The eastern wind gusted through the streets of Damme, funneled between the orderly plots of homes into a biting chill that nipped against Pinewood Sapling’s coat. He groaned to himself and stretched his hind legs on his next steps to keep them loose. The short, blue doublet covering his upper barrel was a small comfort at least, but the breeze during morning assembly wasn’t even close to the gusts that blasted him through every gap and alley.
He looked to the mare marching ahead of him, the gray coat of her haunches and legs as bare as his, but she was wearing full metal armor against the chill. They hadn’t spoken much on their patrol, just perfunctory greetings and introductions after being assigned together with Pinewood’s regular mentor on sick leave. Her name stood out to him though: Sablelock Mane. Three families in the city every pony would recognize, and she belonged to one of them. “Aren’t you cold, my lady?”
She craned her neck to look at him, brow furrowed under the thick black hair straying from under her helm. “I’m not a Lady. I’m a member of the Dammeguard same as you.”
“Oh! I... apologies.” He coughed and looked away. “I just thought that your family—”
“Some of my cousins, yes. We started marrying into the Primfeathers when they held the Barony. But that’s history.” She jerked her head forward and turned back to look ahead. “The wind will get better when we get to the river. More steady. Just keep walking, rookie.”
Pinewood could hear the rolling waves of the sea in their new silence. The streets were near empty with most ponies staying inside or already gone to the markets in the heart of the city. Off to his side, he saw a ship on the horizon on course for the docks. A smile crossed his face, and his thoughts drifted back to his grandfather, who called ships “Naught but giant, wooden coins, the lot of them. Each one brings in countless chances to chip off money.”
A part of him regretted that their patrol had passed the docks already. Whether tourists or the crew disembarked first, he could have pointed them to a certain few merchants or taverns to welcome them to town.
The road ended at the bank of the Merrie river, and Sablelock stopped to let him catch up. “So, the Saplings? You know about my family, but what about yours?”
“We were woodworkers at first, but we’ve branched out. So to speak. My immediate family still keeps up the trade.” He tapped a hoof to his horn. “I never really had the control to do more than saw a block in half. My father is an artist though. He’s very proud of the reliefs he can engrave.”
“I see. I’ll have to look into his work. My cousins are always talking about redecorating their manors.”
He grinned. “How many of the Dammeguard talk about their families’ manors, my lady?”
She rolled her eyes in response and led him on their way past the Rosewine Bridge, which led to the fertile plains around the Rosewine Hill. The small region had another name he knew well: the Garden of Love, known for their exceptional wines as much as their embracing the Merrie way of life. Indeed, all the instructors during his training warned the recruits to regard the small village as a part of Merrie itself.
“Merrie, Rosewine, Garden of Love,” Pinewood wondered aloud. “Damn Damme’s dam. All the interesting names are on their side of the river.”
Sablelock didn’t give even a snort of laughter. Instead, she hailed the pair of guards at the foot of the bridge. “How goes it, gentlecolts? Anything we should know?”
One shook his head. “It’s been a slow day from the Garden so far. A couple couriers, nothing out of the ordinary. Good patrolling to you.”
They turned and continued upriver, the outskirts of Merrie proper passing by parallel to them. A sister city she might have been, but Merrie held little in common with her sibling across the river to Pinewood’s eye aside from the architecture. He recognized homes and shops and the differences between them but nothing else. The idea of a “street” seemed almost foreign to Merrie, as if a pony could drop a building on any spot of land and claim This is mine.
He recalled a map the instructors had shown the recruits in basic training. It had been simple, the product of surveillance flights from the pegasus corps rather than the artistic flourishes in the history books, but even so the layout of the city looked like a jumbled spiral around the Rose Palace in the heart of it all.
Merrie literature had been a prized possession among his more rebellious friends in their school days—almost as much a cask of good Dammerale—and he could guess why. If he couldn’t find his way around town he would have nothing better to do than plop his rear down and think of rhymes about the river or the stars or the forest either.
“Show me your scent mask.”
Pinewood started, blinked, and focused on Sablelock. “Pardon?”
“Your scent mask.” She looked pointedly at his horn. “You’re not carrying one, so they must have taught you the spell. If you couldn’t make it as a woodcarver, show me what you can do.”
“Um, no, they didn’t. I didn’t pick one up today.”
Her eyes flashed. “You what?”
“S-Sergeant Rivet told me not to bother. We’ve gone out in broad daylight each time, and he said no one would be stupid enough to try anything in front of witnesses.”
“Then Rivet is a damn fool! You don’t assume anything about your enemy, understood? And if you forget it when you’re with me again I’m throwing you across the river myself!”
He flinched under her barrage, giving no defense for himself. The scent mask was the most basic gear the Dammeguard gave its soldiers, meant to block the unique spells and talents of Merrier agents. Of all the points of contention between the two cities, scent magic was the one he understood the most. Outright illegal in Damme, the future Baron of the city Primline Collar himself had lectured his class about its effects. A scent mage could worm into your head, make you dance like a puppet on strings, even march blissfully unaware across the bridges to your own capture.
