//------------------------------//
// Chapter 7 - The Night of a Thousand Stone Knives 
// Story: Second Sunrise 
// by MagnetBolt 
//------------------------------//

“Alright you blinkin’ wing wankers, I can see yer both alike in a shockin’ total lack of dignity so it’s up t’ me to settle this afore one of you dregs decides to go all vampony diaries on the other an’ then I have to explain t’ the uplanders that yer not jes sun-drunk an’ addle-brained but a bunch of idiots who’re fightin’ over shockin’ nothin!”
Arteria put her hooves on her hips and flapped her wings slowly to stay balanced on her hind legs, glaring at the ponies in front of her. It wasn’t exactly a throne room, and it wasn’t exactly a courtroom, and it was a lot more like a few card tables, a half-dozen benches, and a high-backed dining room chair with a fancy blanket thrown over it, but it was where Arteria was holding her audiences.
“It ain’t nothin!” the first pony said. “This scavvo went and sold me burlap and tried to tell me to me face that it was the fine Saddle Arabian cotton that I asked for!”
“Oy, I told you a thousand times if I told you once, I gave you what me supplier sold me!”
“Hey! Both of you louts quiet down! I can’t hear meself think!” Arteria snapped. “You came t’ me because I’m the biggest baddest bat in town an’ that means yer gonna listen to what I have to say!”
The two stallions arguing quieted down immediately and looked at her. Arteria adjusted her glasses and sat back on her throne, such as it was.
“Now, you blokes need to recall that we’re guests here in town. I had t’ ask nice-like just to use this basement an’ I’m the bleedin’ nobility! So we’re gonna act prim and proper an’ not like thugs from out whoop whoop, you get me?”
They nodded, and Arteria pursed her lips seriously, nodding back.
“So here’s what we’re gonna do,” Arteria said. “First, you’re gonna give him back his burlap or whatever it is the bogan actually sold you.”
“Shockin’ right,” the first stallion grumbled.
“And you, you’re gonna find a way to get him what he actually wanted,” Arteria said. “And don’t go howlin’ about not knowin’ where t’ buy cotton, it’s th’ blinkin’ easiest fabric t’ get, and you can always go down t’ the Carousel Boutique and beg the nice mare there fer a bolt and an introduction to the Bruce she does her buyin’ from. Buy a hat while you’re there t’ be polite, they’re good fer keepin yer eyes off the sky.”
The second stallion looked shocked. “But Duchess--”
“Oy, I know, alright? It’s out in th’ open an only has th’ doors unlocked during th’ day,” Arteria said. “But that’s good practice. Let th’ ponies get a glance at you a bit, and make yerself a friend or two. I go out all th’ blinkin’ time while sun’s up an’ I ain’t ever fallen up too far to find my way back down, you grab me?”
The stallion nodded glumly.
“Now, let’s shake hooves and be friend-o again, eh?” Arteria said. “And we need to remember what’s really important. We’re four families but we’re all in this together, and this whole mess is really the fault of the Saddle Arabians since they sold you bunk goods.”
“Blinkin’ oath,” the second stallion agreed.
“Shockin’ foreigners, right?” the first one added, shaking his hoof.
“Glad that’s done,” Arteria sighed. “Any other business before I can actually go off an’ do somethin’ more important like shockin’ any other blinkin’ thing aside from makin’ you act your ages?”
“One thing, Ma’am,” a pony said, stepping out of the shadows, wearing a slim outfit of fungus leather dyed black with the venom of star spiders, so dark that the inky blackness made him like a hole in space.
He approached Arteria, bowed, and knelt before her, producing a scroll and holding it out to her.
“By the order of the four ruling families of Thestralia, I present this missive to you by hoof, knowing that I have personally given it to its intended recipient.”
Arteria looked at the blood-red wax seal.
“Bollocks,” she swore.





“Well you’re asking at the right time!” Starlight admitted. “Luster Dawn also asked for a few days off for a trip to Canterlot to deal with the whole…” she drew a circle in the air with her hoof. “You know. Having two miniature clones of Twilight. But they’re actually taller than me, so are they really miniature? It makes you think.”
“It’s sort of a family emergency sort of thing, kind of,” Arteria said.
Starlight’s expression fell. She leaned forward. “Is everything okay? I didn’t get a chance to meet your mom, but--”
“Nah, ain’t got nothin’ to do with me mam,” Arteria said. “That’s why it’s a sort of, kind of situation instead of a deffo situation. I got some dead-on devo news while adjucatin’ some things in an official way fer some of the new bats in town. Couldn’t refuse the delivery even if I wanted since I was there all Duchess-mode.”
She pulled out the sealed scroll she’d been given and gave it to Starlight.
“Let’s see…” Starlight unrolled it. She blinked a few times as she read over the extremely ornate letter, which was written in text that had serifs on its serifs just to look more official and baroque. The kind of thing that a bunch of criminals might come up with to make themselves look more respectable, as a random kind of thing to say.
“I’ve been declared Excommunicado Reggiano by the Quattro Formaggio,” Arteria said, as if the words were an explanation.
“And that means?” Starlight asked, putting the scroll down.
“The Quattro Formaggio, the Big Cheeses, the Four Founding Families, are th’ old nobility of Thestralia, and somepony don’t think I’m fit to rule,” Arteria explained. “Declaring me Excommunicado Reggiano means they’re kickin’ me out of bein’ next in line to the throne.”
“That doesn’t sound good,” Starlight muttered. “What can I do to help?”
“There’s a formal way to deal with this. I’ve got t’ write a letter to the sponsor of the Decliario Excommuncado an’ tell him I disagree with him,” Arteria said. “As long as it’s challenged properly it’ll get dropped faster ‘n a star spider pouncin’ on a rocksprite. Me mum will crush him in court, but I gotta respond t’ this meself to set it in motion.”
“You know, that’s a lot more sane and responsible than I was expecting,” Starlight said. “I’ve got a few hours, how about I help you write that letter? Then we can hoof-deliver it to the post office and--”
“Nah, that won’t do,” Arteria shook her head. “That’s why I need th’ time off. I gotta deliver it meself to make sure it gets into his hooves. He sent a courier what is sanctioned by the Thestralian Crown, but there ain’t no Officiatus Scribus in town and it’s all ritualized, see? Can’t send some unknown bloke or shiela to do me business. Delivering it meself shows that it’s important and means Count Xanadu is gonna have to say it to me face if he don’t back down after I say no.”
“So… you have to go back to Thestralia,” Starlight said.
“Right. As quickly as possible, what with th’ other issue.”
“And what’s the other issue?” Starlight asked.
The window shattered, and a black-shafted arrow appeared in her desk, vibrating with the kind of menace you needed to pay a premium to get.
“That kind,” Arteria sighed. “Blinkin’ guild assassins. Don’t bother lookin’ for him, that was a warnin’. He just wanted t’ let us know he was here an’ doin’ his job. Won’t try an’ kill me while I’m dealin’ with school business o’ course. That’d be shockin’ rude an’ unprofessional.”
“Of course it would be,” Starlight said, backing away from the window and lowering the shades with telekinesis. “You know what? I’ve got a really good idea. I’ll call the Royal Guard, and instead of worrying about deadly assassins apparently willing to target children, we’ll deal with it the responsible adult way.”
