30 - The Reason We Don’t Visit
Extended Holiday
Chapter 30: The Reason We Don’t Visit
Sunlight beamed through the filmy curtains as the morning’s first rays pierced the comforting darkness of sleep and oblivion. For many, this is a normal, if somewhat unpleasant experience. For Lieutenant Colonel Moonshade of the Lunar Guard, it was agony incarnate. Her head throbbed as she opened bleary eyes to behold a room that slowly swam back into focus. She could still smell the alcohol on her armor, and the sight of the table where she’d drunk herself into insensibility left her wincing all the more. How could she allow herself to lose her composure like that in front of her chieftess? Even if Luna had insisted on it, it was still embarrassing and unbecoming of a ranking officer.
Embarrassment flushed her cheeks as she recalled their discussion not as superior and servant, but as mares. Why did she have to open her big mouth about her feelings for Pensword?
…
PENSWORD!
She whipped her head toward the chamber doors and winced as her brain screamed in outrage and pain. Sudden movements were definitely not a good idea when dealing with a hangover from alcohol personally brewed by the princess. But she had to get to Pensword and the others. She had to report in. They would worry if she wasn’t at her post.
By the moon, why did she have to be so careless?
She scrabbled to her hooves in an attempt to extricate herself from the tangle she could only assume was her cloak. She stopped, however, when that mass grunted at her efforts. A masculine grunt. A familiar grunt. Moonshade’s heart hammered in her chest, sending blow after blow to her brain as she turned her gaze ever so slowly to behold the still-sleeping figure that lay below her. Her face turned a deep red that bordered on purple as the stallion’s familiar scent finally registered in her nostrils. There, all akimbo in his own armor, was Pensword.
Despite the pressure from her hooves, the stallion still hadn’t woken. Moonshade did her best to extricate herself without disturbing the Pegasus, but even as she rose to all fours, the consequences of her unconscious actions caught up with her. Her legs wobbled as stinging needles and numbness struck intermittently. Sleeping on top of the stallion had cut off much of her circulation, leaving her with the conclusion she must have inevitably held him like a child would a stuffed animal. If that weren’t bad enough, she collapsed directly on top of his barrel, and her lips collided with his.
Moonshade quickly pulled her face away, even as she could swear she felt steam flying out her ears. Pensword groaned again and blinked as he came slowly back into consciousness. The first words to come out of his mouth … were not expected.
“Don’t hit me!” Pensword screamed as he brought his hooves to his face in an attempt to ward off a blow that would never come.
The words at once stunned and frightened Moonshade. Had she attacked him last night? Was that why he was so afraid? Did she hurt him? “Pensword, I … are you all right? Did I hurt you?” Put on the mask. Be a professional. She had to remain professional.
Pensword blinked in surprise, then lowered his hooves. “No, … not really.” His face was flushed, too as his nostrils took in her scent. “Just … kind of fell on me when I tried to wake you up. … More like pounced, if I’m being honest.”
“I … I’m sorry. I wouldn’t normally do that.”
“You were asleep. It was a reflex, right?” Pensword asked.
“We’re … trained to incapacitate potential intruders, even in our sleep.”
“I’m sure there’s an interesting story behind that particular training regimen, but first, do you think you could maybe get off of me? I think my legs and wings are asleep….”
Moonshade didn’t bother trying to extract her legs this time. A few swift beats of her wings, and she was free of him. The added exertion also helped to distance her from Pensword’s scent. Her head still throbbed, but at least she could focus more and think more clearly. “Do you need to go to the infirmary?” she asked, even as the stallion began to stretch.
“I dont—” There was a loud pop, followed by a deep groan from the Pegasus. “—Think so,” he finished. “It was difficult falling asleep, but, well, I didn’t want to wake you, and Grif and Princess Luna sort of left us like that….”
Moonshade’s eyes narrowed as she settled back onto the floor again. “Is that so?”
While Pensword did feel the instinctive desire for revenge, he didn’t want to have the mare’s ire turned on a friend and ally. “In his defense, we didn’t know what you might do if we tried to move you again.”
“It seems there will need to be a discussion on etiquette and protocols when something like this happens,” she said coolly as she lowered herself back to the floor. “Are you sure you don’t need medical attention?”
Pensword nodded. “I’ll be fine,” he assured her.
Moonshade nodded. “Then I suppose all that’s left is to move forward with the day’s agenda. Was there anything in particular you were hoping to accomplish?”
“I wanted to see some of Pensword’s past, not just read about it. Since the history book mentioned being adopted into the Hurricane Family, do you think they would mind if we were to visit?”
“That’s not a bad idea,” Moonshade agreed. “They’ll be grateful to see you. Though it would be best if we had a letter of introduction or some other means to verify your identity. House Hurricane has great respect for Commander Pensword, and they don’t appreciate those who seek to use that name falsely.”
Pensword nodded. “I wouldn’t like it either.”
“We can ask Princess Celestia, Lord Hammer Strike, or wait for Princess Luna. Any of the three would be enough to assure your entry. They’ve been trying to see you ever since your return from the Crystal Empire was confirmed by the princesses. They decided it would be better to spare you the difficulty and allow you time to recuperate after the battle with Sombra.”
“Well, I’m recuperated now. And I definitely need to know all I can about that time.”
Moonshade nodded. “Then who shall we ask?”
Pensword chuckled. “Well, we can ask whoever we run into first if we grab some breakfast. And then maybe we can visit some museums or historical sites here in the city, too.”
“You really do love history, don’t you?”
“More than you can even begin to imagine, Moonshade.” He chuckled again. “By the way, in case we need to decide directly, you wouldn’t happen to have a three-sided coin handy, would you?”
Grif smiled as the taste of sausage and egg mingled with the pillowy texture of a freshly baked English Muffin. Once again, the culinary achievements of Equestria astounded his taste buds. And once again, he found that even in experimentation, the original paled in comparison to what Ponies could craft. He took the final bite of his third serving as he strolled through the halls of the palace. Now that he had finished his daily exercise at the training grounds and properly fed himself, it was time to see what else was available to do on a day that essentially equated to a day off.
As a matter of habit, he drifted toward the hall of history and the many stained glass memorials built to immortalize those critical moments in Equestrian history. After all, those who did not learn from history were doomed to repeat it, or at the very least face challenges similar enough to be nigh-identical. As he stared into the shards, he couldn’t help but admire the way in which the molten glass had been forged. With his unique avian vision, he had the opportunity to look beyond the base into the depths of the structure itself, where a veritable kaleidoscope of particles awaited him. Tiny air bubbles and an intricate crystalline weave bent light and shaped it along an infinite number of pathways that spidered like snowflakes. In every sense of the word, it was truly a fascinating sight. So engrossed was he that he didn’t even notice the clopping of golden horseshoes and the clack of talon on stone that heralded the arrival of his host and her guests.
The Gryphons were four in number, and different from those Grif had encountered previously. Unlike the other rougher warriors and mercenaries that could be found in the capitol, these wore silken robes that draped to barely avoid touching the ground. Wing holes had been carefully sewn and embroidered to allow them to fly should the need arise. And their garments, while loose, bulged gently at certain points along their bodies, hinting at the weapons that lay hidden on their persons beneath. Honors, medals, and other forms of approbation and recognition adorned their breasts, along with the badges of their office that marked them as delegates and ambassadors of the Gryphon empire.
“A Gryphon in the royal palace. Now that is unusual for you, Princess Celestia. Have you finally had a change of heart about your subjects’ prejudices regarding employment of other species? Or is this another of your charity cases for those cowards that abandoned their homeland?”
Grif had dealt with many an insult before with a cool head, but for some reason, that one word, coward, did more to raise his ire than any other insult he had received in Equestria. He turned and took in their finery and badges, even as they stared at him with equal intensity, a group of predators eying another predator in the ageless battle to establish the pecking order.
“What’s your name, fledgeling? From what clan do you hail?” another of the Gryphons asked. It may as well have been as though Celestia weren’t there anymore. Not only had they gone out of their way to insult Grif’s character, they had even dismissed their hostess in her own home.
In short, they were jerks that needed to be brought down a peg or two. And Grif would be only too glad to help in that regard. He looked deliberately at Celestia, offered a slow wink, then turned his attention back to the four delegates.
Next, he puffed up his chest and fixed them with the most intent glare he could muster. The offense at their words from earlier helped to fuel the fire behind his blue eyes as they flashed in defiance. “Is this the finest Gryphonia has to offer? I didn't think it possible for our empire to fall any lower, and yet here you stand, foregoing honor and dignity for the sake of your own puffed up self-importance. This is Canterlot Castle, the home of your hosting monarch, and you dare to trample over her and deride her choices and that of Equestria’s governing body. You are too bold. Or perhaps too foolish. Or perhaps both.”
Grif took great satisfaction at the spluttering response and mingled expressions of shock and mortal offense. He turned his focus on the one who had demanded his name. “You, at least, have a somewhat better sense of decorum than your fellows, though that seems to be all you hold to differentiate you from them. I am what you would call clanless, but I am by no means nameless, nor have I committed any misdeed or dishonor to require being rejected from a clan. I made my own way and found my own home, despite what many of your kind have done to prevent me and others like me from doing so. I made you curse yourselves then for your ignorance and your arrogance. I will do so again now. Let my name ring in your ears and haunt your dreams. I am Grif, son of Graf. I am the quartermaster. And I am the death of any that would dare to harm my lord or his charges.”
The first to regain his composure looked at Celestia, and his voice was quiet as he glared at the princess. “Is this another one of your jokes, Celestia? If so, it is far from funny. You know full well how our people feel about that chapter of history. To mock us like this is worse than distasteful. It’s downright despicable. Did you have your sister cast an illusion on this imposter for your benefit? This is a far cry from the peace that you keep harping about wanting to maintain.”
“This is no joke, friend,” Grif said just as calmly as he drew one of his swords from its sheath and leveled it at the offending speaker. “And you will show respect for both princesses, or I will show you just how I achieved the titles your sires and grandsires gave me.”
“Bluster and nothing more. If you insist on this farce, then I’ll challenge you to a duel to prove your lies.” The most decorated puffed his chest as he reached beneath his robes to claim his weapon.
Grif didn’t give him the chance. With two deft slashes, the delegate was relieved of his ribbons, his medals, and his uniform. “And what makes you think I would give you the honor after all you’ve done?”
“If you’re deluded enough to claim who you are, then you should know better than anyone that Grif Grafson’s crimes far outweigh any wrongdoing we may or may not have committed in our own lives. There’s a reason he’s called Egg Smasher.” The others behind him held their ground. They didn’t reach for their own weapons, but neither did they seek to run away. Instead, they remained behind their leader to back him, as a pride should. “Not even your famous Star Swirl had the power to rip someone from time, Celestia. Tell this cub to leave us and apologize to my fellow delegates and I may let him off easy.”
This time, it was the harness that went, causing the Gryphon’s twin daggers to fall to the floor with a terrible clatter. “I believe I told you before that disrespecting the princess won’t be tolerated,” Grif returned. “Rumors of my demise were greatly exaggerated.” His face remained stony, even as the human in him crowed in delight. In over a thousand years, he had never dreamed of being able to use this trope, and now the chance had nearly walked into him. “Being frozen within stone inside a kingdom banished from time does wonders for one's youth.”
“I trust,” the delegate returned with an icy voice, “that you know the penalty for assaulting a diplomatic force, let alone killing one without cause, whelp.”
“Oh, I’m plenty aware, and I have more than enough cause.” Grif growled as the next words emerged. “I am no Egg Smasher. I am loyal to my lord, and I doubt that all the honor in your body, all the accolades you have won, would amount to so much as a thimble on my talon compared to what I have faced.” He drew closer until he was beak to beak with his adversary. “You have insulted me. Be grateful that I don’t slit your throat here and now. I assure you, were it not for the effort it would take to clean your filthy corpse off these stones, I would.” He drew his second blade slowly so it could hiss its deadly warning to his target and the three behind it.
“Enough, the both of you!” Celestia snapped. “Valerius, this is Grif Grafson. I can assure you that he is the genuine article. You are correct when you say Star Swirl the Bearded didn’t have sufficient power to perform such a spell. However, King Sombra did. His curse transported the entire Crystal Empire through time to our present day, along with Grif Grafson, Hammer Strike, and commander Pensword. As I’m certain you are aware, dark magic can be very powerful when employed by the proper Pony. Or have you already forgotten the brief demonstration I gave to you when you first asked me about its uses and capabilities?”
Varlerius glared at the princess, then back at Grif, then the princess again. His eyes were astute and intent as they bored into the Princess’ gaze. Celestia didn’t so much as flinch. When they returned to Grif’s gaze, he found not the bluster of a fledgling playing a role, but rather the grim expression of one who had seen battle, lost companions, and done things that would haunt lesser beings to ensure his survival and the future he wished to create.
Sweat suddenly beaded the delegate’s brow. This was not the playful fool who bandied words so casually before. This was someone else, something else. And Valerius could feel his hackles beginning to rise against his will in alarm. Behind him, he could hear the subtle wafting of fabric, the clank of chain and the song of steel sliding free. “Stop,” he snapped. The other delegates froze, their weapons hanging in the air to await the order of their superior to strike. “You are in the princess’ palace and her personal presence. Do not dishonor your emperor and kings by striking brashly, or I will kill you myself.” He crouched to reclaim his weapons and trinkets, never breaking contact with Grif’s wrathful gaze as peered up the length of the sword. When the deed was done, the remnants of the robe that he used as a pouch bulged awkwardly as he held it to his chest. “If you are who you say you are, then you will understand my desire to quit your presence, not out of fear, but of another emotion we both know well.”
Grif didn’t sheathe his blades. “Then leave, while I am still feeling kind. But if you dare to slander me or the princesses again in my presence, you can rest assured that no power in this world will be enough to stop me from claiming your life.” He looked at the other three delegates meaningfully. “Be they divine or mortal.”
“You’ve not heard the last of this, Grif Grafson,” Valerius warned as he turned with his entourage. “Accounts will be settled in due time.”
“Make sure you can pay the dues, then,” Grif returned. “I’d hate for you to go into the embrace of the Winds without a clear conscience.”
The Gryphons strutted away with what tatters remained of their dignity, quite literally in Valerius’ case. Grif smiled as they rounded a corner, and he turned to face Celestia as he sheathed his sword once more. A few moments later, the booming of the hall’s doors slamming shut reverberated through the space.
“You think I overdid it?” Grif asked.
Celestia smiled and shook her head. “Maybe a little. But Gryphons are stubborn creatures, as I’m sure you know only too well. Sometimes, they need someone to remind them that they don’t own the world.” Then she frowned. “A word of advice, Grif. Take it in the nature of a friendly warning, and not a threat, please. As long as you don’t meddle too much with official business, you can have your fun. But you need to be careful. If they fear you enough, and believe me, the empire has good reason to fear as well as hate you, you and your friends could very well be hunted. It is not unheard of for certain nobles in the empire to hire assassins.”
“Assassins, you say.” Grif stroked his beak, half intrigued and half in concern. They had dealt with many attempts to discover their base, including stealth troops after Sombra had enough time to corrupt and prepare them. But this was not on that level. He would be dealing with a fully independent being with years of experience and training. That could be trouble. “Are they any good?”
Celestia shrugged. “I really don’t know. Equestria hasn’t been subject to their attacks since the war ended. You’ll have to talk with either the delegates from Zebrica or the Minotaur Confederation.”
“So they sound like a mild annoyance at worst, a medium annoyance at best,” Grif lied.
“... You have an interesting way of saying things.” Celestia shook her head. “Don’t worry. I think I can hold off any demands for an official meeting until after you move to the Everfree. After that, I may have to summon you three for a hearing, but you can bet your feathers that I’d rather die before I let any of you get shipped back to Gryphonia. You three are heroes, both in the Crystal Empire and in Equestria.”
“With all due respect, Princess, legally I’m in a gray area as it is.” Grif shrugged. “Under the Equestrian Warfare Act, a person must be tried as a citizen of the country they were part of when the acts happened. The Northern Isles weren’t a part of Equestria yet, having only just seceded from Gryphonia fully. It existed as a colony and state all its own. With its joining to Equestria, that colony and its government ceased to be. I essentially did everything under the law code of a nonexistent country. My papers for Equestrian citizenship still need to be filed, true, but I am not a citizen of Gryphonia.”
Celestia smiled. “Then you have the option of picking which land you wish to be tried under.”
“I will stay with Equestria, of course.” He smiled. “Though the best you could do was wag your finger and tell me what a bad eggchick I’ve been.” He laughed.
“Wag my finger, you say? Is that a phrase you picked up from the humans?” she asked with a grin. “Still, if nothing else, if this does go to trial, it might do well for the healing of Gryphon honor and pride to at least symbolically exile you and deem you guilty.”
“And there will be little love lost. I will not, that is to say, I did not side with Equestria out of loyalty or anger. My allegiance is first to my own heart, second to Hammer Strike’s needs. Gryphons were abusing their power. They were eating sapient creatures. And for me, that is something I cannot forgive.”
“A noble attribute,” Celestia noted. “And since you have chosen Equestria, at least House Galaxia will be able to provide you with the best legal teams.” She turned and looked to the now silent hallways. “I can promise one thing with a surety. As sure as I will raise the sun tomorrow, by next New Year’s they will have you on trial. Though there is little they can say when their own people don’t wish to acknowledge that they were eating my little Ponies for food.” She sighed wearily. “We claimed that debt a long time ago, but it was not easily won. Nor do I think it will be again should it come to that.”
“I thank you, Princess Celestia. If it makes you feel any better, I’m sure those cowards know better than to make that attempt after what happened last time. It’s not wise to go against someone who can control celestial bodies. As for our more recent woes, I hope the problems with the Changelings will go much smoother than it did with my people. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I am going to take a flight and think on everything I just witnessed and the past. I have a lot of history to mull over.” Without waiting for a response, the Gryphon made his way to the door.
Princess Celestia smiled smugly before she turned to a mirror. She carefully scanned the halls. Nopony else was watching. Sighing with relief, she walked right into the surface and chuckled as she turned left into the hidden passageway. She hated to wake Lulu so early, but as the older sister, it was her duty to gloat. And she had won the bet on how the delegates would react, after all. Now, … how to wake her? A mischievous glint shone in her eye as she put her brilliantly devious mind to work.
Exploration is an excellent way to alleviate boredom. And after the “excitement” at Blueblood Manor, Hammer Strike was looking for something a bit more … palatable. Rarity had proven more than a passing listener, but even she had to give in to the ravages of sleep eventually. As a natural insomniac, he was not so easily bound by such limits. And so it was that he took advantage of the quiet hours to plunge the depths of the castle in search of something that might prove interesting. Perhaps, if he was lucky, he might find some piece of the past that was to be his inevitable future. He had no particular desire to find such things after the warning he received from his letter, but he would not object to any helpful clue to bring about that positive ending his future self had written about. That, and if this castle was anything like the old castle his alter ego had witnessed on TV, then it would be filled with a large number of hidden passages and devices optimized for maximum entertainment and diversion. That … would not be such a bad thing to have at the moment.
Thus far, he had accidentally broken off a candelabra from its mounting, ripped a suspiciously empty torch sconce out of its moorings in the stone, and accidentally toppled some old unoccupied shelves. The last ones, he was at least able to right without difficulty. As for the others, well … he was fortunate enough to be wandering in an area less occupied than the other corridors.
Though the more he thought about it, the more he wondered … why was this part of the castle so quiet, so derelict, so … abandoned? Layers of dust had accumulated over the floor and walls, and a curious sensation seemed to carry through the air. Not quite electric, and not quite a tingling, but something … different. There was age here. History seemed to own these halls. But why would Celestia and Luna leave this section of the castle unguarded? It made no sense, particularly after the Changeling attack.
He turned into another corridor, his mind deep in thought as he walked without conscious thought or direction, passing through a solid wall without so much as looking up to notice it. His ears didn’t pick up anything in front of him, after all.
It took him a moment to recognize the sudden change in acoustics. The steady clop of his hooves echoed and reverberated back and forth in a game of call and response that became almost calamitous before fading into the silence again. He looked up. And as he did so, the ceiling came alight with glowing stones in striking silver and gold that spread their light over the space. On one half, a radiant sun blazed, surrounded by three familiar gemstones. On the right, the silvery moon in all its calm and reservation pulsed fully at its peak. Three more gemstones circled it, each of the six casting their own colored light around them to fill up the space. Above them still, a single curved scythe blade sat astride the two forces, its hilt grasped by unknown hooves as it at once seemed to radiate and absorb the power of the two forces on either side.
Based on the appearance of the chamber, it had been used more recently. The signs of ages past were less pronounced, though dust and cobwebs could still be seen if Hammer Strike looked for them. This was not the same as the stained glass windows leading to Celstia’s throne. The room was more spacious, for one. Trinkets, tools, and other artifacts stood on pedestals in crystal cases. The plaques beneath them had aged, but were still legible if one were willing to put in the effort to clean them. Spears, wands, books, staves, and other odds and ends all resided here, each bearing the names of Ponies from the past. A large zweihander drew his gaze. Its sheath was worn from years of use, but well preserved. The sword itself was a marvelous piece. And much to Hammer Strike’s shock, the techniques employed were akin to his own. The blade was notched and worn in places, signs of effective use in battle. For whatever reason, a full restoration had never been performed on the weapon. And yet, despite never seeing it before, it felt strangely familiar to the touch. Had Ponies once mastered his techniques in the distant past and then forgotten them with the passage of time?
A swipe over the plaque revealed the name and a touching dedication:
The sword of Starlight Bulwark, First Spellsword of Equestria:
An honorable warrior, true friend, and beloved brother.
“Spellsword,” Hammer Strike repeated softly. “Huh, I haven’t heard of them in Equestria at all.” He sheathed the blade respectfully and placed it back where it belonged. “Remarkable.”
The room was a veritable collage of history ranging from the earlier days of the kingdom to periods and cultures the stallion could only guess at. And though the trinkets, weapons, and statues that sat on display were of great interest, the greater and more demanding works laid behind them along walls that seemed infinite as the horizon. Some were small, others as broad as a cottage wall. Shades, hughes, and textures leapt at the eye as seascapes, starry skies, and vast cities sprawled before him. He had looked for diversion.
He had found it.
His hooves continued to clop as he passed from one frame to another with diminishing interest. The styles and technique were admirable, but one can only admire so much art before it starts to become redundant. That was, until he came upon one particular canvas. He wasn’t sure what caught his eye first, whether it was the leather armor, the flicker of feathers, or the curious swimming sensation that danced in front of his eyes when he beheld the two fur cloaks that bedecked a pair of Ponies, each portraying a different patch of the same starry sky. They looked up at a familiar Alicorn with gratitude and respect, even as their love for one another beamed in their eyes. As Hammer Strike peered at the stallion’s flank, he could just make out the edge of a quill and a hint of an inkwell. Both images were well known to him.
He bent his neck to peer at the placard, and soon confirmed his suspicions. “The Happy Lovers: An Artist’s Rendering of the Marriage of Pensword and Lunar Fang. It’s about time I got a look at you,” he murmured as he peered into the eyes of the fierce-looking bride. His ear twitched ever so slightly, and he sighed, not even bothering to turn around. “Hello, Luna.”
The mare emerged from one of the shadows cast under the light from the ceiling. “How did you know I was here?” she asked suspiciously.
“There’s no other noise in this room. I can hear the slightest shift,” Hammer Strike replied, glancing over to Luna briefly.
“I see you’ve taken an interest in this painting. The artist was ahead of her time in more ways than one.” She smiled forlornly, then shook her head to clear it. “I trust that you recognize the subjects.”
“Moonshade and Pensword, though it took a moment to recognize Pensword, given the slight changes in his appearance,” Hammer Strike replied.
