A collection of stories designed as the playground of an overactive mind. Here, anything and everything can be written.
Fantasy, Sci-fi, mystery and more. The number of stories that have been cast off into the void simply because there's not enough time to write them all is too great. What follows will be an assortment of stories which I had written at some point but never published. Some have been reformatted into one-shots, while others are brand-new and will have recurring chapters. If you like any particular chapter let me know, however, this is more of a personal collection for myself, where I can write those burning ideas in my head without distracting from the main stories I want to develop. Thus, they will come as and when I like.
For organization, any one-shot chapters will be labelled [One-shot]. Otherwise, the chapter titles will clue you in as to which story it is about if you are interested in only reading specific entries.
The skyline looked beautiful from the top of the silo. It was the only area in Ponyville with green trees and big, ripe apples. Little neon fibre optics marked the irrigation lines, leading to the edge of the farm where the road took you to the city itself. Applebloom couldn't believe it sometimes when she looked at her old family photos.
No cloudscapes that reached up and met the pegasi, no megablocks that housed thousands of ponies in a single building, just some down-to-earth businesses and homes. The night seemed to come quicker now as the sun set behind the structures of the city.
Applebloom flicked on her Light-Tat, a little orange circle tattooed above her right eye, that worked like a torch, illuminating whatever was right in front of her. As the sun set, she continued sketching new designs for the farm. A new water purifier, for the factory run-off that seeped through the ground into the local water supply, needed to put in the fields closest to the city. It was a pain, but every pony knew the costs when the first factory was built at the edge of Ponyville.
A truck rolled down the road. Its sputtering engine generated magic as the vehicle approached the farm. Big Mac loved coming in slow, riding the poor thing until it hummed to a standstill right at the door of the barn. She spotted the buckets he took that morning, now filled with pieces of tech from the junkyard not far from Sweet Apple Acres. Hopefully, there was something in there to finally repair the truck's engine.
"We all set for tomorrow?" Applebloom shouted down to Big Mac.
"Yep," he confirmed, waving an old, but intact, motor from his truck. The motor would make a pump, and the pump meant they could finally put the purifier from the shed to the farm. It was also when Applejack came back from Manehattan. Hopefully this time she brought some big-city presents.
Applebloom flicked off her Light-Tatt and climbed down the silo to help Big Mac unload his truck. There were coils of wires and glass jars filled with expired, purple pizofluid. But, at the very least, pizofluid made great lava lamps when expired. When it was fresh, pizofluid was the primary component to making ink for tattoos with nano-robotics built in them. NanoTatts, colloquially named for the most famous brand of tattoos.
Applebloom flicked hers on again to take a better look at what her brother bothered to bring home. Some of the circuit boards were clunky pieces of crystals and metal warped together by magic, clearly over a decade old. There were scrapped parts from just about every manufacturer in Ponyville, from prosthetic hooves to broken speakers.
"Was any of this necessary?" Her voice strained as she carried a bucket over to the barn and set it down by some hay. She envied her friend Sweetie Belle for having magic to levitate stuff.
Big Mac scanned his haul again and shrugged. "I dunno."
Applebloom rolled her eyes at him. "At least you got the right motor." She grabbed the heavy metallic cylinder and put it in the shed by the barn, placing it in the box marked projects.
"Leftover Friday," she reminded Big Mac while he hauled the other buckets to the barn. "I'm gonna heat up the mushroom pot pies while you finish here." He nodded back.
Fixing up dinner was one of the chores she didn't mind. She always loved making potions, it was the only magic she could do, and cooking was a lot like testing an alchemy recipe. Applebloom squeezed a dollop of anti-bacterial gel on her hooves and wiped it clean on a dishrag before grabbing two trays of half-eaten pies from the fridge and sliding them into the oven.
As much as she loved making new things, it was also a Friday, which needed a no-work night to welcome the weekend. She leaned back in a dining chair and waved her hoof over the light switch, dimming the whole room. The kitchen was a lot like the way it was when she was a filly, only a lot more metallic and shiny. She needed a lot less light to wind back and relax.
After a couple of minutes, there was the sound of a bell in her left ear. She had another NanoTatt, a little green snake that ran the edge of her ear. The nanorobotics in the tattoo played sound into her ear and could receive calls from linked tattoos, like the ones her friends had.
She kept her eyes closed and tapped on her ear. "Hey, Sweetie Belle!"
"Hi Applebloom," her friend greeted on the other side of the call. "We're getting off the train from Canterlot right now. Still got some open seats for dinner?"
"I thought your sister hated leftovers?"
"She does, but you're cooking's so good I think she forgot. Besides, we were hoping we could stay over to surprise Applejack when she gets back tomorrow."
"Of course," Applebloom smiled. "You'll finally get to see all the new stuff I added to the clubhouse."
The sound of Sweetie Belle's excitement ringed in her words. "I can't wait. See you later."
"See ya." Applebloom tapped her NanoTatt and ended the call.
"I smell something good," Big Mac bellowed as he marched in from the living room, drawn to the food heating up in the oven.
"You're not coming into my kitchen until you wash yourself off, mister," Applebloom mocked, pointing to the oil-covered NanoTatt on his shoulder. "I can barely see you under all that junkyard filth."
He looked himself over and resigned to the shower upstairs. He was just too dirty to argue back.
Applebloom got up and went outside again. She didn't need to worry about the oven, it'd know when the food was ready and automatically set itself to keeping it warm. She looked off from the porch, and fro the corner of her eye spotted a little blue crystal tablet sitting on the railings.
"There you are," she said. The NanoTatt on her right foreleg, a glowing green tree branch with an apple on the end, lit up and linked her with the device. The tablet responded by projecting a blue display up in front of her. The device tracked the NanoTatt on her right hoof, letting her control the icons on the display. She expanded a little image of a book until it took up the whole screen. Machining Magic, Edition 17, it showed while the text loaded up.
The tablet continued to project the screen in front of Applebloom as she walked around the farm. She read the logs on new software and hardware. "Sixteen crystal-core processors" flashed over a picture of a computer, followed by a list of the device's other specs. The beast of a machine looked like a miniature version of a megablock tower. A few pages later were the drone section.
Maybe she could order a few drones to spread fertilizer around the farm. Applebloom thought to herself about how she would add a nitrogen-sulfur dispenser onto the drones to help her fertilize the fields. She skipped over the lighter models; only the heavy-duty drones had the thrust to carry a big tank.
Once her screen started to flicker she circled back to the house. Ponyville looked like one of those pictures of the deep sea, where little creatures made their own light. Power cables wrapped the city like vines, glowing purple and blue with magic, and the buildings were trees that housed a million fireflies.
Sweetie Belle and her sister, Rarity, would be here soon. Knowing them, they probably rented a nice car, the ones that still looked like old pony-drawn carriages with elegance written all over it. Anyways, Bic Mac was probably done scrubbing the muck off his coat.
Applebloom chuckled. Probably not clean enough for their company though. And, even with all their wonderful technology, she still had to set the table herself.
Sweetie Belle stretched her legs the moment she got off the train. Ponyville's downtown was nothing like Canterlot. Polished metal furniture and pristine modern architecture were gone. Instead, she smelled soldering kits and factory smoke and felt the shoulders of ponies just trying to squeeze by. Blocks of greyish black metal and concrete stretched up and over, suspending businesses higher to follow their profits.
It felt like home. She rolled her bags out behind her and followed her sister, who was already at the station's rental kiosk. While Rarity mulled over which car they'd look more stylish in, Sweetie Belle decided to catch up on some business. She left her stuff in the waiting lounge and made her way to another wing of the train station until she reached the nearest store selling software downloads for NanoTatts.
"Look who it is, Ms Belle herself," announced the scrawny stallion at the cash register.
"Nice to see you too Feather Weight," she replied. When they were young they went to the same school together. She wondered where his photography career would have gone if he didn't get so interested in Techomedia.
"What's the new's on the VizSync update?" Sweetie Belle pointed to the green NanoTatt of a phoenix wing beside her right eye. "Can't wait to see what they've added."
Feather Weight shook his head. "I'm telling ya, Eye Tek tattoos are the way to go. They come out cheaper and earlier than VizSync every year."
"They also come with closed source operating system," Sweetie Belle countered, "which means no mods from yours truly."
Feather Weight sighed. "Yeah, alright. Came out two days ago, what colour you want?"
"Green, of course," she replied, almost bouncing from excitement.
He turned to the shelves behind him and picked a sealed crystal cylinder of pizofluid. He checked the date printed on it, picked up a syringe, and injected a set of nanorobotics through the thick plastic seal on the top. Sweetie Belle watched as the purple fluid glowed, turning green as the LENs--light emission nanites--activated. But those were just for show. The real magic was in the nanites carrying the new software.
"You know, you're just about the only pony I know willing to mod a NanoTatt synced with her eye." Feather Weight remarked as he put the cylinder into a little machine that resealed the punctured plastic and put it in a plastic bag for Sweetie Belle.
"What can I say? VizSync makes good augmented reality software. I just gotta make it better." Sweetie Belle put her hoof to the scanner on the checkout counter. Her NanoTatt of a gold coin glowed. She saw the digital receipt hovering over the scanner as she paid, reading what she had bought and how much it cost. Fifty e-bits was removed from her bank account.
"I tell ya, I'd be too freaked out to do anything with my eyes, but that's just me."
Another message, in the corner this time, popped up in Sweetie Belle's eye. It was from Rarity, saying the rental car arrived.
"It was nice seeing you again Feather Weight," she told him, "but I gotta go to Applebloom's."
He put a hoof to his forehead dramatically. "Oh! How I've been replaced by a better friend!" He couldn't help but laugh at his own joke. "But seriously, tell that farm girl to come by sometime. I know the Apples aren't big on city tech, but I bet she'll find something she'd like."
"Sure thing. I'll see you around." Sweetie Belle left the store and galloped back over to her sister. She was waiting outside the train station and had somehow convinced the stallion who drove their car over to help her with all the bags. In her typical fashion, Rarity had to choose the most antique model the kiosk had available.
She didn't know much about cars, but whatever she wanted to know, her NanoTatt could find out. Its design looked like it belonged in a museum detailing the royal processions of Celestia and Luna, but it sported jet black laminated metal with neon blue highlights. The seats were Fabricade designed, a company that dominated the industry for artificial leathers and wool.
The orange sky above peeked through the solar panels that jutted off the edge of the city's tallest structures. Pegasi moved through the skyways, confined in the spaces created by the megalithic structures of the city.
"Alright Miss Rarity, is that all?" asked the driver.
Rarity shook his hoof, tipping him through their NanoTatts. Sweetie Belle focused her eye on the driver's hoof and read the data, her tattoo organizing it into a digital receipt. A ten-bit tip? Then again, she was a generous one. Sweetie Belle hopped into the car.
Rarity followed to the diver seat and exhaled as she sat down. "Technology may be a wonder, dear, but I honestly wonder sometimes if it was worth losing all of Ponyville's charm."
"I think it just has a new charm," Sweetie Belle replied. "Everything's closer together now. There's a NanoTatt store at every corner, and Vendomatics at every grocery store."
"You know, I'd wish you'd stop eating all that junk food those machines sell," Rarity told her as she waved her horn over the car's control console. She checked her blind spots and steered out onto the street, casually driving their way to the edge of Ponyville.
"What else am I supposed to eat?" Sweetie Belle asked. "It's not like there's a lot of cheap snack options at CIM."
"Well it's not like you live there, darling," Rarity replied. "Go off-campus."
"I gotta be there all day for office hours. Professor Quartz insists students go to discussion leaders before asking him any questions."
"Well those students are lucky to have you," her sister reassured. "Not every pony can be as talented as you. Still, taking a short vacation should be on your to-do list."
Buildings shrunk down as they entered the less populated edges of Ponyville. Here were some remnants from twenty years ago. Little shops selling fans and candy and books were just the first floor to bigger markets and housing complexes, but while everything was metal and neon, they kept their look. Of course, she missed how things were, the same way every pony missed their childhood. But life had to move forward.
Rarity slowed the car as they passed one of the channels that piped factory run-off out of the city. Sweetie Belle saw the reflection of her phoenix tattoo light up in the window as she scanned the construction site. The collapsed building was a design store for a company called Techno Incorporated, a repair shop for NanoTatts.
Heavy-duty drones shined beams of light and lifted sections of rubble that had collapsed over the run-off system underneath. The hazardous liquid, bright blue and purple blobs and chunks in a soup of black impurities, was leaking on the streets and underground.
Sweetie Belle's NanoTatt displayed blueprints of the local infrastructure. It highlighted the waterlines, and she could trace them all the way to the end of the street. Doubtless, there'd be no be running water as long as that intersection was contaminated. Maybe Ponyville did rush its development. City planning needed some work.
But she let the thought pass as quickly as Rarity drove by. The Princesses were in charge, and she knew Twilight very well. As long as she was able, she'd never stop working for other ponies' sake. The rest of the city was doing fine, and it was all under her supervision.
Finally, the fields outside the city were in sight, and they both exhaled a little at the breathtaking sight of nature. Fireflies were to the grass as stars were to the night sky. Along the black horizon, the only thing that marked the dark sky above from the equally dark ground below was a little farm lit by streaks of neon lights.
Sweetie Belle's mouth watered at the thought of Applebloom's cooking. She never quite liked the idea that ignorance was bliss, but her friend's pies certainly were.
No technology could ever change the taste of genuine food cooked by the Apple family. They had eaten all they had kept from the past couple days. Rarity had been reluctant to admit it, but she had stuffed herself to the brink and couldn't do anything else but spread herself out on the couch in their living room. Big Mac fared a little better and retreated to his room to make a visual call to a very close friend.
Sweetie Belle and Applebloom leaned out the window of their old treehouse. But, like everything else, it had to change. The monitors were connected to a massive computer kept to the side of the room. A curved laminated metal table at the centre of the treehouse had its own crystal screen at its centre.
"It's just not something I think about," Applebloom replied to Sweetie's question about college. "I mean, I built almost everything on the farm, and certainly everything inside our clubhouse. Just don't seem to need it, you know?"
"But Granny Smith saved up for Applejack," Sweetie Belle reminded her. "I know she had more years on you, but that doesn't mean you won't be able to get a degree."
Applebloom chuckled, extending her hoof to gesture at the whole farm. "This is all I know. Ponyville, potion lessons, and Sweet Apple Acres. I dunno what I'd study."
"Crystal engineering, maybe." Sweetie Belle pointed to the clubhouse table. "Didn't take you long to figure that out. You're ahead of most undergrads in that field."
"Honestly I just guessed. If that's true I dunno how Equestria got to the way it is now," Applebloom said.
Sweetie Belle laughed. "With ponies like us."
"Ponies like us," Applebloom echoed. "How are Babs and Scootlaloo?"
"Huh?" Sweetie Belle paused a moment, giving her mind a second to switch topics. "Oh, they were doing pretty well the last time I visited. Babs had a whole new barbershop now for fibre optic mane extensions, and Scootaloo had just gotten a new job at the West Manehattan precinct."
"I know they don't have time to visit, but it'd be nice to see them." Applebloom tapped her NanoTat that linked to the table's screen and projected a picture of Scootaloo and Babs Seed diving into a lake together. She motioned her hoof and it created another picture, one where Scootaloo is graduating from Manehattan's police academy.
"Once AJ's back, I'm sure you'll have more time to take a trip." Sweetie Belle turned her eye to the table, looking at all the data on the crystal processors. Magic flowed through each piece, like neurons in a brain, and spells altered their actions.
Applebloom notices her glowing iris. "Does it get weird, seeing so much?"
"I actually bought some nanorobotics with new software loaded onto them." Sweetie Belle stared at the table again until some music started playing from it. It was a new release from yet another rising music star.
"Seems to me you see just enough already," Applebloom chuckled, looking at her own NanoTat. "Reckon I could use an upgrade, but I just don't see the point."
She displayed the playlist Sweetie Belle had created and scrolled through the songs. She switched to a classic by Sapphire Shores.
"Well you'll never know what you can do until you open that door," Sweetie Belle answered. "Remember when we helped ponies find their calling? They discovered so many other things they liked to do."
"Maybe when AJ's back and the farm's fully up to date I'll take a vacation." Applebloom projected a second screen and sampled potential places to see. Griffonstone, the Crystal Empire, even New Yakyakistan, home to the Yak Astronomical Conservatory.
Sweetie Belle smiled and opened the video game. "Plan a vacation on your own time. Right now, I'm taking your high score for Obliterate Five."
The starting screen of an armoured pony wielding a sword with a chainsaw blade teleporting into the game before their eyes. Applebloom smirked. She had spent months practising in order to topple Big Mac's old high score. Sweetie Belle didn't stand a chance.
It is a period of new civil stability in the galaxy. Once controlled by the Shadow Empire, the victor of a nearly forgotten galactic conflict, the galaxy now has a new interstellar power in place: the Pony Republic of Equestrian Systems. Built from the star systems who rejected the rule of the Empire and its Dark Lord, Grogar, the Republic now works to unite the remaining systems who are hesitant to join what they see as a mere replacement for the Empire.
Done with helping the Republic overthrow the Empire, Magi Knight Twilight Sparkle reunites with her long lost mentor, Celestia. Suffering from the corruption of Grogar, and from the guilt of serving the Empire as the Dark Lord known as Dawnbreaker, Celestia continues the remainder of her life in penance, refusing to leave the last remaining Magi sanctuary. Now, with only a few words of wisdom from her recovering mentor, Twilight trains a new generation of Magi novitiates to hunt down the remains of the Empire. In the far reaches of the galaxy, one such remnant has been spotted: an imperial bomber carrier. With an arsenal large enough to level half a planet, only the best novitiates can be trusted to remove any imperial threats. But, an even more insidious threat remains at large. Could this remaining stronghold of the Empire hold more Kithe acolytes, enforcers and apprentices to the Dark Lord himself?
The novitiates’ tiny transporter pulled in closer and closer to the hull of the imperial bomber carrier. The largest class out of all of the Empire’s ships, it was not a surprise that it was still floating around. They were more like citadels than ships. Each carried a thousand bombers armed with high-yield explosives, plus some of the best pilots in the galaxy.
The two novitiates were only children during the height of the Empire’s power. Then, they had only heard myths about Twilight Sparkle, the paragon of the rebel insurgency that sought to establish a better republic for the galaxy. Yet, while their mentor was once a story, both Gallus and Silverstream knew full well what the Empire could do to its subordinate star systems.
“Their defences aren’t working,” Gallus noticed as their locked onto the hull.
Though not as well equipped for boarding or long-range engagements with other vessels, a single carrier like this still had a generous amount of turrets and short-range missiles. Such weapons were the kind used to eliminate the griffon resistance on Griffonstone, Gallus’s home planet.
Silverstream gave a snarky grin at him. “I think we would have been knocked out of flight if they had working turrets.”
“Think the inside will be as easy?”
She shrugged. “I hope. Mentor Twilight said these ships had thousands of ponies running it. I don’t want to have to sneak past that many ponies.”
Despite being griffon and hippogriff, the two novitiates were among the best at the Magi sanctuary. Gallus double-checked their mag-locks, making sure their ships would stay put even if the carrier jumped into portal-space for an interstellar route.
“Let’s get this over with,” he said, calling his spellsaber to his belt. The metal handle flew off the weapon rack and tuck itself away beneath the griffon’s novitiate robe. Though unicorns were naturally gifted in magic, the Magi had learned to teach those natural talents to other ponies and creatures. Higher-level uses of magic would be even harder, but with enough focus, basic telekinesis was not impossible for a griffon.
“Ooh! Can I destabilize the reactor this time? Imperial engines have so many moving parts, it’s always fun to watch.”
“We’ll see when we get there.”
The novitiates opened a hatch where their ship connected to the carrier. And energy barrier sealed the space between them, forming a short bridge across. Each armed with a blade of pure magic, they ignited the blades of their spellsabers and cut into the carrier’s hull.
Clank clunk. The chunk of metal they cut collapsed down. They leapt down into the maintenance duct quickly, before the ship’s defences put up energy barriers to seal the puncture.
“First we need to find the ship manifest, find of if there are any acolytes of the Dark Lord commanding the ship.” Gallus peeked his head around the corner of the duct. The way seemed clear.
The imperial carrier was a threat, but as Magi, their main concern was the possibility of Dark acolytes. Like Magi, it was possible for non-ponies to become apprentices to Grogar. He had the power pass on dark magic to other creatures, fueling them with a thirst for power in the process.
As such, they lacked the discipline of Magi novitiates, who earned their gifts through patience and training.
The two stopped when they finally began to hear voices through some vents. Imperial shock troopers, by the sound of it. Their voices were slightly muffled by their helmets.
“How long are we going to wait out here? I heard our rations are getting low.”
“You know the Republic is looking ships like this. The commander says we’ll just have to hold out a little longer.”
“Yeah, just wish she’d just a few bots or something to secure more supplies.”
Silverstream and Gallus traded glances. That explained why they weren’t detected on entry. This crew was playing the long game. But in return, it was like operating a skeleton crew.
“Should we just head for the reactor?” Gallus asked. “A dark acolyte wouldn’t have the patience to wait.”
“Mentor Twilight says the path to peace requires vigilance against deception,” Silverstream whispered back. “The manifest should be on the way to the reactor. We might as well double-check.”
They hurried as quickly as they could to the carrier’s main computer. Even if the crew was at their worst, it wasn’t a good idea to leave their ship lying around to get spotted. Inside the data room, the control console formed a semi-circle in front of an array of screens.
Gallus pulled a hacking drive from his belt and stuck it into the console. The rod-like device was not a Magi tool, not like the lightsaber, but it was a handy gift from the Republic. It had known security codes from the Empire, meaning it could pass nearly any Empire computer system by logging in as imperial personnel.
Nearly any. The hacking drive ejected itself when it was finished, but the console had not been unlocked. Gallus tried clicking a few buttons on and off at random, but there was no response.
“That’s weird,” he said. “They weren’t using the same codes as the rest of the Empire.”
“Or changed them,” Silverstream suggested. “Still, if we can’t access the data, we should at least destroy the computers. That should shut off the rest of the security and buy us some time.”
Gallus walked over and tested the energy barriers that shielded the computers. His lightsaber deflected off the shields, but there was no damage. “Sure, if we had blasting crystals. Our lightsabers can’t cut through these barriers.”
Before they could figure out what to do, they heard hooves coming closer to the door. Shock troopers. A lot of them. Silverstream immediately positioned herself by the door. Her sabre was double-bladed, giving better odds of deflecting incoming blaster fire.
“So much for stealth,” Gallus said. He took a deep breath and steadied himself, focusing on the sensation of the magical energy around him. The instant the troopers got the door open, he sent a magic push down the hallway.
The white-clad troopers up in front fell back onto their comrades. “Intruders!” Those at the back of the hallway caught them and did not hesitate to fire back.
Silverstream spun her blade, knocking back the first volley of bolts before cutting through the blasters of the troopers shooting at her. Gallus followed behind, disarming the troopers still trying to get up from the force of his push.
Magi were not, in most cases, supposed to hurt others. It was not their way. The novitiates learned more than discipline and restraint from their mentor, they learned of the power that harmony and friendship with all living creatures could have.
“Hey, you guys know how to access the ship records?” Gallus asked the downed troopers before pushing them into the computer room. “See if you can log in for me.” He clenched his talon and crushed the door controls in a field of magic.
