//------------------------------//
// Chapter 16: The Spy 
// Story: Blood Moon 
// by The_Darker_Fonts 
//------------------------------//

Hemorrhage led the ambient young lycan to a little room they had never used before, though that was its use.  A small, but tall, room they planned to use as an emergency storage room or perhaps a playroom for the new foal.  However, this matter was much more pressing, so he decided that for the moment, while they attempted to keep the large beast a secret, it would be his room.  It was right beneath the spiraling staircase to his tower, which would be rather useful in case of any problems brought up by their guest.  
He had to keep reminding himself that the lycan, while indeed friendly in the strangest way, was not a firm member of their coven yet.  While Khan certainly accepted the leadership of Hemorrhage and his guidance, it was obvious that his time with the wolves had left him with different ideas of a structured pack.  Seeing as Nightseer was the only one of the inhabitants here that had been to bed, and was barely done carrying, he identified her as the den mother.  That also meant that, when Argon returned from his mission to the Crystal Empire, he would look to the stallion for guidance.  It was strange to think that, despite his seniority, he had never spent the night with a mare, and that alone set him lower than the others in the lycan’s mind.
Nevertheless, he had a certain respect for Khan, his young mind somehow comprehending leadership and respect that was unusual for somepony his age.  Even though he was as lively and cheerful, he knew to respect his elders most of the time.  He still held a wily childishness in him that showed itself casually while walking or, more accurately, following others.  The swift wagging of his bush tail, his wide open, panting mouth revealing sharp, ivory teeth, and his twinkling eyes.  They were all so incredibly contradictory to his murderous, dark past, it seemed as if he were built around being nature’s oxymoron.  
Giving the lycan a simple smile, he pulled the door to Khan’s new residence open, gesturing into the room with a sweeping hoof.  “Welcome to your new home, for the moment,” Hemorrhage introduced.  “There isn’t a whole bunch of space within here, but it will stay warm for you and be a good place to sleep.  We won’t keep you in here long, though.  We simply have another… friend visiting at this time, somepony who doesn’t quite know who you are, or what we are.”
Khan tilted his head curiously before sticking his nose into the room, sniffing loudly.  There wasn’t much in it, a few random items that had been put in there in half-hearted preparation for whatever its uses may be.  There was a small bed and a crib built by Argon within the room, but otherwise there was hardly anything useful to the lycan, and even the bed was far too small for Khan’s large frame.  Still, it was something, and the youth seemed to accept it, entering with only the briefest hesitation.  Hemorrhage expected the lycan to be restless in the small compartment, but within a matter of seconds, he was wrapped up on the floor, neatly tucking his tail around himself.  He poked his head up for just a second and stared expectantly at the mordigan.  Chuckling ever so slightly, the stallion bade the lycan, “Good night,” before slowly closing the door.
He stood by the door for a moment longer to listen if there were any noises coming for the room, but after several seconds of deathly silence, he deduced that the lycan had dutifully fallen asleep.  That was one of them, he thought with slight mirth.  He was beginning to feel the wear of the day, a sore tirednrugess coming over him as he began to sag his way down the halls, away from his bed.  As much as he wished he could simply go back to sleep, he needed to make sure there wasn’t anybody else snooping around the castle.  
Heading back into the main foyer, he stared at the large wooden doors, wondering what this night could mean for his coven.  Perhaps it was speculation or perhaps it was a strange hope, but he wondered if Joint would stay true to her word and stay.  They hadn’t shared any intimacy beyond the touching of their lips and tongues, though there was a good deal of it within their kissing.  It seemed temporary, and knowing he was keeping a heavy truth from her only strengthened his fears.  He wished that he could have told her at that moment, but it wasn’t appropriate to do so.  With a frown, he tucked his head down staring at the neat rug that led away from the doors.  
These fabrics had never felt the hoofsteps of anypony but its permanent residents before.  Leaning down to the red rug, he sniffed deeply for the scent of the mare, attempting to identify where exactly she had stepped.  He had picked up her scent during their passionate embrace, her hard, yet sweet scent permanently burned into his mind.  Immediately he found them, with the smallest speckles of mud, and followed them for a moment.  It was strange to him, the way that time passed.  Fifty years had passed in mere seconds, yet now a few hours took decades to live through.  
The thought made him search out the scent of the lycan, having been able to pick it up during Khan’s own unusual embrace.  It was much more distinguishable, a smell of death and infection on his paw prints.  His claws themselves had left a mark on the rug, little scratches that made trenches in the fabric.  He picked out a distinct piece of scabbing from the rug, the dried blood looking just like any other scruff of mud, but smelled of death.  His brow furrowed, knowing it was pony blood that had been stuck under the lycan’s claw, knocked loose by the texture of the rug.
“Sniffing the rug, are we master,” Ailade suddenly asked from the opening to the kitchen.  
