• Published 31st Dec 2011
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The Wind Thief - Cold in Gardez

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Part Six: The Wind's Eye

The Wind Thief
Part Six: The Wind’s Eye

Sly’s sleep was peaceful. No memories of her childhood, of growing up in the shadow of the dragons, plagued her nighttime. There was no loss, or death, or pain. No sense of loneliness, no haunting melancholy recalled from days long gone. She dreamt, but not of the past.

The line between sleep and waking was blurred, and she crossed it many times. She dreamed of something purple and warm and safe, and nestled against something purple and warm and wonderful smelling. Back and forth she moved between states, and she could not have said which was which, nor which she liked more. Both were a pleasant escape from the trials of the crypt. Either was preferable to what lay before them.

But, however much she may have wanted it, she could not remain half-asleep forever. They had suffered too much to laze away their hours in idle rest. The dreams eventually receded, replaced with the reality of the crypt and the desperate urgency of the now.

They opened their eyes at the same time, staring at each other in the faint light of the magical campfire. So close their snouts were nearly touching. Sly could feel Twilight Sparkle’s heartbeat against her side.

Say something! Sly licked her lips. “Uh, hey,” she squeaked. Hey? Hey!? Idiot.

“Er, hey,” Twilight responded. She looked around the dim room, then down at their adjoining bodies. What might have been a blush colored her cheeks, and she stood quickly. The air of the crypt felt particularly cold against Sly’s side.

Sly blinked. The change in Twilight’s demeanor was startling. “Is everything alright?”

“Fine. I’m fine,” Twilight said. She paced over to their saddlebags and began packing their things. Her horn pulsed once, and the campfire died. The only sign of its presence was the ash left by her letters. “Just fine,” she muttered.

She didn’t sound fine. Or even close to it, for that matter. Sly glanced at the ashes, then back at her friend. Twilight was busy looking anywhere but at her.

She slowly rose to her hooves and stretched, letting Twilight stew for a moment. When she judged enough time had passed, she trotted over. “Is it about the letters?” she asked.

Twilight was quiet for a while. She stared at the drift of ash on the floor, then turned to face Sly. “How did you know they were letters?” she asked. Her voice was very soft. Dangerous.

Idiot! Idiot idiot idiot idiot idiot! Sly’s eyes widened, and she hesitated. The brief pause was as good as a confession.

Twilight’s gaze hardened. She stood straighter, a tight frown appearing on her lips. “You had no right,” she said. Anger added a fierce edge to her words.

“I didn’t! I mean, it was an—” she stopped. A what? An accident? Twilight stared at her. Sly took a deep breath before continuing. “I mean, I’m sorry. You’re right. I shouldn’t have.”

It was Twilight’s turn to be startled. She clearly hadn’t expected an admission of any kind from Sly, much less an apology. The silence stretched out uncomfortably.

Finally, Twilight sighed. She reached out and brushed away an errant lock of Sly’s powder blue mane with her hoof. “Well, I suppose it doesn’t matter anymore. Come on. We have a jewel to find.”

Sly let out the breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. Apologizing worked. Who knew? She trotted after Twilight out into the rest of the crypt.

The smoke and stench had dissipated from the library when Sly and Twilight Sparkle finally returned.

Other signs of the fight with Theostre remained everywhere they looked. Even ignoring the pile of empty healing potions and the patch of burnt blood where Twilight had lain, the library was wrecked almost beyond recognition, like some childish god had turned the room upside down and given it a good shake. Most of the ancient wood bookcases lining the walls had fallen over in the chaos or been blasted to pieces. Fragments of the shelves were scattered across the floor, intermixed with charred books and broken artifacts. It was even more of a dump than the ransacked crypts Sly was used to exploring.

The center of the room also bore scars of the battle. A faint curtain of motionless smoke still hung around the time well, lit from within by the turning of its model sun. The spinning orbs carved a clear channel through the frozen haze. Beneath them, Theostre sat motionless, suspended partially off the floor in the midst of a centuries-long fall. Sly's arrow still protruded from his forehead like a second horn, dripping blood that had not moved an inch since the day before.

Twilight stared at Theostre, her expression quickly shifting from alarm to anger and finally disgust. She gave him a glare that nearly singed Sly simply in passing, then turned away and trotted around the outside of the room.

Sly followed, making sure to stay clear of the blue line around the time well. Some expensive-looking artifacts had fallen near the well, but they strangely resisted her attempts to grab them magically, and Twilight didn't seem to be in the mood for a lengthy detour to inspect them. There was always the rest of the museum to plunder on the way out, she reminded herself.

Twilight stopped at a nondescript door next to Theostre's throne. Sly had assumed it led to some sort of supply closet, given its unimpressive appearance. The only hint of what lay beyond was a tiny slip of yellowed paper pasted over the seam between door and wall, just above the iron knob. A small rune, drawn in black ink and looking like a circle that had gone horribly wrong, called to her from the paper.

“This is it?” Sly asked. She gave the paper seal a closer look, then turned her head away. The rune physically tugged at her eyes, as if demanding she view it.

“Yes,” Twilight responded. “Try not to look at the seal. It has a charm cantrip built into it.”

Too late for that. “Is it dangerous?” Sly turned around, only to see Theostre's frozen form floating near the time well. She scowled him and looked at Twilight instead.

Twilight's horn glowed, then flashed with a brilliant light that left Sly blinking away tears. When her vision recovered the paper was gone, replaced by a smear of ash discoloring the wood and stone. The scent of smoke brought back memories of campfires and dragon fire.

“Not to me,” Twilight said in clipped tones.

She was still in a bit of a mood, apparently. Sly gingerly came alongside the other mare, then stood fidgeting. Twilight continued to stare at the door as though it had somehow wronged her.

“So... should we go in?”

Twilight started, broken out of whatever deep thoughts she had been entertaining. She licked her lips nervously and nodded in assent.

“Yes, just... remember to be careful, alright? We don't know what's in there.” Twilight spoke softly, as though afraid of being overheard.

That was putting it gently. Sly took a long, shaky breath and pulled the door open. Beyond it lay a simple stone corridor, slightly higher than a pony’s head, utterly inconspicuous compared to the lavish displays of wealth and power throughout the rest of Theostre’s lair. Twenty paces down the hallway, another door awaited them.

There were no lights, magical or otherwise, in the corridor. Twilight led the way with her horn, painting the plain grey stones with a wan lavender light. Behind them, the door swung shut with a click, cutting off the last of the false sunlight shining from the time well. They had left the tombs of the brothers and stood on the threshold of a new mystery, dark and deep and urgent.

A plaque bearing the same angular script as the other tombs rested above the door. Sly nearly wept when she saw it.

Twilight closed her eyes, a wretched expression on her face, then shook her head and stood to read the plaque. “Cural...” she trailed off, the rest of her breath leaving her in a quiet sob. “Curalmil, father, lord, emperor. Forgive me. Forgive us. We did not know. Rest, and by the passage of millennia be redeemed.”

Another one. Oh Celestia, another one. Sly realized her legs were shaking and forced them to be still. Twilight returned to all four hooves, her eyes scrunched closed. The shadows around them jittered in sympathy as her horn shook.

Sly's mouth was dry. She worked her tongue around her teeth, trying to find enough saliva to speak. “We don’t have to go in. We can go back to Celestia, tell her what we found. Someone else can get it. Let them have the wish.” Her last words hung in the air — a day ago she could never have imagined saying such a thing. Giving up a wish? Giving up everything she had dreamed of? Impossible.

Twilight shook her head. “We have to, Sly. The wish is worth more than our lives. How many ponies will die if it takes an extra month to get the jewel because we were too afraid?”

“But what if we can’t?” Sly shot back. “If we die, the jewel stays down here anyway. We could be tossing our lives away for nothing! You almost died back there. I don’t want to...” Her throat closed on the final words, unable to finish them.

Twilight stared at her in silence. Sly's loud breaths, nearly on the verge of panting, were the only sound in the corridor.

“Don't want to what?” Twilight asked.

Lose you again. Sly tried to say the words, but they wouldn't come. Some cowardly fragment of her will blocked her voice, and she stared mutely at Twilight instead. The unbroken silence of the tomb dragged on.

Disappointment slowly overtook Twilight's features. “I see... I can’t force you to go any further. Do what you have to do.” Her horn flashed, and Sly felt an odd popping sensation around her head, as though she had burst a balloon with her horn. A moment later, something small rolled down her forehead and hit the ground with a metallic ring that echoed off the stone walls. She looked down to see an iron band, split cleanly in two and resting on the floor. It took her a second to realize it was the damper the guards had put on her horn after her arrest in Canterlot.

