//------------------------------// // Night of Fire // Story: Fate/Amicitia // by Sanguine //------------------------------// Hector stood alone at the Scraean Gate. Through the dust of the battlefield, clad in armor of pure gold and hatred burning in his eyes, Achilles appeared. The Greek hero stripped the helm from his head. He was a man of stark features, the lines of his face hard and angular. His hair was green, swept back and feathered into spikes, and his yellow gaze scorched the air. Hector could feel the warrior’s fury, but he stood as firm as the Trojan walls. “Son of Peleus,” Hector addressed his foe, “ten years have the Greeks besieged this city, and never once have we met on the battlefield. The hands of the Gods are at work.” Achilles tightened his grip around his spear. “Apollo will not rescue you this time, Prince Hector. I will have blood for blood.” Hector thought’s drifted to the previous day. Among the Myrmidons who had followed Achilles from his homeland, only Patroclus was truly a friend to their leader. That morning, Patroclus had been an unstoppable force in battle. He’d appeared wearing Achilles’ own armor, hoping to inspire the men in the demigod’s absence, and he’d slain more than a dozen Trojans after taking the field. He pierced the battle lines and harried his enemies to the very gates of the city. It was luck as much as anything that Hector had arrived in time to stop him from leading an attack on the walls. The battle that followed had been swift and brutal. Death had seemed only moments away with every thrust of the spear. Patroclus had fought with the fury of a legend, done great honor to his ancestors and to Achilles. But by the grace of the Gods, Hector triumphed and spilled the Greek’s lifeblood with a slash of his sword. Hector slapped a hand against his chestplate, the armor he’d taken from Patroclus' corpse. The same armor had belonged to Achilles, and Achilles' father before, but was now his by right of conquest. Achilles saw the gesture and spat in the dirt. It was the only discussion either man could accept. Debating grievances, hoping for peace, neither remembered such foolish ideas had ever existed. The fight should have begun then and there. But as he felt the eyes of his countrymen on him from the battlements, one last nagging thought compelled Hector to speak. “Let us form a pact, Achilles. We will agree before Gods and men that whoever is victorious shall leave the body of the other unmolested. We are the champions of our nations. Our people should have the opportunity to grieve for us, to conduct the funeral rights and honor our memories.” Achilles laughed in Hector’s face. “Fool! Don’t dare speak to me of covenants." The warrior hefted his famous spear that it was said no mortal man could lift, the polished black ashwood shining in the Trojan sun. "Put forth your full strength Prince of Troy. There will be no covenants between men and lions!” The demigod tossed his spear, his arm stronger than a bowstring. Hector backstepped on sheer instinct, and when the weapon struck the earth where he’d stood he felt the ground shake. Achilles surged forward. His words echoed in Hector’s mind. Hector knew as his foe approached that he would die. Achilles would have his revenge. And he would not be satisfied until he also killed the whole remainder of the Trojan race. In his mind’s eye Hector saw images of his wife, his brothers, his parents… his beloved infant son. The Prince of Troy fled for his life. The shame of it made him want to retch, but he would gladly sacrifice his honor to buy his son more time. Hector made an initial escape, but it was nothing to celebrate. Achilles dogged him tirelessly as they circled the entire city three times. Stories claimed Achilles was the fastest man in the world. All the Greeks knew their champion as “Swift-Footed Achilles,” and Hector found himself uniquely situated to appreciate the truth behind those rumors. The prince knew every hill and valley of the Trojan countryside, and exploited the terrain to the fullest to keep his pursuer at a distance. But for all his tricks and evasions, he never gained a step of ground, never earned a moment of rest, and never escaped those vengeful eyes. Before the powers of a monster, the stratagems of a man were meaningless. As he began his fourth circuit Hector felt his strength begin to ebb. Whether it had been divine aid or simple desperation that had driven his flight, it was fading quickly. His breath became heavy, his limbs turned to lead. But the pace of his degradation was not swift enough for cruel Fate. Without warning his foot caught a stone he had avoided on every previous pass, and his ankle twisted. He fell to the dirt. Hector could only laugh. The great general, the heir to the invincible city, taken to his grave by a pebble in the road. He closed his eyes, thinking the next thing he would feel was Achilles’ spear in his belly. But instead he felt a hand grasp his and pull him to his feet. It was a soft hand. A scholar’s hand. “Hardly the time