Luna nodded. “I am uncertain how it will come about. I could potentially alter him myself if he asks it, but it will have to be his choice. And even if I did, as I told Moonshade before, I cannot change his true nature, so there is no way that I would be able to make him a full Thestral on my own, even if I was inclined to do so. Only time and experience can do that for him if he should choose that path.”
“Then I suppose we’ll see how things move forward from here on.” Hammer Strike gave a small grin. “So, it really is her?”
“Why should I hide it from you? You, of all people, should understand the importance of maintaining the integrity of time, both the past and the future. Many are not trustworthy. But you are not one of the many.”
“Given how well you seem to know me at times, through obvious reasons, I suppose that’s a fair enough assessment.”
Luna smiled. “It’s a curious sensation, to be the one to say this after hearing the same from you so often. And yet, it is oddly appropriate.” She bared her teeth in a grin. “Spoilers.”
“Ah yes, the Doctor treatment.” Hammer Strike chuckled briefly.
Luna raised a brow. “You’ve already met this soon?”
“Yeah, he seemed to have mistaken me for a future iteration of myself. Was surprised to learn that it was my first meeting with him.”
“A word of friendly advice. He is … more flexible with you than other Ponies. Do not push that to your advantage, but should the need arise, make use of it.”
“I don’t plan on casually using him for … anything, really. If I have need to change my position in time, then I’ll contemplate asking him.” He sighed. “Honestly, this concept of meeting individuals who have already known me for a long time is quite strange, and I find myself just trying to go with the flow. I swear, at times, I feel like I’m talking to a part of my family who’s known me since I was born.”
Luna smiled, though it was tinged with a terrible sadness as she looked at the painting once more. “I know that feeling myself. Lunar Fang was intensely loyal to me for reasons I couldn’t yet begin to fathom. On my first encounter with her, she saved my life. I was still ignorant and hotheaded in many ways, a consequence of my unique breeding, but she stood by me through everything to ensure that I would become the leader she and the rest of my children of the night would need. In a life as long as mine, that is only one of many such encounters. As you know, The Doctor has a way of making life very … interesting for those who have contact with him, and Time has a way of playing certain games, usually at the insistence of others, and to their detriment.”
“As I always love saying, ‘nothing can be simple.’” Hammer Strike sighed. “At the very least, I know some of the outcomes to come, and can prepare myself mentally for them.”
“A … small request, if I may be so bold as to ask, Hammer Strike,” Luna said.
Hammer Strike hummed questioningly.
“Grif has been looking for someone to confide in for a long time after drawing his conclusion regarding the link between Lunar Fang and Pensword. He is a very intelligent and intuitive individual, but that does sometimes work to his detriment without a proper outlet. Might I ask you to be that outlet for him in this case?”
“That’s simple enough.” Hammer Strike nodded.
Luna smiled. “Very well then. In that case, did you have any other questions regarding this gallery? It will be my pleasure to give you the grand tour.”
“I’d enjoy hearing more about this gallery. Got any particular pieces you find highly interesting?”
“That depends on the type of interesting you’re talking about.” Mirth and mischief danced behind the princess’ eyes. “Do you want history, smithing technique, battle, or something else?”
Taze had seen Canterlot before. He had toured through the castle and been whisked through the common quarters, shown the hospitality of the Gryphon quarters, and basked in the masterpieces of art that were Donut Joe’s creations. But Taze was not here. Taze was an alien, a being never before seen in Equestria, an entity that identified itself as a human. Grif, on the other hand, was a natural born Gryphon, raised in a land that was loyal to no ruler and hard as any wilderness could be. As a hero, he was afforded certain rights and privileges that others of his species often were not, including the right to travel among the noble quarters without being questioned or harassed by guards and lower functionaries. He was the left hand of Hammer Strike, and nobles knew better than to risk his ire.
However, much like any city with grand buildings, it lost its apparent luster the more he saw and experienced it. The ancient homes of the oldest houses sprawled out like a cancer, their walls and roofs and windows a testament to their age as each addition slowly pulled backward in time to the original structure. The newer noble houses were smaller and more compact, focusing on functionality, rather than opulence. If there was a need for more room, the additions were made tastefully to blend as closely as possible with the original design, rather than to match some new style or fad. Naturally, not all of the old structures followed this standard, but to the Gryphon’s keen eyes, it was all too apparent that the majority of the upper upper class did. “What a waste,” Grif sighed as he shook his head.
The warrior had just passed by the great wrought iron gate that walled off the Cookie estate when he bumped into a pair of familiar figures. Pensword and Moonshade were both walking side by side. Each wore their ceremonial armor, and Moonshade’s new mantle draped on either side as the two trotted along before Pensword noticed his friend and smiled.
Grif waved in return and greeted both. “Hey, guys. What’s up?”
“We’re taking a visit to House Hurricane,” Pensword said. “I thought I should get to know them before whatever happens.”
“Not a bad idea,” Grif conceded. “They probably have stories and records that aren’t available to the public. And I’m guessing Moonshade’s with you because…?”
“Because two certain individuals left us alone while I was drunk, and they ran away before we could have a proper chat with them.” Moonshade smiled sweetly, but her tone sent a chill down Grif’s spine. “I’m looking forward to it, Grif.”
“Well,” Grif said with a chuckle, “you two were just too cute to break up. And I wasn’t in the mood for being added to the pile or accidentally hurting you when I tried defending myself.” He peered closely at a bulging saddlebag on Pensword’s side. “Doing some shopping beforehand?”
“Souvenir shopping.” Pensword shrugged and pulled out a purple crystal cluster grown from a geode. “I wanted to see a museum or two before we visited the Hurricanes, and one of the exhibits focused on the old mines beneath the castle and in the mountain.”
“You always were a sucker for history.”
“Of course. History is very important to me and my family, as you well know,” Pensword shot back teasingly. “Now what have you been up to? I didn’t catch you at breakfast due to reasons Moonshade already listed.”
Grif shrugged. “Oh, you know, just taking a walk, contemplating possible trial for war crimes I haven’t actually committed yet, and enjoying the fresh air. Oh, and flying.”
“Sounds like you had a run-in with the delegates from Gryphonia,” Moonshade said. Then she sighed. “I suppose it was only a matter of time.”
“It usually is in Equestria. Though in all technicality, Celestia can only allow them a symbolic banishment from a country that doesn’t exist anymore,” Grif noted. “So really, it’s just going to be a long boring day of speeches and shouting before I get to go home and keep living my life.”
“Will it include any of your rousing or inspiring ones to break up the monotony?” Pensword smiled playfully.
Grif chuckled. “We’ll see. For now, I think we can just focus on enjoying ourselves. Leave the past to the past and the future to the future. What matters for us is the present.”
“Well, it seems our present includes another unexpected encounter.” Moonshade gestured with a wing. There, walking down the street, a familiar Pony clopped toward them. A gleaming breastplate was strapped over his usual blue and gold coat, along with a few minor additions.
Grif whistled his appreciation as Hammer Strike approached. “That is definitely some nice armor,” he noted.
“It’s one of the better pieces I’ve made.” Hammer Strike nodded. “In any case, I see you’re all out and about?”
“Yup. Pensword’s getting ready to meet some big shots, I just came back from threatening some big shots.” Grif shrugged. “You know, the usual. That, and getting ready for a war trial that’s basically symbolic and will have no real weight at this point. Oh, yeah, you guys’ll probably have to face one, too.”
“Sounds about right.” He gave a brief chuckle. “You’ll probably have to remind me of that later, however.”
“Don’t we always?” Grif smirked.
“What I don’t understand is why a trial is even necessary for us,” Pensword said. “It was a war started by the Gryphons against Equestria. And we beat them fair and square. Not to mention it happened over a thousand years ago. What would be the point?”
Moonshade shrugged. “Gryphons are sore losers.”
“They also like to cheat if they think they can get away with it and it’ll give them an advantage,” Grif pointed out. “At least the less honorable ones do,” he amended. “If it gets them in the history books, they don’t really care, since they think they’ll be the ones to do the writing.”
“Isn’t that arrogant?”
“Part cat, part bird of prey, remember?” Grif pointed out. “Ego is literally part of our actual natures.”
“It certainly feels that way at times.” Hammer Strike chuckled briefly.
“Was that supposed to be a dig at me from before we met up for this adventure?” Grif asked playfully.
A hint of a smile pulled at Hammer Strike’s lips. “I would never do such a thing.”
“Guys, he’s smiling. That’s a bad sign. We should probably get him to bed before he gets delusional,” Grif shot back with a smirk. Then he sighed, and his expression grew serious. “Okay, I have three questions for you. First, did you get to visit Fancy Pants yet? Second, did you take that trip to the armory that you planned to check up on armor from the Third Gryphon War era? And third, and most important of all,” he pointed at Hammer Strike’s ear as the color in his eyes darkened and his voice lowered into a terrible growl. The tip of the Earth Pony’s ear had been neatly severed. “Who did that to you?”
Hammer Strike gave a soft, short chuckle as Moonshade and Pensword finally noticed the injury themselves. “Took you long enough.”
“So, you visited the archives to find out more about what you would face, only to discover your future self had come to remove the things that you were hoping to find?” Princess Luna asked as the pair continued to pass through the gallery.
“That about sums it up, yeah,” Hammer Strike confirmed.
“It would seem that there are some things that, in order to succeed in the past, you should not know then. Or so one would assume. I admit I may have an inkling or two in mind, but if they are what I think they are, it makes sense why you shouldn’t be aware of them.”
“That’s … fair enough. Still a strange concept, I’d like to repeat.”
“You’ve met The Doctor, and you find the concept of preventing things you’ve already done from being changed a strange concept? I believe it is called a paradox, is it not?”
“The concept of me being wrapped in all of this is a strange concept,” Hammer Strike clarified. “Magic and time travel didn’t exactly exist in non-fiction where I come from. And being an average civilian meant I didn’t exactly have an exciting life.”
“That is fair,” Luna admitted. “There are many who yearn for such a life, but find themselves wrenched away from it against their will, whether by fate, chance, or the cruel machinations of others. The world is a harsh place. And though we pray to them, the gods are not always so kind. But I’ve a feeling you already knew that to an extent. And if our previous conversations are anything to go by, this strangeness is something you have or are currently in the process of adapting to. If there is anything I can do to aid you, however, you need only ask. I will do it if it is within my power.”
“I don’t plan on asking for favors.” Hammer Strike gave a brief chuckle. “I’m sure things will work out in the end, one way or another.”
“I believe you speak truth,” Luna agreed. “But that does not give us room to be complacent. If there is any way in which I can help to prepare you that does not go against the actions of your future self, I will gladly do it.” Then she frowned. “Though I would like to ask you a question, if I may.”
Hammer Strike hummed questioningly.
“This gallery is not only extremely remote by design, but is also heavily warded, and yet you seem to have walked through them all, blissfully unaware. I would like to ask you how this is so. If there is a fault in our security measures, it must be tended to as soon as possible. This place not only holds valuable treasures, but precious keepsakes and reminders that we would not see defiled.”
“I … just wandered.” He shrugged in response. “I wish I could say more, but that’s all I did.”
Luna frowned. “That is worrying. Though the fact that my own warning signals activated at least makes sure that the final lines of defense can be implemented effectively. It would seem that there is something unique about you to allow you passage here. If you are willing, I would like to observe as you depart from the gallery so that I may determine the cause.”
Hammer Strike shrugged. “Sure. I’ve got nothing else to do until my next meeting.”
Luna nodded. “You have my thanks. In the meantime, if there is nothing else you would like to see in the gallery, I would be happy to guide you wherever else you may want to go.”
“Got any recommendations?”
“That would depend on your tastes.” Luna frowned and rubbed her chin. “Though if you wish to acquaint yourself with armor designs, both old and new, the armory would not be a bad choice.”
“That would be useful.” Hammer Strike hummed in thought.
“We will, of course, honor your wishes if you wish to avoid ‘spoilers’ of things yet to come, and take the necessary precautions.”
“Some of the stuff I’ve made survived this long?”
“Are you really that surprised with how well one of your pieces sell on the market?”
“A little. Honestly, I find myself wondering how I’ve made it as far as I have, given I wasn’t even a smith where I come from. I just know most of the techniques because of my Uncle.”
“Those techniques are far ahead of the skills of many master craftsmen. If you truly are a novice, one shudders to think what a master can do in your world.”
“Quite a bit more, though they may have to adapt to the new methods they can utilize here. Given, you know, magic, new fuel types, new metals, etcetera.”
“And yet, I feel a certain excitement from you at the prospect of examining the arms that weren’t made by you. Or am I wrong?”
“I am quite interested, yes.”
Luna grinned as they strode through the gallery entrance and back into the disused hall. “I thought so.” Then she sighed. “It’s a pity that you couldn’t see it in its prime.”
“How bad is it now?”
“The toll of maintaining the matters of the kingdom by herself for so many centuries left the armory much neglected, unfortunately. Many pieces were not salvageable. I don’t blame my sister for this, considering the burden she had to bear. But I wish she had at least ordered for a smith or two to maintain the hall. It could easily have been a reward offered to apprentices to encourage them to work harder. To be frank, it’s a miracle the armor you made for me during the war managed to survive.”
Hammer Strike frowned in thought.
“Naturally, I won’t be letting you see it,” Luna added hastily. “However, since I doubt this is information you will come across in history books, I believe it is something I can give you safely. This armor was crafted by you to commemorate a momentous event in Pony history. To be specific, the day that I ascended as the High Chieftess of the Thestrals and united them with our forces in the battle against the Gryphons. It utilized one of those special materials that are not from your world.”
“Sounds like it must have been a pain to make,” Hammer Strike chuckled.
Luna grinned, baring her fangs. “I shall neither confirm nor deny, though I will say this much. All of Equestria's best smiths couldn’t manage to restore it.” She raised her horn, and the two soon found themselves standing before a heavy iron door in a flash of light. “Allow me a moment to prepare the chamber. When the necessary arrangements are complete, I will bring you in.”
Hammer Strike nodded in return.
It took fifteen minutes for the room to be prepared, but Luna finally emerged to grant Hammer Strike entry. “I’m true to my word. I’ve obscured or transferred everything you made. You may handle or observe the remainder as you see fit. You understand how to treat these pieces with respect.”
“All right. Let’s see what survived after all this time.” Most of the weapons racks and armor dummies were totally bare. Three standard weapon racks stood alone in a corner holding shabby excuses for weapons, most of which had been incapacitated by rust and aging. They would likely need to be reforged to regain the splendor they lost. A large pile covered in a series of white sheets stood off in the far end of the room. Luna knew better than to just toss those pieces uselessly to the floor, so it was likely that a spell or enchantment of some kind was being used to organize and protect each piece. The room smelled musty from its prior lack of use, though there was no current sign of dust, and the moisture content of the space was at a reasonable level to avoid causing significant damage, save in extreme circumstances.
“Not many pieces made it?” Hammer Strike looked to the empty racks.
“As I said, most of the pieces that did are Hammer Strike originals,” she said, gesturing toward the pile. “Though I suppose you could say you had a glimpse into one of your weapons when you saw my hammer. It was based in part on a design you forged once.”
“I … had anticipated more standard pieces to have made it,” Hammer Strike remarked, surprised. “Wait, hold on, your hammer was partially based on one of my designs?”
“Yes. I … hope that’s all right. You … had, or I suppose will have, a very large impact on my life.”
“I mean, I wouldn’t have any issues with that. I’m just surprised.” Hammer Strike looked to the large covered pile. “Just … did I truly make enough to warrant a cover of that scale?”
Luna smiled familiarly. “Would you believe that this is only a fraction of the goods you’ve made before?”
Hammer Strike blinked. “¿Qué?”
“So, it’s official now. I … really am going to be Pensword,” Pensword said as he and Moonshade strode through the streets. The quiet had grown almost unbearable after they parted from the Hammer Strike who was and yet was not their Hammer Strike. The fact that Pensword was destined to do such incredible and terrible things left him in a state of continually churning anxiety. And that pressure needed release.
“You’ve been him from the beginning,” Moonshade disagreed.
Pensword shook his head bitterly. “No. I’ve been on a journey to become him, but I’m far from the hero they talk about in the history books.”
“You fought bravely in two of the greatest conflicts that Equestria has ever known in its history and emerged victorious both times. Not because of luck, but because you planned ahead and fought with everything you could bring to bear. You did what was necessary, and you survived, despite the odds that were stacked against you and your friends. You’re closer to that hero than you think.”
“Not nearly close enough.” Pensword sighed. “In a lot of ways, I feel like a fraud. And I can’t help but wonder how I’m going to do all those things properly, and even let some of them happen, if I know what’s going to come.” He shook his head. “I know Hammer Strike said it would work out, but….”
“Then it will work out,” Moonshade said firmly. “He doesn’t lie. You know that.”
“War changes people, Moonshade.”
“Are you talking about Hammer Strike or yourself?”
Pensword winced. “Both, I suppose. I … I don’t want to lose this.” He pointed at himself. “I’m scared of what it might mean, to live a whole other life like that. Will The Doctor alter my memories and my body with his science? Will I just have to arrive at a key point and claim to be the hero while filling in a backstory?” He sighed and gestured toward his ears and mouth. “And then there’s these to worry about. Pensword is half Thestral. I’m just a Pegasus.”
“You are a warrior, Pensword,” Moonshade insisted. “That is enough. The rest will come on its own in due time.”
“So I literally have to fake it till I make it?”
Moonshade smiled and laid a consoling wing over Pensword’s back. “How do you fake yourself?” She shook her head. “No, you’ll be more than enough for any encounter we experience. We can leave the rest to fate and our actions.”
“You mean mine, Grif, and Hammer Strike.” Pensword sighed as his ears drooped. “I wish you could come with us, too.”
“You don’t need me, Pensword,” Moonshade assured him.
Pensword shook his head. “I think that’s where you’re wrong.”
The journey to the Hurricane estate was smooth, barring the occasional weaving through traffic in some of the more cluttered streets. The noble quarters were far less crowded, thanks to the lack of business for Ponies who bore no rank or had no bribes to offer. Since Princess Celestia’s return was a temporary one, the line of petitioners was still held off for now and awaiting the official re-opening after New Year’s had passed. As one of the oldest noble houses in the kingdom, the grounds and the manor itself were far larger than the average noble’s property. It made the Blueblood estate look more like a pond would seem when compared to a vast lake. However, unlike many of the other noble estates, these were divided in carefully regimented regions designed for all manner of training, supply, and defense, most likely to train up the next generation of the family in tradition, if not sincerity.
Guardhouses dotted the property in varying intervals, along with a long rectangular structure that Pensword could only theorize might be a barracks. A well could just be made out closer to the manor, a structure that was equal parts Earth Pony and Pegasus. The building itself was three stories tall, and stretched in a broad span with solid wooden structures and carefully designed shingles to give it a sloping appearance with just a few simpler ornate embellishments to meet the requirements of nobility. The remainder of the structure billowed and towered higher and broader as a veritable miniature fortress spouted seemingly from the roof and multiple windows of the manor in a display that was at once grandiose and intimidating. This was a house well maintained by its owners. And it was one that would serve well in defense of itself and those who took shelter within its walls.
“Well, we’re finally here,” Pensword said softly.
“You’re going to be fine,” Moonshade assured him. “There’s a reason why some called you the paragon of strategy.”
“That’s because I usually have a plan. You can’t exactly plan for something like this.”
“It’s not like you have to meet the Hurricanes you knew during the war. These Ponies are at least five generations removed. Like I said, all you need to do is be yourself. The rest will come on its own. And if you’re that worried about making a mistake, I’ll be there to help you through it. After all, I am your bodyguard, human,” she said with a nudge and a playful smile.
Pensword huffed and shook his head, even as his lips curved in a softer smile of his own. “Then I guess you’d best pay attention, huh, Thestral?” he asked in turn, returning the gesture. Finally, the pair arrived at the gate proper, where a Pegasus in shining armor called out in a commanding tone.
“Hold! State your name and business.”
“I am Lieutenant Colonel Moonshade of the Lunar Guard. At the request of Pensword Hurricane, I am escorting him to see what has become of the ancestral estate where he was accepted as brother and son. Please advise Lord Hurricane of our arrival.”
The guard looked long and hard at the pair. “That is quite a claim to make.”
“It is not one we make lightly,” Pensword returned with equal gravity as he produced a letter with Hammer Strike’s seal. “I trust you recognize this. And I also trust you know that nopony alive would dare to forge it while Lord Hammer Strike draws breath.”
The guard took the missive and opened it. “The rumors of your lord’s brevity are not understated.” He turned it to reveal three simple words.
Let them in.
Pensword facehoofed and sighed. “Yes, that is my lord all right.”
“I’ll have word sent ahead.” The guard opened the gates. “Welcome to The Eye. Please, follow me.”
As they journeyed toward the house, a Gryphon in the midst of a training session with some of the guards turned his head to watch the approach of Pensword and Moonshade, even as he casually deflected the sword strikes his opponents rained on him. “Too sloppy!” he shouted. Then he sighed and shook his head. “That’s enough. Back to the training dummies. I want another five hundred strikes from each of you. Your swings aren’t nearly strong enough.”
While the visitors moved along toward the main house, the Gryphon approached a large birdhouse segmented off for multiple nests. A few chirps soon had a pigeon cooing nearby. He returned the coos with a few avian calls of his own. After what appeared to be an extremely odd exchange to most outsiders, the bird nodded, cooed one last time, then took flight as fast as its wings would carry it toward the castle.
While The Eye was impressive from a distance, it became even more intimidating and beautiful as the party drew closer to the house. Not only was the stone sturdy, but the craftsponies who had carved and set it designed it in such a way to give the impression of winds and clouds to make the structure as fluid as the skies Pegasi called home before the great union took place between the three tribes. It truly was a union between the earth and the skies.
The journey through the entrance hall was nothing grandiose. No parade greeted them, and no ceremony was performed. Servants and guards flitted back and forth in the air or strode purposefully over the ground as their biology allowed. In due time, the two visitors were deposited into a room filled with pillows for comfort when Ponies needed to sit. A few wisps of cloud hovered in a bank at the ceiling as well for those who preferred to use them instead. At the center of the room, a massive table sat waiting for the guests that would be using it, whether for meetings or some other reason. An intricate design for Equestria and its surrounding regions had been etched and stained over its surface in exquisite detail. The rivers and streams looked so real that Pensword felt as if he would dampen his hooves if he touched it.
A tap sent a ripple through the structure as sigils and runes lit up and spread over the surface. In a matter of moments, what once had been rendered in two dimensions sprang to life, projecting cities, mountains, and more. “Is this…?” Pensword asked as he stared at the surface.
“I thought you might recognize it.” The voice was deep and gruff, tinged by one who is used to the authority of command and knows how to carry it well. As Pensword and Moonshade turned to face it, they were met by a dark bruise-purple Pegasus with a searing neon-white mane and tail. He didn’t carry armor, but his body was lean and fit, evidence of the regular training that clearly was put into practice.
“Lord Hurricane, Sir!” Moonshade offered a brisk salute to the Pony.
“At ease, Lieutenant Colonel. We are a military household, but this isn’t a formal visit, and I’m not inspecting you.” He smiled in welcome. “Commander Pensword, it’s an honor and a pleasure to have you back again after all these years.”
“Thank you,” Pensword returned the greeting. “I hope you will forgive me, but I haven’t been informed of your name yet.”
“Then we’ll have to remedy that immediately, won’t we?” The Pegasus laid a hoof respectfully to his breast and lowered his head. “Storming Hurricane, at your service, Commander.” He smiled. “And it’s my pleasure to say welcome home.” He strode to the table and brushed over its surface casually, bringing the map closer the edges of the continent. “As you already surmised, this is the planning table that you used during your tenure as Commander during the Third Gryphon War. One of many, but this one was used for one of the greater victories on record. We’ve kept it as a relic, a reminder, and a family treasure. As you and Grif were so famous for noting, history does not repeat itself, but it often rhymes. We try to prevent that from happening in our family.”
“A wise policy to keep in mind,” Pensword agreed.
