?” Bag shrugged. “Guess a bit over 50? Couple dozen per shift, plus the paper pushers. I don’t follow it too much, really. Shift gets a bit tight at year-end ’til the fresh bodies come in.” A deafening clatter drifted out from a passing door, and Twilight peered inside. A few helmeted ponies were supervising rows of machinery as muddy dirt was poured into rattling hoppers. She waited for the sound to fade before asking her question. “I guess ponies quit very often?” “Quit?” He let out a dark chuckle. “Eh, someone manages to quit or retire every few years, sure, especially if they can lose a limb while keepin’ their lives. Hay, I was almost one of ‘em!” He glanced back with a mirthful grin. “Thanks for coverin’ me, by the way. About my partner.” Twilight quickened her pace as the hallway widened, coming up to his side. To their right, the hall opened into a cavernous room, with sweating ponies in harnesses pulling wheeled crates onto a cargo lift. A shout from the far side was followed by a loud siren, and the filled lift began to rise out of sight with the steady hiss of steam. “What actually happened to him?” Twilight whispered. Bag End shrugged. “Nothin’. He’s just slow as an ass, and we didn’t hit all our pumps for this week. We’re not supposed to go out alone, but I sure as hay wasn’t takin’ a pay hit over his hoof-draggin’.” Twilight frowned. “So you told your bosses he was dead?” “Bah, they don’t pay attention to the rookies anyways. Long as Brandey’s got somethin’ to put on her report, she’s happy. Come in here.” He beckoned her into an open doorway, and they stepped into a cramped mess hall. There were only two tables, and the ceiling was low enough that Twilight found herself hunched over out of concern she might scratch her horn against the hard stone.  Set out on a counter, aluminum trays filled with murky substances glowered up at her in the poor lighting. Behind the counter was a simple kitchen. A bearded unicorn stallion was curled up asleep in a corner, supported by a stained stovetop on one side and a cupboard on the other. Bag End walked up to the counter and grabbed a cheap tin bowl from a stack in the corner, holding it out for Twilight. “Take as much as you want.” Twilight took the bowl in her hooves with a tight smile as she looked over her options. A vat of beans seemed to be the staple food, being the largest of the trays. Next to it were loose bags of crackers, some of which had already been opened, and loaves of crumbly bread that Twilight might’ve mistaken for rocks if they hadn’t been laid out in front of her as food. Last was a wide bowl of thin gruel, melted butter floated on the surface like scum in a pond. I would rather eat a mushroom grown from the corpse of a week-old changeling than this refuse. Twilight strained to keep the smile going as she scooped some beans into her bowl, following them up with a generous portion of crackers. “Thank you.” Bag End laughed, slapping the counter with a hoof. “Now I know your story is true—a blind foal wouldn’t fall for that poker face! Hey, Old Rory!” The sleeping stallion startled awake, squinting up at the pony calling his name. “What in Tartarus do you want, Bag? I’m on break!” “This mare saved my life!” Bag jabbed a hoof at Twilight, who offered up a shy wave. “Get her somethin’ nice!” “Buck off!” Old Rory countered. “I’m on break, damn you!” “It’s fine, really,” Twilight said, taking a step back. “No, he’s just grumpy. I’ll sort him out. You want some whiskey, you codger?” Bag grinned as he reached into his jumpsuit and produced a small flask. “I know Peony’s got you on dry watch, but what she don’t know won’t hurt her.” Old Rory straightened up, eyes suddenly razor sharp. “You really think you can buy me with a swig of cheap whiskey, Bag? Is that how low you think of me?” “Oh, shut up and move before I change my mind.” Grumbling, the old stallion picked himself up off the floor, ambled forwards, and snatched the flask out of Bag’s hoof. Putting it to his muzzle, he slugged the whole thing back in one go before throwing it over the counter and letting it clatter loudly to the floor. Old Rory groaned as he bent down and fished a small can out of the cupboard he’d been sleeping against, set it on the stovetop, and stabbed it violently with a cooking knife before sawing the top off and turning the heat on. A couple minutes later he slapped the now-warmed can down in front of Bag End, looking at Twilight directly for the first time. “Now who’s this pretty mare you’re tryin’ to charm, Bag?” Rory cackled. “She don’t look your type.” “Oh, my name’s Twilight Sparkle.” She extended a hoof with a bright smile. “It’s nice to meet you.” Rory’s laugh cut off sharply as his gaze slipped to her exposed fangs. He blinked, his eyes roaming