Chapter 3
“In The Not Too Distant… Present”
Somewhere in Time and Space…
“So here we are.”
The rolling hillside of the Equestrian midlands was an idyllic bucolic, home to modest villages and hamlets of average, good-natured ponies. The roads that led through this region, nestled on the northern border of the Everfree Forest, were well-kept and safe to travel. As they had been, for as long as anypony could recall.
“Gee, Servo, this sure is a lovely and peaceful day”
“It sure is, Crow. Whose name I was definitely already aware of.”
Making their way along one of the countryside lanes was an odd pair: a golden and brown griffin who ambled beside a red and white pegasus, the latter of which had a pair of large disc-wheels held in place by a harness cycling him along instead of hind legs.
[Artwork by Faith-Wolff]
“You know, Servo, I’ve been thinking.” The griffin began. “After all our zany schemes and madcap misadventures, I kinda feel like we’re on the downturn of things.”
“Yeah, I think you’re right, Crow, we’ve lived quite a life of excitement, drama, harrowing danger. It’s hard to imagine we’ll come across any more of a non-stop action rollercoaster of adventure at this point.”
Crow straightened, pointing up the road, “Hey, a signpost! This’ll tell us what town or major landmark we’re approaching!” Fluttering ahead, he came to a hover by a wooden pane on two legs that featured a weathered but charming illustration of the phrase:
‘Welcome to Ponyville’.
The griffin tilted his head, “I’ve heard about this place.”
Servo wheeled up, using his wings to provide a boost and gave the sign a nod of recognition, “Yeah, a sleepy little town, stable, nice place to retire. Like Amityville, Cape Fear, or The Shire.”
Crow perched himself atop of the sign and brought a talon up to shield his eyes as he gazed down the road. “I think we should head in, sample some of the local fare.”
“Well, I think that’s an excellent proposal, my fine feathered feline!” The pegasus cheered.
Hopping down, Crow stood on his hind-paws and shuffle-stepped around his friend. “Can we sing a song on our way in? Something Broadway-esque that explains our backstory and motivations?”
“Nah, I don’t think that’s necessary. We’ll just reveal our history through a series of well-paced comical flashbacks.”
“So like normal?”
“Yeah.”
After a while more of walking, the two came to a tall archway on the side of the road that begat a new path leading through a grove of tall, robust trees. There was another title etched across the span of the archway:
“Ap-ple A-cers.” Crow sounded out by the syllable. “You think they sell computers?”
“Maybe, let’s go check it out.”
Crow jaunted onward down the path, a bounce in his stride: “Aaaaple Acres is the place to be!”
“Faaarm livin’ is the life, for me!” Servo joined.
“Land spreadin’ out so far and wide!”
Keep Manehattan, just give me that countryside!”
Eventually A large barnhouse came within view, and just outside was an elderly crone of a mare with light green fur and a bun of grey hair. She was scrubbing something over a washboard set in a large metal tub and mumbling a tune to herself.
Crow was the first to approach, fluttering ‘till he landed on a tiered wooden fence several paces away.
“HELLO OLD LADY.” He announced in a loud, clear voice. “WE ARE-”
“Crow, that’s incredibly rude!” Servo chided him, yanking the griffin down by a wing.
“Eh?” The aged mare turned, one eye squinting in their direction of the squabbling duo. From her side she took up a brass hearing horn and put it to her ear. “One ‘ah you two confurnit dollywhoopers say sum’im?”
Servo and Crow paused in their tussle.
Crow gasped, “My grandmama used to call me a dollywhooper… Grandmama?”
The impressionable griffin began to advance, trancelike, but Servo cuffed the back of his head. “She’s not your grandma!”
“Well, are ya’ just gonna stand there and jabberjaw, or ya’ gonna come on over?” she bade them with a folksy affability.
Surmounting the fence, Crow smoothed the feathers of his crown down before they popped back up while Servo cleared his throat.
“Good day madam,” The pegasus began. “We weary travelers wish to avail ourselves of your flavorsome wares.”
Her face scrunched. “The hwhat now?”
Crow seized her horn with a talon and put his beak into the funnel: “APPLES, WE WANT TO BUY APPLES.”
“Oh!” The mare’s eyes opened, and she smiled. “Sure we got apples! The best dang apples this side of Canterlot!”
“Do you have a Genius center?” Crow continued at a normal volume. “I have questions about the Terms of Service agreement.”
“Uh, no, just the apples.”
Servo stepped forward to interject himself, “Sorry about my friend, he hasn’t been quite right ever since the experiments. I’m Servo, and the bird-cat here is Crow.”
The pegasus offered a hoof, which she took and gave a hearty shake. “Granny Smith, pleased ta’ meetcha. You fellas jus’ come on around and we’ll get you loaded up.”
“Bird-cat?” Crow asked aloud as they fell in behind Granny Smith. “Well, I do make that weird chittering sound whenever I look at myself in a mirror.”
“Say, how’d ya’ come by that contraption strapped to yer rump?” Granny pointed to Servo’s wheels.
Servo chuckled, “Oh it’s not an interesting story really. Just your average experimental amputation by a mad scientist.”
“One ‘ah those huh?” Granny nodded.
Granny Smith brought them to the back of the barn and gestured to a stack of baskets.
“We charge by the bushel, one basket-one bushel, five bits.” She informed them.
Crow took a basket and inspected it, “Can I buy one of these? It’s the perfect size for me to snuggle into.”
“What are you talking about?” Servo said incredulously. “You’re way too big to fit in that thing.”
“No, look,” Scrunching his body down, Crow wriggled his head under the handle of the basket. “See, I just work my head in first and then…” He attempted to squeeze more of himself through, but the effort came to a halt just over his neck.
“…I may have to stretch it out a bit.” He panted
The awkward sight was interrupted by a gaggle of young laughter emanating from a trio of fillies standing off nearer to the farmhouse.
“Girls! Hwhat I tell you about having a giggle at the customers!” Granny warned.
As the griffin began to twist and fidget to divorce himself from the basket, Servo gave the kids a smile, wheeling around to them.
“You think this is funny: you should have seen the time he impersonated John Travolta to get into a theater.”
“Who’s John Travolta?” A filly with a large red bow in her mane asked, trading a confused looked with her white-furred friend.
Servo dismissed her question with a non-word and a hoof-wave: “Ah, you’re too young to know.”
It was then he noticed the diminutive orange pegasus girl staring up at him with large inquisitive eyes.
“Kid, you’re not about to gauge my interest in your local corn-god are you?”
“Can you fly?” she asked.
“Of course I can.” He flared his wings and flittered the white tips, lifting himself off the ground a few inches before setting down.
“So why do you need the wheels?”
“You ever try to stay on your wings all day? Trust me, you’d be begging for a little time on the ground before long.”
Her little face furrowed, and she looked to the ground. “I can’t fly yet. My wings don’t work.”
