A little waft of Nightmare Moon's mane caught up to them some time later. Nightmare grimaced at the information it carried, and paused in her flight.
“The manticore failed. These rebels are a vexatious lot.”
“You sent a manticore against them?” Sky gasped.
“It didn't manage to kill a single one. Not even a sting. What meek creatures the manticores of today have become.”
Nebula interrupted, “What of it? Princess Luna, you need not stoop to something so crude as murder. You can do this without killing.”
Nightmare gave her a dire look. “Again, you insist upon that name. How much patience do you suppose I have?”
“More than you pretend.”
“Did you enjoy your fall?” she asked in a poisonously sweet tone. “Would you like to repeat it?”
“You didn't kill me. You haven't killed anyone. You don't want to kill anyone.”
“You are sorely tempting me!” Nightmare snarled into Nebula's face.
This sudden flare of anger sent a cold burst of panic sparking through Sky's veins. He had to do something to distract the two of them, before Nebula really did push Nightmare too far. He flapped his wings noisily, making a desperate ruckus as if he'd run into a patch of dead air.
The two ponies paused and looked his way. He aimed a beseeching look at Nebula, silently begging her to stop challenging Nightmare Moon. But she only raised an eyebrow, questioning his aerial stumble.
Nightmare Moon's attention was more incisive. She aimed her sleek head directly at him and purred, “My dear Sky Diamond, do you believe I am reluctant to kill?”
He stared back at her, gawping. He could not answer as he knew Nebula would want, with confident affirmation. But neither could he remain silent and allow her to draw her own conclusions. It came to him that she would always choose the worst story to tell herself, the darkest interpretation of others and of her own being. And he had no good answer to that. He started to stammer something, anything, and his words babbled from him, free of any clear thought.
“You can do worse, I'm sure... I mean, killing must be a mercy compared to some of what you're capable of, but... that isn't...”
Nightmare gave him a long, piercing look. Then she smiled.
“Oh my clever Sky Diamond. Yes, I think you have stumbled upon a cunning thought.” She pursed her lips for a moment, and then flared out her wings and reversed direction, leading the two vesperquines back they way they had come.
“Princess?” Nebula asked.
Nightmare grinned hungrily. “Oh yes. Yes, yes, yes. Those six won't die after all. They'll have much worse than that.”
“What are you planning?” He had set a thing in motion that filled him with dread.
“There are things that are not properly of this world, Sky Diamond,” she explained. “Beings that cannot find a foothold here; and lucky for all of you that such is the case. Demons, shades, spirits, things yet to have a name put to them. Sometimes they can make their way into the dream realms and stalk a pony's sleep, but even there it is difficult for them to catch more than a taste of their prey.
“But there are spells to hold them, spells to anchor them here, where they are free to devour pony minds and leave behind the broken shells, trapped in endless terror.”
He shuddered and silently cursed himself. He should have never opened his mouth.
Swiftly, Nebula asked, “Princess, is it wise to call up such things?”
He nodded, trying to join in and dissuade Nightmare. But Nightmare just smiled at her sweetly and replied, “I shall seal them in the trees. It shall be a grove of horrors, but only those who dare to venture there will be in danger.”
Nebula grimaced, but Nightmare was already flying onward, scanning the ground and muttering to herself. “So much has changed, but the terrain remains as it was.” After a time, she made a satisfied grunt and dropped to the ground.
Sky and Nebula followed and found themselves in a swampy lowland. Ancient trees stood like sentinels, their trunks grown massive with the years. Clumps of moss hung from skeletal branches and the ground had a scraggly carpet of ferns. The air held an oppressive damp smell, and the rustle of their wings as they settled to the ground was muffled in the heavy atmosphere.
Nightmare looked around with an approving gaze. “Those interlopers are certain to come this way.” She nodded to herself and smiled. “This will do very well.”
She turned to Sky and Nebula. “The spells are complex and time-consuming. If you are truly my Night Guard, be certain none disturb me in my task.”
Nebula bowed low. “As you command, Princess Luna.” She spread her wings and lifted herself into the air. Sky stared dumbly after her, but a moment later she glared down at him and said, “What's the holdup, pimplebutt? Get up here; you're on duty too.”
He followed her upward, navigating through the branches until he hovered above the forest with a commanding view of the locale. Through the breaks in the canopy, he could see Nightmare laying out arcane patterns with her magic.
He looked at Nebula, wide-eyed. “She's doing something evil,” he said.
Nebula bit at her lip. “She's our Princess,” she said stubbornly. But Sky could sense even she found that answer weak. She stared out into the night, and quietly spoke. “Yes, I'm worried. But I will not betray her as our ancestors did. I will be her friend.”
“Sometimes a friend has to tell you you're wrong,” Sky shot back. “Or do you think just calling her Princess Luna until she runs out of patience is enough?”
“She is Princess Luna. She knows it, she just needs to remember herself.”
“You're gambling,” he snorted. “You're going to get us both killed.”
She regarded him, her mouth set in a grave expression. “Private Sky Diamond, do you wish to be released from your service in the Night Guard?”
He froze. She was offering him the chance to escape this madness, and to save himself.
Or the chance to abandon her without recrimination.
Her gaze was steady and serious. The offer was no jest, nor was she trying to shame him.
“It's not like I'm truly competent to deal with—” he gestured around him “—this.”
“As long as I'm your CO, I'll be the judge of that,” she said sharply. Then her voice softened. “Sky Diamond, you are no paragon of the Guard, but you should not take yourself so lightly.”
He swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. It was a spartan compliment, but coming from Nebula, it amounted to high praise indeed.
He took a moment to catalog his current straits. His princess was a creature of evil. His captain was caught up in folly. Half a dozen day ponies were marching to oppose them, and the Wonderbolts were on the prowl.