“By callin’ the blinkin’ coppers on ‘em?” Arteria gasped in horror. “You can’t do that! It goes against every part of th’ Thestralian Constitution!”
“And it’s definitely not against the law in Equestria to call the police on literal assassins! Guess where we are? Not Thestralia!”
“Just let me glean a chance t’ deal with this the right an’ proper way, sav?” Arteria begged. “I promise, nopony will get their knickers blasted by a shadow warrior.”





“I can’t believe you got Principal Starlight to agree to let you go,” Luster sighed.
“She deffo told me she was keen on this plan,” Arteria lied. “Prolly helps that I’m not goin’ at this alone. I got me somethin’ close t’ adult supervision.”
“Berlioz does not like having to be adult supervision,” the diamond dog said quietly.
“Don’t be such a baby pup about it!” Arteria snapped. “We’re just goin’ on a little bit of a train ride. Ibis can’t fit in th’ train car an’ everypony else is goin’ th’ other way.”
“If you just wait a little while, I can help you once I get back from Canterlot,” Luster said. “It might be a pretty short trip, and I doubt we’ll have any crazy disasters waiting for us. Things have been quiet lately.” She looked around suspiciously, then leaned in to whisper. “Too quiet, if you know what I mean.”
“Nah, my, uh…”
“Family emergency,” Berlioz supplied.
“Yeah, that. My family emergency is sort of something I need t’ take care of as quick as a hook-bird’s talon.”
“Just let me know if there’s anything I can do to help,” Luster said. “You said it was a sudden illness?”
“Yeah, a real sick pony. I’m gonna go pay my respects, in case something unfortunate happens,” Arteria said. “I’m worried it could happen at any moment, if I don’t pay proper attention.”
“That’s really rough,” Luster said, giving her a quick hug. “Anyway, looks like your train got here first! I wish we were going in the same direction.”
Arteria looked past the trains and up to where Canterlot was perched, high above everything, as far from Thestralia as anything could be while still being connected to the ground.
“We’ll meet up after and you can tell me about the wuzza time you’re havin’ knockin horns with the Princess,” Arteria promised. “You got the bag, Berlioz?”
The diamond dog nodded.
Arteria nodded and waved to the rest of her friends. She gave them the kind of brave but stony smile that came when a pony was facing a terrible fate. Theirs, or somepony else’s.
She knew which option she preferred.
Arteria stepped into the train car and gave the other passengers a long look. She wasn’t a fan of trains to begin with and this wasn’t the best of times. There were six other ponies, variously reading, napping, or trying to shove their luggage under their seats.
“What’s wrong, pony?” Berlioz asked.
“Just keep yer snout sniffin’,” Arteria muttered. She made her way to an empty seat, giving the ponies she passed suspicious glances. Some of them looked up and quickly turned away, not meeting her gaze for more than a second. None of them said a word. She sat down, and Berlioz sat opposite her in the booth.
Berlioz caught her suspicion and looked around.
“Don’t make such a production out of it,” Arteria said.
“Does pony want Berlioz to look for trouble or not?”
Arteria shook her head. “It’ll come to us.”
“Berlioz does not like that pony lied to Principal Starlight.”
“She wanted t’ call the coppers down on this mess!” Arteria huffed. “That’s like tryin’ to send a mob o’ soldiers into a hoofball game t’ make sure th’ other team don’t score.”
“Berlioz does not think it is about fair play.”
“When yer a noble, tradition is important,” Arteria said. “It ain’t about what you can do, sometimes it’s about what yer willin’ to do and what you ain’t willin’ to do. Besides, she’ll be too busy t’ care. I made her Prime Minister while I was away. It’ll only be fer a few days, but that’s pretty average.”
The train started moving after a few minutes, and the tension seemed to drop down a few notches once it was underway.
The door to the next car opened, and a pony in the train company’s uniform stepped inside. Berlioz watched him for a long moment, until the unformed pony stepped over to the first passenger in the car.
“Ticket, please,” the conductor pony said, examining the pony’s ticket and using a hoof-punch to put a hole in it before moving on.
“Can pony explain plan, at least?” Berlioz sighed, turning back to Arteria.
Arteria stared out the window, not looking at him. Berlioz rubbed his snout, trying to decide how little he was really willing to let her go on her own.
“Tickets, please,” the conductor said, as he passed by. Berlioz reached for his, but before he could produce it, Arteria grabbed the pony’s hoof and yanked him down, slamming her forhead into his chin. A hidden knife clattered to the ground, and the conductor slumped down into a heap.
“Right,” Arteria said, standing up. “Let’s get this yakka done then.”
The other ponies all stood up, drawing clubs and blades from where they’d been concealing them. The train slipped into a tunnel, the light outside cutting off in an instant.
Berlioz, to his credit, got up almost instantly. He’d been raised among a people where violence could break out at any time, and he wasn’t afraid to show his fangs. When the sunlight vanished, his darkvision kicked in, and the train car faded back into visibility in shades of grey.
Arteria let out a high-pitched squeak and moved, going high. Berlioz trusted that the other ponies, mostly earth ponies with one unicorn at the back of the pack, weren’t going to be able to see him in the blackness. He grabbed the fallen conductor and threw him into the lead pony, the earth pony stumbling and falling, trying to get a grip on the limp form that had apparently come at him in the dark.
There was a flash of light as the unicorn in back cast a light spell, then snapped off a bolt of force. Arteria dropped down, and the attack went into the ceiling. The unicorn snapped off another without watching her angles, and hit a pony with a knife when Arteria ducked to the side to use him as cover.
Berlioz kicked the downed pony in the jaw as he ran past to tackle the earth pony who’d been concealing a nasty looking club with a rolled-up newspaper. They rolled on the floor, until Berlioz threw a knee in a sensitive spot and the stallion dropped the club. Berlioz picked it up and cracked it over the yelping pony’s head.
Arteria dashed to the other side of the car, from one shadow to the next, and the unicorn fired again. The thestral tripped up an assassin as she moved, again using him as cover. Before he’d even hit the floor, she jumped over his body and right at the unicorn. Her hoof smacked the caster’s horn just before she could cast another force bolt, and the backlash made the unicorn’s mane stand on end before she collapsed in a heap, the light cutting off.
There was a long moment of total darkness and quiet.
The train exited the tunnel, and sunlight poured in the windows. Arteria looked around at the fallen ponies.
“Oh Celestia,” whispered the one pony that hadn’t gotten out of his seat. He looked up at her with terror in his eyes. “Ma’am, I swear I’ll never do business with the Flim Flam Brothers again if you just let me go! I promise, I didn’t even know they meant they just cleaned the coal with soap when they said they had a clean coal engine!”
“You okay Berlioz?” Arteria asked.
“No, Berlioz is not okay,” the dog said. “Berlioz just had to fight off entire train car full of ponies!”
“Are you hurt, or just upset?”
Berlioz huffed. “Upset.”
“No drama, then. I know a good cure for upset.”





“Trust me, a little salt and a decent lemon to wash it down with and you’ll feel aces,” Arteria said, as they stepped off the train.
“What in tarnation is going on here?” a pony in uniform demanded. Arteria looked at the star on his chest and tensed up. She hated dealing with ponies that could arrest her. The assassins were easier. “Why are there a half-dozen unconscious ponies beaten half to pulp in a train comin’ into my town?”