“Oh that’s…” Servo bent down and lifted her chin. “Hey, we all have a little trouble getting off the ground sometimes. Listen close kiddo: flying for a pegasus is no different than riding a bicycle, it’s just a lot harder to put hoofball cards in the spokes.”
Her eyes went side to side for a few moments. “Thanks…?”
He let her go. “What’s your name, kid?”
“Scootaloo.”
“Tell you what, me and my friend are planning to be around for a while, I could try to teach you a thing or two about flying.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. Your parents’ll let you spend time with a homeless drifter they’ve never met before, right?”
“My parents aren’t even around!” She exclaimed brightly.
The handle of the basket was enveloped in a nimbus of magic as Sweetie Belle and Applebloom worked on opposite ends to help free the griffin.
“Pull harder, Applebloom!”
“’Ah am!”
“I’m gonna go get some grease,” Granny Smith said as she started off. “You just keep ‘ah working at it.”
Crow felt his neck compress after another tug. “Okay, what if I rotate my head 90-degrees to my left, and you pull at an upward-right angle, when I say go?”
“They’re not moving a couch, you goof!” Biting down on the opposite end of the basket from the rest of Crow’s body, Servo unfixed himself from his harness and flapping his wings, began yanking as he fluttered upwards.
The girls each latched onto his felid tail, using their collective pint-sized bodyweight to anchor him downwards.
Pulled taught between the two forces, Crow’s face scrunched into a mass of feathers with a beak sticking out. “Almost, yeck!, got it!”
His body stretched before a final POP! liberated Crow, the griffin spilling onto the fillies in a pile. “I haven’t been in a spot that tight since I had to wrestle Chastity Bono for a stuffed pork chop.” He licked the back of his talon and used it to smooth out his ruffled feathers.
Servo spat the basket out, “A lot less grunting this time.”
“You guys are weird.” Sweetie Belle said with a tittle; she and the other fillies climbing out from under him.
Crow looked down and cupped her cheeks in his talons, “All I’ve ever wanted is to be noticed.”
Applebloom and Scootaloo held the wheel-harness in place as Servo lowered himself upon his wings into the apparatus. “Thank you, girls.” Once in, he touched down on his forelegs and secured the straps with a sharp tug.
“If I go get my scooter, can we have a race?” The eager little pegasus asked.
“Absolutely! Seven laps around the barn. The winner gets a milkshake, the loser has to talk like Tommy Wiseau for the rest of the day.”
“I don’t know who that is.”
“Oh, my sweet summer child.”
Not Too Far Away…
He stalked through the brush with expert skill, at home in the woodland, a noble of the green. Under the camouflage of light and shadow, he was all but invisible to the untrained eye among the bough and bush. And this was despite his adornment, marking him as one of an elite and prestigious bequest. But his eye was finely tuned to discern in the forest, a gift of his race honed through years of practice, and he could observe his intention with virtual impunity.
It was the song that drew him on his walk. As the breeze dances with each leaf and winds its way around stem and trunk, so did the melody filter its way to him. A simple tune, only a few notes rising and falling without words to complicate its form. He didn’t know if it was an imitation or something hummed without direction, it didn’t matter. Beautiful all the same, it drew him on with both enchantment and endangerment.
There she sat, at the edge of the pond a short distance away singing to herself as she cared for an otter laid supine over a flat stone. Some injury to its tail was causing the aquatic critter a great deal of distress, but as she sang it relaxed, allowing her to examine and sooth its anguish. Like an upset babe brought to ease by its mother’s care, the otter settled into a docile state with only a respiratory mutter.
In silent attention he watched, fearing to despoil the moment, to encourage an idea that threatened to undo him. He didn’t quite understand it himself to be honest. What exactly was this elation in his breast? He had never felt it before and certainly never imagined it would arise in response to this. How could he even feel this? A transgression of this boundary was unheard of, unthinkable, impossible. And yet… here he was.
From behind his cloak of leaves he peered out, and she none the wiser.
In Ponyville…
There was a new spring in Rarity’s trot as she went through the market with her basket held aloft in magic. Even though the weather in any given location was orchestrated by the local Weather Guild pegasai, the procession of the seasons themselves were beyond the scope of mortal capabilities. As such there was a timely crispness in the air, autumn eager to welcome Equestria with her kiss into her abode.
A tasteful scarf around her neck, she gave out greetings as she trot along in her typical sociable manner.
“Hello, Flitter, nice to see you.”
“Toe-Tapper, darling, can’t wait ‘till rehearsals Thursday.”
“Amethyst, love your mane today.”
This jovial parade continued until she reached the vegetable section and overheard an argument between familiar voices.
“There’s nothing wrong with putting grapes in an apple pie!” Rainbow Dash spat emphatically.
“Nothin’ wrong?!” Applejack was aghast, staring at her friend in disbelief. “You might as well put pear juice in apple cider!”
Rainbow Dash prepared to counter her suggestion, but she hesitated, thinking over the idea.
The consideration struck Applejack like an arrow to the chest, and she recoiled before narrowing down. “I am gonna try and forget this conversation ever happened.”
Rarity couldn’t decide what to think of what she was seeing. “Ladies, please, let’s not squabble over the contents of pies.”
“I wasn’t trying to!” Rainbow protested. “It was just an idea!”
Applejack righted her Stetson and raised a forehoof, “I am not listening to this profanity a minute longer.”
The tension of the moment was interrupted when Rarity pointed with a hoof at their cutie-marks, which were currently flickering.
Twilight’s Castle
Spike stared down at the glowing images of cutie-marks orbiting the mirrored mountain peaks of northeastern Equestria, north of Manehattan.
“The map’s never sent any of us there before.” He remarked.
“Who’d be having’ a friendship problem up in them hills?” Eying her cutie-mark, Applejack scrunched her face to understand. “Who even lives up there?”
“Maybe another griffin roost?” Rainbow Dash suggested. “Or a dragon!”
“Not likely.” Spike put his claws on his hips. “If it were dragons, clearly the map would have called for me.”
“Clearly.” Applejack confirmed.
Pulling a tome down from the shelves and flipping through the pages, Spike stopped on a page with a similar depiction of the mountains.
“It just calls them: ‘The Miser Peaks’.”
Rainbow hovered over his shoulder to peer at the pages, “Anything about who or what lives there?”
Spike checked the preceding and ensuing pages, “Nope, nothing.”
Applejack threw up a hoof, “Well, I guess that’s the first mystery to solve when we get there.”
“Cool!” Dash executed a tight and smooth backflip, “It could be anything! How soon can we leave?”
“Jus’ let me tie things down at the farm and pack a bag, I’ll meet’cha at the train station in two hours.”
“No, you’ll meet me there!” With a rear back, Rainbow Dash bolted from the room, leaving the polychromatic trail in her wake.
Applejack turned to Spike, bewildered: “That’s… what I said, isn’t it?”
“So then, I had to cover myself in mud, and construct a series of deadly booby-traps to ensnare the predator who was hunting me for sport.”
The Cutie-Mark Crusaders looked up at Crow in utter confusion.
