//------------------------------// // 10. Viridian // Story: Love, Sugar, and Sails // by DSNesmith //------------------------------// Tyria raised her head at the sound of approaching hooves. A zebra mare with a satchel in her mouth walked past their cell, pausing at the door. Tyria’s stomach growled as the zebra opened her bag to pull out a few slices of bread, and then tossed them into the cell. The zebra turned and left without a word. Rye was asleep beside her, leaning on the bars. She nudged him with a hoof, until his eyes blinked open. “Hm?” “Lunch.” She gave him one of the slices of bread. He took a bite and chewed. “At least they’re not starving us.” “Mmhm.” Tyria bit into her own. The bread was slightly stale, as all their meals over the past few days had been, but it was free of mold and maggots. The pirates were being surprisingly accommodating. It had been at least three days since their capture. Tyria and Rye drifted aimlessly in and out of sleep as the hours blurred together. When both of them were awake, they passed the time talking about home and family, trying to take their minds off of their current situation. Rye, an only child, seemed especially curious about her siblings, Breslik and Carina. Tyria was happy to oblige him. “They’ve been getting me in trouble since the time I could walk. Carina’s always loved pranks; she’ll leave buckets over doors, soak garlic in my bathwater and generally make a pest of herself. Breslik, on the other hoof, prefers going on adventures.” Rye grinned. “Sounds like somepony I know.” He had moved across from her to lean on the support beam that stood in the middle of their cell. “Ever find anything interesting when he dragged you off exploring?” “Once…” Tyria smiled. “He was about four, I think. Carina is a year younger than him, and I’m a year younger than her. Breslik pulled us out of bed at three in the morning to go treasure hunting in the woods.” “You live near the forest?” Tyria nodded. “Our estate—if you really want to call it that—is just south of the forest’s edge, in Ferndale. The town’s fairly out of the way.” She felt a pang of homesickness. It had been a long time since she’d seen the familiar oak trees of Whitetail Forest. “Anyway, Breslik told us that he’d found a map that would lead us all to a buried chest full of priceless gems. We all snuck out of the house before our parents could wake up. Bannen, the house-servant, nearly caught us, but he was headed back to bed after raiding the kitchen, so he didn’t stop to ask what we were doing.” She smiled. Bannen had been a wonderful pony to be around. She’d been distraught when her parents could no longer afford his salary. At least he’d stayed in Ferndale after leaving their service. “We made our way into the woods, all alone in the dark of early morning. I was terrified, but I knew if I chickened out Carina and Breslik would never let me hear the end of it. Breslik led us on, following his map, round and round in circles through the forest. I got covered in sap and dirt and Celestia-knows what else.” Tyria grinned. “I might have enjoyed it if it hadn’t been at six in the morning.” “So? Was there a chest?” Rye’s hoof tapped the deck. “Hang on, I’m getting there.” Tyria had begun to notice that Rye was always in a rush, even when trapped in a prison cell in the middle of the ocean. It would do him some good to learn a little patience, she decided. Besides, it was fun to watch him fidget. “Well, we walked around for hours, getting nice and lost. By lunchtime, Carina and I put our hooves down and demanded Breslik show us the map. “It turned out to be a map that he had drawn, with charcoal, and on one of mother’s good table napkins, no less.” Tyria rolled her eyes. “We both jumped him. I got a few good knocks in before we were through. Satisfying, but it didn't solve our problem. Eventually we realized that we had to find our way out of the forest, or our parents were going to kill us. We wandered and wandered…” “What’d you find?” Rye had a frustrated half-smile on his face. Tyria took a deliberately slow bite of her bread, finishing it off. “Mm. Sorry, where was I? Right, lost in the forest. Well, we stumbled through the trees, looking for a way out. My stomach was growling and my legs were tired, and I just wanted to go home and go to sleep. And then we saw it.” She held up a hoof, picturing the scene. “A cottage, just standing there in the middle of the woods. It wasn’t a very large building, only one or two rooms at most. Carina thought maybe it had been abandoned, but then we noticed there was smoke rising from the chimney. I