The Prince's Hounds

by TheTobacconist

Prologue: It Moves in the Dark

"Where is it!" A stallion cried in the dark. "Where is it!"

"I can't see it," One of his companions responded, "It took out the lights!"

"I know it took out the lights," The stallion snapped.

They huddled in a dark corner of the warehouse. All five of them breathed heavily, and held desperately to their rudimentary weapons. Tire chains and billy clubs were all they had to defend themselves with. Cowering together, they flinched at a distant noise. A clank.

It was an ominous rattle, a clicking of metal on concrete, and grating metal rubbing against metal. With each clank, they backed further into the corner. Holding even more tightly to their inadequate weapons, their eyes darted around the warehouse. In the darkness they saw nothing. The clanking grew louder.

"Oi, Club," One stallion called out, "How about some light?"

"Light?" Swift Club raised his club with his magic. "How you expect me to do that?"

"You're a unicorn!" The stallion thumped him on the head.

"Fine." Club concentrated. "Y'know, I don't hear the clanking now." He released a sigh. "Do you think it's gone?" He concentrated, and built up warmth in his horn. "I think it's gone." He released the magic, and their small corner was filled with dim light.

Looking around, they found nothing. They sighed collectively. Club smiled, and turned to face his partners.

Behind them was a metal clad pony. He could barely make it out in his insufficient light. It looked rusted, and where the horn might be was a spear head. The Armor raised a hoof, and brought it down on his face. Once again, they were surrounded by darkness. Their screams, the piercing of flesh, the snapping of bone, and that dreadful clanking pervaded the air.

---

Prince Blueblood lounged on a leather sofa. Some might be afraid of leather, but not him. He appreciated the feel, the fine texture, the smell that it added to a room. Some ponies might be afraid of leather, but some ponies end up as leather. He found it fitting. Those who failed him in life, could serve the prince in death.

Prince was a title that was legally stripped of him. Celestia had claimed that he had no right to it, but he still chose that title anyway. He had already done quite enough that was against the law. What was one more thing to him?

He tugged on a leash. This particular leash was tied to a collar that fitted snugly around the neck of a young musician. She was not of the class that he normally kept, but his pickings had been slim lately.

"Play," Blueblood ordered.

The leashed mare obliged quickly. She raised her lyre, and began plucking a soft tune. Blueblood nodded his head to the rhythm. It was far from the quality he was used to, but he had learned how to make due in the past few months. He listened to the entire song, and when she was finished he reached into a small satchel.

He pulled a flower from it, and set the flower on her muzzle.

"Take," He ordered.

She snapped at it, devouring it greedily. Smiling to himself, Blueblood indulged in the implications of this action. She had been disobedient when he had first acquired her, but, like those who had came before her, she learned quickly. Blueblood patted her on the head, and resumed relaxing on his leather sofa. He considered his bare walls for a few moments. Perhaps he could acquire some artists as well.

"Prince!" Swift Club yelled through the pain of a broken jaw as he rushed through the crude wooden double doors. "We have a problem."

"I would say so." Blueblood set the handle of his musician's leash on a peg. "Do you really think it's appropriate to barge in like this?" He stood up. "Where are your manners?" He grabbed Club's jaw, and looked down at him. "Surely, you know better."

"We was at the warehouse," Club explained quickly, "There was a problem." He looked Blueblood in the eye. "The guys... they started disappearing." He began screaming, "Damn, we found a body. I think it was Snake." Club placed a hoof on his forehead. "Looked like he was put through a wood chipper."

"A rival gang?" Blueblood released Club's jaw. "This is troublesome." He sat back down on his sofa. "Do you have any idea who might have done this?"

"I don't know," Club admitted, "I think it was only one guy." Club began wringing his hooves together. "A guy in a suit of armor." He looked down at the rough stone floor. "He got all of us."

"Swift." Blueblood shook his head. "Did you steal from me?" He stood back up, and pulled Club in so that they nearly touched muzzles. "Because I can only think of one reason for such a ridiculous lie." He sprayed Club's face with spittle. "And that is a cover-up!"

"No, sir." Club prostrated himself, covering his head with his hooves. "The goods were still there when I left." He shivered on the floor. "The armor got the boys, that's all."

"Really." Blueblood placed a forehoof on Club's neck, and leaned down, speaking softly, "It's alright." He helped Club to his hooves. "I still have a position for you here."

"Thank you, boss." Club wiped tears from his eyes. "Thank you."

"You're quite welcome." Blueblood straightened his tie. "You're doing me a grand favor." He raised a knife with his magic. "I've been in need of a new sofa."