20. Bound by Duty
Rarity followed the young cats out of the alley, with the older of the two leading the way through the deserted streets and towards the packed plaza. As they approached the collection of stalls and the many crowds surrounding them, Rarity made sure that this time her guard was up. She eyed any creature that drew near or got a little too close all while regularly patting down her saddlebags to make sure they were closed and secured and feeling for the Queen of Fey’s symbol beneath her cloak. At the same time, she had to keep a close eye on her less than trustworthy guide, there being the possible matter of him running off in a bid to escape her.
A possible matter, yes, but Rarity didn’t really think he would try something like that, not if it meant abandoning his sister. The affection the two siblings had displayed toward each other, the concern the sister showed for the brother’s wellbeing and the joy she displayed at his recovery, the worry in the elder sibling’s voice and the fear in his eyes over being separated, it all seemed genuine, the older brother’s use of the younger as a prop for emotional manipulation notwithstanding. Still, it was better to be safe than sorry, and even if that hadn’t been a concern, keeping track of the cat and his smaller frame within the crowd’s overwhelming crush of bodies was no easy task, and there were multiple close calls when Rarity thought she had lost sight of that fuzzy, orange tail.
She wasn’t sure what to make of that whole encounter back in the alley. As angry as she had acted over discovering that the old brother was a thief, a thief who had stolen from her at that, and his unscrupulous attempt to retrieve his ill gotten prize, Rarity was glad to have saved him, and as a bonus, the little pickpocket knew of a potential ally. She was still broke, and that money of hers was probably permanently lost, but at least now she was back on track of her mission, with each step she took a step closer to saving Spike and Discord.
There was still the mystery of the strange assailant, however. When asked, his initial victims had no answers regarding who or what he was, and the questions only increased when the cats told Rarity that he had made all his demands in some unfamiliar language. A language they couldn’t understand but she could and did.
Not that his words made any sense to her. What was this court of rebellion he mentioned and who was this exiled, ahem, individual? His actions appeared to revolve around the Queen of Fey’s symbol, so maybe he was related to them or their kind in some way. The Queen had warned her about showing the symbol around, and perhaps this was why, though Rarity hadn’t a inkling on how to contact the mystical being to confirm these theories.
Those mysteries had to wait for the time being, and Rarity shoved such distractions aside as she focused on following the cats in front of her. They eventually arrived at the collection of billboards Rarity had originally been directed to, each one being about the size of a typical schoolhouse blackboard. On each of them there were some dozens of posters, possibly what was attracting the dozens or so of rough and tough looking individuals with all of their armaments. Their great number and mass made it nigh impossible for her to read what was nailed to the wood, unless she wanted to try to force her way through to the front.
“Anything good?” she heard someone ask. There was a barking laugh in response.
“Either small errands or suicide missions, so waste your time or waste your life.”
Rarity followed the cats around the swarmed boards. There behind the crowd, just like that young stallion she met earlier had said, was a small building, maybe a little smaller than her own shop in Ponyville. It certainly lacked the frills of the Carousel Boutique, the building devoid of any decorations save if you perhaps counted the boards at the front and the warriors loitering at the entrance. If it hadn’t already been pointed out to her and that she was being led right to its door, Rarity probably would have walked right past the unassuming structure.
The group standing and chatting around the entrance, which consisted of a pegasus mare with a massive crossbow almost as large as its owner and an earth pony wearing a scarf over his mouth and snout and a pair of daggers on his belt, stopped to raise brows at Rarity and the two cats as they approached. Rarity’s hood was up and covering much of her face, so she didn’t think it was the identity of Princess Shmarity drawing their attention. She did note that their stares were more on her chaperones than her, and the way they covered their pockets as they walked by seemed to suggest that either the cats themselves or their kind in general had a bit of a reputation.
They entered, and Rarity’s first impression as she stepped into the building was that she was reminded of the interior of a post office. Lines extended from a counter in the very back where a team of mares and stallions in blouse and vest assemblies on the other side recorded the information provided by those before them. To the left there was a second, smaller counter being operated by a single, bored looking mare as well as a good portion of the wall covered in posters and pamphlets while much of the right side was taken up by rows of long picnic tables with connected seats. There all sorts of creatures sat and conversed amongst themselves, from ponies of all three tribes to griffons and hippogriffs, zebras and deers to yaks and large two legged avians, even a few older specimens of cat folk and a minotaur who had somehow managed to squeeze into a seat, causing the wood to creak and groan.