“Sorry about the mess,” Arteria said. She reached into the bag she’d packed and took out six coins, tossing the silver disks through the air to the sheriff. He caught them on reflex and stared at them.
“What are these?” he asked, confused. “An’ why do they got little skulls on them?”
“Don’t worry sheriff, I know what’s going on,” the deputy said, coming up alongside him and taking the coins out of his hooves. “You have a nice day in Dodge Junction, Duchess. Let me know if you need anything special.”
Arteria nodded to him and walked past them, hearing a confused argument start in their wake.
“What just happened?” Berlioz rumbled.
“I paid for the trouble,” Arteria said. “Anyway, we’ll get somethin’ decent for tucker on afore we go downways. It’s a long trip and we’re on a time limit else I’d say we should shack up for the day and go when it ain’t so bright an’ unpleasant out.”
She adjusted her sunglasses and tried her best not to be aware of the yawning abyss hanging over them as they trotted down main street. A few ponies nodded to her as she passed.
Arteria pointed. “There’s a salt bar over on the corner.”
“Seems like nice town,” Berlioz said.
“It is, that’s why we’re not gonna cause ‘em more worries than we’re already bringin’ in on the wind with us,” Arteria said. They walked up to the front door, and a pony opened it just before she arrived, letting them walk in without even breaking stride.
An open table was waiting for them. Arteria sat down, and Berlioz followed her lead after a few moments of confusion.
“Why is it everypony seems to know about pony and her plans except me?” Berlioz asked.
“It’s a nobility thing,” Arteria said. “Reporters watchin’ you all th’ time and tellin’ tall tales about who’s snoggin’ who and which pony is secretly on a goon and cave lager diet.”
Glasses were put down in front of them, the rims lined with pink salt.
“What’s this?” Arteria asked, picking hers up to swirl the liquid inside around. “Watermelon juice and pink salt?”
“Compliments of the stallion at the bar,” the waitress said.
Arteria followed her gaze. There was a pony sitting at the bar looking back at her. He was navy blue, his short mane slicked back with some kind of pomade. The suit he was wearing was flat black, expertly tailored, and his cutie mark stood out against the darkness of his body, a heavy iron, the kind a pony would use to smooth out little wrinkles.
Then there was the contraption hanging at his belt.
“Oh,” Arteria said. “I should go have a chat.”
She stood up, and Berlioz saw at least a half-dozen ponies react to the motion, some of them obviously reaching towards weapons and trying to seem like they were just casually scratching an itch or taking a sip of their drinks.
“Hey there,” Arteria said, walking up with the drink in her hoof. “You’ve got decent taste.”
He nodded and smiled. “A pony should have something pleasant in their final hours.”
“I meant that,” she said, nodding towards his waist.
He glanced down.
“That’s a flying guillotine, isn’t it?” she asked. “I ain’t seen one in real life. Guessin’ since you’re carryin’ it around they actually work?”
“I’ll be happy to show you,” he said. “Once.”
“Most ponies only get a chance to see it that one time. Mind if we hold off on business so I can get a proper gander?”
“Please,” he said, with the enthusiasm of a hobbyist about to show off their expertise to someone who wouldn’t run away. moving his drink to make room and hefting the weapon onto the bartop. “Want me to walk you through it? Seeing as you’re so polite, I wouldn’t want to give you any awful surprises before we start.”
The flying guillotine looked like a combination of wide-brimmed hat and steel shield. Brass buttons and hidden slits promised that it was more than it seemed, and the long chain hanging from the peak of the weapon’s hatlike crown had wires running alongside it.
“That’d be aces,” Arteria said. “So the basics are that it kinda gets thrown on top of a pony’s head, yeah?”
“Just so,” the assassin said. He lifted it, pulling the chain a certain way, and a veil dropped down from inside the steel helm. The lower edge of it was a thick steel brim. “It goes on the pony’s head like a hat, then this veil drops down over them, disorienting them. See that steel along the bottom?”
Arteria nodded.
“Now you gotta be careful with that, because that’s where the magic happens. I pull this chain the other way, and this happens--”
He tugged, and thin blades irised out, snapping shut like a maw around what would be the hypothetical victim’s neck.
“Nasty,” Arteria said.
“It’s a quick death, pretty painless for everypony involved,” the assassin said. “Merciful, really.”
“Ain’t much use in a fight, though, unless you got the drop on the other pony,” Arteria said. “May I?” she reached for it, and the assassin nodded. “Oh, I see. There’s more blades around the edge that snap out, huh?”
“And the steel is tough enough to block attacks without damaging the mechanism,” the assassin said.
“Still seems tough to use. Gotta get it right over the pony’s head, and even usin’ it as a blade is awkward on account of not havin’ a grip unlike a proper knife. Bet you needed a mess of trainin’ to get it done at all the intended way. What I’d do is grab it and smack them as hard as I could over the head like this--”
There was a dull thud as she swung it into the stallion’s face as hard as she could. He fell to the ground, and Arteria dropped the flying guillotine. She looked at him, nudged him with her hoof, then got up and cracked a barstool over his prone form just to be sure.
“Sorry ‘bout that,” she said, flipping two silver coins to the bartender. “For the noise and the cleanup.”
“Of course, Duchess,” the bartender said. “Would you like something to eat?”
“That’d be lovely. Bagged lunches, though. Looks like I’ve got places to be and I’m not terrible popular in town at the moment.”





“Can’t this thing go any faster?” Arteria sighed, munching on an apple and staring at the train tracks slowly disappearing under the squeaking hoof-cranked (or, in this case, paw-cranked) cart she was riding on.
“Would go faster if pony would help,” Berlioz said.
“Okay, we’ve been over this,” Arteria said. “Yer about ten times stronger’n me and when I tried to help - because I did blinkin try - all I did was throw off yer rhythm an’ you told me t’ stop. It ain’t cause I’m a lazy big-bottomed bat sittin’ on her flank all day.”
Berlioz grunted. It was true.
“Now you wanted t’ be keen on m’ plan, yeah?” Arteria asked. “So the basics of the basics is this - we need t’ get to Cranberry Canyon. That’s a shockin’ long trip on hoof the way I did it the first time, but Mum has been makin’ it a little easier fer expatriates who want t’ go t’ Equestria for a while. If we’re lucky bongos we’ll be there in no time flat. If not…”
“Longer trip?”
“If not, we’ll have t’ find a way to cheat. Time limits is time limits, you grok? Gotta get there before midday on the Night of a Thousand Stone Knives.”
“...which is…?”
“Two days from now,” Arteria said. “Blinkin’ Baron Xanadu only gave the minimum buckin’ notice fer me t’ respond. Bet he’s countin’ on me not makin’ it at all.”
“Ponies ahead,” Berlioz said.
Arteria looked up, shielding her eyes against the glare of the sun. “Yep. Slow down a bit until we get to them, but don’t stop yet. Might be trouble, might not be.”
Berlioz nodded, not touching the brake but slowing his pace with the cart.
“Duchess!” The lead pony waved, taking off his hat to press it to his chest in salute. “The mine is just up ahead.”
“Mine?” Berlioz asked.
“Gotta go down t’ get t’ the land down under,” Arteria explained. “Mum bought an old mine and she’s been turnin’ it into the topside hub of a road to Cranberry Canyon.”
