The Ghost of Coltistrano

by EthanClark

Chapter 19: "You were… of use.”

The sun hung low over Canterlot, casting its warm glow between the pearlescent towers that loomed over the streets. Rays of golden light helped illuminate the path along which Rarity walked. She waved, smiled, and greeted the many ponies who called out her name, partaking in casual conversation to distract from the heat rising through her body. With each step she took the heat crawled further up her spine, gathering at the tips of her snow white ears and sending even further worry through her. The walk from her boutique to the train station felt like years to her addled mind. She walked to and intersection of two streets and, begrudgingly, followed the path devoid of Celestia’s sun.

The streets became darker with each passing second. Rarity knew full well what she had been summoned for, and who awaited her, but the preparation did nothing to quell the quiver in her chest as she rounded the corner to the station. Off to the side there was a plain looking door. She crossed the distance to it, scanned her surroundings, and gently pushed on the sheet of metal as it squealed open. The path down was dark and ended in a pit of shadow. Rarity took a gulp to summon her courage before crossing the threshold into the dark underbelly of Canterlot, clutching her saddlebag the whole way down. There was scant light, tight corridors, and a lingering smell of mildew and abandonment. She slowed her pace and contemplated retreating back to the fading light outside, until something brushed against her shoulder.

“OhgoodnessgrasciousI’llvaporizeyou!” Rarity let out a scream and twirled with her horn charged.

“I have no doubt you will,” her tormentor spoke, a smirk on his face.

Rarity held her pose for a moment more before taking a long, deep breath. The sigh she released brought the magic shining on her horn to rest. She sighed again, raggedly.

“W-Well, this is certainly not the first date I expected,” she said, trying to regain her composure.

“I’m sure. Maybe next time I’ll take you somewhere with less spiders.”

“There are spiders?!”

The Ghost let out a chuckle at Rarity’s expense, shaking his head and turning down the hallway. He guided Rarity through the veritable catacomb that was Canterlot’s utility network, the cascade of walkways and divergent paths a maze for those unprepared. Rarity stuck close to her enigmatic escort, the clopping of their hooves the only familiar sound.

“So…” she muttered. “Am I to expect that we are not alone down here?”

“You’d be correct. Serenade is down the hall, here.”

“Unharmed, I hope?”

“He’s alive.”

The cryptic words brought no comfort to Rarity as the two neared a single door. The Ghost took a step away from Rarity and pushed upon the old and rusted mass before them, summoning a loud creak from the ancient hinges. He waved his foreleg towards the threshold.

“Ladies first.”

Rarity scoffed, playfully upturning her muzzle and stepping through the door. Her brief moment of jest, however, was soon taken by the image of a single pony, bound to a chair in the middle of the room. He wore a battered suit of elegant make, torn in some places, and a black sack over his head. At the side of the room was a long table, littered in various implements ranging from lock picks to knives, blasting powder to poison, and a single humming stone. Rarity could tell, but hardly believe the vast array came from the pony in question. The dim light of the room only accentuated the grimness of the scene.

“I-Is that… him?” Rarity fought to remain calm.

“It is,” the Ghost said, softly. “He doesn’t have to see you, if you don’t want.”

“No, no… I can face him, but…” Rarity turned to the Ghost. “He is alright, yes?”

“Regrettably.” The single word left the Ghost’s mouth as a hiss. “Shall we begin?”

Rarity fought the urge to pry and simply nodded. The Ghost, almost gliding across the room, made his way to the bound pony. Slowly, he placed his hoof upon the black cloth and tore it from his captive’s face. The pony blinked and recoiled at the sudden, violent action. His wincing face soon turned into the same charming expression he always wore.

“Ah,” Serenade rasped. “How good of you to return. Here I thought you had finally become bored of me. Ah, Miss Rarity...”

The Ghost stepped between his guest and captive, giving the latter a firm stare.

