//------------------------------// // Interlude: Witness to History. // Story: The Crown of Night // by Daedalus Aegle //------------------------------// “There is one,” Princess Luna said to herself, “who sees everything.” 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.” With a flicker of magic she conjured a cloud of shimmering smoke, and in the smoke appeared the image of a white-coated, golden-maned stallion with a cutie mark of crossed spears. “Observe, the Margrave Baron Whiteblood.” The captain nodded. “The Count of the Marches commands the armies of the Borderland Territories against the Griffons. Every day he taunts and insults and goads them to attack. Every day he lures more ponies to join him. Everything he touches turns to carnage and fear, and our efforts to broker a peace go nowhere.” Princess Luna's voice was cold as ice. “I have looked deep into his dreams of bloodlust and power. His desires are obvious. Yet his simplicity belies the cold strategy of his actions. There is something more than mere bloodlust at work here. Go, and find out what he is hiding.” – – – Many centuries ago, a poet who was also a political dissident wrote a poem in which one line read: “Wherever you are, whatever you do, a Shadowbolt is watching you.” This was not strictly speaking true, though the Shadowbolt who watched her write it was amused. In fact, the Shadowbolts do not watch everything and everyone. They only watch those things worth watching. The poem never saw the light of day, and as such, Margrave Baron Whiteblood was unaware of it. Had he read it, it is possible that his smile would have been smaller, and his mood less joyous as he rose before the assembled congress of the noble peers of the borderlands to be seen by all. Life was good, it struck him once again, as he ascended the stage of the Whinnyennan Opera House to thunderous applause. The Count of the Marches, the great defender of ponykind from the menace of invasion and the horrors of subjugation, raised his hoof and the assembly fell utterly silent to hear his words. The speech was the same speech he had delivered a hundred times since the war began, stressing the importance of uniting all ponies in the struggle against an enemy of limitless cruelty and greed, who would never stop threatening ponies until his claws were blunted for good. An enemy who, even now, sent spies, saboteurs, and terrorists to infiltrate the lives of ponies. An enemy who could only be defeated if all ponies stood united and bound together, with loyalty to the rightful ruler, who in turn would protect them. “The speech was a touch weak tonight, I thought,” the White Knight told him later, after the Baron had accepted the various honors and gifts the nobles had given him, and had retired to dine. “It has become routine.” “It served its purpose,” the Baron replied. “What else does it matter?” “At this moment, we are witnessing history unfolding before us,” the White Knight, a tall bulk of pony covered head to hoof in metal armor and white silk that revealed not a hair of his body spoke in a strong, rumbling voice. “What is witnessed, matters more than what is true. My master wishes you to know that if you want to write history, you must ensure that the correct view of things is given precedence... and that those things you do not want to be remembered, go unseen. You understand my meaning?” The Baron grumbled. “Your master seems to be taking a great interest in what happens here. What is he concerned about now?” “My master sends his regards, and reports that he is pleased with the progress over the past few years,” the White Knight said. “He wishes you to move the city watchponies away from the warehouses on the riverfront. The attention is interfering with our work of purifying your cities. Ponies might see things you would not want remembered in history. You should also consider hiring a better speechwriter.” – – – When the Baron returned to his estate in his carriage, it was to find the garden occupied by a huge crowd of armed and armored pegasus ponies. At his approach, word spread, and a lone pegasus mare emerged from the crowd and approached him. She stood tall and straight, and appraised the Baron with unblinking eagle-like eyes. Beneath her helmet her mane was prismatic, marking her as a rare breed in the highest circles of Cloudsdale society. “Captain Hurricane and platoon, Royal Everhold Air Force, Fifth Battalion, reporting for duty, Lord,” the uniformed pegasus mare saluted sharply. “And why, by all the lands of ponies, are you here in my estate?” the Baron demanded. “Princess Celestia's command, my lord,” Captain Hurricane said, ignoring the hostility in his voice. “In case of a surprise griffon attack, we are to serve as airborne defense and bodyguards.” “I ordered the REAF to the front line,” the Baron said sharply. “The REAF takes its orders from the Princess,” Hurricane answered calmly. The Baron scowled at her. “Fine. Guard