There was only one reasonable choice to be made.
“Ma'am,” he said, “I'm a member of the Night Guard. You're stuck with me.”
Nebula's answering nod was as brisk as anything she did, but all the same he sensed a note of relief in it. “Well then, Private,” she said, “we've got work to do.”
They patrolled in a wide circle centered on Nightmare Moon, growing accustomed to the terrain of the area. For a quarter of an hour all was calm. Now and then they saw dim flashes of blood-tinted light as Nightmare worked her summonings. Her efforts seemed to ward off any wildlife in the area, but as Sky scanned the trees below and the horizon for any fliers, he spotted a pegasus in the distance.
Nebula zipped to his side. “Oh, good. You see it too. Looks like we have some company at last.”
Sky peered at the figure. “Soarin? I think that's Soarin....”
The pegasus was headed roughly in their direction, but was scanning the woods and sky, and plainly had yet to see them.
“What's he doing out here?” Sky whispered.
Nebula snorted softly. “Looking for us, I expect. With a little luck, he'll pass right by. He should have adjusted to the night by now, but even so his eyes aren't as good as ours.”
But at that moment, a soft flare of light welled up through the trees from Nightmare Moon's location. Though Soarin's eyes were not on par with vesperquine night vision, he was not so night-blind as to miss that, and he arced his course toward it.
Nebula made a disgusted noise and immediately moved to intercept him, Sky following off her right wing. They swept in front of him and hovered, blocking him from the direction of Nightmare Moon, and Soarin drew up suddenly at the sight of them in the moonlight. His eyes widened. “Captain Nebula?”
Nebula nodded. “Lieutenant.”
His gaze darted between the two of them, and his front legs fidgeted. “We've had multiple reports from Ponyville of a renegade alicorn claiming responsibility for Princess Celestia's disappearance and calling herself 'Nightmare Moon.' She's also supposed to have declared she won't end the night.” His gaze flickered to Sky, as if seeking support in the face of Nebula's stony expression. “There've been some reports from Canterlot too, of, umm...” He swallowed thickly and forged on. “Of vesperquines coordinating with this 'Nightmare Moon.'”
Nebula regarded Soarin with a cool and unsympathetic look. Sky felt a surge of nausea, but not a bit of surprise as she replied.
“Lieutenant Soarin, her name is Luna. She is a princess, co-equal to Celestia, and she is currently the presiding authority in Equestria.”
Soarin's pale features grew positively ghostly. He shifted his attention to Sky with a shudder. “You too? You're okay with the sun never rising again?”
Sky opened his mouth to answer, but what could he say? He was a vesperquine; of course he had no love for the day. But even so, the day had its uses nonetheless. Who could deny that? The succulent asparagus salad he'd had had for dinner had grown under the sun's rays, and the ponies of Equestria themselves were most industrious in the light of day.
He remembered Nebula's words to Shining Armor. “This night will not last forever,” he echoed aloud.
Soarin's eyes widened. “How do you know that?” he whispered.
“Because,” Nebula cut in, her voice a pillar of strength in the darkness, “we believe in our princess.”
Sky winced at her assurance. His own belief in his princess was far from solid. But Nebula's tone brooked no questioning. In other circumstances, he'd feel sure she was laying down a bluff in order to set Soarin's mind at ease; but he knew now that she spoke without guile, out of a faith he could not understand, much less share.
Soarin gawped, astonishment splaying across his face like a bug splattered across a set of racing goggles. “I'm sorry,” he said, “but that's not good enough.”
Another pulse of sickly red light from Nightmare Moon's enchantments flickered in the forest below, as if to underscore Soarin's skepticism. He gestured toward it. “She's down there, isn't she. Your... princess. If she's truly worthy of your faith, have her come and surrender to us. You know it will go better for her if she cooperates than if the Wonderbolts have to drag her back to Canterlot for trial against her will.”
Sky nearly choked. “I don't think you'll have an easy time doing that,” he sputtered.
Soarin barely acknowledged him. He watched Nebula steadily, and said “I'm asking you to fulfill your duty to Equestria, and help secure that alicorn. If that's too much for you, then at least surrender yourselves to our authority.”
Nebula sighed. “I'm afraid my orders do not allow for that, Lieutenant.”
Soarin squeezed his eyes shut. He sighed deeply, and then opened his eyes to give her small shake of the head. “That's a shame,” he said.
With that he shot up and away from them, arcing sharply upwards and to the left in a strange flight path. Open-mouthed, Sky stared after him while Nebula snarled. “It's a signal,” she said. “The others are attacking.”
Sky's nerves jolted in electrifying dismay. Could this really be happening? Nebula chirped, and instinctively he followed suit and nearly reeled at what he heard. Something was coming down at them, very fast.
“The moon!” he gasped, and flung himself to one side. Two pegasi shot past. They'd been hiding in the glare of the moon, having adapted their tactic of attacking from the angle of the sun to take advantage of vesperquines' greater sensitivity to the moon's light. Had he and Nebula relied on sight alone, they might well have fallen to the first strike. The wind of the Wonderbolts' passage buffeted him, and he stared after them as they flattened their flight angle and leveled off over the forest.
A sickening after-rush of adrenaline thrummed through his muscles. His voice quavered as he gasped out, “What...?”
“You're in combat, soldier. Remember your training!” Nebula snapped, and dove after the two pegasi.
His training! It seemed like a joke. Yes, he had drilled endlessly, and he usually performed well in sparring matches. But sparring and drilling were a far cry from true combat; and now, in the moment, he knew himself to be deeply unprepared.
Nonetheless, he had to act. He angled his wings to drop down and join Nebula's pursuit of the two attackers, but he could already see neither he nor Nebula had a hope of outpacing pegasi like the Wonderbolts. His mind grasped for tactics in this situation.
