//------------------------------// // Fíniúnacha // Story: Courts of The Magi // by Airstream //------------------------------// Libra rose from her place on the floor, taking a deep breath as she did. It wasn't often that she needed explicitly bounded times to actually meditate and pull herself together anymore, but the events of this afternoon had been more than enough to push her over the edge into the distinct possibility of losing control of her magic. It wasn't many unicorns that needed to worry about losing control. Magic was inherently a part of oneself, and losing control of it was like losing control of your own limbs, a rare and unusual thing unless you were notably more powerful than even most mages. For most unicorns, magic was a constant friend, an ally that could depended on even when nopony else could. It was a loyal servant, a tool to be used wisely to achieve the impossible, and if it ended up hurting you, well, that was a result of you misusing it, not the other way 'round. But Libra used Breaking magic, and so had seen another side to what appeared to be that most constant of companions. Breaking magic wasn't a magic of obedience and logic and ordered, predictable results. That sort of magic was the purview of Binding, the magic practiced most by ponies. Binding was a stone wall, or a loyal dog, or a stout shield to keep misfortune away and keep a unicorn happy. Breaking magic was wildfire, the roaring stream, the howling wind and thundering avalanche. You didn't use Breaking magic, you allowed it to use you, and only with your own emotion did you shape it, trusting it to do what you needed it to. In the courtyard, in the garden, seeing a pony decapitated on the orders of a Princess with no more thought than one would give to chopping onions for dinner, Libra's control over her own emotions had slipped, just a bit. But it had slipped after the shock of seeing Serale, the pony that Libra cared for as her own daughter, carried away by the magic that was supposed to keep her safe. It almost been enough to shatter her control, and that would have resulted in the Breaking magic running free. She hadn't gone to Fidelis yet. She couldn't have, couldn't have risked hearing more bad news, letting her control slip even a bit more. She had gone right to this room, this vestibule, and for two hours, she had spent her time building wall after wall after wall, taking comfort in the ritual as much as the protection they afforded. Sometimes she cursed her Lady for teaching her the ways of this magic. She released her lungful of air, feeling the last bits stress travel with it. It was necessary for any practitioner of the craft to maintain a cool head and clear mind. She drew the cloak around her throat from where it had lay, forgotten, to one side of the curiously empty room she found herself in. Wasting no time, she stepped back out into the hallway, leaving the room behind its painting of roses once more. Libra noted as she walked that the hallway was quiet, unusually so for this time of day. Libra would have expected a number of ponies to have passed her in the time she had spent in this part of the Manor, but she had seen only two, both of them scullery maids, and even their normal lively chatter had been replaced with subdued whispers and sidelong glances at Libra. They had taken a step back when she passed. Libra had pretended not to notice. There were no ponies on the stairs, and only a single guard the great hall, wearing the sky blue tabard and looking straight ahead with impeccable diligence. Libra, feeling uneasy, stopped near the door outside. “Where is everypony?” she asked. The guard she had spoken to, a pegasus mare with a coat of blue nearly the same color as her tabard, and a mane of sunny yellow, only glanced at her before looking straight ahead again. “Most are at the funeral procession, Magus,” she said. “Captain Brightsteel's body's being picked up by his relatives for transportation back west.” “And the Princess?” Libra asked. “Has she gone, too?” “I'm afraid don't know, Magus,” the guard replied stiffly. She continued to look straight ahead, the muscles near the base of her mouth taut with stress. Libra's eyes narrowed. “Don't know, or won't tell?” she asked. There was no answer. “I thought so.” She turned to the door, to leave, but the pegasus spoke. “Magus?” “Yes?” The guard snuck another look at her. “Be careful. Brightsteel might not have been popular with some, but we in the Court Guard loved him. Some ponies might be thinking about things like revenge.” Libra thought to reply, but there was a chiming from outside, a clock in the distance striking the hour of one o'clock. Libra realized she was quite late. Contenting herself with merely a bow, Libra pushed open the door, stepped into the courtyard, and closed it behind her. She had never seen the Bower this empty. The tower housing Serale's Guard had apparently been turned into a fortress in the time since Libra had passed it that morning. The two unicorns in uniform stood at rigid attention as Libra