“We’ll all be dead by nightfall.”
The bell tolled at break of day, when the Bronze Beauty was still drowning in the morning mist. It was Eventide in the crow’s nest who had raised the alarm, screaming his lungs out about some speck of black in the fog. It was only a smudge on the looking glass, Sandbar had told him.
The second alarm had come around midday, and this time, it could not be blamed on a smudge. The fog had cleared, the seas were calm, and there, six leagues away, came a ripple in the waves, a blast of a horn, and three sets of raised sails. On deck, all had been idle; the crew was mindlessly cleaning equipment, scrubbing the boards, or sleeping in.
“Beat to quarters!” Spar roared from the rear, and the sleepy ship awoke with shouting and an accidental shot of a pistol.
Thunder came with the drummer’s rally. Below deck, a frenzy of colts came clambering out of their hammocks, tumbling into dress and rushing for their scabbards and pistols. Tables were cleared of food and debris to make way for the Half-Nurse’s tools, while in the captain’s quarters, the old stallion Scurvy fixed his belt, sheath, and coat, and stormed over to the front deck.
“Morning, Cap’n,” came Sandbar, when the captain passed his way, “Sighting to our rear.”
The front deck was a busy mess of bodies moving to their posts. The marines had the bow, while the cargoponies climbed up the ropes and scurried down the galley ladder, rearing up barrels of ammunition and clearing away the deck clutter.
Scurvy’s marines, as he liked to call them, consisted of Bandolier and the four other adults on board, all unicorns. What good would four do against any foe, Bandolier had little idea. Cloudy was hunched over by the deck rail when Bandolier arrived, and beside him was Old Barebone.
“Dead by nightfall, truly,” Old Barebone grunted, “Now the crow boy claims he’s seen them fly a bloody red kraken on a black field.”
“Pirates?” Bandolier presumed.
Old Barebone gritted his teeth.
“He doesn’t like pirates,” Cloudy explained, “Can’t say I do, either. But sound carries over water and they’re only a ways off, so meself, I’ll say I’m indifferent.”
“A trio of Kumanese sailors we met in Basalt, they came across a pirate ship off of Bladerock Pass, flying a bloody red skeleton on a black field. Only the three of them escaped,” Old Barebone said.
“Skeletons and krakens are two different things,” Cloudy pointed out, “Krakens might be friendlier. We’ll soon find out, I suppose.”
“Three survived. What happened to the rest?” Bandolier asked.
“Something worse than you can imagine,” suggested Cloudy, “Well, you might be able to imagine it, but I’d sooner not. Bad enough to know you’re going to come to some awful end without thinking about it beforehand.”
“I’m going to find Easy and Tangletongue,” Bandolier grunted, shuffling off away from the deck.
“That’s how it begins. Deserting your post. Then it’s breaking rank. Soon we’ll be fighting one another to the last pony!” Old Barebone exclaimed.
“Probably me,” said Cloudy, in a resigned tone.
Bandolier found a greater sense of urgency at the port side of the ship, where the younger colts were trembling in their boots. Scurvy had just arrived beside Sandbar and Silver Spar, and all their eyes were fixed on the foamy trail they left behind.
Bandolier ran up the stairs to the top deck, and found Scurvy hacking up some morning phlegm, glaring into the wind.
Bandolier spotted the ship, a black specter following their trail from miles and miles off. The ship was like a fly from that distance, hovering deathly still, inching their way.
“What are you doing here?” Scurvy growled. Bandolier ignored him, stealing a spyglass from the cabin boy, Barnacle, to take a closer look.
The galley had three masts, with sails as black as a starless sky, and a dark red hull. The ship’s figurehead was an alicorn mare with a sprawling mane, clutching a star in one hoof and a sword in the other. The figure seemed to be made of black iron, with shapely legs, a slender waist, and two blood pearls for eyes. The ship was lean and terrible, breaking the waves at a wicked speed. Bandolier could hear the faint beat of the oarmaster’s drum echo from twenty miles’ distance, and saw the ship’s oars rising and dipping.
“Took us unaware, did it?” Bandolier asked.
“He must have taken the Galway Strait by night, and today he hid himself in the mist,” Scurvy supposed.
“By Amphitrite, what can we do?” Spar said, “He’s got us by the hip.”
“Run like smoke,” Scurvy replied, glancing at Sandbar.
“We’ll have to bend every sail,” Sandbar said.
“String up your handkerchiefs, if need be,” Scurvy advised, “We must escape him.”
“Whose ship is that?” Bandolier demanded.
Scurvy glanced at him, and back to the sea ahead.
“I hope that horn of yours is working,” Scurvy laughed.
“Get to it, lads!” Sandbar barked, turning his attention to the deck, “All sails!”
The colts were quick to their work, scrambling up the rope ladders. They dropped the main sail first, and the other auxiliary sails soon after. Tightening and drawing the ropes, they fastened them taut, until the sails could catch the wind.
“Hold fast!” Scurvy roared, “The devil in a pony’s skin, that’s whose ship,” he continued, turning to Bandolier.
“Sir!” cried Sandbar from one of the ropes, half-strung up in the air, “Nineteen miles now!”
Scurvy wiped the sweat from his brow, and glanced over his shoulder.
“He’s been following us for some time,” Scurvy supposed, “Through the night, at least. Dimmed his lanterns so we might not have seen him. We don't have time to make chase until nightfall. His ship is faster by far, he’s proven it before.”
“Where’s the nearest port?” Bandolier asked.
“Nautilus, but we won’t make it there in time,” Scurvy said, “We have three hours or less, if the winds keep as they are. We’re deep in open water, there’s no tricks to play beyond what we can manage on our own. He won’t break course no matter how long we hold out. Likely he’s got a scent for what we’re carrying.”
“What’s your plan, then?” Bandolier demanded.
“Pray for rain,” Scurvy laughed, “He has us beat in speed, but this ship is well-suited for stormy sailing. A squall might buy us the time we need to reach nightfall, or even make it to port if the nymphs are feeling kind. No, but we can’t count on that. When we’re ready, we’ll have just enough time to come about and greet him in turn. The boys won’t last in a fight on deck, but they can manage the cannons well enough. We’ll batter his hull with iron and bury him in a watery grave. If they manage to board us, you and the marines will take care of them.”
“You seem to like our chances,” Bandolier asked, “Why haven’t you tried it before?”
“We didn’t have you before,” Scurvy grinned, “Those others might make do with some spells, but you said you’ve got some notches in your belt already. You’re worth ten of them, I think. Why do you think I fished you out of that puddle of shit?”
“The allure of friendship,” Bandolier grinned.
“Har! The truth is I had a dreadful premonition about this journey. Word reached me that the devil had come back to these waters, just in time for our voyage west. And then I cross paths with you … I can’t tell if the gods love me or spit on me. We can’t outrun him. No, there is nowhere to go but into the kraken’s jaws. Spar, ready the cannons. Fizzy, empty the armory. And Bandolier, keep the marines in order. Fear not, boy, the nymphs protect us. We will sink that ship of demons or we will die in the pursuit.”
She dreamt she sat on the royal throne, high above them all.
The courtiers were a collage of peacocks below. Great lords and ladies knelt before her, and bold young soldiers laid their swords at her hooves and begged for her favor.
Then her throne turned to a tangled mess of thorns and vines, biting into her flesh as she sat back. Blood ran down her legs. The more she struggled the more she was engulfed by the tendrils, tearing pieces of her flesh from her chest, carving up her legs until they were slick with blood. Sunset Shimmer’s laughter was still echoing in her ears when she awoke with a jolt. For a moment she thought the hoof on her shoulder had been part of her dream, but it was only Honey Bee.
Twilight had fallen asleep at her desk in her royal solar, and the servant girl had let herself in.
“Forgive me, your grace,” the girl stammered, “....The feast will be getting underway shortly.”
Twilight rubbed her eyes.
“Help me dress,” she commanded.
Honey Bee clambered to fetch and fix Twilight’s gown, which had been undone and laid about the bed after an exhaustive day of planning.
“Tighter. Cinch it tighter, you simpering little fool,” Twilight said.
It was the feast that enraged her, though the slow-witted servant made an easier target. Twilight’s hold on the throne was not secure enough for her to risk offending the Senate or the Azimuths. Not so long as the dragons held the south, so long as the Empire held the north. So Honey Bee would have to eat the meal Twilight would sooner serve to Veto and that wrinkled hag Azimuth. Both would be in attendance tonight, along with a vibrant host of mindless flatterers and duplicitous schemers.
Nor did Wedge help her mood when he turned up all in gold and still unshaven, to tell her how he had given an unsuccessful effort to compel Hawkbit to march his army east and confront the dragons.
Snow buried the palace, trapping them altogether right as the feast could begin.
Twilight stood in the foyer to the Great Hall, a glittering, gilded chamber of decadent chandeliers, tapestries, and priceless paintings. The adjacent ballroom was packed with nobles and aristocrats, fanning themselves and sipping on champagne, dressed up in officers’ uniforms and luxurious gowns.
When Twilight entered with Wedge at her side, the conversations became quiet, as ponies turned to smile and bow and watch.
A stallion Twilight did not recognize seemed to be drawing a crowd near the far end of the ballroom. He had a very short black mane, sunken eyes and shadowy stubble, and a coat of rosy-pink.
“Your majesty,” he called out when he met Twilight’s gaze. He made his way through the crowd to approach them, and the crowd fell in behind him, “It’s a rare thing to meet a pony who lives up to her reputation. I can see you are just as lovely as what everypony told me. Are you just as mad as they say, as well?”
“You are speaking to the Princess,” Wedge reminded, “Mind your tongue or lose it.”
“You’re very observant,” the stallion said, “I was speaking to her, yes. Not you. Are you a waiter or a bodyguard? Whatever you are, be good and fetch me and her majesty a drink.”
Wedge stared at him in disbelief, and was even more dumbstruck when Twilight glanced at him to relent.
“Get yourself something too,” she offered, before Wedge bitterly left the two alone.
“You know each other, I presume,” Twilight said, taking the black-haired stallion’s leg to walk along the ballroom floor.
“Regrettably,” the stallion said, before stealing a glass of champagne off a waiter’s tray, downing it in a single gulp, and placing it on a second waiter’s tray, “Where are my manners? I am Anatole, your majesty. Grand Admiral of the Belsavic Navy.”
“Belsavis? You’ve come a long way,” Twilight said, suspiciously.
“My Duke and Duchess refuse to enter the war, despite my best efforts. I convinced them to allow me to survey things, at least,” Anatole said, “They are cautious, yes, but do not wish to be oblivious to the world around them.”
“I would be glad to hold an audience with them, if you could arrange it,” Twilight said.
“I only make decisions when my stomach is full or my balls are empty,” Anatole replied.
Twilight smiled down at him, shaking her head in disbelief.
“In that case, I’m glad dinner is served,” Twilight said.
Anatole smirked at her. Wedge returned with the glasses, though Anatole soon waved him off.
“Have an extra for yourself, Stalwart,” Anatole grinned, “You’re in desperate need of it.”
Anatole bowed before Twilight, grinning all the while.
“We should speak later, your majesty,” Anatole said, before turning to join a new group of strangers.
Twilight glanced at Wedge, and raised an eyebrow.
“Stalwart?” she asked.
Wedge drank through his first glass of champagne.
“Stalwart Ward,” he admitted, “‘Wedge’ is from boot camp, after they found me drunk and stuck in a window.”
Twilight stifled her laughter.
“A window?” she asked, “How could you-”
He drank the other glass.
“Another time, your grace,” he laughed at himself and escorted her over to the dinner table in the other room.
On the long table in the Great Hall, the sixty-odd nobles took their seats, while powdered servants stood at attention behind them, ready to fulfill commands. Marius Moonshine was there, as was Featherglass and Bone Marrow. And on the other side of her was Veto and his Senate cronies, all chatting amongst each other. Anatole was at the far end, and would make sure to catch Twilight’s eye as often as he could between his adventurous tales and bawdy jokes. The six royal ministers were present, also; the Royal Ministries were subdivisions within the senate, meant to address particular areas of concern. There were once seven ministers, though Fancy Pants had taken an indefinite leave of absence. But the other six had arrived, to the astonishment of Wedge, who rarely saw more than two together at one time. Famously, none of the ministers liked one another. Though they all shared one belief that united them: a contempt for Twilight Sparkle.
Wedge sat beside her.
“Azimuth is not here,” Twilight noted to Wedge, “Neither are any of her retainers.”
“I was told she’s hosting her own event at the Hanging Gardens,” Wedge recalled, “A discourteous decision, yes, or perhaps just a bit of bad scheduling. At first I feared she’d left the city.”
