//------------------------------// // XII - Introductions // Story: Where Loyalties Lie: Ghosts of the Past // by LoyalLiar //------------------------------// XII Introductions - - - Ghayth slowly spread his hooves across the rough rug cast over the floor of his tent.  He lowered himself to his belly, took a deep breath, and focused his thoughts on the eastern horizon. When a hoof collided heavily with one of the wooden pillars holding up the tent, he sighed.  It wasn’t until the other guest in his tent spoke that Ghayth recognized he was still the only camel in the room. “Hosp,” croaked the parched throat of the Commander, as he struggled to support himself on one of the wooden beams holding up the tent.  “Please.” “Ven.  Ost.” After a moment of trying to pick apart the nomad’s pidgin language, the pegasus stallion gave up and forced his bitter lips and dried tongue to release another few words.  “I don’t... speak Camel.” Ghayth seemed amused.  “Yet you know how to speak of hospitality?  I offered you to come and rest by my side, friend.”  The camel pulled from his side a waterskin, and offered it to his unexpected guest.  “Give me a moment to pray, and then we can speak further.” The Commander stumbled forward to the edge of the camel’s rug.  The loose fabric did no favors for his aching hooves and the bruises on the two joints that were still stable enough to hold his weight.  He collapsed forward onto his chin, earning a wince from Ghayth. “You are unwell, friend.” “This ‘s what I get for taking boar hospitality,” the stallion muttered, before uncorking the waterskin and pouring it greedily down his throat.   Ghayth saw need and desperation in the motion, and grabbed a small cushion from across the room for the stallion who was clearly in more terrible pain than could be healed by mere water.  “I see.  I will do my best to be a bit more friendly than they are.  For now, rest.” The nomad’s eyes moved forward to focus on a golden disk, placed upon a small folding wooden table at the far side of the room.  “Find strength,” he began.  “Find strength in the morning to rise into the blue sky, and find strength at night to lower yourself from those heights.  Do not lose hope in storms or clouds.  Remember that it is you who brings glimmer to fresh water, and green to the earth.  Take heart―” It took awhile for the pegasus to build up the will to speak, given the awful state of his throat.  “Are you praying to Celestia?” “Does that trouble you?” Ghayth replied, on the verge of taking offense. The Commander shook his head.  “I don’t care.  But she always seems to hate it when ponies put her up on a pedestal.” The casual comment got the camel to break his focus on the golden disc.  “You know her?” The Commander took a long time to answer again, but when he did speak, he looked the camel squarely in the eyes.  “Better than anypony.” He’d been expecting questions about his identity, and found himself caught off-guard by the nature of the question he actually received.  “So you don’t see her as a goddess?” It took more than just a moment for Ghayth to realize that the stallion’s convulsions were in fact his quiet laughter, and not the effect of some wound or sickness.  When he opened his mouth to make a noise, however, all that escaped was a dry, bitter cough.  Two more followed before he finally found the strength to speak.  “It takes a very stupid pony to meet his goddess face to face and turn into an atheist.”  He closed his eyes, and for just a moment remembered her ivory coat and the scent of flowers that accompanied her every movement.  “Maybe I mean something different when I say ‘goddess’ than most ponies would, but I know that she’s… something higher than me.  I don’t know what you expect from praying to her, though.  The only pony I’ve ever seen her ‘descend from on high’ to help was Twilight Sparkle.” “The prayer is for her benefit.  Not my own.”  Ghayth gestured to the horizon, where the sun was slowly rising, visible through the canvas of the tent.  “Such power cannot come easily.  My kind and I give her what strength and support we can for her trying task.” “If you really want to help her raise the sun, some coffee beans would do a lot more than prayers.” The camel’s eyes grew wide.  “You mock her?" “She would have laughed,” the Commander muttered.  “And then probably said something clever about how I could use some more beauty sleep too.”  He looked down at the scars where his own wings had been twisted around to face backward, and the jagged corner where his front left femur had fused at an angle.  “Maybe just this once, she’d be right.” “I will have our doctor look after you―” The Commander held up a hoof.  “Don’t.” “What do you mean?  If your leg is left to heal that way, you will never get beyond limping again in your life.  I know nothing of wings, but I would fear the same for them.” “For the moment, I need to limp.”  What the Commander didn’t say was a heavy weight on his chest, and his eyes flickered to the golden disc on the table nearby.  “Please.  Trust me.  I only need to get to San Palomino City.  From there, I can make my way to Canterlot.” Ghayth nodded.  “You live atop the Mountain of Dawn?  That explains your speech of the sun princess.  It is a pleasure, then, to offer you the Hosp of my caravan.  Rest here in my tent, and I will speak to the others.” The Commander watched Ghayth go before turning back to the golden disc.  Words were slow to come, but not because of his parched tongue.  “Celestia, I’m coming back soon.”  He spared a slow glance over his shoulder.  “I’m sorry about the camels.” He could almost see her shaking her head, reflected in the smooth surface of the polished gold.  He imagined her stern but calm voice.   You’re taking advantage of them, she would say.  You’ll hurt them.   “It’s their culture to offer me hospitality.  Why shouldn’t I take it?” Her reproach would have been subtle.  A slight narrowing of her eyes perhaps, or if she were truly angry, casting her gaze away from his.  At least tell him that Khagan is following you, she might have said.  They deserve to know. “And if I told them, they wouldn’t help me get home.” You’ll find a way, she would probably have tried, at first.  She always did.  There’s a reason you’re the best. “It’s not a risk I can take.  Khagan wasn’t just after me.  He’s gathering an army.” I’ll warn Captain Armor.  We’ll be ready, she might have placated.  But what about you? “I’ll take care of it,” he would have said.  And that would have been it.  The end of the conversation.  Celestia would have nodded, and wandered away in the confidence that her little ponies were safe.  He would have turned to Star, or On, or Flag, or Armor as the situation demanded and solved the problem. But for some reason, the vision of Celestia he imagined in the golden disc didn’t wander away.  She sighed slowly, letting her shoulders and wings rise before lowering them an eternity later.  His imaginary Celestia spoke to him, disappointment dripping from the voice that might have been. The way you took care of Chrysalis? she asked him.  Or Masquerade?  Or do you mean the way you took care of Luna? The Commander wilted, his backwards wings searing in agony as they tried to follow his instinctual slump.  “I’m sorry.” The phantom in his mind waved a single wing to brush off his words.  I won’t say I’m mad at you, but I am disappointed.  You can do better.  