Crystal heart

by A pensive Squirrel

Death's bouquet

The ploughed miles of fertile land were empty for the most part. A couple of pegasi circled above. They were spraying the crops. Perhaps they hadn’t families to care for.

A force of stallions, thirty strong, arrived at the stretching trenches and saluted as was the convention.

“You asked for us sire?”

One quizzed.

“This is a wild goose chase, chief. We don’t know for sure it was the bite of bane.”

“Nonetheless, I want to prevent this pandemic, not cure it.”

The rude stallion took a stride towards the king and dug his hoof into the dirt.

“One death is not reason for concern. We could be doing things advantageous for the kingdom. We could be policing the threatening conflict between the dragons and our own. We could be forming a posse to find the missing paladins. Have you forgotten their wellbeing so quickly sire?”

Salem forced the stallion to take a knee with a hex of disarming. He went to trample the foolhardy donkey but he stayed his sword another day. He did prise the quill over the sword after all. He dragged the dimwit to his feet with another manipulative incantation and held him there for a few moments. All that remained of the search party designated themselves quadrants to explore while their friend gazed into the red glazed eyes of the king.

“They understand the importance of this. Wolf’s bane is incredibly potent. It poses a great risk to every last civilian, clergy member, royal and guard. We would be incapacitated in hours, mounds in the boneyard soon after that. Now forget yourself for a second and search!”

Again, the stallion defiantly smirked at Salem. He stretched his neck until it clicked before rotating his hooves, all four of them.

“We could be making a difference, not doing your bucking gardening!”

“What is your name, knave?”

“Like I’d let that slip. I’ve got a new born foal and my love is at home alone nursing her.”

“If you fear for your child then you will be more inclined to find and destroy every last root, leaf, and flower of that plant. Notice something else? I’m here. I’m the king. My own daughter ran away from home and I don’t know if she’s alive. We can’t have an encore of the mining fiasco or the murder of the mages. This isn’t about fairness and who’s getting what and for why. If a city slicker like you can’t rough it out here with us, then join the urban search.”

The knave ground his teeth as if ready to spit insults once more. However, his mouth stayed closed. After a fashion, he vanished from view. Salem left the loose tilled soil behind and started for the avenues of freshly baked something. As he imagined the spectrum of flavours and aromas to tickle his fancy, a wobbly stallion bumped into him.
“Pardon me, lovely nags. I was too busy admiring your astonishing rumps.”

Martingale slurred. He had skipped the assembly by the sounds. His breath could rust iron.

“Firstly Vincent, I’m not a she, and secondly, there is only one of me. How much have you had to drink? You look like a propaganda poster for why not to trust the heraldry. What possessed you, Vincent?”

“How I wish to spend the final days of my life is my flaming business.”

“That’s rather defeatist of you.”

“Well, your face is ugly. There I said it. Your horn’s all bendy and weird.”

“Granted, it was a birth defect. Just get your head down and sober up. I don’t want you inadvertently spreading the bane in you drunken stupor.”

“What did you call me, a lightweight? It takes more than a few tots to blunt this sharp mind.”

Salem swatted Martingale’s offensive breath from his nose. He nearly passed out it was heavily laced in liquor.

“Be that as it may, commander, you are a role model, unfortunately, for these recruits and I don’t want them to get into any of your habits.”

“I’m going to the watering hole. I’m all out of drink.”

“Listen to me, Vincent. I am biting my tongue here, and you are setting a terrible example. Get clear of the streets, shower, bathe I don’t give a damn, just don’t be seen until you are decent and sound of mind.”

Salem ordered as he grasped the paralytic stallion’s throat.

“I mean it, commander. This may be how you relax, but it will not be explicitly practised while on duty. Make yourself invisible.”

Martingale broke free of Salem’s clutches. He growled and tucked his tail between his legs. Salem watched as his once glorious officer staggered down the road, making awkward passes at things that vaguely resembled the fairer sex, and weaving haphazardly towards his home. Hopefully he wouldn’t take a detour to a local tavern.

There was a carriage, and one of the passengers looked far too familiar. Salem needed a double take to be sure, but there wasn’t a shred of doubt. It was Amber. He broke into full gallop towards the awaiting transport but it pulled away from the kerb before he could flag it down. The fit young stallions easily outran the King, still exhausted from troubled sleep.

He had forgotten about his ability to simply teleport to the carriage and instead fruitlessly pursued it. He forged on until he was red in the face and sore in the back. The other passenger must have been her lover, that puckish young rogue she had mentioned. He had given everything he could muster and his vision was turning blurry, his stomach turning south. He wasn’t the most athletic of mustangs.
It darted around a corner ahead of him and the racket of metal horse shoes died down. He puffed and panted and fell on his muzzle. His face contorted as he fought for stability. His horn shone purple and he disappeared in a flash of light.

Amber looked to her sweetheart and pecked him on the cheek. He respected her reservations on the matter of intimacy and togetherness. She still wanted him to meet her father before anything really happened between them.

