VII - Pacts and Alliances
Chapter Seven
"Little is definitively known about Diamond Dog society, though hardly for a lack of trying. Their tribal and nomadic nature makes such study difficult. In fact, most of what we know of them comes from observation of their only city, but even that is misleading. The dogs who live there have different tendencies than the much more common nomad. For example, the city dogs are much more open to trade and peaceful diplomacy than their gypsy brethren. They are the exception, not the rule, and we must learn to draw the line between the two before we can truly understand the dogs as a whole."
~Excerpt from "Our Planet: Species and Cultures"
by Broken Hooves, Explorer and Naturalist
The pegasus woke with a start; something had disturbed his sleep. On the fringe of panic, his eyes darted around the unfamiliar room, finally landing upon the grandfather clock quietly chiming the early hour. As the sound faded back into silence, taking the echo of his dreams with it, he released his breath as his memory came back to him. The room was no longer unfamiliar; this was the guest room where Octavia had allowed him to stay for the remainder of his ordeal. He was a guest and the musical acquaintance of the Cellist. Autumn closed his eyes, and Fiddler opened them.
He crawled out of bed. The sun hadn't risen, but that did little to bother him; he was usually up before it, anyway. He checked himself in the mirror, making sure of his blue eyes and musical mark, before heading to the closet to get dressed. Fiddler dressed plainly, wearing only a simple, lightweight coat tailored for pegasi. In truth, he owned little else; only a small amount of coin and a dusty black bindle that held a vest and mask. These he kept tucked away, safely hidden from prying eyes.
His coat donned, he flapped his wings to test the fit and found it comfortable. He then went to the room's sink and washed his face, taking a moment to ponder his dripping wet reflection. It had been several days since he'd been welcomed under Octavia's roof, and in all that time he felt he was still just hiding. He had made a promise, and he was doing everything he could to delay. Though thinking about it was enough to make him sick, he knew why he had held back so much. His dream had hardly been prophetic, but it plainly wrote his fear. Standing in the bright light, nowhere to hide, and the shadows constantly retreating—
He shook his head, clearing his eyes of the dream. Whatever happens today, he thought, I cannot shy from it. He stared a few moments more, watching droplets of water fall from his fur into the sink. It took those moments for him to gather the courage he needed to turn and face the oncoming day. He checked the window, making sure it was unlocked. Then, taking a deep breath, he left the safety of the room, of familiar ground, closing the door quietly behind him.
He wandered to the kitchen. The few days he'd stayed had taught him a little about his host, questions that he never would have thought about asking before. He knew, for example, that she was likewise an early riser. More often than not, she would spend her morning watching the sun crest the horizon, and he knew that she preferred to have a cup of tea accompany her to her date with the dawn. So it was that, in the light of a firefly lamp, he set the kettle to boil.
Octavia came downstairs a few minutes later, seemingly drawn by the sound of her kettle's distinctive whistle. Fiddler was pouring the hot water into the prepared teapot when she entered the kitchen. "Fiddler," she asked, "what are you doing?"
He glanced over. "Good morning," he said, returning his attention to his task. "The sun has a few more minutes before it decides to grace us with its light, so I decided to spend that time doing more than simply waiting. Besides, you have done so much for me these past few days, and all I feel I have done is be a burden and impose on your hospitality. I feel I must try to repay you at least a bit while I can. So" —he picked up the tea tray and set it on the table— "I made you breakfast."
She looked over the tray; sitting beside the teapot, from which a warm scent of cinnamon drifted, was a salad of fruits, garnished with lavender and chrysanthemum. She raised an eyebrow. "So, to make up for imposing on my house, you use my food to make breakfast?"
Fiddler blinked; his brain had screeched to a halt. "Ah," he said, his thoughts slowly chugging back into motion, "I... well, I didn't—"
He was interrupted by a melodious sound; it occurred to him that even her laugh sounded like music in a concert hall. "I jest, Fiddler, truly. I appreciate this, thank you." She smiled warmly before turning to her balcony. "Care to join me and the dawn?"
"I would," he said, an apologetic smile on his lips, "but I cannot; I have an errand I must attend to. Perhaps another time."
"An errand? This early? Surely it can wait; most business doesn't begin until after sunrise."
He shook his head. "It cannot wait, I fear. If I delay any longer, it may become too late."
"'Too late'? Fiddler, are you doing a surprize act?"
"Ah... well..."
She smiled again as she shook her head. "It's alright; wouldn't be much of a surprize if you told everyone. Still, it's good to see you're getting back out there. Now go have fun. Oh, and please don't be out too late; I have a surprize for you later today."
Fiddler gave a gentlecoltly bow. "I shall return as soon as I am able." If I am able. He hid his fear behind a forced smile, bid his farewells, and left Octavia to enjoy her morning.
He was only three steps down the walkway when he took flight, turning back toward the window to his room. With the window unlocked, it was a simple matter for him to enter in silence. Once inside, he made his way to where he had hidden his bindle, took it out, and left the room once more; he needed to be prepared for whatever lay ahead.
Clutching his bindle, he soared out over the slumbering city. The last of the nightclubs had closed little more than an hour ago, bidding their patrons a safe journey home. The morning was still too young for the early shifts to begin, so the night crews wandered the dimly-lit streets, going about their final tasks in preparation for the day ahead. They moved like shades under the light of the lampposts, flitting from one to another as they marched through the dark. Most of the city, however, sat in stillness, the roads and building frames quietly illuminated by lampfire and firefly. Fiddler flew over it all, seeing none of it. He was focused solely on his target, and the danger that lay in wait there.
He had spent the last few days in deep thought about this, about who he could turn to. Someone who knew of the Service but whom no-one would suspect. That alone had been challenging enough, but adding that they needed enough power to help the investigation had made it daunting. Without knowing who was part of this conspiracy, nopony in the Service was an option. In the end, there was only one pony he could go to, though he fought against it. In the end, he had to go to the last place he wanted to.
The Royal Palace.