for a nap in the field, Big Brother,” said Deiphobus. He ran a hand through his short crop of violet hair to brush it out of his eyes, his clean-shaven face betraying something between relief and annoyance. He was kitted for battle, wearing light armor of boiled leather and a spear slung over his shoulder. Hector couldn’t believe his eyes. He touched his brother’s shoulder to test if he were real, and then wrapped him in a warm embrace. “Deiphobus! What are you doing here? You should be inside the walls.” “Yes, I suppose I should be. But as a younger brother I’d be remiss if I allowed you to have a nap without some sort of molestation. War is no excuse for being lax in family duties.” Hector smirked, but that faded when a glint of gold caught his eye. Achilles had halted his pursuit to observe Hector’s newly arrived aid from a distance. “You shouldn’t be here. It’s too dangerous. Achilles will…” “You shouldn’t be here either, brother. Polydamas and I both warned you not to camp outside the walls. Then we all warned you not to stay out here and fight that beast alone! You never listen!” Deiphobus stopped and sighed. “But then, Mother and Father begged me to stay inside the walls as well, yet here I am. You’re really a bad influence.” Hector slapped his brother’s shoulder. “You won’t hear me complain.” He turned to face Achilles, trusting his brother with his back. Achilles cautiously stalked toward them, protecting himself with a magnificent golden shield he had thus far not bothered to draw. It seemed the mighty demigod was not so confident with two Princes of Troy to contend with. Hector stood firm and gripped his own spear. “The hour of my doom is not yet upon me, Achilles! You will not have the pleasure of driving your spear into the back of a runaway! Face me head on, and we shall see at last who the heavens will favor!” Achilles glared at the pair, and said, “I suppose we will see at that.” He again tossed his jet-black spear, the power of his throw making it sing as it sliced through the air. Again Hector barely dodged, ducking and allowing the weapon to sail past him, knowing Deiphobus would avoid it and not daring to take his eyes off his enemy for a second. Now he had the advantage: Achilles was unarmed and would have to force his way past Hector to retrieve the weapon. If he did, Hector could strike him down, or entangle him and leave the death blow to his brother. This was his chance. Hector reared back his mighty arm and let his spear fly with all the power he could muster. It was an even greater toss than the one that had nearly pierced the great shield of Ajax, the sum of all that defiance of the Trojan people in a single blow. Surely even Achilles had to respect the power of the throw, surely he would remember the tales of Hector’s spears and how they would shatter armor and skewer whole columns of men like chickens on a spit. His nerves would get the better of him, he would use that superhuman speed and charge forward, both to dodge and to reclaim his spear. When he did, the Prince of Troy would take him. But Achilles did not charge. He raised that massive golden shield to block the projectile. And when the spear struck that shield it did not pierce through and strike the man behind it, it did not even stick deep in the metal as it did against Ajax. It shattered. The wooden shaft disintegrated into dust, and the bronze point fell uselessly to the dirt. The shield itself was not even scratched. Then Achilles came out from behind it, and his black spear was somehow back in his hand. “Impossible!” Hector turned back to Deiphobus, hoping for some explanation from one of Troy’s most learned… but his brother was not there. Hector’s eyes were almost blinded as they took in a radiant being, a woman of handsome and reserved features surrounded by an aura of light. She was a stranger, but Hector knew her face. “Athena…?” The woman smiled a cruel little smile, and offered him a wave goodbye before vanishing. Hector turned back to Achilles, who had thrown his shield aside. He had not hesitated because he feared facing two men, he had hesitated because he recognized a God in disguise and wasn’t sure who she intended to aid. Now he knew. She had given him back his spear, she had caused Hector to throw his away, and she had closed the gap between them so there could be no more chances to run. Hector had been betrayed by the Gods themselves. Achilles took his spear in a two-handed grip, scraping the weapon against the ground so that it growled like a wolf about to fall on a lamb. Hector looked away from those predatory eyes to the sword belted to his hip, now his only weapon. He drew that sword, and whispered “Gods on high, if you have any pity for this mortal, give me one blessing before the end. Let me not then die ingloriously and without a struggle. Let me first do some great thing that shall be told among men hereafter." Hector charged, his bronze blade the exact shade of a fading sunset. The Prince of Troy fell. Blood spurted from a mortal wound. Because his armor