//------------------------------// // XIII - The First Masquerade // Story: Where Loyalties Lie: Ghosts of the Past // by LoyalLiar //------------------------------// XIII The First Masquerade - - - The wind howled and the icicles rattled against the windows when Twilight Sparkle spoke.  “You want me to do what?” Countess Star smiled, once more revealing her eerily white teeth and simultaneously demonstrating an utter lack of care for Twilight’s uncharacteristic outburst.  “Vas I unclear, Archmage?  You are to bring whatever physical matter remains of the body of the Cirran legionary Typhoon, daughter of Hurricane.  In exchange, I will lend you the support of the finest guardsponies in all of Equestria.” The Canterlot guardsmare in the room leaned forward over her plate of exotic delicacies, looking the countess squarely in the eyes.  “Can I ask why?” Shooting Star’s calm voice wasn’t fast enough to outrace the emotion in Twilight’s.  “There’s only one reason she could possibly want a corpse that old for: necromancy.” “I see no call for that tone, Tvilight.  Both our princesses embrace the pale school, and I know that you must at least know its tenets; all I want is information, just as I’m sure you might.  Typhoon has been dead for a long time, and no number of old books dug out from beneath the snow vill ever be the equal of real questions between real mares.  And as I mentioned, Typhoon has a personal matter with my family.  I don’t honestly see what the matter is; you are going to Onyx Ridge regardless.  I am offering to ensure that the Vargr who have taken up residence there do not tear you to ribbons, and all I ask in exchange is a little favor, from one rational mare to another.  Now, eat up.”  Her horn ignited, bringing a shallow wine glass to her lips and staining them a vibrant red.  “You shall spend the day enjoying the hospitality of Trotsylvania, in the company of my peers here.  And in the morning, you shall depart in search of your brother.” “And what happens if we tell you to stick your horn up your hind end?” Going Solo wondered aloud, in a deceptively cheerful sing-song. The countess’ eyes grew narrow.  “Then you would be free to go on your own, of course.  Though, our domain has had something of a problem with an assassin running wild, and Secretary Foresight―” Serp cut off the mare’s words by rolling up phlegm in his throat and spitting on the floor. “―delightful, Sickle.  As I was saying, Foresight has instituted a rather strict curfew.  I am certain you are quite resourceful, but I doubt your skills fall in the realm of evading the police.” “You’d be surprised,” Going Solo retorted, before picking her plate up and casually dropping it on the floor.  “Oh, looks like I’m finished eating.  Come on, Twilight.  Let’s get out of here.” Twilight shot the countess a quick glance, and then back at Solo, before nodding.  “I’m sorry, miss Star, but I don’t think we’re going to be able to make that deal work.  I appreciate letting us stay in your home.” Shooting Star placed a hoof on her brow.  “I would urge you to reconsider, but I won’t keep you here as prisoners.  Sickle, Hammer, show them the way out.” “Sure, whatever you say, Star.”  Serp rose much more quickly from his chair, and wandered over to the wall where he had placed his notched and generally ill-maintained sickle.  “Come on, mares.  There’s got to be something to do in this town, even if it’s hers.  I, for one, could go for a drink, and―” “Absolutely not.”  Molot, who had just finished retrieving his namesake sledgehammer, wandered out after the rest of his company and gently shut the dining room doors.  “I cannot trust you around Twilight Sparkle while drinking.  I barely trust you around her sober.”  The rather looming earth pony turned to the mares and lowered himself to look them in the eyes.  There was a gentleness and a humility to his motion which surprised Twilight.  “I would like to help you, Twilight Sparkle, regardless of Countess Star’s demands.  I understand if you do not want my assistance, but if you do, we are staying in town at the Warm Welcome Inn.”   Molot gestured silently for Serp to follow him, and the two stallions began making their way toward the door out of the manor, though the larger of the two stopped only a few strides away and turned back.  “One more thing, Twilight.  If any of the Black Cloaks give you trouble while you are here in our domain, I would encourage you to demand to speak with either myself, or Tsar Eye.” Twilight watched the stallions go in silence, unsure of just how much to trust the Commandant’s advice. - - - The likeness of Roscherk Krovyu took a deep breath, standing before a pair of mighty double doors in the heart of Burning Hearth Castle.  The disguised assassin could feel the poisoned knife on the inside of her jacket, longing for flesh.  In her mind, she cautioned it with patience.  It wouldn’t be long. Yet for all the false bravado she pretended to have in thinking about the knife, Masquerade couldn’t shake the icy chill where her leg had been torn away. Deep breath.  ‘Break a leg’, they used to say, in the theatre.  It didn’t last long, but her longing for simpler days built up the tiniest bit of courage.  She could almost hear the roar of the crowd. Roscherk Krovyu was a much harder role than Lady Marebeth or Princess Platinum.  Or, at least, she hadn’t been as likely to be stabbed for messing up a line. Lying to herself for a single surge of confidence, she pushed the doors open and donned a mask of pride and bravado.  Enter, stage left.  “Third Brother?” The room was surprisingly empty, given its size.  A single purple carpet led a few dozen feet to a raised dais with a large cushion, still indented from where Princess Luna had slept days earlier.  Behind it, the room’s only occupant paced in front of an enormous frosted window. The Night Guard was large for a pegasus, though lean and chiseled.  Had he been a normal pony, Masquerade might well have found him attractive.  Instead, the tufts of his ears and his leathery wings gave him an air of mystery and danger.  At the edges of his six-stride pace, when he turned around to walk the other way, she would catch a slight glimmer of his icy white fangs, hanging down half an inch over his lower lip.  He paid no mind to the likeness of the blood-coated stallion at the door, at least at first. Masquerade walked into the room and shut the doors behind her.  “You are Third Brother, correct?” He stopped his steady gait, and twisted his head ever so slightly, so that one of his slitted yellow eyes locked onto her.  Ice swept through her veins, as she feared he was staring straight through her disguise.  In Canterlot, the Night Guard named Eldest Sister had nearly guessed her identity; she feared it might have been part of the magic of the strange ponies. But he made no move to attack her, nor did he display any expression at all. “I am.  What did you need?” Masquerade swallowed.  Though the wind howled against the window, she could swear Third Brother must have heard her.  “I wanted to talk about that scumbag assassin.  Masquerade.” “Scumbag?”  It was the smallest of inclinations in Third Brother’s voice that indicated a question.  “Did Twilight Sparkle make a gelding of you, or have you merely forgotten how to swear like a real citizen of Stalliongrad?” Masquerade’s eyes darted away.  “Princess Celestia doesn’t like it when I… speak freely.” The night guard spread his leathery wings and gave a single casual flap.  Masquerade would never have believed such a lazy motion could propel a stallion so far across a room, but he landed so close to the assassin that she could feel the frigid chill of his breath on her nose.  “What did you want to know about Masquerade?” She gave herself time for a single suck of breath before ripping the knife from her jacket by her magic, and ramming it into his ribs.  His slitted eyes widened in shock, as surprisingly plain red blood dripped from the wound. A green flame consumed Roscherk Krovyu, revealing the sleek body of an actress in inky blue.  “Mostly, I just wanted to know if you could recognize her when she walked up to you face to face.” “You didn’t stab…”  He gasped in pain.  “...deep enough.”  A resolution settled over his face, and he recovered his breath as Masquerade took a step back in shock.  Nopony should have been able to shrug off a wound like that.  “Your knife isn’t long enough to reach my heart.” She smiled back at him.  “I wasn’t aiming for your heart,” It would only be a few seconds, now, before the first gasp.  More than long enough for a monologue.  Assured in her victory, she dared to turn her back to him and lock the doors with her magic.  “That blade is coated in a very rare and very expensive poison called Galm’s Elixir.  I’m sorry for how much this is going to hurt.  You’ll feel it slowly eating away at your organs―” “I know how it feels,” Third Brother answered, casually pulling the knife out of his side with a wing.  It clattered to the floor, reverberating like a solid gold bit.  “Thank you for locking the doors.” “What?  Why aren’t you dyi―” Her words were cut off when the night guard became a blur of blue fury, lunging forward and striking the assassin across the chin with a hoof.  From a normal pegasus, it would have been jarring, and perhaps sent her stumbling.  Third Brother’s single hoof picked the assassin up and slammed her against the stone wall of the chamber. Before she could recover from the stars in her eyes, he was atop her, leaning on her throat with one forehoof and holding the other against the base of her horn.  His coat was colder than the snowy air outside, numbing her wherever they touched. He leaned forward, until she felt his muzzle touch the tip of her ear.  “I know Galm’s Elixir is your favorite poison for dangerous targets.  I also know that it won’t begin to dissolve flesh until it finds body heat.” Her horn flared up, and she disappeared out of his grip, popping back into being at the far side of the room.  “This might actually be interesting.” “No,” Third Brother answered, cracking the tiniest hint of a grin.  “It won’t be.” A mass of blue mana coalesced around her horn.  She only needed one hit; Dismal’s Decay didn’t leave a lot to chance.  The room didn’t offer much by way of cover; maybe he was right. The first of her beams of killing magic missed the stallion by only a matter of inches as he lunged across the room.  She’d been expecting him to charge straight for her, and so her second blast flung wide when he turned toward the large window. The little soreness of fatigue and lack of magic in her horn tugged at her attention, but she pushed the thought aside.  She wouldn’t need more than one more spell anyway. “Trying to escape?”  She gave herself a moment to lead her mark, and fired her third and final spell. Third Brother folded his wings in, dug down his hooves, and fell to his side.  Masquerade was confused for a split second at the form of the motion, before Luna’s enormous cushion was ripped off the ground and brought up as a shield to block her spell.  Her eyes widened as the fabric rotted away, and countless downy feathers filled the air in the room. She didn’t have long to think.  Third Brother hurled the rest of the cushion at her with an overhoofed toss.  On instinct, her magic caught the lightweight projectile, saving herself the distraction of a faceful of fabric, but costing her the focus to cast another spell as the unnaturally fast stallion charged her. His first hoof hit the inside of her bad leg, dropping her to her knees.  The second collided with her neck, putting stars in her eyes.  Then he reared up with spread wings, and brought his hind right hoof down on her crown, just in front of her horn. Curtains. - - - “Bit for your thoughts, Twilight?” It wasn’t so much Solo’s question that snapped Twilight out of her stupor as the lurch of Countess Star’s opulent carriage.  “Sorry, what?” Solo, who was reclined over her entire half of the carriage’s cabin with her wings folded behind her head, rolled her eyes.  “I’m wondering what the next move is.  What do we do to find Shining?” Twilight responded by clutching her head and giving a rather pathetic shrug.  “I don’t really know, Solo.  All this is crazy.  If we go dig up Typhoon’s body, Countess Star might be able to help us, but I don’t like the way she sounded about that.  And Molot seemed nice enough, but I don’t trust Serp.  I’d like to get to Stalliongrad; Foresight would probably be helpful, and―” The pegasus interrupted.  “Who’s this ‘Foresight’, anyway?” “He’s the Tsar’s son.  He and I took magical dueling together at the Canterlot Academy.  He’s supposed to be really good at economics, and now he owns the railroad here.” “Sounds like your type of stallion, Twilight.”  Solo leaned forward from her reclined place, and licked her lips in an exaggerated motion.  “That is, if stallions are your type at all.” Twilight shoved the other mare away with a hoof.  “I’m not in the mood, Solo.” “Sorry.”  The guardsmare folded her forehooves across her chest.  “So we need to get to Stalliongrad?  Do you know how far it is?” “A couple days by hoof.  It’s hard to tell with the storms.  But that’s if nothing tries to kill us, and I’m not super confident in that anymore.”  Twilight shivered slightly.  “Stalliongrad is not a happy Domain.” “Just noticing now?”  Solo smiled.  “I don’t think we should trust the Black Cloaks, Twilight.  They’re bad news.” Twilight stared out the window through the snow, to the rapidly approaching city of Trotsylvania.  “They’re just guardsponies trying to do their jobs in a dangerous Domain.  Most of their reputation comes from their leader, and even he isn’t that bad anymore.  I wish I knew were Roscherk was; he’d know how to find Shining.” The question of ‘who’ died on Solo’s lips as the carriage lurched to a standstill, and another of Countess’ soldiers opened the door.  The Canterlot guardsmare exited first, keeping a wary eye on her Stalliongradian counterpart as her hooves entered the thin veil of snow on the street. “Thanks,” Twilight told the stallion honestly, as she too left the carriage.  He didn’t reply, but instead shut the door with an almost mechanical jerkiness, before returning to the reins.  It wasn’t four seconds later that the vehicle turned around and headed back toward Star’s manor. With nowhere else to turn, Solo and Twilight looked ahead at Trotsylvania.  The city of bricks and stone and short squat buildings was bedecked not only in the ever-present frost of the domain, but also with countless iron lanterns and torches, all lit and releasing little wafts of smoke into the gently falling snow.  Ponies milled about in the streets, talking without a care for the weather.  Despite the gray skies, they wore smiles, and their eyes danced amongst the fiery decorations. Twilight was absorbed in the sights and sounds as she made her way into the streets; Going Solo couldn’t bring herself to be so carefree.  She tapped her ward on the shoulder after seeing the uncomfortable gazes of a few of the ponies they passed in the street. “Huh?  Did you see something, Solo?” “You’re still wearing black,” the pegasus replied.  “And you’re still getting looks.  Let’s find some new clothes, and then we can work on getting to Stalliongrad.  Sound good?” Twilight offered a simple nod in turn, and started looking for a suitable store.  The two mares walked for several minutes through town until they found one ahead on a corner, beside what seemed to be a large park.  Visible at the head of the street was a marble statue.   Solo honestly couldn’t claim to be surprised that it depicted somepony eerily similar to Countess Star.  “Think it’s her grandma, or her great-grandma?” the ex-smuggler asked, poking her knee against Twilight’s ribs and gesturing toward the statue. “Huh?” The guardsmare rolled her eyes.  “Look, Twilight, you’ve got to be a little faster on the uptake.  Come on.  What I’m saying is, Star has all these statues of herself everywhere, and she thinks we’re actually going to buy that they all look exactly like her.” “Oh…”  Twilight bit her lip for a moment.  “Yeah, that is a bit odd, isn’t it?”  It was utterly clear that the unicorn was absorbed in the culture she had only read about to pay any mind to any more present matters.  Giving up on a discussion, Going Solo’s eyes began searching for somewhere to buy the unicorn a jacket. It was hard to see the town for the festival.  Performers danced and sang in the streets from their end of the town all the way to the park that held Countess Star’s statue.  Solo took particular note of a tigress acrobat balancing on one paw atop a plastic ball just as colorful as her outfit.  Nearby, a unicorn dressed as a clown tied red balloons into the shapes of pegasi.  Little stalls sold bowls of some zesty food that left Solo to remember just how little of Countess Star’s meal she’d actually eaten.  She might have wandered over for a taste of the foreign snack, had a sudden light not caught her eye. A pegasus in a gaudy outfit of countless clashing colors juggled lit torches and knives off of his hooves outside a tent of red and white stripes near the entrance to the park. Even from down the street and across the snowy square, the orange and red tongues dominated all of Solo’s thoughts.  