the estate, then. But unless and until there is a griffon attack upon me, I do not wish to know you are here. I do not wish to see you. Is that clear?” “Yes, Baron.” The Baron and his wife turned and entered the mansion. Hurricane cursed them under her breath as she watched them leave, then turned to address her subordinates. “Alright, ponies, listen up! We'll set up our camp on the far side of those trees, out of sight of the mansion. Scouts will maintain a wide airborne perimeter patrol around the mansion at all times, but will not go close unless there's an alert. Is that clear?” A chorus of “Yes, Captain” met her from her various underlings. “Then get moving. Dismissed!” Half an hour later, everything was set up. In a corner of the new camp, a young pegasus whose tags read BRIGHT EYES finished raising her tent. She was a slim, orange-coated mare with a close-cropped purple mane, and her cutie mark showed a cloud on a mountaintop. She was the newest soldier in the battalion, having been reassigned to the Fighting Fifth not one week previously. Her squadmates knew her as cheerful, friendly, and somewhat jittery, and she had been the target of many light-hearted jabs about how she would hold up when the squad finally saw combat. She had borne it all with a smile and a nervous laugh, and now she stepped into her tent, tied the flap closed behind her, and activated the sound ward that ensured nothing that happened within could be heard when she spoke with her superior. The small glass lens was clear and cold in her hoof. “Night Flight reporting in. I am undetected and in position by the Whiteblood Estate, sir.” “Excellent,” a slightly distorted stallion's voice spoke through the glass. “Proceed as planned. Keep the estate under observation. Let no-one enter or leave without your knowledge.” “Yes, sir. Nothing will hide from my eyes.” “I await further news. By Night, Shadowbolt.” “By Night, Captain.” – – – Somewhere in the city of Whinnyenna, there was a warehouse which nopony ever noticed. Some mornings, wagons came to and left from this warehouse loaded with cargo, same as any other warehouse in the area, all paperwork filled out in accordance with the minutia of Everhold cargo law, and nopony ever noticed anything out of the ordinary. It would have taken an extremely keen eye, one that knew exactly where to look amid the whirling mercantile activity of the border territories, to notice that the wagons leaving the city would, over the months, carry slightly more with them than had officially been stored in the warehouse beforehand. Meanwhile, his master shrouded the warehouse and their wagons from long-distance scrying with an enchantment of great power, to hide them from the Princess's prying eyes. If pressed, the White Knight would have to admit he was proud of the setup. “We have five already this week,” a wheezing, tittering voice said from behind him. “Much ahead of plan! We get gems now?” The White Knight turned to see the diamond dog grinning and wagging his tail. He nodded, and threw a hooffull of glittering stones at the dog, who leapt up and snatched them in his paws. “Remember the rules,” the White Knight said, his voice deep and stern. “No going back to the same places often. Make no noise. Do not take risks—” “And leave feathers in the gutter when you go, yes yes,” the dog yipped, and tucked the gems into the pockets of his vest. “No worry. No pony sees a Diamond Dog that doesn't want to be seen.” The White Knight went up to a particular crate, lifted the lid and looked inside. Five unicorn foals – two colts and three fillies – looked up at him fearfully with tear-stained faces and eyes red from weeping. Their legs were bound together, their muzzled tied shut, and their horns even fitted with magic-suppressing rings. That detail always stuck in his mind: those rings were arguably more valuable than the foals themselves. But, no risk could be permitted, no matter how slim. He closed the crate again, ignoring the weak sniffles and muffled sobbing from within. “The drivers will take them away tonight,” he said. “Stay out of sight, as usual. Anything else to report?” “Ehh...” the diamond dog scratched behind an ear with his hind leg. “Spotter said he saw somepony. On the street. After two of the jobs. Looking around, like.” “A pony? Was it a pegasus?” The diamond dog shook his head. “Stick-head. A unicorn.” Closely as the Diamond Dog watched, the White Knight's helmet betrayed no sign of what this message meant to him. “I see.” He turned and took a step towards the door. “I must get going. Oh, and Gripper? This shipment will last for a while. Lay low for the next few weeks.” Then he stepped out into the midday sunlight and walked away. – – – The unicorn was a yellow mare with a red mane and a magnifying glass cutie mark. She had arrived in the city from nowhere in particular for some weeks. By day, she ran a specialized shop out of her apartment, for wares that nopony