was taken as a prize, he could not have known that its seeming invulnerability had a weakness. The right collarbone, the crux between pauldron and neck guard was where Achilles had thrust his spear, and it had pierced through as if the god-forged bronze were parchment. As Hector bled he could only stare at the instrument of his death. He asked, “Will you send my body home, Achilles?” “No. Your mother will never weep over your body Prince Hector. Its destiny is to be meat for dogs and vultures.” Despite himself, Hector laughed. “Even in victory, your heart is hard as iron. Be wary, Son of Peleus. If you offend the gods by defiling a corpse you might suffer their capricious whims as well.” Achilles spat in the dirt again. “Die, Hector, and I will accept my fate whensoever the gods see fit to send it.” Blood filled Hector’s throat. The sky grew dim. Achilles stood and watched, making no move to end his enemy’s suffering. Such pain… *** Twilight woke up with her lungs burning for air, though the sensation of drowning in blood swiftly faded. The dream had been so vivid, she’d felt like she WAS Hector battling Achilles. As she took deep, haggard breaths, she remembered how much she’d wanted to see how the story ended after her last dream. It wasn’t the glorious and happy conclusion she’d expected for a famous hero. “Bad dream, Twilight Sparkle?” asked Hector. He was leaning lazily against a wall, staring out the remnants of a stained-glass window. They had taken refuge in a room atop one of the few standing towers, and the view of the Everfree Forest under the stars was breathtaking. Again, Twilight hesitated to admit what she’d seen in her dreams. It wasn’t as though she was trying to peer into Saber’s past, but doing so without his permission, even by accident, seemed wrong. “Sort of.” “The Oracles of my age often interpreted dreams as signs of the future, though at times their messages can be hard to fathom. You would be wise to consider what you saw carefully.” Hector said in a sage tone. Twilight suppressed a sigh. A dream about giving your absolute trust to someone close to you in combat against a deadly enemy only to be betrayed and killed wasn’t exactly reassuring. She had all the doubts and fears about friends she could handle already. “Twilight, there’s about to be a loud noise. Try not to be startled.” Before she could ask what Saber was talking about, there was indeed a “loud noise,” in the form of a deafening explosion. Twilight rushed to the window just as the light of the blast was fading and what she saw left her speechless. It was an entire fleet of ships. There were several dozen at least, approaching from every direction. They were massive, over a hundred feet long with masts that pierced the night sky. Although there was no wind that night, their sails billowed full, straining against their rigging as they glided over the tops of the trees as easily as they would the sea. Most were regal, the planks of their hulls pristine and decorated with elaborate woodwork, and each one with a unique figurehead in the image of a beautiful human woman. Strangely, every third or fourth ship was burning. Flames licked along the wood and canvas, covering their glory with char, but they were sailing no less swiftly than the others and they lit the rest of the armada with an eerie orange glow. Twilight was in awe until the source of the explosion was made clear: The largest ship opened fire. The flash of cannon muzzles was followed by three more blasts, and Twilight instinctively dropped down from the window and shielded herself from expected debris. She stayed on the floor with hooves over her head for a few moments before Saber reminded her that she had nothing to fear. “The castle is still protected by the palladium. And besides, they are only targeting the outer wall. A warning shot.” Brushing off her embarrassment, Twilight clambered back to the window. The ships had pulled in close and surrounded the castle, turning their broad sides toward the fortress and bringing to bear their full complement of guns. The entire perimeter was under blockade. Saber and Twilight were trapped. Slightly back from the front line, the ship that had fired rose higher into the air. It was the most lavishly decorated of them all, its hull painted striking red and every gun port plated with gold. Oddly, it lacked a figurehead, but when a human woman with raspberry hair stepped out onto the ships’ prow like an actress to center stage, Twilight wondered if the omission wasn’t because no mere sculpture could have matched her beauty. She spoke boldly, her voice echoing through the forest. “Saber! Will you parley, or shall I give you no quarter?” Saber nodded to Twilight, who cast a spell. A microphone of pure magic coalesced in his hand, and when he spoke into it his voice seemed to rise up from every door and hallway of the castle at once, amplifying it while obscuring its origin. “What have you come for, Shipmaster?” “You, dear fellow! It is the wish of my Master that your Master be removed from