“Uh, they’re not stopping,” Silverstream said. She had withdrawn one of her blades, a single-bladed lightsaber being much easier to manipulate in the tight corners of the hallway. She cut down the remaining blasters and hurled the troopers back with a magic-imbued wing flap.
“The engine deck’s lower, right?” Gallus asked.
“That’s what the schematic said,” Silverstream said anxiously, already having to deflect blaster fire from reinforcing troopers.
Gallus pointed his blade down and cut through the metal floor panels. “Then down we go.” He cut a circle through the floor and jumped, followed shortly by Silverstream.
They crawled. The space below the floor was narrow, only designed for power cables and repair drones. The panels above them were sturdy but barely blaster resistant. They could already see holes forming as the troopers blindly fired down at them.
“We gotta find an exit,” Gallus said. “Small spaces don’t like me very much.”
“You got us here,” Silverstream reminded him.
The power lines beneath the floor connected to everything that demanded power, including the air purifiers. The novitiates went as far as they could, cutting their way down into the main air ducts. At the centre, the ducts were massive, like the main artery of a heart. It connected and distributed air to the rest of the ship, and thus needed the size and volume to keep the pressure manageable.
“We could get anywhere from here,” Silverstream said, tightening up her robes against the cold gust of air.
“Let’s hope the troopers don’t catch on. The whole crew is probably on alert right now. What was with that computer?”
“The hacking drive must’ve triggered a silent alarm when it didn’t work,” Silverstream guessed. “That’s the only way they could’ve known we were there.”
“I’ve never heard of an imperial ship not using the standard passcodes, though. Think that means there are acolytes on board?”
“Well, we won’t know until we come across them now,” Silverstream said. “Come on, we should be close to the reactors by now.”
Sure enough, they simply followed the ever-growing sound of a massive, mechanical, thumping heart.
The single Dwarf Reactor hummed silently in the heart of the carrier. So named because the focusing crystals used in the reactor were made from shattered pieces of white dwarf stars. Lasers focused by pieces of dwarf star diamonds were used to superheat hydrogen gas, recreating the fusion reaction of the stars.
The space of the reactor core was massive. Gas ducts above them pumped hydrogen to fuel the fusion reaction, while coolant pipes pumped Zerofluid, a synthetic oily fluid used in all imperial ship systems. Despite being deep within the ship, the reactor core had a direct path to open space. Massive blast doors could open and release the reactor in the event of a meltdown.
“I’ll keep watch,” Gallus said, moving away from the reactor. “You remember what Twilight said about these things?”
“Double the output to strain the containment fields,” she recited as she fiddled with the controls. All the details of how to operate the rector were lost on Silverstream, but she grasped the basics, enough to make it break down, at least.
“After you shut off the emergency jettison,” he reminded her.
Silverstream shrugged. “Of course, I remember.”
But before she could initiate the reactor’s power climb, the two novitiates paused. Sensing magic was the first basic skill taught to novitiates, and any creature could do it well with enough focus and training. And from the perked-up feathers on each other’s wings, each novitiate knew the other felt the same thing. The cold of dark magic. The aura of an acolyte of Grogar.
Gallus ignited his blade almost moments too late. The acolyte’s own lightsaber slashed through the main door of the reactor core.
“What a surprise!” the unicorn hissed through her mask. “I didn’t know we had guests!” The dark red blade of the acolyte’s sabre hacked through the railings. The metal walkways around the reactor itself were suspended over the coolant pipes and emergency jettison doors.
Gallus tried pushing the unicorn back with magic, but she simply directed his force to a bundle of hydrogen pipes, snapping the rubbery ducts from their wall.
“And they’re Magi novitiate no less, I should feel honoured. Tell me, how is your master doing? Killed any other Dark Lords, lately?”
“Twilight is a mentor, not a master!” Gallus lashed out, picking his targets carefully. Against the acolyte’s wild and erratic swings, he could only hold her back with precise thrusts.
“Silverstream! The reactor, now!”
The ignition of lightsabers could be heard from the other entrance. “It’s a little busy here too,” she answered back.
Silverstream whirled her double blades and beat back the second acolyte. He was a hulking nirik in a black-painted suit of shock trooper armour, and he laughed as he took the full brunt of her attacks directly against his fiery orange sabre.
Silverstream channelled magic, lifting floor panels off the walkway to knock back the nirik and create a gap between them. But despite his size, he simply vaulted up, propelling himself with magic and landing behind the young Magi.
“Wanna switch?” Silverstream yelled out as she locked blades with the brute.
Gallus tried flying out of the unicorn acolyte’s reach, but she snagged his wing with a tight telekinetic grip and slammed him back down to the platform. He cried out, feeling something snap, but got to his feet immediately.
“You don’t want her, trust me.” He traded blows with her, picking his steps carefully to avoid the unicorn’s whirling weapon. The single-bladed sabre might as well have been four. The unicorn had no trouble using telekinesis at close range to control her weapon, tightening and extending her reach as effortlessly as thinking.
But there was a limit. Even telekinesis needed focus, as simple as it was. In the fury of battle, it wasn’t as if she could send the blade wherever she wanted it to go. Gallus simply needed to learn how far to step away.
Silverstream played the same dance, testing the other acolyte’s range. Niriks were kirins who gave in to their negative emotions, but they still had similar talents to unicorns when it came to magic. Their horns used telekinesis as easily as a hippogriff could use their talons. But unicorn or kirin, whoever they were, they still needed to focus to use magic. With two blades, Silverstream’s energetic lightsaber form pressured the brute’s range to a shorter, more manageable distance.
But niriks had one other trick to be wary of. The acolyte reached out his hoof and spouted a jet of flame at Silverstream. It was said that a nirik burned as hot as their rage. Hot enough to turn the metal railings molten red, it seemed.
She sidestepped. At that moment he was focused on his magic and Silverstream found an opening in the acolyte’s defence, cutting at his hoof while she avoided the fire. His black-painted armour was not too different from standard shock trooper gear. The soft and flexible polyblast fibre was good enough for absorbing blaster shots, but against a lightsaber, it melted like cheap scrap metal.
The nirik acolyte cried out. “Rahrg!” Swinging his sabre wildly, he swung too wide and hit the reactor’s control console.
“That didn’t sound good,” Gallus grunted, forcing back the unicorn acolyte with a basic series of thrusts. Immediately, the doors below them started to open as the fusion containment casing was unlocked and jettisoned from the reactor.
“It’ll have to do.” Flanked on both sides by dark acolytes, she saw only one way out. It was a good thing they had the auto-pilot installed on their ship. She jumped over the nirik’s final swing before she spread her wings and dove down the jettison door.
Gallus lifted a panel from the floor and pinned it to the unicorn’s face. “So it’s like that, today, huh?”
“Don’t think we’ll let you get away, novitiate,” the unicorn hissed, slashing apart the metal panel into scraps.
“No hard feelings, I’m sure we would be great friends in another life.” He lowered his lightsaber and casually cut a circle around himself. “But, I have friends in this life waiting for me.” The floor beneath him gave way, and he plummeted down behind Silverstream as the vacuum of space began to vent hazards out of the reactor core.
Both acolytes held on tight, pulling their way back through the entrances.
“What are we going to do?” growled the nirik, clutching his severed hoof. She didn’t respond at first, only snarling down at the two novitiates who escaped. “Sister Starlight!” The nirik forced her attention. “Sister Nightma-”
“I know what she said!” Starlight hissed at him. “But she’s not our master. Grogar is dead and we acolytes must rely on each other. His Rule of One no longer applies.”
“Right, of course,” he breathed a sigh of relief. “The Kithe Order survives by the Rule of None.”
I mean, I have to, right? What’s the point of all this living if we’re not going to leave a legacy? But, it’s not so easy. I don’t know where to start, I’m not even sure where it’s going to end up. Funny, isn’t it? Thinking about my life story while I’m still in my prime.
At least, I hope I’m in my prime.
I guess that’s as good as any of a place to start.
Babs Seed, a little earth pony in her prime, staring over the skyline of her city. Manehattan, the ever-awake city of lights, nothing stops here. Not the shops, not my homework, and definitely not the poor ponies down on the street.
I sat on the edge of the rooftop. Wasn’t supposed to be there, but hey, long as I don’t get caught, who’s going to stop me? I had a police radio that I, um, borrowed, sitting next to me on the roof. Chatter echoed on that rooftop for maybe an hour. I did my homework, finished an essay that I asked an extension for, and ate a roasted carrot-dog with relish.
All units, fire reported on the corner of Apple Street and Bridle Street. The fire department has been alerted, they need assistance on site.
“There’s my cue.”
I grabbed my disguise from my backpack and slipped the dark mask over my face. Yeah, this was a good place to start. Ponies might know me as Babs, but when the night comes, this is when I get to show another side of me.
I think I need to tell some pony that I’ve become the Mysterious Mare Do Well.
I picked up the name from my cousin’s club, the Cutie Mark Crusaders. They said a few ponies in Ponyville called themselves the Mysterious Mare Do Well to teach their friend a lesson. Not sure what lesson it was, but saving and helping ponies seemed pretty cool.
Yeah, I won’t lie. I started this whole thing because it sounded cool. I mean, who doesn’t want to be a hero, right? But when I started, the question was: how am I going to do it? It’s not like I have powers or magic.
Or, at least, I didn’t.
My cousin Applebloom was great at making potions and stuff, and she knew the Headmare of the Friendship School through tutoring work. So, I got a train ticket and hit up her and Headmare Starlight for a favour.
They made me crystal lenses that detected magic, horseshoes enchanted with speed and strength, and Applebloom even taught me how to make a few basic potions. It wasn’t easy getting those things from them without telling them what I was planning to do. I didn’t exactly lie to them. I just kept my explanations vague and unspecific, you know?
Flash forward a few weeks and I’m Manehattan’s one and only Mystery Mare. Heroes in comics, like the Power Ponies or Fantastic Fliers, they always had villains and archenemies to fight. But, the real Manehattan was a little tamer than that.
Okay, maybe tamer wasn’t the right word.
It was the biggest fire I had ever seen.
Two whole floors of an apartment building were covered from corner to corner in fire. The firefighters were doing their best, but they couldn’t search the whole place instantly. The lenses in my suit could detect magic, including the magic inside creatures, which meant I could see through the flames and find the ponies trapped inside.
The whole scene played out below me. From my spot on the rooftop across the street, cops pulled in to keep ponies back and establish a safe perimeter. No way of getting in on hoof unless I got their attention. The bandolier on my suit held the potions that Applebloom showed me, including something she called the “Sparkle Bomb.” It was a mix of flash paper and magnesium, triggered by an igniting fluid that reacted to the air. One vial of the stuff could light up a street like a firework, though the blast range was too small to do any actual damage.
I jumped and landed, my horseshoes taking the impact, tossed a couple of sparklers on the ground to turn some heads away from me.
“What the--hey, you can’t go in there!”
I was through the door just as they spotted me. They could run after me all they wanted, but in seconds I was up the stairs and reaching the first floor.
“Any pony in here?” I shouted through the roar of the fire. Even with the lenses, it was hard to pinpoint exactly where every pony was. The lenses could only do so much, in the end, I had to be able to see through the fire.
A firefighter pulled his way out of an apartment with a filly on his back. “Who are you?”
“No time,” I stepped out of the way so he could go down the stairway. “I can help.”
He put the filly down and told her to run down to the fire trucks outside. “Her parents are still in there, the ceiling came down on them. Help me get them out.”
“No problem.”
We shot through the door, and inside the living room, I was finally close enough to get a clear signal on them. I moved in front of the firefighter and headed for the bedroom where the parents were trapped. Sure enough, the floor above had collapsed and two stallions were trapped underneath some pony else’s bedroom.
“If we lift up our side we can get them out.” The firefighter lowered himself and tried to jack up the collapsed floor on his back. But, I had a better idea.
“Lift on three!” he shouted. “One, two--Woah.”
My horseshoes did the heavy lifting, opening up our side of the rubble. The firefighter grabbed both stallions by the hooves and dragged them out.
“I don’t know who you are,” he said as he helped them on their hooves, “but we have more ponies trapped upstairs! Get them to me and I’ll lead them out.” I’m pretty sure he knew I wasn’t supposed to be helping, but in the heat of the moment, it didn’t really matter.
Not the time for fire puns, Babs.
I made a mental note to thank Rarity for making the suit for me. We bonded a little bit one time when she came to Manehattan for some fashion business. It didn’t feel right keeping the truth from her, but I wasn’t lying when I said I needed a damage-resistant suit. I never expected to be fighting fires, of course, but she was so good at what she did that the fire-proofing just came with the design.
There was no way I could make it through the night without that kind of protection. By the time we got the last pony out, even the firefighters were drenched in sweat. I mean, I was feeling hot too, but not as bad as they were.
I made another mental note that Rarity really needed to expand her business to firefighters.
“Last ones!” One of the firefighters on the second burning floor passed me two unconscious bodies. They were two teens. Older than me by a few years, they didn’t look like they were siblings. Housemates, maybe. I heard this neighbourhood was notorious for having rowdy college kids.
I scanned around with my lenses. I couldn’t pinpoint details, but I could definitely tell if some pony was still around.
“I can take them, you clear the way, I’ll be right behind you.” I hoisted both ponies on my back. The firefighter nodded and charged ahead of me, propping up splitting beams and collapsed walls.
We were out on the street in no time. The other ponies we saved were in all sorts of conditions. Some were being taken to the hospital, while others were just sitting the paramedics with oxygen masks to help their lungs recover.
I turned to the last firefighter and passed the two unconscious ponies to him. “And that’s my cue to go. Cops won’t be too happy to see me around.”
“It was risky coming in here,” he agreed, “but whoever you are, you look like you know what you’re doing. Ever think of just joining us?”
“Maybe one day,” I shrugged. “Right now I’m a bit swamped with homework. Here’s hoping we won’t have to meet like this again, yeah?”
He nodded, and I skipped out before the cops were done making sure every pony was safe. All in a night’s work for the Mystery Mare. And I couldn’t even list on my volunteering sheet.
There’s just one problem about fires, though. They don’t start on their own. I wasn’t thinking about it that night, but somewhere out there in my city, there was a spark. And that spark wasn’t ready to stop.
Assassin's Creed: Divided -- Chapter 1, Prints of the Past
“We cannot allow ourselves to be divided on this matter, Simon,” Richard counselled his ally in Parliament. “We have the Provision, let it be for now.”
“Let it be?” Simon recoiled. Oxhoof’s streets outside the Parliament building were loud with people going about their daily business. The two had little fear of being heard. “We have the opportunity to ensure the King doesn’t overstep his rule. Who will protect Anglia from more failures like Sicily?”
“King Henry would never allow us to strip the crown of so much power,” Richard replied. “Please, Simon, think for a moment of what we can do with a little temperament.”
Slowly, their conversation started to derail. Not by words. No. The attendant waiting with Richard’s horse looked down at his own hands, and then back up to the two conversing earls. His vision was getting blurred, it was an indescribable sensation, it was as if his body did not belong where it was.
“Pull her out, now.”
“Wait, I can stabilize the gemstone’s frequency.”
“It’s not worth it, pull her out!”
The vision went blank, and moments later Sunset woke up gasping for air on a metal bed. The last thing she remembered was coming from CHS, riding her bike back to her apartment. Except, did she make it back?
Sunset looked around her. Someone was definitely watching her. They were in some kind of storage building, a warehouse maybe. Shelves flanked her on both sides, boxes blocking the view of any exit. Not that she could see one anyway if the way was clear.
The lights were turned off, save for one lonely lamp above her where she laid. She couldn’t see past her own reach. But even if she couldn’t see them, she could sense them. Her gemstone was pretty useful that way. Physical contact was necessary to access someone’s memories and feelings, but by being near someone she could feel their thoughts light seeing a dim light in a cave.
“Who are you?” she said, looking straight at one of the figures. “What… what did you just do to me?” There was a little shuffling, but no response. They were moving around the bed they had put her on. One person crawled around in the support beams in the ceiling. Two others stood nearer, watching from beside some crates. The scary part was that without her gemstone, Sunset wasn’t sure if she would’ve noticed their movements. They were totally silent.
Sunset slowly stepped off the metal bed. Her legs felt weirdly heavy, like getting off a rocking ship and feeling the stable ground for the first time in days.
“Whatever’s happening, I don’t want any trouble,” she told them.
After a moment, one of the figures sighed, throwing up his arms. “Damn it, guys, I told you it wouldn’t work.” He pointed to Sunset. “You can see us, right? That, uh… that little doohickey you’ve got on your necklace, it lets you see us, doesn’t it?”
The lamp above her revealed a very unimposing man as he walked forward. He was tall and scrawny, but even as he exposed himself Sunset could still tell he knew how to hide his footsteps. His eyes were a little bloodshot and his faded brown hair was an unkempt bush.
Right behind him, a tan-skinned woman with dark purple hair stepped under the lamp hanging over Sunset.
“Sorry for the surprise, we just couldn’t be sure how you’d react,” she said.
“To being kidnapped?” Sunset exclaimed. “I think most people would find it shocking.”
“She meant how you’d react to being exposed to more magic,” answered the man. “We won’t have a lot of time and this little game of shadows has dragged out far too many minutes. Let’s get this over with by just saying that we know who, or rather what, you are. You’re an Equestrian. Came through a fancy portal, didn’t you?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Sunset looked away.
The woman snickered. “If you want to lie, you gotta try harder.” She pointed up to the beams where the third figure continued waiting in the dark. “He’s a pro. Nothing gets by him.”
Sunset wasn’t buying it. She knew exactly what emotions felt like, there was no way a human without magic could know if she was telling the truth just by looking at her.
“I’m not lying,” Sunset insisted. “I knew you guys were there because nothing else makes sense. How else would I end up on this bed?”
“It’s not a bed,” the red-eyed man cut in. “Sorry, I know you’re confused, but I’ve literally poured years of work into that machine, so all I ask is that you respect a marvel of modern engineering instead of calling it a bed.”
Sunset looked at the thing she was sitting on. “I mean, I don’t know what else to call it.”
“How about an Animus?” he offered. “Because that’s what it is. It’s an Animus.”
“Is that supposed to mean something to me?”
“Oh, well, allow me to explain—”
The woman cut him off. “Let me. If you do it we’ll be here all night.” She walked up to the Animus and pressed a small button on the side, turning on the machine’s lights and holographic screens. Sunset thought it looked like something out of a sci-fi movie. The outside was metal, but inside was lined with a squishy gel. It was springy and soft and cool, perfectly shaped to fit a person’s body.
“This was what you were doing just a few minutes ago,” she said, projecting a video onto a flat holographic screen. It looked like a set-piece for a history documentary. Wood-walled houses and narrow streets were crowded with people. From the audio playing from the Animus’ speakers beneath, hammering and sawing could be heard from blacksmiths and carpenters and other craftsmen.
“I remember seeing a conversation,” she said, slowly trying to recall the memory. “I was… in someone else’s body, watching two men speak.”
“Yes, that was just after this memory,” the woman explained. “You were experiencing the memories of the past, or our best reconstruction of it, at least.”
Sunset shook her head. “How is that possible? I mean, seeing someone else’s memories is crazy enough, what you're talking about is almost like time-travel!”
“Sure, act like you don’t know anything.” the woman replied. “Magic has been leaking from your world to ours for aeons, leaving traces of itself on humans who are exposed to it, including residues on genetic material. The Animus combines modern genetic sequencing with a magical relic from your world, one that lets us decode the residues into simulations of a person’s memories.”
“You have a magic relic? Where?” Sunset couldn’t hide her curiosity. Keeping Equestrian magic in check wasn’t a job she wanted to do, but it was important she did it anyway. She didn’t know these people, but whatever their plans were, it couldn’t be good if it involved an ancient relic. Ponies didn’t throw magic items away unless it was really bad.
“Well, that’s kind of proprietary,” the man replied.
“He means we’re not going to tell you unless you give us the information we need, Sunset.”
He looked at his partner with a glare. “A little tact, darling?”
“She knows the position she’s in,” the woman replied calmly. “We need her cooperation, and I don’t care if she likes us or not while she does it.”
“Tact or not,” Sunset crossed her arms, “you’re not getting anything out of me. I don’t know who you all are, and I’m not going to start helping you just because you said so.”
With a snap, the woman’s hand shot out and hooked the back of Sunset’s neck, dragging her towards a blade that flicked out from her other sleeve. “You shouldn’t jump to conclusions, you know.”
“Easy there,” the man pulled back his partner before turning to Sunset with an apologetic look on his face. “Sorry. I know we might seem like right arseholes to you, but we’re the good guys, I promise. Mags here, she’s just a little old fashioned. Her family grew up in an old Assassin sanctuary.”
“She doesn’t even know who the Assassins are,” Mags scoffed.
Sunset eyed her the blade in her sleeve. “I mean, they kill people, right? It’s not that hard to understand.”
“Um, well, yes, that generally does come with the territory of being an Assassin,” the man answered, “but, not every assassin in history has actually been a member of the Brotherhood. We’ve been at war with an order of people who seek to use the relics from your world to control ours. They’ve had members in countless groups throughout history, from the Teutonic Knights and the Varangian Guard to modern-day Parliament and the CCP.”
“I don’t know what those are,” Sunset told him, “but I don’t see why that would make me trust you. You expect me to believe you don’t have plans to use magical relics?”
“You can choose to trust us or not,” Mags said, keeping her distance, “but the bottom line is that I have a hidden blade and you’re the only person who can translate the Animus data into usable memories. Our relic can read the magic residues on DNA but the memories it produces are erratic. We can’t make sense of it without a medium, like you and your gemstone.”
Sunset looked down at the orange-glowing jewel on her necklace. They really did their homework, it seemed. And the woman, Mags, she had a point. These “Assassins” had her surrounded, and she didn’t like her odds of fighting the people who already managed to kidnap her and strap her to a memory machine.
Plus, if what they said was true, they weren’t the only ones looking for relics. Even if she didn’t trust them, at least she knew they existed. Playing along could be the only way to finding out what “Order” they were at war with.
“So, you need me to recover lost memories” Sunset dropped her confused act. “I wish that sounded crazier to me, but that’s my life I guess.”
Mags and the other Assassin looked at each other, and they seemed to relax. Even the thoughts of the one hanging out above her seemed to soften, even if only a little. Sunset leaned back into the Animus and fit herself on the bed. It was actually surprisingly comfortable, she felt like she could lay there for hours and not feel stiff afterwards. Which was probably the point.
As soon as she was in, she felt her gemstone warming up. The Animus projected a console screen in front of her, displaying a jumbled web of memories. They looked like tiny black clouds, but if she focused on one memory she started getting flashes of visions.
“You’re going to need to synchronize with the relic’s memories one by one,” the man said as he fiddled with the controls. “Each memory builds on the other. If the first memory is not synchronized, the second will not have the context to build itself, and then the whole simulation falls apart.”
“Is that what happened with the one I saw before?” Sunset asked.
He nodded. “We were just testing you, but it seems we didn’t start early enough. We’ll be simulating a memory from the mid-thirteenth century. How familiar are you with Anglian history?”
“Uh, is ‘not at all’ acceptable?” Sunset asked innocently.
The man sighed. “Alright, that’s fine. It’s just the history of my people, but that’s fine. The genetic material we’re using is of an Assassin who fought on the side of Gustavale, a former duchy of Francia.”
“What were they rebelling for?”