“With your permission, Commander, I would like to introduce you to my father as well, Lord Lightning Hurricane.”
“We certainly wouldn’t mind, but may I ask why he wasn’t here with you to meet us?”
“There’s something else he wanted to prepare for you,” the stallion explained. “You did come unexpectedly.” He chuckled. “It almost feels like a surprise inspection.”
“I suppose it does, doesn’t it?” Pensword smiled in turn. “I apologize if my visit has caused any unease. I am not here to judge, only to see what has become of my foster family and learn how Equestria remembers us and our efforts.”
“In that, we can definitely help.” Storming easily deactivated the runes to return the table to its original state, then gestured toward the doors. “Follow me.”
It took a few hurdles to reach their destination. Sometimes that meant taking wing. Other times, they literally had to jump over barriers to the cloudy portions of the structure. Finally, the trio arrived before a set of ornately carved and stained doors painted with the Hurricane family crest that stretched over both of them, portraying the symbol of a hurricane superimposed over a roman shortsword piercing through its eye.
Storming Hurricane pushed open the doors with a flourish and bid them welcome. The room was carved from solid stone shrouded in a perpetual layer of cloud that flowed like breath. Banners, swords, and shields lined the walls, causing the mist to part for their display. War helmets and other relics sat on pedestals by the walls inside of glass cases to preserve their rest and grant a small window into the past from whence they hailed. An ornately designed rug spread over the center of the room, reminiscent of a Turkish design. Large high backed chairs and other types of furniture ranging from divans to settees and more laid with sturdy tables and stands designed to hold the weapons of friend and foe alike.
“Well, it’s about time.” The voice rolled with the rumble of thunder as a large gray stallion rose from his chair. Lightning Hurricane’s eyes were a neon orange that blazed with intensity and an inner will as wild and free as lightning itself. His black mane was lashed with streaks of radiant yellow rimmed with white to simulate the effects of electricity and plasma building. A pair of crossed lightning bolts poked out from the tornado that served as his cutie mark. And as he approached, he was revealed to stand almost as tall and broad as Big Mac. He grinned at the guests and his son. “I’m not sure how to greet you, given how distant our relation technically is. If you don’t mind, I’ll address you as Commander, unless you prefer Pensword.”
Pensword smiled. “My friends call me Pensword. And it is my hope that we can be friends and more. But for now, at least, it probably would be best to stick with Commander, Lord Hurricane. I don’t know how effective the title is in this modern day, but it is familiar to me in an unfamiliar time.”
“Then you honor my house. Though I suppose it is technically your house, too.” He smiled.
“It is an honor for me as well,” Moonshade offered. “House Hurricane has done a lot for helping the Lunar Guard regain their footing amongst the military.”
“You call this a military?” Lightning asked playfully.
“I call the Lunar Guard a military.” She smirked. “The solar guard is just a gentlecolts’ club.”
“With a few exceptions,” Lightning added. “Not many, mind, but I prefer not to drag down the ones who actually know how to be proper soldiers.”
Pensword smiled. “You’ll be glad to know we’re fostering many more of those rare ones back at the Everfree.”
“I’d expect nothing less from you and your companions.” He looked pointedly at his son. “Storming, it’s time for me to fulfill an old promise. You know what has to be done.”
Storming saluted his father and marched out the room, pulling the doors closed behind him with a grim expression. Moments later, the room seemed almost to pulse as the clouds roiled and thickened, spreading over the floor to the point where it was almost impossible to see.
“What is the meaning of this?” Moonshade asked as her body tensed in preparation for conflict.
“A security measure against intruders, nothing more,” Lightning assured her. “No harm will come to you or to Pensword. My family’s loyalty has and always will remain with Equestria and to its rightful rulers. A Gryphon’s specialty lies with the manipulation of stone through their craft. Ours lies with the manipulation of wind, water, and vapor. Not only will this veil obscure any treasures an intruder might wish to take, but it will also prevent them from leaving so much as a scratch on the walls without my permission.” He gave a mighty flap of his wings, and the fog over the floors dispersed to condense over the rest of the walls and circle around the trio in a dome. “A Hurricane is not only trained in tactics, but the careful manipulation of our natural elements. We don’t use them for the sake of games, public relations, and showing off, like the Wondercolts. We use them to defend what is most precious to us.”
He strode to a far wall. “There is a legend passed down through Equestria of a Pony who dared to challenge a Dragon and came out of that encounter alive. Not only did this Pony survive, but he managed to wound the beast and bring it to a standstill.” He glanced over his shoulder at Pensword. “But you know this tale better than any other ever could. To many today, it is deemed a myth perpetuated to raise the status of a great historical figure. But there are those few who know the truth and defend it. I am proud to say that my family is among those few.” With a few careful slashes of his wing tips, a layer of cloud was neatly segmented into a rectangle that rapidly burst apart and dispersed to reveal a stone marked with the house’s crest. “This is the only work we have ever allowed a Gryphon to make in our house, and it was only after ensuring their silence by a magically binding contract. With careful application of his hoof, the vapor in the room seeped into the mortar surrounding the block. A series of detonations emerged from the stone one after the other in a rushing staccato of pops. Then the stone broke free and fell into Lightning’s hooves. He placed it carefully on a nearby cushion, then returned to the surface.
Now that the stone had been removed, a door carved from crystal was revealed. There were no signs of chisel, nor any tool mark that could be seen. It was truly the work of a master, and one adorned by a familiar mark. Pensword gasped at the sight while Lightning Hurricane seized a handle and turned it to release the latch. “We have protected the truth of that story from neighsayers in the past. But we have done so by our words alone. Our charge has not been to share the proof, but to protect it and reveal it only amongst our family.” He reached into the depths of the vault and pulled out a long wooden case. “When last you spoke to my ancestor Tiberius Maximus Hurricane, you gave him something with specific instructions that it be returned to you when you came back to us, and that no other should know of its whereabouts save for us. Given its precious nature, I can understand only too well why you insisted on such precautions.”
Pensword took the case reverently. “Thank you. Is … is this what I think it is?”
“We’ve maintained it as best we could over the centuries. Time has necessitated certain adjustments, but it should still handle the same way it did for you during the war.”
Pensword lowered the box to the floor, flicked open the latches, and raised the lid to reveal the legacy he had left behind for himself. Lightning had dropped enough hints to tell the Pegasus exactly what he needed to know.
The weapon looked like a trident at first glance. Its many prongs and long shaft certainly hinted in that direction. But on closer inspection, Pensword came to realize that the curve of the supposed prongs and their smooth ends were more indicative of a familiar farm implement he had seen so many times while visiting the Apples at their farm. These weren't prongs, but tines. A makeshift prong had been forged midway down each tine, most likely a new addition that was added either later in the war or in the peacetime after to grant it more utility for causing damage when removing it from the enemy. Where the metal met the wood at the weapon’s base, Pensword found that his cutie mark had been carved to identify it as his own. The handle and shaft were made from fire-hardened red oak that stretched for five feet. A modification to the weapon included two bit points where a Pony could more easily wield the weapon with their mouth if needed. The weapon’s name was carved out in English, and he ran his hooves over the grooves. “Concord,” he breathed softy.
“As you said, this is an unfamiliar time. I hope an old friend may prove helpful to you as you continue to adjust.”
Pensword raised the weapon and tested it for balance before performing a few lunges and thrusts. “I believe it will.” He smiled then. “The additions were unexpected, but they are welcome.” He brushed the woodwork. “I didn’t expect my cutie mark to be placed on it.”
“It only seemed proper. The weapon is yours, after all.” Lightning nodded. “Though it’s said you once told my ancestor that this weapon was meant for more than war. ‘Concord is able to create as much as destroy. It can help or hinder because it was created to do what was needed.’ Whether that be to fight or to serve its original purpose in times of peace. Or so we’ve come to believe.”
“Strange, I don’t remember saying those words.” Pensword’s mouth curved in a smile. “But it certainly sounds like something I would say. My first father taught me much about the impact and power of the word, both written and spoken. It helped me to develop the charisma I needed to be a proper leader.”
“And to teach a proud colt a much-needed lesson in humility,” Lightning added with a wry smile.
Pensword brushed the weapon gently and sighed before placing it on his back. “Then, as a gift to my many times removed adopted nephews, allow me to make a promise. Should I fall in battle or become lost again, as I was after the Third Gryphon War, Concord will be returned here, to her home, to be kept or used by House Hurricane as it sees fit, whether for peace or for war. I trust you to do the honorable thing.”
“You really are worthy of the title Paragon.” Lightning smiled, then offered a smart salute to Pensword. “You honored our house then, and you still honor us today.”
Pensword returned the salute. “It was I who was honored, Lord Hurricane. To be considered adopted kin to one of the founding families of Equestria, as well as a great military commander in his own right, is a boon that cannot be rivaled. I must admit, it still feels like a dream when I hear those words. I looked up to Commander Hurricane as I grew up in Mountainside Falls.”
“And he would doubtless approve of you, Commander. His diplomacy left much to be desired. Yours, at least, had more reservation and tact.”
“Not always.” Pensword chuckled. “And Commander Hurricane did improve much after Equestria was properly founded.”
“Then it seems that you have more Hurricane in you than some might think.” Lightning smiled. “We’ve also made sure to preserve your estate and holdings in trust between the Bluebloods and ourselves over the years, since the founder of that house was a friend and comrade to you during the war. Certain things have been liquidated for the sake of convenience. Naturally, when you are prepared, we will assist you with the formalities of transferring ownership back into your hooves. Regrettably, we won’t be able to pay you interest, since a saving’s account was out of the question after your disappearance, but the princesses were adamant that the lands and funds be maintained for you or a direct descendant alone.”
“Our princesses have excellent foresight,” Pensword noted dryly.
“And their share of secrets?”
“So you’ve noticed that trait, too.”
“Part of the job of being a soldier. If we don’t have the clearance, we don’t ask.” Lightning chuckled. “But now is not the time to discuss such things. Now should be a time of celebration and reunion.” He closed the crystal door and placed the stone back onto the surface. Once more, he willed the vapor to enter the cracks. This time, the sound that emerged was a curious crunching until Lightning removed his hooves from the block, and it stayed. “A clever alchemical creation. The crystal reacts to water vapor. Feed it enough, and it will grow rapidly to adhere to whatever surface it wishes while it expands. Give it too much, and the bonds will destabilize and dissolve, not unlike a solvent.”
“Very clever,” Pensword agreed.
“It certainly helps to prevent the traditional methods of detection from succeeding.” With one more flap of his wings, the room returned to the way it was before, and he led them to the doors before knocking to exit. “Now, then, it’s been centuries since you were here last. Let me give you the grand tour. It’s only fair to get you reacquainted after all these years.”
Pensword smiled as Moonshade strode up beside him. “Yes, I think we’d like that very much.”
Hammer Strike was bored again. The visit to the armory was underwhelming, considering how few items could actually be viewed safely without risking pollution of the time stream. He was at once awed and frustrated at what that could mean. The number of pieces were difficult, if not impossible to count. That implied what could have been years worth of effort. Years that would be spent in the past. Not a few days, not an afternoon, but years.
He was not looking forward to that.
He longed for a distraction, but the halls were mostly empty. He could hear the approach of some creatures farther away, but that was of little concern right now. The meeting at Fancy Pants’ home couldn’t come fast enough. But even that thought did little to distract from the fate hanging over his head like an albatross.
Most servants in the palace tended to avoid him, so he didn’t expect to encounter any problems, nor did he expect for them to allow themselves to be seen. Those who did usually focused on their tasks and tried not to stare as he passed. He still felt them, all the same. He always felt someone watching. And that, too, at least in part, helped keep him from sleep.
However, it was not a stare that broke his stride in the end, but a squawk of surprise and outrage followed by the scrabbling of talon and claw before balance was restored. The Gryphon growled as he adjusted his silken robes. “Watch where you’re going, you ignorant buffoon!”
“Says the one who sharply rounds corners in a hurry,” Hammer Strike remarked flatly. He was not in the mood for this.
“I don’t have time for this,” the Gryphon snarled as one of his entourage handed him a small sheaf of parchments. One glance revealed a curiously detailed white feather with a black tip incorporated into the first letter after the medieval style of an illuminated manuscript before the papers were properly rolled. “Out of my way. I must find a Dragonfire lamp immediately.”
“Oh, don’t let me stop you. Not like I planned on wasting my time with this.” Hammer Strike rolled his eyes before gesturing for them to continue on.
“As soon as you step aside, we’ll gladly do so.”
Hammer Strike stared at him flatly. “... Really? Wow, you must have some fragile pride.”
“Do you know who I am, Earth Pony?” he growled as he eyed Hammer Strike. “Move aside!”
“I really don’t care who you are.” Hammer Strike took a step forward. “Do you honestly think I’d just bend upon hearing how special you must be?”
“One would think your kind would show some common courtesy,” the Gryphon growled.
“To repeat myself, says the one who bumped into me.” Hammer Strike sighed. “I suppose I shouldn’t have expected better.”
“Just move so I can be on my way.”
Hammer Strike rolled his eyes and pushed his way past the Gryphon. “You’re not worth the effort.” He sighed.
The Gryphon sneered, and there was the sound of metal on metal as weapons were partially drawn. “Watch yourself, you—”
“Is there a problem here, Sir Valerius, Lord Hammer Strike?” A pair of Solar Guard Earth Ponies strode around the corner and frowned at the sight of the delegates.
“Don’t believe there is,” Hammer Strike replied before slowly turning towards the Gryphons behind him. “Is there?”
The Gryphons blanched a bit, sheathing their weapons. “No, of course not,” the lead Gryphon said. “We were just leaving.”
Hammer Strike stared for a moment longer before turning his attention back to the guard and shrugging.
“May we offer you an escort, Sir?” the stallion asked the Gryphon.
“No,” Valerius said firmly, albeit hastily. Then he cleared his throat. “We’re fine.” With that said, they hurried off with the same, if not greater haste than what had led to their first collision with Hammer Strike.
The guards raised querying brows. “How odd,” the first mused.
“Would you care for an escort, Sir?” the second asked of Hammer Strike.
“I’m not in need of one. Thank you.” Hammer Strike shook his head. “I’m just wandering the halls to allow time to pass before my meeting with Fancy Pants.”
“You’ll find him in the art gallery, Sir. He decided to visit the castle for some reason today. I overheard one of the maids talking about it on our way here.”
“Oh, well, that works out then,” he replied with some surprise. “Here’s hoping he doesn’t mind an early chat.”
He nodded. “With your permission, Sir, we’ll escort you to the one in question. As I’m sure you’re aware, the princesses have quite the collection, and one gallery isn’t enough to hold it all.”
“Fair enough,” Hammer Strike agreed. “Lead the way.”
“So that’s the story, Joe.” Grif finished slurping his coffee. “What do you think about that one?”
Joe keeled over on the counter, tears streaming as he struggled to control his laughter. “Those delegates have been asking for it. You should’ve seen them in here yesterday.” He shook his head.
“They’ve been causing you trouble?” Grif asked.
Joe shook his head. “Tried, until they realized that I was the one serving them. Folks from the other side of the ocean seem to think too much about being better than others instead of helping them. You ever like that growing up?”
Grif laughed. “You know, Joe, life really has a sense of humor. I was raised a warrior, and I’ve probably killed more of my own kind than anything else. But it was never about proving I was better than anyone else. It was just about doing the right thing for the right reasons.”
“With your history, I’m glad you’re on our side.” Joe chuckled.
“I would’ve been regardless, Joe. There’s nothing acceptable about eating an intelligent being. Heck, I couldn’t even eat dolphin or otter as a cub. It was too weird,” Grif said, borrowing from his human beliefs as well as Grif’s history.
“Besides Thestrals, most Ponies don’t have to really think of that,” Joe replied. “No meat and all that.”
“Be glad you don’t. All veggie diet except milk and eggs, and maybe fish for Pegasi, and you all grow up sturdier than a brick outhouse.” Grif laughed. “If a Gryphon doesn’t eat his meat, he ends up sickly and small.”
“Jeez,” Joe replied. “At least you’ve got something to keep you going. I won’t ask what. I’d rather avoid that.” He chuckled lightly.
Grif pulled out his sack of bits and placed it on the counter. The sound of the door opening behind him was not unnoticed. Neither was the muted sound of grating metal. “Now, I hope what happens next doesn’t put anything between us, Joe,” he said seriously. “And if what's in there doesn’t cover everything, just make sure to get ahold of me in Ponyville. Now, if you’ll excuse me for a moment.” The Gryphon turned around and slammed his mug into the face of the Gryphon that had been approaching from behind. A small dagger fell from the would-be-assailant’s grasp and clattered to the ground. Grif then proceeded to grab the Gryphon’s head and slam its beak into the counter.
“Okay, first off, you were obviously contracted outside of Canterlot or you’d have tried this already. So let’s cover this once. Who sent you? The Gryphons?”
The assassin gurgled slightly.
“Yeah, I figured. Who in particular? Can’t tell me or they’ll kill you?”
Another gurgled reply as Grif bent his ear to listen.
“I figured that one, too. Well, thanks for what you could tell me.” Grif got up, and as he did so, sunk his talons into the assassin's neck to pierce his carotid artery and wind pipe. He grabbed one of the disposable napkins and wiped the blood from his talons. “Like I said, Joe, if that doesn’t cover everything, just let me know.”
“You’re getting the guards to clean this up,” Joe said bleakly.
“They should be down within the hour. If they ask, he killed himself,” Grif noted coolly as he walked out the door. Donut Joe’s had been empty when Grif got in, so fortunately all Joe had to do to avoid a scene was switch the sign to closed and pull the curtains.
Inside his mind, Grif, or more importantly Taze, was trying to figure out what he had just done himself. The human had no idea about the politics of battle and assassinations, and so he hadn’t figured the delegates would be so bold as to put a hit on him. Grif, however, had not only seen it coming, but had counted on it. It was strange, having such instincts and urges manifest so strongly in his mind. There were points where it was hard for him to tell where either started or finished. In other cases, the traits of one clearly ruled over the other like some kind of sadistic alter ego. As he pondered this curious change, Grif strolled up to some guards. “Donut Joe’s is in need of your assistance, gentlemen,” he explained.
The guards took one glance at the Gryphon and the spots of blood he missed that had sprayed onto his cloak. Then they looked at each other. “Blood feud?” one asked as if they were just discussing the weather. “If so, we’ll need you to come to our guard post to file a statement. As for what happens next, it’ll be up to the law to decide. If you have a lawer, I advise you call them as well.”
Grif shrugged. “Species feud,” he clarified. “I defended your tribes, and they didn’t like it. I will go quietly if need be, but I am staying at the palace, so it wouldn’t be too hard to find me. If it really is necessary, please inform Princesses Celestia and my lord, Hammer Strike, where they can find me.”
The Guards nodded as they wrote the information down. “We’ll need your name before we can move forward. After that, you can report to the guard station at the Canterlot Castle gatehouse. We’ll be there in about a half hour to question you. Or, if the situation is urgent enough and there is a trained interrogator, they will take your statement sooner.”
Grif nodded. “I am Grif, son of Graf. I hope this matter will be settled shortly,” he said before taking off in the direction of Canterlot’s gatehouse.
The guards took the name down and made their way toward Donut Joe’s. As they did so, the first guard turned to his companion. “Why does that name sound familiar?”
The second one shrugged. “No clue. Must be part of one of those mercenary bands that’re flying in. Been a lot of new recruits lately, from what I understand.”
“I’m very glad we could meet, Lord Hammer Strike.” Fancy Pants smiled genuinely at the Earth Pony after the guards finished their escort to the gallery. “I’ve been looking forward to this meeting since I heard of your resurfacing.”
“The feeling is mutual,” Hammer replied. “I know our meeting wasn’t meant to happen for a few more hours, but when I heard you were already here in the castle, I thought perhaps I could meet you early.”
“Well I’m glad you agreed to meet with me at all after the fiasco last night,” he noted. “Sorry. I pay various sources to keep me informed on things of note going on in the city. And the ... unique viewpoint of certain nobles is always of note, particularly at an event where a legendary figure such as yourself chooses to attend.”
“Indeed,” Hammer replied flatly. “It certainly is … something.” He sighed. “To be more specific, it’s rather insulting, especially to those who came and fought alongside me.”
“I hope you won’t take their words as representation for the entire nobility,” Fancy Pants said. “We’re not all so ungrateful, nor so bigoted.”
“I do not; trust me. Even in my time, there were still the … unsavory ones.” Hammer shook his head. “But enough about that. How goes it?”
“Curiously enough, ever since you came back, there’s been an increase in income for many nobles, myself included, despite the setback of repairs from the Changeling incident. Fleur and I plan to put it toward a new addition onto the Canterlot Home for Needy. Canterlot may be a rich city, but it does still have its problems, unfortunately.”
“Things tend to find a way to happen,” Hammer replied. “All we can do is plan and act.”
Fancy Pants nodded. “Fleur is of the same mind.”
“Lord Hammer Strike?” a somewhat gruff voice asked behind the pair.
Hammer Strike found himself looking at a young guard trying his best to reflect his seniors. “Yes? Did something happen?”
“Message from the castle gatehouse, Sir.” The newly minted guard offered a simple scroll.
Taking the message, Hammer Strike offered the guard his thanks before the young colt rushed off as fast as he could, a giddy grin plastered on his face in a very unguardsman-like manner. But that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. Hammer Strike couldn’t help but smile at the antics. Finally, he turned his attention back to Fancy Pants with a subtly raised brow. “Sorry, one moment.” The scroll unfurled easily, and his eyes trailed over the message with rapid speed before he paused and rolled the scroll again. His expression turned flat as he gave a soft sigh.
“Something wrong? Is someone hurt?” Fancy Pants asked.
“Possibly. It appears Grif had a bit of an incident, and my presence has been requested. I’m sorry, but it appears I have to cut this meeting short. I shall still be around for your invite.” He smiled. “Have a good day, Fancy Pants. And until we meet again, I bid you adieu.”
“If you need any legal help, just send me a message,” Fancy Pants offered as Hammer Strike left.
Hammer Strike gave a small smirk as he exited the room before his face fell back to flat. “Now…” He turned towards one of the guards stationed around the area. “Excuse me, could you by chance give me directions to the gatehouse?”
“Just follow this hallway to the front door. Exit those doors, continue down the main cobblestone path to the gate, and it will be on the left,” the Unicorn guard replied, indicating the proper direction with an extended hoof.
“Thank you,” Hammer replied. He soon found himself at the gatehouse. It seemed that somepony had told the guards what Hammer Strike looked like, as they immediately stepped aside without question to allow him entrance. There, in the front room, sitting calmly at a table, was Grif. Wasting no time, Hammer Strike looked directly across the table at what had to be the chief.
“So, what happened this time?” Hammer Strike asked.
“These Ponies seem to have mistakenly believed I killed another Gryphon in cold blood.” Grif shrugged.
“Did you kill another Gryphon in cold blood?”
“No.” Grif folded his arms. “He tried to kill me, and I reacted. There were witnesses. Well, there was a witness.”
The chief sighed. “Until we can verify just who the dead Gryphon is, we have to deal with this in a civil manner. At the moment, it is not cold blood, but we frown on Gryphons continuing blood feuds within our borders.” He paused as he really took a close look at the pair. “Uh, Lord Hammer Strike, as in Lord Hammer Strike of the Empty House?” he asked as he posed a quill over parchment.
“Not so empty, it seems,” Hammer chuckled. “Yes.”
“Ho boy.” The chief sat on his haunches with an audible slump as his armor clattered against the floor. After taking a moment to gather himself, he continued. “All right, so here’s what we’re going to do then. While the investigation is in process, I think I can let you go for now, Mister Grafson. You’ll just be going to Ponyville, right? It’s my understanding that two of the Shields are there anyway serving under your lord. They used to serve in our unit before they were transferred to the Bluebloods’ employ. If we need to call you in for more questioning, we’ll get word to them.” He turned to another guard. “Find out all the feuds that are active against Grif and the nobility connected to Hammer Strike’s name.” He paused, tapping a hoof against his chin. “Look in the ancient inactive lists as well from the wartime era,” he added.
