King’s Gambit
*chik*
*chik*
Each swing of his pick sent a shock up his foreleg. The opaque crystal came apart in chunks which clattered to the ground around him. In all of his years in the mine, he’d never seen such a thick vein of it before. The same thought crossed the minds of most of the miners. Some of them saw it as great fortune, others a dark omen. Personally he didn’t really know or care which was the case. He kept his head down, did his job, and focused on trying to make a living.
*chik*
*chik*
He glanced down at the pile of crystal that had collected at his hooves, then looked around him for one of the zebras whose job it was to collect it. Not seeing one, he continued.
*chik*
*chik*
*chuk*
That was a strange noise. He tapped the crystal with the broad side of his pick.
*chuk*
The sound was deeper, and reverberated oddly through the crystal. He weighed his options. He could continue, assuming there was no problem, or he could alert the foreman, and have him come check it out. On one hoof, it was probably nothing and the foreman would just yell at him; on the other hoof if there was a problem, he’d get yelled at too. His ears flattened in annoyance at his predicament. After a few more seconds of deliberation he decided to alert the foreman, at least that way he got to stop swinging that blasted pick for a few minutes.
He slipped the mining pick off of his hoof, and stretched his legs. After his spine gave a few grateful pops, he started following the string of lanterns along the wall back to the surface. The entire mine was a maze, dark and labyrinthine; it was not unheard of for green miners to get lost for days at a time.
After a few minutes of stumbling he finally reached the lift. Blindingly bright light streamed down, drawing a harsh line between the dark of the mine and desert above. The light felt like daggers in his eyes, but he didn’t avert his gaze or squint; the light of day was always a welcome sight. Besides, he thought, the more quickly his eyes adjusted, the sooner the pain would subside.
He got on the wooden platform, letting the sunlight instantly wipe away the cold of the depths. Reaching out with his neck, he grabbed a rope that dangled down from the surface. With a sharp yank a bell could be heard up above. After a few minutes of patient waiting, an activity greatly preferred to mining, the platform started to rise slowly. This mine was one of the oldest in Zudan, and still used a lot of the old methods and technology. Usually he uttered curses to the primitive lift, eager to be home, but today he was quite content to let it take as much time as it needed; especially as the midday sun warmed his striped coat.
Upon reaching the top he thanked lift operator and scanned around for the foreman. He eventually found the young zebra taking a nap in the shade of one of the scattered, shrubby trees that dotted the landscape.
This wasn’t going to go over very well. He approached the foreman and tried to get his attention. “Um, sir? Sir?” Nothing. He tapped him with a hoof and tried again. “Sir, I need you to check something out.”
The foreman opened his eyes reluctantly. “Huh, what? What is it?”
“I need you to check something out, sir.”
“What on Equus is it, now? Spit it out.”
“The crystal I’ve been mining, um,” he didn’t know how to phrase it that wouldn’t make him look silly. He decided to go for vague. “There’s something wrong with it.”
The foreman glared daggers, but got up. “Alright, show me. But I swear, if this is a waste of my time...” the foreman left the promise of bodily harm tacit, but they both knew it was there.
He bid the midday sun farewell and made his way back to the strange sounding crystal.
“Is this it?” The foreman asked, clearly not amused.
“Yes, sir. It sounds hollow, sir,” the miner replied, striking the crystal with his hoof for emphasis. “It’s impossible to tell how big the cave is, I don’t think we should push through. It would be a safety hazard.”
“Nonsense!” the foreman nearly shouted. “You’re just trying to weasel out of work, old coot. Give that here,” he said, grabbing the pick with his mouth and, with a bit of effort, fastening it to his hoof. “Your job is to mine this crystal, not waste my time.” At this, as though to emphasize the last word he said, he struck the crystal hard.
*chukkkkkrrrrrrr*
Hairline cracks radiated from the struck crystal. The foreman removed the offending pick, only to release a small geyser of something dark and wet, which hit the foreman in the face. It reeked of oil.
“Oh, ponyfeathers.”
All at once the crystal before them shattered, releasing a torrent of foul ichor.
* * *
“The symptoms are almost unnoticeable at first: dizziness, nausea; are you getting this?” Reccani asked her secretary, who was busy writing what she dictated. The pen in his mouth rendered him unable to reply; though he did attempt to acknowledge her with a confusing hoofmotion.
He stood at a desk on the far side of the rather plain office, transcribing furiously. “Right. The first symptoms are dizziness and nausea; once metallic sores start appearing on the body it’s far too late.” The King had asked her to write a report on this strange sickness that was rapidly spreading through most of Zudan. “This is accompanied by delirium, and intense pain.”
