VII - By Any Other Name
VII
By Any Other Name
- - -
The East Wind Express pulled into the train station in Stalliongrad with a creaking moan and a sharp whistle. by time the huge, heavy iron vehicle had shuddered to a stop, it's most notable passenger was already taking his–or rather, her–first hurried steps off the train. The wind bit at her hooves and tossed the fabric of her stolen black jacket. She shrugged gently to let it fall tighter over her back, and pulled the faux fur collar tighter around her neck. Only the roof of the open-walled station prevented her from suffering a blinding flurry of snow.
Despite the weather, Masquerade put a fierce grin on Red Ink's face. It echoed her own sentiments of pleasure at the fear her form inspired in the eyes and hearts of the native Stalliongradian ponies. It wasn't so much that they screamed and ran, as if their 'Commandant' were some sort of monster. Instead, they simply averted their eyes, and shuffled gently away to give him as wide a berth as possible.
Despite the subtlety of the motions, it did not take long before only a single pony remained in Masquerade's path: a dark indigo stallion whose coat would have complimented Masquerade's well, had the mare's original form been visible.
"Росчерк." No love was lost in the blunt greeting.
"Предвидение. Давно не виделись." The simple greeting still managed to strain the assassin's grasp of Stalliongradi–not for the difficulty of the words, but the challenge in suppressing a native Prench accent.
She knew the stallion's name from a contract, four years prior. From the way he stood and looked her square in the eye, it was clear that the death of his youngest sibling had bought him some confidence.
Foresight's brow rose behind his narrow oval glasses. "Have you actually learned to speak passable Equiish, Roscherk?"
Masquerade let her little knowledge of the more ancient language flow over Red Ink's tongue, substituting the slightest bit of Draconic grammar where necessary. "Это что, проблема, брат?"
Foresight shook his head. "No, it's fine. And you may wish to continue in Equiish for now. Princess Luna does not speak our native language. She's waiting for you in the castle." The elder brother turned around and started walking out of the train station.
Equiish certainly wasn't a problem for the disguised assassin. Masquerade's hooves had no trouble keeping up as she darted out into the cold. It was only then that she noticed the total absence of wind that surrounded her 'brother'. Foresight's horn lost just a touch of glow as she stepped up beside him. She hadn't even paid attention to catching up. The surprise that swelled up in her mind consumed her, over both the lack of weather, and another more pressing issue.. "She's here already?"
"You took the East Wind, Roscherk. It takes a day and a half to make the journey from Canterlot. Princess Luna was on one of my 'arrow trains'. No stops between here and the capital. She's been here since last night."
Masquerade had to fight to contain her stress at the next issue. "And she's expecting me?"
Foresight nodded. "She mentioned you and Captain Armor were both to arrive soon. Did he take a different train?"
"He's dead," Masquerade responded. "Poison, I think. I was distracted when she blew up the bridge." With the railroad cut, Masquerade knew the truth wasn't about to be discovered any time soon. "Did the Princess say if I would be getting any other reinforcements?"
Foresight nodded. "Some of her... how did Krenn put it? Her own herd, I think."
Masquerade winced. "Night Guards. Perfect."
Detecting her biting sarcasm, Foresight looked over. "What's wrong?"
"They're... I don't know, honestly. They set me on edge."
"Really?" Foresight smiled. "The dreaded Commandant of the Black Cloaks, hiding under his bed from some other ponies in funny armor? How did you ever manage to even look Zagatka in the eye?"
Masquerade shrugged, lacking enough information on Red Ink to continue the conversation. Then, huddling tighter into her stolen jacket, she turned her attention to the frozen Gem of the East.
The streets of Stalliongrad were dead. There was simply no other way to describe the atmosphere. Houses had darkened windows, store fronts were closed and sealed, and not a single pony was to be found wandering the streets.
Foresight seemed to consider this somehow 'normal', and Masquerade wasn't about to draw attention to herself questioning it. She continued to accompany the unicorn in total silence, until he decided to speak up.
"I let Molot take over the Black Cloaks in your absence. He's done an excellent job keeping things quiet." There was a bite in the words, though Masquerade chose to ignore it. Foresight seemed impressed. "What's that, Roscherk? No biting rebuttal?" He paused, waiting, and actually smiled. "That's not like you."
"Does it bother you to think that I've changed in the months since I left?" Masquerade stopped, realizing that wasn't quite the question she meant. "Honestly, I couldn't care less. Do you think father will be bothered?"
Foresight wore a tight grimace. "Father will be pleased, I'm sure. No doubt you'll remind him of your mentor."
Masquerade remembered her first encounter with the Commander, and for a moment, it left her mind filled with the thought of what she had done to him. To kill was one thing, but she shuddered at what she had condemned him to. Still, prices had to be paid, and she didn't have the time to waste on regrets. Her magic tugged at her attention. She was instantly made aware when the illusion covering her body adapted to a scowl in response to Foresight's expectations. It didn't speak; to create words without her input was beyond even the magic of the 'nightmare', but the simple expression seemed enough to appease the unicorn.
Distracted by their discussion, Masquerade nevertheless found herself wholly unable to miss the blatant mass of ponies ahead. A huge crowd, tens-of-thousands in number, stood at the foot of the sheer valley wall, looking up at a small balcony jutting out of the stone. Overhead, Burning Hearth Castle towered up into the sky in defiance of the shrill wind and the thick snow.
Tsar Eye's speech was already well on its way into flourishing words; even through the language barrier, the assassin could hear the force of will in his words. The gold coated alicorn gestured with hoof and wing as he spoke to his subjects, and for all the superiority of his race and standing, she had to admire that he seemed every bit to be one of them. He wore no jewelry, no necklaces or capes to remind the ponies of his power. His eyes, and the bags they sat atop, betrayed the stresses of his work and his position. And the crowd loved him for it–she could taste it in the air.
"Друзья, не поддавайтесь страху. Наш город, как и наши жизни, защищены более, чем когда-либо. Но, я не стану вам лгать. То, что вы видели прошлой ночью,..."
She wanted to understand what he was saying. It wasn't a spark of her horn, but a far more subtle adjustment which explained the words. No longer were they all-but incomprehensible enigma. She smiled and soaked up the oiled silk that was his speech.
"... the fire that burnt our skies, was dragon fire." The crowd gasped. Watchful Eye waited, and then held up a hoof to calm the subsequent roar of murmurs. "Yes, my neighbors. And now the snow falls stronger than it has in half a decade. And I have heard the rumors. That war is coming again. I will not lie to you, my friends. My comrades. There is a battle in Stalliongrad's future. But do not fear. What happened twenty years ago will not happen again!" The Tsar leaned forward, stretching out over the edge of the balcony to bring himself close to his subjects. "I promise you, this city is safe. The dragons will not come here. I give you not only my word, but the word of a higher authority yet. Princess Luna herself is here, in Stalliongrad, and she too gives her your word. Never again shall their fire claim our homes and our families. Never again shall you face their shadows."
Then, to Masquerade's shock, the Tsar took another step forward, and allowed himself to fall completely off of his raised balcony. His wings spread as he fell, and yet they seemed strained in carrying his weight, given the snowstorm that raged around him. Rather than holding him aloft, the Tsar simply used the feathers to lower himself to the ground slowly.
"We've been given that protection as a gift, my friends, but that isn't the only threat we face. The battle on our horizon is not one of swords and shields, but of thick coats, and blood freezing in our veins. So now, I urge you to look to the skies as I do. See the ice, and feel the wind." A red mane billowed from the stallion's back, tinged at its tips with hints of gray clearly not so much from age as a wealth of stress. "Know, ponies of Stalliongrad, that this is the foe we must fight. So I urge you: do not fear. Do not rage. Together, in harmony as friends and neighbors, we can calm this ice. Apart, as hated enemies separated by horns on our heads or wings on our backs, we will die frozen and alone. This winter promises to be cold; as cold as we have faced since we rose up to claim our home from the tyrant Frostbite. And while he is gone, the threat of his name lingers. The curse senses its demise, and now it throws its last gasps of ice and snow against us. But we will persevere. We will stand firm, united. And when the magic of the Obelisk casts itself over a city of equals, ignited by our fervor and the might of our harmony, we will see the end of eight thousand years of winter!"
And amidst the adoration of his subjects, for just a small moment, the fall of the snow slowed.
- - -
Blood, sweat, and tears mixed together in a creamy river dribbling down Dead Reckoning's face. The sweat was easiest to explain away, from the sheer force he was putting into his work. His one good wing was wrapped tightly around a hammer, which rose and fell with force hundreds of times more than most ponies would spend on flying. Each stroke produced a solitary note in a clanging, violent symphony.
"Congratulations on your promotion, Deadeye." The pat on his back was a great feeling, that did a lot to wash away the burn of 'the good stuff'. Nopony knew what it really was; the old ex-guardspony who ran the Private's Reserve offered one shot whenever somepony hit a promotion. For a title like 'the good stuff', it was honestly terrible. Thick as molasses and hard as gravel. It went down like mud. But amongst the smiles of the other scouts of the 16th Platoon, it was like drinking gold.
