The World Within the Web

by Lord Max

Prologue

THE WORLD WITHIN THE WEB

* * * * * *

Prologue

* * * * * *

“On this day I would declare myself for the Six Who Are One.
Let me give Kindness when there is only hate.
Let me show Loyalty to all who I call friend.
Let me be Honest to cut through the lies.
Let me have Generosity when I have nothing left to give.
Let me know Laughter when only darkness remains.
And let me see the one Magic that unites us all.

“Through day and night, through sun and moon,
let me follow the One True Path.
On this day I pledge my life to the Collective,
for the ten thousand trials and triumphs to come.

“Six and One.”

* * * * * *

Two men walked urgently through the city, long after the sun had set on the Internet.

Hanging above them were dim paper lamps that shined with a smattering of different colors, all reds and yellows and oranges, casting painted shadows down the wynds and alleys. It was late in the evening, late enough that the streets were almost deserted, aside from a handful of suspicious looking youths and the occasional drunk. The city of the Dreamweave was sleeping, and the lights people had hung up earlier in the day were beginning to go out without anyone attending them.

It was all pretty enough, but Dale had more important things on his mind, and he suspected that Sir Harald did as well. Though Dale had been Harald’s squire for nearly two years, he had never felt as though he was in danger until that night, as they walked through the streets of the Dreamweave.

Sir Harald Corey was a Knight Censor, more used to reviewing and clearing books and portraits for public viewing than fighting in battles or going after criminal gangs. Dale couldn’t stop himself from feeling disappointed when he first started serving the knight, especially after all the dreams of adventure he’d had in the academy. It seemed silly now, with a feeling of dread sitting in his stomach like a rock as the lights darkened.

Dale was barely twenty, but he was nearly two heads taller than Sir Harald, who was stocky, red-faced, and around forty at Dale’s guess. The knight was a hot-headed man, and none too pleased with having to put up with the nonsense that was natural to working among the people of the Dreamweave. He didn’t seem the least bit frightened, however, as Dale followed him down Sighing Street and toward the dark part of town. They hadn’t seen anything particularly threatening yet—aside from four unwholesome-looking sorts with brightly dyed hair who had almost walked up to them, before Sir Harald moved for his sword and sent them scurrying off—but it didn’t matter much to Dale’s mind.

The two had left a few hours after their evening recitation, and Dale had been trying to work up the bravery to tell Sir Harald to turn back since then. He didn’t have the courage for that either. Get a hold of yourself, Dale thought. You’re a squire for the Order of the Guided Hand and you’ll be a knight of the Moderator Authority yourself someday. A Moderator fears nothing, and neither should you. Though he knew it to be true, the thought helped allay none of the unease Dale felt as they walked closer to the unlit district.

The area had had a proper name once, but Dale had never bothered to learn it, and everyone just called it Nightside now anyways. It was a maze of abandoned buildings, shops, and homes, left empty when their owners had left the Dreamweave for better opportunities elsewhere. No one respectable went there anymore, at least not when they were in the eye of the public. But nevertheless, that was where Sir Harald was intent on going with Dale in tow. The squire had hoped that it wouldn’t come to that, but his master had insisted as soon as he received the letter not ten hours before.

'Aureliano and Pilara, Arcadio and the watch, the horse-lovers, the nobles and your guards as well,' the message had read, 'today they smile and plead, but there are daggers in the dark… and eyes on you, Sir Harald. Something is moving in the city, and you are at the center, whether you know it or not. You were threatened last night. Your men are selling secrets. You are in danger, and you know this more than anyone. The move will come soon. Meet us tonight: Nightside, the Laughing Man. Come alone, but come armed — the streets are not safe.'

Who had sent the message, Dale did not know. But despite what it said, the squire had found himself ordered to come with the knight regardless. Dale remembered how he had argued with Sir Harald, begging him not to go, but nothing would stop him.

“Someone’s out to kill me,” Sir Harald had said. “I either go talk to these people or wake up with a knife through my head. All I wonder is who’s behind all of it,” he had ranted while pacing back and forth in Dale’s small room. “The nobles all hate me, you’ve seen that. Aureliano with his simpering, Arcadio threatening, Withins-Bei and his damn jokes. But the horse-lovers, it must be them. You’ve seen them skulking around, like they always do, whispering behind my back. You heard what that little prat Dabrius said to me last night! It must be them, I always knew it!”

“With all due respect, sir, I don’t think this is a good idea,” Dale had replied. “You shouldn’t go alone: if you ask your guard then I’m sure th—”

“No. If someone’s trying to kill me then I can’t trust a single one of them, just like I’ve always thought,” Sir Harald had said stubbornly. “You. You’re going with me. Because there’s no one else I can ask.”

