Darkest Shadows

by FireOfTheNorth

Living Legends

The hour was late – closer to morning than evening – so there were no ponies able to witness the massive wolf stalking the streets of Canterlot. The colossal paw prints left in the thin layer of snow that coated the cobblestones would disappear as the snow turned to slush and melted into the gutters with the light of the coming day. None would be aware of the momentous event that had occurred while they were sound asleep in their beds. For the first time in a century, a werewolf roamed the streets of Canterlot.

For this particular werewolf, it had been over three hundred years since the last time he had been in this city. Things had certainly changed since then. Most of the buildings that he remembered were gone, torn down to make way for more modern structures. The factories and mills were gone, those jobs moved to Stalliongrad in the goal of making Canterlot a cleaner city. Crime was on the decline, to the point that constables no longer stalked the streets at night in pairs with a lantern and crossbow between them. This bothered the werewolf none; it made it easier for him to move unseen. This city would soon cease to exist, anyway. It would all be torn down, and a new city rooted in the old ways would take its place.

After traversing paths known only to a few, the werewolf found a more familiar setting. Here, the homes were placed irregularly and streets meandered. The buildings were sagging and decrepit, but still held some of the old dignity inherent in their architecture. Three centuries earlier, this place had mirrored Canterlot, but while the equine city had moved on, this city had been left to rot. The werewolf ran his claws lovingly along the walls as he moved down the streets; this was his city, and it would not be taken from him again.

He had traveled all the way from the mountains beyond Saddle Arabia on the feeling that now was his time. Even if he failed, he knew that he had to return to Canterlot and begin again what he’d been forced to leave undone three hundred years ago. He had expected his chance of success to be slim, but fortune appeared to be in his favor. When he’d slunk past Rosethorn Hall earlier, he had sensed nothing of its resident, only foals and old mares. Now was the time; it had to be.

As the clouds over Canterlot drifted away, a nearly full moon shone down on the pool in the center of his city, bathing everything in cool moonlight. The werewolf basked in it, a smile gracing his muzzle. He removed the satchel from over his shoulder and let the massive sword strapped to his back fall to the ground. From the satchel, he removed a worn book and stepped out into the pool. Once he reached its center, he removed the eyepatch from over his left eye and began to recite the rhythmic growling recorded in the tome he held. At its conclusion, the werewolf threw his head back and let out a howl loud enough to wake the dead.

All across Canterlot, ponies were awakened by a howl that had ended by the time they were fully conscious. Yet, that would not be the last of it. Werewolves all across Equestria would hear that howl and recognize its significance. The werewolf in the pool snapped the book in his claws closed. Let it begin.

Darkest Shadows
Part the Fifth: Living Legends

***

Across Canterlot, Beryl Fields was engaged in battle with an amphiptere. Over the past few nights, Beryl had tracked the winged serpent as it moved from cemetery to cemetery, feasting on corpses, and had finally cornered it in this alley. It was unable to escape now; a magical chain from Shadowmere’s stash of weapons secured it to the ground. Beryl followed the beast with her crossbow as it yanked at the end of the chain and flapped from wall to wall in an attempt to escape.

Beryl was taken off guard as the werewolf’s howl sounded across the city. It was like nothing she’d ever heard before, and her instinctive response was to turn her head in an attempt to locate its source. The amphiptere took advantage of that moment of distraction and darted toward the Ministry agent, the blade at the end of its tail slicing through her uniform and her shoulder. The intense pain from the gash brought her instantly back to the moment, and her magical sword blazed into existence before chopping off the amphiptere’s head.

As the monster’s body twitched on the ground, Beryl dropped her crossbow and tried to staunch the bleeding. Her saddlebags were resting nearby, and she withdrew some bandages from them to rapidly bind her wound. After moving the amphiptere’s corpse behind some trash cans and putting the chain trap back into her saddlebags, Beryl departed the scene; her makeshift bandaging job wouldn’t last forever.

A wave of dizziness hit her as she reached Rosethorn Hall, and she realized that she’d been poisoned. She had antidotes in her saddlebags for amphiptere venom, but she stumbled down the stairs to Shadowmere’s apartments before she could get to them. The vials spilled from her saddlebags and rolled across the floor as she landed at the foot of the stairs. She tried to retrieve them, but her magic fizzled out, disabled by the poison. Beryl dragged her body to the closest vial and pulled it open with her teeth, slurping as much of the antidote into her mouth as possible. After a few minutes, she could move again, and righted herself before entering Shadowmere’s hideout.

It had been nearly two months since Shadowmere had left to investigate the lobgoblin’s talisman, but his apartments had not been going unused. Beryl had spent more time here than at her own home, looking through resources Shadowmere owned, but not the Ministry. She had solved several cases in that time that the Ministry hadn’t assigned her, and in several others that they had, she had been greatly helped by Shadowmere’s books and tools.

Beryl threw her saddlebags onto the sofa as she trotted through the sitting room and picked up a stack of books, adding some bandages to them before leaving the room. Her fall down the stairs had caused her bandages to come loose which needed to be retied, but first she wanted to reach her destination. She followed the passageways to a room with walls of crystal and sat down with her stack of books. Within this room, the healing process was accelerated. Beryl rewrapped her wound and cracked open a book to where she’d left off before the business with the amphiptere drew her attention. A few minutes later, she was asleep, and with any luck would be fully healed by the time she woke up.

***

“Hey, Berry!” Roaring Thunder’s voice cut out across the Ministry’s foyer, causing Beryl to flinch.

After sleeping off her injury in the healing room, Beryl returned to the Ministry to notify the cleanup crews that the amphiptere’s body needed to be removed from the alley where she’d stashed it. Next, she had written up her report on the case and submitted it for approval. Having just finished a case, she decided to take the rest of the day off to recover from her sleep deprivation from previous nights and do some more research. However, it seemed that Roaring Thunder wasn’t going to let her leave in silence. Why does he insist on always talking to me? He knows I can’t stand him, so why does he continue to follow me around?

“Did you hear that howl last night?” the pegasus asked as he did a flip and landed next to Beryl.

“I was in the middle of a fight and it nearly cost me my life,” Beryl replied as she increased her pace toward the Ministry’s exit.

“What do you think it came from?” Roaring Thunder asked as he cantered along, “I’ve never heard anything like it before.”

“I don’t know, but I’m sure somepony is looking into it,” Beryl replied, desperate to escape and begin looking into the matter herself.

“Agent Beryl Fields,” Siren’s Song drew her attention away as she neared the Ministry’s exit, “May I have a word with you?”

Beryl had no idea why the Deputy Director would need to speak with her, but at least it would provide her with an excuse to leave Roaring Thunder behind. The pegasus seemed to take the hint without her saying anything, and glided over to another group of agents to gossip about the howl everypony had heard. Siren’s Song trotted over to meet Beryl, her latest report in his magical grip.

“What’s this I see about you leaving a monster’s corpse on the streets of Canterlot for nearly four hours?” he asked as he flipped through the report, “I thought you knew protocol better than this.”

“Yes, sir,” Beryl said apologetically, “I had more pressing matters at the time and felt that the amphiptere’s corpse wouldn’t be discovered where I had hidden it. I was badly injured, you see-”

“Injured!” Siren’s Song exclaimed, “Why didn’t you mention this in your report?”

“I didn’t think it was worth mentioning, sir,” Beryl explained, “I patched myself up and used a robust regenerative potion to heal my wound. The injury won’t interfere with my duty.”

She hoped that this would be enough of an explanation. Shadowmere’s healing room repaired flesh far better than any healing potion the Ministry had at its disposal. She didn’t even have a scar, just a part in her coat that would quickly disappear. Thankfully, Beryl had had the foresight to anticipate a situation like this arising and had checked out several robust regenerative potions from the Ministry’s supply stores to use as an excuse. As long as they didn’t examine her body, her secret was safe.

“You of all ponies can’t afford any slip-ups like this,” Siren’s Song sighed, “Director Thistleback still holds a grudge against you, and she’ll use this omission as an excuse to deny you the elevated privileges I know you deserve. Please promise me that you’ll be more careful in following protocol until the Director moves on, at least when it comes to filling out reports.”

“Sorry, sir; it won’t happen again,” Beryl promised, and the Deputy Director nodded and walked away.

***

After leaving the Ministry, Beryl returned to Shadowmere’s rooms beneath Rosethorn Hall. Though months had passed, it was still odd not seeing the stallion here, seated in his chair reading an ancient tome or emerging from one of the doors which led to places Beryl still didn't know about. The immortal stallion’s library was a mess, books about amphipteres covering the tables, and Beryl put them all back in their places before beginning her next search for knowledge.

“Howl,” she said aloud, using a spell she’d learned from a Ministry agent who worked in the records department, and books throughout the library began to glow.