over her face as if he was seeing her for the first time, and then his lips curled down into a scowl. “What’re you playin’ at, Bag, bringin’ this thing into my mess?” Rory snarled. “What, it nearly kills you, and now you wanna turn it on the whole colony?” “W-wait!” Twilight said. “I don’t mean to hurt anybody, really! I’m just a regular pony!” “Sure. Sure!” Rory waved her off like a pest as he turned away and returned to his corner, grumbling with every step. “As if I don’t know what a buckin’ pony looks like.” “But—” Twilight grimaced, her voice wavering. “But I am.” “Hey, don’t mind him, alright?” Bag put both their bowls, a pair of spoons, and the freshly heated can onto a tray before taking it over to the nearest table. “Come on, eat. He’s a plothole to everyone, really.” Twilight sighed as she joined Bag at the table. She half-heartedly peered into the can, spotting the sliced carrots swirling around inside, and did her best to put on a grateful smile. “Thanks.” They ate in silence, the distant rumbles of machinery and the wet snores of Old Rory keeping them company. Twilight stuck mostly to the carrots, relishing the crunch of each bite.  Are we really making friends here? Midnight sat on the table as it dipped a hoof into her bowl of beans with obvious disgust. These idiots hate us. Bag End doesn’t hate us. Twilight looked up and caught the stallion abruptly looking away. No. He fears us. Midnight smirked. A preferable relationship. Would you shut up? Twilight snapped. You aren’t helping! Did I not warn you this would happen, little flower? Midnight’s voice was soft and sweet as it echoed between her ears. It’s just you and me now. But don’t worry—I will never look at you like these insects do. They just need time to adjust. Twilight bit down on a carrot a little sharper than she needed to. It snapped between her fangs like the bones of a fish, but without the satisfying splash of blood. Once they see I’m just like them, they’ll be nicer. But we’re not just like them. Midnight lay down onto its side, catching Twilight’s eyes. We could wait for all eternity, and they would never adjust. Twilight was stirred from her thoughts by the sudden arrival of four new ponies in the mess hall. They conversed and laughed among themselves, smiling despite the dirt smudged onto their faces and clothes, only to fall abruptly silent. She kept her gaze focused resolutely on her food, swallowing each ashen mouthful with aggressive gulps. She ignored the hushed whispers from behind her as they filled their bowls, grit her teeth at the way they sped up when they had to walk around her, and refused to acknowledge the secretive glances they threw her way as they finally sat down on the opposite side of the room, their heads pulled close together to ensure she couldn’t hear. Her tail flicked against the ground. Her ears began to flatten down against her head, and her lip curled back into a snarl as the motion caused their chatter to suddenly grow more intense. Why were they acting this way? Couldn’t they see that she was a pony just like them? She could understand them being frightened, but to skirt around her and gossip among themselves like fillies in a schoolyard? Why wouldn’t they just talk to her, at least try to understand her? She squeezed her eyes shut as a shrill ringing began to echo in the back of her head and grow steadily louder. She just wanted friends. She wanted someone to look at her and not steal a nervous glance at her fangs. She wanted someone to ask if she was hungry without cringing in fear. Even her old friends from Ponyville seemed uneasy around her the last time they spoke. Her body began to shake, and a bloody tear dripped down her cheek as the ringing began to drown out her thoughts. She wanted friends. Was there nopony, not a single creature left in this accursed world, that would give her companionship without treating her like a monster? The ringing stopped, and Twilight gasped as she became aware of a sudden sensation. It was almost like her ears popping after the train ride up to Canterlot, when the stuffy pressure clogging her hearing gave way and she found herself able to hear the soft sounds that she’d never noticed missing. It was barely there, lingering at the bottom of her consciousness, pulsing in tune with her heart. She looked up and saw Midnight staring back at her, its brow furrowed and its mouth hanging slightly open. What is that? she asked. Do you feel it, too? Midnight blinked. I hear it. It cocked its head, one ear twitching. And… something else. Twilight frowned. The rumbling of the machinery was joined by a soft shuddering of the metal underhoof, and she turned to see Bag End stiffen. The ponies at the other table soon followed suit, each of them looking to the