Chapter 26
Hoof-painted sign posted outside Needle Point Textiles, Merchant’s Walk, New Canterlot City
PRAY FOR OUR DAUGHTER LADY EMBERGLOW
MISSING IN ACTION
1112 AF, Camp Borealis, Griffon War Front
Emberglow was absolutely questioning her own sanity. She had been for several weeks now.
Maybe it was the nightmares. The ones that began and ended with the face of the stallion she’d killed. Maybe it was the lack of sleep, or the exhaustion. Maybe it was the crushing guilt, the loneliness, the terror. She wasn’t sure.
Flying over the northern part of the Diarchy brought Emberglow views and perspectives she’d never seen before. There were miles and miles of farmland, tended by drab, hopeless-looking ponies. She never descended far enough to speak with any of them, but the empty looks they shot up at her as she flew past spoke volumes. She knew from her education that the areas between New Canterlot City and the griffon frontier were where most of the city’s food came from, but while flying overhead, she realized she knew nearly nothing about the ponies that grew it. She would have stopped to meet them if she had had time. She was sure that her knowledge of life outside of the City was woefully incomplete.
As Emberglow neared her destination, the open plains of crops slowly dissolved into miles and miles of unclaimed land and sparse forests, and she felt herself becoming increasingly fearful of what was to come. This whole trip had been a terrible idea. She should have stayed with Heartwing and Rarity.
Rarity. Not Saint Rarity, not Lady Rarity. Just Rarity. Thinking of the mare that way still sent a sinful thrill down her spine, even though she’d thought about Rarity quite a bit the last few weeks. She’d had little else to do but think while she had been trying to avoid Righteous Tale.
Honestly, she didn’t know what to think about Rarity. For years she’d studied the stories of a legend, a myth. The tales of Saint Rarity had been her favorite, obviously. Even as a foal, Emberglow had loved reading about Saint Rarity’s single combat against the canine monsters, her struggle against the wicked Suri Polomare, or even the less martial stories such as when Saint Rarity and Saint Applejack had rebuilt an abandoned cathedral in Manehattan. Learning all those things had been myths had been jarring, yes. And yet…
And yet Emberglow would remember forever the way Rarity had held her while she’d cried her eyes out when she had learned the truth about her brother. Rarity wasn’t some myth, she was a real, flesh and fur pony. And the reality had been warm and kind, comforting and… real. More real than anything in a book.
She shook her head, clearing it. Those sorts of thoughts were distracting from her task at hoof, and she didn’t have time to think about Rarity. However ill advised it might be, she still had a mission. Sir Steadfast had been her mentor, and her friend, since she had been an older foal. Steadfast had been there for her brother. She had to speak with him. She had to know the truth about unicorns, about the Mystics, about the Diarchy itself. She couldn’t decide how to proceed with her own life until she was sure.
Of course, she wasn’t so foolish as to not see the danger. Sir Steadfast was a Knight Mystic. It was practically his job to seek out ponies who had fallen from the faith, ponies like Emberglow now, and bring them back.
Emberglow knew that if she told him everything, Steadfast would try to arrest her. Hopefully she wouldn’t have to; hopefully she’d be able to speak with him, to learn what she needed, and then escape. Recent history, however, had revealed just how naive she was. She knew better than to hope that this would go well, but she was prepared to fly away when it didn’t.
Her first problem, though, would be getting inside the camp itself. Emberglow knew she was woefully bad at deception; telling falsehoods was something she’d never had much success with. She couldn’t really sneak in either; while Camp Borealis wasn’t a forward military camp, it would still have sentries and security patrols. She certainly couldn’t fight her way in.
Right now, Emberglow’s plan involved simply flying into camp and asking for Steadfast by name. It would be a shock to see her, as she had probably been declared missing in action, but she hoped their friendship was enough that he would at least speak with her. It was dangerous, but probably the best option she had. She only hoped that she could get in to see him without too many other ponies getting involved; the fewer ponies who knew she was there, the more likely she was going to be able to escape if things went poorly.
Emberglow spotted the camp from a distance as she was still mulling over her plans in her head. It was small, about the same size as her camp back in Manehattan had been, with enough tents for only about twenty or so ponies. There was a large command tent in the center of the camp, with a purple canvas tent next to it that bore the painted symbol of Saint Twilight. Emberglow landed on a low cloud and furled her wings, looking down at the camp. She was close enough now that any pegasus sentries would be by very soon to challenge the strange pegasus looking down on their camp, so she waited quietly, trying to rein in her shaking and her pounding heart.
