The first time Handy got it through his thick skull that he might be a tiny bit in over his head was during his second duel of the tournament, when the earth pony in front of him got a lucky shot in with its rear hoof and knocked him down to one knee. He was fortunate that the blow was off, otherwise Handy likely would have lost all function in that leg for the foreseeable future.
'Griffon perhaps?' he thought to himself as he planted the butt of his glaive into the ground to push himself up to his feet. Credit to the earth pony. Despite starting the duel shaking like a leaf, he had had enough sense to go for Handy's legs from the get-go. The griffon in his first duel of the day had gotten cocky, and Handy had knocked him out with a blow to the head from his hammer, ruining both the bird’s helmet and the crowd’s fun. 'No, with the press of bodies here, I'll likely go berserk. The aggression would be too much.'
When King Goldtooth had arrived on a raised palanquin that morning and sounded the beginning of the festival, Handy had been shown the layout for the games as well as the times for his duels. There were contests of strength and skill to wow the masses, with competitors and athletes from across the kingdom. The human had been intrigued and impressed by some of the performances, particularly the aerial feats. He hated to admit it, but the pegasi entrants in those competitions stole the show. Then again, it was kind of hard to beat someone who can create multiple burning loops in the sky at literally break-neck speeds. He had actually stood there and thought, for quite some time, about how in the hell something as unaerodynamic as a flying horse could possibly go at such speeds, let alone cast a burning trail without catching on fire themselves, but considering he knew jack about how magic actually worked, the effort had been futile. However, that was not what concerned him.
'Unicorn? No.' He spun the glaive around and swiped low, forcing the green earth pony to jump back, his blade grazing the iron guards on the pony's forelegs. The young equine, too small for his armour, went wide-eyed at the speed with which the human recovered and took a few steps back, evaluating its next approach. 'As useful as that was, it would be distracting, and I won't win by sneaking around.'
What concerned the human was the fact that not only did the tournament take place over a number of days, with a series of duels to weed out the majority of the competition before the grand melee to determine the remaining semi-finalists, but also the possibility he might also not get the chance to do the one thing that made him agree to that bloody arrangement in Canterlot in the first place. You see, he had learned a lot in that fight with Ferix, namely that the dragon was not the only person there who personally wanted the chance to grind Handy into the dirt. For bragging rights if nothing else. Additionally, the sight of the human bloodied and dirty went a long way to boost the confidence of said participants to do just that. He also learned that Ferix could shrug off most of what Handy could do, and Handy was pretty sure that if it came to a straight fight, the dragon would be the victor. Also, you know, his fire breath was something he was particularly concerned about.
'Thestral would definitely be good,' he mused, his armour glinting lightly, the heavy cloud cover blocking the majority of the sunlight. 'But really obvious. Joachim and the others are right there.' He grimaced beneath his helm as he glared at the earth pony. The pony had originally come at him with a spear before Handy had managed to knock it out of its hooves, something which surprised the human immensely.
He had seen the Royal Guards of Canterlot wield spears along with those gun pole things. Shoot sticks they were called now that he thought about it. He had reasoned, however, that they were mostly for ceremonial purposes. The hoof blades used by the thestrals he had fought made much more sense as equine weapons. Silly Handy, thinking that just because ponies have hooves, they can't use pole-arms effectively. What did logic get you? That's right, a good thwack in the side of the head. 'Pegasi are winged ponies as well. Would they be any different?' he thought. There were certainly more pegasi available at the tournament. He thought he had caught sight of a leathery wing earlier, but the rush of the crowd had prevented him from getting a good look.
He carefully chose his footing, the ground covered in sawdust and wood chippings. The baying crowd seated around the rectangular ring were cheering. Handy was a little annoyed that more than a few were cheering for the young pony in front of him, but he swallowed his pride. Hubris had gotten him into enough messes as it was, and he wouldn't begrudge the pony his limelight. ‘Sides, this tournament was as much a show as it was a competition. The one pony he actually wanted to face, however, was nowhere near him on the tournament tables, and Handy did not care for the distinct possibility that the prince might get knocked out of the running before Handy had a chance to teach him some goddamn manners.
This, coupled with the somewhat frightening ease some of the other competitors had won their duels this day, made Handy seriously consider taking a bite out of someone. Sure, it may not be the most honourable thing, cheating in a tournament, but Handy was fine with not winning the competition overall, so he was hardly doing it for that. He just wanted to ensure he lasted long enough to hopefully meet the prince in the melee if nothing else.
Somewhere, at the back of Handy’s mind, his conscience nagged at him for seriously considering active predation. Especially right under Joachim’s beak, considering he had promised to avoid this exact thing. However, between his killing of Geoffrey and twisting Crimson’s hoof for a bite in exchange for protection and, by extension, servitude as Handy’s personal mage, he had already crossed too far over the line as it was. Actively preying on people, especially considering he may need the edge, was the next logical step down the stairs of vampirism. There was no real way to come back from that, after all. He’d worry about his nagging conscience when he wasn’t busy, the question now was who, how, and when?
The earth pony glanced sideways at his fallen spear. He was wearing a full face helmet, an interesting sloping design for a bascinet with a singular slit that was wider than necessary, but then again, ponies did have such large eyes. Handy lowered his glaive towards the pony threateningly. The pony charged anyway, body tilted to the side slightly. Handy had seen it do this before. It was preparing for a sudden stop and round on Handy with an iron shod buck to knock away his weapon or disable his arm. Alternatively, he could be attempting to duck under his swing and try to get a body blow to the human. That was a dangerous thing coming from an earth pony and their damnable legs; if it managed to get Handy off of his feet completely, the fight would be more or less over as Handy would have to pull himself out from under the pony's kicking hooves.
So Handy rushed forward himself before the stallion could get the chance. He brought his glaive up, the blade now too high in the air to be effectively used against the now wide-eyed earth pony. He swung forward with the lower half of the pole-arm and caught him on the throat, jerking its head sideways at an awkward angle with the blow. The pony, choking, tried to correct its now confused footing before his momentum overcame him, but Handy kicked out and caught the pony's flank seconds after the first blow had connected, throwing the pony bodily to the ground. The pony tried to get back to his hooves, but by then Handy brought the glaive back down, the blade hanging over the back of the pony's neck where the helmet met the base of his chain mail coif. The stallion froze, then let out a frustrated noise as it stamped a hoof uselessly on the ground.
The crowd cheered as a griffon in a green and orange slashed tunic waved a small green flag at Handy before turning around and placing it in a wooden block with five holes. Two of the holes were filled with orange flags; the other three were now filled with green ones as Handy had won the best of five rounds for the duel. Handy stood back up and raised his glaive in the air as the crowd celebrated. In truth, he only did it for the show of it. No sense not entertaining the crowd, but he'd be lying if he said he didn't enjoy the praise. Looking up, he could see several spectator towers where the wealthier festival goers could look down on multiple fighting rings simultaneously for their pleasure. Of course, those with wings could just hover mid-air and watch, but that was generally frowned upon. The towers were colourful things, large and square shaped and covered with cloth along their sides depicting symbols of Firthengart and the High kingdom of Griffonia alongside images of forests and glens in the autumn. Pennants and banners hung on poles, jutting out of their tops and fluttering in the breeze. Colourful bunting hung on wires that ran from the towers down to pegs in the ground.
He brought his glaive down and looked at the pony before him as he limped over to his spear. Holding the glaive in the crook of his arm, he offered his hand to his opponent. "Well fought," he said, seeing no reason not to be polite. The pony snorted in response and walked off. Handy scowled after him. Ah well, he couldn’t say he'd be in a better mood himself in the pony's position, but that was still rude.
The crowd began dispersing from the stands when Handy heard another cheer coming from his right. Looked like someone in a nearby pit had just won another round. An itching sensation brought his attention back down, and he looked at his left wrist. His eye twitched. He’d need another hit of the salve soon but was reluctant to use it. Just in case he actually got injured during the festival and needed a quick heal. It was... always tempting, however. It helped him sleep at night as well, which was a welcome comfort these days.
