An Extended Holiday

by Commander_Pensword

140 - To Dance the Dance

Extended Holiday
Ch 140: To Dance the Dance
Act 22

---

Pensword was busy wrapping up his evening in his private underground exercise chamber. A small pile of crystals lay in a padded basket, while he worked to thread the energies together into something new. The familiar sound of talons clicking on the rough cobblestones outside alerted him to his visitor, and he slowly released his hold on his field. “Come in, Grif. I wondered when you’d come by to pick up today’s crystals.”

“You’ve been working steadily,” Grif said as the door creaked open and he eyed the pile of thaumic crystals. “You have shape okay, but you should work on size. These,” he held up one of the crystals, “aren’t going to be doing much to strain you anymore.”

“Do you mean bigger or smaller, make them spikey, what?” Pensword asked. “Also, I thought I felt Whirlwind's wing touch my neck today. You told me to tell you everything that I experience while doing this, so there’s my report.”

“I wouldn’t put too much scope into that just yet, Pensword. Our eyes tend to fool our brains, so it may have been a simple mirage of your nerves. As for your crystals, try to make them big enough that they start to become tiring. Just like working a muscle, you need to keep the strain going.”

“And making them other shapes?” he asked again. “I’ll start the strain at my thirty minute mark tomorrow morning,” he promised.

“Remember, part of this is your willpower.” Grif opened his hand, producing a heart-shaped yellow crystal. He closed it and opened it again. The crystal was now a traditional diamond cut. With another go, it was spherical. “It’s not that difficult in comparison.”

“Well, I never tried other shapes, so I’ll make sure to incorporate that aspect into my morning exercises and save the size for the evening.”

“Remember, what's important is building up power for now. You can experiment with shapes later. Trust me on this.”

“Okay.” Pensword sighed. “I just … I can’t stop worrying about this, even though I know I need to put that feeling aside.” He frowned. “I still need to talk to Hammer Strike about what I saw in the cognitive plane, too. That shadow.” He shuddered. “I’ve been lying awake, thinking and playing back that battle. That power scared me, Grif. It still scares me.”

“Are you afraid of your hatchet?”

“Grif, I already know where you’re going with this,” Pensword said.

“Do you cower before your own bow?”

He took some time to choose his words. “Grif, right now, I’m seeing what that shadow could do as worse than what we could use the atom for on Earth. All the dead and those wraiths, my family, denied their rest in the glens? That is horrible, the blackest of sins. I know the good that can come from the power. I just–.” He sighed and shook his head in disappointment. “I’m shaken, Grif.”

“This is a tool, Pensword,” Grif stressed again, “a weapon. Like any weapon, it can be dangerous in the wrong hands. Ignorance is danger. This weapon has been given to you. You didn’t ask for it, but it has been. Now, are you going to stand there and play around with it like a foal who swings an axe, until they lop their own leg off, or are you going to learn to use it like a soldier?”

“I am learning how to use it as a soldier. I’m better than last month, but I am not happy with where I am. I’ll be getting better. As my teacher, you need to know where your student stands in progress.” Pensword sighed and relaxed the wings he’d just splayed. “I hope I’m making sense.”

“Yes, but where you are isn’t enough right now, Pensword.” Grif sighed in return. “You need to start pushing yourself. Sustaining the muscle isn’t enough; you need to strengthen it, or else there is no point.”

“Thank you,” Pensword answered. “I was feeling like it was getting easy for the last two days, but I didn’t want to risk tearing the muscle, just because the strain was getting easier.”

“This isn’t physical muscle, Pensword. This is an energy field surrounding your person. As soon as it gets easy, that's a sign you need to find a way to make it hard again. Easy is your enemy. Got it?”

“I do. Is this how Unicorns feel? I hate to say it, but after all this time, this still feels new to me.”

“No, this is how a thaumaturge feels.” Grif shook his head. “This is power most Unicorns would drool over.”

“Ah. Once again, no point of reference.” Pensword shook his head and sputtered. “Still, uh … maybe I could put off letters for thirty more minutes?” Pensword suggested tentatively.

“Lets just work on seeing where your new limits are. Now brace yourself, Pensword.” And so the lesson began.

---

Baron Blueblood looked up from the most recent letter he’d received from Night Terror. He steepled his hooves as he pursed his lips in thought, surrounded by the gentle ambience of the crackling fireplace in his living room. A goblet of sherry swirled gently in his magical grip as he pondered the situation. From what she had said, Pensword was clearly worked up over the age clause. Even if Equestria were to regain its military, as the princesses wished, the half-breed wouldn’t be eligible to serve. That being said, it may not always remain that way.

“Yes, something will need to be done about this … storage business,” he mused. True, his own sources had managed to bring news faster than the mare had, but she did still manage to give him a glimpse into the minds of his enemies, and that was an advantage in and of itself. The question now was, what to do about this financial venture? The land belonged to Hammer Strike. Any tax revenue would go directly to him, and while they were already technically enemies, to go into an all out strategy against the area would be utter financial suicide. And considering the … unique creations that Earth Pony managed to forge for his ships, arranging for any “accidents” would prove most difficult, if not impossible, not to mention the strain it would place on Blueblood’s financial resources.

Blueblood took another sip of his drink, then rang the bell to call the servants. It only took a matter of moments for a tall, reserved Pony with a steely mane and a light gray coat to enter through the door. His suit was carefully pressed, and his bowtie was immaculate.

“Ah, Top Brass. Just the Pony I was hoping to see,” Blueblood smiled at the servant.

“I always aim to please, Sir. In what way may I assist you today?” His tone was dry and dusty with just a hint of a groan to it as he spoke in a formal High Canterlot accent.

“Send a message to Penny Pincher, the Cloak and Dagger twins, and King Pin. I have a proposition for them and their guilds that I would like to discuss.”

“At the usual establishment, Sir?”

“Naturally. I’ll have their usual tables waiting for them.”

“Of course, Sir. You may need to arrange to pick up some new tokens as well. We appear to be running low.”

“Running low?”

“Well, Sir, much of your,” Top Brass cleared his throat, “contacts don’t seem to be replying to their summons. It may be something you could use as leverage with your … associates.”

“Acquaintances, Top Brass. Acquaintances,” Blueblood said firmly. “Associates implies a connection, and we don’t have any connections to such elements, do we?”

“Of course not, Sir. If it please you, Sir, it seems that certain of the lords and ladies in your party have also been experiencing similar difficulties. Perhaps you should wear your new bowler cap to this dinner.”

Blueblood raised an eyebrow as he looked over his head butler. “Hmm. Yes, perhaps I should, at that, if the others are facing similar difficulties. It’s always good to enter these sorts of meetings from a position of power. I’ll take your suggestion under advisement. Thank you, Top Brass. That will be all.”

Top Brass bowed. “Of course, Sir.”

When the Pony had left, Blueblood looked over the letter once again. “Now then, what to assign you next?” he pondered as he levitated some fresh parchment, a pen, and an inkwell over. “Decisions, decisions.”

---

“And that's everything,” Grif finished as Kalima held the key in her talons. “I’m not sure what to do. I lack the wisdom to see the path here.”

“And you think I do?” Kalima smiled wryly and shook her head as she strode over to her great chair by the fireplace. “I’m an old one, Grif, but I’m far from all knowing. No, this is a mystery that you’ll have to unwind for yourself.” She flapped her wings briefly to settle gently into the chair, then turned the key over. “Knowing you, things will likely reveal themselves in due course, probably after a great battle of some sort. You seem to have a rather bad habit of attracting those kinds of things,” she chuckled.

“Aren't all the great songs sung of such Gryphons?” He gave her a half grin. “I don’t expect some miracle answer from you, just perspective. You know, as well as any, the tricks of the prophets’ words. Do I need to free the Dark Gale to free the gods or would doing so destroy the gods?”

Kalima shrugged. “I don’t know, Grif,” she said simply. “Both interpretations are equally valid, until you make the choice.”

“So, it will all come down to what my gut tells me?” he asked.

“That depends on whether you listen to it or not,” she pointed out. “But yes, the choice is clearly yours and yours alone. Like it or not, the fate of all Gryphonkind will be in your hands.”

“You know, it would be nice not to be the center of our race’s future once in a while,” Grif chuckled dryly. “What happened to the Sphinxes, anyway?”

“Nobody knows. Most people think they went extinct a long time ago. Our cousins were a rather strange people. Faust wanted to make them more focused in magic and mental pursuits to avoid the same ‘mistake’ she made with us.”

“Was she still not aware it was Sleipnir who meddled with us?” Grif asked.

“Quite possibly. Who are we to know the minds of the gods? That’s the territory of their prophets and representatives. People like you,” she said as she winked playfully, before pouring two cups of tea and passing one of them to the younger Gryphon.

Grif took the proffered cup, nodding respectfully. “Let's hope they made the right choice.”

“You haven’t led us wrong yet,” Kalima pointed out as she sipped placidly at her tea. “I take it you’d rather I keep this little conversation between us for now.”

“I appreciate your discretion, as always.” Grif took a sip of the tea. “A different blend. You’ve been working with the traders that came a few days ago?”

“Actually, it was a gift from Cheshire. When I asked her where she got it, she simply answered with something along the lines of … you do not mess with Uncle?”

“That's her, all right,” Grif chuckled. “Is there anything you need?”

“I’d say we’re doing fairly well for now. Pinkie Pie was just here to drop off another shipment of baked goods. She really is very good.”

“Yes, and she’d be an unstoppable assassin,” Grif sighed. “I’m just glad that's not on the table.”

“It’s not in her nature.” Kalima shrugged. “Well, at least for this side of her personality.” She took another sip of tea.

“Let's hope that side stays dominant, then. Anyway, I should be heading out. I have things to do.” He held his hand out for the key.

“Take good care of it, Grif. It’s the only one of its kind,” the old one said as she laid the key gently in his talons.

“I’ll guard it with my life.” He stood up and drained his tea cup, before setting it down. “I hope your day goes well.”

“Watch your back, Grif,” Kalima warned. “Even families fight sometimes, and this is something that could spread more than ripples.”

Grif nodded grimly. “Thank you. I’ll keep that in mind.”

---

The following three weeks saw most of Unity fall back into their daily routines. The apprentices were slowly growing in their skill as the three smiths led them step by step through their training. Recruits were often up at all hours of the night in surprise inspections or special exercises, leaving them with little to no energy as they fell back into their bunks dead on their hooves and aching from every muscle at once. However, unlike most other days, the dawning of the first day of the fourth week after the end of the Changeling attack saw a train at the station waiting for a small entourage to journey towards Canterlot.