“You’re not here to chat, Serenade. You’re here to confess to the royal investigator of your crimes and your part in Shield Wall’s conspiracy against the crown.”

“I have already given you my terms, and yet, you refuse. How can we conduct proper business if both parties cannot come to an agreement?” Serenade spoke mockingly. “And Miss Rarity, surely you can see the error of this charlatan, being so inhospitable to his guests.”

“Do not drag me into your game, ruffian,” Rarity stated. “I know what you are.”

“I am a captive, madam, held against my will,” Serenade wailed, throwing his head back for effect. “You do not know how he has treated me, starved me, even... beaten me. Please, you must save me from this demon.”

“Not until you give a confession. You are a criminal and a scoundrel and only you are to blame for your fate.”

“B-But if not you, then who? This monster will kill me, and if I die…” Serenade’s face turned from woeful to wicked in an instant. “If I die, perhaps my colleagues will come for you. You are so far from Ponyville, and your sister, after all.”

Rarity’s heart ignited in a white-hot flame, but before she could charge the captured pony the dark figure of the Ghost enveloped him. Serenade was lifted, chair and all, into the air and slammed against the wall hard enough to rattle the table of possessions beside them. Blood trickled from his mouth and onto the floor, coughing into the face of the Ghost.

“Speak, you blight, this is your only chance!” Serenade sputtered in the Ghosts grasp, flailing against the lengths of black cloak constricting around his body. “I won’t let your evil destroy another family.”

“H-He… he will k-kill me,” Serenade choked out. “Your actions a-at the gala… your heroics…"

“Then help me stop him before he gets the chance.”

The struggle on Serenade's face began to fade. His flailing lost it’s vigor, and he was released by the Ghost, the legs of the chair clacking against the cold floor. He coughed in a desperate attempt to regain his breath. Rarity crossed the room and walked, face-to-face, before Serenade’s broken form.

“You are foul, sir,” she spat. “Foul, loathsome, and an utter ruffian, but you have the chance to save those who would be victimized by Shield Wall’s machinations. Surely, you can’t be so evil?”

“I certainly can, madam...” he said, but the comment lacked heart. Serenade knew, better than most, the lengths to which Shield Wall would go to complete his scheme. The attack on the Bridle Shores was the last straw, and he had reached the end of his conviction.

“I can,” he continued somberly, “but I am no monster. I merely recruit ponies to do my bidding and make me rich. Shield Wall sends them to die, and… well, there is no profit to be made in a destroyed city. Despite what you may know of me, I am not so heartless.”

“Then tell us what he’s planning.” Rarity opened her saddlebag, producing an inscribed stone. She waved her hoof across the top and the sigil sprung to life, illuminating the trio’s faces in its light. “Merely speak into the stone and tell us everything you know.”

“My name is Serenade, known in eastern Equestria as Plunder, former member of the 22nd Recon Division of the EUP Guard…”

Time passed as Serenade spilled all he knew about the conspiracy into Rarity’s enchanted stone. The confessions that came from Serenade’s lips made the duo’s stomachs turn with their depravity as his six-year long story unfolded before them. He told them about the plan for the Bridle Shores, the round-table conspiracy of nobles, and the vehemence with which Shield Wall showed his disdain for the Princesses’ rule. The Ghost would sneak glances at Rarity and found small tears falling from her eyes.

To him, it wasn’t fair she had been wrapped up in the evil surrounding her. The Ghost chose this life and chose to throw himself into harm’s way for the sake of ponies like Rarity.

“... the last few months were relatively quiet. That is, until a certain masked pony came and ruined all my fun.” Serenade shot a playful smirk at the Ghost, one which hid his frustration. “Truly, sir, you forced me out of my career. What kind of justice is that?”

“The kind that puts a stop to corrupt cretins like you,” the Ghost said, firmly.

“Ugh, such frequent use of alliteration. Truly, madam, how can you stand his speech?”