Despite the distance across the town, she couldn’t escape it.  She smelled the smoke.  She felt the heat.   Trotsylvania was gone.  Baltimare took its place, burning all around her.  And as she stared at the gaudy pony, she saw a blood red face with its lips peeled back, roaring at her in fury over a jacket blacker than any night sky. She ran, he followed, and the fire chased after him.  It ate wood, cracked brick, and shattered glass.  She felt it on her tail.  She smelled her own coat burning.  She heard his fury calling after her.   “Solo!” Twilight Sparkle lowered her hoof from Going Solo’s shoulder.  The pegasus found herself hovering in midair.  Her legs shivered, but not from the cold.  Somehow, she’d found her way down the street and around a corner from the park.  Ponies were staring. “Are you alright?” Twilight asked. She didn’t answer, at first.  She wanted to.  She tried to muster the courage, but it was too much to give more than a nod.  Her landing took the form of folding her wings and falling bluntly into the snow. “You look pale,” Twilight noted, gently nudging the guardspony with a shoulder.  “Look, right over there across the street, there’s a boutique.  We can sit down until you’re feeling better.” “Thanks…” The word hung in the air as the city went back to its activities and the two ponies wandered across the street.  But the pegasus found she simply couldn’t shake the memory.  “Uh, Twilight, why don’t you go inside and get measured or whatever?  I need some space.” “Okay.”  Twilight paused as she approached the door to the shop.  “You’re sure you’re alright, though?  You were exhibiting the classic signs of a panic attack, and―” Solo’s raised hoof was enough to quiet the unicorn.  A little bell rang over the shop door, and Twilight disappeared from view. One.  Two.  Three.  Four.  The mental count seemed like a true eternity before Going Solo trusted that Twilight was out of view.  Without any further qualm, she reached into the peytral of her Royal Guard armor, and pulled out a slender, white cardboard box.  Its unmarked face was indented, as though it had been carried for a few days inside a crowded pocket.  In fact, the box looked pretty good for the seven years she’d had it.  She didn’t spend long taking in the crisp, cheap cardboard before sliding out the center like a matchbox, though.  Inside were little fragments of yellow-green crystals that resembled chunks of rock salt.  Before risking getting caught, Solo’s tongue ducked into the box, licked up one tiny, harmless rock, and pulled it into her mouth. The taste was hideous, but the effect was almost immediate.  Her muscles grew lighter, and her eyelids sagged.  For a few spare seconds, she wallowed in the empty space between thoughts, before hiding away the precious box again.  Nopony made whispersalt like that. “That’s a bad habit for a guardsmare.” Solo almost jumped out of her coat as a burnt orange pegasus settled down beside her, near the shop’s only door. “Who’re you?”  Solo asked, as her hoof casually reached toward another little pouch she’d sequestered inside her armor.  “Why do you speak Equiish?  And what do you want?” “My name is Marathon.  Private Marathon, actually. You can stop reaching for that bladed shoe, Solo.  I’m not here to hurt you or Twilight; otherwise, I wouldn’t have announced myself while you were enjoying your whispersalt.  You used to work on Summit Avenue, right?  Dealing that stuff?” “Shining said he’d get that off my record.”  Solo leaned forward, pulling out her bladed shoe, though she didn’t do anything with it.  “If you know that, and you were really a guardspony, I would have met you before.  Who are you really, Marathon?” “I really am a guardspony, Going Solo.  Even Shining Armor can’t just make every file with your history disappear.  I know you’re the pony who sold Masquerade enough whispersalt to get my captain killed.” Solo swallowed down a bit lump in her throat as the logic of the claim settled in her mind.  “Honor Guard.  Great.  Did Princess Celestia not trust me to protect Twilight on my own?” “I doubt she’d trust you if she knew you were whispering on the job,” Marathon replied with admirably less snark than Solo had wielded.  “But I haven’t spoken to her in a few weeks now; I’m here on an assignment with Princess Luna.  I only came down after I heard about what happened in Arkhayngelsk.”  The comfortable tone of the orange pegasus turned to steel at that point, even managing to wipe away some of the fatigue from her whispersalt.  “What is she doing here?  Stalliongrad isn’t safe, and it isn’t like Canterlot.  You don’t seem like a hard enough pony to protect her here.” Solo gritted her teeth, but she lowered her guard.  “We’re looking for Shining Armor.  Apparently, they said he’s dead, but Twilight doesn’t believe it.” Marathon cocked her head.  “Do you know why?” “Something about Celestia―sorry, that’s Princess Celestia, isn’t it?  She’s always supposed to know if somepony has died, and she never got anything about Shining Armor.” Marathon shook her head.  “What I meant was, why chase him here?  If he’s dead, there’s nothing anypony short of the Princesses can do about it.  If he’s alive, he’s still Shining Armor, the captain of the Royal Guard.  Why do you feel like he would need your help?” Solo found herself suddenly unable to meet Marathon’s gaze; rather than turning away at the horizon, the whispersalt dragged her focus to the ground.  “He saved my life.  And if Twilight Sparkle says he needs my help, I’m gonna believe her.” Marathon shook her head slowly.  “Listen to me, Solo.”  The Honor Guard reached out a hoof and pulled Solo’s chin toward her.  “This isn’t just about rebels or monsters.  Things are starting in Stalliongrad.  If you don’t get out, you’re both going to get hurt.  So I’m begging you: take Twilight Sparkle back to Canterlot.” The door of the shop creaked, and Marathon’s head snapped toward it.  Before Solo could bring herself to make any sort of comment, the burnt orange pegasus shot into the snowy sky. Twilight Sparkle didn’t notice the fleeing pegasus as she walked out into the snow.  A light cream jacket of thick wool was held to her body by a thick belt of the same material.  Around her neck, a light blue scarf framed her face.  She twirled in place once.  “Look warm enough?” “It looks great,” Solo answered, writing off the subtle warmth in her own belly as another gift from the whispersalt.  She cast her gaze toward where Marathon had disappeared into the gray sky above the city.  “Now, we need to get to Stalliongrad.” - - - The assassin awoke to a cold, bitter feeling around her neck, and a curiously rhythmic sort of whooshing noise.  The pain in her skull kept her from a better term for it.  Her body was freezing against something just as cold as the weight around her neck.  It felt like stone. She opened her eyes, but it took a long time for them to actually see anything. First, there were flagstones for a floor, barely visible in the lack of light.  Old, dusty, and gray.  They reminded her of the vaults beneath Burning Hearth Castle.  She could almost smell their history.  The air stank, not just on in her nostrils, but on her tongue.  Blood had been spilt, and innocence had been stolen here… wherever here was.  She could taste pain, and sorrow, and despair so crushing that, for a moment, she gagged. The steady noise continued.  It sounded like a knife, moving through something wet, yet solid.  It barely held her attention.  Her hoof wandered to her throat, desperately searching for a distraction from the awful taste in the air.  She felt cold, smooth metal, and then a chain.  A… collar? “Good afternoon.” Her ears twitched at the comment, and her focuse jumped to the source of the little rhythmic noise.  She knew the Night Guard’s voice.  All she saw was a little glimmer of metal and a pair of slitted yellow eyes.  “Th-thi―”  Her throat was too dry and too sore to speak. “Do you want water?”  The noise stopped, and she heard him set something small and light down on a hard surface.  He moved toward her, and she felt his frigid leather wings meet her hooves.    Slowly, carefully, he helped her grasp a wooden cup.  The gnarled feeling of the wood was strange against her half-numb legs.  “I was unsure if it would help one of your kind.” The water tasted dirty.  It was lukewarm, and awful, but it was a balm to the little agonies of her throat, so she suffered to drain it down. When her lips released the rough wooden brim, it clattered from her hooves onto the stone.  The noise echoed around the room, and she shivered in the dark. “I suppose your kind can eat real food.  I had not expected that.  