For as long as she had lived, Canterlot had been shadowed by her mountain like a fruit shaded by the trunk. The relation of the two had always been an umbrage; sometimes leaning more towards protection, sometimes closer to danger. But the two could never have been separated. Every autumn, the fruit would fall, only to replay the process of its own demise. It was beautiful, really, when one thought about it. At least for Lime Light it was.
“...and Silo Seven reports the same,” finished the messenger. “No griffon activity in sight anywhere. So far, it’s all been quiet.”
“Dead quiet,” rumbled Sergeant Hall. “They’re up to something. I feels it in my guts.”
There were four ponies around the table beside Limelight: his two closest subordinates, a clerk and the messenger. All were looking at Light, who was looking at the mountain. Silo Five, on the yard of which they had set up a temporary command center, was the closest one to the Cliffs. He had been the only officer to specifically request deployment here.
“That may be,” said Light distantly. After a pause he added, “Indeed.”
The rest of the guards exchanged a look. Light had a reputation among the lower ranking officers. The thing was, nopony could put much content to it. The pony was as enigmatic as the names of the books he could be seen reading in his office at times.
Hall coughed into his hoof. “We have orders, sir?”
Light gave the mountain yet another, almost longing glance, then turned to the Sergeant. “Reconnaissance. Sent out two teams of five to scout the roads leading to the Cliffs.”
Hall hesitated. “Sir… If I may say so, can’t see a griffon using roads for an attack.”
Light’s stoic expression didn't change. “That is exactly why I want those roads secured, Sergeant. You’re dismissed.”
As Hall trotted away, he formed the word “tit” with his lips behind the Lieutenant. The others tried not to see that.
“Sir,” started another Sergeant, named Moss. “Not meaning to question your orders, but why do you want us securing roads we know the griffons won’t use?”
Lime, his focus yet again wandering towards the mountain, said, “Exactly because. The griffons aren’t stupid. If they know we know that they won’t be using the roads to attack, they will probably use the roads to attack. That’s what we would do.”
Sergeant Moss gave this a thought. “Uhm… But sir: what if the griffons decide that they know that we know they know. Won’t they then attack us from the air?”
“Ah, but that is why we have the pegasi weather teams patrolling the skies, don’t we?” answered Light.
“Right, right,” said Moss.
“Uuh…” began the messenger. “Sir… Haven’t they told you? There’s no pegasi patrols on air right now. It’s the M-clouds: flying above rooftops is strictly forbidden while there’s a danger of a M-storm. I had to navigate amongst the buildings to get here.”
Light turned around, in slow motion, to stare at the pegasus. “Why wasn’t I informed about this?”
The messenger gulped. “I-I don’t know, sir! I just got here myself! Please, I’m just the messenger, I didn’t know you didn’t know!”
“Maybe the griffons won’t dare fly, either,” hurried Moss. “I mean, they can’t stand magic at all? Maybe they won’t–”
“Of course they will,” snapped Light. “We know that they know we know that! Quickly: deliver this to the pegasi patrol quarters: I want every damn pair of wings they got laying around into the air, and I want them to–”
“Above! Griffons above!”
While all others instinctively turned their heads at the direction of the shout, Light looked up.
About a hundred meters above them, a pack of shadows on wings circled restlessly. There were about two dozen of them. Nothing suggested they were about to charge; more than anything, they seemed to be observing. Waiting, thought Light. Precisely like we are.
“In your positions, now,” he commanded with a steady voice. The messenger he grabbed by the collar. “And you: make sure the Chief of Weather Team understands that in the case he fails to follow my orders, I’ll personally pluck him clean. Did I make myself clear? Good. Now go. And don’t get caught.”
Right as the wide eyed pegasus zapped off, a guard rushed to Light. “Sir! Do I sent the emergency signal?”
Light looked up again. The griffons had moved in the sky, but kept the same altitude. He saw how two of them started following the messenger. Is it a diversion? A trick? Are they hesitating? Or simply having fun, making little ponies run around in circles…
“Not yet,” he said. “But keep it at the tip. And stay close to me.”
For a while the yard was filled with shouting and hurried movement, but it all settled down surprisingly fast. Everypony knew their orders. Don’t wander into the open, stay close to your partner, and never, ever look down. That was the long and short of the griffon versus pony combat – from the pony’s point of view. For the griffon, it was all stalking, stalking, stalking, until that one moment when they would swoop down like an arrow. They didn’t have magic, but the common unicorn had nothing else against them. And history had taught that, when one person invented a club, the other was soon to come up with a helmet… Or a sling.
In the dark sky, magical light flared. Every head on the yard turned towards the signal, which stood only for one word: help.
That came from the city center, thought Light. Were the griffons trying to cut the city in half? The effects would be devastating should they succeed. Light turned to the table and opened a copy of Heart’s hastily devised plan of city’s defense. He frowned as he saw there was nopony stationed in the center. Who then sent the distress call?