Pensword stood in his full dress uniform, including ribbons, medals and sashes as he oversaw the loading of the train. A recently built crane was loading the first in-house forged cannons. The smith had borrowed his design from the classic Napoleon-era bronze cannons back on Earth. Once it was properly loaded with passengers and supplies, the engine would be able to begin its return journey to Canterlot. The Pegasus was busily scrawling along his checklist as weapons, drafts, models, and various other military supplies were carted in by strong-backed Earth Ponies. In three days, Luna would be presenting the bill to the first ever combined court of nobles, and he wanted to make sure security was as tight as he could manage it, even if he couldn’t serve actively anymore.

“Good,” he muttered as he checked another box. “The cadets are doing well loading the train.” Said train was another proof of concept forged and paid for by Luna, after the first Changeling attack on Canterlot. He thought back to that first battle so long ago, and sighed wistfully. It still pained him that even after three weeks of his own personal bootcamp, it would be looking like his time shaping the military was over. He frowned as the last report from this morning seemed to hint at some problems in the storage warehouses. A small fire had been put out, but about two hundred bits of product had been destroyed. The investigation was still ongoing, but thus far, the perpetrators seemed to have been too careful.

“And here we are, on another trip to Canterlot,” Hammer Strike muttered stormily as he approached Pensword from behind. He sighed softly as the clatter of other hooves and the familiar clicking of talons alerted Pensword to his other friends’ arrival.

“Well, at least this time we can take weapons,” Pensword responded, not even bothering to look up from his clipboard.

“You couldn’t before?” Vital Spark asked.

“Back when the Royal Guard were competent, you couldn’t bring weapons inside the palace without previous permission,” Grif explained.

“And you’re looking at the three outside of the two princesses that could bring them in. Hammer Strike has it, and Grif and I worked hard to earn that right.”

“So, does that mean I can’t, or is it that I wouldn’t have been able to back then?” Vital Spark asked.

Pensword gave a long hard look over Vital, before turning to Grif. “What do you think? Personally, I’d say maybe a Thestral meat knife.”

“Please. My girls play with more deadly implements. Keep your toys.”

“Really? I thought for sure you’d know I taught him at least sixty ways of using a Thestral Meat knife to defend and attack,” Pensword said.

Grif searched through his pack for a minute, before pulling out kurkuri. He looked at Vital, then the knife, and back and forth a few times, before shrugging and handing it to the Unicorn. “Keep this on you. Be ready to use it.”

“Are you saying Watcher won’t be enough?”

“I’m saying that possibly the largest weak point House Strike currently has is going to be open now. I’d rather be sure you have something that doesn’t need magic, just in case.”

“Ouch. Blunt, but fair.” Vital seized the weapon with his teeth and placed it in one of his packs. “Though just to make a point, I do know how to wield my staff without magic.”

“Yes, but your staff requires at least four feet of clearance to use effectively. That knife needs a foot,” Grif said bluntly.

“And once again, logic prevails.” Vital nodded. “I’ll keep it close.”

“Also, I don’t see your holster. Get it out of your pack and strap it on,” Grif ordered..

“Um … I kinda didn’t think to pack it,” Vital said.

In rapid succession, Vital found himself feeling the back of Grif’s talons and the side of Pensword’s wing, while Hammer Strike stared on, the very picture of disappointment.

“I thought I was supposed to keep it hidden from most other Ponies,” Vital said as he nursed his smarting cheeks.

“Not seen, as in, still on your person,” Hammer Strike explained.

“... Oh.” Vital Spark opened his mouth for a time, took a breath, then thought better of it and let it drop.

“Go home and get it, Vital,” Grif said.

“Won’t the train have to leave, before I get back?”

“Pensword will keep it delayed, until you return. Isn’t that right, Pensword?”

“We can’t leave without one of the prime pupils from Clover’s mage school. You’re on my checklist, Vital Spark. You should probably try to use a teleport or two to speed things up. Tick Tock. The route’s being held clear for us.”

“... Pensword, I love you like a brother, but sometimes you can be really annoying,” Vital deadpanned, then sighed. “All right. I’ll be back as soon as possible.”

“Good. We’ll be waiting.”

“How about I help you?” Twilight offered. “That way, you won’t have to take as much time.”

Vital Spark smiled gratefully at the princess. “Thanks, Twilight.”

And that was that. In a matter of minutes, the pair had disapparated and apparated back again, allowing the train schedule to move ahead relatively uninterrupted. “So, is there anything else we need to do, before we go?” Twilight asked.

“We all get on the train and sit down,” Pensword said. “Everything is secured and accounted for. We’re ready to journey to the castle.”

“I have to admit, I’m looking forward to seeing Celestia and Luna again.” Vital smiled timidly. “Not so sure about some of the rest of the court, though.”

“Just ignore them, unless it’s a threat to your life, and you’ll be fine,” Hammer Strike commented with a shrug.

“And I suppose I could always threaten them, if I wanted to,” Vital mused. “Clover seemed to enjoy doing that last time.” He flinched as he noticed Hammer Strike’s gaze harden. “Then again, I’m not exactly an accomplished mage with extreme combat training and knowledge of multiple magical arts, including lost branches.”

“Stick to what you know. If they give you grief, we’ll help out. We stick together,” Pensword said decisively.

“That’s what friends do best,” Twilight agreed.

“You think we’ll have enough votes?” Vital asked.

“We’ll have enough time to do some last minute talks and politicking. A few gentle reminders of our little demonstration from before should be enough to sway the ones who are starting to lean back toward our side. The real challenge will be thwarting any attempts the other side will make to do the same,” Pensword said.

“And that is why I never ran for office back home,” Vital muttered.

The train let out a loud whistle as the stack began to chuff out its steam and the carts jerked forward. A few minutes later, they were running full speed for Canterlot.

---

The cavern was as cold and stark as they remembered it as the train finally came to a halt at the train station. A line of Solar and Lunar Guardsponies had lined up along either end of the platform as they saluted towards the train. Celestia and Luna stood side by side as they gazed on the train and smiled.

“Welcome back, everypony. I hope your trip was a smooth one,” Celestia said with that same warm smile she had perfected over the last thousand years or more in her rule.

“Boring as well,” Hammer Strike commented as he stepped off the train.

“Needs a murder or something,” Grif said, cracking his neck as he followed after.

“I’m afraid you’ll need to save that for the Arabian Express,” Celestia said with a playful smirk.

“Besides, won’t there be enough room for intrigue later, with all this political stuff going on?” Vital asked.

“Please don’t remind me,” Grif sighed.

“Security nightmare?” Vital surmised.

“Oh boy, yes,” Pensword responded. “The boring trip here was a cakewalk. It’s almost guaranteed to get bad, before it gets better. I hope you’re not offended, Princess Celestia, but considering the nature of the cargo we’ve brought with us, we would prefer to have guards from the Lunar Court and the trainees from New Unity watch over things here.”

“We’ll need to at least have a token presence from the Solar guard as well, Pensword, if we’re to show a sign of unity. That being said, I understand your hesitance, which is why I’ve arranged to keep it at just a token and nothing more,” Celestia promised.

“Of course. Maybe we can instill a little training in them, while we wait,” Pensword mused as the train began to unload. “I wonder how … similar this is going to be compared to politics a thousand years ago.”

“Considering the importance of this bill, I would think it’ll probably be incredibly similar,” Vital noted. “Both sides have a lot to lose.”

“Murders, blackmail, intrigue, political ‘guests,’” Grif said with a grin. “I mean, three people tried to poison Hammer Strike on the train ride here alone.”

“Adds a nice flavor to most drinks,” Hammer Strike shrugged.

“Seriously? Already?” Vital Spark sighed and shook his head. “I don’t know why that even surprises me anymore.”

“Well, one of those was because I realized I had some poison stashed in my pack, so I just dumped it into Hammer Strike’s cup to get rid of it safely,” Pensword said.

“You do realize it wouldn’t affect you either, right?” Grif asked.

“Say what?” Pensword balked. “You mean to say I have the same ability to resist poison as Hammer Strike?”

“I mean, I wouldn’t go downing a gallon of neurotoxin or anything, but the field will generally filter life-threatening elements for you.”

“Minor toxins, to be exact. For the more potent ones, you need to understand them further. That’s how your field is able to determine the risk and need to remove,” Hammer Strike clarified.

“Thank you for that nugget of information,” Pensword muttered.

“Hey, better learning late than never, right?” Vital asked.

“Not when the subject can kill you,” Grif said.

“... Point.”

Pensord hid a smirk behind a wing. “Well, shall we start moving things or leave it for the guards to finish?”

“I think it would be best to get you all settled in,” Luna said pointedly.

“I assume the troops know where to move the weapons?” Vital asked.

“They should. They were briefed on it,” Pensword replied.

“Then I guess we take Luna’s advice. Where to this time, Princesses?” Vital asked.

---

Despite what many, many Canterlot people would have one believe, there was, in fact, a series of slums in the great city. A small rundown section of the city that recieved the lowest priority, due to the houses mostly being owned by servants or bankrupt lower nobility. The houses where small, and usually pushed uncomfortably close to one another. Small shops of various kinds lined the street, occasionally punctuated with a bar or tavern. The people here, however, were noticeably different from the elites of upper Canterlot. For one thing, it was not strictly a Pony neighborhood. Families of Gryphons, Minotaurs, and even Zebras were seen dispersed throughout the area, going about their day-to-day lives. The attitude was also much friendlier as Grif, who was generally ignored or glared at in the upper Canterlot streets, received several friendly waves or good-days from people passing by.

The Gryphon in question scanned the shops carefully, eyes peeled for something yet unseen. “Now where are you?”

“You know, for a place that’s supposed to be slums, this place is really one of the nicest neighborhoods I’ve seen in this city, and that’s saying something,” Vital Spark said as he chewed happily on a barbeque stick one of the Gryphons had been selling at a stand.

“It’s a slum, because nobody here can go out and buy a yacht when they feel like it,” Grif chuckled. He came to a stop in front of one shop. The front window had been covered in a rather beautiful mural of an antique vase full of fresh flowers. It took only a moment for Grif to see what he was looking for among the various houses. “This is the place,” he said.

“Fortune’s Favors?” Vital asked as he raised a curious brow.

Grif opened the door and they entered the building. The shop was tiny and cluttered with nicknacks, vases, and other such rubbish labeled as antiques. Grif gave the room a momentary scan, taking in the clutter coolly as he looked for the currently absent owner.

“Is that a legitimate replica of the Cat of Khartoum?” Vital gaped as he raced to the display case, where the cat in question sat on a plush, albeit dusty red cushion.

“Indeed it is, my young friend. Good eye. Good eye,” a dusty gravely voice spoke up as a Unicorn walked into the display area from a unseen back room. He was taller then Vital Spark, nearly as tall as Grif. His coat seemed like it had once been a vibrant blue, but had faded with age. His horn notably curved upwards to the sky, marking him of Eastern descent. He wore a loose dark blue robe. “Not many your age would even know that name.”