You’re a better pony. He broke his eyes away from the disk, and buried his face in the knee of his good foreleg.  “I wish that were true.” When Ghayth returned to his tent, mere minutes later, he found the exhausted, crippled pony asleep on the rug.  On his cheeks, the desert dust in his coat had turned to mud. - - - Unending Vigil turned when a hoof knocked clearly on her chambers that morning.  The fact that she had ‘quarters’ on an airship, rather than an expensive condo on the beach near Los Pegasus, still hadn’t quite sunk in, as reflected by her tumbling out of the cot in the corner and onto the wooden floorboards.  She spent a few moments finding her hooves and regretting the creaking in her knees before she called out.  “Uh… Come in.” The mare who entered had huge bags beneath her eyes that stood out terribly against her fiery yellow coat.  “Hello, ma’am.” “Morning, Spitfire,” Vigil noted casually,  brushing herself off and moving over to the room’s small desk.  “What’s up?” “Permission to commit suicide, ma’am?” Spitfire was expecting an immediate reaction, and therefore found herself very surprised when the ancient earth pony opened a drawer of the desk and pulled out an unlabeled purple glass bottle.  Her hoof tapped the cork,and it popped out with a rather sickening hiss.  “There you go.”  She concluded the motion by collapsing into a chair and placing her hind hooves on the desk alongside the bottle. “What?” “If you can down that whole thing, Spitfire, it’ll probably kill you.” The Wonderbolt twitched.  “I didn’t mean―” “If you didn’t want to kill yourself, you shouldn’t have asked for permission.”  Vigil grabbed the ‘poison’, and took what could roughly be called a ‘shot’ in a way that would have put most guardsponies a quarter of her age to shame.  “Ah, that’s the good stuff.  Go on.  You don’t have to drink the whole thing.” “What is it?” “We called it ‘Suicide’,” Vigil replied with the chuckle.  “Some stupid new bartender at the Private’s Reserve mixed the first one for Commander Skytrotter fifty-odd years ago.” Spitfire took the bottle in her hoof, stared at it, and reflected that she could always do her crazy fire trick if things went bad.  Down the beverage went. And a moment later back up it came, spraying all over Vigil’s quarters.  The elderly mare seemed completely unbothered, and in fact, took that opportunity to point at Spitfire and laugh.  “Can’t hold something that weak, Spitfire?  I thought you fly-mares were supposed to love the hard stuff.” “It―”  Spitfire gagged.  “It wasn’t the alcohol.  It was… whatever else was in that.  What is this?” “Five parts grenadine, two parts coffee liqueur, and one part apple cider.”  Vigil took the bottle, recapped it, and placed it back in her drawer.  “That means more than half of it is the same sort of flavoring syrup foals get in snow-cones.” “What did the old Commander do?” “He had me recruit the stallion into the Royal Guard on the spot.  Said ‘nopony’s come so close to killing me in years.’” Rather than sharing in Vigil’s amused chuckle, Spitfire’s eyes widened.  “You recruited a bartender?  That can’t have ended well.” “Actually, he was a trainee drop-out who’d picked up the job that same day―it was the day of the last round of cuts for the Foreign Corp, and I guess he didn’t want to be stuck patrolling the streets in Canterlot.  Once I’d beaten some discipline into his skull, he turned out to be one of my best scouts.”  Vigil smiled.   “Gotta love the Private’s Reserve for that rule.  It’s too rare that I get to have any fun in a real scrape, even if it did run me fifty bits for the table.  Anyway, his name was Dead Reckoning.” “Wait… that stallion we’re after?” Vigil nodded.  “He was cute when he was younger, and he still had both halves of his face.  He was pissing himself when the Commander and I walked in that day, though.  I’ve never seen a worse bartender in my whole life; Skytrotter wanted a White Stalliongradian.  I don’t think he ever went back to the Private’s Reserve.”  Vigil scratched her chin.  “Well, now that you’re not in such a sour mood, why don’t you tell me what’s actually got your goat?” Spitfire’s mouth fell open slightly as she struggled to come to terms with the staggeringly racist turn-of-phrase.  It wasn’t until Unending Vigil reached out and placed a hoof on her chin to restore her expression that she realized she had found her way to a much brighter mood.  “Uh…”  She scratched the back of her mane, trying to recall her original concern.  “It’s just the foal. Scootaloo.” “She seems like an energetic one.  Didn’t get much sleep?” “Well, there is that.”  Spitfire scratched the back of her neck.  “She’s kind of annoying.  I don’t know where she learned about Empatha, but she thinks if I teach her how to light herself on fire, she’ll be better at flying or something.”  Vigil failed to conceal her amusement.  “But… To be honest, ma’am, I feel bad about using her against Rainbow Dash.” Vigil rapped her hoof on the desk in the center of her room  “Against.  That’s an interesting word you’ve chosen, Spitfire.  You think us stopping Rainbow Dash is going to hurt her?” Spitfire gulped.  “Well… kinda, yeah.  She’s gonna be mad.” “I’m pretty good at dealing with anger, Spitfire.  And I don’t just mean shouting kids, either.  I mean the kind of angry you get.  The kind that ends in a burn ward.  As long as she doesn’t try to break my hip, I’ll live with myself.” Spitfire coughed into her hoof, trying to brush off her superior’s lack of seriousness.  “With respect, ma’am, I don’t think you get what I mean.  When I was running our training academy, there was a… an incident with one of cadets.  Some of Rainbow’s friends were put in danger.”  Spitfire took a deep breath.  “She was so mad about what happened that she tried to give up on joining the Wonderbolts.” Vigil nodded.  “And?” Spitfire rubbed her brow.  “Didn’t you read my report on her?” The elderly mare took another shot of Suicide.  “I think you’re misunderstanding how this works.  First off, I hate reading reports almost as much as I hate paperwork.  And secondly, I don’t need to care about Rainbow.  This isn’t my mission, Spitfire.  Flag might be deferring to me, but that’s just her being nice.  Or force of habit from twenty years ago.  Whichever.”  Vigil waved a hoof, as if two decades were an amount of time she could simply wave away.  “The point is, this is her mission.  She showed up at my house to ask for my help, and I’m only here because she doesn’t want to have to hurt Reckoning.  Rainbow Dash is your problem.” Spitfire cocked her head.  It was all the prompt Vigil seemed to need.  “Reckoning and I go way back.  Hopefully, I can talk some sense into him.” “And if you can’t?” Vigil took a slow breath.  “I’m hoping it doesn’t come to that.  Let me show you something.”  Her hooves fell off her desk and onto the smoothly shifting floor of the airship.  She wandered straight out of the cabin and onto the outside deck.  As the old mare reached the stairs into the belly of their vessel, she spoke up again.  “What was it you wanted me to know from your report?” Spitfire had to think back for a moment.  “Rainbow Dash has been obsessed with the Wonderbolts for… well, probably her whole life.  She’s been sending in applications since Arcus was still on the Flight Squad.  If I know her the way I think I do, it’s the only thing she’s ever wanted.  