//------------------------------// // 12. Haggling Mares // Story: The Halfling // by Scarheart //------------------------------// Zeala awoke grumpily to the sound of someling banging noisily on her door. In her undignified sleeping position, her face was squashed against her pillow and her bottom stuck up in the air. With a wet snort, she jerked up from the jumbled mass of blankets and sheets, still damp from her exertions during the night. The lump lying next to her mumbled incoherently from beneath the covers, a holed hoof reaching out and grabbing more and pulling it tightly to the unseen form. “What?” she demanded tersely. “What?!” The banging went on unabated, rapidly and very, very annoying. “Stop besieging on the door, you idiot!” she snarled, sliding out of bed with the grace of a drunken sailor. Walking funny on still wobbly legs, she made her way to the door. It was still being pounded on as though the sanctum was on fire. She flared her horn, grabbing hold of her bedmate, flipping the unfortunate from the bed. “Get up!” Zeala snapped at the unwitting victim of her provoked ire. There was a surprised grunt and a cry of consternation. A young male changeling peeked fearfully from the other side of the bed, rubbing the back of his head with a hoof. “What was that for?” he simpered. “For not answering the door, you lazy little bug.” Zeala spat before turning the door handle and yanking it open with an indignant flare of magic from her horn. Igor was still there, now banging on empty air. He noticed his hoof was no longer impacting wood and looked to where the door had been. He found the priestess glaring down at him, her mane disheveled and an interesting scent wafting off her body. If he was afraid of the look of war upon her face, his own disfigurement did well to hide it. “Well?” she grunted sourly. “My priestess!” he crowed up at her adoringly. “Your scheduled appointment will be here within the hour! Must make ready! Yes. You must look good and beautiful! Must look nice for guest. You said so yourself. Igor does as he is told and tells his mistress of her duties.” Zeala sighed. “Very well. What have I told you about knocking on the door ceaselessly?” “Mistress Zeala does not answer the door within the necessary knocks. Igor must knock more in order for you to answer. Mistress procrastinates, Igor thinks.” The priestess nodded. Murder crossed her mind for a brief moment. “I shall be out soon.” She then slammed the door in Igor’s face. “As mistress commands!” his muffled voice replied. Her overnight companion was gathering up the covers, grumpily staring at her as the lean mare made her way to a finely made dresser with a glossy finish. “Was my lady happy with my performance last night?” he asked, his visage changing to something more hopeful. She cast a brief glance at him. “It was adequate, child.” Zeala shook out her mane, noting it was sticking in places. “Better than I expected. You have earned a little something extra, I should think. You shall return when I have need of you. Tell your handler this.” The dark changeling lit up her horn and lifted the smaller changeling and brought him to her. As he hovered, he curled into a ball of fear when he saw the gleam in her eye. The trembling colt wondered what it was he had done wrong. “However,” she hissed, pressing her snout into his, “I will not stand for anyling raising their voice at me.” Zeala brought up a hoof and slapped him squarely across the cheek. The resounding smack was music to her ears. “Do I make myself clear?” He nodded through the tears welling up in his eyes. “I’m sorry!” The colt was unceremoniously dropped. “Forgive me, priestess!” Zeala harrumphed. “Show this writ to one of my acolytes,” she said, producing a small scroll bound with a bit of green ribbon from a dresser drawer. It was filled with similar documents. She tossed it at the colt’s hooves. “You will be paid and escorted out. Learn from this experience. The only reason I do not beat you is because you pleased me last night. Now, go!” Nodding gratefully and relief at being released, the changeling scooped up the scroll and darted out the door, too afraid to even whimper. Zeala watched him leave, her expression one of cruel satisfaction. Her attention shifted to a bellpull near her bed. She yanked on it with a hoof and three changelings materialized in the blink of an eye from a hidden door. They were clad in white robes. They were all pretty mares, each one a hopeful at becoming a priestess one day. Adoring eyes were raised upon the High Priestess as they awaited her commands eagerly. “Clean this room up. Change the sheets. Get my bath ready. I shall have breakfast within ten minutes. I want to smell of lilacs. Bring me sweet wine. Prepare my fine robes. I have an important guest coming. See to it everything is perfect. Am I clear?” “Yes, priestess!” they intoned in one voice. The priestess did not give them a look, knowing she would be obeyed without question. She sauntered towards her private bath, a chamber nearly as large and opulent as her bedroom. One of her