Velvet Sparkle and the Queen in Stone
By Tundara
Part Six
“Have you heard her ladyship?” asked Halfpint, one of Sparkle Manor’s valetes, to miss Darning, a maid. “She’s been up in Lady Tyr’s rooms, spinning a yarn about demons and black magic.”
“You should mind your tongue,” snapped Mrs. Hardtack, the manor’s senior butler and head of staff. “If her ladyship wishes to tell her granddaughter a story filled with all sorts of things, far be it from us to gossip about it.”
“But, demons? The undead?” Halfpint shook his head before looking down to the silverware he’d been polishing. “A load of rubbish, if you ask me.”
“No one is asking you, Mr. Halfpint.” Mrs. Hardtack gave the young valet her sternest glare, and given she’d been a captain’s steward in the navy before joining Sparkle Manor, it was a glare that could strip fresh paint and make dogs whimper as they rushed for dark places in which to hide. “And if you wish to remain employed here, you’d do well to keep such talk to yourself. Why, if half the things her ladyship has said are true, and—need I remind you Princess Celestia herself took her ladyship at her word—she could strip the hide from your back herself.”
Mrs. Hardtack gave a sharp nod, picking up a tea tray and sliding it atop her head with practiced ease. Naturally, the moment she stepped out of the kitchen and made her way towards the upper floors, the other servants returned to their gossiping.
“It’s not real though, right? She’s only telling the little lady a story, right?” Miss Darning whispered in her timid way, eyes darting to see if Mrs. Hardtack would return to scold them some more.
“That’s right, you lot don’t know what it was like when the lady returned home, do you?” said Mr. Cane. He was an older pegasus with a worldly pinch at the corners of his eyes and a slight limp where he’d lost his right wing in an accident. He was as much a fixture of the manor as the mortar in the walls, and all the staff—even Mrs. Hardtack—looked up to him with a reverence of sorts. “Her youngest sister had just passed away when her ladyship appeared on the step. All she possessed was a simple leather satchel and a set of daggers still covered in the dried blood of the last life they’d taken. I was new to the manor then, and had the responsibility of helping her settle and adjust. Especially with what happened next, all the petty wars and power-plays of the nobles, and an heir returned from the wilds. For weeks she would wake in the middle of the night, screaming and crying.”
The kitchen seemed to darken as Mr. Cane spoke, not looking up from the suit he was mending. When he did glance up, there was none of the tenderness he normally expressed upon his broad face. It was a look that had seen Tartarus, and feared to see it again.
“Dreams? B-but, unicorns don’t dream but once a year, Mr. Cane,” Darning said, looking to the other servants for support.
Cane gave his head a slow shake. “Aye, that is true. Normal unicorns only dream once a year… Our lady is not a normal unicorn. You’ve all, except Halfpint, seen the young lords and ladies grow up, and naturally, the softer side of lady Velvet as she manages the House. I saw her darker-side. The side she needed to cultivate in order to not only survive, but thrive out there in the northern lands. Whether the story she is spinning is true or not, I can’t say. What I can is that I believe it.”
His words, though quiet, struck like a hammer upon the rest of the staff. The kitchen was silent as each of the others took in his meaning, their faces growing pale behind their coats.
“She is not called the Baroness of the Blade for her tongue alone,” Cane continued as he tucked away his thread and needle. “House Sparkle is what it is today because of her. The world is what it is, because of her. Now, you all best mind your duty.”
None of the other staff saw Mr. Cane’s private smirk as they bolted for the stairs leading up to the manor’s living quarters.
Up in the salon, laughter and joy reigned supreme. Almost all the Sparkles had gathered for tea. While Velvet herself was missing, still sitting with Tyr in her bedroom, the rest of the house were present. Comet sat with his elder sons, Shining and Two-Step, playing cards. Their sister, Limelight, sipped her tea, watching their younger siblings out of the corner of her eye while also trying to chat with Whisper and Glitterdust. Star, freshly home from her second semester at Celestia’s school for Gifted Unicorns was describing the spells and theories she’d learned during the previous year and playing a game of Ponopoly with her brother, Adamant, and sisters, the twins Elegant and Melody.
The door opened, and Pennant Sparkle stepped into the room, a look of profound satisfaction on her face.
