//------------------------------//
// Alea Iacta Est 
// Story: King of Diamonds 
// by Midnightshadow 
//------------------------------//

          ♠♣♥♦King of
  Diamonds
                                                  The Ambassador's Son - Book 2
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Chapter 17
Alea Iacta Est
An MLP:FiM Fanfiction by Midnight Shadow





♠♣♥♦

    Whistler ducked and weaved, dodging projectiles as they hurtled overhead. He had been fluttering as low to the ground as he dared for fear a griffon or pegasus from the Tacksworn Protectorate would see him, but that just made things easier for the diamond dog following him. The great hulking beast of a troll had been hot on his trail since they'd left the town, almost absent-mindedly throwing the rocks it gouged up with its claws at every opportunity. Tough chitin-like carapace or not, if one of them hit him, it could—
There was a sudden jolt of pain as a lucky blow from a projectile removed a neat section of wing and impacted with his barrel. Losing altitude, he fought hard against an all-out crash landing. Spinning in the air as he flapped madly to regain control, his eyes darted hither and yon, looking for the troll. He couldn't see it. It must have been a desperate throw, a list-ditch attempt at—
From beneath him, the earth opened up. A troll-shaped missile exploded out of the ground, cleared tree-level, and slammed into him. The pair of them fell, tumbling end over end, to land heavily in the dust. Whistler came to rest on his back, pinned. He tried to buzz his wings or squirm free, but the troll had a grip like a vice. Worse, he was barely panting. Worst of all, he was grinning.
"What're you going to do with me?" hissed the changeling, glaring angrily.
The troll bared his teeth. "You come with Gnasher now. Gnasher take you to Mistress."
"B-but... we had you! I had you like I had those other fools!"
"Mistress voice louder than swarm, bug-pony, so much louder."
Whistler squirmed again. "You'll never keep hold of me. As soon as night falls, you'll need to sleep. Maybe not this night, maybe not the next, but soon enough you shall. And when you do, I'll change. I'll slip away, and you'll never find me." Whistler glared up at the troll, triumph writ large on his muzzle. Slowly, however, that expression changed as the damned troll just kept grinning. Finally, Whistler had to look away.
Gnasher looked up, his gaze distant, before speaking. "Mistress! Bring me home! I have what you seek!"
"Wait! Wait, what're you—" Whistler began, but broke off as the world twisted around him. He was used to magic, but teleportation was unfamiliar, and this was over a great distance. It was almost painful. The world whirled and lurched; up was left, down was in and right was backwards. Changelings were never sick, they couldn't even throw up, but Whistler suddenly wished he could. As his stomach settled, he became aware of his surroundings.
He was in a darkened cave. His nose told him there was a single large exit to a network of passageways, though another alcove led to a second cave. It was likely a sleeping dormitory. The cave was underground, a network of what were apparently airshafts lead up and hopefully out. If he was lucky, he could fit through some of these. The only way the troll could follow would be to rip the walls and foundations apart.
That was the key, though, if.
"Well, well, well. One of my worthless hounds returns to me, with a gift. Pray tell me, mongrel, why should I be impressed with your hunting trophy? If you wish to bring back proof of your prowess at killing, whilst amusing, I do not feel it calls for such a summons." The voice was deep. It reverberated from the second alcove, dripping with malice and interest.
"My lady," whimpered Gnasher. He hung his head momentarily, moving it back up before Whistler could bite him. "I have this!"
"Release it."
Gnasher leaped off, backing away and placing all four paws plus his head on the ground. The troll's tail wagged pathetically. Whistler took in this scene, and for a moment was still. Then, like a shot, he was off. He zipped upwards, wings a blur as he fought for speed and altitude, aiming for a roughly circular air-shaft in the ceiling.
It almost worked.
Almost.
If his wing hadn't been damaged, if he'd just been that much faster...
A nimbus of blue energy surrounded him, locking him in place. It dragged him back down again, even as he fought and scrabbled to get free. Forced into immobility, his hooves seemingly glued to the rock floor, the glowing ball of magic then plucked at the damaged wing, pulling and working at it until it came free with a spurt of green ichor. He screamed, the pain unbearable, until with a sudden flare of healing magic the agony subsided to a dull ache. He watched, shaken, as the shredded collection of cartilage and skin-like membrane fell to the floor. The bubble of magic finally dispersed and he was allowed to fall onto his side in a heap. It wasn't kindness, they had known it would leave him helpless. His remaining wing was whole, but one wing was not enough to fly with. On the ground, by hoof, he would never be able to evade the troll. And that was even if he could escape the inner sanctum of whatever creature ruled here. He was unsurprised when a large, blue dragon padded out of her weyr to take a closer look.
"Hmm, a most interesting toy. You have done well, my pet. I am pleased with you. Well pleased. I think I will keep it." The dragon flicked her claw. There was a flash, and Whistler felt something hide-like tighten around his neck. It was a leather collar, complete with an oversized buckle and a bell. A chain sprouted like a weed from the inset metal loop, snaking towards the ground where it dug into the bedrock. It fell to the floor heavily, clanking and clashing with a distressing finality. Then the magic faded.
Whistler tried to run. The dragon watched. The chain went taut as he ran out of length, and the collar refused to budge. He almost spun head over hooves with the momentum of his short, fruitless mad dash. As he did, the diamond dog book fell from his neck-bag, skidding across the floor. Gnasher retrieved it, presenting it to his mistress.
"Two presents? You are a good boy. Come, sit by me, speak of your travails."
"Gnasher find, mistress. Gnasher live, work, eat in Tacksworn. Gnasher listen. Gnasher learn. Took book from—"
"You allowed the changeling to steal it, hmm? A most clever pet. And tell me, most favoured amongst my hounds, what is in this book?"
"Book is... High King. Great Khan. First Khan."
Akhekhu was silent for a few moments, pondering. "That which I have been seeking is within my grasp," she said, idly stroking the head and back of Gnasher. He shivered with both fear and delight at her touch. "This book details, then, how to find the High King's Staff?"
Gnasher froze. "Gnasher... think so?"
"It had better, my pet. Take it to my scribes, take whoever you need from your pack and find out. I want that staff, I want those jewels. If you are to be High King, my faithful pet, you must continue to please me. Now go!"
Gnasher didn't need to be told twice. He ran for it.
Akhekhu smiled, looking down at the helpless changeling. It was not a kind smile, it held far too many teeth for that.
The changeling cowered away fearfully, his one wing buzzing instinctually in an attempt at flight. "What are you going to do to me?"
"I have a new pet, little one. I will teach it to behave."
"I will never obey you! I am the swarm! I am the hive! I am—" Whistler assaulted the dragon with all the defiance he could muster, but at her unwavering amusement, it faltered.
"Very, very far from home. We will start with simple tricks. Begging for food." Whistler snarled. Ahekhu just smiled. "You're a changeling. I know what changelings need. I can give it to you. So beg."
"Never!" He tried to glare, but dipped his gaze.
"I can wait. I won't allow you to die, pet. It won't be that easy. You'll sit up, beg, roll over and do tricks, all at my command. And you'll enjoy it. I've done it before, many times, to creatures far stronger willed than you." Akhekhu craned her head nearer, and spoke very clearly. "Now beg."