His left hoof was slowly covering in crystals of ice that seemed out of place in the sweltering heat of the tiny forge. They wrapped down over his coat to trap both his hoof, and the skysteel machete beneath it, against the surface of the skysteel anvil below.
The griffon didn't even get a chance to scream as Reckoning's thick storm cloud shot off a single bolt of lightning. He released his focus, and opened his left eye. The shot ought to have been impossible; through the thick foliage of Zebrica and the mile of distance keeping them apart, he could only make out the thin line of fur where her feathers began. That was enough.
At his shoulder, rather than ice, his body bore stains of water. Tears from his singular eye mixed with his blood from where the other ought to have been. His eyes were closed. His wing wielded his hammer simply by sense of space, and such a familiarity with the machete on the table that he didn't need to see what he was working on.
He lay in a cheap olive-toned canvas tent, on a thin cot wet with sweat and grime from the Zebrican heat. It wasn't going to get any cooler any time soon. The doctors were busy with other ponies–dying ponies who wouldn't see the next dawn. Ponies who'd lost legs to griffon talons, and whose intestines were hanging out from the rakes of griffon claws. Ponies with the burns of fire and bolts of lightning from griffon magic. Compared to those wounds, the shredded ribbons of the stallion's left eye were of little concern, now that they'd been bandaged and sterilized.
At the far side of the tent, two uninjured ponies were approaching. It was strange to watch with just one eye, as Deadeye struggled to gauge how distant they were. Captain Unending Vigil, clad in a simple steel cuirass and wearing bladed shoes on all four hooves, spoke with a powdered white stallion in shiny black armor.
"...we'll lose a lot of ponies that way, Commander."
"We won't be negotiating this, Captain Vigil." The stallion stopped at Reckoning's bedside. "This is the one?"
"Officer Reckoning, this is Commander Mortal Coil."
Reckoning extended a firm hoof. "Call me Deadeye."
Then he smiled, and began to shake as he laughed at the bitter irony.
The jagged edges of the blade became smooth. The patchwork rippling of clouds consolidated into a perfect length of singular metal. He didn't have to look. He could feel it there in front of him, becoming a weapon he remembered. Unbroken. Uncompromised. Fresh, and new, and strong.
The glass eye fit strangely, but you didn't just go see the Princess with a hole in your face. Of course, that wasn't for days. First, he got to march his way back home, and see what his family had been doing. His machete and armor were slung over his back. Wounded but unbroken, the soldier was coming home.
He knocked on his parents' door, and it slid open to a dark room. Perhaps they hadn't gotten his letter. He stepped inside.
"Surprise!"
With a flash of light and the crack of party poppers, the Manehattan apartment was gone. There were griffons surrounding him. Eleven, by his quick count, amidst the trees and the vines. Three children, but the rest soldiers. His sword was out before they could even react. He claimed two talons, of one, a wing from another, and sent the skysteel blade through the ribcage of a third before the rest fled, screaming in terror.
As he hammered on the weapon, mud and dust and stale blood dripped out from between the makeshift layers of cloud he had hoof-worked into the weapon. Before long, the curious stained and rust-colored tint of the blade was fading away to a beautiful gleam. But he didn't see it. His wing and hoof worked without the input of his mind. It was too busy.
The Private's Reserve was nearly empty. Guardsponies didn't go drinking at ten in the morning. None save the 'old guy' and the bartender who'd stayed for his benefit since the previous night at eight. Crazy old Deadeye. He slammed his drink down on top of his makeshift coaster. The words "Psychiatric Discharge" had blurred away beneath layers of sweat dripping down the outside of the glass. Ten years in a padded cell, and when he got out, it had been the only letter anypony had thought to send him.
His short, stubby glass hadn't held any alcohol in almost twelve hours. The bartender had been giving him apple juice with seltzer water and calling it 'cider'. Reckoning knew the truth, but it was easier to sit there and pretend than to face the harsh light outside.
It shone on his back when the door open. He glared back at the black outline of the armored figure in the door.
"Warrant Officer Dead Reckoning?"
"It's just 'Crazy Deadeye' now," Reckoning answered with bitter sobriety.
"It doesn't have to be."
A clear mind felt the warmth of feathers on his chest, as Rainbow Dash wiped away his tears of salt and blood. She was pressed up against him tightly, holding him as he wept without sound. Only the rhythm of the hammer filled the room, deafening and painful and beautiful, full of all the stallion's agony and nostalgia. It was good to have somepony hold him through the pain.
Three ponies stood guard over Celestia. Two at her sides, and one hidden amidst the shadows and the statues overhead. In front of the ruler herself, a pair of griffon diplomats presented a boring proposal about trade of produce. The larger of the two was wearing a ring. A simple gold band. It caught the light in just the right way. It flashed over Reckoning's eye, and suddenly, Canterlot was gone.
He returned to the world of sanity to see blood on Celestia's face, as the Commander pinned him down with a blade to his neck. Disappointment filled brown eyes.
Rainbow pulled him in tighter, until he could feel the beating of her heart through her feathers. It was a small things, but the small things made all the difference.
Ponyville town hall was quiet and dead in the aftermath of battle. Lieutenant Morning Star stood over the smoking corpse of his youngest subordinate. With Reckoning's help, golden plates peeled away to reveal the smell of burnt hair and cooked flesh. Both ponies retched, though neither released their anguish. It took only a moment to finish the old custom, and remove the rare enchanted armor. After that, they would have to arrange for the corpse, and haul it away.
That had been the plan, but it changed when a voice spoke up.
"Where do you think you're going, soldiers?"
Reckoning's eye turned to see a small mare of black and purple, covered in burns and scars, approaching with hunger in her eyes.
The ice on his hoof shattered, and in a single swift motion, he rotated the weapon. Still without looking, his able hooves removed the thick leather grip over the skysteel core. He was nearly done, and yet the greatest of his contributions were yet to come.
He heard the roar of manticores, which surprised him. More than one meant something unusual was happening. He drew his sword as he ran, and it wasn't long before he saw her. That young blue body stood out clearly amidst the dense browns and greens. She'd toppled one of the beasts, but another was about to land a sting. Even so old, his wings were fast, trained in the jungles at the edge of the world. His shoulder ached as he tackled her aside, but it was a small price to pay to save a life.
He replaced the leather grip, tightening the little wire that held it in place once again. The little ball of a pommel smoothed off quickly, and soon only the guard remained. A little nub to keep his mouth from slipping up onto the blade. One more moment. Space for one more memory.
The world swam back in pain. Not the Zebrican jungles, but a sparse and rocky clearing no more than a single pace away from the gaping pit of Grivridge. And a huge griffon standing above him, talons closed around Reckoning's throat. His other foreleg was missing entirely.
His body didn't seem to understand the damage that had been done to his wing. He could see the spurs of bone jutting out through the feathers and the flesh. Even if they let him go, he'd bleed to death in minutes. He sucked in a breath, forcing as much blood to his brain as he could.
He had always thought he'd turn out to be a casualty at the talons of a griffon. The killing blow had only been a few decades late, really. He nodded in understanding toward his killer, and then his head rolled to the side.
There was the blue mare. The kid. The filly. The last true friend he'd ever make. The last pony who'd ever see him as more than just the old broken soldier who didn't understand when to quit. Was she crying? It was hard to tell through the blurring mist in his own vision.
The griffon picked him up, holding him out over the precipice of the edge of the world. Grivridge's mists waited for one more corpse below, while Celestia stood guard at the gates of the Summer Lands somewhere distant, and yet nearby. The old pony was at peace with himself. His only thoughts were of concern for his last partner. He could do nothing for her body, but there were words to fill a final hole in her heart, provided they came with honesty. He struggled to get them out, before the end.
"Tell the Princess 'I'm sorry'… Rainbow."
And then it was done. He opened his eyes and held up the weapon. His constant companion and his bitterest enemy. Once, it had been a standard issue tool. A scout's machete, with a rounded tip and a boring handle. Idly he wondered if there was any of the original skysteel left. It didn't seem likely. Not with the nub in the handle, so he could speak as he held it. Not with the sharp point at the leading end.
Yet on second glance, there was one little spot, just at the very base of the blade, where four tiny stamped letters could still be made out. SPQC. They had some fancy translation, but Reckoning knew they really just meant 'made in Cloudsdale'–the 'C' being the only letter that meant anything anymore. With only a moment of hesitation, he brought his hammer down once on the letters, blurring the cloudy nature of the Empatha-filled skysteel until the stamp was wiped away.
He rubbed his brow and sucked in a short breath. The deed was done. He stared at his work for a moment, admiring the slick, frigid metal. The edge was razor-sharp, and the body solid and unyielding. His eyes moved down to the hilt; it was a perfect match for the new image on both of his flanks. He still didn't know what to make of it, as he wiped off his face. Cutie Marks didn't just change. You only got one, and it stuck with you for life.
But then, maybe that was the change after all.
"You okay now, Deadeye?"
He started, and then realized that Rainbow's wings were still wrapped around him. "Oh, yeah. Fine. Thanks."
"What happened? Why'd you start crying?"
"Just memories," Reckoning answered, shaking his head to dismiss the question. "Thinking of Zebrica, mostly. Doing what I can to make the sword stronger."