As usual when searching something so general, there were far too many books to go through them all, so Berry moved up and down the stacks, selecting the ones that looked to be the most helpful. By the time she was done, she still had a large pile to sift through, so she began to eliminate possibilities. First to go were monsters that were definitely extinct, followed by those presumed extinct. These books didn’t go straight back to the shelves, instead ending up in a separate pile in case Berry needed to come back to them. She still remembered the first case that had led her to Shadowmere, and gargoyles weren’t the only extinct creature that could conceivably return. Likewise, monsters that avoided cities were also discarded only tentatively, for the ponies that had brought the country-dwelling lobgoblin to Canterlot could try the same trick a second time.

“Amarok,” Berry used the spell again to divide up the remaining books based on the three monsters she’d narrowed it down to, “Heart o’ the Mountain, werewolf.”

Book by book, Berry worked her way through the stacks of ancient tomes, searching for some mention of a howl like the one she’d heard the night before. It didn’t take her too long before she convinced herself that it hadn’t come from an amarok. These wolves were so large that it would have been impossible for somepony not to have seen them, and they only howled after a kill. If somepony (or more likely some ponies) had been murdered the night before, the news would have reached the Ministry quickly. Amaroks also were natives of extremely snowy areas, and though some suitably frigid locations could probably be found in the mountains around Canterlot, this year’s early thaw would make such a creature uncomfortable, at the very least.

A Heart o’ the Mountain didn’t seem any more likely a suspect after digging through the books on the monster. These wolves of molten rock dwelt at the heart of active volcanoes and surrounding lava plains, and would find Canterlot’s current weather as unsuitable as an amarok would. That alone couldn’t rule them out, though. Their howl was nothing spectacular aside from shooting out sparks and occasionally flaming flint, and was noted as being surprisingly quiet given the beasts’ size. There was also the matter that Hearts o’ the Mountain always hunted in packs and howled in packs, one author making the point that “a Heart o’ the Mountain never howls alone.” It was possible that a Heart o’ the Mountain in Canterlot was the last of its pack, but it was a stretch, given the other indicators against it.

Finally, Berry turned to the option she’d originally wanted to reject because it was so . . . pedestrian. Werewolves and other lycanthropes were nothing special for Ministry agents, and the fact that no werewolves had been seen in Canterlot in centuries didn’t change the fact that they were a mandatory subject during training. Werewolves were as well understood as vampires, but that thought gave Berry pause. Just recently she’d learned something new about vampires that she’d never gotten a hint of in her Ministry training, so maybe werewolves weren’t as well-known as she thought either. Thinking back, the howl the night before had sounded similar to a werewolf’s, except that it was far too loud and had a strange resonating quality that was hard to describe.

The stack of books on werewolves was taller than the other two, most likely because there was so much on them, unlike the usual too little. Bravely, Berry plowed ahead, paging through the many tomes looking for something to explain the howl she’d heard. She picked up a few new things about werewolves in her reading, mainly small things like ways to injure, trap, or kill them. She began moving more quickly as she searched fruitlessly, sometimes skipping over entire chapters before forcing herself to go back and look through them lest she miss some vital clue by accident.

When she finally found what she was searching for, she didn’t even realize it at first, and had to flip back a few pages to find where she had seen the word "howl" written “Howl.” The book was Werewolf Culture, and Berry had found information on the Howl in the section on lore and legends werewolves had about themselves. Flipping back and reading more closely, Berry learned about the legendary Spitze Wolf that some werewolves believed would one day come and unite all werewolves into one kingdom. Werewolves were usually solitary creatures, and Berry found it odd that she had never heard anything about them attempting to unite in a society. Then again, the Ministry was more concerned with killing them than learning their history and prophecy.

The Howl was a special ability only extremely powerful werewolves could do. When a werewolf believed they were the destined Spitze Wolf, they would use the Howl to announce it to all werewolves and summon them to crown him their king. According to Werewolf Culture, several attempts had been made by werewolves in history to name themselves Spitze Wolf, but all had failed. The Howl had been used less and less often over time as werewolves became discouraged by the prospect of ever finding the true Spitze Wolf with the power to unite them. In the author’s opinion, they’d lost all stomach for even attempting it after a Howl nearly three millennia ago when the werewolves had gathered only to be slaughtered by the Paladins of Order, who used Argol’s Treachery to track down the meeting. Of course, the book was itself two and a half millennia old; it was possible that potential Spitze Wolves had appeared since then, but there was no record of them.

The story of Argol’s Treachery was also included in Werewolf Culture, and it didn’t take Berry long to locate it. Apparently Argol was a werewolf unable to hear the Howl emitted by his brethren, and so he created an artifact that would guide him to the werewolf who performed the Howl. The other werewolves, however, saw this as a betrayal, that Argol was attempting to expose the Spitze Wolf to attacks by non-lycans, and tried to hunt him down. Hounded by his own kind for trying to overcome his disability and participate in the creation of a werewolf kingdom, Argol eventually did turn traitor. The artifact, which came to be called Argol’s Treachery, was passed from pony to pony over time until eventually coming into the possession of the Paladins of Order.

Berry examined a sketch of Argol’s Treachery in the book. It appeared to be a simple amulet carved in an angular representation of a wolf’s head, the fur formed by intertwining runes. Taking the book with her, Berry left the library and made her way to the many rooms Shadowmere used to store artifacts. She was only slightly surprised when she located an amulet identical to the sketch in the book sitting on a shelf in one of the rooms. She had difficulty determining exactly what material Argol’s Treachery was made of, but it appeared to be some kind of wood, though it was denser and tougher than any kind of wood she’d ever seen; in fact, it was denser and tougher than most metals she’d seen. There was a peg jutting from the wall where it was presumably supposed to hang, but Berry draped it around her neck instead. If it really worked like in the book, perhaps it would be helpful to track down the werewolf if he performed the Howl again.

Beryl was returning to her table of books when she noticed that one tome on the bookshelves was glowing faintly. It was tucked in the back corner near the floor, and she had to give it a good tug to pull it free of the other books crushing it. It hadn’t been glowing earlier when she’d walked through looking for books, that was for certain. The glow seemed just a bit brighter after she released her magic on it and set the book down.

“Howl,” she tried repeating her earlier spell, but there was no change in the tome’s glow.

“Werewolf,” she tried then, after seeing that the title etched into the book’s black leather cover was The Lycanthrope Kingdom.

The book practically blazed with light then, and she had to look away for a few seconds before it died down. Berry’s magic had clearly triggered the glow, but the aura coming from the book was its own. Tentatively, she opened herself up to sense magic, and was met with roiling waves of energy gradually dying down as the glow faded. At the center of this moving energy was a very dense magical core, as if the book itself was nothing more than a super condensed block of pure magic. Steeling herself for what she might find, Berry opened the cover of the book.

It was blank. So was the next page, and the next. Every single page in The Lycanthrope Kingdom was nothing more than a plain sheet of aged parchment. Yet, clearly the book had some significance, and nopony would ever enchant a book so thoroughly without using it to record anything, would they? If the book’s intended purpose wasn’t a repository of knowledge, then why had Shadowmere kept it in the library and not in some other room?

A slight tingling in her teeth was the only warning Berry had before the amulet around her neck suddenly jerked forward, levitating in midair. A second later, the barely audible sound of the Howl reached her through Rosethorn Hall and the packed earth around Shadowmere’s apartments. Given how Argol’s Treachery was reacting, there was no more room for doubt that the monster she was dealing with was a werewolf. The Ministry agent grabbed her gear, including plenty of silver crossbow bolts, on her way out, following the pull of Argol’s Treachery.

***

Beryl moved slowly ahead, but with a sense of urgency. The levitating amulet had led her down into Canterlot’s sewers, where there wasn’t much room to maneuver, compelling her to advance cautiously. Argol’s Treachery was also beginning to dip, however, suggesting that the effect would soon wear off, urging her to hurry before that happened. A globe of light at the end of her horn illuminated the area around her, but not much farther. Werewolves could see perfectly well in low-light conditions, meaning that the Ministry agent would be at a disadvantage. To compensate, she had her crossbow out in front of her, already loaded and ready to fire at a moment’s notice. So long as she could react faster than a werewolf could attack, all would be well.

As she was passing a ladder to the surface, Argol’s Treachery twitched a few times, began to swing to the left, then fell limp. Now Beryl had to be extra careful. Before, the amulet told her exactly which direction her prey was in, but no longer. The werewolf could come from any direction without notice. It was also likely that the beast was close, assuming the shift in direction at the end had occurred separately from the amulet losing its effect.

Beryl thought she heard growls and snorts echoing through the sewers, but couldn’t be sure of the direction or authenticity of the noises. Shuffling and splashing water came from somewhere, but was impossible to pinpoint. Beryl swung back and forth with her light and her crossbow, checking up and down the sewer passage. The faint sound of claws scraping against stone was the only warning she received.