“What was he?” Applebloom asked.
“What was his name?” Sweetie Belle gasped.
“He was a hideous monster that makes trophies of men. His name was Bruce Vilanch.”
“Oh, you’re telling them tall-tales!” Servo exclaimed in an awkward voice. “You’re tearing them apart, Crow!”
Scootaloo, kicking along beside him on her scooter chuckled before taking another slurp of her milkshake.
The group of them were just entering the outskirts of town when Applejack came up the road from the opposite direction.
“Applejack!” The little sister called out, bounding over to meet her. “Some weirdoes came by the farm!”
Applejack was struck by the casual insult, “Applebloom! That’s not-”
It was then she laid eyes on the lanky griffin with a bushel of apples and the paraplegic Pegasus. She ducked her head and spoke softly. “It ain’t polite to point that kinda stuff out.”
“But that’s what they said they were.”
By now the others caught up, “Howdy… y’all.” AJ introduced herself. “I’m Applejack.”
“Oh, hi Applejack.” Servo said, extending a hoof.
Crow did likewise, “Love your breakfast cereal, so nice to finally meet you.”
“Right… And you are?”
“I’m Crow, and the Flintstonemobile here is Servo.”
“Check me out.” The Pegasus smiled.
Applejack nodded, more to herself than anything, then reached a foreleg around her sister’s shoulders, pulling her aside: “Listen, Applebloom, the map dun’ called me and Rainbow Dash to go settle one of these dern friendship disputes. I gotta pack a bag and head outta town for a spell. You girls just uh…”
While these out-of-towners were odd, the fillies did seem to take a shine to them, and she wasn’t picking up any airs of deceit.
“You just, look out ‘fer each other, okay?”
“You got it!” Applebloom saluted her sister.
The Bearer of Honesty turned her attention to the newcomers: “Welcome to Ponyville, fellas, hope you enjoy ‘yer stay.”
“So do I,” Crow said, “Not like that time we got trapped in that village, and had to fear the mysterious monsters lurking in the woods surrounding that village. And then Servo got stabbed, and I had to stumble blindly through those woods to get medicine back to the village... What was the name of that place, Servo?”
Servo shook his head, “I don’t remember, Crow, I do not!”
While the pair talked it over, Applejack slid a disbelieving look to her sister, who for her part appeared entirely amused by their eccentricity, shooting back a delighted smile.
“I bes’ get goin.”
Leaving the group to their discussion, Applejack heard one of them call out to her:
“Oh, bye Applejack.”
In the Whitetail Woods…
Even with his status as Archknight of the Thicket, Blackthorne still had his usual duties to attend. As such his patrol through the kingdom’s territory was a welcome relief from the attention he was now receiving back home. He was a reserved stag, eschewing the praise and deference due to one elevated to his station. The solitude and tranquility of the forest was far preferrable to the bustle of court; with no one here to intrude on his peace.
Though there was of course, the other reason he liked to get away from the Thicket. A reason that was growing on him more and more with each passing day.
A harness now adorned his breast as he strode the wood, one of bronze mail with an emerald diamond affixed centrally on his chest. The base of his antlers bore decoration as well: matching emerald stones fixed into bronze bracelets polished to a shine. Despite what he considered to be an ostentatious display that might otherwise hamper his ability to conceal himself, these ornaments did more than look pretty.
At the sound of a crunching leaf, his ears swiveled to the north.
A younger stag reached the top of an earthen berm, catching his breath as he searched for his intended, misty vapor rising in the crisp air.
It was then Blackthorne’s shape reappeared from the greens and shadows of the forest, a glimmering enchantment receding into the emeralds of his adornment.
“Oakenheart,” He called out, drawing the other’s attention.
The younger stag sighted Blackthorne with a slight gasp of surprise, but quickly found his composure and raised his head.
“Sir, the King summons you, right away.”
“Did he say for what?”
Oakenheart met his superior’s gaze, “He did not, Sir. It wasn’t my place to press.”
An answer Blackthorne expected. “Indeed. Lead on then.”
Liberated and cleansed of the encrustations and gloom of the Changelings defilement, the Kingdom of the Thicket was restored to its natural glory. Towering trees and lanterns of bioluminescence created an ethereal city of wonder, where spiraling paths led one upwards into the boughs. In the center, the mighty ash tree stood, its branches reaching wide, its trunk the palace of the Royal family.
Unlike the ponies or the griffins, the civilization of the deer was grown, not made, in accordance with their traditions of preserving the life and splendor of the forest realm. In place of buildings stood trees, their roads were beaten paths; streams flowed towards a springwood fountain and its pool where the young and old refreshed themselves.
An object that always caught Blackthorne’s attention, as it did now while he and Oakenheart made their way, was the stone relief embedded at the base of the Royal Ash. It depicted the founding of the Thicket Kingdom: a herd of deer standing before a much taller figure of similar body shape, its mighty antlers crowned with leaves, an ancient creature of elemental power called a ‘spriggan’.
Much to his restrained chagrin, Blackthorne was greeted along his way like nobility, which he politely returned without enthusiasm. They made their way up one of the ash tree’s curving paths.
“I see the title still does not sit well with you.” Oakenheart observed.
Blackthorne turned a fading scowl on his companion, “It is more self-importance than I care to carry.”
Finding the answer dubious, Oakenheart narrowed his eyes on the gifted raiment. “Do you mean to say you find the prestige of Archknight unwelcome?”
“It is a great honor to serve my king and realm.” The knight recited. “I simply wish to do so in a more… discrete manner.”
“You know, Sir Blackthorne… many a deer would be near tears of joy to be elevated to such a position. Your begrudging is… curious.”
He heard the slight insinuation in the junior’s tone. “Would that I could impart such a bliss to another, and spare myself such jubilation. But our good king has seen fit to bestow the honor upon me, and uphold the honor I shall, no matter how it may conflict with my own predispositions.”
“Indeed.” Oakenheart agreed, casting his gaze in the opposite direction. “Spoken like a true knight.”
As it was, the King was not his hall but rather occupied in his own chambers. They met the guards posted outside the room, and waited as one announced Blackthorne’s arrival.
“I bid your leave, Sir.” Oakenheart said with a curt lifting of the chin, adhering to the formalities of disengaging a superior. “And wish you good luck.”
“Gladly I give it, and wish you luck as well.”
The two parted with one final glance, not unpolite but not very friendly either.
The guard reappeared. “Sir, King Aspen will see you.”
Inside, the King was facing away from him, engaged in the midst of some tome as it sat on a stand and flipping through its text casually.
“Come, noble Blackthorne,” King Aspen said with a raised hoof, face still looking into the pages. “Let’s have a chat, you and I.”
There was no desk between them so he stepped forward to the center, and postured with his forelegs straight, chest out, and chin lifted. Unlike ponies who bowed, lowering one’s antlers was a sign of aggression among the deer, so a raised chin served as the gesture of deference and respect.
“My Lord, you called for me.”