wondered who was inside. Carina told me it was probably an axe murderer, hiding out from the law. Sweet Sisters, she can be a prat.” She shook her head. “Breslik decided we had to investigate, of course.” Rye grinned. “I’m starting to think I’d like your brother.” “You would. Both of you have a…” “Sense of adventurous spirit?” “Lack of self-preservation instinct.” Tyria’s eyes twinkled with laughter as Rye’s mouth twisted. “There weren’t many options, in the end. We weren’t going to find our own way out of the woods. So we risked it, and knocked on the cabin door. “A stallion answered it, looking quite surprised to see a trio of foals on his doorstep. Fortunately, he wasn’t an axe murderer. He introduced himself as Batty Brushstroke, a local artist who lived in Ferndale. The cottage was his retreat, where he spent the summer months hidden away from civilization and painting. He let us inside and fed us sandwiches while we told him how we’d ended up there. Batty agreed to take us back to Ferndale, where our parents had to be worried sick. Before we left, I snuck a peek into the cottage’s back room, and gasped.” Rye rubbed his hooves together. “Aha! He was an axe murderer after all, with the bodies of his victims piled in the basement.” “No,” said Tyria, rolling her eyes. “It was his art studio. He had these beautiful paintings hanging up on the walls. Pictures of the forest, of waterfalls and streams and green leaves more beautiful than I’d ever seen. I asked him how he made all those wonderful pictures, and he said to me: ‘Practice. Lots and lots of practice.’ I told him that someday I wanted to be able to do that, and he said, ‘You can, Miss Metrel, if you put your mind to it. Keep at it, never quit, and someday you’ll do great things.’ ” Tyria paused. “He took us back into town later that day. Our parents were furious, of course, we got grounded for weeks. But after seeing Batty’s cottage I did some investigating and found out where he lived in town. Come autumn, I went to his house and asked if he could show me how to paint. I sort of became his unofficial apprentice during the next two years. He showed me how to use charcoal, oils, various other forms of wet media; how to draw, how to capture the environment on a canvas. My parents encouraged me. They thought it was a healthy interest. Until…” She faltered. Rye tilted his head. “Did something happen to Batty?” “No. Something happened to me.” Tyria swallowed. “It was a regular day. I had been painting a picture of Ferndale, with Batty’s help and advice. I got this strange feeling, and sort of—sank into a trance, just following the invisible lines along the canvas with my brush, bringing out the houses and the ponies walking around. I lost myself in the painting. When I came back out, I felt a weird, tingling sensation on my flanks, and I looked to discover I now had a paintbrush imprinted on them.” “Congratulations.” Rye smiled. “I remember when I got my olive branch. Dad was convinced it meant I was going to be a cook like him.” “You don’t understand,” said Tyria. “Dad went along with my painting because he thought it was just a hobby. We all knew the three of us were going to be Navy, that was just how things worked. Breslik was already sending out applications to the academy. When I came back home one day with a paintbrush cutie mark…” She swallowed. “He didn’t… he didn’t yell, or anything. But he took me aside and gave me this long speech about how he wanted me to have an actual career, not trying to scrape up a living by doing art. He said it was fine if I wanted to keep painting, but he still fully expected me to pursue a real job. Meaning the Navy.” Rye frowned. “I’m sorry.” “Not long after that, Batty moved away. He didn’t want to leave me behind, but his wife had landed a new job in Whitewall and they had to follow the money. We said our goodbyes, and he left town. I haven’t seen him since.” Tyria looked down at the floor. “I stopped painting. Carina joined up with the military, and with her and Breslik out of the house the pressure started mounting. I caved not long afterward and applied to the academy. They accept anyone named Metrel, so naturally I got in.” Rye shifted. Tyria raised an eyebrow. “What?” “Nothing.” Rye bit his lip. “I just…” he sighed. “I spent three years trying to get into the academy. Army, not Navy, but…” Tyria blinked in surprise. “You wanted to be in the Army?” “Like my mother.” Rye gave a sickly grin. “Some foolhardy notion about proving myself. It, well…” he flapped his wings, “it didn’t work out.” “I see.” Tyria looked at him with renewed curiosity. “Well, eventually