//------------------------------// // Part Fourteen // Story: The Rariad // by Tundara //------------------------------// The Rariad By Tundara 14: Gaea Nearly a month and several brief stops to gather supplies after leaving the Isle of the Lotus Eater, the Benevolence of Beauty coasted into Gytheio, the port town of Sparta sheltered beneath the Taygetus mountains at the bottom of a wide valle. In the near distance to the east were the Parnonus mountains, forming the valley’s far side. Drawing attention even before reaching the docks, the Benevolence of Beauty would have drawn a small crowd of curious ponies with her odd shape, bluff bow, and pillars of white canvass on tall masts. This day, a band had been situated atop the mainmast crosstrees, and the crew, all decks in swaths of gold, crimson, and emerald, swung back and forth on ropes or danced atop the spars.   Resplendent in a cloak made from Techatallicus’ hide, shimmering so dark as to swallow the light cast by the sunny late summer afternoon, Trixie stood at the quarterdeck railing. Her own star speckled cloak and hat had been put aside. On her head she’d placed a black felt tophat with a gold buckle on the front, and she twirled a silver headed cane.   As the ship kissed the side of the dock and ropes were tossed down to those ponies working below, Trixie let out a booming laugh.  “Behold!” she cried, sweeping up onto her back hooves, enchantments dancing from her horn to cause a resounding boom like that of a cannon. A fanfare played, bouncy with accordions, fifes, and a quick playing piano. Confetti flew up on either side of her. “Come and see wonders undreamt! Come, one and all, come and see Connivia and her Completely Curious Circus-Caravel of Confusing Confoundment!”  With a bounce timed to the gentle rock of the boat next to the dock, Trixie jumped, disappeared in a pink puff of magic, and reappeared on the far side of the murmuring crowd.  “You there, young lad,” Trixie thrust her hoof at nearby colt. “Come and be amazed by the wild, brutish strength of Apollon, mightiest stallion on all Gaea, descended from Hercules himself!”  At the same moment Lertandes, the scar on his leg where he’d been bitten by the hyena showing prominently, appeared where Trixie had been moments before. He bellowed, stamped a hoof, and the Benevolence of Beauty and dock shuddered with a little help of Trixie’s magic. He then gripped a large weight, vastly oversized and with a large ‘1 ton’ written in prominent view, with his mouth and hefted it high. Lertandes reared up, muscles in his thick neck bulging, shoulders straining, and tossed the weights to the dock. The crowd, engrossed by the spectacle, didn’t see Trixie weave an illusion as the weight landed, giving the impression of it breaking the dock into a spiderweb of cracks with a mighty boom. “Be enraptured by mystical music, and have your minds transported to distant Persia, home to the whirling dervishes who guard the prised jewels of the hidden cities,” Trixie continued in her carrying voice, the music shifting into the exotic tones of a ney, conjuring images of the sun bleached deserts of the eastern lands.  Delos appeared next, dressed in white robes cut in the most enticing way, eyes closed as she played the ney, having saved it from the wreckage of her former galley. Bewitchingly beautiful music flowed through the air. She was every bit some princess of the eastern lands, solemn and dusky coated, her sultry brown eyes hidden behind a veil making the stallions grin in stupefied wonder and receive sharp jabs by jealous wives.   Trixie teleported again, her magic beginning to strain a little from so many taxing spells in such a short time, appearing on the far side of the crowd near the start of the docks. She grabbed a mare garbed in rich golden silks, and thrust her cane up towards the end of the bowsprit where Mystalicus stood, a mask covering his face with rubies for eyes and painted with a stern frown. He cut a dashing figure, with his chin raised high to the sun’s golden rays, golden locks caught in the breeze where they fell from beneath the helmet.   “Look there, madam, look and see Orionus, blind from birth, but blessed with senses unimaginable to common ponies! Able to split a thin thread at a hundred yards with his spear!”  