the fighting. She fears that the stress of war has taken a toll on her dear friend. Before any further harm arises, it is our intent to end Twilight’s role in this little game. Give yourself up peacefully, and not only will your execution be painless, but I will personally see to your Master’s well-being for the duration of the War. On my honor.” Saber scoffed. “The honor of a pirate? That’s cold comfort.” The woman feigned injury at Saber’s words. “Oh, such indignity! That I should fight for Queen and Country all my life, serve as Admiral and Privateer under the banner of England, only to have my sacred word impugned. Is this the destiny of a Servant who is not fit to serve as one of the Three Knights? Is a mere Rider cursed to be thought of as a lower Hero? You are cruel indeed, Saber!” She wilted to her knees and draped the back of her hand over her face, posing for their benefit. “Your performance is serviceable madam, but I lived in the age when theater was born. You’ll have to do better if you expect a rose from me,” sad Saber Rider snorted out a laugh and stood up. “Ah, the favor of the audience is a fleeting treasure as well. Still Saber, if you will not trust me, trust my Master’s Command Seals. Twilight Sparkle will not be harmed if you give yourself up.” Saber hesitated a moment before answering. “And what difference is that promise to me? What of my wishes?” Twilight’s eyes went wide with shock at those words, but then she remembered that she had been the one who cruelly told Saber to mind his own business and start thinking about himself. “Oh my, an unexpected twist! To think one who besmirched a pirate’s good name would be so mercenary. You are long dead Saber. It is one thing to kill an opponent in battle, and at times the rules of the war or the power of the Command Spell may compel us to slay an innocent. But do you so despise your Master that you would willingly sacrifice her irreplaceable life for the selfish desires of a ghost?” Twilight had averted her eyes, but Saber cupped her chin in his hand and turned her back, to make sure she heard his next words. “You mistake me, Rider. My Master is a noble creature. She is hard working and kind hearted, more so than many of the ‘heroes,’ I knew in my life. She deserves to be free of the burden she’s shouldered in this Grail War.” Twilight felt warm inside and silently mouthed a ‘thank you.’ Saber smirked back at her, and then continued, “But it seems she is too stubborn to willingly relieve that burden. You are right, it has harmed her. But I am her sword. It is my duty to see her safe from harm, physical or mental. The wishes I spoke of were not the miracle I seek from the grail, but my desire to see to her safety with my own hands. I will not entrust it to any other.” Rider listened to Saber’s whole speech, and then began clapping. “Well said, sir, well said! Such a bond is truly priceless. I will consider it a personal honor to bring that treasure to a spectacular end! Steel yourselves! I am El Draque, the woman who set the sun, and this is my Noble Phantasm! Golden Wild Hunt!” Rider signaled her fleet, and the ships opened fire as one. If the sound of three cannons was deafening, the sound of hundreds was smothering. The noise was so great it made the air feel like it was a solid mass squeezing around her, and Twilight found it difficult to breath. The earth-shattering cacophony consumed everything, dulling her senses. Night became day as the barrels of the cannons flashed white like camera bulbs, and the shells they fired lit up a hellish orange when they exploded. The Castle of the Royal Pony Sisters rocked on its foundations… but not a single pebble came loose. No matter how many cannonballs fell on the crumbling fortress, its walls held fast. The bombardment continued for nearly a full minute, and if she focused Twilight could actually feel how the cannons shifted their targets, focused with laser precision on different parts of the walls and towers, probed for structural weaknesses. But they found none. The power of Rider’s attack was overwhelming, but the fact that Saber’s spell was rebuffing it with ease was nothing short of awe-inspiring. This too was the power of a Servant. Twilight was struck at what a total fool she had been to try and stand in Archer’s way with her own magic. Suddenly, every cannon went silent. Twilight climbed back to the window to see what had happened but a haze of gun smoke had settled in the air, obscuring the enemy ships. It wasn’t until the ringing in her ears started to fade that she received an unwelcome clue in the form of a voice. “Twilight! Are you alright down there? I told her not to shoot but she wouldn’t listen! Twilight?” “Rarity…” Twilight angrily snatched her microphone spell back from Saber. “Rarity, get out of here! I can’t deal with you right now! I don’t care how you want to try and justify yourself to me, there’s too much at stake! Trixie is…” Rarity cut her off. “Trixie is here with me Twilight. We both agreed to work together to help you. If you’ll