Even at this distance, the palace was a majestic thing to behold. Growing out of the mountain, it loomed over the city at its feet like a mother watching over her children. Its outer walls stretched around Canterlot, hugging it in a protective embrace. The white spires, coloured grey in the night, stabbed upward to the sky. At one time, he saw it as the closest thing he had to 'home,' but now it was a dragon bearing its fangs.
It was amazing how a few days could change things.
As he neared the palace he dropped in altitude, landing a few blocks away in a secluded alley; it wouldn't do to be seen flying over the palace walls. Now hidden, he untied his bindle, the cloth unfolding over itself several times. Fully laid out, he looked over the two items his cloak had held. In spite of himself, he paused; if he did this, there was no going back. For a moment the idea of fleeing, of grabbing his few things and flying far away, dashed across his mind. No, he thought, shaking the idea from his head. I will not shy from this. He picked up his mask, turning it slowly in his hoof. Celestia, give me courage.
The mask fit just as snugly as it had these past many years. The vest he folded and tucked away; he would need his wings. He pulled the cloak over himself, taking a deep breath as it settled over him. Its familiar weight wrapped around him, shrouding him from the world outside; its comfort gave him strength. Determined once again, he slipped out from the alley into the coming dawn.
He walked along the street, staying to the ever-fading shadows. He knew the palace walls well, but as of late the guards had increased their number. Nothing greatly significant, really; just a few more unicorns near the gates, but in the wake of his branding it was enough to give him pause. Unicorns could find him, and he didn't want to give them the opportunity.
He saw the poster as he neared the inner walls. A plain thing, he would have walked past it had he not seen the large WANTED printed along the top. If seeing that caused his heart to skip a beat, reading the whole thing drained him.
WANTED
Earth Pony: Chestnut coat, hazelnut mane, red eyes, white mask cutie mark.
Special Talent: Hiding. Considered highly dangerous.
Usually found wearing black cloak and white mask.
Declared Traitor to her Royal Majesties, the Princesses Celestia and Luna.
If spotted, DO NOT APPROACH; inform the Royal Guard immediately.
What followed were general orders to report any suspicious activity, as well as sketches of him, cloaked with hood down, and his cutie mark. The artist sure knew his stuff; there was little doubt that, if anypony spotted him, word would get to the Service. Remembering to breathe again, he glanced around, and with a whispered word slipped into the shadows.
His mind was racing as he covered the last distance to the palace walls. He knew the guards were looking for him; it had only been two days since several of them came by Octavia's door asking questions, but posters? No such things had been anywhere in Canterlot yesterday, so they must have been placed late last night. If the council had issued them, then it showed how truly desperate they were to catch him. This cannot be sanctioned, he thought as the wall loomed above him. How did they get them out to begin with? The more he thought about it, the more he was certain that the princesses hadn't been informed. Well, they'd find out come sunup, but even if they took them all down the damage would be done; one glimpse of Autumn's mask and the Service would be upon him soon after.
He glanced over his shoulder; the sky was turning blue again. With a quick prayer, he flapped his wings and slipped over the wall.
~ * ~ ~ * ~ ~ * ~
The Shaman felt the ripple of magic reverberate throughout the cavern. Instinctively, he deciphered the spell as a pony-cast teleportation. The Shaman didn't budge; he couldn't have cared less. It had been only a few days since everything had fallen apart. Everything he had taken those months to build, all those years of planning and preparation, had collapsed around him in less than a day. What did it matter that there were ponies coming to clean up the mess?
He sat slumped in his throne, his staff leaning nearby. These last days had left him mentally torn. Ever since the ponies had gotten away, he would fly between emotions: his rage kicking up in righteous fury at the slightest provocation, and the weight of his failure crushing him down into a hopeless mire. Most dogs left him after the first day.
His eyes were open, but he did little more than stare straight ahead, never bothering to see what was around him. He knew, of course. Of the few dogs still loyal to him, only a handful remained, and even they were losing faith. They still brought him meals and kept his bedding clean, but around him they never said a word, only looking up at him in a mixture of fear and worry. They no longer asked questions of him, their silence stained with fear. It hurt to know that he was the cause of that, but part of him was too numb to care. He had stopped speaking, only leaving his throne when necessities demanded it. The great cavern which once rang with thousands of voices was now quiet as death, and he found it oddly fitting.
His thoughts rested on Nadezhda. He had poured everything he had into her, dreaming for the day when she would be born. She would have been his, and his alone. He would have raised her, teaching her everything he knew, giving her purpose and meaning. With her he would have... well, none of that mattered now. Nadezhda, his Nadezhda, was gone, and without her he had nothing. The Divine Master had commanded him, and he had failed. There was a time when everything had felt so inevitable, but now there was nothing but soot and ashes.
"What happened here?"
Dog voices. The question sounded like claws on slate against the silence. It raked against his ears, bringing a scowl to his face. He looked toward the offensive noise and found a small pack of dogs. Most were armoured, their chests covered in thick iron plate with helmets that obscured their eyes, but the three in front wore small jackets and diamond-studded collars. They were looking around, their mouths agape. The smallest of them caught sight of the dog skeleton lying on a patch of blackened rock; he took a terrified step back.
The hunting party, he recalled. They are back late. Part of him was ready to believe that their absence helped allow his plans to crumble, that things would have been different if they had been there, but the rest of him wasn't willing to put the effort forward. Instead, he simply stared numbly at them until one of them hesitantly, reverently approached his throne.
"Great Shaman," he started, bowing low, "your humble servants return. We have done as you commanded, and behold! We bring you gems!" With a flourish, he gestured at the pack behind him. The armoured dogs stepped aside, revealing an old mining cart nearly full of a wide variety of gems. Rubies, emeralds, sapphires, garnets, diamonds; all glimmered in the torchlight, as though they were rejoicing in the dimness.
The Shaman said nothing, merely shifted his gaze from the grovelling being before him to the cart of gems. It was an insult; it wouldn't satisfy even the small band that was left. In the prolonged silence, the grovelling dog began to sweat. "I-it isn't much, w-we know," he stammered. "B-but we can go out again, i-if you wish it. We c-can find more."