“She will soon enough” Twilight presumed, “She expects this city to fall and all of us to die defending it. She may just get her wish.”
“The road to Canterlot is heavily defended,” Wedge pointed out, “And the dragons would have to cross Hawkbit’s front to reach us.”
“Hawkbit has shown his worth. Or rather, a lack thereof,” Twilight said to those in her proximity, “He will hardly be an obstacle for Cinder. We have to secure this city’s defenses, or else thousands will die. We will require scale-piercing range artillery to fill out the garrison, and shadowbound steel for sword and spear.”
“I will double our efforts, your grace,” came Bunsen Burner, the Science Minister.
“We’ll need several medical encampments at strategic spots all over the city, for both soldiers and civilians,” Twilight continued.
“I will handle it, your grace,” came Panic Prone, the Minister of Health.
“Cash Crop,” Twilight said, turning to the Minister of Agriculture, “Make use of our reserve stores and surplus pantries, and prepare to distribute rations. Gridlock, I want you to contact the Wonderbolts and the Rangers, and have them police the airways to prevent congestion and make sure supplies get to where they need to be.”
Gridlock, the Minister of Transportation, nodded his head.
Wedge scratched at his chin and shot a glance Twilight’s way. She noticed him and sat back in her seat, biting her lip.
“Forgive me, I shouldn’t be discussing all this here,” Twilight said.
“We are at war,” Wedge acknowledged, “But for one night, you should try to enjoy yourself, your grace.”
Twilight glared at him. Ponies were dying as they spoke even then, and yet he expected her to forget that and indulge the superfluous demands of royal court decorum. Twilight returned to her meal, ignoring Wedge.
Then a thought occurred to her, and she suddenly lost her appetite.
“Where is Archangel?” Twilight asked. The Defense Secretary was no fan of hers, it was true, though it was unlike him to be absent for an event such as this. That gluttonous ghoul could never shy away from a feast.
Marius glanced over his shoulder to make sure the others at the table were busy with their own conversations.
“Your grace,” Marius began, hesitantly, “I was going to wait until after this to tell you. For cause unknown, I regret to inform you that Secretary Archangel has fled the city.”
Twilight hardly batted an eye. She had expected Archangel to be the first to crack. The cement-headed brute was as much a coward as he was a moron, she had always known. These others might be soon to follow.
“He must have had good reason,” Wedge insisted, “He would never desert his post otherwise.”
“Where has he gone?” Twilight asked.
“Saddleopolis,” answered Marius, “He’s taken half of the legion with him, leaving the city even more vulnerable than before, I’m afraid. I have been informed that his intention is to turn Saddleopolis into his primary base of operations.”
“He won’t have any operations without the crown’s support,” Featherglass said. Twilight glared at him. Featherglass’ contempt seemed to come not from a place of loyalty, but rather disappointment in Archangel’s lack of strategy.
He wants a proper threat. All he has is me.
“He knows that,” Twilight countered, “He plans to get it, too. Just not from me. He will join with the Empire or with the Green Army, as soon as he gets the chance. Cadance has a claim to the throne as an alicorn and as a member of the royal nobility. The Greens will have a claim too, as soon as Azimuth marries her daughter to Blueblood’s successor, the new Warden of White Tower, Prince Heirloom.”
Wedge took a breath, disheartened by Twilight’s assessment.
“It’s not too late to amend that deal, your grace,” Marius advised, “That marriage pact gives the Azimuths an opportunity to seize the throne.”
“Without that pact we lose the Azimuths as allies. Without their grain shipments, Equestria will starve. We need that deal,” Twilight said, “They won’t be able to seize anything as long as we prevail against the dragons and have the strength to keep order. I don’t expect the Green Army to endure much longer, anyway. They may take High Water, but they will fall at Dodge City. The dragons will reach Canterlot, one way or another. That much I am certain of. And I plan on giving them a warm welcome.”
The last time she had visited the Belly of the Whale, she had gone by a different name.
Sweetie Drops, it may have been, or Gumdrop, or maybe Lollipop. Twenty names, twenty faces, some courtesans, some harlots, some vendors and merchants, but mostly nopony special at all.
Lyra never wanted to hear about any of that. All Lyra ever seemed to want was for things to stay simple and nice and pretty. No talk of the past. But the past did not share her attitude. She recalled the last time she has spoken the name aloud, almost a year now, kneeling in the snow in front of Twilight Sparkle.
And Lyra?
She never did get her answer, Bon Bon thought. Twilight might have smirked, or scowled, or laughed aloud, but Bon Bon could not recall. All she remembered was that no words came, but that those cold velvet eyes had made the truth clear.
She glanced into the assortment of empty glasses that decorated her table. There was movement around her, all a dizzy blur, but Bon Bon could hardly notice; she sat still in her seat, interested only in her own thoughts.
It might have been kinder for Lyra to have been killed. If Twilight did end up sparing Lyra, why else but to make her suffer? Bon Bon could wonder the same thing for herself. I should’ve slit her throat right then and there. Instead I sat there and cried.
A young boy neared her, scrubbing the floor with a wet brush.
“Have you ever visited the Canterlot Hall of Learning?” Bon Bon inquired, “Lyra always loved it there. She might be there. She might be looking for me.” The boy tossed his brush back in his bucket and took his leave. Tolerating drunken ramblings was part of his daily routine.
The wine made her head spin.
The Belly of the Whale was a crude collection of ponies from the darkest depths of Canterlot. She had first come prowling for information about that briefcase, though her thoughts had soon turned sour and now she wanted nothing more than to waste away in place.
There was a group of zebras a few tables over, ogling at her with wide grins and eyes that made her skin crawl. Luckily a gaggle of girls in fishnets came to her rescue, tossing along with the zebras until both parties had found themselves in such a frenzy that they had to take their camaraderie into the back rooms. Bon Bon remembered the velvet lining of those vestibules, and the taped-off holes in the talent boxes. She remembered the lipstick and the sweat and the smell, that salty-sweet stink of cum and heat and tears.
She might have remained there, even after all those years, if Lyra hadn’t found her. She hadn’t known what it was to feel that way she did about Lyra, not ever before. She was an object before, a tool, a piece of furniture, a plaything. It was Lyra who brought her to life. It was Lyra who held her close and told her that they would always be there for each other, that she didn’t have to be afraid of anything. Now all her fears had come true. The sun had set already, and nothing could replace it.
A pink wash of satin fabric and wavy blonde hair darted from around Bon Bon’s gaze, and she found the rough shape of a pony sitting opposite to her at the table.
Bon Bon blinked and blinked until she could see clearly, and when she did she could only laugh.
“Sweetie Drops?” the pony said, aghast.
“Dazzle,” Bon Bon smiled. The little orphan girl with the mud in her mane and broken nose had become a mare, a beauty at that. She had a magenta coat and huge curls of gold, deep blue, purple and pink, and she wore a hot-pink coat with matching pink leather boots.
“You remember me?” Dazzle said, shocked, and slightly embarrassed, “..So it’s true, you’re really back. Nopony thought you’d ever come back.”
Bon Bon’s eyes wandered around the room, where she could not recognize a single pony.
“I didn’t think so either,” Bon Bon said.
“The Bureau thinks you’re working with Sunset Shimmer. Is that true?” Dazzle asked.
“Unfortunately,” Bon Bon grunted. She hadn’t forgotten what happened in Ponyville. No, she thought, Better not to think about Ponyville.
Dazzle sat back in her chair.
“Let me guess. Jet Set’s hired you,” Dazzle said.
“He has,” Bon Bon confirmed, warily. She saw no reason to lie, “He’s a friend of yours?”
“Everypony’s his friend,” Dazzle laughed, “Without him I’d be just like how you left me. So would most of the ponies in here. He gave us another chance.”
Bon Bon winced. Second chances came rarely, and were even more rarely used for any good.
“I want to know about the briefcase,” Bon Bon said, “Who has it right now? Has it been sold yet?”
Dazzle shook her head.
“The caretaker’s name is Menteuse. She’s going to exchange the briefcase over to the changeling prince, Malthos, at his wedding to Silver Stream, for six million bits. Jet Set is getting most of that, in exchange for protecting Menteuse and setting her up a new life somewhere far from this mess. Jet’s planning on cleaning house, y’see. He’s getting tired of all his cronies’ shortcomings, and all these backstabbers and schemers trying to undermine him. So he’s pitting all of his employees against one another to get the case from Malthos somehow. That includes my Thieves, the Black Hoof, the new Underground and you. He’s using all of us to get him the case and the money too, and we’ll kill each other off in the process and give him a few less problems to deal with.”
“If that’s true,” Bon Bon said, “Then that wedding is gonna be a bloodbath.”
Dazzle nodded.
“Only one of us can be the one to claim the briefcase and hand it over to Jet Set. Whoever gets it to him will be in his good graces … but for whoever comes up short, they’re dead meat.”
“He’s only one pony,” Bon Bon said, “How can one pony have that much sway over the entire underworld?” Bon Bon asked.
Dazzle laughed.
“You’ve been gone too long, Sweetie. Things aren’t what they used to be.”
Bon Bon’s grip tightened on the table. Dazzle smirked, and rose up to her hooves. She trotted by Bon Bon, but stopped short to bend over and plant a kiss on Bon Bon’s cheek.
“Good luck, Sweetie Drops. The next time we meet, it won’t be as friends.”
As far as last meals went, he had little to complain about.
Bandolier sat alone in the galley, anxiously waiting for the horn to ring out from above and send him springing back up to his post. An hour had passed since the first sighting, and each minute meant their pursuer crept just a bit closer. He finished the rest of his roasted radishes, and downed a pint of pickle brine.
He had only been at sea for two weeks, and he doubted a bloody battle over the waves would make him start enjoying it. The Bronze Beauty had seen its last glimpse of home in Newport, in spite of the riots that had raged on for weeks on end. Still, the seaside rendezvous was a merry spot, with salted platters, aged brine and monastery beer, and sailors from here and there slipping along into surly swills and tall tales of beasts lurking beneath the waters.
Bandolier thought of those nights instead of allowing himself to sleep. The majority of his companions were not even half his age, yet they knew their way around a ship as if they lived their whole lives at sea. Some, in fact, had done just that. Scurvy had gathered a queer collection of orphans and cast-offs, from Equestria and beyond.
The South Lunar Sea had been merciful, however, and save for one mild nighttime storm soon after their departure, the waters were calm. They were sailing west to the Eris Peninsula, which jutted out from the far continent of Primaeva. Further north from the peninsula was the Lunar Bridge, which connected Primaeva to the continent of Centraea, which contained all of the lands of Equestria.
The Eris Peninsula was once a bastion of pony civilization, the origin of classical antiquity and countless legends of old. There sat the ruinous city of Equus, once the capital of the great Equian Empire, whose impact was still left on much of the civilized world, by memory of violent conquest. Inland on the peninsula was the Redwood Range; the mountainous region forced much of the attempts at settlement to stick to the coasts. And there, on the coasts, remained the last remnants of that ancient empire - the cities of Casaflanka and Nautilus. The latter was their destination.
“What’re you doing here?”
Bandolier’s eyes had been fixed out a porthole, watching the rosy fingers of the setting sun scratch at the sea. He glanced over his shoulder to discover Sandbar skipping down the steps, chewing on a lemon slice.
“Biding time. I never like to get into fights without some wine first, but there’s not a drop left on this ship,” Bandolier replied, regretting his lost moment of peace, “...Would you be wanting something?”
“Why is it I’ve always got to want something?” Sandbar laughed, before taking a seat on the other end of the galley, cracking his back and stretching out on the bench. “Cap’n says it’s almost time. Eight miles or less, now. He’s relying on you, y’know.”
“I can’t guarantee I’ll make much of a difference. Whoever this guy is, he’s got Scurvy spooked,” Bandolier said.
“Scurvy’s seen worse things than you have, so don’t pretend you’re any braver. Part of me thought you’d tuck tail and run in Newport, rob us and run away.”
“Is that so,” Bandolier yawned.
“What more should I expect from a downtrodden drunk?” Sandbar snickered.
“Don’t pick a fight with me today, boy. I haven’t slept a wink and if you keep at it, you’ll regret it.”
“That won’t work on me,” Sandbar smirked, “The others are all afraid of you. But not me.”
Bandolier snorted.
“You’re not like the rest of them, that’s true. They’re all scum picked off the street, but not you. You’ve got upper-boro Newport in your voice, and some bit of Seaward Sholes, too, but the north side, I think.”
Sandbar stumbled over his words.
“My dad’s from Seaward,” he said, incredulously, “How’d you know that?”