One must wonder what benefit your preferred diet supplies.”  He focused on her more directly after the brief tirade.  “I imagine you must be hungry.”  Again, he guided her hooves to a strange, coarse thing.  He must have guessed her confusion, as he quickly spoke again.  “A radish.” Before she took the vegetable, she looked him in the eyes.  “What do you mean ‘my kind’?” “You do a good job hiding your nature.  Until I dragged you down here, and searched your body for hidden weapons and deceptions, I would not have believed it.  It was only when I felt the chitin near your wings.  A changeling who also knows classic illusions, and mixes both spells to create disguises?  It is not hard to believe you were able to get into the palace.  Unfortunately for you, our mistress grants us thestrals a measure of resistance to illusions like yours.”  She was sure she hadn’t expressed any confusion, but he clarified regardless.  “The Night Guard, as most ponies think of us.  ‘Thestral’ is the name the mistress uses for what you might label our ‘breed’, when she does not simply call us by our numbers.  It refers to an ancient magic, and so often I simply prefer ‘Night Guard’―it better captures our purpose.” “If you could see through my illusions, why didn’t you catch me in Canterlot?” He took a slow breath; the air that tickled her coat was even colder than the surrounding stones.  “We are not immune to such magic; it merely has a lesser effect on us.  It takes more than a casual glance to see through a Changeling’s disguise.  Few of us knew Ment―” he forced a cough halfway through the word, before picking up on a very different thought.  “Few of us knew the Commander very well, and we knew Morning Star even less.  You are a talented actress; I did not suspect you in those forms.  Not close enough to take a second look.  But when  you came to me wearing Roscherk’s face, your act was not good enough.”  His eyes traced away from her, staring at something she couldn’t pick out of the darkness in a high corner.  “I know him too well.” The thestral returned his focus to his prisoner, and tapped her foreleg.  “Eat.” She bit into the crisp, peppery vegetable as the night guard walked back to where he had been standing earlier.  He went back to making his curious noise for a moment before his voice picked up again, gentle and calm.  “That was clever of you, using illusion magic instead of your changeling powers to infiltrate Canterlot.  I still have to wonder how you beat the Commander.  He he would never fall for something as simple as a knife to the back.” “You’d be surprised.”  Masquerade pulled her head away from her vegetable to stare at his eerie eyes.  “Is this an interrogation?” “No,” he replied with an almost terrifying levelness.  “This is what civilian ponies call small talk.  You need to eat, and rest.  Interrogation comes later.” She wasn’t sure why she did it; maybe just to spite him.  She focused her horn forward, and gathered her concentration.  What she earned in reward was a bolt of searing pain that ran straight down into her skull.  She gasped, too tired to truly scream. “You can twist no magic here,” he observed.  His eyes weren’t even looking at her; they stared down at whatever he was doing to make his noise. She snarled.  “So what?  Are you going to torture me?  Keep me as your pet?”  She shook the chain on her collar.  “Does this get you off?” The words got him to look up at her.  She couldn’t see his face, but the way his brow lowered gave his eyes a tired, troubled appearance. “I am a married stallion.”  Masquerade opened her mouth to question the dead stallion about his loyalties, but he cut her off with a further thought.  “And even were I not, I would never lower myself to you.” Masquerade moved to walk forward, only to feel the bruises of her battle on her foreleg and neck.  Shaking off the pain, she looked him in the eyes again.  “Then why take me to some dungeon?  Why not just turn me over to Luna?” He let out a growl that froze a bit of Masquerade’s blood.  “Let me explain myself.  My mentor taught me that anything dangerous is worthy of respect.  So I respect you, Masquerade, although you disgust me.  I am not interested in humiliating you.  I admit that I hate you, but I do not find any joy in what you will likely force me to do here.  Answer my questions truthfully, and we will both go about our business without trouble.  Once I know what I need, I will take you to Luna, and we can both reap what we deserve.”   He walked over to her again, pausing a few feet away.  She saw his eyes dip, picking up the vegetable she didn’t remember dropping.  Her eyes could barely make out the outline of his wing as he brushed it off and gently offered it to her.  “Relax, Masquerade.  It is almost over.” - - - “You know this is an awful idea, right?” Solo rolled her eyes as she and Twilight walked through the snow in the increasing darkness of what would have been dusk anywhere else in Equestria.  “Twilight, if this were a magic problem, I’d trust you.  But right now, we’re trying to sneak onto a train without getting noticed, which is sort of my area of expertise.  You don’t seem like the sort of pony who’d even know how to sneak out of the house without your parents noticing.” Twilight cocked her head.  “Why would I ever want to sneak out?  I had all my books right there in my tower, and―” “Sweet Celestia, Twilight, are you serious?” After a moment to recover from the shock of the younger mare’s words, Solo began to mentally prepare an intimate explanation of exactly why a filly of a bit younger than Twilight’s age might be interested in sneaking out under cover of night.  The thoughts were lost in the snow with the piercing sound of glass shattering somewhere ahead on their path. Solo sidestepped, putting herself in front of Twilight and spreading her wings. “What was that?” Twilight asked. The pegasus’ eyes narrowed.  “A window.” “You’re sure it wasn’t just a bottle or something?” For a moment, Going Solo considered explaining the difference in sound between something small like a bottle being smashed over somepony’s head, and the sound of a storefront window shattering into a thousand pieces as somepony was thrown through it.  This time, it was a sight and not a sound that stopped her words. “Врача!” the mare shouted, as she sprinted around the corner ahead on only three legs, and slid on the icy street.  Though the sky was dark, the torches of the Cyclone Day festival made the blood smeared over her wounded right foreleg unmistakable. Twilight tried to run to the other pony’s aid, but Solo’s wings caught her tightly.  “Stop!  Stop, Twilight!  It’s not safe!” A little fizzle and a pop marked Twilight’s teleportation.  Soon, she stood over the bleeding mare, fumbling for her journal and her inkwell with her telekinesis.  “Hold on.  I just need to be able to talk to you.” “Я не понимаю what you’re saying.  Just… get me a doctor!” Twilight nodded.  “I think I can help.”  Still managing her spell and holding aloft book, quill, and ink, she also produced from her saddlebags a length of gauze and a small splint.  To somepony who could appreciate the difficulty of such magic, it would have been staggering.  Twilight seemed to be paying her spells little mind as she spoke to the wounded earth pony.  “What happened?” “The circus ponies―ow!”  She winced as Twilight pulled the gauze tight.  “They started a huge fight in the square with a bunch of the guards.  I was just trying to get out of the way, but their tiger scratched my leg.” “A tiger is fighting here?”  Solo’s eyes shot up to scan the city.  “This Domain just keeps getting better.” “We’ll be fine,” Twilight replied confidently, before returning her attention to her patient.  “You’re going to be alright, now.  Try to keep your weight off that leg, and get home safe.”  As the Trotsylvanian stood and began to walk away, Twilight turned her attention to her friend.  “Come on, Solo.  I’ve got a plan.” Going Solo watched in muted terror as Twilight backtracked along the other mare’s path, straight toward the town’s festive park, and the promise of a pitched battle.  “Hold on, Twilight!  I don’t know what you’re thinking, but I can’t fight a tiger.  We should turn around, jump that train, and get out of Dodge before anypony figures out we’ve left.” Twilight smiled.  “You won’t need to fight her.  Her name is Yóumín, and she’s perfectly nice.” Twilight tried to step past Solo, but the pegasus’ wings were more agile than her land-bound companion.  With a muffled grumble, Twilight gave a pathetic excuse for an explanation.  “It’s a long story, Solo.  