The masks were simple double layered cloth worn over the muzzle with an enchantment of some kind between the layers. Neutral-scented the instructors had said, but he had never liked the feel of them. They felt like they killed his nose completely, as if his lungs inflated by themselves without any scent of the air. It was a dull sensation that brought back the second half of Lord Collar’s lesson: a tour of the chambers reserved for scent victims. The sweat boxes, the recruits called them, where the poor sods inside could only sit in the unbearable heat and deadened scent trembling and muttering to themselves until they were pronounced clean of any influence or order that might have been impressed on them.
The next bridge held a steady stream of ponies crossing both sides of it. Certainly busier than the first they had passed, but not overwhelmingly so. Most of the traffic flowed towards the Damme side, marked with a pair of posts mounted aside of the bridge’s edge with a proud blue streamer billowing in the wind atop each one. A similar display on the Merrie side was crowned with the deep pink of the Rosethorn family.
Several of the Dammeguard were at work searching and questioning the crossing Merriers. Sablelock trotted over to check in all the same, leaving him to sit and ponywatch. Most of those from Merrie gave him cool looks after his fellows had cleared them, but one cocked an eyebrow at his plain shirt. Pinewood smiled back, but didn’t answer the unasked question.
The sound of wheels caught his ear, and he turned to see a young mare pulling a small cart towards the bridge. “Good morning, Miss.”
“Good morning, Sir Guard.” She glanced at his shirt and did not slow down, making her way to the proper crossing guards.
He opened his mouth for small talk, but then the smell hit him. There was nothing evil about this kind of scent magic, just the sweet smell of warm icing that wafted from her cart. He couldn’t help but smile, and after catching his eye, she smiled too. “Are you going far into Merrie?”
“Not at all, just a few blocks in. Their coins are gold after all.”
“That they are Miss, that they are.” His family had been hired a few times for remodeling, or to replace a tavern’s door, or commissioned for a carven statue, but he had never set hoof in Merrie himself.
That likely wasn’t going to change now that he was in the Dammeguard. It was rare, but whenever a dignitary would travel between the cities, their escorts were handled well above his pay grade, and it wasn’t like either side would risk open warfare by attacking a simple merchant or delivery girl.
Even if it was a pretty delivery girl, he thought as he watched her tail swish back and forth across her hips.
“Focus, rookie!”
He snapped to attention as Sablelock glared at him. “S-sorry ma’am! Won’t happen again.”
The fire in her eyes refused to diminish. “A Dammeguard thinks with his head, not his stomach. Or otherwise. Leave that for their side of the river.”
“Yes ma’am!”
Sablelock held him in her gaze another moment before tilting her head aside and leading him on their way, the sun following along its course as they marched past the echoed cries of the market square, past the public park with a small crowd of foals chasing each other across the grassy field, past each row of trees planted in even plots along each row of homes. The process repeated at each bridge they came to, each one busier than the last as they headed deeper into the city, but everypony seemed to be minding themselves nicely.
That did not surprise him. Each bridge brought them closer to the Treaty Office, the only Equestrian foothold in the city. It had been another tour site for his class, the scribes and scholars that worked inside outnumbering the few Canterlotian guards Princess Celestia kept housed in the cities to watch over the peace she had negotiated between them, both in Damme and its mirror image in Merrie.
Not for the first time, he thanked the stars that the treaty in its entirety was not part of the guards’ curriculum. The exact text spanned entire volumes that needed the ponies inside to research and interpret for any interested parties. The Dammeguard trained its recruits in low-impact fighting skills and tactics to try and stay above the labyrinthian regulations where everything from a suspect’s birth status to their family ties through marriage dictated how much force was allowed to apprehend them.
The office sat near the Primrose Bridge, the last before their patrol would circled back towards Prim Palace. A pair of guards stood outside, both with snow-white coats and bright, gleaming armor, and both standing at rigid attention to stare straight ahead. Or so he thought. One of them turned when he saw them. “Ho there, Dammeguard. You might want to pick up the pace.” He pointed towards the bridge, where their luck had run out.
A Merrier had his hoof in one of the Dammeguard’s faces, and his unintelligible shouting reached them from the distance. Sablelock broke into a gallop, PInewood following a breath later, and they heard the end of his rant: “—due in hours ago, and I’ve been delayed enough with this harassment!”
“Sir,” the mare at the end of his hood said through clenched teeth, “as I have said, you need a permit to trade directly with ships in our harbor. That includes picking up any cargo you are expecting. If you would like to hire a delivery service, the treaty allows—”
“Spit on the treaty! I know what it says! I’ve done business with you Dammers for years!”
“We need,” the mare continued. “To see. Your permit.”
“You have seen it! You’ve seen it every time my cargo comes in!”
Sablelock bumped Pinewood’s shoulder and whispered, “Merrieguard on the bridge. Get in her way.”
He looked and saw a pegasus mare in pink-tinted armor walking towards the commotion. “What? What do I do?”
“Get in her way,” she hissed. “He’s on our side of the bridge, under our jurisdiction. Don’t let her interfere.” Louder, she interjected into the argument, “Sir, what’s your name?”