“What are you doing here?” Bandolier asked, ignoring him, “You’re young and have a family that could take care of you, and you throw it away to sail for a smuggler with so many crumbs in his beard he could be marooned and not go hungry for a month. Now we’re all like to die in some manic revenge quest.”
“Might be that I know what’s best for me better than you,” Sandbar said.
“You’re too young to know what’s best for you,” Bandolier laughed.
“I’d be surprised if you could remember what it’s like to be young,” Sandbar retorted, as his smile faded, “...Look, I didn’t exactly choose to be here. My folks thought it was a safe bet to get me out of the draft. They told me it was this or getting spit-roasted by the dragons. But my best friend is a dragon, I told them, and they’re not the way my folks say they are. They’re just like the rest of us, they’re good.”
“And what makes you think the ‘rest of us’ are so good?” Bandolier laughed, “Ponies can be crueler than you know. Dragons, changelings, griffins, all the same.”
“You’ve got it backwards,” Sandbar spat, scrambling up from the bench, “Creatures like you are always trying to get us to turn against each other, to make us afraid, to make us doubt what we know is right. My friends and I have put up with it before, we’ve seen ponies at their worst.”
“And where are these friends now?” Bandolier asked.
Sandbar’s face crumbled, and his eyes fell to the ground.
“I lost them,” he said, his voice cracking, “They’re all a world away, while I’m stuck here…And the longer we spend apart, the easier it is to think that it won’t be the same if we ever got to meet again.”
Bandolier sighed and grunted up to his hooves. He trotted over toward Sandbar, who glared up at the stallion with a raw hatred.
Bandolier sat beside him with a heavy thud, and shot him a glance. A hard glance, and Sandbar felt his heart sink.
“Not everything’s always in your control,“ Bandolier said, gently, “Sometimes ponies do drift away. But sometimes, you’ve lived enough life with somebody that no matter how much time you spend apart, there’ll always be something there. You can’t be sure you’ve lost anything until it’s really gone.”
“How do you know that?” Sandbar asked.
“Because I know what it’s like to lose,” Bandolier said.
Sandbar’s glare softened, and he sat back down on the bench.
“I haven’t been much help,” Sandbar said, sheepishly, “Sorry for giving you a rough time.”
“It’s alright to be angry,” Bandolier said, rising to his hooves with an ache in his back, “Today you’ll have quite a few ponies to take everything out on, somepony besides me.”
“You really think it’ll come to that?” Sandbar asked, as Bandolier made his way to the stairwell.
“Our captain insists upon it,” Bandolier said, “So, Mr. First Mate … Let’s see if your bite can match your bark.”
The statue garden on Harmony Boulevard was a ruin of overgrown moss and sewage spill. Rain runoff and leaky pipes had flooded part of the courtyard, and the verdure itself was a tangled jungle of thorns and toxic fruits.
Silver Stream clung to Rainbow Dash like a lost dog. She did not recognize the others - one was twice the size of Big Mac, with a white-grey beard and pair of sharp eyes, and the other, by contrast, never smiled, except sometimes when looking in Rainbow’s direction.
Silver had not gotten a proper chance to introduce herself, though it seemed they all knew her anyway. Rainbow had brought her aside from the others, not long after they came to this place, some forgotten little churchyard hidden behind rotting tenements and old brick factories.
“You’re sure you’re not hurt?” Rainbow asked, possibly for the fourth time.
“I’m OK. Really! I’m OK!” Silver assured.
“You should never have left home,” Rainbow muttered.
It wasn’t my choice, Silver thought, though she decided against throwing her own mother under the bus.
She wondered whether her mother knew she was alive. Maybe it would teach her mother a lesson to worry all day and night, as recompense for bringing her to this place.
“So, what are you doing in Canterlot?” Silver asked.
Rainbow hesitated, and opened her mouth to answer, before the blonde pegasus approached them both.
“We need to talk,” he said. He wouldn’t even look at Silver, which she found strange.
Rainbow left her where she was to join him, though not out of earshot. Silver perked up by one of the hedge bushes, listening in as the blonde pegasus lowered his voice. The giant was with them too, and another pony, a little fellow with a face of sharp edges.
“Soon we’ll be out of your mane, Speedy. Once our friend is content, we’ll send him on his way. And we won’t be far behind,” the giant said.
“You’re leaving Canterlot?” asked the little one, Speedy.
“Certainly. We’ll have a wedding to attend, and a debt to collect. Then perhaps Crozer will reconsider his actions, and offer to buy the case from us.”
“You don’t want to use the case,” Speedy realized, “Just resell it?”
“Its contents are a mystery,” Salt reminded, “Only its value is known. Our royal friend spent his six million already, except he bought a bride instead of a briefcase. So you see, we’re not thieves, as you so callously like to put it.”
Speedy laughed, amazed.
Silver, meanwhile, had turned to a ghost.
They’re going to give me back to Malthos, she realized, Rainbow Dash. You too?
“No. Once we get that case, we have to keep it safe,” Rainbow countered, “We’re not giving it right back to ponies like Crozer.”
“Giving it to him might be the only way to make peace,” Salt suggested, “He still has a target on your friends’ backs, doesn’t he? Your friends from Ponyville, and the Wonderbolts? If we have the case, you can buy their freedom.”
Rainbow became uneasy, and glanced to Blondie for support, though the pegasus seemed to agree with the giant. He tried to open his mouth to speak, until a rustling of the leaves by the gate sent them all alert.
The giant drew his knife.
“Blondie, did you hear that?” Salt muttered, “Go check it out.”
“You go check it out. I’m not going over there.”
“I suppose if the pony over there was going to kill us, he wouldn’t be waiting so politely in the dark, lying idle while his victims debate about nonsense.”
Blondie glared at Salt, who was grinning.
“Unless it was some trick to get us to go closer, to lower our guard,” Blondie countered.
“Yes, unless that was the case. But, dare I say, I have a keen sense of judgment for these things.”
“You’re right, we all know what a famous liar you are,” Blondie laughed.
“Only the dishonest ponies live as long as I do, Blondie. If it was me who’d been sent to kill a pony, I wouldn’t let a garden gate stop me, let alone the rules of civility.”
Blondie thought for a moment, and finally acquiesced. He marched around another part of the hedge and approached the garden gate. There was a silence, followed by Blondie returning back around with a shrug.
“It’s nothing,” Blondie said, dismissively. Then he felt the cold steel of a butcher’s knife gliding against the scruff of his neck.
“We meet again, my new dangerous friends.”
Blondie spun around, and he recognized the pony instantly, by that purple vest and black suit, that faded soft-white coat and a wisp of sandy tan hair. But what stuck out the most was that gaping chasm where the pony’s left eye should have been.
“You,” Blondie said, surprised.
“Me. Who else?” the One-Eyed Pony laughed, “Put that knife down, Mr. Shaker. There’s no need.”
Blondie back towards the others, while the One-Eyed Pony sheathed his own weapon. Salt did the same.
“How did you find us?” Blondie demanded.
“I spoke with the pony who manages the guestlist at the Andromeda. I inquired about a stunning pegasus mare with dyed blonde hair and her sullen husband with the emerald eyes. Somepony slipped some names into the book, and that somepony turned out to be a pony called Speedy. I expect that would be you.”
Speedy gulped, though Salt took a step forward, aggressively.
“You helped us escape the Andromeda,” Salt recalled, “Why?”
“The pony I work for has taken an interest in you, ever since your…strange manner of coming into power in Manehattan. You murdered Trench, an associate of ours. It’s only fair that you carry on Trench’s responsibilities.”
Blondie glanced at Salt, warily.
“I will take you both to my employer, and you can decide for yourself how to proceed. But know that this deal you’ve made with the changeling will draw more enemies toward you than ever before, and you certainly won’t be the only interested parties attending that wedding. But come with me, and you’ll have the right friend by your side to send them all scattering back into the crevices they came from.”
More rustling came from the other side of the garden, though this time Salt was not alarmed, not after he heard a three-tone whistle cry out from over the hedge.
“Rainbow,” Blondie said, nodding towards her, “Handle it. It’ll be easier if it’s you. We’ll take care of this.”
Rainbow winced, and nodded, solemnly. She left them there and trotted back around the hedge to find Silver, who quickly had to pretend that she hadn’t been eavesdropping.
“Silver,” Rainbow said, glancing down at her.
The rustling from the other side of the garden grew louder, and Silver heard one, two, three or more voices muttering in the brush.
“Silver, listen to me,” Rainbow said, kneeling down beside Silver, “...I know you heard all that. Right?”
“Don’t do it,” Silver whispered, frantically shaking her head, “Please, I was close, I can….Rainbow! You-...I….”
“Silver,” Rainbow said, jostling her by the shoulders, “I’m going to come back for you. Do you hear me? You have to be brave. You have to do this now so that more ponies don’t die for no reason. I’ll get you out of this. I promise.”
Silver finally lifted her gaze from the ground, and she tried her best to stop herself from crying.
Then the first of the changelings arrived from around the hedge, and first among them was Prince Malthos himself. When he saw Silver, he snarled in dismay.
“There she is,” Malthos growled in his shrill voice, “You thought you could make a fool out of me, huh? Here, let me make sure it’s really you this time.”
He lunged towards her, though Rainbow interceded, stepping between them.
“If I see even a scratch on her at that wedding, you’re dead,” Rainbow warned. Malthos hissed in reply. There were eight changelings with him, and one of them seemed to be a higher-ranking soldier of some kind.
“My prince, we should go,” said one of the changelings.
“You’re going to honor the deal,” Rainbow said, coldly.
“Once we’re wed, Brandy will give me the case, and I will give the case to you. Simple as that,” Malthos recalled.
Rainbow glanced at Silver, who was trembling from head to claw.
Be brave. Be brave. She’ll come back. She promised.
She shut her eyes when she took the first step towards Malthos, and she did not have to see the prince’s wicked, ghastly grin.
Soft came dusk at sea, leaving behind the echoes of lovers’ laughter, ringing steel belt-buckles and rustling lace. A golden hearth burned over the far-away blue, and deeper into the sky turning orange, then red, then blue again. And the sea itself turned purple and red and gold again, while overhead, the evening star started slipping off back into the void.
Bandolier’s memories of Newport broke apart in his mind with the first blast of the horn, startling awake Easy and sending Old Barebone into a trembling fit.
The red kraken vessel was less than a mile away, and the oarmaster’s beating had turned into a storming of cavalry hooves.
“Cut the ropes and grapples, and smash the ladders, and do it all before you move for a single foe,” Bandolier advised, “Keep them to the edges. Let them clutter and crowd each other, it will make my work easier. Barebone will have the nets. Tangletongue, you’ll be below deck with the boys, just in case any one of the cunts makes it below somehow.”
“As you say,” Tangletongue said, hurrying off to the stairwell.
“We’re close to coming about,” Bandolier said, “Get to your posts, I’ll join you soon.”
Cloudy lingered for a moment while Barebone and Easy left the center dock.
“If I should die, don’t bury me at sea. I’m a terrible swimmer, y’see. The other corpses would laugh at me,” Cloudy said.
“You have my word,” Bandolier grinned, “Try to remember the plan.”
“No fear on that account,” Cloudy said, “My memory is terrific. I wish I remembered less, in fact.”
Bandolier found Scurvy up by the wheel, surrounded by Sandbar, Spar, and the third mate, Humble Pie. The ship had only just begun to turn, Bandolier realized, while the red kraken behind them gained and gained. He could hear the voices of its crew, shouting and jeering away. Scurvy had left Silver Spar at the wheel, while he was busy surveying the distance they had left.
“We should have turned by now,” Bandolier said, “They’re nearly on top of us!”
“He’s not going as fast as he can. That ship will catch us in a bind if we take our time to turn. There’s only one way,” Scurvy said, “All hands brace! Kiddo’s first clubhaul is never pretty!”
“What are you-” Bandolier began.
“Weight anchor!” Scurvy yelled.
On the main deck, Fizzy and Barnacle threw their backs against the great cog at center deck, and the anchor loosened from its hold.
Below water, the anchor dragged against the dirt as the Bronze Beauty sped on.
The anchor found a hold on some jagged rock in the depths, and up above on the ship the rope came taut.
Bandolier saw where the rope led, down by the quarter. Halfway between the stern and the beam.
The ship rocked with a considerable force, sending tables crashing to the floor, spilling vials of ink and candles, and sending all of the crew tumbling towards the starboard side.
The ship broke upwards against the waves, tethered to that rock beneath the water, and, with its momentum, began spinning to its right.
“Boy, let go!” Scurvy yelled.
Spar complied, releasing his grip of the wheel, which began spinning wildly in place.