The pack began to shift about on their paws, nervously stealing glances amongst themselves. Leaning forward, the Shaman finally found his voice. "I sent you to provide for the pack, and you bring me this." He spat each word, earning flinches from the dogs at his feet. "I sent you with the knowledge that the pack would grow, and you return with this." He was growing angry, all the wreckage of the past days coming to the fore. "I sent you with expectation, and you repay me with this." He grabbed his staff and, pointing it at the dog before him, growled, "Explain yourself, Fido."
Fido lost his voice; his mouth opened and closed uselessly. The Shaman's lips curled into a snarl before Rover stepped forward and saved his companion. "We did, Great Shaman; we did find many good gems, piled high in many carts! We found them, but they were taken from us! We couldn't come back with empty paws, so we... we scraped together what we could." He glanced back, nervously, at the cart. "It was all we could manage."
The Shaman narrowed his eyes. "Taken by whom?"
Rover gulped. "It was... a pony, Great Shaman. She had magic," he quickly added, trying desperately to stave off the Shaman's anger. "She could find hordes of gems, so we captured her and made her find them for us! But she stole them from us and ran away with her friends. We tried to chase her, but she used her magic and disappeared! We... we lost her," he finished sheepishly.
Magic, he thought. Why must these fools try to control what they don't understand? He had calmed only slightly when the small dog spoke up, confused. "Didn't we let her go 'cause she was annoying?"
"Ssshut uuup, Spot!" hissed Rover. Fido flashed a nervous grin.
It took a great deal of control for the Shaman to keep his voice level. "You let her go? With all the gems?"
"But she wouldn't leave without them!" protested Spot.
Magic lashed out at Spot before the Shaman thought about it. It knocked him back into the cart, spilling the contents all over the floor. The dogs gathered around it leapt back in fear. The Shaman was standing, a faint red glow flickering into existence around his staff. He spoke through clenched teeth, his voice a low growl.
"I should kill you where you stand. Fools, every one of you. Is that all it takes to beat you? A small pony that annoys you? For that you would sacrifice your entire tribe? You would bring such a small offering and call it good?" What little control he had was lost, and the cavern echoed with his shouts. "IT WAS A PONY! A small, weak little creature, and you let it best you! You were dogs of my pack, my tribe. What is a mere pony to the likes of us? HOW COULD YOU—"
He stopped, his staff aglow and pointed at the terrified dogs, huddled and cowering against the overturned mining cart. He stood there, the glow on his staff slowly fading as the full effect of his words ran home. Extinguished, his staff clattered to the floor and he fell back into his throne. Then, to the terror of the dogs around him, he started laughing. He couldn't help it; the whole thing was just so absurd. Here he was, yelling at his pack for letting a pony make fools of them, and he himself had lost his greatest treasure to the same thing. How audacious of him! The thoughts rolled in his head, and the whole pit rang with his laughter.
In wonderment or relief, the dogs looked on as he slowly calmed. He sat slumped in his throne, one paw covering his eyes, the occasional chuckle still escaping from the soft, absurd smile on his lips. What am I to do? he wondered. My pack has collapsed upon itself. My only warriors cannot even fight a single unicorn's voice. And here I am, frozen in place. I have no hope left, no future. He sighed mentally. Where did it all end?
"Good ta see we cotcha inna good mood."
The voice was light and smooth, but the words were spoken badly and with the thick accent of the City. He opened one eye, and standing before his own dog's spears was a small pack of ponies.
~ * ~ ~ * ~ ~ * ~
Autumn landed inside the palace grounds, hidden in the shadow of the inner wall. He moved quickly, taking care to avoid any unicorns that may have noticed a breach in security. He didn't know for a fact if there were detecting spells over the walls, but he didn't want to take the chance.
He was guessing. He had spent very little time in the palace proper, since the works of the Service kept him to the interior of the mountain. He thought he knew which room was his target, but that was from the inside. Out here he was counting windows, trying to match them with the hazy mental map he had of the Sister Wing.
The day was growing brighter; he couldn't stay out here for long. Nervously, he glanced around and, seeing no guards in the area, took a chance and picked a window. Beating his wings, he scrambled up the wall, catching the window ledge as he neared it. He looked inside: the royal bath. Cursing, he dropped back to the earth and into the embrace of the brightening shadows. Too much longer and the palace grounds would be filled with sunlight; he had to act fast. Revising his mental map, he picked another window and tried again.
Three attempts later he was growing desperate. Two of the rooms he'd checked he didn't remember, and it was throwing him off. This couldn't go on. Dawn had broken, and the sun's rays were dancing on the tallest spires, slowly trickling down to light the whole of the palace. It wouldn't take long for even the most inobservant of guards to notice him running up and down the towers. Once more, he told himself. I have to try at least once more. Steeling himself, he once more picked a window, and once more clambered up the face of the tower.
The window was still dark, and he hoped that was a good sign. He caught the ledge and, holding his breath, peered in. At first he saw nothing; the night still pervaded this room. Then, as his eyes started to adjust, he saw the flicker of movement. Straining his eyes, he waited. The room gained shape and details: a bed, end tables, cushions, and books. Books everywhere; stacked against the walls, lying on the floor, hanging over furniture, and there, draped over a large pillow, was a pony. Her wings lazily splayed beside her, she held a book in the cobalt-blue grasp of her magic while her mane drifted and flowed effortlessly in the still room. He had finally found it: the room of Princess Luna.
One quick glance over his shoulder told him that the guards had started the morning shift; that meant that there were nearly twice their earlier number patrolling the grounds, and he was still hanging onto the window ledge. With only one option left to him, he silently tripped the latch and slipped inside the dark room.
A bolt of magic smashed into the wall beside him. He turned and saw that the princess was standing, wings fully flared and horn aglow, pointed directly at him. "Who art thou that disturbs us?"
