—by Georg

The sounds from the griffon council had been getting uglier for the past hour as Pumpernickel of the Royal Guard, Night Division stood stoically outside the ambassadorial exit with his crusty superior. There were four guardstallions on this diplomatic mission to the Misty Mountain griffons, showing the level of importance Princess Celestia had placed on protecting her ambassador and assistant on this sensitive task. Pumpernickel had begged, pleaded and done everything conceivable to get this post, and had given up hope until a surprise change in scheduling had thrust him into the position.

The other three pegasus Royal Guards gave no outward sign that they suspected the bat-winged and golden-eyed Nocturne was not up to the task in this far-off land, even with his excellent training scores and flawless duty record. However, there still was an undercurrent of distrust that only showed at night, when the other stallions would glance at the Mare in the Moon and then to the Nocturne guard who’s race was created on that hellish night by an evil so great as to be locked away forever. He did not try to convince the other guards that Luna was in actuality a misunderstood princess, thrown away from the world by forces beyond her control, and soon to return in her awesome glory. It never worked. They would have just edged away from him and intensified their suspicious glances, like everypony did.

“We serve the Princess.” It was more than a motto, it was beaten into the hearts and souls of every guard who wore the gold or purple, day and night. Only the Nocturne knew the truth behind the motto. At one time it had read, “We serve the Princesses,” and it would someday read that way again. Deep inside their hearts, they knew Luna would someday return, for they could still feel her touch upon her creations. When that glorious night happened, and she was once again revealed to all, the Nocturne would be rewarded for their loyalty.

Pumpernickel ran a tongue over his sharp teeth and flicked his bat-like wings in impatience, getting a sideways glare from Sergeant Wingover, his commanding officer for this mission and coincidentally his fellow guard outside the Misty Mountains griffon council chamber.

“What is it now, rookie?” There was a certain trick to speaking out of the side of your mouth on guard duty without moving, even if there was nopony within sight to see. Sergeant Wingover was a master, and his voice barely echoed in the stone corridors that honeycombed the mountain.

“Sorry, Sergeant. I’m just nervous, I guess. It seems every day here, the griffons get more aggressive. It won’t happen again.” Pumpernickel set his hooves and returned to his rigid stance, shocked when Wingover broke his guard stance to prod him in the flank with one hoof.

“Yew ain’t the only one to notice. They had a little population boom here a few years back, and now there’s more young male tercels than this aerie can support. Princess Celestia’s been tryin’ to get the other aeries to accept a few each, but it’s slow goin’. I really hope Ambassador Stone can talk some sense into those bir— Ahem. Gentlecreatures afore somethin’ happens.” A burst of loud screeching from inside the council chambers made Wingover flatten his ears. “It don’t sound good.”

The doors beside them glowed violet, giving the mismatched guardstallions a few seconds to resume their statue-like poses before Ambassador Amber Stone and her assistant, a pink unicorn mare, paced regally out of the chamber, being followed by cat-calls and screeches of profanity.

“Walk slowly, gentlestallions,” said the ambassador with such control that not even her breathing changed while the guards fell in to either side of her. “Once we get to the chariot, I’ll want one of you to fly a message to the Princess. War is inevitable. The Wingmaster will not be able to restrain his subordinates. Unless stopped, they will descend on the fringe villages and slaughter any who oppose them.”

“Pumpernickel will fly your message, Your Excellency,” said Sergeant Wingover. “It is almost sunset, and once it is dark, he will be undetectable.”

“I hope that will be enough.” The ambassador shook her head, her amber mane rippling to either side of her neck. “I most certainly hope so.”

“Pardon me, Your Excellency.” The pink unicorn mare Morning Glory put away the note she was scribbling and gestured with the quill she held in her purple magic. “Will we be safe here? I mean, in the unlikely event the griffons decide to attack. After all, the Royal Guard has been able to put a stop to every attack the griffon kingdoms have tried for centuries.”