“To remain with the mainland, for one thing. The Anglians took Gustavale from Francia during a previous war, but the people of Gustavale wanted to rejoin their kinsmen. Ah—there we go, I have the memory loaded up.”
Sunset saw flashes of a memory, but it wasn’t as random and disparate as before. She saw the place he mentioned, Gustavale soldiers seizing silver coins and food from storehouses. Somehow, she knew those were the taxes the king had collected from them, perhaps because the person whose memory she was seeing also knew it.
“I think I’m going in.” Sunset reached out with her mind. This wasn’t like taking memories from a living person, they did not rush into her head. She had to focus on the images, coax them out from the relic.
“Hello?” she asked, looking around for the Assassins. But she realized there wasn’t anything but fog beyond her vision. Even the Animus had disappeared. She was already in it, she realized. This was the memory.
21st of May, 1248: City of Bayon, Gustavale
Fog. The coast of Gustavale had tons of it rolling in when the night grew cold. My name is Grenda of the Brotherhood of Assassins, and I was sick of the damn fog.
It was past winter, but the warming weather still wasn’t enough to chase away the chilling fog. The city of Bayon was, as the name suggested, situated on the bay created by the mouth of the Guto River. It had a large residential population, rows of houses built side-by-side.
The city was built on the river, a long brick bridge connected the two halves of the city. Built centuries ago by the Boreas Age of Griffstone, it was a symbol of unity and engineering, preserved throughout the rise and fall and empires. Yet the Anglian King, Hazelnott of the Griffish Isles, thought he could make a claim to the duchy through his pawn.
I spied the ships coming into port. Not trade ships, these were Simon de Montforte’s men, sent to crush Gustavale’s rebellion. The Earl of Ledecester had only been in the duchy for a month, but his ruthless strategy was beginning to work. Many nobles feared to get in his way, though they were often arrested anyways.
We had been watching his movements through Gustavale—I and the other Assassins in the city—for some time. What were we to do? Many of the new Assassins in our ranks were recruits, taken in from the streets and countryside of Gustavale itself. They were well trained and understood our history, but their hearts were with the people and land that were born with. Many requested, and demanded, that the Assassins take action against the king’s men. Gustavale was Francian land, though and through. They would not accept an Anglian King any longer. The rift in our ranks made it difficult to move forward with a plan.
From the top of a townhouse, I watched the soldiers in chainmail carry their weapons and ammunition from their ships. As they worked, the captain stepped off onto the dock to trade words with one of the soldiers. Decorated with the bright colours of Montforte, I recognized it as one of the Earl’s own lieutenants.
The weapons and soldiers did not concern me, I was after information. There was a great worry within the Brotherhood that Simon de Montforte was a Templar agent, searching to use a relic in Gustavale.
Traditionalists in the bureau were the other half of the division within our ranks. Like myself, they were the sons and daughters of Assassins, their family was the Brotherhood first, Gustavale second, and that did not sit well with the newer recruits.
But I can’t say I blamed either side. Simon de Montforte was stunningly effective but ruthless. Nobles who revolted against the King were treated like criminals. Backed by a king’s retinue of soldiers, he crushed them wherever they made trouble. Still, the Brotherhood hunted Templars for a reason, and we could not let ourselves be easily distracted.
The notice had been sent to all corners of the mainland that Grovis of Griffonstone, King of Francia, was preparing for another crusade to Saddle Arabia and Somnambula. A crusade meant one thing to us Assassins, that the Templars were going to plan their next grab for power.
Relics dotted across the world were treasured by the Templars, and when the last crusade gave them the Holy Lance, it sparked the war that turned Gustavale to the Anglians. The relics and their powers were the main agents of the Templar’s success in the recent generations, and for the Assassins to preserve the balance of power, those who sought to use a relic to oppress the people around them needed to die.
So, the question of the year was whether or not Simon de Montforte acted as a pawn of a king or the agent of the Templars? His control over Gustavale could spread all the way to Griffonstone itself if another relic was discovered.
“Good evening, sister,” I heard a familiar voice, but one had I had only met recently. Brighton, an Assassin from our bureau in the Isles. “What do you see, Grenda?”
“Rien,” I told him. “Only soldiers from Montforte. Did you come with news of the Earl? Has the bureau sent you to inform me that I can leave this damned cold? Je vais me geler les tetons ici.”
“News of Simon? I am sorry, sister.” He shook his head, the motion gently ruffling his hood. “Nay. My brothers on the Isle have no proof that he is a Templar. But they found his letters to King Hazelnott. He was eager indeed to join King Grovis on the crusade, only reluctantly agreeing to end the revolt if he was offered a better deal.”
“Many innocent men of faith go on crusades. What was the deal?”
“A full refund on the expenses, plus regency over the duchy for seven years once the rebels surrender.”
“That explains the soldiers and weapons, he’s not concerned about the cost, and he has been crushing the nobility with his show of force. But it doesn’t prove any Templar connection.”
I pointed to the ship, guiding Brighton’s gaze to the dock where Montforte’s lieutenant supervised his soldiers. Another ship had pulled into the port now, and with a shout from the lieutenant, the troops began unloading their supplies.
“That man, he wears Montforte’s colours, non? He’s dressed like a lieutenant.”
“You think he may know something?”
“Bien, it can’t hurt to try, right?”
“In that case, if you’re ready,” Brighton gave a half-grin, “why don’t we begin?”
Brighton approached the lieutenant’s ship from behind, while I removed the guards in the fore. We were swift but silent. Soft leather soles let us go up to Montforte’s men, completely unnoticed until the moment to strike. Killing a soldier, if necessary, was not forbidden by the Creed—a fact a few too many took to heart. I preferred the quiet approach.
The Templars were not the only ones with gifts from the crusades. A Somnabulan poison, purified from the strychnine seed, convulsed the muscles and made breathing difficult. With a conservative dose, it could put any guard or soldier into a useless, but recoverable, state. And it was a perfect gift from our foreign brothers and sisters.
Four soldiers tasked with accounting for the arrows and bows fell silent by my hand. A silk kerchief soaked in a mixture of water and poison put them to sleep in minutes. I then mimicked a crow’s caw, signalling Brighton my task had been finished.
The ship grew empty as time passed. Once most of the equipment was moved to the docks, most of the soldiers took their leave in the inns and taverns around the city. Bayon was a nest for sailors and merchants, and it had more than enough space to host a small army.
I slipped past the few guards on the lieutenant’s ship and came to his quarters. Brighton was to buy me time from the back, causing a distraction or whatever else necessary to keep the lieutenant from returning.
I did not know him personally, but I trusted his reputation. He had been sent to gather information from our brothers in the Isles, with hopes of learning if the Templars had any intentions in Gustavale. Though only gathering information, it was a mission he conducted alone, which spoke volumes of the confidence the Grand Masters had in his skill.
So inside I went, picking through the lieutenant’s belongings. With gloved fingers, I lifted the pages of notebooks and scrolls. The lieutenant, a knight known as Sir Glen Green, was a devout man, it seemed. His sword may have been close to his bed, but his Bible was closer. Below his bed, hidden under a wool rug, was a second sword. Fighting and prayer, prayer and fighting, those were the things this knight concerned himself with.
“Psst! Grenda!” Brighton’s voice came from outside the lieutenant’s door. I stuck my head out and saw him, hidden blade flushed with blood. “You done yet, or what?”
“Merde, what happened?”
“A guard with a faceplate, the poison could not reach his mouth in time. Have you found any evidence?”
“Damn it, no. He is innocent and we’ve taken a useless risk, his notes are all clean. The only other thing he has are his sword and this Bible—” I had picked up the Bible to show Brighton my frustration when I felt the book slip in my hand. The thick, leather-bound text felt light in my hands.
I immediately opened the cover, revealing the shock of a Bible hollowed out by a knife. The detailed penmanship of a dedicated monk still showed itself in the margins of the pages. Notes and inked illustrations of priests in the corners of the book were lively recreations. But in the centre, the pages had been cut out clear through to the back cover, and inside the gap was a small pocketbook.
“That looks promising, but we have to go.” Brighton spun his head around. He checked the corners of the ship, pressing his ears to the walls and listening for any commotion outside. “They haven’t noticed the body yet, but they might if they search the arrow crates.”
“Vite, vite, don’t waste time warning me, come on!”
We stole away into the foggy shadows of the streets around the port. Just as our padded feet hit the walls of the houses when we climbed our way up, the Montforte’s men started rousing their comrades. Somewhere down there, the lieutenant knew who had passed under his nose.
I would not find out until later that morning, but Simon de Montforte was not a Templar. That, however, did not stop his closest lieutenants from being one of their ranks.
[Supplementary] Twilight's notes on Lightsaber Forms
The First Form: The first form of lightsaber combat, it contains 4 diagonal cuts along with 4 corresponding blocks. The steady and firm footwork is indicative of the form’s history of fighting off non-users of magic. The First Form is incredibly susceptible to faster or long-ranged opponents.
The Fast Aggression Form/The Way of the Fruit Bat: The second form of lightsaber combat, designed during the splintering of the ancient Magi Order. It builds on the First Form by adding acrobatic movements and precision cuts and thrusts. In addition to the thrust, the Fast Form adds two parries, three cutting angles, and circular variations of every strike which maximized the momentum a Magi could exert. This system of offence was so complete that it formed the groundwork for all other strikes in later lightsaber combat techniques. Fast Aggression manuals are also the first to feature Magi dual-wielding lightsabers.
The Strong Aggression Form/The Way of the Ursa: Developed from the Fast Form, the Strong Form makes its first distinction by disfavouring intense acrobatics. Its origins are unclear, but Magi scholars suspected this form arose at the peak of Magi involvement in galactic conflicts. The Strong Form emphases blade binding and many techniques against specific close encounters, which was termed “plays of the Ursa,” or just “plays,” and involved strikes and grappling to the opponent’s body.
The Defense Form/The Way of the Tree: The fourth form of lightsaber combat, developed by the first earth pony magi. Designed for creatures without an innate or intense connection to magic, the Defense Form utilizes compact strikes and short parries. One common phrase found in many Magi texts is that “The Defense Form has as many parries as the Fast Form has attacks.” Its blocks are ideally suited to countering advanced blaster fire. By the time the Magi were purged by the Empire, it was expected for every Knight to be proficient in the Defense Form.
The Talent Form/The Way of the Alicorn: The fifth form of lightsaber combat. This recent addition came into being as the strength of the Magi Order grew and the Kithe threat slipped from the galaxy. Without magic-sensitive enemies, Magi were able to use their natural talents in combat without reproach. The little bladework taught to users of the Talent Form is taken from the second and fourth forms, adapted to integrate magical attacks such as telekinesis and mental illusions.
Nomad/Dancer: Nomad is often referred to as the sixth form, though it is not a true form as it bears no techniques of its own. Magi who chose the Nomad philosophy were referred to as Dancers, as they rarely served in combat roles. They were trained to “dance” with the public, using entertainment to win the hearts of people and subterfuge to glean information that would help the Order discover hidden enemies.
Further Notes on Nomad, and the Other Forms.
That is not to say that Nomad is without combative capabilities. Its core philosophy is to find peace by being free of any barriers. As such, a Dancer would train in all lightsaber forms, constructing their own set of techniques that they found useful. Recovered texts regarding outside opinions on this philosophy are split. Notable Strong Form user, Starswirl the Bearded, had this to say: “Of those among us who choose the path of Nomad, I say this. I cannot count a single Nomad technician with equal skill to a master of either the Fast or Strong Forms, nor do I know of a Dancer with the same endurance as one trained in the Defence Form. Nomad is valuable to the Order for its capacity to win without conflict. But where friction and force are absolutely necessary, I would leave the fighting to the fighters.”
However, other masters seemed to hold the combat potential of Dancers in high respect, as shown by First Form instructor, Easyglider: “Sparring between dedicated students of particular forms often meet with predictable outcomes. A Defense Former user will always outlast their Fast Form opponent unless the opponent is more skilled, for then the result will always be the opposite. The Strong Form frequently bests the Fast Form, for it is more complex and developed in both attack and defence. And so on. However, the freeform nature of the Nomad philosophy leaves it nearly impossible to know how a Magi Dancer will find victory. Will they have practised their magical abilities, or overwhelm their opponent with agility and offence? I cannot say, for even an individual Nomad can change his or her style throughout their service as a Knight.”
Lightsaber combat was divided by Magi into five forms. Though, if she was being honest, Twilight could really only teach two of them with true mastery. There were many great masters of lightsaber combat, going back to the earliest days of the Magi Order, but during the purge of Magi that happened during the Empire’s rise to power, the number sabre masters in the galaxy could be tallied up in seconds.
“You’re swinging too high, Smolder.” The young dragon was a hotheaded novitiate and favoured one of the more aggressive forms of lightsaber combat. Twilight could teach the basics, but the only true master she knew of was Celestia. And she wasn’t feeling well enough to leave the inner hall of the Sanctuary.
The lesson of the day was the deflection of projectiles. Blasters were the most common weapon in the galaxy. Learning to deflect their fast-moving shots gave a Magi the skills to counter nearly any other projectile they might face.
The only problem was that Smolder’s preferred style, the Fast Aggression Form, barely developed on the basics established in the First Form. The young dragon winced as the training drone fired a stinging bolt into her leg. The shot couldn’t injure, but the jolt of energy didn’t feel good either.
“I don’t get it,” she grunted, “why do I have to stand here and keep deflecting? I thought the Fast Form was supposed to move around and avoid attacks.”
“You won’t always have that choice, Smolder,” Twilight told her. “If you’re caught in a small hallway, or you’re in a cave somewhere and you get fired on, you’ll have to be able to protect yourself until you can find a way out.”
Twilight ignited her own sabre, the crystalline white of the blade instantly brightening the solemn training halls of the Sanctuary. Smolder watched in awe as the training drone reacted, firing a bolt at Twilight’s chest. Slipping into a casual but confident stance from the Fast Form, she knocked back the bolts one by one until the fourth struck the bot back and deactivated it.
Smolder watched in awe. Like a lot of the new novitiates, she learned by action rather than study. Twilight would have preferred if they could dedicate their time to the old texts written by past Magi, but she could not change who they were.
“Do you know the origins of the Fast Aggression Form?” Still, that did not mean she couldn’t quiz their book knowledge. History had its practical applications, after all.
“Yeah, it was the first style of fighting developed by the Magi. Metal carvings within the ruins of ancient Magi Sanctuaries show early Fast Form stances way back before lightsabers were even invented.”
“And what was the form called, back then?”
“Uh…” Smolder hesitated, though only shortly. “The Way of the Fruit Bat. A swarm of fruit bats can clear a field of trees in minutes due to their number. Like them, a Magi must make their strikes as numerous as the fruit bats, robbing the enemy of opportunities to retaliate.”
Twilight nodded. “The Fast Aggression Form is old, and preceded blasters. Only the First Form is older. That’s why you have to adapt your offensive strikes to be defensive. When I use the Short Defensive Form, I keep the sabre close to my body, making it easy to cover every part. For you, try the ascending and descending cuts since they already cover the surface of your body with their wide arcs. Don’t think of it as defending, imagine yourself attacking each blaster bolt.”
“Okay, I think I can do that,” Smolder said. “Turn on the drone again. I’m ready.”
Gallus and Silverstream’s ship crashed out of their hyperlane, regions of space compressed by intense magical forces, making it easier to travel long stretches of the galaxy with ease. Though, with a ship that had been fired upon when trying to escape an imperial carrier, it didn’t really matter how easy hyperlane travel was. They weren’t going to make it back to the Sanctuary without repair.
Gallus brought them out the lane once they neared an inhabited planet. The green and blue hues were a good sign, though neither novitiates recognized the planet.
“I’ll send an emergency transmission to Twilight,” Gallus said, “and let her know where we are. Once we land we can wait for help from the Sanctuary.” He quickly spoke into a microphone, creating an audio log to send back to the Sanctuary. He left out no details about the acolytes, but spoke quickly. Their ship was already being pulled by the planet’s gravity.
“Do you really think you can make it to the surface?” Silverstream checked the ship’s diagnostic panel in the co-pilot seat. “The carrier’s turrets blew out our fuel tank, and the rest of the back portion of the ship.”
“There’s not a ship I can’t fly, Sliverstream, if we survive the re-entry that is.”
Silverstream sat back and watched the approach, their ship beginning to wobble as it met the resistance of the planet’s atmosphere. Then, the most unsettling notion came to her mind, a feeling of intuition even more pervasive than magic.
She turned and looked at Gallus. “What do you mean by ‘if’ we survive?”
There was no time to answer. Turbulence threw them around, tossing and jeering as damaged parts came flying off. Hippogriff and griffon, both their species were used to flying, but Silverstream had to admit this was intense even for her.
They were not only spinning but spiralling down to the surface, forming a wider and wider arc as they descended.
“Mind telling me what you’re doing?” Silverstream grunted, holding onto the co-pilot seat.
“I’ll tell you when I figure it out!” Gallus angled the ship with their functioning wing. Most ships weren’t optimized for air flight, relying mostly on thrusters and hover engines. Without fuel, however, they were as aerodynamic as a brick with paper wings.
Though uncomfortable, the trick seemed to work. Spiralling in the air put them on a longer path to the surface, giving them time to slow down and soften the landing. Well, as soft as falling from the sky in a chunk of metal could be.
The planet was thick with vegetation, humid and packed with dense jungles and tall trees. Hitting one felt like crashing into a building, and Gallus hit many of them. By the time they could stand on stable footing, they snapped clean through a stretch of the jungle and found their ship covered in tangled vines.
“I thought the computer said this planet was inhabited,” Silverstream groaned, leaning against the side of the ship.
“It is,” Gallus flicked the data console in front of him. The screen flickered, barely able to show the information on the planet. “It’s an outpost planet, one city. It’s not too far from here.”
Silverstream picked up her novitiate robes that had fallen on the ground and fastened it on. “You really trust that thing?” She pointed to the sparks and wires pushing smoke out from below.
“It’s the only thing we can go on,” he said, grabbing his sabre and robes. “C’mon, let’s head to the city and see if we can get a new ship. Twilight won’t be able to find if the console’s this damaged. Once we get on a ship we can tell her we’re safe and call off the pick-up.”
The Magi Sanctuary was built with three levels. The Receiving Level held three floors, which were the rooms for novitiates. Originally built so that senior novitiates would live on the lowest floor, close to the Learning Level, the halls were so empty now that it hardly mattered where a novitiate chose to sleep.
The Learning Level was just below, and though it was the same size as the Receiving, the ancient Magi had designed the level to be a single floor. Alongside the open training halls and meditation rooms, there were data shelves ten times higher than the tallest pony which held thousands of years of knowledge. At least, they used. When the Magi Order was destroyed by the Empire, nearly all the data crystals were shattered.
Twilight walked down the rows of empty shelves. While she was fighting the Empire to overthrow Dark Lord Grogar, it was her personal mission to recover enough crystals to once again fill a Sanctuary. She had uncovered troves of texts stored away by Magi, ancient and contemporary, who knew backups would one day be needed.
“Mentor Twilight?” One unmistakable voice echoed through the empty library.
“Yes, Ocellus?” Twilight turned to face the youngest and newest novitiate.
“If you had the time, I was wondering if you could help me understand something I read in one of the old data crystals.” Her voice was soft-spoken and a little timid, but underneath that exterior lied a brilliant mind.
Most of the other novitiates had only heard about the Magi through stories of old wars, if they ever heard of the Magi at all. Many of them wanted to take active roles in preserving Magi ideas, actively seeking out darkness in the galaxy.
But Ocellus was different. She joined because she found a damaged data crystal and brought it to the Sanctuary, seeking to uncover the data that had been lost.
Twilight smiled. “Of course, what’s on your mind?”
They walked over to a hologram console and Ocellus inserted the data crystal, displaying the passages in the air as an image.
“The passages talk about the Magi oath taken by novitiates. Other crystals say that the oath has never changed, but,” Ocellus moved the hologram around to show a scan of a stone tablet, “it’s all written in Old Ponish, but there’s an extra line that I don’t understand.”
Twilight took a closer look at the tablet:
Life is full of illusions. Illusions cloud our judgement. Judgement is needed for action. Action guides us to understanding. Understanding brings us together and gives us magic. Magic empowers peace. Peace cannot exist with life’s illusions.”
The final line of the tablet was where Twilight recognized the difference. Preserving the sanctity of life was one of the Magi Order’s principal tenants. But life, according to this tablet, clouded a Magi from finding peace.
It was a real predicament, and probably hotly debated to a great extent during the height of the Order. Twilight’s answer, however, was unexciting in its simplicity.
“The ancient Magi Order existed in a time with fewer galactic conflicts. As wars escalated, however, the Magi needed to participate in conflicts to swiftly bring an end to them. As a result, the Magi became more involved than their ancient predecessors.”
“Then, what did the ancients do?” Ocellus asked.
Twilight shrugged. “From what I have read, nothing. The earliest Magi might have gotten caught up in some fights, but they tried to distance themselves as far from others as possible. It wasn’t until the first Sanctuary was sacked did they start taking active roles in preserving peace.”
Ocellus frowned at the hologram of the tablet. “So, Magi are supposed to be agents of peace, but to do so, they had to give up the personal peace that the ancients had?”
“It’s not the best bargain,” Twilight said, “but it’s one that we’ve made. Meditate on that knowledge for now. I won’t tell you how to feel about it.”
“What about how you feel about it?”
Twilight hesitated. Of course, she had her own opinions on the matter, but she didn’t pay much attention to it. There was simply too much to do when the Magi and the Republic were just starting to recover.
“If I told you, there’s no guarantee your conclusion would be your own. Sometimes we need to ruminate on our own thoughts before we talk about them.”
“Of course,” Ocellus said, “I’ll try.”
The training hall was ablaze with lightsaber flashes. When Twilight did not reserve the space for special lessons, it was usually filled with novitiates training with each other or against drones. The most senior novitiates looked after the new students, ensuring lightsabers were throttled down to prevent harmful accidents.
On duty were Magi Knights Rarity and Fluttershy. They maintained the same brown robes as their novitiate comrades, except for a white crystal pin which held their robes firmly closed. Their lightsaber hilts were neat and polished. Upon becoming a full knight, a Magi could choose to refashion their sabres with new materials. It symbolized that they were still individuals even as they served an order larger than themselves.
Closest to them were the youngest novitiates, training in the First Form of lightsaber combat. There were four cuts and four blocks to the first form, but when perfected, it was a difficult defence to break. Further across the room, Smolder and the other more experienced novitiates trained against each other.
The Fast Aggression Form was the most visible. The young dragon jumping over and around her friends and overcoming their defences with an ever-increasing number of strikes was a difficult sight to ignore. However, equally impressive was that a young Yak novitiate was keeping up with her speed while using the Strong Form and its slower bladework.
Furthest from the supervisors were the most experienced novitiates, who were nearly Knights in their own right. They numbered nearly as many as the less experienced novitiates, but many were away on missions to help the Republic.
“How are they?” From the library, Twilight entered to observe the novitiates.
“They don’t have the grace of master fencers, but they have the spirit,” Rarity gave her assessment.
Fluttershy agreed. “I think they’re giving it their all, which is all we can ask of them right now.”
“Good, I fear they might need to use these skills,” she told them both in a hushed voice. Twilight subtly leaned toward them both so that the novitiates would not hear. “I just got a message from Gallus and Silverstream. They encountered two dark acolytes on their mission and barely escaped. Now they’re on the planet Dejangal trying to get off. I need you two to watch the Sanctuary while I get them.”