initiates was already drawing her bath, having darted ahead and using her magic to heat the water. The robed changeling dabbed at the surface of the water, scrunching her muzzle in concentration as she knew her mistress’ preferences. The tiled floors spoke of expensive tastes, the white walls bore a pearly sheen. There were no windows, for Zeala abhorred the outdoors and feared such openness. The slender changeling tested the water and found the trainee to be competent. As she went into the in ground tub, the robed changeling ignited a series of globes set in the floor and seen through thick glass. They maintained the water temperature, requiring mana to function. Only the very wealthy could afford such amenities and Zeala considered herself deserving of such things. She sunk to her chin in the water, her nostrils catching the scent of the flowers she preferred. Fresh petals began to float about her and a soothing powder was swirled into her bath. She felt her skin and chitin react wonderfully. Gentle hooves went through her mane, lathering it up with lilac shampoo (imported from Prance). Zeala felt her scalp being massaged. Groaning in pleasure, she closed her eyes and leaned into the ministrations. “Your wine, High Priestess,” called out a voice softly. Cracking an eye open, Zeala smiled, flashing her fangs. “What did you bring me?” she asked. “Mulberry wine, priestess,” came the reply. The changeling frowned slightly. Mulberry wine was not her favorite. It was tolerable, but surely there was something better in her personal stores. “What of the blueberry?” she asked icily. The changeling she spoke to flinched. “The last bottle was opened last night, High Priestess!" she babbled apologetically. "More was ordered weeks ago, but has not arrived. It is—” She was suddenly hurled back by an invisible slap of considerable force. Zeala glared at the shocked and ashamed acolyte-to-be. “You are dismissed,” she growled, taking up the glass and filling it with wine. Zeala sipped at the glass and found the taste delightfully sweet to her palate. Recalling the last time she had tried mulberry wine failed her memory. Perhaps slapping the child might have been a bit much. Giving a single, indifferent shrug, the priestess took another sip, noticing something amiss. “Who told you to stop scrubbing?” she asked archly. The lathering resumed in earnest. Within thirty minutes, the priestess was bathed and fed. She had a touch too much wine already, as she carried a giddy feeling and felt warm as she drained her fifth glass. Zeala made it a point to meet certain guests with just enough alcohol in her to maintain a somewhat pleasant disposition. When she was sober, she could be quite arrogant. The changeling understood herself enough to know imbibing in spirits to a degree loosened her personality enough to make her tolerable. High Priestess Zeala was a sober bitch. A bit soused, and she might be a bit more amiable to company. She knew this and practiced it with an almost religious devotion. Her minions all prayed for her to have a touch of drunkenness to be even remotely sociable and less abusive. It was an odd switch, where alcohol made for an individual to be more pleasant to be with. Zeala was dressed in plain robes of dark blue with touched of gold embroidery to show her rank about her hood and along the hem of her billowing sleeves. As was custom, she drew her hood up, it’s edge snuggled tightly around the base of her horn and exposing her smooth features and nearly flawless complexion. Save for a tiny, almost unnoticeable scar upon her muzzle. She had stared at the blemish moments after her bath while she was attended to and dressed. How she hated the little bastard who had bitten her! Zeala would love nothing more than to slowly mete out her revenge and she had done so for the past decade. Using her influential magic; so subtle and covert, Zeala had coaxed out from Shining Armor and Princess Cadence their instincts to protect the foal to the point of overriding their common sense. It was in the perfume she had used, the food and drink she had served them. Influences to push her selected targets into seeing reason into her words and actions. No, she did not have the power of a changeling matriarch like a queen, nor even a brood mother, but Zeala was perhaps one of the most brilliant manipulators of the past come to the present. It kept her in power and enabled the ambitions within her thoughts to find fruit in a world a thousand years removed from what she had once knew. King Sombra had appreciated her talents, recognizing them for what they could do for him. The fallen tyrant had once praised her methods, lavishing upon her all the things he gave to those loyal to him. He had been an animal in bed. Zeala flushed in the memory as she looked away from the mirror. She sighed, knowing her king would never return, banished to the nether void, another number added to the unending list of the dead. There were still his plans, his experiments and his written knowledge to mark his legacy. The priestess intended to see to it one