The Book of Water: The Heart of Winter

by TalonMach5

Chapter 13: The Unknown Wayfarer, His Legend Begins

She woke up somewhat groggy, slumped against a large rock with sand in her beak, and suffering from a pounding headache. Spitting some sand from her mouth, she tried to rub the remainder away with her sleeve but found her arms tied tightly behind her. Flexing her muscles, she tried working the knots loose but found all her struggles were simply making the knots that much tighter. She tried opening her wings, but found them pinned by her arms, and looking down saw her feet were also tied up with a thick length of rope.

Looking over her shoulder, she saw a large ship anchored in the cove behind her. The slavers, she bitterly thought, angry at herself for being discovered and getting caught in the first place. Fortunately, they had only tied her up instead of using chains to restrain her. Rope was something she could deal with fairly easily, but unyielding cold iron was another matter altogether.

Taking a deep breath, she decided to fall back on her training and assess her situation before making any further attempts to break free. Looking down, she saw that somefeather had removed her arcanum long knife and sword belt. She hadn’t expected to find the knife still in its sheath, but the loss of the belt was a blow to her plans to escape. Hidden on the sheath, she had a smaller knife stowed away for situations just like this.

With her primary means of breaking loose missing, she looked for her satchel, but saw that it too was missing. She supposed a satchel full of bits was too tempting to her captures to leave behind, not that she minded losing the bits, since she could always get more, but it was the other items it held that she could sorely use right now. Her flint and steel, vial of feather oil, and talon file. She was fairly certain that either the flint or file could’ve eventually cut through the ropes binding her, or if that failed the feather oil might have made her bonds slippery enough to escape. But all she had at her disposal was the clothes on her back and the shoes on her feet.

Her master had mentioned once that some of the soldiers in the army sometimes liked to carry a knife in their boots, but she’d never felt comfortable with a blade bouncing against her ankles as she walked, and instead had opted to hide a spare knife in her sheath. But judging that it was her belt and not her shoes that were missing, she’d made the incorrect choice in where to hide it.

So that was that. The only option left to her was magic. With all her other means of escape missing, magic was the only tool she had left. Thankfully she wasn’t unicorn. She was fairly sure that being slavers her captors had access to arcanum horn rings, and without a horn to place it on, they’d assumed she had no latent magic to call upon. An oversight they would soon regret.

Searching her surroundings, she was relieved when she found a fire ley line within reach of her magical grasp. Siphoning the potent energy within her, she smiled when she felt her feathers beginning to heat up. As a member of the feathered folk tribe, manipulating fire based magic was almost second nature, but as her smoking clothes could attest, wasn’t without its drawbacks. These were the only clothes she had, and should they burn to cinders, she’d have to face the fierce heat of the day unprotected by anything.

Working quickly, she directed the fire running through her feathers towards the rope wrapped around her arms and wrist. With a little luck, the rope would be burned through before her clothes had. She could smell the rope burning now, but was puzzled that even after a minute or so of applying fire to her bonds, they were as strong as ever. Wondering what was wrong with her magic, she drew in a few deep breaths as she focused her magic within diaphragm for a few minutes.

Slowly building up the intensity of the fire in her lungs, she took one last deep breath, before blowing a steady flame from her beak at the rope tied around her ankles. The flames intensity blinded her for a moment, but was disappointed when she saw that though she’d badly scorched her pants, the ropes had held fast. She was dismayed that her fire hadn’t even managed to scorch the rope’s fibers.

Arcanum… she groused, knowing that for at least the time being she was stuck here.

Arcanum laced rope, strong enough to hold a full grown minotaur, as magically resistant as her knife, and so soft and supple that a binding a pegasi’s wings to ground them wouldn’t cause any lasting damage. She supposed it was because of her wings. Her captors must have felt she was a flight risk and didn’t want to take any chances in having her escaping.

Struggling against her bonds so she could sit upright, she looked up when she felt a large shadow covering her.

Standing above her, were three of her captors. The first was a large, burly, green coated minotaur, carrying an even larger cutlass at his hip. The second, was a winsome looking, purple seapony mare, whose left eye patch and permanent sneer belied that she had anything in common with a feather like Dame Squall. Lastly, there was a greasy looking, unkempt yellow unicorn, whose wide girth and stubby muzzle suggested he was more pig then pony.

Judging by the tricorne hat perched on his head, she supposed that the unicorn was leader or captain of this loathsome and motley crew. She saw her long knife in the seapony’s fin, and sword belt at her hip, and knew which of the three had managed to knock her out. The unicorn took a step forward and levitated her satchel above her with his magic, before upending it in front of her.

“Filly, what’s your name?” the unicorn asked, prodding at the pile of bits and other miscellaneous items with his hoof.

Studying them for a moment, Aria briefly considered evoking her father’s name. Here in the heart of his territory, only a fool would accost one of his servants. But having left him and his service as she had, she had no desire to come crawling back to him now. Still feeling angry at him for all the years of neglect, she decided that she would save herself without any need of his help.

“Ember, she lied, glaring up at them defiantly. “I’m a justicar, and demand that you release me at once.”

“A beastfolk justicar?” the seapony said, derisively rolling her eyes at their prisoner. “What bosh, everypony knows that outside the enclave, there’s no beastfolk justicars.”

“Listen, missy, unless you tell us who you really are, why you’re here, and what you know,” the unicorn sternly warned. “We’re going to have a problem on our hooves.”

“I already told you once before,” she repeated, feeling a fire growing in her gut. “I’m a justicar, and when everyfeather finds out what you’ve done here, being punished for slave smuggling will be the least of your worries.”

“She knows too much,” the minotaur said, resting his hand on his cutlass’ hilt. “Justicar or not, she has to die."

“You think that will save you?” she continued, hoping to bluff her way to freedom. “We already found you, you’ll never escape us with either your payment or cargo intact.”

“Captain,” the seapony said, running her fin along the knife’s edge. “You think the runner got nabbed?”

“Not likely,” the minotaur replied, rubbing his thumb over his sword’s hilt. “The city’s over an hour away by wing.”

“I say we kill her now, and be done with it,” the seapony said, pointing the long knife at her. “We bury the body, and no one will discover it until we’ve long gone.”

“But if we get discovered…” the unicorn worriedly replied. “I’ve heard the rumors about the Slave King’s fearsome temper.”

“Then if it worries you so, let me go and turn yourselves in,” Aria suggested, looking the stallion in the eye.

“Not likely, Red,” the seapony said, looking thoughtfully at the knife she held in her fin.

“Then I hope you enjoy suffering,” Aria replied, full of false bravado. “For when you’re discovered, you’ll find out the truth of those dark rumors for yourselves firsthand.”

The minotaur snorted once, grabbed Aria by the head, and forced her to look him in the eye. “Justicar, they’ll have to catch us first,” he said, pushing her roughly against the large stone at her back. Then turning to the unicorn he pointed to their ship anchored in the tiny cove. “Captain, let’s secure her in the hold for now, and then once we’ve gotten our bits, I say we sail for a few leagues and get rid of her in the Western Sea.”

The unicorn nodded thoughtfully for a moment, his bosun’s plan had merit. Since he didn’t want to kill the justicar just yet, putting her someplace nice and secure seemed like their best option for now. After all, if they needed to use her as a bargaining chip they could easily offer her life in exchange for letting them go. If not, they could always get rid of her once their business here was concluded.

“Good idea, Mr. Gorehorn,” the captain said, gathering the fallen bits back into Aria’s stolen satchel. “Put her into one of the empty cages for now. Once we’ve unloaded the merchandise, have a few of the stallions bring her onto the ship and down into the hold.”

When she heard their plans for her, Aria’s blood ran cold. Once she was on the ship, she was certain the slavers would use irons and not rope to bind her, and she’d have no hope of escaping them with her life. Deciding she had no other choice, she tapped into the fire ley line in the hopes of subduing her captors. Taking a few deep breaths, she felt the potent red magic filling her with its power. Soon, she’d have enough within her to give these three slaver scum a very bad day.

Feeling her magical stores nearly at their peak, she was about to open her mouth and gives these thugs a face full of fire to contend with, when the seapony slammed the butt of her long knife into the stomach, knocking the wind out of her.

“Nice try, justicar, but magic’s not allowed,” the seapony slaver said with a malicious smirk. Giving her wicked grin, she held the blade up to her face. “This is a nice knife, Red. I can’t wait to find out exactly how sharp it is.”

But before Aria could reply, the seapony slammed the hilt against her head. With a slight gasp, she slumped forward as she fought to stay conscious. With her eyes struggling to stay open, the last thing she heard before slipping into blissful oblivion were the words, “Sweet dreams, Red. I hope you enjoy sleeping with the fishes.”

Walking through the long, straight corridor that ran through the center of the great keep, the griffon walked with a purpose. The soft padfalls of his paws hitting the ground were muffled by the rich ornately woven carpet beneath him. Though he considered himself a careful feather and wished he had more time to prepare, an opportunity this good didn’t hatch every day.

Fortune had smiled down on his black wings and silvery pinfeathers, offering him a golden opportunity to cover his tracks, all he needed was someone to take the fall for him in case things went south, and he’d be right as rain. Pausing to look at the bejeweled frieze adorning the wall, there it showed the Maelstrom atop the highest peak found amongst Darkpaw’s Spine. At her talons, the crests of all the great clans, both former and current were present.

Counting the crests, he saw that many of those depicted were snuffed out or broken like a chick’s shell. Take the Golden Dawn Clan for instance. Once not long ago they were considered a great power, but in less than four generations their wind had ceased to be. Now considered a broken clan, the few remaining forgotten members of the once great clan eked out a living in the wilderness of the Hinterlands of Autumn.

It was a grim reminder of the price of one’s ambition outstripping their reach. If he didn’t want his clan to suffer a similar fate, this plan needed to succeed. Abandoning the frieze, he resumed his way to the great library of the Golden Eyrie. The early morning’s light was beginning to trickle through the high arched windows to his left. If he knew his fellow councilor, Elrik, the Master of Mediation, had probably been hard at work all night crafting the preliminary legal treatise that would serve as the foundation of Lady Zephyr’s lawsuit against Celestia, Triton, and the Slave King.

Of course this soon the document was sure to be full of spelling errors, miswording’s, and contradictions. But correcting those flaws, was why the domain was planning on securing the services of the greatest lawyers and legal minds in Autumn to make their case before the Pantheon. Therefore, ensuring that the treatise reached the great Ziggurat of Knowledge in Autumn in secret was of the utmost importance. However it would be a real shame if the courier of said treatise was waylaid on the journey, and the document fell into the wrong talons.

Truly, it would be shame if the waylaid courier ended up being killed in the process, and if the courier just happened to be somefeather inconvenient to his agenda. Somefeather like say Dawson, Lady Zephyr’s half breed brat. Truly the wilds and the Hinterlands of Autumn could be a dangerous place for the inexperienced or unprepared. With so many vile pony slavers, bandits, wildlings, and other assorted troublemakers, somefeather could easily go missing if they made a misstep.

But the treatise was still being written, and until he and his colleague had signed and affixed their seals, it couldn’t be delivered to anyfeather. So he was quite certain that young Dawson was quite safe from being waylaid far from the protection of the city or his dear mother. Turning a corner, he saw the great oak doors that lead to the library. Placing his ear to it, he heard Elrik muted voice muttering something or other.

Ah, perfect, he said to himself, rubbing his talons together in glee. I’m sure, that the good councilor has been working nonstop all night.

Opening the door, he saw Elrik hunched over a desk pouring over several thick volumes of legal texts, as he scratched out notes on a sheet of parchment. The candles nearby had nearly melted all the way down to their holder, beside the desk were two empty bottles and a third well on its way to joining its brethren. Opposite of the talon that held his quill, he had a half empty goblet of wine.