She can see me? A passing thought; he quickly realized that she must have had some alarm spell set up on her window. Even so, every bone in his body was screaming at him to run, to hide. In the second it took him to quell his instinct, the door burst open and the two nightguards ran in. They took up positions beside the princess, guarding her on her flanks, facing outward to cover her from all angles. One of them spoke, his voice calm and flat. "Majesty, are you well?"
"We are," she replied. "There is merely an intruder in our chambers." The nightguards' eyes shifted, scanning the room. Autumn knew that, though they couldn't see him, it was only a matter of time before the princess would use her magic to find him. If he waited for that to happen they certainly wouldn't listen to anything he had to say. So it was that, with a quiet breath, he stepped out of the shadows and bowed low.
The nightguards immediately turned on a hoof to face him, their strange bat-like wings flaring, their faces still locked in an emotionless mask. The princess didn't move, her eyes seeming to bore into him. Suppressing a shiver, he stayed against the floor. "Your highness, I come to request an audience with you."
"Is this how ponies of this age seek audience? By sneaking into the chambers of their princess? Nay, begone. Seek our sister for thy questions."
"I cannot," he said, unmoving. "There are those in the palace who would not hesitate to make me disappear for the knowledge I possess. The princess... your sister is being watched, and I cannot get to her. I come to you with all the hope I have."
He waited; there was no response. He fought the urge to look up as the silence stretched. It felt like a minute had passed, then two. It was coming up on the third when Luna finally spoke. "If this be true, then we shall hear thy words. Rise."
Relief flooded through him at those words, and suddenly he could breath a little easier. "Thank you, Highness," he said as he stood. Before him, the nightguards were standing at an easy attention, their wings folded neatly against their sides, each keeping a watchful eye on him. Luna herself had straightened, wings now elegantly splayed in a regal pose. She has grown, he thought, remembering how small she had been the day of her return, standing beside her sister. She looks to be just as tall now. How did she grow so fast?
Her eyes narrowed slightly as he looked forward. "Thou didst say thou wert here for audience, yet thy face is concealed beneath an assassin's mask. Tell us truly, why art thou here?"
His breath caught in his throat. An assassin's mask? Before he could respond, one of the nightguards began speaking, his voice calm, level, and devoid of any inflection. "This would be Autumn. Earth pony, rumoured to be a unicorn. Member of your Service before being declared a traitor by its council."
"Lies," Autumn spat. "I am no traitor."
"Of course not." A hint of contempt.
"Assassin and traitor, then?" Luna's gaze turned baleful as her horn sparked to life again. "We ask thee one last time: Why art thou here?"
Everything rested on his next words, but he didn't have time to choose them carefully. "Highness, I have given you only the truth since I arrived. I am not an assassin; this mask was a gift, given to me because I hide. I did not know its history until now. I am no traitor; I am being framed by those who are. I come seeking audience with you because the true traitors are ponies in the Secret Service itself, even some of those sitting on the council. I have nowhere else to turn."
The princess took her time before answering. "Thy accusations are heavy, but thy words are light. Why would we trust thee?"
"Check my record!" He was growing frantic. "I have been nothing but loyal to Equestria and the crown. What reason would I have to turn against her?"
In response, Luna looked over at the nightguard who had spoken earlier. "He speaks truth, Majesty," he said, "at least in part. His record is clean, his service is commendable. No indications of desire or intent. However, a search of his quarters revealed some compelling evidence to the contrary, most notably a journal detailing several plans to usurp you and your sister. A curious case indeed."
The look she gave Autumn almost drove him back into the shadows. He felt stupid. Of course they'd plant evidence against me! Oh, how could I have overlooked that? Every instinct he had woke up and started screaming at him to run and hide, to be somewhere that wasn't at the horn of one of the most powerful beings in the land. In spite of it all, he held himself in place. Whatever happens, I will not shy from it. For a moment, his thoughts drifted. Dew, please be safe.
"Thy thoughts?"
The question startled him, but before he answered he found it was not directed at him. "Compelling, but not yet certain," the nightguard said. "Intelligence is still in the process of verification. I understand they are having some troubles. No details."
Autumn was stunned; the things Intelligence did were always behind closed doors. Few ponies knew what went on there, and even fewer had anything resembling the whole picture. As far as Autumn knew, the nightguards never left their posts guarding the princess' room. How does he know all this? The pony saw Autumn staring, and merely looked his way, his expression just as stoic and unreadable as when he first ran into the room.
As for Luna, she was looking slightly askance, her brow furrowed. Finally, she looked up and addressed Autumn once again. "Thou wouldst ask for our trust. We would have thine. Tell us this: thou art called both earth pony and unicorn. Truly, which art thou?"
He paused. An act of trust...
Slowly, he unfastened his cloak.
~ * ~ ~ * ~ ~ * ~
The Shaman glared at the ponies before him. All unicorns, they numbered close to twenty, their coats displaying a rainbow of colours in his dark cavern. He found it grating. Leaning forward, he growled at them in a tongue they would all understand. "You have chosen bad day, pony."
One of the unicorns laughed. "Ah, it speaks our language. Good; that'll make this easier." The stallion stepped forward, unconcerned about the spears levelled at him. "You are the Shaman who wanted an alacorn, aren't you?"
This pony was already fraying his nerves. "Why does pony care? Come to end what other ponies started?"
"Not at all," said the pony, smiling amicably. "I thought that maybe I could help."
That caught the Shaman off-guard. The hunter pack at his feet stole glances amongst themselves, confused. The Shaman scoffed. "Pony think I am fool? There is no reason you help us. Perhaps, simply want us unprepared for attack."
The unicorn's smile didn't even flicker. "You seem pretty unprepared as it is. Do you have any idea how many of your dogs we've run into inside these mines?" He looked around, taking in the sight of the dogs gathered in the cavern. The warriors were still standing strong, giving few signs of weakness. Most other dogs were cowering, peering out from behind whatever cover they had in a sense of terrified curiosity. Only a few non-warriors were standing, unafraid, in the open. The unicorn gestured to them all. "Just these."
