CHAPTER ONE:
APPETIZER
1
“I heard he makes them eat glass.”
“Why would he do that?”
“I don’t know. Because he can, I guess.”
“I… can’t see that happening.”
The pegasus that had been invited to dinner watched the steady shadows of two ponies splayed out along a wall through the open door. If they had thought they were out of earshot, they had been terribly mistaken.
Instead of trying to tune them out or go somewhere else, the pegasus only lowered his head to rest back on his hooves. It had been a position he’d been keeping since his name was read aloud in front of everyone.
That must have been less than twenty minutes ago, already. Which left him—
Less than an hour, he finished for himself.
They read your name and an hour later they come to collect you. Anymore time than that and ponies would be more willing to try something brash. Many still did. But escape from the Empire had always been a delusional pipedream and nothing more. Nothing of interest lay beyond those overbearing walls, the stallion knew. That’s what the King had told them on far more than a single occasion.
The pegasus readjusted his head and glared at the dozens of empty cots in the wide room he was occupying. On any moment on any other day, more than half of those beds would have been loaded with worn and tired ponies crashing for a spell before the next swifts in their regions. Those with enough energy would sometimes hold hushed conversations between bedmates. Only now was the stallion oddly alone in the room.
Not many wanted to see him that day. Not when there was a good chance they would never see him again.
2
It had all started several years ago. King Sombra had requested the attendance of six citizens of the Crystal Empire for a feast at his castle. Six white, hoofwritten letters with melted candle wax seal bearing the King’s likeness went out to the masses. Neither one of the six knew of the other; none was of much higher or lower social class than the other. Although no one in the Empire was truly above the King…
The invited six went with worry in their hearts but curiosity above all. Seldom few were ever allowed within the walls of the castle, instead being left to imagine what lay beyond those crystal peaks as their King would make his speeches high-up on his over-hanging ledge.
Six left for dinner and one returned. The one that came back never spoke a word of what had happened to the others, nor was he the same following that night.
And instantly an evening with the King took on a far more horrifying form.
On the last day of every month, six more letters were sent to the terrified populace.
Always random. Always without a single ounce of semblance were the subjects picked.
Only on a lone occasion did a whole family of six go before the King. The only one to return was the unicorn father with sudden red and swollen eyes, a mouth that hung limp and mumbled constantly. Less than a week later he walked off a tall scaffolding in the far reaches of the mine, perhaps in a bid to return to the rest of his family.
That had been the only trace of a pattern. Ever since it had been random selections once more.
When the letters were sent to individuals, most were destroyed or hidden away. When ponies tasked with bringing them to the castle came to collect, they were adamantly told they had the wrong building and the wrong name as well. Since such negligence would never sit well with the King, more than a few fights broke out and a bloodied and bruised ‘guest’ would be given over for dinner. On a few occasions (when the invited individual proved a tad bigger than the ponies tasked with delivering them), the drivers would then pick ponies at random from the streets, usually the ones too frail to put up much resistance.
“Violet Song!”
“Brass Steed!”
It only took a few months before the invitations were collected before going out. One hour before that evening’s dinner would commence, the six names would be read for the entire Empire to hear. When more than a few thought the ponies controlling the reading of the names might be placing other names into the mix, the announcer himself inadvertently uttered his own name before realizing what he had done.
He was never heard from again.
Six ponies went with the promise of a feast to remember forever. A single guest returned—forever changed, forever scarred.
But not a single one would say a word of what happened.
3
The pegasus sitting in wait on his thin bed shuttered when he heard the clop of hooves just outside his clouded window. One of the six simple brown chariots that came to scoop up each guest in tow had finally made its way to him.
Had it been an hour already? he thought bitterly.
From under his mattress he picked up the thin and jagged knife he’d stolen from the communal kitchen only minutes after his name had been announced. Along the blade he viewed his worn and sunken eyes as he held it aloft. He wondered if he’d be allowed close enough to him to be able to use such an instrument. He then wondered if he’d be searched before meeting him.
There was a lot left to chance. Yet perhaps there’d be another way.
Tossing the knife back to the bed for whoever wanted it after he was gone, the pegasus trotted out the door and to the entrance before the King’s staff bothered to knock. When he entered the hall outside his room more than a few quiet conversations came to a disparaging halt. He didn’t bother to stare at anyone or try to make them feel worse than they might—he had never honestly gotten to know a single one of them, so why should he thrash out at them just because the opportunity was available?