Although a greatly respected member of the council, the Master of Mediation wasn’t without his faults. One of which was his love of drink and spirits. Judging by his bloodshot eyes and reddened beak, the good councilor had hit the bottle hard to help see him through the night. Such dedication was admirable, but as such would also be his downfall. It was almost too easy, he simply had to act and his plan would succeed.

“A bit early in the morning to be drinking, isn't it, Elrik?” he asked, smirking at the discomfort his voice was causing him. “Don’t you think?”

“Ugh, what do you want, Johan,” Elrik groaned, looking up from his book top give him a bleary eyed look of annoyance.

“Just seeing how things are progressing with the treatise,” he replied in a chipper tone, hoping to annoy him even further.

“Well it’s still a bit of a mess, but should be enough to give the lawyers something to work with,” Elrik answered, drinking heavily from his goblet.

“I’d like to read it over myself,” Johan said, reaching out for the treatise with his talon.

“Well I’m still working on some of the wording,” he said, licking the edge of his drying beak with his tongue.

“I’m sure it will do for now,” Johan said, holding up one of the empty bottles of wine with his talon.

“Here it is, Johan,” Elrik said, offering him the document.

“I think it’s missing something, councilor,” he said, tapping his talon to the bottom of the page.

“What’s that?” Elrik asked with a wide yawn.

“Your signature and seal, of course, councilor,” Johan replied, pointing towards Elrik’s waiting quill and signet ring around his talon.

“But the treatise isn’t ready yet,” he complained, giving Johan a sour look.

“Does it really matter, Elrik?” Johan asked, giving him a flat look of annoyance. “I’m sure what you’ve written so far will be fine. I’ll read it once, sign and add my seal, and give it to Lady Zephyr to approve.”

Elrik shook his head. “Just bring it back once she’s approved it,” he said, defiantly crossing his talons across his chest. “I’ll sign it then.”

“Once you’ve sobered up, am I right?” Johan dryly said, gesturing towards the empty bottles across the desk.

“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” Elrik protested, unwilling to sign a document before its time.

Rolling his eyes at the stubborn griffin, Johan gave the treatise a brief glance, before signing his own name, pouring some wax and pressing his own ring to the page.

“There, will that satisfy you, councilor?” he testily asked, handing the document to his colleague.

“Well, I suppose,” Elrik sleepily drawled, too tired to really put up too much more of fight.

“Then sign it and seal it, so we can dispatch this as quickly as possible,” Johan demanded, making it a point to show his growing impatience with him.

“But what about…” Elrik started, before being interrupted.

“Then you can hammer that out with the lawyers when they get here,” Johan said, rudely cutting him off.

Elrik said nothing further, instead reaching for the remaining nearly empty bottle at his side. Placing it to his beak, he upended its contents into his waiting mouth. Looking at the now empty bottle, he licked his beak once, before placing it beside the others on the desk. Looking down at his goblet, he saw to his disappointment that it too was empty, he’d already drained it dry. Lightly smacking his beak, he looked sadly at the three empty bottles before getting up from his desk. Sighing deeply, he reached for the treatise and begrudgingly picked up his quill. Dipping it once in the inkwell, he signed his name beside Johan’s, and pressed his own seal below it.

“There, are you satisfied?” he asked, annoyed that he’d let himself be bullied into signing before he felt it was fully ready.

Picking up the document, Johan verified that everything was in order, before carefully folding the treatise, and placing it inside his left jacket pocket.

“You will let me know if the Maelstrom is dissatisfied, won’t you?” Elrik weakly asked, as he looked longingly at the empty bottles.

“Sober up, councilor,” Johan chastised him, giving him a look of disgust for his excess. “You smell like a brewery.”

“Ah, ah… yes,” he agreed, catching his balance and holding himself steady with some help from the desk.

“Then I wish you good morning, Councilor Elrik,” he said, giving him a curt nod, before promptly exiting the library with the treatise in tow.

Having secured the lynchpin of his plan with help from his patsy, Johan smiled to himself as hummed a jaunty tune. Soon he would be well on his way to solving one of his long term problems, and with the half breed out of the way, he could focus on eliminating the only witness who could help implicate him to the crimes of smuggling. He only had to set his trap, place the bait, and wait for his prey to take it. Then he could worry about what to do about this fortnight’s falling slavery profits. Heading deeper into the palace, he looked down each side passage he passed, carefully watching to make sure he didn’t miss his quarry.

When he heard the loud, echoing, clumsy footsteps of his half breed target, he smiled. Unlike stalking a fellow griffin, he didn’t have to be subtle or crafty to find him, he simply had to go in the general vicinity, and the fool would come to him. Pulling out the treatise of his satchel, he pretended to read it, while waiting for his mark to fly right into his cleverly laid out trap.

When he saw the young fool, he offered him a cool, dismissive look, before returning to reading the treatise. He could tell by sharp intake of breath the griffin-half took, that he wouldn’t have to do much to convince him to willingly step into his snare.

“Shouldn’t you be in your room, fledgling?” he asked, looking up from the document with a slight sneer. “If I recall correctly, Lady Zephyr rescinded all your privileges into the foreseeable future.”

“I don’t really think my punishment is any of your concern, Johan,” Dawson replied, giving him a flinty look.

“That’s Councilor Johan, you disrespectful, disobedient, embarrassment,” he replied, alluding to the great inconvenience and trouble his running away had caused for everyfeather.

“Why you…” Dawson groused, wishing he could take the haughty griffin down a peg or two.

“Why you what?” Johan asked, daring him to finish the sentence. “Was it, you superior griffin to me in every way, perhaps? Or maybe it was, I wish I wasn’t the unwanted refuse of your mudslinger of a father?”

“Shut up, you bastard!” Dawson roared, unfurling his wings and flexing his talons threateningly.

“Bastard? But I knew my father, do you know yours, Dawson?” he taunted, circling around the griffin-half menacingly.

Dawson said nothing, turning his head away from Johan as his eyes watered in anger.

“It’s a shame, you’ve been grounded, Dawson,” he continued, pointing the treatise at him, before putting it down on a nearby table holding a large flowering plant. “Otherwise you could’ve redeemed yourself in the eyes of the clans.”

“What do you mean?” Dawson asked, wiping his reddened eyes with the back of his sleeve.

“Haven’t you heard?” the councilor said, offering him an insufferable grin. “We’re going to secure the services of a kirin lawyer to represent us before the Pantheon, and the feather who does it will have the eternal gratitude of all griffinkind should our suit be successful.”

“What’s so great and noble about that?” Dawson asked, confused how hiring somefeather for a job could be so important.

“Didn’t your tutors fill your slow mudslinger mind with anything useful, hatchling?” he asked, shocked that he knew nothing of value.

“So what is it then, councilor?” has asked, curious as to what Johan knew that he did not.

“If you wish to know, visit the library and educate yourself,” he said in a disparaging tone. “But maybe I’ll tell you…”

“Okay fine, what’s it going to cost me?” Dawson asked, noticing the documents left on the table.

“How about admitting that you’re nothing but a mudslinger wretch, unworthy to share a mountain with real griffins,” Johan demanded, enjoying how his words were wounding the griffin-half.

He felt his blood boil, but remembered the evil that he’d witnessed in the South, how miserable the griffin and the others in the slaver’s wagon had been, and knew he had to do something to make things right. Swallowing his pride, he decided to do as the councilor asked.

“Fine, Councilor Johan,” he said, sighing in defeat. “I’m a mudslinger wretch, unworthy to share a mountain with real griffins.”

“And…” Johan prompted.

“And?” Dawson asked not sure what else he was supposed to say.

“And that’s all you’ll ever be fledgling,” Johan continued, wearing a self-satisfied malevolent grin.

“And that’s all I’ll ever be,” Dawson repeated, feeling his cheeks flushing with shame.

“Thank you, mudslinger,” Johan said, offering him a small smile. “For finally admitting what everyfeather knew all along. A real griffin would never have debased themselves as you just did.”

“Fine, so tell me, what’s so important about hiring the lawyer?” he impatiently asked, wishing to get away from this hatefully bully as quickly as possible.

“Well the treatise I’m carrying, outlines the merits of our lawsuit against the other domains,” he explained, lightly tapping his talons together. “But kirins aren’t motivated by money, only knowledge, acclaim, or higher pursuits.”

“Then why would anyfeather bother representing us then, if not for the bits?” Dawson asked, looking to the document on the table once more.

“Why indeed?” Johan echoed, waiting impatiently for Dawson to answer his own question.

“For the prestige, perhaps,” he suggested, spying the signatures and seals on the document.

“Well yes, but not exactly,” Johan continued, excitedly flicking his tail back and forth. “The top kirin lawyers would only take our case, if they can be successfully convinced by the treatise carrier’s arguments. So obviously we need to send somefeather who can convince them to take our case. Without it, well… I’m sure Councilor Elrik will try his best to represent us before the Pantheon.”

“Well I’m sure mother will choose the right feather for the job,” Dawson said, turning to look down the hall.

“Normally as Master of Laws, it’s up to me to select the right griffin for these types of diplomatic envoys,” the councilor said, tapping his talon against the ground a few times. “But seeing how important this is, I think I may send one of my sons to the Ziggurat of Knowledge on our behalf.”

“Wouldn’t our ambassador to Autumn be the better choice?” Dawson pointed out, knowing full well what sorts of feathers Johan’s sons happened to be.

“No, such an important task should be kept to a limited number of candidates,” he said, moving away from Dawson. “Besides, I’m sure the weight of my clan’s name will aid my son in securing somefeather skilled to represent us.”

“And I’m sure the added honor being placed at your clan’s paws won’t hurt either,” Dawson sarcastically added, knowing full well why he was picking his own son over somefeather more qualified.

“Of course not,” Johan said, emphatically denying the accusation. “Serving the Domain of Air, and the Maelstrom of course, is its own reward. But should my clan receive any accolades or honor in serving the realm, well that just happens to be an added bonus.”

“This task is too important to leave to chance,” Dawson implored, hoping his impassioned words would convince the councilor. “Our fellow griffins are suffering. We should send an experienced diplomat, not some inexperienced feather that happens to be related to you.”

“Leave the decisions to your betters, half breed,” Johan condescendingly said, turning his back to Dawson. “Fortunately this matter will be resolved by a true griffin, and not by a mudslinger masquerading as one.”

“I am one!” he shouted, balling his talon into a fist.

“Mudslinger, you should have stayed in the South, where your kind belong,” Johan taunted, looking over his shoulder at Dawson with nothing but pure disdain. “But at least by being grounded, this is something else that you won’t be able to muck up.”

“I am a griffin…” Dawson said, lowering his head and looking away from the councilor once more.

“Keep telling yourself that, half breed,” Johan coldly replied, continuing his journey down the hall. “Keep telling yourself that…”

Furious at himself for letting the councilor get away with treating him so abominably without at least throwing a punch or two, as befitting a true griffin, he slammed his fist into the wall, nearly knocking over the nearby table. Rushing over to steady it and the potted plant. He saw the document left behind by Johan falling to the floor. Picking them up, he was about to chase after the councilor to return them, when he noticed what was written inside.

“The treatise!” he nearly shouted, as he began reading what was written.

He saw the arguments laid out inside, and felt they pointed out the great many injustices that had been done to their people. The words consisted mainly of cold legalistic arguments, which held none of the passion that he knew those griffins counting on them deserved to have said on their behalf. He was certain if somefeather who only cared for the glory, sought out a kirin lawyer, they would probably get somefeather who only cared about the law, and not the feathers that those laws affected.