By now a couple more magical signals had lit the sky, promising reinforcements. Light’s frown deepened as he followed them fade.
Running by a wall, Moss came to him. “Sir? They’re asking for help. How do we respond?”
Light rubbed his chin ponderously. “I wonder who ‘they’ actually are. There’s not supposed to be anypony there.”
But clearly there was, and clearly they needed help. The signals were 100% reliable. The spells designed to produce them were top secret, as was the code they carried. The possibility of an outside party interference was minimal, if not nonexistent. And yet…
“We’ll stay put,” said Light. “They have help coming, and we’re not that close. Besides, we have company at our hooves already.”
“Not so sure about that, sir…” said Moss, looking up. Light followed his gaze.
The griffons were leaving. At least most of them were. The flock dispersed into all the directions they could, leaving only two individuals behind.
“Are they retreating?” asked Moss.
“Trying to conceal where they’re heading, I would say,” said Light. “They’re still keeping an eye out for us.” He eyed the two griffons suspiciously. One of them waved at him. “Guard: prepare to send a message. To Captain Heart. Inform him that the griffons are scouting us, and that his presence will be required soon. Indeed. Leave out the ‘indeed’.”
“You really think it’s going to get bad?” asked Moss. Right as he finished, another call for help splattered against the sky. This time it came from the direction of the Ledge.
“I think it it already has,” said Light. “Send the message.”
***
In the blackness of his cell, Heart lay on his dinner hay. The backlash from the obsidian made his veins throb, and together with the creeping hangover it offered a formidable enemy to reckon with. Considering that, laying still was an essential strategy of survival. I swear, that was the last time I touched any of Hilt’s bottles. The absolute last. If I make it out alive. In that case, I might have one more shot, just because–
A tiny clang echoed in the silence. It had come from the bars. Heart opened his eyes, but couldn’t see much better either way. With a grunt, he let the finest pearl of light appear from his horn. In it’s glow, a pebble struck his eye on the smooth floor.
“Captain?”
For one hollow moment, he thought it was the pebble speaking. It wasn’t though, and not simply because a rock would obviously have a more gravelly voice.
“Who's there?” Heart croaked.
“Captain, is it really you?” said the voice, louder now. “Can you prove your identity?”
“It’s me, for buck’s sake,” said Heart, staggering up. Walking to the bars, he had to give up his light. “Who are you?”
A relieved sigh travelled through the darkness. It seemed to come a few cells down the corridor.
“Oh, thank goodness, it’s really you. I thought it might be another trick; or maybe I had gone insane… Gods, how long have I been in here?”
The pony sounded distantly familiar, but not enough so to foreclose the obvious possibility of a trick. As the stranger talked, Heart tried to think up the safest, surest way to proceed.
“Do I know you?” he asked.
“No, you don’t. At least I don’t think you do. I’m only a technician. My name’s Tin Key. Sir.”
“How did you end up here, Tin Key?”
There was a pause.
“Frankly, I’m not sure,” said Tin. “It’s all bit of a blur, and the parts I know are right seem utterly ridiculous.”
“Try me,” said Heart.
Tin Key sighed. Already Heart could tell this was a habit of his.
“It began on the second day of the month,” Tin started. “I was part of the team sent to investigate the murders at High North Lane. Things were going as normal, until a group of civilians trespassed the site. Dressed funnily, they were: all paint and robes. Mr. Gruff was leading them.”
“Mr Gruff?” said Heart. “Are you sure?”
“Positive, sir. I’ve only seen pictures of him, but there was no place for mistake. It was him. He wanted to take charge of the mine. Sergeant Fall – he was leading the investigations – tried to arrest him. But then something even stranger happened. Another civilian appeared on the scene. An earth pony stallion, with horrible wounds on his eyes. There was something… disturbing about him.”
A blind pony, thought Heart. A chilling feeling crossed his spine. Could it be…? No, that’s impossible… There’s no way he could’ve survived this long.
“And just as I was certain the situation could not get any stranger, it did,” continued Tin Key. “The blind pony had a baby foal with him. A completely ordinary foal, at first sight. But… the foal… it drove everypony crazy. Fall too. Suddenly they were convinced the foal was an alicorn, or something close enough as made no difference. It was crazy, sir. Just crazy.”
The chilling feeling had now plumaged Heart’s bones into an ice age. “Did you see it? Was it really an alicorn? Did you believe it was?”
Another pause, longer than the previous one.
“If I had, sir, I wouldn't be here now. I’ve always been somewhat of an agnostic myself. But even if I wasn’t, the foal didn’t feel right. Its eyes… they weren’t the kind you usually see on a child.” He sighed. “Still, suddenly I was surrounded by believers. The foal had the Last Sign as a cutie mark. Fake or no, I couldn’t tell. I had no chance, for they captured me soon enough as they realized I wasn’t as… enthusiastic about the turn of events as they were. Even Sergeant Fall was completely in it at that point. He knocked me out personally. Must be the reason the whole experience remains rather fuzzy. I woke up here sometime ago, I have no idea how long. Could be days.”