He shook his head, rubbing his wrist unconsciously as he looked around. The stands were emptying for the day as the revellers went elsewhere. He supposed it might do him some good to go out and enjoy the festival as well. In truth, he just wanted to go back and sit in his tent, perhaps read a book, but that was just inviting disaster as Tanismore would inevitably start looking for him once he was off duty. The others would likely either be guarding the king or going about the festival, Joachim would be with Goldtooth for most of the day, and Crimson was off enjoying herself. He presumed as much anyway; not as if she was the best company either as of late. The arbalist competition was to be hosted later that day, so he could always go to that. Apparently, the smart money was on a crossbow griffon from up north, and he wanted to see if he could make some money on placing a few bets.
Handy wasn't a gambling man. Normally, placing a few bob on the Cheltenham race was the most he ever got up to. Then again, he wasn't normally normal anymore, so why the hell not have a little fun?
Gathering up his cloak, he exited the duelling ring, taking the wooden steps out of the pit.
--=--
A brightly dressed figure sat at the corner of the viewing box. The seats of the tower box ran on all four sides around a central square pillar that held up the roof, its only support given that there were no walls to allow the guests to view the surrounding duels. The white-blue stallion in question was brightly dressed, sporting a yellow fedora with a lime green ribbon, a bright pink tunic, a teal cravat, and a hideous patchwork cloak of a variety of clashing colours. In short, he was a garish mess with more money than sense, and it hurt to look at him. So most people chose not to.
This was perfectly fine with Thunder.
He smiled lightly as he looked over the fights going on below, his soft brown eyes were deceptive, and for all the world, he looked like just another passive spectator enjoying the festival's delights. In truth, he was scanning each of the participants, analysing threats, and watching one warrior in particular.
Whirlwind practically danced around his gryphonic opponent, a large dirty gold griffon in dull, grey armour, checkerboard patterned with portions painted in red. Its claymore was covered in cloth swung low, and the stag deftly hopped over the blade, laughing, landing on its forehooves and swinging on the spot. It bucked or at least appeared to. In actuality, the deer pushed forward on its forelegs, pushing itself out of the way of the griffon's back swing. He anticipated his opponent's move and landed behind the confused griffon who was trying to locate the deer. Whirlwind lowered his head and charged, his antlers digging into the rump of the griffon, who howled in shock and pain.
The deer backed off, laughing, hopping around the perimeter of the duelling ring as his opponent took to the air once again. The deer wore practically no armour, a mere chainmail coif that covered his barrel and withers, his hooded cloak torn and tattered from his travels absent. The brown furred deer was slightly larger than an earth pony stallion but considerably leaner in build, with thin legs and small, cloven hooves. His bright, green eyes seemed to shimmer and dance with unbridled exuberance and mirth. Two proud antlers grew from his head, strong and sharp. He had not worn his blades for this fight. Even so, the tips of his antlers were covered. Traditionally, and in good sense, most edged or pointed weapons were covered in tournament bouts unless the participants agreed otherwise.
The earth pony smiled down at him as he searched the crowd that was observing the bout. There he was, the unicorn with the rapier, seated languidly towards the back of the crowd and at a corner, high up on a back seat that gave him a good view of everypony in the audience as well as a vantage over the griffons and ponies walking in between the duelling rings. It seemed that Whirlwind had picked up a bodyguard on his way here. Either that or those blasted elks saw fit to assign one to him anyway. An unknown entity, but one that he was confident he could deal with if necessary. Besides, if all went as planned, he wouldn't need to confront anypony. He just needed to make out the courier and get the crown, and then he could leave the little lordling to his business as Thunder went on his merry way.
A cheer went up from somewhere down below him and to his left. The human had won his bout and had his hammer raised above his head. Thunder briefly considered capitalizing on the opportunity that presented. The human had brought the acolyte with him. Ordinarily, if he completed his objective and brought in the errant neophyte mage, it'd be quite a coup for him with the mistress. However, there was no sense bringing in Crimson without bringing in the human as well, and Thunder did ever so much hate complications. Trying to incapacitate the human would be... noticeable since he drew too much attention. Oh, he'd probably put up a fight and then Thunder would have to get excessive, and there'd be ever so much noise and bother about it all. Ponies and griffons would take exception to such an interruption to their festivities that he'd have to whistle for Chopper, and then the dogs would have to be sicced on the good folk of the festival, and there would d be rather a lot of blood.
Such hassle. Better to leave that to the others skulking around Skymount for when the biped returned there. They were making arrangements to steal away both of them when they were comfortable and at home, where their guards would be lowered. Or so Thunder had heard; wasn't his head on the line for that plan, so he couldn't care for their schemes. His ear flicked at the sound of laughter and groaning behind him, the clink of metal as coins changed claws. Where there were two ponies in a field kicking a ball, there was always somepony placing a bet on it. This festival was no exception, and it had its fair share of shady characters about. He had sent out feelers and paid a few bribes, some well-placed, soft spoken words, but nopony had heard anything about something like the crown being moved. So he couldn't go too far out of his way to intercept it before it got to Whirlwind, meaning he had to follow the enthusiastic deer around and, well, enjoy the festival in the meantime until the mark made himself present. He yawned lazily.
Sitting on his plot for the time being was perfectly fine with Thunder.
--=--
It was nice, he supposed.
To say the festival was colourful would be the understatement of the century. The ponies alone were a kaleidoscope of colour, mixed in with the more vibrant colours of the tents, flags, banners. They were tempered by the more muted colours of the much more numerous griffons who prevented it from being too garish and made the entire experience a feast for the eyes. While walking through this sea of colour, Handy had learned that the trees of this world, by and large, couldn’t drop their leaves by themselves, a concept that was literally alien to the human, but given that the weather did not work unless people were herding the clouds as one would cattle, he decided not to argue the matter. It was, however, an excuse for excessive festivities come autumn in most places. By the end of the festival, there would be ‘the great hunt’, which consisted of a rather large game of tag that was as much a dance as it was a game involving hundreds of participants in the forest nearby. Apparently, the messing around caused the leaves to fall. Most places these days used magic to cause the leaves to fall, but bollocks to that, for this was a party, and they were going to do it the traditional way.
The absurdity brought a light smile to his face as he made his way through the peddlers selling useless junk and the smooth talkers trying to get the punters to step right up to their stalls and try to win ‘magnificent prizes’ if they could only knock the milk bottles down. He did, however, stop once or twice at the odd merchant trying to hawk their wares when the fancy took him. One wizened-looking griffon claimed to have once been the court wizard of some count or another. Handy didn’t believe that for a minute given the state of staff he carried, broken and worn as it was. However, he humoured the old bird as he was friendly and amicable, and so Handy parted with a crown or two’s worth of bric-a-brac in the form of a small booklet containing some nonsense chicken scratch he didn’t understand and a bracelet that looked like it was made of gilded copper. If you went to a festival and didn’t have at least one purchase you regretted, you were clearly doing it wrong, or so his uncle had said when they went to a flea market a decade ago. That never did get that lawnmower they bought to work properly...
Night had fallen, and the festival only increased in liveliness as the sun set and the moon rose over the horizon. The competitions and trinket stalls of the day gave way to the night time distractions and performances of troubadours and showmen. Lively music could be heard from all corners of the tent city as the night was lit up with fires and burning torches. The shrill cry of people entranced in song and dance pierced the night air. Laughter and poetry caressed his ears as he passed by small clusters of revellers, nobles and commoners alike, seated outside of tents and sharing stories and jokes over food and drink. Judging by the sounds he heard, several of the dances he saw earlier were still raging as well. He found it odd that the ponies never gave any fuss for the sheer amount of meat being consumed, but then again, if one makes one's mind up to visit a griffon festival, one should steel themselves for certain things.
He eventually found his way to the lakeside, standing on top of a large wooden decking raised slightly above and out over the water level. It had evidently been used earlier for some formal dinner and speech he had missed. Most of the tables and chairs had been cleared off and stacked on the grass to the side to make way for a large crowd that had gathered around a wagon. The only tables and chairs that remained were by the wooden fence preventing people from falling off into the water. The wagon had opened up and extended to great fanfare, revealing a stage with sumptuous purple and azure drapes. There was a flash of dazzling magic and smoke as a unicorn in an overly large and comically stereotypical, purple wizard hat materialized, complete with a sparkling wizard cloak adorned with stars and crescent moons.