The werewolf launched himself from behind and above, having closed in on Beryl by propping his legs and arms against the sewer walls and scurrying along. A low growl escaped the beast’s throat as he slashed at the mare with wickedly sharp claws. Beryl spun quickly and released her crossbow bolt as she rolled away, sewer water splashing around her. The bolt missed its mark, speeding through the hair on the werewolf’s shoulder instead of through his heart.

The lycanthrope landed heavily in the water as Beryl put some distance between them. Slowly it rose into that awkward stance unique to werewolves. Both wild wolves and the pony it had been before being bitten walked on four legs, but the unnaturally wide torso and long forearms made that pose uncomfortable to werewolves, and it stood on two feet, its body slightly hunched over. As it opened its maw to reveal prominent canines, Beryl noticed the eyepatch over its left eye and the scar that crossed it.

Swiftly, Beryl loaded another silver bolt into her crossbow and fired it at the werewolf. The creature dodged to the side while it drew a sword from its back nearly as long as its body. Her next bolt was batted away with the flat of the blade, as were the next two silver bolts that she fired. Beryl summoned a magic blade as the werewolf charged her, and used it to block his initial swing.

“A Ministry agent; now this will be fun,” the werewolf laughed as he leaned in toward Beryl, his blade pressing hers back.

A silver knife flew from Beryl’s side as she levitated its point toward the werewolf. Seeing the deadly silver approaching, the beast jumped back, but not before the blade cut a shallow gash in his shoulder. The werewolf jumped back in, greatsword in both claws brought down in a heavy swipe at Beryl’s head. Her magical blade absorbed the blow, but flickered and sputtered, indicating that this was no ordinary sword that had struck it. As Beryl tried to strike the werewolf again with her knife, he removed one of his claws from the sword’s hilt and snatched the blade out of the air. Blood gushed from where the silver had impaled his palm, but he showed no sign of pain and threw the knife behind him, far down the sewer tunnel and out of Beryl’s telekinetic reach.

As the werewolf’s bloody claw shot out toward her, she jumped back and reconsidered her options. In her rush to get to the werewolf before Argol’s Treachery became inactive, she hadn’t thought to bring more than one silver knife. She still had plenty of silver crossbow bolts, but they wouldn’t be able to pierce the werewolf’s flesh without the force of a crossbow behind them, and she was too close to attempt to use her ranged weapon without the risk of losing it.

She had no more time to reconsider a plan as the werewolf launched himself at her, using the sewer wall to catapult in from the side. Beryl ducked down and rolled beneath the werewolf as he somersaulted over her, and she was barely able to dodge the swing of his greatsword as he spun it around behind his back with one arm. As the werewolf spun around to face her, he brought his greatsword up at Beryl, and she deflected the blow with her magic blade, pouring extra energy into it so that it could withstand the assault from the beast’s weapon.

The two circled each other, making jabs with sword and claw whenever they detected an opening. Each time, they were blocked or forced to withdraw to avoid overextending themselves. As the fight dragged on, the werewolf grew more and more irate, until with a snarl he charged in toward Beryl. Spinning his sword around, he used it as a shield for his forearm and as a barrier to smash into the mare. Beryl ducked down and began to swing her magic blade up at the exposed underside of the werewolf’s arm until she saw his other, bloody claw darting out toward her throat.

Quickly, she withdrew her blade and jumped backward, and the werewolf grabbed not her neck, but Argol’s Treachery as it flailed out away from her body. The werewolf paused as it felt the amulet and didn’t pursue while Beryl was vulnerable. She began to steel herself for his next attack, and was entirely unprepared when he dropped his guard, the tip of his greatsword dipping into the sewer water. Holding onto the string, he let Argol’s Treachery drop and dangle from his right claw. His eyes were unreadable as he stared at the bloody wolf’s head.

“Where did you get this?” the werewolf said icily, all the fiery passion in his voice earlier extinguished.

Beryl didn’t respond, but didn’t let her guard down either. This werewolf knew about the Ministry; did he know about Shadowmere, too? Was he merely surprised to find Argol’s Treachery, or did his tone suggest a deeper meaning? Or, could this be merely a trap to lure her into relaxing?

“I know what pony this belonged to last, and you are not he,” the werewolf said as he fixed Beryl with a stare that would have fixed her in place had she not already resolved to stay firmly planted until the werewolf made a move that announced his intentions.

She had put some significant distance between herself and the werewolf, so it would probably be safe to use her crossbow at this range, at least to get a single shot off. In the state the werewolf was in, a single shot might even be enough to kill. Yet, something stopped Beryl from drawing her weapon and firing. It seemed that this werewolf might know something about the enigmatic stallion she was working with. Could it hurt to wait and see what he had to say?

“Very well; go on and protect him then, like a fool,” the werewolf said, taking on a haughty tone as he stood straighter and hunched his shoulders back, “If I see you again, I’ll kill you, but for now I’ll leave you with this warning. Don’t trust Shadowmere. I did, and this is how he repaid that trust.”

With a single digit, the werewolf pointed at his eyepatch. Something clicked then in Beryl’s mind. A wolf; Shadowmere swinging a sword; an eyepatch. The werewolf was telling the truth, a truth that had been partially revealed in the dreamscape Beryl and Shadowmere had traversed together. He’d said that it was a mix of their memories, an intersection of past, present, and future. So, this was the wolf he had slashed through the eye. It made sense for Shadowmere, a professional monster hunter, to attack a werewolf, so why did the werewolf consider this to be a betrayal? Could it be? Had Shadowmere been an accomplice to him?

The werewolf wrapped Argol’s Treachery to his sword’s hilt before sheathing it and bounding off on all fours into the darkness. Beryl broke herself from her daze and pulled out her crossbow before he was out of sight. Galloping after the werewolf, she fired two shots at him, both missing. Soon he had disappeared beyond the range of what Beryl could see. She tried to track him using his magical trail, but this werewolf had been trained in how to obscure his aura, and the trail swiftly faded away. She would never find him in the maze that was the Canterlot sewer system, but she tried anyway, following the faintest sounds echoing off the walls.

She was prepared to give up, when a shadowy figure charged out of a side tunnel just ahead of her. Instinctively, Beryl brought her crossbow up, and the figure whirled at the sound of the bolt sliding back. An instant later, Beryl found the tip of a rapier positioned a hair’s breadth away from her neck. Frozen in place, Beryl was able to examine the stranger, and realized that (at least by outward appearances) it was a fellow pony. A long, black cloak covered most of the mare’s body, and the golden glow around the rapier meant that there was a horn beneath the tricorn perched on her head. It was difficult to make out features in the artificial light from Beryl’s horn, but the stranger’s chalky yellow coat and orange mane pulled back and tucked into her cloak stuck out to her. There was more surprise than malice in the mare’s eyes, so Beryl decided it was safe enough to venture a question.

“Have I seen you before?” she asked.

The strange mare’s eyes grew wider at that question, and she quickly withdrew her rapier before teleporting away. A flash down the tunnel revealed that she hadn’t gone far, and Beryl ran after her until she saw her teleport away again, jumping rapidly down the tunnel and out of sight. The mare seemed very familiar, and Beryl was sure she’s seen her before. Not just that, but she was sure she’d seen her before at the Ministry. But what was a Ministry agent doing running around the Canterlot sewers dressed like that? Could she be doing the same thing Beryl was; working outside the Ministry to take on her own case? With the werewolf vanished and Beryl alone in the sewers (as far as she knew), there was nothing left to do but look for her at the Ministry in the morning.

***

The next day, Beryl returned to the Ministry and began searching for the mystery mare. At the same time, she had to make it look like she was also searching for a new case. Unlike the day before, she would have no excuse for taking off early with no assigned case. There was a stack of potential cases on her desk next to the Ministry’s agent registry; Berry intensely flipped through the latter while completely ignoring the former. Until she located the mare she’d seen in the sewers, there was no way she could focus on tracking down some monster other than the werewolf who’d taken Argol’s Treachery and given her a warning about Shadowmere.

After poring through the collected information on all agents of the Ministry, she finally located her quarry. Adamant was an Agent Third-Class in the Equestrian Defense Department, the group assigned to deal with threats that could topple the nation itself. Did the Ministry realize the significance of the Howl? Is that why Adamant had been in the sewers the previous night?

The only way to know for sure would be to ask her, so Berry got up from her desk and headed toward Adamant’s office. There couldn’t be any harm in asking, since they had definitely identified each other the night before. Of course, if Amaranth had been on a legitimate mission for the Ministry, then it would make things difficult for Berry to explain what she’d been doing. Still, she had been seen, so this would happen eventually anyway. With what she felt was a stroke of luck, she spotted Adamant as she was walking through the Ministry’s foyer, headed toward the hallway to the EDD offices.