others with wide-eyed terror. In the distance, Twilight heard the sharp, rolling crack of shattering stone, and then a mare screaming. Finally. Rainbow took in a deep breath, holding it for several seconds. Through the window in the Argo’s main hall, she watched the Orichalcum slowly drift further away. “Glad to see it go, huh?” Applejack came up to her side. “Me too.” “And glad to be back on the trail,” Rainbow said. She turned to her friend with a warm grin. “Can’t leave Twi hanging, after all.” “That’s for sure. Gettin’ away from that Silverblood fella’s a mighty nice bonus, too.” Applejack shook her head in disdain. “That stallion probably paid extra for a fancy dictionary that don’t have ‘no’ in it.” Rainbow chuckled. “Gerritt was kinda cool, though.” “Oh, yeah?” Applejack arched a brow, smirking. “After all that stink-eye y’all gave him?” “Eh, I guess he didn’t really deserve it.” Rainbow shrugged as she turned away from the window. “I’m gonna go chillax up front some. You wanna come?” “No, thanks, RD. I’m plum tuckered out after cleanin’ up the mess them workponies left behind.” With a yawn and a wave, Applejack turned in the opposite direction, towards the cargo hold. “I’ll see y’all later.” Rainbow looked after the farmpony for only a few seconds before starting towards the bridge. It was a short walk—especially after the days spent aboard the massive Orichalcum—and within seconds she was stepping through a cloud of steam and looking out at the glittering ocean stretching out before her. The rising sun cast long streams of light across the water that seemed to dance and twirl with the waves, like silver streamers draped across the reflection of the clear orange sky. Sunfeather and Sea Sabre were leaned over the navigation table checking the charts, the latter mare looking up to meet Rainbow’s eye. Sabre dipped her head. “Rainbow.” “Hey, Sabre. Hey, Sunny.” Rainbow stepped up to the table as Sunfeather let out a quiet grunt of greeting. “How’s it looking?” Sunfeather looked up with a barely perceptible frown. “You read charts?” “Well, not exactly.” Rainbow offered her a sheepish grin. “But we’ve gotta be getting close by now, right? Do you have any idea how much longer it’ll be?” “Disregarding the fact that we don’t have a destination any more specific than a direction,” Sabre began, tracing a line across one map with a wingtip. “We’re less than a week away from the Grey.” “The Grey?” Rainbow leaned over the map, following Sabre’s line. A trail of dots marked the path they’d taken, each one labeled with a small date scribbled beside it. Wherever they were, they were far enough north that Heighton wasn’t even on the map. She saw Altalusia far to the southeast, and a few other islands—all to their south. The top third of the map, along the northern edge, was filled in with a trio of different hatchwork patterns arrayed in neat bands. Rainbow looked to the legend written along one side. Grey, Winter Solstice. Grey, Equinox. Grey, Summer Solstice. “It’s the ice sheet,” Sabre explained. “It extends south during the winter, then recedes north in summer. It should be about here by now.” She pointed to a line penciled in between the Equinox and Winter Solstice bands. “And what do we do once we get there?” Rainbow asked. “Unless we find Twilight, I’ll leave that up to you and Applejack to decide,” Sabre said, looking up from the map. “To my understanding she didn’t have a precise idea of where she was going, but we’re to find her. You two know her best, so I’ll leave our direction to you at that juncture.” “Oh.” Rainbow frowned down at the little line on the map. It hadn’t actually occurred to her until then that “the Frozen North” was such a vague goal. Somehow she’d always imagined that they’d just fly north, and somewhere along the line they’d cross paths with Twilight. She thought of Princess Luna slumbering peacefully in the hold, nestled among the soft cloudstuff of her room. What if we never find her? “There’s another thing I wanted to talk to you about,” Sabre said, drawing Rainbow’s attention back up from the map. She paused as Sunfeather slid behind her and descended to the lower level, taking her place on the control dais. “On that ship.” Almost without realizing it, Rainbow found her stance straightening. “Yes, ma’am?” A small smile tugged at the corner of Sabre’s lips. “It was a stressful situation for you, I’m sure. Silverblood tried to get at all of us at one point or another, but I know he went for you and Applejack hardest.” “That’s correct, ma’am.” Rainbow grimaced as she thought back to how close she’d come to losing it. “I’m sorry if I didn’t meet your expectations.” “That’s not it at all, Rainbow Dash.” Sabre shook her head. She raised a hoof, laying it on Rainbow’s shoulder. “I