On que Mystalicus hefted his spear in his aura and, without turning, tossed it towards the far end of the Benevolence of Beauty where a small bell had been placed at the end of the mizzen boom. The bronze head flashed in the sunlight, and the bell gave of soft tinkle as it fell, string cut with casual ease. “And this is but a taste! A mere fraction of the merriment and magic, for you will live the tale of how I, Connivia the Cunning and Quick, defeated the mighty Ursa Major as the beast attempted to devour an entire town.” Trixie thrust a hoof towards the slack sails on the mainmast, and on their surface appeared an image of the mighty stellar beast, coat covered in stars and maw wide as it roared. What a roar it was, her magic emulating the bone shattering noise with chilling accuracy that echoed far beyond Gytheio’s docks, and rivalled that of the dreaded kraken asleep beneath the seas. The foals screamed in fright, and then pure delight, raced around the adults, and begged and pleaded to see the circus. Trixie’s grin was broad as the dockmaster, Nastor, a thickly set unicorn whose horn had been broken some years before in battle, and Telemachus, an older Spartan who spent more of his time drilling the young stallions of the town rather than acting as the Governor, leaving the day-to-day decisions to his small council, approached the Benevolence of Beauty. They looked the ship over with wide eyes and stern frowns etched deep on their weathered faces.  From the deck, Trixie watched as Argentes, dressed in fine robes of a merchant-prince, descended to the dock to converse with the dockmaster and governor. While being the matron of ceremonies was perfectly acceptable, this was a world where stallions held all the true power, and as such it had been decided that Argentes would act as the owner and business face for the circus. He put on humble airs, bowing deeply and plying honeyed words for the spartans, speaking with them at length and offering them gifts of wines and spices from the eastern lands, all salvaged from the wrecks at the Isle of the Lotus Eater and preserved within enchanted casks. Nastor and Telemachus accepted these gifts greedily, and permitted the circus access to Sparta’s dominion.  That night, and for two nights after, the Benevolencians put on a show for Gytheio. Trixie modeled it after the great circuses of Equestria, that far away home, weaving a story through the acts. With their skills gained at the ropes, hauling sails and reefing them in bad weather, a few of the crew had garnered enough ability that with a little trickery, they could put on a respectable trapeze display. This garnered much applause, as seeing Lindros, who was a wiry stallion, fling Plato, who lived up to his name as the largest of the crew and was an accomplished wrestler, through the air made foal and adult alike burst out in gasps of appreciation. The acts had their flaws, naturally, as there had been insufficient time and space to properly practice on the way to Sparta. Trixie expertly obfuscated the mistakes, weaving them into the narrative to allow the show to proceed as if it were all part of the plan.  It felt good, and she basked in the enchanted Equestrian style spotlights, calling out the next acts with flourishes of magic and showmanship. By the end of the night she was exhausted and collapsed onto her sleeping mat in the tent she shared with the few mares rescued from the Lotus Eater.               Acts smoothed out, they made their way towards Sparta further inland. “If mother could see me now,” Trixie said under her breath as their wagons trundled along the rocky hilltop road. Heavy bags fell beneath her eyes, and she was utterly exhausted. She smiled broadly, however, even as her heart beat anxiously for what lay ahead.  The most difficult part remained.  “Remember the signal flares,” she said to everypony, the few chosen members of the circus all nodding swiftly. “We need to be careful. Stealth is paramount.” Her warnings were hardly needed, every one of the Benevolencians having identical thoughts.  Only Lertandes failed to respond, his thoughts further than the others, looking ahead to Sparta, and behind to days of his youth spent in Chryseis’ shadow. His heart quickened and he had to hold himself back from galloping ahead of the others.  “Steady yourself lad,” Mystalicus said, “We all hold Chryseis dear, her smile a golden light that fills all Athens with joy. She is thrice-loved by the gods, and we will not allow her to languish among the Spartans a moment longer than necessary.”  