I graduated with mediocre marks, and got assigned as far away from any action as possible. They didn’t want to have a Metrel making a fool of herself in public; my father’s name was too important. So I ended up in Zyre, as an embassy guard.” She looked thoughtfully up at the ray of light from the hole in the ceiling. “There’s one good thing that’s come of it, though. I found a shop in the market district that sells paints and other supplies. Life in the city can get boring, sometimes, so… I took up painting again.” “Good,” said Rye. “You deserve a little happiness.” He beamed at her. Tyria felt that warmth in her chest again. “Thanks.” She blinked. “Well, didn’t mean to tell you my life story, but there it is. So now I’m curious, what’s yours? You never did tell me how you got those robes.” Rye laughed. “Like I said, it’s a long story; but I suppose we have plenty of time, now. Have you ever heard the tale of Inger the Dragonslayer?” “Of course! Who hasn’t heard ‘The Mountain, the Mare, and the Dragonslayer’?” Instantly, Tyria found that the song was stuck in her head. She hummed the melody of the chorus. “Well,” said Rye, settling back to get comfortable, “the storytellers tend to leave out some important parts. Most of them skip straight to Inger and Cranberry entering Sleipnord, but there was quite a bit that happened before that.” Tyria’s eyes shot wide. “Wait a minute—didn’t you buy a necklace for a—“ Her mouth hung open slightly. “You mean that was Cranberry Sugar? The Dragonslayer’s wife?” “The very same.” Rye smiled. “She’s sort of my foster-sister.” Tyria blinked, stunned. War heroes were one thing, but the Dragonslayer was a modern-day legend. And now she was one degree of separation away from him. “Has she ever told you about the journey?” Rye laughed again. “No, she doesn’t have to. I was there.” “You were—wait, how is that…?” Tyria tilted her head. “You went to Sleipnord during the War of Whitetail?” “My first assignment as an ambassador, though the position wasn’t official at the time.” Rye’s eyes misted over. “It all started on a chilly October morning, a week or two before the war began…” He began to tell Tyria the real story behind the legend of the Dragonslayer, a tale of griffon assassins, messengers in the night, magical forests, and hideous monsters. Tyria listened, enthralled. “We escaped the caves by the skin of our teeth, hobbling out into the sunlight. It was freezing cold out, and snowing hard. Everywhere we looked, there was nothing but a white, icy expanse. We’d finally made it to Sleipnord.” Rye paused, and yawned. He stretched his legs out and smacked his lips. “It’s getting late.” It was true, their ray of sunlight had long since vanished. “Well, don’t stop now!” Tyria groaned in exasperation. “What happened next?” Rye gave her a sleepy smile. “I’ll tell you in the morning.” He closed his eyes and laid down, crossing his forelegs to serve as a pillow. Tyria huffed in irritation and followed suit. As she lay there, mulling over the incredible tale he’d told, she wondered how much of it was true and how much was exaggeration for the story’s sake. Most of it had the ring of truth, but she found herself a little skeptical about the idea of a gigantic underground tunnel system in the Jotur mountains. Still, real or not, she wanted to hear the rest. * * * “Tyria, wake up.” Tyria murmured and shook her head. An insistent hoof shook her, resisting her attempts to cling to sleep. She lifted her head and blinked. “Morning already?” “Yes.” Rye’s voice was low and hushed. “Sleep well?” He looked around sharply. “They say we’ve reached our destination. I expect they’ll be moving us soon.” Instantly roused by the news, Tyria sat up. “The Pit Viper hideout? Look around for anything distinctive once we get outside. If we ever make it out of here alive, we have to tell Zanaya about this place.” Rye swallowed. “I’m starting to fear that might not be an option.” Hooves sounded from farther down in the hold. Three zebras bearing machetes and the captain himself appeared, giving them both an unfriendly smile. “Come on, Equestrians. Time to meet the boss.” Their cell was unlocked, and Tyria and Rye were hustled out. Two of the zebras bound their forelegs together with rope, leaving just enough slack to walk. They took foul-smelling strips of cloth, and Tyria grimaced as they gagged her. Beside her, Rye frowned. “Is this really neces—ack!” The pirates escorted them up through the ship, emerging onto the top deck. Outside, Tyria squinted against the bright glare of day. It was the most light her eyes had gotten in nearly