//------------------------------// // Prelude: The Shadow of the Bat-Mare // Story: The Crusaders: A Shadow Over Manehattan // by Starhunter //------------------------------// It was nearly midnight, and rain was falling over the city of Manehattan. The heavy patter of rainfall obscured the sound of Cold Star's hooves as she galloped across the city's rooftops, leaping from building to building with little concern that anyone would look up long enough to notice her. Her wide-brimmed hat and long cape did wonders for keeping off the rain, and the dark of a starless night was nothing to the cave-born eyes of a Bat-Pony. In truth, this was as close to home as she ever felt here in the lands of the Sun Tribes. Since she had arrived in Manehattan almost six months ago there had been only a few nights like this. To her, this was a perfect night to be out on patrol. The weather was also helping her to easily identify those she may need to confront. Anypony standing around outside in this kind of rain was either up to no good or being paid handsomely to do so, and it wasn't difficult to tell the two groups apart. She spotted one such pony standing under the awning of a closed store several stories below. He was almost completely unremarkable - a drab, tan coloured unicorn wearing a long coat. Despite his plain appearance, Cold Star's instincts told her that he was worth stopping to investigate. She found a convenient alley and dove into it, unfurling her leathery wings and gliding silently down the damp pavement below. She tucked her wing-tips back under her cape and pulled it around her, hiding her alien form from any Sun-Tribe ponies who might happen by. Pulling her hat a bit lower, she made her way to the mouth of the alley. The pony across the street hadn't moved, and he didn't appear to be paying much attention. He seemed to be watching the glow of the lights from the dance-hall near the end of the street with a predatory intent. It made Cold Star think of a spider sitting in the middle of his web, and left little doubt in Cold Star's mind that she had been right to stop. Two school-aged colts came down the street towards the coat-wearing pony. They carried umbrellas, and over the din of the rain Cold Star's keen hearing could pick out snatches of a conversation they were having about how much trouble each of them was going to be in for missing their curfew. Neither colt noticed the stallion until he called out to them and waved them over. One of the colts wanted to ignore him, but the other was interested enough to stop and chat. Cold Star could see the way the stallion's demeanour had become much more friendly when he'd seen the young ponies approaching, and when his horn glowed slightly and he brought a small plastic baggy out from under his jacket his game become much clearer. To their credit, both colts gave the pusher dirty looks before they hastily resumed their journey home. A part of Cold Star wanted to cheer for the young colt's refusal to be taken in the by this despicable defiler. Another part wanted to leap out into the street, pummel the drug dealer soundly, and dump his filthy wares into the nearest sewer. She contained those emotions, pushing them down into the darkness inside herself and allowing them to disappear. She was a Crusader, sworn in to defend the Sacred Night. She could not allow herself to act on impulse, especially when facing a unicorn. Unicorn magic could be extremely dangerous, and facing one without proper preparation was foolish. While her Oaths demanded that she cast the Shadow of Justice upon this villain, tonight that would mean being patient. If she was careful in laying her trap, she might even be able to get the names and locations of his suppliers. That would go a long way to getting this kind of contraband off the streets of Manehattan, at least for a time. The idea of such a success made it easier to endure the prospect of waiting. Cold Star retreated into the alley and stretched her wings, leaping upwards towards the rooftop. She settled herself into the relative shelter of a tall billboard and waited for the defiler to lead her back to his lair. She didn't have to wait long. The dealer soon seemed to decide that there weren't any bits to be made standing out in the rain, and he made to leave. Cold Star followed him from the rooftops, keeping herself well out of sight. The going was slow - the stallion didn't seem to be all that fit, and he seemed poorly dressed for the weather. It didn't come as much of a surprise when he ducked into an all-night donut shop to catch a breather and get something warm to drink. Cold Star made her way carefully onto the diner's roof, so that no matter which exit he took she would be ready to follow. Unfortunately, the dealer didn't seem to be in any rush to leave. The result was a long wait with very little to do. On any other night, Cold Star might have found the delay irritating - wasted time she could have spent doing a larger patrol. But tonight it had the benefit of allowing her the time to mull over