So it was that he very nearly missed the flash of motion in the corner of his eye. Two Wonderbolts had attacked, so of course his mind was focused on the threat they posed. But Wonderbolt squads were three ponies, and had he not just been speaking with that third pony?
He tried to throw himself to one side, cursing. Always be aware of your surroundings! But he didn't have enough time to fully escape Soarin's attack, and though he avoided taking the brunt of it, one outstretched forehoof struck him a glancing blow to the ribs that punched the wind out of him and left him reeling.
Soarin braked hard, his wings straining wide, and flipped back to follow up on his attack. Sky shook his head, trying to focus. He snarled angrily. He was not going to fall before he had even begun to fight!
Then Soarin was upon him, hovering chest to chest and lashing with a flurry of hoof strikes. Sky jerked himself back, blocking and parrying, the muscle memory from long hours of drilling standing him in good stead now. Pegasus infighting was a brutal thing, a nasty barrage of blows, with all four legs free to kick and strike. But he too had trained in these tactics, and reached out to catch at Soarin's legs and turn aside the force of his hits.
For a moment they hung suspended in the sky, battering at one another in a storm of hooves that Sky barely managed to keep pace with. He jerked himself backwards, seeking a moment of breathing space, but Soarin pushed after him and kept up the pressure. It was all he could do to ward off Soarin's attacks.
Sweat beaded up on his brow. As much as he was managing to parry Soarin, he was at his limit. The pegasus was relentless, and allowed no space for him to counterattack. Sooner or later Sky was going to make a mistake, and Soarin would land a telling blow. And then more mistakes would follow. The urge to turn tail and flee gripped him.
Idiot! he imagined Nebula's voice whipping at him. Why would you expect to outrun pegasi?
Fleeing would not work. But vesperquines had their own advantages, and he had stupidly been allowing Soarin to take all the initiative.
Sky gathered his wings, and darted sharply around Soarin. The sudden maneuver caught the pegasus by surprise, and Sky managed to get behind him before he could react. Sky aimed a kick at the pegasus' back, and felt his hoof connect with a solid jolt. Soarin grunted, but before Sky could press his attack, the pegasus shot forward and away.
Sky took a moment to scan below. Nebula and the other two pegasi were skimming the treetops in a complex chase. Nebula dipped among the leaves, shifting direction and confounding her pursuers, bursting back into the open air to attack from some unexpected direction.
But he could only spare that moment to check on her. Soarin was looping back around at high speed for another attack. This time, at least, Sky was prepared. He lunged out of the way at the last moment, hoping to land another kick as Soarin passed by. But the pegasus was too fast—frighteningly so—and instead Sky found himself thrown tail over withers in the turbulence of Soarin's wake.
For a moment he tumbled through the sky, forest and stars wheeling before his eyes. His helmet was flung from his head and fell away to disappear, lost in the forest below. He struggled to stabilize himself, chirping wildly to try to locate Soarin. The pegasus had already circled back most of the way for another run on him by the time Sky got himself back under control.
Soarin came in fast, and once more Sky dodged out of the way, this time navigating with greater poise. But he still didn't manage to lay a hoof on Soarin. The pegasus was simply too fast.
This was no good. Perhaps over time he might wear down Soarin, but it was a heavy gamble that he would make no mistakes dodging the pegasus. What's more, Soarin himself would change tactics once he decided he couldn't catch Sky.
Then, of course, there was Nebula, who was fending off two pegasi on her own. He needed to dispense with Soarin and come to her aid as quickly as possible.
He started flying at speed, seeking a course that would draw Soarin into a vulnerable position. At the very least, the closer he could match Soarin's airspeed, the larger his window of opportunity to strike at the pegasus would be. He swooped and jinked, playing a dangerous game of aerial tag with Soarin; and though here and there the two of them traded glancing blows, neither could properly close with the other. Without his helmet the air rushed across the damp sweat on his scalp, filling him with a sense of exhilaration as he and Soarin twisted a labyrinthine trail across the sky.
Up here, in the open air, he could keep track of Soarin with ease. But he knew that Soarin was also at his most capable in such a spacious environment. Their advantages balanced and left them at an impasse.
And exhaustion was a factor. How long could he keep this up before he made a critical mistake? Could he afford to trust Soarin would make that mistake first?
His thoughts were cut short as Soarin came at him once more. Again Sky evaded to one side; but this time, Soarin was still there with him, hooves lashing out sharply against his ribs. Impossible! He swept himself back with a convulsive thrust of his wings. But of course it wasn't impossible, it had happened. He dodged around Soarin's renewed assault, his mind in a whirl.
The pegasus wasn't any faster, so how had he even laid a hoof on him? It didn't make sense... and then Sky saw it. Soarin hadn't somehow matched his maneuverability, he'd simply guessed the direction Sky would dodge and altered his angle at the last possible moment he could shift. A matter of luck, perhaps, and even at that he hadn't managed to tackle Sky full-on. But it showed Soarin was adjusting to Sky's tactics, seeking a way to neutralize him.
Or worse yet, it could be that Soarin hadn't guessed, but had read some subtle cue in Sky's poise, and seen which way Sky would dodge. A chill ran down his spine. Either way, the open air was no longer a neutral ground for their battle, but rather a dangerous trap. He could no longer afford to draw out their conflict up here.
He took a deep breath and dove for the Everfree. Soarin arrowed down to intercept him, but Sky twisted and angled his way downward, no longer trusting his straightforward dodges.
The leafy vista rose beneath him, and resolved itself into a rugged terrain of tall pines poking their way through a rough mix of oak and ash and maple. He angled himself to burst through what seemed a thin place in the greenery, and slammed through the leaves. The spindly branches whipped at him and broke, and a moment later he was underneath the forest canopy.