Hemorrhage shot straight up, refusing to show any sign of embarrassment for being caught in the questionable act.  “How many times have I told you to not call me master,” he inquired defensively, giving the mare a pointed look.  “And why aren’t you asleep yet?  It’s been a long night with so many things suddenly coming up.  You should get your rest.”
There was a slight frown in her response, an unwelcome rarity.  “I couldn’t quite fall asleep, much like you.  I simply wanted to watch over the little lycan, to help him get back to himself.  I guess I feel bad about it, knowing that he’s so young…”
Hemorrhage nodded in agreement as Ailade trailed off, the sentiment shared with her thoroughly.  You weren’t a nocturnal without having a past of death and tragedy.  Everypony who was a nocturnal knew this concept.  You were either born into the world as a nocturnal or you were mauled, maimed, or murdered by another pony with the condition which you inherited.  It was the brutal effect of living like them, the truth about being a vampyre or werewolf or mordigan that made them all hyper-aware of their livelihood.  They were all born of and survived on the death of others, and they would for as long as their lives lasted.  
A sudden, loud boom echoed through the foyer as the double doors flew open.  Hemorrhage whipped around, his horn igniting instantly, ready to fight whatever the sudden intrusion may have been.  A hooded figure stumbled through the opening raising a single hoof as the doors proceeded to slam shut behind them.  Ailade pounced from behind him, landing on top of the cloaked figure, her teeth bared as she growled, “Who are you.”
The action knocked the hood from the figure’s face, causing Ailade to gasp, leaping off the pony.  Hemorrhage rushed over, unable to see who was beneath the cloak, but shared the shock with his companion.  
“Hello there, Ailade,” Argon cheerfully greeted the mare, a smug smile crossing his face.  “Hasn’t been so long since you last saw me, now has it?”
“Argon, welcome back my friend,” Hemorrhage welcomed with a big smile, reaching out and wrapping a hoof around one of his, pulling him up into a hug.  The stallion returned the action with hoarse laughter that quickly transferred into coughing as he stumbled back a little.  Concern laced Hemorrhage’s brow as he watched the stallion stepping back, glancing down at his breast, where he felt warm wetness.  A patch of dark red blood was splattered across his fur, sticky but still fresh.  Looking up at Argon’s chest, to where the blood had to originate, he found a leaking wound that peeked through a tear in the cloak.  
“Must’ve reopened when Ailade tackled me,” the werewolf simply deduced, chuckling as he looked at the concern and confusion on his friends’ faces.  “The Crystal Empire wasn’t too keen on discovering I wasn’t really loyal to that bastard Sombra.  One of their archers had a pretty keen shot at me, but I was still able to escape.  They were all distracted by something else though.  Come on, let’s go sit down somewhere.  I have a lot to say and I’m hungry.  I can smell the meat from here.”
“I’ll get something to clean the wound,” Ailade told them both.  Smiling brightly, she said, “Welcome back, Argon.  Nightseer will be very happy to see you again, especially after everything that’s happened tonight.”
“Oh, and that is,” Argon questioned, removing his cloak completely, revealing his sleek black coat.  There was an occasional streak of dark blue that ran down his back, a spotted blue pattern on his face that circled one eye contrasting the black of his coat.  His mane was a neon green, a flash of color that hung loosely down his back and face.  The unique color combination reminded Hemorrhage of algae in the night ocean, little spots of color, some tangled within the seaweed, that lit up the otherwise dark depths.
“Well,” he began as they walked towards the kitchen area, “You’re the third pony to enter the castle from elsewhere tonight, though your arrival was much more expected than the other’s.”
“You mean you expected me to come tonight,” Argon asked curiously.  His younger body, while not particularly muscular, though certainly not skimpy, had outran Hemorrhage, leaving them to talk from a greater distance.  
“Not quite,” Hemorrhage answered.  “Though we did know you would be coming back sometime and we were ready for you to return anytime, we didn’t know exactly when.  We had no clue about the other two, or the true nature of their arrival and positions.  Let’s just say one that joined us is a rogue mare, the other a juvenile lycan.”
“Pardon,” Argon expressed, stopping just short of the entrance to the kitchen, whipping around to face Hemorrhage.  The mordigan understood the werewolf’s surprise, as with two covens within close proximity to each other and claiming a large amount of the surrounding territory, it seemed nearly impossible for an unclaimed or unbounded lycan to be wandering around the area.  Reaffirming the point of confusion, Argon questioned softly, “How could that even be possible?  Are you sure they aren’t some sort of spy?”
Using a hoof to drag Argon into the kitchen, speaking just as softly, he told the stallion, “The possibility did go through my head, but the youth is far too… wild to have ever lived in either of our covens.  In fact, we found him in a small cave not too far off from that pony village, mourning over the bodies of several wolves.  I believe that he may have been a part of their pack, or at the very least had lived near them enough to gain familiarity with them.  Oh, if he acts as if you and Nightseer are the ‘alphas’, don’t be too surprised.  In his mind, you are the breeding pair, and thus the ones in charge.”