was ever interested in, and struggled but somehow managed to remain afloat and keep her creditors at bay. By night, a similar mare trawled the dark alleys of Whinnyenna, searching for things that were not easily found. Sometimes, the thought crossed her mind, it is more easy to be found and than to find. “Stay still,” a voice called in the darkness. “You are surrounded.” The unicorn slowly turned her head from side to side, and could barely make out four figures in the shadows. She had heard the flutter of wings a second past, as they fell from the sky in a circle around her. “Can I help you, officer? I'm just heading home from stretching my legs.” “Clear Glass, alias Spectacles, aka Fine Lens, you are under arrest for high treason.” The unicorn put on a weak smile. “I suppose it was only a question of time before we made contact. You were fairly quick, I'll grant you.” “You are a spy in the Griffon King's employ, a traitor to ponykind, and we are imprisoning you,” the leader of the shadowy pegasi said. “This is hardly 'making contact'.” “Allow me to make a counter-offer,” the unicorn said. “I will trade you information. You let me operate freely, and I will help you take down the Margrave. Our objectives in this city are aligned.” The shadowbolt snorted. “And what is your objective?” “I'm after an associate of the Margrave. Let me go after him, and I will help you unravel his entire network.” The shadowbolts were silent for a moment, before the leader spoke again. “Thank you for your patience, citizen. You may return to your home. We will see you again.” – – – Winter. Spring. Summer. Autumn. Winter. Spring. Summer. Autumn. Once again, it occurred to the Baron that something was not quite right. Not the Griffon occupation of Stalliongrad. That was fine by him: a nice reminder to the ponies, growing weary after years of war, of the importance of fighting on. Nor was it the occasional would-be griffon spy or assassin who thought to claim his head: they had all met their ends at the hooves of the Fifth Battalion. The steady drumbeat of the Griffon Kingdom's war machine was a marvellous accompaniment for his own rise to the heights of his most hallowed ancestors. But he had reached a plateau, of sorts, he thought. Each new turning moon brought him less fresh blood, fewer honors, less devotion. Meanwhile, the burdens of leadership never alleviated. His golden mane, he noted each time he looked in the mirror, was turning gray. “What is it?” he asked himself. “What is missing...?” “You face the fog of decadence,” a familiar voice said behind the Baron, and he turned in shock. “In time, complacent minds will grow accustomed to anything. They will lie down and sleep as the house collapses around them.” “What in Tartarus are you doing here?” the Baron snarled. “I did not send for you. How did you get past the guards?” “We must speak,” the White Knight said simply. “My master believes we can do better. He wishes us to discuss the situation.” “Better?” the Baron asked. “Are your plans not proceeding as intended?” “There have been disturbances,” the White Knight said. “The guards patrolling the streets of your cities appear to have grown more fortunate, if not more skilled. I regret to say it has frustrated our time tables, and my master wishes to see the situation improve... as for you, you appear fatigued, milord Baron. But I have a solution.” The White Knight stepped up alongside the Baron and they walked from his private office to the dining hall, passing under the portraits of the ancestors. “As I said, weak minds will soon grow accustomed to what they see around them. Their alertness will fade as normality seeps in. If you would continue to reap the rewards of glory, you must continually show them of the perils of their complacency.” “What else is there to do?” the Baron asked, his voice bitter. “Cities burn. Fields lay barren and abandoned. Foals hide within their homes for fear that beaks will seize them and fly them away if they should dare to show themselves outside. It is not enough.” “You must show them dishonor and treachery without compare,” the White Knight said. “To fight in open battle on the field of war is honorable. This is what you have taught them for centuries. Now you must teach them that we face an enemy who is beyond honor. You know the Nightingale Hospital?” The Baron nodded. “It holds several hundred wounded pony soldiers who will return to their homes once they are rested enough to travel. Pegasi, whose value for the war effort is spent. None of them will ever fight again. But perhaps they can still be of use for the great work...” The White Knight produced a vial of a thick, murky fluid and placed it gently on a table. “Think of the damage a griffon attack could cause. Imagine the uproar that would ensue. A hospital, wounded heroes, assaulted. It would live in infamy, forever, as would the names of those who fought against it. And then your triumph would be