The leaves above stippled the moonlight into a scattering spray of beams. Tree trunks stood in profusion, forcing Sky to slow himself to maneuver through the ever-twisting passageways between them. Dark parasitic mosses grew along their bark, among knotted vines. The forest floor was carpeted with the rot of old leaves and the frequent humps of decaying wood where fallen trees lay, nestled in their beds of ferns.
Behind him, Sky heard a crash as Soarin followed him even into this dark place. He tried to orient himself, but the chaos and intensity of his aerial battle had left him uncertain of his location—was Nebula somewhere ahead of him, or off to his left?
He dodged around trees, pulling back his speed in the gloom. The air was still and dank, and he felt it almost clinging to his wings. He chirped, intent on hearing the shapes of the obstacles around him; and his quick bursts of sound rewarded him with a clearer sense of the forest. But his echo was quickly swallowed up in the thick vegetation, leaving him with an unsettling illusion of open emptiness pressing in upon his bubble of awareness, though his eyes told him the forest stretched on and on.
Soarin chased after him relentlessly. The moon was bright—perhaps as bright as Sky had ever known it—and the pegasus felt comfortable enough with the state of his night vision to keep after Sky, even as he flittered and sped among the trunks.
Sky dove low, skimming near a tall fir tree, Soarin in hot pursuit. He hooked the end of one branch with his hoof and flew, arcing around the tree as the bough grew taut in his grip. He chirped, checking Soarin's position behind him, and then let go.
The branch whipped back, straight into Soarin's flight path. Sky heard an “Oof!” from behind him, followed by a string of curses. He grinned, but Soarin's moment of dismay wouldn't likely distract him long. Sky shot straight up, and hid himself in the upper branches of the tree.
Soarin disentangled himself and glared around. Sky held perfectly still, and thought about his next move.
He could try to drop down quietly and surprise Soarin. But the pegasus was very alert, and actively looking for him now. He didn't like his chances of success—Soarin's dogged persistence had become unnerving.
At the same time, Nebula was somewhere out there, taking on two pegasi at the same time. He had a responsibility to come to her aid, and if he could slip away and leave Soarin lost and wandering, so much the better.
Soarin called out to him. “Come out and surrender, batpony. Have you really thought this through?”
Sky bridled at the “batpony” slur, but doubted Soarin even realized how vesperquines loathed the term. If there was an actual insult here, it was in Soarin's failure to address him as a member of the Night Guard.
“We need the sun to grow crops,” the pegasus continued. His voice moved off as he circled among the trees, trying to find Sky. “Think about that. Do you like blueberry pie? Because there won't be any more blueberry pie if that alicorn has her way!”
This night will not last forever. But even so, he could not imagine Nightmare Moon raising the sun.
He needed to get to Nebula. He needed her confidence, needed her sense of purpose.
Sky chirped, and heard Soarin's figure, thirty yards off and facing back the way he'd come from. Now was his chance to slip away. He fluttered lightly from the branches and darted up.
But his luck failed him. Whether he'd made some noise to draw Soarin's attention, or whether chance had prompted the pegasus to glance back his way, Soarin spotted him. “There you are!” the pegasus roared, and shot toward him.
Sky sped forward, winding a tortuous path among the forest trunks. He kept ahead of Soarin—even gained some distance thanks to his maneuverability—but could not shake the pegasus off. He angled down until he was skimming over the rough forest floor, dodging around hummocks and fallen trunks in the hopes Soarin would follow close enough to crash into them. But the pegasus would not venture quite so low. Sky cast about for some area of low, leafy branches he could fly under to force Soarin down into a more treacherous flight path lest he lose track of Sky, but this area of the Everfree had grown tall, and any low branches that had not simply dropped off their trees bore sparse leaves in the gloomy depths.
So then, what was the next thing he could do? Ahead he saw a pile of logs on the ground and thought to try to kick them up at Soarin's face as he passed, a plan that relied on a very optimistic interpretation of physics.
But as he drew near, the logs stirred of their own accord. They reared up, and suddenly resolved into the forms of large wolflike creatures. Their bodies were comprised of gnarled wood, and their eyes glowed with the light of a malevolent green magic. They snarled at the sight of him, and Sky shot up and over them with a startled gasp.
They leapt beneath him, snapping at his heels. He shuddered and careened onward among the trees, leaving the beasts to chase after and howl impotently.
There were more things than just the Wonderbolts to beware of in the Everfree.
Sky changed tactics, setting aside his aim of regrouping with Nebula. Instead he flew toward the darkest places in the forest he could spot. He needed to make the most of his advantages, and only in the murkiest regions would his echolocation put him at a decided advantage over Soarin.
He found a dense grove and plunged into it, chirping wildly and heading into the thickest confusion of branches he could pass through. Masses of vines descended, and he skirted them as closely as he could manage. Behind him, Soarin tried to keep up, but in the darkness Sky heard him slowing palpably.
“Wonderbolts? More like Wonder-dolts!” Sky cried out in childish glee.
Soaring growled and rushed toward Sky's voice. Almost immediately he ran into the vines and snarled himself up in them. Sky heard him swearing as he tore at the vegetation, trying to disentangle himself before Sky could flitter off entirely.
Sky moved off quietly. As the distance grew and Soarin still did not emerge, he breathed a sigh of relief. Soon he was winging swiftly away, his muscles trembling as the tension suddenly washed free of him in the aftermath of combat.
Now he searched for Nebula's location, flying quickly through the upper forest. He had only a rough idea of where she had been, having grown disoriented in his flight from Soarin, but he headed in the direction of his best guess. He thought about rising above the treetops to get a better view, but Soarin would not take long to free himself, and logically would be waiting in the upper air for any sign of him. It was safer down here. For all he knew, the remaining two Wonderbolts were up there as well, looking to spot him. He hoped not, though, for if that were the case it would mean Nebula had been defeated; and Sky had no hope of beating three Wonderbolts on his own.