“Let’s just say that ancient magical lore fascinates me,” Vital said with a smile. “By the way, excellent job on the warding spells. It took me a while to make out the runes along the framework.”

“Well, Nickel Deimos is not a fool. He is careful to protect his goods.” The old stallion chuckled. “But please, my friends, what may I do for you? Looking to buy? Looking to sell?” He eyed Grif carefully. “Something tells me you carry much history on your person,” he said as his gaze fell to Grif’s bag.

“I’m looking for information,” Grif answered, “preferably things involving the noble houses.”

“I’m sorry, my friend. I am just an old shopkeeper in the town slums. What knowledge do I have of nobles?” The stallion shook his head.

“I feel you might know more than you're letting on,” Grif chuckled.

Vital Spark eyed the pair carefully as he gauged the twin poker faces. The casual air of dismissal clearly hid something more guarded in the Unicorn’s response, and yet Grif remained completely nonplussed over it. How it would unfold, he wasn’t certain, but he looked forward to finding out.

“Once again, my friend, I’m afraid you are mistaken,” the stallion said.

“Perhaps I am.” Grif looked over to the cat. “May I?” he asked.

“Be my guest.” The stallion nodded, and Vital felt a spark of magic in the air as some enchantment seemed to power down.

Grif lifted the cat and examined it, though Vital could see the only thing he ran his eyes over was the rather exorbitant price tag. “A fine piece, though the price is a bit of a shill. Tell me, what would you say to a wager?”

“What sort of wager?”

Grif gestured to a small short table nearby that Vital realized was uncharastically open in the cluttered room. “A simple game. If I win, you give me this at half price. If you win, I’ll pay double,” Grif offered.

Vital could see the dollar signs appear on the stallion’s eyes as he nodded eagerly and moved quickly towards the table. Grif followed. Nickel dug around, before removing something from his pack. “I trust you’re familiar with Pai Sho?” he asked.

“Oh, I’ve played it once or twice,” Grif chuckled as he sat across from the stallion. The board was placed and the pieces sorted out. Grif took the first move, and instead of taking the tiles before him, he produced a single tile with three gouges on the rim and placed it directly on the center of the board.

The stallion’s eyes widened in recognition. “I see you favor the white lotus gambit. Not many still practice the old ways,” he said.

“But those who do can always find a friend.” Grif chuckled at the shocked stallion’s reaction.

“Then let us play,” Nickel responded. The two began, each moving slowly at first, but then placing tile after tile faster and faster, until the eye could hardly follow the blur of their movements. Finally, the last tile was smacked confidently in place, revealing the intricate pattern of a lotus in full bloom.

“Welcome, brother,” Nickel said gently. “The White Lotus opens wide to those who know her secrets.” Grif and the stallion gave each other a short bow.

“Now, brother, please tell me about the lords and their plans for the upcoming bill,” Grif requested. Nickel was only too happy to oblige as he began to explain the political climate of Canterlot. As the discussion wore on, however, Vital gradually lost interest, and inevitably found his gaze wandering back to the mural on the window. As he looked at the flowers, the one in the very center caught his eye. Curiously enough, it was a single white lotus, the only white lotus.

---

Pensword slowly stepped from the carriage that had whisked him from the house Grif had purchased during their last visit to Canterlot. The sky was alight with stars, and gentle orbs of light pulsed merrily atop twisting stone holders decorated with ivy and vivid red roses. The music was a simple and sedate, a perfect accompaniment to the prelude that was the guests’ arrival. This was a garden party that he did not dare decline, lest he appear too aloof to any fence sitters. To give the opposition any chance at an upper hand would prove most unwise.

His military uniform shone in the light of the orbs, making the golden cords and epaulets iridescent to contrast the deep navy blue of the jacket. A single sash curved over his chest, bearing the medals and honors he had accrued in his time of service, before returning to the present. Outside of the token force of guards wearing less ornate armor, he was the only guest wearing anything militarily related at all. His eyes drifted over the mansion and the patio where the festivities were taking place. A series of tables and chairs had been set up strategically to allow for optimal seating, and a patch of lawn had been set aside specifically for dancing. At last, he approached the host and hostess of the party.

“Duchess Ivy, Duke Rose,” he greeted the Unicorns. The duchess wore a green dress with embroidery designed to appear like streams of her namesake in full bloom. Her husband wore a white plain white tuxedo without the pants. A red rose with a white center sat in the lapel of his coat to serve as a boutonnéire.

“I’m so glad you could make it, Archduke,” Duke Rose said, putting on a debonair smile. “My wife and I have always wanted a chance to enjoy your company.”

“After all, New Unity seems to be the center of most events in the kingdom lately,” Dutchess Ivy added. “There are so many things we’d love to ask you.”

“Is that so?” Pensword asked with a raised brow. “I guess we have some time, after you greet the rest of your guests. For now, however, I’m sure you have more to welcome into your lovely home, and that buffet does look rather tempting.” He smiled politely. “I look forward to continuing our conversation later.”

“I hope you enjoy,” Duke Rose said in a kindly voice.

“Thank you,” Pensword responded and slowly made his way towards the buffet table.

“Greetings, Brother,” a large Pegasus stallion met him at the buffet table, holding a plate piled high with food. His coat was a metallic gray, somewhere between silver and polished steel, and his mane, tail, and beard were all a flaming red. He wore a rough woven tunic and a leather belt clipped at the side with the symbol of House Hurricane. As Pensword drew closer, a powerful wing clapped his back in a friendly manner.

“Ah, I’m guessing you’re a branch off the main line?” Pensword asked. “You must have really done your homework. Most of the history books don’t mention your house adopting me.” A slight smile crossed his muzzle in appreciation of the complement and acknowledgement of his status as a Hurricane, before returning to a neutral expression.

“Yeah, well, new social structure means new opportunities to climb, I imagine,” he laughed. “Firewater Hurricane at your service, lad.”

Pensword raised a skeptical brow. While Equestrians might not see any problems with this sort of interaction, his historical knowledge of Earth and the typical treatment of natives by settlers left him cautious. “What do you do for a living, Firewater?”

“I brew some of the hardest hitting whiskey in Equis,” he roared. “I also happen to be the last member of the Hurricane family you’d see here.”

“You’d be the last member? I must say, brewing whisky,” he marveled. “That alone would be cause to be regulated, back in the Third Gryphon War.” He chuckled. “I still remember how, sometimes, I’d be shown the servants’ door in back, despite my position.” He looked over the Garden. “Times are changing.”

“My popularity is more to the inability for others to social climb from the fruit of my loins than from my station,” Firewater admitted.

“Somepony or someone of the wrong station snared your heart?” Pensword asked curiously.

“Aye, my beautiful Nightglade,” he chuckled. “Her family were servants in the Crust estate. I decided to follow my heart. Sacrifices must be made.”

“Nightglade?” Pensword asked. “Either a night Pegasus or….” He paused. “How do the young say it? A bit of a bite?” He shook his head. “No, not going to make the mistake of other elders and try to use the words of today’s youth. Pegasus or–?”

“Celestia’s ruddy beard, lad. She’s a Thestral. No shame in that,” Firewater said. “No matter what these types say.”

“Well the phrase was from some of the new Smiths we got from Canterlot. They said they were from lower levels.” He shook his head, then laughed at his own silliness. After all, it didn’t really matter, if Firewater didn’t deem the tribal name as a dirty word. “And I am happy to see what we tried to start at the end of the war taking root now.” He leaned in. “Did you know I met the first Baron of House Blueblood and his wife?” he whispered in a conspiracy tone of voice.

“Oh, aye. She had a pair of ears on her, didn’t she?” Firewater gave him a wink. Clearly, the history wasn’t as well suppressed as some nobles would have liked.

“Oh, yes,” he replied. “Last report I heard before stuff happened, he was living like a Thestral chief.”

“Well how about that?” Firewater laughed. “Listen, Brother. Between us Hurricanes, be careful here tonight. Rose and Ivy there, their family’s entire aim for the last six generations has been climbing to new noble titles and powers. Be on your guard, if they mention children.”

Pensword raised a brow. “Brother, if they mention it, I will tell them one Thestral phrase that should quiet them and spread about. It is bad luck and very rude to even try marrying off unborn foals, since we don’t know the gender, and we know not if they will live past birth.” He chuckled. “Mind you, that was a thousand years ago, but it should hold true well enough in the present, at least for a subterfuge, if nothing else.”

“Yes, but unfortunately, everyone already knows you’re having a colt,” Firewater noted. “And it just so happens that those two have a daughter who’s only a few months old. You see my concern, brother?”

“A spy,” Pensword hissed in frustration. Then he sighed. “We had hoped this wouldn’t have reached Canterlot already, but if they ask, I’ll simply refuse them. If they keep pushing the matter, they’ll be barred not just from me, but any other nobles are willing to listen to my advice.” He nickered and shook his mane in frustration, and then the mood passed. It was time to move onto something more pleasant. “We have spoken about my family, but what about yours?”

“Well, you already know I’m a Hurricane. I’m also a proud father of seven fillies, two colts, and two foals on the way,” Firewater said, smiling like he could burst with pride. “Foals are beautiful, aren't they?”

“Very much so,” Pensword agreed. He paused. “Twins? Or are you a herd stallion?” he asked politely.

“Twins,” the stallion chuckled. “I’ve got enough on my plate with my Nightglade. Anyway, Brother, I’d invite you to come sample my wares, but word is you’re not one for the strong stuff. Still, if you ever need anything, don’t be afraid to ask.”

“True, I’m not for the ‘strong stuff.’ Hammer Strike, on the other hoof, I might be able to either have him come by or else invite you out to visit New Unity for him to sample them. And be sure, I will keep your generosity in mind, should I ever need something.”

Firewater nodded as he took his plate, which he had somehow managed to keep perfectly balanced the whole time, and left the table, navigating guests without disrupting a single crumb.

Pensword smiled as he worked to pile his own plate, keeping an eye open for any other Ponies that might be a little out of their league, so to speak. Much like Firewater, he stacked all the main entrees as the base, while stacking the lighter hors d'oeuvres on top. He sat down with care, but he could feel the eyes on him as he prepared to dine, and the sudden drop in conversation was a fair indicator that he wasn’t just being paranoid. He turned to face the individuals in question. “Please, don’t cease on my account. Continue.”

A mare, dressed in fine diamonds and silk scarf sniffed disdainfully. “And have some barbarian eavesdrop? Didn’t you eat before you came?”