Rainbow cocked her head to the side as her mouth hung open in confusion. "Wait... crying makes your sword stronger?"
"You'll understand when you start making yours." Reckoning set the hammer down on the top of the anvil and sidled slightly over to give Rainbow room to work. "You remember how I taught you to use your magic?"
"Yeah," Rainbow nodded. "I nailed you pretty hard with that lightning bolt, didn't I?"
Reckoning winced, before shrugging. "Actually, I was pretty surprised to be alive. I've never seen the Commander not kill whatever he was bucking at." At the look of distaste on Rainbow's face, he held up a hoof. "Not the point. What matters is that forging skysteel is an exercise of your Empatha. And your Empatha is based on your emotions. So to do the best job forging skysteel gear, you have to go back in your mind, think of whatever memory you want, and focus on it. Try to live through it again."
"Just sad memories?" Rainbow asked.
"Ah. No. It depends on what type of cloud you're working on. You know how there are four types of clouds and also four elements? That isn't a coincidence. I was working with cirrus, which tends to be tied to water and ice. Making ice with Empatha works best if you're sad."
"Okay," Rainbow nodded. "What about the other types of clouds?"
"Well, cumulus works with fire, which is why it holds heat so well. Nimbus works with what we call 'air' magic: how Thunder Crack and I can make those 'sonic' kicks like I was trying to teach you. I guess bucking lightning is air too, for you and the Commander. Anyway, that's excitement, or desperation. You could boil it down to wanting something really badly."
"What about stratus?"
"It works off of earth magic. Like, moving rocks and stuff. I've never known a pony who could use it, but the griffons and the dragons sometimes use their Empatha for it. Anyway, if you were going to make something out of stratus, you'd be working on memories of fear or, I don't know, confusion? Nopony really makes a straight stratus weapon anyway; that's what they make for standard issue gear, because it doesn't favor any particular pony. Now, I guess we should get you started, shouldn't we? What kind of cloud do you want?"
After a moment of thought, Rainbow's mouth grew into a wide grin that left Dead Reckoning concerned for her well-being.
- - -
Twilight's eyes flitted to the mare walking at her side, and then back to sparsely populated cabin of the train car. Over again and back again. The back of her mind twitched as she wondered when she'd finally build up the courage to ask the question lingering on the tip of her tongue. The question which had occupied her every thought since she departed alongside the mare from her mentor's company.
Finally, the floodgates could hold back her words no longer. She had to ask. There simply wasn't another option.
"You're the guardsmare Shining invited to our Hearth's Warming party, right?"
"It's only been a month," Going Solo answered. "Am I that forgettable?"
Twilight blushed gently in embarrassment. "Well, you weren't all white then. And you had all those burns, and the spots where your coat was missing..."
"Yeah, I get it," Solo quipped. "I was 'flank-ugly.' I'll admit, I wasn't really dressed for the occasion either."
"That isn't what I–"
"I'm teasing, Twilight." The pegasus mare smiled. "Does not getting the joke run in your family?"
"I don't see how a prevalence for misunderstanding could be genetically..."
The sentence fell away as Going Solo stared at her new partner with a mix of humor, disbelief, and disappointment. "Really? Really, Twilight?"
Her ears drooped a little. "Sorry."
"Here we are, mares and gentlecolts!" the conductor shouted, interrupting the awkward conversation. "Ponyville stop. If you're heading on to Dodge City, you've got a half-hour wait. Otherwise, thank you for riding the Friendship Express! Oh, and mind the luggage bins!"
Going Solo winced. and whispered to the younger mare at her side. "Really? The Friendship Express?" Alongside the snarky comment, the guardsmare stepped off of the train and onto the loading platform.
"I think it's got some charm to it," Twilight Sparkle answered. "Or do you not believe in the magic of friendship?"
"It's hard not to believe when you've seen what Discord did to Canterlot four years ago. Doesn't make it any less cheesy, though." Solo sighed. "Alright, Archmage, what's the plan?"
"Uh, Twilight is fine, miss Solo."
"I know, Twilight. And you can just call me Solo, unless you're making advances." Twilight wasn't quite sure if there had been a moment where the guardsmare's eyes lingered on her cutie mark. "Seriously, though, what's the plan? Why are we here?"
"I need to get some supplies for the trip, and let my friends know I'll be gone. Plus, this way, we can get Rarity to make us some clothes for the snow. We should see her first, after we–"
"Twilight! You're back already!"
The little purple and green dragon that came bounding up on stubby legs might have been the most amusing thing Going Solo had ever seen. He ran forward, leapt up, and wrapped his arms around her neck in a tight hug.
"I decided to come home early, but I'm not staying long." Twilight embraced the dragon back as she explained. "Spike, this is Going Solo. Solo, this is my number-one assistant, Spike."
The dragon dropped off the unicorn, looked up at the guardsmare, and offered a toothy smile and a claw. "Nice to meet you!"
She stuck out a hoof and gave him a half-hearted 'hand'-shake. He really did most of the work. "Yeah, you too."
After the brief greeting, Spike returned his attention to his 'older sister'. "So, Twilight, where are you going? And can I come this time?"
"Well, right now, we're going to see Rarity." As if she had pressed a magic button, Spike's eyes glazed over and his gaze went unfocused. "After that, Solo and I are headed to Stalliongrad, and unfortunately, that means you can't come. You remember why, right? From when I went with Rainbow?"
He sighed, and then moved to climb up on Twilight's back as he spoke. "Yeah, I guess. Are you going for another research trip?"
"Not this time," Twilight answered. "But maybe if you're a good gentledragon, we can see if Rarity will let you stay over while I'm gone." She grinned at the way he lost his attention yet again.
"Uh, Twilight, aren't we on a schedule here?" Solo started to walk toward the small town of Ponyville as she asked the simple question. "Not that I want to interrupt your moment."
"Oh, no, you're right. I'm sorry, I just get distracted sometimes. We should go."
Solo nodded. "Maybe next time you get distracted, you should think about your brother." She had said the words with the expectation that Twilight would be inspired to hurry up. Yet for all the similarity between the siblings, Twilight Sparkle wasn't quite like her older brother. Her eyelids quivered as she found shame and sorrow in her own reaction.
"Wait, what happened with Shining Armor?" Spike asked, clearly out of the loop.
"I... I'll tell you when we get to Rarity's. Come on, Spike." The words had quivered in the air, but Twilight's hooves took off at a full gallop. It wasn't particularly difficult for Solo to catch up with the advantage of wings. Soon, she was hovering alongside the unicorn and her dragon.
Her flight didn't last long; their destination was a frilly blue and pink building only a few hundred feet away from the train station. In only moments, Twilight had cleared the distance, and torn open the door with a great deal more magical force than was strictly necessary. The little bell above the door fell off completely.
"Gah! What in Equestria was that?"
The shrill voice from deep inside the boutique led Twilight's guardspony companion to lean over and whisper harshly. " It's one thing not to waste time, but that doesn't mean you have to sprint everywhere."
Twilight acknowledged the words with a quick dip of her head, before turning her attention toward whatever mare had spoken. "Rarity, it's me. I need your help."
"Oh, Twilight! Is it urgent? I'm with a customer."
Twilight Sparkle nodded, though Rarity wasn't present to see the motion. "Yes, actually. Going Solo and I need some clothes for a trip to Stalliongrad."
"Again, dear? Promise me you won't lock yourself up in your library with some dusty old book when you get back this time."
"It isn't for a research project, Rarity."
"I suppose that's fine then. Do come on back. I'm almost done with Miss Resistant's order, and I already have my design space all set up."
Twilight shot Solo a quick glance, and the pegasus mare nodded. Spike climbed down off of his 'sister's' back, and accompanied her on foot into the back room. Soon, only Solo was left, listening in on a conversation between friends.
"Hello, Resistant."
"Twilight Sparkle." There was probably a nod or something, by Solo's guess. The voice wasn't harsh enough to lack one. Something else about the depth of the mare's accented speech tickled the corner of the guardsmare's memory, though she couldn't quite place it. "Yer going to Stalliongrad?"
Going Solo used her privacy as an opportunity to really take in the room, and what she ingested disgusted her. The clothing on the ponyquins was fine; really quite nice if she were to be completely honest, though she was something of a Rainbow Dash when it came to fashion. In truth, what unsettled her was the color scheme that defined the walls and the various partitions of the room. Namely, everything was pink. And not just a nice, uniform pink either; lacy rose curtains ended in delicate champagne frills. Meanwhile, hot pink wallpaper was decorated with diamond patterns in a more muted pink, forming a sort of slanted checkerboard of agony.
Trying to shield her eyes from the pain, she focused her attention on the fashions that filled the room. In the nearest corner, sitting in front of a window, were a set of seven ponyquins. Six were garbed in a set of ornate dresses too glorious to take in with a single glance. The seventh figure had a sort of long black formal coat, over a stallion's dress suit. More notable were that all seven ponyquins depicted ornate masks, covering the faces of their inanimate wearers with equal portions of beauty and anonymity.