She reached out with her hoof and gave it a gentle tap. It slid a few inches across the floor, harmless and dead. She was no longer a prisoner.

“Go home, Sly,” Twilight whispered. The pain etched on her face was real – Sly had never been more certain of anything in her life. “Take whatever you want from the crypts. You've more than earned it. I'm sorry I brought you here.”

It was like a kick to the gut. A hollowness she hadn't felt since she was a filly, stumbling away from the ruins of her village, filled her chest. She looked between the broken band and Twilight, utterly lost.

Twilight watched her for a few seconds, then gave a slight shrug and turned back to the door. It swung open, and she took a shaking step into the darkness beyond. Within moments the pale light of her horn was lost in the shadows.

There were riches aplenty behind her. Enough to set her up for life. She would never have to steal again, never have to sleep on the street or flee from an irate merchant or escape from a jail cell. All her dreams lay behind her, waiting on the shelves, ripe for the plucking.

It was a simple decision. She stepped through the door after Twilight and never looked back.

The darkness beyond the second door was profound. Even for a thief used to operating in the shadows of night, the sensation of blindness was startling. Cold, clammy air rubbed against her skin like a wet cloth, instantly setting her teeth to chattering. The unforgettable scent of death filled her nostrils — death that was old and buried and forgotten centuries before Sly had been born. Her hooves skidded on a thin layer of grit covering the uneven flagstones.

In the distance ahead, so faint she might have dreamed it, a purple light vanished around a corner. She charged toward it, heedless of the darkness and the obstacles it concealed.

“Wait!” she cried. The call echoed back from the vast space hidden around her. “Twilight!” She nearly ran headlong into the edge of the cavern or hall or whatever chamber they were in. A distant part of her mind noted that they had already crossed into Curalmil's tomb, and were fair game for whatever hideous monsters dwelled within. The greater part of her mind cared only for finding the light in the darkness.

A passage, dimly lit by a purple spark, split off from the chamber to her left. She pushed away from the wall and ran toward the light as fast as her hooves would take her, ignoring drifts of dust and hanging mosses that fell into her path. She ducked under, around and through torn banners and curtains, rotting flags, collapsed shelves and decaying piles of wood. A fallen stone, invisible in the shadows, sent her tumbling to the ground; she let her momentum carry her into a roll and back to her hooves. Her shoulder and side stung from a nasty scrape, but the pain barely registered as she desperately pursued the light.

She turned another corner and nearly plowed into Twilight. A quick sidestep prevented an unfortunate collision, instead sending her crashing into the decrepit remains of an armor stand. Ancient iron helmets, breastplates and other assorted pieces of barding crashed to the floor with a clatter, followed shortly by Sly herself. She spent a dazed moment on the floor, then looked up at the source of the violet light. Twilight, her horn aglow, sat on her haunches and stared at her with a look of silent exasperation.

“Er, hello,” Sly said sheepishly. “Sorry, I thought you were further away than this.”

Twilight sighed. The light of her horn seemed to dim in response to her mood. “I told you to go home, Sly. This isn't your fight. It isn't your war.”

“But it is!” Sly insisted. She clamored to her hooves, accidentally kicking a horned helmet down the corridor. Hopefully Curalmil was hard of hearing. “The whole reason we came is to defeat the dragons again, and you need a Dragonborn for that! Dragonborn, like me!” she pleaded.

“You're not—“

“You don't know that!” Sly interrupted. She pushed forward until her snout nearly brushed against Twilight's. “Celestia may not believe me, but what does she know? She hasn't been out here! She hasn't gone through this!”

Twilight took a step back, putting some space between them. For a long moment, she looked at Sly, her eyes filled with a range of emotions. Anger, annoyance and disappointment warred with trust, concern and compassion.

Finally, the best emotion Sly could have hoped for under the circumstances broke through. Twilight's mouth twitched, and she began to shake. The light of her horn brightened, and for the first time since they had entered the accursed tomb, Twilight laughed. Despite the grim circumstances – deep below the surface, mangled, beaten, blinded and burned, about to face a fourth undead horror – Twilight laughed.

Sly gawked at her in confusion. Laughter was pretty low on the list of responses she'd been expecting, somewhere between physical assault and a declaration of undying love, though of the three, it certainly wasn't the worst. The sound was contagious, and after a few moments, Sly found herself laughing as well, caring not for whatever ears in the darkness might be listening.

“The... the Dragonborn...” Twilight finished with a snicker. “Do you know how many ponies have showed up in Canterlot, claiming to be the Dragonborn? I checked before we left: twenty-seven. Twenty-seven stallions and mares from all walks of life. Wizards, warriors, bards, scholars, even a few less savory types.” She gave Sly a meaningful look. “But you were the first one we actually arrested.

“More to the point,” she continued before Sly could interrupt. “Celestia sends everypony who claims to be Dragonborn on a quest of some sort. Most ponies decline and go back to whatever it was they were doing before they showed up in Canterlot. Of the few who accepted, most never returned. They either gave up or died trying.”

Sly jerked back. “Quests... like this? You said you've never been adventuring before.”

“Oh, I haven't. Celestia wanted to wait until we had someone we could trust for this task... Trust or influence, in your case,” she added, ducking her head. “We had always planned to use one of the Dragonborn claimants to help recover the Wind's Eye. I just didn't expect it to be you... no offense, but I thought it would be somepony a bit more... ah, heroic.”

Heroic? Sly drew herself up, an indignant response starting to form on her lips before Twilight cut her off.

“I know, I'm sorry,” she said. “But remember, we found you in a jail. And that was before I saw you fighting that dragon, much less against the brothers. If I'd known you then like I do now...” She sighed quietly, her amused expression slipping. “Well, I would've been a lot kinder when we met. Again, I'm sorry.”

They were quiet for a moment following Twilight's apology. In the silence, Sly began to doubt the wisdom of holding an extended, heartfelt discussion in the middle of a cursed crypt. Feelings were important, especially hers, but there was a time and a place for everything, and the best time and place for this were somewhere else.

On the other hoof, an opportunity like this might not come along again for a while. “So, you think I might be the Dragonborn after all?”

Twilight appeared to think about her answer. “I think you would make a great Dragonborn,” she finally said.

That wasn't quite the response Sly had hoped for, but it was close. “Good, that's settled then.” She paused for a moment, looking around the dark corridor. “So, uh... where are we?”

Twilight turned to face the far end of the corridor, filling the empty stone hallway with her light. Aside from a few pieces of armor knocked over in Sly's rush to catch up, there was little to see. Far ahead, at the edge of the light, the corridor turned again.

“You're the expert here,” Twilight said. Her voice was lower than before, as though she too was remembering the inherent peril of their situation. “Nothing here looks like a crypt, though. It's more like...” she trailed off, an unsettled expression on her face.

“More like what?”

“This will sound odd, but... it's more like the hallways back home. Back in Canterlot.” She frowned again, and examined the bits of armor littering the floor with a sharper eye.

Like Canterlot. Hadn't she said the same thing about Theostre's museum? Just like the palace.

“I've been in catacombs before, some almost as large as this,” Sly said, stepping her way around the knocked-down pieces of armor. Her horn glowed as she used her magic to straighten a nearby tapestry that had fallen half off its moorings, revealing an elaborate image of stylized ponies battling griffons in a high mountain valley. Whatever nameless artist had woven the tapestry was a master of his craft – thin lines of gold thread, still brilliant and untarnished, outlined the faceless warriors, standing them out in sharp relief against a muted background of emerald and sapphire hues. Sly admired the artwork for a moment, then spent several more considering its value per pound. Too big to carry, she decided. Maybe on the way out.

She realized Twilight was waiting for her to finish. “But nothing like this,” she added, waving a hoof at the tapestry and the treasures spilled on the floor. “This isn't like the crypts upstairs. This isn't a place you would bury ponies in.”

“You think it's like Theostre's museum?”

“Kinda... minus Theostre, hopefully,” Sly said. One immortal lich was enough for the world. She let the tapestry fall back against the wall.

At the end of the tunnel, she could faintly make out the shape of another door. She sighed quietly and motioned for Twilight to follow. “Come on, let's keep moving.” Twilight gave the tapestry a quick glance as she passed, and they continued deeper into the crypt.

The passageway ended in another door — Sly had long since lost count of how many doors they had passed through since entering the crypt. Doorways marked their days and nights, their victories and brushes with death. Doors marked with plaques, doors sealed by runes, doors unused and forgotten by the passage of centuries. The sight of another, plain and unadorned, filled her with the same bleak numbness as the last. No fear, no terror, no apprehension, only numb resignation to another threshold and passage into something new, unforgiving and unknown.