another problem she had been trying to deal with: what she was going to do about her fellow Crusaders now that she had agreed to instruct them. It had been two weeks since she first met Babs Seed, Misty Morning and Summer Squall - the three Cutie Mark Crusaders living here in Manehattan. Their surprise meeting, and her discovery that Princess Twilght Sparkle seemed to be fostering a new Crusade amongst the Sun Tribes had occupied much of her thoughts since then. They had parted company quite late that night, with the promise that they would meet again on the first night of autumn. That was only three nights from now, and that looming deadline weighed on Cold Star heavily. Her intentions had been good in offering to take them under her wing, but now that she'd had time to think about it, she felt less and less certain of what she could offer them. It wasn't that she didn't think she could teach young ponies. She had been a senior student under her Master, and had aided him for many years in instructing the younger students on the basics of martial combat and being cave-wise. The problem was that all of the ponies she had ever taught were Bat Ponies like herself. Ponies that shared her enhanced senses and innate stone-carving magics. Ponies with hooked fangs and leathery wings, who had lived their entire lives underground, just as she had done in the days before she discovered the true glory of the Night Sky and pledged herself to it. Most of what she knew about Earth Ponies, Unicorns and Pegasi were from anatomy textbooks and treatise on strategy that stretched back a thousand years to the War Against the Light, when the whole of her Tribe had been banished to Tartarus for their part in aiding Princess Luna in her attempt to seize the throne. They had remained there ever since by the decree of Celestia herself, and over the passage of a thousand years the Sun Tribes had all but forgotten them. Now here she was, with three young ponies who were eager to learn about the meaning of being a Crusader, and who were looking to her for guidance. She didn't know what to teach those kinds of ponies, nor how to set standards that were reasonable for their training. It was a frustrating problem, and one which she didn't have any easy way of answering. It wasn't like she could get herself a library card, or pop into a public schoolhouse and question an instructor. Even thinking of a schoolhouse brought up another pressing concern: the problem of a location in which to train. Instruction would require a classroom, in some form or other. In Tartarus, all students served three years in the military as a component of their schooling, so seeing children doing combat drills or sparring with one another in public was perfectly normal. But in the lands of the Sun Tribes martial practices were only taught to those interested enough to seek instruction, and their activities tended to draw a lot of public attention. Attention would result in a lot of difficult questions, very possibly from sheriffs interested to know where they came by their knowledge. She needed to find some place out of sight - a place she could take off her costume to work-out properly with them, without fear of being discovered by curious passers-by. She had spent several nights searching through abandoned warehouses and surveying the pastures near the edge of town, and while she had uncovered a few good spots that she could use to roost she hadn't found anything that was useful as a teaching space. She was almost thankful when the sound of the diner door broke her revery, and her hunt resumed. The dealer led her on a lengthy pursuit, looking over his shoulder just often enough to make her vigilant in keeping herself out of sight. He led her to a sizable two-story house down by the East River. It was a well-to-do sort of neighbourhood, and Cold Star was forced to keep herself uncomfortably close to the street in order to avoid attracting the attention of security magics or guard animals. Luckily, in wealthy neighbourhoods like this there was always lots of spaces between the houses filled with shrubs and trees to keep the prying eyes of the neighbours from peeking in. It made it easy for Cold Star to keep herself hidden until her quarry had made his way inside and shut the door. She slipped across the street and into the shadows of his hedgerow, using it to conceal her passage towards the house. This was riverfront property; the kind of real estate that didn't come cheap in a place like Manehattan. It was a testament to the staggering number of young ponies that this defiler must have peddled narcotics to that he could afford to live in such a place. Cold Star gritted her teeth in anger, and reminded herself to be patient. A house this nice was sure to have security. She would need to deal with that first. It seemed unlikely that a narcotics dealer would have an alarm, since he wouldn't want sheriffs snooping around any time it went off. Pets were too likely to get into the dealer's 'supply', so they were equally unlikely. Instead, he