The mare reared up and introduced herself proudly to the delighted cries of the young children in the audience who really should have been put to bed by now. He wasn’t particularly paying attention. The sounds of the magic show being put on for the entertainment of the gathered audience slowly tuned out, along with everything else, as his mind wandered. He turned to look out over the lake, leaning on the wooden fence some distance from the show. The stars and the moon shone clearly that night and reflected gloriously in the gently shifting waters of the lake, causing the lights of the bodies cosmic to dance and sway with the lights of the torches and lanterns along the lakeside. Fiery reflections, both young and old, mingled and cavorted on the black surface of the lake, bowing out of the way of passing small boats which broke the water, sending tiny reverberations along the surface to continue the dance of light anew in their wake.
He lifted the painted leaf he had been holding in his hand for most of the day up to his helmeted face. It was a gift from a rather brave little griffon girl who had approached him earlier, certainly braver than her older sister. He had been quite surprised, having gotten used to people simply moving out of his way when he approached. 'For you, mistah human!' she had said. At first he had simply looked down at the little girl for a minute, trying to comprehend what it was she wanted, before taking the proffered leaf. The girl had squealed in delight at his thanks before being scooped up into the forelegs of a familiar looking, young, brown griffon with her feathers tied back. She had quickly apologized to the human for any bother before taking to the air and flying off to another part of the festival, leaving the bewildered human with a dried, red-brown oak leaf covered in small, swirling patterns of golden paint.
It was a tradition in Firthengart to take the first fallen leaves of a fall festival and paint them your favourite colour. It didn't matter what you painted on the leaf, but each brushstroke represented your hopes and good will, or alternatively, your pains and sadness. You'd burn the leaf afterwards in such a case and disperse the ashes, symbolically ridding oneself of the pain and wish for something dear to your heart. Otherwise, if it was a leaf of good will, you normally gave it to others as a gesture of friendship or in thanks. The little girl, for one reason or another, had wanted to give one such leaf to the human as soon as he emerged from the duelling ring, apparently having watched the spectacle with her sister. Handy, however, had no idea about any of this, and so what would normally have been a cute gesture just confused the human, who contemplated throwing the leaf away.
He was pulled from his thoughts by sharp laughter to his left. Looking further down the decking, a group of griffons stood apart from the crowd and were playing some form of marco polo, the blindfolded griffon in the centre reaching out to try to tag the others who answered his calls. One cheated and flew up, alighting on the edge of the fence. He got his comeuppance when he got knocked over and into the water by his friend's flailing, the group of griffons laughing at his expense. Out on the lake, he saw a stallion show his foals how to make a floating lantern, helping them set their little floating flames out on the water, shadows dancing on the colourful lantern covers, contrasting with the pinpricks of light reflected in the dark waters. The crowd behind him cheered in adoration of the showmare who, by the sound of it and the harsh shadows that suddenly appeared on the ground beside him before disappearing, had pulled off a rather impressive pyrotechnics trick. As he stood there, near a covered torch and surrounded on all sides by such mirth and merriment, he couldn't help but note with some degree of bitterness that he felt somewhat envious.
It was all very nice, he supposed. For some at least.
"Ah, c'est magnifique!" He turned to his right to regard the new voice that came complete with clapping hooves. A brown stallion with a wide brimmed, black hat was on his rear hooves, leaning against the fence beside Handy, slowly bringing his forehooves together. How in the hell did he get that close without him noticing? Handy looked down at him. He couldn't see his face through the black hat from this position, but between it and the accent, he figured this was the same pony from the fight with Ferix. "Wouldn't you say, mon ami?" he asked, inclining his head towards Handy but still not looking up. Handy raised his eyebrow at him, trying to determine if his stance was intended to mock the biped.
"I have not been paying much attention," he said truthfully. There was metallic sound as the pony shifted to all fours once more, and Handy's eyes were drawn lower to see the long, thin blade held in a scabbard by the pony's 'waist'. A thin belt supported the rapier's weight. He frowned at it for a moment. The crossguard was... strange. The blade came to a point where it was supported by two intersecting lengths of metal attached to a circular band of iron, which itself had an open strip as it did not close fully. The metal was intricately detailed with flora in base relief, and Handy struggled to figure out how the hell that sword was supposed to be used since he did not see a handle. "And I do not believe I have known thee long enough for us to be friends."
"You understand what I said?! Tres bien! C'est tellement bon de rencontrer enfin quelqu'un qui comprend fantaisie!" the pony exclaimed with his forelegs outstretched, still facing the direction of the magic show. Handy, not wanting to get into what would no doubt be lovely comparisons of the languages of this world to that of his own and the whacky coincidences thereof, decided to do the one thing that had always succeeded in getting him out of awkward situations: he lied.
"Forgive me, I pray thee, but my familiarity with thy tongue is only passing," he said, turning his head to face the magic show, but in reality, it was turned just enough to allow him to continue watching the pony warily out of the slit of his helmet. "It took me some time to learn the language of Equestria and longer still until I learned to use it properly."
"Qui? So it is not your mother tongue?" hat pony asked, his head tilted to the side. Handy still couldn't see his face.
"No."
"Now I am curious! What is then?"
"... As Gaeilge," Handy lied. It was, in fact, his second tongue. However, as soon as Handy said it, he regretted it and started to hope there wasn't some bizarre version of Irish in this world that could jeopardize his fabricated backstory. Not because he wasn't confident he could talk his way out of it; he just didn't want to have to do so. The hat pony hummed thoughtfully.
"I do not believe I have heard such a language before. You must regale me sometime," he said, gesturing with his hoof.
"Pray, I beg your pardon, but who art thou?" he asked. The pony didn’t answer immediately, instead turning his head back to the show. The showmare was now calling up volunteers from the audience. With a flash of magic, two tall colourful boxes, one red and the other mostly blue, appeared in the centre of the stage with what appeared to be two doors on the front of each box. The volunteers, a dog and a griffon, were placed inside the boxes. The dog appeared quite nervous about the arrangement, understandable given the insides were lined with black velvet and must've eerily resembled coffins from it's perspective. The show mare levitated two dividers and placed them about the necks of the two volunteers and closed the doors, first the ones on their bodies then the ones on their faces.
"Now watch and be amazed! As the Great and Powerful Trixie—" the showmare reared up and shuffled her forehooves theatrically in the air. Light trails blurred in the air as her hooves moved and her horn lit up. Another flash of magic, and a pair of wide, long rectangular blades appeared in a poof of smoke and colourful sparks. The crowd inhaled collectively "—swaps the heads of her brave volunteers!" Her horn flared as the blades slowly, ever so slowly, were inserted into invisible slots just below where the griffon and dog’s heads were. Handy winced reflexively as he saw the blades delve into the boxes... noiselessly. The two upper parts of the boxes, where he and the crowd knew the volunteers' heads should be, were actually carried away, lifted on the levitating blades, up into the air and away from the lower portions of the boxes. They were deposited as the blades were lowered back onto the boxes, the red head box on top of the blue and vice versa.
'Trixie' opened the head boxes to reveal the griffon and dog were thankfully still very much alive, if somewhat dazed and confused. She then opened the lower boxes to the shock and amazement of the crowd. The dog and griffon were now residing atop the wrong bodies. Between the dividers and the blades, however, their necks never actually touched the other’s body, which honestly raised more questions in the human's mind. The volunteers were... silent at first, trying to comprehend their heads' newfound distance from their respective bodies.
It was the dog who tried to move its arm first and ended up poking the griffon in the eye with a canine paw. The griffon cursed and poked the dog in the cheek with its talon. The dog bit the offending claw, and the griffon cried out in pain. With a roll of her eyes, the movement exaggerated by the size of her overly large hat, the unicorn closed the doors with her magic and levitated the head boxes once more before sliding the blades out of the nonexistent slots once the appropriately coloured boxes were reunited, giving the boxes one full spin as she settled them into place. The blades disappeared, and the pony opened up the boxes, removing the dividers as the two volunteers stumbled out of their boxes, reflexively rubbing their necks as if surprised they still, in fact, possessed them.
The crowd cheered and applauded as the showmare took a bow. Handy clapped his gauntlets together. It was, admittedly, an impressive spin on the old trick human magicians pulled off back home, if somewhat creepy. Made more impressive because actual magic was involved, he wondered the extent of what magic could do and how exactly the unicorn pulled that little stunt off. Now that he thought about it, eliciting such reactions was the entire point of the performance.
“Merveilleux!” hat pony said, clapping his forehooves together excitedly. Handy eyed him warily. “Wouldn’t you say?” he asked, inclining again.
“It was an impressive performance, I shall admit,” he said. The pony chuckled, a deep, baritone noise.