Carefully examining the document, he saw that with the signatures and seals of both the Master of Laws and Master of Mediation on the page, making this treatise a fully legal document, and authorizing the bearer to secure the services of a kirin lawyer on the behalf of the Domain of Air. The realization of what he held in his talons weighed down on his wings like ice. Should he choose to disobey his mother once more and seek out a worthy kirin to represent them, he could redeem both his name and ensure that nofeather else would need suffer the cruel indignity of his father’s whips and chains.

But thinking of how much hurt he’d caused his mother the last time he’d run away, he didn’t think he could put her through that once more. He picked up the treatise and determined that he would return it to Councilor Johan. Taking a few steps forward to chase after him, he remembered how miserable the griffin and the others he’d rescued on the Lonely Road had been and stopped in his tracks.

His father, the Slave King was responsible for this, and if he did nothing wouldn’t he be just as responsible as all the others who’d done nothing to alleviate their suffering? Or worse, as guilty as the slaver he’d confronted who profited off the misery of all those he doomed to a decade of forced labor.

He thought back to his half-sister Melody and what she’d said before they’d parted. She’d helped him free the griffin and the others, but held no joy in their victory, only sorrow. He’d asked her how should could consider herself no better than the slaver, when she’d done such a good thing, her answer pained him.

He’d argued than that the slaver deserved nothing less than a grisly fate for what he’d done. Her rebuke for his words had stung him when she’d pointed out that he was just as guilty as the slaver for profiting from Gunhilde’s enslavement, and she happened to be as guilty or more for her years of service in the Slave King’s employ.

My hands are no cleaner than his, she’d morosely admitted, looking down at her hands with the remorse she’d so skillfully hidden behind the seemingly joyful smile she'd always worn to mask her sorrow. I’m a greater monster then he could ever hope to be.

Looking down at the treatise he held in his talons, he felt the same shame he’d felt then burning in his heart anew, and remembered Melody’s hope for the future.

Perhaps one day, the Domain of Earth can become a kinder land. A place where nofeather will ever be enslaved again, at least that’s my dream, she’d lamented to him, before letting the slaver go.

Wishing to comfort her, he’d embraced her as she wept, and promised himself then that one day their shame would be wiped way.

Knowing that he not only owed it to all those suffering under his father’s yoke, he owed it to Melody and himself to help make things right once more. Engraving this new found purpose upon his heart, he swore then that he would convince the wisest and most skilled lawyer amongst the kirin sages living in the Ziggurat of Knowledge to join their cause and represent them before the deities of the Equestrian Pantheon.

Having made up his mind, he carefully folded the treatise, placed it in his pocket, and headed to his room to prepare for the uncertain and risky journey through the Hinterlands of Autumn. Entering his room, he disrobed the finery he was wearing as Dawson the griffin-half, and donned the clothes he’d worn as Dustin the feathered folk scout. Picking up his spear, he held it aloft as he felt the heft of the weapon in his hands.

The spear was a masterwork, it had served him well in the tournament at Bone’s Landing those many days prior, and he hoped it would serve him just as well on his upcoming journey to Autumn. He remembered his old spear and how excited when he finally received it as a gift from his mother celebrating his sixteen birthday. It had been made by the finest weapon smith in the Domain of Air, and was looked at with envy when he’d shown it to his fellow trainees.

But this spear made it seem like a child’s plaything. The ebony shaft was as dark as night, and spearhead was pure arcanum, something nearly impossible to acquire outside the Domain of Earth. In his hands, the spear felt as light as a feather, and when he gave it a few practice thrusts, it seemed as quick as the wind. All in all, his dragon-half forged weapon was a thing of beauty, and as long as he had it in his possession he was sure he had nothing to fear on his journey through the untamed wilds of Autumn.

Pulling the black and green tunic he’d worn as a member of the Shadow Hoof Axilla regiment over his head, he straightened it before cinching his belt around his waist. Putting on the long gloves to disguise his talons, he slid them up his arms up to the elbow, and flexed each talon on his hand to ensure he had a good fit. Satisfied with how his gloves felt, he put on his cloak and unfurled his wings to ensure he could still fly. Convinced his clothes would give him no trouble, he slung his satchel over his shoulder, and tucked the treatise securely inside next to his rations.

Looking in a nearby mirror, he smiled when he saw Dustin, not Dawson reflected back at him. Grabbing his hat, he completed his disguise by drawing its attached shemagh across his face, obscuring his beak from view. Picking up his spear, he was about to exit his room, from the balcony, when he remembered his mother’s tears once more. Resolving to not make her worry once more, he decided to write her a note.

Mother, I know you said I was grounded, and forbade me to go, but this is something I have to do. I know how important it is that we get the best lawyer we can, however as the only feather besides yourself and the griffin we rescued who’s seen the effects of slavery first-talon, I hope to impress upon them the worthiness of our case. Another feather might speak more eloquently or have a greater reputation then I, but I doubt few will be able to speak with more passion about the urgency of our cause.

I look forward to returning home, having successfully recruited a lawyer best suited to our needs. Don’t worry, mother, I’ll be discrete, careful, and circumspect. And before you’ll know it I’ll have returned home once more, safe beneath your wing.

Love, your son, Dawson.

Kissing the note once, he left it on his nightstand, and turned to leave. Strapping his spear across his back, he walked out onto the balcony, stretched out his wings, and took to the skies. Flying close to the palace, he took care to avoid being seen by anyfeather, before he could reach the clouds circling above the Golden Eyrie. Hiding within the clouds, he checked around him, looking for anyfeather suspicious. Failing to see anyfeather, he paused a moment to look at his home one last time, before exiting the cloud cover to head west into Autumn and the Ziggurat of Knowledge where he hoped to find the kirin who would aid his people in finally receiving justice they were owed.

She basked in the comfortable familiarity of this secluded place. Here, hidden from prying eyes, she was free from the nauseating presence of all those miserable interlopers who thought to trespass against what was rightfully hers alone. Here in the darkness, she was free from all those wretched liars and their wagging tongues, shielded from those thieves and traitors who sought to steal away that which was her birthright. Here she was protected, free to lick her wounds and plot her revenge against her enemies. Alone in the darkness, she was safe…

“Ah, Nightmare… So good to see you’re in such a chipper mood today,” a voice said with a slight chuckle.

Tiroc! she hissed, annoyed that he’d dared intrude upon her den when she was in this embarrassing condition.

“In the flesh, my dear,” he replied, offering her a slight bow of his head. “Or I would be, if I wasn’t currently bound to the Pit.”

What do you want? she demanded, in no mood to humor the Unmentionable One’s nauseating presence.

“Just dropping by to let you know my previous offer still stands, Nightmare,” he said with a small smile.

Me, serve you? You must be mad, she replied, scoffing at the very idea of ever serving the fallen god. I already told you before, I’ve no interest in serving a husk of a god like you. So why would I now?

“Because things have changed, Nightmare,” he answered, steepling his hands and tapping his fingers together.

Let me guess, Tiroc, another half-baked plot to escape your prison? she sarcastically asked, looking up from her paws at him with nothing but derision in her murderous eyes.

“This time fortune has smiled upon me,” he said, laying his right thumb over his left, as he offered her a smug look. “I have nearly succeeded in escaping from my prison.”

What nonsense, she said, rolling her eyes at him. If you have the means at your disposal, why are you bothering to brag to me about it, why not escape already?

Tiroc looked down on the ball of spite and rage before him, and ran his tongue over the edge of his teeth. “I thought I would give you one last chance to serve me, before I begin,” he explained, as the loud shrieks of ten thousand terrors echoed all around them.

Do you think to frighten me with your charlatan’s tricks, Tiroc? Nightmare spat, challenging him to offer her more than a terrible racket if he wanted to win her respect.

“It’s no trick, Nightmare,” he said, offering her a victorious look. “Your master, the Slave King, has fallen into torpor, and I intend to break down the gates of Tartarus while he’s indisposed.”

A colossal waste of time, she replied, shaking her head at his foolishness. The gates can only be opened from the outside, and they are being guarded by Cerberus. So I’m afraid your jailbreak will fail before it’s even begun.

“Nightmare, Cerberus is indeed a most fearsome guardian,” he agreed, stomping lightly with his hoof. “But I wonder if he’s strong enough to withstand the terrors of the city you hear calling.”

You forget, the Slave King isn’t alone, she said, giving him a dangerous look.

“You mean Scourge or Luna perhaps?” he suggested, giving her a small laugh. “I’m afraid they’ll be too busy protecting the Slave King as he slumbers.”

What do you mean? she demanded, feeling her blood run cold as she feared for her lord.

“Half the terrors haunting the city are assaulting the gates and Cerberus,” he explained, conjuring up an image of the horde converging upon the entrance to Tartarus. “The other half seeks the Slave King’s destruction in retribution. I’m afraid they’ll be much too distracted to prevent my escape.”

I’ll stop you, she promised, drawing her claws threateningly at him.

“It’s too late for that, my dear,” Tiroc replied, showing her a vision of the future. “Without the Slave King to seal the gates, my release will be imminent.”

You… she stuttered, flummoxed that there was little she could do to stop him.

“Join me, Nightmare, there’s no need to perish with your unworthy master,” he offered, enticing her with promises of power. “Or don’t, and join the Slave King in the Pit. The choice is yours.”

I’ll defeat you, Tiroc, she promised, bearing her fangs at him. By fang or claw, I will defeat you.

“I think not,” he said with deep chuckle. “If you only possessed the power of a god, then maybe you might stand a small chance against me.”

Nightmare snarled, furious at his mocking words, and wishing could leap into the Pit to end him once and for all.

“Yes, the power of a god,” Tiroc mused, lightly stroking his black goatee before returning his gaze to Nightmare. “Perhaps if you devoured the Slave King, you’d have the power you so desperately crave and desire.”

Never! she whined, feeling agitated that there was little she could do against him in her current state.

“Nightmare, if you truly wish to save the Slave King and stop my return, you could always devour Luna and claim her power for yourself instead,” he suggested, offering her a vision of the alicorn.

But how? she wondered, unsure if she could trust anything the Unmentionable One was saying.

“You once merged with the Slave King to reignite his divine spark,” he said, showing her a vision of the past. “I’m sure that given your nature as the Slave King’s first creation, you could do the same with your unwitting mistress. Then when she’s at her weakest, you could devour her, and then claim her power for your own. Only then with that power at your disposal, might you have a chance at defeating me.”

I’m done listening to your foolishness, she hissed, turning to exit the shadows so she could warn her master.

“But of course if you don’t have the stomach for it, my offer still stands,” he said, giving her an evil look.

I think I’ll enjoy watching you fail once more, Nightmare replied, not even bother to look over her shoulder at him.

“Go ahead, Nightmare, go to your master’s aid,” he goaded her, shaking his head at her stubborn foolishness. “Even if you’re successful in delaying the inevitable, in the end Luna will still be the Slave King’s wife, and you’ll be nothing more than just his lowly servant.”

Enough! she howled, furious at the stinging truth of his words. No longer able to bear his mockery and derision, she exited the shadows and returned from where she’d fled, the Slave King’s crumbling palace.

Looking up, she saw that she was alone. She’d returned to the traitor’s room, and the one time that she wished he was there, he wasn’t.

Scourge… she grumbled in annoyance, desperately wishing she still possessed her full strength.

Stepping out of the bed, she nearly fell over as she lost her balance. Pushing hard with her paw against the ground, she managed to keep herself upright as she struggled to remain standing. Giving herself a few minutes, and satisfied that she wouldn’t fall face first onto the ground the moment she moved, she began walking towards her master’s quarters.

Slowly making her way deeper into the palace, she was sure there was nothing to worry about. Tiroc was nothing but a liar, and she was sure his latest boasting about escaping his prison was nothing more than another sad attempt to get her to betray the Slave King for his worthless cause. However the loud shrieking wails that began piercing her ears told her otherwise.