It only took a minute before a pair of pegasus guards, wearing army uniforms, flew up to challenge her. She tried to make herself look as unthreatening as possible.
“You there! State your name and your reasons for being here!” one of them shouted, leveling a rifle in Emberglow’s direction. She looked at the weapon with not a small amount of fear; she was wearing civilian clothing now, not the enchanted heavy armor that would protect her from the hot lead the weapon could spit out. It was odd that something so inconsequential to her before could suddenly inspire such apprehension.
“I need to speak with Sir Steadfast,” she said. They would probably ask fewer questions if she respectfully used his title like that, even though she was technically still a Knight herself.
“Regarding what?” the guard said menacingly. “Who are you?”
“My name is Emberglow,” she admitted, inwardly flinching. She hadn’t wanted to use her name. “And it is a personal matter. Please, take me to him so we may speak.” The two guards looked at each other, then back at her. It took all the self-control she had not to shake in front of them. She was nervous about the weapons, partly, but mostly it was the sense of impending disaster she felt. Her fur stood up along her neck, and her ears were twitching. She had to consciously keep her tail from lashing back and forth with agitation. She knew the guards might pick up on her nervous signals, and it would color their reactions to her, so she tried to remain as calm as possible.
“Come with us,” one of the guards said finally, as the other swooped around behind her with his weapon trained on her. Emberglow tried not to glance behind at the barrel of the lethal weapon pointed her way. “Fly straight, no deviation or sudden movement, or we will fire on you.”
“Yes, sir,” she said automatically, years of Knight training and time spent around military ponies making the response nearly second nature. She spread her wings and glided down into the camp, surrounded front and back by the two armed soldiers. They made straight for the purple canvas tent, landing just outside the door flap.
In the camp, army ponies milled about, drilling, sparring, and going about their chores. A few glanced her way but said nothing. Emberglow caught sight of a single Knight, a blue-armored Knight Adamant pegasus stallion. Her breath caught in her throat; a pegasus Knight meant flying away would be a much less valid option if things went poorly.
“Sir Steadfast?” The lead soldier poked his head into the tent, announcing himself in a soft voice. Emberglow didn’t hear the response. “There’s a pony here who wants to see you, sir. She says her name is Emberglow.” There was another pause, and Emberglow thought she heard a startled exclamation, before the soldier spoke one more time. “Yes sir. Pegasus mare, red mane, light pink fur. No armor.”
The soldier pulled his head out of the tent, looking Emberglow up and down skeptically. “He says go on in, Lady Emberglow,” the soldier said, his voice hesitating briefly on the title. Apparently Steadfast had said something about her Knighthood. She nodded and took a deep breath before slipping past the soldier and into the tent.
Just like his office back in the city, Steadfast’s tent was an exercise in barely controlled chaos. There was a portable writing desk strewn with papers, as well as a small pile of crates in one corner, stacked haphazardly. The smell of the tent, that of military ponies who had sporadic access to indoor showering facilities, was familiar to Emberglow, bringing back memories of her time in Manehattan. A brown, dusty area rug covered the ground under her hooves. The tent had one occupant; Sir Steadfast, dressed in the purple armor of his Order.
“You are the absolute last pony I expected to walk into my tent, young lady,” Steadfast said. His voice was soft and low, with a hint of suspicion that Emberglow had never heard him use before. It made her shrink a bit.
“Yes, sir. I…” she began.
“Stop. I need to be sure. Emberglow, the second time we ever met, what artifact did I show you?”
The question threw her for a loop. The second time they’d met? That would have been her interview, back when she had been twelve. He hadn’t shown her an artifact then. He had shown her…
“…a photograph?” Emberglow said, confused. “It was of Lady Rainbow, injured, and the nurse who treated her. Redheart, I think you said her name was. The one with the cutie mark just like mine.”
Steadfast’s face visibly relaxed, and the tension slipped out of his body. Quickly he trotted over and wrapped his hooves around Emberglow in a tight embrace.
“Oh, Emberglow, I’m so sorry. I had to be sure it was you,” he said softly. She found herself returning the embrace, to her own surprise.
“Sure, sir? But there’s no illusion magic strong enough to disguise a pony that completely.”