“Yes, but at a terrible cost, Glory. If the griffons can capture a fair number of cities and towns, they think Celestia will negotiate with them for more territory.”

Whatever Morning Glory was going to say in response was lost, as the sound of distant fighting filtered back down the corridor from ahead. The ambassador bolted into a run, lighting her horn up to illuminate the way while her two guards and the assistant tried to keep up. As they emerged from the tunnel into where the golden-tinted sunset was illuminating the chariot waiting area, there was a scream of rage and a griffon dropped down from the sky onto the ambassador. Sergeant Wingover met the griffon in mid-air with a ferocious tackle, rolling across the floor in a ball of violence that ended when he put both back hooves into the griffons chest. With an explosive ‘Whoof,’ the griffon flew back into the wall and slumped to the ground.

“Where are the guards? Where is the chariot?” nickered Morning Glory, rushing forward to look over the edge of the cliff where a vicious fight was taking place between two golden-armored pegasi and a half-dozen griffons. The shattered remains of the Guard chariot were scattered around the rocks below, and Pumpernickel grabbed the young unicorn by the tail to yank her back from the precarious edge.

“Wingover! Piggyback!” Ambassador Stone snapped with a jab of the hoof to the panting stallion. “Get me back to my quarters and I’ll use the message tube just in case Pumpernickel doesn’t get through. Pumpernickel, get to Celestia and tell her ‘Invasion.’ She’ll know what to do.”

“But what about...” Lieutenant Pumpernickel pointed weakly at the pink unicorn assistant, who suddenly looked very alone.

“You have your orders, Lieutenant!” grunted Wingover as the ambassador threw herself over his back and he took to the mountain air. “Move it!”

“Go on,” whispered Morning Glory. “I’ll just surrender. They won’t hurt me. I’m a diplomat.”

For one moment Pumpernickel hesitated, watching Sergeant Wingover and his passenger dart off in the direction of the ambassadorial quarters. He flew slower than normal with a passenger, glowing an almost golden-orange in the setting sun. Muttering curses against all creation, Pumpernickel doubled back, hefting the pink unicorn over his shoulders and flinging himself off the cliff face with a scream.

“Shut up back there,” he snarled, his bat-like wings flapping in frantic haste. Flying into the setting sun made him almost blind, but certainly not deaf as he could hear the sudden ‘yipe!’ of his unwilling passenger as she slid a few inches towards his rear. “Do you see anything?”

“How am I supposed to tell you if I see anything if I’m supposed to shutup!” she screamed back. “Left!”

Pumpernickel tucked into a sharp left bank, feeling his passenger slide just a tiny bit more to his rear even as a plummeting griffon backwinged into his vision. Barely able to give him a quick backhoofed strike, the Night Guard quickly reversed his bank to the right and dove.

“I said left, LEFT! Aaaahhh!” The sharp ‘crack’’ of a released spell echoed from behind, followed by a descending scream of anger as a smoking griffon tumbled underneath Pumpernickel, crashing into the cliff face below. Ahead, he could barely see Sergeant Wingover and his passenger, wrapped in combat with another griffon as they tumbled down past his altitude with the ambassador barely holding on by only one hoof. He passed overhead, banking into a sharp curve when suddenly the weight on his back doubled. Pumpernickel twisted in flight to look back, expecting to see a griffon had landed on his back, but instead he saw nothing but magenta hair. Tail hair, to be specific, as Morning Glory had somehow managed to position herself pointing backwards along his back..

“I got the ambassador,” screamed his inverted passenger. A quick glance confirmed the ambassador was surrounded in purple magic and trailing along behind them, although it took every speck of energy Pumpernickel could muster to climb, barely able to heave his two passengers over the balcony rail to the ambassador’s residence.

“Ground,” gasped Ambassador Stone, staggering to her hooves. “Guard! Get down there and help Sergeant Wingover.

“He’s dead,” called back Pumpernickel, leaning over the balcony rail and squinting at a rocky outcrop below with two bodies sprawled across it, unnaturally twisted from impact.