The ship hauled itself against the draw of the rope, and by the time it came about, Spar had his hooves back on the wheel, and the colts below raised the anchor with all due haste.
“Mr. Bandolier, off with you,” Scurvy said, “Sandbar, give the order when in range.”
Sandbar nodded his head, too terrified to speak, and ran off to the stairwell to get below deck.
Bandolier found Cloudy, Easy, and Old Barebone down on the main deck, all of them with ignited horns, crouching behind the rail.
“Fast approach!” yelled Scurvy from above.
Down below, Sandbar ran past the rows of cannons peering out through slots in the hull, until he found his own post, far near the stern.
He stuck his head close to the rotting wooden slot, gaping out at the open sea. All until the sea was obscured by that bloody red and black.
“Keep her steady!” Scurvy yelled at Spar as he too made his way to the main deck, clutching an ax between his teeth.
Below deck, the colts could see their mirrors from that bloody red hull, where orders of cannons greeted them in turn, handled by a ravenous pack of mongrels and monsters. Snarling creatures with bulging eyes and sharpened teeth roared back at them from across the narrow waters, as all sides held off from lighting their fuses, waiting until the ships could come into proper adjacency.
The colts screamed right back at them, though Sandbar found himself a mute. The blood seemed to have drained from him completely, and he felt cold all over.
Above deck, Bandolier stood by his crouching companions and the other colts who remained there, and could finally make out the faces of his enemy. A gruesome bunch they were, with glittering earrings and muscly builds, with black beards and teeth that were brown with old blood.
Bandolier’s horn ignited, and his companions at last rose up beside him.
He could count at least forty above deck, which meant ten for each of them.
Bandolier felt the low rumbling beneath his hooves, and then a sudden stillness of the boat. The rats had quit scurrying, the boards had quit creaking, and the rusty groan of the lanterns drew silent.
“Now!” Scurvy yelled.
“Fire!” replied Sandbar from below, who heard the captain’s cry clear as day.
The fuses were lit, and the pillows of white smoke came erupting from their spouts, behind the iron meteors that came splintering through wood and metal and bone.
Bandolier lit all of the fuses above deck with a single spell, and could keep his eyes open long enough to see a part of the other ship’s hull come bursting into pieces, and a pony come tumbling off into the waters, screaming bloody murder.
Without delay, Bandolier reloaded the cannons with another spell, and meant to light the fuses, until he heard a sharp crack cry out from near his head. He flew off his hooves with the burst of fire and shrapnel that followed, when the second mast began to teeter and splint. Bandolier landed on his head, and his hearing was slow to return, as he coughed out all of the black smoke that had filled up his lungs.
The cannons kept pounding, careless to the cries. Both hulls were battered and beaten to shreds. Below deck, Sandbar had to jump down from his post to avoid the cannonball that came springing out right through his peerhole.
The guns came next, along with the spells that Bandolier had taught to his marines. Old Barebone was missing, and so were the nets, but Cloudy and Easy were not far away, levying shot after shot at the smoking ruin of the enemy ship.
Ladders and ropes launched out from the galley, and Easy was the first to greet them at the rail, just as Bandolier had said. He would not remain there long, however, when he came apart in two halves. Blood ran with the spray of the sea as Bandolier shoved his way forward, dodging the swing of an ax to blast a hole through the skull of Easy’s killer. He cut open some wily bearded kirin next, and then a yellow-eyed diamond dog who wielded a spiked mace.
Bandolier ran to the first ladder and blasted it to pieces, along with all of the ropes, but before he could manage the rest he felt the wind escape him, when a pegasus stallion with a queer squid-like helmet on his head threw a mailed fist into his gut. The squid-headed stallion battered in Bandolier’s face with a single punch, and grabbed him by the throat, throwing him down against the railing so hard that his back gave an audible crack.
Bandolier grunted and ignited his horn, but the stallion was quicker, grabbing him by the horn and smashing his head down against the rail, once, twice, three times, until his face was purple pulp.. Then he grabbed Bandolier by the waist too, and threw him right off the railing.
The cloud of smoke took him, and then the water. He sprang up from the waves, swinging his legs madly to stay afloat as the shockwaves of the cannonshots made his head split apart.
He wiped the salt from his eyes and clawed along through the water, until he latched onto the hull of the Bronze Beauty. Above, he heard the rushing of hooves across the ladders, and he made haste to pull himself out of the water.
He found a spot in the hull wide enough to climb through, landing right atop poor young Barnacle, whose face had been crushed by a cannonball.
In the belly of the ship, most of the colts had fled their posts to join the battle up above deck. All except for Sandbar, who Bandolier found covered in smoke and dirt, trembling in the corner.
Bandolier rolled his shoulder to beat down the pain in his back, and trudged over to Sandbar.
“Are you hurt?” Bandolier asked, grabbing Sandbar to inspect him. The boy’s cuts were covered in dust and dirt, “Stop shaking. Get up.”
Sandbar would not meet his gaze.
“The ship’s lost,” Bandolier said, “Hull’s flooded, masts are all snapped.”
Sandbar tried his best to hide his quivering lip.
“Under the table,” Bandolier muttered, pointing towards one of the overturned tables in the corner.
Sandbar glanced at him, ashamed and confused.
“I’ll bury the stairway. They’ll think you’ve drowned. Climb out and signal for rescue when it’s all done,” Bandolier advised, “Ships will see the fire. The ship will take a long time to sink. If the fires get worse, stick close by the wreck on some driftwood and wait for someone to sail by. Don’t drink the seawater, no matter what. Do you understand what I’m telling you?”
Sandbar shook his head, frantically, though Bandolier had a hoof on his shoulder.
“You….I can’t-” Sandbar stammered, “I’m going with you.”
“No. You’re going to live,” Bandolier said.
Sandbar shut his mouth before he could sputter off his grievances, and with a trembling frown, he scurried off to the table.
The rabble had died down above deck, and Bandolier wondered how long he would have to remain idle as he was.
He heard hoofsteps coming down the stairs, and he ignited his horn once more.
Torches lit the walls of the throne room, beside the great panels of stained glass and the great marble columns.
Two ponies stood before the steps of the throne: Page Turner, the Minister of Education, and Touchdown, the Minister of Culture and Media.
“Marius. Tell our friends what you told me yesterday,” Twilight said, glaring at Touchdown all the while.
Marius Moonshine, who stood near the throne alongside Bone Marrow, Lieutenant Venger and Wedge Ward, cleared his throat.
“A mob of peasants gathered around a theatrical demonstration in the Orange Light District two nights ago,” Marius began, “The play in question depicted her grace in a….er, compromising position, in which she was violated by a…..dragon’s spiked member. The performers were also heard using the words tyrant, witch, and murderer.”
“Did you know about this?” Twilight asked, glaring at Touchdown with an icy glare.
“I-Of course not!” Touchdown sputtered, “That’s abhorrent! Distasteful! And an act of treason!”
“Every local theater is subject to royal regulation, is it not?” Twilight asked.
“Yes, of course, but there are sometimes mistakes, that -” Touchdown began.
“Either you knew about this horrid performance and allowed it to happen, or you neglected your duty and remained oblivious to it all. So tell me, are you a traitor or a fool?”
Veto stood further behind the ministers, and scratched at his throat, anxiously.
“I….Your grace, please,” Touchdown stammered, trembling in his seat.
“Perhaps both, then. Captain!” Twilight exclaimed.
Wedge took a step forward.
“Take him to the dungeons. Touchdown, I am relieving you of your duties,” Twilight said.
“N-No! Please! Princess! Mercy!” he wailed, while Wedge grabbed him roughly by the foreleg.
Touchdown’s pleas could still be heard from down the hall, even after Wedge had shut the door behind her.
Twilight’s eyes turned to Page Turner, who had turned as pale as milk.
“Now you can’t claim to be unaware of the misinformation and sedition that have taken hold of this city, yes?” Twilight asked.
“Y-Yes, your grace,” Page Turner said, “Y-Your grace wishes to make use of me?”
Twilight smiled.
“Yes,” Twilight said, “Nothing beyond your area of expertise. All I ask is for you to educate the ponies of Canterlot regarding who it is that keeps them safe from harm.”
Page Turner’s mouth fell open for a moment, but she quickly came to her senses and nodded, slowly.
“H-How quickly do you expect results, your grace?” she asked.
“Before our enemies are at our gates and ponies decide they want somepony else to rule over them, after all,” Twilight said.
Page Turner rose to her hooves, as relief came over her, realizing she was not about to be sentenced to the dungeons as Touchdown had been.
“I will not fail you, your grace,” Page Turner said, before scurrying off all the way down the hall, out the throne room.
Twilight could feel Veto’s glare beating up at her.
“The Senate is not supposed to serve as your propaganda department, your grace,” Veto said, unhappily.
“The Senate serves as I require it to serve,” Twilight corrected, “Lieutenant, escort Veto back to his chambers. You have much work to do, Mr. Veto.”
Venger left her post to lead Veto out of the chamber, though Veto remained for a few moments, grinding his hooves against the floor. Eventually he relented, rising to join Venger out through the door.
When the door was shut, Twilight glanced between Marius and Bone Marrow.
“Archangel will not be the last to betray your trust, your grace,” Marius said, “I would be wary of that one.” He glanced to the door where Veto had left.
“I am aware. Luckily we will soon have a new Speaker of the Senate,” Twilight said.
Marius narrowed his eyes.
“What have you done?” Marius asked.
“Tonight Venger is going to be found in his bedchamber. I’ve compensated her dearly. That pathetic old goat won’t be able to take his hooves off of her. I will have Wedge walk in on them in the act, and subsequently Veto will be impeached on the grounds of violating the code of ethics he swore to uphold upon entering his office,” Twilight said, “He’s married after all, with children too. The Senate will have no choice but to turn against him, unless they wish to suffer the wrath of Canterlot’s newest order of religious zealots.”
“Zealots? What are you talking about?” Bone Marrow asked.
“They’re closer to a cult than how her grace put it,” Marius interjected, “I’m surprised you’ve heard about them, Princess. They’ve kept a low profile these past few months.”
“That’s their strategy, the fanatic fools,” Twilight said, “The Children of the Sun, they call themselves. The ‘true disciples of Celestia’s teachings.’ It’s their belief that the government, and me by extension, has betrayed Celestia’s legacy. They may seem benign now, but they’ll rise from the gutters to take what they want as soon as they can.”
“If they’re so dangerous,” Bone Marrow said, “Why give them power? Superstitious radicals should not be underestimated.”
“If I butcher them, they’ll become martyrs. The common ponies love them, they listen to their insufferable sermons every day in the streets. We have to work with the Children, but keep them powerless to get in our way,” Twilight said, “We will begin with Veto. It is only a matter of time before he leaves to join Archangel, and Equestria will be even further divided.”
“And what of Archangel?” Marius asked, “The last thing we need is another army surrounding our walls.”
“I have a plan for that. Prickly!” Twilight exclaimed to Prickly Pear, the guard on duty by the great oak doors, “Send them in.”
Marius and Bone Marrow both turned to the doors, which creaked open to reveal a pair of ponies dressed in navy blue cloaks and pointed hats. Bone Marrow managed to contain his laughter.
Marius glanced at Twilight.
“Servants of the Mage Corps?” Marius said, “Princess….this is a mistake.”
Twilight ignored him. The Mage Corps were an ancient order of sorcerers, founded by Star Swirl himself. They used to be a mighty fighting force, now they spent most of their time staring into their seeing stones and drinking pink elixir. Twilight intended to change that.
“Marius. Dr. Marrow. Leave us. Prickly, stand guard outside,” Twilight commanded.
By the time the others were all gone, the two mages arrived before the throne, and both fell to their knees.
“Hail, Tyr Turai!!” they exclaimed in unison.
Twilight gestured for them to rise.
“Your names?” Twilight asked the pair.
“This one has the honor to be Chevalier,” said the stallion, “And this is Bubblegum Bliss, my sister mage.”
“Be welcome,” Twilight said, “I trust you’ve heard the news about Secretary Archangel.”
“The messiah will suffer betrayers day after day,” said the mare, Bubblegum Bliss, “It is written.”
“Archangel was ever the devil’s creature,” Twilight said, “Insolence unpunished breeds rebellion. Archangel has taken half my army with him, and I need them returned.”
Chevalier snorted.
“Oh, radiant one, you do not require an army to prevail. You will be the one to deliver us from the darkness, army or not,” he said.
Bubblegum nodded along. “It is written.”
“It’s not for my sake I’ve summoned you here,” Twilight said, “It’s for all the ponies who will suffer if we allow this urchin to run rampant. My loyal friends, I put my honor in your hooves….but I am afraid.”