“Don’t be so certain.” Steadfast smiled mysteriously as he stepped back from the embrace. He motioned to a pillow next to his desk. “You look exhausted. Come, have a seat.”
She sat down, her mind racing with incoherent thoughts and conflicting emotions. Where did she begin?
Mercifully, Steadfast spoke first. “Emberglow, I…” he hesitated, then continued. “What are you doing here? My last report said you were missing in action. Brightblade is convinced you died after saving his life. And you’re not in robes or armor. What’s going on? What happened?”
“Where do you want me to start?” Emberglow asked. She wanted to get her questions out of the way as quickly as possible, but she was having a hard time thinking of how to broach the subject with her mentor. It was probably best to answer a few of his questions, first, anyway — to immediately start flinging dangerous questions at him would definitely seem suspicious.
“Brightblade’s report covered just up to where you were distracting the Discordant so that the rest of the ponies could retreat. Then there was an explosion. Brightblade said it was a misfired unicorn spell? After that, he said he lost track of the both of you.”
“It was a teleportation spell, I think. When it misfired, it exploded and I woke up in the Manehattan caves, deep underground.”
“By yourself?” Steadfast asked.
There it was. Emberglow could try to lie, but she was sure that would end in even more questions.
“N-no,” she stammered. She hoped that he wouldn’t read too much into her nervous fear. She knew better, but she hoped anyway. “The heretic was there—”
“You encountered the heretic?” Steadfast leaned forward. His face was neutral, but there was something just slightly off in the calm, casual tone he used, a small strain in his voice that she only noticed from having known him for so many years. It made her fur stand on end.
“…yes. We spoke, briefly,” Emberglow admitted reluctantly. “It was a dire situation. We agreed to not fight until we found a way out of the caves. Once we got out, I flew away as fast as I could.”
Steadfast was silent, but as the seconds ticked on, Emberglow could feel the tension behind Steadfast’s calm expression. She had always thought him to be different from the common stereotype of Mystics, but now she could see the danger in his calculating eyes. They seemed to peer straight through her, exposing her deepest secrets. She shivered slightly.
It was a while before he spoke again. “And what about the readings you were sent to investigate?”
The change in subject caught her slightly off guard. “I—I found nothing,” she answered. The lie burned in her throat, and she hated herself a little for saying it, even given the circumstances.
“I see,” Steadfast said, disappointed. “Well, tell me about the heretic, then.”
“I spoke to him as little as possible,” Emberglow lied again. “The caves were deadly. There were creatures down there, horrible mutated monsters, and a maze of tunnels. Honestly, if not for our truce, I never would have gotten out alive.”
“You’re saying that you know nothing about the heretic?” Steadfast asked, squinting at her.
She answered quickly, flustered. “Well, we didn’t really talk that much—”
“But you really didn’t pick up anything?” Steadfast interrupted reproachfully. “I know you’re a much smarter pony than that, Emberglow.”
Emberglow cringed internally. “No, of course I did, sir.” Of course Steadfast would see through her feeble attempts at deception.
Steadfast placed a hoof on hers, and she tensed, almost flinching back instinctively. “Emberglow, I can tell you’re uneasy discussing this. Believe me, I understand better than anyone the reputation of the Knights Mystic. But you should know, this could be important information for our war effort.” He smiled a small smile, and she found herself wanting to trust him, despite the circumstances. “Tell me honestly, Emberglow. Did you find out anything about that heretic?”
Emberglow took a breath before she spoke. “He said his name was Heartwing,” she began. “He had oddly colored eyes, and he was weirdly cheerful a lot of the time. Like, he liked to joke, and he took very little seriously.”
She felt like she was rambling from point to point, trying to spout off enough safe information to satisfy her mentor. Steadfast didn’t visibly react, his eyes steady on hers the entire time. “Um, he was a very skilled fighter. We were attacked by a monster, a two headed dog, and he was quite adept at keeping the creature at bay.”
“That must have been interesting to see,” Steadfast mused softly. “So then, what happened after you got out? I assume you got away from the heretics without too much trouble. Did you just fly all the way here?”
The question caught her off guard. She’d been expecting him to ask more about Heartwing. About the things they’d spoken about, about what they had seen and done together. It was rather unexpected, and it set her on edge.
“Without checking in with your Sisters at Diamond Home, of course. Otherwise you would no longer be listed as missing in action. But of course, that was weeks ago. You stopped over somewhere else, first. But it wasn’t your family.” With each sentence, Emberglow’s pulse quickened. “Where did you go, Emberglow?”