“You might as well bring everything, soldier. Every family within Gryphonia, be they royal, noble, major, minor, commoner, or just about anyone else, really, probably has it out for me. I’m pretty sure the emperor keeps my picture on his dartboard,” Grif listed. “Oh, and apparently all the non-sentient penguins in the south. Don’t ask.”
The chief waved him off and heaved a heavy sigh. “I think I can already see why. Okay, Grif. Give us a week’s notice so we can beef security if you visit. We don’t want a dead Gryphon every time you come to Canterlot. It’s not like we can just ban you from the capital.” He paused as a thought occurred to him. “Now that I think about it, that goes for your entire house, Lord Hammer Strike. Or what’s left of it, anyway. They might go after you to get to Grif.”
“I highly suggest you have your men study Ramifications of the Third Gryphon War by Purple Pansy. It has lists for each of us, names of sworn blood oaths, even a graph to show the approximate hatred we’ve amassed,” Grif noted.
“Not sure if I am proud or … worried,” Hammer Strike commented with a thoughtful gaze. Then he shook his head. “Nah, I don’t feel worried.”
“I must say, gentleponies, you handled yourselves incredibly well, and I shall be sure Celestia only lectures you on your negligence mildly. Until then, I bid you adieu,” Grif said with a bow.
“We were only doing our job.” The chief shrugged. “I wouldn’t care if you were a high House member, or even one of the princesses yourself. If you break the law, you’ll have a visit from me.”
“Yes, but you didn’t send a message to the princess as I asked,” Grif noted. “And also, I gave you my name, spelt it out for your books. History should never be ignored, lest you are forced to repeat it. And your country can scarcely afford to repeat anything.”
The guard that had been sent to gather the materials necessary to begin the proper profiling flopped a massive stack of papers on an empty desk before speaking up. “In the last decade, we’ve had six killings, all of which used either your name or a claim to your bloodline to try and keep the charges small. As you said, not only are you despised by the Gryphonian Empire, your name has become a word to condone certain murders and killings. So as much as we may or may not have wanted to believe you, we had to take what you said with a grain of salt and follow procedure.”
Grif smirked. “Then I will bear that badge proudly.” Then he laughed.
“Bear what proudly, Grif?” Celestia walked into the room with her usual grace and a scroll held under her left wing. “My apologies for not coming sooner. I had to deal with greeting the incoming Zebrican delegation for some trade discussions. I’m afraid that means I’ll be tied up here for a while yet, so only my sister will be returning to Ponyville for the New Year’s Eve celebration.”
“The matter is well in hand, Princess.” Grif chuckled. “The assassin has been dealt with, and your guards have investigated the matter. I must ask, though. When was an eye witnesses not enough to ward off suspicion in Equestria? Your flair for the judicial system seems to be slipping.”
Princess Celestia offered only a wan smile in turn. “Regrettably, the past has also shown that witnesses can be bought.” She shook her head as she looked at the prostrate armored equines. The stack of papers that had been so carefully placed now lay scattered across the room thanks to the rush of motion. “Rise, my guards. In official matters like this, one does not need to bow. It takes away from your duties and tasks.” With a casual flick of her horn, the papers were reorganized on the table. The guards rose to their hooves hesitantly. “Now,” Celestia continued, “I have the report confirming that Donut Joe was not lying, nor was he bribed. And I can assure you of its veracity, having conducted the interrogations myself. Also, I assure you that these two, and the rumors of Pensword’s return, are real. I commend you for adhering so strictly to your duty and the protocols that have been set by precedent. Seeing as this is a rather unique situation, however, certain protocols may need to be loosened in the future regarding these three. There will be no need for chastisement. I merely advise you to trust and believe these three from now on. They have proven themselves to be true and loyal friends to the kingdom, and they would die before they betrayed that trust.”
She smiled sweetly. “It is a relief to know that the royal lawyers won’t have to be consulted in this matter.” Then she turned that smile on Hammer Strike and Grif. “Why don’t you two come back to the palace with me? I would gladly have you over for some afternoon tea and cake.” Then she turned back to the guards. “Please return the weapons you confiscated, and remove the talon guards you’ve placed on Grif. He is no longer a suspect, and he won’t be needing those where we’re going.”
Fifteen minutes of re-equipping later, Grif and friends walked out of the gatehouse smiling. “Well, I’m glad that's over,” he said.
Hammer Strike shrugged in response.
“So that means I got one up on you.” Grif smiled.
“Give it a day or two,” Hammer Strike chuckled.
“How long do you figure they’ll keep trying?” Grif asked.
“For a while, without a doubt. Right now, I’m just wondering who’s next, as it is probably coming up soon.”
“Guess we’d better find Pensword and Moonshade,” Grif noted. “They're certainly not going to take a shot with an Alicorn less than two meters behind us.”
“Certainly, but he is at House Hurricane if I remember correctly,” Hammer replied.
“Then we’d best make our way over there,” Celestia said. “Calmly, of course. I doubt they’ll be in any danger while they’re with Lightning Hurricane, but once they leave his estate, it will be another story.”
Concord laid uncomfortably across Pensword’s back as he and Moonshade bade their goodbyes and began to walk through the capitol’s streets. The air was cold, as winter air should be, but the wind wasn’t biting or chill, thanks to the ever-vigilant weather patrol.
“I have to admit, I didn’t expect to be given something like this,” Pensword said, gesturing toward the weapon.
“It’s no different than any of the weapons Hammer Strike forged lasting till now,” Moonshade said. “You just have to look at it in that light.”
“Perhaps, but it doesn’t change the weight of expectation behind it. Just because history says I made it through a war doesn’t mean I want there to be one.”
“We didn’t want one either, and yet, we had no choice.” Moonshade smiled sadly. “You know well what happens when tyrants are allowed to rage unopposed.”
Pensword sighed heavily. “True. Our world has seen its share of them, too.”
Moonshade looked up at the sky. “There’s still daylight left. If you’d like to go somewhere else, we should have enough time.”
Pensword pondered that carefully. “Do you think we could visit the Gryphon quarter? It feels like ages since we saw the Traitor’s Tail.”
“I’m not entirely sure that’s a wise decision,” Moonshade pointed out. “You’re not going as Matthew the human right now. You’re going as Pensword, the commander. There are probably many there who would be willing to welcome you, but there are many more who would doubtless want to kill you after the dishonor you brought to their ancestors.”
“You mean the dishonor I’ll bring to them. It hasn’t happened yet.”
“And yet it has and will.”
Pensword groaned and shook his head. “Did I mention I hate time travel?”
“Yes. On several occasions when you discuss the one you call The Doctor.”
“Give it a while. You’ll get to know him yourself at some point, I’m sure. Especially if you keep with us.”
“Perhaps a visit to some shops or a restaurant?”
Pensword considered that for a time, then shook his head and sighed. “No, I think the next place I need to go is … somewhere you’re not going to like.”
“What do you mean?”
“Pensword is a hero in Equestria, especially among Thestrals. You said so yourself. In all the time Pensword has been back from the dead, has he even once gone to see how his people are doing here in the capitol?”
Moonshade’s face hardened. “Pensword….”
“Moonshade, you know I’m right. It makes sense.”
“Not from a tactical standpoint. It’s asking for trouble. At worst, you might cause a turf war.”
Pensword shook his head vigorously. “No. You know as well as I do. The Gryphons may not always stand on the right side of the law, but they know the rules. They know better than to risk attacking any Pony in the open. And it’s a place where we can call for reinforcements quickly if they’re needed.”
“Are you suggesting asking civilians to sacrifice themselves if someone does choose to attack you?”
Pensword’s expression hardened. “You know me better than that, Moonshade.”
As they made their way toward the Gryphon and Thestral quarters, they found themselves having to make detours on the way, broken stalls or upturned cars seemingly placed randomly creating new obstacles as they walked. Moonshades eye’s narrowed a bit after a while.
“You saw it, too?” Pensword asked. “They’re being too sloppy.”
“They’re herding us.” She nodded while speaking quietly.
“They also seem anxious to keep their cloaks close. Any time there’s a breeze, they reach to secure them. That would imply they may be trying to hide something, don’t you think?”
“They’re likely assassins,” she said. “Someone wants us dead.”
“You mean someone wants me dead,” Pensword returned. “You’re just my escort. If worse came to worst, we could use the element of surprise, give you an opening to get help while I bait them.”
“I’ve been your escort long enough that they aren't likely to overlook me if they’re sending people after you. Like it or not, our fates are tied.”
Pensword chuckled. “By the red string of fate?”
“Not entirely sure what you mean by that, but the metaphor seems adequate.”
Pensword blushed and nodded. “How close are we to the main square of the quarter?”
“I’m not sure. Fairly close, I think, though they may try and herd us farther away.”
“Any chance we can try flying to get away?”
“We wouldn’t make ten feet.” She shook her head. “Gryphons learn the bow as soon as they’re able.”
“I assume the same goes with wall jumping?”
“A fair guess.” She nodded.
“We’re going to have to shake them at some point or try to break through, then,” he murmured casually as they took yet another turn. “That or break into someone’s house to try to lose them.”
“Honestly, fighting is the better option if we can get them into a confined space.”
“We’ll need to do it somewhere we won’t end up hurting civilians, then. Most Gryphons can hold their own, but I don’t want any cubs getting hurt.”
She nodded. “Just keep your eye open for something we can use.”
“Should we try arguing? It could draw some ears our way.”
“If we find a good spot to make use of.” She nodded. “It’s not a terrible plan.”
“You think they’ll be that accommodating?”
“I think we need to come up with something quickly.”
“I’m open to any ideas that don’t involve noble sacrifices.”
“Give me a minute to think on it. Act natural.”
“Isn’t that what we’re doing anyway?”
Moonshade didn’t answer as she took in their surroundings. She was running out of ideas when she caught sight of a symbol on one of the buildings. “Trip and fall,” she said quietly.
“Do you have any idea how hard it is for me to do tha—?” As if in answer to their need, Concord suddenly slipped from its place. Whether it was due to the balance thrown off by their gait or something else, the weapon clattered to the cobblestones, but not before it tangled one one of his hooves and raked across one of his fetlocks. Pensword wasn’t about to waste the chance, and to freeze or move too quickly would alert their attackers. Instead, he hissed in pain and crouched to look at the wound while reclaiming the weapon.
Moonshade moved in and almost seemed to pantomime examining it. “Put your wing on my body and lean on me while we walk,” she said, escorting him toward the building.
Pensword nodded. “Let me put Concord back first,” he said aloud, rising to his other hooves while favoring the one that had been injured. He did as bidden, laying a wing on the mare for support before returning the weapon to his back, then limping with Moonshade’s assistance.
With that, she led him into the Northern Isles Trading Company building, thanking the moon that she remembered what the symbol meant.
There were a total of six Gryphons present in the space. One was busy manning the counter while the other five were tending the shelves and restocking supplies from bandages and other medical items to basic survival gear and leather pieces ranging from quivers to pauldrons and more as needed by the customer. A single set of metal armor sat on a mannequin shaped like a Gryphon to provide scale and proportion for a customer to consider.
“Welcome to Northern Isles Trading. How may I help you today?” the Gryphon at the counter asked. He looked his customers over with the double eyes of a predator and trained bargainer. Though the two were practically twins at their basest form. “Don’t see many Pegasi around this quarter,” he noted casually, even as he eyed the pitchfork. “Particularly not wielding farm implements.”
“We need help,” Moonshade said quietly. “We’re being tailed by someone. They’ve been herding us.”
“And what sort of help are you expecting to receive?” the sales Gryphon asked. “I can offer you an excellent kit to deal with your wound,” he noted idly. “Very high quality. The injury is self-inflicted, I assume?” he asked as he snapped his fingers and an employee carried the product over. “It includes salve for disinfecting, of course. And a number of tonics to treat basic venoms and poisons you might encounter in the wilds.” He approached the pair with practiced ease. “Naturally, I may be convinced to offer a small sample if you are looking to verify our product’s quality.
“Do you know who this is?” Moonshade asked.
“Do be quiet, girl. The adults are talking,” the Gryphon murmured out the side of his beak as he reached into the kit to remove a small sealed bottle. “Ah, yes, numbing agent. Just the ticket. Bit of a waste to use on a wound like this, but a few drops shouldn’t be an issue,” he said in his more public voice. The stopper was easily removed, and a cloth held against it to take the slightest portion, as the Gryphon promised. Then he added a portion of salve and applied it to the site with a bandage wrapping. “That weapon shouldn’t be here,” he noted. “Not unless the Northeast Protocols have been activated. Have they?”
“Lord Lightning Hurricane placed Concord in my care. Returned it, to be more accurate,” Pensword noted as the wrapping paused briefly. “And you should know that if I had tried to steal it, then I and my companion would look far worse than we do now. And Canterlot would be swarmed with guards. Please, don’t stop. We don’t have much time. Our adversaries will only wait for so long before they either attack the shop en masse or send one of their own in to keep an eye on us.”
“We were contracted to protect the weapon, not its owner,” the Gryphon replied as he finished his work with expert care.
“You make it sound like we can’t pay you.”
“Protection services are expensive in the capitol. Particularly when not associated with any of the main mercenary groups.”
“And you can accept the word of Commander Pensword Hurricane that they will be paid,” Pensword returned.
“No,” the Gryphon replied as he rose back to his full height and laid the case on a counter nearby. “You’re not Commander Pensword.” He smirked mischievously and pulled back his sleeve to reveal what appeared to be a leather wrist-guard with a raised cylindrical covering. “At least not yet.” Then the Gryphon winked at him.
Pensword’s mouth dropped agape. “No,” he murmured.
“Oh, don’t worry. I’m not the Pony of the hour. But I have kept my eye out for you and your friends to come back.” He chuckled. “I just didn’t expect it to be before you really came back. I wonder how it’s going to happen. Could be a vortex manipulation, I suppose. Or a time rift. But only functioning manipulator in Equestria’s with me, so that’s flat out.” He flipped open the case to reveal a sleek metal finish underneath and a flickering screen with a number of buttons. “Given where we are in the time stream, this must be about when….” He hissed. “Ooh, Black Tips.”
Pensword groaned. “Why did it have to be him? Why couldn’t it be the Brigadier?”
The silence that occurred was deafening as all action within the room seemed to still at the utterance of the assassins’ name.
“Black Tips?” one Gryphoness asked angrily.
“Oh, yes. By now, I’d wager there are probably dozens of them at least in the city, possibly hundreds. Depends on the size of the bounty. Which, according to my records is….” He whistled. “Wow. You guys really pissed someone off. Interestingly enough, give it a few decades or so, maybe a generation or two and the Black Tips will have a real renaissance in a good way. Of course, that depends on if the seeds get planted at the right time and place, which, interestingly enough, is right here in Equestria, with Grif Grafson no less. But that’s then, not now.” He walked casually behind the counter and pulled out a black collapsible bow. He kissed the bow and smiled. “Winds, I missed you, girl.” Then he strapped on a quiver and sword. “What are you all doing standing there? Arm up! Or are you actually going to let those assassins get away with sneaking in under our noses?”
There was a flurry of motion as warhammers, axes, bows and quivers were distributed, and the Gryphons readied themselves for what was to come.
“One of you needs to get word to the other Gryphons in the quarter,” Pensword noted. “The more people made aware of it, the harder it will be for them to act. And the easier it’ll be to hunt them all down.”
“Sorry to disappoint, but we don’t have a secret passage. What we do have are six extremely well trained warriors who know how to take on just about every form of Gryphon combat known to Equis. And in my case, on twelve other worlds at least.”
“Jack Harkness,” Pensword groaned again.
“Harness, actually,” Jack corrected. “But close enough.” He grinned. “Let’s see how these guys fare against a Gryphon who can’t die. And as for the rest of you, if you don’t escort these two to safety and raise the alarm, there’s not going to be a future in Equestria for you. So I expect you to put in the work. Otherwise, Grif Grafson will probably come to kill us all himself.”
One of the others nodded as they and another Gryphon moved to show Pensword and moonshade to the backroom. The others prepared to fight.
“Not to insult your prowess,” Pensword said. “But with the number of Gryphons that we passed, we don’t have a guarantee that they’ll all be stopped here. If there’s no hidden exit, is there a place we can break out if need be to widen the field of battle and potentially summon reinforcements?”
“Don’t worry.” One of the Gryphons leading them smirked. “We know what we’re doing, this isn’t our first rodeo.”
“Those aren’t your typical bulls either,” Pensword noted, then growled to himself. “And here I thought Sombra was the last we’d have to deal with for this.”
“You’ll be fine,” Moonshade said. “Just be ready and keep on your hooves.”
Pensword nodded. “The sooner we can end this, the better. Is there a way we can get word to the Thestrals from here? Some sort of secret signal or something?”
“Depends if they have a dog whistle in here,” she noted.
“Seriously?”
“These ears aren't for show.” She wiggled them lightly. “The right notes can be used to signal Thestrals far away.”
Pensword nodded. “If there is one here in the store room, is there a window or something we can use to try to get the word out?” he asked of the Gryphons who had escorted them in.
“Don’t worry. We’ll have something for you,” she said.
They were led into a large reinforced storage area. Crates and shelves were packed in the far side of the room containing various goods. The room did indeed have a small singular window on the wall that could be opened from the inside only. The outside was coated in bars to prevent thieves from breaking in. The female Gryphon unfolded her bow and drew an arrow before scanning the window to make sure there was no one planning a shot from the outside.
“Clear,” she called, stepping back.
“And the whistle?” Pensword asked.
“Check the crate in the corner,” she noted.
Moonshade checked and found the whistle after finding a false bottom in the apparently empty crate, along with several more bows and a quiver of emergency arrows.
“We’ll need to be ready,” Pensword noted. “If Gryphon ears are sharp enough, our assailants might hear it, too. Don’t let yourself be too exposed, okay, Moonsahde?”
Moonshade nodded her understanding and approached the window with whistle in hoof. It didn’t take long to crack the window and push the end of the whistle out of the gap in the bars. Then she began to blow carefully while using a hoof to partially cover the end of the whistle. Pensword winced as he heard the sonic frequency for the first time in his life. It wasn’t pleasant, but it was bearable. After repeating herself three times, Moonshade retracted the whistle.
“Once more into the breach,” Pensword mouthed, pulling Concord off his back and giving a few experimental thrusts and parries with it. “I prefer my wing blades, but I can make do.”
“And you’ll have to.” Moonshade sighed. “Honestly, we’re extremely lucky for all this.”
“Just don’t go and say it’s fate.” Pensword smiled. “I’d rather not jynx it.”
She rolled her eyes and got ready at the entrance to the room. “Just be ready.”
“Sure thing,” Pensword said as he followed her example. “Just as soon as I meet him.”
Further conversation was cut off rather suddenly as the sounds of fighting broke out outside the room. It was obvious their attackers had made their way inside.
It took ten minutes or so before the first of the assailants managed to break through and began working on the door. Pensword and Moonshade’s escorts shifted, getting weapons ready for what was to come. “Looks like we’ll get some fun after all,” the female said.
“And here I thought you said you wanted the quiet life of a merchant,” her partner sassed.
“Doesn’t mean I can't enjoy this,” she chuckled.
“... Gryphons seem to love combat a little too much,” Pensword muttered to himself. “Is it a trait of their species or something from their gods?” The question helped to give his mind something else to ponder than the worry. And as he brandished Concord, he braced for the fight to come.
One of the Gryphons shrugged. “A little of one and a little of the other.”
It seemed an eternity of waiting for their enemies to break through, as they were constantly harried by the others as they worked. Given the boasts of the Gryphon Jack Harkness, it may well have been possible. It is difficult to subdue that which cannot truly die. But despite the efforts of this universal constant, eventually, the doors yielded with the ominous cracking of splintered wood as five Gryphons in cloaks forced their way through. Two of them were immediately beset by the ponies’ escorts.
Moonshade was ready, putting herself between Pensword and two of the attackers, her sword in her mouth as she swung, just clipping off the assailant as he danced away. Her eyes shrunk to slits as she growled. Pensword was too important to lose here, and she would make sure he would live to reach his future, no matter the cost. She kept the two’s attention, doing her best to dance away and trade simple blows, sacrificing minor cuts in exchange for successful tactics. Her armor kept most of the more serious blows at bay. But as in any battle, there is always one move that can mean to a warrior and victory for the opponent. Moonshade lunged for a stab, giving the impression of a feint gone awry. As her sword sunk into her opponent’s neck, fire blossomed from her right shoulder as talons raked deep into the flesh, then finally retracted and fell limp with the assassin’s death.
She winced at the pain as her second opponent struck from behind to keep up the momentum. A skilled swipe nearly took her head, slicing a part of her mane instead before she retaliated with a powerful kick to the Gryphon’s chest plate. The impact sent the assassin stumbling back on their hind paws as she lowered herself to the floor again and turned. The pain was settling in now, and on top of the burning and the warm liquid seeping down her foreleg, she felt the throb of her heartbeat slamming against the injury like a battering ram in rapid time. Slowed by her injury, she did her best to keep them on the back hoof as she kept on with several wide slashes. The Gryphon recovered their balance and locked blade to sword. Raw bulk and hungry steel struck against what the assassin knew instinctively and professionally to be a weakened defense. However, not everything in a battle goes as planned. And this holds true for both sides of combat.
The metal rang and crashed with the full force of the impact. But the much anticipated burst and skittering of shards followed by the satisfying cry of flesh and armor wrenched apart never came. The blade, though thinner than the Gryphon’s, seemed almost to glow with the mare’s defiance. Lunar steel, much like the Lunar Guard itself, does not yield so easily.
“How—?”
Moonshade didn’t give the murderer the chance to finish. Taking advantage of the momentary shock, she shifted her stance and broke the balance to slide the two blades apart and side-step the blow by a hair’s breadth as she guided it beyond the point of recovery. Then she shifted her blade point and thrust through her opponent's chestplate with all of her strength. The Gryphon shuddered, then stiffened before it collapsed, taking Moonshade’s sword with it.
While Moonshade fought in her battle, Pensword was left to face the final enemy. He held concord out in front of him as they circled, cursing himself that he hadn’t taken the time to familiarize himself with polearms. All he could do now was try to get a feel for the pitchfork and pray it would be enough, all while looking into the eyes of a beast hungry not just for prey, but for the thrill of the kill itself. Pensword did not like those eyes. And he soon found himself glaring back as heat burned in his chest. Not the cold fire of anxiety, but something hot and outraged. Like a wolf staring down a lion to protect its cubs, so now did Pensword face this enemy, knowing that should he fail, the past and the future would be lost forever.
The pitchfork was held shakily as he attempted a series of weak thrusts and swipes. The Gryphon chuckled and dodged the would-be blows with ease, then landed several minor strikes to Pensword’s side, using all the tricks of the trade to seek out the gaps to exploit. Like all cats big and small, this opponent liked to play with its food. Sometimes, the assassin would strike deliberately at the Pegasus’ armor to jostle and weaken him as red streaks became more and more apparent midst the blue of his fur, and weariness caused the Pony’s blows to come slower and less steady. Pensword’s forelegs ached from working muscles that weren’t used to the style of polearms. The fatigue of the long weapon continued to wear him down. His legs began to shake. And then the Gryphon began to laugh.
“This is the great Pensword of Mountainside Falls? This is the Commander of Equestria’s military? Pathetic,” the warrior mocked. Then his face contorted in disgust and contempt as he raised his weapon to strike the final blow. As he thrust forward, Pensword’s legs finally buckled and caved just as the gryphon’s arm extended to pass over his head, sword and all.