would have some kind of booby traps on the doors and windows to deal with intruders. They would probably be magical, which meant triggering them could cause nearly anything to happen, from being frozen solid to being turned into a newt. Cold Star had no interest in finding out. She decided that the front door was probably the safest way in, since it was the method he used himself. Now that he was inside, he had probably left the wards on the front door off, since he would be planning to leave that way again later and wouldn't want to risk setting off his own traps. Unfortunately, that meant spending several exposed moments on the front stoop while she picked the lock, but there was nothing to be done about that. She made her way over to the front steps, wrapping her cape more closely around herself to hide her identity, just in case she was seen by a nosey neighbour. She snuck up onto the stoop, slipping one of her lock-picks out of her hat-band and into the lock. It only took a few moments to get the bolt to turn, but each one felt like an hour standing exposed to the street like she was. She stepped warily into the house, holding in a sigh of relief as she closed the door silently behind her. None of the lights were on, but that didn't bother Cold Star - she could just as clearly without them. She listened intently to the sounds around her, doing her best to filter out the noise from the rain on the roof. She didn't hear anypony on the main floor, but from below the floorboards came the thump of a drum kit, followed closely by the wail of an electric guitar. Someone must have put a record on in the basement. That someone was most likely the defiler - a couple of wet hoof-prints led from the front door towards the kitchen, where the sound of the music seemed loudest. The staircase down to find him would be in there. She picked up some discarded mail from the table by the door. They were addressed to a pony named "Snake Oil". Having put a name to his face, she began searching the house for any signs of other ponies. The whole building was bathed in the smell of chemicals and stale food, but her sensitive nose could only pick up the scent of one pony. That was good - catching Snake Oil alone was much better than having to take down a whole group. The fact that he was downstairs blasting music so loudly that the Canterlot Express could rumble through his kitchen and he wouldn't be able to hear it was helpful too. It indicated he expected to be down there a while, and that would allow Cold Star to search the rest of the house without having to worry about every little step of her hooves. She began with the upstairs, which turned out to be little more than a posh bedroom, an overly spacious bathroom with some very suggestive magazines littering the floor, and a room containing a home gym that smelled strongly of dust and looked like it had never been used. She made her way back down to the main floor, surveying the ugly and overpriced decor in the living and dining rooms. They didn't look particularly lived in. Next was the kitchen, where she patiently hid all of the knives and other utensils in the refrigerator and then tied the fridge door firmly shut with some string from the kitchen drawer. One could never be too careful when dealing with a unicorn. Finally, she made her way over to the open doorway at the back of the kitchen that led downstairs into what had probably once been a root cellar. The music grew louder as she crept down the stairs, to the point than Cold Star was forced to fold her ears flat and press her hat down with one wing to keep the sound to a bearable level. When she reached the bottom of the stairs, she found another open doorway. It was risky, but she had little choice but to step down into the light so she could see what lay beyond. She was completely unprepared for the size of the room she found there. It was cavernous - easily half again the size of the foundation for the house above it. Great stone pillars were erected at even distances across the space, keeping the house above as stable as if it had been built on solid ground. It was lit from end to end with glass lanterns of arcane fire. The brightness was hard for her light-sensitive eyes to adjust to, and she found herself squinting slightly against the glare as she tried to make out what else was in the massive room. She could barely get over the scale of it. The training square back at the Academy where she grew up could have fit in here with room for ponies to run laps around the outside without interrupting the lesson. Sadly, this space was not being put to so noble a purpose. It seemed that the answers to her questions about suppliers were moot - Snake Oil had turned his massive basement into a factory for the production of vice. In one corner was a hydroponic garden for growing cough-leaf, right next to a large rack where mature branches of it were drying under lamps. In another was a setup that was probably being used to grow crystals for making dream-dust. And in the nearest one