“It’s not,” said Heart. “It’s the third day now. I think. You were captured yesterday.” He gave the notion a thought, and frowned at the result. “Which means the turncoats had a whole day's time to sabotage the Guard by spreading rumours.”
“Sabotage the Guard?” said Tin. “Sir? What do you mean?”
“I mean that the Guard, or at least part of it, has been taken over by traitors,” said Heart grimly. “We are in the dungeons, Tin. It was Dab the Jailor who just left us.
A gasp cut the dusty, heavy air. “The whole Guard? Oh no… How’s that possible?”
“With brainwashing bloody hypnosis,” growled Heart. He kicked the bars so hard his whole body shook. “I know who’s behind this. The blind pony – he must be the same person I left rotting in the mine after Feinsake’s death. He must’ve gotten out, somehow, and started all this.”
“Some kind of hypnosis would make sense,” said Tin carefully. “But he was only an earth pony… I don’t know, sir. None of this makes much sense to me.”
“You’re not the only one,” said Heart tiredly. He regretted the blow he had dealt to the bars. All it had earned him was a sore hoof.
“What are you going to do, sir?”
Heart peered into the direction of the voice. The pony did seem honest, and Heart somewhat prided himself in the judgement of such things. Still, there was no reason to go trusting him completely all at once.
“Wait,” said Heart. “I suggest you do the same. These cells were designed to be absolutely inescapable. For now, all we can do is gather our strength.” And think, he added to himself. Heeding to the advice, Heart grabbed some hay and started chewing. It must’ve been hours since he missed his breakfast.
Supposing Tin Key was both sincere and correct, it was clear that the blind pony was striving for something, and if they were anything like Feinsake, the answer was power. The only real issue was how exactly he was going to get it. What did he want from the Mine? Was there something important hidden there? Hadn’t the pony mentioned some notes, some books, on that fateful night? Heart struggled to remember; remember the night he had spent days trying to forget.
If the pony is anything like Feinsake… and nothing thus far suggest that he isn’t… he is obsessed with alicorns. He wants to make an alicorn. But for that, he needs spells, the lore, books, and somepony who knows how to use them… Is that what Mr. Gruff is in for? And what’s the thing with the foal? In any case, he needs the cutie marks, too. That is, he believes he needs them.
He needs the cutie marks. He’s got them. All but one.
Lily.
Heart stopped chewing.
“Tin,” he said.
“Sir?”
“Do you know what the blind pony was after in the Mine?”
“I’ve no idea,” said Tin. “I don’t know if they were after anything, really. There was nothing there but corpses. Well, that’s not quite true.”
“Yes?”
“We found this room filled with books and papers. A terrible place for keeping them, mind you. We didn’t get to take a good look at them, but it was obvious they were arcane.”
The straws fell from Heart’s unmoving lips.
“Sir?” asked Tin Key after a while. “Are you still there?”
“We need to get out,” said Heart. He stood up. “Now.”
“Sir?” asked the baffled voice. “You just said these cells were absolutely inescapable; that the best thing to do was to wait and–”
“I said they were designed inescapable,” said Heart. “There's a big difference between that and the actual thing.” There must be. There must be. He began examining the bars with the care and haste of a person defusing a ticking time bomb.
“Uhm… Is there anything I could do?”
“You said you’re a technician,” said Heart without interrupting his work. “See what you can do with the lock in your end.”
“Uh… Without light and tools, not much I’m afraid.”
“Then the best you can do is shut up let me concentrate,” growled Heart.
I have to get out. I have to get out. Lily’s in danger. Her guards won’t know what’s coming for her. I must get out.
But he couldn’t. The bars were solid steel. It would take quite the horn to bend them even when they were not covered with obsidian. And even if Heart would never admit it, Tin Key was right about the locks.
Hoofsteps approached them down the corridor, along with the familiar glow of the lamp. Heart gave up his hopeless attempts, but not their goal. “Dab! Listen! I don’t know what they’ve told you, but it’s a lie! If you have one brain cell left in your skull, you know this is a coup! You have to let me out before–”
The lamplight stopped in front of his cell, and in the soft glare he could see it was not Dab carrying it. It took Heart a moment to recognize the newcomer, for the black and white paint gave his all too familiar features a new life.
“I hate to say this, I really do,” began Cowl, “But you don’t look all that displaced behind those bars. A bit of a strange quality in a Captain, am I right?”
“Cowl…” gasped Heart. “No… Impossible… Of all the people…”
Cowl’s eyebrows plummeted. “What are you on about?”
He barely managed to get out of the way as Heart’s hooves surged for him past the bars. “You bastard! You sold me out! Of all the people! Bastard!”