“Be at ease, Blackthorne, you’re not at court.” Aspen bid with a wave, finally turning to see him. “I don’t suppose you know why I’ve summoned you?”
Relaxing his posture, Blackthorne cleared his throat, “I do not, my Lord. I was out on patrol when Oakenheart found me.”
“Out… on patrol…” Aspen let the words hang as he rounded the room inspecting other items of interest, a pregnant pause before he continued. “And nothing more while you were out?” With that question he leveled an insightful gaze on him.
The knight’s brow furrowed with accruing uncertainty. “What… more would I be doing, Your Grace?”
Aspen did not speak immediately after, but mulled a thought with a sigh. “Tell me: your patrols bring you near to Ponyville, correct?”
Blackthorne swallowed. “On… one particular route, yes.”
“And were you on that route today?”
“I happen to be so, my Lord, yes.”
An uncomfortable expression came over the king. “It has come to my attention, that you have been making that route with unusual frequency as of late. Is there a reason for this interest?”
“Incidents have been increasing in Ponyville over the past year, my Lord. The Changelings are only the most recent occurrence. I believe that it behooves us to keep a closer eye on what goes on there.”
Aspen nodded, acknowledging the virtue of the point. “You are right. We have been… detached from the world outside the forest for generations. Perhaps it is time we take a more proactive role in Equestria.”
Stepping closer, the king apprised Blackthorn, “Is that what you are doing, Blackthorne? Seeking a more proactive… relationship with the ponies?”
He couldn’t meet the King’s eyes, “Your Grace, I…”
Aspen moved in, within leg’s distance. “Blackthorne…” He tried to speak but the right words came only stubbornly. “You know, you would not be the first to seek such a thing.”
The knight’s eyes darted to the king.
“Historically speaking,” Aspen clarified. “Of course.”
While Blackthorne stood in place and tried to process what he was hearing, the king circled about him. “But… as we know, there are certain types of… associations that are considered Lagan.”
“Forbidden, my Lord.”
“Yes, but there’s more to it than that. Something Lagan is not an arbitrary distinction, there is a greater cause behind it, a higher value than a simple admonition. Do you understand, Blackthorne?”
“I do, my Lord.”
“I don’t want you think I summoned you here just to harangue you, Archknight. I have too much respect for you to treat you like some common insubordinate.”
“Your Grace…” Anxiety roiled in the knight as he began to wrap his mind around the true scope of this conversation. “I don’t quite know what to say.”
“You should say nothing about the matter, Blackthorne.” Aspen returned to the book and flipped to a new page. “And partition your patrol routes more evenly.”
“I will, my liege.”
“I’m glad we had this talk, Blackthorne. I look forward to having you in my service for a long time.”
The knight stiffened his posture and lifted his chin, “I bid your leave, my Lord, and wish you wellness.”
“I give it,” King Aspen said. “And may your honor never falter.”
The second Blackthorne was on the other side of the chamber doors, he released a breast-full of air and nerves. His brain was working at a frantic pace to condense what he was thinking and feeling into something coherent. But he recalled his composure with a deep breath and exhale, glancing to the door guards who regarded him stoically. He spared them a nod and departed.
The Previous Evening in Canterlot
Wanderlust was not a happy unicorn.
Upon discovering the Alicorn Amulet was missing from Twilight’s hidden drawer, an argument had ensued that resulted in them splitting up for the evening. The Princess was at a loss to explain how somepony could have known where the Amulet was, much less steal it without leaving a trace.
It wasn’t her fault, Wanderlust knew, she was more shocked than he was when they saw the empty box. In his frustration he’d become short, and vented unkindly at the Princess. Fortunately, he’d left before saying anything specifically regrettable.
“What happened?!” Æclypse roared, turning on Twilight and holding the empty box aloft. “Where is it?!” He demanded.
Twilight stared at the box in astonishment, mouth agape. “I….I…”
The chest slammed shut and went flying, crashing into a stack of books that sent all clattering to the floor.
The elder unicorn barked in anger and imposed his bulk over the smaller mare.
“How could you be this careless with the Alicorn Amulet?! Don’t you understand how dangerous it is? What it could be used for in the wrong hooves?”
“Stop yelling at me!” She balked, her words belied by the twinges of fear in her face. Ears flattened; she recoiled a step. “I don’t know what happened! It should be here!”
“It’s not, Twilight! Which means somepony else has it! Which means somepony else knew about it!” He stamped at the end of each statement, then leaned in with a glare. “Who did you tell?”
Something within Twilight bolstered her nerve, and her demeanor shifted: her breast filling and jaw stiffening. “I didn’t tell anypony! Why would I if I were trying to hide it?!”
“Somepony knew, Twilight.” He bristled. “Either you let it slip, or they figured it out somehow.” Æclypse’s eyes darted with a new thought: “Zecora, how much does she know?”
Sparkle tried to think, “She knew I had the box, but so did plenty of ponies. Nopony knew I brought it here.”
He strode away from her, letting a long exhalation deflate his stress.
“I’m sorry.” Twilight said. “We’ll figure this out.”
Æclypse paused and grit his teeth, “Will we now?”
“You could have handled that better.” The reflection chided him. With his forelegs draped over the side of the bridge, Wanderlust stared down at the vision of Æclypse mirrored back up at him.
“I just want this to come to an end. Is that too much to ask?”
“You’ve faced plenty of setbacks before. This one is no different.”
“But we were so close!” Wanderlust knocked his hoof against the bridge-wall. “How can it just…?”
“I know it’s frustrating, but we can’t lose our head. We just need to get back on the trail.”
“Oh, that’s easy for you to say, you don’t have any plans for next week. I’ve got things I want to do.”
“So what?” Æclypse asked provocatively, head cocked. “You’re just going to mope around and begrudge the world because you’re not quite there yet?”
“So what should I do, huh? Just let it slip by me again?”
“You’re too worked up, old boy. Take your mind off it for a bit and come back refocused, when your thoughts are clear.”
Wanderlust pondered, and remembered the invitation to explore the Royal Guard barracks.
“I think you’re right.”
“Of course I am.”
“I need some distraction and a good night’s sleep.”
“There you go.”
“I’ll go take a look at what the Guard have going on, then find some dinner.”
“You also owe Twilight an apology at some point.”
“Yes…” Wanderlust scowled. “Tomorrow.”
Wary as he was about trotting near to the palace, the directions he got from ponies along the way nonetheless directed him that way. The compound was an adjacent property tucked between the castle proper and the sheer of the mountain and removed from public eye. The front of the compound was a two-story white stone façade with a mural tower over the portcullis that served as the main entrance.
The gate was up at the moment, with a pair of stout white Earth Pony stallions standing under the archway engaged in conversation. Ornate spears leaned complacently against their shoulders.
Wanderlust nodded as he approached them, “Evening, gentlecolts. I’m looking for Lieutenant Mantle, is he about?”
The guard to his left gave him a skeptical mien, “What business do you have with the Lieutenant?”