there was a glass tank full of warty grey toads. They were all piled awkwardly on top of one another, leaving them almost no room to move. There was a wire-mesh lid tied down over the top of the tank to keep them from escaping. Beside the tank were several metal trays placed under another bank of smaller lampstones, where a few particularly unhappy toads were presently caged. Each tray was layered with towels to catch the fluids being sweated out of the poor, overheating amphibians. Cold Star could only gape at the sheer absurdity of it. This cretin was trying to produce home-made Froglick. The venom from the skin of the grey toads was highly psychoactive; if portioned correctly onto thin, absorbent paper it could be placed under the tongue to produce intense hallucinations. But Froglick was an especially dangerous and difficult drug to manufacture - it was made from toad venom, after all. An overdose of Froglick could cause significant harm to a full-grown pony. For a young pony, like those Cold Star had seen Snake Oil trying to lure earlier, it could very well be fatal. Given the sloppy manner in which his product was being made, it seemed doubtful he was being careful about dosages. The truth of the matter was clear: this lab needed to be shut down. Tonight. She quickly discovered that Snake Oil's appalling lack of taste didn't extend to his home stereo. The amps and turntables were piled together near the door, with speakers spaced evenly around the room to help fill the massive space with sound. It was like standing inside a live concert. The pile of amps was also a good place to take cover while she considered her next move. She made the dash from the doorway to the stereo and instantly regretted it. The volume directly behind the speakers was almost unbearable, and even just the vibrations from the bumping speakers were so strong that the hyper-sensitive Bat Pony felt her head aching with each beat of the music. She spent a moment seeking her inner darkness, just as her Master had taught her. The pain faded into the periphery of her attention, and the task at hoof came more clearly into focus - detaining and restraining a unicorn in his own home. That wouldn't be easy; Snake Oil could use any number of magics to attack or defend himself if given the chance. Even if she were able to avoid them he could still use them to escape capture. The element of surprise would be vital. She considered her options, and grinned wickedly. She slipped over behind the record player and poked her nose over the top, making certain Snake Oil was still fussing with his distillery. Then, with slow and deliberate care, she reached the point of her hoof over the turn-table and ever so gently gouged a scratch right near the middle of the record. The music continued uninterrupted for several more moments before the needle reached the scratch, and the album began to skip violently. By then Cold Star was already half way across the room, secreted behind one of the defiler's massive speakers with her hooves over her ears. Snake Oil's reaction to the skipping was everything she had hoped. He attempted to use his magic to reset the needle from where he was standing several times before trotting over to the stereo to try and determine the problem, his magic hoisting the needle and pulling the record off to be inspected. His string of curses at the ruination of what Cold Star gathered was a rare and expensive album was cut short by the impact of Cold Star's hoof squarely on the back of his neck. He pitched forward onto the turn-table, then sagged limply to the ground. He stirred slightly, and Cold Star hit him again for good measure. Snake Oil awoke in his kitchen some time later. His eyes were blindfolded to keep him from aiming any spells, and he was tied to a chair to keep him from moving around. Cold Star stood behind him as an extra precaution, her hoof resting on the back of his skull where a nasty lump was already forming from her previous attacks. The splitting headache he would no doubt be sporting after tonight was certainly no less then he deserved. She leaned forward to speak directly into the bound stallion's ear. "Snake Oil. Listen carefully. If your horn so much as flickers during the conversation we are about to have, things will go very badly for you. Do you understand?" The stallion coughed. "Yes." "Good. Now, I want the names of your associates. All of them." "What associates?" "Those who work with you to pedal your filth." "I don't have any. I work alone." Cold Star sneered. "Not good enough. This lab is more than you need to run a street level operation. Give me someone else to punish, unless you intend to take it all yourself." Snake Oil attempted to turn his head towards her voice, but her hoof stopped him. Undeterred, he put on his most charming smile. "Listen, I sell to whoever is buying. I run a big operation so I can cater fancy parties. It's not like I'm the only dealer in town, though. If they want it they can get it anywhere. You can't blame me for supplying a demand." Cold