absolute. Princess Celestia herself would not rest until Mosclaw were torn down stone by stone, the ground burned, salted and stripped of all magic. Imagine it.” The Baron imagined it. His mouth went dry, and a shudder ran through him as he looked at the vial. “Is this not going too far?” “You cannot overestimate the value of a good martyr,” the White Knight said. “Think of it. In one grand gesture, you purge the world of some featherheads and instill renewed faith in the mission. All it will take,” he glanced towards the vial, “is one drop of griffon poison.” The Baron nodded. “I'll do it.” – – – An old pegasus stallion, hooded and cloaked, entered the attic of a nondescript house somewhere on the outskirts of the Baron's city. “What do you have for me?” “This came from Whiteblood Manor,” Night Flight said, and pointed a wing at the vial. “A vial of poison, carried by a discreet courier... but not discreet enough. It was intercepted on its way to Nightingale Hospital.” The Shadowbolt Captain nodded. “Where did it come from?” “...We don't know,” Night Flight admitted. “Nopony entered or left the manor the previous day. No packages had been left unaccounted for a long time beforehand. Possibly it had been stored there since before we set up surveillance, or produced on site.” “Rain Drop,” the Captain said, and a purple earth pony wearing wire-rimmed spectacles and a thick leather apron covered in chemical stains stepped forward, and unrolled a scroll of parchment on the table. “Preliminary testing suggests the poison is no more than a week old. Also, it is composed of ingredients only common to the Griffon Kingdom, and could probably only be created in a well-equipped alchemical laboratory.” “There is no such laboratory in the manor,” Night Flight said, and sighed. “We will search for it. If the poison is so fresh, it must be nearby.” The Captain nodded. “Do so. We will find out where this came from, and put an end to it. But as for the Baron...” He picked up the vial and held it in a hoof. “This is more than enough to condemn him. It is time to tighten the screws.” – – – The Baron woke well-rested from a good night's sleep on the day after the event. He had scheduled no meetings for the day, and sat with a mug of dark ale to wait for the flood of horrified citizens delivering news of the atrocity and demanding or imploring that he avenge it. The morning went on, the sun rising slowly into the sky, with nothing happening. “Were there any news from the city this morning?” he asked as the noontide passed, and his servants shook their heads. As the sun slowly sank, and his shadow grew longer behind him, he felt the distinct sensation that something was hiding from him, watching him from where he could not see. Waiting to see how he would react. – – – In the city, an earth pony stallion runs the streets by night, glancing nervously around him every other second. Earlier that night, he was supposed to meet a colleague, and the two of them were supposed to go to an appointed meeting spot. He never appeared. The week before, a street that was supposed to be abandoned suddenly had a group of city watchponies on either side, and four of them had been taken in for “questioning”. The night after, their leader had been there in the afternoon, and when midnight rolled around he was nowhere to be seen. One by one, the earth pony stallion had watched his friends disappear, and now he was leaving the city. He made it to the bridge when great wings opened above him, and he knew darkness. – – – It was a glorious summer day when the White Knight returned to his residence, a fine if small house on the hills of the city which was uninteresting and inconspicuous in every significant way, to find that he had a visitor. “We meet again at last,” said the unicorn with many names, with murderous satisfaction in her voice as she locked the front door behind her and removed the key. “Now, Sir Knight, turn around and look into the eyes of the pony who kills you.” The White Knight turned slowly and looked at her from behind the white veil that covered his eyes. Her horn glowed white, with dark brown tendrils snaking through its aura. “Lady Glass, was it?” A knife blade cut through the silk in the sliver gap between the plates of his armor and pressed against his throat. “This has been many years coming, foul creature. You will pay for every life you've destroyed.” “My master has a gift...” the White Knight said slowly, keeping his voice calm and still. “He knows what is hidden inside each heart. He knows what every pony, every creature, most fears and most desires.” Lady Glass chuckled. “Well then, he knows how pleased I will be to watch you bleed out before my eyes.” “There were six in the fire, but there is a seventh.” The knife froze. “What?” “Her name is Rose Petal,” the White Knight said. “I know, you hid her in the Griffon Kingdom to keep her safe, but honestly you should have known better than to trust them. It