If Twilight shared her resignation, she hid it well. She only sighed at the sight of the door, and after a brief glance at Sly, her horn glowed with magic as she opened it. Together they stepped through into the new darkness.

It was immense, whatever cavern they were in. Smooth, flat walls extended to either side, broken at even intervals by soaring pillars that vanished into the depths above Twilight's light. Flagstones, cut into perfect squares of polished marble, rang beneath their hooves. Once again, Sly was struck with the impression that she had walked into a copy of Celestia's palace rather than a tomb.

Twilight must have felt the same way, judging by the expression on her face. "This... I've seen this place," she said, her voice filled with soft wonder. Her horn glowed again, and a brilliant lavender spark leapt into the air, bursting high overhead to fill the expansive room with light.

It was a throne room.

The hall stretched impossibly far to each side. The ceiling was a dim shadow high above them; Sly couldn't even guess at its true height. The amount of stone removed to craft such an empty space boggled her mind -- excavating this room alone, much less the rest of the tomb, would have resulted in a mountain's worth of rock. What sort of pony spent such a ruinous amount of effort on a tomb? On something that benefited only the dead? Who was Curalmil, that ponies would craft such a monument in his name?

The answer lay before them. A throne, one larger than any pony except perhaps Celestia could have used, sat atop a towering dais in the center of the room. Tattered, rotting flags lined the steps leading to it from the floor, honoring past glories whose names only historians could remember. The throne stood like a gravestone atop a cairn, a final memorial for a pony who ruled half the world centuries before Sly's birth.

So great and imposing was the throne that Sly nearly missed the object at the base of the dais. Looking small and unimportant next to the grandeur of the throne, a tiny altar rested on the stones before them, guarded by the wasted, desiccated form of an earth pony's corpse. Sly’s bow was up and drawn on the body even as her eyes adjusted to the new light.

"Wait," Twilight said, an instant before Sly released her arrow. There was a pause — Twilight stared intently at the corpse; Nightfall shook slightly in Sly's magical grip.

"Curalmil?" Sly whispered. She took a hesitant half-step backwards. The bow creaked in her magical grip as she drew it even tighter.

"I don't think so." Twilight advanced carefully, being sure not to place herself between the corpse and Sly's bow. Her hoofsteps, loud against the marble flagstones, echoed back to them from the distant expanse of the throne room. Nothing else moved.

"It's a mare," Twilight said after a moment of study, her voice rising in surprise. "I don't... it doesn't look like a draugr, either."

Sly edged closer. Both statements were true - the corpse was female, to judge by its smaller stature and delicate facial structure. Whatever colors her mane had been were faded in death to a uniform, translucent grey, matched by the dusty shade of her coat. A faint shape on her flank might have been the remains of an ancient cutie mark, or simply a result of uneven decay in the cool, dry air of the tomb. Either way, she appeared to be sleeping the sleep of the truly dead, not the cursed unrest of a draugr. Sly crept up to the body and slowly relaxed her grip on Nightfall.

"So young..." she whispered. Indeed, the mare was just barely more than a filly, smaller even than Sly herself. Whatever clothes the mare had died in were long since rotted away, leaving only a simple silver pendant, now tarnished a mottled grey, around her neck.

Twilight didn't seem to hear her. She had moved past the corpse and was inspecting the tiny altar at the base of the steps. It was a simple affair; a plain block of some unidentifiable stone held a few candles, rotted away to almost nothing, as well as three elaborate scroll tubes. Twilight gently lifted the leftmost tube and floated it towards them. Unlike the pony guarding it, the tube was still in fairly good condition. The red enamel was covered with a lattice of hairline cracks, but otherwise it had weathered the centuries well. Stylized pictures of pegasi cavorting in the air decorated its glossy surface.

Twilight visibly shook as she unscrewed the endcap. Sly realized with a start that the scroll was the closest thing to a treasure for the librarian, more so than any of the jewels or artifacts in the previous rooms of the crypt. The scroll was knowledge, and knowledge was Twilight's greatest prize.

Unfortunately, it was also fragile. As soon as the endcap popped free, a trickle of dust sifted out of the tube, followed by tiny flakes of paper, all that remained of the scroll within. Twilight let out a quiet wail at the sight and set the tube back on the altar. Sly bit her lip, suffering a sympathetic pang for her companion.

"Are they all like that?" Sly asked. She stepped carefully around the corpse toward the altar.

"Oh Celestia, I hope not," Twilight said. "Maybe... maybe that one was just bad." She let out a deep breath and levitated the second tube. Her face was a study in concentration — eyes wide, tongue peeking out between her teeth, ears plastered flat against her skull. Sly realized she was staring and had to force her gaze back to the scroll tube. Twilight was too focused on the scroll to notice Sly's blush.

The endcap slowly rotated, unscrewing itself from the blue enamel tube. This one was decorated with unicorns, Sly noted, apparently dancing around swirls of wind. With a quiet pop, the endcap separated, revealing the scroll within.

It had survived. They both exhaled as Twilight carefully pulled the parchment from the tube and unrolled it in the air before her.

"Huh... it's written in Middle Equuish," Twilight said. She frowned at the paper.

"So? Didn't you say that's what everypony spoke back then?"

"Sort of. Middle Equuish sounds almost the same as modern Equuish, just with a different written alphabet. But all those plaques were in Old Equuish... I guess I assumed these would be too."

Sly tried to wrap her head around that, without much success. "Well, what does it say?"

"Um, one second... It reads like a letter. The middle of a letter." Twilight's eyes scanned the scroll rapidly, then darted back to the top. She took a breath and began reciting.

oooOOOooo

In the end it was not enough, father. Despite your admonitions, they went to war not even a day after your death. Your body still lay in state in the capital, and Ageund was moving his armies, Cianim readying his spies, and Theostre preparing his spells.

Ageund struck first. His armies took the city without a fight, as the garrison commander pledged his fealty to him. Thus he was the first to claim the jewel.

I see now why you didn't tell us about it, father. Such a terrible weapon it is — double edged, cutting the wielder even as it slays foes. Perhaps Ageund guessed its use, or he simply voiced a passing wish, but in an instant he became a monster, a thing of death, the greatest, strongest warrior to ever live. Gone was the handsome, daring, clever pony I played with as a filly. None of him survived. The monster-that-was-Ageund had no need for anything but strength and brutality. Thousands of innocent ponies died as he played with his new power.

I was almost relieved when Cianim's assassins slew him. I thought the dying would end. I thought Cianim would restore order to your empire, and that we could move on. I thought he would preserve your legacy.

I was wrong. In front of your entire court, Cianim wished for infinite connections, for a web of knowledge and spies and lies and truth and everything in between. How the jewel interpreted that to make him into the monster he became, I cannot say. I think the jewel does not understand ponies. I think the soul burning inside it views the universe through a very different window than we.

Hundreds fell to Cianim's hunger. Your castle became his lair, haunted by the spirits of the dead. For months he terrorized the city before Theostre confronted him.

Do you remember when you forbade Theostre to study magic, father? He disobeyed you. Even as you still lived he disobeyed you. The petty spells you caught him practicing? They were nothing, cantrips compared to the spells of war he mastered. He is not a mere magician, father. He is a warlock, a necromancer. His power comes from blood.

But still we cheered when he destroyed Cianim. Not even I shed a tear for my little brother, who played hide-and-seek with me in your chambers. Cianim the pony died long before Cianim the monster.

And then there was only Theostre. He pulled the jewel from Cianim's burning corpse and wished for eternal life. He died, and then he rose, undying.

Do you remember the tales of the draugr, father? Undead warriors, forced to stand guard for eternity over the graves of their masters. That is what he became, and he laughed. I will never forget how he laughed when he realized his curse. His curse and his joy, for the jewel grants one wish per lifetime. His curse and his joy, for in death he lived anew; in death he found a second lifetime and a second wish.

He did not use the second wish immediately. Why would he? He had only expected one, and immortality is a fine thing. Perhaps in a thousand years he would need to wish again, so he saved it.

oooOOOooo

Sly leaned forward. "And?"

Twilight licked her lips nervously. "That's the end of the scroll." She glanced at the third tube, resting on the altar. Her horn glowed and it lifted into the air. Sly saw stylized images of earth ponies laboring on its gold surface.

"Gently, gently..." Twilight whispered as she unscrewed the endcap. It opened as easily as the second tube, and she floated the scroll within out into the air before them.

oooOOOooo

He taunted me with the wish, father. He offered to give me the jewel, if only I could outlive him. As generous as ever, our Theostre.