"Yeah. I'm sorry, Resistant, but I need to talk to my friends here briefly." Despite the announcement, Twilight did not wait for the unwelcome listener to leave the room before addressing her friend and her assistant. "Rarity, Spike, I need you to both listen to me very closely, alright? Do you remember what I told you about Masquerade? The assassin?"
"Yeah," Spike answered.
"Yes dear." After a pause, Rarity added a comment on what must have been written all over Twilight's face. "You're worrying me now, Twilight. What's wrong?"
"She escaped..."
"What?" That was the dragon again.
"...and she went after my brother."
Total silence. Solo waited for the next word.
"Is he... okay?"
Even from a room away, the words had bite. Pain and torment from the little dragon who had spoken up.
"We don't know," Twilight managed to force out around audible sniffles. "Roscherk–"
The other mare with the familiar voice released a subtle but guttural growl. Were it not for the timing, Solo might have passed it off as clearing her throat. Nopony made a comment, however.
"–thinks she killed him. But... he didn't find a body, and I can't just accept that he's gone. Not without looking, or something."
Silence trailed from the doorway, and some strange sense of guilt drew Solo's eyes away from the opening. With nowhere better to focus as she waited for more words, her eyes settled on a trio of nearby dummies. Two were garbed in much more pleasant clothing: a fairly average mare's figure wore a lightweight brown poncho embroidered in an entrancing pattern of white thread. Beneath it were a set of sturdy saddlebags. The corresponding stallion model was clothed in a dull gray vest with a pair of pockets on the front, and a sturdy leather bandolier was slung over its shoulder. A third ponyquin, shaped as another mare, was devoid of any clothing at all.
It had taken too long for anypony to speak up. There were probably hugs, or meaningful glances, or tears. Solo had no idea, really. She was on the outside, without even a window. Not looking in; just listening. And after a long pause, the deep-voiced mare spoke up. "Stalliongrad's a dangerous place, Twilight Sparkle."
"I'm not going after Masquerade," Twilight answered. "I'm just looking for my brother. Don't try to stop me. It was perfectly safe when Rainbow and I went to Saraneighvo a few years ago."
"By train?" the other mare, Resistant, pressed. "And ya stayed near the city?"
"Well, apart from when we went up the mountain, yeah, but why should that–"
"Stalliongrad ain't like the Domain of Canterlot, Twilight. The wastes 're like the Everfree Forest, if the air itself were out to kill you. There's yetis, vargr, harpies, winter wights... the hag."
"Baba Yagaur?" Twilight bit back a sniffle to respond firmly. "That's a foal's story, Resistant. Everypony knows gaurs can't use Arcana."
"What's a gaur?" Spike asked in a failed attempt at a discerning whisper.
Rather than the distraught purple mare, the voice of Rarity rose to answer the question. "They're like buffalo but with bigger horns."
Resistant ignored the side conversation, turning blunt but truthful words on Twilight's vulnerable heart. "I'm surprised you're so quick to blow off those stories, Twilight Sparkle. Wasn't Nightmare Moon just a foal's story too?" The deep-voiced mare chuckled lightly to herself, though the would-be laughter was shorter than most ponies would have carried it. There was a dead weight hanging from the noise, far heavier than the pain that permeated their room. Of all the ponies in the world, Going Solo understood the burden of solitude. "I'll leave ya to yer decision, Twilight Sparkle, but lemme just say this: the assassin ain't the most dangerous thing you're likely ta face if you go lookin' for your brother in the snow."
"What?" Twilight's sniffling didn't stop her curiosity. "Resistant, have you been to Stalliongrad before?"
"In a past life," she answered. And then she stepped out of the back room, and into Going Solo's field of view.
Fire. It was only a momentary thing, but the curtains were burning, and thick smoke filled Solo's lungs when she gasped in shock. Amidst it all was the mare. That mare. The traitor, though not the one who had ultimately struck her. And before her, a severed tusk. A pool of blood from the throat of a boar. A horseshoe bucked clear into a griffon's skull, so that one of its ends jutted out from between his eyes like the handle of a sword.
Above it all, the mare was calm, collected, and coiled like a spring. She balanced on three legs as she glanced over Solo, her eyes locking briefly on the empty spots on her armor where a higher-ranking soldier's sword and wing blades would be. There was no softness to her form; no gentle curves or kindly edges. She was a predator, and Solo was prey.
In no more than a moment, the fire and the blood were gone, and Solo focused on the other mare. On's fourth leg was occupied in clipping together a belt buckle around her torso. It connected to a sort of holster that looped under both her forelegs and around her back, with no fewer than a dozen little loops whose intended contents were unknown to Going Solo. Folded over her flank was what looked to be a tan duster jacket, sized for a pony of her enormous frame. She didn't seem to notice Going Solo as she removed the poncho, vest, and corresponding accessories from the ponyquins near the door.
All words failed the newly recruited guardspony, save one. It came out in a yelp of fear and terrible memories. "You!"
Four feet of earth pony muscle and the instincts of a killer shifted to look the pegasus in the eyes with mild disinterest. "A guardspony?" The most notable thing said was not the words themselves, but the fact that the mare's accent shifted from a southern cowpony's tone to a stern, masculine voice with the slightest hints of Stalliongradi on the edges.
"What's going on out there?" Rarity asked, most likely in response to the shout.
On and Solo shared glances of wildly unequal anger, before the earth pony spoke up with a gentle sigh. "Rarity, Twilight, Spike, come here."
"No, wait!"
"What?" Spike asked first, simply as a reflection of a quick reaction time. "Why not?"
Solo was honestly surprised when the larger mare rolled her eyes, and sauntered slowly away from the open doorway. "There," she muttered, with obvious exasperation, loud enough that everypony could hear. "I am far away, where I cannot snap off their horns or break their necks. I want to talk, not fight. Or do you honestly think I am stupid enough to hurt Celestia's student?"
"My dear, Resistant, what in Equestria are you talking about?" Rarity tentatively poked her head out of the doorway, and Solo recognized her immediately from the newspaper. "That's dreadful talk."
"She's not 'Resistant'. Her name is Soldier On. She's the Honor Guard traitor who tried to kill Princess Luna."
When Twilight came darting out of the back room a moment later, her horn was glowing. Despite the force on her face, the little patches of wet fur beneath her eyes were obvious. "What? All this time–"
"It is true." The mare took a moment to look away from Going Solo, and when she did, it was with surprise and concern. "Release your magic," Soldier On ordered with a growl.
"What? No!" Twilight answered. "I'm not going to trust you!"
On took a single step forward. It cleared almost a third of the distance separating her from the Archmage. "Did your brother tell you what happened when we met in Baltimare?"
"You beat him unconscious!" Twilight shouted, stepping forward with a mixture of anger and bravado. Soldier On was not intimidated.
"Yes, I did. I could very easily have beaten him to death instead. I also led him, a mare, and two foals out of a burning building." On delivered the answer with a scowl. "If I wanted to hurt you or your friends, Twilight Sparkle, I had six months sitting right under Celestia's nose to do it."
"You still tried to kill Princess Luna," Twilight countered. "And I can't let you go."
Soldier On closed her eyes and took a long slow breath. Her body shifted up and down a full two inches with the motion. Along with the action, the looming muscles of her shoulders and legs rippled and tensed. And then, in the fashion of a carnivore, her eyes flickered open again like lightning. "You cannot stop me, Twilight Sparkle."
"Shining taught me how to do his shields, and stunning magic."
"The problem, Twilight Sparkle, is that you're assuming those will help you. I would not care if you told me that Celestia herself had taught you how to turn ponies to stone. I am going to turn around, take my order, and walk out of this building. I'll leave Ponyville, and you will likely never see me again. But if you try to stop me, there will be violence."
Twilight's eyes widened, as logical fear overcame adrenaline. She prepared a response, but it never came out. Going Solo stepped forward and spoke up. "So you're just going to threaten her? The Bearer of Magic?"
"I'm not threatening her," On replied, as coldly detached as if she were lecturing a foal. "She's probably willing to take that risk, but I would never dream of harming her. I'm threatening you, guardsmare. You and the dragon are expendable. Do you understand, Twilight Sparkle?"
Twilight reeled back, eyes glancing to Spike. Her cunning mind fell victim to an equally potent imagination, and for a sliver of a second, her thoughts became daydreaming nightmares. Rarity stepped up to the dragon and wrapped a leg around him by way of protection. Though a kind gesture, it could not hope to prove enough.
Going Solo moved forward. In response, Soldier On made a simple motion. Casually, her right forehoof slid out of its shoe. Memories of a griffon with a similar iron curve lodged into his throat stopped her approach.
Seeing her advantage against the true threat, On pressed Twilight. "If you don't understand, I'll make it simple. Your brother got off one spell before I toppled him." On gently tapped the smooth line where half her right ear had been cut off. "You aren't as fast as he was."
The 'killing blow' had been landed. Twilight stepped backward twice, and twisted her head to the side so that her horn was pointed away from the looming mare. The arcane aura faded from her slowly.
On walked backward toward the front door of Carousel Boutique. She pressed against it with a rear hoof, before simply kicking it out of agitation when it held. The hinges endured the blow, but the latch shot straight through the wood of the doorframe.