“Fordwater,” he said. “As I’ve told these two before. I’m on the list! Just check the list!”
Pinewood crept around the edge of the argument, past the stallion that had been standing guard with the mare. He met Pinewood’s eyes and shook his head in disbelief. “What hellspawn of a list do you keep screaming about?”
Fordwater sighed and raked a hoof across his face. “The list of Merriers that have permits to conduct business at your docks. It can’t be that many of us.”
Sablelock stared at him. “No one has a list like that.”
“The Treaty Office does!”
Pinewood reached the bridge and took a tentative step towards the approaching Merrieguard. She watched him with a puzzled look on her face, but stopped her advance. Her wings were... ruffled, he supposed. Somewhere between half-spread and closed. He planted his hooves shoulder width apart and firm, just as instructed, and kept his horn ready but unlit, a simple grabbing spell in his mind. A charge to her countryman’s side, or a flight overhead, he would have to guess which one was coming. He didn’t like his chances against a pegasus’ speed, but the treaty demanded he wait for her to make the first aggressive move.
Her face—a dark yellow he could see now—scrunched up under a ringing shout about how unfair it was for the river to have divided the docks on the Damme side. “My word, you’ve set him off, haven’t you? What did he do?”
He tried to speak, but no words came out. He swallowed, then forced out, “No permit!” Instantly, his cheeks grew hot.
The mare blinked and rocked back. “Okay, I was just asking. Why didn’t he just go home and get it?”
“I, uh, don’t know,” he said more evenly.
Her eyes flicked to the scene behind him. “Could he still go home and get it?”
Fordwater roared, “The Treaty Office! I demand to speak with the Treaty Office!”
Pinewood grit his teeth. “I... don’t think that’s an option anymore, no.”
The mare laughed and shook her head. “I suppose not.”
Another Merrieguard approached them, this one a unicorn stallion. He was a pale, wooden brown and looked a few years older than his partner to Pinewood’s eye. “What happened?”
“He forgot his permit,” the mare answered.
The stallion raised an eyebrow and looked at Pinewood. “He still needs a permit to visit your market? I thought Baroness Lace opened them to us last year.”
Pinewood took a breath and let himself relax. There was no trick he could see. “He was going to the docks. It sounds like he had some cargo coming in.”
“The docks? He was going all the way to the docks, and he used this bridge? Why did he do that?”
Both he and the mare shrugged in unison.
Sablelock stepped next to him and let out a heavy sigh. Behind her, the two Dammeguard flanked Mr. Fordwater as they marched towards the Treaty Office, and one of the Canterlotians already had his head stuck through the door to call a warning. “Demand the office, huh? Oh, he’ll get the office. They’ll cite the rule, verify he’s telling the truth about his permit, then tell him he was wrong to forget it anyway. Then they’ll have to report this to Captain Firelight, then to Prim Palace, then to the Rose—” she tilted her head back and forth as she recited all the steps of the reporting process before shaking it with another sigh. “Damn fool just cost us all the rest of the day.”
The stallion gaped a moment, and a light went off in his eyes. “As I live and breathe! Sablelock! My dear, it’s been too long. How is your fiancé doing?”
It was Pinewood’s turn to gape, and he looked at his partner. “Your fiancé?”
She closed his mouth with an icy stare. “He’s talking about one of the Primfeather boys. He listens to the same senseless gossip you do.”
“Senseless, you say?” The stallion beamed at her. “Then I still have a chance! Could you guess, young protégé, that in all the years we have walked this river together, Sweet Sable has refused my every invitation to cross over? Either one of us or the other? Even for a single glass of wine? Why, she even refused a dance with me at the last gala! Under protection of the treaty! What does that tell you, eh?”
Pinewood froze as all three ponies looked at him—a flash of mischief in the honey-colored mare’s eyes, a genial smile from the stallion, and a weary look from Sablelock as if she had heard the same spiel a hundred times over. “I... well, I think you need to learn when to give up.” Silence lasted for a heartbeat. Then the mare burst into laughter, quickly followed by her partner.
“Oh, he does know which side his bread is buttered on, doesn’t he?” The stallion offered a short bow. “Cordial Cask at your service, and my partner in crime, Downen Starray.”
The mare controlled her giggles long enough for a brilliant smile and nod of her head. “A pleasure.”
Again, his cheeks burned, until he managed, “Likewise. Pinewood. Pinewood Sapling.”
Sablelock snorted. “Good. Great. Now that’s out of the way, get back on your side.” She stuck an accusing hoof towards Cordial. “And the next time you clear someone to cross, make sure they actually have what they say they have!”
“For you, Sweet Sable, you need only have asked.”
“Pompous ass,” she growled as they left. He was sure loud enough to hear, but the Merrieguards didn’t react. “You just saw your first Merrie disarming tactic. They know the treaty as well as we do. It’s no hair off their hide what happens on our end. Just smooth things over and pretend nothing happened.” She finished with a wordless snarl.