“Say on, Goddess,” said Bubblegum Bliss, “We live to serve you.”
Twilight stepped off her throne to descend down the steps, and gave Chevalier’s hoof a squeeze.
“I…I would sleep more soundly if I were to hear that Secretary Archangel had suffered a….a mishap of some kind,” Twilight said.
Chevalier considered this for a moment.
“A…mortal mishap?” he asked.
No, I only want him to crack a nail. Twilight had to restrain herself. My enemies surround me and my only friends are fools.
“I beg you, do not make me say it,” Twilight whispered.
“I understand,” Chevalier said. This one is as dull as dirt. “Our order is forbidden to take a life. But any act done in the service of the messiah is good and holy. It will be done.”
“You are a true mage indeed, my friend,” Twilight said, “Do it quickly, if you can. I trust you can handle Archangel’s soldiers, but give him time and they may overwhelm you. I shall never forget this, friends. I will get your order better funding when this is all settled. I pay my debts.”
The rest was wine and buttered beets, hot herby bread, and peach pie. Twilight did not even mind the company, though Bubblegum tittered and Chevalier boasted of his prowess, from first course to last. It was past midnight before she could rid herself of the pair. Star Swirl’s legacy. That was what they called themselves. Sycophants and fanatics, almost as insufferable as the Children of the Sun, obsessed with their prophecies and visions. All would serve a purpose, she thought. She had her reins wrapped around a nest of blood-hungry vultures, all eyeing her with the same goal in mind. Try as they might, Twilight knew how their stories all would end. Serving her every whim, or else left as dust beneath her hooves.
The changeling king arrived at Aquila attended by a dozen changeling praetorians, warriors of noble birth who had seen too few molts to serve in the pristine Old Guard. They made for a pretty portrait, the proud king in his dark green tunic surrounded by the soldiers clad in sleek green armor.
Shining Armor welcomed them warmly, then summoned Dew Drop to see that the changeling soldiers were fed and entertained while he shared a private supper with the king.
Lady Primrose was waiting for them in the otherwise empty feast hall. The old mare gave Pharynx a wary look, but made all the basic pleasantries required of her. Pharynx, however, could hardly humor them with a smile. He seemed to tower over them at times, lurching and leering and looking over his shoulder. There were thousands of years of bad blood between the Empire and the changelings. Thorax and Cadance may have been able to restore peace between them, but now Thorax was dead and Cadance….
Shining could not let himself think of Cadance. He would see her again, he would tell himself. Why else had he started this war?
The cooks had prepared them a magnificent meal of honeyed hay, fragrant with crushed mint and served with the small green figs that Shining knew Pharynx liked.
The three of them were all careful with their words, and none yet had the courage to broach the true subject of their meeting.
“How kindly have these civilians taken to you turning their town into a war camp?” Thorax asked halfway through the dinner.
“Mayor Glover assured us that his ponies want to help as much as they can,” Primrose answered, “We’ve made an effort not to be too much of a burden.”
Pharynx waned, and set his utensils down.
“The entire North is behind us now. The south has gone up in dragonflame. Canterlot is weak,” Shining Armor said, grimly, “Our common enemy is vulnerable.”
“Enemies, friends, who can say which is which anymore?” Pharynx growled, “Thorax had ambitions, and he died for it. I am concerned only with one thing - the Hive. I owe you nothing. I owe your wife nothing.”
“You don’t have faith in our cause?” Shining asked.
“Thorax had faith. I have reason. Together we would have the numbers, yes. But your sister’s power is too great, even for us. With Cadance, we may have stood a chance. But now?” Pharynx shook his head, “I have the hippogriff girl. Once my son marries her, I’ll have the hippogriff fleet as well. I could wait out the war, watch as your family destroys itself.”
“And if Twilight prevails? What then?” Shining said, “She won’t forget what you’ve done. This is the only chance we’ll ever have to stop her. Have you forgotten your brother?”
“I’ve forgotten nothing,” Pharynx snapped, “I won’t make the same mistakes Thorax did. If you want us to make common cause, I will need something more than words.”
“And what might that be?”
“Not what. Whom,” Pharynx said, glancing at Primrose, “Your son is now the Frost Prince, yes? Since your lord husband died?”
Primrose’s face darkened at the changeling’s bluntness, but she nodded.
“My son Malthos will have the hippogriff. And my daughter Elytra will have the Frost Prince,” Pharynx said, “These are my terms. Take them, or fend for yourselves.”
Shining Armor quickly shot Primrose a glance, but did not have time to measure her expression.
“Allow us some time to discuss it,” Shining Armor said.
Pharynx scoffed and ground his teeth, but relented and took his leave of the feast hall.
When he was gone, Primrose gave a trembling sigh of contempt.
“This is madness. Who does he think he is? I won’t give up my only son to a changeling wretch.”
“You have two sons, my lady,” Shining said, recalling Orion, who had been sent by Primrose to join the Northern Rangers rather than join Broadwing’s campaign. Shining had not understood her decision; the more unicorns on the front lines, the better.
Primrose’s eyes flashed red.
“That one is no son of mine,” Primrose muttered, “Broadwing will not accept this. He doesn’t even know the girl, this changeling princess.”
“No pony can compel another to marry, it’s true,” Shining said, “But sometimes, in situations such as ours, we have to make sacrifices. It might seem cruel now, but who knows? He might learn to love the girl.”
“He will have a hard time of it, if she’s anything like her father. Or her sniveling little brother, who had to kidnap his bride in order to wed her,” Primrose said, “The decision is Broadwing’s, and the command is yours. But I do not trust the changelings, even if one of them should become my daughter-in-law. They care not for virtue or vows, not for honor or glory or loyalty. All they know is selfishness and survival. A marriage pact will buy you troops, but it won’t change their ways.”
Primrose stood up from the table, and smoothed out her dress.
“Now you must excuse me, my prince,” Primrose said.
Shining remained as he was, waiting to hear the door to the feast hall slam shut before he could let out a deep sigh. If Cadance really was dead, perhaps he would have to marry again too, he thought. Primrose must have thought him a great fool, trusting the changelings. I trust their self-interest, he should have said. They will remain loyal as long as the Empire keeps winning battles.
The door opened again, and for a moment, Shining thought Primrose had returned with news, but it was only Dew Drop.
“Pardon, my prince,” she said, with those tired doe-eyes and that soft smile. Dew Drop had always been Cadance’s favorite of the royal family’s guards. “There’s a visitor here to see you.”
Shining gave her a questionable look. Then his confusion turned to shock, when Lavender, the Lady of Silkwood, waltzed in behind Dew Drop, her purple silky gown billowing out behind her.
She gave a curtsy and smirked up at the prince with eyes that made his blood run hot.
Shining rose from his seat.
“Leave us,” Shining said to Dew Drop, who obeyed.
Lavender glanced around the room wordlessly.
“Haverford, Starhaven, Helios and Venutia, the North Highlands and the Frozen Shore,” Shining said, “All of the Highlands have joined us, all except for you.”
“You might have begun with a hello, but I suppose fighting a war takes its toll on one’s social decorum,” Lavender cooed, “A pity. You used to be so gallant, especially at all those balls and court formals, I remember. Once, you were a maiden’s fantasy. Now look at you, our fearsome crystal prince. You look as though you haven’t slept for days.”
“Why have you come here, Lavender?” Shining demanded.
“I come in peace,” Lavender said, raising her dainty hooves as if to say she was no threat.
“I asked why, not how.”
“I’ve just come from Canterlot,” Lavender said, “I had a very interesting chat with your sister.”
Shining Armor hesitated. All he ever heard about Twilight were rumors and soldiers’ gossip. She’s gone completely mad. Executing ten prisoners a day.
“About what?” he asked.
“About my promotion,” Lavender giggled, “It was all a delightful ruse, in truth, for both of us. She listened to me make my propositions for peace between the crown and the Empire, all while she planned to arrange another attempt on my life, that very same day. She seems to have no shortage of cutthroats in her employ. I suspected Twilight would try something, and my guards took care of the assassin. Well, I should say they’re still taking care of the assassin, if the boy is still alive. Twilight will keep trying, I expect, until she’s rid of me for good.”
“And what did you get out of this, besides providing my sister with an afternoon’s annoyance?” Shining asked.
“I was speaking to Twilight, but it wasn’t her who I wanted to listen. There were others in that council chamber who have begun to notice the change in the winds. There are many who think the Empire and its allies will prevail against Twilight and restore order to Equestria. Everyday, more and more ponies in the palace turn against her, they’re just too afraid to speak out. I made it clear that I could be the one to protect them. Secretary Archangel wasted no time to make his position clear, he’s left Canterlot with half of the First Division, and has staked himself out in Saddleopolis, ready to join you once you make it south.”
Shining raised an eyebrow.
“You’ve given me half the First Division?” he said, “And you’ll be wanting something in return, I expect.”
“If Stonehoof should fall in the war, name me the Wardeness of Haverford,” Lavender said, “As well as the princess regent of the Crystal Empire, till your daughter comes of age.”
Shining almost had to laugh.
“So you can assassinate me and my daughter and take the crown for yourself? You forget that I know you for what you are,” Shining said.
“War has made you paranoid,” Lavender waved off, “I would never harm my own kin, least of all Flurry. I adore that girl. Know that if she was mine, I wouldn’t have left her alone in that freezing castle to go fight a war.”
“You think I’m happy that she’s away from me?” Shining said, “She might be all I have left. The only reason I’m doing this is Cadance.”
Lavender’s smile returned, and it made Shining uneasy. She took two steps closer towards him.
“Cadance….” Lavender smiled, “My favorite cousin. Blessed with a brain, blessed with grace, blessed with a pretty face…a face that launched an entire empire into war. I wonder how pretty that face is now, after what Twilight’s done to her…”
Shining felt his heart skip a beat.
“What do you know?” Shining demanded, “What did Twilight tell you?”
Lavender giggled. She traced her hoof across Shining’s chest.
“You might win the war. You might even defeat Twilight. But you won’t get Cadance back. She’s gone, my prince. There’s a slim chance she made it out somehow, but…you know your sister. Nothing escapes her. You would be wise to keep this knowledge to yourself, or else your entire army may lose itself to grief. I am sorry, my prince, I really am.”
Shining could feel himself trembling, and he had to steady himself, before he was caught off guard by Lavender’s grasp.
“She might be gone, but her memory will endure,” Lavender said, “Take time to grieve. Then take revenge on your betrayers. I’ll do whatever necessary to help you do it. I loved Cadance more than life. But…I will admit, I was jealous of her, too. How she was prettier than me, how she was smarter than me, how she got to marry you, I…Forgive me, I shouldn’t…”
Shining was too stunned to quite react, when Lavender lifted herself up to the tips of her hooves to plant a kiss on Shining’s lips. She persisted even as Shining remained deathly still, pawing at his mane and sloppily making love to his mouth. His eyes met hers, and he felt the tears in the corners of his eyes. For a moment, Lavender resembled Cadance, and he found all of his sorrow had disappeared in an instant.
“My prince,” she whispered, “I won’t ever leave you like she did. I’ll be good, I’ll be yours.”
Shining, with a shaky hoof, reached around her back to return her kiss, and they quickly began clawing at each other like animals, biting and kissing and feeling every part of the other.
But eventually Shining broke away, abruptly, leaving Lavender a panting mess, glaring at him with wide eyes.
“You can have what you want,” Shining said, “Except this. I love Cadance. I only love Cadance.”
Lavender hesitated, before smiling, softly.
“I understand, my prince,” Lavender said, “Know that my heart is yours, anyway. I will protect Flurry with my life.”
Shining sighed and gripped the table. He glared at her.
“You’re sure Archangel will join us?” Shining demanded.
“Him and many more, I’ve made sure of it,” Lavender smiled, “Now you musn’t need look so glum. I may have just won you the war.”
The deck of the Kraken’s Kiss ran rank with fresh blood. Fizzy was still leaking from the gash in his throat. He’d twitch and tremble on the floor, but couldn’t make much more of a fuss; the wound had severed his vocal chords.
Beside Bandolier was Scurvy, whose beard was matted in blood, whose head had been half-cracked open by a metal club. There was Silver Spar and Humble Pie too, and Old Barebone and Cloudy. The other survivors had been stowed away in the bowels of the ship.
The crew of the Kraken’s Kiss were bastards and mongrels. Beasts black as tar stared out at him, and others squat and hairy as the wild ponies of the tropics. Monsters, Bandolier thought. Some were hunchback brutes, and others lanky wiry things with pale scaly skin. Some were covered in tattoos, and many had dark coats with glittering purple eyes. There were red-bearded kirins and slithering changelings, gorgons and dragons, diamond dogs, hippogriffs, kelpies and bats. Ponies from Equestria, Farasi and Hakoda, cats from Abyssinia, and ponies from Maneighlia, Xiaoma, and Thrace.