“Je ne parlais pas de sa performance...”
“Pray?” Handy asked.
“I meant the mare herself; quite the specimen, no?” he asked. Handy sighed. Tanismore was bad enough, and now he had a strange pony talking to him about women.
“Tis rude to stare, good sir, and thou hast still yet to give me a name.”
“Oh come now, we’re both stallions of the world. Surely you can’t object to admiration?”
“I am not a stallion,” Handy pointed out.
“Forgive me.” the pony chuckled. “For you certainly don’t sound like a mare.” Handy started. “I jest, plumes de poney, I jest,” he said chuckling.
“Look, is there a point to all of this?” Handy said sharply, his patience with this joker running out.
“Must I need a reason to have a friendly chat?” the stallion asked, smirking. Handy’s eyes narrowed.
“In my experience, that is often the case, yes. What doth thou want with me?” the human asked. The pony waved a hoof.
“Oh nothing. I just thought it strange the stallion of the hour was all by his lonesome, watching a magic show so far away from the crowd,” the stallion said. The showmare had a foal on the stage now. She shook her head and her hat fell to her hooves. She repositioned herself so that she was facing the crowd with the young foal off to her left. She sat on her haunches, deftly moving the hat upside down and then right side up again before bringing her hooves together quickly. The hat was crushed between them, suddenly disappearing in the blink of an eye. The foal pawed at her hooves, trying to see where the hat went.
She made a show of holding her hooves out with a confused expression before her ears perked up. She smiled widely, reaching behind the confused foal’s head and pulling out the hat from its mane. The hat seemed to stretch and warp as if it had been fitted into a small box as she pulled it out with a hoof, her horn glowing faintly. She dropped the hat on the excited foal’s head, who was almost completely covered. He poked his tiny head out from under it, laughing to the delight of the crowd.
“I like my privacy,” Handy replied. “If that will be all…” he said, turning to walk off. The stallion idly inspected a hoof, a light smile gracing his muzzle.
“There is, of course, the matter of a certain prince you might like to hear about.” Handy stopped and turned his helmeted head back towards the pony. The stallion’s smile widened. “Did you not find it odd that the tournament was arranged in such a way that the spectacle that brought everypony here in the first place was made unlikely to occur?” he asked. Handy thought about it for a moment. It did seem odd that Blueblood was placed so far away on the tournament table. The human’s desire for vengeance on the stallion was no secret after all. Why would Goldtooth spoil the show by all but ensuring it wouldn’t occur? Unless… he didn't.
“Go on,” Handy said slowly, now turning to face the pony fully. The unicorn stallion smiled lazily, casually glancing to his left before turning around and looking out over the lake.
“Word has it that a lot of silver changed from hoof to claw,” he said simply. “A princely sum one might say.” Handy walked back over to the stallion and looked down at him. The stallion tsk’d. Handy looked around and then made a show of leaning on the fence and looking out over the lake.
“And why should this silver concern me?” he asked. His cloak whipped around him, and the pony had to hold onto his hat as a sudden, strong gust of wind blew across the lake. Some griffons or other must be fucking up weather control.
“Oh it shouldn’t concern anypony!” The stallion chuckled as the wind died down as suddenly as it came. “The entire point was to distance certain competitors from one another.” Handy quickly got the implication.
“So, the princesses are trying to protect the little shit of a princeling, I imagine?" Handy hissed.
“Oh no, they wouldn’t stand for such chicanery!” he said.
“Rulers very rarely do. In public at least.”
“Hahaha, I like you human, but no,” the pony continued. His horn was encompassed in a soft, yellow glow, and a small pebble was lifted from the floorboards next to him and flung across the water, skipping several times along the surface. “The princesses had nothing to do with this little transaction. Equestria is embarrassed enough by this spectacle as it is.” Handy turned to look at the stallion who was now on his hind legs, forehooves rested on the fence.
“And how would thou knowst this?” Handy asked.
“Loose lips, a packet of playing cards, and a warm personality,” the pony said smugly.
“So why art thou telling me?”
“I just want to know how badly you would like the odds tipped, shall we say, in your favour?” Handy’s eyes narrowed further.
“Cheating?”
“Une telle pourriture! No, I mean changing the roster once again so that a certain princeling doesn’t get to sneak out of a certain date with a certain blunt instrument.” Handy rotated his jaw for a minute as he thought. The stallion was offering to do the human a favour if he was judging this conversation correctly. Why and how were the first questions that came to mind, in that order too. However, he elected to go with the how first before asking the inevitable why. After all, if the how was unlikely, the why would be irrelevant.
“Isn’t it a bit late to change the tables? We have already undergone the first day of the festival,” he pointed out, watching the boats sail on the water before them. There were sixty four competitors originally, the first two rounds of the tournament taking place in the morning and early afternoon of the first day, reducing the number of participants drastically down to sixteen by the day's end. The lineup for the next day's bouts weren't up yet, but he knew it consisted of one more round of dueling before the remaining eight competitors competed in the grand melee. However, given his position on the board, he figured his next opponent would be someone named Masquerade. He didn't get to see the other duels, so he had no idea what to expect.
“Au contraire, it happens all the time. How would you put it... a mix up? To keep the audience interested.”
“I’m afraid it’ll be terribly obvious that I’d have something to do with it if Blueblood suddenly ended up in a bout with me tomorrow.”
“Not if the original corruption were exposed, but there’d be no need for that. I am not a careless pony…”
“And how exactly doth thou plan on doing that?” Handy asked. If the pony was able to do what he was insinuating, Handy may not need to bite anyone at all in order to get what he wanted. While… disappointing on a certain level, it would save a lot of hassle.
“By changing some gold from hoof to claw of course. The right word in the right ear can move mountains, qui?” The stallion smiled, turning back to the magic show. Handy rolled his eyes, having a fair idea where this was going.
“How much?”
“You are rather well known for having changeling coins, old ones. Rare. The beasts seldom trade and their coins are… well. I am sure you have found out by now.”
“I gathered. Is that it? Just gold?”
“Why?” The pony laughed. “Have you something else to trade me for my services?”
“Not anything I care to part with.”
“Then gold will do just fine, non?” The pony laughed and tipped his hat back and looked up at the human, raising his hoof. “My name is Jacques.” He said. Handy frowned behind his helmet.
“Unusual name for a pony.”
“I am an unusual pony,” he said, smiling broadly. Handy reached out to shake his hoof.
“Handy,” he said. “Baron Haywatch.” He fully expected the pony to know exactly who he was, but pleasantries were pleasantries.
“A pleasure, monsieur. Now, how much do you have to hoof?” Jacques asked plainly.
“Enough,” Handy said cautiously, turning back to look at the show, casually glancing to his right to ensure no one was within listening distance. Jacques laughed.
“Good answer! Good answer! I shall say… a hundred of your changeling coins shall be enough,” Jacques said, rubbing the bottom of his muzzle while eyeing the showmare, who herself was busy entertaining the crowd with some fairly impressive illusions. Handy didn’t catch most of what she was saying but gathered she was telling some epic story involving a large bear that appeared to be made of stars. He could just barely make out the images of some illusionary ponies below it, one blue and another purple.
Handy’s eyes widened, looking down at the stallion beside him. A hundred changeling coins? That was serious money. “...And I am to trust thee, how exactly?”
“Oh my word is my bond, mon ami.”
“As is mine, but that does not exactly mean many trust me on first glance either,” Handy said.
“Ah, but we are friends, non? Am I not trying to help you? I help all of my friends.”
“Yeah, I am sure, like who? That deer acquaintance of thine?” the human pointed out.
"Ah yes, Whirlwind. A good friend. I've known him for all of six weeks!" Jacques laughed. Handy started, the name suddenly ringing a bell.
“Whirlwind?” he asked. He looked out over the crowd, now having a reason to pay attention to the particular details of the gathering before the magic show. Sure enough, after he tilted his head, he saw a pair of antlers sticking above the collection of feathered heads, lanky dogs, and pony manes. Of course, it could be just another deer; he had seen a few about the festival as he went on his business. “Prithee, is it at all possible that you could introduce me to this friend of yours? I would like to speak with him.” That elicited a sharp look from the stallion. His smile and friendly tone remained, but there was now a subtle hardness to his eyes and an edge to his tone.