“I’ve passed my lieutenant exam,” she said waving a telegram, setting off a storm of congratulations and hugging. Sitting down next to Limelight, Pennant glanced around the room and quickly noted the drawn, pensive looks of her parents and older brothers. “Whatever is the matter with you? It’s as if you’d just discovered Twilight had eloped with Blueblood.”
“I think, if that had happened, mother would be a sight more pleased,” Shining commented without looking up from his cards. Comet gave a low guffaw, while Two-Step rolled his eyes. Noticing the glare Pennant leveled at him, Shining placed his cards down on the table, saying, “It is Tyr. She’s unwell. Which you’d know if you’d arrived on time, rather than hung around Canterlot.”
“Its been non-stop festivities, parties, and, as a Sparkle, I had open access to any I wished. Of course I stayed, Shiny. I needed to—”
“Act like a drunken fool, I know,” Shining grumbled, standing abruptly as Glitterdust and Comet both demanded he apologize. “I will not,” he stated as he made his way to the door. “You’ve read the papers and seen the pictures of her acting, not like an officer of Their Highnesses Navy, but like a diamond dog with two gold bits to rub together.”
“I’m sorry I’m not perfect like you and Twilight, Shining,” Pennant called back, not masking the venom in her voice. “Nose stuck in my own plot or books, not caring what goes on beyond the end of my horn. Twilight’s semi-exile to that insignificant speck of a town was the best thing to happen to her and this House. It’s a blessing she isn’t our real sister and no longer Velvet’s heir. If she’d become the matron of House Sparkle, I shudder to think at our prospects. She’d have ruined the House inside a year. But what do you care? You’re of House Invictus now, married to a perfect princess, with all the disc laid at your hooves.”
“Pennant, that is enough!” Comet barked, the fire in his eyes making his daughter wilt.
It wasn’t enough to make her completely stop, Shining and Pennant’s siblings each placing bets on the inevitable fight.
Above them, Tyr awoke with a start, almost banging her head against Cadence’s as her mother brushed a warm cloth against her brow.
“Mother?” Tyr asked, blinking away several hours of sleep. “When did you get back?”
“Shortly after Celestia left,” Cadence answered, giving Tyr a sweet smile. The smile vanished as the first thump of a body hitting a wall echoed through the manor. “I brought Shining’s sister with me, though I am thinking that was a poor choice.”
“Father will win,” Tyr said with unconditional confidence as the crack of a misfiring spell reverberated up to the trio of ponies in the room.
The sharp noise woke Velvet, the baroness leaping onto splayed hooves with a cry of, “Sylph!”, a powerful spell humming along the length of her horn. Her eyes darted around the room, searching for any sign of danger. Slowly, Velvet realised she was home, among friends and family, and not in the Taiga. Dismissing the spell around a yawn, Velvet asked, “How long?”
“A few hours, maybe more,” Cadence replied. “You and Shining were both asleep when I returned. He’s downstairs—”
“Fighting with Pennant, as usual,” Velvet mumbled, stretching her back with several pops timed to a series of crashes downstairs. “That filly needs to understand that being angry all the time won't make her my heir anymore than it will make time run backwards.”
Cadence simply frowned at the proclamation, glancing to the door, worry painted across her face. After another, much louder, crash, she started to stand, but halted when Velvet called to her.
“He can manage Pennant. She’s not half the fighter she thinks herself to be,” Velvet dismissed the fight with a casual flick of her tail. “Besides, if it gets out of hoof, they know I’ll step in. I may be getting on, but I can deal with them still.”
Neither Cadence nor Tyr looked particularly convinced.
“Now, where were we? Had I reached the Diamond Dogs yet?”
“Diamond Dogs? What are those?” Tyr crinkled her muzzle, though it may have been from the line of mucus running down her nose. Dabbing at Tyr’s face with a hoofkerchief, Cadence explained in brief detail the diamond dogs. “Oh, we don’t have anything like that back home. Not that I was told about, anyways.”
“Probably because the filthy mutts are the product of some stupid, mad scorceress.” Velvet didn’t hide her disgust, letting her words drip with scorn and hatred. “Despicable, loathsome, and wholly unredeemable. A blight for any land under which they occupy. Look at what nearly happened to Ponyville, and that was just a small wandering pack.”