Pensword paused as he used a small fork to spear one of the olives, popped it into his muzzle and chewed a few times. Then he swallowed and shook his mane. “Madam, I can tell you’re rather ignorant of my tribe, let alone of my culture. As such, allow me to offer you this small piece of enlightenment. When you host a party with a full buffet table, you should expect your guests to eat. In the case of Thestrals, it would be a terrible affront, if we didn’t finish every crumb by the end of the party. Wasting food is a terrible thing in our culture.”

The mare looked confused. “But the food is a sign of wealth and prosperity. Sure, the wait staff eats most of it after the dinner is over, but certainly not during. The food is laid out artfully, and there’s a certain order to how said food is grazed down.”

Pensword shrugged. “You don’t do that with meat. If you use warming enchantments to keep it hot, it’ll dry it out.” Then he face hoofed. “Did the caterers even know how to handle Thestral dishes?”

“Meat?” The mare balked as even more guests dropped their spoons to gape at the pair. Their eyes darted rapidly between Pensword’s and their own.

“Yes, meat. I see you ate half a leather fruit bat wing,” he noted as he pointed to a translucent leathery substance dripping with juices as it hung from a fork suspended in magic. The stallion holding the food in question suddenly paled, before his magic cut off, causing the fork and its cargo to crash with a tremendous clatter, before he fainted backwards, turning over his seat in the process.

The others in the table were quick, but exceptionally polite in their evacuation as they flitted to and fro among the other guests, most likely to warn them of what they had learned. Pensword smirked in satisfaction, then chuckled. “Panicky Unicorns. So much fuss over normal fruit leather.” He shook his head and took a bite of the strip, chewing happily, until a portly Unicorn in a white chef’s smock approached his table.

“You dare to mock my cooking?” he snarled in a thick Phrench accent as he tore the strip out of Pensword’s mouth.

“More like revealing that most of these Ponies can’t tell the difference from fruit bat leather and normal fruit leather, let alone that the strip you yanked out of my muzzle came from Sweet Apple Acres, while the the one that you are currently holding most likely came from Appleloosa.”

The chef narrowed his gaze suspiciously as he scrutinized Pensword. “How would you know?”

Pensword shrugged. “New Unity imports their apples from the Apple clansmembers all over Equestria. As a good Thestral who loves his fruit, I can taste the subtle differences. Most Thestrals can, actually, even as foals. For example, my daughter loves a good Manehatten grove apple, while the Canterlot Forest Wild–.” Pensword found his muzzled clamped shut by the chef.

“That grove is a closely guarded family secret. How do you know of it?” the Chef demanded as he released his magical hold on Pensword’s muzzle. He did not allow his horn to dim, however.

“Because I gave the seeds to the founder of the Apple clan in the first place. They originally came from the passes of my ancestral home.”

The Chef snorted and turned away as he patted a hoof on the back of a server who had just levitated Pensword’s plate into the air. The stallion had a pinched nose and a dark black mane with brilliant yellow eyes.

“Leave him be. He knows his food.”

“But, sir, he eats like a pig,” the server objected.

The Chef snorted. “And that’s how he knows. I eat from every dish I make to ensure the proper depth of flavor. Does that not qualify me as a pig as well?” He shook his head. “You still have much to learn, Gaston. Much to learn, indeed.”

Pensword blinked as the two Unicorns left him in peace, bickering back and forth. Pensword returned, or tried to return, to his meal, when a shadow landed in one of the empty chairs and a Thestral mare dressed in an elegant black evening gown fit more for a dance in a haunted mansion than this type of party. She carried her own sizable plate, her eyes and muzzle alight with suppressed mirth.

“Can’t beat a bear clan when it comes to tastebuds,” she laughed, giving him a respectful nod.

“Oh?” Pensword asked as he looked over the newcomer, a frown growing on his muzzle. “Don’t tell me that Canterlot frowns on Thestrals showing what clan they come from? Usually one can tell a clan at a glance.” His own uniform had threaded a bear claw through the Lunar Sash as an identifier.

“Sadly, no. Canterlot can’t be bothered to know the differences.” She smiled, lifting her left foreleg. The fur was bleached in the intricate pattern of a coiling serpent.

Pensword raised his brow in amazement. “An honor to meet a hoof of the Viper Clan in person.”

“The honor is mine, Moonkissed. I hope the moon and stars find you well.”

“And may the rays show the path through the trees,” Pensword replied in a formal exchange as old as the clans.

“So what is one of your class doing here tonight, if I may be so bold?”

“Princess Luna is here this time as well, and if we all avoid Canterlot, we shall forever have the divide of sun and moon, never the twilight that allows us to see each other’s worlds. I am here to teach Canterlot how to meet a Thestral without offending them, so we can avoid such a travesty.”

“Well, I wish you luck in that endeavor.” She nodded. “It can only help commerce, after all.”

“That, and it should see the need of many more merchants.” He smiled. “But I feel you didn’t just come to talk to me about my presence in Canterlot. But since the Viper Clan is already set up in New Unity, there’s no need to ask or negotiate. You have what you need already.”

“With all due respect, Moonkissed, I didn’t come here to see you. My business is with Lord Rose and Lady Ivy, regarding my wares.”

Pensword shifted a wing and placed a coin in front of the Mare. “My apologies. I thought poorly of you. Please, accept this coin as penance for my actions. It’s not a token, but it still entitles you to a favor, within reason. You can ask of me about it in the future.”

She took it with a nod. “So, then, you’re here for the bill?”

“Yes, I am. Though since I have you here, I can’t help but wonder, what have the rumors been saying?”

The mare chuckled. “Everything from the dawning of a new age to the ending of life as we know it. Both sides have to worry about numerous factions of their own.”

“So, there are factions within the main two camps?”

“Correct. And then there are those who are still undecided on the manner, nearly a third of the houses, to be exact.”

Pensword sighed. “We all have our work cut out for us to try to convince them, then.”

“I hope it works out for you, Moonkissed,” the mare said as she finished off the first half of her plate, then sighed as she looked over his shoulder. “Unfortunately, it seems our hosts want to speak to you alone.” Pensword turned around to see Duke Rose and Dutchess Ivy standing by a flower arrangement and making some effort to appear excited over the arrangements. Naturally, they failed miserably at it. The mare giggled once more, then winked at Pensword and vacated the table, carrying her plate with her.

As she had suspected and Pensword dreaded, the duke and duchess were over in a matter of minutes. “Good evening, Duke Rose, Dutchess Ivy,” Pensword greeted them. “I hope things went well for you on the welcoming line.”

“Oh, of course. It’s always nice to see old friends.” Duke rose nodded. “I hope you don’t mind the company?”

“Of course not. Tonight has been interesting, one to write about in my journals for sure.”

“I hope our little spread proved up to snuff,” Ivy said with a warm smile. “We like to try to cater to all our guests, even if we don’t necessarily have certain resources.”

“The spread was good. The culture was simply a bit surprising, but I wouldn’t fault any of the Solar nobles for not knowing how to handle a Thestral spread or etiquette. After all, you lot used to avoid us like a deadly disease.” Pensword smiled placidly. “I’ll be sure to have a dossier with proper etiquette for a host and guest in Thestral culture sent to you for the next time you invite the Lunar nobility. After all, it pays to be prepared, wouldn’t you say, Duke Rose?”

“Of course, Archduke. Preparation can change the circumstances of anything.”

“What of you, Dutchess Ivy? Surely you aren’t put off by the full plates of some of the guests?”

Ivy cleared her throat awkwardly. “More with those who make them into towers, Archduke. The possibilities of the havoc dropping a plate like that could wreak leave me … uneasy.”

Pensword chuckled goodnaturedly. “Ah, that. It’s an old custom among the young that sometimes carries over to the elders. Think of it as a competition of sorts, much like how the nobles of the Solar court compete by vying for influence and alliances to gain power or popularity. The taller the plate, the better you are than your fellows. However, no Thestral is to take more than he or she can stomach. Should the plate be dropped, it is also customary for the offender to clean up his or her own mess as an act of humility. That, and of course, it’s simply good manners. I find it saves more mess in the long run. No need to worry about pesky assassins or other such things.”

“I … see.” Ivy’s eyes darted off to the sides as she looked over the various Thestrals. “Are all Thestrals’ metabolisms so … accelerated?”

“Some, yes. Others simply burn the extra off in their daily routine.” Pensword rolled his wing tips into a shrug. “Still, some just do it for the fun. We’re just as varied and unique as the Unicorns here on Canterlot’s peak.”

“I suppose so. And now, with the Lunar Court, you all will have your own status as well,” Duke Rose said.

“A status that Princess Luna wanted to have put in place over a thousand years ago,” Pensword replied as a sad expression painted itself on his face. “Still, I look forward to this joint meeting, for us to come to an understanding and join in cooperation for the betterment of our kingdom.” Of course, Pensword had no such delusions about perfect unity, but if the nobles wanted to play, he’d show that he could be just as skilled.

“Of course,” Ivy agreed, “though I get the feeling opinions will likely differ as to what may be best.”

“Which is why we are meeting. I see the totality of the nobility as a big family. We will figure out what will be best for Equestria together. We’ll argue, and probably need several time-outs, but we’ll get there, eventually.”

“An … interesting description, Archduke Pensword,” Ivy said. “Where do you draw your inspiration from?”

“Real life. And a few Thestral meetings from my grandmother’s time.”

“I’ve heard you’re expecting another foal, a colt this time?” Duke Rose asked.

Pensword was at least happy they said foal and not foals. “Were you hoping to be present for their naming ceremony?”

“Their? As in plural?” Ivy asked.

“Well, we have foals from other families as well. It’s a very important time to gather, so there will be more than just one foal,” Pensword answered hastily. It was going to be hard enough as it was dealing with the proposals for one foal. He didn’t need more families hounding after the second.

“I … see. And this ceremony of yours. Is it anything like getting a foal blessed by one of Faust’s clerics?”

Pensword gave a befuddled look. “Perhaps,” he mused. It is difficult to compare the two properly, since my exposure to the church in my youth was … less than cordial. I haven’t taken much time to study the church’s teachings and ceremonies since. There were more important things to worry about.”

“If you should ever wish to learn, we happen to know of some priests and priestesses who would gladly offer some instruction in the subject.”

“I thank you for the offer. Maybe after this coming business with the bill. Time is a luxury I can scarcely afford at the moment,” he said diplomatically.

“Perhaps. Maybe we could meet up again soon, discuss matters that could be beneficial to the futures of both our houses?” Duke Rose asked.

“We shall have to see. The next three days are booked with the usual meetings and preparations. You know how it is here in the city. We’ll have to play it by ear, as the Thestrals say.”

“Of course. In the meantime, I do hope you enjoy the festivities. Do make sure to send our best wishes to your wife. Faust knows I know how difficult pregnancy can be sometimes,” Ivy said.