Pensword knew he wouldn’t have another chance. With all the strength that remained in his limbs, he seized Concord’s haft and thrust it upward with all the force he could muster. The head of the pitchfork met brief resistance, then, mingled with the remaining forward momentum generated by his opponent, the tines pierced through. The Gryphon let out a squawk of surprise, followed by a grunt, a groan, and a final sigh. The creature’s full weight fell on Pensword and Concord both. A loud crack filled the air as the wooden haft broke, taking the weapon’s head clean off as the assassin fell to the earth and slid off to the side, bleeding ever so slightly around the points of entry.
Elated though he was to have survived an attack from a creature he had never fought before, he knew better than to celebrate just yet. he forced himself to his hooves and found, to his surprise, that his legs wouldn’t stop shaking as he panted and looked to Moonshade and their two guards. “Are there,” he huffed, “any more?”
“It sounds like the fighting’s slowing down,” one of the guards noted. “I think we survived this attack!”
Pensword nodded, but something in his mind made him feel this was just a lull. The battle was not over, not yet. He shook his head. “Hope for the best, plan for the worst. Moonshade, how much longer do we have till those relief forces can get here?”
“Shouldn’t be more than five minutes.”
“Half an eternity,” Pensword muttered as he pulled the other half of Concord out of the dead Gryphon. “Now I need another weapon. Unless one of you has a repair spell or something.”
One of the Gryphons offered him a dagger.
“Thank you.” Pensword took the smaller weapon and tested it a few times, both with hooves and wings. He winced slightly as a jolt of pain struck at his left wing joint, then faded just as quickly. “Looks like I may need to be careful about flying for a bit….”
“The fact we only had four assailants must mean the others were able to deal with the rest. That, or lead them off,” Pensword mused. As the adrenaline faded, his body began to ache and throb with the taut muscles finally starting to loosen themselves again. He gazed around the room and peered at an old mirror. A few small cuts could be seen, but nothing that appeared life-threatening, at least on the outside. If anything, he felt almost numb. The occasional pinprick of muscle falling asleep would jab at his legs and flanks, but nothing too serious or extreme. He counted himself lucky in that regard. If even one movement had gone wrong, that Gryphon’s beak and teeth would have been the last things he saw.
Pensword worked his forelegs gingerly and stretched his good wing to try to work out the aches and the pinpricks, but the prickling sensation only increased. A light sense of dizziness struck as the pinpricks broke out over his scalp, and he swayed on his hooves as he shook his head. He raised a hoof to peer at some of the scratches his opponent had left behind. “Did they…?” His tongue felt thick and ungainly as he smacked his lips and tried to swallow. His jaw hung open slightly. And as another dizzy spell struck, he thought he saw a Thestral appear through the broken doors. A heavy smock stained with all manner of colors from years of use hung from her neck. She didn’t look like a guard, but maybe the call could be answered by civilians, too. Thestrals were much more suited for combat situations, anyway.
Without warning, his wing suddenly dropped to the floor. It felt like someone had weighed it down with lead balloons. “Huh. Would you look at that…?” His speech was slurred, and the room suddenly felt like it was starting to tilt. The clatter of metal barely reached his ears, more like the tinkling of a tiny bell. He didn’t even care that he’d dropped the one weapon he could use in his defense if the enemy came again.
He wasn’t quite aware of what happened after that. Things felt … strangely giddy, and he giggled as the tingling became almost pleasant. It was a game now, seeing if he could lift a leg or form a sentence. And every attempt left him feeling all the more absurd with nothing to filter this almost childlike wonder.
He laughed, and laughed, and laughed. And then, as if someone had pulled the cord on a lamp, it was dark.
Silvery light pulsed in gentle pools as glowing slitted eyes peered down at him in worry. A heavy bandage was wrapped around his wing, and a number of smaller treatments had been applied at his other wound sites. The flutter of a cape immediately brought his gaze to Moonshade, who stared at him with equal measures of relief and fury.
“What … what just happened?” he asked.
A hoof pressed against his forehead, and a pair of Thestrals in armor bearing a red cross on the breastplates nodded to one another. “I think it’s safe to say he’s past the worst of it.”
“Worst of what?”
“It seems your opponents have many concoctions at their disposal. You weren’t poisoned per se, but you were certainly incapacitated. It’s a lucky thing you didn’t have to fight more of them before we arrived. There are certain herbs and plants that, when properly refined and mixed with other substances, will create a form of drug that not only acts as an anticoagulant, but a powerful anesthetic. It’s quite possible to leave your opponent helpless, even as they die laughing at your hooves until they lose consciousness.”
Pensword shook his head. “I’m familiar with anticoagulants. Still, … that was some powerful anesthetic. I haven’t felt that way since….” He shuddered as memories of the operating room returned. The cold hard surface of the table. The glaring lights. The gowns and masks. And most of all, the worried faces he’d see on his mother and father just before getting put under. “What’s the danger of addiction to that effect?”
“There is minimal danger,” the physician assured him. “However, most hospitals use other methods to sedate patients unless a Unicorn isn’t on hand to assist, so there aren’t many documented cases to fall back on. Most Thestrals who utilized this method have emerged with little side effects. However, we may need to reconsider the merit of conducting such studies after tonight.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Pensword asked suspiciously as he narrowed his gaze.
The medic maintained a stoic expression. “Better that you see for yourself, I think. Do you feel well enough to stand up?”
“I don’t feel dizzy or nauseous, if that’s what you mean.”
“Lieutenant Colonel, if you would be so kind?” the medic said. “I will support on this side, just in case. You take the other to keep him steady in case there are after-effects.”
Moonshade nodded and moved to support the other side quickly.
Pensword huffed as he raised himself to full height. “You said those were anti-coagulants. Just how much blood did I lose?”
“Enough for us to worry for a time. We kept you under observation after we stabilized you. The Lieutenant Colonel knows how to evade the attacks that would have run deeper. By the time they landed that blow by your wing, you were pretty well anesthetized. It’s astonishing you weren’t losing more blood than you did already. The best we can theorize is your muscles seized to apply pressure at the vessels, thus reducing the outward flow enough to give us the time we needed to arrive and treat you. If it weren’t for that cramping, it’s very possible you’d be facing Faust or The Moon by now.”
“That’s … surprising. And worrying.”
“Yes,” he agreed. “Your Gryphon friends left to search for their fellows and to spread the word among the remainder of the populace.” He motioned toward a pair of guards stationed at a window while two more soldiers retrieved the curious stones that had been the source of light and placed them in closed off lamps. They made sure the structures were properly shut before the guards at the window pulled off the covering that had been placed there. Sunlight streamed in, stinging Pensword’s eyes, and he hissed in pain.
“Is light sensitivity supposed to be a symptom?”
“It’s a side effect of your condition, Commander,” the physician explained. “You’ll get used to it in time.”
“Are you saying that substance changed my vision?”
“As I said, it’s better to show you, Sir. Take your time to adjust first.”
It took two minutes before the tears stopped flowing from his eyes, leaving behind a riverbed of drying salt in his fur. “All right, what is it that I have to see for myself?”
The two led their patient to the old mirror.
“You may want to steel yourself,” Moonshade offered.
The glare made it difficult to see at first. But as they drew closer, and the angle of light shifted, Pensword was finally able to see what had left both Thestrals feeling so worried. Two glowing eyes stared back at him. A shock of silvery-white mane flowed between a pair of new tufted ears and down his back to shine against the darker navy blue his fur had taken on. His feathers had also darkened to match. Despite his loss of blood, he felt a strange sense of power building inside and pushing out as he took in the sight of two prominent fangs. Suddenly, his memory of hamburgers and other meaty dishes returned with a vengeance, and his stomach growled as saliva built in his mouth.
“So, … this is how it happened,” Pensword said slowly as he wiggled his ears and watched and felt the tufts swish through the air, the sensation alien yet strangely elating. “But I still don’t understand how it happened. Why would a paralytic and anesthetic do this?”
Moonshade was currently unable to say anything, being equally baffled as she looked him over.
Pensword offered a weak smile. “Well, I guess this means I can be welcomed on your hunts now.”
Shaking herself from her stupor, she gave a shrug. “Maybe. We’ll see if you can keep up.”
“Is it odd to say I’m looking forward to it?”
“All banter aside, once we give you the all clear, we advise you make your way back to the palace. We’ve sent a double to the hospital in your stead, so it should buy you some time to blend in with the crowds,” the medic replied. “We’d offer you an escort, but a certain officer deemed it more of a hindrance. I have to admit, she has a point, given the current situation.”
“Can I even blend in like this?” Pensword asked.
“We prepared a spare set of Lunar Guard armor for you. It should help you to escape most of the scrutiny so long as you keep to the ground and blend in with the crowds.”
“A tall order.”
“But doable,” the medic countered.
“My things?”
“We’ll make sure they’re returned to the castle safely.”
Pensword sighed. “We don’t have much choice, do we?” he asked Moonshade.
“Not really.” She shook her head. “But it’s probably for the best.”
Pensword nodded. “Then let’s get started.”
“Well, that was a total bust,” Grif said as they left the gates to the Hurricane estate. “Where do you think they went next?”
“It’s difficult to say,” Celestia noted. “If we had a personal object, I could track them that way, but without that, barring a vision, we’ll have to rely on chance for now.”
“Nothing can ever be simple.” Hammer Strike sighed. Then his ears twitched, and for just a moment, he thought he could hear a child laughing.
Grif smiled, and as he spoke, it seemed as if there were two voices instead of one. ”Where’s the fun in that?”
Hammer Strike briefly turned his focus towards Grif before turning forward once more. He hummed to himself in thought.
“You okay, Hammer Strike?” Grif asked.
“Yeah, just … thought I heard something strange,” he dismissed.
Celestia frowned. “Strange how?” she asked.
Hammer Strike would never have the chance to answer, however, as a great halloo blasted from farther down the city.
“What in the world…?” Celestia began. “That’s the call for reinforcement from the other garrisons. We haven’t had to use that call in centuries.”
“Then that’s where we need to go,” Grif said grimly.
Celestia nodded. “Get close to me,” she instructed. “I may not have exact coordinates, but I can get us closer than if we were to walk or fly.”
It wasn’t quite the same as Twilight’s teleportation. There was a bright light, but this came with a curious warmth as well that washed over their figures like immersion in a warm bath. A few moments later, they materialized in a lower section outside a garrison where guards were hastily mobilizing with weapons in hoof. Celestia gazed intently at the troops, even as they gaped at her.
“I need somepony to explain what is happening here. The rest of you, continue your efforts.” Her voice was still soft, but her expression hardened, and the tone with which she spoke brooked no argument. It wasn’t the bark of a field marshal, but it got the job done.
“Field Marshal Bright Star, Your Highness,” a Unicorn introduced himself brusquely with a salute. “The source of the trouble seems to be emanating from the Gryphon and Thestral quarters of the city. We don’t have a full grasp on the situation, but it’s clear some kind of conflict has broken out.”
“I see.” Celestia narrowed her gaze. “Thank you, Field Marshal. Return to the mobilization. Hammer Strike, Grif, and I will ascertain what we can. With any luck, we won’t have to rely on your forces.”
“Faust willing, Your Highness. Gods be with you.” He saluted and returned to the mobilization, bellowing commands and pushing the guards to move faster.
“I hope you two are ready for a fight. I hope to disperse the crowd, or at least stop it long enough to get some answers. But if I can’t….”
“We’ve been in a fight before, Celestia,” Grif said as he drew his swords. “Beam us over there.”
This time, the heat was just short of scalding, and the effects of the arrival were more widespread as the three appeared in the sky. Grif flapped his wings, and Celestia held Hammer Strike aloft in her magical grip. The scene below was bedlam as Gryphons pinned one another down, seemingly tearing each others’ plumage left and right. Talons flashed, and the clash of weapons rang mingled with the cries of troops both solar and lunar as they struggled against the wave of fury that was the Gryphon Quarter.
The Canterlot Voice burst from Celestia with as much force as the miniature corona she had manifested with their teleportation, and her mane seemed to glow with that same solar fire while the rainbow colors of the hairs flickered as a great bonfire. “WHAT IS GOING ON HERE?”
The fighting stopped at the sudden onslaught to eardrums and eyes. The Guard looked at their ruler with respect. The Gryphons looked on in, if not terror, then certainly fear. For the moment, that fear had wrested control from their ire. There was no telling how long that would last.
“I WILL HAVE NO FIGHTING IN OUR CAPITOL. NOT TODAY. SPEAK! FOR WHAT REASON HAVE YOU BROKEN THE PEACE?”
Pride was a core of Gryphon nature. And pride allowed one to break the spell. A familiar Gryphon rose, clutching a fistful of feathers. He lowered his head respectfully to Celestia in acknowledgement of the power she wielded. “Princess,” he greeted gravely. “My name is not important. You need only know that we have a mutual acquaintance in a guest called Artemis. It is a sensitive matter, and one which we clanless take personally.” He presented the feathers. “One can only assume this is Grif Grafson.” He nodded to Grif. “My family hails from your homeland, though it no longer exists as it once did so long ago. The princess trusts you. Surely, you know the significance of these, and what they mean to us.”
Grif looked intently at the feathers, his eyes darting over every feature, crevice, and follicle. On every single one, a black mark lay at the ends. No two were exactly alike, indicating not a natural coloring, but some form of dye. “... How long since the discovery?”
“Too long. We don’t know their numbers, and we don’t know their aims. But we know how to identify them.”
Grif shook his head. “They wouldn’t be stupid enough to color their wings before entering the city. What you’re doing here is a witch hunt. There is no honor in that.”
“We will not tolerate that filth being on our streets!”
“And nor will we,” Grif returned with a bleak stare. “You know full well that no ordinary target would draw their gaze. You see two of them now. We go to collect the third.” His beak hardly moved, but his voice carried clearly to Celestia. “Amplify my voice,” he whispered. Then he cleared his throat and yelled for all the quarter to hear.
“Gryphons of Equestria! Be you clanless, natural born, or exiles, I don’t care. Hear me! I am Grif, son of Graf. You know of my return, and the return of my lord and fellow servant from the Crystal empire. Our return has been verified, and doubtless word has been carried to the far shores of Gryphonia, where honorless dogs cower before our names, fearful of what havoc we yet might wreak by the mere fact of our existence against their plans and machinations! Already, they have sought my life, and they have failed. Do not aid them with fruitless strife and persecution! We have had enough of purging in the empire.
“Return to your homes, and trust in me, my lord, and Commander Pensword to deal with them. For on this day, I, Grif Grafson issue a challenge to all Blacktips within Canterlot. Come for me. Come for my lord. Come for Pensword, if you dare. But know that the moment you do, your lives will be forfeit, and we will wring the names of the cowards who brought you forth from exile from your beaks before I send you off to face the judgment of the Winds.
“Justice will be done, but it will not be served through bedlam and baseless accusation. Again, I urge you, return to your roosts, your homes, and your business. Do not give them the chaos they desire to more easily pass through the city undetected. My brothers, my sisters, my fellow Children of the Winds, rest assured that the race is not yet over, and the reason of the East Wind must prevail. Then, and only then, will the North have its say, and I will rain vengeance and justice with my lord upon all those who dare to do him and our home harm. You have my word. And you know that I will never break it. What say you?”
The crowd murmured under the watchful gaze of Grif, Hammer Strike, and Celestia. At last, the Gryphon who brought the feathers in the first place sighed. “All right. I’ll bring my people with me. But I can’t speak for the rest of the clanless.”
“That will be enough. The rest who want to start something will have to deal with me and Hammer Strike. And anyone who tries to rile up the rest could easily become a prime suspect. I won’t hesitate to kill them if that’s what it takes.”
A rustling passed through the streets, as if a breeze had played with their feathers. Surely these hardened warriors couldn’t be shaking. They would never do such a thing. That would be cowardice.
But whether reason or cowardice, the crowd did start to disperse, and the trio settled slowly to the ground as guards streamed in to expedite the process.
Grif let out an explosive breath as he let the role of the warrior fade to return to his normal self. “Well, that just happened.”
Celestia frowned. “This is serious, Grif. Black Tips are outlawed in Equestria and Gryphonia both. They’re among the best of the best. You shouldn’t drop your guard. And you definitely shouldn’t be putting a sign on your back.”
Grif shrugged. “I already have a sign on my back. So does Hammer Strike, and so does Pensword. What matters is how we use that to our advantage. And the sooner we find Pensword, the sooner we can do that.”
“Think he’s on his way back to the castle, or heading towards this incident?” Hammer Strike pondered.
“Has he ever let someone in trouble go without trying to help?” Grif shot back.
“How far out do you think he might be from here?”
“Knowing him, he’ll probably be galloping up here in the next few seconds, unless he’s been attacked. Then he’ll probably still be coming, just more cautiously.”
“Leaning towards been attacked. It’d line things up.” Hammer Strike frowned in thought.
“And it sounds about right for all the chaos we usually have to deal with,” Grif added. “Seriously, Sun Butt, you need to look into that. Things are happening way too much lately. I know I cursed you, but I didn't think it’d be this bad.”
“You could always take it back, Grif,” Celestia returned with a playful smile.
“Please. I’ve faced loads worse than this.”
“What’s everyone talking about?” True to their predictions, Pensword approached with Moonshade supporting him. A red bandage close to one of his wings indicated the location of the cut that had nearly cost him that appendage, and the dark armor of the Lunar Guard gave him an entirely different appearance when paired with his recent changes.
“If it weren’t for your voice and mark, I’d question the appearance shift,” Hammer Strike remarked, looking over Pensword. “Good to see you’ve already got some treatment. How are you feeling?”
“Upset and … more than a little confused,” Pensword admitted. “But we’re alive. What happened here?”
Hammer Strike looked to Celestia and Grif before returning his focus. “A lot, honestly.”
“So we heard,” Moonshade noted. “That was a good speech, Grif. But I can’t say I’m surprised after being with you for so long.”
Grif shrugged. “What can I say? Drama just comes naturally for me.”
Pensword sighed. “We had to kill them. There were five in total. We had help from some locals. Two took two of them. I was able to take one. Moonshade took the other two. She called them Black Tips.”
“Yes, we were just made aware of the situation ourselves. It seems that at least one of them was caught by one of the Gryphons here in the quarter. The … disturbance that drew you here was a result of that discovery. Many Gryphons in Equestria have strong feelings against that particular group of assassins,” Celestia said.
“Last I checked, murderous intent was more than just a feeling,” Grif pointed out.
“I think they surpassed intent at that point,” Hammer Strike noted.
“Point,” Grif conceded.
“Am I correct in assuming this has something to do with what we do in the war?” Pensword asked.
“Give the Pony a prize,” Grif replied.
“Grif may have also mortally offended four ambassadors from the Gryphon kingdoms in the empire while simultaneously putting the fear of Faust into them. Or The Winds, I suppose, since those are the deities they worship,” Celestia noted.
“You flatter me, Princess,” Grif returned.
“So we should expect more assassination attempts. Great….”
“Just be glad it’s only us they’re targeting,” Grif said.
“Moonshade wasn’t just us,” Pensword returned with some heat.
“Moonshade can also take care of herself. Unlike most of the guard, she’s a competent warrior, not a glorified civilian.”
“Is that supposed to make it better?”
“Would you rather she wasn’t?”
“I think your point has been made, Grif. I can defend myself without your help,” Moonshade said. “It would be more productive to plan for the next attack, not squabble over who may or may not be at fault for something that was inevitable in the first place.”
Pensword sighed and reined his frustrations in with visible effort. “All right. Moonshade has a point. Have we all been attacked at this point?”
“Nope,” Hammer Strike spoke up. “They’ll likely come for me next.”
“Then we need to plan to capture them alive, make them talk,” Pensword insisted. “Then we can end this all in one swoop.”
“Part of me feels like they’re prepared to die in some capacity when they come for us.” Hammer Strike frowned in thought.
“Most assassins are. At least of the Gryphon variety,” Grif said. “They’d rather die than betray their contracts.”
“So what do we do, then?” Pensword asked.
“Go about things as usual.” Hammer Strike shrugged. “They’ll come for me when I’m open and not in a group.”
“And then?”
Grif smirked. “The oldest strategy of videogame lore.” The smirk shifted to a cheeky grin. For some reason, a Spanish guitar started playing in the background as the Gryphon spoke in an accent that was not his own. “Group up, and hit it till it dies!”
Somewhere in the distance, the enthusiastic cry of Bulk Biceps carried through the air as he finished his workout. “YEAH!”
Pensword facehoofed.
Hammer Strike yawned as he strode through town. His meeting with Fancy Pants was finally coming up, and so he decided to wander in the general direction of the lord’s estate. Unlike the battle with Baron Blueblood’s allies, this would be a meeting with Ponies he knew he could trust. That was a rare thing to find in the murk that was palace politics.
He passed by stores and restaurants, taking in the sights of Canterlot and committing them to memory once more, this time from the perspective of all fours, rather than the bipedal motion of a human.
That pleasant sensation of casual enjoyment and anticipation endured for all of about five minutes, right until he rounded a corner that took him through a less traveled thoroughfare. The side street was empty, the buildings close enough together to deprive it of the afternoon light. It practically screamed ambush. And the growing sense of unease and watching only confirmed his suspicions. The unwelcoming nature of the path didn’t discourage him, however, and he pressed on, knowing what was to come.
After all, this was what he wanted, was it not?
For anyone else, the blade may have gone unnoticed until it dug into the wall. However, Hammer Strike was not anyone else. He picked up the sound just a few moments before the blade made impact, and moved his head to the side, his heightened perception allowing him to see the blade fly close enough to clip some hairs off his muzzle. In the time most people would be just figuring out what had happened, Hammer Strike was eyeing the blade in the wall and mentally tracing its path back the way it came.
As he looked to the entrance to the alley, five cloaked Gryphons encroached, accompanied by the sound of grating metal as each produced a large two-handed sword. Although the blades weren’t large enough for Hammer Strike to call them true greatswords, they were formidable in their own right.
“Looks like I wandered into an odd neighborhood.” Hammer Strike hummed. “Well, come on then. I know there’s more than five of you.”
Without a word, two of the would-be assassins charged him, the first going higher and aiming for the Pony’s upper body and head while the second attempted a swipe for his legs in the opposite direction of their partner’s sword. If successful, the scissoring maneuver would cut him in triplicate.
Hammer Strike, however, was not most opponents. In the short period between the twin lunges and their interception, he analyzed the situation and acted accordingly. He pulled his sword out and held it forward vertically before chopping the center. The scissor blades found themselves blocked as the greatsword met both of the enemies’ swords near the hilt. The Gryphons staggered briefly, but were able to just maneuver out of the way of Hammer Strike’s returning blow. Had it struck, the two would have dropped their swords from the recoil of sheer brute force.
The assassins spread out, both going for a simultaneous thrust. Hammer Strike danced back to avoid. However, he was not fighting only two opponents. A third Gryphon had positioned himself during the fight and struck at his flank, damaging his coat and leaving a painful but shallow cut near his cutie mark.
Hammer Strike growled in frustration. “I just got that stitched from last time.”
Hammer strike whirled on the third and attacked with a single fluid swing. The assailant expectedly brought his blade up to block. But to his shock and Hammer Strike’s surprise, when the greatsword made contact, there was no resistance. The blade sheared through the Gryphon’s sword, and then his neck. A second later, the shocked head fell to the ground. As Hammer strike turned to the group, the air around his blade roiled from the intense heat of the suddenly glowing orange weapon.
“Useful,” he muttered.
The Gryphons charged him, letting out a cry somewhere between a war cry and a mournful wail. The rest of the fight took moments, though it may have seemed longer to the combatants. Hammer Strike alone stood as the final Gryphon slumped to the ground, its armor little more than slag. The slight scent of cooked meat and the acrid smell of melting metal filled the alley. He had only a moment to observe the black-tipped feathers that showed beneath the cloak of his last opponent before more Gryphons appeared at the alley entrance.
At the same time, he gave a sharp and abrupt flick to his sword in a habitual attempt to clear it of blood.