♠♣♥♦


Tacksworn was in chaos once more. Ponies, griffons and diamond dogs were all swarming around the ruined library, those with wings flitting to and fro in the sky, those on the ground were patrolling with stoic expressions on their beaks or muzzles. Several small groups of trolls were cowering, surrounded by Tacksworn natives. There were griffons lowering pikes, wings spread in pre-pounce readiness and ponies by the score, pawing the ground.
"Stop!" cried Carmine. "Stop, hold. These... these trolls might belong to Chip. Did they come back from—"
"Belong? We thought them his before, and now we find them destroying our town!" roared an armoured adult griffon, one of the Protectorate Council, serving under Thrinn.
"That just changed, Arlen. Have them... search their bodies. They should have some sort of mark on them somewhere."
"Tell me then, how do we know that this mark speaks true?" Arlen chuffed, snorting through his beak in frustration.
Carmine stared the blue-speckled male down. "It speaks true, but if you don't believe me, then have the ones that returned from the chase guard the ones who didn't. And then guard them yourself."
"We are supposed to—"
Carmine whirled, spreading her wings, tail lashing angrily, as she brandished her bloodied claws. "You will do as I say! I saw..." she broke off for a moment, scowled, then continued, "I saw what a dragon does to slaves that displease it. These belong to Chip, I promise you, because they wouldn't still be breathing if they didn't. Have them wear a uniform or something if you can't tell them apart. I can tell you which ones will do as they are told. They're the ones he... he owns."
The blue griffon lashed his tail for a few moments. "Very well. But I cannot let them free until I know for sure."
"You can." Carmine advanced on the nearest small group of diamond dogs, glaring at them. "Tell me, who am I?"
"You are... chosen one of Master," replied one of the hound trolls.
More like he's my chosen one, thought Carmine to herself. Aloud, she asked, "Will you do as I tell you, in the name of your master?"
The hound considered, scratching at an ear. "In his name, we will do as you ask, so long as it does not go against his commands."
"On the contrary," Carmine squawked, pointing a bladed talon at the hound, "if you do as I say, you'll be better able to do as he demands. You'd like that, wouldn't you?" Carmine watched as tails wagged. She swallowed. Diamond dogs were fiercely loyal to each other, to their pack, and presumably to their owner. Chip's trolls, when changelings could be anywhere, were quite possibly the only diamond dogs she could fully trust. The realization sat heavily upon her, a tight knot of displeasure in her craw.
The troll who had answered before spoke up, his eyes fixed upon her. "Tell us, Mistress."
"First, what does he want you to do?" Carmine prepared to listen very carefully. If she was right, they could all avoid unnecessary bloodshed.
"Rid town of enemies, those who had paw in death of master's parents."
Carmine nodded and turned to Arlen, whose neck-feathers were fair ruffled. "You've got your warhawks all over Tacksworn?"
"Aye lass, we do," the older griffon said, nodding cautiously in reply.
Carmine turned back to the hounds. "Then you will submit to any pony or any griffon who commands it. If you do not, you will be considered an enemy of Tacksworn. Is that clear?" She glared at the trolls as they grumbled amongst themselves. Finally she repeated again, "Is that clear?!"
Slowly, heads nodded. "Yes, mistress."
"Then show me. Sub—" Carmine swallowed bile. "Submit."
One by one, the trolls crouched down and rolled onto their backs, shivering. Carmine swallowed again, turning away to glare at Arlen. "Is this proof enough?"
Arlen whistled through his beak, relaxing. "It is. No troll will do that willingly, except to—"
"An alpha, or an owner. Tonight, only, they will do it for you. Set them free, kill any who disobey."
Arlen nodded. "Set them free," he said to the griffons surrounding the pack. Reluctantly, the pikes one by one went up, and the circle opened. Arlen nodded his head in curt thanks to Carmine, before addressing the diamond dogs again. "Good hunting, trolls. You will be watched. Spread the word, submit on demand, and you will be spared to hunt for your master."
"This will," Carmine grit her beak, "please me. And please Chip." Don't say thank you, she told herself, they will see it as a weakness. These aren't like Thorn, or Ruff, or Beryl. Chip's right. I hate it, but Chip is right. Kind of.
"We accept," said the hound who had spoken, leaping to his hind paws. His pack followed, and they shouldered their way roughly through the ranks of ponies and griffons, snarling and lunging as necessary to reassert their dominance. They would submit for their owner, for their mistress, and for nobody else.
Arlen watched them go dispassionately. He didn't really get on with diamond dogs, but he he could appreciate them. It was what the Pax Equestrus was about, when it came down to it, appreciation. They had made the effort, so would he. "Spread the word, fine hunters!" he called, to the trolls as much as to his own forces. "We shall feast on the bones of our prey, as brothers!" Arlen spread his wings, speckles shimmering in the afternoon light, as his cry was answered throughout Tacksworn by griffon, pony and troll alike.