of his more ambitions plans of revenge saw the light of day. It took ten years for the spell itself to manifest the moment it was cast. It had been channeling, drawing from the emotions of a lifeforce, a certain target with special conditions met. It was not the perfect choice, but it had suited Zeala’s needs well enough to be considered a gift for her to exploit. The priestess intended to be the instrument of her fallen king’s revenge and to set in motion a chain of events that would ripple from one end of the world to the other. At least, that was what she had in mind. There were doubts in her mind, of course. Sombra had been quite insane, trying for years to bend the magic of the Crystal Heart to his will, willingly going to war against the Sisters and denying them a final victory by cursing an entire kingdom to a thousand years of nonexistence. Still...there were other matters to attend to. Other plans had to be set in motion. Potential problems had to be addressed and dealt with. Zeala had worked very hard to ensure everything was in place. What she was doing kept her in a precarious place as it was. Holding the trust and faith of the changelings was first and foremost, but having an alicorn ruler had become something of an unexpected obstacle. That alicorn being essentially Love Incarnate caused quite a few ulcers for the thin changeling. Manipulating Princess Cadence was something of a thrill for Zeala. It was dangerous to toy with such living power. She refused to cave in to the pink exterior of her monarch, the perfect beauty the ponies fawned over. Cadence was a recently ascended immortal still growing into her station. She was keen on sensing the emotions of others, though nowhere near the level of, say a changeling queen. Given time, she would be able to do even more as she became more and more comfortable and familiar with her innate talents. Zeala could not have that. No, she had something special planned for Cadence. There were few things in the world that could challenge the power of the Princess of Love. The greatest threats had been dealt with long ago by Celestia and Luna as they cleared the way for their growing population of beloved ponies. Yet more seemingly dead threats seemed to pop up. Zeala had one in mind. One that had taken time and effort to cultivate. One that required a living, unwitting host. Only Sombra’s evil mind could come up with such a monstrous scheme. Zeala had decided to use it for her own purposes. It would fill in the power she lacked and give her the edge she believed she would need in order to grasp power she wanted for her own. Still, there were other matters to attend to. All of her work and diligence for the past decade would soon bear fruit. There was just one more thing she needed to put in motion before the month was out. She ghosted from her personal chambers and into a narrow hallway. Torches lined the walls and gave a ruddy, flickering light. The priestess ascended a stone spiral staircase, two hopefuls behind her. Changelings were most comfortable underground. There was security and comfort. Most homes around the Crystal Empire with a changeling family within it could boast underground living facilities no different from homes ponies made. The temples main sanctum was the first floor, the offices comprising the second. Above, everything was vaulted. Below the ground, save for the high priestess’ personal quarters, everything was compact and low. She made her way to her private office, looking off her followers with a knowing glare and a hiss. Igor was already inside, making sure everything was spotless. He was a doting fool, she noted while he dusted off her chair. Completely devoted to her, the hunchback still managed to not absolutely fawn over her, saying cryptic and flippant things to her regardless of her temper. Igor absolutely loved her, even without influence. “Well?” she demanded archly, spreading her hooves askew and glaring at him. “Are you not finished? Is my office not clean? Why do you dally?” “All is in readiness, mistress!” he chirped, one eye enlarging as he looked up at her. His useless wings buzzed cheerfully beneath his tattered robes. “It will do,” she noted with a snort, splaying her ears as if on swivels. “Leave me and await the arrival of my guest.” “Igor has schedule,” said the crippled changeling, waving a partially crumpled parchment in one hoof. He always kept one somewhere within the folds of his clothing. “Many eggs need blessings. Many mothers want blessings for their eggs. Igor said you would bless the eggs and the mothers. Igor told you last night and has reminded you for past week. Igor do his duty. Igor does this to please the mistress.” Being the Priestess of Love had its unfortunate drawbacks. Bestowing blessings of love over unhatched eggs and their expectant mothers was such a chore. Oh, she tried and tried to persuade changelings to see to the Temples of the Sun and Moon respectively...they were always looking for converts and whatnot. Alas, too many changelings wanted the old ways and were just too damned loyal