There wasn’t anything left for Dale to say after that. Even if he could say no, Sir Harald wasn’t one to give up anything once he got the idea in his head. He was a short man, and not just in terms of height. He had a temper like no one else, and it hadn’t helped him make friends in the Authority, nor in the Dreamweave where he was assigned. The people his job forced him to deal with hadn’t made that easy to begin with.

Sir Harald had been sent to the Dreamweave three months ago in order to settle a dispute the Lord Moderator was interested in seeing finally put to rest. The Dreamweave was open to almost everyone, with both independent artists and members of any of the major fandoms free to create and sell their art as they see fit.

Any of the fandoms, save for one. The exception was saved for one group in particular, the newest of the Great Fandoms, one that had risen from war in the Chan and only grown since then, one that had warred against the Moderators in the past, and one with members as strange as its subject. They styled themselves ‘the Brony Collective,’ and had become a grave concern for the important people of the Dreamweave.

Dale was not certain why the noble families of the Dreamweave had banned the ‘horse-lovers’ from entering their city, but a Declaration of Doctrinal Incompatibility was no idle show of disagreement. Followers exiled, art banned, ships that flew the fandom’s colors turned away, and things only grew worse from there, until a few months ago when some deranged Brony burned himself alive on the docks in protest. The Lord Moderator had dispatched Sir Harald to resolve the situation before it garnered any more attention, but so far neither the Dreamweave nor the horse-lovers would budge. Sir Harald was not one to give up easily, however.

Nightside was unlit, and empty from the looks of things. The buildings here were half ruined, a mass of wood and stone and concrete that looked about ready to tumble over. Still, it was clear that it wasn’t all abandoned—dim glows could be seen in a few windows, and new looking posters and graffiti plastered the walls around them.

They were Brony propaganda, that much was certain. One read ‘Are you an Honest Friend?’ while ‘Are you a Laughing Friend?’ was written on another. There was a curious message over the same wall, though: in white paint, someone had scrawled the words ‘Who is the Oathbreaker?’ The lord of the city often talked about how secret Collective supporters organized in Nightside, and for all his pomposity and lies it seemed he wasn’t completely wrong.

Dale had never been to Nightside before, but the way people spoke of it made him expect roving gangs, people cutting purses or robbing unlucky vagrants. Not tonight though. The silence was almost palpable; not a soul could be seen anywhere. There were no shouts, no screams, no crashes or clangs or a single whisper to be heard. Somehow that made it far worse.

“Sir,” Dale spoke up, “it’s not too late to turn back.”

“Of course it is,” Sir Harald replied. “If my life is in danger then I want to know who’s behind it.”

“The danger’s right here,” Dale said nervously. “I don’t like this place.” He looked up at the buildings around them, all of them looming ahead oppressively. The streets seemed to be growing darker and darker the closer Dale and Sir Harald came to the end. “It could just be another one of Withins-Bei’s pranks. We should go back, now.”

“Are you afraid of the dark, boy? You’ve been my squire for two years now, don’t fail me when I need you more than ever.”

Dale swallowed. “Yes sir.”

They walked for a few more minutes, though it felt like an eternity for Dale. Eventually the two reached the end of a street that connected to some sort of square, long abandoned. There was a patch of dirt in the middle where the remnants of an old and long-forgotten tree stood, with stone benches lining each side. The squire was about to step forward when Sir Harald put out his hand to stop him.

“You see that, Dale?” the knight said quietly as he pointed to a ruddy and rundown-looking building. “The sign in the front. That’s the Laughing Man.”

Sure enough, the building had a painted sign swinging on a pole outside of it. It depicted a grinning face, though the paint had long since faded. There were no lights inside, however, and no one to be seen around.

“There’s no one there,” Dale said.

“Yes, I can see that,” Sir Harald whispered, sounding irritated. “Here’s what you’re going to do. You stay here, just around this corner. I’ll walk over there and see if our friends plan on showing up. If it seems like anything’s wrong, you whistle. If something happens to me, you try and help me over there. And if you can’t, you run back to the palace and tell the guards exactly what happened. Where we were, who I spoke with, what they looked like, everything.”

“I’m not going to let you go out there alone!” Dale said, only barely able to keep his voice down.

“Yes, you are. They told me to come on my own.” The stocky knight put a meaty hand on his squire’s shoulder. “And remember, if anything happens that you can’t help me out of…”

“I run back to the palace and get the guards,” Dale said dejectedly. A knight never runs, and neither should his squire, he thought. But it was no good saying that.

“Right. Now stay put.” The knight walked slowly into the courtyard, while Dale only nodded dumbly.

Sir Harald continued to move forward, passing the benches and reaching the sign in front of the Laughing Man. He stood there for what seemed like a long time, but just as he looked around again a voice called out from the shadows.

“Sir Harald?” they asked. It was a man’s voice, but it sounded muffled.

“Yes,” he replied. “You’re the one who sent the message?”

“My friend did. He’s here as well. You are alone?”