“I didn’t go anywhere,” Emberglow answered, another lie sticking in her throat. “I was injured in the battle. It took me longer than I’d thought to fly back.”
“That makes sense,” Steadfast mused. “Though, of course, you could simply have flown to any of your Sisters to heal you. Including those in the capital. I’m very curious to find out why not. And maybe also learn how you found where I was.” Emberglow said nothing and stood silently, her mind reeling for something to say. “But I’m sure you had your reasons, young lady. What I’m more curious about is, why did you come find me?”
“I came because you’re my friend, sir,” she pleaded. “You always have been a source of strength and inspiration for me. I had to know…” she trailed off.
“Know what, Emberglow?” Steadfast asked, his voice compassionate.
“Is my brother alive?” she whispered, unable to keep the desperation out of her voice.
“Oh, Emberglow.” A mournful look passed over Steadfast’s face, before being quickly replaced by an unreadable, neutral mask. “You know as well as I that even we Mystics have very limited contact with the de-horned colonies. I really have no way—”
“No!” Emberglow shouted, surprising both of them. “Don’t lie to me, Steadfast!”
Steadfast went silent, eyeing Emberglow appraisingly.
“You did a bit more talking with that heretic than you implied, didn’t you?” he finally sighed softly. She stared at him, and suddenly all of her feelings of hurt and betrayal drowned out her fear. “Very well, Emberglow. Ask the real questions you want to know.”
“Is my brother alive!?” she asked again, pleadingly. Steadfast closed his eyes and shook his head.
“No. I’m sorry, Emberglow,” he sighed. “Ponies require magic to survive. It is a part of us, an essential piece of our souls. If a pony loses the source of that magic, they die. For pegasi, that’s your wings. For unicorns…” he trailed off sadly. “An adult pony can keep going, sometimes for months, on strength of will alone. Foals pass even quicker.”
“How long?” Emberglow rasped hoarsely.
“Two days. Maybe three,” he replied. Emberglow shuddered, slumping down onto her rump on the rug. She still remembered her brother’s face; maybe a new vision would be added to her nightmares tonight. “I’m sorry you had to find out this way.”
“Why would you lie?” Emberglow demanded. “You lied to me. You lied to everypony!”
“I had to.” Steadfast’s voice was infuriatingly calm. “We have to.”
“That doesn’t make any sense! You have to lie about killing unicorns?” She stood from the rug, pacing around the tent. “That’s ridiculous!”
“It might sound ridiculous, but did you ever stop to consider why, Emberglow? Why we need to keep that secret?” Steadfast asked, and Emberglow’s jaw snapped shut. “What does it change, if unicorns die once their horns are removed? Does it change the truth? That unicorns are dangerous, a blight on society, the source of suffering and misery?”
“But is that a lie too?” Emberglow shot back. “If unicorns are dangerous, why were there unicorns among the Saints?”
Steadfast looked at her with a faint air of surprise, pausing only a second before speaking. “They were Saints in spite of their unicorn nature. Nothing changes the fact that it was the unicorns who destroyed their society.” He didn’t seem shocked at all.
“You knew!” she accused, feeling her heart sink. “You already knew!”
“Of course we did, Emberglow,” Steadfast said. “The Knights Mystic have known from the beginning that Rarity was a unicorn, and Twilight Sparkle started out as one.”
“How can you say that so calmly?!” Emberglow nearly shrieked.
“Does it really change anything?”
“Of course it does! Everything—” she choked up, swallowing a lump in her throat, before continuing hoarsely. “Everything I was taught, everything I believe, is based on a lie!”
“Oh, Emberglow.” Steadfast gazed sympathetically at her for a moment, before rising to his hooves to stand beside her. He laid a hoof over her withers, and she found herself instinctively leaning into it, the gesture a comforting one from her long-time friend. There was a short pause of silence as he guided her back to sit down, her nervous fear and sudden shock melding together in her stomach and making her hooves shake.
“The Book of the Saints, indeed, even our whole faith, isn’t based on whether or not the real Rarity and Twilight Sparkle were unicorns.” Steadfast’s voice took on a familiar lecturing tone. “It’s based on the betterment of all pony kind. Those other things are secondary to the real core of our faith; the five exalted tenets. The Tenets are the core of what we believe. Everything else is just details.”