Realizing she had precious little time to reach her master before it was too late, she moved as through the maze of corridors as quickly as her weak, trembling body would allow. Louder and louder the shrieks and moans of the vengeful dead echoed throughout the palace, saturating the air with all the rage and fury they held for the one who’d so mercilessly cut their lives short before their time.

It wasn’t much longer when she heard the telltale booming thuds of thousands pounding against the wards surrounding the palace that protected the living from the dead.

I’ve got to hurry! There’s not much time left, she murmured to herself, resting against a wall for a moment as she caught her breath.

Even though she was immortal like her master and facing the incoming innumerable horde of vengeful dead posed little risk to her, she didn’t relish facing them under these unfavorable circumstances. She had no idea what they would do should they manage to break through the barrier and reach her master. If they were lucky, all they might try to do was attempt to tear him to pieces, and if they were unlucky, well… She only hoped that Scourge and Luna could hold them off until she could get there.

She was nearly at his quarters now, and the cacophonous shrieks and wails had reached their crescendo. She was fairly sure the wards would shortly fail, and the endless throng of frightful terrors would fall upon the palace to consume them all. Opening the stone door to the Slave King’s quarters, she saw the traitor Scourge and her unworthy mistress Luna, standing beside their master the Slave King.

The Slave King was sprawled out on the bed nearly naked. Bereft of his crown and cloak, he didn’t nearly look as frightful as he normally did. His chest gently rose and fell as he slept, blissfully unaware of the danger that threatened him and his palace. His unworthy wife was at his side cradling him in her hooves, and she felt her ire rise when she saw the lying usurper being so familiar with her master as if she had any right to do so.

Refusing to look at Luna, she ignored her and turned to Scourge. We need to revive our master, she said, looking worriedly at her fallen king. Tiroc has sent half the horrors of the city to break down the Gates of Tartarus, and the other half to assault the palace.

Should he succeed, she warned, glancing momentarily at the Slave King before returning to look back at Scourge. It will be the end of all things…

He laid on the soft bed with closed eyes while enjoying the ministrations of his companion. Her soft hands were sensually massaging the tips of his ears as she hummed a gentle melody. It was times like these he thanked Celestia that he held the position he did. Thinking back to earlier that night, a light blush appeared on his otherwise pale white coat as he reminisced on last night’s pleasures he and his companion had shared together.

She was one of the few beauteous and sensual feathered folk that lived here in the city, and he’d found her to be one of his favorite consorts. Her quick and nimble fingers, melodious voice, and fair looks were enough to drive most stallions wild with desire. Her wings and plumage were blue with light pink highlights, and her magenta eyes flashed with mischief whenever he invited her to join him in his bedchambers. He felt few could hold a candle to such an exquisite creature, but then again the two seaponies he bathed with daily held a unique charm all their own.

The mares were a pair of nearly identical twins, only differentiated by the hue of their luxurious scales and manes. Thanks to the unique magic they held, bath time with the two winsome mares was never boring, and often necessitated a second bath to clean up afterwards. Playing with the two inside their magic bubbles was always an unforgettable experience, but as enjoyable as they made bathing together, there was something to be said for the demure bitch he employed as one of his maids.

Standing slightly taller than his own impressive fourteen and a half hooves, his diamond dog maid was much stronger than most of the other mares he held in his employee. With claws that effortlessly cut through stone and jaws that could break gems with ease, she could readily crush a full grown stallion between her paws without a second thought if she chose. However she was a gentle, loving soul, possessing not a cruel bone in her body, and he greatly enjoyed the many blissful nights they’d spent entertaining each other in private.

There was nothing like waking up beside a lovely and willing bitch in the morning, but then again there was something to be said for the rough and tumble ways of a minotaur cow. Cows were strong, rowdy creatures, and if you let them, prone to bowling you over if you got in their way. It took somepony with a strong constitution and iron will to manage such stubborn, impulsive, and wild beasts, but the benefits of successfully taming one was great. Their strong hands and the generous, perky busts most of them proudly wore on their chests, made all the difficulties of enjoying the companionship of a headstrong cow worth it.

The soft, feminine curves of a lady minotaur were certainly exquisite to behold, but then again griffinesses had a charm all their own. Griffins were a fierce and territorial race. They valued strength and wily cunning above all else, and usually held disdain for those they felt beneath them. With sharp beaks and razor like talons, trying to bed a griffiness while keeping your hide intact was a tricky business. However if you could win their respect, they became much more amiable and affectionate creatures. Nothing got the heart beating and blood pumping like the feeling of your lover’s sharp beak nipping at your neck while running her talons through your mane.

He gave an involuntary shudder of pleasure at the memories he had of sharing his bed with his favorite griffiness playmate, before laying his head back down on his pillow. But as fearsome as she could sometimes be, nopony could beat a dragoness for the danger they held in their sharp teeth or powerful claws. Possessing both ample strength and magic, dragons of either sex could put both earth ponies and unicorns like himself to shame. While their powerful leathery wings allowed them to fly circles around most pegasi in any contest of aerial superiority.

While most fully grown dragonesses were much too large for a stallion like himself to enjoy. The adolescent ones were just the right size for pleasing a pony that shared his discerning tastes for the exotic. Their shining scales sparkled like gems, and the fires in their bellies and loins always made sharing a bed with one an enjoyable and remarkable experience. Their long forked tongues and sinuous tails were a joy to experience, and so far no dragoness had ever left him wanting.

As a connoisseur of female flesh of all kinds, he was certain that he’d sampled them all. But there was one who’d continually managed to elude him thus far. Her enticing beauty and fiery temperament beckoned him, and all her adamant, unceasing repudiation of his affections, only inflamed the great desire he had for her. He was fairly certain, that once he’d conquered her mountain and plundered her treasure, that he’d be satisfied. Well until the next lucky mare managed to catch his eye. But for now, he’d lust after the object of his desire from afar until he finally succeeded in overcoming all her objections and had finally won her long sought after affection.

“Harmony…” he murmured, moaning appreciably at his bedmate’s gentle touch. “One day you’ll be mine.”

Upon hearing his lustful sigh, his companion stopped massaging his ears.

“Why’d you stop?” he irritably demanded, annoyed that she’d interrupted his daydreaming.

“Maybe you should go ask Harmony, Blueblood,” she huffed, looking away from her unicorn lover in irritation.

“Angel, baby, sweetheart,” he said, nuzzling her blue down covered cheek. “Don’t be that way, my sweetness.”

“Humph,” she pouted, moving to the other side of the bed away from him.

“You know, you’re the only girl for me,” he said, offering her his large, blue, puppy dog eyes.

“Sometimes it doesn’t feel like it, Blueblood,” she said, folding her arms in front of her breasts.

“Aw, I’m sorry if I made you feel jealous, my little chickadee,” he cooed, nibbling the edge of her wing.

“Oh, Bluey,” she sighed, blushing at his affectionate teasing nibbles.

“Now how about I show you how much you mean to me, baby,” he said, wiggling his eyebrows at her suggestively.

“Oh, yes, darling,” she tittered, wrapping her arms around his neck and gently kissing his muzzle.

He could smell her arousal intermingling with his own, and wriggled free from her grasp as he prepared to go to work in pleasuring her. Going under the sheets, he smiled as he prepared to enjoy his breakfast in bed, truly he was the luckiest stallion alive. Looking at the exquisite bounty that lay between her legs, he hummed to himself as he prepared to feast on her proffered love.

Before he could sample her succulent delights, somepony began pounding urgently on the door. “Governor Blueblood, Governor Blueblood,” a muffled voice called out from outside his bedchamber.

Groaning with disappointment, he popped out his head from beneath the sheets and offered his lover an apologetic look. “Sorry, love, duty calls,” he said, kissing her feathered abdomen.

“I understand, Bluey,” she said, climbing out of the bed, and reaching for the clothes she’d hastily discarded the night before.

“Maybe we can do this again sometime later, sweet thing?” he suggested, giving her feather covered rear a playful, teasing squeeze with his magic.

“We’ll see, love,” she lustfully said, kissing him as she buttoned her shirt.

“Governor Blueblood! Open the door, this is an emergency,” the voice impatiently shouted.

“Fine, fine, come in!” he grumbled, annoyed that his morning’s entertainment had been so rudely interrupted.

The door opened and a humorless seapony wearing a pensive face floated through the doorway into the room. He looked at the governor and his guest with a disapproving look, the disdain he held for their recent shameless behavior clear on his muzzle. Blueblood leaned back against his headboard and gave the seapony a sidelong glance, not caring in the least that the evidence of his nightlong wanton debauchery was in full display for anypony to plainly see. Having hastily dressed, his feathered folk lover gave him a quick peck on the lips, and offered him a lust filled look before exiting the room to give the stallions some privacy.

“Blueblood, was she your third or fourth companion this week?” he backhoofedly asked, averting his gaze from the governor’s uncovered and fully visible unsheathed bits.

“My fifth actually. But, then who’s counting, eh, Stormbreak?” Blueblood asked, giving the seapony a cheeky grin.

“That’s Governor Stormbreak, you degenerate,” he replied, not even bothering to hide the distaste he held for his fellow governor. “And for Triton’s sake, stallion, cover yourself up. Nopony wants to see your stallionhood.”

“That’s not what your mother told me,” Blueblood replied, sitting up from his prone position.

Shaking his head in disapproval at the unicorn, the seapony rolled his eyes in exasperation at his foalish antics. “Governor Blueblood, does your licentious and depravity know no bounds?” he demanded, knowing full well what the answer would be.

“So where’s the fire?” Blueblood asked, knowing that the straight laced, humorless seapony wouldn’t be offering him anymore entertainment. “Why did you disturb me this early?”

“Governor, I would hardly call midday early,” the governor retorted, shaking his head at Blueblood’s slothful behavior. “However, it appears that the Slave King desires an accounting on how you’ve been running the city.”

“What! The Slave King is here?” he shouted, afraid to face the Lord of Earth and having to explain his vast appetites and vices.

“No, Governor Blueblood, unfortunately the Slave King hasn’t come personally to remove you from your position,” Governor Stormbreak lamented, wishing that somepony far more worthy then him was serving in his place as the head of the city’s Triumvirate Council.

“Whew…” he exhaled, breathing a sigh of relief that he wouldn’t have to face the humorless, dark, dread lord of the Earth. “So who did he send then?”

“A feathered folk and her retinue,” he explained, glad to have delivered his message so he could get away from such a disreputable cad.

When he heard Governor Stormbreak mention a feathered folk, Blueblood’s heart soared with joy. Finally the object of all his lusts and affection, Harmony, the Black was here, and he could finally woo and win her heart with all his irresistible charms and courtly graces. Drawing magic into his horn, he released it, opening up a secret alcove he kept in the corner of his room.

Standing in the corner was an ornate golden alter that held several large black feathers, stacks of half written pages of once crumpled parchment, broken quills, stained undergarments, and above it all a large portrait bearing the image of his obsession, one Harmony, the Black. The painting depicted her scantily clad, laying invitingly on a bed, and wearing a come hither look on her face.

“Harmony is here?” is asked with hope, excited at the prospects of finally being reunited with the object of his desire.

“No, Governor Blueblood, Harmony isn’t the one that was sent,” he answered, shaking his head disapprovingly at his lecherous colleague’s shrine. “All the more a pity, that she wasn’t the one the Slave King sent. Because I’m sure that if she was, she’d have a few choice words for you.”

“I know, Stormbreak,” Blueblood lamented, burying his muzzle in his hooves. “Why has fate decreed that she be so close, yet so far out of my reach?”

“Perhaps had you not tried blackmailing the magister into your bed, you might’ve remained posted in the Neo Vale as Celestia’s ambassador to the Domain of Earth,” Stormbreak replied, reminding the unicorn exactly how he’d received his current position.