"Thank you for seeing reason, Twilight Sparkle. I wish you luck and safety in the hunt for your brother. Rarity, I am sorry about this. You did excellent work. Tell the Royal Guard what happened today, and that I've been in Ponyville, hiding under the name Resistant. The information should get you ten thousand bits, if they have not changed the bounty." And then Soldier On actually laughed. "I hope that covers the doorframe."
Before anypony (or dragon) could offer a response, the mare was out of Carousel Boutique and sprinting away into Ponyville. Nopony followed.
- - -
Masquerade could not help but feel that she was being led to the gallows as Foresight guided her toward the upper tower suite that had been granted to Princess Luna. It was one thing to stand behind her when she had Hurricane's Armor and an unsuspected matching disguise to keep her safe. But she'd had months to study the Commander's habits, and he seemed to have far fewer curiosities and habits that her magic had to compensate for. She could feel her horn aching from the drain that hadn't let up in going-on eighteen hours. Her eyes were sagging as the constant exertion left her needing sleep, and her stomach growled with hunger.
The trip would have been much faster if she'd had somepony else as her guide. However, Masquerade was very quickly learning just how closely Burning Hearth Castle relied on 'Secretary' Foresight to function. They couldn't go twenty steps without some complicated question from the one of the many bureaucrats or castle staff who Masquerade was sure were moving by burrowing through the walls. If they weren't approaching Foresight with yet another question, it was as if they didn't exist.
At present, the stallion behind the slim gold-rimmed spectacles was dealing with a staff chef, and Masquerade was quite surprised at their choice of language.
"Je suis sûr que la princesse pourrez profiter de la vichyssoise, mais nous aurons besoin de plus. Faire quelques coquilles farcies, et peut-être un autre choix pour la soupe. La soupe de gingembre mangue vous faire serait un excellent choix."
"Je vais satisfaire la princesse, Secrétaire" The mare behind the thick white apron smiled as she walked away down one of the countless featureless gray hallways.
"Prench, Predvidenie?"
"I was tired of our native cooks burning my crepes. And I already spoke the language from my economics degree at Mareseilles. I grabbed some other staff while I was there too. For example, you should meet Feather Duster." Foresight stopped beside a heavy wooden door and slid it open with his hoof. Inside was a small billiards room, with plush carpeting and a small bar against the far wall. In the center of the place was a rather surprising mare. "Plumeau, un moment de votre temps, s'il vous plaît?"
Masquerade had more than a bit of trouble believing in the warm gray mare who wandered out of the chamber in a black and white outfit. "Prench maids, Predvidenie?" One of her little mental alarms suggested an added phrase to deter a bit of his suspicion. "I didn't think you had it in you."
The unicorn rolled his eyes. "I did not bring them to serve as... courtesans."
A thousand questions sprung into Masquerade's head in response, but she voiced none of them. Instead, a far more devious thought wriggled its way into her mind. "Avez-vous nettoyé ma chambre encore?"
Foresight's jaw dropped, too stunned for words, but it was the maid who answered. "Pas encore, monsieur."
Masquerade took a moment to shoot Foresight a teasing grin, before returning her focus to the maid. "Pourquoi ne pas prendre soin de cela maintenant? Je serai ainsi prochainement, et je ne voudrais pas le salir si peu de temps après je suis rentré."
With a distinct blush, and a hint of a smile, the mare nodded and darted off. It took Foresight almost twenty seconds to recover control of his jaw. "You... you learned Prench?"
"Princess Celestia speaks a lot of languages," Masquerade answered. "Want to hear another?"
"I... no, Roscherk, I don't. I can't believe you. The Princess teaches you a new language, and you use it to... I just... You don't actually want her to clean your bedroom, do you?"
"Well, not at first," Masquerade answered, playing as dirty as she could imagine. "After we're done, I'm sure her talents as a maid will come in handy. It's like they say: Vidi, vici, veni."
Foresight cocked his head, losing some of his agitation. "A Commander Hurricane quote? In old Cirran, no less. Princess Celestia really did manage to turn you around, Roscherk. You got the order wrong, though."
"No I didn't." The disguised assassin started striding away in their previous direction, as Foresight struggled with the old joke.
"I saw, I conquered, I... Roscherk!"
Masquerade chuckled as the unicorn ran to catch up with her. He probably had no idea of her plans for the maid, though she had to admit, the tracking spell to guide her to Red Ink's bedroom 'by memory' was a stroke of genius. Further, Foresight's reactions made it clear that she was doing well staying 'in character'. All that was left was to hope that the Princess wasn't any more personal with Red Ink than his own brother. Thankfully, that at least seemed unlikely.
Of course, Masquerade's assumption that the next stop would be Luna's chambers was, in its own way, a temptation of fate. No more than twenty yards of hallway later, two stallions in black jackets approached from a side hallway.
The larger of the two was a slate gray earth pony who for body structure looked like a scaled-up version of Red Ink. He had the sort of jaw you could cut diamonds on, and his face seemed to have been punched one too many times; he almost resembled a pug more than a pony. The shoulders of his jacket were decorated with gold stars, and a complex leather sling kept a sledgehammer strapped tightly to his back.
"Росчерк, будто вечность прошла! Как ты нынче?" It was a strange phrase, which took the assassin more than a moment to riddle her way through. The question came with a stiff, single-legged hug, which Masquerade reciprocated. Unfortunately, she had no idea what the stallion had said. His accent was an unconquerable obstacle, which seemed to imply that he began every morning by a cup of shredded glass, and then washing it down with molten lead.
She cast her translation 'spell', and gritted her teeth at the drain it put on her body.
"Something wrong, Roscherk?"
The question sent a fell chill down the assassin's spine. They shouldn't have seen her pain beneath Ink's face. She was running dry.
"Uh, no, just a headache," she answered in fluent Stalliongradi. "I'm sorry. It's good to see you too."
"Forget to light your blood on fire last night, Commandant?" the smaller of the two stallions asked. Masquerade spared him a quick glance. The pegasus had a certain musculature like his companion, but it was built over a clearly lanky frame, leaving him looking over-built and more than a little bit top-heavy. His jacket sleeves were loose around his forelegs. A sickle and a sword could both be seen beneath its fabric, and unlike most of the Stalliongradian soldiers, he wore a heavy steel cuirass as well. "It's been boring as Tartarus without you around, Roscherk."
Foresight cut into the conversation with the expression of mild disappointment that seemed to generally dominate his face. "Commandant Molot, it's a pleasure to see you. As for you, Marshal Serp, what are you doing so far away from Saraneighvo?"
"Get lost, Beancounter. I don't answer to you."
The earth pony gave a stern glance to his pegasus companion. "Serp, do not agitate the Secretary." To Masquerade's surprise, his gravelly, almost supernaturally deep voice was easy to understand in Equiish.
The same pony, Commandant Molot, turned his attention to Foresight directly. "I was informed that Princess Luna brought in a group of rebels, including the tigress Youmin. Marshal Serp has always been our best..." A momentary glance was shot in the direction of the mare disguised as Red Ink. "Well, our second best interrogator. I was hoping to dig out the rest of their leadership, and finally put an end to this insurgency. Of course, with the real Commandant here..."
All eyes turned to Masquerade, and she realized that she was being asked to make a military decision. It was a rather strange position to occupy, though the answer was simple enough. "I have to tend to Princess Luna, Molot. You deal with it."
Two jaws went slack, but Foresight nodded with something that looked like pride, or at least satisfaction. "Molot, you're the Commandant now. Roscherk is Princess Celestia's right hoof; he has his duty, and you have yours. And we're late as it is, soldiers, so if there's nothing else, you are excused."
"But, Commandant," Serp began, looking Masquerade's direction. "We can finally catch Stoikaja. Finish off that bitch forever, and win. Isn't that what you want?"
In some sense, the name brought Masquerade back to familiar territory. She knew what to say, rather than filling in the blanks off educated guesses and magical prompts. "That isn't my battle anymore, Serp. If you find her, make sure she suffers."
Foresight cringed lightly, but nodded. "As Roscherk says, soldiers. Now, is that everything? We are running late."
"Of course, Secretary," Molot muttered, putting a hoof on Serp's shoulder before the smaller pony could stay whatever angry rebuke was leaning off the tip of his tongue.
Foresight watched them walk for a few spare seconds before adjusting his glasses with a simple burst of telekinesis. "Well, that ought to be it, Roscherk. Let's go."
From that point, the path through Burning Hearth Castle was devoid of interruptions. Only the unsettling combination of bare electric lights and ancient gray stone blocks accompanied the two would-be brothers on their path up the second highest and easily most picturesque of the castle's towers.
Masquerade's focus waned and her body fought her, but not as harshly as her mind. Fooling Celestia was one thing; she still recalled listening in on the sun princess' conversation with Twilight Sparkle and Rainbow Dash, and her explanation of her own failings at the magic of illusions. Her sister, however, was another matter entirely. Certainly the only pony, and quite possibly the only being who was Masquerade's better at the art.