Not trusting his voice, Lertandes gave his king a sharp nod, and then the troup mounted the final hill, and Sparta spilled out before them.     Sparta was as different from Athens as day is to night. There were no walls around the city, which itself was more a collection of five small towns or villages nestled around a sprawling palace situated on a hill overlooking where two tributaries of the Eurotas river met. The entire valley served as the city’s walls, along with her large, feared army. To the west of the palace was an amphitheatre, with a hippodrome just south, ancient oak trees planted around the outside of the track casting it in perpetual shade. Young stallions and colts raced each other continually under the watchful gaze of their elders, or wrestled in an open area set to the side. On the river’s bank was the temple to Ares, the founder and main patron of the Spartans, second only to the Temple to Zeus in all the city. Other temples, smaller though no less grand, dotted the city, offering places to worship Hephaestus, Dionysus, Aphrodite, and even the great hero Hercules, mightiest of stallions ever to live.  After presenting a letter from Telemachus stamped with his family seal as proof of their passage, they were asked to wait while King Agethemus was summoned. News of the circus had preceded their arrival, as intended, and the king greeted them with a broad smile. Agethemus, son of Masonidus, was a stallion marked for greatness, his thick cloak bunched over his withers showing the broad headed axe mark on his flanks. Despite being in his fiftieth year, he was a strong stallion, neck thickly muscled and face set with permanent stern lines beneath flint sharp eyes.  With the king came Dapoletta, her expression one of cold disdain. She wore a simple white dress, her armour and weapons unneeded in the heart of Sparta, that displayed her own mark, that of a pair of crossed spears over a flame. It was Trixie’s first time really scrutinizing the mare, and she shuddered as a foreboding wave overwhelmed her.  She shifted a little, and hoped the dyes and illusions would keep her own cutie mark hidden.  “So, you are the performers from the east we have heard about these past few days,” Agethemus spoke softly, his gentle voice at odds with his burly stature. “Tales of your eccentric performance have intrigued me, and you have my permission to set up in the western fields where our young colts are drilled.”     Argentes bowed and then called out a booming series of instructions, though they were hardly needed as the wagons were already being unloaded and the rattle of hammers pounding spikes into the hard ground filled the air as the tents were erected. At the same time Iphigenia and Aeson put on a display of fire-weaving to keep the foals entertained, and Delos went about town with a pair of bodyguards passing out fliers as she sang.  “Do you, cunning Trixie, have a plan for getting Chryseis away from the iron cage formed by her captors?” Mystalicus asked Trixie as they prepared the many trigger spells needed for the performance.  “Trixie is thinking about it. If we are lucky she will be in the crowd, and things will be much simpler. If not, then we have tomorrow to scout a way into that castle.”  Trixie gave a slight incline of her head towards Agethemus’ citadel-palace situated atop a hill at the very center of the city. Its white walls loomed tall, the only ones visible in the entire city, surrounded by cliffs on three sides.  It was a far larger complex than Mystalicus’ own humble palace back in Athens, now abandoned as the city was emptied, with separate buildings along the inner wall for guards, cemetery, a grainery, and several homes for the extended family beyond the palace itself, which was a multi-tiered edifice with a tall tower in the north-west corner. Mystalicus followed her gaze with a sardonic laugh. “Luck has ever been absent on our journey, misfortune and hardship our fate to endeavour against. We have drawn the attention of the gods, and have had no chance to appease them with offerings they would find suitable. Some evil will be worked against us before we leave this city, of that I am most certain. Look to the Lotus Eater and how we were ensnared, trapped in its illusions and terrible embrace. Even your considerable powers, which brought Techatallicus low, were unable to overcome that trial, and now that the greatest one yet is before us, you claim to have no god-sent plan.”  “Oh, we’re going to die,” Trixie blithely quiped. She paused and tapped her chin. “Well, Trixie might not as she is already dead. Can a pony die twice?”   “You seem as flesh and blood as the rest of us, as susceptible to the cold bite of iron spears or searing rays of magic as any mortal pony.” “Maybe. Or maybe not. Trixie is in no hurry to find the answer.” “Nopony is ever in a rush for death and the journey to Lord Hades’ cold realm with its bleak rain endlessly pounding from the gloom-shrouded clouds. And we are likely as close to it now as we’ve been on this adventure. May the gods watch over us.”  “If it makes you feel better, Rarity is with us, and maybe so is Hepheastus and Aphrodite by now.”  A slight smile did tug at the corner of Mystalicus’ mouth. “If we are lucky.” Trixie blinked a couple times and then she laughed. When her laughter died away she grew more somber than before.  “Trixie never had a plan. She never thought we’d make it this far, if she is honest. We’ll just have to roll with whatever comes our way.” “Then it is the same as before.” Mystalicus nodded. “By your leave, there is much to be done if your not-plan is to succeed.”    A festive air filled the early autumn night as the circus entered full swing. Using lightstone enchantments Trixie made weak, but functional, spotlights that swept up the brightly painted sides of the Big Tent. Trixie had help with maintaining the various enchantments, but without cutie marks, it was extremely difficult even for the trained Athenians to wrangle the runes to form the spells. She was kept busy, and never found time before the opening acts to even look for Chryseis.  Stepping into the center ring she cast her gaze about. She spotted King Agethemus and Depolleta flanked by armed soldiers in the front row. Other important Spartans filled the big tent, with the sides lifted up strategically to allow an even larger crowd to get glimpses inside. Nearly every important pony of Sparta was present that first night. Yet, she didn’t see Chryseis anywhere.  Allowing herself only a moment of consternation, Trixie put on her show-face, and the act began. “Behold Sparta, greatest and most beloved of all the cities of Gaea, who before all others has earned the attention of Ares, God of War, through your many bold deeds. Behold! I am Connivia and this is my Completely Captivating Curious Circus-Caravel of Confusing Confoundment! Prepare for a night of wonder and excitement hitherto undreamt! We open in the far east, in the palace of the mighty warrior-sultan Shahryar…”  She swept off her hat and thrust it up towards the ropes stringed between the four converted booms used to hold up the tent. There on the lines were the opening act, the tightrope walkers and tumblers crossing ropes suspended fifty hooves overhead.   Backing out of the ring, Trixie chewed on the inside of her cheek, contemplating how to find Chryseis even as she said, “Delos, you're up next. Then Lertandes—” “He is missing,” cried Delos, her face pale beneath her coat as she wrung her hooves.   “Missing?” Trixie repeated, dumbfounded.  Delos nodded. “He vanished just a short while ago, and nopony can find him now.” Trixie’s first thought was that he’d been unmasked, but no, if that was the case the Spartans would have descended upon and slaughtered them all.  “The fool,” Trixie ground her teeth in irritation. “Okay, we have to keep the show going ahead, or the Spartans will know something is up, and then we’re all bucked. Be ready to run, because it looks like this is going to be a one-night show after all.” She then went in search of Argentes and Mystalicus to warn them about the change in plans, and to prepare for the inevitable fleeing from town. It was an experience she’d lived through more times than she cared to admit.   While Trixie made her frantic preparations, Lertandes scaled the rocky slopes just beneath the walls of the palace near the base of the tower. In it he’d spied Chryseis as she stood at the wall’s edge, gazing off into the far distance before dropping her eyes down to meet his own for a single, electric instant. He knew he should return to the circus and inform Mystalicus of his discovery, but he was struck to the spot as if pinned there by a hundred arrows. Hiding himself, Lertandes waited until cover of darkness and for most of the palace to head to the circus before he began the slow, arduous task of sneaking up towards the walls. Many times his hooves slipped and he nearly fell into the dark. Guards passed back and forth overhead, but they were distracted by talk of the circus with its flashing lights and brightly lit tent.    