“I’ll make sure to do so. Thank you for your concern,” Pensword answered with a stately nod of the head.

“Well, we should be mingling with the rest of our guests,” Duke Rose said. “Please, enjoy yourself, Archduke.”

“You as well, Duke and Dutchess,” Pensword replied as he watched the hosts turn to slip back into the sea of party goers.

---

The air was dry, musty, and rank with the smell of smoke, rust, and tanned leather. Waxy tallow candles burned low, adding to the general miasma that was the atmosphere in the old bar. Battle-scarred Gryphons, gap-toothed Earth Ponies, and greasy-maned Unicorns eyed one another furtively as they mulled over their tepid brews. Far off in the distance, the glow of the upper districts flickered almost mockingly at the occupants, as if begging them to dare try stepping foot out of their grimy corner of the city. A cluster of Pegasi were busy wiping the floor with any contenders who dared to challenge them at dice, spinning the cubes on their feathers with relative ease as they sneered at the poor saps that dared to challenge them. A respectable sized sack of bits sat on the counter, glinting enticingly to any that dared to wish for any. The last remains of a roasted boar carcase leaned against the stones of the fireplace where it had been cooked, waiting for any last creatures that might wish to consume it. The flies hadn’t begun to swarm it just yet, though a peculiar buzzing sounded from a shaking tin that sat nearby as it trembled closer towards the food.

“Not yet,” the barkeep grumbled as he kicked the container casually with a hoof. “You know the rules, ya wily varmints.” His voice grated heavily, and an open bottle filled with a clear liquid that most certainly wasn’t water explained only too well how he’d acquired such a unique range. His navy blue mane parted evenly down the sides of his head, even as the greasy ends clung to his fur. His indigo fur was matted and unkempt as he took another swig from the bottle. His bloodshot eyes glared menacingly out over the gathering as he let out a deep, satisfied sigh and smacked a cracked and worn hoof on the counter.

The door to the tavern creaked open to reveal a clear night sky. A Unicorn with a lime-green coat and neon-pink mane stepped into the light. His muzzle was misshapen, practically deformed by a series of scars that lashed over his fur in mute testimony of whatever incident had led to breaking his nose in the first place. A rumpled cap that reeked of mildew was cocked jauntily over his brow, drawing the eye to a chipped and worthless bronze ring that sat on his horn. The metal had dyed green with age, and the mount had lost its jewel a long time ago, yet this Unicorn still wore it. A tired sort of laxity pulled at his gait as he shuffled forward, and his ratty coat was so worn, it was practically see-through. He smiled somewhat nervously, exposing a series of gaps where teeth had been. Others were either chipped or heavily yellowed. He dragged himself wearily to the counter and looked up to the barkeep.

“Welcome to Sprite’s Spritzers. I’m your host, yada yada yada.” The stallion waved his hoof back and forth, then leaned in to glare at the Unicorn. “I run a respectable business here.” Then he belched. “You bring your coin, pay up front, I serve you what you ask. Get in a fight, and you pay for what you break. Don’t matter who starts it. I finish it.” He took another swig from his bottle. “Now then. First n’foremost, if you got weapons, I want ‘em now.”

The Unicorn shrugged and pulled his coat apart to expose his fur. “I’m unarmed,” he said quietly.

The barkeep spat off to the side, then returned his attention to the Unicorn. “Wadaya want?” he demanded.

“I was asked to meet some folks here tonight,” the Unicorn said furtively as he glanced back and forth with narrowed eyes.

“Lots of folks come here to drink, friend.” The barkeeps tone implied the Unicorn was anything but. “I don’t wanna know what you’re tryin’ ta do. Just tell me who you’re gonna meet, and I’ll point you their way. Whatever happens after that is your business. Don’t drag me into it.”

“I have no plans to drag anypony else into this,” the Unicorn growled back.

“Sure you don’t.” The barkeep rolled his eyes.

“I didn’t get full names,” the stallion grated. “I was just told to say I’m here to see a one-eyed Gryphon with a chipped beak.”

“Then you should’ve led off with that one, shouldn’t ya?” The barkeep took another swig, then pointed to the far side of the tavern. “Far corner. The one with the black curtain. Ya can’t miss it.” He belched again. “You want something ta drink, just come up n’ order later.”

“I’ll remember that,” The Unicorn hissed as he struggled to maintain his composure. He turned and walked towards the curtain, an artful frown painted on his muzzle. When he reached his destination, he knocked on a post in a special rhythm.

“Shame about the weather today,” a voice responded. “Wouldn’t you agree, Mister Blank Slate?”

“Should have been snowing. Show the nobles how little they control,” the Unicorn replied.

A set of talons reached from behind the curtains and pulled the Unicorn in, roughly placing him on a booth just inside the curtain. “Didn’t your daddy teach you how to disguise yourself, boy?” a large Gryphoness growled down at him. Her left eye was covered in an eye patch decorated with a carefully embroidered skull. As the description had said before, the tip of her beak was chipped. “You look like a bucking neon sign that says, ‘I’m weak and helpless. Rob me.’”

The Unicorn smiled. “Two mugged me. Go ahead, try to take my ring. You’ll find it burning through your talons faster than molten metal. As if challenged, she reached out and casually took the horn ring off, holding it in her palm before him with no sign of discomfort.

The Unicorn frowned. “The other two got burned hard. One’s horn actually cracked a little. Six months recovery time at least. Must be the Tavern,” he replied, shrugging off the failure. “Still, the only ones following me were a Pegasus, Zebra, and another Gryphon.”

“Your daddy has a lot of nerve contacting me now,” the Gryphoness growled. “Whatever he wants, you can tell him the rates are tripled, and that's just a start. Word is there’s a truce in the air between the major guildmasters, until this political mess is over. If that kind of agreement actually comes to pass, I’m going to have to go for other sources, if I need extra muscle.”

“You must be losing your wits, if you mistake me for that quivering lump of a stallion, lady. And you owe me. Or have you already forgotten how I bailed you of that moldering jail so soon, Miss Ca–?”

“Skull Eye,” the Gryphoness retorted sharply as she slammed her fist hastily on the table. Her eyes narrowed dangerously. “And after that last job you had me pull, you aren't blackmailing your way out of this one, Blueblood. I know things about you that your pretty Pony Princess would flip her wig over.”

“Oh, this isn’t blackmail, ‘Skull Eye,’ he said mockingly. “You see, I have a backup plan for every scenario. You should know that by now. If this bill rumbling through the houses does indeed pass, each noble house would have the right to employ a certain number of troops full time. At least a hundred, as a matter of fact. Of course, in order to have a properly effective fighting force, I’ll need a trainer, someone to mold those troops into warriors loyal to my house.

“In short, my dear, I’m offering you the chance to have the official clout of my house behind you. You would be able to train my troops any way you see fit, so long as it doesn’t kill or maim them. And I’m not the only one who would need your … unique talents. There are many fellow nobles who would gladly accept your … services, were I to vouch for you. And, of course, there would be certain fees involved to compensate you for your time.” His horn lit up as he withdrew a slip of paper and a quill and inkwell from his pockets. A hasty scrawl, and he slid the page over to the Gryphoness. “I know that is only double your fee, but that would be paid to you the first of the month every month you work, not including additional business expenses. From what I understand, you could use the income.” He smirked. “I’ve heard tell that the Bladefeather mercenary group has been making it rather hard to find steady work.”

She took the slip and looked it over, took one of the wooden spoons from the table, snapped off the head and held it into the flame of the lamp for a moment. Using the improvised pencil, she scrawled a new figure on the paper. “And I’ll need the first payment by tomorrow night.” She slid it back to Blueblood.

Blueblood looked over the figure coolly. “I can have the portions delivered to you at the usual drop points. Contact me by normal means, if any of the drops go missing, and I’ll reimburse you, while my men sniff them out.”

‘Skull Eye’ licked her beak nervously, then glared at the stallion. “Breathe a word of this to anyone and I’ll geld you,” she said, before draining her flagon of cider in a few gulps. “You remind me too much of my ex husband.”

“Only my fellow nobles who take you into their employ will know, and even they won’t have all the details. You should know by now, my dear. I’m the absolute soul of discretion.”

“One more thing.”

“Yes?”

“If you want this done right, I’m going to need competent help. Minotaurs. At least two of them, with some actual battle experience.”

“I’ll leave that in your talons. You know who you get along with better than I ever would. I don’t want to risk our partnership over something like that. Get your,” his face contorted into a bitter grimace, “cadre together and we’ll come to a payment agreement.”

“Will do.” The Gryphoness nodded. “Let me know when that brat of yours finally proposes to his boyfriend.” She snickered and slid away without another word. When she’d passed the curtain, she approached the barkeep. “Guy in the back’s covering my tab tonight,” she said. And then she was gone.

Baron Blueblood just sat waiting patiently at the table. A moment later, the ring the Gryphoness had taken teleported back onto his horn. What better way to support his story of a washed up noble line than a cursed ring that never leaves, until the line dies? Of course, he likely wouldn’t have to explain that to anyone, but it was nice to have a story prepared, in case somepony got the wrong idea. Baron Blueblood frowned as he drew himself back into character. The glamour would only last for so much longer, after all, and besides that, knowing Skull Eye, she wouldn’t be too happy with him for that parting jab. He sighed and left an envelope on the table with her name on it, then shoved a sizable ruby inside. She’d be back for it, eventually. A wave of his horn over it, and he knew nopony else would be able to steal it. Much though he enjoyed crossing swords with the Gryphoness, she was one of the last mercs he could trust not to desert to Grif and his band of savages. He got up and walked to the counter. Unforntally, when he arrived, he felt the curious sensation of four meaty fingers squeezing his head, before smashing his face onto the counter.

Blueblood’s ears rang as a deep voice bellowed, “You pay now!” at him, followed by a heavy snort.

A scarred Thestral darted down from the rafters with wide eyes and gritted teeth bearing down on the Minotaur. “You’re not a bouncer, ya big idiot. I’m the bouncer! Go sit down and finish your tankard, ya drunk.”

“Hot Head is bouncer. Best bouncer in Shades.”

“You’re in Canterlot!”

The Minotaur stopped for a moment, blinking in drunken befuddlement. “Oh,” he finally said. “So … he’ll pay my tab, too?” he slurred, stumbling back.

“You pay your own tab. No more charity,” the Thestral barked, nipping the Minotaur’s ear smartly as he yanked the behemoth away.

“How much?” Blueblood muttered as the ringing slowly diminished and the room began to settle from its constant spinning.

“Eighty bits,” the barkeep said gruffly. “That’s for food, cider, and the war bird’s tab.” He reached for a cloth with a hoof and began to run it through the insides of the glasses.