“I know, curse my exuberant heart,” he sighed, gently kissing the shrine once, before hiding it away with his magic once more. “If only I’d gotten her properly drunk first… But no, I had to try being sneaky with you, my love.”

“Governor Blueblood, might I suggest taking a cold shower before meeting the Slave King’s envoy,” Stormbreak offered, wishing to remove himself before the lust addled pony started sharing the saucy fantasies he was planning for the poor mare. “You smell like a brothel.”

“Good idea,” he agreed, grabbing a towel while hoping the chilly water would quench the flame he held in his heart. “Tell them I shall be seeing them shortly.

Governor Stormbreak said nothing, glad to finally escape the presence of such an odious degenerate as the disgraced former prince. He only hoped that Governor Blueblood offended the delegation enough that he would finally be sent back to Equestria. Then with the vulgar buffoon having been stripped of his position, he and the rest of governors could finally get back to business of smoothly running the city. He was certain an enterprising fellow such as he would easily be chosen to replace the boorish Blueblood, and once that embarrassment was properly finned, everypony would be once again well onto their way of getting rich through the slave trade.

Watching them from the safety of his hiding place, he felt a fury burning within his gut he’d not know since he’d awoken from his centuries long slumber. Seeing all those poor condemned souls locked in cages and shackled in irons, it broke his heart. He remembered a time not too long distant when it had been him, cowering in a similar cage, a stranger in an unfamiliar, alien land. Those who’d captured him had been cruel and uncaring, and he’d suffered greatly at their hands. But what had haunted him for years after being pressed into slavery, that it might’ve been entirely avoidable.

He’d been afraid then. The dogs that had discovered and surrounded him each had powerful, fierce claws and sharp, fearsome teeth. He might’ve stood taller, but they were far stronger. He’d been in possession of several weapons, a hatchet, a makeshift club, a heavy sock full of coins, and even a knife. His assailants were unarmed, and had he taken the chance, he might’ve been able to drive them off. But no, the moment he saw them, he dropped to his knees and begged for his life.

He could still remember the look of amusement plastered on the leader’s muzzle as he threw a pair of shackles at his feet. With one look, he’d known what was expected of him, and he complied without as much as a whimper. With that, he’d joined the ranks of the miserable wretches before him. Had he been brave, he might have been spared a decade of constant pain, suffering, and humiliation. The ordeal had almost been greater then he could bear, and if not for the one bright spot in his life of agony and sorrow, he would’ve gladly passed on into the shadows of oblivion.

It was her, his Little Bleu, who had brought him such comfort and solace during his long decade of anguish and woe. He’d met her as a filly, a child of no more than eight years old. To his eternal shame, he’d stolen her meager meal to feed himself without a second thought. Discovering the theft, she wept in hunger and despair. It was in that moment, moved by compassion for her that he’d repented, and returned to her that which he’d so callously stolen.

It was from that moment on, that their fates seemed entwined one to the other. They were always assigned to work together, and as the moths slowly passed they eventually became friends. Months turned to years, and as the filly grew so too did their bond, until eventually she considered him her father and she his daughter. It was those familial bonds that gave him the strength to endure, not for himself, but for her.

It gave him the courage to say no to those who wished to use and violate her for their own twisted pleasure, and the strength to face the furious retaliation of their cruel, biting whips. The audacity to dream of a day when they’d finally be free, and the tenacity to try escaping when the opportunity presented itself. But most of all, it was the hope she inspired in him to persevere when things looked their bleakest.

He closed his eyes, unable to bear what he was seeing. All these doomed creatures without a hope of redemption, and cruelly fated to the injustice of becoming someone’s slave. He felt his heart pound in his chest, as the bitter taste of bile filled his mouth. Spitting in disgust, he looked away in shame, sorrowful there was nothing that he could possibly do to help them.

He saw three of them, a unicorn, a seapony, and a minotaur, surrounding the one who he supposed was one of the feathered folk. She looked young, possibly no older than Little Bleu had been before meeting her untimely demise. They towered over their bound captive, as they decided what to do with her. From previous experience from such people, he knew nothing good would come of it.

The minotaur rested his hand on the hilt of his large sword, possibly waiting for the word from his compatriots to kill her. The seapony held a knife in her fins, and seemed to be fascinated by it as she played with it. Judging by the hat the unicorn wore, he thought he might be the captain of this motley crew of ne’er-do-wells. Seeing how far away they were from the others, he thought that their prisoner might be able to escape if she could somehow manage to break free from the ropes binding her.

He smiled when he saw her giving her captors a defiant, flinty look. Even though her situation was dire and the likely outcome bleak, she hadn’t yet broken or given into fear. Looking at her, he grieved that there wasn’t anything he could do for her. Beyond the clothes on his back, he had nothing useful in his possession. Without some sort of weapon, there was no way he could face two armed opponents and a third most likely possessing potent magic.

He briefly considered using his own newly discovered magic, before utterly dismissing the idea as foolish. He was certain the unicorn was a veteran spell caster, while he was nothing but a rank amateur. He only wished that Suzaku was here, she would know what to do. He’d seen what she’d done to that sea monster with her power, and sure she could easily overpower all the slavers with just a few flaps from her wings.

Before he could further lament his powerlessness, he felt the gentle pull of magic all around him. Reaching out, he felt the prisoner drawing on a fire ley line. Opening up his eyes to their normally hidden magical ebb and flow, he saw a bright red stream of magic flowing across the sandy beach and into the feathered folk’s beak. She was drawing on the fiery magic in order to escape! He was certain of it. All she needed was a distraction, and when their backs were turned she would unleash a magical assault to knock them on their asses.

Although he didn’t dare help her directly, he knew he had to do something. Even though he was still a neophyte with his own magic, he felt comfortable enough using his newly discovered power to conjure up a dust storm to conceal her escape. Once she’d lost her pursuers, he’d reveal to her his hiding space. Then hidden together, they would wait for Suzaku to return, and ask her what they should do about rescuing the remaining slaves and how to stop their wicked captors.

Readying himself to aid in her escape, he began drawing in an influx of magic from the surrounding ley lines. As the invisible threads of magic quickly grew into streams and then rushing rivers. He felt himself growing flush with power, this was unexpected. He hadn’t planned on receiving such an excess of magic. He felt the magical currents and eddies spinning around him like a great vortex of power. Undetectable to mortal eyes, it appeared to be a clear sunny day on the beach.

The tide in the small cove was ebbing and flowing, and there was nothing to hint at the magical storm that was brewing unseen. But to his magically attuned eyes, he saw a maelstrom of magic threatening to consume him. More and more the magic rushed into him like water into a dry sponge, and any worries he held for the feathered folk and the other slaves disappeared into the aether, as fear for his own safety began creeping into his heart.

But before his dread could utterly consume him, he saw the seapony slam the butt of the knife into their captive’s head. The feathered folk slumped forward and appeared to lose consciousness. It was then to his surprise that he discovered who it was they’d been mistreating. They had been standing around her before, and so he was unable to see her face clearly. But now there was no doubt, she was Aria, Suzaku’s daughter.

When she’d told him about the troubled romance she’d had with the Slave King, and the many offspring that was the result of their many trysts over the years. She made special mention of three of her daughters, Aria, Melody, and Harmony. Although the phoenix deity said she loved all her children equally, those three held a special place in her heart. Unlike the other feathered folk, Suzaku had actually given birth to them.

She’d shown him the family portrait she owned depicting her three daughters standing together. Or rather he supposed their daughters, his and Suzaku’s children, seeing as he’d decided to claim them as his children. From the first moment he’d seen the portrait depicting them, he heart leapt for joy and wept with sorrow. Aria’s proud stature, Melody’s entrancing smile, and Harmony’s wise eyes. He saw a piece of himself in each of them, and it hurt knowing he’d never gotten the chance to see them grow into the lovely young women they’d become.

The realization that it was his daughter, his own flesh and blood laying on the beach both bruised and bloodied, ignited a fire of a cold hate ablaze in his heart for those monsters who thought they could do whatever they wanted to those weaker themselves. He abandoned any thought for his own welfare. Looking at the magic storm raging all around him, he balled up his hand into an angry fist, and was determined to rescue his child from these wicked slavers.

She held the long knife in her fin. Studying it, she marveled at the superior craftsponyship that had gone into its manufacture. The blade itself was as black as the night, and the hilt felt perfect in her fin. At a length of nearly three fins, the blade was much longer than most knives she’d seen, but not so long as sword. Parrying and thrusting it into the air, she appreciated how useful the long knife would be in close quarters combat.

With a sword’s longer length, a pony might have some difficult in smaller spaces. But with the knife blade’s abnormal length, she could easily outreach anypony else’s knife if it came down to it. Running her fin against the blade’s edge, she enjoyed the feeling of the blue sparks her magical bubble made as it came into contact with it. A reaction like that meant only one thing, arcanum.

As first mate on the ship, and the pony who’d managed to capture their prisoner, she’d had first pick of the loot. Red had been carrying a satchel full of bits on her, and given how full it was, the satchel had been the prize everypony else had desired. But when she saw the unusual knife, she knew she had to have it. The long knife and belt had been well cared for, but it wasn’t until she drew the blade and saw it sparking at her touch did she realize what a treasure she now possessed.

Acquiring arcanum weapons was extraordinarily difficult given how valuable the magically resistant metal was. Outside the Order of the Lawgiver, or the Slave King’s armies, it was rare to see somepony with one. She was certain should she decide to sell it she could easily get three times as many bits as she would receive for her share from this smuggling trip.

The others not realizing its value and focusing solely on the bits in the satchel had readily agreed into letting her keep the weapon as her share. Only too happy to agree, she smirked as they divvied the rest of the loot. Although she was sure the weapon was battle tested, she felt the need to prove the weapon for herself. Looking at the knife’s former owner she maliciously smiled.

“Soon,” she cooed lovingly to her prize. “Soon I’ll anoint you with blood, my precious. Won’t that be grand?”

The knife said nothing, as she drew it along the length of her fin, relishing in the sparks that leapt from where arcanum met magic. She felt her bubble’s magic threatening to give out, as the blade began unraveling the magic that held her aloft. Continuing to play with the knife like this was dangerous, if it managed to completely disrupt her bubble, she would fall to the sand below, unable to move until she could return to the sea to recharge her innate magic.

She shuddered with pleasure, she found walking such a fine line intoxicating, and wondered just how far she could go before her power gave out. Bringing the knife to her muzzle she licked the blade’s edge as she might a lover. The resulting sparks filling her mouth made her giggle like a filly. Removing it from her mouth, she imagined standing in front of her victim and lewdly smiled. Slowly thrusting it forward, she began slowly twisting the knife as she imagined their fear and terror as she penetrated her.

“Shh, my love, it’ll be all over soon,” she sighed, desperately wishing she could break in her new toy.

But alas they still needed Red alive, so for now she’d have to satisfy herself with fantasies. But her lust filled looks between her knife and their prisoner hadn’t gone unnoticed. The ship’s bosun had seen her, and decided to put the seapony straight.

“Mr. Barbed Hook,” he said, moving between her and her destined prey.

“What is it?” she groaned, unhappy that he’d interrupted her alone time with her new plaything.

“There’s work to be done,” he reminded her, pointing towards the numerous cages filled with captured ponies, griffins, and even the odd deer or two.

“Let the others deal with that, Gorehorn,” she replied with a dismissive wave of her fin. “Somepony has to keep an eye on Red in case she tries something.”

“Yes, that’s true,” he rumbled, looking warily at the knife she held in her fin. “But who’s going to keep an eye on you?”

“Just what are you insinuating!” she demanded, glaring up angrily at the much larger minotaur.

“Only that idle hands make for the Unmentionable One’s workshop,” he said, pointing to her drawn long knife. “We need her in good condition, and unsullied, Mr. Barbed Hook.”