♠♣♥♦


There was a hesitant knock on the cave door, followed by a skittering of paws. Sharptooth heaved himself out of his seat to open the great wooden entrance. He exhaled the breath he'd been holding at the sight. Another pile of skins, though thankfully fewer of them this time. He took them in, hoisting them over his shoulder. He'd have to take another bath when he was finished arranging the new trophies in the hoard-room. They needed to be properly cured, so until they could be they would need a preservative spell on them, otherwise they would start to smell.
As he returned from the bowels of the cave, he met Hairpin who had risen at the disturbance. She wrinkled her nose in disgust. "Must you bring in those awful things?"
"Young Chip was... exuberant with his demands. They are following them, and will continue to follow them until they are satisfied his wishes have been fulfilled."
"And that means you have to drag flayed troll into our home?" Hairpin sniffed disdainfully.
"Yes." Sharptooth groused, as he stalked into the kitchen on all fours, lashing his tail.
"Dragons," Hairpin sighed, rolling her eyes. She watched, bemused, as Sharptooth dragged his perfectly detailed little tea-service into the living room before curling up with it in front of the fire. He set about cleaning it methodically with a rag and various polishes. Hairpin could recognize make-work at two hundred paces with her mane held over both eyes. Something would have to be done. A germ of an idea percolated through her head, and she sidled up to the elder dragon surreptitiously. "You know, I wish Master was bigger. I miss when Pig Iron would groom me. My mane is such a mess."
Sharptooth rumbled indulgently. "May I assist you?"
Hairpin blinked innocently at the dragon. "Would you?"
Sharptooth hissed softly, nodding his head. Hairpin shrugged and settled down between his forepaws. The room grew quiet, the only sound the whisper of her hair through his claws. Soon, Hairpin was leaning into his talons as they raked through the short coat of her barrel and down the length of her mane and tail. Her wings shivered reflexively as he deftly untangled a particularly tenacious snarl. "So who was the lucky mare?" Hairpin asked with a contented sigh, a look of unexpected bliss on her muzzle.
"Hmm?" Sharptooth paused, waking from his daydream.
"Who was she? I doubt you learned the art of pony pedicure from Chip, and there are very few stallions who will stand to be pampered like this."
"She was... somepony I knew a long time ago," replied Sharptooth, his voice melancholy, gaze searching the wall as if he could spy on the past through one of the cracks in the rock.
"What happened?" Hairpin asked gently, unwilling to press the dragon too much, but letting curiosity win.
"She died," replied Sharptooth finally.
"That's not what I mean," Hairpin said, nuzzling at the underside of the dragon's jaw in a bid to comfort him. "Tell me about her."
"She was... my mother."
"Oh," said Hairpin, the surprise visible on her face. "You were—"
"I was adopted," Sharptooth clarified. "When I was just a hatchling, I lived amongst the ruins of the ancient Everfree Castle, amongst the ponies."
"I thought you lived in Canterlot?"
"Oh, I did, but this was long before Canterlot was built." The dragon waved his claws nonchalantly, dismissing close to a thousand years of history with a mere gesture. Hairpin grew silent for a moment, feeling the weight of the years the dragon carried upon his shoulders.
"How come you lived in the Everfree?" she continued.
"Canterlot was not yet built, and us ponies—" Sharptooth stopped, embarrassed at the slip.
"'Us ponies'?" queried Hairpin.
"At the time, I was living with the ponies I called my parents. I guess I—"
"You were a pony, then, as Chip is a dragon now?" Hairpin's muzzle split in a grin at the thought of a diminutive hatchling being doted on by a pony.
Sharptooth paused for a moment, thinking. "In a way, perhaps. They brought me up. They had saved me from certain death at the paws of a tribe of nest-poaching diamond dogs."
"Poaching? Isn't that dangerous?"
"Yes. Very much so. I believe it was the last such major demonstration of power by my people, and it broke apart their nation. It has never quite recovered. After that time, Celestia's Equestrian power was ascendant, and the bad old days of violence and tribal warfare came to an end. I had thought it gone forever."
"Until... well, it's not since yesterday, is it? It's ever since Chip arrived."
The dragon was silent.
"Tell me about your parents."
Sharptooth was reluctant, at first, but never ceased his grooming, and slowly the words came out. "For the first century and a half, I lived with my pony parents. They taught me what they could, what they thought best. Then my dragon patron took me under his wing, and so began my education in draconic ways."
"And they... grew old." Hairpin was silent, trying to imagine a life where all she had known would pass in a seeming instant, whilst she herself stayed the same. It hurt.
"They did." Sharptooth's voice was small, taut. "She was so frail, at the end. My father had long gone, but my mother held on for almost two centuries. I never left her side. And then one day... she stopped."
"I think you loved her very much."
"I did. I do." Strength and resignation returned to the dragon's voice. The past weighed heavily on him, but sharing the burden helped.
"Chip is hurting, Sharpie," said Hairpin, voice low in a whisper.
"And I don't know what to do."
Hairpin laughed softly to herself. "I've had several months to come to terms with my coming bundle of joy. I expect it, now. You, you great and terrible lizard, had no warning. No advice, no support. And it's terrifying, isn't it?" She punctuated each exclamation with a poke of her hooves.
Sharptooth nodded, imperceptibly. "What do I do?"
"It's easy, really. Go to him. Give him what your mother gave you: love." The dragon had stopped grooming her mane. She pulled her head away from his grasp and fixed him with a stern look. "Go!"
Almost sheepishly, Sharptooth unentwined himself from the mare and stood up. "Thank you, Miss Hairpin."
"It's what I do."
"I thought you delivered letters and raced," chuckled the dragon.
"That's what a lot of ponies think, but they're wrong. I get things where they need to be." She smiled. "Now go!"
Nodding, Sharptooth eased himself up onto his hind paws, and stalked up the stairs.