to the Emotions. Damn loyalists… Zeala sighed and assumed her chair, settling in comfortably while Igor made his way out on shuffling hooves. “No cancellations,” she told the fading changeling. Gods know I have to maintain this insufferable image for a while longer. The hunchback grinned over his misshapen shoulder at her. “Good! Good! Igor make all things ready. Make sure everything is clean. Fresh candles! Yes! Acolytes will do what Igor tells them because Igor has the voice of the mistress!” The door shut behind him with a flick of Zeala’s horn. She let out an exasperated sigh of frustration and wondered why she had not disposed of the broken fool long ago. The changeling pushed back her hood and began to rummage through her desk drawers. She found the hunchback had restocked her liquors and polished the glassware. Everything was immaculate. Still, everything had to be perfect. One of the most dangerous beings she had ever associated with was scheduled to meet her within minutes. The services of this visitor had been called upon before. It had been a long time. So long as the bits were good… Nervously she waited. An eternity passed. Zeala gnawed on her lower lip, wondering if she was putting too much stock in her plans. No, she shook such thoughts from her mind and focused on how far she had come. Too much was at stake. Lord Sombra was watching her. He had to be. All the things he had shown her had been for a reason. His reasonings were sound in her mind. They were perfect. Immutable. Zeala could still hear his deep, masculine voice tickling her ear and feel his hot breath caressing her cheek.The closeness of his body to hers was now a memory, but one she relived over and over again. She had been his in body and mind, her heart given over completely to him. He had placed her above the other changelings; chose her to stand at his side, to be his shadow, the dream of being his gorgeous, loving Queen. Her only regret was her inability to give him a foal. It would have cemented her place at her king’s side and given her a piece of him to always cherish. There was a soft knock at her door, breaking the priestess from her inner musings. “Come,” she bade. Zeala straightened herself and smoothed out some of her mane, checking for wrinkles in her robe. The door swung open and Igor ushered in a hooded figure in a non descriptive brown cloak. She could make out a horn and a light smile adorning a dark muzzle as a word of quiet thanks was given to the misshapen changeling. He bobbed his head at her and quietly left the newcomer alone with Zeala. “Were you seen?” she asked the newcomer, arching a brow and flicking an ear. “Of course I was not seen,” came the flippant reply. The voice was familiar, bearing the same tone of self confidence. “None are expecting me to be here and I have eyes everywhere, Zeala. I don’t know why I responded to your request, but here I am. I considered it would do no harm to hear your proposal.” “Come and join me,” Zeala prompted, indicating a chair in front of her desk. “No unwanted ears can hear us. No unseen eyes can see us. Remove your hood and let us talk business. I understand you have had quite a busy career. You are a difficult mare to get a hold of.” With a toss of her head, the visitor revealed her lovely features marred by a scarred right cheek and missing eye. A softly glowing pearly orb sat in place of the original eye. A single green eye settled on the changeling and with a blink, shifted into a harlequin iris. Beneath the cloak, green flames enveloped the unicorn’s body, revealing a taut form of lean muscle and sinew. The beauty was still there, but the changeling assassin before Zeala showed the marks of a hard life of no regrets. The fire in the one remaining eye spoke of a zeal Zeala found in fewer and fewer changelings these days. “How is life as Emerald Spire, Shuriken?” Zeala asked conversationally as her guest set herself comfortably. “Such a cover must mean doing quite a bit to conceal your true identity.” She eyed the pearl set in the socket speculatively. “It not an unenjoyable modeling career. It made for a very satisfying cover,” replied Emerald with a passable smile and an indifferent shrug. “I used my wealth from that job...as well as my other line of work to build up for a comfortable retirement. Refer to me by that name, if you will. Shuriken no longer exists.” “I didn’t know assassins retired,” noted the priestess carefully. There was a very dangerous monster sitting across from her. The reputation of Shuriken marked her as an individual to be handled with the utmost of respect, even if she despised her. “Care for a drink?” “Thank you, no. Let us get down to business.” The assassin tilted her head slightly to one side. “You were less than happy with the results ten years ago. Why would you request my services again if I did not fulfill the contract we agreed upon?” Zeala smiled and leaned back. “Oh, you did more or less as I expected, Emerald. You wore down a queen enough so she could come to me in her time of need. You denied her a chance to rest and