“You’re going?” Fluttershy’s whisper pitched up with worry. “But the novitiates need your guidance.”
“Two novitiates need me more,” Twilight replied. “I trust you two can give proper guidance while I’m gone. If there really are dark acolytes out there, you two will be the Sanctuary’s protectors.”
They nodded solemnly, aware of what she was asking of them. Acolytes of the Dark Lord were the single most brutal body of the Empire’s enforcement. They served many roles, but never bothered to hide their true allegiance. You did not need to offend the law to incur their wrath, only the Emperor.
For Silverstream and Gallus’s sake, Twilight could only hope they were not followed.
Dejangal City, being the only one on the entire planet, was as dense and packed as a city could be. Between the flashing lights of various cantinas and bars and the reckless shouting of drone and robot mechanics, Gallus and Silverstream stood out in their novitiate robes.
But while Silverstream was bumped and jostled through the main street, Gallus seemed to navigate the city’s spaceless roads. Such places were natural to him. Before Twilight brought him to the Magi Sanctuary, his home planet was populated by the Empire’s factories and spaceports. He had few memories from such a young age, but moving through a crowd was hardwired into his muscle memory.
Taking Silverstream by the talon he guided her to a mech court. Like a food court, creatures could go from store to store, browsing or buying all the parts they wanted before they worked on their own mechs. The court was at the bottom of a towering spaceport, which included all the essentials for creatures making a stop on long travels: cramped hospitals and pharmacies, food markets selling out of tiny shops, and even hotels, upcharged if you wanted a livable amount of space.
“This is… cosy,” Silverstream looked around.
“You have any cities like this on Aris?” Gallus asked as he spied around the mech court for anyone who sold ship parts. If they asked the right creature, they could get access to at least a used ship.
“We had cities, but not like this.”
Gallus pointed at an abyssinian mechanic, tinkering with an engine too large to fit on any hoverbike. “I bet he knows something. Come on.”
The smell from the mechanic’s shop was rank with cleaning fluid and oil. Silverstream choked on the air, even after pulling up her robes to cover her face. Gallus pulled down his hood and let Silverstream wait at a short distance behind him.
“Ah! Griffon!Welcome, welcome, how can Angora help a happy customer today, eh?” The Abyssinian waved his paws around, snatching up tools and equipment. “Are you interested in boosting your engine speed? Imperial hoverbikes had dampeners on their engines for “safety regulations,” but for a small fee I can remove those pesky restrictions for you.”
“No, that’s fine, Angora” Gallus smiled. “I just need directions. My friend and I are looking for a ship. We need something cheap but reliable. Comfort isn’t a priority.”
“Oh, uh, I’m sorry friend, but the best I can get you are ship parts. Uh, maybe you’re looking for a hyperlane conduit?”
“Maybe if I find a really cheap ship, we’ll need one.” Gallus put down a small, red-stained ceramic plate, stamped with the Republic’s mint. Ten credits.
“Well, maybe I could ask some of my friends, but they’re just so far away.” Angora stretched out his paw and tapped on the ceramic.
“Not a chance,” Gallus leaned in, “if I like your information, I might think about buying your parts, but not until I know where I can get a ship.”
“Bah, you griffons are no fun,” the cat spat and picked up the credit plate. “Fine. Most of the ships have been commandeered by the Republic’s governor, but there are a few smugglers who can get ships in the scrapyards up and running. I keep in touch with one guy in the southern scrapheap. But don’t think you can buy it off him. He’s a Diamond Dog, they like to stick with their ships. Some kind of ‘pack mentality’ or something.”
“Why’s the governor controlling the ships?” Gallus asked.
“Why else? He controls the ships, he controls the businesses. I don’t care about the names, Republic or Empire, everyone is out to make a profit.”
“So this smuggler, he’s the only one you know who can get us off this planet?”
“Only one who won’t charge the clothes off your back, haha!” The abyssinian laughed. “Do me favour. When you meet him, tell him Angora sent you. That way he knows who to think about when his ship needs repairs.”
Gallus nodded the abyssinian farewell and returned to Silverstream. She was supposed to be waiting behind him, but the young hippogriff was gone, arm wrestling a robot on the other side of the court.
He rushed over, surprised to find that she was actually winning. The bot was roughly in the shape of a dragon, though it was mostly a metal frame packed with wires. Still, its whirling motors were smoking from overuse, struggling to fight back Silverstream’s grip.
There was simply no way. Gallus watched the focus on her face and knew what she had done. And it was bad. Most folk thought of magic as cheating, especially in a game where bets could be tossed around.
“What are you doing?” he hissed, coming up behind her.
“Winning some credits,” she strained. Even speaking broke her concentration, and the bot regained a few inches before she could push its arm back down.
“I found out about a ship and a pilot, hurry up and let’s go.”
“Can’t. Bet too much on this.”
Gallus’s feathers perked up, showing his irritation. “Wha--how many credits did you bet?”
“All of them,” Silverstream admitted.
“I can’t believe…” he sighed, watching Silverstream struggle to finish the job. The bot was fighting its hardest. From its back, he spotted a power cord that ran to the bot’s mechanic. The oil-stained earth pony was fiddling with the battery, doing something to crank up the bot’s performance.
Well, that was technically cheating too, so Gallus thought it was only fair to even the playing field a little. Under his robes he flicked his talons, nudging Silverstream’s grip down until the robot was pinned.
Admitting defeat, the bot reeled back and lied down to relieve its overheated motors. One of the ponies in the audience grabbed the bag of credits from the bot’s mechanic and tossed it to Silverstream, who was enjoying herself a bit too much for Gallus’s liking.
“We should go, now,” he said, putting his hood back up and dragging Silverstream out of the mech court as she waved to her new fans. “The governor doesn’t sound any better than the Empire’s officials. I don’t want to get into any trouble here.”
Indeed, guards dressed in Republic colours had already begun to gather at the court, watching the spectacle for themselves. But the rowdy ponies and bots drew most of the attention. With their hoods up, the novitiates slipped easily away and headed for the scrapyards to find their new ship.
Assassin's Creed: Divided -- Chapter 2, In Silence
We had our targets. Out of all of Montforte’s ranking knights, four of them were Templars. One in the northmost edge of Gustavale would be dealt with by the Francian branch of our Brotherhood. Two accompanied Earl Simon himself, likely giving counsel that would sway the duchy into the favour of the Templars; which nobles to arrest and imprison, which castles to garrison troops in, those were matters that gave Templars the control they so desired.
And then there was our man, Knight Glen, the man whose journal revealed the communications between his Templar conspirators. He would be in Bayon for some time, sending troops to the countryside where many nobles were known to run off to when strife came for them. But Bayon was not a big city, not like Oxhoof or Griffonstone or Trottingham. He may have been able to operate from the barracks within the city, but the majority of his soldiers made camp outside the city. That put him and the bulk of his forces in separate locations.
The news Brighton and I brought to our bureau stirred everyone up, the new recruits the most. Suddenly they were training harder than ever, finishing up the rest of their tasks just to get the chance to assassinate the Anglian knight. But they wouldn’t get their chance.
I was in our records hall when the assignment was brought to me.
“Daughter, are you well?” The man addressing me was Father Chanting, one of the headmasters of our order. His white hooded robes and red sash made him look like an old monk, which he was, but its long sleeves also concealed the hidden blades which had taken dozens of Templar lives.
“Yes, Father.” I wiped the sweat of my brow. By candlelight, the records hall could grow warmer than even the training halls. As the collection of all our secrets and informants, the scrolls and books were hidden below the bureau, behind a false wall within the cellars.
“Brighton is waiting for you, on the roof of L’Eglise du Boreas.”
“What for?”
“To infiltrate and kill Sir Glen. Your brothers in arms have already done their part, scouting the fort and barracks he has hidden inside. You should have the element of surprise. Our presence in the city hasn’t been noticed.”
“Or the Templars just want us to think that we haven’t.”
“If they have lowered their guard to fool us, you will have to make them pay the price for their gamble.”
I sealed the scroll I had been writing on, noting the names of the Templars and their connections. Their network was as invisible as ours, and there would likely be a time when their names and duties would need to be recalled to better figure out the Templars’ next motives.
“Understood, Father.” There was no equipment I needed to fetch. I had my sword and my hidden blades already sharpened and waxed.
A bright light blinded Sunset as she felt her own body come back to her control. She reached out spastically, trying to grab onto something as she got off the Animus’ bed. Her hand found a crate to support her, a comforting sign which told her she was still in the warehouse.
Yet it was completely different than before. The lights were all on, exposing rows and rows of packaged products, from books to cooking utensils to computer parts. Some were put in boxes and labelled, others wrapped in plastic and set to be sorted.
It was so bright, Sunset couldn’t adjust herself quick enough before someone tackled her to the ground, followed by three loud bursts of gunfire.
“Argh!” she yelled, her shoulder felt the full weight of the landing. “That hur-”
A hand came over her mouth as her vision cleared. It was Mags.
“The Templars found us. We have to hold them off long enough for Johnick to move the Animus to the truck.”
Mags unclasped a leather strap on her wrist and removed the bracer. “Don’t worry,” she said as she strapped it onto Sunset’s left arm, “it’s not a hidden blade, just a wrist-mounted can of pepper spray, alright? Don’t hold back against these guys.”
Two more rounds fired and ricocheted above them. Sunset could see where the gunmen were coming from. They were dressed in thick black vests and helmets. They had no insignias, but they were armed like a paramilitary group.
“What? I can’t fight!” Sunset tried to get Mags to slow down, but she was already running to draw their attention away.
Dust and paper shreds blasted over Sunset as more bullets bounced around. The man who explained the Animus, Johnick apparently, had his head crouched down as he pushed the device out the back. Sunset didn’t notice before, but the machine was built on top of a set of wheels like a gurney as if they expected to be on the run.
The power cables bounced around on the ground behind him as he ran. Sunset wondered if he’d be able to make it, with such that heavy machine slowing him down. But that wasn’t her problem. Getting shot for a few magical relics wasn’t in her plan.
As soon as the attackers had spread out around the warehouse, Sunset got off the ground and started running for the exit.
Johnick hissed as she passed him. “Where are you going?”
She rounded the corner of some shelves and pushed through the boxes. Gunshots came dangerously close to her, but with all the clutter of the warehouse, no shot could land on her. The warehouse was big, sure, but in a sprint, the exit was just behind a few shelves.
As she closed in, the back of a rifle smacked her in the face. Sunset felt her hands catch the ground before she knew what happened. One of the men had found her and was dragging her up by her arms.
“Alpha is secure!” the man shouted to his comrades.
Without warning, the other attackers started throwing smoke grenades around the warehouse. They fired indiscriminately, covering their partner as he dragged Sunset through a cluttered aisle of fallen boxes.
Are they really Templars? If they wanted her, then they must’ve been after the same thing the Assassins were. But these men weren’t knights. They used kevlar and firearms. It seemed crazy to think that they were part of the same order that Grenda had fought against.
Sunset looked down at her left wrist with the pepper spray bracer. Then again, who had ever heard of Assassins with a machine that could see old memories?
A box of paint cans caught Sunset’s foot and she slipped from the man’s grasp.
“Damn it, get up,” he cursed under his helmet.
Though it had a visor, it was not airtight, and his face was exposed. Before he could grab her again, Sunset jumped up and jammed her hand in his face, grabbing at his nose and mouth. She pushed with her hips, coming under the man and putting him on the ground in a single hip toss.
He grunted and cursed when he hit the ground, not slowing down at all. His rifle clattered on the ground, but he drew his sidearm in a second and aimed it Sunset’s leg. She pushed his hand aside long enough to send the shot flying off its mark, and then she jammed her left hand in his face and triggered the pepper spray.
A face full of the burning liquid and he was tearing up. He held onto his gun, but from the pain, it wasn’t hard ripping the pistol from his hands. He made a mad dash for his rifle, pointing up and unloading wildly in Sunset’s general direction, but she was long gone from any position she might’ve gotten shot from.
“She’s on the north side!” he yelled, still trying to clear his eyes.
Sunset wasn’t going to wait for more Templars to come for her. She ran for the exit, where Johnick had already gotten the Animus out of the building. The other man from earlier, the one skulking in the rafters, was waiting with a “We-Haul” truck, ready to go.
“Help me push this up,” Johnick said, pointing to a ramp going up the back of the truck.
A second thought wasn’t needed, Sunset started helping immediately.
“Where’s Mags?” she asked.
He motioned his head back to the warehouse. “Still raising hell, I bet. She has an escape route planned. We just need to focus on getting to our next safe house.”
“You’re leaving her?” Sunset grunted as they gave the Animus a final shove.
“She’ll make it out of there. Right now, we need to get you out of here so we don’t lose our only shot at finding the relic. Mags can take care of herself.”
“How long are we going to drive for?” Sunset checked the time on her phone. It was getting late. Tomorrow was Saturday, but she was beginning to wonder if a weekend was long enough to finish whatever they were doing.
“Long enough to lose the Templars,” Johnick said.
They had been driving for about thirty minutes around Equestria City, stopping every few minutes to change direction and go somewhere else. In that time, Johnick had spent almost all of it working on the Animus.
“There, I think I have it set up,” he said.
“What?”
“The Animus. Its internal battery is a little smaller than an electric car’s, so I had to change some of its power settings and test the performance to see if we could still run through the memories. The bed cooling system might be off, but all the critical systems should work.”
Sunset got off the floor of the truck. “Uh, don’t you think we should do that when we stop?”
“Well, traffic around the city’s slow enough that the Animus won’t budge. Besides, it’s a matter of time before they find us again. If you start now, who knows? You could be done before we even reach the safe house.”
Sunset rubbed her arm, feeling the strap her hidden… well… pepper spray. She didn’t want to have to get into a fight like that again. She could go through it as Grenda, those people were in a simulation. And Grenda was a trained killer. She was just a student.
But, when she threw that man back in the warehouse, she didn’t even think about it. It felt like she was in the Animus again, doing it to an Anglian soldier. She had to. They were trying to capture her.
Sunset shook the thought. Johnick was right about one thing, the Templars were on their trail. If she could get the Assassins the relic they wanted, perhaps the Templars would go after that instead of tracking her down.
It was already nine o’clock on her phone.
Since she clearly wasn’t going home soon, what else could she do but dig through some memories?
“Fine,” she said, putting her phone back in her pocket, “but if the Animus moves, you better catch me.”
Johnick nodded. She wiggled herself into the Animus’ bed and together they started reading through Grenda’s memories again.
The stone fort was one of the tallest structures in the city. Only L’Eglise de Boreas, the city’s church built in the Boreas Age, was taller. If we entered through the first floor, that left four floors of soldier barracks, officer quarters, and message sorting rooms to go through to reach the lieutenant in the commander’s quarters.
The church was close to the barracks. It was a place for warriors to receive blessings, and the survivors to mourn for the dead. From the bell tower, we could make out which rooms were lit with candles and which were dead asleep.
“There,” pointed Brighton to the stables on the side of the fort. “The men who work the stables, one of our brothers paid them off to ignore their duties for a night. We’ll be able to enter and exit through some ancient sewer systems that run under the stables.”
“And them?” I pointed to two guards who circled the perimeter of the fort. “You said to keep an eye on them earlier.”
“Yes. They’re brothers, so their captain lets them work together.”
“Think if we capture one, the other will let us in?”
“I was thinking we kill both and take their uniforms. But if you think your way is better, I won’t stop you.”
“I’d rather not risk their bodies being found.” I looked up and down the street. The fort remained a show of strength to the city since it was first built over a hundred years ago. The main road ran through to the gates of the fort, giving it access out to the countryside. But it also put it in plain sight of anyone passing by.
Brighton unclasped his robes and revealed under his armour two bottles of black pitch. “Or I could draw them away while you scaled the wall on the other side. It’s a long way up to the commander’s quarters, though.”
“You could bring the whole fort down with that!” I hissed.
“In this weather?” he waved his hand around in the midnight fog. “No, I think it’ll burn long just long enough.”
We had our options. No one would see us through the sewers, but we’d still need to go up on our own. Then there were the brothers, a stroke of luck from our information gathering. I wanted to focus on those two choices; burning down the fort would certainly draw the Templar out, but it wouldn’t do any good for keeping secret.
“Take one brother hostage,” I finally told Brighton. “I’ll get the other to lead me to the Templar, then you take his brother and wait for me by stables. The place will be up in arms one the lieutenant's dead, and you’ll need to make sure the way out remains clear.”
“And the pitch?”
“Try to save that for an emergency.”
We crossed the road a few houses away from the fort, coming up to it along the side, away from the main road. In broad daylight, anyone could see us, but the light from the torches was just too short at night to catch us as we waited behind a bakery.
“Here they come,” Brighton unsheathed his hidden blade.
“Hold on.” I stayed his hand long enough to pull my hood back and let down my hair. I made a small cut on the back of my hand and dabbed the red on my lips. Not the best substitute, but at night, who could tell?
Brighton stared at me as the soldiers approached. “Wait, what are you doing?”
“Just keep them quiet and let me do the talking,” I said, taking off the cloak of my outside and springing out from behind the bakery. The brothers stopped the moment they heard my footsteps, though a woman lost in the dark didn’t give them a reason to draw their weapons.
“You need help, miss?”
“Oh, yes!” I ran to them, putting on the same routine I had seen young girls use on the streets with pretty boys. “I’m afraid I got a little turned around, that’s all. I’m not lost, I promise. I think your captain or someone asked for me to meet them here.”
“Yeah, who did?” the other brother, a slightly shorter man, asked.
“Um… I believe the letter was from Sir Glen. At least, that's what the Father said when I asked him to read it for me.”
“The lieu--” the taller one stammered. “I don’t see what he’d want with you.” He laughed over to his brother. “He’s the most devout man I've ever seen.”
The shorter grabbed me by the wrist. “Come on, why don’t you wait inside while we ask the Lord Green if he wants to see you now.”
With a flick and a twist, I reversed his grip, pulling the shorter brother closer as I held my hidden blade a hair’s breadth from his groin. Brighton read the signal instantly and lunged out, snatching the taller one by the back of the head and pressing his blade against the man’s throat.
“Now, you both sound like upstanding men of faith, but I’m certain you’ve heard that even faithful men are still men. Sir Glen just needs a little… tempering. And he’d like as few people to know about it, so you are going to get me to him straight away without spreading rumours around to your friends, is that clear?”
“Bloody hell!” the shorter one cursed, looking down at his trousers. “Alright then! Looks like Lord Green paid for the discretion.”
“In advance. So don’t think of any tricks. My brother will keep yours company until he knows I’ve done my work with your lieutenant.”
“My lord, your woman’s here to see you..”
“Eh? I didn’t send for a woman.”
“What? But she said… Oh, uh, right of course.” The brother soldier looked left and right for prying ears and eyes. All the way up to the commander’s quarters, guards spied him with either approval or envy, all the while spying me with all the same eyes that men used when they had spent too much time fighting.
“Um, never you mind, m’lord. I didn’t hear anything, so I’ll just be going back to my duties then.”
The poor soldier left us, leaving the empty hallway and quickly filing down the stairs. The commander’s quarters, and the rest of the fort, had been laid out and scouted by Assassins countless times in the past generations. It wasn’t as old as the church, it was built after the fall of the Boreas Age. But it still had an impressive design to it.
Whoever commanded the garrison in the fort would be given quarters at the top, giving a view of the soldiers training in the courtyard and small balcony which could overlook the entire city. It was a bastion of control. Many like it were built far across the duchy, long before Gustavale had come under an Anglian king.
And now, in that rich history, it seemed the Templars had finally gotten a hold of it. Glen Green opened an eye slit in the door and spied me through it.
“You, you do not have the look of a prostitute,” he said. “Yet one of my men has brought you to me as one. Why are you here? Come to extort money from me? You’ll find none, so leave before I find some reason to execute you.”
He closed the eye slit, but I reached in and held the gap open to speak. “And as for the ones inharmonious, accept them, but not to quarrel.”
“Boreas, fourteen-one,” the most faithful knight recited. “Who are you?”
“It would depend.”
“On?”
“If you would welcome me, my Lord. Will I be your informant or an enemy spy?” I lowered my voice. “Or, I can be anything else you desire.”
He hesitated. “I make a vow to God, if this be some falsehood, wrath will be set upon you.” The clinking of keys undid the door’s lock, but I could also hear something else in his hand. The cluttering of a sword, its sheath bumping against the ground as he opened the door.
“Now what’s all this--”
I kicked open the door before he could finish and lunged inward, my glove in his mouth to silence a shout. He reached for his sword, but I made us crash into a desk in the middle of the room, pinning his arm against it so he could not draw.
If he had armour, I would have had no hope against him. But he thought he was safe among his men inside his fort, guarded by walls and infantry. And no man, especially a knight, would think to ward himself against a woman. At least not against a physical assault.
Still, he was trained from birth for war. He wrapped his free arm tight around my waist and pivoted, moving me off. A drawn-out fight could not be won. My blades lunged as I lunged, and landed as I landed. Both on his chest.
“Gah!” He bloodied the floor with his coughing. “Assassin? I tho… I thought the troops had misplaced my letters. But your people were at the docks, weren’t they?”
“I was there myself. I watched you guide your ships here with tools and men of war. Do not be so surprised to meet with resistance, Templar.”
He spat. “War? War is a game played by fools. The King of Anglia wants his land and sent his rabid hound to guard it. But the Templars serve no Earl or King. We only came to temper the Earl of Leicester, to guide the man’s talent for chaos.”
I kneeled over him. “Then you have failed. Gustavian nobles flee at the mention of his retinue coming to arrest, or worse. Perhaps things would be better if you had stayed out of these affairs.”
Despite his injuries, he somehow still laughed. “What else would incite them to action? This world only bends to those who make it. Half the duchy is in revolt because the other half is willing to cower to a ruler who’ll spare them. But if it’s Simon, they’ll revolt again in no time, and stronger.”
“You bargain lives for chaos?”
“Order, madam.” He coughed again. His conviction was strong but not his body. “In the chaos, the balance of power will swing, and the ownership of this land will be decided. We aim to speed that along before the next disastrous war over land sends thousands more to their death. We bargain the lives of the living for the many more who will live.”
He rolled up in his own blood. “Hurngh. Whan shul me bones been at reste?”
“Désolée, cavalier,” I kneeled down to him and placed my blade on his neck. “But now,you must reposer en paix.”
“There she is!”
The sound of rushing soldiers shallowed my cut, and in a last gasp the Templar swung his arm out, swatting my head and plastering my face in blood.
But he was wheezing. “Assassin! Here!”
There was no time left. I was without my hood, and if I did not run now, Glen Green’s entire retinue would know my face. There was no time to find the sewer entrance. But the commander’s quarters had a small balcony, one that overlooked the entire city.
I rushed out the back of the room and scanned around. Trees, houses, anything to jump to. There was only one thing. Extra hay from the stables had been left in their carts along the road, and they were lined up against the wall of the fort.
“Got you!” An archer leaned in through the door and shot an arrow towards me, nearly hitting were it not for a desk to duck behind. There really wasn’t any time. They would be inside in a second, so I needed to be out in a second.
I found it ironic, seeing as I had just killed a devout knight of God. I needed to make a leap of faith. So I jumped from the balcony.
Brighton’s voice came closer as crawled out of the haybale. Arrows came down at us from the soldiers above.