A few steps from the front door and suddenly he was wrapped in a set of legs. The owner was a mare much younger than him, a delicate shine in both big eyes.
“You might get lucky, you know?” she told him sincerely. “You might be the one that comes back. I’d really like it if you did.”
The pegasus had seen her around their cozy, cramped lodge more than a few times but couldn’t place her name. Instead of crushing what little spirit remained by saying, “I don’t think so,” he rather ruffled her mane while displaying a smile that felt as false as it must have looked. He couldn’t help but stop his jaw from quivering.
4
“I’m here to pick up—”
The pegasus held out a hoof for him to stop where he was. The unicorn with a small clipboard held in one hoof glanced at him briefly before averting his eyes. That would be the last time he’d look at him.
Without another word the pegasus climbed aboard the small carriage and shut the door behind him. Since the backseat had been designed to carry more than a single pony, he leaned back and sprawled out along the unyielding seat, just giving his head enough space to glimpse the fading sun in the sky. As much as he tried to block out the tall walls that threatened to nip at the sunset’s simple beauty, the pegasus just wasn’t up to the task. He was still in the King’s domain and he’d be reminded of it until the day he died. And there was a good chance that would be tonight.
Or perhaps something worse than death lay in store for him.
The gentle rocking of the carriage nearly sent him to sleep, but the trip was short enough that by the final stop he was up in an instant.
The unicorn that had trotted them there unhooked himself from the carriage and came around to open the door. It looked as though he wanted to say a few words—maybe a few to make the situation seem less bleak than it clearly was—but gave up before even beginning. As the pegasus climbed down the driver still averted his eyes.
The pegasus whistled. “Sure is tall.” He craned his neck to glimpse the mammoth tower of multi-colored crystal before him, ending with its many sparkling sharp peaks. He had seen it every day of his miserable life but this was the closest he’d ever been to it. And now he’d get to go inside its unknowing walls.
The pegasus turned to the unicorn standing idle by his ride.
“What’s gonna happen in there?” he asked him.
The unicorn rubbed a foreleg against the other. “I don’t know,” he said faintly.
“You lying or trying to save your own skin?”
“I really don’t know.” The unicorn’s voice somehow lowered even more. “But… just know… that—”
“That you’re sorry,” the pegasus cut in briskly. “That you feel terrible. Well save it. It’s easy for you to say such things now—you don’t have to be me. You don’t have to go eat with the King. But you know what? I’m pretty famished, if I do say so myself. I think I’ve felt that way for close to my entire life now. So maybe if Sombra’s willing to give me some good food before I go away forever, then maybe that’ll be just peachy. Maybe that’ll be quite the way to go. What do you make of that notion?”
The unicorn stopped rubbing his legs together and lowered his head. It would have to do for an answer.
“That’s fine,” the pegasus continued. “I’m probably late as it is.”
He trotted towards the open set of doors that fed into a richly decorated hallway. Once he’d crossed the threshold and entered the dimness of the hall and the small lamps that hung every few meters along the walls, two sentries from outside pushed the doors shut. The pegasus did not bother to view the outside world one final time. He had never liked it all that much anyways.
Only when he heard the clean snap of the doors connecting again did he fall to the floor and cry.
5
It had been a rising sensation edging its way throughout his body since the carriage had left his home and taken him there. In the overwhelming view of the public eye—and in the silent scrutiny of his unicorn driver—had he merely let those feelings take hold, all while he remained as visibly rigid as he could. But now that he was alone—now that he was here and there was no possible way of turning back—did he let himself become swallowed whole by those welling emotions.
No family was left to mourn for him; few friends would miss him when he was gone. He had a mission he had hastily placed upon himself so even if he was that lucky last surviving guest he was in no means going to leave this place tonight. He would finish his foolhardy mission because it could only benefit everyone in the Empire, and if he died doing so then he would perish a proud pony. He could speak all the tough words he could fathom to as many of Sombra’s drones as he could and yet never hold a single one of them responsible for what was about to unfold tonight—orders were just orders.
He could feel all these things and accept them as they were. But underneath it all he was scared. Underneath it all he was still just a normal pony with normal feelings… and suddenly he did not want to die that night. Or whatever it was that happened to a good majority of Sombra’s guests.
So while curled up in a ball on the red carpeted floors he bawled like a filly.
Until someone poked him in the ribs.
“Guest Number Five.”