consider other options. You planted the idea of seeking out the Crystal Empire as a refuge for her son. I would have given you a bonus if you had managed to kill her. Such a thing was almost within your grasp.” She poured herself a glass of brandy, having already offered her guest. Taking a polite sip, she regarded the changeling. “The last I saw you, you had two eyes. I would imagine there is a story behind it.” “Not all marks can be easily taken,” replied the assassin with a shrug. “I wish to retire soon and take care of personal affairs. Perhaps a vineyard on the slopes of a dormant volcano.” “Tsk. Tsk,” clucked Zeala as she set her glass down. “One such as yourself does not simply retire from your line of work. Your skills will always be in demand. There are few finer than you and even fewer who would be even worth my efforts to contact.” “The changeling civil wars are over,” snorted Emerald as she shifted in her sitting position. Her eye drifted at the objects on the shelves on one side of the room. “Soon there will be some sort of peace as the dust settles. Our mutual friend survived everything thrown at her. If you even suggest she is to be targeted again, I am afraid I must decline.” The priestess hefted her glass, staring through it and at the assassin. “You seem a bit different than from when I last met you,” she said. Emerald became speculative. “The years can change a mare,” came the mysterious reply. “That is true, I suppose.” Zeala thought something was amiss about the assassin. But, she did bring up a valid point. “A change of perspective, I warrant?” “Something like that,” said Emerald with a fanged grin. “Now, tell me your proposal and I’ll decide if it’s worth hearing more of. We’ll start with the price and go from there.” Zeala’s left eye twitched. Composing herself, she uttered, “Fifty million bits.” Emerald smirked. “Go on. We can haggle as we go.” “Foalnapping,” the priestess said evenly. “Who?” The slender changeling smiled. “Prince Reign Cloud.” “Two hundred million bits,” came the reply without so much as a flinch. Zeala could barely choke back her shock. “What? That’s outrageous!” she thundered, slamming a hoof on her desk top. The assassin snorted. “I am only matching your proposal with one just as ludicrous.” The priestess composed herself quickly. “He will not be within the palace grounds for the next month,” she said through clenched fangs. “How did you come to this information?” Emerald asked with professional curiosity. A dry chuckle escaped from the religious leader’s thin lips. “I have eyes and ears near the throne.” That one single emerald eye bore into hers and narrowed. “Where, then?” “The home of a brood mother. Apparently the princess thought an education in the prince’s changeling heritage would be beneficial. I am inclined to agree as this represents a wonderful opportunity to get in and take Rein Cloud.” Zeala refilled her glass. “No guards. None that can be seen, anyhow. No doubt Shining Armor will keep tabs on his only son. There will be a few hidden eyes.” Emerald was impressed, if for but a half a moment. “A brood mother? Oh, they are rare. And they are very protective of their brood. Fanatically so. Cadence was wise to choose one to teach her adopted son of our heritage. Ah, that is the reason, yes?" —she noted the nod from the changeling priestess— "However, I need details, Zeala. You have me intrigued. Now allow me to determine if the risk is worth it. When would this take place?” The priestess drained her glass in two gulps. “Two weeks from Saturday. It marks the day the prince was reunited with his biological father. Perhaps it might serve you better to study your quarry and his surroundings, hm?” The right eye flickered again. “Interesting. What can you tell me about the prince?” Zeala clucked her tongue against the roof of her mouth as she again replenished her drink. She smirked. “He is weak physically. His body is frail and his health is questionable at best. He has the magic of two races conflicting with each other and it makes the prince sickly and prone to prolonged bouts of various illnesses if left untreated. I give him a monthly dose of medicine to keep him stable. It is also how I remain in the good graces of the princess and her fool of a consort.” “What sort of medicine?” “A potion from the Old Magic. Essence of Emotion. Very rare. Almost impossible to make now.” Zeala smirked. “It is all that is keeping the poor thing alive at the moment.” Emerald’s lone eye narrowed slightly. “Is that so? What purpose do you need to kidnap a half breed child that apparently will die anyway?” “That is my business. Your job is to take him and deliver him to me while misdirecting any attempts to search for him away from me and my purpose. Seventy-five million.” A sneer graced the assassin’s muzzle. It was both frightening and beautiful to behold. Zeala knew there was only one mare for the job and she was before her. She noted idly the air had grown considerably colder between the two of them. Maybe it would chill her drink... After a pregnant pause, Emerald broke