But as soon as her friends were in danger, she was ready to give it all up.”     The corner of Vigil’s wrinkled brow rose ever so slightly as she found the foot of the stairs.  “You’re afraid what we’re planning won’t work?” Spitfire shook her head.  “I’m afraid it will.  Captain Flag’s plan… it’ll tear Rainbow in half.  We can’t do this to her.” “Can’t?  Well… maybe I can’t.  I’m too old to be playing those sorts of games with you and Rainbow.  Like I said, I’m only here to stop Reckoning.  And I won’t speak for what you can and can’t do.  But I know Flag.  She won’t hesitate for a second if she thinks stopping Rainbow’s plan is what’s best for Equestria.  So there’s a choice you have to make: do you want to use the filly and stop Rainbow Dash, or do you want Flag to do it?  One thing I can tell you is that she isn’t a gentle mare.  Even before…”  It was as if Vigil had walked out onto a plank, only to realize that she had reached the end.  Her hooves stopped abruptly as she contemplated what to say next.  “...well, I guess I can just say that she’s always been a bit harsh.” “I’ve noticed.” Vigil smiled.  “Anyway, that’s my point, Spitfire.  You need to figure out what’s most important to you, before you need to make the choice.  If you’ll forgive me for being trite, you’ve got to figure out where your loyalties lie.  Otherwise, you’ll end up like this...” Spitfire actually hadn’t noticed the door until Vigil placed a hoof on it.  The tingling in the back of her skull made it easy to guess that magic was involved.  The simple wooden panel creaked open, revealing a small room very near to the thrumming engine of the airship. White Flag didn’t seem to have noticed the intruders.  Her focus was on the trio of statues pacing on the wooden floor.  They were circling her, more like wolves than the vaguely equine shapes they were carved into.  They almost had the haggard mare backed into a corner.  Sweat glimmered on Flag’s horn, dripping down around frantic eyes that danced from foe to foe. She ducked when one swung a hoof; it caught her shoulder, and bowled her over onto her side so hard that she bounced.  Before her body found the floor again, her horn flashed―just in time for a flash of light to teleport her clear of a second blow.   She popped back into the world with only moments to spare before the second statue would hit her head-first.  She panted as magic coalesced on her horn.  In an instant, a pale blue sheen appeared on the floor.  The statue’s hooves lost their grounding, and the full force of its momentum smashed against the wall.  Where its head had been, only gravel remained.  But the victory was hard won; Flag staggered, seemingly dizzy, as the other two statues approached at speed. Spitfire tried to step into the room, only for Vigil to place a hoof across her chest.  “No, wait.  You should watch this.” When a stone hoof met the loosest hair of Flag’s sheer white mane, her horn flared.  A little sizzle and a pop were all that marked the mare’s teleportation.  The subsequent collision of two golems against one another was anything but quiet. They moved to get up, almost comically.  Flag didn’t give them the chance.  Her horn flared thrice, and two hoof-sized ruby orbs popped into the air in front of her.  Almost immediately, the motion of the statues stopped.  Only shortly after, Flag fell to her front knees. It was then that Vigil lowered her leg and wandered into the empty chamber.  “Need a hoof?” “I’m still not fast enough,” the Captain of the Royal Guard muttered.  “Did you see anything to improve on the flank, Captain?” Vigil chuckled.  “Well, right now, all I’m seeing is that there’s only going to be one giant Stalliongradi mare.  And she’s not made of stone.” White Flag groaned as she stood back up to her hooves and wiped the sweat from her brow.  It dripped along her left foreleg as she finally met Unending Vigil’s gaze.  “Stoikaja is more dangerous than any single golem I can animate.  And the term is Stalliongradian; Stalliongradi is the language.” “Trust Captain Encyclopedia to know that one,” Vigil muttered toward Spitfire.   The Wonderbolt leader mostly ignored the comment, heeding the sinking feeling in her gut that laughing at White Flag’s expense was a bad idea.  Instead, she hesitantly approached one of the dimly glowing ruby spheres on the floor, and prodded it with her hoof.  “What are these?” “Since I’m apparently going to get trouble for actually explaining, I’ll make this short.  They’re the golem’s hearts.” Spitfire’s eyes widened as she realized the implication; it wasn’t hard to imagine fleshy hearts lying on the ground in place of the stones, stolen away from their owners by what seemed simple magic.  “Can you do that to real ponies?” “If I can focus, and they stand still for just a moment,” White Flag answered somewhat casually.  “It works better on dragons.  Larger target; less likely to lurch suddenly, and easier to find with mana.”  The mare fit a surprising amount of utter spite into the rather casual observation, before her voice found its way back to its usual tone.  “Did you actually want something?” Vigil shot Spitfire a teasing smile.  “Actually, I think she wanted to say something about how you’re planning to deal with Rainbow Dash.” “Is that true?” Spitfire winced, and her heart beat more quickly in her chest.  “Well… I…”  A deep breath was all it took to steel her thoughts, though the fact that it even took that was concerning to the professional flyer.  “Yes, ma’am, it is.  I’m worried about what effect taking Scootaloo away will have on Rainbow.” White Flag took a hoof to her mane, pulling it back away from her face so that it dangled down her neck.  Her wrinkled forehead and the bags under her eyes seemed the perfect match for the icy white of her mane.  Her nostrils flared regularly as she found a comfortable sitting position on the bare wooden floor.  Only then did she speak.  “Why are you concerned?” “Permission to speak freely, Ma’am?” “Denied,” Flag replied flatly.  “The fact that you asked answers my question.  Either you are concerned that this manipulation will compromise Rainbow Dash’s position as the Bearer of Loyalty, or you have some personal emotional connection causing you to feel sympathy for her.  As far as the Royal Guard is concerned, Rainbow Dash is only distinct from any other civilian by virtue of her position as Bearer of the Element of Loyalty―part of our greatest and only line of defense against powerful magical threats.  Beyond that, she may as well be a slab of meat.” “So you don’t care about how much this is going to hurt her?” “Not unless it affects her performance.”  Spitfire reacted as if she’d been slapped, though Flag didn’t relent.  “Four-hundred and thirty-eight million.  Do you know the significance of that number?”  Once again, the unicorn didn’t leave space for an answer.  “That is the population of Equestria, as of last year.  That’s the number of lives that I have to worry about, and answer to Celestia to.  To be as blunt as possible, Spitfire, what Rainbow, Stoikaja, and Dead Reckoning are doing will put Khagan on the warpath with us.  He already has more than enough reason to want Equestria burning.  It may also get Rainbow killed, at which point something as simple as a Windigo or a Shade could crush Equestria unopposed.  That is what I see at stake.  I don’t have time to worry about how she thinks of me.” Spitfire glared, in contrast to the disinterested coldness of Flag’s expression.  “And what about how she thinks of Canterlot?” “I’ve already taken that into account; that’s why I brought you.  You will threaten her with a ban from the Wonderbolts, as discussed.  If that fails, we use Scootaloo.  Once this is over, Princess Celestia will issue a staged reprimand for my actions, and return Scootaloo to Ponyville.  Rainbow Dash’s hatred will be directed at us, and us alone.  But in the mean time, she will have complied, Stoikaja will have been executed, and this mission to Suida will be over.  I’ll hope it doesn’t come to that, but I am no longer stupid enough to trust that heavily in optimism.”  Flag rose to her hooves and walked past Vigil toward the door of the room.  “If you have any further complaints, Lieutenant, I suggest you get over them quickly.  You are a guardspony before you are Rainbow’s friend.  Act like it, or you’ll force me to restrain her.”  Her magic grabbed the golem’s ‘hearts’ as she passed the threshold.  “Goodnight.” Spitfire turned to Unending Vigil, who was quietly shaking her head.  “Sorry about that.  This wasn’t exactly what I meant for you to see.” The Wonderbolt cocked her head.  “What were you expecting?” “Usually, she’s moping over her past or ‘meditating’.”  The dripping sarcasm in the last word accompanied a wider grin on Vigil’s face, drawing attention to her numerous laughter lines.  “That’s what I was assuming.  Not opening the door to her training, and being…  how is it you foals these days say it?  Cool?  Badass?  Now I feel kind of stupid, leading in with ‘Otherwise, you’ll end up like this...’.” Spitfire cracked a little smile.  “Trust me, Ma’am, I’m convinced.  I hope I don’t wind up like her when I get old.” “All old mares end up like her, eventually.”  Vigil rubbed her brow, and then paced slowly toward the door herself. Spitfire cocked her head.  “But you aren’t that way.” “Don’t grow up,” came Vigil’s reply, “and you’ll never get old.” - - - The stallion’s heavy coat and well padded boots did little to ward off the cold of the ever-present snowstorm.  In his mind, he cursed the snow and the ice, and the racism and the politicking of ponies long-since dead that had brought about the unending blizzard.  Yet for all the rage within his mind, all that could be seen of Mirror Image’s opinion was the way he stared up at the imposing wall of icy mountains.  “Who piles rocks that high, anyway?” “That would be Krenn,” Luna noted.  “Much as my sister raises the sun, and I the moon, he moves stone and earth and shifts the continents.” “Though he spoke the truth, he would as well have spoken nothing.”  Mirror Image quoted, rubbing his brow, letting his hoof wander around the base of the crack in his horn. Luna donned a wry little grin.  “For where no words ought do neither aid nor harm, far more damage do words of folly spoken in truth than any lie.”  She idly adjusted her cloak with her magic.  “I wouldn’t have taken you for the sort of pony to know Idyllic’s work, even if you use so butchered a modern phrasing.  If I understand your implication, then help me to understand what it is that I failed to grasp.” The young unicorn soldier chuckled under his breath.  “I was complaining, Princess.  When I signed up for the Honor Guard, I figured I’d get to spend my days in the Canterlot palace; not climbing mountains and freezing my marks off due east of nowhere.” Leathery wings beat the air as Eldest Sister descended from overhead.  The Night Guard folded up her wings a few dozen feet above the ground and outright dropped onto the snowy ground, so close to Mirror Image that their coats brushed together.  “Where’s your sense of adventure, Mirror?” He shot her a cold glare, even as his hooves carried him a few strides outside her reach.  “Let’s just get going, Princess.” Eldest continued her pressing questions.  “Letting the cold get to you, Mirror?” He responded by going out of his way to put Luna between himself and the Night Guard.  The Princess took obvious note of the choice, though she didn’t comment on it.  For the moment, her attention was on the leathery satchel strapped over her shoulder, like a mailmare’s bag.  It’s eerie heartbeat had ceased, though its silence did little to make it less intimidating for any of the trio.  The Princess herself seemed more concerned with some subject on the tip of her tongue to notice the stallion’s attention.  Fortunately for his curiosity, it wasn’t long before she voiced her question. “You imply that you were able to join the Honor Guard simply by signing a document?  It seems I do not understand your organization as well as I ought―especially given recent developments.” The broken-horned unicorn chewed on his cheek for a bit as he chose his words.  “That’s a tricky question, Princess.  I guess I’ll start with the obvious.  Our job is to make sure you and your sister are protected.” Eldest Sister made a sort of scoffing noise; the stallion of the group ignored her.  “Probably twenty days out of the month, that means sitting around the palace doing research, paperwork.  Keeping tabs on known issues, handling odd ones, and trying to solve problems before they start.  We go through an awful lot of parchment for letters.  More boring than you’ll read about in storybooks, but it’s good living.” Luna nodded.  “And the other ten days?” “Usually, when somepony leaves an obvious hole like that, Princess, it because they’re going to go on anyway.  But thanks for the interest.”  He somehow managed to roll his neck endearingly before continuing.  “Out of those ten days, we probably spend nine traveling around to deal with things face to face.  Usually, that’s talking to ponies who didn’t take the advice from our letters.  Sometimes, its just taking a noble from another domain out to an expensive dinner to… express our opinion on an issue.” “The Commander’s opinion,” Eldest Sister muttered, only half under her breath. Luna waited for a few seconds before she spoke up again.  “You still seem to be missing a day.” Image grinned.  “Can we pretend I was talking about February, on a leap year?”  Luna’s face made it clear the answer was ‘no’.  The Honor Guard dipped his head momentarily in hesitance before continuing. “Maybe February’s a good example, now that I think about it.  These days don’t come up that often, honestly.  They’re the days you never forget.  Days like April Thirteenth, Fourteen forty-nine.” Luna knew the date of Chrysalis’ failed invasion perfectly, though it did raise more questions.  “But the Honor Guard wasn’t present in Canterlot when the Changelings attacked.” “We left Thunder Crack and Marathon behind, for all the good that did.  We were counting on Shining Armor to ‘hold down the fort’.  The rest of us were in the canyons out east of the San Palomino.” Luna cocked her head.  “Why such a remote place?  At such a troubling―” Her words were cut off when Eldest Sister wrapped a hoof over the alicorn’s mouth.  Her other hoof gestured to the horizon dead ahead.  She spoke in a forced whisper.  “Dragons, Princess.” “Here?”  Mirror Image stepped forward, squinting.  All of the humor in his usual way of speaking was gone, instantly.  Before Luna’s eyes, the soldier had become an altogether different stallion, concerned and focused as he stared into the snow.  “I don’t see anything.  We’re still in Stalliongrad’s land.  There shouldn’t be any dragons here.” “They’re out there, Image,” Eldest insisted.  “I don’t know how you expect to ever see anything with those awful eyes; you can’t even see heat with those things, can you?” Luna’s horn momentarily glowed, and then she nodded, matching the whispers of her guards.  “She speaks the truth, bodyguard.” Image rolled his ‘awful’ eyes, whose icy blue color looked quite dashing against the surrounding snow.  “Fine.  Can we get the Princess out of here?” The Night Guard shook her head.  “They’re coming this way; I think they might know we’re here.” Mirror Image stepped forward again, placing his body sideways between Luna and the empty wall of white on the horizon that Eldest had indicated.  “Numbers?  How big?” “Two of them, I think.  Not too huge; nothing I’d call a wyrm.”  She scraped at the snow with her hoof.  “Are we gonna do this?” “Fly a few hundred strides out and circle around,” Image answered.  “And don’t do anything until I give you the signal.  Got it?” The Night Guard didn’t hesitate, flying off in the white without another word.  As she disappeared into the snow, Image turned to look Luna in the eye.  “Pull your hood up, and let me do the talking, Princess.” “I am quite capable of handling such discussions on my own.  Just as you will find that I am a much stronger warrior than you, if it comes to such a conflict.” Image didn’t seem amused.  “This is my job, Princess.  Trust me.  I’ve got things under control.” Luna grumbled something inaudible, but seemed to comply with the stallion’s request.  He turned away from her to face the storm, and the walking serpents within. They didn’t take long to appear.  First came the silhouettes on the horizon, walking on their hind legs but hunched forward so that their forearms weren’t high off the ground.  They didn’t seem enormous either; by Image’s rough guess, Soldier On was larger than either of the creatures. As they came into true visibility, he realized exactly what they were.  Green scales ran down their backs onto long tails that ended in the bulbed stingers of scorpions.  What he had assumed were their forearms were in fact wings, coiled forward against the wind; the creatures only possessed two legs. “Wyverns…” the guardspony muttered.  “Great.” “Is that a problem?” Luna asked.  Her bodyguard didn’t answer, instead taking three strides forward to meet them, well clear of Luna. “Poniess…” One hissed, wandering forward on his folded wings.  Fire licked across his forked tongue as he spoke.  “You ssstep onto our lands.” “I could have sworn dragons didn’t like snow.  Isn’t the volcano side of the mountains where ‘your’ lands are?” “Do not quessstion usss,” the other wyvern warned.  “Thessse were our landsss long ago, and your kind could not ssstop usss when we took them back yearssss ago.  We are willing to ssshare…” The other picked up where his companion had left off.  “...but only if you are willing to ssshare what you have with us.” “What do you want?” Luna asked. Image cut in before either of the would-be dragons could speak.  “They want gold.  Gems.  Anything that would count for the hoard of a real dragon.” “Real dragon?”  The wyvern thrust its stinger toward Mirror’s face.  He flinched, but made no motion to step back.  The stinger stopped short of his flesh. “We are real dragonsss!” “Really?  I’ve met real dragons; they have better things to do than trying to charge tolls from ponies who want to go over a pass.”  He stared off into the distance and made a show of scratching his chin.  “Maybe it’s because they know that travelers over mountains don’t usually bring much money with them.” “No coinsss?” “Then why crossss the mountainsss?” Image smiled like a card-player who’d found a full house in his new hand.  “We’re on our way to see Krenn.” The wyverns looked at each other cautiously, whispering something in their native language, blurred by their forked tongues even beyond the difficulty of understanding the foreign words themselves.  One turned to leave after a moment, though the other approached Luna.  Image’s horn showed a tiny spark of magic, as the beast approached the princess. “Sssshow me your bag.” Luna hesitated, stepping back.  Mirror Image, however, shrugged.  “Suit yourself.”  The Princess gave him a curious look, and he nodded to her in response.  Still unsure, she opened the bag. Thump, thump. Despite the obvious noise, the wyvern seemed untroubled, as if he hadn’t even noticed.  It stared for some time into the void of the bag, and then shrugged.  “You ssspeak truth.  No valuablesss. You may passss… if you are brave enough to make it through the passss.” “Thanks,” Image muttered, with a sort of airy tone to his voice.  He watched as the second wyvern departed, before turning back to Luna. “What happened?  The satchel’s magic ought to have garnered his attention.” Mirror Image’s eye twitched as a little spark faded from his horn.  “Assassins aren’t the only ponies who know a thing or two about illu―” The thought ended with the stallion’s eyes rolling up into his head, as he fell face-forward into the snow. - - -  The silken sheets were to die for, let alone the lush down of the pillow.  And as gentle lips nibbled at her ear, Twilight Sparkle couldn’t help but think to herself… “Wait, what?” A burst of laughter accompanied a pegasus falling backward out of bed and onto her back.  Her suit of armor clanged on the floor.  “You should see your face, Twilight!” “Solo?”  The unicorn sat upright.  “What do you think you’re doing?” Going Solo struggled to contain herself.  “It’s… pff, I’m sorry, Twilight, but you’re so red.” “Well, I’m not used to waking up to somepony else in bed with me.”  At renewed laughter, Twilight scowled.  “Hey!” “You said it, not me.”  Solo clutched her sides until the joke finally died.  “Heh.  Sorry.  Anyway, Miss Star said it was time for breakfast, and I figured I’d wake you up.” “Breakfast?”  Twilight crawled out from beneath expensive covers and took in the room.  Silver filigree traced the shapes of lilies on royal blue wallpaper, framed in dark wood.  A massive fireplace that could only truly be called a hearth dominated one wall, topped by an equally gigantic mirror.  As her eyes wandered, memories returned to the archmage.  “Is this Trotsylvania?” Going Solo’s loose white mane jerked forward as she nodded.  “You slept through us getting in.  Star gave me a room down the hall, but I stayed here.”  Her robin-egg blue wing gestured to a wide-backed reading chair in the corner near the fire.  “I don’t trust those ‘Black Cloaks.’” As if taking her words for a cue, a knock sounded at the door to the chamber.  Twilight and Solo shared a quick glance before the unicorn’s magic opened the opulent double doors.  Standing in an equally opulent hallway outside was Lady Star, flanked on each side by one of her black-clad guards. “Vell, it seems as though I ahm too early.  Tell me, are ponies of Canterlot known for sleeping in until two in the afternoon?” Twilight tumbled out of bed in a bundle of sheets.  “Two?!  Why didn’t you say anything, Solo?” “I figured you deserved a rest after running away from all those ponies in―” “Shining’s out there somewhere!”  Twilight interrupted, walking over to the doorway.  “We need to get going as soon as we can.  I really do appreciate your hospitality, Lady Star, but―”  Twilight paced in front of the Black Cloak guards, but neither shifted to allow her past them out of the room.  “Uh, excuse me.   