To no real surprise from Rarity, almost every single one creature there had some weapon visibly on their person. Many were also holding tankards, and some had small meals, mostly just a bit of cheese and some bread, on the table in front of them. A third booth was built into an alcove in the wall, similar to the one was on the left, where an uniformed stallion gave out large full mugs and refilled old emptied ones in exchange for coin.
“See the old guy over there?” the cat who had brought her here said, pointing. “The one with a gray head hunched over way in the back?”
“Sitting next to that giant sword?”
The cat nodded. “Yep. That’s him,” he confirmed before clearing his throat. “So, uh, I’ve brought you to your guy, like we agreed. A deal’s a deal, and the deal’s done, right? So I’m good to go, right?”
Rarity turned to the fidgeting feline and frowned. “You’re not going to introduce us?”
The cat rubbed the back of his head. “I, don’t actually know the guy. Like, at all. I just hear things, so I’m not going to be much help with getting him to do, whatever it is you want him for, if that’s what you’re trying to ask. Also,” he said with a sheepish grin as he turned his head to both sides, “I’m, uh, not exactly really supposed to be here.”
Rarity followed his nervous gaze and saw that several of those within their proximity were watching them closely. A few even scowled and glowered as they made a show of holding tightly onto their belongings.
“It’s a long story, just a misunderstanding really,” the cat assured with a dismissive wave of his paw when Rarity turned back to him. “But yeah, me and my sis, we should really get going.”
“I suppose it can’t be helped.” Sighing, Rarity quickly checked her cloak. Her hooves found her dagger and pendant. “Very well,” she said. “As promised, you are free to go. Oh.”
The cat had just started to turn to leave. At the last syllable, he stiffened and slowly turned back around. “Yeah?” he asked, swallowing.
“Thank you. For bringing me here.” Rarity’s warm smile transitioned into a small smirk as she added in some cheekiness. “And do try to keep out of trouble.”
“Oh.” For a good moment, the cat stood there blinking and staring until his sister finally shook him out his surprised state with a tug at his tail. “Right, sure. Uh, no problem,” he said. “Um, and good luck, I guess, with whatever you’re here for. I’ll just, um.” He pointed a paw at the exit and started towards it.
“Bye, miss!” cheered the kitten, and as Rarity returned her wave, she hurried off after her brother. Rarity watched the two go until the door shut behind them and they left both the building and her line of sight.
“Alright then.” She turned to face the alleged knight sitting in the back of the hall and begun her approach. Like the cat said, he didn’t look the part, what with his wrinkled, faded clothes, his slumped over posture, and his complete lack of a mane which Rarity noticed once she got closer. It was certainly a far cry from the shining and chivalrous image presented in fairy tales and romance novels, though if the great hunk of metal sitting beside him was more than just for show, his apparent strength made up for, well, maybe not exactly all of his less than impressive presence but at least some of it. Maybe he’d look more imposing in armor, most stallions did.
Rarity got no reaction when she finally reached his seat. Was he sleeping? It was hard to tell with his back toward her and his head hidden beneath his fore limbs. She cleared her throat loudly. He didn’t stir. Rarity leaned forward and tried again with additional force.
That earned a groan. “What?” her quarry grumbled as he pulled his head out from under is front legs and lifted it to glare at her. A cracked beak was where Rarity expected to find a snout, and as he scowled, the feathers of his face ruffled. A griffon, Rarity realized, and one whose face she somehow recognized beneath all those horrific new scars and burn marks.
“Sir Gustford?”
The griffon paused before he forced a humorless chuckle and the line of his beak slowly curved into a smirk. “Been a bit since anyone referred to me by that prefix. Or by my full name, for that matter.” He stretched across the table to grab at a mug that was just out of reach. “Dang it, who moved my drink?” he mumbled as the tips of his talons scratched at the tankard’s handle. “So, you know who I am, eh? Sounds like you’re in the know. Well what can this old bird do for you?”