a week. The ship, along with three others, was anchored in a gorgeous cove; a little inlet guarded by a giant jut of rock that split the entrance in two. Verdant jungle surrounded the beach, stretching up as the island rose. On the sand, Tyria could see furious activity, as zebras rushed back and forth bearing barrels and crates. It reminded her of the Zyran docks, but she had a feeling that these crates were filled with sugar and rum instead of wheat or barley. They were rowed up to shore in a little boat. As it ground to a stop on the shore, they were pushed out onto the beach. Tyria’s hooves sank into the warm sand. A cool breeze from over the water flew through her mane, and she closed her eyes to enjoy the fresh air. After four or five days in a dank, musty prison cell belowdecks, she was happy to be outside again, even if it meant that they were probably going to die in a few minutes. The pirate captain led them into the jungle. Signs of civilization dotted their path; mostly ramshackle huts and storage buildings that were hidden inside the foliage. Zebras in green crossed past them frequently. Tyria tried to memorize the island, but had the sinking feeling it wasn’t going to matter. At last they reached the largest building she had yet seen. It was surrounded by a short wooden fence, likely more for show than protection. The roof was covered with giant palm leaves and ferns of various kinds, camouflaging it from any pegasi flybys. Tyria felt sweat drip down the back of her neck in the heat of the jungle. They pushed inside. The captain led them through a hallway, before coming to a stop at an open door arch covered by a rough cloth curtain. He motioned for his zebras to hold them there, and pushed inside. “What is it?” The voice from the room beyond was warm and melodious, with traces of a strange accent she had never heard before. Tyria surmised it to be Viridian himself. “Oh, Captain Zevan, you’re finally back. Good.” Rye made a strangled noise. His eyes bulged out, and he mumbled through his gag, “Oh, fhit.” The voice continued, “Did you get the warehouse emptied?” “Aye,” said the captain’s voice. “It were a close thing, too. We were discovered by a pair of Equestrian embassy personnel on the final moving night. We had to ditch a lot of sugar to get everything else out.” “But the Gryphan powder is still safe, yes?” “Most ’o it. A few barrels broke open when the Equestrians wrecked the warehouse.” A grunt of irritation. “That could set us back considerably.” “Don’t worry. Tatius agreed to send us an additional two dozen barrels by the end of the month.” “Very well. How did these ponies cause so much damage? You said it was just two of them?” “Yes. Not to worry, though, we caught them.” “Good.” The voice relaxed. “I trust you disposed of the bodies discreetly.” “Better. We’ve got them here, right now.” “What?” The voice grew sharp. Tyria looked over at Rye, who was wearing an expression of absolute shock. “You brought prisoners here? Zevan, you idiot, if we’re discovered—” “Calm down, boss. I think ye might want to see them.” Their guards took that as a cue and shoved Tyria and Rye into the room. It looked like an office, albeit a shabby one. The wall opposite the door was covered with a giant green flag displaying a viper crawling through a skull, the pirates’ colours. Beneath the flag sat a makeshift desk, a large slab of wood sitting atop two palm tree stumps. And behind the desk, Tyria caught her first glimpse of Viridian. He was unmistakably a pony, though shorter than she had expected. His coat was gray, a darker shade than Rye’s, and his mane was curly and black. Peering out from his sunken face were two stunning blue eyes, brighter than any she had ever seen. The pony looked like he’d seen some hard times, evidenced by the large scar running down his right side. It was too ragged to have come from any weapon. Tyria swallowed. Whatever had given that to him had to be huge. Viridian saw Rye’s robes and his eyes widened. “You brought Milliden here? Zevan, he’s supposed to be—” he froze as he saw Rye’s horn. His eyes flicked down to the wings that poked through the yellow robes, and widened further. “Now ye see why I thought ye might be interested.” Zevan smiled. Rye and Viridian stared at each other so intently that Tyria thought they might forget to blink. Viridian slowly walked around his desk and approached them. “Impossible.” He reached Rye, looking into his eyes. Tyria saw Rye’s ear flick once. Viridian looked at the zebras. “Everyone besides Zevan, out. Now.” One of the guards made as if to protest, but Viridian whirled