“How about we get back to the story, rather than talk racial politics?” Cadence gave Velvet a pointed look.
“Yeah, I want to learn about the dryads!” Tyr lifted a hoof to rub her chin, bloodshot eyes squinting up at Velvet, adding, “I mean, I know a lot about them, obviously… Well, the Gaean dryads, that is.”
“Okay, okay, I got it. Get on with the story, and all that.” Velvet gave a self-deprecating chuckle, “So, the dryads…”
Dryads: they are a peculiar race. Some believe they were once Earth ponies that grew too close to the plants they tended, forming illicit bonds with the trees. Others hold that they are cast-offs of some experiment gone wrong, products of a mad wizard lusting to create nymph slaves. The dryads themselves say that they are descended of Zir Nashéiall, their name for the First Tree, sprouting as saplings in the shade beneath her tremendous branches.
Whatever their origins may be, it has long since faded to myth.
They are peaceful, almost to a fault, but distrustful of outsiders to an extreme that makes the Halla seem welcoming in comparison. This isolation isn’t without reason. Dryads have long been associated with nymphs as thieves that steal stallions away to serve as ‘pollinators’. A lewd, superstitious fear I discovered as baseless. Dryads are monosexual, with no mares or stallions. They never mentioned how that works, and I was too embarrassed to ask.
It was in the dryads’ care that I awoke. A light rain pattered across my parched lips, drawing me to the world of the living. Sol stung my eyes as I cracked them open, her light filtering through the forest canopy. Gingerly turning my head, I found I was laying on a bed of moss, a cover made from woven pine needles draped over me.
For not the last time, my entire body ached as I pulled myself upright. There wasn’t a muscle that wasn’t bruised or stiff. Large welts could be seen clearly beneath my coat where the draugen had battered my armour, and my left eye was swollen almost shut. Testing my hooves, I found them able to support me enough that I could examine my surroundings.
Waves lapped on the shore a few yards from where I’d lain, the lake’s surface rippling as a mid-spring breeze blew from the south, carrying with it the sharp scent of flowers in bloom. My bed sat next to the cave, the entrance hidden in a little hollow beneath a short rise. Silver logs had been moved and used to block the entrance.
“You should rest,” a voice called from above the cave. “It’s not good to be up yet, oh no, not good.”
“I don’t have time to rest,” I growled, taking further stock of my surroundings.
My things had been placed next to my bed, laid out with care. I gave a relieved sigh at seeing my bags and Llallawynn. My armour was, sadly, a complete loss. It would have taken a master badger to repair the damage. A basket of fruits and bread sat beside my gear. The painful squeeze in my stomach reminding me of my hunger, I reached for the basket first. What happiness had begun to form at being out of Gamla Uppsala died as a sharp pain lanced through my horn, driving me to the ground.
“You shouldn’t try magic,” the voice cautioned, a small head peering down at me over the ridge’s lip. “These are frόdhleikr hljόdh trees. Your spells won’t form so close to their branches.”
“The what?” I snarled at the dryad, driving her back below the ridge’s rim, and clutched my stinging horn.
“Magic silence, I believe is the translation. They should keep the dead things inside.” There were a few, hushed words as the voice spoke to another dryad. “You should rest some more. You spent almost all your magic escaping Gamla Uppsala.”
Seeing few other options for the moment, I did as suggested. Truthfully, I was too weary to stand or pace. Placing my chin on my hooves, I allowed myself to rest and recover.
“What is your name?” I asked my unseen companions after some time.
There was a slight hesitation, more whispering, and then, “Juniper.”
Letting out a grunt, I waited for her to ask mine, and when she didn’t I supplied it anyways.
I received no response.
Shrugging, I reached out with a hoof and brought the basket of food towards me. Eating with my hooves was an unusual experience. Savouring the warm flavour of the bread, I noticed a face peeking over the hole’s edge, watching me with mingled curiosity and dread.
Her features were soft and rounded, a leafy mane falling over her honey-brown eyes. A little, black nose twitched, reminding me of an over-grown squirrel, followed by a large ear, the soft bark of her coat neither groaning nor snapping like I would have suspected. She darted back when she realised I’d seen her, only to slowly emerge again, a second and third dryad joining her this time.