Chip lay forlornly on his couch, huddled under half a blanket. He was too hot under it and too cold on top of it, so he met discomfort half way, and had mostly beaten it so far. One hoof idly scraped along the floor, pushing to and fro the unsightly, off-colour mat that kept his hooves warm in the morning. He stared at the open window, breathing in the fresh cool air, though he couldn't see much through it from where he was situated. He wished he just go out there, but... how could he face them all?
Every time he thought about showing his muzzle in town he just pictured Carmine's expression as she had left him: disgust, fear, and a sad resignation. He was far too ashamed. He had lost her, as he had lost himself. Now, the world out there was empty. It held nothing for him. How could he show his face in Tacksworn again? How could he show his face anywhere in Equestria again? Even Celestia, if she found out, would skin him alive!
It had all been so much simpler a year ago. Mom and Dad, their home, boring lessons, friends... tears he had been holding back flowed once more as he remembered them. He had been pretty happy, really. Everypony was fed up with the drudgery of their lives now and again, he had been too, but all in all he'd been happy. It had been simple. He'd been a pony, an earth pony, fated to take over the Irontail Estate after many, many years. Instead, it had all been taken from him, and some crazy, new destiny dropped on his withers.
He sighed, and heaved himself from the makeshift bed. Listlessly, but on some impulse, he pulled a drawer in his dresser open. In it lay the picture album he'd rescued from his childhood home in Rein. As he took hold of it, several pages fluttered to the floor. Grumbling under his breath, he placed a hoof on them before a stray breeze could whisk them away. He bent to pick them up, and that's when he stopped. His eyes went wide: the first page just held pictures of him with his parents. They were memories precious beyond words, to be sure, but the second was something entirely different. The second was apparently a double-sided piece of parchment, on one side was what looked like a partial rubbing from some sort of engraving, and on the other was a pictoral facsimile of the whole of the first.
He'd seen it before, in his home in Rein. He'd not thought anything of it back then, as he and his friends had been too busy with sorting his belongings to worry about any one single piece of paper. At the time, it had appeared to be nothing more than some sort of keepsake or memento of his parents' travels, but now... now it was something else. Now he knew what had happened to his parents, and why, and he couldn't ignore the burning feeling in the pit of his stomach that this strange message probably had something to do with it.
"Dad!" he called, "Dad, come quick! You have to see this!" He turned and ran to his bedroom door, yanking it open with a hoof, only to find Sharptooth standing there with a confused look on his toothy muzzle and one paw raised to knock.
"Hi, son, I er... came to see how—" Sharptooth began.
"Not now, dad, this is important!" Chip raced back to the piece of paper he'd placed on the dresser and picked it up in his mouth. He hoofed it over to Sharptooth, mumbling, "thiff if imforfanf. Fi founf fit—" he let go as Sharptooth took the page carefully— "I found it in Rein, my parents' house."
Sharptooth turned the paper around several times, cocking his head as he looked at it. "I don't... this is Draconic but..." he trailed off, uncertain.
"It's Draconic?" pressed Chip
"It's in Wyrmtongue, yes, but it makes no sense. It's a collection of syllables and... and noises. It doesn't mean anything."
"What?" Chip's heart sank. "But... I was so sure. So sure. Are you sure? Really? What's it sound like? Maybe it's in some sort of code..." Chip peered at the back of the paper, as if staring would make the odd symbols resolve themselves.
"Aroo, hrurf... gruff... no, grulf..."
Chip's ears pricked up. "Say that again."
"Aroo?"
"Yeah."
"Hrurf grulf?"
"Dad... that's it! There's only one language that sounds like that, and it's not Draconic. It's Trollish!"
"But this is—"
"It was written by dragons, but for diamond dogs. This is Draconic being used to write Trollspeak! I've got to get Ruff! Thanks, Dad! You're the best!" Chip crowed excitedly.
Chip snatched the paper back and stuffed it into a shoulderbag. The kelp-leather pack still held Sharptooth's map, Chip paid it no mind as he threw it around his neck. Grabbing his wings by the straps, he bolted through the door, leaving a bewildered Sharptooth rocking back and forth on his hind paws, not entirely sure of what had just happened.
"You're... welcome," said Sharptooth. In a whisper, he added, "I love you, son."

