//------------------------------// // Kingly Errands // Story: Crystal heart // by A pensive Squirrel //------------------------------// One thousand or so years before the inauguration of the Princess of friendship, the lands of Equestria were governed by monarchs and despots. Sombra was a king who hated his riches, hated the servants and mares in waiting, and pretty much everything he was given. This grand Mustang was made popular by his unsurpassed moral fortitude. He did not antagonise the poor for their worth, he created schemes for them to better provide for their families. He employed the use of dragons for the mining of gems needed for the grand palatial details his daughters demanded. He was a pushover, for sure, but his heart was that of a lion, one that rarely ever roared. Speaking of the mines, we join King Sombra as he replies to the worries that surround the subterranean venture. “I’ve heard some harrumphing in this quadrant. Why? I don’t want a shouting match with you, for I’m far too competitive. Could you please elect a speaker to air this grievance?” A dusty pickaxe wielding labourer emerged from the bunch picket line. His coat looked grey but it could have been the debris of a job well done. He had an intelligent err about him, as if he was too good for the bed he had made here. He set his pickaxe on the ground and hopped over a stray lantern that nearly had him flat on his partially scarred face. “Our beef is with the fire-breathers we share these caverns with. They are rude, they stink, and they keep stealing my gosh-darn lunch. My missus makes it special like. All my favourites…” “And they’re scarfing down the gems like it’s going out of style!” After hearing the worker’s excuse, Sombra wanted to pull his mane out. “Have you tried speaking with your co-workers, Mr Umm? Your name, good fellow, what’s your name?” “Don’t you know your public, son? You know, ponies’ll get mighty grouchy if you don’t fix this. Name’s Caulker, Porter Caulker.” “Okay, Mr Caulker, have any of your colleagues tried discussing these problems with the aforementioned workers? Surely you could come to an agreement.” “Yeah, sure, I can just saunter up to one of those cagey blighters and tell ‘em that they wreak of old horse shoes. Don’t make me laugh.” “Have some respect, good citizen, I am your King. Treat me as such. The smell will cease to be a problem if we enlist help. Remember, it is all down to cooperation. Our community needs to get along and work through any troubles that we may encounter.” Caulker rolled his eyes and took a second’s recess to bring out his lunchbox, lauding it about as if it were an exhibit in a museum. “Darn lizards near ate half my daisy sandwich!” “I admit boundaries must be set. Do they understand sharing? They are a creature of greed granted, but they are rewarded aptly for their services.” A labourer from the picket line threw down his mug of lukewarm black coffee and jabbed his hoof at the sundial at the entrance to the tunnels. “I have foals to feed buddy. I’ve got expenses to handle. Can you hurry it up with the speech already? I need to get more hours in, not less.” The quiet group around him clamoured in support. They began thrusting their signs to the sky and they demanded a fair deal. “Can we not accept our reptilian workers as we do our own equine brothers and sisters? They are integral in this operation, as are you. Call a council of the mages, all this needs is a simple shrouding spell.” Salem paused and gazed back at his shadow, a thin, almost paper thin messenger. He had gold details on his helmet and sandals. He looked to be miles away, and truth be told that was an underestimation. “Quicksilver, I’m speaking to you my boy. Get the unicorns on side and get this fiasco sorted.” He whispered to his otherwise on-the-ball emissary. “Right, a solution is in the works. For now I would ask that you forget your egos at the cave mouth and get on with your jobs. We must all work together good ponies, for progress, and for providence. Also, we have an excellent bonus for whoever locates a vein of moonstone. How my daughters adore the stuff. I have other duties I must attend. I will be sure to speak with the drakes when I get a spare minute.” Sombra stood still for a moment and watched; waiting with bated breath to see of the workers would break apart their strike and return to task at hand. Gradually the aggrieved returned to the grindstone, each one taking a pickaxe and a lantern in hoof. He saw that all was calm, all was well, so he gave a knowing smile to his audience and left the debacle with his head held high. The nature of his duty was one he wouldn’t openly share. His eldest, Princess Amber, was still throwing her weight about the palace. She had been sighted speaking with a stallion