“Huh, that’s… interesting,” Argon said thoughtfully, his brow furrowed in consideration.  The stallion had a brain as sharp as Hemorrhage’s own, most likely sharper, as Hemorrhage felt the dullness of old age encroaching on his mind.  It felt more clearer tonight, though, allowing him to think quicker than he spoke.
“Yes, we found the youth and brought him back to us, however, the manner of finding him was most disturbing,” Hemorrhage continued, sitting himself down at the table as Argon hungrily searched for leftovers.  “You see, we had noticed that our pony neighbors had been unusually silent and absent from communication.  There wasn’t much suspicion, but given that it was winter, Leper and I went to go check on them and see if they needed help.  Well, we arrived to empty houses and strewn bones.”
“Sweet Celestia,” Argon muttered, pausing in his search at the somber news.
“Yes, every single villager seems to have been killed or have disappeared without a trace from the village,” he stated simply, recalling as much as he could.  It had only been hours earlier, but so many things had happened so quickly, it felt like months ago.  “We found the bones of some sixty of them.  Of that, only three looked to have been killed by the wolves.”
“Oh my,” Argon breathed, a look of absent shock on his face.  His head shot up from his meal as he asked swiftly, “The lycan did it then?”  Hemorrhage nodded, noticing his friend had more to say.  “Hmm.  How old do you suppose he is?  You keep calling him a youth and talking as if he were a foal still.”
“My best guess is that he’s a young teen, though he certainly doesn’t look it,” Hemorrhage muttered.  “He’s probably three times the size of Ailade and has a rather bulky build compared to Leper.  He probably attained a good amount of it because he lived out in the wild for so long, but even then it’s an unusual size.  We believe he may be that lycan Leper discovered about forty moons ago, the one who was a colt who’d been injured.  We don’t have concrete evidence, but considering the age and location, it’s most likely the case.
“He had a severely infected wound that Ailade made short work of, though Nightseer helped to stitch it back together while she went to attend to our other guest, a mare named Joint Point,” Hemorrhage detailed.  The two were interrupted as Ailade hustled back into the room, a small bundle of supplies in one hoof.  
“I can treat myself,” Argon offered, not waiting for a response before taking the bandages from her.  “You should try to get some sleep tonight.  Hemorrhage and I have hours of information to share, and I feel this is the type of stuff our… friend alone should hear.”  
Ailade frowned slightly as she watched the stallion begin to rub antiseptic on the arrowhead wound.  With a pout, she muttered, “Fine then, I’ll retire for the night.  I do feel a bit weary from all of the running I’ve had to do tonight…”
“Thank you, Ailade,” Hemorrhage told her as she retreated, catching her  hoof with his own and bringing her in for a hug.  “You've been invaluable tonight.  Sleep as long as you need.”
Hemorrhage heard the smile in her voice as she whispered softly, “Yes sir.”
Releasing his grip, he watched her leave, waiting until he was sure she was gone until he turned back to Argon, who was finishing wrapping a bandage around his chest.  “About the mare, she… she is a very special one.”  Argon’s eyes shot up, hearing the tone of voice his older friend was using, a knowing curiosity invested in them.  Hemorrhage laughed lightly at the stare, reverting his gaze to the table as he explained, “She’s the one.  I’m sure of it.  I’ve met plenty of attractive and appealing mares before, but Joint, well, I felt my heart drop the moment I saw her.  That’s how you described it, right?  Your heart just suddenly falling from your chest, a warmth filling you like fire, and then the embarrassing realization that you’ve been staring for much too long.”  Hemorrhage chuckled again, no longer seeing the table, but rather the mare.  “Yeah, that’s what happened.”
“It is,” a voice suddenly reiterated, hoofsteps suddenly reverberating from off the stone ground behind him.  Both stallions instantly swung around, standing to find the subject of conversation standing in the opening in all of her beautiful glory.  A smug smile crossed Joint’s face, accented by a slight blush as she quirkily questioned, “Talking about me behind my back?  Only good things I-”
She suddenly stopped talking, her face going from cocky to shocked, then angry as she yelled, “Spy!”
At the same time, Hemorrhage heard Argon growl viciously, “Spy.”  
He barely had time to process the two’s claims as the stallion leapt over him while Joint suddenly whipped out a knife, preparing to use it.  In a flash, Hemorrhage was on his hooves, his horn flaring as he summoned a shimmering blue wall between the two contenders.  Argon slammed into it as Joint stuck it with her knife, causing the barrier to shatter and force the two apart, Argon slamming into the table while Joint was sent sliding out of the room.  Argon tried to stand after being sent flying, his legs shaky.