Still I hoped. With only one of your heirs left, perhaps the war would end. Perhaps Theostre, cruel and terrible as he was, could be our eternal emperor, our god-king. Perhaps we could finally know peace.

Again I was wrong. He treated your kingdom as his personal laboratory. Thousands of souls he absorbed for his necromancy. Entire villages vanished in flames, tests for his weapons. For an entire week, the sun failed to rise as he tried to master ancient Celestia's powers.

What else could I do, father? I know you never wanted a daughter, that my birth was your greatest disappointment. I know you disapproved of my sneaking, of my thieving and cunning. I know you wanted more from me.

But I used those skills, father. I stole the jewel from him. I stole the Wind's Eye, and brought it here, to your tiny tomb, in the remains of your broken down palace, beneath your old throne. I will wish for a mausoleum worthy of your greatness, father, guarded forever by your sons. I will wish for the jewel to remain here, with you again. And I will stay here as well, for though I hate them, they are my brothers, and we are a family, and I will share this fate.

Forgive me, father. Forgive us. We were poor heirs for your greatness. We are sad, shallow things, still children, grasping at the treasures you spent a lifetime building. If, in some distant life, you should somehow read these words, know that I loved you. We all did.

Your daughter,

Sovyn Senin Curalmil

oooOOOooo

Sly stared at the tiny corpse lying before the altar as Twilight finished reading the letter. Her features softened in time with a well of pity rising in her heart.

"This isn't a tomb in the shape of a palace," Twilight said. She carefully rolled the scroll up and slid it back into the tube, then reverently set it upon the altar. "It is Curalmil's palace. She wished it into a tomb."

"She could have had anything," Sly said softly. "She could have used the wish on herself. Escaped, gone away..." she trailed off. How is this fair? she thought angrily. Why did the only pony who used the wish for good end up alone, dying in the dark, sealed in a tomb with her murderous kin?

"This was it, then," Twilight said. "The last wish. The jewel must be here."

The damn wish again. Sly snorted quietly and nosed open her saddlebags, pulling out one of their travel blankets. Her horn glowed with its weak silver light, and the blanket settled over Sovyn's body. Her death seemed somehow more dignified, draped beneath the cloth. Though Curalmil's daughter was long past caring, the tiny act of dignity eased the pang in Sly's chest.

When she looked up, Twilight was staring at her with an odd expression. "What?" she asked, a bit more abruptly than she intended.

"Nothing," Twilight said. "I... no, nevermind." She glanced at the shrouded corpse, then turned to face the throne. They spent some time lost in thought, each contemplating the objects before them: Twilight the throne, Sly the blanket and the corpse beneath. They kept their insights to themselves.

A tall passageway led deeper into the earth behind the throne room. Judging by the size of the archway, it was either meant for very tall ponies, or to impress those who passed through it with their own insignificance. Sly felt every inch of her short stature as she studied the precisely cut blocks. Rotting banners, bearing crests rendered illegible with the passing of time, flanked the entrance.

“Hey, Twi?” Sly said, her eyes still on the banners. Twilight paused ahead of her and turned, an eyebrow raised in inquiry. “What kind of pony was Curalmil?”

“Well, there aren't many surviving contemporary accounts of his rule,” Twilight said. Her ears perked up as she slipped into academic mode. “In fact, surprisingly few, considering how large his empire was. Most sources considered him a strong, smart warrior who became a decent and just ruler. As far as specifics, though,” she said and shrugged, “we don't have much to go on.”

“Nothing about him personally?” Sly asked. She stopped a few dozen paces into the passageway and examined a faded wall-mounted map in the light of Twilight's horn. It was of Equestria, she realized – the mountains, lakes and coast were unchanged over the centuries, though the countries depicted on it were unknown to her. One, the largest, spread across the center of the map, where the Everfree Forest now existed.

Twilight shook her head mutely. “I'm afraid not. After he died, everything fell into civil war. His children were more interested in their own grab for power than preserving his empire.”

Sly frowned. “Not all of his children,” she mumbled.

Twilight ducked her head slightly, but otherwise didn't acknowledge Sly's remark.

Sly trotted a few paces deeper into the passageway. Aside from the glint of light on the metal torch holders, there was no sign of anything in the corridor. Just plain stone stretching deeper into the earth.

“How many times has the jewel been used?” she asked, breaking the silence.

Twilight paused for a brief moment. “Seven, if Sovyn's letter is correct. Cloud Fire, Luna, Curalmil, Ageund, Cianim, Theostre, and Sovyn, in order.” She rattled the names off rapidly, as though reading them from a mental list.

Sly nodded absently. She had already assembled the same list in her head, albeit more slowly. Ahead of her the passageway began to slope downward. A cold draft wafted up the corridor from the darkness, setting her mane on end.

“How many of those seven got what they wished for?” she asked. “What they expected?”

Twilight paused again, longer this time. She walked up alongside Sly and peered down the gentle slope before answering. “That depends on how you define 'expected,' but at least three. Cloud Fire spent months preparing his wish and got exactly what he wanted. It wasn't enough to save his life, but he probably didn't consider his life very valuable compared to stopping the dragons.

“We don't know exactly what Curalmil wished for,” she continued, “but he ruled the largest empire in the world just a year after finding the jewel. It's reasonable to assume that was his wish.”

“And Sovyn?” Sly asked, taking a guess at the third name.

Twilight glanced at her, then back down the lightless corridor. “Sovyn planned her wish and seems to have gotten it, though she apparently didn't care about her own life either. Or, rather, she cared about something else more than her own life.”

“What about the others?” Sly took a careful step down the sloping path. The air pooling around her hooves felt cold and oily against her coat. She suppressed a shiver and pushed forward into the darkness.

“Well, most of them got exactly what they wished for, just not what they expected. Again, wishes are dangerous like that.” Twilight hesitated, then followed Sly down the slope. The cobblestones ended a few feet down, reverting to the packed earth usually found on the floor of a crypt. Sly got the feeling they were no longer in anything resembling a palace.

They were quiet again as they walked. The passageway narrowed, and the walls slowly turned back to the rough, natural stone of a catacomb, rather than the carefully worked walls of a palace corridor. Trickles of water running down the rock sparkled at them from either side. Several times they passed an alcove carved into the walls, in which rested the rotted remains of a long-dead pony.

And we're back to a crypt. Sly drew her sword as a precautionary measure. Nothing had threatened them since leaving Theostre's museum, but this was definitely draugr territory.

In the distance ahead of them Sly could barely make out a faint orange glow. A brazier, filled with burning coals that cast a fiery light on their surroundings, stood in silent warning as they rounded a corner. A haphazard spill of bones littered the floor, intermixed with the occasional ancient piece of armor. Behind them the corridor sloped up and vanished into the darkness. Whatever measure of protection Sovyn provided was long since past.

“You want to know what was so different about the ponies who got their wishes, and those who were destroyed by their wishes,” Twilight said. It was a statement, not a question.

“Haven't you wondered?” Sly asked as she crept forward, carefully examining the floor. One of the stones was a slightly different color than the rest. She looked up, and sure enough, a series of holes in the ceiling pointed down at anypony unfortunate enough to step on the pressure plate.

Twilight stepped up beside her, staring at the discolored stone curiously. “Trap?”

“Yup. Pressure plate. You step on it and poison darts or spears or flames shoot out and kill you.” She backed off a few paces and levitated a nearby rock over the plate. Twilight's eyes widened and she stepped back nervously. Sly waited until she was clear, then let the rock fall.

It landed with a loud crack. Nothing else happened. Twilight glanced at her, a questioning look on her face.

“Er...” Sly coughed. “Probably too old. These things don't last forever.”

“Right.” Twilight shook her head the tiniest bit, but walked around the plate, rather than over it. “Anyway, the wishes. Yes, I wondered, but that's almost as dangerous as fantasizing about the wish itself. The ones that worked were the ones that were carefully planned, and two of those three ponies ended up dead shortly after using the jewel. I don't know that the Wind's Eye has ever actually made anyone happy.”

“It won a war!” Sly protested. “It defeated the dragons!” She hopped over the trap to catch up with Twilight.

“That was a victory?” Twilight asked. “Cloud Fire died. Luna died. Celestia vanished for half a thousand years. Her kingdom collapsed, and Equestria fell into a dark ages for several centuries. I hope that's not how we defeat the dragons this time.”