“Oh fine,” the seapony groused, sliding the knife into its sheath.

“We’ve got a cage free for her,” he said, pointing towards the beach. “Since you seem so taken with her, you get to carry her there.”

Even though she outranked him as first mate on the ship, when they were moving cargo his word was law. Grumbling, she picked up their limp prisoner and placed her over her shoulder.

As they walked towards the crew and waiting cages, she shivered when she felt a fierce wind blowing against her scales. Looking up, she noticed that the weather was beginning to turn as the sky darkened and the sea grew green and choppy.

“Gorehorn, we need to secure the cargo with tarps,” she said, pointing to the darkening skies.

“I agree, I’ll have some of the bulls begin covering the cages,” he said, walking towards a few ponies who were moving a fully loaded cage across the beach.

“Alone at last, love,” she whispered, looking longingly at her knife.

When she awoke, Aria felt herself being carried by somefeather. She felt groggy and her head was throbbing and hurt something fierce. Slowly opening her eyes, she felt a wild wind blowing against her feathers as sand and dust blew in her face. Fluttering her eyes open she saw a dark silhouette of a tall figure standing in the distance. The blowing dust all around her made it hard to see them, and she wasn’t quite sure who it was. She wanted to call out, to warn them to escape before they too were captured, but found her tongue and throat were too dry to make more than a weak cry.

As the dust storm grew in strength and obfuscated her vision, she saw the figure take on an unearthly green glow. Was it one of the wandering desert spirits that sometimes liked to prey upon travelers she wondered? While the great monstrous beasts that made the untamed wilds of the South their home were always a concern, it was the incorporeal vengeful spirits that roamed the land that made up the true danger.

Few knew what they truly were, somefeathers claimed they were vengeful souls unjustly slain by the Slave King before their time. Others believed they were lost spirits that had been denied passage through the Gates of Tartarus when they’d died, and were only too happy to take out their frustrations out on the living. While the religious believed them to be servants of the Slave King’s he’d sent to guard his territory from unwelcome adventurers, trespassers, and interlopers.

Aria cared little if the approaching glowing phantasm obscured by dust and sand was any of those, all she knew was that it was the means to her escape. While the slavers were busy defending themselves from the dangerous specter, she could slip away unnoticed into the raging storm. If she was lucky, she might even be able to find one of the nearby watering stations, and send a message to Master Scourge before they managed to find her.

But there was always the risk that if she made her move too soon, the ghostly creature might decide she was the easier prey. She felt the missing weight of her knife and belt on her hip and narrowed her eyes. If she only still had her arcanum knife in her possession, she wouldn’t have to worry about becoming some spirit’s next meal.

Peering into the dust storm she saw it raising its shadowy hand… Wait, a hand? What spirit kind of spirit could possibly possess a hand? Hands were almost unheard of, unless they belong to a beastfolk or minotaur. The silhouette was much too small to belong to a minotaur, and its shadowy profile didn’t match the shape of any beastfolk she’d even seen. Which only left the possibility it could be a wayfarer like her father. But everyfeather knew wayfarers were bereft of magic, so that could only mean that was she was seeing was one thing.

“Slave King!” she called out, as tears wet her dust covered face. Unashamed, she cried as her heart called out to the parent whose love she’d so desperately craved for her entire life was within her reach.

“What?” the seapony carrying her said in surprise as a terrifying fury fueled roar shook the earth with its rebuke and filled the air with its reproach.

Terrified cries of, “The Slave King has found us!” were uttered as the slavers drew their weapons in a futile effort to defend themselves.

“Stallions, get a hold of yourselves!” Captain Thorn Thistle desperately shouted to his panicking crew. “Everypony surround the cages.”

Aria felt the seapony carrying her making double time as she struggled to join the others. Wiggling, she tried slipping free from her captor’s grip, and was delighted when she felt herself falling off her shoulder, and onto the sand below. The seapony tried dragging her, but as the oncoming storm threatened to swallow them, she quickly gave up and left her behind.

Struggling against her bonds to stand upright, she coughed as sand and dust filled her mouth and lungs as she fought to breathe. Tucking her head into her shoulder, she pushed against the wind blowing against her as she slowly moved towards where she knew some large rocks were for shelter from the storm. All around her she heard the panicked cries of both slaver and slaves as the full fury of the storm descended upon them all.

Reaching the stones and the meager shelter they offered her. She saw the shadowy figure walking into the midst of the slaver’s makeshift camp. They stood like the calm center of this terrifying hurricane of unmitigated anger and fury raging all around them. They reached out with their hand to the slavers and she counted the fingers, five just like hers. She was certain of it now, it was her father, and he’d come to bring her home.

She could barely see anything through the blowing dust and sand, but she saw her father silently standing there in front of the wicked slavers. She wanted to call out to him, to apologize for leaving him and Master Scourge the way that that she’d had. There was so much she wanted to tell him, of what she learned from Little Bleu about him on her journey, that she forgave him for being so cold and distant to her and her sisters, but most importantly that she loved him. But for now she would remain silent and watch as he served justice to those who’d dared defy him.

His shadowy form turned to look at her once before returning his attention to the slavers before him. Almost as sudden as the storm had fallen upon them, the howling winds stopped, leaving an eerie silence in its wake. The dust filled air left her vision obscured, and her father seemed to fade away into nothing.

“Wait! Don’t go,” she plead, worried that what she’d seen had been nothing more than a phantom.

“See, lads, it was nothing to be worried about,” she heard the unicorn call out.

She expected them to cry out in panic as her father fell upon them in fury for having the audacity to touch her, but nothing came. It was almost as if he’d not been there at all. Looking into the dust filled air, she struggled to cut her bonds against the sharp rock she’d been leaning against so she could escape.

Before she’d managed to get far, she heard the menacing voice of the seapony calling out to her, “Oy, Red, don’t go wandering off, we still have unfinished business!”

Knowing she didn’t have much time, she began rubbing the ropes against the stones with a fury. She knew if they managed to capture her again, she’d never get another opportunity to escape these monsters. Ignoring how the rubbing ropes bit into her swollen wrists and rubbed her skin raw, she was relieved when she saw the rope beginning to fray as she made steady progress cutting through it.

Just a few minutes more, she thought, when she felt the rope around her wrists beginning to loosen.

As she frantically worked on cutting through the rope binding her, her eyes darted back and forth as she checked her surroundings for any signs of the evil seapony or her compatriots. Another strand of the rope broke and her hands were nearly free now. Soon she could rid herself of the hateful ropes running across her wings, and once they were freed she could finally fly to safety. Once airborne, she’d fly towards the nearest watering station and send out an alert. Then it would only be a matter of time until these slave smuggling bastards would get what was rightfully coming to them.

With a final snap, the rope binding her wrists together had come undone and she was free to work on the ropes tying her wings to her back. However, before she could loosen them enough to free them, she heard a familiar, menacing voice say, “Hey, Red, where do you think you’re going?”

Looking up she saw the seapony perched above her on the rock maliciously leering down at her, and holding her stolen knife at the ready. Knowing she had to get away, she opened up her wings, and pushed down hard with her legs. With a powerful flap, she launched herself backwards into the air to avoid her captor’s reach. She shot the seapony a victorious look as she began pumping her wings as hard as she could. But before she could achieve liftoff, she felt herself being dragged down from behind. Looking behind her, she saw the minotaur holding onto the ropes binding her legs.

“No!” she cried out in fear, as any further hopes of escaping fled her heart.

“Yes, Red,” the seapony said with a laugh, leaping towards her and grabbing onto her torso with her outstretched fins.

They fell to the ground, their limbs tangled up together as they fought and wrestled against each other for dominance. Throwing a quick punch to the seapony’s muzzle, she was pleased when she saw the shock of her blow had made them drop her long knife into the sand. Growling with fury, the seapony pressed down all her weight on Aria’s right shoulder, eliciting a painful scream.

Throwing caution to the wind, Aria reached over and bit down on the seapony’s fin as hard as she could. Her beak and teeth sank into her opponent’s flesh, and felt a sliver of satisfaction as the coppery taste of the seapony’s salty blood touched her tongue.

“Argh! Red, I’ll kill you for that,” the seapony screeched as reached out for the knife with good fin.

Aria, threw a handful of sand into the seapony’s eyes as she struggled to reach the knife before her opponent could. She felt the knife’s hilt touching her fingertips and smiled as she slowly gripped it. But before she could a firm grip on her weapon, she felt herself being dragged away from its salvation.

“Sorry, justicar, I can’t let you do that,” the minotaur said, as Aria struggled in vain against his greater strength.

“Step aside, Gorehorn, and let me at her!” the seapony demanded, pointing the knife threateningly at her.

“No,” he said, knowing she’d just kill the justicar in her anger.

“Get out of my way, mudslinger,” she threatened, holding her knife at the ready.

“How about no,” he snorted, stomping his hooves and threateningly shaking his horns at her.

Looking towards the sea, she gave them both a malicious grin, and reached out towards it with her fin. Moments later a stream of water slammed into the minotaur, making him drop the rope holding Aria. Flapping her wings, she tried escaping once more, but found herself being choked with water. Using her magic, the seapony had encased her head entirely in water. Pounding at the water surrounding her head with her fists, she tried escaping its hold to no avail as the water twisted around her and held her still.

“Heh, heh, Red, cat’s got your tongue, love?” she smirked, running the knife along Aria’s breast.

Struggling against the water’s hold, her wings flapped in vain as she tried escaping. But there was no escape, this vile seapony was going to either drown or murder her with her own knife, and there was nothing she could do to stop her. She closed her eyes, and hoped that when she opened them she would see Little Bleu once more. But the pain from the knife’s thrust never came. Opening her eyes, she saw that the shadowy phantasm had returned.

He’d leapt up from the earth and into the air with a mighty shout. Surprised, the seapony dropped her magical water’s hold on her intended victim, letting Aria fell to the ground with a heavy thud. Coughing and sputtering water from her lungs, she gasped for air as she tried to regain her bearings. Ignoring her for now, the seapony rushed to aid her fellow slavers who were in the process of receiving a brutal beat down from the wayfarer’s fists.

Laying on her side, Aria was breathing heavily as she tried processing what was happening before her. Who she’d thought was her father, was somefeather else entirely. Unlike the Slave King’s heavily scarred and frightening appearance, this unknown wayfarer had nary a scar or blemish on him. He was a warm shade of pink, a stark contrast to her father’s deathly pale skin. No beard adorned his face, and he still possessed both arms. But on both his hands, he had five fingers, just like she did.

She was utterly exhausted and had no idea what this wayfarer would do with her once he'd finally dealt with the slavers he was brawling with. Deciding she would wait and see, she busied herself with removing the rest of the ropes still binding her. Studying his movements, she could see some of the same familiar movements her father sometimes used when he sparred Scourge or the others. Giving each of his outmatched foes ample helpings of rapid one two punches from his fists, most of the crew were knocked down and out after only a few well-placed strikes to the face.

However a few like the minotaur, who’d just recovered from his surprise soaking by the seapony, were proving to be a greater challenge for the wayfarer fighter than the others. She’d seen minotaurs brawl before, and due to their great strength they could be devastating fighters. Most fights ended once they'd managed to get their meaty hands on you, but the wayfarer didn’t seem to care. He deftly avoided the minotaur’s large sword and grabbed ahold of the minotaurs sword hand. Struggling against him, they fought each other for dominance and control of the weapon.

As they fought, they locked hands and began pushing against each other, neither seemed to be gaining the upper hand against the other in this impromptu contest of strength. The minotaur began growing frustrated that he couldn’t use his weapon, while the wayfarer tried wresting it free from his grip. Growing tired of their stalemate, the wayfarer slammed his head into the minotaur’s wide muzzle, stunning and bowling him over. After giving him a few well-placed kicks to his ribs for good measure, the wayfarer turned his attention to the unicorn and the other casters shooting magical bolts at him.