“Nightmare take it,” snapped the ambassador, yanking open the balcony door and vanishing into the rooms. “Cursed thin doors. They’ll never hold up if the griffons attack us here. Can you hold them off while I send a message tube to Princess Celestia?”

Pumpernickel stepped over the petrified form of Morning Glory, curled up into a shivering ball in the middle of the balcony, and looked into the diplomatic suite where the ambassador was franticly unpacking a bag. “How long will it take?”

“I don’t know,” she snapped. “It could be ten minutes, it could be an hour. Can you get out of here and carry the message?”

“No,” said Pumpernickel flatly. “The sun is still setting, and I’d be lit up like a Hearth’s Warming tree. There must be a few dozen of them circling out there, just waiting.”

“Moonfire and damnation. Hold them off as best you can, but if you get a chance to fly, take it. Getting that warning to Celestia is more important than our lives.” The door slammed in Pumpernickel’s face, a violet aura swelling the door in its frame and securing it better than any lock. With a glower into the darkening far too slowly sky, the Night Guard stepped back into the center of the balcony to wait, almost tripping over the terrified aide.

“I-I heard the ambassador. We’re all going to die, aren’t we.” Her violet eyes looked up at him, seeking an answer he did not have.

“Yeah, probably. Look, I’m sorry. I should have left you to die back there and took off. I might have been able to avoid that pack of vultures.” The Night Guard spread his bat-like wings and flapped gently, feeling the agony of strained muscles and overstressed tendons. There was no way he would be able to slip away now, even in the deepest night.

“T-then I had b-better help you.” The pink unicorn staggered to her hooves and took a deep breath. “I know a few combat spells, and I can at least watch your back.”

Pumpernickel could feel the unicorn mare tremble almost rigidly as she braced her flank against his, glowing horn pointed to the sky in preparation for the first griffon to attack. She was far too tense to hit anything, and really needed a distraction to calm her down.

“So,” he started with a low, casual drawl. “You come here often?”

Morning Glory almost jumped straight up when he spoke, turning to glare at him while still keeping her horn lit. “What! We’re about to get killed, and you’re c-coming onto me?”

“Relax. They’ll come at us one at a time, once they get up their nerve and determine who is the alpha griffon in the flock. As long as new griffons keep flying up there, we’ve got a few minutes before the dance begins. So, my name is Lieutenant Pumpernickel, of Clan Rye. What’s yours?”

“Morning Glory,” she snapped, glaring up into the air as if she were daring a griffon to attack while keeping short sideways glances at the tall Nocturne.

“So are you doing anything later this evening?”

Morning Glory twitched with a suppressed giggle, and shook her head. “You know they’re going to kill us all, right?”

“Going to be a short first date. And mares normally complain I never take them anywhere exciting.”

“You are insane.” She shook her head again at his goofy grin. “Your sign must be Taurus, because you are so full of bull.”

“And your sign must be Libra, because you make my knees water.”

A nervous chuckle burst out of Morning Glory, unable to be restrained despite, or perhaps because of their surroundings. “Oh, it is on! Sorry, I only date stallions who can count to five without looking between their legs. Do you think that one with the purple crest is going to attack first?”

“Didn’t you know Night Pegasi can count to eight that way? No, the one with the red fringes to his tail will be the first. I’ll bet you a kiss.”

“If you can kiss them, why date mares? That looks to be the last one flying up. You ready?”

“I was born ready. But I don’t think we have time for that, I think the griffons will attack first.”

“From what I’ve heard about you Night Pegasi, we have enough time for twice.”

“Ooo, cold mare.” Pumpernickel spread his bat-like wings and shook them out. “Here they come. Try not to shoot me in the ass.”

“Which part of you isn’t the ass?”