He pointed a hoof at a book on his desk; a worn copy of the Book of the Saints. “We were created by the Diarchs, to learn, grow, and be reborn anew. Unicorns seek to subvert the true order to all of our peril. Only by living the will of the Saints can we hope for a better rebirth.” His voice was thick with emotion. “Emberglow, nothing changes those truths. Not Twilight Sparkle’s horn, not changes that had to be made to the Saint’s stories; changes that were made for ponies’ own good!”
“But it’s not true, is it?” Emberglow mumbled. “The stories… the Book…”
“We can’t know for sure, of course. But probably not,” Steadfast admitted, “not fully, at least.”
“I can’t believe it,” she whispered, shivering. “Our whole society, everything that I’ve done — that we’ve done — what is it all worth, if it’s based on something that’s not true?”
“Not everything that is true is useful, Emberglow. Sometimes,” Steadfast murmured sadly, a faraway look in his eyes, “we must lie in order to spread the truth. If the Tenets are true, then what does it matter if the stories that teach them aren’t? Like I said, it’s just… details. Little convenient omissions that make the truth easier to swallow — much like it is common knowledge that the events in the Book are not literal fact.”
“But this is different!” Emberglow protested, though she couldn’t quite vocalize why. It was just so big.
“Is it? To me, it’s the same thing, albeit on a larger scale. This is what I meant, years ago, when I told you that Knights are weighed down by hard burdens. The Mystics most of all, because we have to know the deception, and understand why it is necessary.
“This is why!” he called fervently, when Emberglow tried to speak again. “This is why I thought you would be a good fit for the Mystics, Emberglow. You have a sharp mind, and an inquisitive nature. You should have been exposed to these truths in the right way, gradually, over time. I would have guided you into it rather than the abrupt, uncontrolled introduction this heretic gave you.”
“Y-you thought… I’d be okay with this?” Emberglow gaped.
“If you were prepared for it properly, yes,” Steadfast said. “But there’s no point speaking in hypotheticals, I suppose. What’s done is done — the only question is, what will you do now? You are at an important crossroads — one is the path to greatness, to living the true ideals of the Saints. And the other,” he said solemnly, looking at her through eyes of genuine worry, “is heresy.””
“I’m not too sure, sir,” she said cautiously, drawing back from him a little.
“Well, young lady, I am sure,” he said, and she jerked her head up to look at him, terrified for a moment that he was about to arrest her. His face held no anger, though — instead, strangely, he looked… hopeful? “You could help me. We can fix this together.”
“Fix this?” Emberglow asked confusedly. “What can you possibly mean by that?”
“I need you, Emberglow,” Steadfast pleaded. “I need ponies I can trust. I’m sure you’ve seen what I’ve seen. The Knighthood is not what it should be. We are stagnant, failing, and we’re just treading water. We make no progress in endless border wars, and the heretics are gaining in numbers. The Zebrican battles are a waste of time, money, and pony lives.
“All the while, we struggle to maintain our own morality. Perhaps you do not realise the full extent of this, Emberglow — few city ponies do, I think — but the ideals of the Book are not universally enforced, even among the Knights.” Steadfast’s voice had a touch of fire in it as he spoke. “Hypocrites rule the Knight Orders, and allow corruption and laziness into their ranks. It is the common ponies who suffer, ponies in our hinterlands outside the capital who waste away from disease and crime and starvation — all while supposedly just leaders play at petty politics and throw resources into hopeless wars.”
Emberglow blinked.
Everything he was saying was true, she realized, even if she hadn’t consciously acknowledged it before. In Port Luminescence, the Knights had been forced to look the other way at the corrupt and illegal behavior of an out-of-control governor. Even within the capital itself, Lofty Tale had been cast out of his order, not for violating their oath of celibacy, but for wishing to raise his son. Even before that, he’d suggested that many Vigilants didn’t take that oath very seriously anyways.
All around her were Knights more interested in themselves, or their political games, than in their oaths and pledges to help others. Over time, she’d dismissed this as just a few ponies being flawed or imperfect. But from what Steadfast was suggesting, it sounded like the problem was systemic.
“I can see it in your eyes,” Steadfast continued. “You’ve seen it too. But I have a plan, Emberglow. I’m going to fix it all. I just need ponies like you. Ponies I can trust.”
“What…”
“Why did you come to me, Emberglow?” Steadfast interrupted again. Emberglow blinked. The subject change was rather abrupt. “When a heretic fed you a bunch of information you were not prepared for, why did you seek me out specifically?”