just wanted to say that you did well. I had my concerns that you’d snap under the pressure, but you’ve come a long way since we started your training. I heard about your spar with Gerritt, too.” She paused, her smile growing wider. “I’m proud of you.” “O-oh.” A tentative grin crossed Rainbow’s face as she looked into her mentor’s eyes. “Thank you, ma’am. I’m… glad I didn’t let you down again.” Both mares looked over at a hiss of steam behind them as Star Trails stepped onto the bridge, a folder floating in her magical grip. She scanned the room quickly before spotting them, trotting up with a casual smile. “Hey, you two.” “Everything in order, Trails?” Sabre asked, nodding towards the folder. “Yeah, it’s all clear. There’s actually something I noticed that I thought you might want to know.” Trails brought the folder down on the navigation table, folding it open and pointing at the paper on top of the stack. A column of numbers was written down the right side of the page in a neat, flowing script, carefully lined up with brief descriptions of charges on the left side. “So this is from the paperwork for our repair job, right?” Sabre nodded, and Trails pointed to a long string of digits written along the bottom. “Now here’s Silverblood’s account number. He’s got most of his money in Harvest Central. And here—” she pulled a rolled up paper out of her uniform, splaying it out next to the receipt and straightening it out with a hoof “—is a bounty sheet we picked up last time we were in Heighton.” A chill ran down Rainbow’s spine as she looked at the bounty. Her own face stared impassively back at her, disconcerting in how lifelike it was. The Rainbow Dash in the picture was almost unrecognizable to her, still having both her eyes and lacking the scars over her muzzle. The tip of Trails’s hoof was pointing to a long string of digits written along the bottom. “Wait a sec.” Rainbow frowned, her eye darting between the two sheets. “They’re the same.” “Yep.” Trails nodded. “I noticed it as I was about to file this receipt away. Whoever put this bounty out on you, Rainbow, they were offering payment from Silverblood’s bank account.” “But—” Rainbow blinked, her brow furrowing. Her lips were feeling dry.  “So does that mean—?” Sabre nodded. “He’s the one that posted it.” “I found a bounty for Twilight with the same account, too,” Trails said, producing the bounty and unrolling it next to Rainbow’s. “I checked the sheets we picked up for the rest of your friends, but none of them matched. Probably just luck of the draw, really.” Trails shrugged as she stepped back. Rainbow sat heavily against the floor as she looked between the papers. She was having trouble speaking above a whisper. “So that pony—he put a bounty on me and my friends?” “Yeah, looks like it.” Trails grinned. “Kinda crazy, huh? I remember the first time I saw the bounty my old fleet put on me. I keep the sheet pinned in my room, actually. I’ve got a little collection!” Rainbow barely heard her. She was thinking back to all the pain she’d been through. She thought of Gava binding her wings and dragging her across a factory roof in Heighton. Her pulse began to quicken as she remembered Gava with her talons tight against Applejack’s throat, crowing about how she could kill two of them and still have more money than she ever needed. Her throat tightened at the memory of Twilight’s furious screams when she lost control on Altalusia, as all the pent-up hatred her friend—normally polite to a fault—had hidden away that suddenly burst through to the surface. All that pain. She was looking at the paper, but she saw Silverblood’s cocky grin staring back at her. It’s his fault. She could hear him laughing, hear him cheering her on to kill Gerritt like they were toys dancing for his own amusement. He hurt my friends. I was right there, and I didn’t even know. Rainbow flinched at a touch on her shoulder. She turned to see Star Trails watching her, the concern clear in her eyes. “Hey, you alright, Dash?” Rainbow hadn’t noticed that she was shaking until then. “I... need to stretch my wings.” She brushed past Trails and Sabre without another word. The ship seemed to blur around her, and the next thing she knew she was in open air, wings spread, the Argo already pulling away from her. She wasn’t worried about getting lost. The sky was a big place, but she was a pegasus, and it was her home. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d put a couple miles between herself and the ship while looking to clear her mind, and she always found her way back. Picking a direction at random, Rainbow poured herself into her wings. What would’ve happened if her friends hadn’t come to save her after Gava’s ambush aboard the Argo? Would she have been carted off to some exchange and sold to Silverblood, wings weighed down with paper bindings that sent more and more bounty hunters after her with every escape? Would her friends have been able to find her? What if they’d been caught, too? What if she never saw them again until decades later when she’d grown so tired that she didn’t even care anymore? The wind roared in her ears and tugged at her mane, matching the maelstrom in her mind. Why was she still thinking? She grit her teeth and pumped her muscles, trying to outrace her thoughts. It wasn’t fair. All she and her friends wanted to do was help, or at the very least be left alone. Why did fate keep toying with them like this? Why did it seem like everywhere they went there was someone getting in their way, trying to trick them or trap them? Why did she have to lose her eye? Why couldn’t she have died when the floods came, for the world to forget her under the waves like it did with her parents? With the Wonderbolts? With Scootaloo? If she flew fast enough, the tears would dry before they left her eyes. Her eyes and wings burned, and she welcomed that fire. She didn’t know how much time passed before she finally stopped to catch her breath. She came to a stop with a shuddering gasp, her breath fogging out before her at the crisp altitude. She twirled in a lazy circle, greeted by the empty horizon. Maybe out here she could finally get some peace. The Orichalcum slid into view. The fire flared up in her breast. How far had she flown? Was the big ship just that slow? Why had her wings brought her here? By the time she realized she was soaring closer, she couldn’t think of any reason to turn away. She approached the ship in a trance, squinting into the light from the rising sun to spot the little raised nub on the front where Silverblood’s quarters were. She glided over the length of the ship without a thought, passing over the apple orchard and casting a shadow through the glass onto the workers below. Maybe one of them looked up, curious to see the source of the pegasus-shaped darkness passing over them, but if they did, Rainbow didn’t notice. She took a deep breath as she reached the front of the massive, east-facing ship, picking out the gleam of the sun against the curving rectangular window that she knew served as the backdrop for Silverblood’s dining room. The golden rays streamed through the glass, illuminating the room in its warm light. She could see him. He was right there, back to her, silver robes draped over his sides and steaming plates sprawled out before him. Her shadow passed over him, and she watched numbly as he turned, regarding her with a curious frown. He smiled. Her vision clouded red. The fire wrapped around her, pushing up against her wings, driving her forward with both hooves outstretched and her muzzle twisted into a furious snarl. The sound of the glass shattering filled her ears. She crashed into the dining table, sending plates of stuffed pepper and bowls full of exotic soups and wooden splinters flying in every direction, joining the shards of broken glass stirred by her entry as they danced around the room. A pair of serving mares screeched as they ducked out of sight. Rainbow turned as the wind of her passage whipped at her mane, fixing her eye on the spot where Silverblood had thrown himself to the ground, protecting his head with his forelegs. He peeked out from between them, meeting her gaze, and she saw fear. “Gerritt!” Silverblood scrambled to his hooves, nearly tripping over his ridiculous robes as he darted to one side. Rainbow crouched low, shivering body coiling like a spring— The ear-splitting crack of a gunshot rang out, followed by the snap of a bullet whizzing past her head. Rainbow flicked her head to the left, spotting the griffon that had been standing in her blind spot, a thin trail of smoke drifting from the barrel of his revolver. Slowly, he stepped in front of Rainbow, blocking the path that Silverblood had taken. “Hey, Rainbow.” Rainbow’s wings twitched to either side of her. Her voice was oddly calm when she spoke, and for a moment she wondered how it could possibly belong to a mare filled with fire. “Out of my way.” “Can’t do that.” Gerritt shrugged. He sounded just as casual as he always did. “Contract.” “You know you can’t beat me,” Rainbow growled. She took a step forward, and he drew the hammer back on his revolver. “Not even with that gun.” “Mm, I don’t know. You’re pretty fast, but dodging a bullet?” His beak curled up into a friendly smirk. “It’ll be interesting either way, I guess.” “Why are you doing this?” Rainbow seethed. “You hate him as much as I do!” “Well, maybe not as much. And like I said—contract.” He rolled his shoulders as the sound of Silverblood’s fleeing hooves grew gradually fainter. “So