He pressed his back against the walls and furiously tried to think of a way past the guards. In the distance the crowd roared in laughter. He was running out of time.  It was then he heard a soft voice, distant and lyracle as if it were notes of a harp carried on the fall breeze. “Dear Lertandes, brave son of Alconus, who has naught to offer but his valour, to you I grant the agility and speed of the dolphin, who serve as my messengers. Go, and save Chryseis, who you have always loved.”  His eyes widened, and his flanks tingled as a surge of energy filled his muscles and new magics flooded his mind. Almost afraid to look, he glanced back, and saw on his flank the mark of a leaping dolphin. Offering a prayer to Aphrodite, for the voice could have belonged to no other, he dashed up the side of the walls. Where before he had to strain, now it was as easy as crossing a room. Guards noticed him as he neared the top, flipped over the edge, and landed amongst them. His strikes flashed out like crescent waves on a moonlit beach, crashing into their bodies with explosive force.  Flavus, son of Meteldes, was flung from the wall, his jaw shattered in a spray of teeth and blood. Reteculon the lesser’s knee was snapped backwards, and before he had time to scream the breath was knocked from his lungs as he was kicked several feet into the air. As he began to fall he was bucked into his twin, Reteculon the greater, and both were sent off the wall.  It was a clear shot to the tower where Chryseis was held, her profile glowing in the candlelight cast through an open window.  Without hesitating, Lertandes charged towards his goal. As he neared the tower a black figure plunged out of the night to land like a falling star in front of him. From the top of the tower Lekos had seen Lertandes dispatch the patrol, and he smiled in bloody delight at the prospect of facing another blessed in battle.   “Who are you?” Lekos demanded, shrugging off his autumn cloak to reveal an even thicker set of muscles than he had in Athens, and he stood a head taller, Ares’ blessing turning him into a goliath mimicking his mark of the mighty elephant. “Lertandes, son of Alconus,” he responded, backing up a couple of paces as he took stock of his foe. “Sent by Rarity and Aphrodite to resque fair Chryseis.”   “Alone? You are brave,” Lekos chuckled, the leather straps of his bronze armour creaking as he flexed his mountainous shoulders. “Come, let us see who the gods favour more.”   Lekos and Lertandes slammed into each other, unyielding might against floating agility. Lertandes hardly glanced at his opponent, as in the doorway stood his goal, Chrysies watching with mouth covered in dread terror. Tears sparkled in her eyes, and the sight of them spurred Lertandes on.  Even the glancing passage of Lekos’ kicks were enough to know that a single hit would be lethal even with Aphrodite’s blessing. Solid stone shattered under Lekos’ might, showing him to be of the line of Heracles, the parapets exploding into a shower of deadly shards. With a stomp he knocked into the air a chunk of stone the size of a full grown pony, and then he hurled it at Lertandes with a solid punch.  Sliding on his knees, stone rocketing overhead, Lertandes bounded up, grabbed Lekos’ about the neck with his legs, flipped onto Lekos’ back, and threw his entire body into continuing the motion to spin the much larger Spartan over. The palace shook with the ringing crash as Lekos was brought down face first into the stone ground.  Breathing a sigh of relief, Lertrandes stood and started towards Chryseis, only to be grabbed by the calf and hauled back, swung up and over, and then brought down in a blow that would have shattered every bone in his body if he hadn’t managed to twist and roll at the final moment.  