Blueblood pulled out a small coin purse and slowly took out the necessary bits in a combination of gold, silver, and copper. There were far more copper than any other, and the silver was slightly less. Only five gold bits shone in the tepid light. By the time of all the coins were counted, Blueblood only had a single copper bit to his name. Just as he was about to return it to his pouch, a meaty fist snatched it from the counter, before he had the chance to retrieve it.

“You owe me for giving me headache, Pony.”

This one again. Blueblood looked to the side, where the Thestral bouncer was currently busy breaking up a fight between a Zebra and the Pegasus gamblers.

“You have ... ten copper left. You give, or your horn goes on belt.”

Blueblood fixed the Minotaur with a cold glare as he shook the bag to emphasize the fact there was nothing left, put it back in his cloak, and made his way to the door.

The Minotaur let out a disgruntled snort as he turned back to the barkeep. “Hope Pony freezes in snow,” he muttered.

“It’s spring, idiot,” the barkeep grunted.

Blueblood turned at the door, took a deep breath, and raised his charmed voice. “And I hope the guards arrest you soon!” With that said, he ran out the door, ducking behind some barrels in a nearby alley. As he had suspected, the Minotaur had been enraged by his tone of challenge alone, and the bull was soon charging witlessly through the streets, guided by little more than his temper. Blueblood waited for a time, until the clop of the creature’s hooves had faded significantly. Then he left his hiding place and made his way back through the streets to the lights of Upper Canterlot and the comforts of his home. “Rot in Tartarus, you bloody animal,” he muttered.

---

“So that's the political state right now,” Grif finished his report on what he’d learned as he ate his third stack of pancakes in the house’s dining room.

“So, we lost two houses, but gained three smaller ones?” Pensword asked as he savored the sweet burst of ripened blueberries blending with the bright amber of the syrup that coated the quick breads. “Things are changing daily.”

“That’s the way things work here,” Hammer Strike replied with a shrug.

“Bits are changing hooves every minute. Bribes are literally everywhere.” Grif shook his head. “I imagine by noon, we’ll be hearing several minor house heads are dead.”

Pensword froze. “I hope none of them were on our side, then, because if the–.” He cut himself off, shook his mane, and then resumed. “Nevermind. What I was going to say doesn't matter.” He sighed. “You’d think they would have gotten past this stage by now, though. We’re in the modern age, after all, not the Third Gryphon war.”

“Life is an eternal cycle, Pensword. And there are some things that will always repeat themselves, no matter what,” Vital Spark noted. “This just happens to be one of those things.”

“But depriving a child of a father?” Pensword frowned. “I can only hope that these are not heads who refused to join a faction.”

“Regardless, the casualty rate is going to be high. It might be wise to see about certain measures being taken to head off further tragedy. Any ideas, gentlemen?” Vital asked.

“Protection can only be handled so far, especially when the group attempting this doesn’t even reside in Canterlot,” Hammer Strike hummed.

“And it will take time to organize something like that. It would be better for houses to hire some warriors as bodyguards.” Pensword shook his head again. “I still can’t believe it. Assassinations just shouldn’t happen anymore.” He looked to Grif. “And all this, because most of these nobles would kill, simply to silence a voice of dissent. It’s madness!”

“You act like this wasn’t the norm during the war,” Grif said flatly with a raised eyebrow.

“I know it was normal back then. I just hoped we would have gotten better by now.” He sighed. “I know it was probably too optimistic, but I still wanted to believe, if only a little.”

“I’m pretty sure we all want to, Pensword.” Vital sighed. “It’s hard when people don’t live up to your hopes for them sometimes, isn’t it?”

“That is life, Vital. I know things don’t work out all the time. I just thought we’d be further along. I guess all we can do now is try to use the bill to help things along a little,” the Pegasus replied as he worked on spooning out a Grapefruit.

“Anyway, don’t expect me back for lunch today,” Grif said.

“Security business?” Vital asked.

“I have a meeting that will hopefully cut down the violence, if everything goes right,” Grif noted.

“And the rest of you?” Vital asked as he turned to look at each of his friends.

“Fancy Pants has invited me out to lunch.” Hammer Strike shook his head.

“And I will be having Lunch with some of the Thestral Nobility that arrived last night,” Pensword answered, “to show that we are united together over the Bill.”

“I suppose that leaves me with some time to look up a few book stores. I’ve been interested in researching Zebrica lately.”

“Excuse me, Mister Spark?” a Unicorn stallion walked up beside him, levitating a tray.

“Yes?”

“Message for you,” he said holding out the tray. A sealed envelope lay on top of it, addressed to Vital Spark in an ornate scrawl.

“For me?” Vital levitated the envelope and broke the seal curiously. “Last I checked, I didn’t really have any friends out here.” He furrowed his brow as he read the message’s contents. “... And, apparently, I’ve been invited to a luncheon, too. At the Cookie estate.” He rolled his eyes. “Joy.”

“Careful. The Cookie house swings back and forth. And sometimes it depends on the month. Make sure you’re on guard,” Pensword warned. “That being said, I know you’ll make us proud.”

“Do I really have to go?”

“The real question to ask is whether you want to be bothered by more letters, envoys to New Unity, and constant ‘gifts’ being sent your way with strings attached. The other option is to go, learn what they want, and, if needed, shut them down.”

Vital Spark groaned. “Well, I guess I am the ambassador to Earth. I was bound to have to get involved in politics eventually.”

Pensword paused in his meal. “It might not be just about Earth, you know. It might deal with the magic you are learning.”

“I don’t have any delusions, Pensword. I’ve read enough medieval literature to know how politics tends to work in these situations.” Vital sighed again. “I doubt it’ll get any easier when the cat’s out of the bag about things back home. You know the ones I’m talking about.”

“Right … I am going to leave that one to two others. Either it goes nicely or we pick up the pieces of a disaster.” He paused briefly to sip from his tea, then sighed contentedly. “I’m betting disaster.”

“Pensword, you’re really tempting me to tempt Murphy right now,” Vital said through clenched teeth as he hastily reached for a pastry and took a bite. “Anyways, I’ll let you guys know how the meeting goes, I guess.”

“Sounds good.”

“Take your gun, and your knife, and probably your staff,” Grif advised. “Wear some armor under your shirt, just to be safe.”

“Will do. I’ll be careful not to say anything that could be twisted into a promise or anything like that, either.”

“A smart choice,” Pensword agreed sagely as he finished the last portions of his meal. “And make sure to keep an ear open for any potential surprises. The more we know–.”

“The better we can prepare.” Vital nodded his agreement. “In that case, gents, I suppose we’d better get ready. We can meet up again tonight, after we get out of our respective engagements. Agreed?”

“Agreed, though I think I am going to have the most fun. I get to spend time with my own court.”

“And then tomorrow the real fun stuff begins.” Grif sighed. “Best of luck, gentlemen.”

“Until later,” Hammer Strike gave a faint wave as he stood, and their impromptu meeting was adjourned.

---

The Cookie estate was a sprawling landscape filled to the brim with monuments to just about every form of quick bread one could name from the cookie to banana bread and beyond. Fountains of Ponies in gourmet chef gear spewed water out their cream pitchers, bowls, or mouths respectively to simulate the act of spreading ingredients into their recipes. Hedges were trimmed to mimic various baking utensils, and one of them had been rendered to look suspiciously like a certain pink-maned party Pony leaning over a mixing bowl.

The confectionary theme continued within the manor house as tiling shaped like hard candies took on the colors of the various stained glass window panes that dotted the main entry hall when the sun shone through. Chandeliers had been delicately crafted to replicate the appearance of licorice fronds bound together, and the fresh scent of baked bread and other wholesome smells wafted through the air in a luxurious, fluffy cloud that would make any guest’s mouth water.

Naturally, Vital Spark was also exposed to this ambrosia, and as he took in the smells, he couldn’t help but smile. If there was one thing he loved, it was baking, and he knew quality when he smelled it. However, he was not so befuddled as to allow the attendant to take his staff and holster. Instead, he shook his head gently and thanked the stallion as he made his way into the dining hall. The pale blue of his dress shirt brought out the color in his eyes as he walked in as comfortably as he could allow himself to feel in the presence of the other nobles. Admittedly, when he saw some of the hats and mane styles the mares were wearing, he was grateful, once again, to be a male.

As had been done in the Grand Galloping Gala, a marshal cried out to announce his entry.

“Presenting Vital the Virtuous, personal apprentice to Clover the Clever and friend to Lord Hammer Strike.”

Vital’s fur bristled slightly, but he did a far better job at controlling himself than he had previously as he made his way towards the table. Much to his surprise, the long table was practically barren. Only three places had been set. A plain summer dress cascaded in bright apple greens and royal purples down the body of the mare who sat at the head of the table. Her smile was soft as the dough from which her namesake was baked, and her lavender eyes regarded the Unicorn’s accessories with a hint of amusement. A rich honey mane flowed down the side of her shoulder in a braid that rested casually against her shoulder as she held a wine glass casually against her hoof in that curious manner Ponies seemed to have developed.

“Over here, Vital Spark,” she called, before taking a sip. “Please, come. I took the liberty of having a few sweets prepared for your arrival. It’s fine to have a few hors d’oeuvres now and again, but I find it more refreshing to eat a little dessert, before a meal.” She motioned towards a trolley filled to the brim with tiny cakes, bite-sized eclairs, cream puffs, and all manner of other miniaturized desserts. “I didn’t know what you’d like most, so I took the liberty of having a little of everything prepared.”

Vital Spark approached the empty chair to the Mare’s left, then leaned his staff against the table and took his seat. On closer inspection, the mare was far more plump than the Unicorn had expected. Considering how her plate had already been speckled by crumbs, it wasn’t a mystery as to why. However, rather than detract from her beauty, it seemed almost to accentuate it, giving her a motherly sort of glow as she looked on the young mage.

“Thank you for the invitation, Your Grace.” He bowed his head politely. “Though, if I may be so bold as to ask, where is your husband?”

“Making excuses for you being unable to attend the main party.” She smirked impishly. “Friend of Hammer Strike, Student of Clover, those kinds of titles can be very weighty in their own right, even if you have no noble rank of your own. And, to be perfectly blunt with you, Vital Spark, you’re obviously too green. Those mares and colts would tear you apart like a pack of timberwolves, which is why you and I are going to sit here, enjoy a quiet meal, and then talk about why you think House Cookie should support this bill.” She took another sip. “After that, I’ll give you some pointers on how to deal with a noble luncheon, without making mistakes.”

“You do realize my arguments would basically be about the same as every other one that Hammer Strike and the others have made to the nobility previously, right?”