“Pourquoi?” he asked. Handy considered his next words carefully. The object Fancy Pants had entrusted to him back in Canterlot was apparently worth dumping an airship in Handy’s lap. It was a magical sliver of silver that the stallion couldn’t afford to be seen traveling with, which meant it was either highly illegal or dangerous. Hell, for all Handy knew, the stallion probably had upped and nicked it from Celestia's knicker drawer, and the human was just as keen to be rid of it before anyone knew it was in his possession. Honestly, he could’ve just thrown it out the port side door at any time on his journey to the festival. Fancy Pants had effectively paid him in advance, so he could have just gotten rid of it and forgotten about it.
Alas, Handy liked to consider himself consistent enough to at least keep his promises. Now that he was here, he might as well follow through on it. Still, he hardly knew this ‘Jacques’, and the fuss surrounding the object in question did not make him all that compliant in simply handing it over then and there. Based on what he saw, especially given his reaction to Handy's request, the pony was likely looking out for the deer, which would explain how the pair disappeared from arrest the previous day. "A mutual friend suggested we should speak," Handy decided to say. "Preferably tomorrow. If thou wilt be so kind." It'd give him enough time to retrieve the package from where he had hid it aboard the airship at least. The hat pony looked up at the human for a time before his grin widened.
"I don't know..." Jacques responded, rubbing his chin. "I may forget to mention it. You see, I will be so focused on the task at hoof that it may take up all my time."
"If thou art going to be difficult, I'll stroll on over myself and speak with him," Handy said. He looked up from the pony and over to the crowd, trying to locate the antlers and took a step forward.
A metal clink sounded as his greaves hit against something, bringing the human to a stop and pulling his attention back down. There was a thin blade blocking his path. Jacques smiled as he sat on his haunches. His left forehoof was held in the steel band of the rapier's strange hilt. Handy suddenly understood the purpose of the odd sword. It was specifically designed for a pony to use without the aid of magic, the clasp holding firm around the hoof, allowing the pony to slash and thrust with the weapon with minimal effort. Sure, it wouldn’t work for a heavier sword, but a rapier? He hadn't even heard or seen the unicorn draw the blade. Handy, slowly, reached for his hammer beneath his cloak. "Non, non, non, non, mon frère. I am quite protective of my friends you see," he said, looking down. He then cocked his head to the side. "Now, if I had a bit of, shall we say, collateral persuasion, I might be more relaxed, qui? In case one friend ends up not being entirely friendly towards another," he said, smiling. Handy briefly recalled Joachim, jokingly, calling him mercenary the other day. He wondered what the good king would call him had he been as flagrantly extortionate as this particular pony.
"Thou sayeth thou art protective of thy friends, but then request more coinage in exchange for exposing said friend to potential danger." Handy's eyes narrowed. "Tell me, do you often sell your virtue?" The pony chuckled at that.
"Like I said, we are friends non?" Jacques replied. "Were we not, I would not even consider it. But a stallion's got to eat, and this stallion has something you wish. Why not trade?" He withdrew his blade and in one swift motion, resheathed it. A surprisingly graceful and fluid movement. The pony was affable enough, but Handy wasn't born yesterday.
"No," he said. "I should think not."
"Que?"
"I hardly know thee, Jacques. For all I know, thou art a competitor keen on sabotaging me."
"I am not competing."
"But this Whirlwind is, I take it? Both of you were in the competitor’s refreshment tent," Handy said. "Thou couldst be making his lot in this tournament easier by having me disgraced. I wilt not bring dishonour upon myself nor my kingdom," he said firmly, keenly aware that he had been contemplating cheating earlier himself. Although considering unicorns got away with using their 'natural' abilities, he could make an argument for himself. Although he doubted Joachim would be too amused. "No, if thou wish for my gold, prove thyself first. Do as thou suggest and arrange Blueblood's duel with me first without any of my gold to be traced back to me. If thine word is as good as thou sayeth, I will happily pay thee double thine asking price," Handy said, "Then we can discuss what it is worth paying so that I may speak with Whirlwind unimpeded. But nothing before, Jacques."
Jacques looked at the human curiously for a moment, his face expressionless. Slowly, a sly grin came across his muzzle. "A bargain? Oh I was hoping this would be simple, but I think I'll take what I can get," he said at length. "A shame; the gold would have made it easier to do, but I respect a pony with business sense. Very well, you'll have your fight. I will see you on the morn." Jacques got up from his seated position and walked towards the crowd that, Handy just now realised, had become a startling collection of strange beasts. Several of them appeared chimeric, a confusing mash of other creatures. One appeared to be an excessively large goat and yet another some kind of purple cow. He blinked several times, trying to figure out when the hell those creatures got there.
The unicorn reared up, and a tremendous burst of power erupted from her horn, dazzling everyone present. He felt a soft, warm rush of power wash over him, and his armour shone lightly in reaction, its own light adding to the blinding flare of brilliance. When next he opened his eyes, there was a shower of glittering sparks descending slowly over the crowd. The various creatures had disappeared leaving laughing griffons and ponies behind. An illusion, a convincing one on a large scale dismissed in an instant. "Ahurissant..." Jacques said, lifting his hat up from where it shielded his eyes.
"Where art thou off to now?" Handy enquired as the showmare took her final bows. Another flash of magic and shrill shrieks erupted from behind her stage, fireworks launching into the night air to explode in colourful flowers of fire. Jacques turned to look back.
"Why, off to show my appreciation, of course!" he said, inclining his head to the magician who was currently enjoying the sound of coins being dropped into a collection dish built into the side of the stage. “And to get her name of course.”
“She hast said it no less than twenty times in the past twenty minutes…” the human said.
“Oh well, I wasn’t exactly listening to her, now was I?” Jacques laughed. “My attention was elsewhere.”
Handy was about to say something back but stopped himself. Looking over the pony’s head and off to the right side of the stage, he spotted something disconcertingly familiar beyond the cheering crowd. A hawk-headed griffon, whose feathers were a soft brown that were fading to white and keen eyes no longer bloodshot, was surveying the crowd impassively from beneath a much healthier-looking shawl of black cloth. Her eyes met the human’s own, and he thought he could detect a slight smile on her beak which was no longer cracked. She turned off and walked away, the crowd filling the space she left in her wake.
Jacques said something as he walked off, but the human didn’t hear it. The witch was at the festival, and Handy suddenly felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end, but he could not tell as to why. He walked off, uncaring of the surprised griffons who hurriedly got out of his way, his armour clinking noisily as he trod past the stage and the tents behind it. At the back of his mind, he knew that at a festival this large, it was not unreasonable that a woman trapped beneath the earth for decades would think to enjoy the festivities for herself.
He did, however, recall what he learned about griffons in relation to magic, that culturally they only permitted ceremonial magic or alchemy, which required a great deal of effort and materials in order to work. Magic that could be summoned intuitively or with a word was a sorcery that was alien to griffons and did not come naturally to them as it did to other races such as ponies. Therefore, it was foreign and acceptable for foreigners to practice, but not griffons, a pony performing a magic show was entertaining; a griffon summoning fire from her claws is alarming. Yet there was this witch who could do just that and had done so for years. And she was here, at the festival, where there were not one but two kings present.
Therefore, one might understand Handy’s sudden apprehension even if he didn’t fully comprehend why he was gripped with a certain superstitious dread after meeting her eyes. He pushed on through the crowd, coming to several intersections in the tent city as he stopped to try to determine where she had gone. Passing by one minstrel who was busy putting away his instrument for the night, he spotted her to his left, five tents down, walking away from him and about to turn another corner. He followed after her for some time before coming to a stop.
He had no idea where he was. He was now at the center of a circle of tents, none of which had their entrances facing him and the revelry sounded far off. No one was around. He gripped his hammer and slowly drew it out, turning cautiously around, wondering where his quarry had gotten off to. Fireworks alighted somewhere in the skies behind him, their sound and lights distant now. He saw the way he came, a tight space between two particularly large tents and elected to slowly make his way over to it to back trace his steps.
A cough stopped him in his tracks. He turned his hooded head to regard the form of the aged griffon he met over a month ago in Ifrendare. She was smiling up at him from under her shawl, her eyes gentle yet knowing, without a hint of malice to be found within them. So why did the human feel so unnerved in her presence? He didn’t relax his grip on the hammer as took one final look around him before speaking.
“What art thou doing here?” he asked. Her smile faltered a bit before sighing.