“I guess it worked,” he said, ducking behind the cart of hay. “Though I expected you to be coming out from the sewers. Looks like I tied up the other brother for nothing.”
Though the archers could not see us so far down in the night, that did not mean they could not get lucky. In minutes soldiers would be marching from the fort in search of us.
Brighton handed me the rest of my robes. “Dropped this.”
“Merci. Which way should we take?” I fastened the leather straps that held the robes tight over my body. Like the padded vests infantrymen wore, the layers of the robe brought welcomed warmth and security. I felt like I was invincible again.
“They are searching l’eglise now,” he said, “we won’t make it out through there. We head out of the city, lose them in the countryside, and make our way back to the bureau.”
“Fan out, they can’t have gone far!” We turned our heads to the disarrayed men.
It was inevitable that the death of their lieutenant would be discovered, either now or later. However, I wasn’t thinking about the bureau. The Brotherhood had been operating out of the catacombs under the city for generations, the winding ruins of the Boreas Age nearly impossible to navigate. The only problem that remained was to not be seen going to the bureau.
“We’ll be faster if we take the rooftops,” I pointed across the street to the nearest house.
“So now you feel like climbing, huh?” Brighton laughed. “Alright. How about a race while we’re at it? First one to the walls?”
“What, now?”
He did not answer, he simply took off running, dashing past the lanterns hanging on the street. The flicker of firelight alerted the soldiers, and some of them did come for us. But if it was a race Brighton wanted, then he’d get it. His head start was trivial, for before the soldiers could even see the cart I had landed in, I was up and gone along the rooftops of Bayon.
As the Animus hummed silently and dimmed down, Sunset woke up feeling gross. Her hair and clothes were warm with sweat. She woke up to see the back of the We-Haul truck again, though the sound of the engine had gone silent.
“Easy, don’t get up too quickly.” Johnick took Sunset’s hand and pulled her off the Animus gently. “We’re at a gas station, northside of the city. It’s about as far from the warehouse as we can get, so it’s a good place to get a snack and stretch your legs.”
“What time is it?”
“A little past ten o’clock. Bashir’s in the store right now getting some hotdogs. I hope that’s okay?”
Sunset rubbed her eyes, still groggy from experiencing the Animus in its low-power state. It felt like getting a bad night’s sleep, plus her clothes were uncomfortably damp from the heat trapped in the back of the truck.
“Um… I don’t eat meat,” she said, clearing her head. “Could go for a soda right now, though. And clothes that aren’t, well, gross.”
Johnick paused for a moment. But whatever he was debating with himself was resolved pretty quickly. He opened the back of the truck, flooding in a gust of cool air, and let Sunset step out. They had stopped on an open space for cargo trucks, next to the gas station. They weren’t downtown, the tall business buildings of the city’s densest streets could be seen further away in the distance, but they were just outside the city.
Closer to home, then. The neighbourhoods around Equestria City weren’t suburban yet, but here the buildings were a reasonable height and Sunset could see the stores around them. The station was in a corner of a shopping centre. A few parking lots away and there was a Marcy’s clothing store.
Sunset felt her pockets. A wave of relief ripped through her hand when she found that the Assassins hadn’t taken her wallet.
“How long are we going to wait?”
Johnick followed Sunset’s eyes to the Marcy’s. “Long enough. But, uh, you have a credit card, right?”
Sunset raised an eyebrow. She didn’t touch him, but her gemstone was giving her the feeling that he was trying to hide the fact he had already gone through her stuff. She didn’t know why he bothered, she already expected a group of people called the “Brotherhood of Assassins” to check her licence after they kidnapped her.
Anyhow, she played along. “Yeah.”
“The Templars are more powerful than you think,” he said, opening his own wallet and handing her a wad of cash. She couldn’t help but stare at the stack of twenties in her hand. It was definitely a few hundred bucks. “You saw how those guys at the warehouse were equipped. The Templars do enough business with banks to track your credit card spending. Stick to cash.”
“That’s kinda spooky but okay.”
Shopping for clothes after fighting armed men felt surreal. It felt like she had been completely disconnected from her real life.
Sunset picked an orange shirt and a pair of cotton-blended athletic pants. Getting into another fight was not on her list of things to do, but she wanted to be ready for it. Plus, something simple and comfortable was just about the cheapest thing she could find. They did kidnap her, but she still felt bad spending someone else’s money.
“I must be crazy,” Sunset sighed in the women’s changing room. Feeling bad for Assassins. She clearly wasn’t cut out for the battle they were fighting if spending money was enough to make her feel guilty. Right now, she bet she could run. Take the cash, get a taxi, and head home for the weekend, start school like normal.
She had a couple hundred in bills, she was sure she could make that last to lose the Templars and the Assassins. But her mind was stuck on what the man called her back at the warehouse. The Alpha. She was their first target, not the Animus. If the Templars were after the same thing the Assassins were, then they probably already knew about what she could do.
Sunset put her own clothes back on and gathered up the outfit that fit her. As she walked out, her mind was clouded. She wondered how it could be possible that an order dating back to the Thirteenth Century could still exist.
And then something caught her eye. A woman, asking the assistant in front of the changing room if they had the jacket she was holding, but in a women’s large.
“Excuse me?” Sunset stepped in, pointing to the red faux-leather jacket. “This one doesn't fit you, right? Would it be okay if I tried it on?”
“Oh, well of course! You look like a medium, plus it would look amazing with your hair.”
The woman handed it to her, and it turned out she was right. The jacket fit like a charm.
“Well, how about that?” Sunset pulled the hood up. “It feels, right.” She thanked the woman and helped her pick out a better jacket before taking everything to the counter to pay. Sunset handed a couple of twenties, tossing the change into a donation jar, and walked out wearing her new jacket.
It would be her memento, she decided, of probably the last normal interaction she was going to have for a while.
Back at the gas station Johnick and the other Assassin, Bashir, were discussing their route to the safe house, standing at the edge of the security camera’s view. Sunset kept her hood up and paced quickly through the shop to get within earshot of their whispers.
“So, look like you’re taking this business pretty seriously,” Johnick said as soon as she came close.
“No, I just stumbled on this,” she gestured to her outfit. “A little reminder that the rest of the world is still a normal place.”
“Alright then, whatever floats your boat.”
Bashir grabbed a twenty-four-ounce cup off the counter beside them and gave it to Sunset. “Take your pick,” he motioned to the soda fountain.
“So you do talk,” Sunset noted, filling the cup with root beer. She slurped the bubbles that always threatened to spill out and finished filling it to the brim.
“When I have to,” he said. “We’re running short on time.”
“Yeah, yeah, just gimme a sec, I gotta get one more thing before we go,” she said, walking over to the hygiene aisle.
“Really? What else do we need?” Johnick followed, stirred on by a casually harmless curiosity. Sunset, however, did not answer. His eyes followed her until she found what she wanted.
“Wow, big mystery.” She grabbed a package of tampons off a shelf. “What else could a teenage girl possibly need?”
“Oh, haha” Johnick coughed, quickly spinning back to Bashir. “Of course. Uh, I’ll think I’m going to go wait back in the truck. Right now. And calibrate the Animus a little bit. Just head back when you’re done.”
Bashir snorted. “Eamal jayid, 'ahmaq.” Johnick simply stuck his tongue out, unable to retort against the Palestinian’s sarcasm.
2nd of August, 1248: Trottingham, Anglia
At the very least, the summer had arrived. The Earl Montforte had spent three months in Gustavale weakening the nobility. In that time, those who held anti-Anglian sentiments made their complaints known, further encouraging the conflict between Gustavale and the Earl.
Many of the Assassins blamed the Templars for inciting the nobles to take action, blaming them for prolonging Simon’s severe treatment, but the fact of the matter was that the nobles were simply tired of their mistreatment. Gustavale, though formerly of Francia, held little love for its old kingdom after months of Simon’s oversight. Nobles talked more about independence, though of course, some still clung to their Francian roots.
After three months, the Earl left to report his success personally to the Anglian king. And, according to the other assassinated knights, he was travelling with a monk for religious comfort. A Templar monk.
I questioned how we had managed to miss a fifth Templar lurking around in our borders, and so did the elders in the bureau. But the time for questions would have to come later. The monk was to be taken alive and questioned. If he could hide without us knowing, then there was no way we could be certain that his death would be the last.
“Have you practised your accent?” Brighton asked as we moored our ship to the dock of a small fishing village just a few miles east of Trottingham.
“Hullo, fellow Anglian!” I tried my best. “Forsooth! I can go for some chips, yeah?”
“Alright then,” he sighed, “we’ll just tell people you’re a Francian merchant and that I’m your bodyguard.”
Horses were prepared for us by our brothers in Anglia. So from the small village, we rode west for Trottingham.
Bayon and Trottingham were to different cities. The Anglians had built their trading network around their city’s great ports. Dozens of buildings on the shore were simply warehouses, and for each of them, there were a dozen more workshops that relied on their supplies to bake, forge, carve, sew, or sell.
Normally, we would have reported to the bureau as soon as we entered the city, but it seemed Simon’s movements were of the utmost importance. Just past the city gates, an Anglian Assassin waited for us.
“Good, you’re here,” he said, motioning us to follow. “Simon de Montforte arrived not long ago, but he seems a determined man. He has already asked for a carriage to be prepared to ride into the countryside, where the King is spending time in his summer hold.”
“The Templar, is he with him?” I asked.
“You mean the monk? Yes, though he was last spotted leaving the Earl’s side to pray at the Church of Saint Luna.”
I turned to Brighton. “Simon is not our target, the Templar is. If we can remove their influence from the Earl, an easier peace may come to Gustavale.”
He agreed and then spoke to the Anglian. “This Templar managed to hide within Simon’s retinue for months without our detection. We need him alive in order to know if there are any other Templars influencing the King’s interests in Gustavale. Can your bureau help us in capturing him?”
“I will talk to the Grandmaster,” he said. “Whatever help we can offer will be waiting for you at the orphanage across from the church.”
The Church of Saint Luna’s bells tolled for the hour. Mass and all the other mandatory Christian rituals were done for the day, it seemed. Those who stayed were the ones who wanted to be there.
Though I suspected that Simon de Montforte would not allow his men to slow him down, no matter how devout the monk was. It was good fortune, then, that the Assassins in Anglia had hooded cloaks that looked almost exactly like the monks’ robes. I exchanged the exterior of my outfit for theirs and walked straight into the church.
Women and their children sat on the pews in prayer. Were their sons and brothers in Gustavale? No, probably not. The Earl of Ledecester may have been funded by the King, but he paid his own men to do the fighting, and the duchy of Ledecester was very far. I wondered what the mothers prayed for, if not for their sons. Protection and a good harvest, perhaps. The fortune of every kingdom depended on the yield of the land, not gold or steel.
I took a seat near the back of the church, keeping my face covered by clasped hands, my intentions masked by fake prayer. But everywhere I looked, I saw people. Men, women, all dressed in the same Anglian fashion. There was no monk.
My instincts told me something was wrong, however.
And then my eyes confirmed it.
There was no monk, indeed. But there was a ragged man dressed in muddy chainmail, his steel helmet resting beside him on the pews. He wore a padded tunic beneath his armour, cleaned but stained with many battles fought. And his ragged hair, grown long, hung down to his shoulders as he was deep in thought.
I moved from my spot to his, sitting close behind. To my silent footsteps, his ears were blind. “Are you Simon de Montforte’s man?” I whispered behind my clasped hands.
“I am in prayer,” he simply replied.
“Do you call yourself a goodly knight? Or a monk? Or just a killer and a thug?”
“Take this elsewhere, the good people of this church should not be involved.”
“Then you’ll tell me what I want to know, Templar.”
He laughed lightly, his breath had an airy whisper to it and then turned around. “Have I not told you enough?” I was shocked by his face. Tired and unshaven, under the stubbly beard was the man I had killed months ago.
“How is it you are alive, Green?”
“Faith,” he said quietly. “You made me bleed, but I fought and prayed to God to not let my work finish. And he answered. Though, I suppose I do have some thanks to give to you as well. My near-death has proven my convictions to the Order, and I have been appointed the rank of master.”
“A favour for a favour, then.” I leaned in closer so he could see how ready my hidden blade was. “Take a walk with me. Tell me how you live, and what other secrets your people are hiding in Gustavale.”
His airy whisper brushed my face, his breath smelling like he had been chewing mint leaves. “I suspect that if I walked with you, it would be my last walk as a free man. But as to your first request, you can have it for free. No doubt your Brotherhood is already aware that we possess certain ancient relics. Their divine power is truly magnificent. A person with your determination could surely earn their right to witness it. If you were a Templar, of course.”
“You were healed by a relic?” I searched his eyes for any deception, but his face was candid.
“Not completely,” he sighed. “Your blade ran deep, and not all of my lungs could be saved. I find breathing now to be a challenge, thanks to you. With my appointment as a master, I requested retreat to a monastery near my home, since I can no longer serve as a knight.”
“A monk, and a Templar instructor, no doubt.”
He nodded. “The young men who are brought to the monasteries need a firm hand to teach them the Lord’s will.”
“If you cannot fight, then what’s stopping me from taking you as my prisoner right now?”
“God’s wrath, as I am his devout champion,” he flashed a smile, “or the city guard. There are a great many of them, with the Earl of Ledecester visiting.”
“Don’t be certain,” I grabbed his wrist and dumped his helmet on his head. “Make a sound and I’ll take the rest of your lungs. I’ll make sure you die before your Templar friends can heal you.”
The people in the church looked our way, but despite wear on his armour, Glen still had the appearance of a knight. Eyes could look, but bodies would not take action. Outside, Brighton and the other Assassins watched the church from the rooftops and the streets. We took the back exit, walking past some gardens the nuns had put in place, and signalled the Assassins that I had our mark.
We reconvened at the Anglian bureau, and I told them everything Sir Glen had gloated to me. All of it was bad news, but not necessarily new information. The Templars had used relics in the past, relics stolen from earlier crusades. We knew the threat they posed. Now we only had more details.
“A relic?” Brighton pulled down his hood, his face flushed with frustration. “So the fifth Templar was only Glen.”
“Who has been promoted to the rank of master,” I reminded him. Holding a master Templar was a boon we seldom had, though getting information from him would prove to be difficult. He had already survived death once, and as a knight, there was a considerable amount of pain we’d have to inflict before he spoke, all of which would be lies.
The Anglian bureau was much smaller than the ones on the mainland, though they had still built it from the collapsed Boreas ruins that ran underneath the city. Beneath us, beneath the circular meeting chamber built from marble, once a government building of the Boreans, grunts could be heard as Assassins beat information from Glen.
I only hoped they would not go too far. His condition was weaker than when we first met, and he could give us nothing if he died.
Brighton looked in the same direction, to the stairwell that led to the dungeon, and knew my thoughts. “He’s spoken to you already. Perhaps you could coerce more information from him.”
“That’s likely,” the Grandmaster of the bureau agreed, “though give it more time. He’ll be more favourable to a friendly face if he knows what else is in store for--”
A shout from the bureau entrance came. “Templars! They’re scouring the streets above us.” A young Assassin, a boy probably just barely sixteen, sprinted into the meeting chamber. “It’s an army up there, Grandmaster. The people are spreading rumours, a confessor at the church saw a monk be taken away.”
I grabbed the panicking boy’s shoulder. “Are you certain?” I didn’t understand how. A knight walking with a woman would never appear like a kidnapping to anybody.
“Assassins are gathering information as we speak, trying to fabricate lies that will throw the Templars off our trail. But it’s not just them. The nuns and the priests have called on the people to rally for their faith. People are flocking to the Templars to help search for the ones who kidnapped the monk!”
“This is bad,” the Grandmaster cursed sharply under his breath. “We cannot fight an entire city.” He drew his sword and gave it to the young Assassin. “Willum, take my sword and leave the city. Head south to our brothers in Oxhoof and show it to them. They will know to send help.”
“You two need to go with him,” he turned to me and Brighton. “The Templars have never come out in such force before. They must surely be after their master. You need to take him and flee the city, he’s our best source of information right now.”
Brighton nodded and gave the Grandmaster and assuring handshake. “What about you?”
“I will stay with the bureau and direct the effort to eliminate the Templar captains. Hopefully, that will give you time and keep them from discovering us.”
Quickly, Brighton ran for a tunnel that connected to a stable just inside the city walls to secure horses for our escape, while I hurried down to grab Glen from his cell.
“Haha!” he shouted a laugh, straining his lungs in his reverence. “Did you Assassins think we’d never find you? We’ve saved our resources for bigger wars to come, but I knew you’d find me if I just waited.”
“Shut up!” his interrogator kicked him in the face. “Sister, do you need help carrying him?”
“No, you need to help the Grandmaster slow down the Templars,” I told him. I unsheathed my blade and held it to Sir Glen’s back. “You’re coming with me.”
“Oh yes, do keep running,” he coughed, “we’ll stamp you out from every hole you dig. And when the crusades bring home a new relic, we’ll cure Gustavale and the rest of Anglia of you like the sickness you are.”
Shouting came from above. It wasn’t the sound of Assassins rushing to gather. Steel clashed with steel, slowly overtaking the voices. Willum, the young boy, sprinted down, still carrying the Grandmaster’s sword.
“The Templars are--”
He collapsed before he could finish as a Templar ran a spear through his back. The interrogator yelled out, drawing his knife. But the captain simply raised his spear and launched it, knocking down my Assassin brother.
“I told you we’d do it,” Sir Glen turned around confidently. I moved to slice his neck, but he swung his head back and brought it forward, striking me in the face with his forehead. The Templar captain ran to his aide, cutting the knight out of his bindings before pointing his sword at me. My hidden blades were readied, but a boot found its way to my head before I could rise.
[One Shot] That One Time Goblin Slayer Went To Equestria
“Are you sure it’s an animal? It doesn’t sound like any animal I’ve seen.”
Fluttershy walked closely behind Rarity.
“I am certain, darling. It was growling and crawling around in the dirt. And it tried to bite me while I was mining gems for my new couture!”
“Maybe it was just scared,” Fluttershy suggested, “most animals don’t attack if they have to.”
Their voices echoed through the darkened empty caverns that ran through the hills and trees just outside Ponyville. The bedrock was rich with common, but spectacular-looking, gemstones, and it had been slowly emptied throughout the years of mining and prospecting.
As they closed in on the bend of the tunnels that Rarity had mentioned, they heard the scritch-scratching of the creature. It was as she had described, a stubby and green thing on two legs, like a malformed monkey, hobbled towards them.
“Oh my, you’re an interesting creature, aren’t you?”
“Graah!”
The creature lept out at Fluttershy, a weapon suddenly appearing in one of its hands. The knife slashed at her, taking hair off her mane as she stumbled back.
“Hey! That’s not--”
Rarity lept for her friend, dragging her out harm’s way and pushing back the creature in a levitating push.
“I don’t think your usual charm is working,” she worried.
“You know,” Fluttershy got to her hooves, “I think you’re right.”
Hm. Goblin Slayer checked himself. Something wasn’t right, his body didn’t feel like it should have.
He tried remembering what had happened. It was a small nest that he was clearing out, five or six goblins based on what he saw. Certainly a threat, but his party did not need to get involved. He was enough, or at least he was supposed to be.
He looked around. “Gate spell?” He wondered how a goblin shaman could have cast something like that. Then he shook the idea out of his head. A portal opened while he was killing goblins, that’s all he knew. He didn’t see the shaman cast the spell.
My master said I didn’t have the mind for magic. I can’t get distracted by those questions. A goblin came through the portal with me. I should kill it before I start figuring out how to go back.
He stood and wiped the dirt off his… hooves? Transformation magic? He had heard about such things, and in the past, he had encountered powerful users of magic who used goblins as cheap foot soldiers.
If there was such magic at play, he had to be careful. Without information, it would be impossible to predict any other spells that could be used against him.
He tried walking. His armour seemed to fit him, it seemed to transform with his body. He lifted each limb, testing its motion. It felt like crawling on all fours, but his motion didn’t feel alien despite the unusual body.
Good. It seems if I move the way I’m used to, my body will still act the way I want it. He felt his face, and immediately noticed something familiar. He had ridden in enough carriages and carts to know a horse when he felt one. He flipped his shield around and inspected his face.
A horse. No, the legs were too short. A pony, then. Wherever he was, whatever that portal spell’s nature, it had altered his body into a pony. But as long as he could move, he would. And as long as he could fight, he would.
“Grrah!” The echo of a scream came from the left, further down the tunnel. He was lucky that his torch hadn’t gone out, because that was the sound of a goblin, so there was only one thing he had to do.
Twilight teleported to her friends as soon as she heard the news. Creatures attacking Ponyville was something she could send the royal guard to handle, but when her friends were involved, she wanted to be sure the job got done.
“Spike got Starlight’s letter,” she said, popping behind Rarity and Fluttershy.
“Gah!” Rarity jumped. “Oh darling, you must give more warning next time.”
“Sorry,” Twilight apologized, though she couldn’t hide her smile. If being shocked was her main worry, then it must be that the creature wasn’t that serious.
She wanted to ask for more details, the letter Starlight had sent only told her that Rarity and Fluttershy were investigating a potentially dangerous creature. But she only had to look ahead to find her answer.
Brightened from the light of her horn, a pile of rocks had collapsed and trapped the creature in question. A short green monstrosity, it looked like a frog that had dried up and stretched out into a suit for a bigger, more disgusting frog.
“Fluttershy, what is that?” Twilight asked.
“I have no idea! But I can’t seem to understand what it’s saying!”
Rarity nodded. “It attacked us without the slightest provocation. It’s a cretin, a beast!”
“It walked upright?” Twilight confirmed with them, and both her friends nodded. There weren’t many upright creatures in Equestria. This certainly wasn’t some young dragon, nor was it a monkey of any kind. She considered asking Stygian, or maybe Celestia. It was possible this was a rare and ancient creature no pony had seen before.
“How did all these rocks fall down?”
“That was my doing,” Rarity declared. “The thing tried to harm Fluttershy, so I leapt into action and did the only thing I knew, I dug out some gems. It seems my instincts were right and the tunnel collapsed when I removed part of the wall.”
“Good thinking,” Twilight said, “I want to study this, maybe figure out a spell that can let us talk to it.”
“Grrahh! Gaaraah!” The creature suddenly began crying out, piercing their ears with its squealing.
“What in Equestria is that horrid noise?” Rarity covered her ears.
Twilight winced and put up a noise barrier around them. “Is it trying to tell us anything?”
Fluttershy shook her head. “If it is, I don’t know what it’s saying. Oh, but I bet the poor thing must be scared, covered in all those heavy rocks.”
“It can’t be helped, it’s dangerous until we can--”
Rarity’s scream cut Twilight off. At her hoof, a bony green hand had reached into the barrier. The field cancelled noise, not anything else, and before Twilight could repel the second creature, Rarity was dragged out into the darker depths of the tunnel.
Without hesitation, Twilight charged out of her the barrier and hounded down the faint light of Rarity’s horn.
“Ahg-gah…”
“That’s one.”
Goblin Slayer let the goblin slide off his sword. The horseshoes that were where his gloves should have been seemed to be magnetized, the lodestones scholars and wizards sometimes used for their projects. It had a strange way of working, more like magic than actual magnetism, and it seemed whatever he wanted to pick up just had a way of sticking.
I will have to ask around the guild about this spell. It could be a useful way to avoid dropping a weapon by accident, either by fatigue or the slippery goblin blood.