He didn’t know how to respond, so he did nothing. The sun had started its long descent towards dusk, but he guessed several hours remained before then. Yet, Sablelock did not move. He stood with her a few minutes more, but she seemed to have forgotten their patrol. “Ma’am? Shouldn’t we get going?”
She shook her head. “Bridges are the highest priority. We’re here until we’re relieved.”
“What? But... you said the Treaty Office would take—”
“The rest of the day? Yes I did. And it will. If we’re lucky, someone at the palace will miss us enough to send another detail.” She smiled—an unnerving sight to see at long last. “Welcome to the Dammeguard, rookie. Rule One: eat a big breakfast.”
Downen Starray sniffed at the air as she crossed back into Merrie, for a rare time disappointed in the flowery, complex scents that came to her. The city had well-earned its reputation of mastery of the olfactory over the generations. She had spent weeks at a time inspecting all of the candles, perfumes, soaps, and oils set to be shipped as far away as Saddle Arabia or as close as Equestria’s northern border, and even through the secured crates their scents had tempted her to bring a bottle of wine on duty to just sit and relax.
It wasn’t anything so fancy she was searching for this time, just a hint of leaves in the autumn breeze. Pinewood was a poor name for such a subtle sensation, even if he had been prickly as his namesake’s cones at first. She looked over her shoulder and watched him share a few words with his mentor.
A sharp, sing-song Mm-hmm snapped her attention to Cordial’s smirking face watching her wandering eyes.
She could only answer with a shrug. “Blue is a good color on him.”
“Even better off him, I expect.”
Downen winked. “Just remember that I saw this one first. We don’t want a repeat of Rosy Glass’ tavern, do we?”
“First of all, my lovely, you must remember that love is for sharing. If you had not been so literally clingy to that slender young earth mare, I would not have needed to wrestle your hooves off of her. Second, I still say you tripped me with your takedown—”
“Or maybe you shouldn’t have mixed your honey mead with Dammerale,” she said with a smile. “Though that might have helped deaden the pain from those splinters the broken chair left in your arse.”
“And thirdly,” Cordial said, trying to fight down his laughter, “I ran into Rosy yesterday, and I apologized profusely on your behalf. She’s cut our ban by a month.”
Downen gasped, her eyes wide. “That is the best news I’ve heard in a season. Thank you! Quartzy Crystal was wondering why I picked somewhere else to meet tonight, and I had to bluff through it.”
“Ah! You have plans tonight.” His smile faltered a fraction of an inch, but she knew him well enough to recognize the sign: a hope of his had been dashed to pieces. And she could guess what it was.
“Goldenrod is still in the Garden?”
“She is, yes. Her sister is recovering slowly. The foals haven’t caught the bug, thankfully, but she’ll be gone a few more days at least.” He sighed and looked towards the Garden of Love as if he could see them through the entire city of Merrie. “Crate is... taking it rough. He’s a dear, and he would never admit it to me, but I know he prefers a mare’s touch.”
Downen could believe it. She had helped Goldenrod tame her husbands several times, and for such a powerfully built stallion, Crate had loved to lean into her. She could still remember the feel of his heart racing against her back as he draped over her, even burying his muzzle in the crook between her shoulder and neck, revelling in every inch of contact he could gain.
It broke her heart to think such a passionate lover like him would feel uncared for, but she had a promise to keep. “I wish I could, Cordial, I truly do. Mint is shipping out with his father tomorrow, and they don’t know if they’ll make it back before the winter ice sets in. Quartzy organized this get-together to see him off.”
“Think nothing of it, lovely. I understand.”
It was easy for him to say, but impossible to push out of her mind. The Principes—the philosophy of Merrie that love was never diminished by sharing it with others—made the marriages in their fair city as flexible as she understood anywhere in the world to be, but she had never bonded with another like that yet. Sharing a bed was easy, but a home, an entire life... was daunting for her to consider.
The Casks did not lightly invite her to share their union for a night, and she had always found more than simple pleasure in the experience. Goldenrod would dash to the door whenever she arrived to be the first to kiss her, and that warm smile would linger even as Downen lay with one of her husbands. Downen had promised herself she would never take that feeling of welcome lightly either.
She stole a guilty look at Cordial, himself stealing another look to the west. The Casks, who she loved, enduring a heartaching absence, and Mint, who she loved, perhaps vanishing from the city until spring. Indeed, easier to share a bed than a life.
Merrie was quiet at this time of day, which gave her naught to do but think. The morning rush to the markets was long over, and the lunch crowds would be dwindling down. It was the daily calm before the nightly storm where the smart ponies would snatch a few hours of sleep before the evening struck.
The evening called to her already in the silence, ready to fill the vacuum with its energy. The Merrieguard often recited a joke from an old Rosewing marshall that he wasn’t sure if his stallions ran faster after being routed by Damme, or running towards home after a victory. Merrie nights held enough flowing wine to make every stallion feel like a prince, and music to sweep any mare’s heart to the stars and make her feel as beautiful as the Mare in the Moon. The nights spent on duty trying to maintain some semblance of the law often proved as wild and chaotic as those spent in the revelry.