“Would you believe me if I said I was lost?” she asked, looking over to the side. Handy felt the temperature drop slightly and he noticed an odd look in the griffon’s eye as she looked away. It was that same strange glimmer he noticed from time to time. The first time he had seen it was in Spurbay when Welcome Sight had shamed an entire street’s worth of ponies for alienating him and Joachim. Well, not the same; something was different about it each time he noticed it in the eyes of ponies and griffons.
“No,” the human said honestly. The griffon smiled warmly at that.
“I have my own goals, Heartless,” she said. “You’ll find a lot of griffons do. What I do now, I do to further my own ends, but that does not mean I do not wish to help you,” she said. Handy studied her for a moment, trying to tease what meaning she had behind her words. He was not used to such blatant honesty.
“And what exactly art thou doing?” he said cautiously. His cloak covered him entirely, but it still shifted noticeably as he brought his hammer into a two handed grip. The griffon’s eyes flicked down, and he saw her wave a talon, her claw an inch from the ground. The hammer was suddenly ripped from his hands, landing at her claws. Handy started and made to rush over but felt himself tugged back by his cloak. He whirled around and lashed out with an armored fist at whoever had grabbed him, only to flail at the air.
“Ah-ah,” Nanny Frie said, lifting up the hammer in her foreclaws and inspecting it. She ran a talon across the intricate, knotted designs in the head of the weapon. “Tsk, you should really take better care of your weapons. And not draw it in front of friends.” She laughed softly. The human turned around cautiously. He took a step back. “Oh come, I mean you no harm,” Nanny Frie reassured.
“Give me it back,” the human demanded, his tone harsh and teeth gritted. He wasn’t sure what it was; his armour would protect him from whatever spell she’d throw, but for some reason, he was put off. Something was wrong here but he couldn’t tell what. The sense of dread was present, but now it came from the surrounding tents. It was magic, surely it had to be, but why wasn’t his armour blocking it? He considered the possibility that his armour only shrugged off direct magic. He did recall that when he wore the changeling pendant, it continued to radiate heat and pulse while under his chainmail. The implications of that were… uncomforting.
He held his breath in case whatever magic present suffused the air, but that did nothing to ease his unsettled nerves. The witch paid no mind, humming to herself as she turned the hammer over in her claws. “Haven’t seen the likes of this in some time,” she mused. “Where did you get it?”
“I procured it. In the badlands,” he said cautiously. His hand slowly reached for the sharp blade he carried by his waist. The same one that so long ago had been but a straight piece of metal he had used to protect his uncovered foot in the mine by Spurbay.
“I am sure you did,” she said, smiling. “The changelings haven’t made anything like this in ages. Well, they’ve made weapons but never the need for anything this ornate.” Handy merely looked at the bird in silence. “Oh come, I am actually surprised no one pointed it out before. Your armour.” She pointed a claw at it. “It’s done in the same fashion, obviously with a few pony touches. I have seen artefacts like this before.” She seemed to sigh. “Such a shame; they must have had a beautiful culture once upon a time. I wonder what changed.”
“Look. Nanny…” Handy said, taking a step forward. “Just give me my hammer back.”
“Hush, I’m just having a look,” she said, lifting a talon to silence him, turning over the hammer once more, her arm no longer shaking of arthritis. The tip of her talon traced along the indents between the swirling knotted patterns in the hammer head, a bright white-blue spark lighting up from where the tip touched the silvered metal. Handy could hear whispers and a light wash of power cross the distance from the witch to where he stood. A light blue mist emerging from the hammer head along the path she traced. “That should do for now... interesting…”
“What did you do to my hammer!?” the human asked, dropping his airs, slowly pulling his dagger out of his belt, careful not to telegraph his movements beneath his cloak.
“Oh you’ll find out.” The bird threw the hammer, Handy had to take a step back before it landed on his foot. “I have my reasons. You get into quite a bit of trouble. I figure you need the help.”
“What trouble?” Handy asked, the witch merely raised an eyebrow, then smiled once more.
“Trouble of the historic kind. Do you know, little human, what you have gotten yourself involved in?” Frie asked as the human knelt to withdraw his hammer, never taking his eyes off of the griffon.
“I am sure thou art going to tell me.”
“You assume wrong.” The griffon laughed. “What I know, I do not care to share. What I care to share, I do not know for sure. Have you been having unusual queasiness as of late? Odd rashes, a lot trouble sleeping sleeping perhaps?” Handy stared at her at the last suggestion. She smiled “Magic poisoning can manifest in many ways.”
“What did you do to me?” Handy said through gritted teeth, taking another step forward, gripping his hammer. “What was in that broth?”
“Nothing that would not benefit you. Plenty that would react with magic already in your system. I was wondering why I couldn’t influence you directly under the earth...”
“What is with you goddamn magic types!?” Handy snarled. She looked at him levelly.
“A large, armoured warrior shows up at my doorstep after years of isolation. I am supposed to merely sit there and not try to determine if you meant me ill-will when I had the means to do so? Come now, Heartless.”
“My name is Handy.”
“Your name is many things from what I hear. The point is, you are ensorcelled. I could feel it. Still feel it, in fact, even through that iron skin you insist on always wearing.”
“There is a lot of magic in this land,” Handy replied. He wasn’t sure what she was getting at, but he felt it was best to not say anything in particular. “And thou art hardly free of blame in that regard.” Her remarks, however, brought up uncomfortable implications.
“True enough, but should you not be a bit concerned?” She said, tapping the side of her beak thoughtfully before shrugging, her wings extending a little at the motion. He noticed they appeared a lot healthier than the last time he saw them. “Perhaps you should ask that pony friend of yours back in Skymount. The one that is red of fur and broken of spirit.”
“Crimson?” Handy asked. “She is here with me,” he said. She merely hummed in response. “How dost thou know of her?”
“I make it my business to know many things, human. Perhaps in time I’ll share some of them with you when the fancy strikes me. I do feel ever so grateful for your help afterall. Here.” She reached behind her with a claw and pulled out what looked like a small crystal. It was transparent and contained a small golden cylinder at its center. She placed it on the ground in front of her.
“What is that?” Handy asked, gesturing with his hammer. He noticed that the feeling of dread had receded markedly.
“A little farewell gift to see one through the mist,” she said. “Perhaps I’ll see you again. Perhaps not; the future is so rarely set in stone.”
“-I thought I saw him earlier. He was by the lake I think.” Handy turned at the voice. It sounded familiar.
“What do you me-” He turned back. A rush of wind blew across the small clearing, and the witch was gone. Handy snapped his head back and forth, looking left and right and then looking up into the night sky. The clouds were empty and the flare of fireworks would illuminate a flying form had it been up there. Handy did not see her.
“Well, let’s try to find him. It’s getting pretty late,” a more feminine voice said behind him, closer now. Sounded like Shortbeak. He looked down at the ground to the crystal the witch had left behind. After a moment’s hesitation, during which he studied his hammer, trying to see if the bird had left anything permanent on its metal but found nothing, he picked up the crystal. It seemed unremarkable. Pretty, but dull, as if it was made out of cheap glass.
He pocketed it in his travel pack, listening as the pair of griffons passed by the tents he was behind. He stepped out from between them and into the main thoroughfare. “Hey,” he called out. The griffons turned. Sure enough, there was Shortbeak in her full helm for some reason, and Godfrey. ‘Not Tanismore? Surprising, he must have duty tonight.’
“Handy? Where have you been?” Shortbeak asked.
“Around. I heard thee conversing and decided to take a shortcut between tents. Something amiss?”
“No,” Godfrey said. “Johan just sent us to fetch you. Nogriffon had seen you since this morning.”
“Well thou hast found me.”
“What were you doing?” Shortbeak asked, curious.
“Taking a walk, enjoying the festival.”
“Really?” Godfrey asked, surprised. There was a moment of silence.
“Okay, it was either go and get lost or get stuck with Tanismore for the day. He’s good in small doses only,” Handy said, eliciting a chuckle from Shortbeak. The normally dour Godfrey smiled lightly.
“Come on then, I’m hungry,” Shortbeak said taking to the air. “I’ll go on ahead and let the others know we got a hold of you. Know the way back, Godfrey?” she asked. He nodded at her. She returned the gesture before flying off. Handy followed after his fellow knight for some time, his thoughts drawn back to what the witch had said. He was ensorcelled? What could that mean? The vampirism? A thought struck him. Crimson knew a lot of magic, forbidden magic too from what he gathered. Perhaps she might know something that could help with that. Why did the witch ask if he had been having trouble sleeping? That was no business of hers. How could she know anyway?