“The Daikon family is well-respected here,” the lead pony said. “That’s why we know the young Duchess, and why Thestralian bits are good here. I’m the mine manager.”
“Think I can hire on a few of yer best t’ help get us to the mine?” Arteria asked. “My pup here’s startin’ t’ get tired with this pushcart.” She held up a few silver bits.
“Course, Ma’am. It’d be our pleasure.”





Berlioz folded his arms as they walked into the mine. “So pony owns this mine?”
“Me mum owns the mine,” Arteria corrected. “Which ain’t the same thing. Specially not with th’ writ of Excommunicado still bein’ unchallenged until I deliver my reply. My bits are as good as anypony’s and they don’t want me mum upset, but I can’t really pull rank around here.”
The mine manager led them through the entrance, which was still under construction but was already looking more like a Manehattan subway station than a place to pull ore out of the earth.
“Nothing is up and running yet, but it’s comin’ along nicely,” the manager said. “We’re planning on a narrow gauge light rail type of thing, still gettin th’ details done on that. Somethin’ that can run on the existing minecart rails is what we’re hopin’ for, even if we do have to expand the tunnel to fit.”
“So there ain’t a train yet?” Arteria asked.
“Not for another year, at least.”
“There goes th’ easy way.”
The path slowly eased down as they trotted, the old minecart rails sitting at odd angles and misaligned this far down in the depths. They finally ended, extra rails sitting on the side and unused, at a steel gate, bars driven into the stone like the wall of a prison cell.
“This is as far as development has gotten. From here, it’s all wild Underdark,” the mine manager said.
“And it’s dangerous to go unarmed,” said a voice from above. Two batponies in dark purple armor dropped down in front of them. Berlioz instinctively started to move, but Arteria held up a wing and shook her head.
“They’re coppers. So I won’t say it’s entirely okay, but I don’t think they’re here t’ drag us back to Ponyville by our ears.”
“Duchess, it’s good to see you,” the Lunar Guard said, both of them saluting. “Don’t worry, my first oaths are to Thestralia, and as far as I know, no orders have actually come down from the top about you yet.”
“Guess we’re movin’ faster’n the rumors,” Arteria said, smiling. She nodded and they returned to being at ease.
“The mine manager is correct, though,” the second guard said. He pointed to the steel gate. “It’s wild Underdark out there. I’m not sure I’m comfortable letting you go like this.”
“Thought about bringin’ along the flyin’ guillotine th’ assassin in th’ bar had, but figured I was more likely to hurt myself than anypony else.”
“A flying guillotine?” the guard asked, ears perking up. “I haven’t seen one of those in years! Was it the kind with a backup loop in case the first breaks?”
The first guard sighed and held up a hoof. “We’ll go find out ourselves. That kind of weapon is illegal in Equestria and we’ll need to confiscate it. Is there anything else we can help you with, Duchess?”
“Just makin’ a social visit,” Arteria said. “Don’t suppose you know the fastest route down to the Canyon?”
“If you want to get there by the Night of a Thousand Stone Knives, the regular route won’t work,” the guard said. “The only bats who can travel that fast are the Viatorem Vespertilio.”
“The gypsies,” Arteria sighed.
“They don’t like being called that,” the guard cautioned. “If you’re going to ask them for a favor, it would be wise to be polite.”
“Yeah, yer right.” Arteria nodded down into the mine. “Is there an encampment nearby?”





They heard the music a mile away, echoing through the half-hewn, half-natural caverns. It almost repeated, but never quite perfectly, overlapping melodies like a music box and guitar playing very nearly the same tune. Jazz in shades of accordion and fiddle.
Berlioz was assaulted by light and sound when he moved the threadbare rug hung as a door across the cavern entrance. Inside, carts and folding furniture surrounded a glowing crystal as bright as a bonfire, and more rugs, most of them in the same ancient and worn condition as the one he’d moved, covered almost every inch of the stone floor. Thestrals of every age glanced up from their cooking, dancing, and talking to see him, then went back to what they were doing like he was expected.
Berlioz gave Arteria a questioning look, and she nodded and stepped inside.
The crowd parted as they approached, forming a living hallway that led right to a pony kneeling down and petting something that looked like a cross between a brightly-colored chicken and a dragon. He stood up to face them and smiled.
“As I live and breathe!” he said.
The thestral was old, his colors faded to that kind of grey that wasn’t deliberate like charcoal or silver but had faded over decades from something vibrant, something that could just barely be glimpsed at the edge of one’s vision but was only a shadow now, a contrast of grey against grey. He smiled, showing fangs, one of them gleaming gold.
“Look at this, everypony! The young Duchess, come to my court when I’m not yet allowed in hers,” the old bat said. “You’re not as tall as I expected for somepony with so many expectations and responsibilities heaped on their shoulders. You’ll notice we rolled out the red carpet for you. And a few blue ones to fill in the gaps, but I’m sure you’ll forgive us.”
Arteria bristled a little, but kept her reaction in check.
“I do like the sunglasses,” the old bat said, motioning to them. “They look good on you. That’s some style, wearing them underground at night! You must have inherited that from your mother, but she’d have gone with more steel and sharper edges.”
“I need your help,” Arteria said, trying to stay polite.
“Well of course, Duchess Daikon. Whatever you want, Duchess Daikon. Do you want me to get you a wing massage and a cup of toadstool tea too?” the thestral laughed. “Do you even know who I am?”
“Pretty sure yer the King of No Kingdom, the Lord of Empty Spaces, the Tamer of Hook-Birds.”
“Those are all titles I possess, though I think the one I’m most fond of is grandfather -- but please don’t call me that, I don’t want to get that entangled with the Quattro Formaggio. I’d prefer to keep it purely to business. My friends call me Amigo, and since I’d like to be your friend, Duchess, I’ll let you call me that too.”
“Fine… Amigo,” Arteria said, stumbling over the word.
“Perfect! Now, I already know what favor you want, because there aren’t many things I can grant that would send a pony of your social stature kneeling before me and begging for a favor.” He paused. “Actually, you’re not kneeling. Change that and do a little begging and I might just be able to help out.”
Arteria took a deep, annoyed breath and knelt down. “Please. I need your help. I need to get to Cranberry Canyon.”
“And you need to get there on a strict time limit. Midday on the Night of a Thousand Stone Knives and unless I’m mistaken we’re already on the eve! That’s going to take some doing to get you there on time. So much doing that even though I’d normally go and help you out of the goodness of my heart, I’ll have to refuse.”
Arteria shot to her hooves. “What?! But--”
“Unless,” the King interrupted. He waited for her to quiet before continuing. “Unless you do a little favor for me. Nothing dangerous, nothing difficult, just the kind of thing you happen to be in a position to help with.”
“What’s that?”
“I want you, on your authority as Duchess, to open up Ponyville to settling by the Viatorem Vespertilio. We might wander around, but there are always a few of us that want to put down roots, and that seems like a fine town, especially if the leadership owes us a few favors.”
“Ain’t gonna be me in charge of squat unless I get to the Canyon in time,” Arteria pointed out.
“Consider it an additional incentive for me to get you there,” Amigo said, with a wide grin, showing even more gold fangs. “Come on. Let’s pick you out a ride. We’ll need a big one for your friend.”