Blood trickling from a shallow cut in his brow, Lekos rose and laughed. “Yes! At last a challenge!” A heavy drumbeat in his ears, Lertandes touched the new spells racing in the back of his head. Water seeped out of cracks in the barren stones, drawn from the Eucotas, and then drifted up around Lertandes, gathering into greaves and shimmering armour. When he kicked himself towards Lekos, he shot across the courtyard as if he were fired from one of Trixie’s cannons. His first buck slammed into Lekos’ chest, the Spartan not even trying to avoid the blow. As storm tossed waves batter a rocky cliff, Lertandes struck Lekos again, again, and again. Through it all Lekos just laughed, his iron hard hide suffering only minor bruises. He had months to acclimatize to his blessings, and had been a stronger, fitter stallion at the onset. As the moments dragged on, both grew more and more certain that Lertandes could not best Lekos in a straight fight. Lekos caught Lertandes with a glancing blow, and even through the magical armour of hardened water, it was as if a mountain were infused into his muscles.  Lertandes’ glanced at Chryseis, and knew what he had to do.  His hoof slammed onto the ground and the armour of water burst into a short tidal wave. As Lekos was buffeted and momentarily blinded by the rushing water, Lertandes darted around him, grabbed Chryseis, threw her over his back, and leapt over the citadel’s walls. Chryseis screamed as they plunged into the dark, a bright pink bolt fired from Lertandes’ horn arcing up overhead until it burst into a firework that momentarily lit the sky. Then he touched the steep cliffside, hooves skipping over loose stone and dirt with ease where he’d struggled so much in his ascent.  “Dear Lertandes, where are we going? Where are the others? Surely even you did not brave all of Sparta alone! What is your plan?” Chryseis asked as a crescendo of flashes blossomed in blues, greens, violets, and yellows across the velvet canvass of the night, the other Benevolencians responding to Lertandes’ signal. She gave a little gasp in awe, and another of shock as the fireworks seemed to turn around and streak towards the circus, followed by a brief pause ended by a giant fireball mushrooming high into the night.   “Look now and see that Mystalicus and the others distract the Spartans. That will have been Trixie herself, her magic far greater than that of other marked ponies, given to her by the distant gods of Ioka.” Lertandes responded as they vanished into the night. “We will meet with the others at the ship, if we can manage to maintain our escape. Now the entire city is roused it will be harder still, though they will have their magic occupied by Mystalicus and Trixie, who are greatest among our numbers. Trixie alone could drive the Spartans back, her magic far more potent than you ever saw in Athens.” “Trixie has come into her own then?” Chryseis chewed on the inside of her cheek and gazed fretfully towards where the sound of fighting mingled with shouts among the spreading glow of a fire jumping from building to building. “I worry for her. There is a darkness in her that hides itself, sheltered in the furthest reaches of her damaged soul where it may gnaw at her undetected.”  Lertandes didn’t respond to this but to recount their journey thus far very briefly.  “If anypony can overcome the trials placed upon them by destiny, it is Trixie of Lulamoon,” he concluded with confidence.  He set Chryseis down as he reached the banks of the Eucotas. To his complete shock she didn’t release his neck, and used the motion to swing around into a deep, urgent kiss. Her eyes flashed with golden light, and for a moment it were as if the roiling surface of the sun filled them. After a moment, he brought up a hoof and wrapped it about her head, pressing his lips harder against her own. He felt a great desire to push her down into the soft grass, to take her in a torrent of kisses and sweaty passion, only barely holding himself back.  Breaking it with extreme reluctance, Chryseis said, “Aphrodite rarely bestows her blessings, and we are now two-blessed. With Phoebus' guidance, I can get us to your ship. This is exciting! I’ve never attempted to use my blessing in such a manner, only ever using it to glimpse at the great strands of destiny or divine the gods’ wills. Come, we must not tarry, for if we delay but a moment the Spartans will be upon us.”  Brushing her tail over his face, Chryseis took the lead, she herself guided by the powers bestowed on her many years before by Phoebus-Apollo.           An hour earlier and on the fast side of the city, as Lertandes sent up his flare, Trixie stood at the entrance to the big tent about to announce the final act, that of Mystalicus’ Orionus as he used his spear to slay the mythical Ursa Major and rescue the persian princess. It was perhaps a bit too close to reality, but that was also what made it such a good lie. Lertandes’ flare changed her plans. She sent a nod to the waiting Mystalicus and Delos next to her, both ready for the final act, and they nodded back in understanding.  