Um… Можно, я пройду?” Star herself seemed amused, shaking her head as a parent might at a mischievous foal.  “If you vill permit me to be the voice of reason here, Tvilight Sparkle, you need rest.  When my guards and I stumbled onto you on the edge of the road there, you were on the verge of frostbite.  Had you been in the snow two days?  Three?” “But Shining―” “Vill be quite unhappy with me if I allow you to freeze yourself to death or starve in the ice.  As vill Celestia, I suspect.  Am I wrong, guardsmare?” It took Going Solo more than a moment to realize she was being addressed.  It was only when the hoof she placed on her chest met her golden breastplate that she remembered, at which point she nodded.  “Oh, uh, no.  No, you’re right.” Star nodded.  “Then here is my ultimatum, Tvilight Sparkle.  You vill stay in Trotsylvania for a week, until you are truly healthy and prepared.  It is your choice whether you do so as my prisoner, or as my guest.” “Hold on!” Solo called, flaring her wings.  “You said we could leave―” “As soon as I was convinced of your safety.”  The unicorn noble glanced briefly to her guards, standing tightly in formation in the door.  “Are you in any position to argue?”  Going Solo answered with silence, leading the Trotsylvanian Countess to turn toward Twilight.  “Do I have your cooperation.”  Despite the words she had chosen, it clearly wasn’t a question. Twilight hung her head.  “Fine…” “Excellent.”  Lady Star clapped her forehooves together, mildly unsettling her slimming blood-red dress.  “Then come, walk with me, and we shall sup.  Парни.” At her simple prompt, her guards stepped out of the doorway, allowing their lady to pass into the hallway, guests in tow.  It was a long, wide passage, whose walls seemed to share their owner’s preference for the tones of roses.  At the nearest end of the hall, a single window let in light and a beautiful view of the heavy snowfall outside.  The countess turned away from it, toward a pair of distant doors. At first, they walked in silence.  Candles and doors passed on the walls, and only the wind accompanied the five sets of hoofsteps.  As they came upon a portrait in a heavy gold frame on the wall, however, the countess stopped in her tracks. “Tell me, before we continue: do you recognize this?” At first, Twilight thought it was Roscherk Krovyu―it would have made sense to her mind, given his prevalence within the Domain of Stalliongrad.  However, the stallion in the portrait was decidedly older, and his face was marred by a notched scar, marking a sort of dotted line down from his brow and straight through his left eye.  His shoulders were covered by a plate of lacquered onyx, trimmed with gold in the shape of feathers.  A pair of wings were folded against his back, though one was clearly atrophied beneath a surface of bitter scars and missing feathers. “Whoa…” Solo muttered, distracting Twilight.  To the unicorn’s surprise, her companion was actively shuddering in the hallway, staring with unfocused eyes at the image of the fiery red pegasus.  “H-him…” Twilight glanced to the portrait, and then back to Solo.  “This pony’s been dead for eight thousand years, Going Solo.  I don’t think you know him.” The pegasus shook her head, discarding her unwanted thoughts.  Yet whatever memory had troubled her was still present, only hidden behind a level face. Twilight wanted to ask what had inspired her new friend’s fear, but another voice stole the conversation.  “To tell the truth, it will be nice to have intelligent company.  I was worried you might not know; our agreement would not work if you were ignorant.”  Lady Star smiled to Twilight, revealing eerily white teeth.  “This domain is a haven for lovers of history, but I so rarely enjoy the company of another who shares my fondness for the subject.  Since you so clearly recognize his image, Tvilight, what do you know of Lord Tsyklon?” “To begin with, he hated being called ‘Lord’.”  Twilight lamented the lack of a chuckle, before taking a short breath and settling into her usual academic nature.  “Cyclone was the eldest son of Commander Hurricane.  He grew up learning to lead soldiers like his father, and became something like a guardspony in River Rock―the city we now call ‘Stalliongrad’.  Unfortunately, he was a bit too ambitious; he decided he was going to succeed where his father had failed, and win the homeland of the Cirran pegasi back from the Griffons.  His plan didn’t last long after Commander Hurricane came back from Equestria, alive and well.” Twilight paused for a moment, staring at the image again.  On a moment’s reflection, the folding scales of a Cirran wingblade made perfect sense for the ‘dashed line’ of scars on the ancient soldier’s face.  “After the first Hearth’s Warming Day, when all of the ponies of the three tribes migrated to Equestria, he stayed behind.  He worked with Krenn and Clover the Clever to grow crops in the Volgallop river valley with heat from the ground.  Nopony expected him or the ponies who stayed with him to survive, but when they started thriving, they renamed River Rock to Stallion― sorry, Stol’nograd, using a draconic name in honor of Krenn’s contribution.” “Wait, really?”  Solo turned toward Lady Star.  “That’s why Stalliongrad has a different language?” Twilight nodded, before continuing her history.  “He eventually came to Equestria to help fight the Shadow War, though he didn’t stay.  Unfortunately, that’s all I know. He doesn’t show up in nearly any Cirran records.  Everypony in Stalliongrad has known him as the founder of the city, but until I found Commander Hurricane’s journal, just about nopony knew they were related.” Star nodded.  “I am quite impressed with that much knowledge.  As you said, most ponies only know that he was the founder of Stalliongrad, and nothing of his family or his tragedy.  Perhaps he would not be such a hero if they knew.”  The Countess smiled, again showing off her brilliant white teeth.  “There were always monsters and wars to fight, but somehow, Cyclone outlived his whole family.  He was nearly a hundred years old when he died, the first Tsar of Stalliongrad, and the last Cirran Legionary.”   At the incredulous look she received from Twilight, the Countess tapped the picture frame.  “This was painted by my grandmother, ‘great’ many times over.  Family legend says he complained about sitting still while she was working, and that’s why she painted all his scars instead of blotting them out.”  Star turned a curious eye of her own back to Twilight.  “Most knowledge of his coup was… cleaned up, when the line of Platinum took over the Domain years ago.  I am surprised a unicorn from Canterlot would know that story, Celestia’s student or not.” The little troupe continued their walk down the halls of Star’s luxurious manor.  Twilight took little notice of the hallway, absorbed as she was by her own story.  “A couple years ago, a librarian at the Canterlot archives found an old book on the shelf that nopony had ever seen before.  Princess Celestia asked me to come investigate it.” “Oh boy!” Going Solo pitched in with feigned alarm.  “It’s a book!  Warn the Princess!  Call the Elements of Harmony!” Twilight rolled her eyes.  “It wasn’t just any book.  It was bound in leather, and nopony could read the writing.  It took me a long time to break the obfuscation spell, but when I did, I realized why it was so hard to crack in the first place.  