“I… you’ve always been my friend, sir. I thought…”
“You thought that maybe I’d believe you if you said you’d found out something disturbing,” Steadfast reasoned. “I do, Emberglow. I trust you, more than I trust most ponies even within the Knighthood. You have always been refreshingly honest. A surprisingly rare quality, actually.” He paused, as if unsure of what he was about to say.
“Sir, I… where are you going with this?” Emberglow studied her mentor carefully. He actually seemed to be slightly… nervous? His movements were slight and controlled, but she thought she could see the tiny twitches of his hooves as he spoke. It was an odd sight, for one who had always felt so strong and, well, steadfast.
“I need to know, Emberglow,” he said, finally. “Are you on my side?”
“Your… side?”
“You might not realize this, Emberglow, but the Diarchy pontiff is a figurehead. She has little real power without the Knights. And the first among equals within the Knights are the Mystics. The Grand Master of the Knights Mystic is the true master of the Diarchy, Emberglow. And the only way I can make sure we get back on track, the only way I can take the reins and steer the Diarchy back to the will of the Saints, is if I am Grand Master. Once I am in charge, you can help me make the Diarchy what it always should have been.”
“You’re talking treason. Betrayal,” Emberglow breathed.
“You’re going to judge me?” Steadfast asked neutrally, giving her a somewhat forced smile. “You’re AWOL and you practically admitted to heresy, Emberglow. Any one of my brothers or sisters would have you in irons, in a cell, in a heartbeat.”
“That’s why I came to you,” Emberglow admitted. “I thought you would listen.”
“I am listening, Emberglow.” He looked straight into her eyes. “I’ve heard every word you said. Have you heard mine?” She stared at him, silenced by the intensity of his gaze. “I need to know where you stand, Emberglow. Are you on my side?”
“I — I don’t know,” she said, shaking her head and looking away. “How can I fight for a lie?”
“Because it’s what’s best for the Diarchy, and the ponies who belong to it. Because somepony needs to take charge of the Knighthood and bring it back to what the Saints intended. Because even if some of the details don’t match up, the core is intact.”
“I… I can’t,” Emberglow stammered.
“You can, Emberglow. You can come back from this. Just cast aside the extraneous details and focus on what really matters, as I did when I first encountered the ‘truths’ you find so concerning.” He took a deep breath, and Emberglow could see the passion and desperation burning in his eyes. “Please consider it, Emberglow. A strong Diarchy, with me at the reins, will be a peaceful Diarchy. Once the Knights are back on track, we can finally effectively cleanse this land of heretics and beast races. We can end the threats of the dragons and griffons. We can bring peace.”
“You sound mad,” Emberglow said.
“Would you join the heretics, instead?” he challenged, with more desperation in his voice than she thought she had ever heard. “Please, Emberglow. Don’t lose yourself. Heresy has claimed more than enough good ponies already.” There was an odd note of grief in his voice.
Emberglow stared into space, lost in thought. It would be the height of foolishness to tell Steadfast she was a heretic, of course — he was still a Mystic, no matter how friendly he might seem. His words, though, resonated with the worries that had been running through her mind the past few weeks.
Sure, she had already admitted to being a heretic to Lofty Tale, but there was a difference between saying that to her close friend, and hearing it being said by Steadfast. Was she really, truly, going to commit herself to heresy? The thought seemed preposterous, now that she was confronting it in front of her mentor.
Don’t lose yourself, he had said. Wouldn’t it be equally bad, though, to go against everything she had learned, to serve a cause she felt was unjust?
But there was a certain appeal, a sickening, twisted sort of logic to it all. What would the Diarchy look like at peace? It was an intoxicating idea.
“What have you always wanted, Emberglow? I can make sure it happens, if you help me accomplish my vision. A Diarchy at my command could mean big things for a pony like you.”
“What do you mean?” Emberglow felt a sort of building pressure in her mind, like something big was coming. Something inexplicably important.
“As my ally and agent, there would be nopony who could judge you. Nopony to tell you who to love. Emberglow, you could be with anypony you wished.” Steadfast’s voice dripped with distaste, and his eyes looked desperate. “Your romantic impulses, your sexual… preferences, could be… satisfied.”