Cowl’s expression was a masterpiece. “What? What? Why do you…?” He stopped, blinked, and sacked. “Oh, right. The paint. That’s what threw you off. Makes sense, kind of. Not really, though. You, taking me for a turncoat? It wounds me soul. Really, it’s a blow.”
Heart’s extended hooves stopped grasping the air mindlessly. “You’re… you’re not one of them?”
Cowl winced. “I wish! With friends like that…” He produced a key from his pocket and turned it in the cell’s lock. “How else d’you think I could move around the place except with bloody paint on my face, if everypony else does the same?”
The cell door swung open. Heart hesitated a moment to step through it. “I… I…”
“Just forget it,” said Cowl. “Now, I’ve got a decent grasp of what’s going on here, but honestly I wouldn’t mind a brief recap. Starting with how’d you get locked in your own prison.”
Heart explained. Cowl listened, and nodded a couple of times.
“So the trinket she gave you…” he said.
“Had some sort of a tracking spell inscribed,” finished Heart. “And I fell for it like a brick.”
Cowl clicked his teeth. “Always so sad, seeing a good mare turn bad.”
“Anyway, how’d you find me?” asked Heart.
Cowl gave him a guarded look. “I followed you. To the Ledge. I lost you there in the crowd, looked around for a while and then returned here. Found out there was a new boss in office. It’s a real mess up there, Deck. All I had to do to infiltrate was to splash some paint on and walk like I owned the place. Without you, it’s all going to shreds. Ponies don’t know who to listen to.”
“They’ll learn,” said Heart through his teeth. “Oh yeah. They’ll learn.”
Cowl grinned at him. “What’s the plan?”
To save Lily, Heart almost said. But that was not a plan – it was the goal.
“The mess upstairs,” he said. “Describe it to me.”
Cowl spat on the floor. “Most of the officers are gone, don’t know where. The clerks are treated like chickens, and act accordingly. The guards get to choose; get painted or get out. Can’t say how many there are left. And then there’s a bunch of civilians, or cultists, trying to look important. You get the picture?”
“Only too well… Have you seen who’s leading all this?”
“Wouldn’t have thought anypony did,” snorted Cowl.
“There you’re mistaken,” said Heart. “There is somepony behind this, and I have a strong suspicion that I’ve met him before.” He told Cowl what Tin Key had told him.
“Isn’t that right, Tin?” asked Heart from the darkness as he finished.
“Yes sir,” he said.
Cowl’s moustache twitched. “Bloody hell…”
“I know,” said Heart. “But we’ve talked long enough. We need to get out of here, and to get to the mansion. Can you get more of that paint from somewhere?”
Cowl’s forehead wrinkled. “Wait… Don’t you think we should secure this place first? No, listen: they’re like chickens up there: bark a few orders in that uniform of yours and they’ll line up before they know it. The cultists are just civilians, we could–”
“I’m not starting a fight before I know Lily is safe,” said Heart, stressing every word. “The station is a building, Cowl. It can take care of itself for a while. Lily can’t. She needs me.”
“It wasn’t the building I was worried about,” said Cowl sourly. “The city, Deck. Whoever controls the station controls the Guard and whoever controls the Guard controls the city.
In the flickering lamplight, the two stallions stared at each other. Silence hummed between them like the tiniest hive of bees.
“If you don’t mind me asking… Why were you following me in secret?” asked Heart quietly.
“No, I wouldn’t mind. Not one bit. While you’re at it, why don’t you go asking why’s the sky blue. Or why the sun bothers to rise every morning.”
The most imperceptible of smiles appeared on Heart’s lips. “I suppose it has nothing better to do these days.”
“Damn right,” said Cowl. He shook his head slowly. “There’s a shop across the street. Wait a second and I’ll go fetch some more paint, and maybe some different clothes. You won’t be sneaking out from anywhere in that costume.”
Makes we wonder why you even bother wearing it, he added while walking away.
***
Far above the city, Falke waved her claws at the ponies below. Beside her, Cecil snorted.
“Having fun, are you?”
Falke stopped waving. “Exclusively. Why not try some yourself for change? I’m getting sick, looking that sour face of yours.”
Cecil responded with another snort. It was meager resistance, but better than none.
“Besides, it’s disorienting to see your enemies waving at you,” continued Falke, looking down again. “See? They’re running around like rabbits already. I always knew the Guard was a joke, but I was hoping it’d at least be a funny one. But this is plain sad.”
Even as she said nothing, Cecil had trouble disagreeing with her friend. From up here, the ponies made for a rather sorry sight. The colorful spells they fired up were nowhere near hitting anything. Up close it’s a different animal though… Her hand wandered to her throat. It was still sore from last night.
“Of all your mistakes, underestimating them will be your last,” she said.
“Which is why we’re in this together,” said Falke. “My recklessness and your caution make an ideal team. The ponies won’t know what hit them.”