Only … none stuck to the heated blade.
Hammer Strike sighed. “You’re all gonna make me late for my meeting.”
Hammer Strike stood amongst the carnage, panting, though not heavily. The blade cooled slowly in his hooves as his temper began to ease. Battered, decapitated, disemboweled or in one case eviscerated bodies of his would-be-assassins had been strewn all around the alley and square, marking the path the battle had taken. The good coat Rarity had gone through so much trouble to repair for Hammer Strike was stained red with a good deal of blood, a mixture of his own and the Gryphons’. Cuts and bruises covered his body, though only two or three of them seemed to be deep, including a set of three scratches on his front where one Gryphon had attempted to claw him desperately as the Pony prepared the finishing blow. That was the currently eviscerated Gryphon. One Gryphon lay not too far off, purposefully left alive, though death probably would have been a mercy at this point. His right hand was gone, as were his wings. His left hand was devoid of talons. Nineteen Gryphon corpses dotted the surrounding area. This last one would be left alive for questioning. The only thing that could be seen that was undamaged and not bloodstained was Hammer Strike’s sword itself.
“Now.” Hammer Strike took a small breath. “Now,” he repeated, directing his attention to the survivor. “You and I, … are going to have a little talk.” He exhaled, making his way over. “That is, if you don’t want me to prolong things. We’ll even start simple. Got a name?””
With what little movement he could manage before shock stole his faculties, the Gryphon curdled in the back of his throat and spat at the approaching equine. He missed his mark.
Hammer Strike took a moment before shrugging. “All right then, Nameless, we’re going the hard way.” He approached the assassin and hovered his sword over one of the Gryphon’s wounds. “My blade’s still hot, so I can make this much worse. I’m not above doing what I must for information. If you won’t say yours, how about who sent you? You’re dead either way.”
“Then I shouldn’t tell you anything, should I?”
“True, you could say nothing.” Hammer Strike shrugged once more. “However,” he proceeded to press the heated blade into the Gryphon’s wound. “I learned how to make things quite regrettable. Do you think they’ll keep you alive longer than I would?”
The assassin ground his teeth together and groaned intermittently, but he refused to give the satisfaction of a scream. “Do you,” he huffed, “really think I wasn’t prepared for torture?”
“You’re prepared for torture of another Gryphon, maybe of some of the guard here.” Hammer Strike lifted the blade. “Were you prepared for me to do it personally? Your kind, especially, should know exactly what I’m capable of.”
It was one of the oldest problems in the world, the problem of mutually assured destruction. However, in this case, it was not a matter of one enemy defeating or destroying the other and themselves, but rather which enemy would destroy the Gryphon first. And as Hammer Strike said, which could do worse. Worse still, that damned Pony had managed to knock out his failsafe. The hollowed tooth lay a few feet away among the remains of his comrades. “Damn it,” he swore, then cried out as Hammer Strike twisted the knife. The searing increased, and the scent of cooking meat and scorching feathers began to carry on the air. “Fine!” he snarled. ““We were hired by a patsy, knowing the targets probably came all the way from King Grask Bloodbeak himself.” The Gryphon spat again as the blood continued to congeal in his mouth. “We were paid five hundred gold beaks up front, and promised a shipload more when the job was done.”
Hammer Strike hummed as he removed the blade once more. “All three of us?”
“Five hundred for the Pegasus, a shipload for you. The traitor is worth a king's ransom if he’s brought in alive. We planned to sell to the highest bidder if anyone managed the feat.”
“Fair enough, I suppose. How many more will be sent to their graves before the point is made?”
“You know the tenacity of our people better than most. It will take what it will take. Numbers are meaningless when it comes to killing you.”
“Yeah, that sounds about right.” Hammer Strike sighed. “I think I got most of what I wanted. Name?” He questioned once more, lifting the blade out of the Gryphon’s sight.
“... Why?”
“Because I’m giving you more honor than you should expect from me.”
“Where is the honor in failure?”
“There is honor in facing me and lasting the longest of your compatriots.” Hammer Strike sighed. “You know my legend, and not many of the ones I face are remembered. You will be.”
“Why would you do this for me?”
“You’re prolonging things with questions yourself now,” Hammer Strike noted.
“... True,” the Gryphon agreed. “And it seems I am close to the end even now.” He seemed to be having trouble keeping his eyes open. “I am called, … was called Argos Rainfeather.”
“Then, Argos, I hope the afterlife is everything you deserve. May your Winds grant you peace.” Hammer Strike finished, and in one abrupt movement, cut clean through the Gryphon’s neck. He took a moment to breathe before flicking his blade to the side, noting how it was finally cool, and sheathed it.
He sighed audibly and rolled one of his shoulders to release the tension that had been built. “If you’re done watching, the threat has been handled,” he called out.
Two lunar guards emerged seemingly from nowhere as they approached the pony from the darker shadows of the alleyway. “You knew we were there?” one of them asked.
“I can tell when Luna is hiding in a shadow. Do you think standing in the shade would make things harder?” Hammer Strike raised a brow.
“Considering the number of Gryphons you were able to dispatch yourself, it’s no surprise that you would be so capable,” the other Thestral replied. “Are you well? These assassins often use poison or venom to ensure their victims’ demise.”
“Beyond the feelings of being cut and stabbed at, I feel fine. A quick patch for my open wounds should be enough.” Hammer Strike removed his coat and folded it up. “I don’t feel slowed, weakened, or otherwise disposed. Though I do feel a little annoyed at having likely missed my meeting with Fancy Pants.” His dress shirt was surprisingly in good shape, though stained faintly in small patches of blood.
“There may still be time, but it might be wiser to reschedule. Most nobles prefer not to see clothing soaked in the blood of enemies. If you prefer to go still, we can arrange to have one of your coats delivered within the next five minutes, along with a medic to do that ‘quick patch’ you mentioned.”
Hammer Strike hummed in thought before shrugging. “Eh, why not? I should have a couple spare coats in my room.”
The soldiers nodded, and the matter was seen to, true to the Thestrals’ words. Within the next five minutes, a detachment of guards had arrived with the medic and coat. And true to the stereotype of a good doctor, the medic wouldn’t back down, even to Hammer Strike. “Hold still. I’m running a tox screen on you.” The medic’s horn glowed scarlet as it ran over hammer Strike’s body. First her face went pale. Then it flushed red as she ran through the spell a second time. Then it grew even paler. “How are you even standing right now?”
Hammer Strike raised a brow. “I mean, they didn’t really cut at my legs—” He cut himself off as he looked to the several cuts that covered his legs. “Nevermind, they did.”
“I’m not talking about cuts. I’m talking about toxicity! There’s enough manticore venom in your bloodstream to fell a fully grown Minotaur!”
“Really?” Hammer Strike looked at his legs, followed by his torso, before shrugging. “I don’t feel it. In fact, I feel about as I usually do, apart from the cuts and stab wounds. Though, that’s strangely become more normal.”
The medic sighed. “I’m told that most magic won’t work on you without sufficient trust and permission, so we’ll have to do this the other way. But I highly recommend seeing the princesses or going to a hospital for a proper detox.”
“So long as I’m fine, I’ll head to Celestia after my meeting. Though, to alleviate any potential things that may be said, if things become worse, I’ll send word to her.” Hammer Strike turned his attention to the guards that arrived. “Any info on the bodies?”
“Preliminary investigation indicates these were elite ranked Black Tips. Each of them was branded with a raven where their feathers met their fur. They knew nothing less could have a chance of killing you,” one of the guards replied.
“Elites?” Hammer Strike hummed. “What would you rank them under for how dangerous they are?”
They’re among one of the most notorious branches of the Black Tips. It’s been said that a small party of them managed to sneak into a Dragon’s cave and kill it before it could even sense their presence. They’re shunned by most Equestrians, but even known assassins acknowledge their skill.”
Hammer Strike frowned in thought. “Admittedly, while they were skilled, there were still a number of flaws in their methods. Though, I also stopped keeping track after the thirteenth one.”
“You’ve just spat in their faces, Sir. They may stop to reassess for a time, but I wouldn’t be surprised if these assassins go after you specifically in their next attempt. After what you did to their bodies….”
“To come for my life, or the life of those near me, is to be prepared to die,” he stated bluntly. “By any means I have at hoof.”
“We don’t doubt it, Sir. Now that your more serious injuries have been tended to, would you like an escort to your next destination?” the Thestral asked as he proffered the black variant of Hammer Strike’s coat that had been packed as a spare.
“I should be fine. Fancy Pants’ estate isn’t too far from here,” Hammer Strike replied as he changed into the new coat and swapped the contents of the pockets. “Good choice on picking black, by the way. Would you mind delivering this one back to my room?” he asked, holding up his bloodied blue coat. “I apologize for the errand work.”
“It will be done,” he promised. “Though I can’t guarantee what might happen should your companions see it. History tells us that they are … very protective of you.”
“Yeah, they certainly can be.” Hammer Strike chuckled as he rolled his shoulders. “Potentially as protective as I am of them.”
“Do you have any messages you might wish us to give them if we do run into them?”
Hammer Strike hummed. “If it comes to it, tell them, ‘Try not to overstress yourselves. I’ll be fine.’”
The guard nodded. “We’ll make sure to give them the message.”
“Thank you,” he said, giving his neck a quick pop. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a meeting with one of the rare nobles I can not only tolerate, but consider a friend.” He paused. “If any of you have questions about the details of this little scuffle, I’ll be back to my room by five.”
The parlor in the Fancy Pants estate was what one might expect from a well-to-do noble with so many contacts throughout the kingdom. It was ornately decorated in mild shades of cream and pink modeled after the Phrench influences Fleur carried with her. Although the style of the room’s design leaned more toward fru-fru, it was not the overwhelming eyesore that many other nobles seemed to take pleasure in creating at their own manors. And, given enough thought, Hammer Strike reasoned that those other rooms were probably like that with the specific intent of trying to match or somehow supercede the atmosphere that Fancy Pants and his wife seemed to create so easily here.
Fancy Pants smiled in welcome as he rose to greet his guest. “Hammer Strike. So good of you to come. I was worried we were going to have to reschedule. I trust everything is all right at the castle? Fleur tells me there was quite the scuffle in the Gryphon quarter of the city.”
“It was certainly a sight,” Hammer Strike agreed. “But ultimately not the real reason for my late arrival. Apologies for the delay. I was held back by some … important matters, you could say.”
Fancy Pants nodded. “Say no more. A Pony knows when to pry and when to let a friend keep their counsel. Please, take a seat. A dining hall is hardly the place for an intimate meal, so I took the liberty of having something set up here instead.” He turned to face a coffee table and gestured with his horn. In a matter of moments, it transfigured into an ornately carved wooden table complete with solar and lunar motifs. The old yin and yang symbol that represented the two sisters sat clearly in the table’s center, rimmed in gold with what appeared to be a chain attached to it. “Apologies for the gaudy display, but that’s what happens when I pair magic with my special talent.” He sighed. “Fancy is sadly more than a name in this case.”
“It’s all right.” Hammer Strike gave a small smile.
“I’m glad you understand. If it weren’t for my Fleur, I’d be absolutely miserable surrounded by all this frippery. May I offer you something to drink while we wait for the meal?”
“Just water is fine.”
Fancy Pants smiled and nodded as a beautiful white Unicorn with a pink mane striped by a lighter shade of the same color approached, levitating a pitcher.
“I had a feeling you might say that,” the mare said with a knowing smile. Her Phrench accent was strong, but her Equish was well enunciated and easily understood.
“Hammer Strike, allow me to introduce my wife and the love of my life, the beautiful Fleur de Lis.”
Fleur offered a graceful curtsy. “Charmed,” she returned.
“A pleasure to meet you,” Hammer Strike returned with a low nod.
She gestured to the table as she levitated a glass and poured for the guest. “Our dinner will be more simple, but no less flavorful than what one might expect. While we trust our staff, there are many who are still in awe of the legendary Hammer Strike.”
“Pair that with the disturbances earlier today and we decided it would be best to send most of them home,” Fancy Pants finished. “Most of them have families of their own to take care of, so there weren’t many complaints.”
“That’s perfectly all right.” Hammer Strike gave a brief dismissive wave. “I prefer a simple meal with simple plans. It’s a calm aspect of life that I’ve lost, that I used to enjoy.”
“Oh?” Fleur asked, intrigued as a chef wheeled in a salad bowl for the trio. “Are you a gourmand as well, then?” she asked curiously.
“Though I don’t have much of an appetite, I suppose you could say so.”
“I hope you’ll pardon the impertinence here, but a strapping stallion like you having no appetite?” Fancy Pants shook his head. “I find that difficult to accept.”
“Though some may find it surprising, it’s surprisingly true. Throughout my life, I haven’t had too much of an appetite. I eat enough to keep myself from being hungry, and that’s just fine by me.”
“There are a number of Ponies who would probably envy you. And others who might pity you with that statement,” Fancy Pants mused as he served the salad. “But on to other matters. I’m certain the princesses have given you many resources already, but is there anything you might be lacking that Fleur and I might be able to assist you with?”
Hammer Strike shook his head. “Pleasant company is already more than I’ve been provided elsewhere.” He chuckled, and for a brief moment his brows furrowed as he noted a small stinging sensation along the right side of his chest.
“And Ponyville is treating you well, I trust?”
“Very well. More so than I expected.”
“If they are at all like your fiance, then that is very understandable,” Fleur returned with a playful smile. “I trust she has matured a great deal since our last encounter.”
“She is quite the gem.” Hammer Strike smiled.
“It takes a rare eye to see that. But you have always been one known for your quality. A word of advice. Do not let her go. After meeting you here, I can tell that you two are well suited to one another.”
Hammer Strike chuckled. “I suppose we’ll see how the future holds us.”
“Arcana, rummy, or poker?” the mare asked.
“Not my choice, is it?” Hammer Strike smirked in response.
“Oh, there is always a choice, Hammer Strike. The question is whether we are willing to face the consequences.” Her eyes twinkled with mirth and mischief as she took another bite of her salad.
“Speaking of consequences,” Fancy Pants added, “word is that your friend Grif has offended some powerful individuals recently. I hope you haven’t had to face any unpleasantness as a result.”
“Only recently? His presence alone typically brings it. Though, the same can be said for Pensword and myself.”
Fancy Pants raised a brow. “Really? You seem more like one who knows how to exercise proper restraint.”
“Our presence is unpleasant to certain groups that still exist to this day.” Hammer Strike sighed. “Our history follows, no matter how far from it we are.”
“That often is the case for one who carries such a legacy. Even the heirs to a legacy can’t escape those kinds of conflicts if the actions are cruel enough. Though by all historical accounts, yours were justified.”
“It doesn’t mean all see it that way.”
“True. True.” Fancy Pants nodded as he sipped from a teacup, then peered more closely at his guest. “I say, were you perhaps carrying some ink with you, Hammer Strike?”
Hammer Strike frowned and looked down at his coat. While he was wearing his black one, it couldn’t stop the notable amount of fluid starting to appear on his white shirt. He sighed, realizing that the twinge he felt earlier was one of the wounds reopening. “I may have to cut my visit short, Fancy Pants.”
Surprisingly enough, it was Fleur who laid a hoof on Hammer Strike’s shoulder with more force than he had expected as she pulled his coat aside to reveal the sticky patch. “Not like this, mon ami,” she said in her heavy accent.
“Good Faust!” Fancy Pants swore.
“I’m certain she appreciates the prayers, dear, but I believe what Hammer Strike requires now is treatment. I will dress the wound as best I can. Could you call the doctors from the hospital?”
Fancy Pants leapt to his hooves. “At once!” he agreed. He burst out the door, galloping as fast as his hooves would carry him.
Fleur smiled as her horn glowed. Moments later, a first aid kit appeared in front of her. “Always leaping to help others with such natural flair. It is no wonder I fell in love with him.” She opened the case to reveal, not the usual fare, but a number of vials, syringes, and other more advanced medical supplies than one might expect to find in the typical first aid kit. “Now, tell me what happened while I disinfect the site.”
“Just some Black Tips, though the Manticore Venom is quite annoying,” Hammer Strike replied. “Celestia can give me a detox later on, though. And given its less than effective progress, I’m not troubled by it.”
“A potent and painful poison, indeed,” Fleur agreed as she prepared a needle and filled it with fluid from a vial. “It acts quickly to force the victim’s muscles to seize all at once. Taken in large enough doses, it can lead to severe damage by breaking the subject’s bones through muscle strain alone. Most subjects endure terrible pain before they suffocate. It must have been a minor dosage for you to move so freely, and with minimal pain.” She stuck the needle into the wound and depressed the plunger. “That should help to counter the venom’s effects.” She retracted the needle and proceeded to remove gauze and other sterile bandage materials to treat the wound. “I have encountered their kind before. I am not surprised they were hired to deal with you, but you must be more careful.”
“It’s just another day in my life.” Hammer Strike gave a brief chuckle. “At least you’re not so startled as the medic was when they scanned my blood. Makes me wonder what stories you must have.”
“Startled?” she asked. “Was there something wrong?”
Hammer Strike raised a brow. “That’s not my only wound. It’s just the only one that reopened.”
“Ma déesse,” she muttered under her breath. “Dare I ask?”
Hammer Strike gave a faint shrug as to not agitate her work. “It’s only enough to take down a Minotaur.”
“... Qoi?”
Hammer Strike raised a brow once more.
Fleur met that stare with perfect calm as she analyzed him. Finally, she spoke. “You are not joking, are you?”
“I mean, it’s probably spread more evenly now, since it was half an hour ago.”
Fleur shook her head in exasperation. “Then I have but used a bandage to stem a flood. By all rights, you should not be alive.”
“Correct.”
“Then it would appear the legend is true. Even Death fears the mighty lord, and will not take him until he himself consents.”
“He’s certainly tried. I’ll give him that.” Hammer Strike chuckled.
“Then I suppose all that remains is to tend to the wound itself for now. I can only spare so much antivenom, and I don’t have nearly enough to treat you.”
“I’ll get detoxed by Celestia later, so no need to worry. I’m just sorry for all the blood I’m going to leave around here.”
“Don’t worry. No lady worth her salt does not know how to treat blood stains. And I am most certainly a lady of many talents.” She smiled playfully.
Hammer Strike gave a faint laugh. “So I see; so I see.”
There was a bright flash of light, followed by the arrival of a flushed Fancy Pants and a whole squad of medics loaded to the brim with supplies. “We’re back! And I brought help!”
Fleur smiled apologetically. “That’s my husband; always fancy.”
“So, feeling better?” Grif asked pensword as they made their way back from the palace infirmary.
“Yes and no,” Pensword admitted. “Physically, I’m all right. The rest….” He started to shrug with his wings, then winced as his body reminded him of the recent battle. “I don’t think anyone ever really gets used to someone trying to kill them.”
“I mean, according to the history books? This is quite light, especially for Gryphons.” Grif shrugged.
“How are you taking this so casually?”
“This was inevitable?” Grif shrugged. “I mean, between what we’ve done and what history says about us? Kinda surprised it took this long.”
“... I don’t know whether to look forward to or fear developing that kind of outlook.”
“He has a point,” Moonshade noted. “We need to think about the ripples your returning presence makes.”
Pensword sighed. “I suppose you’re right. It’s only a matter of time before we come to match our ‘past’ selves anyway. I just wonder whether it’ll happen here or after we go back.”
“Probably after.” Grif shrugged. “It is a war. They tend to change people.”
“I suppose that’s true. It’s a pity it has to happen, though. Or … I guess had to happen?” He groaned and shook his head. “I hate time travel.”
“I mean, from what I understand, we accomplished a lot of good from it, including assuring the Gryphons won’t attack again.”
“Until now, at any rate,” Pensword grumbled.
“This wasn’t a true attack; at least not anything that could be solidly tracked.” Grif shook his head.
“A warning shot, then?”
Grif shook his head again. “Not with Hammer Strike around. The government likely had nothing to do with this attack. And the noble who did won’t be traceable back to them. Policy-wise, Black Tips are illegal in Gryphonia. Assassination is dishonorable and cowardly, usually only saved for those who have sullied their honor beyond all hope of salvage.”
“So what now? Are we just supposed to wait for the next wave?”
“Now we go on our guard, but it’s unlikely for them to attack again for a while.”
Pensword frowned. “Grif, … is it possible to hallucinate after a battle?”
“Sometimes. It is a lot of adrenaline. Why?”
“I saw someone when I was being treated, a Thestral mare. But nobody else seemed to notice her. Moonshade couldn’t even see her. I didn’t know her, but … there was something about her eyes, her smile. It was like … like she knew me. She looked tired, but … happy.”
“Perhaps a lingering memory from Pensword’s own past?”
“But how can I remember a past I haven’t even lived yet?”
Grif looked ahead. “I knew my attacker was there, back at Donut Joe’s. I ambushed him. I took him out before he realized I knew he was there. It was disturbing, and exhilarating,” he admitted with a shiver. “I think when we get back, I’m going to shift back for a while. I think I'm adjusting too well.”
“So, what, you’re saying that we can somehow get the instincts and memories of a self that has yet to be forged?”
Grif nodded. “Like something was guiding me.”
“Perhaps something was,” Moonshade said. “The Gryphons have gods that they worship, too.”
“Perhaps, but I haven’t met them yet, let alone worshiped them,” Grif said. “Why would they want to start favoring me?”
“You’re asking me to guess the mind of a god?”
“If someone starts doing random favors for you without any apparent reason, there’s usually a string that’s going to be attached somewhere. Call me cynical, but that’s been my experience. So the idea that a god or gods might be helping me now without any action on my part is at once intriguing and absolutely terrifying.”
“Heavy talk like that makes me think we could use a vacation,” Pensword said, then sighed.
“Maybe the Daoi Islands off the coast of Down Unda?” Moonshade suggested.
“Down Unda?” Pensword asked before trying his best to pronounce the new words. “Do-aye?” A grin slowly dawned across his muzzle. “Sounds like an interesting place.” Any further discussion was cut off as they noticed a guard darting down the hallway carrying something in his magic in front of him. All three companions stiffened. “Grif, … that looked like Hammer Strike’s jacket.”
Grif was already moving. “Not looked like. That was Hammer Strike’s jacket.”
“The smell … was that blood?” Pensword asked.
Grif didn’t bother to answer the query. “Follow me.” The order was curt and direct. There was no time to be his friendly self. His eyes darkened to the cold blue of a glacier hidden deep beneath the sea. The Gryphon followed the scent with the efficiency of a great hunter, and the trio wound their way through the halls accordingly. “I smelled two scents on that coat. The one was Hammer Strike. The other belonged to someone or something else. Best guess, a Gryphon, or multiple Gryphons.”
“Is he all right?”
“He’d better be,” Grif growled as his talons clacked loudly over the floor. “Or those Black Tips are going to wish they’d never been born.”
The scent led Grif toward the infirmary’s entrance. One order was enough for the orderly to inform him of the facts. “Lord Fancy Pants put out the alert at the hospital. Since Lord Hammer Strike is a higher noble, one of our master healers was deployed immediately after we received the alert. He should be receiving treatment right now.”
Grif swore. “Let’s go.”
The three took to the air immediately. Those who may have sought to stop them were quickly brought up short when they saw Moonshade’s cape. It was evident they were on urgent business of a military nature.
“Grif, isn’t this dangerous?” Pensword asked. “We’re wide open to attack.”
Grif shook his head as they continued along their way. “After what happened in the Gryphon quarter, Celestia ordered a flight ban on all save military personnel. The minute anyone tries to attack us, they’ll be swarmed by the rest of the guards on patrol.”
The trio flew unmolested, as Grif had predicted. It didn’t take them long to see the scene where the fight had broken out. The alleyway was cordoned off, and there were clear signs of burn marks, molten stone, and blood. Lots and lots of blood.
Grif gave a low whistle at the pile of bodies. “Someone was busy.”