“Agent Beryl Fields,” Deputy Director Siren’s Song’s voice caught her attention before she could call out to Adamant.

“What is it, Deputy Director?” Beryl asked as she turned to face the unicorn, trying to keep Adamant in her field of vision at the same time.

“I’m investigating something in the Skyway and I need you to accompany me,” he announced as he cantered swiftly past Beryl toward the Ministry’s entrance, adjusting his equipment as he went.

“What’s going on?” Beryl asked with concern as she regretfully turned away from Adamant and walked alongside the Deputy Director.

“I can answer all your questions when we arrive,” Siren’s Song said brusquely, “Right now, we need to hurry.”

***

Once they’d exited the Ministry, the two ponies took a carriage together to the Skyway, riding in silence the whole way. Siren’s Song had given the taxi-puller strict instructions to stay off Canterlot’s major streets to avoid traffic, so whatever was going on in the Skyway must really have been urgent. After getting out of the carriage at the lower part of the district, he didn’t let up pace at all in leading the way. While the Skyway started as part of the main city of Canterlot, the large majority of the district wrapped around the mountain the city was built out from, ascending as it went. Most of the buildings were homes to pegasi, who had no problem with their houses being suspended out over the abyss or being unreachable except by climbing stairs and ramps too steep for a carriage to traverse. Because Canterlot’s main dirigible port was also in the Skyway, there was one way to move things larger than a pony, through a massive cargo funicular, but this was off limits to passengers other than those moving goods to and from the city below.

Near the highest point of the Skyway, Siren’s Song and Berry made their way to the station for the aerial tram that connected the city to the luxury dirigible marina that floated on clouds out away from the mountain. Flashing his badge to the confused tram attendant, Siren’s Song secured immediate passage on a tram exclusively for himself and Beryl. While rich ponies looking forward to taking their airships out for a cruise on a day with such fine weather watched irately, the tram pulled away from the Skyway with only two passengers aboard.

“Okay, I know this is urgent, but surely you can tell me what’s going on here,” Beryl said after tram had pulled a fair distance away from the station.

In reply, Siren’s Song raised a hoof to say “wait” and pulled a crystal from a pocket of his uniform, setting it down between them. A spark flew from his horn to the crystal and it began to glow. Simultaneously, sound seemed to shift and a faint hum appeared to be coming from all directions at once.

“I apologize for all the caution, but now that nopony outside of this tram can overhear our conversation, I can tell you the truth,” Siren’s Song said as he fixed Beryl with a serious expression, “There is no mission in the Skyway.”

“Then why did you bring me out here?” asked a very confused (and somewhat worried) Beryl.

“To ascertain why you were in the Canterlot sewers last night,” Siren’s Song said, clearing up her confusion but confirming her worries. So Adamant was on a mission for the Ministry last night after all, and she reported me to the Deputy Director. This was inevitable, sooner or later, but now I need some way to explain myself that doesn’t implicate Shadowmere. He is, after all, the Ministry’s most wanted.

“I was tracking down a werewolf,” Beryl replied honestly, feeling there was no need to obscure that particular fact.

“Yes, that’s what I thought, and since you have yet to take on another case since dealing with that amphiptere, I assume that you were acting outside of the Ministry’s authority?”

“Well, yes, but-” Beryl started to say, but was cut off as Siren’s Song raised a hoof to silence her.

“There’s no need for you to explain your actions to me. I’m not a pony who will discipline another for taking initiative just because they didn’t stay within the rules,” the Deputy Director said in an obvious jab at his superior, “I’ve been watching things, and it seems you’ve been acting on your own for some time. That’s why I have an offer for you.”

“An offer?” Beryl asked.

“Yes; as you have no doubt surmised from your run-in with Agent Adamant last night, you are not the only Ministry agent to hunt monsters outside the Ministry. However, it is dangerous to take on such tasks without any backup available. The Ministry’s agents are too valuable to risk losing them on personal hunts,” Siren’s Song said before leaning closer to Berry, “There is a group of us working outside of the Ministry that rely on each other. I would like you to join us.”

“I don’t know if I could do that,” Beryl said slowly as she watched the tram approach the dirigible marina, “I need some time to think.”

“I understand, but you should know that you would not lose any autonomy in your hunts if you choose to join us, merely gain resources and backup you would not have on your own,” Siren’s Song said swiftly as he also watched the marina approach, “Before you make your decision, you will need to meet with the other members. Meet me at sunset at this location.”

“And if I choose not join after meeting them?” Beryl asked as she took the slip of paper the Deputy Director passed to her, “I’ll know all your identities and could put you at risk of being discovered by Director Thistleback.”

“No, you won’t,” Siren’s Song said coolly, “If you choose not to join, we’ll wipe your memory of the meeting and this conversation, and you can go on fighting on your own.”

As he finished speaking, the tram came to a halt at the Skyway dirigible marina. Before any passengers could get on, Siren’s Song snatched up the crystal, and the hum disappeared as its glow ceased.

“I’ll find my own way back to the Ministry,” he said as he stepped off the tram, “Tonight. Sunset. Be there.”

***

As the sun sank beneath the western horizon, bathing Canterlot’s buildings in a crimson glow, Berry came to a halt outside the location Siren’s Song had specified for their meeting. It turned out that the address corresponded to a swanky five-star restaurant. Out front, Canterlot’s elite were lined up down the sidewalk, chatting amicably behind the velvet rope that separated them from those not wealthy or important enough to be admitted. Was she supposed to enter? The Deputy Director’s note only specified the location, with no other instructions. The question also remained if she would even be allowed in. Certainly not as a guest, not dressed as she was in her Ministry uniform, though it might get her in if she flashed her badge.

The confusion was cleared up as she spotted Siren’s Song gesturing to her from the corner of the building. She almost hadn’t recognized him, dressed as he was in civilian clothes: a fine-tailored suit with a heavy overcoat and a wide-brimmed top hat on his head. The clothes seemed out of style by several decades at least, but that seemed to be a theme when it came to monster-hunting vigilantes. Beryl had assumed Shadowmere dressed that way because he had lived through those time periods, but maybe his outfit really was the current style for his profession. Or maybe these outside-the-Ministry monster hunters were just copying the Black Briar’s style. Perhaps she’d never know the truth.

“Here, put this on,” Siren’s Song said after Berry trotted over to him, and he passed her a pin.

Beryl examined the pin as she fastened it to her uniform; it was nearly identical to the sun on Equestria’s flag (and Celestia’s hindquarters), except that it had been bisected, with only the top half remaining. A sunrise or a sunset perhaps?

She had no more time for musings on the pin’s meaning as Siren’s Song gestured for her to follow him as he headed toward the nearby narrow alley. About three-quarters of the way down, he stopped and turned abruptly to the left, stepping through the wall. Trotting up to where he had been a moment before, Beryl did the same.

The wall of the restaurant was definitely there, but she passed through it like it hadn’t even existed. On the other side was a small landing (where Siren’s Song was waiting for her to make it through) and a stone staircase leading down. Dim gaslights flickered at uneven intervals from the wall, bringing to mind her fight with the djinn. As Siren’s Song led the way, the two ponies descended into the earth, and the air grew cold and moist.

At the bottom of the stairs was an expansive room filled with pillars and walls that formed a convoluted maze. Beryl figured that the pin fixed to her uniform had been enchanted to allow her passage through the wall up above, but even if somepony had found some other way through, it would take them some time to find their way through the maze. Odd runes were carved into many of the walls, though Beryl couldn’t tell if they served some purpose or were just decorative.

A short passage after the maze brought the two ponies to a large cathedral-like space at the end of the journey. Within were gathered five other ponies, some of which Beryl recognized. Adamant was there, dressed the same way she had been the night before. Operations Chief Verdant Blades was also here, as well as Orion Star, head of the cleanup crews, both dressed in strange outfits instead of their Ministry uniforms. There was another pony she’d definitely seen around the Ministry before but didn’t recognize. The last pony took her completely by surprise; it was Shadowmere!

How could he be here? Shadowmere was supposed to be far away, looking into the lobgoblin’s origins, so what was he doing here? Maybe it wasn’t really Shadowmere; this stallion was wearing his outfit exactly except for the mask completely concealing his face. Or maybe it really was Shadowmere, and he didn’t trust the others enough to reveal his true identity. Still, that wouldn’t answer why he was here but hadn’t returned to Rosethorn Hall.

As Beryl and Siren’s Song entered the chamber, the ponies that had been chatting ceased their speech. None of them seemed unfriendly per se, just serious, and justly so. The mission these ponies had taken on was nothing to take lightly. It was harder to tell with the Shadowmere-not-Shadowmere; the exquisitely crafted mask covering his face had no slots for eyes to peer out of, just globes of glass that were opaque from the outside.