“What is it?” the dryad on the left asked, and from the tenor of her voice I knew she had to be young. “Not a halla… its only got one horn.”
“Don’t be rude,” admonished the middle dryad, Juniper by her voice, casting a sharp look at the younger dryad. “She could be sick or deformed or hurt, and you wouldn’t want to upset her. She came out of the dead place covered in blood and with Gram at her side. The old ones say she is a sorceress and will bring destruction to the disc.”
“Then why do they help her? Give her food and water?” asked the third and youngest. “If she’s evil—”
“Because, we do not turn away those whom seek our aid in peace.” The three heads shot up as a fourth spoke in a tone heavy with age.
Stepping through some dry thistles without a rustle, the dryad I’d seen before passing out entered the little camp. Up close, and without the presence of extreme fatigue, I saw her to possess a soft authority. She limped as she moved, her right-foreleg slow and with limited movement. There were no clothes or adornments, and she didn’t even have a cutie mark, the dryads never possessing one.
“No matter how dark, nor how troubled their path has been, we treat all equally,” she continued, glancing up at the young dryads. “The tree shades the fox as it would the rabbit. Now, go on little saplings, your mothers are worried and I must speak with our guest.”
As the young dryads scampered off, the ancient hind sat down across from me.
“It is good to see you awake. I worried it would be days or more for you to recover. I never imagined a pony to be so resilient.” She chuckled and shook her mane of dry lichen. “But, I never expected to see anyone ever wield the dark arts again. Oh, where are my manners? I am Mima, sometimes called Old Mima, or the weathered hag, depending on the mood.”
Remaining seated, I introduced myself.
“A pleasure, Sorceress Velvet,” Mima bowed her head, then reached for the leftover bread. She sniffed it, her muzzle crinkling, before placing it and the empty jug in the basket.
“I hope you enjoyed the meal. It took some effort to make—”
“Please, don’t think me ungrateful, ma’am, but I don’t have time for idle chat.” I held up a hoof. “I must catch up to my friends. We have to be at lake Babine by mid-summer.”
“Friends?” Mima tilted her head, squinting at me. “You alone have come out of the dead place, Velvet.”
A cold dread gripped my throat, my heart seizing as I tried to process Mima’s words.
“I went to bring the ancient one his rations the other day, and from the woods I beheld as he lead you bellow and the hallowed doors shut. For three days I watched, joined by the rest of the grove, but the doors did not re-open, nor did they exit from the cave, as you did.”
Mima spoke in a soft, comforting voice meant to dull the blow, but it fell with a terrible weight upon my withers just the same. I sagged into the matted bed of pine needles, all hope draining from my body. My eyes drifted to the piled logs, and for a moment I thought I may have heard Sylph or Growler calling my name. But it was just a trick of my ears.
Was it the collapse? Had they been trapped and cut-off as I had been? Had they turned on each other? Growler would not have left without me willingly. Perhaps they had fought over whether to search or to leave and continue the quest.
No, I was certain that if Growler had made such an argument, Sombra would have simply left and re-opened the tomb.
Something had to have happened to them; either they’d been caught in the collapse, or by the draugen.
“I must go,” I said with all the force I could muster, my command having little effect on Mima. She just responded with a faint smile. That I could hardly stand didn’t help create the air of strength I wanted to convey.
“Must you? You are not yet recovered. The root-ring on your horn is keeping the effects of magical exhaustion at bay.”
My eyes flicked up as Mima gestured toward my brow, but I couldn’t see anything. Lifting a hoof, I felt something around the base of my horn. I began to remove the object, only to stop as a sharp spike of pain stabbed into the back of my head. A low grunt forced itself through clenched teeth as I released the object, and the headache passed.
“More of those froodlicker trees?” I asked around panting breaths.
“frόdhleikr hljόdh, and yes.” Mima waved me to lay back down, and it was with great consternation that I did so. It wasn’t more than a few seconds before I was attempting to leap back to my hooves, as Mima said, “Beyond your injuries, your friends can not be saved. They are dead or gone.”
“They are not dead! I refuse to believe that,” I snapped, attempting to advance a step towards Mima, and almost falling on my face as I teetered.
Her smile grew at my conviction. She pondered my demands for a moment more, then stood and made her way towards the blocked cave.