passed them with a nod, rifles sharp and bayonets gleaming unpleasantly in the early afternoon light, bandoliers of ammunition at their chests swaying in a light breeze. Libra could clearly see that the windows of the upper levels had been boarded shut, and before she passed through the threshold of the doorway, she caught glimpses of what looked like sharpshooters atop the tower's roof, which had been recently repaired. The inside was hardly more relaxed than the exterior. Boxes and barrels of supplies had been pulled from the walls into makeshift barricades, and ponies were busy tallying cases of ammunition, medical supplies, and rationed food with all the urgent efficiency of soldiers shortly about to undergo a siege. The windows were boarded, but Libra noticed that the arrow slits on the far wall, overlooking the cliffside approach, were not, and were in fact manned by more ponies with rifles within reach, scanning the town below with the practiced eye of ponies who knew life on a border fort. The stairs to the basement were blocked, and Libra needed to wait for several moments while her identity was verified by the guards, a sign and countersign were given, and only then was she escorted to the basement door, and Fidelis's quarters. Her escort knocked once, three times, then twice, and the door then swung open. “Ah,” Fidelis said, looking up from his papers as Libra stepped into the austere room, closing the door behind her, “Magus Libra. I was about to send a search party for you. Is everything alright?” “I could ask you the same,” Libra pointed out reasonably. “You and the rest of the Guard look like you're ready to start a small war. I take it you've heard something you don't like?” “Threats, mostly,” Fidelis said. “There was a short scuffle near the dueling ground between some of my ponies and some of the Court ponies, and that combined with a few nasty promises and a suggestion from the Princess has us on alert.” “The Princess requested I tell you to send members of the Guard in pairs or groups, if you need to send them anywhere at all,” Libra said. “I suspected you would anyway, but I gave my word I'd pass it along.” “I'm glad you did,” Fidelis said, opening one of the drawers on his desk and retrieving a bottle of what appeared to be whiskey and a pair of glass tumblers. He gestured to the chair in front of Libra. “Please, sit.” Libra did so, as Fidelis poured two generous helpings of the liquid and pushed one across the desk to her. Libra took it gratefully. “Now,” he said. “To business. Where were you?” “Meditating,” Libra replied. “The events of the morning were stressful enough that I ran the risk of losing control of my magic. As it wouldn't do to suffer an unintentional discharge in such a confined space as this, I took the time to ground it.” “Ah,” Fidelis said. “That'd explain it. I don't suppose that the Princess gave you any idea as to where on the Horn our Lady ended up?” “A hospitable part, I'm given to believe,” Libra said, sipping at the whiskey. It worked wonders, burning her mouth and throat wonderfully on the way down. “I wasn't aware such a place existed, but Cadance was very clear that Lady Serale and Cobblestone both were alive and well.” The fact that Invictus had been one of the two to pass that particular tidbit along remained unsaid. Libra had no reason to upset Fidelis further. He had quite enough on his plate already. “Cadance said that she'd dispatched Invictus to carry a beacon to them,” Fidelis said. “While I approve of the gesture and wish him godspeed in bringing back our Lady, I can't help but wish that he was back here right now. We could use him if things go sour here.” “They will not go sour,” Libra replied. “Captain Brightsteel may have been loved among the Court Guard, but he wasn't as well liked as you think. Once his body is away and gone, things will become less tense.” “I suppose that you're going to tell me that I should stand down the members of the Guard,” Fidelis said, sipping at his whiskey meditatively. While not exactly his preferred source of nourishment, Libra knew for a fact that Fidelis was very fond of his drinks, and often ate with his men, just as much out of enjoyment as to avoid suspicion. Libra shook her head. “I wouldn't,” she said. “There's a chance that while the cat's away, her kittens might play, Only a fool would be put off by Cadance's carefree attitude, and only a pony with a death wish would stay in this Court without at least recognizing the possibility that somepony might plant a knife in your back.” “You sound as if you speak from experience,” Fidelis observed. “Did you spend much time in the Dawn Court in your travels, Magus?” “More than I'd like,” Libra groused. “I always avoided this area when I was a wanderer. Equestria in general is no place for a pony like me. Too many bloody ponies with blind allegiance. At least in the Kingdom, ponies were open about grievances. Equestrians will smile right up until they've got a blade at your throat, and apologize while they slit it.” “I'll drink to that,” Fidelis