He scratched idly at his wrist as he thought before realising he still wore his gauntlets and mail, therefore he was unable to sate the itch. He frowned. That was becoming more of a problem now that he thought about it. He needed to put some more salve on it when he got back. Probably more than usual. Yes, that sounded good. A good dose would help him sleep, probably some on the back of his left leg, below the knee where he had been struck this morning. It wasn’t painful, but it couldn’t hurt to be safe, right? Right.
Maybe he should get more bottles now that he considered it. Joachim probably had a few with him that he could mooch. He’d leave bothering Crimson till later, after dinner at least. Probably till the morning, rather. The prospect of sleeping on a full stomach was appealing, and he had enough on his mind already without spending the rest of the night brainstorming with the mage about what-ifs and determining the meaning of the witch’s words, particularly her odd warning of him being involved in some kind of trouble. Well, that last part did not concern him so much. When was he not in trouble?
It all just didn’t bear thinking about at times. All he wanted was to just beat Blueblood’s brains in. Afterwards, he’d probably fuck off to find that one tent he saw with the earth pony who was selling ice cream. Was that so much to ask for?
--=--
Masquerade was old.
Everypony was old in the Crystal Empire. It couldn't be helped. It had only been a few, blessed years since their beloved kingdom was liberated from the sorcery that had ensnared it. Its long empty throne, wrongfully usurped by the evil pretender unicorn that was known as Sombra, now claimed by the beautiful and beloved princess Cadence. They never had an Alicorn of their own before. Once, the capital had played host to all of them, but never did one rule it alone.
At least, not within their histories, and this was despite the empire being at the center of the expanding pony dominions for the better part of five centuries before... before the princesses became the princesses and ruled the colonies as their own fiefs. Before the empty throne was stolen and the Empire buried under unnatural snow and ice. The windigos of ancient myth haunting the skies above it and the countless towns. Villages and cities that formed the heartlands were lost to the scarce mercy of eternal winter. Before they lost the Valley and everypony within it that had not been enslaved by Sombra.
Masquerade was twenty six, physically. In actuality, she had turned twenty one over a thousand years ago. It had not been a happy birthday. She had finally joined the ranks of the Imperial guard after years of training. She had been so young and idealistic back then, intent that she could do something to reverse the fortunes of the declining capital of the Empire. Instead, she stood vigil over its death throes. Three hundred years after the princesses left to govern the colonies, the capital had grown increasingly irrelevant, its ruling council feuding under the influences of powerful regional lords vying for control and their own internal politics. Its authority thusly fractured, lordling ponies and vassals began paying more respect to the authority of this or that alicorn, and the Empire slowly decentralized.
She had been there when the first revolts started, when Marquis Fleetwood rose in rebellion, eager to take advantage of the weaknesses of her rivals and the apathy of the princesses to expand her power. That had been a bloody week for the guard, but it only got worse and worse as the heartland fractured and neighbouring lords had invaded to steal a piece of glory for themselves. The then virtually unknown unicorn Sombra, however, rose to the fore in the chaos. He had defeated all comers through his slave armies and his mastery of black magic, a corruption on the ancient and venerable art of crystal magic. Eventually, the imperial demesne capitulated to his iron hooved rule, willingly or not.
Masquerade had not been willing. Sombra didn't give her or her comrades a choice in the matter however, and not long after the unicorn had seized control did the princesses finally act. The capital and its secrets could not be allowed to fall into the hooves of an upstart dark sorcerer. The armies of slaves, most of whom were not even proper levies with even the most rudimentary of training but field ponies with no more combat experience than the occasional tavern disagreement, were no match for professional soldiers. They had fallen quickly under the iron hooves of the veteran regiments of the princesses, used to the conquest and subjugation of fiercer foes. It had soon resulted in Masquerade herself and the Imperial guards, ensorcelled into obeying the false king, defending against a siege on all sides of the capital itself.
It was a nightmare, with nought but the few remaining crystal pillars Sombra had yet to corrupt to keep out the winter chill that was even then falling upon the land. The thousands of enemy soldiers camped just outside the city walls had formed up, shining rows of armoured ponies, gleaming spear tips shining in the light, pennants and banners flicking back and forth furiously in the stormy chill of the winter. The imperial banner had been nowhere to be found among the gathered ranks however. There was little hope to be found that she'd survive that battle. Or anypony else for that matter; the ponies of the city had been forced into arms by Sombra as well. The final assault had been called, trumpets had sounded, hails of bolts had been loosed, ballistae and catapult had been put to work as columns of wall-breaker earth ponies advanced under cover of unicorn battlemages and pegasi skirmishers.
And then... nothing.
The next Masquerade knew, she was waking up, bleary eyed and fatigued and forgetful in her bunk. No armies, no sounds of death and battle, no fire and destructive magic. Just a gloriously sunny day and the ponies of the empire wandering the streets, utterly lost and confused, surrounded on all sides by the never ending winter kept at bay by the crystal growths that surrounded the city. Sombra had returned too, unfortunately, weaker than he was but still had his power over the ponies.
Had it not been for Cadence, her consort, and his mage sister, the now ascended princess Twilight, he would rule them once again, and heaven alone knew what would have become of them had he regained the crystal heart. That had not occurred; they were spared slavery and death and once more given freedom over their own lives. Their capital, now little more than a lone city state in a frozen wasteland that was only now slowly giving way to pony magic, shone once more with vibrance and life. Their beloved princess sat atop her throne, and the Crystal Heart beat from the very center of the Empire where it rightfully should.
Of course, that didn't really sit right with Masquerade. She loved her new sovereign, she really did, but she was a product of a different time and still relatively innocent regarding court intrigues. It was clear to anypony who bothered to look that the Crystal Empire was all but a weak, yet prestigious vassal to Equestria. Sure, one day it might grow to be a powerful kingdom in its own right, but now? Its ruler was a relative of Celestia, although the relationship was vague, married to a former Equestrian royal guard captain who was in turn the brother of the latest addition to the ranks of immortal alicorns. Said alicorn herself was famously devoted and loyal to the sun princess. The empire, its secrets, and its weapons were firmly under Equestrian influence. It was a wonder Cadence was even allowed to make her own laws at all.
The world had changed drastically while she and the crystal ponies had been asleep under the spell Sombra cast, lost in whatever timeless aether that displaced them from reality. The land she now stood in, ruled by a vast and powerful nation of griffons, used to belong to pony lords ruling over the lesser races, the griffon clans reduced to petty kingdoms on the empire’s border that paid tribute. The dragons, while certainly not invading, no longer feared the pony dominions, and dogs, packs of them, walked free and uncontested by and large. Apparently some unwritten law let dogs be, so long as they stuck to the wilds and obeyed pony law when they entered settlements, very different from the way it was a thousand years ago.
The colonies, powerful even a thousand years ago, had only grown in prosperity and magnificence in the meantime. Galaxy, and the Mystical Black Isles in the west, ruled the seas with the mightiest fleets in the known world. Most of the seaponies had apparently sworn fealty to her in the time the empire had been gone. Nothing trod the waves without her implicit permission, which only raised questions regarding piracy issues in the eastern seas and the apparent impunity the merchant princes of the rats cut off entire seas from trade with the continent.
Concordia, once the poorest of the colonies, flourished in the desert, lofty and untouchable in its impossible towers. Its vast mines flooded the land with wealth as its mastery of underground deposits of water helped ensure their populace never starved in the harsh climes of that land. Henosis... was as cold and frigid as it always was. No surprises there, but still vast in its landholdings. Its scarce population wanted for nothing except for, perhaps, the occasional warm day. And Equestria seemed to go from strength to strength despite the apparent corruption and banishment of Princess Luna, who now returned and ruled once more as if nothing had changed. Discord, the very spirit of chaos, who was resurrected from his prison of stone and was now an ally, or pet, of the Equestrians. The elements of Harmony were active along with their bearers, and not one, but two new alicorns raised under Celestia's care.