“A big what?” Berlioz asked.





“These are blinkin’ hook-birds!” Arteria said with growing horror. “I ain’t ridin’ on no shockin hook-bird! We fought a war against these things!”
“Don’t worry, they don’t hold grudges,” Amigo said, patting one of the herd on the side. The hook-birds were huge creatures, much larger than the pet-sized one he’d been lavishing with attention before. Each of them looked like they could kill a pony, and would relish tearing them open with the scimitar-like blades on their talons.
“That ain’t what I meant and you know it!” Arteria said. She watched with growing horror as some of the King’s relatives or servants - she wasn’t sure which they were or if there was a distinction - started belting saddles and blankets to three of the monsters.
“The hook-birds can phase through stone,” Amigo noted. “It’s one reason fighting them was so difficult. It’s also the reason we need to ride them if we’re going to get where you want to go in time for what you want to do.”
“Phase through stone?” Berlioz asked.
“That’s right,” Amigo said. “It makes building a pen for them an interesting challenge! However, it also makes them incredibly useful, because if we’re riding them we get to come along. As long as they’re not annoyed with you, so you should try and make friends.”
Arteria huffed. “I ain’t makin’ friends with no monsters.”
“We can go another way, but following the normal road to Cranberry Canyon might take a week with the winding trail we’d need to use. But as the hook-birds fly, we’ll be there with hours to spare.”
“Hours?” Berlioz asked. It was cutting it close.
“Unless you can change the flow of time, teleport, or change the rules of the Quattro Formaggio, a few hours to spare is the best anypony can do.” Amigo shrugged. “I’m happy to entertain other options should you think of any. The wisdom of the Diamond Dogs is greatly respected among my people.”
“Don’t let him butter ya up like a mushroom steak,” Arteria warned, struggling her way into the saddle on the hook-bird’s back and trying to get her back hooves into the recessed stirrups.
“I apologize,” Amigo said. “I didn’t mean to sound like I was flirting with your beau.”
“W-what?! How dare you--”
“Careful, you don’t want to be that tense while you’re riding her,” Amigo said. “Hook-birds are sensitive creatures, beautiful really. And we did lose a war to them, so we should be polite.”
“It was a tie!” Arteria snapped. “We didn’t lose!”
“Mm,” Amigo tilted his head before climbing on his own mount, an albino hook-bird with a saddle blanket showing every color of the rainbow. “They’re not so sure about that, and since I have to ask them for favors I’m willing to eat my slice of humble pie.”
“Just tell me what we have to do t’ get where we’re going.”
“We’ll have to walk one of the dark paths,” Amigo said. “A way where one step in the wrong direction will mean you’re lost forever. A way that can’t be found on any map.”
“What does that mean?” Berlioz asked, as he tried to saddle himself up on the improvised harness the thestrals had made for him. The King’s helpers, well, helped, soothing the animal while he found his balance and adjusting straps to even out his weight.
“It means you have to trust your steed as much as you trust me.”
Arteria snorted. “Not far then.”
Amigo looked at Arteria and Berlioz, then tugged on his reins.
“Unfortunately we don’t really have time to get you riding lessons. I’ll be leading the way on my cute little girl, and your birds will follow her. She’s their big momma hen, after all.” He patted her neck and made a soft cooing noise. The hook-bird trilled, obviously pleased. “Let’s ride!”
“I’m not--” Arteria started, still trying to get one back hoof in place. The King obviously knew it and ignored her, the birds bolting. The white hen keeping her head low like a racing pegasus fighting against the wind. The two others followed in her wake, instinctively moving in single file and stepping where she stepped, claws tapping and scraping against the rock.
The hook-birds ran at full speed, right towards the granite wall. Any other animal would have slowed, hesitated as they sprinted full-tilt at the stone, but they didn’t even seem to notice it was there. Berlioz’s instincts screamed at him like he was on the back of a runaway wagon with no brakes and he held a paw in front of his face in anticipation of the crash and--
He was plunged into airless darkness, suddenly blind, darkvision simply gone along with his ability to breathe. Berlioz could hear, but the sound was strange and distorted and only half-there like he’d been swimming and hadn’t gotten the water out of his ears. His heart thudded in his chest, lungs burning without air. There was no end to it, no reprieve.
And then it was over, and he burst back into the open. Berlioz gasped for breath, and saw Arteria doing the same.
“What the shocking shock was that shocking thing?!” Arteria demanded.
“Language, Duchess, please,” Amigo said, obviously amused. “The first time is always a surprise. Did I forget to mention you can’t breathe while you’re in the stone? That’s one reason only we walk these paths -- if you don’t know exactly where you’re going, you might end up drowning in rock, lost forever.”
“You should have warned us!” Arteria spat.
“And miss your wonderful reaction?” Amigo laughed. “It was only a short hop, there was no real danger. Besides, we’re well on our way. Welcome, lady and gentledog, to the Dark Path of the Dragon’s Tail. How does it feel to tickle the dragon’s tail?”
“Feels like pony enjoys taunting us,” Berlioz grunted.
“We all have our flaws,” Amigo said.





They traveled for a while, and while Arteria would have preferred it to be in uncomfortable silence, instead the King seemed to have an endless supply of stories and words of wisdom.
“...of course there are endless theories about how Thestralia actually came to be,” the King said. “There were stories for longer than there have been ponies living here, but it’s only in the last few centuries that we really started to understand how unusual it all is. Interconnected caves going down miles, under almost this whole continent, reaching out even under the sea?”
“Mm. Caves are made by flowing water,” Berlioz offered. “Water flowed, then drained away.”
“Wise words, my friend, but where did the water all go? There are seas in the depths, to be sure, but they’re still and dark and foul. One story I heard is that the whole world is built on the foundations of another. According to some old traditions, the world has ended several times before. Each one faded into the dreams of the next, like an echo of notes in a song. Our world will someday end the same way, simply fading away and giving birth to the next.”
“I ain’t keen on that,” Arteria said. “If the world was gonna end, it should go out fightin’, not just fadin’ away. Even if there ain’t nopony left to remember you, if you don’t put up a fight then it means you weren’t tryin’. You gotta do it fer yourself even when nopony else can hear. That’s what it means t’ live.”
“Well that’s an unexpected bit of philosophy from our Duchess,” Amigo said. “Of course you aren’t the type to take things lying down, or else you’d have tried to challenge the Declario Excommunicado some other way than facing it head on.”
“There ain’t no other way.”
“I admit as an outsider I am not versed in the customs of the court except in the most general terms, but you could have simply had a notary seal and sign the date and time of your reply, could you not?”
“Sure, an’ then have t’ deal with assassins anyway,” Arteria said. “Th’ laws were written when the furthest you’d have t’ go is from one end of Cranberry Canyon t’ th’ other. A few minutes walkin’ down th’ street t’ punch some bloke in the snout fer tryin’ t’ kick you out of th’ club.”
“Speaking of those esteemed hired killers, I believe we have company,” Amigo said. He motioned ahead of us. A narrow bridge of rock formed from a broken stalagmite crossed over a crack in the stone that echoed like it reached all the way to the black heart of the world. A batpony sat on it, drinking and obviously waiting for something. There weren’t a lot of somethings that he could be waiting for, of course. “Unfortunately dealing with assassins wasn’t part of our deal, so if you’d go have a chat with him?”