let’s make this quick, before he gets to his safe room.” Rainbow blinked, the corner of her lip twitching upwards as she understood. His smirk turned to a smile. The report of his revolver rang in her ears as her hooves left the ground, but she had already crossed the distance. He grunted, gun flying from his claws as she threw him to his back. He rolled with the blow, using his wings to bounce back upright, and slid into a low stance. Loose cutlery and glass twinkled like stars in the sunlight as the wind from Rainbow’s wings cast them into a swirling vortex. He lashed out, but he could never hope to touch her. She was past his guard, spinning through the air to deliver a two-legged buck to his side that connected with a wet crunch. A strangled scream escaped him as he fell to the ground, one shivering talon held tight over his side where she’d kicked him. He looked up at her with a haggard grin, sucking in ragged breaths. “No b-blood y-yet. Hrk!” A jet of dark blood spewed from his beak, staining the rug beneath. “Ah.” He collapsed, head falling to the ground with a strained sigh, chest rising and falling as he struggled to breathe past his crushed ribcage. Rainbow didn’t have time to wait and see if he’d live. With a single flap of her wings she rocketed down the corridor after Silverblood. Flaring them out to slow herself as she reached a corner, she kicked off the wall and propelled herself towards his fleeing form. “Sassie!” His voice broke as he screamed for help. At the end of the hall, the pink-coated Sassie stood next to the elevator that led up to his safe room, her eyes wide in shock. “Sassie, the—” Rainbow crashed into him with all four hooves, grinding his face into the plush carpet as he skidded to a stop. “Why?!” He yelped as she bodily rolled him onto his back, snarling down into his face. “Why?!” “It’s business! It’s b-business!” He raised his forelegs in a vain attempt to shield himself, and with a frustrated scream Rainbow smacked them away. “Please! It wasn’t personal!” “Fuck you, it’s not personal!” Rainbow raised a hoof and kicked him in the gut, causing him to double over in pain. “You’ve ruined my life! You’ve ruined my friends’ lives!” Tears were streaming down her cheeks as she delivered another kick with every sentence, pouring every ounce of her pain into each one. “N-no, please!” “What gives you the right?!” She stomped on one of his legs, and he wailed as the bone twisted and gave way. “You think you can treat ponies this way?! You’re everything I hate about this world! I hate you!” “Please.” Silverblood groaned as he tried to drag himself away. “M-mercy.” “Why?!” She stomped a hoof down on the space next to his head, causing him to flinch away. “Answer me! Why are you like this?!” Her blood was rushing in her ears, and her chest swelled with every breath as she forced herself back under control, pushing the fire back. After several seconds of whimpering, Silverblood risked meeting her glare. “I—I’m h-helping.” “Helping?” she seethed. “How is anything you do helping?” “It’s g-guidance.” Silverblood gulped as he turned to face her fully, the confidence coming back to his voice as he spoke. “These ponies, they d-don’t know what’s best for them, you see? They don’t know how to save or how to invest, how to make wealth grow.” He offered up a weak smile, and with some satisfaction Rainbow noticed one of his teeth missing. “I house them, feed them, educate them! Everything they have, they have because of me!” “And you think that means you can just own ponies?!” Rainbow spat. “What right do you have to put a bounty on my friends, to try and force them to serve you?!” His smile grew firmer, and he let his hooves fall so he could look her squarely in the eye. “Their magic belongs to all of us, Miss Dash. You can’t expect me to leave the soul of Equestria in their capricious hooves.” Rainbow blinked. For a brief moment, the fire abated. “That’s it?” she asked. “That’s your justification for all the pain you’ve caused me?” “Ultimately, you caused the pain yourself.” Silverblood grinned, wincing as she brushed against his shattered leg. “I offered you a fair contract.” The fire came back as a raging inferno, twisting Rainbow’s muzzle up into an enraged snarl. Silverblood’s grin faltered as she reared up, both hooves poised to fall on his skull. Gerritt’s voice echoed through her mind. “Eventually they cross the wrong pony, whether it be a competitor, an employee, or just some wildcard passing through.” At that moment, she was happy to be the wrong pony. Rainbow screamed as her hooves came down hard, and with each strike, each crunch of bone, his moans grew fainter, and the warmth of blood seeped deeper into the fur around her fetlocks, until finally he fell still and silent.