We can sacrifice the next Dragonborn for another thousand years of peace. Theostre's offer, casual and terrrible, reared up in her mind. Lost in thought, she tripped on an unseen fragment of bone, catching herself with her hooves just before her knees hit the ground. It barely mattered – her legs were a patchwork of scrapes and cuts, of dark earth and blood smeared roughly over her sky blue pelt. She spent a moment looking at her legs in desultory wonder, then sighed and trotted to catch up with Twilight. The catacombs twisted ahead of them; a brazier beyond the next turn shed weak light on the crumbling walls.

She let Twilight lead while she thought. Did Cloud Fire expect to die? Did Celestia care at all if he did? Luna obviously cared, but the same love she felt for Cloud Fire had driven her to lash out at her sister. What would Celestia do if another Dragonborn came to her bearing the jewel? Would history repeat itself, minus the messy coda that was Luna's revenge?

Twilight was not the only mare who brooded as they walked through the forsaken corridor.

More doors and more corridors. The catacombs never seemed to end, each passageway leading to another just as empty and desolate and filled with the reek of dry death. Sly struggled to remember the last time she had felt clean, the last time she had tasted fresh water or seen the sun. Ponies weren't meant to be underground this long. Ponies could go crazy down here.

She trudged forward with Twilight Sparkle at her heels, barely cognizant of the world around her. Every step seemed to coat her with more dust, clogging her eyes and nostrils and mane. Some of the dust was undoubtedly the desiccated remains of the bodies around them. She tried to breath as lightly as possible around the alcoves.

They rounded another corridor, and the walls opened out, forming a broader section of hallway ending in a large circular door. Alcoves studded the walls, filled with bodies in varying states of decay. Sly glanced around suspiciously at the corpses, but none woke at their presence.

Twilight didn't give the bodies a second glance. Instead she trotted down the hall to the circular door and inspected it closely, her ears perked up and forward as they always seemed to do when she was faced with a puzzle. A series of pictures decorated the doorway – a pegasus, unicorn and earth pony, all on a wide ring surrounding a large stone rune.

“This is different,” Twilight said. Her horn glowed, and the ring of pictures turned, the pegasus replacing the unicorn in the topmost position. “It's not like the other sealed doors.”

“Is it magic?” Sly gave the pictures a quick look, then turned back to the corridors, searching for traps. As best she could tell, there were none.

“No, it's mechanical. Very simple actually. You just turn it so the correct pony is on top and push the rune.”

“And which one is correct?” Unicorn, she hoped.

Twilight shrugged. “Curalmil was an earth pony.” Her horn glowed again, and the ring rotated, replacing the pegasus with the earth pony. When the ring settled, she reached out a hoof and gave the rune a firm push.

Several things happened at once.

First, the door began to open. Either Twilight had guessed correctly or it didn't matter what position the ring was in. A loud rumble shook the corridor as hidden gears and axles turned, and the huge door slowly sank into the floor.

Second, and of more immediate importance to Sly, the bodies in the alcoves around them came to life. She had just enough time to raise her bow when the braziers providing all of their light went out, as though they were candles suddenly snuffed out. The sound of dust and stones falling to the ground mixed with the unsettling moans of the dead.

“Draugr!” she shouted to Twilight, dropping her bow. It was of no use in the darkness, much less against foes already close enough to touch. The weapon was still falling when her sword cleared its sheath, lashing out in a vicious horizontal arc in the direction of the nearest alcove. She felt it connect with something brittle, followed by a loud grunt as a draugr collapsed at her hooves.

Twilight reacted almost as quickly. Sly felt a warm body press up against her side, and the corridor filled with a brilliant purple light, revealing no fewer than seven draugr all shambling toward them. The one she had wounded slowly clamored back to its hooves, using its sword as a crutch. Its leg remained on the floor, severed neatly just above the knee by her wild swing.

At last, a problem with a simple solution. Sly grinned at the nearest warrior, her sword already returning to a guard position in front of her. “Twilight, are you—” she started.

“I'm fine,” Twilight interrupted her. “Take your side.”

How long had it been since Twilight had stared in shock at the dead cockatrice, unable to lift a hoof in her own defense? Less than a week, Sly realized. Such an incredible transformation – she would have given it more thought, but the draugr in front of her had other plans. She stepped to the side, barely avoiding a wicked downward slash from a battleaxe that would have split her in half had it landed.

She had transformed too. Four draugr stood close enough for her to touch. The smallest of them easily doubled her weight, even before its ponderous armor and weapons. She was like a child to them, and should have fled in the face of their ancient weapons and evil presence. A week ago she would have. Instead she smiled and began to dance.

The nobles of Canterlot would not have recognized her dance, but it was graceful all the same. She stepped cleanly around the draugr wielding the battleaxe, her left hoof lashing out in a sharp, controlled motion to shatter its jaw against the shaft. It reared back, dropping the axe, and her sword passed cleanly through its neck. Body and head fell to the ground, ignored, as she turned to the next target.

What were you, in life? she wondered as it stepped toward her. It was smaller than the axe-wielder and held a long, pitted sword in its jaws. She parried its first blow, then ducked under the second, her ears flattening just in time to avoid being trimmed. Before it could strike again she stepped alongside it, her sword plunging deep into its chest and twisting as it found the unbeating heart. She was already moving when it shuddered and collapsed. Two to go.

The air began to hum as as she turned to the next draugr, and her mane stood on end, each individual hair lifting away from the others toward the unseen sky. She felt her tail begin to do the same, and a tiny voice warned her to close her eyes. A moment later a blinding flash filled the corridor, accompanied by a tremendous clap that shook the stone floor and left her head ringing. The tang of ozone and stench of charred flesh filled her nose. Yes, Twilight has definitely changed.

The draugr appeared stunned by the blast. The nearest bore a spear in its mouth; she ran past it, casually rapping its helmet with the flat of her blade, disorienting it some more and buying her time to reach the second draugr, an archer. Her sword stabbed forward, slicing easily through the creature's bowstring. The ancient bow snapped in half as the energy stored in its limbs instantly and catastrophically released. She snatched one of the halves out of the air with her magic and smashed it against the draugr's skull, knocking it down. Before it could recover, the tip of her sword stabbed through its neck, neatly pinning it to the ground. It twitched once, then went still.

Was it some sin or crime that earned you this curse? The dance continued with the final draugr, now behind her. She stepped to the side, avoiding its stabbing spear – some instinct warned her to move at just the right time. The spear tip grazed her side, drawing a thin line of blood. She grimaced, more in annoyance than pain, then turned and stepped forward, forcing it to retreat. The spear came around in a clumsy swing that she casually deflected, and she lashed out again with her sword. One blow was all she needed.

Four draugr lay in six pieces around her. Aside from the scratch on her side, she hadn't been touched. She didn't even break a sweat.

Twilight was almost done with her draugr, Sly saw. Only one remained, crushed against the stone wall by a mass of black tentacles, the same as Theostre had used against her. Sly's eyes widened as the tentacles convulsed around the draugr's neck with a loud crack, and the pony went still.

Twilight let out a quiet breath, and the tentacles vanished, dropping the draugr to the floor. Two other bodies already lay before her, both blackened and twisted almost beyond recognition.

“That spell...” Sly stammered, her voice barely above a whisper.

Twilight glanced at her. Tiny violet sparks rose from her glowing horn.

“Just something Theostre taught me,” she said. After a pause, she added, “Spells are spells, Sly. They aren't inherently good or evil. How you use them is.”

“Oh... which was that?”

Twilight glanced down at the fallen draugr. Its head had been twisted almost completely around, and barely hung onto the rest of its body.

“Let's go with indifferent,” she said.

Sly remembered the feeling of Theostre's magic gripping her throat as it slowly crushed the life from her. Had Theostre believed magic was neither good nor evil when he drove a black soul gem into his forehead? Had he cared?

Her brooding nearly earned her another trip to the floor as her hoof rolled over the huge battleaxe that had nearly split her in two. The severed head of its former wielder rested nearby.

Stop being silly, she scolded herself. Dead is dead. Killing with a spell is no better or worse than with a sword. On that note, she floated her blade back into its scabbard. Its edge was still as clean as when she had found it in Ageund's sarcophagus, completely free of blood, ichor or pieces of the draugr she had slain. Hardly normal behavior for a sword, but little about this adventure was normal. She put the blade out of her mind as she retrieved Nightfall, and together with Twilight walked through the open door.