Star cuffed the bound dealer on the back of his head, eliciting a fresh groan of pain. "Do not test me, defiler. You sell to fillies and colts. I would be delighted to make you talk, if you will not do so willingly." The unicorn paused. "What did you just call me? Did you.... wait a minute. You're that crazy dame in the mask, aren't you? The one that beat up Green Fields and his buddies. I heard all about you. Let me tell you, Stoneheart's going to smash you flat when he finds out you were here." Stoneheart. Cold Star had not expected his name to come up here. But now that it had, her righteous indignation grew stronger still. "Oh? And why would he do that? What makes you so special?" "He's getting a percentage off of me, just like he gets from most of the dealers around here. And I make good bread, if you know what I mean. Plus, I cater his parties. So if you rough me up, he's going to take the loss out of your hide. But I'll tell you what: if you leave now, maybe we can forget this whole thing. What do you say?" Cold Star ground her teeth beneath her cowl. "Forget? I think not. You see, forgetting is the issue. Because I have already sent one warning to Stoneheart, telling him to keep his disciples off the street after dark. But it seems ponies have already forgotten. Forgotten that the Sacred Night is not a time for scum like you to push drugs on little ponies. But do not worry. I think they will remember my warning this time." Snake Oil tensed, straining slightly against his bonds. "What do you mean? Wait... what are you going to do? Please, don't hurt me!" She ignored his distress, picking up the tank full of toads she had freed from their basement captivity and tucking it under one wing. "Amongst my Tribe it is traditional for criminals like you to have one of their ears cut off. It serves as a warning to the other ponies you meet that you have been found guilty of crimes against pony-kind, and that you are not to be trusted. I have chosen not to take your ear this night, despite the fact that you richly deserve it. Know that if I ever see or hear of you dealing drugs again, I will find you, and I will cut off both of your ears as a matter of principle. For tonight though, my message is as much for your boss as it is for you. Make sure he gets it." And with that, she kicked the lamp that was resting at the top of the stairs down into the darkness. She heard it smash, and the rush of arcane fire catching on all the flammable contraband she had piled at the bottom of the stairs. Snake Oil started at the sound of the muffled smash. "What... what did you do? What are you doing?" "Putting you out of business. I suggest you free yourself and escape, before you need 'putting out' as well." Snake Oil's horn began to glow, as his magic fumbled with his bindings and blindfold. "But... but what if I don't get out in time?" Cold Star did not reply. She simply walked down the front hall, kicked over another lamp in the living room, and left. She was out the front door and across the street before the carpets in the living room caught, and a few moments later her long ears carried the sounds of smashing glass and cursing as Snake Oil escaped into his back yard through the kitchen window. She was pleased that she would not have to ruin her dramatic exit by going back to extract the wretch herself. Besides, watching the fruits of his villainy burn down before his eyes was an aspect of his punishment Cold Star would not have wanted him to miss. She made her way off towards the public park a few blocks away, keeping to the shadows as best she could while lugging a tank full of toads. The rain had stopped and the clouds had drifted apart, allowing a few stars to peek through. She took that as a good omen for her night's work. At the park she made her way over to the small fishing pier at the edge of the river. She found a couple of good sized lily pads amongst the reeds and placed the toads down on them, then cut them loose and allowed them to drift off down the river. The current here would carry them in the direction of their home in the forests far to the south. Or at least, she hoped, out of town and away from captivity. It was the best she could do for them, and as they floated away she lifted her head to the sky and prayed for the stars to watch over them, and to guide them on a safe journey home. Speaking of home, a couple of hours spent dealing with Snake Oil had left her with precious little of this Sacred Night remaining, and seeing the dealer's massive basement had given her an idea about how to solve at least one of her problems with her new students. But that solution would depend on a visit to an ally who lived quite a ways away. She would have to fly to make it there before sunrise. Trusting in the lateness of the hour to keep her hidden, she took to the air, her bat-like wings guiding her up into the night's sky. She did not look back to see Snake Oil's house collapsing into cinders far below, but the scent of embers on the breeze brought her a profound sense of satisfaction.