Deciding that he needed help, Aria took to the sky and began drawing on the magic all around them. Tapping into the ley lines, she noticed something odd, the wayfarer seemed to be a swirling vortex of all types of magic. Deciding that she could worry about his seemingly unusual magical abilities later, she dove into the fray, landing a fiery fist into the vicious seapony that had tormented her so.

Infuriated by her sneak attack, the seapony shouted out obscenities and she began flinging torrents of water at her in retaliation. Laughing at her opponent’s inept attacks, she banked hard to the right and easily avoided the seapony’s onslaught of thrown water. Looking down, she noticed that the wayfarer seemed to be shrugging off all the unicorn’s magical blasts as if they were nothing. Wheeling around for another charge from the sky, she narrowed her eyes when she saw what the seapony was trying to do.

She was brandishing her long knife in her fin as she was sneaking up behind him to strike him in the back. Determined that the seapony wouldn’t succeed, she tucked in her wings and reach out to grab the knife before her foe could cause anymore mischief with it. With a satisfying crunch, she socked the seapony right in the muzzle as she successfully grabbed the knife from her fin. Landing beside the wayfarer, she held her knife at the ready as both the unicorn and seapony prepared to make their last stand against them. She saw him give her a small smile, before he offered the two remaining slavers a dark scowl. He began flexing his fingers, before balling his right hand into a tight fist. His left he kept at the ready in case he needed to grapple either of their wary opponents.

The unicorn shivered in his hooves as he looked at the unconscious members of his crew. Levitating the bag of bits he’d relieved from Aria, he threw them at the wayfarer’s feet. “Go ahead, take it,” he called out, breathing heavily from equal parts fear and exhaustion.

Picking up the purse, the wayfarer upended it and let the bits fall to the ground untouched and uncounted. “I wonder how many lives you’ve purchased with those bits?” he asked, giving the unicorn a scorn filled look.

“Please let us go,” he begged, slowly backing away from the much larger wayfarer.

The wayfarer said nothing, instead holding out his hand expectantly to Aria. “Your knife please,” he said, his flat tone revealing nothing.

Holding the knife by the blade, Aria placed it hilt first in his outstretched palm. She saw his fingers curling around it and let go. The wayfarers slowly approached the trembling unicorn, as he continued to back away. Finally with his back to the cage, the poor unicorn trembled in fear.

“Who are you?” he asked, wondering what sort of creature he was dealing with.

“Your end,” the wayfarer said as he brought down the knife with a heavy thunk.

Fearful of dying, the unicorn closed his eyes and screamed in terror. When he noticed he was still standing he noticed that the wayfarer had broken the cage’s lock instead. Swinging open the heavy iron door, he motioned for the poor souls inside to come out. One by one the ponies and griffins inside began exiting the cage. Each of them gave their captor an angry look as they passed him by. One by one, the wayfarer smashed the locks on the other cages, and invited those trapped inside to join him in freedom. Soon the cages were all empty, and beach was full of former slaves standing over their defeated would be masters.

Turning to the seapony and unicorn he shook his head. “You deserve to die for this,” he said, pointing the knife at them. Turning to the freed slaves he asked, “What say you? What should we do with them?”

As the freed slaves began to murmur about what should be done, the seapony began to slowly creep away from them. Noticing this Aria swooped down upon her and grabbed hold of her knife belt.

“Let go of me!” she demanded, struggling against Aria’s grip.

“Certainly,” Aria agreed, wheeling around back towards the waiting cages. “I think we can find you a lovely cage of your own.

Looking down, the seapony saw they were over the water. Undoing the knife belt’s latch, she smirked as she fell down into the water below. “Better luck next time, eh, Red?” she mocked, before diving down into the water.

“Get back here!” Aria shouted, furious that she wouldn’t be able to avenge herself on the dastardly seapony villain.

Circling overhead for any sign of the seapony, after a few passes she gave up and returned to the beach to rejoin the wayfarer and the others. Seeing her return empty handed, the wayfarer handed her knife back. Sheepishly she grabbed it and set about to sliding it into its sheath, before putting her knife belt back on. Tugging it slightly, she spent a few moments adjusting her belt until it was sitting on her hips the way she liked.

Noticing her abandoned coin purse and satchel, she set about the task of gathering her reclaimed things. As picked up her bits, she noticed the memento that her master had insisted that she take with her on her journey. The large boon coin bearing the Slave King’s emotionless face stared back up at her. She’d been so sure the wayfarer had been her father when she’d seen his hands.

Her broken heart had wept with joy when thought she saw him. She’d thought that her father had cared enough to come rescue her unbidden. But knowing it was somefeather else who’d come to her aid, she didn’t know quite how to feel. On the one hand she’d finally confronted the hurt that had long lain buried within her, but on the other hand he hadn’t been the one to come to her aid. Even if her father hadn’t known of the peril she faced, would he have to come had he been made aware?

“Oh, Master Scourge,” she whispered, as the pain from the feelings of abandonment resurged with her heart.

“Are you alright?” she heard an unfamiliar voice ask.

Looking behind her, she saw the wayfarer looking down at her with concern. He wore a kind smile and held out his hand to help her to her feet. Grabbing hold of it, she felt a slight flutter in her heart when his warm strong hand wrapped around hers. His smile warmed her heart as he raised her up. Looking at him, she realized how handsome he actually was and began blushing furiously.

“Do you need water?” he asked with concern, noticing her flushed condition.

“Ah, please,” she said, slightly embarrassed how she was acting in front of somefeather she didn’t know.

“Okay, follow me,” he instructed.

Returning to the slaver’s captured camp, she saw that all the slavers had been placed inside the cages. The wayfarer had been busy organizing them as they were breaking down the camp in preparation to leave. All around her ponies, griffins, and the odd donkey were moving the cages onto boats to move back onto the ship. She wondered why they weren’t abandoning their captors to the mercy of the elements locked in their cages.

Handing her a water skein, his warm brown eyes looked into hers. “They need to face justice for their sins,” he explained, looking out onto the sea.

“I’m Aria, the Red, of the Diamond Vale,” she said, introducing herself with a slight bow.

She saw him wrestling with himself for a moment, and he thoughtfully rubbed his chin. “I’m no one of any note,” he replied, looking towards the vast untamed wilds of the East. “It’s best if you forgot you ever saw me.”

“Okay…” she said, wondering why he’d refused to name himself.

“So, Aria, how did you get mixed up with this lot?” he asked, motioning towards the captured slavers.

“I came upon them by accident as I traveled to Shadehoof,” she explained, wondering what her rescuer’s story truly was.

“That was a bit of bad luck for them, eh?” he said with a wink, as he took back the water skein.

“So what now?” she asked, feeling slightly flustered by him.

Freely drinking from the skein, the wayfarer wiped off his mouth. “Well most of these folks were stolen away from Equestria and Autumn,” he said, pointing towards the freed slaves. “And so we’ve decided to commandeer the ship and head north, first to Shadehoof to unload this wicked lot, and then further north to see everyone reunited with their families. If you wish you can join us to Shadehoof at least.”

“I think I’d like that,” Aria said with a demure smile, grateful for the chance to know this unknown wayfarer better.

“Well then it’s decided,” he said, offering her hand. “Aria, welcome to our impromptu crew.”

Taking his offered hand, she clasped it with hers and felt her heart beginning to race. “Alright, Captain,” she agreed, picking up the unicorns forgotten tricorne hat and offering it to him.

“Captain, I think I like the sound of that,” he replied, placing the hat on his head. “First mate, Aria, supervise things here while I go collect my things.”

“Aye, aye, captain,” she said, offering him a salute.

The wayfarer nodded and began walking off into the distance, as she saw him offer her one last friendly wave goodbye before cresting a sandy dune. Watching him disappear from sight, her heart demanded that she get to know him better. Thank you, my captain, she sighed to herself, before moving to help the rest of the crew with their preparations to depart.

She was beside herself with worry. Cradling her unconscious husband’s head with her hooves, she rocked him back and forth as she waited for help to arrive. If only she’d respected his boundaries, then maybe this calamity wouldn’t have intruded upon their happy home. She’d had no desire to harm him, but to share with him the great love she held in her heart for him. Her only desire had been to be closer to him, as only a wife could be with her husband.

But instead of reciprocating her devotion and desire, he had rebuffed her once more. Furious at having been jilted once more by her reticent lover, she’d put forth her claim to his affections, and demanded her due. True her anger had run hot, but wouldn’t any wife who’d been so unjustly denied by the one they loved? Her fury was not without cause, and her demands had been just. However, she’d not meant to drive him unto torpor in her anger, but only to remind him of his pledge to her as her husband.

Touching her head to his, she freely wept as she worried for his fate. She had no idea what to do if he didn’t awaken from his coma. Gently she kissed his forehead as she whispered her great love for him into his ear. Placing him down on the bed, she laid down beside him, watching his chest rise and fall as he slowly breathed. Laying her ears back, she rested her head on his shoulder, and wished there was something she could to save him from the foul curse that befallen them.

If only you held his heart, Luna, the voice spoke, interrupting her sorrow. Then he’d have no choice but to love you as you so richly deserve.

Nay, we wert a selfish foal to demand he do so, she replied, as tears of regret wet her cheek. Hads’t we been ever patient with him, he woulds’t hast seen that our devotion wast naught but true.

Luna, you have deceived yourself, the voice sternly admonished her. He will never love you by his own choice, you know this to be true.

Lies! she cried out, unwilling to admit the possibility that she was doomed to suffer through another loveless marriage. He dost loveth us. We hast seen it firsthoof for ourself.

Prove it, princess, the voice challenged. Convince me that the Slave King holds even the slightest bit of affection for you, and I’ll not naysay you further.

The wondrous night we shared beneath mine moon, she answered, fondly remembering the brief time they had spent together alone beneath her moon’s silvery glow. He called us beauteous and magnificent. He revealed to us his true self, hidden beneath his crown of iron. He admitted to us then, that he preferred our night to sister’s day.

But didn’t he also make a flower for your sister? the voice countered, reminding her that the Slave King had never offered as lovely a gift.

Twas naught but a trifling trinket, Luna huffed, recalling how annoyed she’d felt when Celestia had shown off the blossom the Slave King had placed in her mane. Besides, we wert invited to enjoin with our husband during his renewal. Sister hast not enjoyed the pleasure, and the moment we shared together, twas true love’s first kiss.

But wasn’t that the kiss you stole from him? the voice pointed out, reminding her that it was she who had initiated the kiss and not the Slave King.

Mine beloved bequeathed to us a double portion of our shared heartfelt passion, she protested, thinking back to when but for his compassionate aid, she would have surely fallen prey to her doubt and fear. If thou remembereth, cynic, if not for our husband’s kindness twoulds’t be Minoa and not we who wert destined to be his bride and helpmeet.

Perhaps, but wasn’t it Luna the Black, and not Luna the Beautiful, that beat poor Lady Minoa to a pulp? the voice matter-of-factly said, recalling that she’d only won by embracing the darkness within her.

Thou sorely provoked us into succumbing to the shadow’s thrall with thy creulty, Luna protested, feeling ashamed at how easily she’d fallen to the temptation to use the darkness for her own ends. Besides, our beloved defended our honor from Cerynitis’s beastly tantrum, and gladly fought with him for our hoof in marriage.

Yet he still doubted the purity of your intentions, the voice reminded her. At the altar did he not demand an answer to the question, “Why do you wish to marry me?”

Yet he did marry us all the same! Luna shouted, afraid of what the voice might say next.

But he had no choice in the matter, didn’t he, Luna? the voice said, wearing down her resistance to its words. Thanks to the Law, he could’ve married anypony, even your sister, and satisfied its demands.