The Shaman snorted. "Your point escapes me, pony."
The unicorn sighed. "If I wanted to attack you, destroy you, it would be a very, very, very simple matter. You may not think it, living in whatever pitiful luxury your underlings still provide you, but your pack is broken and weak. If I wanted you dead, you would be."
Too late, pony; we are already dead. The thought slipped through his mind, and suddenly he realized the truth of it. He had known, of course, but it was an easier thing to ignore than to accept. Now this pony had come in and shoved it in his face. He couldn't pretend anymore. He couldn't lie to himself, tell himself that everything could be salvaged given time and effort. He couldn't hide anymore, the truth of the pony's words shattered his last illusions. He might have been grateful if it didn't sting so much.
As the full weight of the pony's words struck home, he felt as though his last foundations were pulled from under him. He was suddenly very, very tired. He collapsed back into his throne, deciding to forget about everything and everyone in front of him. What did it matter, anyway? The ponies were right, after all; there was no way his pack would survive another year. Even if the remaining few stayed by his side, they didn't have the resources, food, or gems to stay strong. Even if these ponies left them untouched, other packs would come and tear his apart. He was doomed.
Acceptance was oddly liberating, and he would have laughed again if he had the energy. I wonder who it will be that destroys us? Some nameless clan? Ha! Such a disgrace that would be! His head rolled slightly as he looked over at the charred skeleton on the ground, left untouched since it first fell. Perhaps it will be the other shaman, the one that ran. He might build himself a pack and take revenge for his arm. He considered that for a while. At least that one would be worth a fight. Perhaps they'd sing songs about it.
The unicorn cleared his throat. The Shaman's eyes lazily drifted back to the ponies as he was reminded of their existence. For a moment he wondered what it would be like to die by their paws. "Well?" the pony asked. "Nothing to say?"
The Shaman regarded him curiously, remembering something the unicorn had said. "Why would pony want to help us?"
"Because I think we want the same thing."
This time, the Shaman did laugh. His warriors shuffled nervously, worried by their Shaman's sudden outburst. "'The same thing'? Pony speaks joke, I think."
"Not at all. I don't suggest to know your ending goals, but those are not what interest me. What does is your means."
"'Means'?"
"Your methods," the pony corrected. "You were trying to create an alacorn, yes? Why? The alacorns are some of your most powerful enemies, so why would you want to make another one?"
"Why should I tell you?"
"Because I can help you," the pony said patiently. "But, if I'm going to do that, then I need to know why. You can't expect me to simply give you everything you want, now can you? I know you don't have money, but you dogs understand 'barter,' don't you? You give me information, I give you assistance. Barter."
"Pony wastes his time. There is nothing to give."
"Of course there is, you're just being stubborn."
The Shaman spread his arms, gesturing at his meagre pack. "Pony think I am fool? You want information, but then you kill us anyway. Why should I give?"
The unicorn sighed. Those behind him exchanged glances, mentally preparing for conflict. The Shaman watched them carefully, giving a raspy growl to remind his own warriors to be ready. He knew that he wouldn't be able to win against this many unicorns, but, by Lassie, he was going to give them a fight worth remembering.
"I don't think you fully understand this situation, dog," the unicorn said, either oblivious to or completely disregarding the heightening tension between the groups. "I am not being unreasonable, and given the fact that your little pack is in shambles, I think I'm being quite generous. I don't need anything from you; I can find something just as good, given time. What you have is merely convenience, and you would do well to remember that. I am offering you an opportunity to do something again, this time under my protection." He looked around at the gathered dogs: the warriors clad in steel, the acolytes in their training cloth, the hunter leaders wearing their collars. "That is, of course, only if you have something of interest. If not, I don't even have to kill you; I can just leave you here to die, alone, in this grave of your own making.
"So tell me, dog: what did you want with an alacorn?"
The Shaman said nothing; too many of the pony's words struck close to home.
The stallion narrowed his eyes. "I doubt you just wanted a pet. Did you want to learn a weakness? Were you planning on dissecting her?"
"PONY IS A FOOL!" He was standing now, spittle flying from his mouth as he yelled, the thought of his Nadezhda dead and cut open throwing open the doors that held his rage. He spoke in his native tongue, forgetting, or perhaps not caring, that the unicorn wouldn't understand him. "We would never do such a thing to her! How can you even suggest that we, that I, would destroy a gem of such value? Is this what you ponies do? Create something beautiful just to see it destroyed? HOW CAN YOU LIVE LIKE THAT? My Nadezhda would have been—"
He stopped. Before him, a multi-coloured glow had come into existence, emanating from the horns of the unicorn pack. His own warriors gripped their spears tighter, their jaws set, determined to show their Shaman that they could stand their own against mere ponies. Yet still the unicorn leader stood, calmly as ever, perfectly confident in his own and utterly dismissive of the Shaman's.
The Shaman's anger evaporated. The pony was right, after all; he couldn't win, and his pack would disappear. Their bones would be buried, no songs would ever be sung. These ponies, these arrogant ponies, would simply forget, leaving his pack and their memory to oblivion.
For the last time, the Shaman sagged back in his throne. There really is no purpose left to us, is there? His eyes wandered to the ceiling of his cavern. The darkness swallowed everything that high up, the last light of the torches holding only halfway up the pillars. He smiled as he remembered when the light reached the full distance, when the orbs would glow against the black. He closed his eyes to the darkness and simply gave up.
"Pony really wants to know?" he asked, once more in Equestrian. "I wanted home for my people. Someplace safe. Someplace warm. Someplace plentiful." Briefly, his dreams flicked across his eyelids: warm pools of water, flowing rivers, homes above ground without fear of exposure. He dreamt of light breezes and heavy rains. He took a deep breath, and for a moment tasted fresh air. "Nadezhda would have led us there. She would have been mine, and we would have gathered all dogs together. We would make First Pack real again. We would make this world ours again."
"You have a home."
The Shaman looked at the unicorn again. "Pony know nothing. We had home, then ponies took from us. Drove us below surface, banished us from wealthy lands. I would take back."