“But we’ll make sure they’ll know afterwards,” stressed Cecil. “No killing, remember? That’s the only reason I came along.” To make sure no one gets killed. You included.
“Yeah, as if I could forget,” said Falke, rolling her eyes. Her wings whipped the air hard a couple of times. “You’re too soft for this world, you know that? One way or another, this will come down to blood. And the little warning you gave them will only make it more likely it’s griffon blood that spills first. Your little rules will be the end of us.”
“There are no rules,” snarled Cecil. “There never were. But there can be fairness. There has to be. Without that, there is nothing. That’s something you will have to understand.”
For a while Falke said nothing. Then she pointed down. “Everyone’s in their place. Time to choose. First or second?”
“First,” said Cecil eventually. “These aren’t fish we’re dealing with. Keep close, fly tight, and remember: no–”
“–killing,” finished Falke. “Gosh, how many times you have to say that?”
They dived in: Cecil first, Falke second. Their goal was simple: food. The silo had more than enough, as everyone knew. The only problem was that it was pony food, both in sense of property and taste. Neither reason weighed much to an empty stomach. Cecil had spent the better part of the night talking with different parties, trying to convince them to stay behind. Most griffons indeed had, but mostly because they wished to see what would happen to the first wave. That’s what Cecil had realized in the long hours of the night: the first wave would mean everything. It was the watershed, the milestone, the horizon. Being there would not just mean making the difference: it would mean being the difference.
Cecil and Falke swooped down and landed in the middle of the yard of Silo Five.
“Ponies!” shouted Cecil. “Stand down! Don’t move! Stand down!”
Around them, guards exchanged puzzled glances. Every horn in the yard glowed like a candle. Cecil could feel their heat on her feathers. Come on, come on, come already…
“What’s the meaning of this?”
Cecil turned towards the voice she had been expecting. One of the more colorful uniforms – “Lieutenant” was what Cecil though they were called – approached them. He stopped a safe distance away, or at least what he presumably thought was a safe distance. Could be half a meter too short, said the predator within Cecil. She prayed it was right.
“You’re in charge here?” she asked. The pony certainly looked like he was. While the others had more or less covered look about them, he stood straight as a plank, and stared right into her eyes.
“I am,” said the pony. “And I demand to know what is the meaning of your little aerial show.”
“We want no trouble,” said Cecil calmly but loudly enough that everypony in the yard heard her. “All we want is a little bit of food. We know there’s plenty here. Why not share some? We’re citizens too, right? We have the same rights as you do.”
The pony’s face remained blank, but from his pause Cecil deduced that he did not have a ready made plan for the occasion. Whether it was a good or a bad sign, she had no idea.
“This is an issue you ought to address with the Parliament,” the Lieutenant said. “We have our orders to guard the silo from all unauthorized intruders, citizens or no. If you want food, go to a ration center at the appropriate time. Otherwise, I have to ask you to disperse.”
“We’ve been in the Parliament,” said Cecil. “We’ve been in the centers. You know as well as I do that neither serves a griffon. Citizen or no.”
“I ordered you to disperse,” repeated the Lieutenant. Cecil could see the sweat break from under his helmet. He took half a step back. Not enough still, the predator whispered. Might be soon.
“There’s chicks who haven’t eaten in days up in the caves,” said Cecil, staring right through the pony. “Days. Please. We won’t take but what we need.”
“I ordered you to dis–” began the Lieutenant. He stopped when another guard whispered something hastily to his ear. He looked at the rooftops surrounding the yard. As his ears pressed against his helmet, Cecil knew that the game was up.
“Soldiers!” yelled the Lieutenant. “On your guard! They have us surrounded!”
“Time to choose,” said the edgy voice of Falke behind Cecil. “First. Or second?”
Within her, a pair of claws scraped her ribs.
“Stand down!” shouted Cecil, ignoring the predator and Falke both. “We don’t want to fight, but we need the food! Use your reason! What would you do in our stead? All we ask is fair treatment. A bit of fairness.”
The air around the yard bubbled with strained silence, stretched thin by the clinking of metal on metal, the humming of horns, the rustle of feathers. Cecil felt blood rushing in her ears, fresh and hot. Her heart fluttered in beat with the claws of the beast within. She watched a drop of sweat fall from the Lieutenant's brow. She watched his lips move as if time had slowed down; she could make out an “A”, a “T”, another one…
Before he had made a decision between “E” and “A”, the predator had moved.
As so often before, it had not been mistaken about the distance.
***
Old coppers tended to develop all kinds of extra senses, like the ability to spot fine differences among shadows on a dark alley or to instinctively know which way the closest pub was. Among such phenomena, a mysterious shiver in a spine was more or less mundane. And yet this particular shiver had a nasty aftertaste to it in Heart’s mind.
“You felt that?” asked Cowl next to him.