The pressure in her mind, the building sensation, suddenly roared to life. She could choose this. She could have what she’d always denied herself. Connection. Romance. Her heart pounded in her head, the dull thumps drowning out all other sounds for a moment. There was a very real ache in her chest, a longing that marched to the beating of her heart.
It wasn’t the only part of his offer that drew her, even. Emberglow had seen what he was talking about. The corruption. The dysfunction. It was hard to doubt Steadfast’s earnestness; she could read his conviction in his eyes. If she said yes, she could help bring peace to the Diarchy. Real change.
It would only cost her whole soul. What was one mare’s integrity worth, anyways?
“No,” she whispered, her heart wrenching at the word.
For a brief moment, one of the small crates in the corner of the tent rattled, a bit of orange light flashing between the slats of wood. Steadfast looked at it, then back at Emberglow, his eyes piercing and intent.
“What was—”
“You did find something in Manehattan,” Steadfast said sharply, rounding on her as he got in her face. His gaze jerked back to the small wooden crate, now still, before training squarely on Emberglow’s face. “You found an Element, didn't you? Tell me!”
“E-element? I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Emberglow tried to back away, but Steadfast seized her shoulder with one hoof, holding her in place. There was an almost manic sort of hunger in his eyes.
“I know you’re lying, Emberglow. You found an Element of Harmony in Manehattan!” Steadfast shouted harshly. “And this one here,” he pointed at the crate, “just reacted. Tell me! Which one?”
“You have an…”
“Don’t change the subject! Where is it now?” Steadfast hissed. Emberglow blinked at him. He wasn’t making any sense. “Did you give it to Heartwing?”
“I didn’t find any Element,” Emberglow protested. Steadfast shook his head violently.
“So be it. You’ve made your choice, then,” Steadfast muttered angrily. She didn’t know what came next, but it was past time to escape. She began to back away slowly, towards the tent flap. “No, Emberglow. You don’t get to leave.” Steadfast’s voice was low. “Not until you tell me everything about the Element you found.”
Emberglow couldn’t hesitate any longer. She coiled her legs and lunged backwards, spinning towards the tent flap as her wings flared out. Steadfast began shouting just as she cleared the canvas and was about to leap into the air.
“To arms, to arms! Heretic in the camp!” he cried out. “Arrest the pegasus heretic! Take her alive!” Emberglow spread her wings and tried to leap, but a dark form slammed into her from the side, tumbling her sideways. She sprawled out on the ground of the camp, and ponies rushed in around her. One soldier tackled her hindquarters, trying to pin her down while she struggled to spread her wings and take to the air.
Something dropped over her, something thick and heavy and knotted. It was a net, and the strands tangled in her wings as she tried to struggle free. More ponies piled on, seizing limbs or just smothering her with their weight.
“Hold, heretic,” a voice she didn’t recognize said. She glanced through the net’s holes and saw the Adamant pegasus she’d spotted earlier, hovering in the air above her. His spear was at the ready, pointed threateningly towards her eyes. “Don’t make me hurt you.”
Emberglow paused for a single heartbeat, and it was too much. More nets dropped into place, tangling her limbs hopelessly. She struggled weakly, barely able to wiggle as the ponies on top of her forced manacles onto her flailing hooves.
“Do not harm her any more than necessary,” she heard Steadfast say behind her. She struggled to turn, to face him, to open her mouth, to say… something.
She took a breath to speak, and the black bag slipped over her head, blacking out her vision. The blow to the back of her head came a second later.
* * * * *
The first sensation was pain. Emberglow’s head hurt most of all. Next came her hooves; something was wrapped tight around all four hooves. Her wings were sore, too; something was keeping them pinned tight to her barrel. She tried to open her eyes, but they were bound shut by a blindfold. She tried to call out, but her muzzle was similarly bound. All she could make was a series of muffled grunts. A cold breeze of air on her fur told her she had been stripped of her clothing.
She wanted to weep. She could feel the tears staining the dark cloth wrapped around her eyes. Emberglow had known better. She’d known what was going to happen. But she’d had to try. And now…
Now she got to pay for it.
She tried not to think about her failure. Of Steadfast’s betrayal, and the aching pit in her chest. But alone, behind the blindfold, shivering at the cold and aching all over, she couldn’t think of anything else.
“You’re awake. Good. We can get started,” somepony said. Emberglow froze. The voice was certainly familiar, and it carried a tone of zealous glee. “I was right. I was right the whole time.” The satisfied, sadistic joy in Brightblade’s voice was terrifying. Emberglow tried to shake her head, and was rewarded with the pounding pain of a headache. Her trained medical mind provided the possible diagnosis of head injury combined with a possible minor concussion.