He stepped over the one he had just killed, not bothering to lather its guts over himself. He was in a strange place with no sense of direction. Hunting down any other stray goblins in the tunnels would be hard, so he was going to let them come to him.
Goblins have a strong sense of smell, and they know adventurers always carry light. They think they can win just with the element of surprise.
He paused.
But my master once said I wasn’t lucky. I can’t do things without practice, without learning. But I am used to it, having to learn. I am used to observing. And now, after being used to it for so long…
“I can see you.”
The goblin was not quick enough.
The Slayer’s sword was quicker.
It collapsed on the ground, impaled by flying steel.
But one could not be too sure when killing goblins. He moved closer to retrieve his sword, only to drive it through the goblin’s head to ensure it did not get up.
“That’s two.”
He inspected himself again. If this kept up, he guessed he’d eventually end up smelling like goblins anyway. But the nest he was fighting was small, there should not have been many goblins.
Unless this was a trick they had somehow learned to use. Perhaps he was in the heart of an even larger nest, connected by magic to smaller ones, the same way guards and soldiers could be sent to distant outposts but communicate through mail or magic.
I don’t know if that is the case, but I don’t know that it isn’t. Seeing two goblins is already more than I had expected. I believed one had fallen through with me. So, there may be too many to fight by luring them.
He knelt down and began cutting open the goblin, its blood and putrid stomach already staining his plate and mail. Now, even in this transformed body, he was starting to feel familiar.
And just in time, too. Perhaps the sound of their fellow goblin echoed further through the tunnel than expected. He could hear the sound of two more goblins charging his way.
“Get off of her!” Twilight found Rarity surrounded by more of the creatures. They had crude spears in their hands, threatening to stab their new prisoner with them until they were blasted back by bolts of purple-hued magic.
“That’s enough!” She raised her horn and brought the top of the tunnel down, pinning most of the creatures under the rocks.
Those that remained started to run. But Twilight would not let them. She waved her horn and a rush of magic filled the ground, turning stone into quicksand at the feet of the scrambling creatures.
“Where are they coming from?” Twilight cast a few balls of light out into the tunnel, trying to keep the other creatures visible. It was a straight tunnel, with no twists and turns. But these little green monsters appeared out from nowhere.
But then again, they weren’t familiar with the tunnels. “Fluttershy, can you find some moles or gophers, or any animal that might know what we’re dealing with?”
Twilight turned her head when she heard no answer. “Fluttershy?”
“Wasn’t she just behind you?” Rarity pulled herself away from the hand of one of the pinned creatures.
“I ran after you so quickly, we must’ve gotten separated.”
“That’s no good,” Rarity gasped, “she can’t talk to these horrid things, she’s in as much danger as us!”
Twilight turned her attention to her fading lights. The rest of the monsters had already escaped. She wanted to chase them down, make sure they didn’t get into Ponyville, but Fluttershy was her friend.
“There’s no time to do everything,” she told Rarity. “I’ll teleport you back to Ponyville so you can warn every pony not to come this way. And tell Starlight to lock down the school, too.”
“But what about you?”
Twilight looked at all the creatures she had trapped. “I think I can handle this. I’ll find Fluttershy and get her to safety as soon as I can.”
“That’s four.”
Two more panicked goblins stained the ground with blood. They were so afraid of something behind them that they didn’t even fight back. Two easy cuts put both their heads on the ground.
Knowing them, it can be anything. Goblins aren’t completely mindless, they know when to listen to their cowardice. These tunnels are big, it could be a bear or some other large animal. Perhaps even a bigger monster.
If it was, Goblin Slayer started considering his chances of escaping unharmed. This almost seemed like a situation he’d find himself in with his party. Perhaps the Archer would call this an adventure.
He looked at the ground. Then again, it still included goblins.
Ahead, the tunnel was partially collapsed, the goblins underneath the rocks had gone completely limp.
Squish. He looked down. A goblin, through its struggling, had ended up neck-deep in quicksand. The tunnel collapsing he could expect, they were underground after all. But it was impossible for a pit of quicksand to have formed here.
The sand was cold and watery, not any different from normal quicksand. But it must’ve come from some kind of magic. The goblin inside stared at him pleadingly. It had already exhausted itself trying to escape.
Goblins are dumb. This one could have escaped, if it knew it had to calm down.
Goblin Slayer picked up a crude spear lying on the ground. A trapped goblin, however, was still a living goblin.
“That’s ten.” He counted as he went, impaling the goblins with their own weapons. Whatever had trapped them didn’t do so out of kindness. It seemed to be an enemy of the goblins as well.
That’s one chance.
If it was something or someone who could help him, he’d accept it. But if not, he expected it’d be a hard fight.
He moved on. Not much time passed before he heard screaming again from further down the tunnel. There were two voices. And a lot of goblins.
Twilight’s magic brought the earth to life, roots and tendrils of rock wrapping around the green creatures before they could get to Fluttershy. But there were too many to focus on.
Fluttershy was lucky to only have scrapes and bruises on her. The section of tunnel was a little larger than the rest, barely giving the pegasus room enough to fly up and cling to the ceiling. Twilight wished she could do the same, but two of the creatures had grabbed onto her tail, and more were coming with their spears and clubs.
“Twilight, above you!” Fluttershy shouted too late. One of the creatures jumped off the head of its comrade, knife at the ready. Twilight fell on her back, kicking up at the creature to stay away.
“I can’t teleport you!” she called out to Fluttershy. “Get back to town, I’ll hold them back as long as I can.”
“Grrash!” The wall behind them shuddered. Twilight had collapsed it to cut off more creatures from coming, but something on the other side of the rocks started to dig up the stones. A large, heavy hand ripped through the rocks.
It was green, and the face that pushed through looked a lot like the creatures, but it was far larger than the rest. The monster effortlessly reached up and plucked Fluttershy from the air, throwing her to the ground.
In a second, a smaller one drew its spear and went to make the strike.
But the dagger was quicker. And blood spewed out from the creature’s neck.
“That’s eleven.” A blazing torch illuminated the stallion’s helmet. “Which one of you stinkin’ goblins is next?”
Pegasi and alicorns. I heard stories of those from other adventurers.
Goblin Slayer kicked a goblin off the Alicorn and crushed its skull under his hooves. Another tried to jump up behind him, but its dagger could not pierce through his armour. He simply dragged the goblin off by the arm and separated its shoulders from its neck.
“Groahr!” The hobgoblin slammed the walls of the tunnel, a threat display to warn off the Goblin Slayer.
He sheathed his sword, picked up one of the small spears dropped by the goblins, and launched it at the hob’s head. It landed squarely on the forehead, but the hob’s skull was too thick for a flimsy spear to penetrate.
The Alicorn burst up from the ground, a circle of magic throwing back the goblins surrounding her.
So this must be what trapped the other goblins. I must ask if there is a way back home when this is over.
He picked up a club and bashed the heads of the toppled goblins. Killing them seemed to enrage the hob, who picked up one of his smaller comrades and threw it like a rock at the Alicorn.
Goblin Slayer rushed forward, stabbing a spear through it and staking the goblin to a crack in the stone. He took the goblin’s knife and launched it at the hob before it could react with another attack.
This time, the knife found its eye. It roared in pain, swiping its club at the Goblin Slayer. The tunnel took away space to move, so he raised his shield and braced for impact. But the blow never struck. The Alicorn had put up a barrier around him.
He did not waste the gift. While the hob was stunned and surprised, he moved through the crowding goblins and drove his sword into its gut, the wide blade opening a passage for his hooves to drive deeper, even up into the lungs. For good measure, Goblin Slayer tore an ax from a dead goblin’s grasp and buried it in the hob’s head.
“Fluttershy, are you okay?” the Alicorn rushed over to her friend.
“I think so,” she checked herself. Goblin blood had spilled and soaked her coat and mane completely. “I just want to go home.”
“Another world. That’s where you are right now.”
Once he had tallied up the dead and confirmed the goblins were taken care of, Goblin Slayer sat down with the Alicorn Princess. She cast a spell to send her friend to safety, before staying behind in the tunnel to help Goblin Slayer with his problem.
“Is that so?”
She nodded. “I’ve been to one, but it doesn’t sound like the one you’re from.”
“I see.”
“I don’t know why you were transformed but not those goblins, however.”
“Hm,” Goblin Slayer gave the question little thought. “It does not matter. Goblins are goblins, wherever they go.”
“Wow, you’re taking the ‘alternate world’ news surprisingly well.”
“Am I?” He gathered up the weapons on the ground and slotted them into his belt. “I had heard about such things from a scholar, once. She talked about wanting to leave our world and travel to something beyond its boundaries. I do not think this is what she had in mind, however.”
“So, your world has magic like Equestria?” the Alicorn Princess stood up with him. “I guess that makes it easier for us to understand each other.”
Goblin Slayer nodded.
“When I came here, I was clearing a goblin nest. But they had no hobgoblins, and their cave was not big enough to hold this many. These goblins were not with me when I fell through the portal.”
“Meaning there are other portals in your world, sending more of these creatures into mine?”
“Yes.”
“Since the portal has to exist on both sides, it’s possible Equestrian magic could work on it. But I’ll need some time to figure out how to close the portals, and reverse the effect to send you back.”
“That’s fine,” Goblin Slayer nodded again.
“In the meantime, will you come back with me to Ponyville? It’s pretty much the friendliest town in Equestria, so you won’t have any trouble even if you’re from another world.”
He shook his head. “Until you find your solution, there will be more goblins. I am Goblin Slayer, so I will kill all the goblins.”
[One-Shot] L'Hotel des Animaux: Le Deuxième --The Bite of Bat Does Not Sting
Small towns were always lifeless in the night. Well, almost lifeless.
Down below, families of raccoons dined on the bounties behind the bakeries and produce markets. Mice and rats squeaked and squealed, arguing over the best gossip in town while they liberated food from ponies’ pantries. The cats roamed the borders of the castle, trapping the mice who dared to steal from their domain. And the dogs howled and barked, solidifying their network of information for yet another night.
As a vampire bat, Desmod found it comforting to live among such an active society of animals. Vampire bats were pests to ponies, and many other animals distrusted them due to their diet, but in truth, his species were some of the most social. They shared food, groomed one another, and enjoyed chattering up until the break of dawn.
On any other night, he would have joined the fun. Animals, even city animals, were still driven by their instincts. There would be fighting, arguing, and eventually, bleeding. Because most animals never feel a vampire’s bite, they believed their saliva could numb the pain of their cuts and scrapes. The opposite was the case, as a vampire bat’s saliva only made the blood flow for longer.
Of course, Desmod didn’t have the heart to scam animals as other vampires did. But internal injuries often led to blood clotting in the wrong places. If an animal had the wrong clot they were at risk of an aneurysm. Oh, many still did not trust him, but they sang a different tune when they needed his saliva to loosen their blood.
Tonight, his patients would have to wait.
Owlowiscious needed a message delivered to him, and the Manager of the Hotel of Animals was not the kind of animal you ignored for a bite to eat.
He crossed the sky above Ponyville and flew deeper into the forest just beyond a homely cottage. Hidden in the depths of the wilds, the Hotel of Animals was the jewel of all animals. Since its recent expansion, an untold number of new floors and services opened up. More animals were welcomed into its warm walls, while the most influential could find new and creative ways to satisfy their boredom and desire. Last he visited, the Manager had just opened a brand-new casino inside his hotel.
Designed to be invisible from the outside, the only sign for Demod to follow was the smell of fresh blood from the kitchen chimneys. He circled the scent until he found his mark. Owlowiscious was an owl, after all. A few floors below the penthouse was the Manager’s personal flight pad.
Desmod landed down on the padded grass and entered the hotel.
The inside was like stepping into a pony hotel designed for animals. Elevators, velvet carpets, and confusing room numbers filled his sharp eyes. He rounded the corner from the entrance and moved directly for the door to Owlowiscious’s penthouse.
“Oh, is that you Doctor Desmod?” A magpie stepped out from behind a desk next to the penthouse entrance. “I didn’t realize Mister Finch was feeling ill.”
Desmod spun around, checking the hallways. No one was there. “Pree, we can speak candidly, right? No one’s around.”
“Oh--sorry, it’s a force of habit, you know.” She laughed the sort of laugh that magpies always did, pitched chuckles and giggles that sounded even better than music. “Yes, he’s waiting for his letter. I hope the trip wasn’t too far?”
“I’ll need a drink after this, but it was pleasant.”
Pree nodded gleefully and let him in. Inside, the living and dining rooms were unusually well lit, with the humidity turned down and the ambient noise playing from the speakers turned off.
Owlowiscious was a creature of the forest at heart and went through great lengths to make his penthouse feel like the wild. Polished black walls made from granite glistened with clear crystals inside of them, shimmering like the stars when the lamps behind the walls were turned on.
“No, lambs are off the menu.” But tonight, he had another guest. Desmod didn’t know who this dog Winona was, but Owlowiscious swore she was part of his plan, a co-conspirator of sorts. She had been seen out in the hotel, barking orders and making sure their new policies were executed.
“I don’t see why,” Owlowiscious replied, “the chief of the bears won’t try the Large Animals Resort without a lamb as the premier dinner.”
“Lambs are baby sheep!”
“And the sheep have agreed to our deal. I can remove the wolves from their grasslands in exchange for one lamb a year. Better than the five or six they lose to hunting.”
Winona stuck her tail up aggressively and barked. “We ain’t gonna serve babies to our guests, and that’s final.”
The Manager swivelled his head around. He could not roll his eyes, but his head motion seemed to convey the idea well enough.
“Oh, now look what you’ve done,” he said as he spotted Desmod watching their conversation. “My courier had to watch us quarrel.”
“Don’t mind me, I just got word from that cat in Ponyville.” He untied a small roll of parchment fastened to his foot and gave it to Owlowiscious. “Snobby little one, isn’t she?”
“Yes,” the Manager took the note and read it. “As useful as she has been, there are reasons why I keep Opalescence at a distance, despite her desire to be pampered every day here in the hotel.”
“Y’all shouldn’t treat her like that, y’know. Opalescence ain’t the easiest cat to get along with, but she’s our friend.”
“Please, this is still my hotel. If I want to live in peace without having to hear her incessant mewing and whining, then that is my right.”
Winona dropped her tail. “Well, I can’t really fault you there. But you could be nicer about it. The poor girl’s been asking when she can come for her next visit.”
“That might be sooner than you think,” Owlowiscious said. “Opalescence just confirmed the news she overheard this morning. Princess Twilight is going to be crowned as the princess of all the ponies, and thus she will be moving to Canterlot very soon. I suspect she’ll want me to accompany her, as her animal companion.”
“I thought Spike was her animal companion,” Winona commented.
“No, he’s more like a servant. Though she did raise him… her child then? I’m not sure, they have a unique relationship, those two.”
“Um,” Desmod raised his voice. “I don’t really know who you’re talking about, so am I excused? I haven’t fed on blood for some time, I should really get something to eat before I’m to weak to fly.”
Owlowiscious waved his wing to excuse him. He was a good owl at heart, the hotel was proof of that. By pairing the eating of animals with luxury, hunting became a paltry experience for the animals who reigned at the top of the food chain. Through his hotel, only the ones who agreed to be eaten actually were. They sold their bodies. He paid them well, of course, protecting the families of the animals who were eaten, either by sheltering them from predators or providing food security to the animals who lived in the wild.
But, there was another side of Owlowiscious that Desmod wished he didn’t know. He bit his lip and turned to leave. The way that owl waved his wing without so much as a second glance… he was an asshat!
Who was he kidding? That hypocrite, calling Opalescence an annoying cat! Wealth, power, those got to any animal eventually. After every meeting, Desmod had to gorge himself on blood just to forget how rude the Manager could be.
I flew through an entire town for you! A little gratitude was all he wished for.
“Hold on a minute,” Winona said, “you’re an actual vampire bat? Not one of those vampire fruit bats, right? But a real, honest to goodness vampire.”
Desmod turned around, swallowing his frustration at Owlowiscious. “Yes, yes I am. What of it? My nature doesn’t offend your sensibilities, does it?”
“‘Course not, y’all don’t have to kill an animal to get a full meal, right? Maybe you could help us. Owlowiscious and I have arguin’ over how to take the next step with the hotel.”
“He’s not part of this like you are, Winona,” Owlowiscious said. “Doctor Desmod, you don’t have to oblige my friend here, you’re free to go.”
“I can help,” he responded to Winona, barely heeding the owl’s words. Taste your own medicine, bird-brain. The country dog yapped with approval, but Owlowiscious leered down at Desmod as if peering through his skull. Oh, I hope he can’t read minds. Can he?
Desmod looked again at Owlowiscious’s peering eyes. No, he was just mistaken. The owl always looked like that.
“Very well,” Owlowiscious composed himself and sat at the dining table. “The next stage of the hotel’s development will be independence from my supervision. There’s a lot of wilderness between Ponyville and Canterlot, when I move with the Princess, I will be developing a new branch to protect the animals somewhere out in the mountain. Before that, however, there are still a few groups I haven’t been able to solidify control over. My current plan is to invite the remaining leaders of the animals for a grand feast, larger than any other that we’ve hosted in the past.”
“You think that will buy enough favour?” Desmod tilted his head. “The hotel maintains a tense peace at best. Prey species still know that they’re prey--”
“We’ll butcher the leaders,” Owlowiscious cut into Desmod’s thought process, “and make deals with their weaker replacements to keep them in line.”
Desmod’s jaw swung wide open. “You’ll do what?”
“Ha!” Winona cried out, bristling her hairs. “I told you it was a gosh-darned idea. It ain’t ever going to work.”
“Hear me out,” Owlowiscious defended himself. “Every major animal group in the forest is at each other’s throats right now. Without anything to hunt, they’ve started arguing over territory. They want more space to live, plus groves to gather fresh food and water, which they trade for more visits to the hotel. If we bring them all together, their rivalry will turn the feast into a bloodbath. In the frenzy, no one will notice if my rats go around making sure every animal that needs to die is dead.”
“And if they don’t fight?”
“Oh, this part’s just great,” Winona groaned, lowering her tail in disgust.
Owlowiscious cast a stink eye at her, which was incredibly impressive for an animal with immobile eyes.
“I will have my head chef dose the guests with a special extract. Angel Bunny has access to a special mixture made by that pegasus that runs the animal sanctuary. It’s a carrot extract, but it’s packed with enough sugar and caffeine to jumpstart an elephant’s heart if needed. Imagine what it could do to angry predators.”
“I’d rather not,” Winona paced around the penthouse. “Doctor Desmod, right? You can’t possibly think it’s a good idea.”
The Manager was certainly ruthless, though Desmod was not surprised by that fact. It took a special breed of cunning to be able to create a hotel that could control the appetites of predators. Then, a thought hit his mind.
In the past few years, news occasionally spread through the forest, even over to the animals living in Ponyville. It was said that the Manager of the Hotel of Animals hosted private dinners for his guests, but sometimes the dinners were so indescribably satisfying that his guests didn’t want to live life tasting anything else.
Desmod swallowed. He needed that drink. His throat was dry, and his stomach wanted to do cartwheels around in his stomach. Vampire bats really didn’t have the personality for violence. They snuck drinks from animals in their sleep, sometimes conned blood out of animals they could talk to.
“I think I should hear Winona’s plan,” he said, “before I make a decision.”
“Thank you kindly,” she said. “I reckon I have something better in mind. Fluttershy’s got a way with animals, and I know Applejack doesn’t like wild animals lurking anywhere near the farm. Owlowiscious can set some bait out for the predators and draw them closer to the orchard. Soon as Applejack sees bears and wolves coming close, she’ll get Fluttershy to sort them out.”
Owlowiscious shook his head at the ridiculous idea.
“Applejack and Fluttershy, those are ponies?” Desmod asked.
“‘Course they are,” Winona wagged her tail, “my pony’s the best there is. If there’s any pony you can rely on, it’s her!”
Of course, it was only natural for a dog to involve ponies. They weren’t much different from wolves when it came to the pack mentality, the difference being that dogs could form pack bonds with ponies as easily as with other dogs.
But, in general, wild animals didn’t like to involve ponies. The Hotel of Animals was no exception. It was built hidden for a reason. Ponies didn’t often travel beyond the cottage, but the hotel was not so deep in the depths of the forest that it couldn’t be found if it was in plain sight. Even the unpredictable Everfree was too much to manage.
Owlowiscious may have said he was a pony’s companion, but Desmod knew immediately why he rejected this idea. The Manager was a wild animal. A little tamer than most, and understanding of how ponies lived, but he was wild from feather to bone.
Desmod walked his little feet around the penthouse, flapping his wings in deep thought. He flew over Ponyville a lot, and many of his patients were pets to ponies. And even he knew the name “Fluttershy” meant something to a lot of the animals who lived closed to Ponyville. That didn’t change his opinion on it, though. He really felt more comfortable if ponies stayed in their world.
“Just this once, I think you should go with the pony option.” His comfort didn’t change the fact that Owlowiscious’s plan was too vicious.
His response shocked the owl, whose abrupt recoil betrayed the fact that he had expected Desmod’s wild instincts to be prejudiced against the ponies. He was right on that mark, of course, but he miscalculated how insane his own plan sounded.
Owlowiscious tucked his head in, shortening his stature and admitting defeat. “Fine. We’ll use the ponies.”
Two nights passed before Desod received a letter and an invitation back to the hotel. He was used to requests. Sometimes, a guest would ask after his services by name. In other cases, Owlowiscious wanted a favour, usually by way of information. He heard a lot of gossip and tidbits as he treated animals.
Though, he never asked for a check-up for himself. He may have been wild, but Owlowiscious had the benefit of living with ponies. Their tricks and magic and devices worked wonders that few animals could understand. It was certainly better treatment than a vampire bat could give.
“Is this it, uncle?”
“Yes, is it, is it?”
Young animals had the hardest time controlling their appetites. Most of the guests at the hotel were well-aged adults for their species, tempered with wisdom. Every now and then, a guest or staff member would be hunted and eaten when a young animal decided to treat themselves to the luxuries of the hotel.
Such crimes came with hefty fines. The animal who broke the rules of hospitality would have to spend a quarter of their remaining lifespan working at the hotel, lest their entire species be banned from the place.
Once, Desmod thought the punishment was just a way of recouping the losses caused by an improper hunt. But now that he understood Owlowiscious better, he knew otherwise. Threatening the species of the offending animal was a good way of grouping animals based on their species. Even non-social hunters were inclined to identify with each other, if only to keep an eye and make sure none of them cost the other a stay at the hotel.
“Uncle! Uncle! When can we eat? Please, we’re so hungry!”
Desmod’s eye twitched and he finally turned around to his niece and nephew. They had just drunk blood from a bear patient of his last night. The animal’s fatty blood must’ve stuffed them up. In fact, with his care, “hungry” was not a sensation they had ever grown to know.
“How are you two this excited during the day?” he asked. “I’m pulling an extra shift because the Manager asked me to, and he gave me extra invitations. Go to your rooms, you’ll have your dinner instructions waiting for you.”
“But we want to eat nooow!” The both whined so synchronously it was impossible to tell whose voice was who’s.
“Follow the instructions or you won’t have anything to eat at all!”
A bat’s strict side rarely came out, since they were such social creatures, but young bats needed to learn how to temper their instincts in order to live in a world with the Hotel of Animals. As much as wild animals distrusted the ponies, it was evident their ability to build and cooperate brought them a lot of peace. How else could they claim so much of the forests and grasslands that once belonged to bears and wolves?