“Incoming,” Cordial said, shifting his stance to rigid attention.
Downen copied him on instinct, but she didn’t see anyone approaching to cross. Until she saw a flicker of light like the sun reflecting off polished metal. Except it was moving, and now that she saw the first little trick of it, the cloak of magic revealed itself to her eyes in full. She held her breath as it passed her by, willing the pony under the misty veil to just keep walking. That spell was beyond Cordial, beyond any unicorn of the Merrieguard. It meant one thing: a Rosethorn.
This close to the Primrose, it meant the Terror of the family. The eldest daughter of Baroness Roseate, said to twist the mind of any that crossed her path, be they of Damme or Merrie if the stories were to be believed. Downen believed. She had seen too many crowds throw themselves aside from a Rosethorn veil—any Rosethorn veil—to take chances.
She lowered her eyes as the Rose Terror stopped in front of her door, and the glyphs of spells inscribed upon it flared to life at her presence. Some of the unicorns in the guard like to trade stories about that home, about how they were sent to deliver a message and the sheer thrum of magic they felt about the place was unnatural.
Cordial grumbled to himself. “Funny how the ‘Thorns make everything too prickly, isn’t it? You can look again, lovely. She’s gone inside. Off to throw a loaf of bread into her pit of poor souls—”
“Don’t! Just—no ghost stories today.” She flushed under his chuckles and snapped her tail at him. “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen her, alright? Leave me alone.”
He did just that, and the day went on, punctuated by a trickle of ponies crossing back into Merrie. As the shadows grew longer, so did the complaints they heard from their wards about the reception they had gotten on the Damme side.
One in particular, a mare with streaks of gray in her mane and wrinkles around her eyes, went on a tirade of how she needed to show the receipt for the sweet rolls in her bag. After waving her home, Downen frowned at Cordial. “Why do you bother with that frigid mare over there?”
“Ah, the bitter liqueurs make the most interesting mixtures. She’s a tough nut to crack, I’ll give you, but I am genuinely curious what goes on inside that shell of hers. Though I think I’ve heard enough complaints for one day.” He looked to the sun low on the horizon, tapping a short rhythm with his hoof. “No telling when another team will relieve them after the show earlier. Shall we try to talk some sense into her?”
“You mean go badger her again before our own relief comes in?” She grinned and started walking. “I’m starting to think she’s right about you, you rogue.” They strolled across the bridge together in the last golden hour of sunlight, and she hummed in approval of the sight ahead of her: Pinewood caught in a ray that brought a luster to his doublet, framing the rich color of his coat.
He had the look of a rookie too, holding his head level with his shoulders as he sat in contrast with upright Sablelock. She knew the posture well, recognizing he hadn’t understood the tedious burden of guard duty until the hours had slowly ticked away. Though he was the first of the duo to notice their approach, so he wasn’t checked out quite yet. He spoke to Sablelock, and her cheerful self was ready for them.
“What now?”
Cordial sucked his teeth. “Sable, Sable, Sable, isn’t one incident enough for one day? What is this I keep hearing about you pestering our ponies on their way home?”
Sablelock pointed across the bridge. “Your Treaty Office is that way if you have a formal complaint. If not, then stay out of our way.”
“We’ll keep just here, thank you,” Downen said. “I’m sure the next granny who fell victim to a sweet tooth will be happy to see a friendly face. Can’t you even trust your fellows that cleared them already?”
“I’m teaching the junior member of our Guard the protocols for crossing. All goods that have been or are meant to be exchanged are subject to search.”
Pinewood had glanced between them all during the back-and-forth. “It’s been pleasant enough over here. None of the Merriers have said a word about it to us. Has it really been so bad?”
“Of course not,” Sablelock said. “Complaining about Damme is just one of their favorite things to do.”
“Now that simply isn’t fair,” Cordial said, smiling. “I’ve invited you to share my favorite things so many times I’ve lost count. What about you, Pinewood? We were chatting earlier, and Downen would love to share her favorites with you. They’re all found in the same room as well.”
Oh, she was going to tear his ear off for that. His wit was so far above such a blunt proposition that she could smell the sabotage before he had finished, but the die was cast all the same. She fixed a smile to her face and watched the wheels turning behind Pinewood’s eyes as he processed Cordial’s words. Each passing second saw his eyes widen a touch more, and his cheeks flush a bit deeper, but to her pleasant surprise he never looked away.
Sablelock stamped, nearly sounding like she cracked her hoof, or even the stone itself. “Keep your head in the game, rookie! If you want to get yourself captured at least make the floozy work for it!”
Downen pursed her lips, but didn’t rise to the cheap bait. Though she did get some sudden clarity why the mare got so testy over Cordial’s frequent teasing about her fiancé. Her mother had never bonded with anypony either, but still carried herself with a degree of class that drew lovers to her whenever she desired them.
Pinewood let out a nervous laugh. “They couldn’t get much of a ransom for me anyway, ma’am. I don’t think the Rosethorns are that hard pressed for woodworking.”