“Yeah,” said Heart. “A nasty one. Very, very nasty.”
“What?” asked Tin Key behind them.
“D’you think it came from the Ledge?” said Cowl, scratching his neck.
“Can’t say,” said Heart. “Seemed like the whole city had shrugged. I could feel it in my bones.”
“What are you two on about?” went Key on.
“Should we return to the Station?” said Cowl.
“No,” said Heart immediately. “We’ve come this far already. And it could’ve come from here. Let’s not lose our focus.”
“What are you–” started Key. He quieted when he saw Cowl’s eyes.
“You’re the boss,” said Cowl, turning back to Heart. “So, how you want to do this?”
Heart raised the telescope to give one more look at the mansion which until this afternoon he had called his home. The apartment on which they had performed an emergency occupation (meaning they kicked the door ajar and walked in like they owned the place) had an ample view to the frontside. Four guards loitered behind the gate, five more on the steps leading to the front door. All had the same, worn cloaks and painted faces. All were unicorns, too.
A part of Heart had wanted nothing more but to march straight in and, if necessary, send the cultists to meet their maker. Cowl, with the help of the rest of him, had saved him from the idea. However, after half an hour of observation, that plan was still on the table for lack of serious competition. The problem was that, even without the guards, the mansion was a fortress. A three meter wall surrounded the perimeter, and the only gate was made of solid steel. Getting in unnoticed was comparable to drinking the yolk of an egg without cracking the shell.
Heart turned away from the looking glass. It had been a convenient for them to burst into an empty apartment, but one might consider it plain lucky to find such a useful item within also. The occupant was clearly a fan of astronomy. Or simply of spying on other ponies’ houses. The flat was ideal for both. Located in the fourth floor corner of the tallest tower in the block, it offered a handsome view to a large part of the city; from the base of the mountain all the way to the Ledge. Heart hadn’t paid much interest in either, but now that he did, something he had been aware of all the time caught his attention.
“What was the last signal you saw?” he asked.
Cowl smoothed his moustache thoughtfully. “There was somepony asking for help about an hour ago, and some responses. After that, nothing. Why?”
“Who asked for help? What for?”
“Didn’t say,” said Cowl.
Heart hearkened to his thoughts. Since Cowl had been following him most of the day, he had had no idea of the griffon invasion until he had told him. But if that was all he had seen, it meant there had been no signals sent for over an hour, not even regular check-ins. But no news is good news, right? Right… Can’t lose focus now. Can’t lose Lily. The other stuff can wait.
He happened to glance at the couch, where Tin Key had slumped the moment they had came in. They had taken the pony along mostly because Heart hadn't had the heart to leave him behind. Sadly, the pony had turned out to be all but useless. Broken inside, that one. Spirit gone. Should’ve left him in the dungeon. Can’t lose focus: focus, focus, focus… wait…
“We need a decoy,” he said.
Cowl followed his gaze to Tin Key, then raised an eyebrow. “Are you serious?”
Ignoring him, Heart walked straight to Tin Key. “Soldier. On your feet.”
“But… I’m not a soldier…” muttered Key as he stood up.
Heart scanned the room, looking for the most curious object around. He found it in the bookshelf.
“You’ll take this,” he said while grabbing the thing with his horn, ”March to the gate waving it and come up with the longest story you can. And put that robe on.”
“I’m no soldier…” stammered Key, peering at the carpet.
Heart yanked his chin up. “How long have you been on the Guard’s payroll?”
“F-four y-years and a quarter?”
“I’ve seen privates die for this city within the first hour of their duty. If they were soldiers, so are you. Get dressed.”
Key’s eyes turned wide. He threw a pleading look at Cowl, who only shook his head. “I… I… What if they recognize me…”
“They won’t,” said Heart. “You’re nopony. If you want to stay that way for the rest of your life, I suggest you find another job. In another city.”
“Canterlot is the only city left in Equestria…”
Heart shoved the heavy object into his lap so hard it knocked him back to the couch. “It’s decided then. You got one minute to get prepared. I’m counting.”
Key shuffled into the next room, dragging the robe he picked from a rack. The object he left on the couch. It was a silver sculpture of Twilight, the Last Alicorn, depicted in the rather unorthodox pose of getting sucked into the void. The sculptor had really let their imagination run wild while working on her face.
Heart stared at the thing, wondering what his great-great-great-aunt would have done in his stead. He hoped he would never get to know.
“You okay?”
Heart turned around, his expression an empty blackboard. “My daughter is in the hooves of a homicidal lunatic. How ‘okay’ would you be with that?”
Cowl’s moustache twitched. “Is not what I meant. You okay to do this? Got your mind all set? No liability to hasty action, that sort of thing?”
“My thought is clear as rain.”
“I see,” said Cowl. There was the tiniest pause before he continued. “So, we have a decoy, kind of. What’s the main plot?”