She discarded all her disguises, save the most basic. All her attention went into maintaining Ink's form. Emulating his personality would be an exercise in acting, and the reality of the cost behind a bad performance left the assassin on the verge of shuddering. The fact was that Masquerade wasn't used to danger. With her prior contracts, there was never a risk of discovery. Equestria as a whole was completely helpless against her skills. She'd all-but killed an immortal princess, taken down Celestia's 'legendary' bodyguard, and even beaten the Captain of the Royal Guard in a face-to-face battle. But the thought of going against Luna left her with the ghostly sensation of stone on the outside of her joints.
The thoughts were stolen away by a knocking on a door. Foresight's hoof, she realized. On Luna's door. She tensed, forced herself to take a quiet breath, and focused.
The door creaked open in the potent glow of Luna's magic. "Announce thyself," she ordered, without any particular force or volume. Behind the doors, the Princess sat on a massive blue cushion, staring out of a towering window. Despite her visitors, she made no effort to offer them a glance. Her eyes lingered on the snowy landscape below, and the half-finished black pillar jutting up from the center of the valley.
"Foresight, your highness," the unicorn stated plainly. "I've brought my brother."
"Captain Ink reporting, Princess," Masquerade added in Ink's voice, layering false confidence as thick as she could manage.
Luna stood, and spun on a dime. Masquerade's heart skipped two full beats. A massive bruise monopolized her left cheek, swollen out so far as to steal the beauty of a face that was said to rival the night sky. "What happened, Princess?" Masquerade asked, out of honest curiosity as much as false concern. She glanced around the rather sparse central space of the Princess' suite, and a second question rose to the front of her mind. "Where's your bodyguard?"
"Hold thy tongue, Captain." She said no more, instead focusing intently, as her horn picked at the air, in search of illusions. Masquerade was silently thankful for her own anticipation of the threat. Luna's magic found nothing as her eyes took in the short stature, the blood toned coat and mane, and the fiery brown eyes that she expected. Without saying a word, her horn ignited brighter still, lifting up Red Ink's jacket from Masquerade's flanks.
There is a certain school of thought which dictates that the solution to stage fright is to act out even more bravely. It was this idea which guided Masquerade's next words to Luna. "I thought you had the Night Guard for this," Ink's voice muttered, loud enough for all present to hear. "Aren't I supposed to fill that role with your sister?"
Foresight actually went through the trouble of removing his glasses from his face, and sitting down, so that he would be able to more comfortably cover his face with both his hooves. The Princess herself exhibited a similar opinion of the comment.
"I would have expected so crude a comment from Officer Image, Captain. Thou are to be held to a higher standard. We doth not call it the 'Honor Guard' so that it can bring us dishonor." Luna's magic dropped the back of Ink's jacket. "And, should our sister interrogate thee, that 'we' was to refer to both of us, and not merely myself."
Masquerade gave a curt nod. "Understood. Now, what's going on? Why look at my flank? And what happened to your face?"
Luna folded her wings, and her horn pulled both her own large cushion and a smaller spare to the center of the room. "Foresight, while I am thankful for your assistance, I must ask you leave us. I assure you, I shall be as safe in your brother's company as I am alone."
"Of course, Princess. I'll return when dinner is ready if you aren't done by then. Nothing as fancy as last night, unfortunately, but we do have a mango ginger soup or a vichyssoise, along with some cheese and squash stuffed shells."
"Delightful," Luna answered with an obvious shortness in her voice. "Bring us whatever you prefer."
"Excellent," Foresight responded, missing the urgency in her voice. "I'll bring up some champagne with that, and our finest vodka for my 'tasteful' sibling." The stallion went out of his way to emphasize the rebuke in Ink's direction, before magically adjusting his glasses and turning to leave. The doors didn't creak, or even make much of a noise at all, as he pulled them shut.
Luna's horn ignited briefly, and her aura coated the doors before fading. "There. We may speak freely now. You have asked me two different questions, and I shall answer them in turn. Firstly, my intentions were chaste. I was examining your mark, to ensure you were not the assassin in disguise. But whilst her illusions are perhaps the equal of all but my own, even I cannot truly change or disguise a mark." Luna settled down on the cushion she had pulled across the room earlier, and gestured for Ink to take the other seat. "Though I suspect it shall be most simple for you to identify her, Captain. To my knowledge, she is garbed in your form. Tell me, where is Captain Armor?"
There was a moment of hesitation, as Masquerade contemplated how much of the truth to give away. "Dead," she answered. "Masquerade knew we were following her. She set a trap on the Dragon-Fire Bridge. An explosive. I was able to endure the fire with my Empatha. Armor wasn't fast enough with his magic."
Luna closed her eyes and drooped her head. "Truly, a tragedy. That stallion was ever a noble champion of the guard. But we must do him the honor firstly of apprehending his killer."
"That's the plan," she responded with a bit of sarcasm that earned a glare from Luna. Unlike previous rebukes, however, it lent the assassin a second wind. Rude though it might have been, Luna was buying her act. "You have me concerned, though. Did you encounter her? And where are your bodyguards?"
"I dismissed Marathon, following the confrontation. She is somewhere in the castle, and frankly, I care not where. Officer Image was incapacitated in a conflict with Lord Krenn, the dragon ruler."
"I know the name," Masquerade muttered, before realizing what she had said. A silent wish hoped that the utterance made sense for Red Ink as well.
"Of course. You grew up here when the dragons came..." Luna let the words die out rather quickly, before picking up another thought. "That battle is not your concern."
Lying through her teeth, Masquerade responded in kind. "Your safety is my concern, Princess. That's why I'm here."
"You are here to apprehend the assassin," Luna contradicted.
"Princess Celestia seemed to want me to treat your protection as a higher priority."
Luna scowled. "Then I hath contradicted her orders. Soon, my Night Guard shall arrive to provide for my safety. As I understand, however, you have knowledge of the assassin's methods. My sister informs me that you slew her mentor? A grown wyrm, by her telling."
Masquerade struggled to put on a smile, but it only came across as a half-flanked grin. Thoughts of her own mentor's fate at Red Ink's hooves were weighty things for her emotional state.
"Further, my Night Guard do not know this city. And, if what you say of the bridge is true, I fear we shall have to rely on this Domain's soldiers to provide a force for your hunt. I also understand you once commanded them?"
"Yes," Masquerade answered with assurance, calling on her conversation with Molot and Serp from mere minutes prior. "And you don't need to tell me twice. It's time Masquerade paid for what she's done. To you, and to my family." She thought it was a nice touch, even if the reality of her involvement in the latter was not quite as Red Ink tended to portray it. "Is there anything else?"
"No, Captain. Go and find her."
Masquerade walked away with a smile on her face, and a hunger in her lips. The time had come for the real fun to start.
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Well done as always. I do wish I had you commendable ability to write such lengthy chapters, but oh well. That's the sacrifice I make for a weekly schedule.
Here's looking forward to chapter 8 and (perhaps) a family dinner or some other thing that out's Masquerade. I can imaging a certain picture would really ruin her day.
Finally, it's here! It's been so long, but it was worth it. Now I eagerly await the next 12k words for Chapter 8. Hopefully that won't take as long. Keep up the great work!
If only they knew...
You're version of the show is about as far-off as Max Gillardi's pony.mov series (though obviously not as strange). Honestly, the "Friendship Express" has never felt more jarring than in this story. Practically everyone hates each other, and all the characters (who are not kept out of the loop) are out for blood. I tell ya, as much as I like this story, and appreciate its quality, it sure leaves a sour, depressed taste in my mouth at the end of every chapter.
Every. Chapter.
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Some Pretty Quirky Clouds?
Man, seeing the antagonists being able to do their stuff right in front of our protags without recourse is irritating.
I would think she would use the clear Skysteel, since why else would you introduce something without using it?
Er... I'm not sure who or what you used to translate into French, but this sentence is quite silly to anyone who can read French proficiently. While it's true that this does directly translate to "I will please the princess, Secretary", the version of "please" you used is wrong. You want the verb "to please", not "please" as in "please pass the potatoes".
I haven't used my French writing abilities in a little while, so this might be a little rusty, but the way you actually want to write it is more like this: "Je vais faire la princesse plaisir, Secrétaire." Or perhaps like this: "Je vais satisfaire la princesse, Secrétaire."
In any case, I still thoroughly enjoyed this chapter. I don't imagine you'll need to use French too much in this story, but if you do need to, I'd be willing to translate for you. I took thirteen years of French, so I know a little bit about it.
Looking forward to the next chapter!
Amazing can't wait for more
2210305
That's 11 more years than I took, and the 2 years I took were some time ago; I did all the french in the chapter myself, with Google Translate helping on singular words that I couldn't remember, but not phrases or grammar (because you get wonky stuff that way). Still, disappointed that I messed up verb form. I mean, looking at what I wrote, that's painful. If I use any more French, I'll be glad to have you assist me with it, though I certainly doubt there will be as much Prench as Stalliongradi.
Thanks!
2210502
No problem! For what it's worth, the rest of the Prench seemed fine to me. The phrasing was a little awkward at times, but nothing as blatant as the error I mentioned. Pretty good for just two years and Google Translate!