“We can find out just how busy when we catch up with him,” Pensword said. “Come on. The estate’s just over there.”
The increased presence of guards was a dead giveaway, as were the ambulance carts that were lying in wait for any potential emergency response. It was a simple matter to verify their identities as Hammer Strike’s proxies. They stormed toward the manor doors just as they swung open to reveal the familiar blank-faced expression of their friend. Hammer Strike was covered in bandages and gauze pads in various locations on his body. And for the moment, his coat hung over his back, exposing the many cuts and blood stains that had seeped through his shirt and cravat.
“...Sup?” Hammer Strike asked.
“Just Sup? That’s all we’re going to get?” Pensword asked as he gaped at the Pony. “You look like you got in a fight with a wood chipper!”
“Given there were twenty of them, I suppose I can agree with that visual.” Hammer Strike nodded.
“Twenty!” Pensword facehoofed. “We need to get you out of Canterlot.”
Hammer Strike gave a shrug. “They plan on following for some time, so I don’t exactly see it stopping on leaving Canterlot. Though, it may stop for a little bit, given the number of elites they lost. Depending on if there are any more in the city, of course.”
“How are you even standing right now?” Grif asked, genuinely curious as he stared at the colt.
“I’m not that injured.” Hammer Strike defended briefly before thinking it over. “Well, I am technically, but the toxins aren’t that potent.”
“Toxins?” Moonshade pressed.
A particularly stern-faced medic scowled, approaching the stallion from behind. “Enough manticore venom to put down a Minotaur. By all rights, he should be dead by now. Which is why we are taking him to receive treatment as soon as possible. He insists only Princess Celestia will be able to help him. Our efforts have proven that much to be true. If you want to ride with him, that’s fine, but I insist we get underway immediately.”
Pensword’s eye twitched. “A full grown Minotaur?” Then he groaned. “Sweet Celestia.”
“Hey, count your blessings. At least we don’t have to carry him this time,” Grif pointed out. “No offense, m’lord, but you are very heavy.”
“I’m deeply offended,” Hammer Strike remarked flatly. “Anyways, shall we head to Celestia to purge this stuff out of my blood?”
“The sooner, the better,” Moonshade agreed. “But not in a medical wagon. It’s too visible and too obvious. We need at least three unmarked carriages.”
“I have taken the liberty of calling five,” Fleur said as she joined the conversation seemingly from out of thin air. “We have a number in our employ for just such occasions. And—” She raised her horn, and the world was filled with light. “—We must have the proper doubles to make it more interesting, non?” The gathered Ponies and Gryphon gaped at the sudden sight of five exact copies of the party. “One will stay here with me, and the other five will travel their separate ways to ensure the safety of all. It will be more difficult for them to attack you in force this way, will it not?”
“Should work out.” Hammer Strike nodded, even as his duplicates spoke in almost perfect unison with him.
“Weird,” the Grifs all said. “But clever.” They all smirked. “And cool.”
The coaches were soon in place, and the pullers looked with almost military attention at Fleur. “The destination is Canterlot Palace. You each know the way. Make sure they arrive safely.” There was no direct indication which carriage was which. All five doors opened. All five sets of the party entered, and one set remained behind. Fleur then looked at a detachment of guards and gestured toward each of the vehicles. Six were assigned per carriage. Two Earth Ponies, two Pegasi, and two Unicorns. “Good luck.” She was careful not to allow her gaze to linger on any of the copies for any particular length of time, paying equal attention to all of them before looking to the ones next to her. “Now then, my friends, shall we go inside?”
As the mare passed into the manor and the flaps on the carriage windows all were closed, Grif couldn’t help but let out an extremely soft whistle. “She’s good.”
“She certainly is.” Hammer Strike chuckled.
The journey seemed interminable as the cart drivers walked at a regular pace, neither too fast nor too slow, but a rhythmic trot that would be expected of Ponies on business. Occasionally, the murmur of crowds or passing Ponies could be heard before dying away again, leaving just the motion of the wheels along the streets and the subtle rattle of the frame creaking as it swayed.
“I know this is for our safety, but the apprehension is torture. Not knowing where we are, how close we are to the castle, whether we’ll be attacked or not. There has to be a way we can check without alerting any tails,” Pensword said.
“Only way we’re opening those flaps is if Hammer Strike gives permission,” Grif said. “We’re not going to risk spoiling everything just because of a bout of nerves.”
The tension rolled on with their journey as the hubbub of the city faded further, leaving a sense of absolute quiet and growing dread. Grif’s hackles rose while Moonshade held her weapons at the ready. Pensword reached for his crossbow.
“Everyone ready?” Pensword asked.
“As I'll ever be,” Grif said, getting into position on the seat closest to the driver side.
“We’ll take up guard by the windows, then,” Pensword said, nodding to Moonshade.
The tension continued to mount until an authoritative voice rang through the air. “Halt!”
The carriage came to a stop, and an equally haughty voice answered in kind from one of the cart Ponies. “What is the meaning of this?”
“The meaning is a thorough search ordered by Chief Ambassador Gorek himself in partnership with your princesses. To ensure the peace is maintained and another uproar avoided, we and others are to work in concert with your Royal Guards to root out the Black Tips.”
Grif slowly unsheathed a stiletto and his flintlock as he waited.
“There are no Black Tips here. Unless one is among your party,” the Pony replied.
“That remains to be seen. Search the vehicle.”
“You will do no such thing without my permission or a document to back your claims, Sir. This carriage belongs to a noble family. And they are due the proper courtesies, as I am sure Chief Ambassador Gorek is well aware.”
“You speak boldly for a servant.”
“Is a servant’s duty not to remain loyal to their lord and lady? That is the honorable thing to do.”
The Gryphon scoffed. “Here is your proof, Pony. As I said.”
The weight of Gryphon paws left Hammer Strike’s ears twitching as he put a hoof to his lips.
Grif worked to silently bring the flintlock to bear, preparing to fire if need be.
“Captain, I smell a Gryphon here.”
“What you are smelling are the lingering traces of Lord Hammer Strike’s guard from a previous visit to our lord’s manor. I believe you are familiar with his name, one Grif Grafson?”
“Past occupant or not, we have sufficient cause to search your carriage. And we intend to do just that, with or without your permission.”
“All right, I’ve grown tired of this,” Hammer Strike sighed in frustration before gesturing for Grif to fire.
Grif locked his aim and fired the flintlock, letting the bullet fly with a thunderous retort. Wood splintered before the explosive force of the metal ball as it drove through the side of the carriage and into the air before the detonation could even reach the unseen inspectors’ ears. A cry mixed between a lion’s roar and an eagle’s screech burst out of the unseen warrior’s lips. Before the Gryphons could recover, Grif quickly shoved his head out the window and threw a stiletto at another one, hitting them in the throat.
“Out of the frying pan….” Pensword said as he fixed his crossbow at a window and fired. Another Gryphon gurgled as the bolt stuck out its throat. “Fight or flight?” he asked Hammer Strike.
“Fight,” Hammer Strike replied as he unsheathed his sword.
A bright pink aura surrounded one of the windows as a Unicorn approached to offer cover while her companions went to work. “Sir, there isn’t much time. We need to get you out of here.”
“There will be more on the way as is.” Hammer Strike frowned in thought. “We’ll need to get a message out quickly.”
“We’ll need a flyer for that, Sir. Send Sylphie. He’s faster. I suggest we get to a more defensible position if we get the chance. We’re sitting ducks out here.”
“We’ll move by hoof. This carriage, while good for cover, isn’t quick enough.” Hammer Strike moved to exit.
“How many are left?” Pensword asked.
The high whistle of a firecracker sounded as a flare burst into the air and detonated.
“Unknown, and about to get a buckload more if that flare means anything.” She swore, then turned and raised her voice. “Sylphie, Aegis, get your flanks in the air now and get some help! Move, move, move! I’ll ward you as far as I can!” The Pegasi gave their acknowledgements in what ways they could manage under the circumstances as Gryphons snarled and otherwise did their best to strike their opponents down. Surprisingly, the drivers were holding their own with a skill that belied their well-groomed exteriors. She looked at the others. “Can you hold out till I can shield you again?”
“We’ll do one better. We’ll guard you till they get out of range,” Pensword said.
“It has to be done quickly,” Moonshade agreed. “Gryphons won’t waste time gathering, and they can move very fast.”
“We’ll probably need a distraction, something to draw the reinforcements toward us instead of having them try to head off our messengers,” Pensword noted as he reloaded his crossbow.
“Well then, what do you say we give 'em blood and vinegar?” Grif asked Pensword with a wink as he readied his weapons.
“I have been wanting to see what my new Thestral side is capable of,” Pensword mused.
“I think I’ve got a good way to alert the others,” Hammer Strike remarked, removing a familiar crystal from his coat.
“That's one way to make an entrance,” Grif laughed.
“I’d recommend getting ready to get out of here, then,” he remarked, pulling other objects out of his coat as he quickly prepared the crystal. Within seconds, he was finished, and planted it against the roof of the carriage. “Go, now!”
There was no need for further prompting as the group emerged from the carriage and into the fray.
“Everyone, away from the carriage!” Grif shouted to their escorts as he sliced or deflected arrows as he was able while dodging. “Find some cover!”
The Group scattered, dodging arrows and thrown weapons alike as they moved to get clear and find safe cover. Splitting up made it harder for their enemy to center their fire on one spot, making dodging easier for everyone as a result.
“Hit the ground!” Hammer Strike called out.
To call what followed a mere explosion would not do it justice. The air was filled with an overriding sound as debris and the very air itself flung outward and upward, sending ricochets of wooden splints, shards of glass, and more as spokes, bands and hubs flew everywhere. Those who couldn’t cover their ears in time cried in pain, even as those screams fell on deafened ears. Those who managed to protect their ears were stunned by the sheer force of the blast pressing them down. A massive plume of smoke and belching flame clawed at the skies to let the whole of the city know of its existence. In short, it was an explosion of spectacular proportions, and all from a single crystal in an ingeniously shaped charge.
Grif counted out fifteen seconds in his head before he uncovered his ears and removed the cloth. Even covered as they were, he still heard the muted boom. Capitalizing on the situation, he charged a stunned opponent, cutting them down with a swing of his sword.
Pensword lunged with all the speed and force he could muster to strike one of the Gryphons in the back. There was a sickening crunch, followed by a look of stunned silence as the Gryphon’s life force was snuffed with the piercing of its heart. “Let’s kill what we can. This is going to be a long fight, and the less we have to worry over, the better!”
Hammer Strike cleaved through an assassin to his side. His wounds weren’t in the best of states, but he could still fight well enough. The poison, however, had started to show signs of hindering him. Nothing severe or notable outside yet, but it was beginning to show.
Unfortunately for Moonshade, she was in the same level of agony, if not worse, than that of their enemies. The sensitive ears of a Thestral were left exposed to the full force of the blast after failing to follow the others’ cue in time. She could not hear. And all she knew was a crippling pain drilling from the outside in as she cried out and pressed her hooves against her ears in a vain effort to somehow stop up the source. One of the Gryphons stumbled toward her, gritting its teeth as a low growl rumbled from its throat. That growl soon turned to a gurgle, however, as a bolt pierced flesh to let the blood flow down its wind pipe. Pensword glared and let loose an angry hiss as he rushed to Moonshade’s side.
There was no snappy retort or rallying cry, merely the urge to cry defiance at those who would dare to take the life of someone who had become a very dear friend. And in that moment, only one word came to mind to resonate with that desire. The call of “REDWALL!” burned and scraped against his throat as he ran to the mare’s side, snorting angrily as he drew his sword.
Grif was a flurry moving in and out of combat with rapid strikes from both blades, weaving through combat, though not seamlessly as tears in his clothing and scratches on his armor would show, even if his dark fur and feathers hid the cuts and bruises developing.
Hammer Strike sliced at the Gryphon to his left, cutting through its forelegs. Before it could cry out in pain, he quickly reversed the strike, bringing his sword back and throwing more strength behind the blow. The sword found its mark, cutting through the attacker’s neck and severing the head. His eyes squinted skeptically as he cut through. For some reason, the air around him seemed to be warmer. His blade began to glow, the blood sizzling as it burned itself clean. The embers soon followed, just as they had the last time. “You want it? Come and get it!” he roared.
What had begun as a quick skirmish was rapidly turning into a battle of attrition. And though the enemy was falling, that did not mean there were no casualties. As warriors, guards, and servants alike fought for their lives, each could not help but wonder the most important and pressing question.
Did the messengers break through to the palace or would they have to fight alone?
Back at the guard post at the main Canterlot Castle gate, the guards were slowly settling down into their routine. The Chief had just retired for the night as the next shift started. The new shift leader ran over the various reports from the day, then broke off, looking to his subordinates. “I want guards watching these three as soon as–”
The room rattled as the shockwave of a massive explosion rushed over the building, shaking the windows as weapons rattled off their racks and clattered to the floor. A bright flash of light had precluded the event, leaving no head unturned.
“What now?” one of the guards groaned, shaking his head. “It’s not even a Tuesday.”
A Pegasus slammed into the ground, skidding into the door. Blood stained his left wing, gushing from an arrow shaft just below the joint. “We were ambushed. Black–” he didn’t even have the strength to finish as his teeth clenched, and he gurgled in agony.His eyes became completely unfocused as the limbs wobbled in what little ways they could manage with the venom’s terrible effect before they froze entirely. The medic rushed on scene, but shook his head sadly, not even bothering to take out his implements. “Poor colt.” He ran his horn over the corpse, then hissed. “Manticore venom. Even if he hadn’t bled out, he was dead mid-flight already.” A loud horn sounded from the castle, signaling the royal guard to deploy. A swarm of dark blue flashed across the dimming sky, mingled with a flood of gold as the guard who were coming off shift rushed back at the summons. The royal sisters followed close behind.
“What happened?” Celestia asked as she gazed at the fallen Pony.
“An ambush, obviously,” Luna said crossly, even as her pupils shifted to the familiar and dangerous slits that were the hallmark of her chosen subjects. “And in the old district, judging by the smoke.” A shrill whistle passed from her lips, and with it came the familiar form of a war-torn Thestral with a single eye patch.
“Chieftess, Your Highness,” he greeted gravely, then looked at his matriarch. “What are your orders?”
“Activate any guards on standby. I want every reserve force in the air. I don’t care if you have to pull the guards who just got off duty. This is an all out attack on the capital. We shall respond in kind.”
“You don’t mean war, do you, Your Highness?”
Luna looked grimly at the Solar Guard who had spoken. “Not yet. But it is a possibility we must be prepared to face. The Black Tips know better than to operate in Our lands openly. Either they received an exceptionally large payment sufficient to entice them to make the attempt or they are operating under the orders of someone very high in authority. If it is in fact the latter….” Her eyes flashed as her horn glowed an ominous blue. In the recesses of her private quarters, the princess’ prized war hammer pulsed, then flew of its own volition to its mistress’ call, wreathed in that same aura. The hammer flew with immense precision, narrowly avoiding harming any Ponies, and only knocking over a few carts, tea trays, or stacks of papers in its response until it burst through the doors to hover at its master’s side. Luna let the full weight of the hammer drop to the floor, causing cracks to spider out from its point of impact. “Then as I said before, we will respond in kind.”
“Luna, you’re not thinking of going after them yourself, are you?” Celestia asked.
“I am, and I will, Sister,” Luna said gravely. “I won’t let them hurt our friends. They are in need of immediate aid. And I intend to supply it.”
“Are you sure about this, Luna?”
“I would not tolerate them before, and I certainly won’t tolerate them in our city now.”
A bookish mare with a bun tied by colored leather straps flew through the open doors and alighted next to Luna. Her bat wings folded gracefully, and her colors were a subdued blue and purple with lighter silvery blue accents like spider webs along the front of her blouse. “Your Highness, I’ve received confirmation from all commanding officers. By your command, the remainder of the Lunar Guard have been ordered to mobilize. They will fly to the source of the explosion as soon as they are prepared.”
“Good.” Luna nodded. “I will go with an advance party. If the forces with me are sufficient, then the remainder are to assist with protecting and escorting civilians to safety. Neither my sister nor I will suffer harm to our subjects. They will coordinate with the Solar Guard.”
“At least take some antidotes and antivenom with you,” Celestia pleaded. “I know I can’t stop you, but you need to protect yourself and the others. Especially if the enemies have … that with them.”
Luna’s smile was kind and thankful, the expression one might expect from a family member when love is being expressed. “Even now, you continue to worry for me. I am grateful for that, Sister. But you know full well Cerberus wouldn’t allow that to come to pass.” Her smile shifted into a smirk. “And all that time on the moon wasn’t spent in mere contemplation.” Luna stamped her hoof on the ground as a silvery aura surrounded her body. “One may be able to scrape skin, but one will have to defeat gravity before they have the chance.” One feather plucked from her wing drifted at her gesture, only to fall like a stone the moment it came near the aura to slam into the ground. It broke apart in a puff of fluff. “If I can control the tides, then I can control the flow of battle around me. I won’t let them get away with this. The last time they came here, these beasts ate our subjects and sought to dispose of us both in the most hypocritical manner.” She hefted her hammer over her shoulder with practiced ease. “I intend to return the favor before I send them to their gods. Will you join me, Celestia? My presence alone may do more to hinder the evacuation than help if you are not there with me.”
Celestia nodded grimly. “As ever in battle, you are right, Sister. Even if you hadn't asked, I still would have come.”
“Then let us away at once. There’s no time to lose.”
Celestia nodded. “Your orders are the same as Luna’s to her guards. You will assemble and move out to assist in evacuation and protection of civilians. Stay clear of the battle. My sister’s guard are used to her tactics and know how to react to her on the field. You do not. We don’t want you to be hurt by the blowback. Work closely with any Lunar Guardsponies to protect your fellow Ponies. We will go ahead of you.”
“Come, Sister!” Luna said urgently.
Celestia nodded and raced after her sibling. As they faded down the hallway, her voice carried back toward the guards. “We’re counting on you!”
“Okay, I don’t care if there’s any unfinished business after this. Once we get treated, we’re taking the train back to Ponyville, ASAP!” Pensword roared his frustration as yet another Gryphon was taken out by Moonshade’s sword. Much though Pensword hated to admit it, his battle experience paled compared to hers. He was able to provide some distraction with the aid of his crossbow bolts, but those took time to reload, and he didn’t always have the leisure to do so. An angry roar rent the air as yet another Gryphon dove toward him with blade raised high to strike. Pensword raised his wings in turn on instinct, and grunted under the force of the blow as the metal screeched against the multitude of metal plates that coated his wings. He growled as the force pushed him back, and he barely managed to adjust the angle to force the blade to slide off. Rather than strike with his sword, Pensword lunged with a bolt and drove it deep into the assassin’s eye before leaping backward to evade the maddened frenzy of strokes that followed before the Gryphon fell twitching to the ground. Pensword winced as the joint at his wing complained once again over the strain he’d just put it through. “We can’t keep this up much longer! Did anyone see a place we can fort up?”
Grif tossed what was left of the Gryphon he had just raked with his talons aside. As he reached for his impaled swords, he shrieked in pain as a dagger dug into his shoulder. Turning quickly, he sliced the Gryphon’s neck before turning back to the fight, heedless of the blade still springing from his shoulder. “There’s a warehouse a little less than a block over. If we get in there, we can bottleneck them. You three go! I’ll cover you!” Grif shouted, sending another blade into a nearby assassin.
“Not bad for a Gryphon.” The cart driver spoke with a heavier Phrench accent now as he joined Grif. “But even you will have some difficulty taking on this much. Why don’t you let someone lighten the load, hmm?” His horn ignited, and a row of ballistae manifested on either side of him to launch with brutal force and efficiency, taking out enemy wings and breaking their formation. “Bold Construct, at your service. My Equestrian comrades call me Engie.”
“Any port in a storm,” Grif said, making an effort to stay out of the balistae’s firing range.
As the group retreated, a volley of arrows came in answer, raking the streets in a deadly rain. Moonshade cried out for the second time as one of the projectiles found a lucky mark between one of the gaps in her armor, pinning her mantle against that part of her body.
“Moonshade!” Pensword screamed at the sight. His lungs burned. His throat felt as if it had been torn by a thousand grains of sand as sharp as diamonds. And though he could feel the unbridled rage and savagery of the new predatory half in his nature, those who had stirred that ire were well beyond his reach. Instead, he offered what shelter he could by extending his wings over her to try to block any other projectiles from passing through. She pressed on with gritted teeth until her leg gave out. “Somebody help me!” Pensword cried again as he struggled to keep the mare upright.
“Get her behind cover,” Grif yelled back as he moved to do what he could to cover them.
Pensword swore. “What cover?” He growled his frustration as he looked frantically back and forth, his ears craning and swiveling for even the slightest hint of the next direction for attack. “Can you keep going?” he asked the mare. “We’re halfway there.”
“If I can’t, we’re both dead,” Moonshade said, gritting her teeth and pushing forward.
“Hammer Strike, are you okay?” Pensword called as he brushed yet another group of arrows aside with a grunt of effort. His wings were getting tired.
“I’ll be fine.” Hammer Strike grunted. “Keep at it.”
Despite their best efforts, the attacks gradually increased as more Gryphons made their way to the region. Some were brazen enough to fly. Others came in the bounds of the mighty predators after which their hindquarters had been fashioned. It grew harder and harder to hold them off, and as time passed, more blows were landed. Glancing, but blows all the same.
Whether by divine providence of sheer stubbornness, the small party finally managed to reach the warehouse. Pensword swore at the sight of a lock holding a chain shut. “Anybody got a hammer? Or a lockpick? I doubt I'll be able to kick this thing open.”
Hammer Strike took no further delays as he moved abruptly to the lock and brought his hoof down on it.
Like the blow of hammer on the anvil, sparks flew in a shower as the lock trembled, and then the catch snapped open as the bottom of the lock dislodged entirely to crash against the cobblestones. Pensword grit his teeth and pulled as hard as he could with his free hoof.
“Hurry inside. I’ll cover you,” he urged Moonshade.
Moonshade hobbled inside as fast as she could with her wounds.
“Let’s keep moving,” Hammer Strike ordered as he motioned what was left of their group in. Between Grif and himself, their rear was covered. They just needed a dividing force to give them an edge. Unfortunately, that edge had yet to come in sight, and a prickling sensation had begun to build over his skin, followed by the pinpricks of needles and an ever rising sensation he had almost forgotten, the feeling of burning growing hotter and hotter to the point of almost scorching as his muscles began to tense, and heat waves radiated off his body.
The interior was dark as a crypt, and smelled of dust. But at least they would be safe, so long as they kept outside of the line of fire. Two buildings stood on either side, and there were no windows or gaps in the roof that could be used to allow access. In short, it was the perfect place for a bottleneck.
Unfortunately, it was also the perfect trap.
“Can you two see all right?” Pensword asked as he laid Moonshade out of the line of fire.
“Well enough,” Hammer Strike called back.
“My vision is perfect,” Grif commented, his feline eyes glowing slightly in the low light.
Pensword handed his crossbow and remaining bolts to Moonshade. “Take this. You won’t be able to fight easily like that, and we don’t have time to give you first aid. Can you cover for us while we fight them off?”
She sighed, then nodded and accepted the weapon. “Yes, I can.”
Grif took the momentary lapse to get up near the roof by the door, prepping himself to pounce as their followers came through.
A few moments later, the door was pushed open as several Gryphons began to burst through. Grif launched himself at the group, intending to engage, but before he could make contact there was a loud bang as several of the Gryphons stiffened and collapsed while a familiar weapon surged through the door to nearly decapitate one of their attackers. It seemed the reinforcements had arrived, and Luna took very little time in making mincemeat of the assassins.
“I’m sorry I missed the party.” The dark Alicorn grinned as she flourished the war hammer.
“At least you made it to said party,” Hammer Strike called out. “What, was my invitation not loud enough?”
“Well, I had to find a good outfit,” she returned. “Seriously, though, are you all okay?”