“If I knew I’d have to shockin’ do everything myself…” Arteria groaned, getting off the hook-bird and stretching before trotting over to the other thestral.
The thestral had a wild shock of blue for her mane. She glanced at Arteria as she approached but didn’t make an effort to get up until she got closer, standing up and picking up a burlap bag, slinging it over her shoulder as she stelled over to greet Arteria.
“Guess you’re out here to be a sleeping royal guard to bump our hooves?” Arteria asked.
“I mean I could be here just cause it’s a quiet place to drink,” the other thestral countered. “But yeah, nah. I’m here on business.” She held up the bottle she’d been swigging from. “You want a drink?”
“Pretty sure it’s a bad idea to take a drink from an assassin about their business,” Arteria said. She took it from the other pony anyway, sniffing at it and recoiling in disgust. “How much poison is in this bottle?”
“You know I’m not entirely sure,” the other thestral said, grinning. “Probably a lot. It was worth a try, I figure. If you’re dumb enough t’ take the drink, you deserve it.”
Arteria nodded. “Fair dinkum. If you really want to buy me a drink do it after the contract is closed.” She put the bottle down to the side.
“Ah well that could be a problem given what it takes to close the contract,” the assassin said. She held out her hoof. “I’m Mad Dame Mortem. Pleasure. On my honor as a low-life killer, the hoofshake isn’t a trick.”
“You know I think I’ve heard that name before,” Arteria said. She shook the mare’s hoof carefully. “You wouldn’t happen to be a knight errant, would you?”
“Oho, even the Duchess has heard of me!” Mortem’s grin grew even wider. “Then you know I have the right to challenge you to single combat. One nob to another.”
Arteria nodded. “You can.”
“Now I reckon you’re on a tight time limit, and I just want this to be a fair shot instead of being the kind of cold bitch that’d just waste your time so you arrive late, yeah? So let’s skip the formalities and get right down to things.”
Mortem nodded and opened the burlap bag she’d been carrying, spilling the contents out. There were two vests and two long items that could, broadly speaking, be called weapons if one was being generous.
“Gladio Thestralia, huh?” Arteria asked.
“Yep, wing binders an’ pugil sticks,” Mortem smiled. “No head protection, seeing how we’re fighting to the death and all.”
Arteria looked over the side. It was a long way down.
“You want red or blue?” she asked.
“Ah, well, that’s on you, love,” Mortem said. “If I picked first somepony could claim the gear was rigged from the start. It’s your choice first.”
“I’ll take red, then,” Arteria said, grabbing the bright vest and starting to slip it on. “Gotta warn you, I ain’t done this in a stalag’s age. I’m more rust than steel at this point.”
“Are you trying to get me to take it easy on you?”
“It’d be kind of you not to immediately toss me off the side, is all I’m sayin’,” Arteria shrugged. “Let me get a good show in at least.”
“Don’t wanna look bad in front of your pup, huh?” the assassin smiled. “I can respect that. I’m not gonna go easy on you, but I can respect it.”
“What are ponies doing?” Berlioz rumbled, as the two squared off.
“Gladio Thestralia is an ancient dueling code,” Amigo explained. “The combatants face each other in a convenient and precarious place, the more dangerous the better. They must face each other in front of witnesses, as you and I are providing, and with wing binders on and pugil sticks in hoof they attempt to knock each other to an uncertain death.”
“Uncertain?”
“It’s the only thing worse than knowing for sure,” Amigo said.
Arteria raised her stick. Mortem nodded to her, raising hers in salute. They crossed staves, tapping each other in a ritual hoofshake. It could almost have been a ritual dance as they slowly worked up to speed, batting at each other with cautious, leading strikes, feeling each other out.
Then Arteria ducked down, grabbed the forgotten bottle of probably-poisoned grog Mortem had offered her, and threw it right at the surprised assassin. The bottle cracked open, splashing her. Arteria used the confusion to just rush her and shove Mortem off the edge.
“Cheating is also traditional,” Amigo said happily. “On both sides, this time.”
Mortem’s wing binders fell away from some hidden release, and she took wing, flapping hard and making a rude gesture at Arteria as she flew out of sight.
“She’ll have t’ go take care of that toxic skunk before she can even think of coming back,” Arteria said, tossing her borrowed equipment down into the pit. “Should be too much time fer her to try anything else.”
“Shall we move on?” Amigo asked. “It’s not much further.”
“Good,” Arteria said. “An’ take us a way that don’t have any assassins. I ain’t stupid enough t’ think she just happened to be here.”
Amigo just laughed and led the hook-birds on.





“Behold!” the King said, grandly gesturing. “Cranberry Canyon!”
It was exactly as Arteria had left it, a grandly lit rift in the rock, the biggest open space in Thestralia, going all the way down to the Deep Under and nearly to the surface. It had been carved open millions of years ago by rivers and geology and now it was the peak of civilization.
“Is that a Hayburger Princess?” Berlioz asked, confused, as he slipped off the hook-bird’s back. The city hung along the two walls, bridges crossing between the two sides at dozens of levels, like taking Manehattan and tilting it until it was vertical, then turning the cross-streets into delicate bridges the glittered in the neon lights and darkness.
“Nah, mate. It’s a Hungry Bat’s. Completely the same but totally different.” Arteria patted him on the back. They’d stepped out of the stone in a rather inconspicuous spot, a wide alleyway between two buildings.
“I wish you luck,” Amigo said. “And remember our deal. I will.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Arteria sighed. “Just be careful y’ don’t cause a riot with those beasts on your way out. Technically an exile like you ain’t even supposed to be in the city.”
“Don’t worry,” Amigo said. “I’ve got lots of friends.”
He smiled and knocked on the door of the building next to them, and the pony inside welcomed him in out of the night. A moment later a massive cargo door opened, and two foals dressed in bright, multi-colored rags led the hook-birds inside, chittering at them happily like they were family pets.
The doors closed, and Arteria and Berlioz were left alone in the alleyway.
“Me mum would go postal if she knew about the gypsies living here - nah, worse than that, she’d go one of them private delivery places that takes yer package and loses it for a month then lets the local rugby team have a go with it as a ball for a season before delivering what’s left to the wrong house.”
“Pony’s metaphors are too extended.”
“Everyone’s a critic.”
A black crossbow bolt hit the dirt just in front of her hooves.
“Oh right,” Arteria sighed. “Assassins. Cheese it!”
She ran. Berlioz ran after her. He was starting to feel like he was there to stay firmly behind her and fill up the space where a pony with a knife could have been.
They dashed out onto the street, as busy as any road in Canterlot. Most of the thestrals there didn’t give them a second look, but a few glanced just a little too long, Berlioz caught the flash of metal here and there in the surging crowd. Arteria jumped, flying up above a passing cart full of cave cabbages, and came down on top of a pony hiding in its shadow, knocking a compact crossbow to the ground.
“We have t’ make it to the palace,” Arteria said. “It ain’t far, but-- oh, you noticed.”
Berlioz nodded, shaking the pony he was holding by the scruff of the neck. The cart driver had grabbed a club from among the pale cabbages the moment Arteria looked distracted. The other thestrals just walked around them, not even paying attention to the assault going on in front of them.