the silence. “You insult me. My team is highly trained and highly motivated. It costs bits to run them properly and to keep them equipped. Each one I have hoof picked and each one of my slayers I will personally vouch for. I do not come cheaply.” Zeala scoffed, “Cheaply? I am being more than generous!” Her wings buzzed in agitation. “One hundred eighty million bits. You are an influential mare, priestess. Your coffers groan with gold. What you ask is perhaps suicidal, if not something considered nigh impossible for most. You will find no other changeling better suited for the task.” The assassin watched as yet another glass was drained by the priestess. “Ninety million. I can give you a distraction so you can slip in and take the colt without anyling or anypony the wiser.” Zeala refilled her drink. “One hundred seventy-five. I can have my own team create our own distraction without having to deal with a third party to create one for us. What is the temperament of the prince?” Unconsciously, Zeala reached a hoof up to her slighted muzzle. “He absolutely hates me. He resents his parents for keeping him cooped up indoors, but with his health the way it is, they really do not have much of a choice. Of course, they are being a bit paranoid.” “An understandable precaution.” The priestess shrugged away her inner musings, looking directly at Emerald. “He is easily startled reacts by biting first and asking questions later. The prince is intelligent for his age. His companion is a changeling filly by the name of Maggie. She is his Intended.” The assassin flicked an ear. “A bit young for that, don’t you think?” “She keeps him grounded and balances him out nicely. You may have to include her when you take him.” Zeala’s gaze had drifted off and become distant for a moment. They then snapped back to reality when the assassin spoke again. “What of her?” “She is perhaps even more intelligent than the prince and more open to being friendly with strangers. If you can connect with her, it will make it easier to gain Reign’s trust.” “You want it with as little a struggle as possible?” “It would be for the best, yes.” “I think I would like that drink. One hundred sixty-five million.” An empty glass was produced and filled before being presented to Emerald. All the while, Zeala continued to speak. “One hundred million. The brood mother is Wilda. Her husband is named Yamir. He is inconsequential. Many hatchlings of varying ages live with them. Not all of them are blood. Some are adopted for whatever reason,” Zeala stated flatly. She never could understand how anyling could stand to have so many young underhoof and in the way. “She is the owner of the largest florist shop in all the city and the largest in the region. In the past decade, she has not only shown herself to be a shrewd businessmare, but also a very capable mother and a community leader. Of any other changeling in the Crystal Empire, only she can match me in influence. Most of the modern changelings listen to what she has to say. The elder ones harken to me.” “One sixty. Any operation of this magnitude will no doubt draw the attention of the other three alicorns. Am I to contend with them as well as Mi Amore Cadenza?” “No. I have a plan to deal with the alicorns. I will need the prince first. One ten.” “You are on your fourth glass.” “Drink helps me to think.” “Not very becoming for a priestess, if you ask me.” “None of your blasphemy! I care not for your opinion. I only care about results.” Zeala fixed Emerald with a cold stare. “Can you do it?” “Nor do I care for your personality,” replied the other changeling affably. “It is more of a question of ‘will I do it’? But your money intrigues me. One forty. Half up front, but only if I can spend the next two weeks assessing the situation for myself. I will get back to you two days before the date in question. You will have my final answer then.” “We will decide a final price when you have had your opportunity to see for yourself what you will have to work with. I shall not agree until the day you return to me.” “Reasonable enough. Until then and thank you for the drink. I will see myself out.” Zeala rose to her hooves and watched Emerald drain the remnants of her drink. The two mares matched stares. The priestess found herself flinching from the cold glare of that one eye. Emerald donned her hood after readjusting her cloak before turning and silently making her exit. She slumped into her seat after the sound of the door thumping shut echoed in her ears. A tremendous sigh escaped from her lips as she heaved air from her lungs. There was something different about that assassin. The mare could not quite place it, but something was undoubtedly different. Perhaps the loss of the eye had made the assassin even more dangerous than before. “Igor!” she cried out, knowing he would be just outside the door as always. “I have need of you!” The hunchback answered, peering in through the door and fixing the mare with his adoring eyes. “Yes, mistress?” “Bring me the appointment list. We have a busy day ahead of us. And bring me more