“As you all know, I have invited Agent Beryl Fields to join us tonight,” Siren’s Song announced to the room before addressing Beryl directly, “You already know Operations Chief Verdant Blades and Site Reclamation Chief Orion Star, and you met Agent Adamant last night. This is Agent Immaculate Cut, and our leader: the Black Briar.”

“A pleasure to make your acquaintance,” a voice that was assuredly not Shadowmere’s came from behind the mask as the Black Briar gave a slight nod. The voice was similar, but sounded more like somepony who knew what Shadowmere sounded like trying to impersonate him (a difficult task) than Shadowmere’s actual voice.

“I know it must be an odd concept to you, to think that you’ll be working with the Black Briar, given that the Ministry has been hunting him forever, but you’ll grow accustomed to it,” Siren’s Song said, completely unaware that Beryl had already done so, just not in the way he thought, “I assure you, the Black Briar is a useful ally to have. He’s immortal – that’s why records of him stretch back centuries – and as such has hunted monsters far longer than any other living pony. It was only natural that when we met, we named him to be the leader of the Knights of Dawn.”

“The Knights of Dawn?” Beryl asked, taken aback by the sudden mention of the Ministry’s (supposed) founders.

“Yes, it seemed a fitting name for a small group of ponies united in the purpose of hunting monsters,” the Black Briar cut in, “And now that there are seven of us, the similarities are even greater. I knew the original Knights of Dawn back when they founded the Ministry, and I must say that we are the most worthy successors to their legacy.”

Siren’s Song practically beamed while Beryl tried to hide the turmoil going on in her mind. This Black Briar was definitely not Shadowmere. He had told her himself, on multiple occasions, that the Knights of Dawn had never really existed. He had been very adamant on that point, so there was no way he would have talked about knowing them. Who was this stallion, really?

“Introductions are fine, but hadn’t we better move on to more pressing matters?” Adamant asked as she stepped forward, “There’s a werewolf somewhere in Canterlot using the Howl. Other werewolves have begun to appear on the outskirts of the city, then mysteriously vanish from our notice. Assuming they didn’t just turn away and this pattern continues, there will soon be enough lycans present to crown a Spitze Wolf, and we’ll have no idea where they’ll do it. Black Briar, did you turn up anything in your investigations?”

“I’ve consulted my resources, and though I don’t know where this werewolf is yet, I have a strong suspicion of who he is. He’s the only werewolf who would be bold enough to try to be crowned within Canterlot, surrounded by the eyes and swords of the Ministry,” the Black Briar explained, “He goes by the name Rholharrak, and this is not the first time he’s tried to be crowned Spitze Wolf. The most recent time was apparently a colossal failure, as he was seen afterwards missing an eye, assumedly from an internal dispute.”

“It’s him,” Beryl said without thinking, and the other ponies turned to look at her, “I saw him last night in the sewers, and he had a patch over one eye.”

“Rholharrak,” Orion Star repeated the name thoughtfully, “It’s not much, but it might be enough to determine his location. We should hurry; there will be a full moon out tomorrow night, and I’m sure that’s when he’ll want to be crowned.”

“It won’t just be a full moon,” Immaculate Cut added, “Tomorrow night will be the one hundred thousandth full moon since Iona was first cursed with lycanthropy.”

“We should have seen this coming,” Siren’s Song said morosely.

“Surely it would happen, but it could have happened anywhere,” the Black Briar said, “We’re lucky that it happened somewhere where we’ll be able to respond quickly. I propose that we go our separate ways for the moment and all meet back up here tomorrow at sundown to compare discoveries and begin our hunt.”

“Wait,” Verdant Blades said as the Knights of Dawn began to disband, “Before we depart, we still need to decide the matter of Agent Beryl Fields here. Will she stay with us and assist in this hunt, or go her own way?”

“I’ll join the Knights of Dawn,” Beryl said after thinking for a few seconds. So long as she was careful not to reveal any of Shadowmere’s secrets, no harm would come of it. She would also retain her memories about Rholharrak and the Black Briar. That was perhaps the most compelling reason; she needed to find out who this pony was who pretended to be Shadowmere. First, though, she had to find Rholharrak.

***

Beryl spent the next day poring through Shadowmere’s collection of books searching for records on Rholharrak. She learned little about this werewolf that she hadn’t already known, but she did learn more about werewolf history and lore, which had been covered in her Ministry training but largely glossed over in order to spend more time on how to kill werewolves. The Iona Immaculate Cut had mentioned was the first werewolf, and was revered as a mother figure by most werewolves. She had been cursed over eight thousand years ago, and had spread that curse through her bite and the bites of her offspring (referred to as “bitten” in the lore) to the entire population of werewolves living today.

Eventually, Shadowmere’s resources dried up, giving Beryl no new information. The Lycanthrope Kingdom remained on the table, taunting her, but no matter what she tried, she couldn’t get the volume to reveal its secrets to her. Not even knowing exactly what to search for, she was unable to turn up anything else in Shadowmere’s library that could tell her what to do with the book.

Not wanting to waste time, Beryl made her way back to the Ministry and entered the Deep Archives. She still had only level-3 clearance, so only retired records were available to her, and there wasn’t much there on werewolves that she hadn’t already been able to find elsewhere. She did manage to find something else that caught her attention, though. One of the books she’d pulled off the shelf was completely blank and exuded a strange aura, just like The Lycanthrope Kingdom. A tag was attached which read: “Crusade of 426; Paladin Izzin Oranthros; 6:31:18; see Curator for details.” The title of the book was Crusade of 426, that much was clear, and Paladin Izzin Oranthros was probably the author, but the numbers following them held no meaning for Beryl. She followed the fourth part, taking the book to the Boris, who she assumed was the Curator referenced.

“Ah, an inkworld. I haven’t been asked about one of these in a while,” Boris said after Beryl asked him about Crusade of 426.

“An inkworld, you say?”

“Well, that’s what I call them,” the aged griffin said, waving a claw, “Technically they’re worlds of living ink embodying memories, but that’s too much of a mouthful.”

“I assume there’s some way to access them?” Beryl asked.

“Yes, if you open the book and place your claws—er, hooves—on opposite pages and speak the author’s name aloud, you’ll enter the inkworld,” Boris explained, “You’ll experience the memories that the author stored within the book. However, once you’ve begun experiencing the memories, there’s no way to escape except by living through them, so make sure you have enough time. That’s what this part of the tag means; the memories stored in this book add up to six hours, thirty-one minutes, and eighteen seconds.”

“You’ll experience everything that happened to the author during that time?” Beryl asked.

“Yes, it’s a great way to store knowledge that could otherwise be misinterpreted,” Boris said, “They say a picture’s worth a thousand words, and I don’t want to wager how many words a vivid memory is worth.”

“Thank you, Boris,” Beryl said, and she carried [i[Crusade of 426 back into the Deep Archives. She had no interest in spending six-and-a-half hours experiencing a crusade by the Paladins of Order, but there was another book with memories she did want to experience.

***

Berry sat down back in Shadowmere’s hideout with The Lycanthrope Kingdom in front of her and checked the time. She still had four hours until sunset, when she was supposed to meet up with the Knights of Dawn, so she hoped that the memories didn’t last any longer than that. Unlike the books in the Deep Archives, this tome didn’t have a helpful tag telling how long of a memory to expect. Shadowmere probably knew it by heart and felt no need to record it.

Well, the sooner I start, the sooner I’ll finish. Beryl flipped the book open, once again taken aback by how much magic was contained within the pages. She flattened out the pages and placed a hoof on each side of the book. Nothing happened, and she realized that she had no idea whose name to speak to enter the book.

“Rholharrak?” she tried, figuring she might get lucky, then repeated herself in case a question instead of a statement interfered, “Rholharrak.”

Still nothing happened. It had seemed like such a sound plan, but this book wasn’t very useful if she couldn’t access it. Whose name could it be? The cover held only the title, without citing an author, and all the pages were blank. Shadowmere would know, but he wasn’t here.

“Shadowmere,” Berry said, and the book blazed with light.

Everything around her slowly faded away into an off-white. After a moment, she realized that the whiteness surrounding her was the same shade as The Lycanthrope Kingdom’s pages. Lines and swirls of ink flitted across her vision, and gradually began to form into shapes. After a few seconds of waiting, everything came together.

She was on the streets of Canterlot, though not as it appeared today. The spires of Canterlot Castle could be seen in the distance, but no skyscrapers crowded out the view. Short, dingy homes and factories, separated by narrow, winding cobblestone streets surrounded her. If she had to guess, Berry would say that this memory took place about three centuries in the past.