“I’m—“
“Got it!” the griffon exclaimed triumphantly, thrusting the mug into the air. Some nearby lifted their drinks up as well and added their own cheers, but most only bothered to give him a look of annoyance before returning to their conversations and meals. “So let me guess,” he continued, “you have a job for me. Probably something real special if you went out of your way to search me out personally instead of just running it by the league.” The older griffon she knew as Sir Gustford snorted and turned away. “Today’s my day off. Come back tomorrow, and I might consider it if it’s worth my time.”
“Excuse me?” Rarity frowned as she walked over to the griffon’s side. “I’ll have you know I’ve been through quite the ordeal to find you. The least you could do is find a little time to listen to what I have to say.”
“Everyone’s gone through something these days,” Gustford said with a shrug. “Believe me, you’re nothing special.” He raised the cup only for Rarity to reach out and force the it back down. His glare was met with one of Rarity’s own. Irate, hawkish golden eyes locked with determined blues. Some several seconds passed before the griffon sighed and broke eye contact as he leaned back.
“You’re not going to stop pestering me until I hear you out, are you?” he said, frowning. “Fine. Let’s this off right.” He gestured to the counter in the wall closest to them, the one selling beverages. “Buy me a drink, then we’ll talk.”
“I don’t have any money.”
A moment or two passed before the griffon vocalized the incredulous look he was giving Rarity with an exasperated, “Seriously?” He shook his head. “You came to the adventurers’ league with the intent to hire a specific adventurer but don’t have anything to pay them with?”
“I—“
“No, just, shh.” He brought a claw to his forehead and dug into it as he released a long exhale. “Alright. You see this?”
He motioned Rarity to look into his mug. With some apprehension, she did so and saw that it was only about a fifth of it was full of some amber liquid, cider if the smell of sour apples was any indication and of rather poor quality. At most, it was a mouthful.
“You have until I finish this to grab my attention. Then I’m out of here. Sound fair?”
“That’s—“
“Good,” the griffon said, cutting off Rarity’s protest with a smirk. “Ready? Go!”
He lifted the mug to his smug smirking beak. Rarity lifted her hood from her head. She allowed herself a small smile of satisfaction at the griffon’s sudden stop and the look of shock on his face. His eyes slowly dilated, the black pupil shrinking until it was hardly any larger than the head of a pin, and the bottom half of his beak dropped. He lowered the mug and stared into it for a second or so before looking back up at Rarity, then it was back to the contents of the tankard.
“Oh boy,” the griffon breathed before slamming the mug down on the table and stumbling out of his seat and up onto his feet. “Alright, which of you jokers spiked my drink?” he growled, pointing at the creatures sitting near or walking by. “Was it you? You? Well you got me. Real funny prank, really clever. Come on, come clean so I can show my appreciation!”
With a wild roar, he grabbed the handle of the broad sword next to him. He got the blade a few inches off the floor before he started to lose his balance. Those he had just tried to threaten merely laughed and shook their heads, bemused and in a couple of cases in pity, as they watched him fall backwards. Rarity walked over to the collapsed griffon and helped him up.
“This, it can’t be,” he was mumbling as Rarity brought him back to his seat. “I’ve been poisoned or I’m drunk or, or—“
The griffon started to sway again. Rarity caught him by his shoulder, and as she held him up, she forced him to look up at her. “Sir Gustford the Gilded Claw of the Stormslayers,” she said sternly, “listen to me. I am really here, and I need your help.”
He stared at her in complete silence for almost an entire minute. His features bounced between expressions of confusion and awe, suspicion and relief, guilt and hope, with each face only lasting for a split moment before moving to the next emotion. “P-Princess Shmarity?” he whispered.
Rarity nodded in answer. The griffon didn’t seem to notice her slight hesitation as he breathed out and rubbed at his temple. “I need a drink,” he announced, getting up and taking a wobbly step toward the refreshments kiosk.
Rarity raised an eyebrow at the griffon’s unsteady movement. “I think you’ve had enough.”