just hear me out…” Twilight had stopped listening, or more accurately her brain had stopped processing sounds. Once again her thoughts had ground to a complete halt, unwilling to fully process what was happening. But inevitably they ticked forward: Rarity had joined forces with Trixie. Her supposed friend, one of the Elements of Harmony sworn to protect Equestria, in league with the Master of Berserker, the one who destroyed Fluttershy’s home, the one Twilight was risking everything to stop. Two betrayers, united against the one they betrayed. She stopped herself again, this time by force. Those feelings and thoughts she’d buried when she first discovered Rarity was a Master were welling up, and she refused to accept them. She filed them all away, unwilling to let them run free through her heart, unwilling to place herself in a position where her friendship with Rarity might be broken forever. Instead, she spoke into her spell again. “I’m only going to say this once, Rarity. Take your Servant and go. Take Trixie with you. Leave Berserker. Do it now, or we’re all going to regret what happens next.” *** Interlude 10-1 “I’m only going to say this once, Rarity. Take your Servant and go. Take Trixie with you. Leave Berserker. Do it now, or we’re all going to regret what happens next.” Rarity wanted to faint, and not out of her normal lust for melodrama. Twilight’s words and tone were literally making her want to pass out through some dark combination or fear, pain and sickness. How had things spiraled this far out of her control? It had been mere days since this all began, and now her beloved friend was making threats while they stood on opposite sides of a war zone. Rider did not share Rarity’s distaste. “She has much more fire than I would have expected. I thought a nice bombardment would have knocked some steel out of her spine.” Before she realized what she was doing Rarity had jumped at her own Servant. Rider easily caught her out of the air and held her at arm’s length, and Rarity uselessly flailed her hooves like her cat Opalescence trying to avoid a bath, desperate to strike that smug face. “You! You! ARRRG! You fired those cannons after I begged you not to! We’re here to help her and you recklessly… if that spell hadn’t held up, she would have-!” “Madam, control yourself! Have you no faith in me at all? If I’d thought for a moment that the spell would not hold after my test shots I would not have attacked. And you know that or you would have bound me with a Command Spell instead of only screaming at me to stop. Cease your tantrum!” Rarity stopped swinging, but didn’t stop glaring. “We came here to help her,” Rarity repeated. “Even if you knew she would be safe, how could you so much as feign attacking her? If she doesn’t trust us she’ll never…” Rider made an annoyed sound. “You’re still locked in that wrongheaded thinking, even after I made it clear what our mission was. You agreed to this course, madam. I told you from the start, being here means you are committed to Twilight’s safety, not her friendship. Even if she hates you in the end, she will live. I fired so she WOULD feel greater terror. If she was terrified enough then she might have given up. Now we have no choice but to expose her to far greater risk and storm the keep.” Rarity finally went limp, and Rider set her back on the deck. Then she turned to the mass of metal slumped against the center mast. Berserker sat motionless, his breath seething, and Trixie sat next to him trying to hide her awe at the firepower Rider had put on display. “Well, Berserker,” Rider said, “It seems we have need of your vaunted seigecraft after all. My artillery cannot pierce Saber’s spell.” Berserker snorted derisively. “Of course it couldn’t. It’s no mere spell, its divine language sorcery from the Age of the Gods, drawing on the full strength of a leyline. Blackest witchcraft, highest blasphemy, invented by half-breeds carrying the demon blood of the rats of Olympus. Even knowledge of such a spell is idolatry. The heathen masses worship false gods, the Magi those gods birth worship the false god of True Magic and The Root. Temptresses. Temptresses, all of them! How dare they seduce those who should serve God? It’s not their fault, not their fault… they were tempted away from righteousness. That was original sin…. original sin can’t be cleansed. It can only be atoned for… yes, atonement, that’s it. Cleanse it all with steel…” He dragged himself to his feet, lost to his own murmuring, and walked to the edge of the deck. Trixie finally snapped out of her daze and said to her Servant, “Don’t forget your orders. You know what will happen if anything you do harms Twilight.” “Of course, my lady. It would be most uncouth for a knight to betray his word. The Lady Twilight shall not be touched. BUT I SWEAR BEFORE GOD THAT I WILL BATHE IN SABER’S HERETIC BLOOD!” As he spoke, a black light flashed in his hand. In that hand appeared a beautiful, ornate warhorn. It was polished, inlaid with precious metals and stones, and it seemed to