Hairpin was lying open-mouthed by the fire, the cleaning rag having fallen from her grasp at the speedy passage of Chip, as Sharptooth trundled down the wide stone steps. The green dragon shook his head in mirthful confusion, and went to close the front door.
Hairpin regarded the polishing she had started. The tea-service didn't really need it, and she wasn't very good at it. It could wait. "Whatever you said, it worked. He's gone for Tacksworn, barely managed to put his wings on before he dived over the edge. I'm not sure he did, or that it'll matter."
"I didn't get to say anything," sputtered Sharptooth indignantly.
"Sometimes it's what we don't say that means the most." Hairpin nodded sagely.
"It's not that, it's that he found something. Something important."
"Important?" quizzed Hairpin. At Sharptooth's knowing expression, her muzzle fell open. "Oh, that sort of important. Shouldn't you stop him?"
"And ruin a return to high spirits?" Sharptooth raised an eyeridge at Hairpin, whose expression had turned serious. The dragon seemed to deflate as he sat down on his haunches. "I still haven't informed Celestia about this whole thrice-damned mess."
"Why would you want to tell that old meddler anything? She wouldn't hesitate to bury this entire mountain if she thought it necessary. Why give her reason to? I know what you told Chip, that you would see him dead before sacrificing the Pax Equestrus, but it's not that simple, is it? He's no rogue, he's just a child. Your harsh words did neither you nor him any favours, even less for all they were true."
"I haven't informed Celestia, because I have been calling in every favour I have about that blasted book from the library, the one Celestia bade Ruff translate, and have come up empty. I have no idea where it came from, or when it arrived. It certainly wasn't in the original cache I donated a few centuries ago."
"And you think that book could be dangerous? As dangerous as you thought your map was?"
"It could be," Sharptooth said, scowling. "He was a pup! I thought he would get bored! But he hasn't, he's been translating it for months, and changelings of all creatures followed them here from Stalliongrad! Not to mention other dragons."
Hairpin nodded slowly. "Dragons are trouble when they scheme. And dragons always scheme."
Sharptooth chuckled darkly. "You should know this well."
"Pig Iron schemes better than most, hence his position of power in Stalliongrad. He always appreciated an opponent, said it kept him sharp."
"Distance is never the issue, dear Hairpin, it is power. Akhekhu is powerful, and she is discreet. For all I know, she is working with the changelings." Sharptooth was pacing, Hairpin noted. Something that actively worried a dragon of Sharptooth's stature was trouble indeed. Hairpin decided to look on the bright side.
"Not the way that alpha took off after the one from the library. Thrinn's forces haven't found either of them. Maybe the changeling got away?" Hairpin chewed thoughtfully at her wings.
"I am not sure which is worse," said Sharptooth, stopping his pacing to stare at his claws. He clenched and unclenched them, agitated. Finally, he looked up. "I have decided. I have put the decision off for three days, more than long enough. I will inform Celestia and throw myself upon her mercy even as I beg her assistance and indulgence. The situation I had thought well and truly over, is not. It has been revealed to run greater and deeper than I first thought, and it is escalating far beyond what I alone can handle." Sharptooth spun to head resolutely deeper into the dwelling.
Hairpin leaped to her hooves. The sprightly, sudden gallop as she closed the gap between herself and the dragon was enough to give him pause. He turned to find her looking at him with a very distressed expression on her muzzle, ears back and eyes wide. "Do you... do you think she really would execute Chip?"
Sharptooth turned to her, placing a great claw on her neck, running his talons through her mane reassuringly. "A hatchling? For being manoeuvred into lashing out against a foe more powerful and more insidious than any faced by Equestria itself in millennia? No, no I do not." Sharptooth smiled softly, something akin to pride and sorrow showing in the straightening of his back. "If his actions had been driven by greed and lust for power, then it would have been a matter of honour and combat between him and I. But it wasn't, they were driven by need, fear and desperation, and that is a matter of acceptance and understanding. If I must, I shall stand in his stead, and I know full well the weight of the draconic hegemony stands behind me."
Hairpin blanched, biting her lip. "It really is that desperate?"
"Right now, things are merely desperate. Should this not change, I do not have a word for how serious they may become." Sharptooth turned to go. A hoof on his side stopped him.
"And so you speak to Celestia, and hope she understands?"
Sharptooth sighed, and fixed Hairpin with a piercing gaze. "My kind are brutal and direct, with death the outcome of any argument that cannot be resolved by words. Such brutality is not the way of Celestia, for all she plays the same long game. Her punishments are just, and her judgement tempered with restraint, though they are not lenient. More importantly, however, she will not plunge Equestria into war with Leviathania, nor Griffondom, nor the Troll Nation, over one like Chip."
"What will she do, then?"
"I can hazard a guess, but whatever grace period we may have will soon be up. Should she discover deception, her response will be all the more severe."


♠♣♥♦


Chip backwinged smoothly, rearing up as he shed speed to land neatly in the middle of Tacksworn. Rolling his shoulders and stretching, he felt his wings flip closed and the Bevelmiter tubes simmer down their frantic whirring. Taking stock of the taut air of distrust, he stalked past a number of lowered pikes towards one of his diamond dogs. "You," he called, waving a hoof, "tell me where Ruff is."
The troll flicked his ears, turning to face his owner. "Stonetalker Ruff? Master seeks the Stonetalker?"
Chip blinked twice. "Is that what you call the trick with the rocks?"
"Stonetalking no trick, Master! Stonetalking is... old magic."
Chip rocked back and forth at the words as they hit him like a sledgehammer. The book that had been stolen had talked about diamond dog magic, but Ruff had dismissed it as just a legend. Chip had, too. Everyone had, and in all the excitement he hadn't put two and two together. His mouth suddenly dry, Chip just nodded, "Take me to Ruff."
"Yes, Master."