“I was invited to join him for the evening.” Wanderlust told him politely but firmly, leveling out with the guard. “If you could guide me to him, or get word to him that Wanderlust is at the gate, it would be much appreciated.”
Unflinching, the haughtiness that had initially greeted him waned in the eyes of the guard, icy irises subtly cowing the stallion’s boldness.
“Corseque,” The guard said sidelong to his counterpart. “Go find the L.T. and let him know.”
“Right.” Corseque, as he had been named, gave the others a wary glance before stepping away.
This left Wanderlust and the stubborn guard to stand at leg’s length from each other, both unwilling to cede any ground.
“Well, you have my name friend, might I ask yours?” Wanderlust asked after a few moments.
“Bardiche.”
“That’s a fine spear you have, Bardiche. Are you proficient with it?”
Bardiche’s expression shifted, silently balking at the question. “What’s it to you, stranger?”
“Just curious.”
His nerve seeming to steel, the guard casually stepped back, not out of fear, but a soldierly reposturing to create an ideal distance between them. “You know that’s an odd question to ask a stallion you just met. Are you looking for trouble?”
Realizing he was being too bold, Wanderlust bit his lip and demurred his poise. “Beg your pardon, sir, I don’t mean to be rude. The whole reason for my visit tonight is to learn about the standards of the Royal Guard for some research I’m doing.”
“Research? Like a book or something?”
“Yes, something like that. If you have some technique with the spear, I’d be interested to see it.”
Bardiche scrunched his mouth to the side. “Let’s see what the Lieutenant says, then maybe I can show you a thing or two with the spear.”
A few minutes later Corseque returned with Lieutenant Mantle, who wore a pleased smirk to see the civilian at the gate.
“Ah! I was hoping you’d come!”
Bardiche snapped to attention at the arrival of a superior officer.
Striding up beside Bardiche, Mantle noticed the cold air between them and chuckled. He extended a hoof to Wanderlust but spoke sidelong to the guard: “As you were soldier, good to see at least one of you out here doing their job.”
“Can’t let just any scoundrel off the street wander in, Sir.”
“Scoundrel?” Mantle chuckled, eying his fellow unicorn. “I’ll have you know this gentlecolt is a personal friend of Princess Twilight. Which to me, disqualifies him from such a slight.”
Bardiche thereupon was in a discomfort that wore itself on his face, and he took in a deep breath that swelled his chest. “Please excuse my ignorance, Wanderlust. I was unaware you were kept in such reputable company.”
“No worries,” Wanderlust forgave him with a congenial pat on the shoulder. “I’ve been known to be a scoundrel from time to time.”
Again, Mantle chuckled, thumping his flank against Wanderlust. “See? I knew there something I liked about this fellow. Come, let me show you around.”
Wanderlust gave the guards a nod as he left them at their post, they giving their officer a parting salute as they did. The area immediately beyond the gate was a type of staging area, an open space where a large formation could be conducted.
“This is where we hold our morning and evening role-calls.” Mantle informed him. "30 to 40 in a formation, depending on the day.”
While the space was largely free, there were a number of ponies in guard attire milling about. It was here he noticed that not all of them were of the famed sterling-white or storm-grey type that Canterlot was known for. Some of these were colorful, shorter, taller, even a few mares.
“Are those some new recruits? Or are they tasked elsewhere beside the city?”
Mantle looked to where Wanderlust was referring to, and understood. Something on his face seemed to tighten.
“Well you see, traditionally, only white or grey coated stallions could enlist in the Royal Guard. Recently however, Princess Celestia has ordered us to… ‘diversify’ our ranks and expand our recruitment standards to include all coat-types and… mares as well.”
“You don’t sound terribly thrilled about it.”
Mantle flinched to realize his faux pas, and downplayed the statement with a laugh. “Oh, don’t take it the wrong way, but this move was done for superficial reasons. We don’t actually need any bolstering to the ranks, the Princess just wants us to ‘appear’ more inclusive. Some rubbish about ‘optics’.”
“A P.R. stunt?” Wanderlust offered.
“Yes! It’s a matter of standards, you see. What’s the point of having them at all if you’re just going to toss a set of barding on anypony who trots in and call them a soldier?”
Wanderlust tilted his head with a scrunch, “Indeed. One would think that the protection of Canterlot and the Princesses was not taken seriously.”
Mantle shot a hearty hoof into Wanderlust’s shoulder, “Exactly!”
Something unspoken balanced on the tip of Mantle’s tongue, as if it might spill out if he were to tilt his head forward, but he reigned it back. “Come,” He said eventually. “Let me show you the training grounds.”
To the left of the assembly grounds there was a doorway through the partition which led to what Wanderlust recognized as a general-purpose environment. Dummy-stands, drill & ceremony sections, a type of obstacle-course that ran the perimeter of the walls. A few unarmored ponies who were clearly handling a lance for the first time were poking at straw targets as their supervisor observed from his lean. A Drill Instructor was taking a group of six through their paces at marching commands.
It was a more professional set-up than the type he’d gone through in Thule, but it didn’t seem anywhere near the level of rigor or efficiency he remembered. Despite the difference it did feel rousing to be amidst a martial environment again.
Mantle noticed his inspectful stare. “This is a new batch we just started processing yesterday; couldn’t get any greener if they grew out of the ground.”
There was however a corner section of the yard where a trio of white stallions in simple barding were sparring with staffs, one end of them painted green. Of the three an earth pony with his staff gripped in his teeth was trading moves with a unicorn who held his with magic, while a Pegasus stood a few paces away, waiting a turn.
“What about them?” He asked.
“Ah, now these are legacy admissions. Each of them has had family members in the Guard for generations, they walk in the door with some experience and knowledge. They’re practically bred to be Canterlot Guards, and we typically fast-track them to an assignment.”
As he watched them swerve and strike, appraising their skill. Wanderlust felt an old itch.
“Would you mind if I sparred with one of those legacy chaps?” He asked, pointing to the trio. “Maybe he could teach me a thing or two.”
Mantle met the proposal with a smirk of amusement, “Why not? You look like you could take a bump. You ever train with a weapon?”
“Not for a long time, I’m sure my form is outdated.”
In short order Wanderlust was outfitted with a set of training barding and given a faux spear, and stood before the young legacies weighing the balance of the implement. They in turn muttered between themselves, snickering as they eyed the older stranger twirl his stick.
“You sure you know how to handle that thing?” The unicorn mocked with a chuckle. “Take care not to get a splinter.”
“Oh, I’m sure it can’t be that difficult.” Wanderlust went through a few motions. “Just try not to hit myself.”
The Earth Pony was the first to step forward, and Wanderlust regarded him with a salute; holding the staff straight up and down in front of his face, the top end at eye level.
“I’ve had a lot of practice against unicorns.” The stallion said, holding his staff in a curled hoof and returning the salute. “But I’ll be gentle.”
“Please, I’m here to see what you can do.”