is a pity you have not seen her since then, she grows very beautiful. So what should we do now?” There was a loud clatter as the knife blade dropped to the floor. “Excellent. I knew you'd see things my way.” The White Knight stepped close to the mare, ignoring the empty, despairing look in her eyes. “Now we must discuss the future.” – – – The clock was striking twelve noon when Margrave Baron Whiteblood realized someone was standing behind him, and yelped. “What in Tartarus are you doing here? They're always watching!” “I was not seen,” the White Knight said. “You wished to speak to me.” “Not now!” The Baron spat. “Not here! This place is not safe!” The White Knight chuckled. “There is no safe place. Safety is something I carry with me. You need not worry, my lord Baron, nopony knows I am here but you and I. What troubles you?” The Baron scowled at him, then turned away and looked out the window towards the patch of woodland beside his manor, behind which lay the now years-old REAF camp. “The covert operations have halted.” “My master has noticed this. He is most curious to know why.” “Because none of my agents are left, that's why!” The Baron snarled loudly. “They know. Somepony knows, and they have left behind marks. Look.” The Baron threw down a badge, which hit the floor with a metallic clink and spun to a halt by the White Knight's hoof. The image of a slitted eye looked up at him. “It means 'we are watching you',” the Baron said. “They have not approached me directly, but the message is clear. They know, and they are tightening the noose around my neck. I require your master's assistance.” “Indeed?” The White Knight stepped closer. “And what do you have in mind?” “If I knew what would get them off my back I would do it myself,” the Baron said. “Your master has proven resourceful enough in the past. Tell him to rid my province of these spies.” “And if he cannot?” The Baron growled. “I am considering my options.” His voice was cold as ice. The White Knight sighed. “My lord Baron, my master has given you everything you desired. Wealth. Power. Glory. Such wanton bloodshed as you could only imagine in your wildest dreams. These spies will not bring an end to our bargain.” He stepped aside, to reveal another figure behind him. The Baron froze up as the knife pierced his ribcage. He looked up in shock at the unicorn mare who had now appeared at the entrance of the room: she shook and trembled as though deathly ill, her teeth visible and clenched shut. Her horn glowed as the knife twisted in his chest. He coughed blood. “I fail... to see the meaning... of that betrayal...” “Hush now, Baron,” the White Knight said. “Let your last moments be calm ones. Soon, your name will be immortalized in history.” “In...deed? Killed by... by my own ally?” He glanced down at the knife. The design of the handle, shaped to be held in three claws, made it clear that it was a griffon blade. The White Knight turned to the unicorn, and nodded. With a flick of his leg, he revealed a short, broad blade fastened to his right foreleg, and stabbed the mare in the side. Her eyes were closed, and she fell to her side as blood poured from the wound. “Your servants will have arrived just as she attacked you, and killed her before she could escape. Alas, your wounds will be too grave and you will be beyond saving, and with your last breath you will have implored them to continue the good fight. On this, the witnesses will agree, and that is how it will be written in the history books.” The White Knight said as the Baron fell to the floor. “You cannot overestimate the value of a good martyr.” The Baron chuckled, blood pouring from his wound and his mouth. His chuckle grew to a choking, wheezing laugh, and finally a coarse, gushing cackle which froze on his face as he died. The White Knight turned, and left the room without another word, silently composing his next missive to his master in his mind. Gripper peeked in from outside the room the White Knight walked past. “Our work here is done,” the White Knight said. “Dismantle the operation and ship out with the final load of the special cargo. We are leaving.” – – – It was only weeks later that Blue Horn received a letter in distant Cambridle. The pegasus courier found him sitting comfortably in the common room of one of the major student clubs, smoking a pipe and playing chess against one of the professors, with a small crowd of his admiring fellow students at either side. “It's from my aunt,” Blue Horn said. “She has never sent me anything as long as I've been here.” He flicked the envelope open and began to read: “To my son... It would appear her mind is fading with her age. Recent events compel me to inform you...” He fell silent as he continued to read, his eyes widening with shock. He reached the end, then let go of the letter, letting it fall to the floor, and stared at nothing. “It would appear,” he eventually said, “that I am the new Baron Whiteblood.”