brandy. I seem to have drained my decanter.” Emerald Spire was seen when she wanted to be seen and remained hidden when she chose so. It had not been difficult to enter the temple grounds as today was quite crowded. Though the grounds were considered sacred, they were also a preferred gathering spot for ponies and changelings to mingle with their families and have a pleasant afternoon. So long as there was peace and quiet (foals and hatchlings were given leeway), the curators of the holy grounds were content to sit back and let their guests enjoy the gardens and the temples themselves. It was too easy to drift through the ponies. Emerald had perfected the art of blending in. Her infiltration skills were the envy of other changelings who knew her and most of them were dead. She was also experienced in warfare, using her cover as a model to disappear for stretches at a time and do her work. Celebrities were expected to be eccentric. She excelled at it, spending freely, donating to select charities, and making few but impactful public appearances. Most of her work was done by a hidden army of loyal followers who fought by means mostly unfamiliar to the public. She fought wars in ways Princess Luna would approve. She had broken dangerous enemies and had faced death many times, only to make it blink instead. A singular purpose drove the assassin. An inner circle of changelings saw to it Emerald Spire’s instructions were followed. It was as though she was the head of an assassin’s guild designed for espionage and counter espionage, The changeling shifted form with ease, flowing from one place to another, looking a part of the citizenry. An active spell kept her from being nothing more than a passing moment of nothing out of the ordinary to any who happened to look her way. She was silent, pleasant, and quite neutral and focused. She had a full plate before her. If she was troubled by the proposal of the priestess, she did not show it. She was as calm within as she was without. Emerald’s hidden form depended upon her remaining perfectly calm. So long as she remained on an even keel, detection spells could not break her disguises. Her emotions were completely under her control. She was the mistress of them, not the other way around. The questions, however swirled like a maelstrom in her mind. She picked apart her meeting with Zeala with cool precision, trying to find meaning behind the mare’s machinations. What was she up to? All the signs pointed towards a potential power grab of some sort, but was it an obvious display of ambition? Or was it something else? The amount of bits being offered would be more than enough to remove a head of state in one of the major countries. It was even enough to tempt the mare to make a play at Celestia or Luna. But a colt? It was well known Prince Reign Cloud had a weak constitution. Emerald’s first impression was Zeala believed herself to be single handedly responsible with keeping him alive. The changeling assassin found something wrong with that. Certainly, she expected some cross breeds to experience health problems. Hippogriffs, for example, were prone to brittle bones in an estimated thirty percent of births. She had seen him briefly, before meeting his father. Bright eyes, attentive, and always darting about behind that melancholy face of longing. He was adorable, almost passing for an albino changeling with fur and feathery wings. Emerald cursed herself inwardly as she found her concentration wavering. A few curious stares went her way as her form shimmered. Quickly the mare recovered, snorting in annoyance. Neutral tones overtook her being and her magic took firm hold of the field around her body. Ponies who had been staring were gently coerced into thinking they had seen but a reflection in their eyes. No, she needed answers. Emerald had a lot of work to do and little time to do it in. Two weeks was not a lot of time to scout out her quarry and the environment. The tendencies of the locals and guards had to be taken into account and planned around. She needed layouts, maps, schedules, habits, supplies, and countless other things she could not name right away. Time was her enemy and she needed to call in the best she had for this operation. The assassin had not decided if she would even take the job. No, Emerald Spire needed to find her own answers. She intended to get them. Once a certain cross street memorized earlier reached her field of view, Emerald eased off her cloaking magic, appearing as the visiting unicorn from Manehatten she preferred. Once again, this was the former supermodel who had come to the Crystal City in order to invest in a professional hoofball team. She was in her hotel room now, having gone past the desk and greeted the receptionist with a warm smile. She was alone and she shrouded her room from the outside world. Several dark forms awaited her, chittering softly, looking up to her eagerly as they bowed in her presence. “My children,” she announced quietly, “we have work to do.” The fanged smiles given in reply were a silent symphony of devotion.