Everything she saw took a bit of imagination to comprehend. Her surroundings were wrought in exquisite detail, but there was no color, and every line looked as if it had been drawn with a quill and ink. Distance was difficult to gauge at first, but she quickly got the hang of it. Sound was different; no matter how long she observed, it always seemed to exist only within her head, with no direction associated with noises. Perhaps that was just a part of the inkworld that she’d need to get accustomed to.

She had spoken Shadowmere’s name to enter the inkworld, so what she was experiencing was all from his perspective. Berry was seeing Canterlot through his eyes, and her perspective moved as he moved, stalking the streets and keeping to the shadows. Yet, even though she was experiencing his memories, there was a disconnect. Visuals and sound where there, but not sensations. It was as if she were a ghost who moved as he moved, but could not feel the movement. This was just something else she’d have to become accustomed to if she wished to gain information from these memories.

So far, nothing remarkable had happened, but surely Shadowmere hadn’t recorded these memories in The Lycanthrope Kingdom for nothing. The immortal monster hunter was nearing a crossroads where two constables stood—one with a lantern, the other with a crossbow—when a howl rang out across the night. As the two constables looked for the source of the noise, Shadowmere slipped past them. It hadn’t been a Howl, but it had definitely come from a werewolf and had gotten Shadowmere’s attention, causing him to quicken his pace.

He wove through the streets like a phantom, never hesitating in his choice of direction. It was as if he had Canterlot’s entire layout memorized, which he probably did. Galloping down a narrow alley, he spotted a tall wrought-iron fence overgrown with ivy in his way and made a leap. His hooves collided with the wall to the left only for a moment before propelling him toward the wall on the right. Shadowmere’s body twisted, and his hooves struck the wall again, propelling him back to the left. Now he was high enough that he struck a makeshift awning before hitting the wall, and used it to launch himself over the fence, landing on his hooves and continuing his gallop.

He had landed within a neglected cemetery, whose headstones were clustered far closer than modern gravesite regulations allowed and were chipped and covered in moss. In leaps and bounds, Shadowmere crossed through the cemetery without stepping on any graves (marked ones at least). His destination came into focus as he approached: the collapsing entrance to an underground mausoleum whose iron gate looked to have been torn open by force.

Shadowmere’s breakneck pace shifted to slow and cautious as he reached the top of the stairs. He drew a long knife as he descended as silently as a ghost. Once he reached the bottom, he followed a dim glow coming from one of the crypts. Low, growling voices could be heard as he approached.

Abruptly, Shadowmere burst into the crypt, knife flashing in the torchlight. Against the far wall cowered three werewolves, two ponies, and a werewolf in the process of transforming back into a pony. Standing between the group and Shadowmere was a werewolf Beryl recognized. Rholharrak stood ready for a fight with his sword held in front of him in one claw and his other stretched out to shield the others. The only difference from what she’d seen the night before in the sewers was that this Rholharrak still had both eyes.

“I told you this was a bad idea!” one of the ponies berated the other, “It would be better to be caught on the hunt than get rounded up just when we’re giving it up! I knew all of us gathered together would attract hunters!”

Shadowmere’s body was tensed and ready to attack, but the werewolf’s words seemed to give him pause. Berry recognized what had gotten his attention, too. Were these werewolves truly prepared to give up on hunting ponies? It was difficult to think of werewolves ever doing such a thing, but Berry had seen just recently that vampires could live without drinking blood.

“Well, come at me!” Rholharrak demanded of Shadowmere, “I guarantee you will have a difficult time of it, but you won’t harm them without killing me first!”

“Is it true?” Shadowmere asked through his knife, and Rholharrak gave him a quizzical look without dropping his guard, “Is it true that these werewolves have come to you because they no longer crave equine flesh?”

“Why does that matter?” Rholharrak asked defensively.

“Because it appears that maybe you are not my foe,” Shadowmere said, “I would speak with you, alone, to know for sure.”

Rholharrak seemed unsure, though he was definitely considering Shadowmere’s offer. It was evident that a part of him did not want to abandon the werewolves under his protection, but also that he saw the benefit of getting Shadowmere away from them. After he finished his consideration, he gave a nod and motioned with his sword for Shadowmere to lead. Shadowmere sheathed his knife and trotted out of the crypt, glancing behind to make sure that Rholharrak was following, and led him into an adjacent crypt. The werewolf took a seat on a sarcophagus, his greatsword across his lap and ready for immediate use if Shadowmere turned on him.

“Will you answer my questions now?” Shadowmere asked after he had settled in, “Do those werewolves truly not crave equine flesh?”

“No, they surely crave it still, but giving it up is a requirement for those who will join me,” Rholharrak said with a shake of his head.

“Why?”

“Werewolves have been hunted for millennia—I’ve been hunted for millennia—but there’s no reason to it!” Rholharrak spoke passionately, “If we take life, retaliation is only fair, but if we don’t, then what reason is there for ponies to hunt us?”

“Do you think that would work?” Shadowmere asked skeptically.

“Of course not! There’s too much bad blood between your kind and mine!” Rholharrak spat out, “But we have to start somewhere. The vampires organize themselves with minimal societal interference, so why can’t we do the same? To avoid being hunted down, though, we need to take the even more drastic step of making no interference. To live in peace, we must disappear and exist where nopony can find us.”

“You picked a poor city to do so,” Shadowmere grunted, “The Ministry is based here, and they issue a bounty for werewolf pelts.”

“They will not find us,” Rholharrak said confidently.

“Are you really so sure?”

“Yes; this plan was not hastily conceived,” Rholharrak defended himself, “Every step that can be taken to preserve this society has been taken. I will not fail.”

Shadowmere sat in silence for a minute before rising.

“Very well, I have made my decision: you are not my enemy,” he said, “You and your friends will live tonight. I will be keeping an eye on things, and if you step out of line, I will not hesitate to slaughter you all.”

“You may try, but it won’t come to that,” Rholharrak said as he ran his claws along his sword, “We will be successful at achieving my dream.”

“I hope that you are,” Shadowmere said as he left, “Perhaps we could even be allies. I hope to see you again, under happy circumstances.”

As Shadowmere stepped out of the crypt, the scenery melted, as if somepony had spilled water on the page and caused the ink to run. After blurring into nothingness, the ink began to take on recognizable shapes again, forming new scenery. Berry was experiencing another memory, this one taking place sometime after the first. Shadowmere was trotting through a familiar branch of the Canterlot sewers, and Rholharrak was padding along next to him. Neither seemed to bear any ill will toward the others.

“I think you will be pleased with what we have built,” Rholharrak said as they moved down the tunnel, “Everything is coming together just as I’d hoped.”

“No problems along the way?” Shadowmere asked as they took three turns in rapid succession.

“Of course there were some who opposed my ideology, but they were all made to submit. I can’t have anyone ruining the project, not at this point,” Rholharrak said, “Besides, they all see now that I am the prophesied Spitze Wolf. Out of all living werewolves, my blood is the most potent. It’s only natural, given that I am the first-bitten of Fire-frost, first-bitten of Horrus, first-bitten of Glyder, first-bitten of Torevald, first-bitten of Amethyst, first-bitten of Iona herself!”

Rholharrak came to a halt at a nondescript wall, and Berry tried to place its exact location. After removing three loose bricks, the werewolf gave the wall a shove, and it slid back before sliding off to the side, revealing a passage. The tunnel was of moderate size for a pony, but would be narrow for a werewolf, and Shadowmere could barely see past Rholharrak as he led the way. The tunnel had been carved out of the earth, and it meandered and dipped as they followed it, eventually reaching a wooden door.

As Rholharrak pushed the door open, he and Shadowmere stepped out onto a ledge overlooking a huge cavern. Crystals sparkled in the expanse, and moonlight shone down from a single hole in the grotto’s ceiling. Laid out on the cavern’s floor was a city mirroring Canterlot above. Twisting streets and tilting homes of stone and timber stretched off into the distance. Small trails of smoke rose from a few chimneys.

Eagerly, Rholharrak led Shadowmere down a stone pathway and onto the city’s streets. The denizens of the city were all werewolves, and all in their lupine forms. Many of them waved or gave some other sign of respect to Rholharrak as they passed, and he returned the courtesies to them. Shadowmere (and through him, Berry) marveled at the surrounding sights. This was a fully functional city, perhaps even more functional than the pony city above. Shops and homes all owned by werewolves made this a place where they could live without the worry of being found out by their neighbors as monsters.

“Well, what do you think of the Nocturnal City?” Rholharrak asked as he approached a large pool of water in the center of the town.

“It’s breathtaking; this is far beyond anything I thought you had planned,” Shadowmere said as he observed, “If I may ask, though, why a city? You could just as easily live above and only take your lupine forms when with your own kind.”