"So why don't you?"
"Because ponies take Nadezhda. Ponies kill Nadezhda, I think. Now ponies simply curious." He waved a paw in a dismissive gesture. "Pony's questions answered. Leave; leave us to our rot."
"If you could do this again, get another... what did you call it? Nadishta? If you had another, would you try again?" The Shaman said nothing; he was done talking. Perhaps I should fight them anyway, songs or no songs. Maybe then they'd leave.
He might have gone through with it; called upon his pack to fight and die. He might have basked in the relief that nothing more could go wrong, that his failures couldn't haunt him anymore. He might have died smiling, but the unicorn spoke again. "I could help you, you know. Help you build up your pack again. Give you strength to use. How about it?"
The Shaman paused. There was something in this pony's tone, something that didn't sit quite right. "What does pony want?"
The unicorn smiled. "War."
~ * ~ ~ * ~ ~ * ~
His cloak dropped to the floor, and his mask soon fell beside it. Hesitantly, he spread his wings, almost flinching as the last wall of security he had crumbled. "I am neither," he said, barely keeping the tremble out of his voice.
He thought he saw a flicker of shock pass over the faces of the nightguards, but Luna remained unmoved by his revelation. She only nodded and asked another question. "Why didst thou disguise thyself?"
No more running. "So I could disappear if I needed to."
Luna quietly considered his answer. She looked over his wings, then her eyes hardened. "Thou didst claim thou wert no assassin, yet thy mark depicts the mask. Art thou lying still?"
He looked back over his shoulder; of course. Without his cloak, his flank was clearly visible. He closed his eyes and, for the first time since he ran from home, willingly became himself again. It was through hazelnut eyes that he looked back to Luna. "A falsehood, Princess; an aspect of my talent. This is my real cutie mark."
The nightguards still stood stoically, yet their eyes had widened. As for Luna, she no longer saw him; she was looking at a memory. "Thou art markless."
He nodded. "It took me a long time to realize that. Heh. The names they used to call me..."
"It is usually difficult for those such as thee."
What? "'Such as...'? There are others?"
Luna nodded. "Indeed. Thou wouldst not have heard of them, of course, but we knew one such pony, many years ago. A friend, she helped us found the Service."
Autumn gulped. "Silent Hoof?"
The princess smiled. "No. She declined leadership, and in respect of her wishes, we shall not name her."
Nameless, he thought. "I can understand that." It was strange, though; the sense of kinship he suddenly felt.
Luna trotted over, looking not at him but at the mask at his feet. "Before the Service passed into secrecy, ponies such as thyself were sought after. Thy talent is valuable in its tasking, and few enough ponies possess it." She picked up his mask, turning it in her hoof as she examined it. "It is a testament to our loving society that so few ponies are driven to hiding talents, yet such irony that those same talents became the wall that kept it together." A pause, then she looked back at Autumn. "Thy foalhood must have been painful. Tell us, from where didst thou get this mask?"
"It was a gift, as I said. She said it would be useful to me, to 'one who hides before he thinks to run.'"
"A powerful gift. Thou didst say thou knew not its history?"
"I only know she had no use for it."
Luna nodded and set the mask down. "That is likely for the best." She returned her attention to Autumn, extending her hoof. "Thou wished for an audience; it is granted."
He paused, staring at her hoof; he had never seen such a gesture. He glanced up at the princess, who stood expectantly. He glanced over at the nightguards, but they were as unreadable as ever. Whatever this was, he was getting no clues to decipher it. Some old custom? he thought.
Time stretched, and Autumn began to sweat. That last thing he wanted to do was insult the princess, but he feared that was precisely was he was doing with each passing second. Thinking quickly, he did the first thing that came to mind: he bowed and kissed her hoof.
Time stopped. Did I do the wrong thing? He glanced around, hoping for some cue for what he should be doing. Seeing nothing, he was saved by a small voice in the back of his head, reminding him of something so very simple. "Th... thank you, princess."
She withdrew her hoof, and relief flooded through him. He made a mental note to try and look up the old royal customs for his future dealings with the princess. If this goes well, of course. Luna trotted back over to her nightguards and sat between them, wings still regally poised. "Autumn of the Markless: rise and speak."
'Of the Markless'? Never heard that before. Obediently, he rose and began speaking. "Your Highness, much of what I have to say you already know by now. There are traitors in the Service, though how many I cannot say. I discovered them, and so they accused me before I could accuse them. In defence, I ran. I would have never returned had it not been for my friend.
"I do not know their number, but I do know that this treason runs deep, even up to the Service's council. I do not know their reason, but I do know they wish to start a war. I... regret to say that is all I know."
Luna paused, considering the information. "How is it thou didst come upon this treason?"
"By accident. I was wandering the deep passages when I stumbled across two ponies talking. I only heard a few sentences before they spotted me." He paused, remembering. "It was enough."
"Dost thou know the two ponies?"
He shook his head. "I did not get a good look at them."
Luna pursed her lips. "Very scant."
A worn sigh; he had been having that same thought a lot. "I know, Princess. I have been trying to remember their faces, but I do not wish to accuse innocent ponies. Had I been hiding then... all of this could be avoided."
"Thou shouldst not blame thyself. 'Twas merely happenstance that put thee there; thou couldst not have known what thee would find there. Beside which, thou hast taught us of true treason. Surely, that counts in thy favour."
He looked to the floor. "Still feels less than useful."
"'Tis a place to start. With such small things the Service doth make its victories." He considered that for a bit. It was true; he rarely received more than a hint to go investigate. Funny; I never considered myself much of an Intelligence pony. He might've laughed at the thought, but Luna spoke again. "Thou didst say our sister was watched?"
A nod. "She is."
"Then we cannot tell her," she said, thoughtful. "Doing such would only drive the traitors deeper into hiding. We shall need them to believe they are still invisible. What is thy plan?"
His plan. I probably should have thought this through. "In truth, princess, I do not have one. I am just trying to make sure that something can happen right now."