glow with some kind of in-born power… but whatever power it was, it was not a holy one. Rarity was captivated by the artifact’s beauty until she noticed that its shape was very familiar. It was far larger than it should have been, but there could be no mistake: the instrument was made from a unicorn’s horn. “Sing the song of war, and bring salvation to those within you… my faithful Oliphant.” He blew a single, bitter note… and fell to one knee, clutching his chestplate in agony. Trixie rushed to her Servant’s side, and tried to inspect him for injury before realizing it was pointless thanks to his armor. She settled on resting a hoof on his arm to provide some comfort. Through gritted teeth, Berserker said, “Rider. They will flush Saber from his hiding place. If he tries to escape, have your ships destroy him. If he stays within the castle, I’ll follow them in and cut him down myself.” Rider had been wearing an enormous grin since Berserker said the name of his horn, and nodded eagerly. “It will be my pleasure. But if you don’t mind me saying, I hope I have the privilege of watching you gut him. A reenactment of the Illiad was already a treat, but now it seems I have been blessed with a double feature! Orlando Furioso was one of the most popular stories of my youth.” Berserker ignored her in favor of enduring his unseen pain. For her part, Rarity was confused. It didn’t seem that the horn had done anything. The castle’s walls still stood strong. “Am I missing something? What did he do exactly?” Rider pointed toward the other side of the ship, toward the trees. Rarity slowly approached the opposite rail, and peered out into the dark woods… but they weren’t dark at all. A silver mist was rising, and spreading through the trees at an alarming speed. It worked its way through every gap like blood through a vein, winding closer, and glowing brighter as it approached. But once it was close, Rarity saw that it was no mist. “Army,” was too generous a term for them. They were human, although their bodies were not fully solid and they glowed that misty blue glow. They wore armor and carried weapons and looked ready for battle. But an army is a controlled, regimented, organized thing. What Rarity was looking upon was a swarm. They ran at full speed through the dense woods, their eyes totally lifeless but their bodies giving off a sense of fearful hunger and singular purpose. The sound of their armored footsteps and the clatter of their weapons against the trunks of the trees and low-hanging branches reminded her of the sound that the seemingly adorable Parasprites had made when their numbers swelled and they starting devouring everything; a ugly, raspy sort of sound amplified by incalculable numbers. Rarity recoiled just as they were passing underneath the ship. She rushed back to the other side and watched as the first of them ran face first into the castle’s stone walls... and continued trying to run strait through the rock. Others came in from behind and slammed into the front line. Then more, and more. In less than thirty seconds they were starting to pile up on each other. They climbed over their compatriot’s bodies, desperate to find their way past the obstacle but lacking the intelligence to find any other route but strait through. In the end their numbers were all they needed, and the human ladder allowed the first… man? Spirit? Soldier? Creature? Whatever you wanted to call it, it climbed the last foot of the wall and dropped to the other side. Then a dozen followed, and a dozen more. A second pile of bodies crested the wall, and a third further down. The moment each one landed on the far side of the wall, it kept right on running toward the castle. Rarity looked away, and saw that more of them were coming from every other direction. They charged over the rope bridge she and her friends had crossed the first time they came here, and those who couldn’t fit cascaded over the edge of ravine. She wondered how long it would be before they flowed back up the sheer cliff face. “Sweet Celestia. There must be tens of thousands of them.” “Hundreds of thousands,” answered a new voice. A voice Rarity remembered. A voice that caused Rider to immediately draw her pistol. A shapeless black blob fell to the deck from the very top of the central mast. It came to rest only a few feet away from Berserker, and Trixie instinctively put herself between it and her injured Servant. Rarity knew better, and carefully stepped behind Rider’s leg. The black mass remained hard to make out in the darkness, but it soon became obvious that it was moving when something appeared from within its depths: a pitch-black human head wearing a terrifying white mask. “Your turn was an impressive one, Rider. But you moved too quickly and aggressively. I’m afraid I have an opening here that I can’t ignore. I’m disappointed.” Rider kept her weapon precisely trained, ready to put a shot right between the mask’s eyes. “You haven’t rolled your bones yet. Don’t declare yourself the winner too early, Assassin.” Interlude Out