The final chamber had seen better days. Of the huge columns supporting the distant ceiling, several had cracked and collapsed, leaning like fallen trees against the walls and their neighbors. Mounds of rubble covered half the floor like rolling hills, holding crushed sarcophagi amongst their tons of broken stones. A thin layer of fog swirled around their hooves, mirrored by a cloud-like layer high above their heads. Only the walls and teetering columns remained unshrouded, seeming to float in the mist. Though the haze Sly could barely see a raised platform in the center of the hall, atop which rested a simple stone bier.

Sly crouched low to the floor, her chin sinking into the swirls of mist. The fog smelled like wet stones.

“Sly...” Twilight's voice sounded behind her, barely louder than a whisper. She paused, her hoof held in the air, just about to step toward the raised bier.

“Yes?” she whispered back. The steady drip of water in the distance nearly drowned her out.

“If anything... bad... happens, remember when I said about the wish.” Twilight's tone was even and flat, as featureless as the mists.

“Nothing bad will happen.” The words came out more heated than Sly intended. Her upraised hoof trembled slightly.

“I know,” Twilight said. “But if anything does—“

“I said, nothing bad will happen!” Sly hissed. The hoof came down with a loud crack that echoed repeatedly in the chamber. For a moment all other sounds – the drip drop of water, the rustle of air, the harsh sound of her breathing in her ears – were subsumed by the report.

Stupid, Sly reprimanded herself. Stupid stupid stupid. She turned back to apologize, but the expression on Twilight's face arrested her. It was the soft, forgiving look her mother often wore whenever Sly had done something foalish, taking her games of stealth and hiding too far. It was a familiar expression, and it cut straight to her heart.

They were silent again, staring at each other through the tenebrous mists. Eventually Sly looked away.

"Just remember," Twilight said. "Promise me."

Sly tried to speak and found she couldn't. She nodded instead, and turned back to the coffin in the center of the room.

It was unimposing, unimpressive. For all the days they had spent fighting their way to this one chamber, it was almost a disappointment to finally behold. Merely simple stone, unworked beyond an uneven smoothing, as though its craftspony had been in an unseemly hurry to complete it. No runes, no inscriptions, no filigrees decorated its surface. Only stone, blank and featureless as the mists around them. We nearly died for this? The thought came unbidden, and she pushed it desperately to the back of her mind. They had more important things to focus on.

She lifted Nightfall from her back and held it level with the floor, just above the layer of mist concealing her hooves. With a simple thought she nocked an arrow on its string, ready to draw it and let fly at the first sign of anything dangerous. She let out a breath, motioned with her hoof for Twilight to stay back, and then carefully, slowly took a step toward the raised platform in the center of the chamber.

The instant her hoof touched the floor, the sarcophagus exploded.

Sly let out a startled scream as the room shook. She fell to the floor and curled her forelegs over her head, managing to block most of the tiny bits of stone that rained down upon them. The mists concealing the floor flowed away from the blast like water and splashed against the walls. Nightfall clattered to the ground beside her, the arrow on its string falling free and rolling a few inches over the stones before coming to a stop.

Move! her instincts warned her to look up, warring with the more sensible part of her mind that insisted on curling into a ball until the loud noises stopped. High above her the massive stone lid that had covered the sarcophagus spun like a leaf, soaring through the air in an arc that vanished into the clouds of mist. A moment later it reappeared and fell toward the floor like the world’s largest playing card. The crash of its landing was nearly as loud as the original explosion, and shook the chamber again, cracking the stone floor and toppling a nearby column. Twilight, who had somehow managed to stay on her hooves after the explosion, stumbled to her knees. Chips of rock shot through the air, stinging her exposed pelt.

A cloud of dust filled half the room, centered on the platform and the remains of the bier. Slowly, slowly it settled, spreading throughout the chamber to join the drifting mists, forming a thicker fog that shrouded all sight. The rows of columns stretched away in the darkness; the walls vanished from view. And in the center of the room, atop the platform, something moved.

A dark shape slowly stood, little more than a silhouette in the gloom. Its head turned toward them, and bright blue sparks lit the dust from within as the point of its sword dragged across the stone. The blade looked longer than Sly’s entire body, from the tip of her snout to the end of her tail.

Days ago, during their first true battle in the crypt, they had waited for Ageund to strike first and nearly died because of it. Sly refused to make that mistake again. She jumped forward onto a pile of stones at the edge of the cloud of dust, barely a dozen yards from the draugr’s unmoving form. The dry, dusty air scratched her lungs as she inhaled. She focused on her breath, and the power of her soul set her words on fire as she Shouted.

“FUS!” The word exploded from her, blasting the cloud of dust apart and revealing the monster within. It was tall for a pony, though not so much as Ageund, or as heavily muscled. His armor was far lighter than the steel plates chained to Ageund’s monstrous form, and his sword was a slender, agile weapon, meant for the skillful strike that killed instantly, rather than the hacking blows of Ageund’s waraxe.

The draugr — Curalmil, she assumed — staggered as the Shout hit him. His head snapped back, and he nearly dropped the sword from his mouth. An armored crown rested atop his mane, bearing a pair of finely worked metal antlers that ended in glinting spikes. In the center of the crown, barely visible in the darkness, a jewel the size of a goose’s egg flashed with a never ending series of images. She imagined it was a star, winking at her in the night.

“Get down!” Twilight yelled. An ugly red light filled the room, replacing the cold blue-grey of the mists with a hellish smokey glare. Sly dropped to her belly an instant before a tiny ember, barely larger than a grain of sand, streaked over her head like a shooting star toward Curalmil. Her mane curled in the heat from its passage.

Curalmil recovered from the Shout faster than Sly thought possible. His head whipped around, bringing the sword with it in a clean arc that intercepted the ember just feet away from his body. The spark split in two and shot into the darkness behind him. A moment later both halves detonated, filling the room with a rush of scalding air and yet more light.

Sly slowly stood, her mind working furiously to come up with a plan B. Over the ragged sound of her own breathing, she heard hooves on stone as Twilight walked up beside her. Together they stared at Curalmil. He stared back in absolute silence. The light of the fires died, and she could make out the twin sparks that were his eyes burning beneath his antlered crown.

He moved first. With a sharp twist of his neck, he speared his sword into the floor. The metal tip stabbed easily through the stone, as though it were the softest clay, and stood in place. A rasping, rumbling sound shook Sly’s ears, and she realized he was laughing.

The laughter trailed off and was replaced by his voice. “Impressive, little pony,” he said in a dry hiss that sounded like sandpaper on glass. “But you have to use all the words.” He inhaled, his head tilting back slightly as his chest expanded.

“Fus ro DAH!”

Sly’s eyes widened at the first word, and she tossed herself desperately to the side, not caring that she fell and rolled over a pile of sharp rocks and stones that bit into her side. All that mattered was getting out of the way. Twilight must have sensed her panic, for her horn glowed even before Curalmil finished the Shout. A sparkling purple shield, like the one she had used against the dragon, appeared in front of her.

Against dragon fire, or mundane weapons, or even necromantic spells, Twilight’s shield would have worked. As powerful as she was, almost nothing should have been able to penetrate it. But the Shout was a special form of magic, older than mortals, nearly as old as time, and the flaming blue shockwave that burst from Curalmil’s mouth passed through her shield like a knife through silk. It lifted her up and tossed her like a doll through the air, past the tall columns, and into the hard, unforgiving stone walls. She hung there limply, then fell to the floor, followed by an avalanche of stones knocked free from the wall.

Sly stumbled to her hooves, scrabbling over the rocks away from Curalmil and toward Twilight. She stopped when she saw the pile of rubble and Twilight’s unmoving, half-buried form. Her coat was covered in dust, rendering her a pale, ghostly white, stained black around her mouth and side by blood. Oh no... oh Celestia no no no nononono—

“TWILIGHT!” she shouted and scrambled toward the mare. In her saddlebags she had healing potions left over from Theostre’s lair; perhaps it wasn’t too late to save her. She fumbled at the latch on her bags with her mouth, too stunned to use her magic, and pulled out the first flask her questing lips found. Dark red liquid sloshed within the glass as she ran toward the fallen mare.

Curalmil was too quick. He appeared in front of her so fast it was like he teleported, were such a thing not impossible for an earth pony. Sly skidded to a halt just in time to avoid a wicked slash at her face. Instead his sword knocked the flask from her lips, shattering it into thousands of shards that spun through the air, mixed with the precious red fluid. Her potion splashed to the ground, useless, already fading to black. The faint taste of strawberries and grass lingered on her lips.

“Never take your eyes from your foe,” he rasped around the hilt of his sword, before lashing again out again. The blade was like an extension of his body, so easily and fluidly did he wield it.