2209761
Given the nods to Roman infulence, I'm guessing is a twist on SPQR which roughly translates to 'For the Senate and People of Rome.' Just with Cloudsdale inserted in there.
Whatever Masquerade is up to, she better get about it quickly as I really doubt she will be able to properly pose as Red Ink for long. The fancy illusion is one thing, but her lacking language skills should get her in trouble really quickly. Even with a spell for translating what she is hearing, barely speaking anything in his native tongue ought to become really suspicious. And that doesn't even address that Celestia may have already called ahead to let Luna know that the first Red Ink is a fake. (We may have seen this happen already, don't remember offhand.)
Wow. Apparently there is a time and a place for a surprise party, and there's a terrible time and place for a surprise party.
Ooooo, very nice touch.
Mildly suspicious. Original appearance, or something that happened post-KCAFO?
The masquerade ball outfits are also a little suspicious, I imagine those will be coming up again later on.
Well, so much for Soldier On's anonymity in Ponyville. Part of me would like to have seen Twilight beat her like a drum or launch her into LEO, but I suspect that's not in the cards in this particular story.
That is terrible and hilarious.
Well, so much for hoping Luna would immediately out her. Maybe she will dream conference with Celestia and pick up a few more details on when the real Red Ink should arrive. Assuming that can happen before anyone is assassinated.
Red Ink has hands? Did I miss something?
2210659
Except is isn't actually Cloudsdale... the real world just tends to get lost over, say, 8,000 years of disuse.
For more information, see Of Skies Long Forgotten by the 24th Pegasus.
2210827
You'd think people would get that I'm not perfect by now, and yet it seems as if I still maintain a saint-like reputation(?)
I'm usually pretty good about not using 'hand'-based metaphors, but that one must have slipped past me. I'll hop into the chapter and fix it in a bit, along with my bad French, but if its bothering you right now, you're welcome to imagine that a Draconic (or perhaps even draconian) metaphor is being referenced there, and that's why it isn't his 'hooves'.
2210732
i290.photobucket.com/albums/ll264/ahrinin/VENI.jpg
>>For Everyone:
Two people in the comments have accurately guessed events in the very next chapter, which is already done, mostly edited, and should be out by Tuesday or Wednesday at the VERY latest.
Fun Fact: I actually intended for this chapter and the next chapter to be the same chapter. I sat down and wrote the entire thing in a single word document. Then I glanced down at the word counter, and saw a nice, beautiful twenty-two thousand and something staring back at me.
I like big chapters, but there is a line.
-Loyal Liar
Great chapter. Can't wait for more.
Well, it looks like the grand adventure of Dash, Deadeye, and Soldier On is about to begin.
Not gonna lie, that is by far the arc I'm most excited about. Only because Dash/Deadeye interaction is the best thing since sliced bread.
Also, it was nice to see more Going Solo. She's one of my favourite characters, to be sure.
Lastly, I doubt Red Ink will make it in time to stop Masquerade. I guess we just have to hope that she slips up somewhere.
You know, that's an interesting point. Masquerade seems really and truly fearful that Luna will figure her out and yet, deceiving Luna seems to be completely effortless. Why would she be afraid if it's seemingly as easy to fool Luna as it was to fool everypony else? There's a bit of dissonance here because why she was afraid and why she had no reason to be are left entirely to the imagination.
+5. Seriously... Soldier On threatens Going Solo and Spike and claims Twilight isn't as fast as Shining... and Twilight doesn't respond at all? Makes no attempt to stop her at all? Says nothing in response? Manifests no reaction? This just makes no sense at all.
I also reiterate my above comments about Masquerade and Luna: Masquerade regards Luna as being more masterful at illusion than Masquerade... and yet a simple cantrip is more than enough to deflect this supposed master's examination of her. This, like Twilight's total absence of reaction to the mare that beat up her brother and is now threatening someone who's very dear to her (Spike). There are so very profound holes here.
2211191
In retrospect, I might have expounded on this idea, but here's the issue in Masquerade's head:
Luna is a near-total unknown. There's the risk of discovery by her 'special illusion' failing, but that isn't the concern. The problem is that she has no idea how well the real Red Ink has gotten to know Luna for the past 6 months. Further, while she can use her 'support illusions' to wave off most of the weird nuances with Foresight, having those spells up against Luna will get her detected instantly. So in going to meet Luna, she's flying completely blind and praying that she doesn't say something entirely wrong.
There's also Luna's fear of the Night Guard, as she alludes to when speaking with Foresight.
Of course, we know that the Night Guard aren't there, and that Red Ink has spent most of the 6 months of Masquerade's imprisonment 'learning friendship' in Ponyville (see From Stalliongrad With Love). In slightly different circumstances, Masquerade would have been caught right then and there. Things turned out well for her by a combination of blind luck and the security of her one special trick.
2211296 Why do I have this funny feeling that Masquerade is going to be handwaved from success to success until the suspension of disbelief is five chapters passed shattered? And frankly, there's quite a bit about Masquerade's performance that seems like it'd completely give her away to anyone even remotely acquainted with Red Ink (at least as he's been depicted in these stories) that it's hard to believe that Luna was so easily tricked.
Anyway, I'm used enough to "this won't make sense for another 10 chapters" that I might as well move on; what's behind what happened with Twilight and Soldier On?
2211337
Actually, a fair bit of it will make sense 'next chapter', which is to say, in the 2nd half of this chapter that I cut in half for length reasons. I can't say it will be enough to satisfy you, but the topic is brought up.
When you ask 'what's up' between Twilight and Soldier On, I assume you're referring to the use of the name 'Resistant' and Twilight suddenly 'knowing' her. This explanation was actually already given by Scootaloo in regards to the wanted poster from Canterlot, but to summarize: since the events of Act 1, Soldier On has been using a false name ("Resistant") and working as a 'farm hoof' for the Apples at Sweet Apple Acres. Ponyville isn't a big enough town for somepony new to go completely unnoticed, but that's very different than saying that she became anything by way of the center of attention. Twilight knows her name, and recognizes her in the same sense that she'd recognize, I don't know, Lyra? Or the guy who runs the Quill and Sofa shop? However, the knowledge that she's actually an ex-Honor Guard 'traitor' is quite naturally not very public. It helps that she basically didn't come into town, ever (a little like Big Mac in that regard). She was also smart enough to pointedly avoid Rainbow Dash.
That whole thing is an allusion to From Stalliongrad With Love as well, but again, Scootaloo did make a point of explaining things so that if people aren't reading that, the events here should still make sense.
If I'm totally wrong in my assumption of your question, of course, let me know.
2211382 No... as I specifically stated twice, I'm asking why Twilight gives up so easily and demonstrates absolutely no reaction to Soldier On threatening Spike and Going Solo. On informs her that she's not fast enough, threatens Solo and Spike, kicks the door, and then just trots off without you describing ANY reaction on the part of Twilight or anyone else to any of it.
This may be an effect of cutting the chapter in half for length. If that's the case... it was a really, really bad idea to cut it in half because it utterly disrupts the flow of something that was written as a single piece.
2211191
Soldier On: Twilight had half year to know Resistant, they haven't just met, that could stay her hoof. However, I find it strange that she couldn't recognise her from Shining description, there aren't many 4 feet tall mares, now that was stretch. As for her threat, she was... bending the truth. Shining wasn't defeated by her because she was so good - he was poisoned.
2211416
Apologies; I missed the latter end of the first comment.
Firstly, I didn't cut any scenes 'in half'; The end of this chapter is a scene break.
Frankly, I saw no need to expound on Twilight's feelings here, because they're fairly obvious. Her relationship with Spike has been heavily covered by the show, and that applies directly here. I asked myself "Do I need to show Twilight and Spike and Rarity having a moment as they comfort each other and break down and worry about what happened?" And the answer, quite simply, was no. Doing so would establish that Twilight loves Spike, which everyone already knows.
What I could have done would be to have Twilight write Celestia a letter then and there about having located Soldier On, only for the guard to arrive too late to catch her, following the next scene. My choice here, instead, is to have Celestia later state "I got a letter from my faithful student, saying that she'd encountered this wanted guardsmare, who ran away from Ponyville...". I felt that the choice to put that logical information into a separate scene better handles the flow of events here, without being entirely jarring. Nobody should think "Oh, sending a letter is something Twilight wouldn't do in that situation." after-all. Meanwhile, such a distribution preserves the ending I put to that scene. The abrupt and jarring scene conclusion was intended to create a feeling of emotional dissonance, playing off the idea that On might not really wanted to have threatened what she threatened, as well as that Solo and Twilight are perhaps in a bit over their heads. Her reaction to a threat of extreme violence is something that not only can, but ought to be allowed space to grow later, much like an exploration of death or the actual occurence of violence.
To put it another way, this method of conveying the scene ends with a sensation where the reader is intended to mimic Twilight's actual approach to the situation: while she might intellectually understand it, emotionally, she is in shock. The actual sinking in of what happened here does not belong here; it belongs later, where it can be addressed slowly, and surface its ugly head in later situations that might appear similar.