“Ponies don’t care about assassins?” Berlioz asked.
“It’s what we got instead of coppers,” Arteria said, giving the pony she’d landed on one more good kick. “Decided it works better t’ have a justice system instead of a legal system.”
Berlioz tossed the pony he was holding away. Arteria started walking again, casting a suspicious glance at ponies carving up cave fish.
“What’s the difference?”
“If things are legal and not just, somepony’s gettin’ worked over by the law, and it’s usually th’ little guy. We all come from ponies that got banished fer no good reason at all--” she ducked as a filleting knife just barely missed her ears, the sushi chefs grabbing cleavers and giving chase. “--and if somethin’s just you should change the law to match anyway! Just run fer it, we’re only a few blocks away!”
Arteria put her head down and bolted, but Berlioz noticed she didn’t try to put people between herself and the killers. No pony shields, no innocents in danger. Whoever had been sniping them from the rooftops took another shot, and this time it wasn’t a warning. Arteria dodged it at the last second, and Berlioz saw black-cloaked ponies dropping down from above.
“Over there!” Arteria shouted, pointing to the carved stone face of the palace, chiseled out of the rock and extending up and down until its extremities vanished in the dark.
Berlioz ducked under a spinning triple-pointed blade thrown by somepony behind him. Arteria skidded on her hooves, sliding on the damp rock. She threw herself to the ground, the whole city seeming to lunge at that last moment.
Arteria rolled to a stop at the base of the stairs. Berlioz landed next to her with a yelp.
A black arrow streaked through the air towards her.
And stopped, plucked from its path by a deft hoof.
“Please, Ladies, Gentlestallions, you know the rules,” said a pony in a very well-tailored black suit. “There is no business on these grounds.”
The assassins groaned and lowered their weapons, sounding like foals that had been caught by their parents playing instead of doing real work. They shuffled off back to whatever they were doing before trying to kill Arteria, some of them shooting her looks of deep annoyance.
“Let me help you up,” the stallion said. “It’s been too long, my dear.”
“Who is this?” Berlioz asked, when the stallion helped him up as well.
“Berlioz, meet the Master Officiado of the Assassins’s Guild. Blackhoof Daikon.”
“Nice to meet you,” the well-dressed thestral said, shaking Berlioz’s hoof.
“He’s me dad,” Arteria said. Berlioz flinched, just a little.
“One of them, anyway,” he specified, smiling. “I like to think I’m her favorite, though. Don’t let her know I told you this, but she used to pretend to be an assassin when she was growing up and she’d pounce on all the maids. It was good fun.”
“Stretchin’ that favorite pretty far with the whole ‘sending every assassin in the guild after me’ bit,” Arteria said grumpily.
“A legitimate contract is a legitimate contract, you know that,” Blackhoof said. “I can’t refuse as long as it’s all done properly. And I note you made it here safely. Do you know why?”
“...Because I’m shockin’ amazing?” Arteria guessed.
“Because none of the assassins with any real talent would take a contract they knew was going to upset me,” Blackhoof said. “It’s mostly kids looking to make a name for themselves or killers who’ve already gotten a written warning in their file.”
“I am shockin’ amazing though,” Arteria mumbled.
“Yes you are, my little ankle-biter,” Blackhoof said, leaning down to kiss the top of her head. “Now let’s get inside. You’ve made it with a little time to spare. I’m impressed.”
Berlioz watched them step inside the richly-appointed palace, servants holding the doors for them. He rubbed his snout, feeling his headache getting worse and worse.





“In here,” Blackhoof said, ushering them into a side room. “Close the door behind you, if you would be so kind.”
Berlioz quietly closed the doors, looking at the maids and butlers escorting well-appointed ponies somewhere, as if they might have hidden knives. This was probably a safe bet because more than one hadn’t bothered hiding the knives and were just carrying them openly in orante sheathes.
“Welcome to the Daikon family quarters,” Blackhoof said. “Everypony else is already at the ball, but you’ll be arriving exactly on time to be fashionably late.”
Berlioz looked around. It was a huge circular space, with windows and ledges going up with no obvious way to reach them without wings.
“Hey, Berl, check this out!” Arteria said, grinning. “This is Black Bread Nelly’s Armor!”
Berlioz walked over to her. She was looking up at a small set of armor made of hammered and roughly shaped plates of black metal.
“She made it outta a broken stove and some bits and bobs,” Arteria said. “Saved hundreds of ponies. Then she robbed ‘em, but she saved ‘em first.”
“I have something perhaps better fitting for the night over here,” Blackhoof said. He stepped out of the way when Arteria and Berlioz looked to reveal two maids, one holding a dress and the other a suit. “If you’ll be going to the ball, you’ll need something appropriate to wear.”
Berlioz walked over and touched the suit gingerly. It was black, naturally, with a silk lining dyed in an elaborate spiderweb pattern. It was also cut and styled for a diamond dog, not a pony.
“To soothe your paranoia, no, we weren’t entirely sure who would arrive with Arteria,” Blackhoof said. “There’s a closet down the hall with two dresses for very differently sized unicorns, something more waterproof and adjustable for a kelpie, and a chest with a few accessories for a sphinx.”
“Cute,” Arteria said. “Don’t suppose you boys’d give me a bit of a show of silence an’ privacy so I can get changed?”
Berlioz knew better than to point out that she was naked nearly all the time and he had no idea why ponies insisted on privacy for dressing. It was one of those things you just learned to stop asking questions about, for the same reason you didn’t ask why it wasn’t good to walk in on them in the shower when you’d already seen them swimming in the pool.
He took the suit into the other room, the maid following because the help didn’t count as invading privacy, especially when they might need to help explain how cufflinks worked. Blackhoof went with them.
Arteria waited for them to leave, then looked at her own dress. It was sleek, in that kind of military fashion her mother liked. With a little more starch it would be decent armor. She started to put it on, then hesitated.
“Hey, gimme a hoof with something,” she said to the maid.





It reminded Berlioz of the Grand Galloping Gala, except with considerably darker colors and cobwebs as a fashion choice instead of a terrible housecleaning error. A live band was hanging from the ceiling and playing a light sonata while inverted, which he suspected was much more difficult than if they’d taken up the floor space. He looked across the crowd through the thin curtains at the entrance. It seemed like everypony had already arrived and they were busy mingling with each other in knots and circles that moved enough he found it difficult to really search the crowd.
“How will pony find pony she’s looking for?” Berlioz whispered.
“Watch this,” Arteria said, stepping out into the open.
“Presenting Duchess Arteria Carpals Daikon,” a herald at the door shouted over the conversations and music. A few ponies turned to look, nodding greetings or looking in surprise, and from one corner of the room Arteria heard what she wanted to hear - somepony swearing softly in surprise.
“Gotcha,” she whispered. She cleared her throat to address the room, her accent changing. “I apologize for the late arrival. I wasn’t sure I would be arriving at all, but it seems I’m just in time.”
She pranced lightly down the steps to the floor, the players resuming their music and conversations carrying on. Berlioz followed her, drawing almost as many eyes as she did. Ponies greeted her here and there, and Arteria returned the greetings as she made her way towards somepony who was trying to inconspicuously escape from the room.
“Count Xanadu,” she said, when she had gotten right behind the older, overweight bat. He flinched. “Just the pony I was looking for.”