He'd barely managed to keep ahead of Soarin.
Sky gritted his teeth and darted through the trees. Best not think along those lines.
As he flew beneath the branches, he started to realize the forest geography was more confusing than he had anticipated. He could not be certain he was truly moving in one direction, or if he might not be circling around aimlessly. The longer he flew, the more doubt he felt, and a growing unease took hold in his belly that he was wandering the wrong way.
Still, he resisted the urge to double back, doggedly trusting in his original intuition. And before long, he thought his persistence had paid off as he came across a small clearing. As he skirted its edge, staying carefully in the trees, he thought he saw a pony crouched among the ferns in the center. His heart leapt. Had he found Nebula?
But a moment later he grimaced as he realized it wasn't a pony at all, but rather the remains of a fallen tree. Its broken trunk jutted up in a profile that was startlingly pony-shaped at first glance. Even so, Sky flushed with embarrassment to have let his vesperquine eyes be fooled by something in plain moonlight.
With an irritated shake of his head, he flew onward, leaving the little clearing behind. Was this the right direction? He thought so, but... his confidence was trickling away like water. Perhaps he should shoot up through the forest roof to get his bearings after all. Soarin had to have freed himself by now, and was doubtless up there looking for him, but even so there still was a chance he wouldn't see him, especially if he was quick about it, right?
But now as he thought about it, he wondered if simply keeping Soarin occupied hadn't been the most important contribution he'd been making in this fight. If Soarin broke away and turned his attention to Nebula while Sky hovered beneath the leaves and congratulated himself on how clever at hiding he was, it could spell disaster for his commander. Nebula was a wily and skilled flier, but the two-on-one fight she had been engaged in must surely be taxing her to her limits. If she had not yet defeated either of those pegasi, and Soarin joined the fray, she was doomed.
Sky hovered pensively, and considered making as much noise as he could to keep Soarin distracted. But his tactical musings were disrupted by an explosive sound of cracking wood followed by the loud crash of a tree falling to the ground. It came from somewhere off to his right, where he had been certain nothing was going on.
He rushed toward the sound, heart pounding in dread. The trees formed a twisting corridor he angled through as quickly as he could manage. Then, with startling abruptness, they came to an end and Sky found himself shooting into a broad clearing, like a wide slash in the forest's hide.
A small stand of trees lay shattered in the middle of the clearing. Splintered chunks of wood marked a ragged trail across the ground, at the end of which sprawled Spitfire, unconscious. Just beyond her, Nebula groggily struggled to her feet.
One wing dragged limply along the ground.
Sky bit back a low moan of agony at the sight. But he had no time to think about Nebula's injury, or what it meant for him. Another pegasus was hovering midway between him and the ground.
He recognized her as Fleetfoot, the third and final member of the Wonderbolt squadron. She was screaming at Nebula to surrender herself, fury crackling in her voice.
Sky dropped, angling down at her. She had no idea he was there, so when his forehooves slammed into her shoulders she squawked in outraged surprise. He brought his hindhooves down just behind his forehooves, and then launched himself off her back, driving her downward to a painful, face-first meeting with the ground.
His forelegs throbbed from the blow. He glanced again toward Nebula, but before he could even focus on her, something slammed into his side with paralyzing force. Soarin had found him again.
Sky gasped for breath and struggled against Soarin's grip as the pegasus carried him across the clearing. He twisted like a wildcat and burst free just as they came up to the treeline.
His tactical instincts prompted him to fly back into the clearing, doubling back against Soarin's flight path so that he could put as much distance as possible between himself and the pegasus. But an instant later he kicked himself for not disappearing into the forest. That would have bought him freedom for stealth and surprise.
Still, it was too late now. His ribs felt bruised from Soarin's midair tackle, but he ignored that ache and kept racing for the opposite side of the clearing, hoping Soarin wouldn't manage to turn quickly enough to be able to catch him. He spared a glance over his right shoulder to check the position of the pegasus.
It was another mistake. I should chirp instead, he thought, even as he was looking; but in that moment he was already too late. Fleetfoot, her face full of dirt and murder, surged up from under his blind side and threw her foreleg around his neck.
Sky thrashed and tried to kick at her, but she held on tightly and bore him down. A moment later, Soarin grabbed him on the right side, and the two pegasi wrestled him to earth. The ground came up quickly, and he tried to plant his landing in the hopes he could shake off the two of them in the shock of impact. Instead his legs buckled at the first jolt of contact, and he plowed into the stiff grass of the clearing. They held him down, pinning him to the earth by his forelegs. He winced at the rough treatment, and beat his wings ineffectually.
I really screwed up! A black weight of dismay came down upon him. Nebula looked as if she had a serious wing injury—she was in no position to fight another pegasus. The burden of carrying the battle forward had fallen to him, and he'd been defeated in no time at all.
“Surrender! You have to surrender!” Fleetfoot screamed in his ear. On the other side, Soarin was trying to reason with him.
“Look, I know you aren't really a bad pony,” Soarin said, “but you got caught up in something that's out of control. It'll go easier for you if you cooperate with us.”
Sky struggled in frustration, but their grip was too strong. He snarled when Soarin told him to calm down, but ultimately he was powerless. He let his limbs relax, and glowered.
“That's better,” Soarin said. “You put up a good fight, but it's over.”
“Don't be nice!” Fleetfoot shouted. “He's joined up with a monster!”
“She's not a—” Sky broke off, surprised by his own words. Nightmare Moon was surely a monster... but as Nebula would insist, she was also Princess Luna. And he was finding it harder and harder to overlook that. It no longer seemed honest to break her down into such simple categories.
Nebula's persistence must be wearing him down. He only prayed it was getting through to Princess Luna as well.