"Admirable, yet short-sighted."
"Princess, I would have run away if not for my friend."
"Yes, thy friend; thou didst mention earlier. Who is this friend?"
The question felt sudden, yet he knew it was one that had to be asked. He didn't know why it had broken his focus so much. Perhaps, he felt, he was still trying to protect her. Do I not trust Luna? The question burned in his mind. He knew that it would be a simple matter for her to find Dew; it was hardly a secret that she was the only pony he would call a friend. He looked over at the nightguard. He probably already knows.
Gathering himself up, he faced the princess again. "My friend... her name is Dew. She works with the Intelligence branch, sorting the reports. She came back the day I was accused to try and find evidence, but... I do not know what has become of her."
The princess looked over to her nightguard. "Dew has returned to work, Majesty," he said. "She is under suspicion, currently being watched for signs that Autumn is in contact with her."
Autumn breathed a sigh of relief. She's safe. Under watch, but safe. He felt a lot of his tension wash away with that thought, and suddenly the room seemed a bit brighter.
"Very well." Luna's words were accompanied by a cobalt-blue shimmer appearing before his eyes. He took an instinctive step back and ran into a wall of pure force; his whole world was coloured in blue, and he saw the dying glow from the princess' horn.
He looked all around him and almost panicked. He was trapped in the princess' force bubble, immobile and sitting in plain sight. Even his cloak and mask were on the wrong side of his magical cell. Fighting for control, he took several long, deep breaths before he trusted his voice again; it still held a tremor. "W-why, Highness? Do you not believe me?"
"No; not as yet. Thou hast shown enough trust in us that we shall investigate thy claims, but thou art still accused of treason. We cannot let thee go until we know for a certainty. If thy claims prove true, then thou shalt be released. If they prove false, then thou shalt be returned to the Service." She watched him pace, nervously, in place inside the sphere. "If thou speaks the truth, then thou has no need to worry."
He found it comforting to know that he still had some cognitive function left. "I know, your Highness, it is just... hard... being trapped." He was starting to get nervous twitches, and he bit down on his fetlock in an attempt to keep his hoof from scratching at the bubble. Sunlight was pouring in through the window. "Nowhere to hide," he whispered.
At that, the bubble lifted, then floated into a corner of the room. He glanced over at Luna, trying to decide whether to panic more or less at this strange development. "Perhaps this will help," she said as the sphere came to a halt in the corner.
A dark corner, he quickly told himself. Darker than the room; darkness you can hide in. He still couldn't move, but soon he felt himself calm a bit. "It—" He gulped. "Th-thank you, Highness."
She nodded, but barely, before turning back to her nightguards. "Smiles," she said, "Meadowlark; there is work to do." The two of them bowed deeply before leaving the room. Luna stood silent for a moment, then returned to the book she had been reading before Autumn had interrupted. In the corner of the room, trapped in a magical cell, Autumn curled up and huddled in the shadows.
~ * ~ ~ * ~ ~ * ~
The Shaman stared at the stallion for a few seconds, unbelieving. "Pony head broken, I think."
The unicorn laughed. "No," he said, tapping his head. "All sound up here. But this is what I want, and I think you can give it to me."
"Why?"
"Because you had a pack. A large one, not those tiny little things you commonly see out in this desert. You had potential. I want to give that back to you. It was my fault it was taken away from you to begin with, you see. I tried to stop them, but... well, I hope to make it up to you."
The Shaman shook his head. "No. Why does pony want war?"
"Oh." The pony blinked. "Does that matter?"
"I think, yes."
"Why? You want the same thing, don't you? A war to get your land back?"
The Shaman shook his head, slowly. "If pony believe that, pony ignorant fool. Can't see past own nose. Don't want war, want home."
"You can't have one without the other."
The Shaman didn't move. He supposed he knew that, all along. He had always hoped he could get what was rightfully his without needless bloodshed, but these ponies... he knew they wouldn't let him. Maybe that was why he had sought a power to rival their queen. Maybe he knew it would have gone to war, no matter how he prayed. The more he thought about it, the more he felt it was right; the more he realized that he was willing to shed as much blood as he needed.
He sat back in his throne and, with a gesture, growled out a command. The warriors at his feet obeyed, though reluctantly and with confusion. Seeing the spears lowered, the unicorn smiled. "Coming to your senses, I see."
"Why does pony want war?"
"I thought we agreed that—"
"NO!" the Shaman barked. "YOU said, I heard. Pony want war? I will know why, else pony only gets small fight, here and now." He leaned forward and growled, "Why does pony want war?"
The unicorn's demeanour went cold. "It wants to know, does it?"
"It does," came the snarling reply.
"Fine. Since it asks nicely, I shall answer." He turned his back on the Shaman, collected himself, and spoke over his shoulder. "I'll make you a promise: I won't lie to you. You can understand that, can't you?"
He began pacing before the dog warriors, most of whom nervously held their spears close. "Have no illusions, I am not doing this for you. I am not trying to do you a favour. What I do is for the good of Equestria. This is for my people, as much as you think it is for yours. You want a home, I wish to keep mine. I will not help you win, but neither will I force you to lose. My help shall end when you can mount your own attack. Then it's up to you.
"Of course, this is hardly the best deal for you, but what other options do you have? Dying in a cave, pretending that you won glory? Going slowly mad while your body decays? I think even you can realize this is the only way to get anything back." He stopped, looking the Shaman squarely in the eye. "Of course, you will have the opportunity to try and stab me when my back is turned, and, really, what more could a mutt like you ask for?"
A tool for his own ends. The idea was insulting, and yet... "Pony did not answer."
"But I allayed your fears. You now know that I am not trying to trick you; surely even a dog like you can understand that. I mean what I say. I will help you, and you will go to war, but I will fight against you, and I mean to win. I expect you to do the same. It won't work otherwise."
This pony possessed a glib tongue. He also had no respect for the Shaman or his people, that much was clear. He wanted to use them as tools, not equals, in some war scheme that he would not give purpose to. Does he think we will come running, like pets to a treat? Does he think we cannot move for ourselves? Insulting, to be sure, and yet...