Nopony who’d tried could actually read the text; it was in Cirran.” Star’s golden eyes widened slightly, though it was once more Twilight’s pegasus companion who actually spoke up.  “Are you two having fun in ‘super secret ancient history’ club?  I really wouldn’t mind an explanation that actually, you know, explains something.” Twilight rubbed a hoof to her brow.  “Sorry, Solo.  I’ll try and make this short, because it’s a really long story.  Let’s see…  A long time ago, all the pegasi in the world lived in the northern plains of Zebrica, and they called their civilization Cirra.  Eight thousand years ago, they had a huge war with the griffons, called the Red Cloud War.  It didn’t exactly go well for the Cirrans.  The griffon emperor, Magnus―he’s like Princess Celestia; immortal, and with incredibly powerful magic―anyway, he outsmarted the cirrans, and most of them died.  In the end, the young Cirran emperor, Hurricane, decided to evacuate their lands and fly west-by-northwest.” “That’s Commander Hurricane, right?  The king of the racists?” The sound of Twilight’s hoof colliding with her face echoed down the hall.  “He’s not… gah!  The Hearth's Warming Eve play is a foal’s story that Clover the Clever wrote after the fact; it completely ignores all of the political complexity of the Tri-pony compact and the…” As Twilight ranted, Solo directed her attention to another painting on the wall.  It very clearly depicted Countess Star, from her leering yellow eyes to the smooth wrapping of her long red mane around her left ear.  A little plaque beneath the image read Графиня Звезда VI, 202-216 A.S.  To her reckoning, there was more than just a family resemblance going on. “...and all that still doesn’t account for the Crystal Union, or King Lapis’ sickness.”  Twilight panted slightly, having not taken a breath through the length of her spiel. “You feel better?” Solo asked. The unicorn nodded. “Good.  So you found a book written in Commander Hurricane’s language.  Is that where you found out about all of this?” Twilight nodded, still slightly winded.  “It was Hurricane’s journal.  The story had been completely lost before we found it; he’d told Princess Celestia, of course, but even that’s second hoof, and long after the fact.  So it was such an amazing find that I couldn’t just let it stand.  I wanted to know more about the Cirrans, so I did some research, and it led me to Saraneighvo.” “I ahm sorry,” the Countess muttered.  “Tell me, did you prefer the gray, or the flat more?” “Actually, it was anything but boring.  But I’ll get to that in a bit, Countess.  See, in a cave north of the city, we found a Cirran vault.  I think Cyclone―that’s the pony from the picture―” “Yeah, I caught that,” Solo muttered. “Right.  Sorry.  Cyclone built it to keep a bunch of records from his time ‘ruling’ River Rock.  Er, Stalliongrad.”  Twilight coughed in her hoof.  “Stol’nograd.” Star’s brow rose.  “You pronounced it right.” “A friend taught me.  Anyway, we found another one of Commander Hurricane’s journals, which is how I know all about Cyclone and Typhoon.” The Countess’ black cloak guards moved in front of their mistress and her guests, opening a pair of double doors into a luxurious but small dining room.  Following Star’s obvious color preference, the entire room was bedecked in dark wood and red fabric, illuminated by candlesticks and chandeliers of silver.  As Twilight and Solo stepped over the room’s threshold, the guardsponies moved silently to pull out seats for them.   "Спасибо, мальчики," the countess noted with a nod of her head. “Графиня,” they replied in unison, before leaving the room and closing the doors.   The Countess seated herself at the head of the table, leaving only a pair of empty chairs opposite the Canterlot mares; Twilight took brief notice of them before her host spoke up again.  “Our other guests should be joining us shortly.  In the meantime, tell me what it was that happened to make Saraneighvo anything but an utter bore.” “Well, my friend Rainbow Dash and I were staying at an inn there.  At the time, I only barely knew about the rebellion, and it hadn’t really crossed my mind that we might run into anypony who was strongly on either side.  But one night, only a little while after we found the journal, some of the rebels had a meeting at the inn.  And Marshal Serp showed up; he tried to kill Rainbow and I, assuming we were rebels.” Ever the uneducated member of the conversation, Going Solo spoke up.  “You say that like we’re supposed to know that name.  Who’s ‘Marshal Serp’?” Twilight opened her mouth to answer, though the Countess beat her to the punch, just as the doors opened.  “You can ask him yourself.  Mares, may I present Marshal Serp of Saraneighvo and Commandant Molot of Stalliongrad.” Somewhere, a hoof grated its way down a chalkboard.  It wasn’t within earshot of Twilight Sparkle, though that might not have been obvious to anypony watching by the way her whole body locked up, save the erratic twitching of her right eyelid.  She stared that way at the smaller of the two stallions in the doorway for some time, as her mind simply failed her. The pegasus with the buckwheat coat locked eyes with her immediately, and his eyes widened.   All was silence.  In a warmer domain, a tumbleweed might well have rolled past.  When they shattered the silence, each shouted a single word. “You!” "Ты!"   Twilight leapt out of her chair, directing her horn at the black-clad pegasus.  His expression wavered as he hesitated, before standing up on his hind legs and raising his hooves in a gesture of defeat.  “Вашу мать, это же Сумеречная Искра! Слушай, я не желаю тебе вреда! Она мне даже не сказала, что ты здесь!”  He turned to the looming slate-gray earth pony at his side, pleading in obvious desperation.  “Молот, скажи им, что я не хочу ничего с ней делать." The larger pony, whom Twilight had not noticed in her state of shock, turned slowly to his companion and shrugged.  "Я не знаю их языка." The Countess held up a hoof and coughed aloud.  “Twilight, Serp is struggling to tell you that he wants nothing to do with you.  I can assure you both, he won’t be trouble, no matter your past.  Please, be seated.  My home is a place of safety.”  She turned to the stallions.  “Если ты создашь какие-либо проблемы, Серп, не забывай, что здесь нет Росчерка, чтобы тебя вытащить. Лучше, если вы оба положите ваше оружие в сторонке. Иначе, я могу проголодаться.”  Though the meaning of the phrase was lost on the two Canterlot mares, the flash of the Countess’ decidedly white teeth didn’t seem quite like the smiles she had offered earlier. As Twilight and Solo calmed down, they found a calm moment to take in the two stallions.  The larger gray earth pony known as Molot wore his mane short and broad, in imitation of his skull.  The gray hairs nestled amongst its black seemed a bit odd, given his obvious youth.  His jet black jacket was rough, wet at its fringes and in some places still specked with snowflakes.  By Twilight’s guess, he must have stood just shy of four feet at the shoulder―larger than average even for an earth pony stallion, yet not quite the equal of Big Macintosh’s sheer size.  Despite his size, it was with an obvious gentleness that he removed the oversized sledgehammer from his back and rested it gently against the wall. His counterpart, Serp, was not so restrained.  Two words could easily sum up the tan pegasus stallion’s appearance: scruffy, and average.  