The bitter scent of crushed hawkweed filled his lungs. They had brought him down on a slight rise, so that when he looked past the weeds before his nose, he could see the forest edge clearly. He scanned for a flicker of Nightmare Moon's magic deep within the trees, but there was no sign of it.
There was, however, something moving from the treeline. Sky saw feral eyes glowing green, and lupine assemblages of logs stalking across the terrain. Those strange creatures he had bumbled into earlier were out and on the prowl. The leading members of the pack raised their knotty noses and sniffed at the air.
He glanced to the side. Halfway down the clearing Nebula stood over Spitfire's limp form. She held perfectly still, focused intently on the beasts. Sky understood she had taken responsibility for Spitfire as her prisoner. She would not abandon her to these things. But with her injured wing, she wouldn't be able to fight well or flee.
They were much closer to Nebula than to him. Sky counted over a dozen.
“Um,” Sky said, “we seem to have guests.”
Fleetfoot looked down on him, glaring. “What are you trying to pull now?”
Sky gestured toward the creatures with his muzzle. “Over there!”
Both pegasi followed his gaze blankly. Though the creatures were clear enough to Sky, the night hampered the other ponies' vision. They peered across the moonlit grasses, searching for what was obvious to him.
“Something is moving out there,” Fleetfoot confirmed after a moment. He felt her tense where she held his leg, as if she wanted to spring into the air to get a better view.
Sky watched, eyes widening as the creatures began to lope toward Nebula. They'd noticed her, or scented her perhaps.
“Look,” Sky said, “my captain is going to try to defend your captain from those things, but she's not going to be able to do it on her own.”
Soarin and Fleetfoot held still for a painfully long moment, staring into the darkness. Then Fleetfoot swore. “Timberwolves!” she snarled, and shot off toward the beasts. Soarin stared after her, and then down at Sky uncertainly.
“I count more than a dozen of them,” Sky said. “She's going to need our help.”
Soarin frowned in indecision, and then grimaced. Without a word he let loose of Sky and darted after Fleetfoot.
Sky barely took a moment to shake out his abused forelegs, and then leapt into flight after them. He had a vague awareness of timberwolves as things that existed, but apart from his brief encounter while fleeing Soarin, he'd never seen them in real life. The unhappy thought crossed his mind that these were the same ones from before, and he himself was responsible for stirring them up.
The creatures made their way into the clearing, a vile green exhalation pouring from their muzzles as they converged on Nebula. She stood poised for battle, blocking the way to Spitfire. It was clear her injured wing kept her stranded on the ground, and crippled her ability to fight.
Sky raced toward her, but he was still some way off when the first of the timberwolves reached her. She spun on her forehooves and kicked back, earth pony style. Her hooves connected solidly, and she sent the creature bowling backwards, stunned.
Nebula gasped, staggering for a moment—she'd jolted her injured wing in the effort. Another timberwolf lunged at her, and Sky strained forward, knowing all the while that he could not close the distance to her in time.
Fleetfoot slashed into the timberwolf, her forehooves punching it in the side with the force of a locomotive. The creature burst into flinders of wood, and she immediately banked her flight into a tight arc, searching for her next target.
Soarin followed her example, smashing through another timberwolf; and then Sky reached the melee. He pounced upon one of the creatures and felt it shatter beneath his hooves.
He grinned, and slewed around to strike at another, and for a moment it seemed they would make short work of the beasts. But the timberwolves soon began to focus on the sky and leap up in counterattacks whenever the ponies drew near. Sky was nimble enough to dart out of the way and still kick at the creatures, but the Wonderbolts were harder pressed.
Nevertheless, they soon adapted. Soarin buzzed over the timberwolves, drawing their attention, while Fleetfoot shot in from their sides to ambush them. As they worked, Sky darted and struck while sticking close to Nebula.
Then all became a chaos of hoof and tooth and wing and wood. Sky thrashed at the beasts and snatched himself away from their snapping jaws. The Wonderbolts rushed from side to side, splitting the air with the crack of hoof on wood. At some point in the melee, one of the timberwolves sliced a shallow cut down Sky's left hock, but he scarcely felt it. The noxious breath of the creatures choked him, but their howls as he kicked and smashed at them provided a satisfying compensation.
And then they broke, the scarce few survivors rushing back to the safety of the forest in disarray. Sky shouted a whoop of triumph at the sight, but Fleetfoot paid no heed. She dropped to the ground and immediately started scattering the remains of the broken timberwolves, possessed with an inexplicable urgency. “Get down here and help, you dumb city ponies,” she snarled at Sky and Soarin. “These'll form right back up into a timberwarg if you don't disperse them!”
But Sky and Soarin hovered, eyeing one another suspiciously. They had made an informal truce to fight the timberwolves; now in victory the status between them had suddenly become fraught.
“Back off,” Sky said. “I just fought to protect your captain, you know.”
“And we just fought to protect yours. What of it?”
Sky opened his mouth to point out that Nebula had been on her feet and fighting on her own behalf, but choked back the retort. Nebula had also downed Spitfire to begin with. He wasn't going to make any headway with Soarin by defending her.
Instead he tried a different tack. “Night—” He bit back the word and took a deep breath. Deliberately he said “Princess Luna will soon rejoin us. You cannot hope to stand against her.”
Soarin glared. “She is a criminal, and we have come to arrest her.”
Sky pawed at the air in frustration. “You can't just push at her like that. If you force her, she... she could kill you. How much good are you going to do for Equestria if you're killed?” Even if he accepted Nebula's conviction that their princess had been holding back from murder, Sky was not at all certain she could not be pushed to that extreme.
Soarin's expression was dismissive. Sky wished Nebula would speak up. He had no talent to argue as she could—even his invective lacked her flair.