“Perhaps it’s more the pony than their speech,” Rarity quipped, turning up her muzzle. “Your honeyed words and flowery accent do little to hide your cruelty.”

“You wound me,” Serenade teased, before a buzzing sound came from beside him.

“If you think that will wound you…”

A new voice echoed across the room. Rarity leapt to the Ghost’s side out of shock as Serenade frantically darted his gaze around the barren room. On the table, next to all of Serenade’s possessions, the inscribed sending stone began to glow with a burning intensity.

“... then this will be positively excruciating. I had expected you to be made of sterner stuff, Serenade, but at least you have done me the service of trapping the Ghost within the blast radius.”

“Oh, Celestia, help! Help me!” Serenade screamed at the top of his lunges, fighting against his binds as the stone began to buzz and crack from the building pressure. The blinding light built to its apex as Serenade cried out again. The violent hum drowned him out.

“Farewell, Serenade. You were… of use.”

In an instant, the stone burst into a shock wave of fire and shrapnel. Bits of the stone, table and even the room itself shot out from the epicenter as a hail of death. The Ghost stepped before Rarity and flung his cloak over them both as a million tiny impacts could be felt along its surface, each one landing along the Ghost’s back. They stung, forcing him to wince as he held firm over the cowering unicorn below him. The longest second of their lives ended when the magical fireball retreated back to the ether. Behind them, the metal door burst open, forcing Rarity to jolt and tearfully wail at the sound.

“Sweet flying feathers,” Gilda screeched as she scanned the chaos. “What happened?!”

The Ghost looked over the rim of his cloak to Serenade. In his place laid a charred mass, hardly recognizable as a former crime lord, let alone a pony, and riddled with lacerations. The crater next to him was deep. This wasn’t the first time he had been exposed to magical ordinance, but he had never been on the receiving end before. He looked back to Gilda then to Rarity, who was trembling on the floor.

“Come on,” he said, softly, pulling Rarity to her hooves beneath the cloak. “Let’s get you home.”

“Y-Yes, please… I-I… I would like that v-very much. Is he-”

“Don’t think about it.”

His words brought Rarity no comfort. There was a sick curiosity in her mind, egging her to look back at the carnage, but she refused. She held solace beneath the dark embrace of the cloak as the three exited the room. Gilda closed the metal door behind them, creaking until it latched shut with a final, loud click.

“Did we at least get a confession?” Gilda’s eyes locked with the Ghost’s.

“Yeah, we... did?” The Ghost craned his next to peer back into the blackened room. His keen eyes found the magic stone Rarity brought with her scattered to bits beside the blast mark. He cursed to himself before turning back to Gilda.

“Great," Gilda huffed. "So how did General Tightwad find out?”

“I think he’s tying up loose ends.” The Ghost kept his cloak draped over the now calming Rarity, who greedily clung to it. “He’s been able to secure the funds he needs to buy off the port authority and launch his attack, so what use does he have for ponies like Serenade?”

“Or the rest of the bigwigs who worked with him…” Gilda’s eyes glazed over, the possibility of even more carnage weighing on her mind.

“Maybe. Who knows what he’s planning between now and the attack, but he doesn’t have the money yet. He can’t go through with his plan now without incriminating himself.”

“But why now,” Gilda asked, her wings flared out. “Why didn’t he off Plunder at the gala, or earlier?”

“I don’t know, something must’ve changed. Maybe he felt emboldened, or threatened by Serenade’s absence.”

“Bold enough to cook somepony alive,” Gilda stated, earning a firm hush from the Ghost who motioned to Rarity. “I’m just saying he’s going off the deep end.”

“We’re not going to know for sure unless we can get some insight into his next plan. Any leads we could’ve gotten through Serenade are-”

“Up in smoke?”

“Stop it,” the Ghost said through his teeth. “But, yes.”

“I have something.”