“A drink of water,” he clarified, his eyes rolling before he could stop them. “You, uh.” He coughed and averted his gaze. “You want anything, Your, uh, you? Miss?”
“Water would be nice, thank you,” Rarity said. “And perhaps a bite to eat, if you could please,” she added over her stomach’s not so subtle reminder.
“Right. It’s, um, not going to be anything all that fancy,” said the griffon with an awkward wave. “Just, thought I’d let you before you, I mean, I should go. Get the water. Excuse me.” And with one final nod to Rarity, he shuffled off.
While the griffon stood in line for their water and such, Rarity glanced around to gauge the rest of the room’s reaction. As far as she could tell, there didn’t appear to be any creatures paying her much mind, so it didn’t seem like anyone else had recognized her as Princess Shmarity. Rarity threw the hood back on just to be sure as she recalled Huntress’s warnings regarding Baldursgait’s treacherous population, of which her own early experiences with the city’s inhabitants seemed to support.
Gustford returned to the table a few minutes later with a jug, a couple of cups, and a plate with half a loaf of bread and a chunk of cheese. “Here,” he said, placing the plate before Rarity. “Like I said, it’s not exactly palace fare.”
“That’s quite alright,” Rarity assured, breaking the hard bread into smaller pieces. “I’ve grown a tolerance for this sort of quality.”
“Hm.” Rarity noticed that the griffon’s claw shook for half a second at her statement as he filled both cups with water. He pushed both cups toward Rarity, then proceeded to drain the rest of the jug straight from the container. Water leaked down, soaking into his feathers and his clothes. When he was finished, he all but slammed the ceramic jug down and wiped his mouth with the back of a claw.
“That’s better,” he breathed with a sigh. “I can think straight again.” He turned to Rarity. “And you’re still here. So that wasn’t a dream. Or wait.” Gustford winced from the pinch he gave himself. “No, guess not.” He gestured to the cloth that was back over her head. “May I?”
Rarity nodded and allowed him to remove the hood. “Heavens above, it’s really you,” the griffon whispered. “I mean, I thought, maybe a changeling, but why? And, you knew my actual name, my title.” He hesitated. “Can, can you say it again, my full title? The one your father gave me?”
“Sir Gustford the Gilded Claw of the Stormslayers.”
“Of the Stormslayers,” he repeated with a glance at his blade. Sighing, he let the cowl of Rarity’s robe fall back down along with his claws and his shoulders. The griffon appeared to melt into his seat before Rarity as he placed his head into his open claws and dug his talons into it. The slouching figure in front of her was nothing like the powerful and distinguished knight who carried himself with pride and honor in Princess Shmarity’s memories.
“What happened to you?”
“What happened to me?” Gustford lifted his head and chuckled hoarsely. “With all due respects, Your Highness, what happened to you? What happened to all of us? We lost, that’s what.” He let his head fall back into his dirty yellow claws. “How did you get away? Did your father?”
“I’m sorry. I don’t know what happened to him.” Suddenly, Rarity found herself in a burning hallway, with flames licking away at the tapestries and curtains. An older stallion wearing a gold crown stood some distance away with a sword aloft with a company of guards. His face was shrouded in smoke as he turned to Rarity and ordered her away. When she refused, she was grabbed and pulled away, screaming as she watched the black smoke consume the hall. Then, she was back in the adventurers’ league building, sitting beside the gruff griffon with a plate of day old bread and smelly cheese before her. “We were separated during the Squid Wizard’s attack.”
“I see,” Gustford said slowly. His claws folded over each other, with each individual talon crossing another, and he propped his chin on top. “So what happened after that?”
Again, just as with the ponies in charge of Horshire, Rarity told of how she had been captured and imprisoned in the Squid Wizard’s fortress and how she had been spirited away magically while in the presence of the heroes she assumed had been there to try and save her.
“Right, right. Those, ah, heroes. There was that wizard fellow, Garbunkle was it?” Gustford said, tapping the tip of his beak. “And the, uh, the guy they just gave away knighthood to. Bigguns or Macons or something.”
“McBiggun,” Rarity corrected, surprising herself.