Sly reared away from the flashing blade, barely avoiding a slash that would have opened her throat all the way to her spine. The blade struck the barding covering her forelegs, biting through the boiled leather and into her flesh. She ignored the pain and danced back. He stepped toward her again.

Idiot! If you die, she dies! Nightfall lay on the ground a few feet away. She dove toward it, barely avoiding another strike from Curalmil’s sword. She focused her magic on a large, jagged stone, hefted it into the air, and flung it toward him with all the force she could shove through her horn. The rock struck his armored shoulder at a respectable speed, staggering him long enough for her to reach the bow and spin toward him again. In a single motion she drew an arrow from her quiver, set it on the string, aimed at his chest as she pulled, and then let fly.

The arrow sped through the darkness in a blur, faster even than Curalmil could dodge. He managed to spin to the side, taking the barbed tip in his shoulder rather than through his chest. The arrow punched effortlessly through the thick metal armor and came to rest with half its shaft protruding from his body. Curalmil grunted in pain, his hooves dancing beneath him as he regained his footing. His burning eyes flicked between the arrow lodged in his shoulder and her bow.

Sly drew another arrow and fired, sighting on his head. His sword swatted it from the air like it was a fly. Not possible, she marvelled in spite of herself. Her body shook with adrenaline; only the bow, floating in the air before her, was steady. She waited for him to strike again. Instead, he spoke.

“I gave my son that bow the day he became an officer,” he said. The words were perfectly clear, even spoken around the hilt of the sword in his mouth. Some draugr or ancient earth pony trick. “He named it Dagis. Daylight. What happened to it? What happened to him?”

Sly took a shaking step back. Curlamil mirrored her movement, stepping forward. His stride easily doubled hers.

“He changed,” she said. “They all did.” She drew another arrow, readying it on the string.

He appeared to consider that for a moment, then shook his head. The tip of his sword danced through the air in a line. “Regardless, it is not yours to wield.” He inhaled deeply, and then somehow shouted around the hilt of the sword.

“Zun haal VIIK!”

She tried to dodge, but her hoof rolled over an errant stone, sending her stumbling to the floor. The full force of his Shout spilled over her without harm, but snatched Nightfall from her grasp as though she were still a filly practicing levitation magic for the very first time. The weapon tumbled through the air, clattering to the floor in the darkness behind her. Unarmed, she lay before him.

“Farewell, thief.” He raised his head, and brought the sword spearing down toward her.

She rolled to her side. It was sloppy, but it did the trick — his sword cut a thin line down her flank, but didn’t pin her to the floor like a butterfly. Her horn glowed as she drew her sword and lashed out at his face. He blocked it easily, then stabbed at her again. Sparks flashed as she knocked the blade out of the way, then rolled to her feet, spun, and bucked his wounded shoulder, buying enough time to leap out of range of his blade.

His head tilted slightly as he inspected her. This close, she could distinctly see the images flashing through the jewel in his crown. The ocean. A candle. Gold coins. Blood.

He noticed her gaze and started to speak, then took a closer look at her sword. His eyes narrowed further, darkening the sparks that glowed within them.

“His sword, as well? Was there nothing you did not steal?”

She didn’t have time for this. Every moment spent fighting Curalmil was another moment Twilight might slip past saving. Her sword spun in a tight circle before her as she charged.

Their swords met in a shower of sparks that lit the cavern like day. In the light she could see his skeletal face, impassive and emotionless, moving only with the blows of his sword. Upon his forehead, the jewel’s polished facets reflected the sparks. The images within called to her. The moon. A foal. Dragons. Snow.

“You are not a warrior,” he said. His voice was even and unhurried. “How did you learn the Thu’um? Did you steal that knowledge as well?”

She tried to dodge around him, toward Twilight. He spun easily, his sword whipping around to carve a deep gouge in her side before her sword could knock it away. The sudden pain sent her stumbling back a pace.

“I stole nothing!” she shouted. “Your sons became monsters! You would not recognize them!”

He didn’t answer. Even before she finished speaking, he stagger-stepped toward her, first to the left, then the right, then straight at her with his sword extended. She barely brought her blade up in time to deflect it away from her neck. Her right ear erupted in pain, and she felt something warm and wet flowing down her neck.

You have magic! Use it! She slapped at his blade with hers, knocking it to the side. Before he could recover she lifted a chunk of stone half as large as she was and sent it soaring into him. The blow knocked him off his feet and nearly crushed him against a column. Even Twilight would’ve been impressed, she thought.

Unfortunately, Curalmil was tougher than she was. He kicked the boulder away with a crack and rolled to his feet. Aside from some dents and scuffs in his armor, he appeared unharmed. One of his metal antlers had snapped off, but the jewel still flashed its images at her from his crown. The sun. A cup. Butterflies. Fire.

And he had magic, too. Curalmil inhaled and Shouted again. “Zun haal VIIK!” The sound rolled over her, snatching her sword from her grasp and sending it spinning across the room. It hit the stone wall point first and sank into the rock halfway to its hilt.

She had no more weapons. With an anguished glance at Twilight’s still form, Sly turned and ran. Behind her, she heard hooves on stone as Curalmil pursued.

She ran down the same corridor they had used to enter his tomb. It twisted and turned before her, exactly as she remembered. She rounded a final corner and came to a stop next to the bodies of the draugr they had slain. Their fallen weapons were decrepit and unfamiliar, but far better than her bare hooves.

Curalmil rounded the corner behind her just in time to catch a flung battleaxe in his chest. The weapon hit haft first, and did little more than stun him long enough for her to grab a sword from another draugr’s mouth. It felt rotten and wet in her magical grasp. She ignored the sensation and slashed at him with it.

No dice. Even stunned, he was fast enough to swat it aside with his own blade. The pocked and rusted tip of her sword scratched his cheek, but failed to draw more than a few drops of blood. He blocked her next slash easily, his tempered sword cracking her blade in half.

Useless! She flung both halves at him, distracting him long enough to search for another weapon. Most were in just as terrible shape as the sword. Scattered around her were a dozen arrows -- she searched vainly for the accompanying bow before remembering what had happened to it. Its two halves lay beside the fallen archer.

Idiot! If you’re going to toss weapons, toss the right ones! She snatched up an arrow with her magic. It felt light as a feather compared to the boulder she had flung at him. She focused, and it flew through the air like a bird toward him, striking him in the chest and sinking several inches into his dry, wasted flesh. The wound only seemed to anger him.

“Enough!” Curalmil thundered. He inhaled again, preparing a final shout. In the narrow corridor there was no way for her to avoid it. “Fus...”

Time seemed to slow as she lifted another arrow into the air. Don’t toss it, a voice whispered in her mind. Fire it. A faint silver light surrounded it, mirrored by the glow of her horn. A trail of sparks fell from it through the air as the glow intensified. She mentally drew the arrow back, and it began to shake as she imagined a bow aimed at his neck.

“Ro...” Curalmil leaned forward, projecting his voice toward her. The images in the jewel flashed slowly at her. The night. A diamond. Trees. Salt.

“DA—” he began the final word as she released her grip on the arrow. It shot across the room like a comet, leaving a silver streak burned into her retinas. The tip plunged into his open mouth and through the back of his throat, almost snapping his spine with the force of its impact. His head rocked back, and his Shout exploded up into the ceiling. It nearly deafened her as it rolled out across the stones.

She was about to grab another arrow when the unexpected happened. The corridor shifted beneath her hooves, the walls buckled, and the ceiling above Curalmil, weakened by his shout, collapsed in a shower of rock and stone. Tons of debris rained down upon him, crushing him to the floor like an insect.

Sly fell, expecting to be crushed as well. The world shook all around her, filled with a riot of noise. Her good ear flattened against her skull in protest — the other, split neatly in two by Curalmil’s sword, hung limp against her cheek. For what felt like hours the thunder continued, and she waited for the falling stone that would end her life. Light filled the corridor for a brief moment as the braziers toppled to the floor, then were extinguished, plunging her into darkness.

Eventually the shaking stopped. Dust covered her like a shroud when she opened her eyes. Faint light from the spilled braziers lent the shattered halls an unearthly glow. Clouds of dust drifted through the corridor like smoke.

She coughed and rose to her hooves. Somewhere in the chaos a rock had struck her side, and she felt a stabbing pain with each breath. Just a broken rib, she decided. One of the lesser injuries she had suffered in the tomb.

A huge pile of stone filled the middle of the corridor. A flickering light shone from within the dust surrounding it, and as she drew closer, she could see the top half of Curalmil’s body protruding from beneath the rocks. The jewel continued its colorful show upon his crown.