The Ghost and Gilda’s eyes turned to Rarity, now free of her trembling and standing with some level of dignity. Her face was tired, eyes half-lidded from the exhausting emotional roller coaster she just endured. She closed the distance between them and produced a single, finely printed envelope from her saddlebag. It glided in her magical grasp to the space between the three.

“This arrived shortly before I left to meet you. It bears Shield Wall’s seal of office.”

“What is it?” The Ghost stared at the envelope as it twinkled in the aura of blue magic. It unfolded and spilled its contents out into the open air.

“It’s an invitation,” Rarity said, her voice weak. “He’ll be hosting a party at his estate tonight. Several ponies are invited, but I can only imagine what nefarious dealings he has planned as ‘entertainment’.”

“It seems short notice, doesn’t it?” The Ghost eyed the parchment quizzically,

“Yes, and that concerns me, even more so that I was invited. He probably suspects I’ve caught on to his scheme.”

“You don’t think he’s gonna cook you like Plunder, do you?” Gilda’s words earned a tired glare from the Ghost.

“No, but…” Rarity fought back the shudder in her spine. “I’m sure he has it out for me. Nevertheless, I must attend.”

“What?” The Ghost gasped. “You can’t go, it’s not safe.”

“No, it isn’t, but he will be caught off guard. If he tries to… ‘cook’ me then I will rely on you to save me from the flames, yes?”

The Ghost could do nothing but nod in agreement. This new development had left them all without options and he knew it. He turned to Gilda, who returned a worried glance and a shrug, before approaching Rarity.

“If you’re absolutely sure you can do it, then I’ll back you up, but be careful. If Shield Wall is willing to kill his own supporters, who knows what he’ll do to you?”

“I know,” Rarity replied as she pulled the cloak from her withers and returned it to the Ghost. “But I fear for those who will attend, as well. We can’t afford to do nothing.”

The Ghost secured the cloak as the three retreated through the tunnels. Following the winding path gave him time to think. It seemed almost unreasonable for Shield Wall to act in the way he did. Killing Serenade, a surprise party, luring Rarity into harm’s way, all before he even secured Aristo’s investment. He thought to consult with Darrox, but tense memories convinced him otherwise. To him, the only thing to do now would be to find a new perspective, somepony who could tell them what Shield Wall’s plan was. The light of the sun had faded, and only the glow of street lamps seeped through the entrance to the tunnels as the three exited.

“The party will start within the hour,” Rarity stated, her eyes on the large clocktower. “I will be wearing a blue gown, I’ll need you to cover me as I unravel Shield’s plans for the party.”

“I still don’t like this.” The Ghost kept a firm gaze on Rarity. The unicorn smiled and stepped to his side.

“Neither do I, but we have no choice.” Rarity paused before a soft smile formed on her lips. “It’s hardly the same as our impromptu spa trip, though, isn’t it?”

“I…” The Ghost was stunned by her words. He nervously glanced from her to Gilda and back again before the pieces all fell together in his mind. The worry melted away, leaving room for a warm laugh as he shook his head.

“I am thoroughly embarrassed,” he finally said through the last of his chuckle. “Maybe next time I’ll get her a mask, too.”

“Don’t,” Rarity stated. “I’m glad to know it’s you.”

With that, Rarity turned and sped off through Canterlot. The Ghost and Gilda took their leave as well and scaled a nearby building before making their way across the rooftops. Gilda nervously glanced at him as they traveled.

“I, uh… I goofed it up, didn’t I?”

“Nah, G, I did,” the Ghost said. “I didn’t even think she would recognize you. Besides, who’s she going to tell?”

“I’m still sorry. It’s was a rookie mistake.”

“We’re both rookies, Gilda. Serenade beat me the first time we fought.”

“That’s right!” Gilda let out her rough cackle, reveling in the thought. “You got whooped by the prissy one.”

“Stabbed by the prissy one,” he corrected with a laugh. “Now let’s see how I fare against the next one.”