She paused to take a swig from a flask that sat on her desk, grimacing at the strong taste. “Late stage usually occurs thirty six hours after the first metallic lesions manifest.” She turned to face the office’s sole window, gazing out upon the forest of towering steel structures: the pride of the zebra race. “At this point the subject becomes violent, and seems to lose the ability to reason. The last vestiges of their equinity fade soon after that.”
She heard her secretary finish writing. “Is that all, ma’am?” he asked, dropping the pen from his mouth.
"Yes, I do believe that about covers it. Thank you for your help. You can leave early, I’ll finish up here on my own.”
“Are you sure? I don’t want to shirk...” he said.
Reccani just turned back towards him and gave him a small, sad smile. “Go and be with your family. We can worry about this tomorrow.”
She stayed by the window until she saw the younger zebra leave. Once she knew she was alone she walked over to her desk, took out a small vial of colorless liquid, and poured it into what was left of her drink. She glanced once more at the metallic sore that had appeared on her fetlock that morning, and drank deeply.
* * *
The aqueducts of Omzebram were a marvel of engineering, and allowed the kingdom to grow and expand in its infancy. Now in its death throes, it housed the last of the great city, and, perhaps, Kryza thought, the last of his people. It was dark, narrow, and unpleasant, but it gave them fresh water, and, if they kept moving, relative safety. Their only source of light were a few small lamps, and one piddling fire that gave off hardly any light or heat.
Kryza’s eyes ran over the rag-tag group. A couple young zebras, a hoofful of guards, and two foals, barely old enough to walk; no more than thirty zebras in total. Two of them, an older guard and a young zebra, were arguing.
“We need to take back the city! I’m not going to just stay down here, sitting on my hooves, waiting for something to change!”
“What good will throwing your life away do? You’re one of the few of us with any combat experience. What if one of them gets down here?”
“It won’t matter either way. We’re all going to die, son. I want my death to mean something.”
“What about the foals? We can’t just leave them here. Are you suggesting they accompany you on this suicide mission?”
“And what would you suggest we do? We’re rapidly running out of supplies. We can’t live off of water alone. We’re going to have to go up there at some point anyhow!”
“We should run, the aqueduct gets its water from the river, right? We can just follow the river.”
“And you think my plan’s the suicidal one! Tell me, son, have you ever spent the night out there?”
“Enough!” Kryza demanded. Though he no longer wore his regalia, his voice still held the power of royalty. “I will not tolerate any more squabbling. It would be foolish beyond belief to think that we can take back Omzebram, but I also will not leave my people in their greatest time of need,” he rebuked. “And this cataclysm is not solely our own, given time it will spread north. I will not stand idly by as all of Equus suffers for our hubris.
“You want to fight, and you want to leave?” he asked rhetorically, looking at the two zebras who had been arguing. “Well, I shall have need of both of you, and more. We must alert Equestria to the coming darkness. I’ll need volunteers to carry the message.” At this, he looked to the group. “Who will carry the warning?” he asked.
The zebra who had been arguing stepped forward first. After a few more moments five zebras stood before him, each carrying a look of determination. He turned and spoke to the rest of the group, “I’ll also need a few brave souls to serve as the distraction. We need to give these messengers the best possible chance of escape--”
“We’ll do it, your highness.” As one, four of the palace guards that accompanied him stepped forward.
Kryza looked at those who had stepped forward, numbering nearly a third of their group. He wondered if his gambit would pay off, if the sacrifices these zebras were making would save the rest of Equus. He addressed them, “You are brave souls, all. I am proud to call you brothers. Zudan-- no, all of Equus will be in your eternal debt.” After he finished, an uncomfortable silence settled around them. Every zebra present knew that the chances for success were slim, and that not going on either potential suicide mission didn’t mean their situation was any better.
A zebra who had opted for the messenger mission broke the silence. “Uh, your highness? One problem, I don’t speak Equestrian; and I’m certain most of the others here cannot either.”
“Do we have any parchment in our supplies?” Kryza asked quickly. “What about writing utensils? I will write the warning myself.”
They did have some parchment and a pen on hand, though the paper was either folded, crumpled, stained, or a mix of the three. It would have to do. Kryza didn’t spend much time with formalities, nor did he have the space or time to go into any great detail. He kept it short and succinct. After a few minutes of writing he gave one copy of the letter to each of the messengers.
“Come the first light of dawn we will make our move. The diversionary force will exit the aqueduct in the fountain district. Get their attention and lead them south to the royal district. The couriers shall give you ten minutes head start before leaving and traveling north.” He looked to the message carriers, “Don’t travel together. Take different avenues. When you get to the Everfree, remember that nothing is as it seems. Stay low and move quickly,” he advised them urgently. “Now, rest. Tomorrow promises to be an important day.”