said, offering his glass. Libra tapped hers to his, and they drank deeply. Fidelis let out a relieved sigh. “Now, to the real reason we were meeting.” “Oh?” Libra asked. “I had thought we were meeting to discuss the fact that our charge has been sent to the far north.” “Except any pony with access to my schedule would know that this meeting was scheduled days ago,” Fidelis said. “Cadance passed along all that she knows, and she, no offense Magus, knows a good deal more about ley lines and magical prowess than even you. If she says that Serale is safe away from her Court, then I believe her. It's when she says that she's safe within her Court that I begin to doubt.” “Touche,” Libra replied, draining the last of her glass. “Very well. To business then.” “The traitor in our ranks is likely a mage,” Fidelis said. “One who is proficient enough in communications magic to send reports of our location even miles away from civilization, and stealthy enough to get away with it from right underneath our noses.” “Am I a suspect, Captain?” Libra asked, half-joking. “Should you be telling me this?” Fidelis snorted. “You're the most scrutinized mage in Equestria, the Kingdom, and any point beyond,” he said. “Personally picked by Lady Everstar, and, no offense again, at the top of the shit list for every Magekiller. There's no way in Tartarus you'd be able to get anything like that past the Lady, especially seeing as you were with her and her daughter right up until we left the Regia.” Libra bowed her head. “I'd hoped you'd come to that conclusion,” she said, “But I didn't want to push you. So one of the ponies I fought in the arena is the traitor?” “Or Afi Refrsson,” Fidelis said. “He's no special magical talent, but he's wily and quick and a veteran of numerous border campaigns. If ever there was a pony who could be said to be hiding his magical talents, it'd be him.” Libra pursed her lips. “I suppose,” she said, “He might warrant a closer look, then. So let's say there are six names to investigate. Who would you peg as our rat?” Fidelis sighed. “That's why I asked you here,” he said. “I hoped to get your perspective on the six of them, get an impression. Who would you peg?” Libra's mouth quirked up in a grin. She proffered her glass, and Fidelis poured her another heavy dram of whiskey, topping his own glass off. “So,” she said. “If I were a traitor, how would I go about it? What kind of pony would I be?” She sipped again. “I'd need at least some experience with subterfuge,” she said. “And a motive to betray my Lady and country. No small measure of magical ability, too. I've made studies of covert spellcasting, and it's not easy even with practice.” “So that takes out Ceres,” Fidelis said. “The mage is hardly more than a colt.” “Not necessarily,” Libra mused. “Despite rumors, it was more than luck that landed his hit back in Starfall. He's got a keen mind and quick reflexes. I looked over his test scores from the Collegia, as well. Top marks in invocation, evocation, and alchemy, oddly enough. He was something of a prodigy, or at least he would have been had he spent time around enough ponies to be noticed as such.” Fidelis frowned. “A brilliant loner with talent and hidden depths?” “Or a dedicated student with a sharp memory and a bit of luck,” Libra said. “It's hard to tell with Ceres. He's still young and untested. That does not, however, mean that he lacks the dark tendencies necessary to become a pawn of malevolent forces. More than one apprentice has become a monster from delving too deeply into magics best left alone. Nightshade, or the lich that she became, was once a very young apprentice. She was only seventeen when she was killed.” Fidelis shuddered. “Not much older than the Lady,” he said. “I'm glad she got put down.” Libra tutted. “Liches have a habit of popping up like a dandelion that's been cut instead of pulled. She is down, but not, perhaps, as out as we'd like. Only time will tell.” “Necromancers aside,” Fidelis said, taking a mouthful of whiskey, “Who would you peg? You still haven't told me.” “Well,” Libra said, “Were I approaching this blind, I'd peg Kore, your captain. But I'm assuming you've already eliminated her from contention as I have. Given that, I'd put the zebra at the top.” Fidelis arched an eyebrow. Suspicion of zebra magic wasn't unheard of among mages, strange and unpredictable as it was. Despite intensive study, there remained very few concrete rules surrounding the use of zebra powders, potions, and artifacts in their magic, with the only constant being that they were derived only from living, natural things. But he was sure Libra had her reasons besides blind suspicion. “Zebra magic is a fascinating field,” Libra said, “And I've dedicated considerable time to learning its intricacies. Zara is a shaman among her people, which means that she possesses some of the most powerful magics available to them. Among these magics is something called 'wind-sending', which I have seen her do more than once.” She swirled her glass, gazing into its depths. “Wind-sending allows