“Right, him. I noticed you didn’t mention anypony in black armor with Garbunkle. Figures. I never had a good feeling about that one, and considering his past, can you blame me?”The griffon scoffed. “I heard rumblings that they also picked up some foreigner, a Captain Wuzz, probably that snake-like fellow. Can’t say much about him.” He snorted. “I was never in favor of the king using adventurers, not when he had us knights to do his bidding. Of course, here I am now, hanging around in an adventurers’ league making an adventurer’s wages to live an adventurer’s life. What a world we live in.” He sighed. “So what happened to them, those heroes?”
“They, ah, I don’t quite know. It all happened so suddenly.”
“Is that right?” inquired Gustford as he stared at her with a cocked brow. Rarity suddenly found interest elsewhere and looked away. The griffon shrugged. “Ah well, at least they got you out of there. Certainly got further than I could’ve.” He raised his old tankard and poured what was left inside onto the floor, a gesture which got him some dirty looks from the other patrons. “To them.”
“They’re not, I mean, I’m sure they—“ Rarity cut herself off with a shake of her head. “Well what about you? What happened that led you to spend your days drinking away in the company of mercenaries and thugs?” She waved at their surroundings. “How did you end up here?”
“Oh. Well, to put it simply, it’s like I said earlier. We lost.” Gustford shifted in his seat and leaned a cheek against his closed fist. “It was some time ago, after the Squid Wizard had gotten his fortress set up on what was left of the capital.” His face broke into a scowl. “If we had organized quicker and hadn’t wasted so much time arguing over logistics and who got to lead what, maybe we could’ve attacked when their defenses were still down. Then, maybe.”
He smiled sadly. “We tried retaking the capital twice, us knights and what was left of the guard and the royal army. First time was your typical siege, second was a sort of diversion to keep the enemy’s attention off our infiltration team. Both ended in complete and utter failure, and after the second retreat, we kind of just, fell apart. Scattered. Every creature for themselves. The survivors anyways,” Gustford added, his gaze turning distant as it looked to past Rarity and all the others in the room. “You might be looking at the last living member of the Stormslayers, though I don’t think I can really hold that title anymore.”
At this assertion, he shivered and pulled up his tunic. Turning, he exposed to Rarity his back and the multitude of white scars and naked sections of blistering flesh beneath fur that had yet to grow back on it. In the center there were a pair of bandages nubs that stood where his wings should have been. Rarity raised a hoof over her mouth, covering it, but her gasp managed to escape through.
“Haven’t been able to fly since,” the griffon said as he rolled his shirt back down. “But I guess I was one of the luckier ones. So.” He crossed his forelegs over his front. “You said you needed my help. Well, I don’t know how much help I’ll be, but the least I can do is hear what you have in mind. Just, ah.” He raised a claw, stopping Rarity from starting her request. “No promises.” The claw retreated and tightened into a fist as he stared down at the table’s surface. “I owe your father, His Majesty, everything, but I’m sorry. There’s a lot, I just can’t.”
“I understand,” Rarity said with a solemn nod. “And all I need is passage to the southern lands. Is that something you can do?”
“The southern lands?” The griffon looked at her and frowned. “Why there? I mean, don’t get me wrong, I understanding wanting to get as far away from here as possible. Spiketopia’s a dangerous place now, especially for you, but if you’re looking for sanctuary, I wouldn’t recommend there. The deserts aren’t the most hospitable of lands, and from what I hear you’re not going to find much sympathy among the locals. The magi there tend to keep to themselves.”
“I’m not looking for somewhere to run to and hide away,” Rarity said briskly. “I have reason to believe that in the south there is—“ How had the Queen of Fey put it? “—information. Information that can be used to save those heroes and all of Spiketopia.”
“Really?” Gustford said, his head tilted to one side. He quickly straightened his posture. “My apologies, I didn’t mean to presume or suggest anything. Please, continue.”
“Well, have you heard of the term necromancy?” asked Rarity. She hoped he did because beyond that vague direction, she had little idea of what she was supposed to be doing and how any of it was going to help her save Spike and Discord.