“Is that so?” he asked, gritting his fangs and turning with a false smile.
“Yes. I received your Declario Excommunicato and, despite the extremely short time I had to journey almost halfway across Equestria and Thestralia to get here, I have arrived to give you my formal reply, as is tradition.”
“As is tradition,” he growled.
Arteria pulled a sealed scroll from her dress and tossed it to him. He caught it, fumbling for a moment before opening it up.
“What is this?” he asked.
“If you’re having problems reading, I can help you,” Arteria said. “It says you can get stuffed, you bulbous idiotic mule.” She said it so pleasantly it almost didn’t sound like an insult. “And if you don’t like that, I’m telling you personally to wing off down to Tartarus and don’t let the door hit you on the way out.”
“You… you…!”
“In case it’s not clear, it’s my official writ of refusal,” Arteria clarified. “Delivered in front of witnesses, before the deadline.”
Count Xanadu threw down the scroll. “I won’t accept this! It’s an insult! It’s--”
“It’s what you get, and you get what you bucking deserve!” Arteria shouted. “If you wanna have a go we can take this outside and I’ll buck yer flank so hard your cutie mark will be on your shockin’ forehead!”
Xanadu narrowed his eyes. “I accept.”
“I-- what?”
“I’ll accept a duel,” he sald, the edges of his thin lips curling into a smile. “But not some crude trading of blows. We will duel like gentleponies.”
He produced a handkerchief, holding it out to Arteria.
“I think I know this dance,” Arteria said. She took one corner. The music changed at a gesture from her, going from light ballroom music to quick, sharper notes. It was like a tango played with a knife held to the throat of the instruments.
“What are ponies doing?” Berlioz asked, as the two, each holding one corner of the cloth, stepped into the center of the dance floor.
“It’s a traditional dueling method during a ball,” a mare whispered.
The stallion next to her nodded. “They each hold onto one corner of a cloth and try to pull it from the other pony’s grasp,” he added. “They can’t touch each other, but they can hold onto the cloth any way they want and move as much as they like.”
“Of course, to have real dignity about it, they shouldn’t hold on too tightly,” the mare said. “It’s unsightly to be seen trying too hard.”
The dance started. Arteria and Xanadu bowed to each other politely, then started circling, not quite holding hooves as they held the cloth between them. The silk square wasn’t even taut, the two just watching each other.
Xanadu made the first movement, a sudden spin, a twist of the wrist as he moved with the music. Arteria deftly matched it, twirling on one hoof like a ballerina.
The ponies around Berlioz nodded in approval.
The two moved with the beat, one sending an attack, then the other. Arteria was lighter on her hooves, several times taking to the air entirely to keep her grip at odd angles when Xanadu tried to pull it from her with his greater strength.
It was clear from the start that she had far more grace. Increasingly, Count Xanadu’s attacks were just rough tugs and pulls, once even using both hooves to try and yank it away from her iron grip.
Arteria moved like an extension of the cloth, flowing like water, a wave moving back, from her hoof to the tip of her tail and then snapping back with sudden, crashing force! Berlioz could almost her her crack like a whip, the shock of the motion hitting Xanadu and tearing the handkerchief from his hoof. He snapped at it with his teeth, grabbing it in midair.
“I’m not finished!” he growled through his gritted fangs. “Not yet!”
The ponies around Berlioz shook their heads in disapproval.
“How crass,” the mare muttered.
“He already lost, but refuses to admit it,” the stallion sighed.
Arteria leaned in, the silk going limp. “Is it just that you can’t stand losing, or you can’t stand losing to a little filly?”
Xanadu started to yell, and the handkerchief slipped from his mouth. This time, Arteria snatched it away before he could try to get another grip on it. He reached under his coat, and there was a flash of steel, the ringing sound of a blade being bared. There was no time for Arteria to react, as close as she was to him.
Xanadu stabbed, and the knife clanged against steel, the tip bending from the sheer force he’d put into the blow. The shock of the impact knocked it out of Xanadu’s hoof, and he dropped it, backing up in utter confusion.
“What? But--”
“You just tried to stab me!” Arteria gasped. “You shockin’ lout!”
Ponies in black -- black that was almost invisible in shadows, instead of the fashionable shades of black worn by the ponies attending the ball -- appeared at his sides, grabbing him by the wings before he could take flight. Blackhoof melted out of the shadows as well, stepping forward and shaking his head.
Blackhoof sighed. “Count Xanadu, please. You know the rules. No business on palace grounds.”
Xanadu looked at the ponies holding his wings in shock. “What? But this was-- I was--”
“Duchess Arteria had an open contract on her, and you made an attempt on sanctified grounds. I’m afraid that’s grounds for Excommunicado with no appeal. Unless the Duchess would like to say anything in your defense?” Blackhoof looked at his daughter.
Arteria sighed and tossed the handkerchief back at Xanadu, letting it hit him in the chest and drift to the ground. “Nah. He can speak for himself.”
“So be it,” Blackhoof said. “Take him away. I apologize, everypony, for the disruption. I hope it has only made your night more interesting.” He bowed and winked to Arteria before walking away with Xanadu and the ponies holding him.
“Pony was wearing armor?” Berlioz asked.
Arteria tugged part of the dress aside to show a black iron breastplate.
“I figured on trying on Black Nelly’s armor for a bit. You know, just as a lark.”
“Pony did not do it on a lark. Pony knew this would happen.” He paused. “Pony very nimble for wearing heavy armor.”
“Well, I had a feelin’ if I got him angry enough he’d make a mistake,” Arteria admitted. “I just didn’t want to end up regrettin’ it too. And me Dad was smart enough to have the dress tailored so as armor would fit under it, so that’s two of us thinkin’ like clever bats, eh?”
Berlioz shook his head. “What if it didn’t work? What if pony got stabbed in neck, or side?”
“Well I had you here as my good luck charm,” Arteria said. “Why else d’ you think I dragged you along?” She grinned widely and offered Berlioz a hoof. She cleared her throat and spoke in her big bat formal voice. “Would you do me the honor of a dance?”
Berlioz rolled his eyes and took her hoof.





“I’m tellin’ you, no matter what kind of spider’s nest we tangled ourselves up in, it isn’t gonna be half of what Dawn did,” Arteria promised, as the train rocked and rolled along the tracks. “I had an earful of her plans and they’re the kind that get ponies in trouble.”
“All ponies are trouble,” Berlioz countered.
“Yeah,” Arteria agreed with a snort. “Guess we are.”
“At least you are not causing trouble for Princess.”
“Not yet. I’ll work on that next week,” Arteria said, winking at him.
Berlioz smiled, then his expression fell. He looked back along the length of the train, then glanced the other direction.
“What’s wrong?” Arteria asked. “I told you, the assassination contract is canceled, so we don’t have t’ worry about that no more.”
“Smoke,” he said. “Lots of smoke.”
Arteria sat up and sniffed the air. “Hey, you’re right! Do you think the train’s knackered?”
Berlioz opened a window to look outside.
“No,” he said. “Worse.”
Arteria stood up on her hind legs to look. The air was already looking hazy, but they could see it from here. It was impossible to miss.
“What the buck did Luster Dawn do?” Arteria swore.
The Everfree Forest was on fire.