of low birth and rank. He was an errand colt by all accounts. He had a smug air about him and his eyes seemed too wise for the face that owned them. As he trotted through the glimmering streets and vales of his wondrous kingdom, Salem couldn’t help but dwell on other issues that flooded his court. There was always uproar about the wars, but these were Elijah’s doing. Some called him a pragmatist, a pioneer. His endless campaign against the southern nests of griffon and the high peaks swarming with changeling pond-scum would make him worldwide known as a megalomaniacal monster. Salem forced these pointless musings from his mind as he arrived in the howling quarters of his embittered eldest daughter. She was a paler shade of coal than he, more akin to taupe, her mane a manifold of twisting blues and pinks, subtle and enchanting. She been climbed the walls being grounded for an afternoon, but her father wouldn’t clemently coddle her woes. “Daddy, you promised! You gave me your permission to, what was it, carve my own path? Well? Why were your agents tracking me?” “Agents, it was an anonymous tip, my Amber.” Amber climbed from her bed and pouted to no avail, but also to no end. It was clear to the overstressed father that he had given her too much, spoilt her so rotten that the ripe fruit she once was, was now worm-bait, maggot infested and moldy. She tilted her head, maybe thinking it would abet her selfish cause. She sat with a huff on her rug imported from Saddle Arabia and blew through her lips making a burbling sound. “What do you take me for, dad? I may have been besotted with that charming young rogue…” “Rogue, how do you mean? Are you saying there is unrest in my kingdom? I want to know. Speak girl!” He bellowed. He emphasised his position on the matter with a hoof waving like he was conducting the orchestra. “Relax daddy, he’s not part of some plot to overthrow you. In fact, he was asking after you. He wanted to meet you.” “For what purpose does he seek me? If he wants an audience with me then he can attend the court room along with everyone else. I don’t play favourites, especially with mules I do not trust.” “Excuse me?” “Excuse nothing my dear, I will not have a ruffian, a rapscallion uncovering the inner most privacy of my family and my daughter. I am putting my…” At that moment, a radiant light bleached the dimly lit room. From the doorway an angelic creature walked forth. She was a rare thing in the kingdoms, indeed all of equestria. Her beauty was hard to find, but her breed was on the verge of extinction. Her coat was not fur but a collection of dazzling gems so fine they felt just like it. Sappheire was the last of her kind, the last of a time long forgotten. She used her somehow gentle muzzle to interrupt the familial row and cautiously butted the riled child to her bed. She would probably pout some more and wallow in self-pity, but that was what all mares her age did. It was all they did. Celestia forbid one of these princesses lead the kingdom. “You were once like this stallion she’s courting…” “It isn’t courting. That tradition died along with Chivalry back before even I was born. She says she’s dating the little menace.” “Dating-courting, it’s just a word my sweet. You should take him up on his offer. Why not meet the lad? You’re just frightened you’ll see too much of yourself in him.” Sombra dropped his head forward and as he did, his crown plonked onto the floor. His queen carried the trinket back to him but before he could replace it, he saw his reflection upon it. “Perhaps I am just old fashioned. Bring him to me at once.” Sappheire quickly stepped in and set the crown back on her husband’s crest. She patted it down for force of habit and looked back to the daughter, who had fallen back into a whirlpool of things never being fair and the whole world being out to get her. “Give them time, my sweet. You will see that when something is left to mature, it will become greater and more permanent. Just look at us. If you had been any shyer I would have had to pop the question. It is early yet.” “And they are rushing into things.” “She’s a blossoming young mare and she’s found her special some-pony. Why can’t that be enough?” His queen sat there a while and watched the monarch sweat. His excuses were frail, and his memory shorter than his frequently clipped tail. But, in the end, she had to say what he was not prepared to. “You don’t want her to go do you? Oh my sweet little koala, you can’t fight true love. You’re afraid that she won’t be your little girl anymore.” He said nothing. He nodded reluctantly, but he uttered nothing. He said very little for the remainder of the day. As night fell, he let the curtain close on the balcony and crawled into bed. His queen never joined him. She never slept.