“Necromancy, necromancy.” The griffon rubbed the top of his beak thoughtfully before shrugging. “I feel like I’ve heard that word somewhere, but for the life of me I couldn’t explain it. No, wait.” His talons flicked against each other, making a snapping sound, much like Discord would before opening the skies with chocolate or some other chaotic effect. “I’m thinking of pyromancy.”
“Pyromancy?” Rarity repeated.
“That’s right. A couple of jobs back, there was this adventurer I had the pleasure of working with. A mare, pegasus. She was a little, eh.” Gustford made a circular motion with his claw as he pointed it at his head “Though in my experience, most magic users are a little eccentric in one way or another.” He chuckled softly. “This one though, she had an obsession for setting things on fire and had a real gift at it. Called herself a pyromancer and her magic pyromancy. I’m guessing necromancy is something similar, a specific kind of magic or something like that.”
Rarity took a sip of water as she mulled over Gustford’s observation and proposal. “You mentioned something about the south, something about magi?”
“Yeah. They run a whole bunch of prestigious magic schools down there where they’re all isolated from the rest of the world. If I’m remembering correctly, Garbunkle is or was a student from one of them.”
“Hm. I’d imagine a school of magic would have more information on this necromancy subject then.”
“If it’s magical, then yeah, probably. But, uh.” Gustford frowned. “You really think getting that information will make that much of a difference? Enough to push the Squid Wizard back? Do you truly believe that?”
“I—“ The look Gustford was giving her kept Rarity from finishing her answer. It was just one word, just one short syllable, and yet Rarity could not force it out of her throat, not while under the gaze of such desperate eyes. She had to look away. “I don’t know,” she said. “I honestly cannot say that I do. I’d love to have something more concrete, but this is the only lead I have to saving my friends, and I can’t just sit around and do nothing.”
Rarity took in a deep breath and turned back to face Gustford. “Sir Gustford. I can’t tell you that I know for certain that this information will be the solution to all our problems, but I know that I have to at least try to find out.”
Gustford breathed out heavily. “You should know, the southern lands, it won’t be an easy trip. There’ll be plenty of danger along the way, and then there’s deserts themselves. I mean, you’d be putting yourself in a lot of risk over what sounds like just a hunch.”
“Yes, well. As they say, nothing ventured, nothing gained,” Rarity said. She tried to sound nonchalant but had to admit, silently and to herself, that the proposed task before her was significantly more daunting than attempting new and untested dress styles or opening new store locations in heavily competitive areas.
“Are you sure about going through with this? I really don’t think—“
“I am sure.” There was no hesitation this time when Rarity spoke, no shakiness in her voice as she looked the former knight directly in the eyes. ”So I ask you again, can you get me to the south or not?”
Gustford leaned back and let out a long and loud breath as he drummed his claws against the wood of the table. “Alright,” he finally said. He gestured to Rarity’s untouched plate. “Eat up, then we’ll see what I can do.”
Rarity released her own breath that she had been holding. “Then, you can help?”
“I can try.” He cracked a small smile. “It’s definitely leagues more doable than, say, gathering you an army for a third go at it. Finishing eating first, and we’ll head to the docks afterwards. I might know a guy.”
Rarity started to relax, and in her unguarded state, her earlier hunger hit with the force of a steam locomotive that nearly knocked her out of her seat. Her stomach grumbled and quaked, making sure that Rarity, without an iota of doubt, knew of its frustration over her having ignored it and its needs for so long. At Gustford’s prompting, she got started on the meal before her. She soon found the bread stale and the cheese hard, with neither having much taste to write about and only seasoned by her own hunger. Each unladylike bite she had to take in order to get through the thick crust was noisy and with an audible crunch, and crumbs spread all over the table no matter how much care she took. When Rarity at last cleared her plate and had washed everything down with lukewarm water, it was to the satisfaction of her belly and to her own relief that that dreadful display of table manners was finally over.
She forced back the rumblings of a belch and disguised what did escape as a cough. “Shall we?”
Gustford nodded and stood up. He strapped his sword across the length of his back while Rarity returned the used plate, cups, and the emptied jug to the counter they came from. Once they were ready, the two set off, leaving the hall filled with adventurers.