“Which one?” Gilda looked to the Ghost puzzled as they picked up their pace, rushing toward the castle.

“The one who let all this happen.”

--

Midnight Gavel sat in his large, red leather chair as he faced out toward Luna’s shimmering night. The blue aura of his magic orbited a glass and decanter around his slouched form. He poured and brought the now warm liquid to his mouth as he drained the glass in one go, the clinking of ice cubes ringing out across his large and posh office. All around him were shelves of scrolls, dated and cataloged, detailing every single case the Chief Magistrate had ever presided over. Between the shelves on one side was a row of windows, while on the other were pieces of fine art and stone busts. One of the busts, the largest one, was carved in his likeness and sat at the opposite end of the room.

Another ice cube was produced from an enchanted drawer in his desk, chilled smoke billowing out from the drawer and blooming across the floor before being shut with a loud bang. Dark liquid filled the glass again as it was brought to its wielder’s lips. His tired eyes shifted, watching reflections in the open window.

“Have you come for me? To claim me like the jaws of death?”

The Ghost stepped out from the shadows soundlessly, crossing to the center of the room from a second open window. The wispy black mass flowed with each step and Gavel summoned the strength to turn his luxurious seat to face him. The sight of Gavel upon his leather throne cut into the Ghost like a razor. Before him sat the pony behind his enemy’s supposed invulnerability, the very words drawn from his quill made fact. The Ghost’s death may have been fabricated by Shield Wall, but it was signed and officiated by the proper pony now smirking at him. A click came from the Ghost’s clenched jaw as his gut tightened.

“I won’t be the one to kill you, Mr. Gavel.” The Ghost spoke with a low rumble in his voice.

“Of course not, you’re a hero,” Gavel mocked before taking a long, loud gulp of his drink. “To think you’d come for me before Sh-... before him.”

“I’ve come to make you pay for your crimes, Gavel. Your abuse of the courts has gone on for long enough, and too many ponies have-”

“Oh, give it a rest!” Gavel shouted from his chair, flailing a foreleg in front of him as his expression soured. “Do you know how many pretentious speeches I’ve had to endure over the years? He would always prattle on and on about a better Equestria. A better world! It’s exhausting.”

The Ghost stood dumbfounded. He had expected a melodramatic duel of wits, not the slurring of whatever sad creature sat before him. He took a step forward to get a better look, but the reeking scent of booze almost pushed him back.

“You’re drunk,” he stated.

“Yes… yes, I believe I am.” Gavel played with the now warm glass held in his aura. “All the easier for you to apprehend me, yes?”

“Celebrating?”

“Ha!” Gavel leaned forward and placed the decanter on the desk. “One does not break out the Baltimare Dry for that. That poor town won’t be celebrating much, either, if he has anything to say about it.”

“What happened?”

“‘What happened’?” Gavel sat up, spilling the decanter onto the floor. “You think you can show your face again, start brutalizing our mercenaries, then drive Shield Wall absolutely bonkers and just ask me ‘what happened’?”

The decanter spun around before being hurled through the air at the Ghost. He caught it in his cloak before the full glass of gin came hurtling toward him, colliding with his face.

“Score!” Gavel cried out at the strike as the Ghost wiped his face clean.

A tendril wrapped around his foreleg and squeezed. In a flash, Gavel was dragged across the desk and tossed to the ground. The cloak held its grip as the Chief Magistrate was soon pinned to the floor, his muzzle buried in the carpet. He struggled beneath the Ghost’s weight, but could only manage to flail and curse.

“It’s all your fault! You had to come back and make a mess of things. I put in twenty years. Twenty years! Now I can-”

“Control yourself, Gavel!”

“I’ll control my hoof into your face, you damned rapscallion!”

The strike, propelled by gin-induced rage, flew wildly off course before being grabbed by powerful forelegs. Gavel was lifted off the ground then slammed, face first, onto it again. The Ghost pinned the raging bureaucrat and wrapped his offending appendages with his cloak.