at him and snapped, “Out!” Cowed, the zebras walked out of the room. Tyria heard their hooves tread down the hall. Now it was two on two, but Tyria didn’t dare make a move with the captain and his deadly hoof-mace still in the room. Beside her, Rye was shaking. She wondered if it was fear or anger. Clearly he did know this pony, after all. “Captain, please remove their gags.” As Zevan did so, Viridian shook his head slowly. “Unbelievable. Why would he be here?” He tilted his head. “Pull up his robes.” The captain did so, revealing Rye’s hindquarters. Viridian stared at the tiny olive branch imprinted on Rye’s flanks, and a smile broke out on his face like a filly opening her Hearth's Warming presents. “Rye Strudel.” “Breyr.” Rye looked angrier than Tyria had ever seen him. “Still using a snake motif, I see. Fitting that your house sigil’s been attached to a bunch of thieves and murderers.” Viridian—or Breyr—blinked, apparently still stunned by Rye’s presence. “The gods,” he said firmly. “The gods have delivered you into my hooves. I am to have justice at last.” He broke out in a manic giggle, a disturbing noise coming from an adult stallion. “Oh, what fun we’re going to have.” Rye spat on the floor. “You should be dead.” “Then you ought to have killed me when you had the chance. How is dear Eberhardt, these days?” “The king is doing well, thank you.” Tyria wondered why Rye had emphasized the word like that, but Viridian’s cheer instantly vanished. He smacked Rye across the face with a hoof. Tyria growled and stepped forward. “And who’s this?” asked Viridian, looking her up and down. “Tired of the pink one, have you? I’m glad, the little tart annoyed me.” “Shut up,” said Rye, his ears flattening. “Don’t you dare insult Cranberry.” Viridian ignored him, and peered curiously at Tyria. “Who are you?” “Tyria Metrel, embassy security.” She scowled. “Ah, a bodyguard.” Viridian looked sideways at Rye, and smiled. “Or more than that?” He ran a hoof along Tyria’s neck, up to her chin. Rye jumped at him. Before he even made it to Viridian, Zevan slammed his hoof-mace into Rye’s side. He collapsed with a thud, wheezing. Tyria dropped to his side, terrified. “Rye!” His face was twisted with pain, but he lifted his head and glared at Viridian. “So this is what you’ve been reduced to? Robbing merchant ships and hiding in the jungle like some two-bit smuggler?” “Yes,” said Viridian, his face darkening. “Thanks to you. I was meant to be king of the north, but you and your thrice-damned party of foreigners poisoned the thanes against me.” Rye shook his head, contempt etched in his face. “You did that when you started murdering your competition.” Viridian growled. “I’m not going to let the same thing happen this time. Soon enough, Zyre will be mine, and I will have the power that has been denied to me for far too long.” Tyria’s mouth gaped in disbelief. “What?” She shook her head. “You’re crazy if you think you can take Zyre with thirteen ships and a few hundred zebras. And even if you could, you’d never be able to hold it.” “You’ll see, soon enough.” Viridian smiled. “But your friend won’t.” “I won’t let you harm him,” she said, standing. “You won’t have a choice. Zevan?” Tyria felt the hoof-mace slam into her. She fell over, hitting the floor hard. Viridian giggled again. “Take the pegacorn out and throw him in a cage. Don’t hurt him too badly. I want to break the first bones myself.” Tyria struggled to stand, her vision spinning. “Rye!” Zevan was hauling Rye out of the room. Rye looked at her over the zebra’s shoulder, then over to Viridian. “Dammit, Breyr!” “I’ll see you soon enough, old friend. Your lady here and I are going to enjoy ourselves for a little while, first.” Viridian waved a hoof in farewell. “Don’t worry, we’ll get to spend plenty of quality time together for the next few days.” Rye struggled to break free of the zebra's hold, but Zevan outmassed him. He was spitting curses as the pirate captain dragged him out of the room. As they vanished, Tyria’s heart hammered in her chest. She pushed herself upright, and staggered back from Viridian, staring at him. She couldn’t fight very well with her hooves tied together, but she’d be damned if she let him near her. “Go ahead. Try it.” Viridian snorted. “Please.” He walked back around behind his desk, and sat. “Relax. I'm not going to hurt you.” He gave her a jeering smile. “You're not my type.” “Then what was the point of—” “The point is to fill our little friend’s head with all sorts of sordid ideas. Not all torture is physical. Have a seat.” He gestured to the space before his desk. Tyria, still