The thing that really matters are those last two words. "Nopony followed." Angry or not, Twilight's response isn't going to be to attempt to chase after On and fight her or take her down. She's not stupid, she's not violent (or even really confrontational as Rainbow might be in a similar situation), and On's words about Shining (2211461 a bluff though they may have been) were well chosen. Twilight doesn't try to do anything to directly stop On because she's afraid for her friends - a much more potent threat to one of the Elements of Harmony than threatening their own safety. It's a better choice for her to hold back, keep her friends safe, and let Celestia and the guard deal with On.
Why not say anything to On? What is there to say? Demands to surrender have already been made. Threats explained. Then On leaves in peace (minus a broken door), even going so far as to direct Rarity to claim the bounty on information about her in repayment.
Why not say anything to Spike, Rarity, and Solo? Well, she does. I just didn't write it. If you think I should have, I can understand your point, but I had established what I needed to for the scene, and what remained was a rehash of canonical relationships, plus one pseudo-guardspony standing in the corner and not really taking part in a complex and developed relationship between three close friends. That information does nothing to progress the story (except perhaps to loosely expand Solo's characterization), and thus I felt that it had no place taking up text.
2211461
That's called 'racial profiling', Keyesty.
I know you're reading FSWL, so you might be forgetting that 'Resistant' did a pretty good job of not being 'that Stalliongradian mare', to the point of actually effecting a different accent (in fact, if I recall correctly, she even did that when Rainbow finally met up with her in the CMC Clubhouse a chapter or two ago here).
2211574
Well, she still have unique look, from complexion to her ear (or lack thereof). Unless she stole AJ's hat and dyed herself orange.
In last chapters of Act I there was talk between Shining and Twilight about her, so, accent she may fake, but single look from Twilight should have outed her immediately. Yet, from their "pre-Solo" (Rarity, Twilight and On) conversation it sound as they have had at least some familiarity with each other from before.
That said, it is not something I will go "Boo!" about, but it does look strange in hindsight.
2211574 I think you're missing the point by a country mile here, Loyal. The movement of events goes directly from threat to kicking the door to On leaving and then nothing. So... we're supposed to just imagine how Twilight responds to the threat? OK then: I imagine that she doesn't care about Spike and blows the top off of the Boutique in a fit of rage over being thwarted.
Is this a reasonable assumption? Of course not! But "no one in the Boutique reacts at all to On's claims, her showing Twilight her damaged ear, her threats, her kicking a piece out of the door, or her walking off into the night" shatters suspension of disbelief all to hell because no reader is stupid enough to imagine that not a single thing On did provoked any kind of reaction whatsoever. The reason I assumed you must have cut the chapter off early is that it's so obviously incomplete that I didn't want to believe that you made that major of an error on purpose. I've got several issues with how you've constructed things but this is the first time I can think of where you made a massive storytelling error by chopping a vital piece out of a scene for no reason at all.
No reaction to finding out about the ear? No reaction to her kicking a piece out of the door? No reaction to the threat? No reaction to "you're too slow"? No reaction to a traitor just prancing on out? That's like building a house and leaving out all the load-bearing walls. You may be disinclined to fix something that severe, but i really wish you would.
2211574 Also, this:
I'm sorry, but that is possibly the most imbecile statement I've EVER read. Being unusual tall isn't a racial trait and being from a particular city or province isn't a racial trait either.
Awesome chapter as usual.
2211781
That was me making a joke to my pre-reader because of a joke about the portrayal of Russian soldiers in popular fiction, not a legitimate misconception of the concept of racial profiling.
I'll just go ahead an reply to your other comment here as well, rather than leaving you with 4 '!' notifications on your user bar.
I'll concede you your point; reaction from Twilight and co. was missing in this scene. My first reaction was to assume that you had meant I ought to have appended such a discussion onto the end, rather than in the body of the scene. I still stand by how I ended the passage, but I did amend a few small paragraphs into the body of the action. Rather than force you to read it all again, I'll append it below, with added segments recolored.
I'd like to thank you for taking the time to 'beat a point through my head'. Although I disagree with your assessment of the 'volume' of the error ("a massive storytelling error by chopping a vital piece out of a scene for no reason at all."), I was in error, and I appreciate your taking the time to assist me in rectifying the situation.
There is one final thing I'd like to mention, in regards to your comment here:
I do draw issue with the allegation that I'm 'hand-waving' Masquerade's 'victories'. However, in many senses, I'm stuck between a rock and a hard place with her (and, for the sole chapter of his 'appearance' thus far, her contractor as well). Namely, that both function off suspense and mystery, and to some degree, that requires me to withhold information on both. Now, I do make a point of including little bits of information that allow the reader to build toward a resolution, much as one might find in a mystery novel. However, when I'm discussing things in the comments, trying to explain how Masquerade 'beat' Luna" in this chapter, I don't want to just point these little things out. If I do, that takes away a lot of the fun of trying to piece things together for whatever other readers might be playing along. Thus, all I can really say is that there is a reason other than dumb luck (or, for that matter, prophecy magic) by which Masquerade is able to achieve the things she does. The trouble is that the actual outright revelation of that information is deliberately being staged out not as a means of padding the story, but instead to allow the audience to play along with our protagonists as they build information about these two major antagonists, and try to stop them.
This methodology behind writing theses characters may not be everyone's cup of tea, but I do get get both comments and personal messages filled with the speculations of other readers who seem to be enjoying 'playing along' and trying to solve things themselves, much in the same fashion as speculations on the Commander's identity during Act 1, or how Deadeye is 'alive' again.
Anyway, thank you again.
-Loyal Liar
2214891 I think one of the troubles I have is that you constantly and randomly switch between third person limited (where the reader is put in the place of someone watching the character from the outside without being able to tell what they're thinking or feeling) and third person omniscient (in which the reader is observing the character but knows everything they're thinking, feeling, seeing, and why they can do what they're doing etc) within the same segment. Sometimes we know what a character is about and then in the next sentence, we're kicked outside to "mere observer" for a paragraph and then we're back in their head and all-knowing. Mystery novels work because the reader is either always observing the mystery-solver from the perspective of another character (as in Sherlock Holmes books), or they're in the head of that mystery-solver and given everything the mystery-solver has, most especially their motives and techniques. You utilize neither approach. Mystery stories also fully establish the world and how it works before bringing the reader into it; if this was a mystery novel, we'd already know how Masquerade can do what she does, how death and reanimation work, the specific capabilities of the various races, the specific histories in play, and everything else.
"Thoughts of her own mentor's fate at Red Ink's hands were weighty things for her emotional state."
I didn't know that ponies had hands. 
2210502
). But don't worry too much about it because there is hardly anybody who can read it. I'm probably the only French guy who read this fic. (which is one of the best i've ever read btw 
)
Seriously, the French isn't really good (but it made me laugh a lot
Still enjoying the story very much, though it does turn out i hadn't read more than the... first chapter or so. Yet all until the latest were marked as read. Odd.
However... I must correct the french here!
.
Je suis certain que la Princesse appréciera la Vichyssoise, mais nous avons besoin de quelque chose de plus. Faites des coquilles farcies, et peut-être une autre soupe. De la soupe à la gingembre mangue serait un excellent choix?
"I will satisfy the princess." ? Maybe Roscherk isn't so far off here.
In this case, I'd outright change it to "Yes, mr secretary", or something of the sort. "Tout de suite, Secrétaire."
Avez vous déja nettoyé ma chambre?
I... think you're saying "why not take care of this now? i'll be along shortly, and i wouldn't want to dirty it so soon after coming home." Though I'm not 100% sure. Tell me what it should be and I'll give you a correct version ^^;
The machete scene confused me until I got that he was using the memories to fuel his magic. Oooh!
"SPQC", heh. Cloudsdale used to speak ancient Bitalian, like in the Roaman Republic/Empire? :P
Should I remember this pony? Drawing a blank...
Your story is awesome, but let me help you with the french parts :
"Je suis sûr que la princesse aimera une vichyssoise, mais il faudra plus. Faites quelques coquilles farcies, et peut-être une autre soupe. Celle de gingembre et de mangue serait un excellent choix."
By the way, according to Wikipedia, there's chicken in the vichyssoise. I'm not sure if the princess would like that.
"Plumeau, un instant s'il vous plaît."
"Avez-vous nettoyé ma chambre ?"
I don´t really understand what you meant by that, but I think it should be something like this :
"Pourquoi ne pas en prendre soin maintenant ? J'y serai bientôt, et je ne voudrais pas la salir si peu de temps après être rentré."
Masquerade... shit's going to hit the fan soon, I can just feel it. Luna, be careful! The way you wrote the scene where Deadeye was working on his machete was really nice. Having brief snippets of memories interspersed with his working was a nice touch that... well, it did exactly what it was supposed to. It gave a glimpse, albeit small, into his life and what he's been through. It's sad that he attacked his own family, but really people, ya gotta be careful with stuff like that. Please Luna, keep a watchful eye (heh) and watch your back. Hopefully the real Ink will show up soon and do away with the impostor. It was a fun chapter, one that I finished at work during my break. Already half way through the next one while finishing this comment up.
~SolidFire
And you pretty much let an assassin have a free run at Luna, so forgive us if we think your record is a tad spotty.
It's funny, cuz that's not even what it means.