Coming without warning at the height of a relatively long period of peaceful cooperation, the dissolution of diplomatic relations between the Griffon Kingdom and the allied Pony Duchies was sudden and precipitous.
It began with the murder of Archduke Pferdinand by a griffon assassin, and the subsequent capture of a cell of mostly griffon malcontents in the Archduke's home city. Although there were also a few ponies in the group, word that the griffons were responsible spread quickly. Later that night, the first attacks on griffon travellers and their property in border cities took place.
“Three things are needed to make a fire,” the Margrave Baron Whiteblood said. “A supply of fuel, enough heat, and abundant air. Fuel is easy,” he said, throwing a log on the dimly glowing embers. “And air is easy...” He put one hoof on the grip of the bellows and pushed, watching with satisfaction as the gust of air made the embers glow more brightly. “Well?”
“The attack went flawlessly,” the White Knight said from behind him, and Whiteblood smiled. “The carriage was exactly where it was supposed to be, and the guard slipped at just the right moment.”
“You bribed the guard to look away?”
“Nothing so crude,” the White Knight replied. “An associate of mine ensured that the guard suffered from poor sleep the night before, and an upset stomach. At the crucial moment, only a little push was needed. To any bystander, or any investigator, it will appear to have been dumb luck.”
The Margrave chuckled, watching as the fire licked at the log, the bark curling up and turning black. “How artful. What of the assassin and his cohorts? Could they betray us?
The White Knight shook his head. “They know nothing. In fact they are quite convinced it was all their own idea.”
“Indeed? How did you arrange that?”
“Oh...” the White Knight's voice reverberated within his helmet, “There was merely a voice in the right place, a few carefully chosen words to spur the mind to action, some encouragement, promises of power and dreams fulfilled. In truth, it is often surprisingly easy to see some great and terrible deed done. You need only find some who want it done anyway, and offer them what they already desire.”
“The feathered breeds are so very simple,” Whiteblood said, smiling.
After the Archduke's death, his son inherited his father's title. But, as the new Archduke was in fact only four years old, his powers were placed with a regent protector until he came of age. Under normal circumstances, the regent protector would have been a close relative. However, since this occurred while the borderlands were under a state of emergency, under the terms of the Treaty of Neighton those powers instead went to the hereditary military protector of the Borderlands, the Count of the Marches. The Count of the Marches, now vested with far-reaching emergency powers, immediately proceeded to strengthen the military defences of the borders and major cities and marshalled the support of other nobles to raise an army larger than had been seen since the end of the last war.
“To think that just a few days ago, almost nopony remembered what 'Margrave' even means,” said Baron Whiteblood, Count of the Marches. “They thought I was just another pony with a crumbling estate, my title nothing but empty words. They thought I was, in truth, no different from any commoner.” His face contorted in revulsion at the thought. “Now, everypony will remember that words have power, and that nobility is borne in the blood.”
“In times of peace, the mind grows weak,” the White Knight said. “When your survival depends upon understanding your surroundings, your mind is swiftly honed. A wise ruler places challenges in the way of his subjects that tests their mettle, and weeds out the unfit. A foolish ruler thinks only of peace and plenty, and is inevitably destroyed. Your subjects need to be... challenged.”
“Oh,” the Margrave said with vivid anticipation, “they will be.”
After the assassination, relations only continued worsening. Rumours spread that a network of griffon spies were working across the borderlands, and griffons suspected of being spies were attacked by vigilantes. Griffon merchants were taken into custody after their property was attacked, the Margrave said, for their own protection. Anger spread in the streets. Brawls took place, were broken up by the militias, and the instigators were arrested. Rumours spread that foals had gone missing, and griffons were accused of abudcting them, some said in order to eat them.
Across the border, in the Griffon Kingdom, the griffon nobility was clawing lines in the sand. The griffon lords denied any involvement in the death of the Archduke, and demanded the release of their subjects from pony gaols, and threatened to expel ponies within the Kingdom and confiscate their property if their subjects were harassed further. With the griffon nobility breathing down his neck and demanding an aggressive response to what they perceived as an affront to their honor, the Griffon King Blaze ordered his own armies to station along the border in response to the buildup of military forces by the pony lords.
“My master has a gift,” the White Knight said. “He knows what lies within any pony's heart... or any other creature, for that matter. What they desire most, what they fear most. Getting what you want in this world is only a matter of finding the right place to push.”
“It is always the same,” Whiteblood said, nodding. “It is only a matter of having the necessary components.”
Margrave Baron Whiteblood was outspoken with his public condemnations of 'the griffon menace' sowing discontent and unrest across both their lands. Never popular with foreigners, the Margrave quickly became the most hated figure among all griffons. However, events continued to lend credence to his allegations as whispered rumours of griffon wrongdoing one day turned into the concrete allegations of the next day, and the confirmed arrests of the day after. Faced with an unending stream of revelations from an unravelling web of griffon criminal activity, the pony public rallied around the Margrave.
“Get me five more for next week,” the Margrave said. “As always, if a single word ties me to them, everything is off.”
The White Knight nodded. “Where do you want them? Is there a strategic location where you desire it to begin?”
“It doesn't matter where it begins,” Whiteblood said. “If the temperature is high enough, you will get fire.”
The major roads crossing the border were, by now, heavily fortified on either side, armies of griffon and pegasus warriors a stone's throw apart, watching the other intently.
Of course, when the first arrow flew, both sides claimed that the other side had fired first, and when the first day of fighting ended a thousand warriors were flown back to their cities with crippling injuries, and two hundred more with white sheets covering their faces.
Two days after the war began in earnest, the first shipment of crates carrying abducted unicorns left the Whiteblood Barony under the White Knight's supervision.
“More will come, in time,” the White Knight said. “My master sends his thanks, milord baron. These will serve his purposes well.”
The Margrave nodded. “I confess myself astonished, sir knight,” he said. “Everything has gone exactly as you promised. Soon, the land of Whiteblood will be the strongest, and the most pure land in all the world.”
“As it once was,” the White Knight said, “as it was meant to be. As long as the shipments continue...”
“They will. I don't care where they're going, or what happens after,” Whiteblood said. “Just so long as you get them out of my lands, and as long as nopony knows.”
Thie White Knight nodded. “Nopony will know. Nopony will see.”
– – –
“There is one,” Princess Luna said to herself, “who sees everything.”
Far away from the borderlands, in Everhold, the Princess of the Night watched. While Her Royal Highness Princess Celestia spoke in grave and sorrowful tones, and called for a swift and peaceful resolution to the diplomatic crisis, and offered to personally lead efforts to that end with everything at her disposal, the Princess of the Night sat alone in the Tower of the Turning Skies, and watched the stars intently, her thoughts locked on the Count of the Marches.
She drew a breath, and spoke out loud: “Captain.”
Behind her, a pegasus stallion clad in dark armor stepped forward without a sound, and bowed. “Yes, your highness?”
“I have a mission for you.”