“Very well. You are no prisoner, and we will not keep you here if this is your wish.” She indicated the logs, “You are free to return to Gamla Uppsala and look for your friends.”
“Good,” I growled.
The first thing I retrieved was Llallawynn, the sword’s weight a comfort as I picked it up with my hooves.
As I gathered my things, Mima talked.
“There is great potential within you, Velvet Sparkle. Had the Ravens known who they were training, they may have let the Eagles cast you into the forest where you would have surely died… Or become one of the greatest evils to cross the disc.”
“Uh huh,” I muttered, only half listening as I pulled on my cloak, a pang of regret twisting my insides to see it so torn and fighting to prevent my hooves from shaking.
“When—”
“I don’t care,” I said, interrupting Mima with a snort. “I don’t care about prophecy, or the Dark runes echoing in my head, or anything except healing my daughter.”
“Very well,” Mima stood, her tone clipped. “I will send Juniper tomorrow with more food, just as I did for the ancient one.”
Tightening the final buckle on my bags, I grunted. “Do what you want. I wont be here tomorrow.”
I was only partially correct.
After Mima left, I allowed myself to collapse, my legs trembling as I laid on my side, eyes scrunched shut. In a daze, not tired, my mind sharp and awake with a vital urge to find my family, I finally sorted through the runes cursed upon me by Algol. They danced and spun the day away, spiraling and combining into spells as naturally as the shifting of Selene’s light.
Each new spell came with it knowledge of its inner workings; curses and summons, evocations and blessings, jinxes and shields, and more beyond. All formed from the dark runes.
Then, something I should have anticipated happened, they began to combine with the runes learned from my Equestrian and Halla mentors. Harmonic runes melded with those of Chaos, connected by a Dark bridge. Unlike so many of the other spells that filled my head, threatening to build beyond my capacity to make sense of one from the next, this spell held my interest, for it was a spell of rejuvenation and capable of restoring strength and vitality in only a few moments. But the cost was to steal it from another, leaving them weak and tired.
Utterly useless on two fronts—I was alone, and I would never harm another to save myself. I began to put the spell aside and focus on regaining my strength the natural way when the sapling from before poked her head out of a nearby shrub. For a moment I wondered if I’d passed through the night in the intoxicating haze of awakening magic. A quick glance towards Sol hovering out to the west told me that it was the afternoon, and not early morning.
“So, you’re a halla?” Juniper asked, bouncing free of the shrub with a simple jump. She circled around me like a bird would a sleeping bear.
Losing sight of her as she went behind me, I grumbled and huffed. “I am a pony, and a Halla.”
“Oh.” Juniper was silent for a few moments, making me lift my head to see what she was doing, and almost bumping muzzles with her. The sapling jumped back, prancing from side-to-side like a peacock. “Why do you have Gram?” she asked suddenly, pointed at Llallawynn.
“Gram?” I repeated the name with a slight frown. Rolling onto my stomach, pine needles and leaves clinging to my side from where I’d been laying for so long, I nodded to my sword. “This is Llallawynn, a star-sword.”
Juniper considered the sword and I for some time.
“So… It’s not Gram?” She slid a few steps closer.
I gave an uninterested shrug. “She could have had that name, once, but Llallawynn is what she calls herself.”
Giggling, Juniper laid down close enough that I could almost feel the warmth radiating from her. My mind flashed back to the rejuvenation spell, and the knowledge that my husband and friend were still missing in Gamla Uppsala. My eyes darted to the barricaded cave and then to Juniper. She was almost close enough for the spell to work. A few more hooflengths and the deed could be done.
A snicker broke me from my thoughts.
“Swords can’t talk. They aren’t spirits or beings, or even like some of the more intelligent monsters, like dragons. A sword is a sword.” A pause. “Isn’t it?”
“I think for most swords, yes, that is true. My old sword, trusty as it was, never said a word.” I patted Llallawynn’s scabbard. “But Llallawynn is a magic sword forged of star-metal, and with a star-spirit contained within. She’s special.”
Again, Juniper considered what she’d heard, then nodded.
“That makes sense. Great beings deserve great weapons, and what could be greaterer than a magic sword.” Juniper scooted closer still, stretching to look over my back at Llallawynn.