Chip was led through town, passing by a plethora of newly built shops as well as the one inn which had been rebuilt since burning down the year before. Slowly the taller buildings gave way to shorter, mostly single-story dwellings. The Skychasers, the pegasi couple who had adopted Ruff, lived in an almost-typical earthpony home. There weren't really enough clouds over Tacksworn for the traditional pegasus cloud-palace, but they did have two floors, the upper of which sported a wide balcony without railings. A Tacksworn native diamond dog stood at parade rest outside of the house, with the butt of his spear resting in the dirt. Two little feet swung back and forth over the edge of the platform above.
"What's he doing here?" Chip wondered, aloud.
"He guarding the Stonetalker. Stonetalker need honour guard," Chip's troll answered earnestly.
"Ruff's parents threw him out," retorted Chip, snorting. "I didn't hear many complaints."
"Eternal shame easy to dig into," replied Chip's escort, "harder to dig out of." He stood at attention expectantly.
Chip thought for a moment before speaking again to his slave. "You have done well, and you honour your pack. A-and your master."
The hound almost exploded with happiness, bounding off back to town. Chip made a face where nobody could see. It still made him sick, even though he felt the joy of his pet ring through in his mind. Shaking his head, he turned to walk into the house. In a blur, a spear was lowered across his path, and the native troll stationed outside the door growled menacingly at him.
Chip blinked at the makeshift barrier. Was everything going to be a fight every time he dealt with diamond dogs? "I'm going to count to three," said Chip, "and you're going to lift that spear before I get there." He glared at the troll, who stood impassively by.
"One... two—"
"Let friend Chip in!" called Ruff, from up on the balcony. Immediately, the spear lifted.
"You know I could've just flown up there, right?" asked Chip, looking up flatly. The troll said nothing, looking off into the middle distance. "Right."
Chip pushed open the unlatched wooden door and trotted in. A pink pegasus mare and a chestnut stallion looked up from an early lunch in surprise.
"Oh! Hello, you're that Chip fellow Ruff's always talking about, right?" asked the mare.
"Boy's wearing armour and wings. Who else would he be?" the stallion grunted noncommittally.
The mare waggled her hoof at him. "Now, now, Bruin. It's rude to make assumptions." She turned her attention back to Chip. "Come in, I hope that nice young troll at the door didn't give you any trouble. He scared off the mailmare the other day. I'm Melody, and this is Bruin. It's lovely to finally meet you. Ruff's been talking about you ever since you took him on that trip to... Neighvada, was it?"
"Harrumph, leading the pup astray, more like."
"Come, come, he wasn't quite under our wings then, love. Things are different now."
Chip just stood there, mouth open for a few seconds. "I, er, sorry. Yes. Came to see Ruff."
"Will you be staying for tea?"
"I-I'm not sure," Chip replied hesitantly.
"Will Ruff be staying for tea?" Melody fixed her kind, if piercing, gaze on Chip.
"I'm not sure, Miss Melody," mumbled Chip.
"That's Misses Skychaser," said Melody, standing a little straighter. Then she trotted forwards, and wrapped a wing around Chip's shoulders, "but it's Melody to friends. Fetch Ruff, and we'll have a talk about it."
Chip was ushered to the stairs, which he trotted hesitantly up to the first floor. Emerging from a hallway onto the balcony, he found Ruff idly staring off into the distance. The pup turned and stood up at his approach.
"Hey Chip. You been okay?"
"No," replied Chip, sitting down on his haunches. "Not really. I found something, though. Something that changes everything."
"You think it bring back book?"
"Maybe."
Ruff growled thoughtfully under his breath. "Book one of kind."
"So's this, and only you can read it. Maybe." Chip's eyes were wide, pleading.
Ruff slowly nodded. "What it be, then?"
Chip opened his saddlebags and pulled out the piece of paper. He placed it on the balcony, securing it with a hoof. "Remember this? We found it at my home."
Ruff took it in his paws, turning it around and around. "Can't read it," he said finally, dismissively.
"That's because it's Draconic. But it's Troll."
"What?" Ruff raised both eyebrows, staring at the page intently, his gaze dancing between it and his friend.
"Dad says this bit says... Aroo hrurf grulf." Chip pointed his hoof and recited the sounds as he remembered them.
"Listen, mongrel, warning," said Ruff, perking one ear up.
Chip shivered. "This was written by dragons, Ruff, but for diamond dogs." Chip's hoof tapped Ruff on the shoulder, his eyes intent.
"Ruff no read draconic!" huffed Ruff, throwing his arms up in disgust.
"But I can!" shouted a new voice. Hairpin fluttered down from the sky to land lightly on the balcony. "That sounds interesting. It'll have to wait though, Sharptooth sent me to fetch you, Master. He's going to talk to Celestia."
Chip's heart skipped a beat and he stood up in a flash. "N-no," he said. "I won't. I order you to ignore his request. I order you to read this piece of paper. Aloud."
Hairpin bristled, "Master! It's important!"
"Not yet, then," relented Chip, "but this paper is more important! It could be the key to everything! Why I'm here, why you're here, why Ruff's here! Please, please read it!"
Hairpin sniffed, "I am your humble slave, Master Chip, all you have to do is ask." She chewed her words off acidically. She was a pet, not a slave. To her, the difference was night and day. Her words struck home hard, and Chip flinched. Instantly he was apologetic.
"If you're my friend too, then as a friend, please read this? I... could do with a friend, right now, more than a... a slave."
"This means that much to you?" the pegasus asked. Chip nodded. Hairpin ruffled her feathers, unsure, but nodded back. "Okay, I'll read it. But I don't understand it."
"That okay," said Ruff, "Ruff understand."

Hairpin cleared her throat, and began to enunciate the words on the page. Ruff asked her to stop and repeat several times as her pronunciation was terrible, and some words were more than a little unclear, but the meaning was obvious:


Read these words, mongrel trolls, and heed their warning.


Let this be an example to all who would defy the Pax Equestrus.


To all those who would raise arms against the Draconic Hegemony.


Break the truce, and your packs will be buried as this castle was buried.


Your people will be put to death by the flame, and suffer an eternity of darkness.