The pegasus on the floor stopped shuddering and glared at the Earth pony that had just prodded him. (He didn’t bother to try and hide what he had obviously been doing moments ago.) Unlike the unicorn from before, this servant of the King bore no sympathetic expression to be found. This one only looked weary and almost bored. It was close to refreshing from the sea of sorrow that ran rampant in most streets of the Empire.
He must be used to the sight of tears, the pegasus thought. He must have seen it all, as ponies begged and screamed and tried for any means of escape. What a terrible job you must have—what a terrible boss you must work for.
“Guest Number Five,” he said again, not exactly a question or a statement.
The pegasus hastily wiped his moistened cheeks and got to his hooves. “What’s that now?”
“From here on in you will be Guest Number Five,” the Earth pony said monotone. “The King has never been the type to learn the names of others. Follow me, if you’d be so kind.”
Before he turned his back to him, the pegasus (or I guess ‘GUEST NUMBER FIVE’, he thought bluntly) glimpsed a small tag on the corner of the pony’s immaculate suit jacket. He thought it read “GREETER NO. FIVE” by couldn’t be certain.
With nothing left to interject with he followed him down the hall, both sets of hooves barely making a sound against the plush carpet. How many times had he even touched such material? How many carpeted areas even existed in the Empire? The pegasus had scarcely a clue.
Their trip was long and silent, as they carefully climbed a seemingly never-ending curve of red carpeted stairs, ascending and ascending until the very notion of just how high they must be felt completely lost on the pegasus. Eventually they came to another door, where his greeter halted by its side with a hoof gently resting on the knob. He didn’t make motion to enter; only held onto it delicately. With another leg he reached into a jacket pocket to retrieve a watch. For the rest of their time together he viewed its ticking face with increasing interest.
When the silence ran a little too long, the pegasus asked him, “Any tips?”
The Earth pony still studied his gold watch ardently. “Not really. You might have a tiny bit better chance with the set of wings and all, but then again I might be lying.”
Thirty more seconds carefully ticked by.
“Only fate, chance, and luck will see you through,” he continued indifferently. “That is, if you believe in such things. Otherwise I bid you goodbye.”
He pushed open the door as he shut his pocket watch with a snap. Instead of watch him enter, he redirected his interest to the narrow hall behind them. It was back to business as usual, it seemed.
“I’ll make sure to save you some dessert,” the pegasus snorted, before he entered the dinning room.
6
He hadn’t known what to expect, so the fact that it appeared like the dinning room of his dreams did little to sway the acidy bile steadily rising in his stomach.
The room was larger than most he’d ever been in—oval in shape, every inch of floor hidden beneath more red carpets and lavish large rugs. Eight tall, floor-to-ceiling windows circled the vast room. The sun had disappeared some time ago so each only gave way to darkened clouds and a brilliantly bright full moon. If the hundreds of stairs hadn’t given it away before, the view certainly did. They must have been near the very top of the Crystal Empire tower. Dozens of lit candles held on sconces sent out small rays of yellow curving light to different areas of the room. Still with that many light sources, black pockets of shadows remained close to everywhere. The pegasus honestly pondered if a certain King enjoyed it that way.
The long dinning table waited at the very center of the room, cut from some monstrous cherry-red tree and varnished and polished until it shinned. The seven chairs adorning it were made of the same material. In front of each chair was an identical set of silver plates with utensils, twinkling from the many flickering candles on the walls.
Three chairs sat on both sides of the rectangular table, a seventh chair—sat directly in front of a roaring fire pit—had been placed at its head. No plate or utensils of any kind were waiting to be used. While the other six chairs stood empty and waiting, the chair before the fire had already been filled.
King Sombra sat patiently while bits of wood crackled and splintered just behind him. Two dark hooves were held together on the table. Even from such a distance away, the pegasus could make out his trademark red cape and curved silver crown—as well as that monstrous blood-red horn. If it was real or just for show, he had always wondered. Maybe tonight he’d ask. If given the chance.
That was when another odd detail came to the pegasus. His King was without his great and shiny armor as well; only a tied length of red cloth hung around his neck. Sombra in casual wear? he reluctantly contemplated. Well, it’s just dinner, isn’t it?
As much as he wanted to joke his way to feeling a slight modicum better, the simple sight of the King only made him want to reconnect with the ground and form himself into the tightest of balls. Countless times he had glimpsed him while he made his longwinded speeches from up on high. But now he was near. So near. And now he was so much more real than ever before.
And maybe more vulnerable.