“There’s no telling what Roseate would want,” Cordial said. “It’s damn foolish if you ask me. The letter of the treaty allowed raiding for ransoms to replace bloodshed, but I doubt anyone back then thought in their wildest dreams that we would still be doing it.”
“Score a point for Damme then,” Pinewood said. “At least we’ve knocked off some foolish nonsense. Why do you still do it?”
“You would have to ask Roseate herself. She reads the treaty like a fly buzzing around a pony’s backside, trying to find just how far to go before the tail whip comes down.” Cordial smiled and pointed to the distance. “Your Treaty Office is just there if you have a formal complaint.”
Sablelock spat into the river. “Just when you sounded like you might have a heart after all. I got caught in the fringe of a scent mage’s charm last year, and I had to spend a day in the sweat box to think right again. My uncle got thrown in for a week after he got taken. And you’re turning the raids into a joke?”
Downen stepped back. “Now score a point for Merrie! The sweat boxes? Those things are real?”
“As real as your Rose Terror over there,” she said, jerking her head. “What kind of nightmares do you reckon she would plant in our heads?”
Sputtering, Downen shook her head to try and sift through what she had just heard. “That’s when your ponies would need you the most! I know Dammers hate loving each other, but you don’t have to be monsters!”
Pinewood raised his voice, but she didn’t hear what he said. The lingering shock on her face served her well, for it disguised her reaction to seeing the fading sunlight glint off thin air behind them. Another mist cloud manifested in a flash of light, seemingly smaller than the Rose Terror’s veil but impossible to say for sure. Regardless of that, it did not move. Every heartbeat it just lingered there, until Downen was certain that the Rosethorn was watching them all.
Cordial brushed against her. He must have seen it too. “What could you expect but them trying to cut us down? They couldn’t win a war without Celestia stepping in, they can’t drink anything better but Dammerale swill without buying from us, can’t cook anything more fragrant than mystery sludge. I bet you need signed forms in triplicate just to kiss a filly on the cheek.”
Ignorant of the veil scampering into Damme behind him, Pinewood cracked a smile. “What, you think Merrie has a monopoly on fun? We don’t need to brainwash our friends to enjoy our company. Or our lovers!”
Downen shared a sidelong glance with Cordial, his eyes flashing a cold warning to her. She nodded to him, keeping a lid on her outburst. For his part, Pinewood lost the smile as she turned to face him, his face reading hers and realizing he had taken the argument a step too far somehow. “My father is from Damme. Believe me, he came to my mother willingly.”
“That happens?” His ears sprang up, and he fumbled for more words until they sank down, bit by bit, to lie flat. “I-I didn’t... mean to say... that she was...”
“That my mother was a sensual seductress that could ensnare and bed any stallion she chooses without their say in the matter?” She could forgive ignorance, and she flashed a smile to try and set him at ease. “Honestly, she might be flattered to hear that. But no, the story is much more mundane. They just met at a dance. She could tell he was from Damme, he wasn’t the first or the last stallion lured in by Merrie’s mystique, so she took the lead for the night. He crossed back into Damme before sunrise, but she’s never forgotten their night together, and he couldn’t have either. We Merrie mares have a way of making ourselves... unforgettable.”
Sablelock studied her. Studied her for an unusual time, with a tilt of her head that made Downen fidget in place. And then she smiled, a sight so out of place Downen felt her stomach drop. “If that were true, why didn’t he come back to her?”
Cordial sucked in a breath.
Pinewood’s ears shot back up, and he staggered to the side, throwing a shocked look to his partner.
Downen forgot how to breathe. She stared at the mare grinning at her until her lungs burned, and she choked out a breath. The undignified sound only brought a twinkle to Sablelock’s eyes.
“Should I tell you why? You were right about one thing: he wasn’t the first or the last. Maybe, maybe he bragged to his friends about the night he bedded a Merrie mare, but more likely he buried that night inside. His own secret little adventure, secret little indulgence he can pretend never happened. Either way, your mother was nothing but his whore for the night, and he doesn’t even know you exist, does he? Tell me his name.”
She blinked at the mare, each time her vision getting blurrier with hot, stinging tears she willed not to fall. Her lip curled up, and Downen stepped forward.
“Downen!” Cordial sprang to her side and threw a leg across her chest, hissing her name over and over again into her ear as she pushed against him.
“Your masters come into our city. They kidnap our friends and family and sell them back to us. You come over and insult us for not loving them enough. You insult our home, our lives, and now you can’t swallow your own medicine. Can’t stand the smell of your own filth getting shoved back at you.” Sablelock never looked away from her, never lost her satisfied smile. “Get her out of here before she does something stupid.”
“Quite right. Quite right. Now, Downen.” Cordial tugged her away, and she retreated a few steps backwards. He bent to whisper, “Turn, and don’t look back. I’m not losing you like this. Turn, and walk. Now.”
She turned, and she walked, each step on the solid bridge still feeling like a pit opened in her stomach pulling her deeper and deeper into her shame, and with it, her anger. Head bowed to watch her hooves plod forward, she heard a snapped It was the truth! behind her.