"Something happened at my parents' mine," muttered Chip, as Ruff's translated message ended. "No, something is under my parents' mine. Under my mine. That's why they went to the diamond dogs. That's why the diamond dogs are after this. That's probably why Akhekhu—"
"Who?" asked Ruff.
"—I'll explain later. It's why Akhekhu is so interested in me. We've got to get to Rein, we've got to find wherever this message comes from!"
"And then what?" Hairpin asked.
"Something is in that... that castle the warning spoke of, and we have to get there before Akhekhu does."
"But Master, Celestia..." Hairpin rustled her wings, agitated. She swished her tail and turned around, eyes on the sky.
"Celestia will have to wait, because we can't wait for her! She might have... no, but... why wouldn't she..." Chip began to pace.
"Master, calm down. Think what you're saying!"
Chip paced around the balcony. "I don't have all the pieces! Neither does she! What is she looking for?"
"Old Lord Sapphire, he wanted map," stated Ruff.
"No, he wanted the staff," said Chip, "which had the... the map written on it."
"Map is story, yes," agreed Ruff.
"So the book is a map too?" asked Hairpin, glancing from Chip to Ruff and back again.
"But the book spoke about a key!" added Chip, punctuating the memory with a triumphant jab of his hoof in the air.
Ruff chuckled, "Ruff noticed mistake in book. Book written by ponies, not trolls." His ears folded back at the sudden silence, as Chip and Hairpin both turned to stare in shock at the diminutive diamond dog.
"What?!" they both shouted.
"Key... is not key. Map is not map, and staff is not staff."
"What? That makes no sense—" began Chip.
"They all same thing."
"You mean..." Hairpin shared a glance with Chip, who both turned back to look incredulously at Ruff.
"Ruff think maybe diamond dogs search for key, map and staff because Akhekhu not know they same thing. Diamond dogs search for what she ask, not know they not exist."
"So the key to the castle and the map to the castle, is a staff?" Chip asked slowly, light dawning in his eyes.
"And Akhekhu doesn't know. She's looking for a key, and she doesn't know we already have it!" crowed Hairpin.
Chip choked in shock at the realization. "Wait, you're saying... that any staff can be the key?"
"Ruff not know," said Ruff, shrugging.
"Well we're going to find out. Hairpin... I don't want to order you. I wish things were different. It's not who or what I want to be. Please, fetch Penny, Carmine, Bella and Beth. And bring the school's chariot."
"But Master..."
"Please? I just... I want to ask you. I don't want to order you."
"Would you order me?" pressed Hairpin, pushing his muzzle up with a hoof to look into his eyes.
Chip shuffled his hooves, then looked down again, tearing his head out of her grasp. "No, no I wouldn't. Not like that. Not any more. Not you."
"Then I will do as you ask. Just promise me you will go to your father, at some point." Her hoof on his shoulder was weighed down with concern.
"When this is over, yes, I promise." Chip's voice was small.
"Then my obligation to Sharptooth is cleared." Hairpin nodded emphatically.
"Thank you, Hairpin." Chip looked up, and for the first time in days, his heart felt light.


♠♣♥♦


Celestia sat up straighter on her throne at the magical summons, and was careful to apply the small, friendly smile she always wore when dealing with the many ambassadors within her realm. She was calm, she was serene. She was the very picture of amiability. It helped that answering the call meant she could toss out the taxation amendments her ministers were trying to get her to agree to. Ever since she'd caught them sniping at each other, levying import duties to exert a stranglehold on their rivals – which was only hurting the national productivity score and impoverishing the workers – she'd taken a closer look at things. Taxation was important, but not without representation.
Anyhow, she reminded herself with a quick flick of her head, her attention was being sought most urgently. Idly, she wondered who it was before checking to see. Guessing was half the fun. With a moue of distaste, she realized she had been flat wrong. It wasn't the griffons about their uncommonly fierce winter storms, it was the dragons. Ambassador Sharptooth, in fact. This disturbed her for some reason, chills sweeping down her back. Activating the answering spell, a globe of light appeared before her, and the relatively young visage of her old acquaintance came into full relief.
"Sharpie, my dear friend! An urgent call, from you? How disquieting."
"Celestia, your Highness," said the image of Sharptooth.
Uh oh. "Yes, Ambassador?"
"Are we alone?"
With a nudge of her magic, she displaced herself to her private quarters, the globe following. "We are now."
"I... must present myself for arrest."
"Arrest?" Celestia blinked.
"My son—" Sharptooth looked both ashamed, fearful and resentful. Celestia wasn't sure which emotion belonged to whom. She made another moue of distaste.
"Oh what has the scamp done now?"
"The worst thing possible," the dragon replied coolly.
Celestia was immediately alert. "Go on." Her voice was measured, cool. Her mask was gone, replaced with seriousness of intent.
"Tacksworn came under attack, despite the local militia, and my son has responded in kind. He has taken full, personal control of his forces and is marshalling them to the defence of Tacksworn."
"Defence? Against whom? Your son raises forces and has them marshalled?"
"I bid your sufferance, for it is not against Equestria. It is against a dragon."
Celestia sighed deeply. Taxation would have been so much more preferable than an implicit act of war. "Tell me, that I may judge the crimes of your errant foundling."
"I claim the right of substitution." Sharptooth's voice was cold and direct, and he would brook no duplicity.
"Granted." Celestia's expression hardened. The stakes had been laid, and the game was in session.
"Then I shall continue. He has taken for his own about six gross of diamond dogs and enslaved them to his will. He seeks out now those of the pack which laid his family low, and caused you to bring him to me."
"He has broken the pact?" Celestia almost hissed the words, so shocked was she.
"He has, though he had no choice. This was no mere contract, and it was no single occurrence, but he raises no army—"
"Eight hundred diamond dogs is not a trifle, ambassador. You know this." Celestia glared, her anger riled. Sharptooth was dismissive, and did not rise to the bait.
"I also know a single battalion of your troops would raze them to the ground within hours, faster should you see fit to send a blademaster or two, or a platoon of battlemages."
Celestia scowled, raising a hoof which she levelled at the apparition before her. "The contract rights of dragons are uncontested in my lands, Ambassador Sharptooth. Even such contracts as would bind the will of another, but close to a thousand souls enslaved by magical geas, in my realm? This is not something I take lightly."
Sharptooth crossed his paws across his chest, unfazed. "And I remind you I have diplomatic immunity, and have requested the right of substitution."
"I could strip you of both of those rights, ambassador," grumbled Celestia, nettled.
Sharptooth nodded, unrepentant. "Do as you will, but you will not harm a hair on his head."
Celestia was silent for a moment, she closed her eyes in contemplation. "I had better come down there. I shall bring a complement of guards. Should I see it necessary, you will be either confined to quarters or arrested and taken to Canterlot."
"So long as my son is held blameless, and not left unprotected." The dragon leaned forwards. His steely gaze was unwavering.
"I shall make no promises, save that I am not about to plunge Equestria into war for what appears to be civil strife between dragons. My armies shall respond as necessary, have your son stand down and prepare for my arrival."
"Then I shall await you."
"Upon the morrow, then."
"Agreed."