Never! Celestia shalt never have him, Luna fumed, furious at the thoughts of her husband being spirited away by her sister and being left all alone once more. Our husband loveth us in his heart of hearts, we knowest it with a surety. Dids’t he not take our cutie mark as his own as a sign of his everlasting devotion? What say you now, doubter? Where art all thine pricking words and slander?

Luna, would a stallion that loved you as you think he does, recoil in fear and revulsion at the very sight of you? the voice pointedly asked, showing her the fear and hate the Slave King had held for her on their wedding night.

Confronted by the hurtful memories of her husband’s rejection of her, Luna broke down and wept into her hooves. Why won’t he love us? she mourned, fearful that her heart was destined to be barren for the next thousand years.

Why should he love you? the voice demanded. As far as he’s concerned, you are your sister’s agent, and the entire wedding was nothing but a means to an end. Namely controlling him, and making him and the Domain of Earth Celestia's plaything.

Celestia… Luna growled, furious that she’d failed to foresee this turn of events as a pawn in her sister's game.

Yes, Celestia has brought this misery down upon you, the voice agreed. But consider this, if you were to capture the Slave King’s heart and show him that you weren’t her obedient puppet. Perhaps then he might see fit to love you.

Yes, and how do you suggest we do such? Luna testily asked, wiping away her tears. Our beloved’s heart hast gone missing, tis the most likely cause of the foul curse that hast befallen him.

That’s true, Luna, the voice said, offering her a vision of that fateful night. But there’s still a piece of it to be had.

Thou meanest the Nightmare? Luna said, remembering how the Slave King and the foul terror had momentarily became one to reignite his dying spark of divinity.

Yes, if Nightmare can fuse with one god, why not another? Why not you? the voice suggested, reminding her that both she and the Slave King's domains lay rooted in shadow. You’re her mistress, are you not? Command her to join with you, and then claim his heart for yourself. Then with his heart in your possession, you will possess all the knowledge you need to force him to submit to your desires.

We coulds't never do such an evil thing, she protested, aghast at the idea. And what of Nightmare, she art our husband’s servant, he woulds’t be most sore shoulds’t she come to harm.

You’ve said it yourself, he’s a stallion, and all stallions have needs, even the Slave King, the voice pointed out, urging her to take the first step down this dark path. Didn’t you consider breaking him less than an hour ago, and besides after the first few times, I don’t think he’ll be so resistant to your charms. As for Nightmare, she’s a menace, a relic from an earlier age that should've been put down ages ago.

Hmm, Luna mused, debating the merits of the voice’s arguments. On one hoof she was fairly certain that should her husband agree to lay with her as he ought, her skills in lovemaking would ensure he would eagerly agree to share a bed with her nightly. But on the other hoof, forcing him to be with her against his will would make her no better than that deviant sex fiend Minoa.

However the voice’s suggestion that wrest control of the Slave King’s heart from Nightmare was more palatable. She didn’t necessarily have to take it from her, but if she could at least capture a glimpse of what secrets it held, she could better serve and hopefully love her beloved as he so desperately needed. He’d once admonished her, Wife, how could I possibly love, someone I don’t know? She knew he was right, until she truly understood him, she couldn’t begin loving him the way he needed to be.

Alright, we agree with thee, friend, Luna said, hoping it wasn’t a mistake following its advice. We shalt seek after the heart Nightmare holds.

Excellent, the voice said, pleased that she was going to take its suggestion. Once you’ve eliminated Nightmare, there will be nopony to stand in your way.

Nay, we shalt not commit murder to satisfy our wants, no matter how greatly we desireth them, Luna said, refusing to commit such a heinous act. Nightmare mayest be a foul terror, but our beloved entrusted her to our care as our servant. So we shan’t betray his trust. Instead we shall peer into the heart she holds, and inscribe all its secrets onto our own heart.

“What happened, Mistress?” she heard from behind her.

Getting off the bed, she was relieved when she saw that Scourge had answered her summons.

“Friend Scourge,” she said, feeling gladdened that she didn’t have to face this crisis alone. “Mine husband has fallen into torpor, and refuseth to awaken.”

The ghostly doom hound approached his fallen friend and master, and sniffed him twice as he examined his prone form. “I’m not sure why he’s entered torpor,” he admitted, giving Luna a thoughtful look. “He’s never entered it so soon after a renewal before.”

“Shoulds't we allow our lord time to recovereth of his own accord?” she asked, unsure how to proceed.

“Mistress, we’ll do whatever you think best,” Scourge said with a slight bow.

Now that she had a chance to clear her head, the prospect of having the Slave King be in such a state wasn’t so disconcerting. As deities, they all went into torpor for varying reasons and lengths of time. In this case, her husband’s rest might be no different. Besides, it might be nice to relieve herself from the stress of serving her stubborn and uncooperative mate’s needs for a time, allowing her the chance to acquaint herself with her new domain and people.

However, before she could begin planning her newfound freedom from her husband, a great, haunting howl echoed through the air around them.

“Pray tell, friend Scourge, what manner of evil wast that?” Luna asked with concern, wondering what new calamity was to befall them.

“Something has agitated Cerberus,” Scourge replied, walking out onto the balcony overlooking the city.

Joining him, Luna didn’t see anything at first, but off in the distance, hidden by the shadows of the ruined city she saw a bit of movement.

“Who goes there?” she bellowed, allowing her booming voice to echo through the dead city.

In the darkness of the ruins it was quiet, but one by one, floating lights began appearing all over the city. Slowly they approached the palace grounds, as more and more lights began lighting up.

“Harmony’s wards,” Scourge growled, peering into the darkness. “It appears somehound wishes to play.”

“Art our people in any danger?” she worriedly asked, concerned for all the ponies she’d summoned to serve her in her new home.

“No. Fear not, Mistress, the wards should hold,” Scourge said, looking up at her. “After what happened with the ghast, Harmony took extra precautions. Besides, even if some of them manage to get past the wards she put in place, we have places of safety and refuge for the living to retreat to, while we sweep the vermin from within the palace walls.”

Relieved that she wouldn’t lose half her staff to some undead monstrosities ravenous appetite, she decided to return to her husband’s side. Before she could turn around, seemingly every ward around the palace’s perimeter lit up simultaneously.

“Oh dear,” Scourge murmured, placing his paws on the railing. “It appears I’ve spoken to soon.”

“What’s wrong?” she worried asked, feeling her previous trepidation returning with a vengeance.

“It appears, Mistress, we are being besieged by the dead,” he said, pointing towards the darkness.

Unable to see as clearly as Scourge’s ghostly eyes, she lit up her horn and released a spell high into the air. With a large explosion, the air lit up, illuminating the dead city below. What she saw broke her spirit and filled her heart with dread. Undead of all kinds were preparing to fall on the palace with a vengeance, having been discovered by her magic they let out a ghastly wail. Their moans and cries filled the air, letting the living know that all the restless hosts of the Pit had come calling to exact their revenge.

The skeletal remains of dragons, relics from the short lived dragon siege five hundred years prior, waded through the undead throng. In their wake, they crushed buildings and fellow undead alike with nary a concern for any but their purpose, bringing down the wards protecting the palace.

“Summon thy forces, Scourge,” Luna commanded, knowing that she was all that stood in the way of the ravenous undead horde descending upon their gate. “We must stop them before they devour all in their wake. For after consuming the palace, they wilt undoubtedly seek out the inhabitants of the Neo Vale.”

Nodding in agreement, he placed his armored paw upon the communication gem affixed to the wall. After a few moments he shook his head and frowned. “Mistress, all lines of communication to the city have been cut,” he said, looking to his master’s unconscious form. We won’t be receiving any reinforcements from the city unless we send out a messenger.”

“Cans’t we do anything?” Luna asked, unsure how to proceed due to her limited experience in defending against the undead.

“I’ve already sent word to Harmony, she has begun evacuating the palace into the manufactorium,” he said, as he began send more messages through the gem.

Cerberus let out another terrible howl in the distance, sending a shiver through her spine. Luna peered off into the darkness, wondering what other terrors lay hidden in the dark of the cursed city of the dead. Before she could give much thought to the guardian of the Pit and the gates it defended, the draconic remains had reached the wards protecting the palace. Without a second thought, the great rotting bulks slammed into the magical barrier with a massive boom.

The shockwaves of their repeated onslaught against the wards, caused the palace to shake and even the great city itself. With each repeated boom and the resulting quaking nearly sending her to her knees, she began cursing her luck. Had she not know better, she would’ve assumed the end of creation was nigh. Hoping to buy them some time, she reared up on her back hooves and released a powerful spell into the barrier guarding them hoping to strengthen and reinforce it.

The next strike by the undead siege weapons was nearly cataclysmic. When the great lumbering beast next slammed into the barrier, the repulsion shook the dead city so greatly that it threatened to bring down the broken lava dome above their heads. Broken by the powerful reverberation, the undead dragons began crumbling into pieces. Looking down victoriously at the monstrosities that thought to invade her home, her relief shortly turned to dread as the dread monstrosities began slowly reforming themselves to begin the attack anew.

“Blast it all to the Pit,” she cursed, wishing her husband was here to tell her what she should do. “Dost these devils knowest not whence to quit.”

“If only we could send them there,” Scourge agreed, placing his paw to his muzzle. “Unfortunately, Mistress, the undead can be rather relentless. Especially when it concerns the Slave King.”

“Ah yes, felling the city in his wrath in a single day,” she said, acknowledging their rightful rancor. “What cans’t we do to quell their fury, to assuage their anger?”

“Likely nothing,” Scourge answered, looking towards the Slave King. “When the city fell, so many perished so suddenly that rage and hatred overtook many of them in death. Because their souls are weighed down by their hate for him, most could never reach the Summerlands unaided.”

“So diplomacy is out of the question then?” she asked, hoping there was another way open to them.

“Mistress, in all my years since my return,” he said, placing his paw on the gem. “I’ve never seen any undead open to reason.”

Returning to her husband’s side, she cradled him in her hooves. “Beloved, please wake,” she implored, cursing herself for having endangering their domain with her thoughtless impatience. “Thy people needeth thy succor and protection.”

Worried and unsure what to do, she looked back to the shambling hoard attacking the weakening barrier. Deciding that if no answer came soon she would stand in the Slave King’s stead as the domain’s protector and guardian. Suddenly the door opened, and in walked Nightmare. She only gave Luna a sideways hate filled glare before turning her attention to the Slave King briefly and then in turn, to Scourge.

Luna couldn’t quite understand the means Nightmare used to communicate with him, but supposed it had something to do with their origins as creations of the Slave King. She saw the barely concealed hate filled looks she was giving her and knew that she blamed her for her husband’s condition.

“Mistress,” Scourge rumbled, as the blue light from his ghostly form grew dimmer.

“Yes, Scourge?” she asked, wondering what dire news Nightmare had come to bare.

“Calamity is upon us and all creation,” he said, looking worriedly towards the city. Once more Cerberus howled.

“What coulds’t be more calamitous then this siege of death falling upon us?” she asked, dreading the answer.

“The Unmentionable One has revealed himself to Nightmare,” he said, placing his paw upon the gem once more. “Tiroc is coming, and he intends to destroy us all.”

“Tiroc!” Luna exclaimed, recoiling in fear at the very idea of the destroyer being loosed upon the world once more.

“Yes,” Scourge sadly replied. “Only the Slave King can bar his way from the Pit now, and if we can’t revive him in time…”

“It will be the end of all things,” Luna finished, as Cerberus’s howls and the swelling wails of the vengeful dead filled the air.

Somewhere in the deep, dark recesses of the earth beyond all mortal comprehension or reckoning, the peals of a loud, devilish laughter echoes through that terrible, fell place, signaling his inevitable return, and with it the end of all things.