“You are going to testify before Royal Court, Gavel,” the Ghost ordered. “You will help bring Shield Wall to justice for conspiracy, murder, and every other terrible thing he’s done. Your support is gone and Serenade is dead. It’s over.”

“Let me guess, you milked him for information and hung him out to dry? Am I doomed to the same fate?”

“The only fate you’ll be resigned to is a very uncomfortable seat in your own courtroom, spilling the truth before the princesses.” The Ghost leaned in close, ignoring the stench of drink. “As for the drying, you can thank your fearless leader for that.”

Gavel froze. In almost an instant every ounce of drunken fury coming from within him evaporated and left only a tremble in its place. Gavel strained to face the Ghost, still pressed against the floor, as he felt the hairs of his coat stand up and brush against his silken attire. His lips quivered.

“Shield killed Serenade?”

“Yes,” the Ghost replied. “His sending stone was enchanted to explode on command.”

“H-He would never… we t-talked about it…” Gavel’s muscles lost their tension. The black lengths of cloth restraining his limbs slithered away, traveling across his body and back to their owner as the now trembling pony rose from the floor. The Ghost could only watch as Gavel began an incessant muttering and fumbled with his own hooves. His eyes held no particular focus, his ears were flat against his scalp, and there was the slightest tuck of his tail between his legs.

“Where is he,” Gavel asked, soberly.

“At his home. He’s about to throw a party for all of his old friends.”

“No, no, no, no,” Gavel mumbled, rapidly approaching the Ghost. “You cannot let him go through with it. Do you know what he will do to them?”

“Something terrible, I’m sure-”

“No!” Gavel shouted, his hooves firmly pressed against the Ghost. “You have no idea how much dirt he has on the Canterlot nobility, dirt that I found for him! Counselor Stirrup’s offshore accounts, Morning Dew’s addictions, even Dutchess Splendant’s lost husband. If he does not kill them, then he will reveal their secrets to the world, starting with this city. The nobility are vital to Canterlot’s operations, and without them the city will cease to function.”

“So he spills the beans on the upper crust’s misdeeds and cripples Canterlot.”

“Yes! Yes, and if he does then nothing can stop him from rallying the support he needs for his coup!”

“You mean the attack,” the Ghost leaned in. “If this all happens consecutively, ponies will be scrambling for answers the crown won’t have. It’ll be chaos.”

“YES!”

“Will you give this testimony in court?”

Gavel stopped mid-sentence. The Ghost’s request made him slink away from him, wandering back towards the desk. He sat on his haunches, gave a long sigh, and forced his eyes to lock with his intruder’s.

“I cannot,” he said. “Everything I have told you is true, yes, but you cannot ask me to incriminate Shield Wall.”

“What?” The Ghost stamped forward, gritting his teeth. “Shield Wall is going to attack Equestria! He’s going to trap dozens at that party, kill Rarity, and do what he can to destroy the government. If you aren’t willing to stand against him then what’s the point of even telling me this? How can you do nothing?!”

“Because he is my friend!”

“Well sorry to burst your bubble, Gavel, but your friend is a megalomaniacal menace to Equestria!”

“He was not always so crude. There was a time when he was precise, efficient, and patient. Very seldom did he ever have one of his episodes, where the tedium of politics drove him mad, and not without something provoking him. Whether it was Peppercorn, or my former aide, or even that sergeant he obsessed over. No, he was sharp. He even used that sergeant’s old love, the poor Countess Glow, and the sob story he invented to persuade her and the nobles to support him for almost six years!”

“Abby… helped him?” The Ghost’s heart sunk into his gut, the very idea chilling his blood.

“Yes! Can you believe it? Even out of his impulses he still found the means to control the game… until you appeared.”

“Me?”