You remember what I told you and Countess Star about when I was in Stalliongrad last time?” “Yeah.” “Well, after Serp attacked the inn Rainbow and I were staying at, one of the rebels brought us to their secret base in the ruins of Coltpenhagen.  I met Yóumín there, along with some of the other big name rebels.” “Like the one from Ponyville?” Twilight grimaced for a moment at the memory of Stoikaja’s threats.  “Uh… she wasn’t around then.  She used to be Honor Guard.” “I know,” Solo replied calmly.  “Six months ago, I met her in Baltimare.”  For just a moment, Twilight saw her eyes track to a flickering candle inside a decorative lantern.  It took a wild shake of her head to break the focus.  Ahead, the lanterns and the torches appeared in far greater number, illuminating a seemingly empty park.  “You’re sure this is a good idea, Twilight?  If you can’t talk to the tiger―” “Tigress, in this case, ponies.”  The two mares nearly jumped out of their skins as an enormous cat leapt down from a rooftop on the edge of the street, landing within inches of them.  “It has been some time, Purple Read.  How is the more boring part of the world?” Twilight was shocked into silence.  Solo recovered more quickly, lowering her shoulder and slamming into her stunned ward.  Before Twilight could release more than a gasp, the guardspony took up a wide-winged stance, protecting her from their newest encounter. Yóumín stared for a moment or two, and then began to laugh―a brutal, haunting, echoing noise that chilled Solo more than the snow.  “If I had any interest in killing you or your friend, I would have jumped down on top of you.”  She slunk backwards, raising her chest from the snowy street until she was sitting upright.  It was at that point that Going Solo realized the tigress wasn’t all that much shorter than Princess Celestia.  “Вы можете выходить, друзья.” “What did you―”  The rest of Going Solo’s words were immediately stolen away by the appearance of further figures from around the corner.  A cluster of ponies in the tattered remnants of circus uniforms were lead by a scarred orange stallion with a graying mane. It was then that Twilight finally realized that the cat still had her tongue.  She blinked, and then called out.  “Yóumín?  Povstantsev?” The pegasus was the first to respond, growling out an irritable Stalliongradi thought as his forces spread out around the downed and bleeding mare.  “Это Твайлайт Спаркл, в точности как сказала Марафон. Откуда она знает мое имя?” Solo tilted her head. "Do you know them too, Twilight?" “Yes, i do.  The pegasus is named Aljans Postantev, which means something like ‘Rebel Alliance’.  He and Yóumín are the leaders of the revolution… well, except for Stoikaja.” “Right…  do you know what they’re talking about?” Twilight glanced over to where the tigress was speaking to the circus-garbed pegasus.  “I can set the spell up again.  Just give me a second.” “Она была в Кольтпенгагене,” Yóumín noted to Rebel Alliance near the edge of the street. “И я думаю, это была её подруга, Радуга пони, кто выболтала плащам о вашей встрече в Сараево у Прибежища.” “Ладно, не важно,” Alliance answered in his irate grumble.  “Заставь её пойти с нами, и мы сможем убедить её повлиять на Луну.” “Я не знаю, будет ли она сотрудничать.” “Поговори с ней, или засунь её в мешок. Я бы предпочел первое, но прямо сейчас Принцесса в замке Пылающего очага, и мы не можем afford Foresight and Blood Stroke earning her favor.” Yóumín cocked her head.  “What is this?  You don’t speak Tigrese, Rebel Alliance.” “Uh, that was me.  Sorry.”  Twilight gestured to the book and quill hovering beside her.  “Translation spell.  Well, really three spells chained together, but the point is, we can all hear each other in our own native languages, as long as I don’t run out of ink.” “Great…” the stallion called Rebel Alliance muttered.  “Miss Sparkle, I don’t have time to waste.  The streets of Trotsylvania are about to become very dangerous.  We have a train at the station, and I can spare one of the group to escort you if you like.” “Great!” Twilight replied, with an enthusiasm that left Solo unsettled.  The pegasus held her tongue, silently praying that they weren’t diving headfirst into a fight.  Twilight seemed pleasantly oblivious to the fact that the ponies and tiger they were speaking to were a group of hardened freedom-fighters, and not the friendly, peaceful ponies of Ponyville.  “We need to get to Stalliongrad.  A train ride would be great.” Rebel Alliance winced.  “Absolutely not.  I won’t deliver you straight into the Black Cloak’s hooves.” “Well, that’s where we need to go,” Twilight replied with a touch of disappointment.  “So I guess we’ll have to part ways.  Thank you for the offer, though.” The orange pegasus shook his head.  “I see.  Yóumín?” “Yes, Rebel?” “Try to be gentle.” Solo’s world became a blur of black, orange, and white.  Her forehooves wrapped around Twilight’s barrel, and she flung both herself and her naive friend sideways.  She felt the weight of Yóumín’s paw clip her wing, spinning her into a wild cartwheel.  Vertigo overtook her senses, though her wing folded without pain. “Twilight, teleport!” Solo’s stomach lurched up as she saw Yóumín pouncing again.  The tightness didn’t help the nausea that followed as the world disappeared in a violent flash.  Her hoof met a layer of snow atop icy shingles, perhaps two dozen feet away and two stories up off the street. “You alright?” Twilight asked. “Yeah, no thanks to―” Solo didn’t bother to finish her sentence when she saw the tigress leap up the side of a small house and begin sprinting toward them.  “Again!” “Where?” “Anywhe―”  The sensation of the world being torn away stole Solo’s breath.  She barely had time to suck in a breath before she realized that Yóumín was still visible, and still in pursuit.  “Can’t you get us any farther?  Somewhere out of sight?” “It’s dangerous!” Twilight shouted back.  “What if I put us halfway through a wall?” Solo growled, braced herself facing Yóumín’s direction.  “Fine.  You leave; make as big of a distraction as you can.  I’ll hold her off.” “What?” “Trust me, I know what I’m doing.  If you make a big enough show, the guardsponies will come running.  You just have to keep away from her until they show up.  Now go!” Twilight hesitated silently, but then nodded.  “Be careful.” The violet flare that shot into the sky cast a terrifying light on Solo’s approaching foe. - - - “Tell me about your work,” ordered the first voice Masquerade had heard in hours.  It was still Third Brother’s, just as it had been when last he had visited her prison of shadows. “You must have such a way with mares, Brother.  Some ponies do appreciate a ‘hello’, though I admit I’d be satisfied with just something else to eat and a blanket.”  She held her tongue about the way the cold sent brutal aches along the line where Rainbow Dash had severed her foreleg. The thestral moved forward, stopping no more than a leg’s reach away by Masquerade’s guess.  She heard the sound of flint and steel scraping together.  Faint sparks gave her brief glimmers of the stallion’s bulky, square jaw as he worked to light a small candle.  It moved in time with his deep baritone, speaking to her with a flat tone that still managed to carry just a hint of disgust.  “You are no kin of mine, assassin.  You may use my real name, if you remember it.” Despite the pain in the motion, Masquerade twisted her head.  “Do we know each other?” The candle sparked to life, casting the blue stallion in its faint golden light.  Third Brother’s flat expression shifted away from the fire, and locked onto Masquerade.  “You will most assuredly figure it out.  For now, we shall start where stories begin.”  He closed his eyes.  “Prance, correct?  A theatre?” “You’re going to turn me over to Luna either way; why should I waste my time telling you anything?” Third Brother walked forward, holding up a single hoof.  Wrapped around it was an intricate brace of cloth bands and metal bolts, all leading up to a single, fishhook-shaped blade.  It glinted in the dim firelight.  “I thought I had explained this sufficiently earlier.”  Before she could even blink, his leathery wing had wrapped around her right foreleg.  “Will you tell me your story?” “Princess Luna would never let you―”   The scream was deafening; the pain, blinding.  When Masquerade finally regained her senses, her right foreleg felt as though it was on fire, despite the sensation of liquid dripping through her coat.  The first sound she heard beyond the echoing of her own agony was the drip of a ball of wax falling onto the bowl beneath their candle.   The second was the Night Guard’s voice.  “If I save lives with what I learn from you, my mistress will forgive me.  Better to ask her mercy, than to let your accomplice succeed for the sake of decency to an assassin; especially one so absorbed as to sell her equinity for power.”  When her eyes regained focus, she saw him wiping the blade on the coat of his other foreleg.  “This blade was enchanted by the previous ruler of Stalliongrad; its magic amplifies pain.  I can do far worse than what you just experienced.  With that thought in mind, I will ask again: will you tell me your story?” After only a moment’s hesitation, Masquerade began. - - - The Murder at the Opéra de Mareseille Dramatis Equinae Mascarade . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . A Rising Star Prima Donna . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . An Aging Bitalian Opera Star Jouant Favoris . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .Daughter of Marquise Couture Aimer Intérêt . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . An Actor; Mascarade’s lover Patron . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . The Owner of the Opera Curtains Open Scene 1 - The stage of the Opéra de Mareseille, two weeks before a performance of Carmane - August, 1441.  Stagehands are in a panic painting backdrops as a mare and a stallion sing to one another. Mascarade So, to keep me company, I will take away my lover. My lover, he has gone to the devil, I put him out yesterday! My poor heart, very consolable, My heart is free, like the air! I have suiters by the dozen, But, they are not to my taste. Here it is the weekend; Who wants to love me? I will love him! Who wants my soul? It's for the taking. PRIMMA DONNA speaks up, not on stage, but in the front row of the audience. Primma Donna Stop, stop.  Mascarade, dear, your voice is perfect, but I feel as though you aren’t wearing quite the emotion this calls for.  Think of the lyrics you’re singing, for goodness sake.  I’m not one to condemn a mare for loving her work, but you must try to contain your smile while you’re singing. Mascarade Sorry, Primma.  It’s just, I finally get to be Carmane; and my first leading role will be in front of Princess Celestia too!  And― Mascarade struggles with the rope hoof bindings used in the scene of Carmane’s imprisonment. Can somepony help me with these? Aimer Intérêt I’ve got you covered, dear. Aimer produces a switchblade, and flips it in the air theatrically, before cutting Mascarade free.  They briefly embrace. Mascarade Be careful with that thing, Aimer, or you’ll cut up your face, and wind up playing The Phantom. Aimer Relax, Mascarade.  It’s like my second special talent.  I’m as good with that knife as you are on stage. Primma Yes, well, she may have such a beautiful voice, but she must master the part first.  I do hope to announce my retirement in two weeks, but if you cannot do the part justice, Mascarade, I may have to take it back. Mascarade Right, sorry.  Uh, anything to add, Aimer?  Any criticism? Aimer It sounded good to me. Primma Why don’t you take it from the top of the scene?  One of you stage hands, can you grab― The theatre doors burst open with a magical slam, attracting everypony’s attention.  PATRON barges in, his tie unsettled and his face sweaty. Mascarade You look awful, Mr. Patron.  Does that mean we have news? Patron’s face grows even grimmer as his focus shifts to Mascarade. Patron Oh, uh, yes, Masc.  I, uh, I managed to convince the Marquise to sponsor us for another year. Aimer Why, that’s great news!  Why the long face, Patron? Patron Well, you see, the Marquise did have a stipulation.  As you all probably know, Primma Donna is her fourth cousin, once removed. Primma Yes, yes, the line of Platinum and all that.  Don’t spoil me, Patron; I worked to get where I am. Patron Of course you did, Primma.  I wouldn’t question it.  But the point is, for years now we’ve had a noblepony in some fashion leading the stage here at the Opéra de Mareseille.  And… well, frankly, the Marquise has certain opinions about that staying the case… Mascarade You aren’t saying she wants you to bring somepony else in? Patron I’m afraid I am, Mascarade.  In order to keep the theatre open, I had to make her daughter our new lead actress.  I’ll give you the part of Michayla, or Marecédès if you prefer, but you cannot be Carmane. Mascarade Will I at least get to take the lead role for a few weeks, while she learns the part?  Can I at least perform for the Princess? Patron That was the foremost of the Marquise’s demands.  She wants her daughter front and center for Princess Celestia to― Mascarade, wait! Mascarade ignores him, running offstage crying. Curtains Scene 2 - Mascarade’s dressing room, in shambles.  MASCARADE faces away from the audience, crying; her face only visible in a large mirror.  AIMER enters stage right, through a partially open door. Aimer Intérêt Mascarde?  Are you alright? Mascarade What do you think, Aimer?  Everything I’ve been working toward is gone because I’m not related to the Marquise.  Am I going to be stuck playing second fiddle my entire life?  What can I even do? Aimer You can show the world just how good you are, Mascarade. Mascarade I’m sure that will do wonders when everypony’s listening to the other mare!  What do I do if she’s actually better than me? Aimer Don’t be ridiculous, Mascarade.  There’s no way she’s going to be better than you. Mascarade How do you know that ? Aimer walks forward, wrapping one foreleg over Mascarade’s shoudler and gently tapping her cutie mark with the other.   Aimer I’d say it’s written pretty clearly right here. Mascarade Careful where you’re putting that hoof. Aimer Oh, have I offended my delicate diva?  At least she cracks a smile. Mascarade Fine, you win, Aimer.  What do you actually want? Aimer I would like you to come outside.  Perhaps enjoy a nice dinner.  Take a day off.  But don’t let yourself hole up in this stuffy place. Aimer, Mascarade exit. Curtains Scene 3 - The stage, two weeks later.  The sets are complete, the lights are polished, the costumes finished.  MASCARADE sits beside PRIMMA DONNA in the front row as AIMER clutches a prop knife against the brilliant dress of Carmane, worn by JOUANT FAVORIS. Aimer You can arrest me!  It was I who killed her!  Ah, Carmane!  Carmane, my adored one! Primma Donna stands up, stomping applause. Primma Bravo, bravo!  A rousing performance, both of you. Jouant It is always my pleasure to perform.  Truly, it was always my place to be in the spotlight. Aimer Thanks, Primma. Primma My only criticism, Aimer, is that your voice does not reverberate well while you are holding the prop knife.  Come, I will show you a trick.  In the meantime, I’m sure Mascarade and Jouant can practice some other scene. Aimer and Primma Donna exit.  Mascarade takes the stage alongside Jouant. Mascarade That was pretty good, Jouant. Jouant Pretty good?  Goodness, I can’t imagine how you think yourself a real actress if you don’t recognize a true master’s work when you hear it. Mascarade Really?  Don’t kid yourself, Jouant; you’re not half the actress I am; the only reason you’re on stage at all is because your mom is our sponsor. Jouant Oh, yet another jealous peasant?  I suppose it doesn’t matter.  You should be grateful, though; I doubt I’ll be here much longer, and then you can have the title role back. Mascarade What?  You’re leaving? Jouant Well, after tonight, when I perform for the Princess, I’ll be too big for a little stage like this.  Aimer and I will move to Canterlot, and― Mascarade Aimer would never leave with you! Jouant You think so, Mascarade?  Everypony knows the lead always wins the stallion’s heart.  But don’t worry; I’m sure you’ll find somepony for yourself someday.  Maybe someday, you’ll even be worthy of playing a supporting role for me in Canterlot.  Now, I’m going to go catch up on my appearance for the performance tonight. Jouant exits. Curtains. Scene 4 - The hallway outside AIMER’s dressing room.  MASCARADE approaches; Aimer is speaking to JOUANT within. Jouant ―for Princess Celestia, every time we perform.  And the fans, Aimer; can you imagine? Aimer It would be lovely, Jouant. Mascarade stops; before she had simply been walking down the hall, but now she presses her ear against the door. Jouant I know I don't even need to ask, of course. Aimer Of course. Jouant I will feel bad for Mascarade, though; she isn’t wholly without talent.  Perhaps someday she’ll catch up with us. Aimer Yes.  Perhaps someday. Mascarade barges through the door as Jouant and Aimer kiss.  She stands in the doorway as they break apart, and stare. Jouant Mascarade… how much of that did you hear…? Mascarade I heard enough!  How could you, Aimer?  