That wasn’t to say that the colt-friend was frigid, or even timid. He was an energetic fusion coil of unchained emotions and hormones and the lovey-dovey rut he had found himself in was making him rancid with lust.

Salem reappeared only he didn’t just gently step onto the ground. No, he emerged in a spiralling vortex of blackest light. He smashed into the road ahead of the carriage and the marble yielded. A crater formed. The engine of stallions skidded to a halt, nearly overturning the cargo they freighted.

The driver dropped the reigns and slung a sack of wheat to the harnessed slaves below. He hopped from his perch and bowed as soon as he saw the King’s reddened horn project from the ground.

“Is there a parade scheduled for today?”

Salem crawled from the hole and shook the marble dust out of his sleek black flowing mane.

“You don’t have to answer. Did you forego my speech?”

“Lots of ponies didn’t go your eminence. They must have thought it was a total waste of time and resources just like I do. Forgive me for being frank, but I have a fare to deliver.”

“You are not. Carry on though. Who’s the happy couple?”

“Master Lotus made it clear that he was not to be delayed.”

“Ah, finally we have a name. I heard you wanted to meet with me, colt. Now, if it’s not too much of a complicated procedure, please bring yourself before me. And Amber, you aren’t off the hook yet.”

Lotus was dressed in a plain unimpressive shirt and a neat little bowtie. He vaulted the driver’s stool and landed a few feet short of the crater. It was still glowing intensely.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, the father of such a beautiful thing. I can only assume that you are as lucky as I for her mother must be most ravishing.”

“Do go on. What is your occupation, Master Lotus?”

“I’m a florist. Actually, my mum runs the little flower shop on Winder’s street. I help out where I can.”

Salem nodded and made a face as if he was satisfied with the answer.

“And my daughter, what designs do you have on her?”

“Sorry, designs?”
“Do you have cotton wool in your ears boy, what do you intend? Do you want to be wed, father children, elope?”

“Oh no, I would never leave. I can’t leave. I adore your daughter sir. She is smart, and funny, and she has the most infectious smile. I couldn’t live, knowing she wasn’t happy…”

Salem gestured for the stallion to follow him. They ducked down a nearby ally until Salem dragged the smartly dressed colt by the tufts of fur on his ear and slammed him against the wall. He knocked the flowers from his hoof.”

“Are you blind, boy? This chattel contains wolf’s bane. How can you work in a flower shop and not know this?”

“It’s a pretty purple flower; I thought she’d like it. And I’m not a botanist, I’m a handyman, do odd jobs around the place, fix the odd leaky pipe, decorate houses, that sort of thing.”

Salem thrust his fore hooves into the shoulders of the stallion and raised him off of the ground.

“My mum was always saying how dads protect their daughters. She wasn’t wrong. My name’s Tiger by the way.”

“Had you been at my so-called wasteful speech you would have learnt that a filly no older than four was ended by that very plant. Where did you get it from, Tiger?”

“My mother arranged them especially to give to your daughter. We were going to have a picnic today.”

Salem released the runt but didn’t let him scarper. He stamped on his tail and yanked him back towards him.

“You are her rogue? I’ve had bowel movements more unpredictable than you. You are safe. Why would she have me believe you were a bad egg?”

“Beats me, I don’t know what she’s thinking most of the time.”

“Hmm, humorous, I shall have to remember that one when I’m next at the gala. You beat an egg, funny right? Have you touched any part of the purple bloom? If so, my daughter might already be sick.”

“She hasn’t touched the flowers…”

“Unlike you, I can see perfectly fine. You think I didn’t see you two smooching?”

“Ah, right-right, that could potentially be bad right?”

Salem released Tiger’s tail and started followed a few paces behind. The spritely young stallion bounded out of the ally whereas Salem took his time, plodding in the dark refuse of garbage and overspill. He didn’t see that the bouquet had rolled and he didn’t see where it now rested.

His hoof compressed the sentimental gift into a colourful gunge. He shrieked as the bindings of the stems came apart and he saw that he had touched the lethal plant. He backed away until the cloud overhead passed and the ally was drenched in sunlight. They were plastic. The purple petals had snapped and, going back to feel them, Salem discovered that they were ductile and smooth. They weren’t real.

Quick as a whip he appeared back at crashed carriage and handed the crudely squashed together bouquet to Tiger.

“It turns out the bane was an imitation. I suppose they do have a certain royal flair to them. By all means, give them to her.”

“I don’t know the first thing about flowers, but my mum does. I tell you, she could cater for any occasion, weddings, funerals, you name it she can do it. She says different flowers mean different things. It’s all gibberish to me. I might not give these to her now.”

“But they’re harmless, don’t be such a prude. She’ll appreciate the thought, not the appearance. She’s courting you after all.”

“That wasn’t a compliment.”

“Clever boy, you’ll go far. You kids run off now, have fun. Be young before you get old.”

Still no closer to finding the root of the wolf’s bane problem, Salem tipped the driver and when ready, made for the ramparts.