His head twitched as she limped toward him, and she realized he was somehow still alive, trapped beneath the stones and his crushed and deformed armor. The arrow she had shot through his throat had snapped off in the cascade of rock, leaving only the barbed tip sticking out the back of his neck. The sparks in his eyes glimmered weakly at her, and his mouth moved. She knelt beside him to hear.

“All... all of them, monsters...” he whispered.

She nodded slowly.

“S... Sovyn?”

She paused, remembering the tiny form and the altar at the base of his throne. She remembered the letters, sealed in their scroll tubes. She remembered Sovyn’s wish, and her final words.

“No, not Sovyn,” she said. She paused a moment to think. The world owed Sovyn so much. This might be the only payment she would ever receive. The only chance to get her own wish.

“And she loved you. They all did,” she finished. It would have to be enough.

Curalmil grunted weakly, already beyond the ability to speak. His head lifted one final time, as though looking up at the distant sky, then collapsed. The sparks in his eyes went out.

Sly sat silently next to him, staring at his slack face. It was over — all their violence and suffering and struggles led to this one point, finally in their grasp. Her eyes shifted to the flickering jewel above his forehead. As if sensing her attention, the jewel fell from its mount in Curalmil’s crown. It landed with a loud crack on the stones and rolled toward her, eventually coming to a stop resting near her hoof. The images within spoke to her. The sky. A clock. Violins. Dust.

The Wind’s Eye. At last, it was hers. She reached out with her hoof to touch it—

She reclined upon an opulent couch, surrounded by more wealth than she could imagine. Servants trotted to and fro through her palace, their silver-shod hooves ringing like bells on the marble floor. The taste of grapes and apples lingered in her mouth, the remains of a lavish lunch. The vast hall around her was a tribute to her wealth — tapestries woven from gold thread vied for attention with stained-glass windows crafted from actual jewels. A dozen beautiful, perfect ponies fawned at her hooves, offering her their lives for a tiny drop of her treasures.

“Wish for riches,” something whispered beside her. She turned to see what it was, and—

Sly blinked. The oppressive gloom of the corridor returned. Curalmil’s body lay before her, and the jewel flashed beneath her hoof. Her horn glowed as she lifted it into the air, inches from her face. The dawn. A sword. Bones. Sand.

“No,” she whispered. “No... that’s not what Twilight wanted. That’s not what Twilight said to—”

She sat upon her throne. Before her, below her raised dais, thousands of ponies bowed. Trumpets blared paeans to her greatness, and announced the start of her reign. Along her walls, sky blue banners waved in her gently flowing air, all bearing her star-and-moon mark. Her doors at the far end of her throne room opened, and a procession of ponies entered, bearing a lush velvet pillow, atop which rested an elegant silver crown.

One of her ponies ascended her stairs and held up her pillow. Now that he was close, she could see how small he was. She towered over them. They were like foals next to her.

Her horn glowed, and her crown lifted from her pillow and floated through her air, coming to rest upon her head. She shook her mane to settle it in place, then spread her wings in fanfare. The assembled ponies began to cheer.

“Wish for power,” something whispered beside her. She turned to see what it was, and—

She nearly dropped the jewel in shock. Could it do that? Could it make her a god? The jewel trembled as her concentration wavered. She shook her head and took a deep breath, seeking focus. The aurora. A wand. Potions. Fog.

She gritted her teeth. The images pressed at her mind, distracting her. There was something important she needed. Something she needed to do. “No, that’s not what Twilight said—”

She stood atop a corpse. A mountain of corpses, all dragons. Their blood coated her, filling her with life and power and purpose. Nightfall floated beside her, another arrow already nocked on its string.

The dragons flew at her in futile waves. She inhaled air and exhaled death. Her Shout rent them from the skies, sending them plunging to the ground and to her hooves. Mercy never occurred to her. Stopping never occurred to her. They were dragons, and she was the Dragonborn. This was her purpose.

Her arrows found another dragon’s heart, and she exulted in its wavering cry. This, this was her fate. This was what she was born to do. Nothing lived. Everything burned.

“You know the wish,” something whispered beside her. She turned to see a dragon, somehow alive, standing behind her. “Be the Dovahkiin. Become death. Become what you could not be, the night your village died.”

She nodded. “I wish I was the Dragonbor—”

She gasped. The corridor was again around her. Her hoof cradled the jewel against her breast, just above her heart. Her mouth was open, ready to say the words that would erase all doubt. The wish that would make her the one, the true, the only Dragonborn.

“No,” she growled. “I promised. Twilight made me...” she trailed off. Twilight had made her promise to remember the dangers of the jewel, in case anything bad happened. In case anything bad happened. Twilight...

“TWILIGHT!” She stumbled to her hooves, tossed the jewel into her saddlebags, and raced down the corridor, heedless of the fallen stones that tore at her hooves. She bounced against the walls, ignoring the pain of her old injuries. Something caught her knee and she fell for a moment before scrambling back to her hooves. She barely noticed the terrible ache in her leg.

Curalmil’s tomb lay dead ahead. She burst through the open doorway, skidding to a halt as she searched for Twilight’s form. Against the wall, just a dozen feet away. Sly charged over the piles of stone toward her friend.

“Twilight! I’m here!” she shouted again, nearly tripping over her own hooves. The faint, squeamish part of her mind that had hesitated after the battle with Theostre, when she had found Twilight’s burnt and broken form, registered a peep of protest. She stuffed it into the back of her mind, and sank to her knees beside Twilight.

It wasn’t good. Blood pooled around her mouth, forming a black stain in the dim blue light of the chamber. Twilight’s eyes were open and glassy. The entire rear half of her body was crushed beneath the stones.

Oh no nononono. She pulled a healing potion from her saddlebags. With a stab of dismay she realized it was the last — any that Twilight had been carrying were lost beneath the crush of rubble. She tore the stopper out and poured it into Twilight’s slack mouth, silently praying that it wasn’t too late.

It was and it wasn’t. After a moment Twilight’s chest began to move again. The air rattled weakly in her lungs as she took a few hesitant breaths, then began to fail. One potion wasn’t enough. All the potions in the world weren’t enough for this.

“Twilight...” She cradled the mare’s head, holding it against her chest. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry...” She sobbed quietly. Her tears washed away the dust on Twilight’s face, leaving dark trails of purple amidst the pale grey.

Something rustled behind her. She didn’t bother turning to see what it was. It didn’t matter anymore.

“You know the wish,” it whispered. “It doesn’t have to be too late.”

“No,” Sly said. The word burst from her in a ragged gasp. “I’ve seen what your wishes lead to. You are evil. She would become a monster.”

The soul in the jewel laughed in her mind. “No, little thief. I am beyond good and evil. I have only ever given what is in pony’s hearts. If you fear evil, look there.”

Look there. Sly tried to look within, and found it impossible. She had no experience measuring her own thoughts or desires. All that ever mattered was what she wanted. That was the only good. The only evil was her own suffering.

She glanced down at Twilight’s dying form. Would such a wish be good or evil? What was it Twilight had said? “Spells are spells, Sly. They aren't inherently good or evil. How you use them is.”

She pulled the jewel out of her saddlebags. The images inside still flashed at her, called out to her. The sun. A door. Books. Ash.

There was no time to plan an elaborate wish, like Twilight had said. She did just the opposite, exactly what Twilight had warned against: wishing for the first thing that came to mind. There was no time for anything else.

She lowered her head and placed a gentle kiss on Twilight’s cheek. The mare stirred weakly in her arms. “Please forgive me.” She pressed the jewel against her breast, just above her heart.

“I wish that Twilight Sparkle was safe and whole,” she whispered.

The flashing images began to slow. Sly closed her eyes rather than look at them. A moment later, there was a quiet click, and she felt a burst of warmth radiate from the jewel. The dying pony held in her hooves melted away, and for a moment the room was filled with sunlight.

She opened her eyes and smiled. A healthy, unharmed Twilight Sparkle looked back, a puzzled expression on her face.

That was fine. There was plenty of time for explanations.

Footnote: Level Up (Sly)
New Perk: Power Shot -- Arrows stagger all but the largest opponents 50% of the time.
New Ability: Bound Bow -- You may fire arrows without the use of a physical bow.
New Toy! The Wind’s Eye -- Health, Stamina and Magicka increased by 30. Luck increased by 10%. You may make one wish during your lifetime.

Footnote: Level Up (Twilight Sparkle)
New Perk: Augmented Shock -- Shock spells do 25% more damage.
New Ability: Entropic Constriction -- You may summon up to five ethereal tentacles to attack your foes. Just something Theostre taught you.