//------------------------------// // The Mage // Story: Children of Darkness and Light // by Aquaman //------------------------------// “Eight hundred and seventy-two days,” the griffon rasped, staring down at his talons as his foggy pupils slid out of focus. Spike didn’t understand him until a moment later — until his guttural Orlovian speech had filtered through the enchanted orb at Spike’s side to become tinny and unnatural Equestrian. The griffon eyed the device as its echo faded down the hallway, smirked, and went on.  “That was how long the Sennan Army laid siege to Tersk. Two years, five months, two and a half weeks, through holidays, funerals, births and birthdays. There were infants, bundles of bones and skin born to mothers who could not make milk for them, who never knew life could be anything but annihilation.” The griffon looked up, sightless eyes pointed over Spike’s shoulder to the grungy stone wall behind him. “We evacuated as many as we could, saved hundreds of thousands, but millions stayed behind. Many died. All fought. Through bombardments, massacres, mass graves filled with neighbors and comrades, we still fought back, because we know something they did not, were something they could never imagine. With all their war machines and stolen magic, the Sennans were still an army of two million serfs, each serving only himself, each imagining that he would be the sole survivor ruling over the ashes of the conquered world.” He shook his head — let out a gravelly, phlegm-choked chuckle. “But we were Orlovians. We served Orlovia, chick to cock to elder to grave, and one true Orlovian is worth a thousand Freiherders, and they knew it. They learned it, by the sting of our talons and knives, and by the sigils and spells we wove through their flesh.” The griffon couldn’t see Spike shift in place, but he seemed to sense it, his beak splitting into a prideful leer. “You’re referring to rune magic?” Spike said, pausing a moment so the auto-translator could reverse course and reshape his question into reedy Orlovian. “To something the Alliance has formally declared to be–” “A crime against equinity,” the griffon finished. His tone needed no translation, nor did his rumbling scoff. “You are Equestrian by birth, yes? Your magic is beautiful. To you, it costs nothing, is nothing, used without thought and abused without consequence.” “It also doesn’t require torture. Or desecration of corpses, soul-rending, credible reports of cannibalism…” “Power in all forms has costs. Closing your eyes to a thing does not make it something else, and a lie does not become the truth no matter how often you repeat it. Magic, true magic, desires supplication, demands sacrifice. You are a dragon by nature, as I am a griffon. We know this, as a pony would not.” “The Alliance would disagree with you.” The griffon spat on the ground. “The Alliance declared the siege a ‘military operation’. Millions of lives, thousands of bloodlines wiped from existence, all perfectly legal. I will sleep soundly without their approval.” Spike glanced at their surroundings. “I can see that,” he said, before turning his gaze down to his notes. “You did seek their approval, though. Once the siege was broken and Orlovia joined the Alliance. You were part of the advance through occupied Griffonia, the third prong of Equestria and the Crystal Empire’s push into Senna after they’d defeated Zaniskar.” “I was,” the griffon confirmed. “And you saw the Princess. Met her, right? After Gąsiorwice?” When the griffon didn’t answer, Spike continued. “The Griffonian village your unit passed through, near the Sennan border. There was a massacre. Dozens of civilians dead, women and children. Griffons, like you.” “Not like me,” the griffon said, scowling. “They were not besieged. They could have fought back.” “And that excuses pillaging? That excuses rape?” “We were soldiers. Far away from home, traumatized by endless war. What creature could react normally to that?” The griffon’s scowl twisted into a smirk. “And what is so awful about his having fun with a hen, after such horrors? The Princess did not agree, of course. But she understood. Ironclaw understands us still.” Spike blinked. His translator gently buzzed beside him. “You told her about it?” The griffon shook his head. “She already knew. And she did nothing. She ranted, she raved, she thought us monsters and called us worse. But in the end, she served the Alliance, and she required us to die for it. Believe me, do not believe me, it makes little difference. It was so.” Spike gripped his notepad — folded one hand over the other, to stop them both from shaking. “That’s it? That’s all you have to say for yourself?” The griffon leaned forward — wrapped his talons around the scuffed metal bars of his cell. “I served Orlovia. I would do it again. And you, Artificer, serve nothing at all.” He paused, then grinned. “Otherwise you would be in here with me.”