Mantle stood with the other two as each combatant entered their stances; the Earth Pony with his staff in his teeth, Wanderlust levitating his at a high slanted guard. “Basic high stance, posture is good. He must have seen it in a book or something.”
The two began a methodical circling, the younger stallion prodding and feigning, Wanderlust maintaining his guard and watching. Finally the impatience of youth won out and the Earth Pony made a move; skidding around to his left to curve his body before springing straight to strike at an off angle. It was an overly aggressive move, just enough to elicit a response, which it earned in the form of a swift wheeling deflect.
“That was efficient.” Mantle said, mildly impressed. “Bull will have to stop playing around.”
The same thought seemed to manifest in the young stallion’s mind, and he lowered his head. This time the attack was a short charge followed by a sharp spin to slam the butt of the staff into his opponent’s space. A technique designed to bring an earth pony’s superior brawn to bear. Again, Wanderlust countered the attack deftly by pivoting around the charge and parrying the jab, switching places where they stood.
“Outdated form, he says…” Mantle noted with a growing interest.
Bull, as the Lieutenant had named him, snorted with some irritation. Wanderlust remained cool.
Now the unicorn took the initiative; stepping forward to the right and making a pair of exploratory smacks against Bull’s staff. As soon as Bull responded by moving to block, Wanderlust swung low and landed a tap on Bull’s right foreleg. He then retreated into another high guard.
“Oooooo!” The Pegasus hooted, breaking into a wild laughter.
But the unicorn was not amused, instead focusing on his senior’s movements.
Bull charged; not a messy, furious oncoming, but aimed like a lance. He was moving into that space whether Wanderlust was there or not. Again Wanderlust pivoted but now the onslaught began in earnest: Bull bucked his hind legs to prevent a blindside and came near to smashing into his head, then used the momentum to wheel about and continue his assault.
He's strong alright, but let’s see how long he can go.
Wanderlust was put on the backhoof, retreating under the punishing blows. Though it might appear for a unicorn to have the advantage in a duel such as this, the simple truth was that exerting magical control was equal to flexing a muscle. And in a contest of strengths, an Earth Pony’s physical might was a formidable contest for any unicorn’s concentration. Bull’s stated experience with unicorns was bearing its fruit: if he couldn’t out maneuver the unicorn, he could smash through him.
“Observe here,” Mantle said to his recruits. “Sometimes sheer brute force will defeat technique.”
One blow after another Wanderlust managed to weather at an accumulating cost: his defense losing distance, his teeth gritting to maintain concentration.
Okay, he’s got endurance.
But after a dozen or more of these blows, the pace began to slow, the impacts landing with less force. This was the opportunity Wanderlust had been waiting for. One more blow he let skim off his staff, using the momentum to coil his hind legs underneath. Then he sprung forward and lunged out with his forehooves to seize the ends of Bull’s staff and twist it from horizontal to vertical and over. Instead of letting go as a more experienced pony would, the brash young stallion found himself on his back, with the green end of Wanderlust’s staff hovering over his chest.
The dust was still settling as Mantle and the other recruits gaped with open mouths.
“I’ll tell you one thing,” Wanderlust said through his panting. “I’d hate to face you again in a few years.”
Bull, finally spitting out the staff stared up at the unicorn with a mixture of shock and fascination. “Where’d you… learn that?”
Wanderlust leaned down for only them to know, “Fighting yaks.”
Helping the lunk of muscle back to his hooves, Wanderlust gave him an approving knock on the upper foreleg as they each caught their breath.
The Pegasus then took on an elevated smirk, and took up his own training spear, “Hope you’re not too winded to go another round.” He broke from the others and assumed a confident stance. “How’bout it old boy?”
“Give the stallion a minute, Hawk.” Mantle chided him.
I know I shouldn’t… Wanderlust thought to himself. But by the gods it feels so exhilarating to swing a weapon again! Let’s see what these kids have…
Retrieving his staff, Bull glanced between the cocksure Pegasus and the unicorn and shrugged as he cleared the space.
The younger unicorn removed his helm and used it to settle down on, keen to observe the next bout more intently. His revealed mane was a burnt orange that tapered to a black tip.
Exercising his jaw muscles to alleviate the ache in his head, Wanderlust walked to a position opposite Hawk. “Forgive me if I’m a bit too slow for you, your friend has left me quite taxed.”
A trail of blonde mane wavered out from underneath Hawk’s helm as he smirked, “Don’t worry, old chap, just a friendly spar.” With his wings to keep him aloft, the Pegasus was able to wield his training spear in his forehooves, and he twirled it playfully.
Wanderlust knocked the butt of his staff on the ground a few times before adopting a stance. This time the staff was held back at an angle along his right flank, with the green end pointed away and slanted towards the ground.
“A long tail stance?” Mantle asked aloud, listing his head to the right. “Against a Pegasus?”
Hawk appeared similarly bewildered by the choice as he presented his training spear in a fool stance, forward and with the green end slightly downward, which most pegasai took against grounded opponents. This left Wanderlust ostensibly unprotected against a direct attack. Thusly confused, Hawk held his staff a bit tighter, unsure what kind of trickery might be involved.
But he was confident in his natural ability to access another dimension of movement, and approached Wanderlust in subtle increments, always keeping the green of his staff pointed at his opponent.
As before, Wanderlust did not attempt to counter the first few probatory jabs but rather chose to avoid them with dodges. Hawk was more cautious than Bull, aware that his calm demeanor belied an adept challenger. Still, he looked for an opening he might exploit without making too sacrificial a mistake.
But Wanderlust was first to attack in earnest, arcing a swipe at Hawk’s staff that nearly tore it from his grip before returning it to recoiled position.
The Pegasus retreated, briefly stunned.
“That was a test, Hawk!” Mantle shouted at his recruit. “Keep ahold of your bloody weapon!”
Hawk regarded his instructor with a combination of sneer and fright and resolidified his stance.
“Remember,” Said Wanderlust, “You can outmaneuver me. Don’t waste your energy poking around.”
He seemed to take the advice rather immediately, the Pegasus dashing overhead to make a pendulous slash before wheeling back into a ready stance. Wanderlust managed to get his staff over his back to intercept and likewise pivoted through to put himself at odds.
Mantle blew out a long breath. “I’m beginning to think you’re not quite the novice you presented yourself as.”
Chancing a sidelong glance over his shoulder, Wanderlust raised a brow and curled his mouth: “I may have understated my skill a tad.”
Hawk dove again and now their staffs collided, the momentum allowing the Pegasus to force Wanderlust’s back almost against his horn. The sticks wrestled against each other left and right before they disengaged, and the stallions began trading strikes and parries.
“He’s holding back.” The younger unicorn said, his eyes keeping track. “He could move his stick around anywhere he wants in his magic but he’s keeping it close, keeping it fair.”
“Picked-up on that, did you?” Mantle said.