“But you are not a politician. You can give me an honest opinion from an outsider’s perspective. That’s what I want to hear.”

Vital Spark levitated a pair of cannolis onto his plate, then took a bite. “You do realize that I’m inherently biased, correct?”

“Yes, just as Blueblood is biased, or the princesses, or even me. As one of the last statements attributed to Smart Cookie, learn what you can from everypony, and you might just find the real truth.”

“Assuming you can sift through the information effectively,” Vital allowed. “The case is pretty straightforward. Without even one of the Elements of Harmony, one of Equestria’s greatest weapons will be rendered completely inert, leaving Equestria open to invasion and all manner of nasty magical attacks. Granted, we do have some pretty heavy hitters on our team now that could potentially offset that threat, but there are ways to deal with each of them, even Discord, if you know how it’s done. And before you ask, no, I don’t know it all personally. I only know that it can be done.

“As things stand right now, with the training I’ve received from Clover, it’s quite possible that I could decimate at least a quarter, if not half or more of the Royal Guard here in the capital with little effort. The sole exception would have been Shining Armor, because of his exceptional skill in shield magic and the powerful genes his family generates that allow for such a deep connection to magic. And were it not for Grif and his clan, let’s just say that a great many more mysterious deaths would have made the headlines in the Canterlot Herald.

“Essentially, the only thing keeping Equestria safe right now is the utter dominance in weather crafting and the reputation Celestia gained in the course of battle. Of course, Hammer Strike does also serve as a natural deterrent, but there’s no guarantee how long he’ll stay, before he has to leave again, so that doesn’t really make for a valid excuse. Like it or not, Equestria does need a more powerful fighting force, one that is capable of fighting on if something should happen to its leaders or heavy hitters.

“Granted, the downside is that the noble families would each be entitled to have their own personal guard and troops. There are probably many who would seek to abuse that for their own ends, so I think there will need to be a stipulation in the bill that allows for penalties to be levied against the noble families, should they abuse this new resource in any way. That should hopefully curb the more corrupt tendencies that some Ponies may be inclined to indulge otherwise.” He finished off yet another cannoli, then looked to the duchess once again. “Might I trouble you for a glass of water?”

“Of course.” A pitcher levitated to his side, and poured its contents into the waiting goblet. “Those are certainly some strong opinions, Vital Spark. However, I would like to raise a counterpoint. Who’s to say packs and agreements aren’t already being formed? Even the threat of use of force can be a powerful deterrent.” She waited to finish a small frosted sugar cookie. “That being said, you do make some very salient points, points that I would enjoy discussing further. After all, how are we to know that the foals of those in power now won’t abuse the powers given to them by their parents? How do you think we should curb these powers?”

“I believe I already mentioned how, m’lady,” Vital said pointedly. “Place a consequence that matters most to each of the noble families, and these circumstances are unlikely to occur. It could take the form of fines, sanctions, and quite possibly a reduction of rank, if the offense should become serious enough or repeat itself too often.”

“And what if the consequence for this generation don’t have the same effect on the next?”

“With all due respect, Ma’am, from what I understand of my own research into the matter and the research Grif has made, practically every house that has ever abused such authority has always been moving with those exact pressure points in mind. And those that don’t act in such a manner are usually honorable and law abiding, so they wouldn’t have thought to try such a thing in the first place.”

“Just make sure to bring back House Cookie’s concerns. Like it or not, the future can and likely will change. If this bill isn’t flexible enough, it could easily cause things to fall apart. Five years ago, Equestria was only ruled by one princess. Then Princess Cadence ascended to become an Alicorn. Then Luna returned, and Twilight ascended soon after. The balance of power seems to keep shifting. Who knows what could happen if another Alicorn showed up out of the blue?” Dutchess Cookie shrugged. “Such things always bring upheaval, and with upheaval comes opportunity for those who know how to capitalize on it. I’m not asking you to destroy every last loophole before I support this bill, but there needs to at least be some sufficient assurances in place. If the bill can do that, then it will receive my vote. If you could inform Hammer Strike and Pensword of my stance, I would very much appreciate it.”

“So long as there are no other strings attached, I don’t think that would be an unreasonable request.” Vital Spark smirked. “So, if this is the hors d’oeuvre, what’s the main course?”

---

The light filtering through the clear glass panes of the sun room left a golden hue over two Ponies as they sat dining on tea and cakes. The doors spread wide open to reveal a broad garden swept with hedges, rose bushes, tulips, orchids, and so many other diverse and exotic plants as to create a veritable explosion of color, not unlike a series of fireworks in still motion. A single monocle lay on the table’s surface next to the tea tray as a slick blue-maned Pony drank his tea. The tails of his suit coat fluttered in the breeze that drifted in from the warm spring air. Finally, the Pony lowered his cup and let out a forlorn sigh.

“Why is it that every time we meet, it always has to do with Politics, Hammer Strike?”

“Because you live in Canterlot, and I, naturally, despise seventy five percent of the nobles here,” Hammer Strike reasoned with a shrug.

“Just once, I’d like us to be able to meet just for friendship’s sake, you know. I understand you have a busy schedule and all that. It just seems so … wrong, somehow, that things are going this way.”

“I’ve actually been able to clear up my schedule somewhat, so I should be able to manage these visits more often.”

“That quickly? I thought things would have been more difficult, what with the last attack you had to endure.”

“The process has pretty much been automated.”

“And the families?”

“That’s still something I look after.”

“You do take enough time to rest, don’t you?”

“What’s that?”

“Oh, you know, old chap. A state of casual pleasure with the ones you love. Perhaps a stroll through a garden with the wife or reading a good book.” He took another sip of his tea. “That sort of thing.”

Hammer Strike gave a faint chuckle. “Of course I do. Rarity makes sure of that.”

“And how is the young lady? It’s been some time since we saw her last. Is she happy? Is she well?”

“I’m certain of it. She’ll be headed to Canterlot soon, alongside her friends, for the bill. Of course, we’ll probably stay a little longer than everyone else.”

“For pleasure?”

“I’d hope so.”

“Just making sure,” Fancy Pants said. “You’ve been known to work yourself far too much in the past, my friend.” He chuckled and shook his head. “But those plans could prove fortuitous in this case. Fleur has been wanting to meet with Rarity again. Perhaps we could arrange for you to stay with us for a few days, or at least to come to dinner.”

“I’m sure we can manage that,” Hammer Strike replied with a soft smile.

“Excellent. In that case, would you care for some more tea?”

“Sure.”

---

There were a great many restaurants in Equestria that catered to the elite and powerful with exorbitant prices and over the top service. There were also many taverns that catered to mercenaries, with cheap booze and rowdy company. But there were a few places that catered specifically to the rich mercenaries that headed the Gryphon mercenary trade in Equestria, mostly because there where exactly four Gryphons who did so, and these four rarely met on friendly terms. Still, when such meetings took place, they always took place in Mort et Gloire.

Mort et Gloire was an oddity among the fine dining of Canterlot, a high end restaurant that catered to that small fraction of the population who where both wealthy and lacking in noble status. It was a place favored by guards and mercenaries alike, due to the decore, which consisted of famous weapons mounted on the wall, pictures of warriors, and art depicting great battles. It also was known to offer small exclusive meeting rooms that guaranteed complete discretion using the finest of privacy assuring spells ... for the right price. It was to one of these rooms that Grif was led by a gryphoness who was, as far as he could tell, a mixture of a blue cockatoo and a sergal. It was with great trepidation that he reached for the door handle and slowly opened the door to reveal the figures sitting at the table within.

A gryphoness sat poised in a position that would allow her to spring to an attack or defense at a moment’s notice. Her sparrow head and siamese body relayed a sense of speed and agility. Her eyes moved from Gryphon to Gryphon, never staying focused on one thing for too long. She held a steak knife casually in her hand and flipped into the air as easily as one would a baton, before catching it with equal skill. A sleek set of leather armor clung to her frame, doubtless to compliment the immense agility that her form allowed her. Her name was War Sparrow. Her clan mostly acted as guards for rich merchants that dealt with the upper crust of Pony society. The glare she leveled in Grif’s direction spoke only too clearly how she felt about the Bladefeathers and their presence in Equestria.

Another Gryphon leaned back in his chair, tapping the table idly with his talon. His fur and feathers were both a dark gray. His orange eyes peered analytically at the other three leaders as his long beak reached out, hardly curving, save at the very tip. Most of his features were covered in a mixture of thick gray cloth and some metal plating around key points of his limbs, alongside a few knives across his shoulder and sides. He paused briefly to glance at Grif, before continuing his idle tapping. From his constant movement, it was easy to guess that he was the mysterious Twitch.

The fourth and final member of their party was an odd mix, with a great hulking muscular frame covered in tan fur that puffed out in the remnants of a winter coat. His great beak pressed out in front of him, hooking cruelly at the end. It shone an almost cherry-orange. Whether this was due to battle or his natural biology remained a mystery to this very day. Harsh yellow eyes glared at each of the leaders as his talons hung casually from the hilt of a great cleaver sword that sat comfortably on his back. His colleagues in the field knew him as the Crimson Terror. “Are we just gonna sit here staring at each other, or are we actually going to do something?” he growled.

“Gentlemen and lady.” Grif gave them each a short nod as he took his seat. The server poured him a glass of raspberry cordial, and then she was gone. “I thank you each for agreeing to this meeting, and for observing the traditional pause in contract work, until it is concluded. I’d make introductions, but we’re all professionals here. You know who I am, and I know who you are, so let’s cut to the chase, shall we?”

“That’s literally what I just said,” the Terror snapped. “Why have you called us here, Grafson?”

“Terror quiet. Terror listen to Grif. War Beak speaks,” the sparrow Gryphoness cried, pointing her steak knife at the Gryphon, before snatching a handful of candied nuts from a container the waiter had been kind enough to drop off.

“As you three are, no doubt, aware, soon the nobles are going to be voting on a bill for the remilitarization of Equestria. I’m sure you all have already been receiving offers from the nobility for kidnappings, murders, and the gathering of intel for coercion. Is that correct?”

“Sparra clan works for merchants. We care only for clean coin.”

“Let's not play that game in here, my lady. It’s beneath us,” Grif said tepidly.

“Sparra work for clean coin. Any who disobey, I killee,” she replied, stabbing the table with her knife for emphasis.

“You know we don’t usually talk about that kind of business, Grif. And you know why,” the Terror said.

Grif stabbed a dagger into the table, glaring at War Sparrow. “Aerial Glider, killed this morning attempting to abduct house Pansy’s lead family’s infant son.” He produced an arrow this time. “Fitted with partridge feathers painted with blue flakes. A calling card of one of your boys, I believe.” His eyes turned to Crimson Terror. “At least I know Twitch isn’t about to deny his actions. He’s known to be quite proud of his people’s work. Isn’t that right, Twitch?” he looked to the remaining Gryphon.