Was it all just a game?  Was I just another conquest? Aimer I… Mascarade, I thought you knew.  I liked you, but never to that― Jouant Don’t be ridiculous, Mascarade.  You think a stallion of Aimer’s caliber would choose you?  He and I are simply out of your league. Mascarade If you think you can out-act me, Jouant, you’re fantasizing.  And as for you, Aimer, I’m disgusted.  I thought we had something.  But I’m not a dumb enough mare to pretend I didn’t see who you really are. Mascarade leaves the room. Aimer Mascarade, wait! Mascarade For what?  For you to realize what you’ve done?  You’ve chosen your side, Aimer.  Now, you can live with it. Mascarade storms off - exit.  Aimer returns to Jouant and they embrace.  Curtains. Scene 5 - The stage is set for the final scene of Carmane.  Princess Celestia sits in the royal box alongside Jouant’s mother, Marquise Couture.  MASQUERADE stands offstage, focusing.  Her horn glows a pale blue, pointing at the stage, though the set blocks her from the view of the audience.  AIMER and JOUANT struggle back and forth for the climax. Aimer For the last time, demon, will you follow me? Jouant No, no!  This ring―once, you gave it to me: there! Jouant throws a ring from her horn at Aimer.  Mascarade’s brow clenches with sweat as she maintains her illusion. Mascarade Just a moment longer. Aimer Then you are damned. Aimer draws a prop knife from his costume, and thrusts it against Jouant’s side.  He feels the trick blade collapse into the hilt, and hears Jouant gasp―more convincingly than she ever did in their rehearsals.  The choir picks up with the grim, minor-key refrain of the ‘Toreador’ theme.  Aimer lets her fall, and turns to face the audience. Aimer You can arrest me―it was I who killed her. Aimer feels a wetness on his cheek, where his mouth clenches the prop knife by the notch that lets him speak.  It is not the prop knife he has practiced with.  It is his own switchblade, dripping with real blood.  The audience stands, applauding.  They do not realize what has happened before their eyes, at first. Mascarade runs forward, wrapping a hoof around Jouant’s body; she is already beginning to chill. Mascarade How could he?  Jouant… Jouant Aimer… why…? In a rough, un-artistic gasp, Jouant breathes her last.  The audience turns.  Celestia’s guardsponies draw their weapons. Aimer Wait!  I― I didn’t mean to… A bolt of magic from a guardspony’s horn strikes Aimer, and he falls to the stage, stunned.  Mascarade exits, holding back false sobs. Curtains Fin - - - Third Brother moved for the first time in the several minutes it had taken for her dramatic story.  “Never once did the guards catch on?” Masquerade nodded.  “I hadn’t even considered that Celestia would ask her soul who did it when she died.  But that’s the beauty of it―it must not have occurred to Jouant that I could be behind what happened.  She assumed Aimer was just after fame, like the slimy ‘mare’s colt’ he was.  The Marquise was furious; she had Aimer beheaded in front of the entire city of Mareis.  And for all that, I realized what my special talent really was.” “You think of your special talent as one for assassination?” Third Brother asked, with a distinct lack of amusement. “I know it,” Masquerade replied.  “Nopony can do what I do.  Not even close.  Believe me, I know.  When I was playing The Commander, I saw his records on the other ponies who’d tried what I did.” Third Brother’s head cocked to the side, reminding Masquerade of a confused dog.  “But you had no means of accomplishing such an act at first.  You had never met Zagatka.  You were not what you are today.” What had once been a mare took a moment to stare at the chain around her neck before offering a single nod.  “Not as interesting of a story.” The thestral struck her again; this time, the spots in her eyes lasted only for a moment.  He didn’t seem angry in the slightest, and that utter lack of emotion was what frightened her to continue.  “I killed a freshman at the Royal Academy, and used her scholarships to put myself through a study of illusion.  I think her name was… Prestidigitation.  I let them call me ‘Presty’.”   She had the gall to chuckle at the fond memory, earning a glare of pure hatred from Third Brother.  It wasn’t the worse she’d ever felt in her direction, though it did frighten her that he might actually do something to act on it.  Her fondness faded quickly.  “I didn’t learn much to help me in my task, though I did study dueling and teleportation, and a few other subjects that struck my fancy.  I was already pretty good at normal illusions from my work in the theatre and my own practice.  So when I learned about nightmares―my special illusions, the kind Celestia outlawed―I did some research and found my way to Zagatka.” “And it was the dragon that made you a changeling?  That took a hollow cocoon and gave you the power to kill the Mistress?” Masquerade winced, and looked away.  “I can’t talk about that.” “Can’t?” Memories of cold, quiet days locked unmoving beneath the Canterlot Palace flashed through the Masquerade’s eyes: the same barren patch of stone wall that she had been left to stare at in silence for months.  She shivered so hard her chain shook, echoing out a brittle chorus in honor of her unspoken agony.  She did not cry, though her body wanted very much to.  “It’s magic.  There’s a spell on me.  And… I think I’d rather die.  I’d rather go to Luna than face that…” Third Brother nodded, and placed a hoof on her shoulder.  “The Mistress will have the answers to those questions.  But we are not done yet.  For now, you will think on another story.  And you will tell me and my brother everything you know of it when I return.” “Brother?” Masquerade asked, with another shiver and another rattle. His breath snuffed out the candle, and in the darkness she saw only his eyes.  “You must remember; it was not so very long ago.  Saraneighvo; June the twenty-eight, fourteen hundred and forty six in the age of the sun.” - - - Trotsylvania burned.  It glowed and stank and set up clouds of thick acrid black into the bitter white sky.  Somewhere high overhead on the nearby cliffs, Countess Star and her Black Cloak guards were no doubt facing down the rebels, both blissfully unaware of the damage their quarrel was yielding.  But down below, in the streets, the common pony could only reflect that the Domain of Stalliongrad was no stranger to flames.  In the eyes of the jaded survivors of two wars and an endless stream of rebellions, treasons, and monster attacks, the only thing to do was to disappear into the woodwork and the ice, leaving behind only the slow, the dead, and the uninitiated foreigners.  They would be left to dart from shadow to shadow or sprint down the streets in fear, knowing that they were no more likely to earn reprieve from one side than the other. It was thoughts like these that left Twilight Sparkle alone and terrified, jumping with every crackle of fire and every flicker of a shadow in the alleys between the city’s countless small homes and storefronts. “Solo?” she asked, in a voice that could barely be called a whisper.  “Anypony?”  She launched another flare into the sky, and then immediately teleported across the street into one of the alleyways.  Her rational mind told her that it ought to be enough to keep Yóumín off her trail; it was quickly drowned out by the trembling whimpers of her heart and the horrors woven by her imagination. It might have been minutes, or hours.  She had no idea beneath the oppressive gray sky, in the pitch black of night.  She could only tell a hint by the way the fire had spread up toward the cliffs and the castle.  That must have been half an hour earlier, given how much of the city had since ignited.  Despite the danger of the fire, the combination of heat, light, and the lack of safe rooftops for her stalker to hide on had encouraged her to approach the smoke.  She only stopped when the air grew too gray to breathe, leaving her in a bitter place of cinders and embers, but spared the true danger of the roaring flames. A crack, mere feet behind.  Twilight leapt; a moment later, her horn gathered the mana for a spell.  She teleported out into the street―a safer place than the danger behind, but exposed to the world. The house’s roof collapsed as its beam broke in two.  After a skipped beat of her heart, Twilight sighed, and began looking for another hiding place.  Her eyes settled on a cellar door beside a larger structure, whose sign read “Теплый прием”. “Right,” she muttered to herself.  “The Stalliongradians kept their cellars separate from their buildings because they were worried about dragons burning the houses down on top of them.  