“While everypony’s watching the show on the front gate, we’ll teleport into the backyard.”
Cowl gave him a long stare. “Funny. I always thought the mansion was designed teleport-proof.”
“I know. I also know the same pony designed the tables in the place. Haven’t still found one which wouldn’t rock.” He let the silence sink in, and then added, “That was a joke. But don’t worry; I have a plan that will at the very least get me inside.”
“You’re not thinking what I think you’re thinking, are you?” said Cowl carefully.
“I’ve done it before.”
“Yeah,” said Cowl darkly. “And almost lost your head in the process.”
“I’m ready,” squeaked Tin Key, peeking behind the doorframe. “At least I hope I am…”
“Good enough for me,” said Heart, who was already striding for the door. “There’s no time to waste; come on. And don’t forget the sculpture.”
“Heart, wait!” tried Cowl, but he was already in the staircase, with Tin Key hurrying after him.
Bloody pie in a bucket, cursed Cowl and followed in suit.
***
There were few things in the world more stupid, difficult and dangerous for a unicorn to do than teleporting blind. Most individuals simply couldn’t do it, and not just because they were aware of the very real possibility of materializing in the middle of a brick wall or something like that. The thing was that, for most it was plain impossible. Teleporting, while theoretically no different from other ways of moving from place A to place B (the subatomic particles shifted in space just like in walking, except maybe in a bit funny order), in practice demanded a great deal more mental control, because in truth it was nothing but.
“Take running,” had Hilt once said to Heart. “Think about it. Do you ever really think what you’re doing then? How the legs arrange, which muscles to move? Yeah, you don’t. You just do it. Teleporting, well, that’s a different animal. In teleporting, you have to know precisely which part goes where, you understand? The parts don’t know that themselves, not after the ride you’ve given them. The body moves the mind, the mind moves the body, and you better be sure which one you’re doing. There won’t be an end to the mess otherwise.”
The Captain’s mansion had indeed been designed to be teleport proof. Unlike what most ponies thought, this didn’t take all that much effort. All you needed was to ensure that no building too close offered a good view to the premises. 90 percent of ponies would give up the attempt if they could not see where they were going to land. The rest… Well, there were stories circling of some very unfortunate discoveries the patrols in the mansion had made in times past. These were more than enough to fully convince nine of the remaining ten percent away from their folly.
Every now and then though, you encountered the remaining one percent.
“You know I can’t follow you; not if I wanted to,” said Cowl. They had moved in the shadow of a nearby alley outlooking the gate. Tin Key was already wandering near it, waiting for his signal. Dressed in a morning robe four sizes too big for him and carrying a statue most people would find sacrilegious, he was drawing the guards’ attention already.
“I’m not blaming you,” said Heart. He tightened the last strap of the armor he had picked from the Station. They had been in a hurry so he had grabbed what looked like the right size, and of course it had turned out wrong. The extra padding was a poor fix, but there was no helping it now. At least he wouldn’t be charging the place naked.
He noticed the deep silence of his friend and said: “If you got something to say, you’re about an hour too late.”
Cowl shook his head slowly. He’d been doing that lately, Heart reflected.
“You want to know why I followed you today?” Cowl said.
“Because the sky is blue? Because the sun rises?”
Cowl scoffed. “I tell no lie: this morning I was still pretty damn angry about what you had said the other night. By the time you called in the briefing today, I didn’t exactly feel like jumping in your lap.”
Heart frowned. “You were there?”
“In the back. Anyway, it was then I chose to follow you. Someone had to. You’re practically the bucking head of the city, and what does it mean to you? Running headlong into trouble at the first possibility? You’re the leader, Deck. Accept it and start acting like one.”
There was a fine scratch to Cowl’s voice that Heart could not quite place. This was the first time he had heard him speak like this.
“The damn Station is overrun by cultists; the bloody griffons are about to attack; thousands of people gather in the Ledge,” went Cowl on. His moustache trembled with every word he stressed. “And instead of fixing any of that, you’re charging alone against the enemy… again…”
“Lily’s inside,” said Heart, staring right into Cowl’s eyes.
Cowl grinded his teeth together, and then said, “Yeah, she is. And that’s where you should, for now, leave her.”
Heart struck him.
After he had staggered back up, Cowl spat a lump of blood on the cobblestones on Heart’s feet. “Yeah, I said it. Seems like you heard it. What’s next?”
Heart opened his mouth to shout. Instead, he closed it like the door of a tomb. He turned to give Tin Key the signal, then gave Cowl a stare that made him flinch. Gradually, Heart’s horn began to glow.
And then he vanished. A moment later, a green light flared behind the mansion wall.
Cowl stood on the alley, rubbing his jaw. It hadn’t been the first time Heart had hit him, although he suspected it had been the last. But, in his mind, it had been the first time he had really deserved it.
After all, he had just sold out his best friend.