a zebra to project her voice on the wind after ingesting a potion and speaking the name of the individual it's to be carried to. She could have drank this potion before receiving her orders, and simply by asking for clarification on a few points, passed along enough information to whomever it was on the other end.” “So she's the chief culprit?” Fidelis asked. “It sounds shaky.” Libra nodded. “Agreed. Not to mention the wind-sending potion is tricky to make and painful to ingest. She'd need an antidote after an hour, or else risk losing her voice. I can't recall her leaving at any point during the briefing, or being gone for the next several hours. She and I were meeting with the other mages to discuss our role in supporting the Guard.” “I'll put her down as a 'maybe',” Fidelis said. “What else do you have?” “Lady Cheval du Ombre is a noted Paladin and practitioner of several of the more obscure schools of their craft,” Libra said, “And while the Paladins as a whole are usually admirable in their devotion to their causes, she's something of a loose cannon. It's possible that she is tapping into darker energies to bolster her abilities, or has made a deal with something.” Fidelis made a noncommittal gesture. “It's possible,” he said. “Though her records of service are spotless. It seems that despite her willingness to bend rules, there are still very definite lines she will not cross.” “And Sir Dunlevy of Oakton is even more stringent in his duties than she is,” Libra said. “Though he's got the advantage of more experience and an excellent knowledge of useful survival spells and cantrips that could make him tricky to predict. Still, I'd probably rate him as only a bit more suspect than Angelus.” Fidelis shivered. “I don't like Magekillers,” he said. “Nopony likes Magekillers,” Libra said. “Least of all mages. But you cannot deny that he's the least likely candidate of the lot. I think the Magekillers are second only to the Changelings in their ability to police their own.” Fidelis blew air through his lips, tipping back in his chair as he drank, thinking. “So,” he said, “I've got six potential suspects, a missing Lady, who took your apprentice and my Captain with him, and we're no closer to finding that damn mole than we were two months ago.” “But we've narrowed it down to six,” Libra said, “And the Lady will be back soon. With any luck, we'll be able to find our culprit before she gets back.” Fidelis leaned forwards once again. He held his glass out, and Libra dutifully clinked it with her own. “I'll drink to that,” he said. He took a small swig from his glass. “I'll...” he trailed off with a frown. “That's odd.” Libra tilted her head in confusion. “Captain?” she asked. “Are you alright?” Fidelis blinked. He shook his head, as if to clear away flies. Libra's eyes widened, as the hair of his coat began to fall away, revealing the shiny black chitin beneath. He stood up in shock, before pitching over to one side, his eyes bulging obscenely, still very much the eyes of a pony in a rapidly changing face. “Captain!” Libra shouted, dropping her glass as she vaulted the desk while Fidelis choked and writhed. “Help!” she cried out. “Medic!” There was a kerfuffle from outside, and the door swung open. Libra turned to the corporal on duty. “Get Zara,” she ordered. “Hurry!” She turned back to the Captain as the corporal sped off, sounding the alarm. Libra rolled the heaving Changeling onto his back, loosening the collar of his uniform in an attempt to expand his airway. Fidelis vomited, the last vestiges of his disguise falling away as he wheezed for breath, clutching at his throat. Libra's horn lit up, and a small hole appeared in his throat, through which she attempted to force air, but something was blocking the passage. Libra leaned back in shock as what appeared to be a vine, thorny and green, forced its way through the hole, matching what was happening through every hole in Fidelis's body. Vines writhed across his chest, over his cheeks, through his nostrils, and as they did so, they began to bloom with white roses that soon were spattered with green ichor. Fidelis lay very, very still as Libra began to compress the area above his heart, hoping to restart it in vain. Still, she maintained a steady rhythm of compression as she began to prepare a stasis spell. Perhaps he wasn't too far gone, perhaps whatever this enchantment was could still be reversed. The vines, wasting no time, seized hold of the flesh nearest them, penetrating it with cruel barbs, and ripped Fidelis apart with no more effort than a child pulling the wings from an insect. Zara appeared in the doorway, but even she could see it was far too late. Libra knelt by the captain's body, stained with fluid and panicked, words for once having failed her. The vines began to wither away as she stood up, and spoke in the calmest voice she could muster, considering she had drank the same liquor as the Captain had. “Contact Princess Cadance,” she said quietly. “Inform her that Captain Fidelis has been murdered, and the weapon is poison.”