His chin was decked with a puff of ragged, overgrown whiskers that he clearly wished would blossom into a true beard.  His hair was spiked up and back, giving him a wild appearance that matched the rapid shifting of his eyes as he continually glanced in concern toward the three seated mares at the table.  His black coat was clearly more expensive than Molot’s although frayed edges and visible cuts suggested he hadn’t taken very good care of it.  Rather than his counterpart’s gentleness, Serp had the gall to pull the sickle from off his back and outright slide it across the polished floor, where it stopped with a small bounce against the corner. They came and sat together: Molot opposite Solo, and Serp facing straight at the increasingly uncomfortable archmage.  Though awkwardness filled the air over the table, the countess seemed both ignorant and unaffected.  She clapped her hooves together twice, and a large group of servants flocked into the room from a side door hidden behind a portrait of one of Star’s ancestors.  Though they brought immense plates of exorbitant, luxurious food, Twilight’s focus was locked solely on the stallion across the table. “Now that we’re all here, we can speak of business.  Twilight, as you are perhaps avare, Serp and Molot are something of military legends from the Blizzard Revolution.  They were kind enough to come and visit me to discuss the… leadership, shall we say, of the Domain.  Now, they will be returning to the north.  It would be only a minor burden for them to accompany you to Onyx Ridge, and help you in your search.” “Что ты говоришь?” Molot asked, with both a voice and a speed of tone that were reminiscent of a glacier. “Do they not speak Equiish?” Going Solo asked.  “‘Cause I’m not sure how they’re going to help us if we can’t talk to them.  Do you know a translating spell or something, Twilight?” Twilight grumbled to herself briefly.  “I don’t know where you got this idea, Solo, but I don’t know a spell to solve every problem in the world. I can’t just make it stop snowing, or magically pull where Shining is out of thin air.  Believe me, I’ve tried that.  And while I do know a translation spell, it’s no good here because it only works on written text.” “Что они говорят?” Serp muttered, only to be utterly ignored. “So… why not just write down what they’re saying?  You speak a little Stalliongradi, right?” Twilight rolled her eyes.  “That doesn’t mean I can take dictation.  Most unicorns can’t write that fast, anyway.  That’s why... you’d…”  The Archmage’s eyes grew slightly wider, before her horn flared up.  In a flash of light, a quill, a piece of parchment, and an inkwell appeared atop her empty plate  “Oh, I hope this works.” “Эй, привет? Стольный град к свихнувшейся суке… doing magic over there.  Can somepony tell me what in Tartarus is going on?”  Going Solo and the Countess shared a wide eyed stare.  The former spoke up.  “Wait… you could speak Equiish this whole time?” It was the stallions’ turn to cock their heads and widen their eyes.  Serp shook his head.  “I don’t speak Equiish.  You’re the one speaking на ебаном Stalliongradi.  Or am I going nuts like a пиздаватая ape here, Hammer? “No, Sickle, I’m hearing it too.” Twilight clapped her hooves together with excitement.  “I can’t believe it actually worked!  I thought for sure that Starswirl’s Illuminating Dictation would interfere with the lesser thaumic architecture of Predicate's Tentative Translation on the feedback cycle.” “You did this?  Gah!”  Serp began running his hooves over his mane, digging at his skull.  “Get your freaky Ворожка сука magic out of my skull!” Solo cocked her head just a bit.  “Why does he sometimes go back to speaking Stalliongradi?” The countess leaned forward.  “Serp has vhat you might call a foul tongue.  I suspect one of the spells Twilight is using avoids translating such filth.  Likely Starswirl’s―he was known for being a respectable pony.  That particular word was a slur against unicorns.” “Well thanks for блять explaining, Star,” Serp growled, looking her dead in the eye.  “But if we’re going to sit here talking about foul things, how about some warning in ебаной Celestia's name before you drop me in a room with the mare who ruined my life twice!”  Rather than a hoof, Serp gestured in Twilight’s direction with an outstretched wing. “Your life?”  Twilight put her hooves on the table to lend herself some height.   “You tried to kill me! In my own house!” “I was trying to protect Blood Stroke from a rebel!  The same one who escaped me in Saraneighvo!”  Serp slammed a hoof on the table, releasing a small crack of thunder and sending plates and food scattering.  “I didn’t even know who the блять you were until Foresight and the Tsar flipped their дерьмо a few months ago!” Molot grabbed the shouting, spitting, and generally infuriated stallion’s shoulder with a hoof.  It didn’t seem like it took much effort on the earth pony’s part to calm his peer.  “You’re making an idiot of yourself, Sickle.  Calm yourself, breathe, and remember: holes.” “Holes… right.”  Serp took a deep breath.  “Sorry.  I… well, before we met, I used to be the Governor of Saraneighvo.” Twilight spared  a quick, respectful glance to Molot for his part in calming the furious stallion down.  There was a powerful friendship going on between them, if Twilight’s studies had taught her anything.  “Apology accepted.  Nopony got h…” A brilliant flash filled the tavern―the result of some stored spell.  The rebels drew weapons and hurled spells at the armed but surprised Black Cloaks.  Serp, though, didn’t hesitate.  His sickle stabbed up into the stallion’s skull through his eye, killing him instantly. “...well, what I mean is, uh…  I guess everything turned out alright.” “My жопy it did!  Did you not hear me, Ведьма?  I lost my job because of you!” “That calm sure lasted a while,” Solo muttered in Twilight’s ear, as Molot once more restrained the stallion from Saraneighvo. The countess, who had been idly drinking a glass of thick red wine, looked over at Serp.  “If you’re quite done making a fool of yourself, Sickle, I’d like to talk busiнес. Не могли бы вы―”  She stopped, glancing over at Twilight.  “Something wrong?” “I ran out of ink,” Twilight replied, tapping the empty inkwell on the table.  “I guess that’s the problem with this spell.  It does actually transcribe everything anypony says, so once it runs out, we don’t get the effect.  Hold on, though; I know a few tricks for this.”  Twilight grabbed some eggs, a rutabaga, and a candle from the table.  After a moment of focus, a flash of magic left her with a sort of hideous gray substance that could vaguely be called ink, if one squinted.  It drained into her inkwell as she released her telekinetic grasp.  “That should be better.  It doesn’t matter the actual writing will be hard to read, after all.” “...unicorns,” Serp muttered to himself, folding his forelegs across his chest.  “Well, Star, you were saying something about business?” “Yeah, let’s hear it,” Solo pressed.  “You’ve been stalling since last night.” The countess nodded.  “If you are insistent.  Twilight, I have reason to believe that Cyclone’s sister, Typhoon, died vith her troops when the Vargr overran Onyx Ridge.  My… family… have unfinished business with her from a very long time ago, and I would like to settle it.  So, to be as blunt as possible, I want you to bring me her corpse.”