The globe of light vanished, and Celestia brought an immaculate hoof to her temple. She rubbed it in slow circles, sighing. Getting up from her wide and luxurious bed, she crossed the room. With a wave of her horn, she opened her chamber's doors and stepped into the cavernous hallway that led along the Royal Gardens. It appeared to be empty. She sniffed, loudly and derisively. "Tell my sister I do not appreciate her thestrals spying from the rafters outside my bedroom. It is most unseemly."
There was no noise, but the corridor was suddenly somehow emptier. A single, solitary grey feather floated down. She smiled to herself. She hadn't been entirely sure, but the hunch had paid off. She found it hard to contain her mirth as she made her slow, sedate way along the now-empty corridor and into a marble flagstone courtyard. Luna's Intelligence Service thestrals were discreet and dedicated, but they were often predictable.
Heading through a wide stone arch and down some relatively spartan stone steps, she headed towards the barracks. She was unfazed at the organized chaos of the barracks, it was even less organized and more chaotic than normal, as what had to be a hearty training session was in progress. At least, that's what the official report would say.
After the majestically slow walk through the castle and entering the inner barracks, she encountered what could only be called a solid wall of noise. Every square inch of space was taken up with what appeared to be an earnest fight to the death between her Day Guards and Luna's Night Guard thestrals. Her own troops represented earth, pegasus and unicorn races. Luna's creatures, on the other hoof, embodied all three in a single being.
The initiation spells were a secret, even to her, but the silly things were forever changed by them. Since Luna's return, several lost bands of thestrals had reappeared at the gates of Canterlot. They had been breeding true for the last thousand years, doing their best to blend in or at least stay out of trouble. It was telling, perhaps, that more than a few of them had been battle hardened and scarred long before acceptance into Luna's personal forces. She had to admit though, for all that they sported fangs, tufted ears and dragon-like batwings, they were friendly and courteous. They just loved to get into mischief, however, not to mention fights. She wasn't sure if their boisterous, foalish natures were a good or bad influence on her own, sometimes dourly taciturn, guards, but she had to admit it had livened up the palace.
Celestia strode through the center of the bedlam, ducking and swaying as necessary to avoid errant kicks and whirling axes and ballistic claymores. She would have a word with Shining Armor later, training should mean somewhat less bloodshed, less biting, and a bit more finesse. As she closed the door to the dormitories, a flail embedded itself in the door's wooden panels, spikes smashing through to the other side. Celestia tapped them thoughtfully with one golden, gilded hoof. Yes, definitely a bit more finesse.
There were more thestrals sleeping in the dormitories. They had no beds, as such, and were just lying in a heap of legs, wings and tails on top of a mound of pillows, blankets and mattresses. Most of them were snoring. Their armour, however, was pristine. It hung from hooks or stood waiting on racks, perfection itself. Work hard, play hard, sleep hard. That seemed to be their motto, far more than Vivas Noctus.
"They are carefree, like foals, are they not, dear sister?" asked Luna, emerging from the shadows.
Celestia inwardly grinned. If her sister was here, plans were already in motion. There were, however, images to be maintained. She raised an eyebrow. "They are indeed like foals, Luna. Is it seemly that they serve you thus?"
"I would have ponies see my guards as foalish, and by extension myself also, than return to being hated and feared."
"Quite, though you should teach them better the arts of obscuring themselves. I caught at least one outside my chambers just now."
"At least I have the courtesy of ordering them be inconspicuous, unlike those two statues you place outside my quarters as 'honor guards' to protect my virtue."
"Touché, my dear sister. So, what is your council on the Tacksworn situation?"
"Tacksworn? I have never heard of the place." Luna picked at her hooves, innocently.
"Luna..." Celestia stared hopefully at her sister. She needed assistance now, far more than a sparring partner.
"And if I had, I doubt I would go there. It sounds so dreadfully far away and dull. Almost certainly not worth my time."
"I see." Celestia pondered that answer. It almost certainly meant she should just decide to do nothing.
"But go to this... Tickshaven—"
"Tacksworn." Celestia corrected, rolling her eyes as her sister laid it on 'a bit thick'.
"—If you must. Shall I take the Day Court?" Luna asked, impishly as much as innocently, fluttering her eyelashes.
"Will you place your thestrals around the grounds, to mark your temporary ascension to my throne?"
"Of course."
Celestia giggled despite herself, as did Luna. "Oh good. I do so wish I could see the faces of those pompous old windbags from the House. Make sure your lunar stallions brush their teeth and floss. You know how a nice smile brings out the best in ponies."
"Your command is my wish, oh dear sister."
Celestia briefly nuzzled Luna's ear before trotting onwards to her destination, the Day Guard Officer's Lounge. She would need no more than a squad, with a platoon following at a discrete distance should things not run quite as smoothly as planned. This, of course, was likely, since Luna had been so completely uninterested in the place.
She scowled. What was her sister not telling her?


♠♣♥♦