That should be safe from the fire, and hopefully Yóumín too.” She made her way over to the doors and tugged on them, only to find them barred.  Momentarily, she found herself thinking of Applejack.  Her horn ignited to blast the doors open, only to find pause: such an spell would be noisy, drawing Yóumín’s attention, and the blasted splinters would be a dead giveaway to her hiding place. “Clever plan, Twilight Sparkle.  Just not fast enough.” The tigress’ voice was unmistakable.  Twilight turned, not toward the dark city but into the inferno.  Yóumín’s orange body blended in with the countless fires, leaving her a slender skeleton of charred black bones approaching without sound or pause. “Yóumín?”  It wasn’t a question worth answering, and it earned none.  “Can we talk about this?  I need to find my brother.” “Your brother?  That is why you are here?”  Despite her curiosity, the cat continued to stalk forward, prompting Twilight to take a few tentative steps back down the road away from the fire. “Uh, yeah.  Shining Armor.” “The white soldier, from Canterlot?  The mighty warrior in purple armor?” “You’ve met him?!”  Twilight momentarily forgot fear. “He is dead,” Yóumín answered flatly.  “He tried to fight the river.  The sickness took days to kill him, when others might have died in hours.  I can give you the body, if you come with me.” “What?  No!  You’re lying!”  Twilight backed up further.  “You just want me to help you influence Princess Celestia!” Yóumín bared her fangs for just a moment.  “My motive does not force me to lie.  I want you to come with me.  You want to find your brother.  Do not be my enemy when you don’t have to be, Twilight Sparkle.” Twilight shot a burst of magic like a firework straight up into the night sky.  Yóumín didn’t seem to care, stalking forward at the same slow, calm rate.  “The Countess’ guards will save their own skins before they risk themselves for the common pony.  Am I going to have to hurt you?” “Yóumín, please, listen to me.  You really don’t have to do this.” “That is too bad, but I should not have expected any different.”   Yóumín managed a single stride forward before the brick wall beside her exploded.  The massive iron head of a sledgehammer narrowly missed her skull, but the fright was enough to send the tiger leaping backward, fangs bared fully and claws unsheathed. In the cloud of dust left behind, an enormous earth pony of slate gray adjusted a sledgehammer to rest over his shoulder, between the black fur collar surrounding his neck and the heavy woolen fabric of the same color covering his body. “Molot!” The Commandant of the Black Cloaks ignored Twilight’s cry, keeping his eyes locked on his mortal enemy.  He didn’t say anything, instead focusing on tightening the grip on his hammer between his teeth and his right foreleg. Twilight knew very little of combat; her only prior experience was a magical dueling class she’d taken to fulfill a P.E. credit.  Even with such a slight experience, she could tell the respect the two silent foes had for one another.  They paced slowly, eyes watching each others’ every step, as well as the iron head of Molot’s hammer and the pale bone of Yóumín’s maw. Yóumín moved first.  Ice flashed up from the ground behind her claws, cast in a yellow light by the fires and standing out against the gray smoke that clouded the sky.  She twisted, corkscrewing toward his throat.   He was prepared; he brought his weapon to bare.  The weight and the long shaft stayed under his control only by the might of his jaw, driven toward her underbelly.  They struck as one.  Her fangs bit into him; a shallow blow for what she might otherwise have accomplished.  His weapon struck her, sending her bouncing away in the snow and ripping her teeth away before the killing blow could be landed.  She tore away the gray coat from his neck, and a chunk of his flesh as well.  Blood flowed in little rivers through the remnants of fur collar of his jacket.  Little rips in his own fur showed the way the muscles of his neck shifted as he turned to heft his hammer.  His face contorted from the pain of the motion, tightening into a little ball, but it didn’t stop his work. Yóumín rose quickly for what Twilight was sure would have been a killing blow to a pony.  Molot didn’t have his hammer up.  The tigress’ legs broke into a full sprint, only slightly limping from the blow to her ribs. The air in the street swept back, like a giant sucking in a calm breath before a shout.  For the second time in as many minutes, time seemed to stop. It wasn’t a shout that came back.  It was a hiss.  At the cost of her pounce, Yóumín managed to throw herself sideways into the snow.  A crescent blade, jagged, cruel, and swift, swept past her and hooked on an unfelt wind.  Twilight barely saw more than the glimmer of its reflection until it was blown back up into the mouth of a buckwheat-colored pegasus standing amidst the flames of a nearby rooftop. “Извини, Молот. Я столкнулся с той другой кобылой, что была с ней, но она не стала слушать ни слова, что я говорил.” “Serp?”  For what was unquestionably the first time in her life, Twilight was glad to see the violent guardspony. “Отлично. Спаркл здесь. Давай по-быстрому закончим это.” The pegasus leapt down from the roof, wings spread, and slammed the appendages into the snow.  A massive burst of air shot away from him, kicking up a small snowstorm in Yóumín’s direction.  Blinded as she was, she never saw the hammer aiming for her shoulder. Molot’s blow tossed the enormous cat a dozen feet sideways, piling up a small barrier of snow behind her.  Her left foreleg hung limp, bleeding slightly and bruising even through her coat.   Twilight gritted her teeth momentarily, and then turned to Molot.  “Thanks, stallions.  Have either of you seen Going Solo?” “Что она говорит?” Molot asked. “Без понятия,” Serp answered with a shrug, seemingly not noticing the journal Twilight’s magic was slowly lifting.  “Я постараюсь заставить её to use her spell again.  You kill the cat, and we can leave.” “What?”  Twilight ran forward.  “Wait!” Serp and Molot briefly shared a confused glance.  The former spoke first, his lips eerily moving in Stalliongradi as his voice carried to Twilight’s ears in Equiish.  “Why not?” “Because...”  Twilight took a deep breath, realizing exactly whom she was pleading to.  Gears in her mind twisted, and an old story swept forward.  “Let me do it.” “What?”  Molot lowered his hammer from his shoulder. Serp chuckled.  “Twilight Sparkle execute a criminal?  This should be funny.  Let’s let her do it, Molot; twenty bits says she can’t carry through.” Molot’s brow dropped, leaving him with a scowl of distrust.  “Why?” She gestured to his hammer.  “That’s gonna hurt.” He looked at the weapon and shook his head.  “I have never failed to end it in one blow.  In fact―” There was a flash of light from Twilight’s horn, and where Yóumín had been laying, only a thin layer of ash remained.  “Sorry,” she muttered.  “I was cold.  I got tired of arguing.” Serp cracked a smile, showing his jagged teeth.  “Чтоб меня! I underestimated you, Twilight.” Twilight tried not to show her disgust at the would-be compliment.  “Do you know where Going Solo is?  My guardspony friend?” “Oh, her.”  Serp nodded.  “I think Yóumín just ignored her; I found her flying over the city, so I sent her to the train station.  She didn’t exactly want to listen to me, but I think she finally figured out we were going to help you out to.  I’ll probably never live down having to pantomime ‘unicorn’ for her.” “Good thinking,” Molot muttered.  “We can take them both to Foresight, and he can get them what they need.” “Uh, right…” Serp replied, without voicing the fact that his choice of the train station was the result of two facts: it was the closest landmark which wasn’t on fire, and he could pronounce some semblance of the idea in Equiish.  “Yes, Hammer, that’s exactly why I sent her there.  Let’s go before more of them show up.” Molot cocked his head.  “Weren’t you going to go help the Countess?” “I know Blood Stroke would probably be pissed at me for saying this, but I can’t really bring myself to side with her any more than the rebels.  Let them kill each other off; we can clean up what’s left over afterwards.” Blocking out the cruelty of the present discussion, Twilight cast a subtle glance up to a nearby rooftop, where a pair of slitted feline eyes were watching her with curiosity.  There was so much to say on the topic of Coil’s Treacherous Teleportation, but all the explanation she could offer in that moment was a knowing, deliberate wink. Yóumín answered it with one of her own.