The strategy of the long-tail stance revealed itself as Wanderlust was able to defend himself from the assault from the higher vantage. Though even this tactic was only just enough to prevent the most dangerous attacks from getting through; Hawk in constant motion and making glancing contacts that kept the unicorn in a state of reaction. In this way they fell into a rhythm: strike and parry, strike and parry, strike and parry.
Once Wanderlust felt secure in the pattern, he slipped the next exchange, allowing Hawk to overextend his swing. When he did, Wanderlust’s staff smacked it down before sliding upwards and pointing the painted end at Hawk’s neck. The young Pegasus backpedaled before the technique reached its full extent, swinging abruptly to put some defense between himself and the opponent’s spear.
Both were panting; Wanderlust’s mane damp with sweat and mouth open halfway to exhale, Hawk rolling his shoulders to exercise the burn in the muscles and his nostrils flared to supply his own lungs.
Perhaps I was being a bit hasty…. He began to wonder.
Hawk adjusted his grip, moving to a plow stance with the butt of his staff tucked into his lower belly.
What’s this? A powerthrust to break my guard or something clever?
As the unicorn imagined what might be coming at him next, the training yard was replaced by a dark and windy battlefield, consumed in the noise of ponies hollering and ear-splitting shrieks. Across from him, the Pegasus was imagined to be a griffin skyreaver in its terrifying battle-fury. His gaze smoldered.
Hawk circled to his right for a few beats, closing the distance before exploding forward. The initial strafe was ostensibly a passing one, but it was altered in mid-wing beat. In a move the caught Wanderlust off-guard, the strike came down at his left side, forcing him to deflect at a weak angle. But Hawk had nonetheless made the commitment, and in doing so, exposed a crucial vulnerability.
Wanderlust’s training spear rolled through the deflection and came green-first against Hawk’s abdomen.
Mantle and the younger unicorn each jolted with surprise, the technique having frozen Hawk in place to realize the duel was over.
“A palisade inversion…” The unicorn muttered. “My grandfather showed me that move.”
Mantle’s brow furrowed, “Nopony’s taught that move in generations.”
“Because it was invented to battle griffins.”
Hawk and Wanderlust met each other’s gaze, and the disbelief of one was greeted by the friendliness of the other.
“A daring move,” Wanderlust complimented with a smile. “Nicely done, my boy. But it seems I have you.”
Hawk let his staff go limp; shock dissolving into dejection, into resolve. He inhaled, stiffened his chin, and without a word, raised a salute. It was returned, and Wanderlust again gave the recruit a nod of approval.
As the victor took a respite and the vanquished cleared the field, Mantle rolled his shoulder and prepared to step forward. Before he took a second step however, the younger unicorn donned his helm and strode past him.
“Fox, I’m not sure-”
The aspiring guard spun on his instructor, his eyes full of restlessness, “I’ve got to face him now, Sir! I need to…” He looked to Wanderlust who was catching his breath. “I just need to.”
Mantle made no further objection as the young Fox took up his training spear and trotted to the sparring circle.
Wanderlust gave him a sidelong consideration, sweat beading through the fur of his face. “Be with you in a moment.” He bid between breaths. “And who might my next opponent be?”
“My name is Fox Fauchard, and I am the scion of many proud Canterlot guards.”
“Good,” Wanderlust nodded, flicking his staff and clearing his nostrils. “Good. I like the sound of that.”
Fox stepped forward, saluted, and took-up a middle guard, his magic holding the staff in front of him; the green angled slightly upwards.
It was then that Wanderlust noted the number of those gathering on the periphery: the other recruits, the instructors, and a few new bystanders that had come through. All of them curiously eager, like children vying for a good spot to watch a parade pass by.
Come on old boy, you’ve got one more in you. Give ‘em a little show.
“Alright.” Wanderlust saluted and presented his weapon in a similar fashion. As soon as he did, Fox advanced with a rapid set of attacks, taking advantage of the initiative and worn-down opponent. The older unicorn parried on the backstep, circling as the two began to dance.
Finally Fox relented, drawing back this time into an inside-right position where he waited for whatever response might come.
Unfolding from a hanging guard, Wanderlust gave him a pleased expression, “There’s the enthusiasm I like to see. You know your paces well.”
“I have my grandfather to thank.”
“Don’t we all.”
Fox’s tactic changed as he came on, lunging forward in increments before beginning a series of stabs and slashes meant to get past the guard.
He’s aggressive, his form is solid…
Again each attack was met and countered with deft maneuvering until Fox gave one last power slash with an angry roar. Wanderlust’s staff caught the other and deflected it to the side, but that was when Fox stepped in and drove his shoulder into grey fur and muscle. The impact was heavier than the spry recruit anticipated and so his shove wasn’t as fruitful as he desired, but it was still rewarded by a near-toppling. Instead of capitalizing however, he half-expected some mortal reversal to come in the next second, so Fox danced back and crouched into a low inside guard.
For the first time Wanderlust was thrown off his balance, almost sprawling to the ground, unable to hold his staff up for protection. He wore surprise plainly, and as he regained his guard let a delighted grin shape his face.
“Good! That’s how to make an opening! You just have to follow through!”
On the last word, Wanderlust came on, making side-to-side attacks to establish a pattern before going for the legs. But Fox was savvy and caught the move with a parry, he now on the backstep. With a cry of excitement, Wanderlust wheeled himself around with side-hops and tried to confound his opponent with both staff maneuvers and an impending threat of melee.
Mantle was pleased to see his student giving this deceptively capable foe a proper run, but that didn’t distract from the rather disconcerting fact of his expertise.
Younger and with nimbleness to contend the experience, Fox danced his way out of the press to put himself in front of Wanderlust again.
They locked in a bind.
“Your grandfather taught you well.”
Fox didn’t spare the rejoinder he was hoping for, but the gears of thought were turning behind the brown eyes. Instead, he tossed the bind away and adapted the side-dash to close almost flank-to-flank, vaulted his body spine-to-spine rolling over to the other side. Wanderlust tried to follow him, but the acrobatics were a distraction, and just as Fox’s hooves hit the ground, his staff swept into grey forelegs.
The crowd gasped.
Wanderlust’s muscles reacted to the sudden loss of stability, and he somersaulted forward, twisting to get his hooves underneath him. There was no time to recover as Fox Fauchard’s training spear was already racing in towards his widened eyes. A prone roll to his left staved off defeat, and he kicked out at the green end to knock it away.
But a zealousness for victory possessed Fox, and he abandoned the staff in favor of charging him with melee intent, bearing forth with his horn alight and teeth clenched.
Weapons aside they clashed as stallions of old did: with blazing horns sending sparks from the contact, rearing up and trading hooves.
I must’ve made this kid angry!
It was during this development of the fight that a small group of ponies atop the wall looked down and saw the source of the commotion.
“My goodness!” Chancellor Fancy Pants exclaimed, adjusting his monocle. “That fellow gets around, doesn’t he?”
Fleur de Lis contorted her face into one of perplexity, “For what reason is he tussling with that guard?”