“Oh, he must have told you, your master? He and Shield Wall were what you might call bitter enemies. Archnemeses. It wasn’t until he tried to buy off the Dragon Lands was Shield Wall finally rid of that caped hooligan, but then you came along…”

Gavel rose to his hooves and stared the Ghost down, dead in the face, as the words poured out of him with a fervency.

“It had been twenty years! Shield Wall was bored, and so long as he remained bored he never even thought to go off and do idiotic things like bribe dragons. He stuck to the subtle art of political corruption, and it was great! But then you, just… you. If you had stayed in whatever hole you came from our plan would have been running smoothly and none of this mindless violence would need to happen!”

“You sure know how to pick your friends, Gavel.” The Ghost hid a smirk as Gavel groaned.

“Do not patronize me. Shield and I were ripping off the crown’s coffers since before you had your first mine.” Gavel watched the impact of his words twist the Ghost’s face with shock. “Yes, you twit, I know who you are, and so does he. It was so painfully obvious what game you were playing that we both knew we could handle you. Until you got Serenade, that is.”

“Congratulations, you solved the riddle,” the Ghost mocked, clapping his hooves together. “Good thing you won’t testify in court.”

“Does it even matter, now? No. By tomorrow morning, there may not even be a court, knowing how far gone he is.”

“He couldn’t seriously-”

“Attack tonight? Use one of the many teleportation sigils around his home and arrive in Horseshoe Bay, ready to lead his band of criminals? Oh, he could, Ghost, and he will. My only hope in telling you this is that you may be in time to save-... stop him.”

“Why would I save such a horrible pony, Gavel?”

“Because, despite all the pain, terror and evil he has wrought on Equestria, Shield Wall is still my friend.” Gavel’s gaze drifted to the floor as a tear rolled down his face. “Maybe you can do what I could not.”

With those last words, Midnight Gavel slumped to the floor. Whatever strength remained after his alcoholic binge had been snatched away by the swelling emptiness in his chest. The Ghost looked upon the depressing sight: Dark blue fur unkempt, the reek of booze, and the proof of his sincerity rolling down his sullen face. It hit him in that moment. Before the Ghost was not some grand architect of evil, but a lost soul desperately clinging to a better time. Any bitterness the Ghost once held for the sad story that was Midnight Gavel evaporated, lost to the night breeze. He crossed the room to him, careful to approach slowly and placed a hoof onto the somber pony’s shoulder. Gavel made no response to the action and continued to stare into nothing.

“You are as much a victim of his evil as any other.”

“I do not want your pity,” Gavel spat, though it lacked conviction. “You have come seeking justice, so just claim it.”

“No, this nightmare isn’t your fault,” the Ghost said, softly. “I can’t promise everything will end how you want it, but I will bring Shield Wall back to face justice. If you truly care for him, as a friend would, then consider doing the right thing for once.”

“You want me to send him to prison?”

“I want you to save him.”

Gavel didn’t even watch as the Ghost strode to the open window. From his position, he could see all of Canterlot and the surrounding properties beyond. He spied a small train of carriages traveling through the streets to a single, ornate mansion just beyond the castle walls. It was Shield Wall’s home.

The impending conflict meant little to him, though. As the Ghost looked out across the night sky his mind was fixed on Gavel’s words. Abby, the mare he fought for, had helped Shield Wall achieve his goals. The thought stung. Like a splinter in his heart he could feel the almost crippling sorrow dig deeper into him. He stepped out onto the ledge and almost didn’t notice the gust of wind brought by feathered wings.

“Hey, there are a lot of ponies heading to General Tightwad’s place. Whatever’s happening is going down now…” Gilda trailed off as she noticed the empty expression on her friend.

“Hey, are you okay?”

“I… help me get over there…”

Gilda picked up on his low, weary tone and obeyed. She held tight to the Ghost, spread her mighty wings, and dove off the tower. They glided as a dark cloud upon the wind, blending with Luna’s night and heading straight for the mansion.