Cordial said, “My orders today were to help the agent cross. I never would have... I’m so sorry, lovely.”
She didn’t answer.
Another pair of Merrieguard approached the bridge to relieve them for the day. She heard them chat and laugh with each other, then suddenly fall silent. “What happened?”
Cordial spoke for her. “Sablelock is on the other side. I don’t know for how long.” One of them swore under their breath, and they let the two of them pass in peace.
Briefly, she wondered what the Rosethorn was doing in Damme at that moment, wondered if they had a target or were simply scouting. She hoped it was the former. She hoped it hurt. Only select Merrieguard were assigned to prisoner dury, but everyone knew they were held in the palace at the Baroness’ pleasure. It was too good for them. All of them.
Maybe Sablelock would be the target. The Manes had connections the Rosethorns could use to their advantage. But even that would be too simple, putting the witch into the lap of luxury. She hoped it hurt.
Cordial looked over to her several times on their trek back to the barracks next to Rose Palace, but she refused to meet his eye. A witch. That’s what she was. How could she have guessed her father never reached out to her? And how could she bear to have turned a moment like her parents’ meeting into something shameful? Her mother had never regretted the night, never failed to smile when she told the story no matter how old Downen got.
Inside, the Merrieguard laughed and swapped their stories of the day all around her, but she stubbornly refused to raise her voice, starting the familiar process of stripping her armor at a snail’s pace. Beside her, Cordial stubbornly refused to move any faster than she did. Eventually all the other guards had finished and left on their night patrols, or moved into the communal baths to freshen up with the scented waters Baroness Roseate provided.
Downen looked around and only saw Cordial still sitting with her, and him with nothing but an infuriating look of patience as he waited for her to talk. She talked.
“How could she say that? How? She doesn’t care about me, I know she doesn’t care about me! But my father!” She kicked at the wall and started to pace. “How could she be so cold to him? That he wouldn’t care if I exist? He’s from Damme too! And my mother, calling her a-a-a—” Downen swallowed the bile rising in her throat. She would never say that word about someone she loved, not even to spit it out in anger. “Is it any wonder my father came looking for her if that’s what the Damme mares are like? Isn’t life worth living? Why-why do they hate us so much?”
“We’re not innocent,” he said calmly. “The kidnappings—”
“Hang the kidnappings! A few nights in the palace is too good for them!”
He didn’t answer her outburst, and now that she had let out the monster she had nursed, she could only watch his face fall—his mouth drawn into a thin line as his jaw set against her, and his eyes boring into hers, searching for something inside. And she was the first to flinch, shrinking into herself as her thoughts circled back around. Nights stolen away from her mother, away from her friends, from Cordial and Goldenrod and Crate. She sobbed.
Cordial pulled her to his chest. “There she is. I knew you had more love in you than that.” His scent washed over her like a warm blanket, close and familiar even with the musk of the day on him.
She leaned into him and let his hoof stroke her leg. A few more sobs racked her body, but she fought them down and wiped her tears away. Their cities had fought and argued over the same things for centuries, and Sablelock was still going to be on the other side of the river tomorrow. She needed to control herself, not give her the satisfaction of backing down again. “I remember the Principes. Love is for sharing, not comparing.”
“Not even comparing with them.” Cordial buried his muzzle in her mane to kiss her. “Go be with your friends tonight. That’s an order, lovely. They’re all going to smile when they see you, and I want you to do the same. You belong here.”
They finished hanging their armor and left the barracks after a quick stop in the baths. Downen took a deep breath through her nose, and Merrie welcomed her back into the fresh air. The gardens of the Rose Palace dominated with its fragrant petals, but the wind from the river brought the early smells of the restaurants and taverns to her as well—incense placed under street lamps, a brief flavor of wine mixed with the scent of cooking oil. She grinned, feeling her head swim in the ocean of feeling and potential in the air. The night was still young yet.
“Don’t have too much fun,” Cordial said, smiling. “We still have duty in the morning. Give your friends a kiss for me.”
She smiled back with a slight bow of his head. “And two to Crate from me.”
The sun hadn’t yet come close to reaching its peak of the day, but Pinewood cursed himself for a fool an umpteenth time. The scrap of paper tucked under the scent mask he had wrapped around his ankle scratched something terrible, not to mention the fact that he still failed to think of a decent plan to pass it along to Downen unseen. It was nothing but a few meager words of apology, but in the early morning hours it had seemed a better idea than speaking them aloud.
Sablelock marched ahead of him tall and proud as could be. She had said the worst of it without a doubt, but he wasn’t foolish enough to think she would approve of any apology whatsoever.
If he was honest with himself, he couldn’t explain why he had gone through the effort either. A Merrieguard had come close—dangerously close—to attacking a Dammeguard. Not just any Dammeguard, but the partner he was assigned to support and protect, nor was it just any attack. The mare that smiled at him sweet as honey turned to a wolf before his eyes, ready to tear pieces out of Sablelock.
But it was no accident. His mind always landed on that one thought. It was no accident she behaved like that, and he was the one who had sent that stone rolling.