The six prisoners knelt at center deck, watching as they left the burning husk of the Bronze Beauty to slowly sink into the sea.
Sandbar might have escaped the fire, Bandolier thought. He could cling to the driftwood, he could find help. Or perhaps he sank with the ship.
Old Barebone was trembling right beside Bandolier, and kept his eyes fixed on the ground. Cloudy bit at his lip, and would share a glance with Bandolier every now and then. Silver and Humble, who were only boys, each had tears in their eyes. The smell of rotting flesh was baked into the boards. Have courage, he wanted to tell the boys, but he thought it wiser to stay silent.
Scurvy fared the worst. The Kraken’s crew had beaten him so badly he might have gone blind. His jaw was cracked, his leg snapped at the knee, and he was covered in dirt.
“Forgive me, lad,” he croaked out to Bandolier when he had first joined the row of prisoners, “Our first voyage together looks to be our last, as well.”
Scurvy would have laughed at himself, but the pain in his throat overtook him.
“It was a good ship,” Bandolier said.
“The best,” Scurvy sighed, “I won’t be long to follow her. A captain without a ship is no captain.”
“The captain still has a crew,” Bandolier reminded.
Scurvy glanced at him, and nodded his head.
“Aye. The nymphs still protect us, lad. Remember that.”
Bandolier glanced back at the Kraken’s crew, who milled about the ship anxiously. Scurvy had been able to recognize a few by name. There was Pinchface Forlorn, Three-Tooth, Bloodless Blunt, and Headless Joy. There was Grey Grief and Left-Hand Luster, and Squidskull, who Bandolier recalled had been the one to smash his face against that wood beam. His snout was smashed to pulp, and a splinter had come close to piercing his eye.
And then came the Morning Star, Ursus Valentine.
Ursus was comely, and years in exile had not changed that. His hair was black as a midnight sea, and his face was smooth and swarthy beneath his neat dark beard. His eyes were bright blue like gemstones.
Scurvy’s face darkened. “Morning Star,” he said.
“Scurvy,” Ursus smiled, “I thought the sea had swallowed you already, but it appears you’ve been spat back up.”
“The Sea Lords banished you from these waters,” Scurvy said, “For all your heresies, now you go too far. Listen to me, devil. Soon you will lie helpless at your prow, when the nymphs rise from their dark depths, full foul in their fury. Black waves will steal the breath from your lungs, turn you bloated and blue with salt foam teeming from your mouth. Only then will they sink their teeth in you, bursting you into black bloody filth for the seaworms and crabs to pick and peck and feed upon. Damn you! A pony who curses the gods will soon suffer their red wrath, and quickly be lost to the sea, tossed and turned in the abyss, forgotten to all those who dwell in the warmth of the sun, forgotten even to the demons and ghosts, until any scrap of your godless soul is yourself no longer, but only the black of the sea.”
“Godless?” Ursus said, “Your curses are all in vain. Who knows more of the gods than I? Gods of the sea and gods of fire. Gods carved of bronze and gilded gods with sapphire eyes. Tree gods, stone gods, gods of the air. I know them well. I have seen them drowned in the blood of fallen foes, and seen them receive the screaming sacrifices of children. I have heard a thousand prayers in a hundred tongues. Grant me health, grant me love, grant me wealth. Protect me, deliver me, defend me. Defend me against the unknown, against the dark, against the raiders, against the slavers. Defend me against the Kraken.” He laughed. “Godless? My good captain of Equestria, I am more godly than any and all. You have your nymphs. But I serve them and a hundred more. Ponies see my sail, and ponies pray.”
Scurvy gritted his teeth and trembled with rage.
“They pray to false idols and demons,” Scurvy said.
“A grievous sin. And for that, I kill them all. I stain the seas with their blood and fill their mares with my seed. Their gods have not stopped me, so they must be false, as you say.”
“Fools,” Scurvy growled, glaring at the crew, “Blind fools you are, to follow this one. Do you not see what stands before you?”
The crew laughed. Scurvy spat at the ground.
“Have away with this one,” Ursus said, “I will sooner reason with the wind.”
When Scurvy was gone, the Morning Star turned his bright blue eyes upon Bandolier, who met his gaze. He glanced around at the row of prisoners.
“Where is the first mate?” he asked.
Silver Spar and Humble Pie were too terrified to speak.
“At the bottom of the sea,” Bandolier answered, “He sank with the ship. Along with the twenty other colts you put to the sword.”
Beside him, Old Barebone became alarmed, terrified of Bandolier drawing the captain’s ire. Ursus’ smile curled on his lips.
“I pity them. So young to have been wantonly led to their deaths,” Ursus said, “You are new to these waters, or else I would know your face. A handsome face, too, far more handsome than my friends here. I will not take it as chance that a green sailor chooses to journey west when the world has been upended. You might be a deserter, fleeing the war?”
“What does it matter to you?” Bandolier replied.
“There is a tyrant to the east and a conqueror to the west. But across the seas, there is but one king. This is my domain, and I will know your purpose here.”
“Don’t speak,” Barebone advised, when Bandolier opened his mouth to retort.
Ursus’ bright blue eyes darted to the old sailor.
The spear that split through Barebone’s skull made its plunge with an earsplitting crack. Bandolier winced when the blood sprayed against the left side of his face. Old Barebone fell to his knees. Behind him, Squidskull stood laughing with a bloody spear lodged between his legs.
“An honorable pony lives by his own advice,” Ursus said, studying Bandolier’s face, “Now heed my own. Speak and live to see the morning.”
“I left before the war began. I’m no deserter. I heard tell of an exile across the sea,” Bandolier replied, “My curiosity got the better of me. I had to see for myself.”
Ursus nodded, and watched Bandolier.
“In every lie there is some truth,” Ursus said, “As it is, I have better use for you and your crew of colts than to feed the sharks. You may just get your wish, my brave new friend. Our exile awaits.”
Bandolier eyed him.
“You’re going to Nautilus?” Bandolier asked.
“What do you think drew me back to this side of the world?” Ursus laughed, “Though I suppose we’re not as well-acquainted as me and our drunkard nymph-worshiping friend. I first sought to acquire some spoils to give as a gift to the conqueror and earn his friendship. Perhaps Scurvy’s nymphs like me more than him, they’ve granted me all this plunder. You and your motley crew might suffice to sell as slaves. If you can sell for a profit, that is.”
“Let the colts go, at least,” Bandolier said, “You’ve gotten what you wanted. They won’t sell for much, you’d be better off letting them go.”
“Watch your wording, my friend,” Ursus laughed again, “Or I might just let them go into the sea, each chained to a thirty-pound stone. Take these ones below. Make sure this one survives the voyage west. He amuses me.”
The drums were pounding out a battle beat as the vanguard swept forward, fording the choppy green waters outside the city walls.
Vertigo vaulted over the rubble of the western wall, landing hard with his green cloak billowing behind him. The dragons drew back at the sight of him, armed and armored, his face hidden behind his ivy green helm. They were clutching swords and spears and axes, but four of every five had no armor.
“Get him!” one dragon shouted. “He’s alone!”
“Come!” Vertigo roared back, “Come kill me, if you can.”
From all sides the dragons converged, with sharp claws and grey steel and terror in their eyes. Their fear was so ripe Vertigo could taste it. Left and right, he laid about, hewing off the first dragon’s arm at the shoulder with a blast of his horn, and cleaving through the throat of another. The third was a firebreather, though Vertigo’s shield aura was strong enough to repel the flames. He slammed the aura into the dragon’s face, knocking him off his feet, and he slew him when he tried to rise again. As he began to turn around, a spear jabbed him right in the shoulder. He spun and fired a beam of magic right through the dragon’s head, which exploded on impact.
By then his Green Army had followed him past the toppled western wall, where the trebuchets had created for them an opening. He heard Stokes let out a howl as she went to work, glimpsed Stormy in his rusted mail, saw Drake Destrier send a throwing ax spinning through the air to catch a dragon in the chest. Vertigo slew another dragon, and another. He would have killed a third, but Stormy cut him down first.
“Well struck,” Vertigo bellowed at him.
When he turned to find the next victim, he spied one of the dragon commanders, whose spiked black armor was soiled in blood and gore.
“You!” Vertigo called across the carnage, “Are you the chief of the Black Horns?”
The dragon raised his visor. “That I am. Razer, I am called. And who are you, little pony?”
“Your death,” Vertigo ran towards him.
Razer lept to meet him. The dragon carried a fearsome ax of castle-forged steel, and he made it sing. His first cut was low, and Vertigo deflected it off a swirl of magic. His second caught the captain near his temple before Vertigo raised his shield. Vertigo answered with a sidearm blow, a concussive blast to the dragon’s ribs. The dragon’s shield got in the way, and wooden splinters flew into the air. The dragon’s axe hammered at his thigh, once, then twice, then once more, screaming at the steel. He’s quick. Quicker than me. Vertigo’s horn ignited right into Razer’s face and sent him staggered back towards the rubble. Vertigo readied his horn to put all his weight into the immolation, hoping to open the dragon from balls to brain. But Razer darted away. The blast ruptured what remained of the wall, crumbling down overhead onto three of his own men and one dragon imp.
Razer cast away his splintered shield and slashed down with his axe. Vertigo caught the axe in his shield, though most of the blade made it through and split right into his horn, sawing a quarter-inch deep into the marrow and ripping out part of the nerve stem. Vertigo grunted in pain, yet he held on.
Vertigo ripped the axe from Razer’s hands. Razer’s eyes went wide.
Vertigo caught him by the throat with a ring of magic, and, in a furious roar, he snapped the ring shut, slicing through scale, flesh, muscle and bone in one clean cut. Razer’s head fell to Vertigo’s hooves.
The dragons were falling back over the hills, though they would not make it far. Some tried to flee to the docks, as others cried for quarter. Vertigo could feel the blood and loose sparks trickling down his damaged horn and over his helm, but that was nothing.
By the first hour the ground was slick beneath his hooves, and the dead and dying lay in heaps at every side.
“Captain,” he heard Destrier say beside him, “The day is ours.”
Most of the ponies that had once called High Water their home had already been butchered by the dragons, though a trembling few still remained. They knelt when they saw the captain trot by with his chariots and carriages of food and medicine. There were still some ponies left alive nailed to the wooden beams by the docks, and Vertigo demanded that his doctors do all they can to help their suffering.
But suffering was plentiful here, and consequently Vertigo had little in the way of mercy to show his dragon captives.
Only one of the other commanders had survived the battle - Blacktip, the elderly chief of the Groundwyrms. Vertigo found him waiting in chains by the great fountain, surrounded by green soldiers drenched in blood.
“The command lies with you now, is that it?” Vertigo asked.
“If Razer is dead, then yes.”
Vertigo narrowed his eyes. At least Razer was brave enough to come out and fight his enemy. This one had been content to remain in the town hall building where it was safe.
“Your queen split your army in thirds,” Vertigo recalled, “But apparently not equally. Where are all the firebreathers? There were only a handful among you.”
“I only know what orders were given to me,” Blacktip growled.
“She had no intention of holding High Water,” Vertigo supposed, “She wanted to test us, to see what we were capable of.”
“Now she knows,” offered Kit Carina, one of the captain’s lieutenants. His remark earned a rowdy cheer from the growing crowd of soldiers.
“This is no victory,” Blacktip spat, “The Queen will reach Canterlot soon, and Sawtooth will put the rest of the south to the torch. You’ve saved this city, yes, but there was not much of a city to save, anyway. One victory doesn’t make you a conqueror.”
Vertigo glanced at where the surviving civilians were being kept, currently taking advantage of the food and water that the soldiers had brought.
“It’s better than one defeat,” Vertigo retorted, “Tell me the truth and you’ll keep your life. Where are all the stallions? Where are all the foals? There are seventy survivors here, and not a stallion or child among them.”
The dragon laughed.
“Answer me,” Vertigo demanded, “Where are they?”
“The stallions made good meat,” Blacktip replied, “The mares we kept for spoils. And the foals….they’re not far from here. You’ll only have to look at the bottom of the river where we drowned them all.”
Kit struck Blacktip in the head with the butt of his spear, and soon four others joined him, laying down kicks after kick. Vertigo had to shove himself in to separate them.
“You heard what he said!” Kit yelled, unsheathing a dagger from his belt, “He murdered them all! Foals! He has to die, Captain. He has to die now.”
“No. He may know more about the other armies’ movements,” Vertigo said, “Put the blade away.”