“Why should we be ashamed of who we are?” Rholharrak asked, showing some teeth, “Werewolfism is often presented as a duality: you are both a pony and a wolf. I reject that. I am a werewolf, nothing else, so why should I hide that? We were all ponies once, but no more. In the Nocturnal City, we can shed that identity and embrace our true selves. We are werewolves, only werewolves, and we are proud of it.”

“Looking at this, you ought to be,” Shadowmere said, nodding, “I’ll ask you again what I’ve asked you numerous times, though: aren’t you worried about being discovered?”

“I’ll give the same answer I always have: not at all,” Rholharrak replied with a slight laugh, “We rarely leave the city, and this cavern is completely undetectable. No spell can penetrate, so nopony can locate us or even know that we exist. The window above that lets in the moonlight is disguised as a well, and an illusion directly beneath is enough to fool anypony who looks into it. We are quite safe here, I assure you. You are the only pony to have ever set hoof here, and that was at my invitation.”

“You have confided this in me, so I feel I ought to confide in you as well, especially if we are to continue working together in the future,” Shadowmere said as he gestured around himself, “I am not a pony.”

“Oh, really?” Rholharrak said, raising an eyebrow.

Berry didn’t get to hear the rest of the conversation, as the memory stopped there. Once again, everything melting away before coming back together. Shadowmere was still in the Nocturnal City, but once again, time had passed. He stood near the pool in the center of town, and Rholharrak was nearby, speaking to a knot of werewolves. All around the pool and up and down the streets werewolves were crowded in, speaking to each other expectantly. As Rholharrak finished speaking to the other werewolves, he walked over to Shadowmere.

“Sorry about that, last minute preparations for the ceremony,” he said.

“Many have gathered,” Shadowmere commented as he looked at the crowd, “But are you sure this is the right time?”

“Tonight is the ninety-six thousandth moon since Iona received the Blessing. There will not be a better night than tonight,” Rholharrak said, also looking at the crowd, “I am ready to be crowned Spitze Wolf.”

“You’ve come so far, and your dream is nearly a reality,” Shadowmere said as he turned to face the werewolf, “The Spitze Wolf has always been a feared prophecy by non-werewolves, but with you taking the position, I know this could be a bright new future for your race.”

“Of course,” Rholharrak said, “Once all werewolves are united behind me, it won’t just be the Nocturnal City anymore. Werewolf civilization will finally be a reality, a lycanthrope kingdom with Canterlot as its capital.”

“You intend to rule your new nation from down here?” Shadowmere asked.

“No, from above,” Rholharrak said as he turned to face Shadowmere, “Now that we have the forces, we’ll declare war on the surface. Canterlot is our true home, and we will take it for ourselves.”

“Has madness taken you?” Shadowmere asked, shocked, “Have you forgotten that your society was built on the idea of not interfering with pony society?”

“Of course not!” Rholharrak said derisively, “But things have changed. Yes, we will be separate from pony society, but we’ve become too large to do so in the same way as before. I’ve begun to lose subjects to those who don’t wish us to exist even in the shadows. The future is a werewolf nation that proclaims to the world that it exists, but will not interfere in others’ affairs. For this, we must have a visible nation, and so we must take Canterlot. This is all to further lasting peace; so what if a thousand or ten thousand ponies must die in the process? They’ve certainly never shed a tear over the millions of my people they’ve slaughtered for being different!”

“Come to your senses!” Shadowmere demanded, “This war can only bring more death and suffering!”

“Shadowmere,” Rholharrak said, slowly and icily, “I would think you’d understand this better than anyone. You’ve been hunted for millennia just like me. Why do you have such love for ponykind? They’ve never had any love for you. I was hoping you would join me in this, but if not, then just stay out of my way.”

“Daybreak, to me!” Shadowmere called, and his sword appeared out of thin air.

Rholharrak was quicker. As Shadowmere’s teeth bit down on the hilt of the greatsword, the werewolf’s own sword sliced through Shadowmere’s neck, and his head lolled back, held on only by a flap of skin.

“You forget, Shadowmere, I know you, and I know all your tricks,” Rholharrak said contemptuously as he shook the blood from his sword.

“Not all of them,” Shadowmere said as he used a hoof to snap his head back into place.

The flesh sealed with a disgustingly wet sound as Berry’s view of the situation was righted. Rholharrak was so stunned that Shadowmere was not dead that he was barely able to avoid Daybreak swinging up at him. The tip of the blade gouged through his face, slicing his left eye, and the werewolf recoiled with a howl of pain.

“Stay back!” Shadowmere ordered to the crowd of werewolves, who were angrily growling at him after striking their leader, “Stay back, I say! The Nocturnal City doesn’t have to end! All I’m doing is putting a stop to Rholharrak’s madness!”

The werewolves didn’t seem to care, and charged toward Shadowmere.

“Daybreak, be gone!” Shadowmere shouted, dispelling his sword before speaking words that echoed with power, “I am the Reaper of Arnheim. May my judgement be swift and just.”

A massive scythe appeared in the air above Shadowmere, levitating without the use of unicorn magic.

“Forgive me,” Shadowmere said quietly as he closed his eyes before bringing his focus back to the crowd of werewolves.

The scythe swung around, cutting dozens in half and splattering their blood all across the scenery. The inkstain grew and covered everything, and then began to melt away until only the blank parchment remained. Gradually, the glow faded, and Berry was back in Shadowmere’s apartments, her hooves pressed down on the pages of The Lycanthrope Kingdom. Removing them and shutting the book, she sat back and analyzed what she’d just experienced.

The Lycanthrope Kingdom contained three memories, charting the progression of Shadowmere’s involvement with Rholharrak, yet there was much in between left unanswered. Berry figured it would be best if she just ignored what she didn’t know and focused on what she did. The werewolf was confirmed to be Rholharrak, and now she knew exactly how Shadowmere had betrayed him and how he’d lost his eye. She also knew now that Shadowmere and Rholharrak had worked together, so his claim of a betrayal was not entirely unwarranted. It seemed that neither had originally intended to betray the other, and even trusted each other, until Rholharrak decided to take drastic actions to found his kingdom. In the end, it seemed his dream of a peaceful lycanthrope kingdoms had fallen apart because of his own actions. He had probably fled in the madness, and the other werewolves present had been killed by Shadowmere or had fled as well.

Clearly Shadowmere had had to make a difficult decision in the end. The Nocturnal City, as an idea, was sound, and had no doubt prevented many pony deaths at the claws of werewolves while it had been in existence. With its disbandment, the werewolves of the project had presumably returned to their previous ways and begun killing ponies again. That would explain the decline in werewolf killings the Ministry had recorded three centuries earlier, and the sudden jump immediately after the last werewolf sighting in Canterlot elsewhere. The conquest of Canterlot and the wars destined to follow would have taken perhaps a hundred thousand lives at most; had less than that died since due to killings by werewolves who wouldn’t have done so had the Nocturnal City remained? Berry suspected the answer could go either way, and it was a difficult subject to consider.

More immediately relevant, she now knew how to get to the Nocturnal City, where Rholharrak was almost definitely hiding out and preparing to be crowned Spitze Wolf. She needed to get there, but the place would be swarming with werewolves by now, and she didn’t have the abilities Shadowmere had that let him mow down whole rows in a single swing. She would need help, and that meant calling on the Knights of Dawn. It was almost time to meet up, so she left Shadowmere’s apartments, taking all the equipment she thought she’d need with her. Hopefully she could lead the Knights to the Nocturnal City without giving up the secret of a book that would most definitely compromise Shadowmere.

***

The Knights of Dawn advanced cautiously through the sewers, searching for signs of werewolves. Beryl hadn’t had to tell them anything about the Nocturnal City to get them down here. Orion Star’s search for Rholharrak’s location had been sketchy, only detecting him sometimes, and always in the Canterlot sewers. It made sense, given what the werewolf had said in The Lycanthrope Kingdom about the Nocturnal City being impervious to spells. Now, Beryl just had to lead them to the entrance. Every so often, she would feign hearing a sound in the direction they needed to go, and the group would turn that way. Sometimes the sounds were even genuine, suggesting that there was something else down here making its way to the Nocturnal City.

As they turned the last corner and Beryl tried to think of some way to explain why she was removing bricks from the wall, the group spotted a werewolf up ahead. It wasn’t Rholharrak, but it was most definitely here to crown him Spitze Wolf, and took off as soon as it saw the Knights, ducking through the hole in the wall it had opened. The Knights of Dawn drew their weapons and followed the werewolf, passing through the tunnel Berry had earlier entered through Shadowmere’s memories. As the group exited the tunnel, they all halted to take in the sight of the Nocturnal City.

“How long has this been here?” Siren’s Song asked in awe.

“Centuries at least. Look at the architecture,” Orion Star commented, also taken aback.

“The werewolf is down there!” Verdant Blades called as she spotted the one they’d been following and flapped off after it.