“Slowly dying, and I don’t like that that’s becoming a standard,” Hammer Strike grunted back in response. “Moonshade definitely needs a medic as soon as possible.”
“Please.” She gave a wet cough.
“It seems we arrived in the nick of time.” Celestia’s voice was so taut, the slightest strain could snap it. “You tend to Moonshade, Luna. I’ll take care of Hammer Strike.”
The two were swift to reach their patients. Hammer Strike’s body had begun to tremble, and the barest hints of sparks could be seen jumping and rolling from him in waves. Moonshade grit her teeth and hissed. Though she despised showing weakness before her chieftess, she knew better than to hide the extent of an injury from one so revered by her people.
Moonshade took in long labored breaths as Luna looked her over. She grit her teeth, drool leaking between her fangs as she bit back the pain and forced her muscles to keep still. She let out hisses as Luna worked the arrow out carefully with magic, shrinking the arrowhead to the size of a pinhead before pulling the shaft away. It still hurt a lot, but prevented the barbed heads from doing further damage. Next, she began to work on healing the wounds as soon as she could while the medics brought vile tasting pills of activated charcoal and several other ingredients to slow, absorb, and otherwise try to neutralize the poison.
One of the medics noticed Grif’s wounds. “How are you not showing signs of poisoning?” he asked worriedly.
Grif gave a few dry heaves before spitting to the side. A large bezoar coated in a vile purple black color landed on the ground. “A preemptive measure.” He shrugged.
“I thought only certain species of bird could do that,” the guard said, stunned.
“Don’t ask,” Grif sighed. “It’s not pleasant.”
“Believe me, I had no intention of doing so.”
“Is she going to be all right?” Pensword asked anxiously.
“She’ll be fine,” Luna assured him. “Extreme symptoms have yet to set in, so we should be able to leech the venom before it turns dangerous.”
Celestia sighed and shook her head. “Why must it always be that you’re either bloody, poisoned, singed, or otherwise in major distress?” she asked of the stallion. “Honestly, I worry more about you than I do about my subjects.”
“Life can never be simple,” Hammer Strike replied with a grunt. “I’ll live.”
“I’ve already sent word to Ambassador Gorek about our unwelcome guests. I also took the liberty of informing him that you would want to visit him personally to discuss the matter in greater detail. As the officially recognized representative of the empire, he speaks with the voice of the emperor and the kings who rule under him, at least officially. He was less than pleased, but seemed willing to accept it as his duty, if not to accept responsibility. I believe he is still trustworthy, but I will leave that judgment to the three of you.”
“We’ll get there when we get there. For now, I need you to do something about this poison before my organs start shutting down.”
“A word of advice,” Celestia said as she gathered her magic in an even mixture of golden light and controlled solar fire, “if you’re going to deal with poison more often, it might be of benefit to increase your resilience against them over time. There are certain methods we can make available if you’re interested.”
“I’ve got something I’m working towards. Just need some shipments and I’ll have more covered.”
“I can expedite the process if needed,” Celestia offered as she ran her horn over his body. “By Mother, you really did push yourself this time, didn’t you?”
“Always do.”
Celestia shook her head, but for a moment, it seemed almost as if tears were swimming in her eyes. Then she blinked, and they were gone. Perhaps it was a trick of the light. “You should be getting the feeling back in your legs now. It will hurt. The venom was attacking your nervous system, and regenerating those receptors is always painful.”
“Certainly already feels horrible, so I’m prepared for that.” Hammer Strike adjusted his stance as golden rivulets of light spread under his skin and shone through fur and scars like frozen arcs of golden lightning branching to every point in his body. The flames that surrounded Hammer Strike were gentle by comparison to the solar inferno that had reduced half a room to slag. And as the magic continued to pour in, Hammer Strike shuddered. The regeneration came in the form of thousands of pins and needles shocking, biting, and stinging in waves and cascades. And yet beneath that, something else felt … different, as though it were … drinking? No, that didn’t feel right. Nursing, perhaps? Regardless, it identified Celestia’s magic and seemed to welcome it, or at least the part of it connected to warmth.
“Let me know if you need me to stop,” Celestia said.
“Push through to completion. I’ll manage,” Hammer Strike grunted.
Celestia nodded. “I’ll need to go a little deeper, since part of it entered your muscles as well, but it seems your body has already begun to adapt to it to an extent.” She glanced toward her sister. “How soon before the Lieutenant Colonel is ready to travel?”
“She should be safe to travel shortly. Just finishing up,"Luna answered as she worked her magic.
“Then I’ll leave it to you to direct the troops for their searches. After that, we’ll take these four to the infirmary.” She frowned as she turned her attention back to Hammer Strike. “It’s possible that you may not be able to walk yet,” she warned. “It takes time for the nerves to settle into a normal pattern again, and sometimes they have to be re-taught. I’ll have a cloud brought to carry you and Moonshade, just in case.”
“Less worried about the need to re-learn, more focused on the fact that I’ve flipped from pain to complete numbness,” Hammer Strike replied.
“Like I said, the nerves sometimes have to be retaught. Give things time. The feeling will return,” Celestia assured.
“I think for now we should teleport them back to the palace. Our presence may act as a deterrent, but I’d rather not test our luck,” Luna noted, already igniting her horn.
“Wait, Sister. Let us gather the clouds first. It will be more efficient than levitation with less risk of disturbing their bodies while they recuperate. Then we can teleport,” Celestia said.
“That … is a good idea. I’m sorry, Sister. I was acting rashly.”
“... We both have at times,” Celestia returned. It didn’t take long for the clouds to be gathered, and Moonshade and Hammer Strike were both soon placed with cloudwalking spells to ensure comfort and keep them in place. Pensword and Griff stood to either side of the clouds while Luna and Celestia both took up positions in the center.
“We’ll have to leave the cleanup to the guards for now,” Celestia said grimly. “Let’s get them back to the castle.”
They were gone in a flash of silver and gold, and darkness followed in their wake.
“Are you three absolutely insane?” Rarity shrieked. “Of all the reckless things to do. What do you think might have happened if the guard hadn’t reached the princesses in time? You should be going around with a guard unit, not exposing your back to the next assassin to stab it!”
The infirmary ward was as comfortable as Hammer Strike remembered it, though more noisy now that a distraught Rarity had come to air her grievances. Even if it was out of concern, the fashionista carried the unique flair for drama inherent to all such designers to an art form.
“If something were to happen…. If you were to die, why I … I … I….” Somehow, the mare levitated what had to be one of the most ornate couches the Ponies and Gryphon had ever laid eyes on to her side before promptly swooning onto it. The question was how she managed to conjure it there in the first place when the windows were so small and the doors remained closed. “This is simply too much.”
“Trust me, we’re not exactly looking for this,” Hammer Strike replied. “Just doesn’t help that our presence comes with a lot of enemies.”
“Four different attacks in twenty four hours, and none of you took an escort to help you fight.” She sighed. “And the last one you took lost some of their lives…. Gryphons are up in arms, and tensions around the city are growing tauter than a wound spool. If this doesn’t stop soon….” Rarity frowned and averted her gaze. “I worry what may happen. To them and to us.”
“It’s one of the reasons we’d like to get moving towards Everfree Castle.” Hammer Strike sighed. “Moves us away from civilians for the time being.”
“The princesses mentioned they had a plan to assist with the attacks at least,” Pensword noted. “If it goes well, we shouldn’t have to worry about being followed anymore.”
“If it goes well,” Rarity pointed out. Then she groaned and flopped back on the cushions again. “The stress from this is giving me a headache.” She promptly levitated a cool glass of water proffered by one of the staff. “Thank you, darling,” she said as an aside before drinking it down and placing it to the side before resuming her histrionics. “And the worst part of it is I had to sit here and wait for you all to come back with no idea what condition you would be in.”
“I mean, we know we appear in the Third Gryphon War, so it’s not like we can die feasibly until after that happens … happened? Does happened? Will happened?” Grif rolled his eyes. “Time talk is weird.”
“Always will be,” Hammer Strike agreed.
“Can’t you take at least a week without facing mortal danger?” Rarity part-asked, part-whined, and part-chided. “I’ll even accept six days.”
“Trust me, we’d love to. It just constantly falls into our laps,” Hammer Strike remarked as he furrowed his brow.
The doors to their private room opened then, and the familiar graceful form of Gorek padded into the room alongside Princess Luna.
Luna cleared her throat. “May I introduce the Imperial Ambassador Gorek again,” Luna noted. “Gorek, I’m sure you remember these three from your historical accounts.”
Gorek nodded gravely. “I am relieved to see that you four have survived. And on behalf of His Imperial Majesty, I wish you the speediest of recoveries.”
“Thanks, I guess,” Grif said. “Who was behind that?”
Gorek’s expression was grim. “The conspiracy is far-reaching, and one that carries grim implications. The majority of Gryphons in Equestria are loyal to it and its princesses. But there are those who still adhere to the old ways. And though Equestria is prosperous and peaceful, that does not exclude it from intrigue. With the assistance of one of your citizens, we were able to determine the culprits and ferret out much of the network involved. Regretfully, this conspiracy even stretched into the halls of my embassy. Rest assured, justice has been done in the most humiliating way possible. They have been stripped of their pride, their rank, their status,” he looked intently at Grif and Pensword. “And their wings. When we’ve extracted all the information we can from them, their heads will follow.”
Grif looked unsettled at that.
“Although we are a prideful race, we also know the importance of loyalty and obedience. The ambassadors who ordered these attacks and ensured the Black Tip infiltration would not have done so unless they were ordered by one to whom they swore their allegiance. And that fealty would need to be stronger than what they feel toward the emperor himself.” Gorek shook his head. “I fear that there will be much unrest in the empire in the future. And now I need to draft reports to the emperor and to the kings who assigned these traitors their posts. Needless to say, full disclosure will only go to one source. As for the rest, … well, let’s just say that there is more than one battlefield, and I excel in the arena of words and rhetoric. I cannot give you restitution at this time. Not until I receive word from the emperor. But rest assured, you will receive a proper gift when the time comes, Grif Grafson. And while I do not speak in my official capacity with this next statement, I hope you are willing to accept it as truth. You have an ally in me, so long as the cause is honorable and just. It is the will of the emperor that Gryphonia and Equestria remain on good terms. And by the Winds, I’ll make sure that they do.”
Grif nodded. “Thank you for your efforts.”
“So, same time next year then?” Luna asked with a wry smile.
Gorek chuckled. “So long as we don’t end up on the brink of war, I think something can be arranged.”
“I still think you should’ve gone with the cloud,” Grif said to his friend as they sat on the train cart’s cushioned seats. The wheels clacked and bumped along the rails, causing the Earth Pony to wince at certain intervals. “Don’t have to worry about inertia that way.”
“I’ll be fine, Grif.” Hammer Strike sighed. “I’m not planning on doing anything strenuous, and will probably stick around my room until I’m well enough to work. Potentially a little before I am well, knowing myself.”
“At which point, we’re going to have to make someone put you back in bed until you finish recovering properly,” Grif said matter-of-factly. “Or did you want to repeat what happened at the Crystal Empire before all Sombra broke loose?”
“It was only a minor case of severe exhaustion, thank you very much.” Hammer Strike chuckled. “I still managed quite well after the fact. I, at the very least, plan on recovering more than I did then.”
“We’re going to hold you to that,” Pensword said. “Believe me, I know the importance of recuperation after a procedure.”
“I’ll live, you two.” He gave a soft smile before turning his gaze out the window once more.
“There’s living, and then there’s living. You’d better be one hundred percent by New Year’s Eve. There’s no way I’m going to the Apples alone. And you know Granny Smith’ll tan our hides if you’re not there with us,” Grif said.
“I’m sure I’ll be fine after a few days' rest.”
“Oh, I’m sure you will.” Grif smiled, and a sudden sense of foreboding came over Hammer Strike. “I just wanted to be sure we understand each other.”
“Almost there,” Pensword noted as his ear twitched, and he eyed the landscape out the windows.
“Don’t worry, Hammer Strike. I’m sure I can find a means to relieve your boredom during recuperation,” Rarity assured him. “After all, this fashionista does more than design stylish clothing.”
“It’ll be appreciated,” Hammer Strike chuckled.
As the train pulled up to Ponyville station, two lines of familiar faces garbed in full formal attire stood on either side of the carriage door. Polished Brass stood at the head, waiting for the group to disembark.
“I feel like someone told him something,” Hammer Strike remarked.
“Did you really think someone wouldn’t after everything we just went through?” Grif asked. He looked so artfully innocent that Hammer Strike half-expected a cartoon halo to manifest above the Gryphon’s head.
Hammer Strike sighed. “I’ll make you regret it later. Time to get this over with.” Once the train pulled to a complete stop, he stood from his seat and made his way toward the exit.
“Master Strike,” Polished Brass greeted him. “We’ve come to welcome you and escort you home.”
“I’m not even going to argue the point.” He sighed once again.
“Very good, Sir. We’ve taken the liberty of preparing means of transport, should you be unable to travel on your own power. Merely as a precaution, of course. And we will depart at your leisure.”
“I can walk,” Hammer Strike spoke firmly.
“Barely,” Grif added.
“Then that simply means we need to offer support if he needs it,” Rarity said firmly as she disembarked with Pensword and Moonshade close behind. “Emphasis on if, of course, darling,” she added to the stallion.
“Thank you,” Hammer Strike nodded to Rarity.
Rarity smiled in turn. “Of course. That is what friends are for, after all.”
“Then shall we, Sir?” Polished Brass asked.
Hammer Strike nodded. “Let’s move out.”
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5102751
Ah.
Well a most interesting story. Thank you for the second run through. I hope you enjoy the coming chapters and as I type this. Chapter 30 has just been uploaded. Also thank you for the compliments in your last comment, it brought a smile to my own face. (I have been writing too much as a pony, almost said muzzle.
))
Also if you like this story, do not hesitate to share it with others as well. We look forward to all incoming comments as well.
American_Brony
Should have said, 'Eulalia!'. That's what my battle cry would be. That or 'This is SPARTA!'.
Squee!
I hope I manage to remember, or at least find the good stuff in this chapter. I keep wondering if its possible to do like IRC etc and have a split screen, with the comment box on the bottom, so that notes and such can be written down as a chapter is read, instead of trying to remember everything till the end.
Oh look, the three heros of the Third Griffon War are in the castle, and the hot headed delegates run into not one, not two, but Three, Ha, Ha, Ha. Oh look and a Bat pony.
As for Luna being hidden in the shadows, and HammerStrike knowing she is there. How many are the ways. Yes, the slightest movement, noise in a silent as teh tomb chamber of stone. then theres the shadow being deeper than mere lack of light, the change in the air through the room being smaller at that point, the feel through the Earth Ponies hooves of the floor being the wrong shape due to someone standing on it, the shere magical flux which possibly the different wired human brain could detect like a Predator cloack isnt perfect but ripples round the edges.
Id be very intrested to see just what sort of armor Luna hid, given the speed at which it corroded, or otherwise decayed. there are treatments for most materials which greatly reduces their normal enviroment damage, but then given how Hot Hammerstrike gets, then theres venoms, acids and other corrosive materials.
Well, I just took an hour off to read up on Tungsten extraction, processing, and numbers. Apparently its possible to create it using little more than a blacksmiths forge, the heat and carbon extraction method. When its cold though, its brittle, but if as I suspect HammerStrike the Undying is a Phoenix, given the heat, then once his Tungsten armor reaches 1650 C, it becomes the Strongest, Toughest and most resiliant metal possible. Also, apparently there is now a Tungsten Bronze mix, which is great for Ceremonial Guard Armor as it makes it useable.
Something Celestia should be asking herself. The one assasin, high quality, against Griff. Essentially expected, but the other 26 is a rather large squad. Hm. Total of 27. 3*3*3. Thats rolling cover methods? The Manticore Venem was a suprise, but should be expected due to Assassins, due to me forgetting about such things and thinking they were local hired thugs or such at first.
The story behind the pitchfork s going to be very very intresting. Ive tried for the last couple years to write a short story I call The Great white bird, but only managed to get the beginning down, and the layout, because what I think might be PTSD related, stress on trying to think of the details, and remembering why I tried writing it in the first place. All I can put down is the Pratchett.
There is a place so far up, there is no down. A little lower, a small white dart screamed accross the top of the sky, outrunning the sun, crossing in hours an ocean that was once the edge of the world.
At least they managed to get back to Ponyville on the train without trouble. The Assasins throwing everything they could at teh targets immediately. But, as you said, with that bounty on their heads, theres lots more on the way. Time to get Pinkie looking out for newcomers to welcome with specially made cupcakes. Wonder how to do simple RFID tracking sprinkles for cupcakes.
I wonder, for moving all the stuff to the Everfree Castle, if it was possible to abuse the design of carts, with their high axel ground clearence, and not build a road at all, just make sure that tree stumps are no higher that a certain height, then cut and trim branches and logs to form rails for the wheels to run along, spanning from post to post at ground level, so Earth and unicorn ponies can walk between the stumps, Pegasi fly above, and they can all haul along the bumpy wooden railway which is a lot flatter than the forest surface? Trading speed of construction for speed of transport, in a way thats progressively upgradable with minimum disruption? Using this trick you can also look at making two single file foot bridges a cart wheel span apart so that you can have mobility quickly?
I dont know how much you are followng various parts of the show, or other ideas, but theres a favourite one of mine, due to various things, such as hairy footballs and such. given the whole of Equestria is filled with Magic, the Tree of Harmony, and the Everfree. you might consider the Everfree to be the black hole of magic, its border being the event horizon, which would put the Tree of Harmony as the Singularity, at which point Anything can happen? Its a completely crazy line of thinking, but its always useful to have an escape plan.
Why did things go wrong? Discord did it.
The Tree doesnt have to be known about or discovered for its effects to still exist, just like Discord is still a statue.
Waiting with intrest to see just how you have dealt with the holidays, and the troop transport into the Forest, and what other new and intresting lines of history turn up.
Oops. Sorry for the post. I get carried away occasionally.
5106945
Well, for me I am a fan of the Redwall cry. I am more of a Martin Fan myself so Redwall is my go to line. But thank you for the comment and in fact that is as you would notice back in the Changling battle, that was Taze's battle cry. So do not worry there is that battle cry in the story.
5107448
I take it you liked some of the information in this chapter? What was it that caused the Squee to come forth from your fingers to the screen.
5107866
Congrats, you are by far the longest comment I have seen on a story. In fact this is the longest comment on what was our longest chapter before we had to cut it in half. As for all you have said, I am leaving that to Hammer Strike to comment to each detail.
What I will say is that you sir have some cool thoughts and research. In not just the tungsten but also the rolling cover as well. So, please note we will give a reply but give us time to formulate it.
To all of you, Thank you for the great comments and keep on reading. I look forward to next week and another chapter that goes live.
5108758 It's been so long since the Changelings that I forgot! Dang, I might need to re-read the story... before it's finished...
5109003
Trust me, you have PLENTY of time before we finish.
5108758 well let just say I am going to predict what's going to happen is the beginning of doozies from here on out.
5109138
Oh? By all means make predictions and post them here, or theories or comments on the actions of the story itself. You are allowed to talk about specific scenes that have happened in the story so far here in the comments. So go for it.
5109174 really? Well okay, first those two ponies? Either they were time travelers of past or future, or that they're the kids of moon and pen. Also there's going to be a time travel chapter pretty soon. And somehow moon is going with the guys as the fable 'night fang' and finally those two are finally going to be ship.
5109217
Well, the two ponies? Now those are interesting and amazing thoughts. However I have to say that I cannot confirm nor deny anything at the moment. After all it would take the suspense from the story if I did, would it not?
So you will have to just wait and see. I am sure the pay off will be to your enjoyment.
as for a time travel chapter? Hmm... a good guess but I shall not reveal the structure of the story, though I can say we are working on chapter 35 now... wow, already into the thirties now. Amazing is it not? Well, as this chapter does point out in the painting that it is in fact the same, yes, however how she arrives as that is still yet to be seen by you the reader. (Yes I like being this knowledge knowing, I look forward to giving more chapters out weekly)
Ah yes, the shipping, but well their is a painting already, how the question I have for you. Does it work? Does the shipping work for these two? Was their enough build up? Was it believable?
If you are going to ask questions I feel I can ask questions back.
````````````````````````````````````````````
This is to all readers, if you see a comment you want to respond to, please, go for it, I do not mind having conversations going on between readers as well, after all, who knows what might happen or thoughts you come up with when you talk to others as well.
5111124 to me it does, the shipping that is, practically everyone else see it. Beside if remember correctly, thanks to enchantment armor pen look like a night guard, who to say that if moon does go with them means she has to be moon, for all we know she could be the wife in disguise, or possibly wore the armor, accidentally got cut off from the three, gain amnesia, became fang, meet the three, date pen, and got marry. Then remember who she was, and they come back to the present.
5111408
ah, well now a wonderful theory and keep ahold of that. A most fun suggestion and something that I am sure will be fun. Now I shall not say too much more but I will say this. Things will work out for the best in the story. Their is no ifs ands or buts about that. Things will work out in the end. I can assure you their will be another wedding sometime in the stories future.
Still, I have heard about your thoughts on the shipping, what say you on the black tips? I am actually curious on the thoughts of the readers with this little development.
5111590 it's a nice little intervention, and may keep them on their toes, or hooves in their case. Im just wondering how long till they make a game out of it, like who can kill the most? Or how many tips does it take for them to take a hint and not go after them? Or better yet, how many bodies can you fling to the wall?
I can actually imagine grif singing that.
Grif: 25 bodies fling to the wall! 25 dead black tips! Kill one now, pass to the next, 25 bodies fling to the wall!
5111630
well, a game? As in between Gimly and the elf from Lords of the Rings. (The name escapes me at the moment, I got numbers instead of letters in my head at the moment.)
Well I am not sure. I think at the moment it might not, but later on, I do not know. They are still lives being snuffed out, but how long till they realize that they might not want to keep attacking? I do not know.
Assisians are stubborn lots, and some just try to think of more and more interesting ways to keep things going their way. You will have to wait and see what comes about of this.
5111928 ha, true. Assassins are a stubborn lot, not stubborn as dwarfs though.the only thing to do is wait eh?
5112207
Ah, ((Sorry for the lateness of the reply. I had to take care of some tests in school))
Still, stubbornness, I do agree, some folks are stubborn that they pick a path and even if it leads to a dead-end, they still go down that path.
Also yes, the only thing to do is wait. The weekend is coming up and after that, we get another chapter to be posted. Mondays are still our post stories.
5118722 I don't blame you college is taking most of my time to write and plan stories of my own. Hopefully we'll get another kick of enjoyment when the story comes.
5109003
Agreed on that comment... I think we have used only a small part of what we have planned. I assure you this will be a ride the hopefully will shape a world that is enjoyable and fun to read about. As well as the history. As that was at one point my degree before I changed it. I do have a question for you Dream Seeker, what has been a favorite part of the story so far?
5118745
Well I hope you have a great time in college and may you pass all your classes so you can graduate, and please, do not burn yourself out on schooling. Still, out of curiosity, what has been a favorite scene from this entire story so far? I know you enjoyed the shipping and the assassins, still I am curious on what else you think.
5118976 honestly? I enjoy the changelings, and Im a bit surprise that there hasn't been anti changeling groups so far, you would think one or two ponies would pop out and start slandering by now with what's been going on.
5118976 I like time travel, and the whole 'hero from the past' thing, where the 'hero' gets to meet fans. I'd like some more of that, but I can see more is coming when they get to Fillydelphia at the museum.
I knew it! I totally knew she had to be Lunar Fang! I have to admit, I freaked a bit for a few moments. I suppose the only question I have is why were the Gryphon's speaking like birds? Don't they speak in normal tongue like the rest of them? I can't wait until Moonshade realizes who she really is. Keep up the good work guys!!
Alright, that was funny.