Soarin said, “I have no intention of getting killed; but if you're genuinely worried about it, tell your 'princess' to surrender. I can guarantee she'll be treated fairly.”
Sky was speechless. Surrender? Her? It didn't work that way! How was he going to explain that to Soarin? And why wasn't Nebula chiming in? He could use a friend here!
Soarin started lecturing at him in high-minded fury about the ideals of the Equestrian justice system and the impartial treatment his Nightmare Moon would enjoy. Sky stole a glance downward to check on Nebula, and nearly dropped from the sky. She was creeping up on Fleetfoot, taking advantage of the pony's preoccupation with scattering the remains of the timberwolves. Like black silk, she flowed silently over the mare and wrapped one foreleg around her throat.
He cocked one ear downward, and caught Nebula murmuring, “Sorry, but I need you to take a nap,” into Fleetfoot's ear. Fleetfoot reared up in panic and tried to throw her off, but Nebula's grip was solid. For a moment they struggled, staggering and twisting like gnarled branches. Nebula's bad wing dragged across the ground, and Sky saw the sweat bead up on her forehead at the jolt of pain, but she made no sound and held tight to the writhing pegasus.
It was then that Soarin himself glanced away from Sky and saw what was happening. He gave a shriek of outrage and dove toward the struggling ponies.
Sky's mind filled with a tumult of thoughts. Nebula's sudden attack had surprised him—no, more than that, the cold assurance of her assault was like icewater trickling down his spine. For an instant, he didn't know her, and the sight of her filled him with fear.
But no. That was a lie. He knew her well; the course of the evening had brought out her character with incontrovertible clarity. She believed Princess Luna was not lost to them, and she was prepared to do anything it might take to redeem her.
Even fight in the name of Nightmare Moon.
Sky was a morass of doubt. Nebula's certitude was a madness he could not accept... and yet, somehow it buoyed him up nonetheless. For the first time, he wondered if perhaps she could be right.
And so, he chose to believe in her, just as she chose to believe in Princess Luna. He dove to meet Soarin, interposing himself between the Wonderbolt and Fleetfoot.
Soarin seemed prepared to charge straight through Sky, but at the last moment he lashed out with a hoof and swerved ever so slightly to skim past him. But Sky agilely caught up Soarin's punch and shouldered into the pegasus. The two of them tumbled through the air like drunken acrobats, hurtling past Nebula and Fleetfoot.
Sky kicked free of Soarin, shoving him groundward. The pegasus skidded across the clearing, sending timberwolf fragments flying. Sky hovered low, putting himself between Soarin and Nebula once more. He watched Soarin climb to his feet and give his scowling head a shake, and then leap into the air.
Sky met him, hooves slashing and blocking the other's blows. He kept the Wonderbolt back, fighting with extravagant energy to protect Nebula. Sweat flew from him with every clash of hoof against hoof, and his breath roared in his throat. Soarin grunted with each strike, anger burning in his eyes. Sky worried at what might be happening behind him with Nebula and Fleetfoot, but he didn't dare turn his gaze away from Soarin to check on them.
But he could give a chirp, and listen for their shapes. The sound echoed back into his ears, and he heard the figure of Fleetfoot sagging in Nebula's grip, wings batting ineffectually at her. She seemed barely conscious, and Sky took heart knowing it wouldn't take much longer before she passed out entirely.
Soarin tried to get past him once more, angling to one side with remarkable deftness for a pegasus. Sky flung himself into Soarin, his combat form forgotten in the need to throw the pegasus back from Nebula. They crashed together, a tangle of legs and wings that skidded to earth with bone-jarring force a moment later.
Sky rolled a length beyond Soarin. He sprawled on the ground, dazed, and raised his head to look around. Soarin was off to one side, woozily trying to get to his own feet. Beyond him, Fleetfoot lay unconscious, gasping for breath. Nebula towered above her, gazing down upon all of them.
"Lieutenant Soarin, you fought well, but you are outnumbered. Surrender now and I promise you and your companions will be treated with courtesy and respect," she said.
Sky frowned. Soarin was outnumbered, true, but Nebula was injured and clearly ground-bound. The strength of her position was far from secure, yet she acted with such unassailable confidence that Sky questioned his own judgement.
Soarin too seemed to waver for a moment. But then all three of them were distracted as the fragments of the timberwolves strewn around them began to rattle and stir.
They stared, wide-eyed, as the splintered chunks of wood floated upward, propelled by some magical compulsion. For a long moment the fragments hovered eerily, quivering and thrumming here and there like the plucked strings of a cello. They seemed as if they were straining to draw together, but fell just short of reaching whatever critical mass they needed to do so. Then, one by one at first, but soon en masse, they dropped to the ground, the energy that animated them dissipating into an uncanny chill that swept past Sky and vanished into the night.
Sky let loose the breath he had been holding. He sensed they'd narrowly avoided something dreadful, and he couldn't help but think of Fleetfoot kicking apart the timberwolf remains while Nebula crept up behind her.
But the moment in which Nebula could master them all through force of will had passed. Soarin coiled his legs beneath him and sprung for her, launching himself like a blade. Sky jolted into action, cursing for allowing himself to be distracted by the timberwolf remains.
He stretched his wings out and battered the air, flinging himself behind Soarin. He had but a moment to act, and no way of overtaking the pegasus. Soarin's tail streamed past him, and Sky did the only thing he could think of. He stretched out his neck, and clamped his teeth down on the pegasus' tail.
It snapped taut, the strands of coarse hair biting into the flesh of his lower lip. He flared out his wings and dropped his haunches to try to dig his heels into the ground. He clenched his jaw with all his might, growling at the strain as he hung on. Pulled up short, Soarin slammed into the ground with a rough grunt.
But he scarcely seemed to feel the impact. He spun with fierce abandon, ripping his tail free of Sky's mouth. His lips pulled back from his teeth in a snarl. "I've had about enough of you," he growled, and launched himself at Sky.