“More over here!” Adamant called out from the opposite direction.

“Go, I’ve got this one!” Verdant Blades yelled as she swooped down through the narrow streets.

The six Knights descended the path to the Nocturnal City’s streets and pursued the other werewolves. The lycanthropes kept breaking off in different directions, forcing the Knights to split up themselves. First, Immaculate Cut charged after one, then Siren’s Song after another, and the Black Briar tracked down a group of three. As they were nearing the pool in center of the town, werewolves let out howls from the left and the right. Orion Star charged left and Adamant went right, leaving Beryl alone in the center. She spotted another werewolf ahead of her and pursued, firing her crossbow and striking it through the heart with her second bolt.

Beryl came to a halt as she entered the empty courtyard surrounding the pool of water. Rholharrak stood in the center of the pool, his sword at his side, and he turned to face her as he pulled his eyepatch back over his ruined eye.

“So, you failed to heed my warning,” he said contemptuously as he approached.

“I know what you tried to do here,” Beryl replied as she drew a silver sword, “I know you were going to slaughter all of Canterlot, and Shadowmere wouldn’t go along with it.”

“Yet he had no problem slaughtering the defenseless werewolves who had come here to join my kingdom,” Rholharrak retorted, “But what does it matter now? He won. I may be the Spitze Wolf, but I will never be crowned as such. My own kind doesn’t trust me anymore. All in Equestria heard my Howl, but only a clawful showed up for my coronation. I hope he’s happy with how things turned out, my people once more reduced to beasts, feeding on the flesh of others to survive.”

Beryl’s reply was to fire her crossbow at him, and he dodged the bolt easily. He hadn’t counted on the quarrel exploding as it passed him, showering him with slivers of silver that he couldn’t dodge. Small wounds appeared all over his body as the metal reacted violently to his flesh. To remove the slivers entangled in his coat, he immersed himself in the pool and rolled around vigorously.

Taking advantage of the situation, Beryl charged in and brought her sword down at his body. Steel rang against silver as Rholharrak brought his own sword up to block the blow. Beryl was forced to jump back as he rose and swung his sword around. Advancing from the pool, the two of them engaged in a duel, swords clashing as they each pressed for an advantage, though Beryl was clearly struggling more.

With her magic, she drew a silver long knife from its sheath and jabbed it in toward the werewolf as his sword was tied up blocking her other blade. Like before in the sewers, Rholharrak shot out his other claw and grabbed the knife before it could strike vital flesh, but Beryl had come prepared for this tonight. A second silver long knife leapt from its sheath and shot into Rholharrak’s stomach while he was throwing its twin away.

Rholharrak stumbled back and pulled the blade free with his injured claw, giving Beryl an opportunity to press her advantage. Her crossbow came back out and she fired as quickly as she could, each bolt exploding into silver confetti as it neared Rholharrak’s body. He was repeatedly peppered with silver and soon was covered in wounds that seriously impeded his ability to fight.

His body was practically immobile as Beryl charged in for another attack with her sword. Even so, the werewolf could wield his greatsword in one claw like a master, and she even had to retreat a few times to avoid being struck. Seeing an opportunity to go in for the kill, Beryl swung at Rholharrak’s head, but he anticipated her attack. His jaws snapped down on her sword while his sword swiftly changed direction, and the pommel struck Beryl on the skull. Blood ran into her eyes as she fired her crossbow once more at the werewolf, striking his sword claw the hardest and causing his greatsword to fall from his grip.

Beryl stumbled back, fighting dizziness. Rholharrak was at this moment completely helpless, and she didn’t want to waste any time letting him recover. She removed a silver stake from her back and staggered up to the severely injured werewolf. The stake came down like a bolt of lightning, piercing his heart and emerging through his back before becoming embedded in the ground.

Rholharrak’s eyes went wide as he coughed up blood. Beryl kicked his sword away from his spasming claws before stepping out of his reach, then sat down to catch her breath and examine her head wound. After she confirmed there would be no permanent damage, she wrapped the injury and wiped up her blood. Rholharrak made dying noises as he tried to speak, and Beryl stepped closer to hear them better.

“Don’t … trust … Shadow … m-mere,” he struggled out, his right eye pleading with Beryl, “You don’t … know … everything … His … secrets … are … deadly. I’m not the … first … St-stay a-away if … you value y- … your life!”

With his final warning out, Rholharrak’s head lolled to the side. He was finally dead. Beryl would have to cut off his head to make sure no one could ever resurrect him, but that could wait for a bit. She was still cleaning up the scene when the Knights of Dawn wandered into the area.

“That’s Rholharrak all right,” Orion Star said as he examined the body.

“Did you have much trouble?” Verdant Blades asked, seeing Beryl’s head.

“Some, but not nearly as bad as I thought it’d turn out,” Beryl admitted.

“Well done,” the Black Briar said, “I see that Siren’s Song was not wrong to recruit you.”

“Yes, fantastic job, Beryl,” the Deputy Director said as he stepped forward to congratulate her personally, “However, if I could make one suggestion, don’t wear your Ministry uniform next time. Though few ponies would recognize its significance, there are plenty of other creatures who would that could cause us problems. You are also probably aware how hard it is to explain damage to the uniform to the Ministry taken when not on a mission.”

“You got it,” Beryl said with a smile.

In keeping in line with the theme the Knights of Dawn seemed to be using, she could probably find something in Shadowmere’s apartments to wear. Her gaze settled on the Black Briar. If for no other reason, she had to stay in the Knights of Dawn in order to discover who this pony was, and why he’d chosen to steal Shadowmere’s identity.

***

Back in Shadowmere’s hideout, Berry put all the books from her research back where she’d found them, including The Lycanthrope Kingdom. Out of curiosity, she used her magic to look for more inkworld books. There were four more in the library that she’d never found before, probably because of how large it was. None of them had any more information than just the title, so she resolved to ask Shadowmere about them when he returned. They could really come in handy if she only knew how to enter them.

To her surprise, there was one inkworld book not in the library. She only knew of its existence because its aura was so strong that she could detect it through all the walls and floors of the hideout. Following the energy radiating from the book led her to a locked room which she had the key for, but had never had any reason to open before. The walls were lined with bookcases where the books were protected by metal gates whose keys she didn't possess. The book from which the aura was radiating had its own shelf and a second locked gate, as well as an additional locked cage around the book itself. No title was visible, so it was impossible to tell what was within the tome. Up next to it, the aura was terrifying. It was a thousand times stronger than any of the other inkworld books she’d found and radiated a dark, somber presence. Even if she could get to it, Beryl doubted she’d have the courage to actually open it.

A slight sound from above caught Berry’s attention. It had definitely come from within the apartments, so logically it could only be one pony. However, on the off chance that somepony other than Shadowmere had entered (it had happened before, with the djinn), Beryl drew her crossbow before ascending the steps. She lowered it as she entered the sitting room and saw the pitch-black stallion dropping off his travel things.

“Welcome back,” she said as he turned to face her with the glowing red eyes she’d nearly forgotten.

“Did anything exciting happen while I was away?” Shadowmere asked.

“Nothing much; just Rholharrak trying to set himself up as Spitze Wolf,” Berry replied nonchalantly.

“Yes, him,” Shadowmere said sadly as his head shot up, “You will have to tell me all about it later.”

“So, what did you learn?” Berry asked eagerly.

“My investigation turned up many troubling things, but at least we now have a solid lead to follow,” Shadowmere said as he motioned for Berry to sit on the sofa, “I visited the lobgoblin’s homeland. It turns out that that particular parcel of land was purchased recently by the Nocte Corporation.”

“The same company that built Hierophant Tower?” Berry asked. It had been so long, but the events with the gargoyles were still fresh in her mind.

“The very same, and that’s not all,” Shadowmere went on, “I turned up proof that the Nocte Corporation is in control of many enterprises that make their operations look suspicious. Their subsidiaries include the theatre company booked for the Hearth’s Warming Eve Pageant, the groundskeeping company that was recently given the job of tending the cemetery where Pewter Belle was buried, and the company responsible for installing the new gas lines.”

“It seems like they had a role in every connected monster attack we’ve experienced,” Berry said.

“Precisely; it’s too much to be a coincidence,” Shadowmere said with narrowed eyes.

“So, what’s the plan?” Berry asked.

“We take down the Nocte Corporation, of course,” Shadowmere said as a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth and his eyes blazed.

Author's Note:

Another chapter at last!

This one took me longer to get out than I expected, but I think that the story is better for me taking the time to flesh out the story and world more. Hope everyone following this story enjoys this next entry. I could also mention that this is the halfway point in the first arc, and I hope to wrap up a few of the threads I've left dangling in the next chapter or two.

Until then, happy reading!

>>FireOfTheNorth