It was only then that Hemorrhage noticed that the stallion was in his werewolf form, his claws extended as he bared his teeth.  “Argon,” Hemorrhage practically yelled, giving the werewolf a hard stare.  The nocturnal turned its head to him, addressing the commanding stallion.  “What in the name of the moon are you doing?”
There was no time to answer, however, as Joint slowly re-entered the room, her knife held defensively as she shot a glance to Hemorrhage.  There was pure fear in her eyes as she shared her stare between Hemorrhage and Argon, the werewolf tensed, but holding his place.  Breathing shakily, the mare desperately asked, “What’s going on here?  Why is- did… What happened to him?”
“Take a deep breath,” Hemorrhage softly instructed, noticing that Joint was beginning to hyperventilate.  Argon growled softly, still bearing his teeth, which prompted the mordigan to snap his head back to the werewolf, snapping, “Blood of the innocents, Argon, silence.”
With a deep sigh, he looked back over to Joint, her shrunken pupils and shaky hooves slowly regaining their composure.  “He’s a werewolf,” Hemorrhage explained evenly, weighing the mare’s reaction.  “And  he’ll only attempt to harm you if he thinks you're a danger to me and his wife.  Now explain why he might think such a thing.”
“I saw him in the castle quite often,” she said slowly, not taking her eyes off of Argon.  “He was one of the Queen’s guards.  He was there the night of my escape.”
“Yes, I commissioned him to spy on Sombra on the orders of Princess Celestia, seeing as I couldn’t provide any soldiers,” Hemorrhage calmly told her.  Slowly, he began to approach her, extending a hoof.  “He isn’t like what the legends and fairytales think he is; there isn’t a hunger in him right now.”
Hemorrhage watched Joint’s eyes glance briefly to something on the ground and back to Argon, who slowly was sitting down.  The mordigan glanced over to the werewolf, who was slowly transforming back into his equine self, an even stare meeting Joint’s own.  The two seemed to be sizing each other up, attempting to see the truth behind one another’s eyes.  Hemorrhage already knew the two parties’ innocence, and with a careful tep, he moved directly into their stare, slowly glancing between the tensed ponies.
“Argon, what do you know of Joint,” Hemorrhage asked, wanting the full scope of their acquaintance. 
“I didn’t know her as Joint,” Argon began, taking a slow breath as he deductively turned his gaze to Hemorrhage, allowing his friend to see the truth in his intelligence.  “Back in the palace, I was placed under the Queen as one of her guards, seeing as they had run low after a failed attempt on her life.  I often saw ‘Kippler’ around doing any sort of chores she or Sombra required, including… time in his chamber.  She escaped the castle, making a big fuss of the Queen and killing somepony.  However, it was the same day I was found out, so I suspected that she was really being sent out on a mission.  Sombra himself confronted me about the truth, but I was able to escape by revealing myself as a nocturnal.  Speaking of which…” 
“What,” Hemorrhage asked as Argon trailed off, staring past the mordigan and to the mare.  
There was a hesitant pause before the werewolf responded, his voice unsure for the first time.  “Well, I have reason to believe that Sombra is… less than pony.  It isn’t very obvious at first, but some very subtle instances have hinted to me that perhaps we’re dealing with a mordigan.”
The statement caught Hemorrhage off-guard, his eyes widening at such a presumption.  Furrowing his brow in concern, he commanded, “Go on.”  
“Well, it’s subtle, but the bastard has sharp teeth instead of flattened ones,” Argon explained, his sharp eyes back on Hemorrhage.  “He also has slightly undilated eyes and a preference for nighttime.  His back also has slight bumps sometimes, and in spite of having a transient horn, his magic is black, like yo- any other nocturnals. The bastard can go out in the sun though, which means he can’t be a vampyre or ompyre.”
“What’s a mordigan,” Joint suddenly asked, her voice less shaky than before, though it was still fearful.
Turning to the mare, he opened his mouth to answer, but pulled himself short.  With a questioning glance back to Argon, he watched for the stallion’s reaction to his unsaid question.  He took a moment to realize what Hemorrhage meant to do, his eyes widening in surprise at the intended action.  For a momentum, the werewolf sat there with a concentrated look on his face before a slow admission was manifested through an even slower nod.
Turning back to Joint, whose eyes were darting between them once again, Hemorrhage took a deep breath in preparation.  “A mordigan is what happens when you take a vampyre and werewolf’s offspring.  They have the perks of both the vampyre’s agility and wings and a werewolf’s strength and transformative ability.  However, they have control of their moonlight cycle and can survive the sunlight.”  With one last breath, he prepared himself to reveal the most terrifying truth to the only mare he could love.  Slowly unfurling his wings from out of his back, the false flesh forming from darkness, he said, “In short, a mordigan is what I am.”