***
Cecil stared at her left hand as if she had seen it for the first time. Covered in blood, it looked like the most alien thing in the world. The beast within, withdrawn in the wake of the battle, stirred once more at the smell of it. For a moment, she could not tell her own thoughts apart from its growling.
Her gaze shifted to the original owner of the blood. He sprawled on the street like a rag doll, a terrible wound on his flank marking the spot where the spell had made its home. She had tried to stem the bleeding, even though the griffon had probably been dead at that point already. On afterthought, it had been a rather silly gesture. Only got my feathers stained.
Someone moved behind her. The beast flinched, swirled and–
“It’s me,” said Falke, raising a calming hand. She glanced at the dead griffon. “Did you know him?”
Cecil shook her head. Her muscles felt like steel wires trying to chain down a raging dragon. “How many more?”
“Well, I saw two more over there, and one who’s not going to make it through the night. Overall, less than I–”
Cecil moved in a heartbeat. In the next instant she was atop Falke, holding her down against the street.
“How many more before you see this is not the way?” she said. Her words sounded like they had to fight their way through a meatgrinder.
The two griffons were so close their beaks almost touched. Their breathing mingled into fine steam in the cool air. Drop by drop, the blood from Cecil’s hand fell onto Falke’s feathers.
“Get off me,” she said.
Cecil did. By the time they were both up again, a wave of nausea washed over her. She looked at her hands. They were shaking all over. The blood stank like a thousand corpses in the sun; itched like a million spiders under her skin.
“There’s a water barrel over there,” said Falke. “Go have a wash. You’re stinking of hypocrisy.”
“It could’ve worked,” she whispered. A tear fell to her gory hands, off which she could not tear her eyes. “It should’ve worked. It ought to have.”
Falke looked at her standing there, weeping. Then she took her by the hand, more gently than she ever had, and walked her to the barrel. The water was stale and there was barely enough for a cat to drown. It colored quickly as Falke washed Cecil’s hands. She did not resist.
“You gave it a shot,” said Falke. “That’s more than most would’ve. It’s not your fault ponies’ heads are filled with straw.”
Cecil peered into the barrel. Already the water was so murky she could not make out the bottom. “Why he didn’t surrender? I had my claws on his throat… On his bloody throat… I could’ve had him twitching before he let out a vowel…”
“Then why didn’t you?”
Cecil’s fists squeezed shut under the water. “I… I…”
The fists unclasped, powerless.
“I didn’t want to kill him,” she said hollowly.
Falke raised her hands from the water and shook them dry. “If you could make the choice anew, would you decide otherwise?”
There was no answer; not from the water, nor from Cecil.
“Come,” said Falke eventually, putting a hand on her shoulder. “The ones who got away will return soon. With reinforcements. By then, we need to be back in the caves with as much food as we can carry. If it helps you move, think of the chics.”
“The chicks…” mumbled Cecil. “Yes… The chicks… need food…”
“That’s right,” soothed Falke. “That’s right.”
They made it to the silo in short order with whoever had still stayed around. The battle had been brief, albeit fierce. Deserters hadn’t been lacking on either side. Eventually the guards had retreated when Falke had managed to cut down their leader. Strange enough, he had been the only casualty on the pony side.
The first door to the silo was plain wood and did not take much to bring down. The second, which they found at the top of high stairs, was made of steel. For that they had to go look for the key, which they found from the dead Lieutenant. When they turned it in the lock and pushed, a gasp fled them at the sight.
Falke bent down on the edge of a small platform and scooped a handful of the dry, golden grains. It flowed through her claws like water. “All this time, they had all this food, just sitting here…”
She stood straight and threw the remaining seeds all over the bed of their siblings. A series of griffonian curses accompanied their flight.
“Grassfeeders!” she cried. “They had all this to themselves and nothing for us!”
Cecil couldn’t but gape at the sight. Like most, she had known that the city was better off than the Cliffs, but how much had been anyone’s guess. Until now.
Falke turned to the rest of the stunned griffons. “Make sure to fill every sack we got. If you can’t carry them, leave them somewhere out of sight. We’re coming back for them.”
“But won’t the guards be here by then?” asked someone.
“I hope so,” said Falke. “Oh yes.”
Cecil blinked. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying,” said Falke, “That we’ve found ourselves a sea to fish much closer than the other one.”
A murmuring consent passed over the griffons. In short order they started filling their sacks with the precious load. Soon, only Cecil still stood on the platform, frozen.
Falke walked over to her, leaned to her ear and whispered, “What are you waiting for?”
“The sun,” said Cecil with a low voice. “I can see the sun. I’m flying to it. We all are.”
Falke leaned closer still. “I know. In the end, all griffons fly to the sun. It’s only a matter of choosing it yourself, or letting the sun choose you.”
“Which one am I seeing?”
“That,” said Falke, “We shall have to see. Start working. For the chicks.”