Quietly to herself, Trixie said, “Well, time to put our immortality to the test.” Taking a deep breath, Trixie stepped alone into the tent.  The other Benevolencians slipped out of the tent as the lights inside went dark but for a spotlight down on Trixie herself. Outside the tent Mystalicus and Argentes sent up the fireworks to mask that set off by Lertandes, while the other Benevolencians dashed off into the night.  Taking center ring, Trixie took a deep breath, head forward with tophat lowered over her eyes, and counted to ten before she jumped up onto her back hooves and her booming, magically enhanced voice carried out, “And so we come to near the end of our tale. Thank you, Sparta, for your part in it.” Trixie reached deep into herself, groping for the runes and magic that had killed her, for the embers of Twilight Sparkle’s magic laying dormant, for the Cascade of a Thousand Stars. She found them, and as she did there was a flash, an image that made her tremble, of Asmodeus. He stood next to Agethemus and Dapolleta, grinning with immeasurable satisfaction on his devilishly handsome face. The king and princess both frowned and furrowed their brows.  A tremble worked up her spine as the spell reached up into the midnight heavens.   Agethemus was first to shout a warning to his fellow Spartans, while Dapolleta teleported across the short distance to reach Trixie. Her hoof came up cloaked in crackling pink lightning, and Trixie barely had time to tense before she was hit in the side of the jaw and hurled aside just as the first star exploded into the midst of the Spartans.  The next few moments were a series of flashes that burned themselves into Trixie’s eyes, leaving impressions that would haunt her forevermore. Oileus was torn bodily in half by the first star, his upper half going one way while the lower vanished in spurting flames as a bonfire would send up flames when poked by a long rod. Next to him Telamon was swept away in those same flames, as were Deiphobus, Helenus, and Adamas, son of Asius. Further off, Asius, son of Hyrtacus was struck by the bits of flaming debris being cast about and were nearly as deadly as the star-fall itself, and he too was sent down to Tartarus where he met his son on the Styx’s banks. Still more, Pheidas, Stichius, and the stalwart Bias all met their ends. Meges, son of Phyleus, lost his head and stumbled a few steps before falling dead next to the smoke black bodies of Phyleus, Amphion, and Dracius.  Many more sons of Sparta would have died, but they are a hardy race of pony and well versed in warfare. At their king’s warning they conjured their most powerful protective spells, and in this way many were saved from the full brunt of Trixie’s spell. Still, many were wounded, and the entire area was awash in confusion, smoke, and fire as the deafening cacophony of booms buffeted everypony.   In the center of the cascade, where Trixie’s spell made a calm in the eye of explosions, Dapolleta struck Trixie again and again, hitting her upon the jaw, the shoulders, and stomach with a fury to much the destruction around them.  “Athens will burn a hundred fold what you have caused here!” Dapolleta howled in her rage.  Trixie could offer no resistance. She was no fighter, and against an opponent such as Dapolleta she was utterly overmatched. She would have been dead if a burning benched didn’t emerge from all the chaos, blown with tremendous force, and knocked Dapolleta sprawling.  Through the fire and flames emerged Mystalicus, his head lowered as he charged towards Trixie. Behind Mystalicus, standing at the center of the carnage, was Asmodeus’ spectre.  Laughing. And then Trixie passed out, her world going dark.  In the misty realm of deep dreams she fell, the world and its tumultuous events echoing down to her as if through a tunnel, threats and poignant oaths uttered by Dapolleta and Mystalicus mixing together, the heat of flames making her uncomfortable, and her body jarred by sharp motions.  Through it all came Asmodeus’ amused chuckle.  “Such a good investment you’ve been,” he whispered, dream-forged lips brushing up against her ear. “So much lust for power, and look how you use it. Delightful. Oh, how much further will you go my little plaything?” And then he was gone, vanishing into the mists, and when Trixie awoke, shooting up so that she tumbled off Mystalicus, all that lingered was a deep sense of foreboding tight in her gut.   