Kit ignored him and lunged for Blacktip with the dagger in hoof, but Varnish and Scrapesword were quick enough to grab ahold of him.
Kit thrashed against the others as they dragged him off, while Vertigo stared down at Blacktip, who laughed.
“My hero,” Blacktip grinned.
“Get this one out of my sight. Keep him far away from Kit,” Vertigo ordered.
Stormy and Magizette carried off the bloodied, bruised dragon, while Sergeant Stokes came before him, standing at attention.
“Pardon, sir. Lady Delphi has requested you back at the camp. She said it was urgent,” Stokes said.
Vertigo glared at her. She should be coming here to meet me, not the other way around.
Still, he relented, and left High Water around noon with his three most trusted lieutenants - Drake Destrier, Nebulous Gale, and Bluebeard.
The four of them found a hero’s welcome at the war camp, where the remainder of the Green Army had stayed to hold the rear position. Vertigo was still filthy with blood and sand and dirt, though he supposed if Delphi was to summon him like a mongrel pup, she would receive him as he was.
And so she did, when Vertigo entered his tent at the center of camp. Only Destrier had remained with him, the other two had gone off to share some drinks with the troops.
Delphi’s chestnut curls fell across her sea-green coat, and the gown she wore was blue and green. He wanted nothing more than to tear it off her.
“You’ve done it,” Delphi exclaimed. She had a soft little smirk to her that usually angered him, though he had missed her so dearly he craved to see it again, “Are you hurt?”
Vertigo set his helm down on one of the tables by the tent opening, while Destrier helped himself to the pitcher of wine. He poured a glass for Vertigo, and Delphi too.
“The blood’s not mine,” Vertigo said, “I wanted you to see the city for yourself. The ponies there need our help. What was so urgent?”
Delphi’s eyes darted to another section of the tent, where another pony emerged, this time one who Vertigo did not recognize.
Then something clicked in his head, and he realized it was Delphi’s own brother, Hydrangea, with his golden curls and rose-pink coat. He was wearing the golden armor reserved only for those who belonged to the Nine. Vertigo might have wanted to strangle the boy right then and there. Twilight insults me once more. Wedge had promised the next opening would go to me.
“Equestria owes you a great debt, Captain,” Hydrangea said. Vertigo had never trusted the boy, the pampered son of pompous Augustan nobles.
“I didn’t recognize you at first,” Vertigo admitted, glancing at the boy’s spotless golden armor.
“Her grace did me a great honor,” Hydrangea acknowledged, “You might not have heard, Sergeant Valance fell to his death. His station went to me.”
Valance was always a drunken fool, Vertigo thought, though as far as deaths in Canterlot went, few were ever only accidents.
“You come as Twilight’s emissary, yes? Speak then. What does Twilight have to tell me?” Vertigo commanded.
“Her grace is not displeased with what you’ve done,” Hydrangea said, “Commander Hawkbit’s strategy has left the south as easy prey for the dragons. However … she is concerned you might have a certain … disdain for authority that would present some issues in the future.”
Vertigo said nothing. He enjoyed watching the boy squirm against the silence.
“She wants you, Captain, to go to Canterlot, to acknowledge her as your princess and commander, and send a portion of your forces to Canterlot to bolster the city’s defenses. She’ll also send you more resources in return, to continue your activities here,” Hydrangea said.
She’s afraid. Vertigo wanted to smile, but restrained himself.
“No. There isn’t time for this,” Vertigo rebuffed.
“If you don’t come back with me, Twilight will expect you to plan on betraying her, no matter what I tell her,” Hydrangea pointed out.
“Then stay here with us,” Vertigo said, “You’ll be of better use fighting for us than as Twilight’s errandboy.”
Hydrangea hesitated.
“You’ve won one battle, yes. But do you really think you can march against Twilight? Against the crown?” Hydrangea asked, skeptically.
“I could march my army into hell if need be,” Vertigo said. His horn was red with blood from where Razer’s ax had torn in. “While she plots and plays at war, my ponies bleed. I’’m going to root her out, her and all her sycophants, her sorcerers and her spies. She drew first blood. Now I’m going to finish what she started.”
Broadwing read the letter over and over until the words began to blur and run together. I can’t sign this. I won’t.
He had almost burned the parchment right then and there. Instead he took another sip of ale, the last dregs of what he had saved from his lonely supper the prior night. I have to sign it. They chose me to lead. Rhinefrost is mine, and the Frost Army too.
It was a relief when Mulberry entered through the tent flap, to tell him that Lord Stonehoof was waiting without. Broadwing set the letter aside. “I’ll see him.” He dreaded this. “Find Windchill for me. I’ll want to speak with her next.”
“She’s been in her books again” Mulberry said, “She likes her books more than ponies, I think.” He went off muttering to himself, when Stonehoof gruffly stormed into the tent.
“The Highlands are with you,” Stonehoof announced, begrudgingly, “Every city’s sent out its forces to join us at the southern foot of the gorge. All of them except Silkwood.”
“Lady Lavender?” Broadwing asked.
Stonehoof grunted.
“She’ll join the war eventually, only she’ll wait for the opportune moment to join the winning side,” Stonehoof expected, “Cowards and butchers and fools and mad ponies. Whoever wins, Equestria loses.”
“Don’t count me out so soon,” Broadwing said.
“I said fools, didn’t I?” Stonehoof growled, “The column is taking too long to pass through the gorge. You’ve got stragglers in the rear and your scouts might as well be blind. A platoon of Starhaven soldiers entered the camp last night without anypony noticing. Lucky for us they’re on our side. And the more soldiers we take, the less food we have to ration out.”
“Windward’s fleet has begun its assault on the Smoky Shore,” Broadwing said, “Once they take control of the ports, we’ll be able to resupply. We just need to make it out of the gorge before Snowfall gets here.”
“You may not have as much time as you thought,” Stonehoof warned, “...The hippogriff army has joined the royals, following Prince Terramar. My own student. They’ve quickened their pace, as well.”
Broadwing’s eyes drifted down along the map on his table, searching for a faster way out of the gorge.
“The frost ponies will hold the southeast perimeter,” Broadwing said, “Spread the word that we march again for a third of each night, and there will only be one rest during the day.”
Stonehoof glared at him.
“You have tenacity, fool prince, I’ll give you that,” Stonehoof grunted.
Stonehoof left through the tent flap, and Windchill arrived moments later.
Windchill was skinny but well-muscled, with a round face, blue-grey eyes that seemed too far apart, and a slightly upturned snout. She may have been considered plain, if not for her smile, which seemed to light up her face. She had a pale baby blue coat and a paler short curly mane, almost the color of snow.
“You wanted me, sir?” Windchill said, standing at attention. She wore the silvery grey armor that all the frost ponies wore, a few shades lighter than Broadwing’s.
Broadwing motioned for her to take a seat by his desk, and he slid the parchment toward her.
“Have a look at this.”
“What is it?” Windchill asked, picking up the parchment. She read it slowly.
“A marriage pact?” Windchill gawked, shrinking in her seat, “You….Shining Armor wrote this?”
“There’s his signature. My mother’s, too,” Broadwing said, “We’ve just won them the Smoky Shore, and my reward is an arranged marriage with a changeling of all ungodly things.”
That got an odd look from Windchill, and she looked as if she was going to say something, but she instead swallowed and turned back to the parchment.
“You haven’t signed the letter.”
Broadwing shook his head.
“The changelings only ever crawl out of their burrows when they smell blood in the air,” Broadwing said, “Shining should have consulted me.”
“If the changelings join us, no one could withstand us,” Windchill pointed out, “And the decision’s already been made. King Pharynx is not a creature to cross. You have a duty, sir.”
Broadwing winced at the word. Duty. He sighed, and sat back in his seat. He knew she was right, and that he had no real choice in the matter.
“It’s not such a bad deal, anyway,” Windchill shrugged, “Princess Elytra is royalty. And she could phase into anypony you want.”
Broadwing’s eyes darted up to Windchill, whose smile withered away. Her eyes fell to the floor, and her face reddened. Broadwing had to smile.
“Once we get out of here, I’m going to talk to Shining Armor, and sort this out,” Broadwing said, reaching for the quill to sign the parchment.
But the ink never touched the paper, before the first blast of the horn sent Broadwing to his hooves. Windchill rose beside him.
“Th-That can’t be,” Windchill said, “They’re here?”
Broadwing reached for his sword belt and fastened it around his waist, overtop his chainmail.
“Send the back half of the column in full retreat to Seaguard,” Broadwing commanded, “I’ll be with the vanguard.”
“That’s folly,” Windchill said, “Snowfall has a legion behind her, maybe more. You need everypony.”
“They have us in a pinch. If we don’t stretch back they’ll be able to trap us in the gorge and pick us off from above. We have to meet them on the field with a smaller force and buy the others time to thin out the column. Then we’ll all regroup above ground.”
He moved to rush past her, though Windchill caught him by the leg.
“Sir,” Windchill said, “....If it must be done, then don’t go yourself. It’s suicide.”
“It’s my duty, no?” Broadwing laughed. He tried to move again, but Windchill still had a grip on his leg.
“Then let me go with you,” Windchill said, “I’m not fit to take the command should something horrible happen. I’d much rather be at your side, sir. Please.”
Broadwing studied her, and eventually relented, gesturing for her to join him.
“Oh, and prepare to send word to Princess Elytra,” Broadwing smiled, “It’ll be a pity, really, once I’m dead. Such a short engagement.”
The mongrels had robbed him of his clothes and shoes and belt. All he wore were chains and scabs. Saltwater splashed against his legs, rising as high as his waist only to edge back down. The salt had gotten in his wounds and it stung. Cloudy and Silver Spar and Humble Pie were lying somewhere else in the dark of the brig. There were other prisoners here too, some already dead, bloated and puffy-white in the water. One was hardly recognizable as a pony. All of his hooves had been burned down to the bone, and his face was a blackened horror where two blind bloody eyes once darted about sightlessly, dripping pus. He had only recently died, Bandolier thought.
There were two others still alive - warlocks from the western continent, pale-skinned with black eyes. They were gaunt like walking skeletons, and one had no legs at all. He had been hung from a rafter up above. “Flee!” he would cry, “Flee! Flee!”
Silver and Humble had managed to fall asleep, though Cloudy was deterred by the taste of salt in his mouth.
“These things always happen to me,” Cloudy complained, “The nymphs always smiled on young Eventide, though. When the pirates knocked him off the crow’s nest, somehow he landed in the sea instead of the fires on the deck. How lucky was that, missing the fire?”
“Did he get away?” Bandolier wanted to know.
“No,” Cloudy said, “He was dead already, from that ax in his head. But it was pretty lucky, missing the fire.”
Night came, though Bandolier would not have known; the brig was pitch black almost always. The exceptions were few - the gaoler would visit every now and then with a torch in his teeth.
Sleep did not come easy to him. He thought of Sandbar and Scurvy, who were likely dead already. He wondered whether Alias had bothered to go looking for him yet, or if he had been given up for dead. I wouldn’t look for me either.
He heard hoofsteps on the stairwell, and the light of a torch put a strain on his eyes.
But the eyes he found peering down on him did not belong to the gaoler, or Ursus or Scurvy or Sandbar. She was not unfamiliar, however. She was lean, with dark eyes and a raven-black mane cut short. Her face was thin with a larger snout and a wind-chafed coat of tan. On her neck was a faded pink scar. But what he recognized first was that wicked smile.
Clover.
“I’m going mad,” Bandolier declared. He turned away from the light and laughed to himself.
“You might be, but not on my account,” the girl replied.
“The captain sends his changeling to torment me, is that it?” Bandolier laughed.
“You’ve only been down here a few hours, and you’ve already lost your mind? I thought you’d last longer than that. I saw you go under during the battle. I would’ve visited earlier, but I’d rather nopony know about us.”
Abruptly, Bandolier rose to his hooves, wading through the water to storm towards her.
“There is no us. You tried to kill me,” he said.
“If I meant to kill you, I would’ve,” the girl said.
“What are you doing here?” Bandolier demanded.
Clover swept her mane away from her eyes.
“I’m a prisoner here. And a guest too, I suppose,” Clover said, “Ursus didn’t feel the need to keep me caged.”
“Perhaps he’s not as clever as he thinks,” Bandolier said.
“Neither are you,” Clover said, glancing at the bars of the cage. Her evil little smile returned, “You were supposed to go kill Twilight. Instead you’re here.”
“I’ve never been much good at sticking to plans,” Bandolier said, “Everypony’s eyes are turned to Twilight, but as far as I can tell, her days are numbered. I’m more concerned about what I don’t know. Starting with this gadfly from across the pond. And starting with you, too.”