And so it seemed, by living among them, Owlowiscious devised the hotel to be his way of imposing order and rules on wild animals. By feeding their base desires, he satisfied their wild side and created a demand for etiquette and luxury.
As he went up the elevator to Owlowiscious’s penthouse, he wondered what would happen to him, now that he knew. The grand plans of the hotel weren’t openly announced. No fox or eagle would be a willing guest if they knew that one day, they would become unwilling dinners.
“Back again so soon?” Pree noticed him approaching the penthouse door. “And during the day, no less.”
He nodded. “Owlowiscious wants a check-up.”
“Oh, well, since you’re here,” Pree ruffled her feathers, “I was wondering if you’d be open to getting lunch later. I’m sure it’s late for you, but since you’re awake anyway…”
“I’d be glad to,” he replied.
Happily, the magpie chirped and sang and opened the way into Owlowiscious’s penthouse.
Inside the room’s atmosphere had been turned on. With heavy curtains pulled tight, the suite felt almost like flying outside in the night. Cold, humid air pumped from the vents, and some kind of incense made the whole penthouse smell like pine trees.
A tinge of salt tickled Desmod’s nose, and his stomach rumbled. Blood. Thick and fatty, the animal it once belonged to had a high cholesterol diet.
Even with his professionalism and self-control, wild urges were hard to control. His mouth pooled with saliva, prepared to soften skin and thin the blood of his prey, even if the blood had been prepared for him already.
Owlowiscious entered the penthouse from the back door, where he brought out his signature dishes for his guests. This was not his first visit, but Desmod had never had a meal made just for him.
“I wasn’t sure if you’d come,” Owlowiscious said. He wore a disguise, a plain white mask and a cloak that concealed his telltale feathers. Owls were specialized fliers, and even his wings were enough to give away that his alias, Mr Finch, was inaccurate. Desmod couldn’t be sure how many knew the truth, but it was definitely a select few. Only by being the best doctor in the Everfree did he earn the privilege to know.
“A little late for me, but I could say the same for you,” he said, taking a seat at Owlowiscious’s dining table.
“I am used to it. My duties demand little sleep.” He brought out a blood stew. Small cubes of meat to chew on floated about in the pot. It was… wolf’s blood? The wolves, bears, and other large predators were supposed to be driven out, sooner or later. Desmod didn’t know when it was going to happen, but he doubted the dog, Winona, intended for any of the wolves to bleed.
“Oh come now,” Owlowiscious scoffed, catching Desmod’s stare. “Who do you think I am? Winona made the plan, and I will respect it. The blood is of a lone wolf.”
Desmod tested the blood with his keen nose. “Hm. How’d you get a lone wolf who was so fat?”
“Haha,” Owlowiscious laughed, though his mask and bobbing head made the gesture appear like a predator entranced by prey. “He was an exotic animal for a circus, well-fed and put on stage until he caught scrapie from a dog in the audience. I told him he could live the rest of his days in itching agony, or I could give him the dinner of a lifetime and end his suffering before the infection progressed.”
Desmod tilted his head. He watched Owlowiscious, but all he could see was the silhouette of the cloak and the white porcelain mask. Reading him was impossible.
“But, you’ve lived among ponies,” he said, “they have healers for animals who treat scrapie all the time.”
Owlowiscious nodded. “I know. But the wolf didn’t.” He stretched out his wing and waved over the stew. The presenting gesture wafted hot streams of steam and blood-tinged air into Desmod’s nose. It was rich and salty. Possessed by his own reflexes, he desperately drank the first bowl poured in front of him.
And the second.
He was halfway done with the third before he could pull his head up and think. He wouldn’t have come if Owlowiscious’s request wasn’t urgent.
“Your letter said you needed a check-up,” Desmod said. “Is that true? This would be the first time.”
The owl paced around his dining room with that odd gait that flying birds had. His short legs might’ve made a less informed animal laugh, but Desmod knew the power behind those talons, and his mind.
“Winona, what do you think of her?”
Desmod looked at him funny. “The dog? She seems fine, why?”
“I’m leaving her in charge of the hotel, you must have some opinion of that, after all your time spent here.” Owlowiscious plucked a square of bloody wolf meat from the stew and nibbled on it. “Hm. You’ll never see her eating something like this, for instance.”
“She’s a canine, I’m sure-”
Owlowiscious shook her head. “Despite what we in the forest might think, the ponies have a lot of command over their pets. Most don’t enjoy the thought of even an omnivorous diet. Of course, a purely herbaceous lifestyle for a dog is indescribably difficult, but selective breeding and even more selective dieting had made it possible.”
Desmod scratched his chin with the pad of his wing. Whoever heard of a herbivore dog? He had seen some dogs eating more plants and grain than most wolves or foxes, but fish and chicken was still a common staple for a lot of them.
“Oh don’t think too hard on it,” Owlowiscious said. “She lives on an apple farm. What do you expect? But while she may be my friend, I worry my desire to keep my friends close might jeopardize what I have done here. I worry Winona won’t know how to do what is necessary.”
“You mean like staging a banquette to kill off predators that make it hard to control the peace?”
“Yes! Exactly!” Owlowiscious’s feathers perked up. “See, you get it. Most mammals only tolerate vampire bats because you also eat the pests off their hides.”
Desmod raised a brow. “I’m a common vampire bat. We’re obligate blood drinkers.”
“Oh? Ah, well, more’s the pity. That aside, you understand what I mean. Vampire bats are tolerated for their insect-eating qualities, because when pests need to be removed, no one cares how it’s done as long as it is done. And that’s exactly why I want you to look after Winona for me.”
“I’m sorry, what?” Desmod nearly sputtered the rest of his wolf’s blood onto the table. “Look after her? If you expect me to report to Canterlot all the time, you better come up with a better plan.”
“Haha! No, no,” Owlowiscious laughed. “Rats have forgotten more than you or I could ever learn. They will handle the message carrying. What I want from you is simply to guide and mentor my friend. Winona must know what it is like to live in the wild if she is to run the hotel.”
Desmod frowned at his emptied bowl. The rim was still wet with blood. The tenderized meat drank up the last drops like sponges, little bite-sized snacks to chew on and draw out the fatty flavour.
The meal was delicious and, without a doubt, Desmod was sure that the wolf got a deal he was happy with. But the steps Owlowiscious had to take to achieve it didn’t sit right with him.
“You mean you want me to teach her how to be like you,” he said candidly. “Lie, conceal, and work in the shadows against the trust of other animals.”
Owlowiscious tilted his head. “I am an owl, you know.” He opened his wings. “These silent feathers may be preened but they aren’t for show.”
“But I’m a doctor!” Desmod flapped his wings. “I’ve risen above my instincts without the help of your hotel. The blood they pay is inconsequential to them and lifesaving to me. Others don’t have to lose for me to win.”
“Don’t give me that,” Owlowiscious scoffed. “You’ve never read a veterinarian book in your life, and pony vets have careers over twice as long as your life-span. Besides, you haven’t even taken the physician’s oath. If you did, you wouldn’t be such a valuable source of information.”
“Oath?”
Owlowiscious waved his confusion away. “A simple promise to never do harm and to keep the privacy of patients. It seems superficial in the wild, but I’ve seen how the mindset sharpens and focuses the ponies’ doctors.”
“So what are you saying, that I’m not a good doctor?”
Owlowiscious whooped a thrumming growl. “I’m saying you’re not a doctor at all! You play the part of the healer but your morals only serve to suit you. I’m asking you to be Winona’s lieutenant, a right paw if you will. You’d be doing more good than your imagined medical practice.”
Desmod sat back and absorbed what Owlowiscious said. He had seen ponies work their skills on pets and rescued animals, but he knew nothing about pony doctors. At least, nothing that could refute Owlowiscious’s claims.
But he knew he wasn’t playing. Animals felt good after he helped them, regardless of any promises he had made. That was enough. Wasn’t it?
He wanted to beat his wing on the table. Owlowiscious had an infuriating aura. He spoke with the confidence to support his “smarter than others” attitude. He seeded doubt in Desmod’s head with every word, and even without talking, those words could still argue inside his head.
“You have until the ponies’ new princess leaves for Canterlot,” Owlowiscious said. “Which should be in a few days. But do think on what this could mean for vampire bats like you. Bats like your niece and nephew.”
Desmod’s face soured. “Bringing kids into this, that’s dirty.”
“No, it’s business,” Owlowiscious said. “Nepotism, specifically. Your kind cannot go more than a couple of days without drinking. With the right connections, I’m sure you can find a way to make sure that never becomes a problem again.”
“What day, specifically?”
Owlowiscious cocked his head. “Huh?”
“You said a few days. When do I have to decide?”
Olowiscious shrugged. “I’ll have my rats find you. Give your answer to them, and I promise I will get the message.”
I never knew my mother, but my father always said she was an assassin who fought bravely to her last mission. And every time he told her story, a day of heavy-handed training usually followed. I didn’t notice until I was a little older but losing my mother seemed to instil a kind of fervour in my father. He must’ve imagined that by training me hard enough, he would never lose someone he loved again.
I can’t say I blamed him, though understanding his feelings didn’t make the memories of bruises, cuts, and broken bones any less painful. My father knew I hated the cold and would often force me to endure swimming through a river near where we lived, in the dark of night, where every inch was just more water to shiver and freeze in. And summers weren’t any easier, either. On occasion, there were days where standing outside felt like living in a lit chimney. On those days, my father chose to visit the grandmaster of the Turones bureau. We’d walk in our thick cloaks and hoods from our little bureau into the city. Every time I complained, he’d tell me that an assassin had to endure far worse than sweaty robes on a hot day.
Even if my father trained me further in the countryside, Turones felt like my hometown. It was there, examined by the masters of the bureau, that I received my hidden blades. In Turones, I was given the full rank of an Assassin before being asked to assist in Gustavale.
And, to my father’s credit, his methods worked.
The Templars put me in their coldest, wettest cell, but the days I spent in there were like nights in a warm bed compared to a winter’s night in the Loire.
I watched the men who guarded my cell. They worked in pairs, and they always wore armour like soldiers going to war, covered head to toe in padded jackets and sturdy helmets. But most soldiers were conscripts. The earls of the land would levy their peasants, giving rarely but a few weeks of training.
The men I saw were perhaps vagabonds or mercenaries. There was one with a long scar across his nose. Another man had a burn on his forehead. They hung warhammers from their waists. Conscripted soldiers rarely maintained their weapons, either because they did not know how or because they did not care. Another lesson from my father. You could always tell how disciplined and trained a man was by the state of his weapons. These guards took good care of theirs, or perhaps they had a smith who could do it for them. Scuffs and scratches on the head of the hammers were unavoidable, but where it mattered, the weapons were clean. The ends of the handles were bound with fresh leather. The pointed backs of their weapons, picks used to punch open helmets, had marks where someone had hammered out dents and sharpened the point. I had to admit that the Templars did not make meaningless boasts. They employed experienced soldiers and kept them armed and armoured.
Where I was being held, I could not be sure. I wasn’t even sure if there were other Assassins with me. The guards made no mention of the others, so all I could hope for was that some of us made it out to warn the other bureaus.
And again, right about the same time as the other days, I heard the footsteps that had become too familiar. While the other guards clanked around with thick boots and helmets, Green visited the prison cells in a monk’s robe. His shoes were made from soft leather, too soft for a humble monk, which gave his footsteps a distinct shuffle that was completely different from the soldier’s thumping feet.
“You could be treated with hospitality if you would simply cooperate,” he said, kneeling to place a cup of water and a loaf of bread behind my bars.
I would’ve been lying to myself if I thought I could stand up and face him. The cold cell, I could endure, but the Templars were counting on the hunger to set in. Scarce bites of bread were bribes, not gifts, for my cooperation.
The Templar master stretched out his arm. His sleeves were long and heavy, concealing everything within. But from them, he produced an archer’s arm guard, fitted with a hidden blade. The arm guard itself was different, a layer of chainmail was sewn in beneath the leather. But the blade was definitely made by Assassins. I wondered who he had taken them from.
“Don’t look at me like that,” he said as he slowly wore the arm guard, loosening the straps to fit his wrists. “It was a gift. One of your fellow Assassins tried to deliver it to my stomach as we brought you out of your bureau.”
He inspected his wrist and then unlocked the blade with his other hand, jamming it against a wall to force the blade back into its sheath. “Unfortunately one of my men damaged it amidst the fighting. The repairs won’t be as elegant, but the best blacksmiths and leatherworkers in Anglia shouldn’t have a problem with restoring it to at least a working state.”
He looked down at the bread and water, which I had left untouched. “You might as well have it. I don’t expect it to persuade you, but until the council decides your fate, I can’t have you dying.”
I cracked a smirk. “So, even a Templar master has to listen to orders?”
Green frowned. “We are all humble before the Lord. I don’t lose a moment of sleep knowing there are men wiser and more experienced than myself.”
“If our roles were switched, you would’ve gone for your execution days ago.”
“Precisely right.” Green waggled his finger at me. “You Assassins, all you ever do is destroy. How many times have you plunged Europia into chaos with your actions? In Italia, the Brotherhood keeps the ruling families in a state of constant conflict, even when order and unity would make the people prosper. Here in Anglia, you threaten the rule of a rightful king, replacing one mind with a dozen quarrelling earls. We Templars know it is much harder to create than destroy.”
My chains clanked as I leaned against the back of my cell. I wasn’t in the mood to debate, but it seemed that Green was. “But what if what you create is not for everyone?” I asked, hoping that if I kept him with me long enough, I could learn more about what happened to the other Assassins.
“Something created is still preferable to everything destroyed,” he said.
“Unless it’s destroying the Assassins.”
He shrugged. “You left us with very little choice. Earl Montefort acted in Gustavale as an extension of the king. Attacking his retinue was too bold to be left unanswered.”
“Gustavale’s people would have fought anyway,” I scoffed at him. “You were not welcome, and Montefort caused plenty of destruction on his own.”
“Yes…” he nodded. He clicked his tongue, looking down at his soft leather shoes as he turned away from my cell. He paced back and forth for a little while. “A heavy-handed approach was chosen as the necessary one, and not without reason.”
“But were they the right reasons?”
He shrugged. “I do not know. Our fates are in the hands of God, after all. As one of your brothers is learning now, unfortunately. He is being interrogated as we speak.”
I glared at him, thinking he had come to gloat, or perhaps scare me into giving up whatever information he wanted. And yet he looked tired more than anything, more tired than when I had taken him.
“We’re beginning to run short on those who were captured in the fighting,” he said. “Some died from rotten wounds, others during their questioning. You will be called on soon, so like your comrades before you, I’m to hear your confessions before God, in case you expire.”
My lips were dry, but I mustered enough to spit in his face. “I’d rather die of torture first.”
“Of course.” He wiped his sleeve across his face. “But confessions are for all your sins. They need not be about the Assassins.”
“Fine,” I said, “Lord in Heaven, please forgive me stabbing Sir Green when I should have cut off his head instead.”
“I am trying to help you!” He raked his hidden blade across the bars. “I’ve taken confessions from every one of your captured brothers. ‘Nothing is true, everything is permitted.’ That’s your Creed, isn’t it? That’s why you do not fear God, why you think you can kill and weaken kingdoms wherever you please.”
His face twisted up. When his mouth opened, I thought he had more to say, but instead, he clutched his chest and gasped for air. Behind him, the guards observed us closely, each with a hand on their weapon, although Glen held his hand out to them to stand back.
“I’m fine,” he coughed. “If she won’t confess, then there’s little else for me to do.” He began walking up the stairs, limping all the way. His short breath was more than an inconvenience, it seemed he could barely walk. But before he was gone, I heard him shuffle back around to give one last threat from the stairwell. “I suggest you pray to whatever you do believe. Contrary to what you might think, I wouldn’t wish torture even on my worst enemies. I only do what must be done.”
When he had finally left, I looked down to the bread he had placed. No amount of training could ever stave off the effects of hunger, and I needed my strength. Pride would have to come later. I picked up the cold loaf and began eating.
Three days passed before the guards were given the order to take me from my cell. During that time, the Templars only provided me with water. Hunger became a nagging problem, but with nothing else but my thoughts, I settled into my memories to feed my mind while my body starved.
The bureau in Turones contained works of natural philosophy, namely chemistry and medicine, as well as works of history and politics. Chief among those texts were the ideas of Griffo-Borean thinkers and writers, Socrates, Aristophanes, Hippocrates, and the like. All that had been preserved by our brothers in Saddle Arabia and Somnambula was copied and shared. For my part, the books and scrolls were welcomed lessons in between the physical training, and through them, I learned what it meant to be an Assassin.
It was an important lesson to keep in mind.
Once out of their prison, I had a good sense of where we had been taken. Even at night, it would have been difficult not to recognize Trottingham Castle. They dragged me across the middle courtyard, a small swath of green with a short path cutting through it. On both sides of the path, there were a few armed men gathered around campfires. They were dressed more irregularly than the guards, appearing more like conscripts in an earl’s fyrd than true Templars. But whether they served under an order or an earl, I did not doubt that their commands came from the same men.
They brought me to the castle’s middle bailey, within which was a square stone-walled keep overlooking the lower bailey and the rest of the hill. Torches were lit, within and without, and the scent of roasted pig from the kitchen invaded my nose.
The Templars captains inside were dressed just as the guards were. Their weapons were sharp, their vests were clean. They groomed themselves and ate well. I could feel some eye cast my way, but the presence of a prisoner didn’t seem to faze the majority of them as my guards pushed me through the bottom floors and up to the castle’s bed chambers.
“Ah, here they are,” said an old voice I did not recognize. As they forced me through the doors, I saw Glen Green, standing around a table by the fireplace with an older man. He was grey throughout his hair and beard, and dressed in the same modest robes as Green, although he also wore a coat of maille underneath.
“What is she doing here?” Glen asked instantly, looking to the old Templar. “I thought you were going to interrogate her.”
He scoffed. “And walk my old joints down to that damp dungeon? Have a care for an old man, will you?” The old man waved the guards to bring me forward until we were inches from each other. He grabbed my face with a surprisingly firm grip, despite his bony fingers, and lifted my chin until he could stare down into my eyes.
“Trent Tideswell,” he introduced himself, “Sheriff of Trottingham to the King, Grandmaster to the Templars. Men twice your size, disobedient soldiers and criminals, have spilt their secrets to me.”
I clenched my jaw and refused to say a word. The chamber was warm and well furnished with carpets along its stone floor, but the interrogation had begun as soon as I was brought through the doors, and I was prepared to remain silent through it all.
The Grandmaster inhaled sharply and addressed the guards. “Tie her to the base of the bed while I get my tools.”
They didn’t hesitate. As one guard held my wrists to the end of the bed, the other guard picked a bundle of rope from the table to tie my hands down. I couldn’t see what the Grandmaster was doing, I could only hear him retrieving some items from a shelf behind me. Glen paced back and forth, watching but doing nothing. I wanted to snicker at him. A Templar master, stumbling over his words at the sight of an interrogation.
“You two may go now,” the Grandmaster said to the guards, and they obeyed immediately. “Here, strip her back.” I watched Green reach out and take a small knife from the old man’s bony hands.
“Sir?”
“Hurry up, the lash needs to bite the skin if it wants to sting.”
“Right.” I felt the knife’s point prick my skin, but Green only cut at the cloth enough to tear open the back of my shirt.
“I expected as much.” I felt the old man’s hand run across my back, prodding at where I knew I had old scars. “An Assassin, through and through,” he said. “You see, Sir Green, this is what our torturers down in the dungeon don’t understand. The Assassins’ are barbaric, and so it is not enough to inflict pain. It’s just a start.”
The first lash whipped clear across the length of my back, shoulder to waist. The whip itself felt like a broad, rough strip of leather, and it tore at the skin as it scraped by. My tongue pressed against the top of my mouth and I clenched my teeth hard, seething through my nose to stifle whatever screams my body wanted to make.
The fifth lash stopped stinging and became hot and burning as blood started to trickle down the length of my spine. Tideswell switched from one side to the other. Whenever a lash came from the left, the next would come from the right. Each one always swung down from above, opening deep cuts. Moving my arms would only worsen the wounds, for if my shoulder blades moved, the cuts usually stretched and widened. By the tenth lash, I had given up my efforts to fight my screams of pain.
The twelfth was the final one before Tideswell was satisfied with my bloody back. Done with the whipping, he brought the leather strip up to my face and tied it tight around my mouth, forcing my jaw to bite down on my blood.
“What do you intend now, Sir?” Glen passed the Grandmaster a cloth to wipe his hands clean.
“I intend to make full use of this opportunity,” he answered. “Beating and branding Assassins clearly does not work. But this one offers us a different avenue for interrogation.”
“How do you mean?” Green asked, just a moment before I felt Tidewell’s answer. He pulled the ragged and torn shirt completely off from my body, exposing my wounds to the air. And then he began undoing the string of my breeches.
“Just as women were condemned to suffer the pain of childbirth,” Tideswell said, “this, too, is a pain some women have to endure.”
If the words of an old man’s zealous faith were supposed to frighten me, I was not impressed. He was deluded and overconfident in his manhood if be believed its pain and humiliation was worse than the lash or thumbscrew. But, as I prepared for the worst of it, behind me the two men were stumbling in an argument.
Glen shoved the Grandmaster aside. “Have you gone mad? That isn’t interrogation, it’s sodomy!”
“Watch your tongue,” Tideswell hissed. “You are a master of the Order now. You cannot be so naive.”
“You’re talking about committing a sin. God will judge the adulterer and the—”
“Don’t cite the Bible at me!” he snapped. “I sponsored your ascension in our ranks, the very thing that let you be healed by the relic. Let God judge me, few men alive have done more for the kingdom than I. I shouldn’t have to explain to you that sacrifices must be made to preserve the kingdom God intended for Anglia.”
“You are a Grandmaster, an example to the Order, not its exception. You cannot do this.”
Tideswell ignored his subordinate, and I winced when he placed his bony hands on my back, pushing me down against the bed. The pain of that wound hurt the most, the force of his fingers reopening cuts where the blood had began to dry. I focused on that pain, ignoring all else.
His hand quickly left. “Stop!” Glen Green shouted, pushing the Grandmaster to the side of the bed. With bloody hands, and his phallus hanging to the air, the old man looked nothing like the principled Templars I had grown to fight. They, at least, had dignity.
“The Order will punish you for this,” Glen barked. “The other Grandmasters won’t stand for this transgression. God won’t stand for it.”
“Or maybe you’ll be labelled a coward, a failure twice over. A Templar who can’t fight the very enemy who tried to take his life.” I heard the clamour of steel, and when I stretched my head around to see, the Grandmaster had picked up a long knife from a row of interrogation tools. “Will you betray the Order, Green? Leave now, and after I have the information we need you can at least be exiled with your life.”
He fixed his eyes back on me, knife still in hand and its point aimed to my head. The blade cut above the eyes, bleeding from the forehead down, but though I could not see him, I could feel the Grandmaster’s hands grasp my left thigh.
But Sir Green’s hand ripped the Grandmaster away, holding him tightly by the wrist. “I am placing you under arrest, Grandmaster Tideswell. You will be tried before the Order and before God, and I will drag you there by force if I must.”
The old man roared and began swinging his knife, yelling “traitor.” Defending the attack was effortless, despite Glen’s injury. He batted aside the old man’s strikes and side-stepped. But the Grandmaster proved his title. His strikes came at Glen quickly and accurately, narrowly missing the eyes and the chest. Age hardly seemed to slow him down. He was, in fact, faster than a young, newly conscripted footsoldier.