Sombra had his attention fixed on the opposite wall. Another stallion—clearly another guest by the way his eyes bulged out from their sockets—stood stock still in front of the shut door he had been led through. The pegasus watched as the guest spun around to try and head back the way he’d entered. Obviously the door had been locked.
Finally the pegasus noted the other five guests standing idle in front of their own sealed entrances. While most were still busy with the process of taking in the rest of the room—or Sombra himself—another was already trying his best to plow his shoulder to the door. The door in question didn’t waver an inch. In-between hammering thrusts, the pegasus noted his bruised lip and swollen eye. It must have been quite the fight that finally brought him here.
“Please, be seated.”
Sombra’s voice cut through the room like a rockslide in a mine. Those that hadn’t noticed him until then sucked in a good mouthful of air, while a unicorn mare by another door literally screamed out loud. It was likely she couldn’t help it.
It took close to two minutes before every guest carefully pealed themselves away from their doors. Any access they could provide outward had been removed the moment they shut. Now all that remained was dinner.
The pegasus slowly trotted toward the lavish table, a small part of him still intrigued by its simple elegance and beauty. Hundreds in the Empire starved each day or worked themselves close to death, all while their King sat in his tall tower to toy with his subjects. All while lush meals were served to him from the hooves of others.
The pegasus was happy to find a serrated knife along with their other utensils.
While he approached the table he glossed over the large numbers stamped at the top of each chair. One through six, in a rich silver color—crisscrossing from the open end of the table all the way to the seated Sombra. Spots one and two sat the furthest away from him, while five and six…
Oh no. I’m seated right next to him.
The pegasus’ breathing quickened.
Only a few feet from him. Barely a leg’s reach.
But hadn’t he come here with the sole intention of getting close to the King?
The first one to take their seat was the only other pegasus in the room. An older mare—Guest Number Three. With barely a glance at the King she scooted out her chair and sat down without hesitation. Her eyes looked worn and had a far away appearance, as though she were staring at something completely different than the rest of them.
She looks as though this were any other meal on any other night, the pegasus thought, pulling out his own chair to the right of her. She must have lost it completely—scared herself out of her mind. I should have thought about bashing my head in with a rock before coming here. Then I could at least smile and drool and perhaps feel a bit better as Sombra did whatever he planned on doing to us.
The mare pried her napkin from under her knife and fork and set in on her lap. It was such a simple move and yet in such a place it felt off. Guest Number Five instantly pitied her above the rest.
And already she had said something to him.
He turned to her. “Sorry. What was that?”
She smiled warmly. “I said you remind me of my son. He’s a pegasus too, about your age.”
While the stallion could think of no sensible rebuttal, he could hardly leave the older mare without acknowledgment. He nodded hurriedly. “That’s nice.” Straight away he thought of a do-over. “I hope you make it out of here, then,” he added awkwardly, instantly hating each word as it left his mouth.
Grim talk in a grim place, he thought coldly. You can’t escape it.
Since there was honestly no other place to go, each of the other four guests slowly found their seats. Guest Number One at the edge of the table was a male Earth pony, as were Guests Four and Six seated on the other side of the table. Guest Number Four was the bruised and bloodied bigger stallion with a definitive chip on his shoulder. Before finding his place he looked under both his chair and the table for possible traps, before bringing each piece of silverware close to his eye for inspection. He then sniffed each of them with his nose.
Although the pegasus didn’t believe it would be as simple as that.
The only other mare—Guest Number Two, seated at the outer edge—ended up also being the only unicorn in the group. Tightly bunched in her seat, she visibly trembled while she scarcely lifted her head away from her silver plate. Perhaps she thought if she concentrated hard enough, it would turn into a portal that she could jump through and away. Or perhaps not.
“Thank you all for joining me this evening,” a smooth, low voice told them all.
Having completely forgotten about the dark stallion with a crown atop his head seated only a legs reach from him, Guest Number Five shuttered from the sudden sound. Sombra’s low timbre cut through the deathly silent room with relative ease. But then again, he must have done this dozens of times by now.
“I hope you’ve all brought your appetites with you,” Sombra continued, the rest of his body completely motionless while his red and green eyes steadily surveyed each one of them in turn. Only did Guest Number Three—the older mare by his side—met his studious glare. The pegasus, along with the rest, shied away at the last possible moment. “I have personally brought in what might be some of your favorite delicacies for the occasion. I honestly can’t tell you how much I’ve been looking forward to tonight.”