Sky tried to evade, shooting straight upward, but the distance was too short. Soarin tackled Sky around his midriff, nearly knocking the wind from him and carrying him backwards. Sky flailed at Soarin's back, writhing to break free, a feeling of panic washing over him at the sharp fury of the pegasus.
But this was what he'd wanted, right? To distract the last of the three Wonderbolts away from Nebula. He was a combat trained member of the Night Guard, and he was damn well capable of holding his own against a lone pegasus!
With renewed vigor he punched at Soarin's back. This time, he focused on a single point just in front of Soarin's wings, and hit repeatedly with the fore-edge of his hooves. After scarcely half a dozen blows, Soarin flinched, and Sky wriggled suddenly free.
He gambled Soarin's blood was up enough to chase after him, and raced for the forest. Sure enough, Soarin snapped off a tight Immelmare turn and followed, lunging at Sky and forcing him into wild evasions as he drew closer to the treeline.
He plunged into the welcoming cover of the trees, hoping Soarin would once again follow and put himself at the disadvantage of maneuvering among the trunks. But warier now, Soarin drew up and skimmed over the forest canopy and watched for any trace of Sky in the sea of leaves.
Sky grimaced, but darted among the branches undeterred. He remembered how Nebula had fought earlier, making the forest canopy both her cover and her snare, and drew as high as he dared under the branches. From here he could chirp, and get a hazy sense of Soarin's position in the sky above.
He thrust out a leg and trailed it along the light branches near him, leaving a trail of motion in the canopy above. Sure enough, Soarin took the bait and dove, knifing through the upper branches to Sky's position. Sky dropped and rolled away, but even so, Soarin managed to score a stinging rap to the tip of his wing. Sky ignored it and twisted his way back to the attack, coming up behind Soarin just as the pegasus was pulling up, having missed his target. Sky tried to catch him up in a chokehold just as Nebula had subdued Fleetfoot, but Soarin threw him off at his first touch and shot upward for the safety of the open air.
Sky cursed quietly. He should have prepared better, drawn Soarin into another tangle of vines or something. He doubted Soarin would be so quick to dive in the next time he tried the same stunt. Nebula would have known, Nebula would have been smarter.
Sky chirped and heard Soarin pausing up above, apparently scanning the treetops for a glimpse of him.
Very soon he will calm down enough to decide chasing me is a waste of time, Sky thought. And then he will turn back for Nebula.
Sky maneuvered directly beneath the pegasus and shot upward, leaves trailing in his wake. He aimed a punch for the underside of Soarin's jaw, but at the last moment Soarin jerked his head back.
"Wonderbolts can't take a punch; they won't get a pie for lunch!" Sky sang out as he passed Soarin. He heard a snort of outrage from behind, and immediately twisted and dove for the trees.
Soarin chased him nearly into the green, but pulled back as Sky entered, skimming just above the leaves. For a moment, Sky paralleled him beneath the forest cover, contemplating another leap upwards while holding himself poised to dash aside should Soarin be contemplating a rush down at him. But then he tacked away, silently verging off to his left. He'd thought of something different to try.
Half a furlong away, he shot into the sky again. "Wonderbolts have smelly hooves; 'cuz they stand in dirty—”
Crap, what rhymes with hooves?
It scarcely mattered, as Soarin came roaring at him before he could finish his taunt. Sky dove back into the sheltering forest and sped onward. He zigged and zagged his way among the trees, popping up to hurl taunts from whichever direction Soarin wasn't looking at the moment, and trying his best to keep Soarin balanced on a knife-edge of irate passion.
But at the same time, he was leading Soarin closer to his goal. Every time he shot into the sky, he scanned for his destination. He was certain he was near—and at last he saw it.
There it was, a little clearing, like a puncture in the skin of the forest. And at its center, a fallen trunk, its weathered shape resembling a pony... at least, if one did not stare too long.
Sky pulled at the straps of his armor, loosening it until he had to hold one hoof to the fastener at his chest to prevent it completely sliding off. He bounced upward once more, drawing Soarin toward the clearing.
“Wonderbolts eat moldy hay, bellyache and fart all day!”
He dropped down and rushed to the edge of the clearing. He took a deep breath in preparation, but in truth there was no time to calm his nerves. In truth, there was no time to be nervous to begin with; he had to act, and act now.
He surged upward. “Wonderbolts are—waaaugh!!”
Soarin was much closer than he'd anticipated, heading straight for him with a grim expression. Sky dropped immediately. The moment he was far enough down that the edge of the treetops broke Soarin's line of sight, he flipped free of his armor and in one smooth motion hurled it toward the pony-shaped tree trunk. At the same moment he backed himself tight against the trees at the edge of the clearing.
In the moonlight, Soarin saw the glint of vesperquine armor sailing through the air. He arrowed toward it, his sinews straining in fierce determination.
Sky held his breath as his armor landed, only slightly off kilter, just behind the “neck” of the fallen tree trunk. If you didn't look too closely—or, perhaps, if you lacked vesperquine night vision and were filled with a righteous fury and speed—it looked as if he had settled to the ground.
Too late, Soarin sensed something about his target was wrong. His wings flared out, trying to brake even as he slammed into the trunk with a painfully solid thunk. The armor broke apart, its inner lining rent by the impact, and Soarin was flung across the ferns that carpeted the clearing.
He staggered to his feet, swaying drunkenly. His eyes were crossed, and he looked around the clearing in confusion. “Birdies,” he whimpered, and collapsed, unconscious.
Cautiously, Sky approached. He expected to feel elation at his victory, but all he felt was a rush of relief that washed through him and left his knees shaking. He checked Soarin for any obvious injuries, and then hauled him awkwardly across his back and began the return flight to Nebula.