“I was right,” Brightblade repeated. “And now you will be scourged for your sins, heretic. I will enjoy this.”
Something hard struck her against her back, right between her wings. Emberglow let out a hiss of pain, grunting in protest.
“When we train as fresh Mystics,” Brightblade said conversationally, “we are taught that there are all sorts of ways to prime a suspect, prepare her for questioning.” There was a yank at her head, and suddenly the blindfold came off. Emberglow winced at the sudden light, which sent stabbing pain into her already injured head. When she was able to see, she saw Brightblade’s eager eyes in front of her. There was a hunger there, a sick sort of sadistic joy. In one hoof he held a long wooden rod.
The two of them were in a tent, lit only by a single lantern hanging from the central tent pole that held up the canvas walls. A chained collar was locked around her neck and attached to a stake, driven deep into the ground. Four more stakes were attached to chains on her hooves.
“Steadfast prefers blinding the subjects of his interrogations. I feel differently. I think it makes more of an impact when the pony can see the pain coming.” He dragged the tip of his weapon down her cheek in a caress, before winding back and striking her hard against her left shoulder. Emberglow tried not to react this time.
“Good, hold it in. Pretend to be strong,” Brightblade encouraged. “It makes it more satisfying when the prisoner breaks. The satisfaction of a job well done is a blessing of the Saints.” Emberglow tried to say something, to protest, but the bindings wrapped around her muzzle prevented speech.
“Maybe you’re wondering why I’m not bothering to interrogate you. It’s simple; my job is really just to excoriate you. You should thank me; this is the first step towards your repentance, and your reconciliation with the Saints.” As he spoke, he moved behind her. Emberglow tried to track him with her eyes, but the collar prevented the movement. She tried to stand, and received a vicious strike on her right flank. The surprise of it caused her to jump in pain and surprise, and another quick strike slapped against her left. “Pain is cleansing, heretic Emberglow. It purges our guilt and pays for our crimes against the Saints. Accept your guilt, accept your pain.”
Guilt? Emberglow could accept that, even if it wasn’t exactly what Brightblade had in mind. The pleading cries of ‘Mother?’ echoed in her dreams every night. And pain? Steadfast had always been a rock. And having that foundation torn out from under her hurt worse than the club.
He struck hard against her barrel, just behind her wings. His next strikes struck the base of her wings themselves, and agony like she had never felt shot through her torso. She couldn’t help herself; she shook and whimpered in pain.
“That got your attention,” Brightblade said casually, and a second strike landed in the same spot, then a third. Tears leaked down her cheeks. “You know, you’re not the first pegasus I’ve scourged, but you are the first Knight. The last pegasus heretic I beat passed out at a single strike to his wings. The pain was just too much for him, I suppose. It’s quite interesting to see the difference in pain tolerance. On your hooves.”
Emberglow almost didn’t recognize the command he gave through her pain. He jabbed the weapon against the aching spot at the base of her wings and repeated the command.
“On your hooves, heretic!” He prodded harder, sending another jolt of pain down her spine. Shakily, Emberglow tried to stand on shaky hooves, if only to stop Brightblade from hitting her at the base of her wings again. It was a struggle, especially with the collar around her neck. Brightblade’s impatient tapping against her back and wings with his tool didn’t help, either. Quivering and grunting with effort, Emberglow made it into a standing crouch, only for Brightblade to swing the rod in a wide circle, slamming hard into her underbelly. Emberglow slumped back onto the floor of the tent, coughing blood. The taste of iron filled her mouth, and she choked, unable to fully open her mouth to spit out the blood.
“I’m going to take you apart, Emberglow. I’m going to repay you for every single death in Manehattan. And when you’re begging for death, I’m going to heal you so I can do it all over again.” He lifted her chin with his weapon, and she sputtered for breath while blood ran down her throat. “And every time I do, you’ll remember that you deserve this. From the depth of your soul, you earned every—“ he slapped her with one hoof, spinning her head to the side, “—last—“ he slapped her again, the other way. “—blow.” He shoved her head into the dirt, grinding it down with his hoof until Emberglow was whimpering and gasping with pain. Brightblade leaned down, until his mouth was right next to her ear.
“And when I wrap the noose around your neck, you’ll thank me.”