“As agreed.” Sir Harald turned around, peering about to find the speaker. “Can’t you step out here, where I can see you? I would like to see your faces.”

The voice sighed. “I know you would. Very well.”

Two figures stepped out of the shadows, one from the front of the Laughing Man and the other from an alley behind it. They were both hooded, and wore long, dark clothes, but that wasn’t what made Dale frightened. On both of their faces were masks, covering them completely. It was difficult to see their exact designs from where Dale stood, but they left little doubt as to who they belonged to. Anonymites, Dale thought, panicking. The anonymites of the Chan were infamous for wearing masks, even among friends and family. It was considered a sign of weakness to show your true face there, or to give your birth-name. They were a strange, lawless, and brutal people, and they had no love of the Authority either.

“Who are you two, then?” Sir Harald asked brusquely.

“Friends. The best kind.”

“Something more specific would be nice. You said my life was in danger?”

“Well, of course,” the man on the right said, his masked and hooded head tilting at the knight. “We meant what we said, you know. The Martes, the horse-lovers, the rest of the nobles as well… forgive me for saying so, but they do hate you.”

Sir Harald snorted. “I noticed. But you people don’t?”

The masked man laughed softly. “I do not, Sir Harald. Truly, I do not.” He raised a hand into the air and whistled to the darkness, but Dale saw no one in the direction to which he had signalled.

Sir Harald glanced over as well, and grimaced when he saw no one. “More friends?”

“Indeed. Forgive me again, Sir Harald, but we had to make sure it was safe. Nightside is dangerous. And the men you wanted to know of, the ones that want you dead? They are close, even now.”

“Who?”

“Us.”

Sir Harald rushed forward, looking to lash out at the masked man, but the anonymite was too quick and dodged out of the knight’s way. Suddenly, out of nowhere, before Dale could even think, a crossbow bolt shot out from the darkness.

Sir Harald doubled over, a thin quarrel sticking out of his back. Striding over, the second man drove a knife into Sir Harald’s side. He cried out in pain, throwing a meaty fist at his attacker and smashing him across his head.

Hands shaking, Sir Harald grunted and moved for his sword. He never reached it. The masked man he had been speaking to dashed back, knife in hand. In a flash, Dale saw the blade buried in his master. Sir Harald gasped and fell, reaching dumbly to the bolt sticking out of him, as Dale looked on in numb terror.

The knight slumped to the ground, blood pooling out in front of the grinning sign. The two men with the knives stood over him, while another walked in from the dark, crossbow in hand. Dale wanted to run, to hide, but he couldn’t find it in him to move. He could only watch as the three figures looked up from the body and to one another.

“Well, that’s done then,” said a different voice, more harsh and coarse than the first. “He stays here?”

“Yes. They should find him tomorrow. It’s a shame,” the first anonymite said, almost sadly.

“What is?” said the second.

“That he didn’t come alone.” The empty eyes of the mask turned to face directly at Dale.

Dale forgot that he was a squire then. He ran, blind with fear, but felt something slam into his back. The force of it made him stumble, but it was only when he looked down and saw the bloody metal point sticking out of his chest that realized what had happened. No, he thought as he fell to the ground, I have to get the guards. I can still move, I can…

A hand grabbed him on his shoulder and twisted him around. Dale tried to cry out, but the hand moved to his throat, squeezing out his breath. As he gasped for air, the young squire’s eyes rolled up, terrified, at the attacker.

His face was only a mask, made with hollow eyes and a hideous grin that was smiling back at Dale. In his other hand was a knife.

Comments

[Lucky Star 33094]

O_O Whoa

[DE_K]

Favorited this a while ago but waited for new chapters.

I'm glad I did. This sounds amazing.
Will comment again maybe halfway through

[Son of Sanguinius]

This is beautiful. I've always had a soft spot for fantasy/sci-fi epics crafted as metaphors for the internet. And you've done a masterful job, good author.

[Dark Nightshade]

WOW! Mind=blown! This is such a great start!

[Undead Equestrian Writer]

I pledge my heart and soul to the ones who deserve it the most. I pledge my mind to the advancement of my craft and trade. I pledge my blood to my one true God. I pledge my faith to only follow this one true religion. I pledge my swear and fears to the pain and accomplishments of this true power. I pledge my life to the Six things I need to be a fellow of the flock. I, [REDACTED], give my whole being to the religion of ERROR NAME ERASED. I will fight for my homeland and my fellow brothers and sisters that stand by me, through thick and thin. I WILL RISE ONCE MORE! I will see to it that my goddess is given the praise she deserves, through any means necessary. I will burn the chapels and destroy the monestaries, and in there place I will raise a shrine to [REDACTED]. I WILL SUCEED MY GODDESS. I WILL KILL IN YOUR NAME, AND BY THE LIGHT OF YOUR BEAUTIFUL SUN I WILL PURIFY THE SINNERS OF THIS WORLD!!!