Masquerade saw that and immediately knew the other princesses had to be getting nervous. Oh, they were polite enough to each other from what she heard. The relationships between the pony kingdoms mostly cordial, but she was no foal. Ponies didn't lose land for no reason, there had to be friction and dissent between the realms, deep seated intrigues that only millennia old ladies such as themselves could engage in. Otherwise, something like Griffonia would never have grown to be the powerful state it was, in spite of its internal divisions no less! The deer wouldn't have been able to annex the entirety of the great forests with impunity, and the rat folk of the dagger coasts wouldn’t have been able to dominate ocean trade in the south west and cut off the continent’s access to the southern isles and Apodia. Kingdoms, pony or otherwise, would never be in thrall to moneylenders ruling over slums in the north east, and the changelings simply wouldn't be a threat ever again.
Everything was different. She had been raised on tales that the Empire spread to every continent of the world. Now, the alicorns had led the united pony races to victory and domination, and now she had to face a reality where the empire was literally forgotten by all, considered nothing more than a neat relic ruled over by a young neophyte alicorn. Which... only raised more questions, now that she was up and about. If the pony races were ruled by a council of alicorns ever since the unification of the tribes, why was there ever a singular crystal throne in the first place?
That was something nopony thought to ask when she was younger, Masquerade only considering the question herself after her liegelady wondered it aloud one evening. The oldest books in the great library of the Crystal Empire often had blank pages when it concerned the earliest histories of the empire. Paragraphs would fade to blank halfway through the page before the book returned to normal several pages later. No amount of magic could discern a reason as to why. It was as if somepony had simply went back and prevented the words from ever being put from quill to parchment.
It was as if entire sections of history ceased to exist. One record recalled the birth of the pony race in the near mythical Valley of Dreams but did not recall what caused the races to leave it and become disunited. Another record recalled the union of the three tribes but was blank for dozens of pages before recording the birth of the Empire and the alicorns. Indeed, despite claims of having ruled over the known world, the most complete maps of the empire at its fullest extent never showed anything further west than the Black Isles, nor anything further east than the distant coasts of the Arybans and the continent the Zebra call home. There was just too much Masquerade knew for a fact that neither her empire, nor the kingdoms of the present, did not know.
So when word had spread of a mysterious creature who claimed to have came from across the vast oceans from lands unknown, completely without any hullabaloo from the Black Isles, who had put fear in whatever the changelings possessed in the place of hearts, overturned kingdoms and, if the rumours from sources in Canterlot were to be believed, resistant to the magic of even Discord, a lot of ponies took interest. Not least because said creature was not under the Celestial sisters' control, but rather that of the griffons. That was exploitable, a potential weapon that was not under the Equestrians' control, something that could potentially be wrested from the griffons if the right leverage were applied.
It wouldn't be easy. The human was immensely distrustful of ponies, but whatever secrets he could hopefully supply might just give the crystal empire an edge, something to help give Cadence that much more independence from Canterlot. Or else she'd find a way to eliminate him if he was too much of a threat. Nopony forgot the fact the human threw around changeling coinage like Hearth's Warming confetti and, feared by them or not, the shadow of Chrysalis was not something she'd be keen on letting anywhere near her princess. She had to be certain before she tried anything. Whether she wanted it or not, Masquerade was participating in this mission for her sovereign's best interests.
Pity she wasn't the only one with that idea.
Right now, hidden behind a few shrubs near the lake edge some distance away from the nearest tents, she was looking sideways at the distant wooden decking where the human was standing, her face shaffron torn. She wanted to turn to follow the human as he left the decking but couldn't afford to. You see, she was busy dealing with the fact that the sphinx on the ground in front of her had a punching blade to her throat. For her part, she had two wing blades leveled at the sphinx's mid section, pinning one of his forelegs to the ground.
The two of them had stumbled onto one another in a simultaneous occasion of skullduggery, and their current predicament was a result of that unfortunate encounter. Masquerade, being a terribly obvious, yellow, crystal pegasus, one whose very eyes betrayed her rank, opted to tail the human at a distance in order to find an opportunity to isolate him and avoid unnecessary unpleasantness should that damned dragon rear his horned head again. She had tried snooping around his tent to possibly find something she might be able to use, only to find a rather sharp eyed, red unicorn haunting the place.
So there she was, hiding in the branches of a particularly voluminous sycamore tree by the lake whose leaves had yet to be shaken loose. She had been observing the human and contemplating approaching him there on the decking before somepony else beat her to it. She had seen that same pony in the tent the other day and wondered what his game was when she saw him again.
She didn’t have long to contemplate that. She was suddenly shook from the tree, a powerful gust of wind knocking her from her perch. Distracted as she was, she was unable to keep herself steady and fell into the bushes, right on top of the Sphinx who she had not been aware was in the bushes below her.
What immediately followed was a furious flurry of hooves, paws and wings as the pair struggled to untangle themselves from an unknown assailant, eventually resolving into the stalemate they were now trapped in. The young sphinx pony below her, more lion then pony, but whose frame was smaller than that of a griffon, glared up at her. His helmet had fallen off after she had cut loose the bindings that held it around his muzzle.
She stared impassively down at the younger pony. Her eyes, enchanted as they were to appear as emeralds, betrayed nothing. Her hooves pinned his wings to the ground as her own curled down from her body. The blades along her fore primary feathers leveled by his ribcage, ready to punch through the flesh if he did anything stupid.
For his part, he had her mane in the grip of one paw, dragging her head down and the punching dagger attached to his other forepaw grazing her neck. “Well…” he began at length. His voice had a distinct drawl to it, different from the ones she had heard from the more southern Equestrians, a slight purring sound rolled from his throat as he said the L’s, but there was nothing pleasant about the noise. “It seems we are at a bit of an impasse.”
“So it would seem,” she said quietly, her voice strained. Modern Equestrian was awkward to get used to, but she had a lot of practice over the past few years. The human was long gone by now. “Desias, I presume?”
“Sir Desias,” he corrected. She frowned down at him. He couldn’t be more than nineteen and already a knight? What standards did the Concordians use when knighting?
“Sir Desias then.” She allowed her eyes to drift to her left. Nopony was approaching the shrubs they were hidden behind, and her target was gone. There was no sense pursuing this any longer tonight. Slowly, she withdrew her wings. In return, Desias lowered his punching dagger and released his grip on her mane.
“Care to explain why you felt fit to attack me?” he said before breaking out into a smile, the small cut on his muzzle bleeding slightly. “Or is that merely how they say hello up north?”
“I would think it more pertinent to ask why a pony used to sands and saharas would be hiding out among bushes spying on ponies.” Masquerade replied, not caring to actually answer his question, especially considering it had been entirely accidental and foalish.
“No more so than a pegasus in a tree doing the same I’d wager,” Desias said as he shuffled out from under the mare’s hooves, flapping his wings experimentally before drawing them to his sides once more. “Wha’ts the matter? Couldn’t wait till tomorrow to get your hooves on me?” Masquerade blinked slowly at him. He shrugged his wings in response.
“What were you doing, skulking about here?”
“Minding my own business,” Desias said, no longer smiling. “As were you, were you not?” his tone made it clear that he knew rightly why she was there.
“Of course,” she said cautiously. Desias’ smile returned.
“And seeing as we were both minding our own business, perhaps we can continue to do so? Or perhaps find something else to occupy our time?” Desias said. Masquerade snorted.
“Do not assume familiar airs with me, sphinx,” she said with more venom than she had intended. Desias’ ear flicked, but his expression did not change. Masquerade’s wings flared as she took a few steps back. She shot up into the air and lingered for a moment. Desias raised an eyebrow. That was a quick launch - he barely had time to blink. Masquerade looked to her right for a moment before shooting off into the night sky.
Desias stayed where he sat on his haunches for a few minutes longer, contemplating. After a while, he heard somepony alight near his position. He frowned, sighing as he got up and emerged from the shrubs. His shield bearer stood there, quietly scanning her surroundings. An incongruous title for a pegasus, he thought, but a traditional one for the squire of a Concordian knight. Ironic considering she was two years his elder.
“I saw the human leave,” Steel Sands said crisply. Always so formal. “But I didn’t see you anywhere. What happened?”
“I was waylaid by a pleasant surprise,” Desias said, smiling lazily. Sands frowned at him. “It was that crystal pony. You know the one. I have a feeling her reasons for being her are not entirely honest.” ‘Neither are mine.’
“Do you think she’ll cause trouble for us?” the orange pegasus asked. Desias didn’t respond immediately as he walked off into the tent city. Steel following shortly behind.
“Probably,” he said, chuckling lightly. ‘But not as much as I’ll cause her if she gets in the way.’