Twitch gave a faint chuckle. “Guilty. They’re good at what they do.”

“So, let's try this dance again. I imagined you all have been receiving lucrative offers from the nobles these last few days for jobs that would help alter the balance of power, no?”

“Yes, Sparra does. War Beak dislikes offers. Hurts home turf. Sparra help merchants, merchants don’t buy land of Sparra home.” She darted her eyes over and pointed at Twitch. “Nobles Twitch helps want Sparra out or help them.”

“Well, when the money’s good, it’s hard to complain.” Twitch gave a faint smile as he shrugged.

“Either way, I didn’t call this meeting to point fingers or start wars. I’ve came to make the four of you an offer,” Grif said.

“And just what kind of offer are we talking about here?” Terror asked.

War Sparrow watched carefully as she gauged the situation. Her head tilted, but her eyes remained alert as they darted between each of the other leaders.

“Until this bill is resolved, the three of you forbid taking contracts from the nobles. You make it punishable by death through torture. In return, I will reimburse each of you for potential lost profits in the format of your choosing. Gold, weaponry, supplies. You name it, I’ll provide it.”

“Ohoho.” Twitch began to chuckle as the smile on his face grew wider. ”Now that’s quite a claim to make. Just how deep do those pockets of yours reach, Grif?”

“Give me a number,”Grif said flatly.

“Five digits, at least.”

“I can have the gold dropped at your dead drop tomorrow morning.”

Twitch raised an eyebrow. “I would say I doubt you, but I’ve heard of how well you can get info.” The Gryphon leaned back casually in his chair.

“Sparra clan have no new contracts. Contracts War Sparrow know of that promised, we keep,” the Gryphoness responded, after eating a few more Candied nuts. “Favorite Bakery risks noble buyout from higher perch. We keep bakery safe. They pay in candied chestnuts for whole clan!” She spread wings out triumphantly, then guzzled some more nuts. “Two large bags of candied chestnuts for Sparra. Five digits for Sparras who want shiny. Sparra promise no killee against nobles. We keep contracts War Sparrow knows about.”

“And if you come to the knowledge someone's broken this agreement, death by torture. It’s that or no agreement.” Grif crossed his talons expectantly.

“Sparra law says if Clan member goes against Sparra Rule, Sparra’s dive bomb tied offender. Is that Torture?”

“It will do.” Grif nodded, turning to the last Gryphon expectantly.

“I don’t approve of torture, Grif, except with traitors and certain other individuals. Adds a bit of a deterrent to any new recruits.” Terror narrowed his gaze. “What if I were to find a suitable alternative?”

“If it puts the fear of whatever deity you align yourself to into them, it’s good enough,” Grif said.

“I’ll need to run it by my clan, before we agree. We’ll see about a fair price and forward the bill. The usual contact?”

“Of course.” Grif nodded.

“Well, I’ll be,” Twitch looked around. “Well then, ‘boss’, where do we go from here?”

“We finish our meal and go about our business” Grif said simply. “Last I checked, we are all skipping lunch to be here. Let’s order our food. I’ll pay.”

“War Sparrow likes sound of free lunch!”

“I second the motion,” Terror agreed.

“If our bills don’t put you in some kind of debt, I can’t wait to see the end of this meal,” Twitch chuckled to himself.

“You are allowed to believe what you like. You’d be wrong, but you're free to believe it.” Grif chuckled, hoping Hammer Strike would agree that his actions here justified using his expense account. Otherwise, well … he didn’t want to think about it.

---

The luncheon that Pensword arrived at was by far the most interesting he’d attended in all his gatherings at Canterlot. Then again, he was biased. He always prefered the company of his fellow Thestrals to the upstuck nobility of the Solar Court. The caves were cool and reverberated with the sounds of laughter and camaraderie. Weapons racks stood at intermittent intevals between various foot tables and other displays. A Thestral guard stood on either side of the racks to avert any potential roughhousing getting out of hound. The cave was no great venue, but it was as beautiful as any gala, with moonstones shining brightly, refracting their rays through various crystals and prisms to give light to the space. The meal had begun after a thirty minute display of military prowess put on by the guards for the nobles’ benefit.

Three roasting boars were being kept warm on spigots over low burning fires as the sounds in the cave echoed about, with clinks of forks and knives, along with drinks and jugs emptying their contents to refill cups and mugs.

“So, have the Solar Courts given you any trouble, since the bill was announced?” Pensword asked.

Count Silver Star sipped casually on a Strawberry smoothie. “No, not really. If anything it’s more unnerving being given invites as a guest of honor. That makes it even worse, since it puts them in a defensive state of mind, even as they put on a show of deference.”

“Yet, they had a knife hidden in a hoof or wing,” Baroness Black Wolf finished. A gnawed bone sat on her plate. “I’ll be honest, Pensword, this isn’t very good for our nerves. Our young mares are finding gifts and forms of flattery from various Ponies, but traditional and … a rather poor replication of Thestral customs.”

Penswords expression soured. “They are looking to tie the houses together, to begin a slow merge of the courts, with them on top. I fear what they may seek to do the same to the Twilight Court.”

“One thing at a time,” Duke Shadow Wing of the Fox Tribe replied. “Right now, we need to show a solid support of our High Chieftess’ plan. I hope you all have read the first draft?” The Thestrals nodded their heads. “Good. That gives us a wing up on the Solar Courts. They haven’t had time to view the draft, and the High Chieftess would like to keep it that way. It gives them something else to focus on, other than trying to kill or marry.”

Pensword nodded his agreement as he swallowed a chunk of the boar. “Still, how shall we show up to this bill?” A hint of a smirk indicated only too well that he already had something in mind.

“Why, armed, of course,” the rest of the table cried out.

“The Thestrals still have a right to bear arms,” Shadow Wing added, “given by precedent at the Third Gryphon War. If they try to stop us, well....” His bore his fangs in a wicked grin as his eyes fell on Pensword.

“Oh no,” Pensword protested with a chuckle. “I’m a noble this time, too, and the highest ranking one in the court at the moment. I won’t have the chance to protect your weapons. No, I think you’ll need to find some other young Thestral to be the weapon guard, this time.” He frowned. “That actually is an interesting point, though. The Solar Court could take the position that we need to conform to previous laws and precedents set up in their proceedings.”

Shadow Wing’s grin turned vicious. “The we’ll just have to do the same to them, won’t we?” He chuckled. “Like it or not, though, it does have to be a Thestral to act as guard. You know the rules.”

“I’ll draft up an amendment immediately.”

Pensword and the others were on their hooves in an instant, their fur bristling as they drew their weapons on the stranger.

The stranger simply laughed. “At ease, my little Thestrals.” Her appearance wavered and dissipated like moon dew in the sun to reveal Luna’s astral mane and kindly eyes. “I commend you on your insights and how you all treat one another.” The disturbance was noted by most everyone in the mess hall, but when they realized what had happened, things returned to normal as the mares and stallions went back to their meals. “We like to observe our Thestrals both on and off duty,” Luna explained. “I must keep my glamour work in good shape, in case the need should ever aries for its use in less mundane situations. Now, let us partake of the desert. I was able to smuggle one of my sister’s new cakes down here.” She giggled impishly. “They call it Death by Chocolate.”

Pensword’s ears perked up. “Oh, that must be the next task for Thestrals, to copy the means of production, and make something even more tasty.”

At first, the other members of the table were confused. That is, until they all took a bite of the cake, and their eyes widened in utter bliss. That very moment, a conspiracy formed. They would find the means to create this confectionary masterpiece, no matter how long it took to accomplish.

---

That Evening saw the four friends gathered again in the house, this time in the ballroom. Pensword sat at the piano playing a familiar song to keep his talent polished. That, and to fill the void that had formed in his usual schedule, now that he was away from New Unity. He had done a little sparring with a dummy, and even challenged one of the guards Grif had hired to try to keep up his usual regimen at least a little. After focusing on the battle to come, it was time to allow himself a chance to relax.

“So, that’s the gist of it, Hammer Strike. Apparently, the Cookies are much better at posing than they appear. If you can guarantee the bill will be flexible enough to adapt to changing generations, she’ll be happy to vote for it,” Vital Spark reported.

“Figured that,” Hammer Strike replied. “So long as it isn’t too flexible for others to abuse, it’ll work.”

“You gonna bring it up with Celestia?”

“Since the bill is Luna’s thing, I’ll bring it up with her, and potentially Celestia.”

“Well, there’ll be no more Gryphon mercenaries making trouble for us, at least.” Grif took a long pull of coffee. “It wasn’t cheap, but I managed to negotiate a truce, for now.”

“How much did it take to deal with them?” Hammer Strike questioned.

“Two of them want ten thousand bits. The third is discussing with his captains on a ‘fair price.’” Grif shrugged. “It’ll probably be around the same.”

“That’s coming from my account, isn’t it?”

“No, but there may be an exorbitant lunch bill on my expense account,” Grif chuckled.

“Delightful.”

“Well, at least I don’t use that account often,” Grif pointed out.

“I know, I know,” Hammer Strike waved dismissively. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Well, tomorrow is when the rest of the nobles will be arriving, including the Twilight Court. Does anypony want to meet Twilight and Friends? Or do we all want to meet? After all, Rarity will be coming along.”

“Of course I’ll be there. It wouldn’t be right to not be there for my wife.”

“I have to be there either way,” Grif shrugged. “Both for House Strike and for the Bladefeather clan.”

Vital shrugged. “It’s not like I’ll have anything better to do. And besides, it’s always good to see old friends.”

“Indeed. And the remainder of the Thestral nobles will also be arriving on Luna’s airship. So, it looks like we’ll all have a busy day tomorrow.” He smiled as he drew his song to a close. “So, any requests for a piano song?”

“Piano Man?”

“Your wish is my command.” Pensword took a deep breath, and then began to run his hooves and wings over the keys as the familiar melody began to play.

Comments

[Booster Spice]

All the fun of the body politik, and Fluttershy doesnt yet get to bring Spinxy to play with her.

Nice to see Warbeak from Redwall there, especially speech pattern, style. Although Im thinking if theyre really good at teh jobs, they wouldnt be thinking of just the money to be looking at living much longer.

[ihatehaters1994]

Gotta ask what type of kukri did grif give to vital. Was it a human made and if so where model or hammer strike model? Pretty great chapter, honeatly like the political games how you write them, it always makes me think back to the first letter grif replayed to for hammerstrike from that letter from baron blueblood. Keep on writing, cant wait till the next update.

[GarrusVakarian]

Well what do you know... Piano Man was what YouTube just got to

Nice