He also didn’t believe it was an accident that Sablelock led him in reverse of their patrol from yesterday. The Primrose Bridge was fast approaching, and he had no more a detailed plan than “apologize.”
There was a small crowd at the bridge already, though few of them looked like they were attempting to cross. Most of them looked at the pair of Merrieguard standing on the Damme side, and between them, Pinewood recognized the stallion Fordwater. He looked much subdued from yesterday as the Dammeguard studied the parchment he held out for them.
Maybe he could use that.
Sablelock shouldered through the crowd, and he followed in her wake until they were clear, then stepped aside to approach the Merrieguard. They were both stallions, strangers to him, and he didn’t see any others on the Merrie side of the bridge. “Ho there,” he said, seeing Sablelock turn to him out of the corner of his eye. He grimaced, but it was too late to turn back. “The other two aren’t here today? Cordial and Downen?”
“Those two? Oh, damn their eyes.” The Merrieguard muttered something else to himself, shaking his head. “They went and stuck their noses somewhere they didn’t belong, got thrown on bog patrol for a week. Which means double shifts for us.”
The Dammeguard cleared Fordwater, and the Merriers went back to their side, all of it happening in a haze around him. Bog patrol? The forests outside of Merrie had its fair share of muck and fens to tramp through, but he never even heard of a complete map of them all. There was nothing out there. In the days of the war they had been used, every schoolfoal heard of Captain Primline Gauntlet’s ambush that thwarted a Merrie attack, but the most desperate smugglers had abandoned them as trade across the river flowed more easily. And the weather turned colder by the day.
Sablelock walked on without him, and he rushed to catch up with her. “Finished daydreaming?”
“Did-did you hear what he said? They’re on bog patrol?” He swallowed, running through his memories of yesterday. He thought they had been too friendly for Merriers at first. Every joke, every laugh from Cordial, and later Downen’s anger, maybe she snapped after duty. Somehow, someway, a line had been crossed. “Did we do that?”
Sablelock laughed.
Pinewood froze in place, and she laughed. She threw her head back and laughter rang like a bell, struck him as dumb as a cock’s crow at midnight, a thunderbolt out of the blue sky above.
She turned to him, her face split by a wide smile. “Did we do that? By the stars, no. I can tell you exactly what did it: he criticized Roseate. He got careless, and they both got burned for it. If you say a word against her, you might as well just spit in her face. Especially to enemy soldiers.”
He shook his head. “That doesn’t make sense.”
“And that’s the smartest thing I’ve heard you say. Still, it is what it is. Wait until you put in some real time on bridge duty. You’ll never forget your first exile.”
“Exile? What do you mean exile?”
“I mean a pony walking across the bridge with the Canterlotians, if they’re lucky, or getting chased by the Merrieguard if they’re not. Exiled. Either way, Celestia’s boys march them straight to a merchant caravan heading south or right to the docks to hop on a ship, and they leave everything behind. Her record is nine in one week.”
She turned and left him behind again, and he scrambled to keep pace. Something was driving her, something on the other side of the river she kept looking for. He was almost trotting to catch up, only those occasional glances to the side slowing her enough for him to gain ground. And she whipped around, almost decking him in the face with a thrusting hoof.
“I can tell you exactly what’s going to happen next, too. Nothing. They’ll be back in a week, those new friends of yours, and they won’t do a thing. All the whip cracking Roseate does, all the ponies she’s hurt and punished, and you know what’s keeping them there? You know what was stopping them from crossing the bridge last night if he has so many problems with her? Nothing. And that’s exactly what’s going to happen. Nothing. Them, all of them, they’re too worried about rutting and snorting and drinking their lives away to do anything about it but nothing.”
Pinewood Sapling—failed carpenter, adequate pupil of the Dammeguard, and carrier of a guilty conscience towards a mare he hardly knew—quivered as her storm of words crashed over him. He made no answer, could make no answer. How could he? He had no answers to find, nothing he could draw upon to reason his way out of the fire in her eyes.
Finally, she set her hoof down, and her cold, disciplined mask crept back into place. “I want you to take ten steps, then look over your left shoulder. Look for red.” She turned and ignored his brief attempt to ask why.
Sighing, he took ten quick paces and looked. A flash of red caught his eye, the brilliantly colored mane of a mare across the river. She stared right back at him, stopping in her tracks just as he did. “What in the—”
“Welcome to the war,” Sablelock said, coming back to his side. “You wanted to know if it was your fault those two got in trouble? It seems Roseate does too. Say hello to your first tail.”
“Wait. Me? She’s following me?”
“Of course. You’re the wild card here. They know all about me already.” She lay a hoof on his shoulder. “If it makes you feel better, we’ll be watching her too. Prim Palace isn’t blind. Every inch of this river is covered, one way or another. By both sides. Be smarter than Cordial. Someone is always watching you.”
Almost as if she had heard, the red mare grinned, and she lazily lifted a leg to wave at him. He shivered in the wind and turned away, following the river as it flowed on like it had for centuries and centuries.