The Shaman looked around the cavern, darkness clinging to the edges where once was light. The silence echoed more deeply than the thousand voices ever did. His tiny pack huddled around him, terrified of the even smaller pack of ponies standing before him. With all he used to have, this was all he had left. He had already lost so much, what did a little dignity hurt?
He looked back at the unicorn, standing so very expectantly, so very eager. His face was a mask, but the Shaman could smell it on him. "What help would pony give?" he asked. "What would Shaman need to give up?"
The pony smiled and swept a hoof wide. "Why, everything and nothing, Shaman. Anything you need, if it is within my power, I will provide it to you. Everything you have, you keep; I want none of it. You can even build your pack in this forsaken mine again. No ponies will come this time, you have my word; I'm good at keeping secrets. I only ask for you; you will accompany us to Canterlot."
The crack in the diamond. "Hostage?"
"Ally."
"You want keep me prisoner in own city, and call it 'ally'?"
"I would only hold you as prisoner if it becomes required, to keep you safe from those ponies who wouldn't understand. If they would see you moving with freedom, they would try to kill you right then and there. In a cell, they would believe you harmless. I can assure you, it wouldn't be locked."
The Shaman scoffed. "Why bring me at all, I wonder. Let me have my freedom here."
"Because your spell doesn't work."
For a moment, the Shaman forgot to breath. That can't be true, it can't! I made certain... Every other dog who understood the unicorn had turned to each other in frantic whispers, and soon the word was understood by all. The warriors were uncertain, now, and his acolytes were shaken, doubt flooding their minds. The Shaman knew he had to keep what little control he had, else he would be abandoned, utterly alone and forgotten. Finally, he managed to choke out a reply. "Pony... pony lies."
"Do I?" came the reply. "Did you see the result of your little experiment? Oh, it bore some traits of an alacorn, but it died in birth, a grotesque mockery of everything you wanted. But, then, what can you really expect from a dog? Your spell killed it."
The Shaman's mind cast about, frantically trying to find reason. "The... the dam. She killed Nadezhda, did something to her. After first time ponies come, Nadezhda became sick. It was her, not I." He was certain of the truth in that.
"Oh? All the more reason to come with us." He glanced around the dark cavern as though he were looking at a giant dungheap. "A place like this, I'm not surprized you lost control of your little project. We have much better facilities for magical experimentation. Such future tragedies would be avoided."
This pony was certainly generous with his insults. The Shaman continually found the idea of working beside him sickening, and yet...
"Pony wants to help us, even thinking that spell does not work?"
"Pony is an expert in magic. I have little doubt that I can fix your spell."
"I will not be caged."
The unicorn laughed. "It shouldn't come to that. While in Canterlot, you will be under my protection, and as I said, I'm very good at keeping secrets. Nopony will ever know your there."
The Shaman sat back, slumped slightly in his throne, his chin resting upon his paw. He was quiet, eyes half-closed as he considered everything around him. It was all appearance, though; he realized his mind had been made up for some time now. He smiled inwardly, taking solace in the decision.
Slowly, the Shaman stood. He pointed his staff at the hunter pack, saying, "Go. Find gems, bring them here. Do not bring back insults." He turned to his acolytes and instructed them, "Go. Spread the word, gather the dogs. We shall grow again, stronger than before. Tell them we shall grow strong on the backs of our enemies. Tell them we shall have our home back." He faced to the few servants who were left, cowering in fear, and commanded them, "Go. Prepare the rooms, prepare the cellars, prepare for the pack. We are not done."
He stepped off the dais and stood at his full height before the unicorn. Such a small creature, he thought. "Lead the way."
The unicorn nodded. "Glad you see reason." Looking at the Shaman's staff, his eyes betrayed revulsion. "You will have to leave the horns behind."
"Pony will get no such thing." The Shamans voice dripped with challenge. "I am Shaman; I carry what Master demands of me."
The unicorn huffed quietly, but said nothing. He turned away and, with the Shaman following, led them out of the mines.
One of the unicorns slid up beside the Shaman as they walked. "Ya know," he said, in that terribly accented city-dog tongue, "I unnastood whatcha said back dere."
The Shaman only smiled at him. "Then I have allayed your fears."
His head was filled with a calm determination, a confident smile resting on his lips. He felt like laughing, the irony was so thick. He had lost everything to these ponies, from his ancestral home long ago to his Nadezhda just a few days past. Now these same ponies came back, just before he utterly lost himself, and they were giving him everything. The word had never been clearer. He was not beaten. He was not finished. How could he be? The Divine Master had commanded him.
It was inevitable, after all.
つづく
To Be Continued...
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nice chapter. seems like the plot is coming to a boil
Glad to see this story again after so long! Keep it up
Divine Master, huh? Interesting. I can even see why he'd think that...
That, that, right there, is an amazing line.
Pffffffffft! Ha!
Nice chapter, on to the next one, after these messages.
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Comma.
The EM dashes need to be on the other sides of the quotes.
Period.
Double space.
Period.
Should be either "WANTED" or WANTED
Comma.
Colon.
This one really needs some restructuring. Option one: "Books were everywhere. Stacked..." And two: "There were books everywhere, stacked against the walls, lying on the floor, and hanging over furniture. What really caught his eye though was draped over a large pillow: a pony."
"With a passing..." and comma.
Period. Sometimes, in high-tension scenes, short, choppy sentences are your friends.
This is a strange amalgam of prose and thoughts. If you just read the thoughts, it's broken. Simple fix is to just add in "as Celestia" after "tall". That's all it really needs.
Period.
Period.
Indentation problem here.
Colon.
You should use italics. Bold looks sort of cheesy. You probably wanted to use caps lock, but... I.
Period.
Comma.
Period.
Comma.
Comma.
"the"
Comma.
Period. Again, choppier sentences would be to your benifit here.
Comma.
Probably period. I find it hard to see him saying that straight through, but... it could happen.
Periods.