She was more than close enough now for the spell to succeed. It could be done before she could react, the Dark rune almost begging me to bind the Harmonic and Chaotic cousins to it. But I could not go through with the spell. Beyond all other thoughts, the idea of harming a foal of any race filled my mouth with bile and self-loathing for even considering the idea for a moment.
A soft weight across my back alerted me that Juniper had moved even closer.
“You’re soft,” Juniper mumbled, face burrowing into my side, “and warm.”
“I… suppose?” I couldn’t think of anything else to say.
Trying to find something else to say, or to ask the young dryad, I became aware that the forest had grown silent. At once all my senses started screaming, my eyes and ears darting from shadow to shadow in search of whatever had scared away the little critters. Juniper noticed the silence as well, her presence vanishing from my side as she jumped up.
“I better get home,” she said in a low whisper, frantic eyes leaping about. “Momma is—”
Her explanation was lost as the ground beneath her seemed to vanish, falling into a hole with a long scream. Stunned for a second before beginning to stand, I tried to move to the hole, only to have clawed hands break through the soft earth and grab me about the hooves and drag me down into the earth.
A polite knock on the door and a cough heralded the arrival of lunch, Mr. Cane bearing it on his wing. He smiled and nodded to the princess and gave Tyr a good natured wink as he placed the platter on a table and began to set up a bed tray for Tyr.
“How goes the story, mu’um?” he asked as he set a bowl of soup onto the bed tray.
“It’s just getting interesting again,” Tyr wheezed, eyeing the bowl of soup with grave suspicion. It was a light yellow, with chunks of some white substance in it. “What’s this?”
“Egg-noodle soup with spiced crab,” Mr. Cane responded, smiling at the hungry glimmer that sparked in Tyr’s eyes.
“Crab? What is Mrs. Turnover thinking?” Velvet sighed, reaching for the soup.
“Probably that the diet of a filly alicorn is not so different from that of a filly pegasus, mu’um.” Mr. Cane gave a smirk at the surprise on Cadence and Velvet’s faces. Before the Princess and Baroness he placed trays holding simple sandwiches.
Fishing the crab pieces out of the soup, while Tyr looked on with complete dejection, Velvet huffed, “Well, Twilight couldn’t eat pegasus fare, and she was fostered too. As Mrs. Turnover should remember from the halibut debacle during Limelight’s naming party.”
Chortling in a soft, easy way that couldn’t help but bring a smile to those nearby, Mr. Cane just shrugged his remaining wing.
“I’m sure it just slipped her mind, mu’um. All of us downstairs just want the best for Lady Tyr.” He took the small plate of crab meat, Tyr eyeing it with a ferocious gleam, and placed it back on the platter. As he did he added, “His Highness and Lady Pennant have resolved to settle their differences this afternoon, mu’um.”
“He’s not going to duel his sister, is he?” Cadence exclaimed, thumping a hoof on the bedside. “The lummox.”
Giving Cadence a comforting smile, Velvet said, “I told you not to worry. Shining can deal with Pennant. Celestia knows he’s had to enough times over the years.” Stretching, Velvet moved towards the door. “I better make sure they don’t hurt each other. And have a word with Mrs. Turnover, quickly. We’ll pick the story back up later, love.”
“But—” Tyr started to protest, but was cut off by Cadence pushing her back into her pillows while hovering a spoonful of soup in front of her muzzle.
“Lunch first, begging for more of Velvet’s story afterwards,” Cadence said around light tuts.
“Beg? I wasn’t going to… Nevermind.” Crossing her hooves, Tyr nevertheless accepted the soup, cheeks glowing with embarrassment beneath her coat. “This never happened,” she shot to Mr. Cane between spoonfuls.
“Of course not, Lady Tyr.” He gave a polite nod to the princess and her foster daughter, then slipped from the room, a knowing grin stretching across his muzzle once the door had been shut.
On his way downstairs, Mr. Cane passed Lady Pennant—she sporting a black eye—and Shining—him with a broken lip—being lectured by Velvet, their mother a stern figure as she dressed down her son and her daughter. Further along, Mr. Cane encountered Miss Darning sweeping up fragments of shattered pottery and straightening several portraits knocked around during the fight. None had been damaged, thankfully, and the pot could be replaced.
And the day was only half-over.