“Ah, I see. Twilight’s too much for you, so you think you’ll try your hand at taking down the conqueror instead. I hate to break it to you, but you may not like what you find,” Clover said.
“We’ll see about that,” Bandolier said, “All I know for certain is that I won’t be dying in the bowels of this ship. You and I could help each other.”
“Not gonna happen,” Clover grinned, “Captivity suits you, anyway. You got yourself in this mess, now you’ve got to get yourself out. I have my own problems.”
Bandolier eyed her, awaiting an elaboration.
“This may surprise you, but I haven’t been entirely honest with you,” Clover admitted. She sat herself down beside the bars, right up against where Bandolier was standing.
“I didn’t lie about what I told you, months ago,” Clover said, “I did grow up in Newport drinking out of dirty puddles and eating throwaway bread. But it could’ve been different. My father was a Brookleigh. One of the Brookleighs, who run things in Newport in Augusta. But he had me out of wedlock, so he left me on the street instead of letting me shame the family. When I was old enough I made a new life for myself, working for Moonshine in Canterlot, selling contraband and crewing a ship. Ursus took me as a threat, though. He spared my life, but warned me never to raise my sails again. I tried to settle down in Shimmering Spires, but then Moonshine and Twilight Sparkle reached out to me again, and offered me a job to keep me rich for the rest of my life - kill Lavender. But I screwed that up, thanks to you.”
“How’d you get past Lavender?” Bandolier asked.
“I tried speaking her language instead of trying to stick a knife in her throat. When she said she was chums with the conqueror, I knew I had a chance to make a deal. That’s why I stayed. We worked things out - I’d go to the conqueror across the sea and offer my help in uniting all of Augusta under his rule. My father’s dead, and he hasn’t got any legitimate children, so I have a claim to Newport. But Ursus is a Valentine, as in, a Valentine of Mercy Hill. He wants to lead Augusta too and make the same deal with the conqueror. He caught my ship on the way west, and put my entire crew to the sword. But he kept me alive, on account of our history and us both wanting the same thing,” Clover said.
“The conqueror wants Augusta?” Bandolier gawked, “That’s on Equestria’s doorstep. Who is this pony?”
“Nopony knows much. Only rumors. I’ve heard some say he’s an ancient demon who can raise the dead, others say it’s a mare, the most beautiful mare in the world, who can control the minds of ponies and make them do her bidding,” Clover yawned, “You’ll get to know the truth soon, though.”
Bandolier glanced at her, warily.
“Ursus didn’t tell you?” Clover raised an eyebrow, “He does love to play with his food. He’s not just selling you as slaves. He’s selling you to the conqueror personally, to participate in the Great Games.”
“Games? I never win at games,” came Cloudy from behind them.
“Luna be good. I thought that one was dead already,” Clover remarked.
“I can only wish,” Cloudy grumbled.
“You think I’m afraid?” Bandolier challenged.
“No. You’re too stupid to be afraid,” Clover said, “That’s what I like about you.”
Bandolier pressed himself closer to the bars.
“You like to think you’re so clever,” Bandolier said, grabbing her by her waist. He had a hoof by her throat, too. She blushed.
“We shouldn’t…Bandolier,” Clover stammered, “If Ursus were to know, he would-”
“I don’t care,” Bandolier said, pulling her closer toward the bars.
He kissed her through the bars, to her shock, though she did not pull away. They pressed closer together, and Clover shut her eyes, savoring his taste.
“You’re making me regret having pushed you into that river. Whatever brain you had to begin with has surely been smashed to pieces,” Clover smirked, holding his hooves in hers, “You can beg me all you want. I won’t help you as long as you have a chance at getting in my way.”
“That’s what I’m best at, though,” Bandolier grinned, “What do you hope to gain here?”
“A way out,” Clover said, “If I go back to Equestria, Twilight will kill me. This exile may be my last shot. Yours too, if you survive the games. Which is unlikely.”
“...If they kill me, will you weep for me?” Bandolier teased.
“How will you know? You’ll be dead,” Clover pointed out.
Bandolier kissed her again.
“I’ll know.”
Somewhere off in the far distance, a dying pony was screaming for his mother. “Cavalry!” a pony was yelling in the next camp north of the Asteria Company. “Cavalry! Cavalry!” High and shrill, her voice carried a long way in the morning air, far beyond her own encampment. Snowfall Glitter heard the fear in the pony’s voice before the words.
The Galloping Gorge was on fire. Sparks of magic and specks of ash escaped the chasm where the bloodshed was at its fiercest. Snowfall’s face was covered in grey dust, and there was a bloody gash around the corner of her eye where a moose’s antler had met its mark.
They had caught the Frost Army by surprise. It was Styles who came up with the idea, after suspecting a potential weak spot in the Northerners’ column. He had ventured into the camp with six others disguised among a small platoon of Starhaven soldiers. The fire he started had engulfed the whole column by the time the battle was finished, and though Broadwing had tried to send his stragglers fleeing back to Seaguard, they too were caught in the trap, and those that survived were scattered all across the countryside.
Dawn had broken, and a sliver of the rising sun was visible behind the camp’s walls and towers, blindingly bright. To the west, the stars were fading, one by one. Trumpets were blowing along the gorge’s edge, rallying troops to pursue the scattering Frost ponies, Highlanders, and moose.
Spare as many as you can, she had commanded, though nopony could pay that much heed during the thrill of the fight.
She had returned to the camp as soon as the first of the defensive lines began to break. She knew at once that the battle was won, and the less time she had to stomach the corpses’ stench and watch the crows come to feed on her former friends, the better.
“Commander!”
Upon entering the command tent, Snowfall was greeted by Bravo, the captain of Angel Company, with his jowly grin and rosy red cheeks, “Well fought! We’ve got them on the run!”
Snowfall smiled politely and trotted past him toward the map table, where she found Sparkshower, Saving Grace, Echo, and … Redshift.
The green-eyed mare was clad in her dark crimson armor, sitting at the end of the table, puffing out her chest and smirking at nopony in particular. Snowfall had come to a complete stop, and all eyes at the table glided over to Redshift.
“What are you doing here?” Snowfall asked, sharply. She was much too exhausted to be pleasant.
“Coming to your rescue,” Redshift replied, “Princess Twilight had a feeling you’d stumble once or twice, so she sent me to get things under control. You’re lucky I got here when I did. Otherwise you’d be burnt to a crisp already.”
“If anyone can claim to have rescued us, it would be the hippogriffs, not you, Redshift. How many ponies did you bring?”
“200,” Redshift replied, “We smashed through the northern half of the vanguard while your ponies were picking them off from the high ground.”
Snowfall sighed and sat down at the opposite chair.
“What are our losses?” Snowfall asked Bravo, ignoring Redshift’s manic glare.
“A thousand at most,” Bravo reported, “A third as many as the enemy, I’d wager. That gorge is a sea of bodies. Styles hasn’t reported in. Some of the boys in Asteria said they saw him take three bolts to the skull before he fell off the edge of the gorge. He didn’t get off the ground, they said.”
Snowfall’s heart skipped a beat, and she felt herself go pale. Redshift paid her no notice, however.
“And Broadwing?” she asked.
“We haven’t found him. He’s likely dead, though he may have escaped,” Sparkshower answered.
“This battle is won, but the war isn’t. I need more soldiers,” Redshift demanded, “Whoever controls Haverford controls the Highlands. I’m going to lead a force to lay siege to the city and take it back.”
Snowfall glared at her.
“As long as you’re here, you follow my commands,” Snowfall reminded, bluntly.
Redshift’s eyes narrowed.
“We need Haverford,” Redshift said, “Put me to use.”
“We don’t need to waste resources to starve out a city of civilians just to prove a point,” Snowfall said.
Redshift rose to her hooves.
“There are no civilians,” Redshift said, “As long as they occupy these lands, they are enemies. They will be dealt with as such.”
“Not as long as I’m the commander,” Snowfall said, coldly.
Redshift gritted her teeth.
“As long as you’re the commander,” she said, before storming out of the tent. Bravo seemed alarmed by the remark, though Snowfall was much too weary to bat an eye.
As if to reply to Redshift’s departure, outside, Sergeant Solar Flare poked his head in.
“Pardon, Commander. Lieutenant Styles has returned.”
Styles. Snowfall’s heart gave a flutter in her chest.
“How long has….when did he…?” she could not seem to get the words out.
Flare seemed to understand. “He only just arrived, ma’am. His report can wait until you’re fed and rested, ma’am.”
“No,” Snowfall said. She had to see him. “Send him in. The rest of you may go, get some rest. We’ll convene again tonight.”
After the room had cleared, Styles revealed himself, sauntering in with his bronze armor stained red with blood, and his gold rings around his hooves. His stubble had begun to thicken, and Snowfall found him a rugged, bloodied, haggard soldier, whose hard muscles were slick with blood. On one hip he wore a stiletto, and on the other his short sword. His horn had some cuts and small dents in it, the result of several soldiers’ attempts at dismembering him. She wondered how many ponies that horn had killed.
“Commander,” Styles said, “Even covered in blood and dirt, you’re beautiful. How is this possible?”
“I was told you were killed,” Snowfall said.
“I’m not so easily killed. Ponies have been trying for years,” Styles said, “I took some arrows, yes, but none of your northern friends seem to know how to aim. It’s a shame, none of them share any of your charms, either. Are you sure you’re from that wretched country?”
She might have smacked him. Instead she offered him a plate of bread and cheese that was lying on the table.
“Eat something. Please,” Snowfall said.
Styles obliged, and took his seat where Redshift had been prior, scratching at his itchy beard and stretching out his legs.
“An ugly bunch, those Frost Ponies. But adequate fighters. One or two nearly nicked me where it’d have hurt.”
“I’ll have need of you again soon. We need to find Stonehoof and bring him in for questioning,” Snowfall said.
“You might find that difficult,” Styles said, “Stonehoof is dead.”
Snowfall stared at him, blankly, and she felt the breath escape her.
“I drove a dagger through his heart. Then I took his head off his shoulders, and sent it to Shining Armor as a gift,” Styles said.
Snowfall’s eyes were restless and red from the ash.
“I told you to spare his life!” Snowfall yelled. Styles’ grin faded.
“I watched him kill three of our ponies before I came for him,” Styles said, “He would’ve killed me too, if I didn’t put an end to him.”
Snowfall trotted towards him.
“Twilight may like to humor you. But I don’t. You sully your name, your station, and your vows with every wanton act of cruelty. You’re an oathbreaker, a murderer, and a thief, and if you defy my orders ever again, I’ll have you hanged for all of that and more.”
Styles grinned and rose to his hooves. They were almost of the same height, though Styles had a slight advantage. He shook his head.
“Oaths, oaths, so many oaths. They make you swear this and swear that. Defend the princess. Obey the princess. Obey your parents. Defend the innocent, protect the weak. But what if the princess wants to harm the innocent? What if your parents hate the princess? It’s all too much. No matter what you do, you’re breaking one oath for another. And at any rate, you might not want to get rid of me so soon. I have some grave tidings.”
Snowfall took a step back, and raised an eyebrow.
“What is it?”
“We intercepted a messenger en route to the Crystal Empire. A new alliance has been made, between the Empire and the changelings,” Styles said.
“No,” Snowfall said, “No, that….They-”
“There’s more. Our hippogriff army has deserted us to join the enemy. They refuse to fight against the changelings while their princess, Silver Stream, is a hostage and a bride-to-be. Well, not all the hippogriffs. Prince Terramar is still with us, with a few hundred loyal hippogriffs. He won’t fight for the creature that kidnapped his sister, he said, no matter what threats are made.”
“He’s gambling with his sister’s life,” Snowfall acknowledged, “But it’s good he’s still with us.”
“We’re outnumbered now, three times over,” Styles pointed out, “And if this new alliance should somehow make common cause with the dragons, then…”
“We’re not suing for peace, if that’s where you’re heading,” Snowfall said.
Styles laughed.
“I am many things, Commander, but not one to shy away from a losing battle. It’s been a long time since I’ve had a proper challenge. Today is the first of a dozen more victories. I’ll have the Frost Prince’s head next, and then King Pharynx, and finally Shining Armor.”
“I want them alive. I mean it,” Snowfall said.
“As you wish,” Styles allowed, “Though I’m not sure Twilight would agree.”
“Twilight’s not in charge of this campaign. I am. And no matter what she thinks, I won’t believe that compassion is a weakness. Tonight we set out to scour the Highlands and pick off Broadwing’s scattered army. Find him and bring him to me, alive.”
Styles smiled.
“I’ll take care of it.”