“Arrest me? Me? My only mistake was entrusting you with the title of master.” The old man was eventually on top of Glen, his knife bearing down on his neck.
Either by accident or as a desperate attack, a blade burst out from the Grandmaster’s neck. Glen’s stolen blade flew from his wrist. It was as if the weapon knew what it had been made to do, even in the hands of another Templar.
The old man’s body dropped immediately, leaving Glen covered in Templar blood.
“God help me, I didn’t...” he whispered, before looking at me. I locked my eyes on him.
I wondered what ran through his mind. As principled as he was, I had some sense of who Glen Green was. A devout man. A loyal man. He was still a Templar, and I was still an Assassin. He protested his master’s sin of sodomy, but that did nothing to make us allies. But, the look of shock on his face was too difficult to read. The only thing I did know was that he didn’t know what to do.
He approached me, the broken hidden blade still out and bloody, and began cutting the ropes. “I’m taking you back to your cell,” he said. “And you will say nothing.”
“Or I die?” My voice was weak, but I hoped he could hear the cut of my remark. “You’ve tortured my brothers to death. I was prepared for the same. Maybe I will draw some attention to the body and drag you down to hell with me.”
“No,” he said shakily.
“You just killed the Sheriff of Trottingham. Your fellow Templars will find out.”
“Quiet,” he snarled as he snapped the last threads of the rope. “Now walk in front of me and say nothing.”
I lept to my feet and kicked him in the chest instead, grabbing the leather strap and slinging it around his wrist, pulling the hidden blade aside. Just moving hurt more than I imagined, but compared to fresh lashes, the pain was dull.
“No, wait. You won’t get out alive.” He struggled to regain control of his blade, but he was already gasping for air. “And neither will I. Every man in here was paid by Tideswell directly. My authority as a Master means something, but it’s not enough.”
I worked the hidden blade loose from his wrist, enough to undo the bracer’s clasp and pull it from his arm. He reacted fast, grasping the air to reclaim it, but my knee on his chest winded him before he could stop me from putting it on and turning the blade against him.
“I want to kill you, you know that oui?” I aimed the blade to his throat. But we were most likely imagining the same thing. I was in no condition to fight. If Green was to catch his breath, I wasn’t sure if I could even take him down. But dozens of guards knew we were alone. A prisoner tied up for interrogation suddenly escaping, with the only survivor being Glen, was a damning situation to be in. The other Templar captains would no doubt seek to blame him as a scapegoat for letting a Grandmaster die on their watch.
Sir Green nodded. “I’m sure you do. But I’ve had my moment to think. You’re right, the Order will find out. You and I are each other’s only hope for survival now.”
“Easier said than done,” I told him, withholding the fact that I could barely walk without my back threatening to tear open all over again. “Do you have a plan?”
He looked over at the Grandmaster’s body. “Tideswell is, or was, a private man. He liked his peace. No Templar is going to check for at least an hour or two. I can just take you to the stables and tell the others that you’re to be moved elsewhere. None will be the wiser until we’re gone.”
I had to wonder what would happen once we were gone. We’d probably try to kill each other. But, I had already killed him once. I stood a better chance of doing it again than I did of escaping a castle of twenty or thirty armed Templars.
“Je doit etre folle.” I cursed my luck under my breath. “Let’s be quick about this then.”
We had been on the road for three days on a cart we purchased in Trottingham. Two horses were expensive to feed, but Glen Green’s coin pouch was surprisingly hefty for a monk. At every town and roadside inn we happened across, he made sure the horses were well fed and prepared.
“The Templars will know you are running,” I told him after the second day. “We should take the horses as far as they can and run.” The frequent stops to feed and water the horses began to drive me mad. Back in Trottingham, when we first took Glen captive, the Templars followed and flushed us from our bureau within hours. They plotted and schemed, but they could move quickly when they wanted. And I hated the idea of waiting around for some knights or soldiers to surround us.
“That will get us away quicker and faster,” was his answer to my complaints once we paused along the bank of a pond. “But not further. We head for Southampton. Merchants constantly sail from there to Francia.”
“A long journey,” I said. “They’ll catch us before then.”
“So do what you’ve been thinking,” he said. “Steal a horse away in the night and leave me. I wonder where you’ll go, though. Anglia isn’t Francia or Gustavale. I should think you don’t have many bureaus left in this kingdom.”
“We have plenty. And none at all.”
His guess was right, I had considered running and finding the nearest bureau. We were still enemies, sleeping with one eye open in case the other decided to put our war before ourselves. But neither of us would fare better alone.
Anglia was not my country. The people would recognize my Francian accent immediately. And I could not be sure where the Templars were. Fleeing to the wrong bureau at the wrong time could only lead more Templars to the Brotherhood.
Equally, Green could not risk being rid of me. A Templar Grandmaster was dead, a fact that the Order would not want the Assassins to know. If we were to separate, he knew I would have no choice to take the risk and return to my brothers. I guessed that he considered killing me since he could no longer hope to get information on the Assassins, however, that option was only available until I had eaten and treated my wounds.
So we continued our tentative truce. At our pace, we had another four or five days of travelling before we would reach Anglia’s southern coast. Riding by cart was slow, but it offered the advantage of some comfort. The jostling of a horse at full gallop would have made a problem for the healing cuts on my back. Whenever the horses stopped to rest, I would also have to find a creek or pond to wash the wounds and clean off the rags that bound them. Though smaller wounds had formed their scabs, the deepest threatened to resume their bleeding if I was not careful. It could have been possible to find a tailor or barber-surgeon in Trottingham, someone with a steady hand at the needle and thread, but in our haste, there was no time for sutures.
“You are spending too much on the horses. Space on a merchant’s ship is not cheap. How do you plan on boarding a ship with an empty pocket?” I asked as the market town of Market Haverberg came into view.
He lifted the cloth of his sleeve. “You’re fortunate to be travelling with a monk. Merchants will not turn one away. God’s punishment can be bad for business.”
“L’habit ne fait pas le moine, Sir Green,” I told him. “The robes do not make the monk. I wonder if anyone will ask why a monk is covered in scars from war.”
“They might, and then I would tell them the truth. I fought for the Crown before I devoted myself fully to God.”
“Mhm.”
I let him believe what he wanted and turned my attention to the forest around Haverberg. It was summer, and Anglia’s countryside was a breathtaking view, at least.
The narrow path wound around a forest so deep and fearsomely wild that even the sun’s light was scarce beneath the boughs. High hills waited astride the fields, covered in the hoar woods I spied beneath huge aged oaks and the hazel and hawthorn, huddled and tangled with rough ragged moss around them trailing. The rooks and jays and magpies and doves, on the bare twigs they sat, waiting and singing and home-making from the moss and leaves.
Haverberg was smaller than Trottingham, but it was no less populated. Criers, mostly children, called out to passers-by to visit blacksmiths, tailors, carpenters, and fresh produce stalls. We passed large tofts, buildings of brick, stone, or timber, that sheltered precious goods. From there, young men of large stature moved boxes of crafts and fresh food into the town’s square. Business weighed the air itself as people bartered and traded. Some buyers had coin to pay, however, many other farmers exchanged bags of grain or their livestock.
I must have had a look on my face that matched my awe because Sir Green took one look at me and chuckled. “Haverberg has had markets every Tuesday since before I was born. The highway that connects the villages brings a lot of travel between Ledecester and Northampton.”
“We are near Ledecester?” I asked him.
“Yes,” he gave me an odd look. “We camped near it just last night. Are you telling me you didn’t know where we were?”
“Would you know your way around Francia?” I snapped back at him. That wasn’t my concern, however. Even if I wasn’t Anglian, I had heard of Ledecester. More aptly, I had heard of its earl. “Simon de Montfort, he is the Earl of Ledecester.”
“Indeed, though he’d be with the king by now, discussing his campaign in Gustavale.”
“But the Templars have been supporting him, making Ledecester a Templar stronghold as well. Why have we been passing through Templar lands?”
Green scoffed. “As long as we are in Anglia, we are on Templar lands. You’re right about Ledecester, and that’s why I drove the horses away from the city. But while we make good accounts of the trade that passes along these roads, the Templars have no reason to place agents out in a market village. Its inhabitants are loyal Anglians, and commerce flows smoothly here. We won’t be found.”
I crossed my arms. “They’re searching for us. If Haverberg is a place for travellers, then they’d be fools not to place watchers out here.”
“I would know if I were among my people. Until I see Templars suspicious of me, we continue as planned. Don’t make trouble where there is none.” Green pulled on the reins until the horses stopped near the stables outside an inn. “We can load the cart with all the supplies we’ll need for the journey. Assassins are good at keeping quiet. Do that, and our time here can be quick since you’re so fraught with worry.”
Besides the many bags of feed the horses would need, Glen purchased a surplus of bread, dried meat, gooseberries, cabbages and carrots, plus a heavy casket of wine. I watched for an hour as each item was loaded onto the cart.
Despite Sir Green’s overconfidence, I was restless in my waiting. I could not lean back and rest my back against the seat of the cart, so I sat upright and watched every person who made more than a passing glance at our cart. And I was thankful for my vigilance.
Anglia was host to a many number of birds. The forest boasted finches and jays aplenty, and the skies held the recognizable white-tailed eagle on its high winds, whose white tail feathers were a popular symbol among the Anglian Assassins. But I was not Anglian. And neither was the eagle I saw.
On the roof of a distant tree, a crestless hawk-eagle eyed me. Though it was far, I could see it well enough by the light feathers that distinguished its chest. It was no brown-feathered eagle of Anglia. I swivelled my head around, watching the crowd more keenly. Even I lived too far north in Francia to see the hawk-eagle regularly. The birds preferred the climates Espania and Italia, only showing themselves in the southernmost end of Francia. It could not have been in Anglia by accident.
All my senses worked to search the crowd. Whether it was a talent or skill, I could not say, but I had acquired some strange sense of intuition over years of training. A way of seeing the world as only an Assassin could. The figure I found in the crowd stood out by his gait and posture. The way he walked and moved about the bustle of the town square was deliberate but aimless. He walked about as if he were going somewhere, but arriving at nowhere.
Glen Green was occupied within the inn, arranging his purchases and whatever else he believed he needed. Without word or noise, I left the cart to the young men loading it and crossed the town square to the waiting figure.
The familiarity almost struck me like a bolt of lightning, and I cursed myself for not noticing sooner. Perhaps I was not used to seeing Brighton without his robes, but it was still shameful I had found him sooner.
“You took long enough,” he said the moment I walked within earshot of his whispers. “I’ve been waiting here all day.”
“Have you?” I asked as I walked beside him. “I’m glad to see you in good health. I was worried after the attack.”
“I was fortunate to have left for the stables when I did,” he said. “When you did not show up, I assumed the worst and moved on to warn the other bureaus.”
“How many did we lose in the attack?”
“It has hardly been more than a week,” he answered. “Let’s just say we are still picking through the ashes. The Templars used Green’s kidnapping to paint us as heretics, but they lost control of some zealots among the crowd. A small mob gathered outside the Trottingham bureau and burned it to the ground. How about those who were captured, did they escape as well?”
“They are dead,” I said somberly. “The Templars tortured them to death seeking information we would not tell them.”
“They died protecting our Creed. Let’s make sure it was worth it.” He looked back to the cart. “Glen Green. He does not seem like a prisoner now.”
I shook my head. “We are prisoners of each other, in a way. We are both running from the Templars. He knows the land, and I couldn’t risk going to the bureaus with our enemies close behind.”
Brighton knit his brows together. “Why would a Templar Master run from his Order?”
“Sir Green is a great many, terrible things,” I explained, “but let it be known that he is a devout man to his core. He killed one of his own, the Sheriff of Trottingham and a Templar Grandmaster.”
Brighton stopped walking and shot me a wide-eyed stare. “A… Grandmaster? You’re sure?”
I nodded. “Trent Tideswell threatened to sodomize me when his methods of torture proved ineffective on our brothers. As a devout Christian, that seemed to be a line Green could not stomach. He killed his Grandmaster by accident in their struggle and then he fled, taking me as the sole witness.”
“The Order will be in disarray for some time,” Brighton whispered, lowering his voice until my trained ears could scarcely hear him. “We must take this information to the Brotherhood at once. With luck, we may return a blow to the Templars that will cripple them for years.”
I pointed up to the bough of the great oak tree, where the hawk-eagle had perched. “Can she carry a message?”
“Gustavette?” He looked up to the eagle. “A gift from Francia. I would not have found you if not for her. She is a good bird, but not a messenger pigeon.”
“Then you will have to deliver the news yourself.”
Brighton looked to the cart, quickly ducking behind two bartering traders when Glen appeared from the inn with a heft casket in his arms. “You want to continue travelling with the Templar?”
“I must,” I said. “We can’t let him walk freely, and if we take him now, all we may accomplish is bringing Templars to another bureau.”
“Then we can kill him once he leaves Haverburg,” Brighton said.
“No, he’s a more valuable tool now that he has no Order to return to,” I grabbed Brighton’s wrist, staying his blade. “He is headed for Southampton. I can be ready to assist if the Brotherhood is able to send agents there.”
“I should think so,” he replied. “There’s no love lost between the Crown and Anglia’s Jews. Years ago, Simon de Montfort exiled the Jews from Ledescester. Since then, they have become indispensable to the Brotherhood, and there are a great number of Jewish merchants who sail out of Southampton.”
“That should surprise him,” I smirked at Green’s expense. “He believes his status as a monk will garner him some favour with the merchants there and plans to sail for Francia.”
Brighton pressed his lips tightly, stifling a laugh. “Then the trap is half set. And you continue to impress me, Grenada of Francia.”
“Go now, quickly,” I answered, turning back to watch Green and the cart.
“We’ll meet in Southampton, then.” He put up his hood and scurried behind the brick walls of some merchant’s toft, running from the market square vanishing into the shadows of Anglia’s idyllic forests.
Her vision went dark for a brief moment as the Animus powered down. Sunset’s head was swirling, trying to find some point of balance as the truck that carried her slowed to a stop. She rubbed her eyes, and Johnick was still there, standing over the controls of the Animus. His brows were nearly touching as they creased together in frustration.
“Is something wrong?” she asked. “Why’d we stop?”
“Huh?” He looked up from the Animus’ holographic screen. “Oh, everything’s fine, we parked outside one of our bureaus. Right now, I’m just looking through the data you generated from the new memories.”
“Find anything interesting?”
He shook his head. “Nothing you haven’t already seen. It’s just that records from the thirteenth century aren’t fully comprehensive. We’ve had to make some assumptions to give the Animus a contextual environment for the simulation.”
“That doesn’t sound good. Could the memories go wrong if you make the wrong assumptions?”
“Luckily, no. The relic inside the Animus is very sensitive.” Johnick said. “To even get a stable memory our context has to be close enough to get an accurate simulation. Of course, having more reliable information can’t hurt. The Animus automatically fixes wrong assumptions while you’re reading a memory, but that means it has to continually render a new environment in the background. So it’s better to load in all your data now while you’re not using the Animus.”
The truck’s back door grumbled as the door was rolled up. She expected to see Bashir and his imposing stare, but instead, it was Mags who opened the truck.
“You’re okay!” Sunset jumped off the Animus. “I thought we left you behind at the warehouse.”
“You did,” Mags said, “and everything went according to plan. Bashir and Johnick were supposed to drive you around for a few hours before coming here.”
“To an Assassin bureau,” Sunset said, looking around. They had parked outside a two-story building with white stucco walls on the corner of the road. Piled stones outside the front door gave it the appearance of an old fixture, though on a closer look it was clear they were decorative, fixed onto concrete. The sign hanging over the entrance read “South Cantertown Museum.”
Across the street sat a massive parking lot stretched between supermarkets and burrito restaurants. Lonely street lamps cast wide beams, and the cold night’s fog caught them, giving misty forms to the light.
It was strange, the loss of direction that she felt. They had driven out of Canterlot City completely, and even if the Assassins had a plan, Sunset felt like she was wandering with no idea of what would come next. She thought she should feel scared or worried but it was the opposite, she was completely immersed and focused on the moment. Sunset could see rows of suburban houses up the steady hill behind the bureau, houses with wide front lawns and picket fences, and in a way, it looked as if she had stepped into another world again.
“How far did we go?” she asked.
“About an hour on the freeway,” Johnick said, powering off the Animus and stepping outside to join them. “After another hour of driving around the city, just to be sure.”
“It’s almost midnight,” Mags added. “Are you hungry?”
Sunset almost said no, but her stomach suddenly lurched at the thought of food. “Hrm… I guess I am.”
“I picked up some burgers on the way here,” Mags said. “They’re a little cold now, but there should be a microwave in the bureau. Come on.”
They entered the museum from the back door which opened immediately to a display case of early settlers in the region, explaining how their clothes and homes were built before the age of power and electricity. Sunset realized she recognized almost nothing in the displays, which she thought was somewhat embarrassing for someone who had the power to read through memories of the past. Until now, human history wasn’t a topic that interested her.
Off to the corner of the building, away from the attraction of the exhibits, the Assassins led her into a cleaning supply closet and down through its basement hatch.
“Is this place really an Assassin bureau?” Sunset asked, looking sceptically at shelves of mops and detergents. “I expected more cloaks and daggers.”
“Well, it’s abandoned,” Johnick said. “We use it from time to time, but there aren’t enough of us in the area to keep it maintained.”
“So it’s just a local museum.” Sunset frowned.
Mags flicked on the lights, revealing a simple coffee table and a short, wide sofa. In the corner, plugged into the wall and propped up on a stool, was a small microwave. “Our Brotherhood isn’t the same as it was back then,” Mags said. “At least not here.”
She put two paper bags from Burger Queen on the coffee table. “Take your pick,” she told Sunset, “Johnick and I should help Bashir get the Animus inside and let it charge. Plus, one of us is going to have to ditch the We-Haul for something else to keep the Templars off our track.”
Sunset stared at her. “You’re leaving me here?”
“You’re not gonna run, are you?” Mags smirked. “Trust me, you don’t want to take on Templar mercs alone.”
“That’s not what I’m worried about,” Sunset murmured, twiddling her thumbs. “I just had some questions for you, that’s all.”
“We can talk later,” Mags said, putting a hand on her hip.
“Oh, okay.”
Sunset sat down on the sofa, staring at the burgers. One look from Mags and she couldn’t find her voice. Forget Bashir’s eyes, he looked straight through people. Mags seemed like she judged everything she saw, and Sunset didn’t want to know what Mags saw in her.
“She’s still a kid. Cut her some slack,” Johnnick said, finding his voice. “I can handle the Animus and drop off the truck. Bashir probably wants to hang around and stay on watch, anyway.”
Mags nodded silently, and two Assassins parted to handle their tasks.
“I’ve never actually eaten meat before,” Sunset confessed. That was the first thing she thought she should get out of the way.
“Religious reasons?” Mags asked, placing their burgers in the microwave.
Sunset shook her head. “Eating meat’s not a thing where I come from. Just never thought about trying it.”
“Up to you.” Mags shrugged. “Johnick volunteered to do all the work, so I’m happy to wait if you want to get something else.” When they were read, Mags placed the paper-wrapped burgers on the table.
Sunset sighed and picked up hers. “Whatever. Can’t knock it ‘till I try it.”
She didn’t realize how hungry she was. The burger wasn’t bad, though she covered a lot of the flavour with packets of ketchup. But food was food, and after such a long night, Sunset realized she would have eaten just about anything.
Afterwards, she laid out all her questions. She asked Mags what had happened since the attack at the warehouse, and how she managed to escape. Mags barely flinched at the question. To her, it was simple. As a consequence of their bipedal height, humans, even trained paramilitaries like the Templars’ mercenaries, rarely checked above themselves for danger. There were many places to hide from view, and all she had needed was to strike down one mercenary and steal away with his weapons. With a rifle from one of the mercs, all she had to do was keep up the firefight for as long as Bashir and Johnick needed.
“We had an emergency car nearby in case something like that happened. Drove here straight away like planned.” Mags smiled and waggled her burger around. “Well, almost straight away.”
Sunset fidgeted with her hands, looking at the bracer strapped around her wrist. Rather than a blade, a canister of pepper spray ran along the length of her forearm. Mags didn’t seem much different from Grenda. Not just because they were women or Assassins, but because they seemed unbeatable.
Sunset stared at her wrist. The pepper spray had stopped the Templars from taking her, but it still seemed fake compared to the real thing.
“What does the Creed mean?”
Mags looked up from her bag of french fries. “You mean our Creed? Do you even know the words to it?”
Sunset nodded and repeated the words she had heard in the Animus. “Nothing is true, everything is permitted. But, that doesn’t sound like a belief. At face value, it’s just an excuse to do whatever you want.”
“That’s what most of us thought when we first learned it.” Mags set her food down and cleaned her hands. She flicked her hand and sprung a hidden from her wrist. “I was born an Assassin. A lot of us are. My family has passed down this hidden blade for generations, ever since we joined the Brotherhood. Nearly a century of killing in the shadows, all for a cause.”
She closed the blade away. “A lot can change in a hundred years. To keep fighting for the same thing through all that time, the Creed has to be a way of living. If nothing is true, then we have to be careful not to act impulsively. Our actions can topple nations and fracture states, so we must consider the consequences instead of accepting what we think is true. Everything is permitted, and that’s why it falls on us to make that decision. Only we can choose our actions. No gods or kings can guide civilization, only humanity.”
Sunset ran her hand along the length of her bracer. “Wow. That’s a lot.”
“Sorry if it doesn’t make sense,” Mags chuckled. “It’s not like I’ve thought hard about it. That’s just what my dad told me. As Assassins, we’re supposed to think for ourselves, to be wise enough to make the right choice for our greater cause. But these days there’s a lot of other stuff on our minds.”
“Sorry if it was a hard question,” Sunset said. “It’s just that after seeing Grenda’s memories, I feel like I owe it to her to understand what she believed in. Even when the Templars caught her, she put her faith in the Brotherhood.”
“What? The Templars captured her?”
Sunset sat upright, realizing she had lost herself in thought. “Oh, right! Sorry, I forgot her memories are all new to you guys.”
She retold what she saw in the Animus, from Grenda’s capture until she arrived at Haverburg. Telling it gave Sunset a sense of catharsis as if the story hadn’t been real until she put it into words and passed it along. Perhaps that was true of any story. And there was more to the story than just the events. Sunset passed on the thoughts and emotions Grenda felt in that time, the details that people would never be able to commit to history.
Mags listened intently. It almost embarrassed Sunset, recounting Assassin history to an actual Assassin. But, if no one else could do it, what choice was there? She wasn’t one of them, but she at least could pass on the information of their people.
“Did it hurt?” Mags asked once Sunset had finished.
“The memories?” Sunset rubbed her neck. “Well, not exactly. Torture’s not nice to witness, but it’s like getting hurt in a dream, you know. You think it’s all real but when you wake up you barely even remember it. So, it was like it didn’t even hurt in the first place.”
She yawned. Her phone read it was two o’clock in the morning, and even though she was tired, Sunset didn’t feel ready to sleep.
But Mags took her phone and set it aside. “The Animus will charge faster if it’s not being used, and we should have it ready in case we need to move again. Get some rest. You need it.”
“Yeah, I probably do,” Sunset rubbed her eyes. “I’m just not so sure about the dreams I’m going to have.”