Picking herself up, Trixie was amazed to find herself among the Benevolencians rather than back on the Styx’s dreary banks. They gazed at her fondly, many nodding their heads in respect. “Where?” “Between Sparta and Gytheio, with many miles still to travel, so that even fleet hooved Alke, swiftest of all Zeus’ daughters, able to gallop faster than the fierce north winds, would need to hurry us along if we are to reach the Benevolence of Beauty faster than word of our actions in Sparta reach the ponies of the town and they prepare their spears and spells for our arrival.” Mystalicus said in a breathy rush as he pulled her to her hooves and prodded her into a fast cantor.   The right side of his face was matted with fresh blood from a deep cut between his horn and ear, and a long series of cruel marks like the claws of a lion dragged along his shoulder where he’d used his own body to shield Trixie from Dapolleta’s wrath.  “They didn’t follow us?” “Even the bloodthirsty Dapolleta put the city above seeking vengeance, so much of it left burning by your spell. That will not last long and we must make haste before they send their most able scouts after us.”   Trixie gazed in wonder over the grimly determined, but smiling, faces around her, and noted that besides the still missing Lertandes, everypony else was present. A few nursed bruises, and Attis trailed blood from a deep wound in his side that he kept shut with use of magic.  Stumbling, Attis said to his companions, “This is as far as I go, my king. I will lead the Spartans aside and take as many of them with me to the underworld as what the gods will permit.” Thryxium and Dardanos, ever Attis’ shield-brothers, joined their wounded friend. Sparing but a moment to clasp their hooves with his own, Mystalicus thanked them and promised that their names would be remembered in song, and then continued on while they turned to face the Spartans just then coming up the road. Together the trio charged into the jaws of snapping death. Before their broken bodies were hurled to the side of the road they sent Castor and Pertendus; Soltes, nephew of Agethemus, and Ferynx to Hades’ halls ahead of them. Their sacrifices were not in vain, as seeing their bravery Phoebus-Apollo strung his bow and fired a single arrow that pierced a hill between the Benevolencians and their pursuers, sending it tumbling down in a rockslide that blocked the road.      Bending their heads low, the Benevolencians made best use of the delay. Gytheio was in a state of confused shock, and nopony only thought to stop the members of the circus to ask what transpired, which they brushed off with shakes of their heads and muttered oaths that the gods were angry. Which gods and at whom they did not say, as it would have been imprudent to draw any of the gods ire at such a critical point.  They reached the docks just before rosy feathered Dawn broke across the disc. Lertandes and Chryseis waited for them with the rest of the crew and Benevolencians that had remained behind with the ship. The fires consuming Sparta were still visible in the north as the lines were cast off and the Benevolence of Beauty unfurled her sails.  “You made it!” Mystalicus laughed as he clasped Lertandes’ hoof. “A fool’s errand, and you succeed. But, what is this! You are marked! Which god has seen fit to bless a stallion who trades sense for boundless bravery, willing to risk life and limb to infiltrate the enemy stronghold alone and steal away with their captive?” “Aphrodite blessed me, my king, as I was stuck in my ascent and thought that Chryseis, whom I have loved since I was but a fledgling colt, was doomed to remain prisoner to the Spartans.” Standing close to Chryseis, Lertandes answered them with a laugh of his own. “Without her, guardian of all lovers, I never would have succeeded in wrestling dear Chryseis away from her tormentors.” Trixie’s brow arched, and she noted how close Chryseis stood to Lertandes, gently rubbing her flank to his own in an open display of affection. Throwing up her hooves, Trixie cried, “Great! Now we’ve turned into a love-story!” as the Benevolence of Beauty sailed out into a golden hued bay on a stiff breeze sent by Poseidon himself that hurried them far ahead of the Spartan’s galleys.