A pegasus, leaning on the wall who was likewise watching the spar spoke up: “Old chap’s been running the gauntlet against the young bucks! Giving those legacy recruits a proper lesson!”
“You don’t say?” Fancy traded a raised brow with Fleur.
Fox and Wanderlust retreated from one another a few paces, each catching their breath. The younger unicorn staggered, his muscles straining. The older trying to slow his heartrate, shoulders slowly rising to a fighting poise. With a perception of a seemingly indomitable opponent, Wanderlust could see the spirit in Fox’s eyes dimming.
“Alright Fox Fauchard, what else did your grandfather teach you?”
Something in the brown eyes was rekindled.
With a little dance of the forehooves, Wanderlust charged, focused as a diving falcon. Fox was too exhausted to attempt a dive or dodge.
The crowd leaned in. Those above on the wall leaned in.
Wanderlust reared-up to smash down with his hooves. Fox, bereft of better choices, threw himself backwards onto his spine with hooves ready.
The training yard let out a collective gasp when the dust cleared, and Wanderlust was sent head over hooves into a supine crash, Fox’s gleaming horn inches above his head in the next moment. The two locked eyes as they panted in their inverted positions, a drop of perspiration falling from Fox’s cheek.
Wanderlust groaned as he let his legs collapse to either side, “Well done lad.”
Bull and Hawk rushed to their comrade and enveloped him in jostling and congratulations, carrying him off as they did. This left the older stallion to relax where he was as Mantle approached to stand over him.
“Well what happened there?”
“Got tired… he caught me.”
“Did he now?” Mantle reached down and aided Wanderlust to stand. “Because it looked to me like you set him up for an easy counter.”
“Oh really?” Exhaling as he straightened his legs, Wanderlust let the air out through pursed lips, his helmet floating off in a magic nimbus. “Because I could have thought of easier ways to do it.”
Mantle regarded him with a squinted eye, but declined to follow it up when he noticed the silhouettes on the rampart above. He stepped away.
Fox broke from his companions, removed his helmet and strode back to Wanderlust, “You’re not too bad. For an old mote.”
There was a mirthful gleam in Wanderlust, “And you’ve got some potential yourself. For a yearling.”
“When I was watching you, your technique reminded me a lot of my grandfather. That’s partly why I wanted to take my turn with you.”
“I hope it was out of respect, feels you got a little angry at the end there.”
A look of sheepishness struck Fox, “Sorry about that, my blood got kinda hot there.”
“No no,” Wanderlust stepped in close and fixed him with a steadfast stare. “That’s exactly what I was looking for. When you’re in the midst of battle there’s a sweet-spot you need to find, somewhere between fury and focus. When you can channel that violent urge and fuel what you’ve honed in your training, that’s when you’ll be at your most dangerous.”
Fox held his gaze a second, looked down, then found it again, “You’ve been at this a while, haven’t you?”
Wanderlust mulled his tongue on the inside of his cheek and rolled his eyes, “You could say that.”
Bull and Hawk then also approached, the haughty air from earlier replaced by one of esteem.
“Bull Lucerne.” The earth pony introduced himself, his mane was shaved down to the stubble.
“Hawk Estoc.” Said the Pegasus.
“A pleasure, gentlecolts.” Wanderlust shook each their hooves in turn. “You keep up your training, and Canterlot will be in fine hooves.”
“Wanderlust!” Mantle called from the base of the wall where a stone archway led to another part of the compound. “Join me, will you?”
“If you’ll excuse me.” Wanderlust nodded to each in turn as Bull and Hawk departed.
Fox however remained a moment more and offered a deferential nod. Wanderlust returned it.
Wanderlust followed Mantle up a flight of stairs that led to a type of veranda with expensive furnishings: benches, potted plants, statues, and rugs. It was there that Chancellor Fancy Pants and Fleur de Lis were waiting for them; he overlooking the balcony to the city, she reclined on one of the padded benches.
The chancellor turned at their approach, “Ah! Good to see you on your hooves! I must say you surprise me, I understand you made quite the sport of those strapping lads.”
He and Wanderlust shook hooves. “Didn’t realize you were such a proficient pugilist!”
“Well they gave me all I could handle. Lieutenant Mantle here has done a fine job in their instruction.”
“Good to hear, good to hear.”
The lieutenant said nothing but let himself show a bit of pride as he fell in tow.
Fancy gave the grey unicorn a pat on the shoulder and bid him follow, “You look like you could use a good sit, come join us.”
The horizon was an orange field, reaching out over Canterlot with its fingers giving the spot a warm atmosphere. Wanderlust was led to a couch and Fancy used his magic to pour a glass of water from a pitcher, which Wanderlust accepted readily and downed in a single go. With a gasp of refreshment, he eased himself down opposite Fleur. Mantle leaned himself against the guardwall and observed as Fancy chose a high-backed chair.
“You’re just a Renaissance stallion, aren’t you?” She asked, eying him like a dessert.
“Not to brag…” Wanderlust let the unspoken hang with a sly smirk.
“I have a rather interesting question for you,” Fancy Pants was examining the state of his left hoof. “Not that it’s necessarily our business… but I was wondering exactly what your name really is?”
My what?
Wanderlust seemed to be the only one caught off guard, pausing as he poured another glass of water. Neither Fleur nor Mantle did more than wait patiently for an answer. The grey stallion took a breath, glancing among his company.
Oooooh, that’s right…
Fancy continued: “See, I was just chatting with our colleague here, and he referred to you as ‘Wanderlust’, whereas Fleur and I know you as ‘Percival’. I was just… curious why you’d give out different names.”
Wanderlust swallowed and finished pouring his drink. “Old habit I’m afraid.” He drew a breath and reclined into the rest at the end of the couch. “Being the ‘Renaissance pony’ that I am, I’ve… been around the block a time or two, and I’ve learned the usefulness of not spreading your name around too much. So, I like to drop something different every now and then, and not… attract too much attention.”
Fleur leaned in on her right fore-knee, “Fascinating answer.”
“And…” Fancy bobbed his head, “This being your first time in Canterlot at the side of Princess Twilight, you’d like to avoid becoming too notable a figure… Do I have it?”
“Yes, you have it.”
“So what should we call you now?” Mantle asked.
Glancing among the company, Wanderlust pursed his lips. “Wanderlust.” He looked into his drink. “I had a cousin named Parsifal when I was younger who I was very good friends with.”
“I must say, old boy, you make for quite the unusual chap.” Fancy leaned forward in his chair, steepling his hooves as he chewed on a thought. “I’m a bit flummoxed as to what to think.”
“The more we learn about you, the more enigmatic you become.” Fleur added.
“I don’t mean to give you any cause for concern,” Wanderlust took another sip of his drink. “You’ve all been very gracious to me, I’d like to return the gesture.”
As if the same thought occurred to the three of them simultaneously, a knowing look circulated between Fleur, Fancy, and Mantle.
Fleur shuffled a bit closer on her couch, rested her chin on a curled hoof, settled her eyes on him and smiled.