giving him a wary glare, slowly approached the desk and sat down. “What do you want with us?” “Not you. Rye Strudel.” Viridian’s eyes flashed. “He and I have a debt to settle. You…” He gave her another shrewd scan. “I haven’t decided what to do with you, yet.” An idea leaped into her head. “Let me work for you.” “Oh?” Viridian gave her an amused half-smile. “I didn’t realize the life of a security officer was so terrible as to make piracy a better alternative.” “My job was keeping him safe. I’ve obviously failed. If I go back there, they’ll court-martial me. And he’s Celestia’s personal ambassador, if he gets killed, I might well follow. At least, working for you, they’ll never get to me.” Viridian smiled. “I see. And if I give you the run of the camp, you won’t abuse that freedom to put together some half-baked escape plan with your friend, is that it?” His smile turned into a smirk. “I’m afraid not, Miss… Metrel, was it?” Foiled, Tyria took a different tack. “You said you were planning to take over Zyre. You can’t seriously think that’s possible.” “Oh, but it is. And I will. Thanks to Tatius Gableclaw.” Tyria leaned forward. “What is he smuggling for you? What’s this Gryphan powder?” “Do you really expect me to tell you?” Viridian gave her a skeptical look. He rapped his desk a few times, and a zebra guard entered. “Please take the lady to her cell. Put her in the same one as the pegacorn. Having somepony to talk to will make him last longer.” With no other option, Tyria allowed the guard to lead her out of the room. As they passed through the curtain, she saw Viridian turn back to the parchment on his desk. The guard led her back through the jungle, taking a different path than the one that led to the beach. They reached what could only be the main pirate camp, a series of shacks and hovels arranged in a series of rows. At the far end of the camp were a series of bamboo cages. Only one of them was occupied. A little lump of yellow was lying in the corner. Tyria felt a chill of fear. As the guard opened the cage, she rushed inside. “Rye!” At the sound of her voice, Rye’s head lifted. “Tyria!” He had a giant bruise on his face, and his lip was bleeding. “He didn’t—did he hurt you?” “No,” she said, sitting down beside him. The guard locked them in and left. “Thank Celestia.” Rye breathed a sigh of relief and sat back against the bars. He looked defeated, something she had never seen before. “Hey, come on.” Tyria tried to keep her voice light, but that giant black mark on Rye’s face hurt to look at. “We have to think positive, remember? Figure out an escape plan, be proactive.” Rye looked distant. “Thane Breyr. I can’t believe he’s still alive.” “What happened between you two?” “I made some enemies on that mission to Sleipnord.” Rye breathed in and winced. Tyria put a comforting hoof on his shoulder, and he smiled at her. “He’s… he was a noble of sorts. He was exiled when he tried to take the throne of Sleipnord.” “Hmpf. He’s fallen far.” “Yes.” Rye’s smile faded. “And he’s changed. He’s always been power-hungry, but back in that room, he seemed… unhinged. I’m scared of what exile might have done to him.” “When I was talking with him… all he did was talk about you. He’s obsessed, Rye.” “I was afraid of that. He’s had four years to sit on that desire for revenge. Did he say what he’s planning to do to us?” Tyria swallowed. “He doesn’t know about me. You…” “I can guess.” Rye looked up at the bright blue sky that poked through the trees. “I’m sorry I got you into this.” “I’m kind of glad you did,” said Tyria, smiling. “If you hadn’t shown up, I’d still be grinding away at work, bored out of my mind. And… I’m happy I got to meet you.” Rye laughed, then winced and clutched his ribs. “Even if means getting killed?” “Yes.” She was surprised to find that she meant it. He smiled at her. “Me too.” He leaned his head on her shoulder. “Wake me up if you think of anything?” “Sure.” Tyria watched the breeze play through his mane, her thoughts drifting aimlessly like the wind. Soon he was asleep, breathing softly. Tyria looked at his horn, wishing she had the magic to open the cage. I have to get us out of here. She scratched a hoof in the dirt, listening to the sounds of jungle life all around them. The island really was lovely, aside from the pirates. If only she had her brushes… Tyria sighed and leaned her head against Rye’s. If they didn’t escape, then it wasn’t just their lives in jeopardy. All of Zyre might be in danger. Her old mentor’s words came back to her, bringing a smile to her lips. Keep at it, and never quit. Someday, you’ll do great things.