The first griffon descended from the sky, the sunset’s orange light illuminating him in shades of red and gold right up until the bolt of purple unicorn magic caught him in the face. Disoriented, he rebounded off Pumpernickel’s hard-driven right hoof, bounced off the balcony floor, and pinwheeled down the cliff face with a scream of rage. The second griffon was only a wingbeat behind, grabbing the Royal Guard by the shoulder armor while plunging his beak down at the guard’s exposed neck, only to have the razor-sharp teeth of the Nocturne tear his feathered throat out in an explosion of gore as he followed his fellow griffon in a tumble down the cliff face.

“Thought you said they only attacked in singles,” gasped Morning Glory while charging her horn for another shot. To her horror, the Night Guard only snarled in response, actually swallowing the bite he had taken out of the griffon neck and bracing himself for the next griffon.

And the next.

And the next...

The Wingmaster landed on the balcony rail, perched precariously above the sheer drop but unwilling to set paw onto the blood-soaked balcony where the bat-winged guard lay in the middle of a circle of dead bodies. Half a wing of his rebellious tercels had flung themselves at the diplomatic quarters and died one after another, each taking another piece out of the guardstallion before they expired or managed to limp away. Nearly as many griffon bodies littered the base of the cliff as were scattered around the balcony, all with crushed skulls or torn-out throats, and several of those who had managed to escape with minor injuries still would not speak of what happened. The shattered door leading to the diplomatic quarters still had a smoldering body in it, with a hole large enough to put a fist into blasted clear through the tercel’s feathered chest. The blood-soaked room beyond showed the fight had not been one-sided, but the expected message tube was gone, showing the diplomatic pony had succeeded in her final mission to notify her princess of the treachery that had slain her.

The blazing moonlight that filled the deathly scene brought a glitter of liquid silver to the blood pooled about, reflecting the image of the Horned One of the Moon in every drop as if the ancient evil imprisoned within was cursing him to every generation with the death of her bat-winged devilish minion. In the distance, he could hear the flapping of wings as Leaders and Masters organized their forces, each thinking only of the war to come against the weak ponies of the plains. They had no idea the war was already lost, surprise gone, their assault in the morning to be met by the Princess of the Sun and her guards. As the individual warriors would descend upon their targets, they would be attacked by groups of four pegasi, working together in a team as the griffons would never do. The moon seemed to laugh at him, an ancient relic of a lost race, soon to be no more. The ponies would not stop at the destruction of his foolish children. They would march upon the Redoubt, the Aerie would fall, and all of his children would perish in the flames, to the last egg and chick.

He felt envy for the dead guard, frozen in open-eyed death across the bodies of his foes while staring blankly up at his lunar goddess. He had perished in the performance of his duty, not simply worn out by the tread of time and thrown away by his children. The Nocturne ponies took their names from the ponies who had risen up in long-past rebellion against the Princess of the Sun, even while they now served the one who sealed the Horned One of the Moon away from them forever. That duty had doomed him to death, even as he could have slipped away into his native night as a shadow and survived.

A faint gasp drew the aged Wingmaster’s attention, and with a hop onto the bloody balcony, he began to heave the dead bodies away from the noise. At first he thought the groggy unicorn mare beneath the bodies was red, but a dark pink showed under the blood when he wiped her face, quieting her panicked bleat when she caught sight of him.

“Shh. Calm, young one.” A nasty bruise down one side of her face was the most serious of her multiple injuries, mostly talon scratches and scrapes. It took effort to pull her out from under the body of her protector, and he sat gasping for air once she was free.

She clattered to unsteady hooves, looking around the carnage that surrounded her before violently throwing up, gagging and hacking through her tears. He waited until she was finished and the throbbing in his chest from the exertion had begun to die away for the moment before clearing his throat. “They’re all dead, child.”

“Did she... Did Ambassador Stone manage to send her message?” The determined set to the young unicorn’s shoulders showed her intention to dash into the blood-soaked ambassadorial quarters and finish the task if her elder had failed.

“Yes. Your princess knows of the plans of my young. My foolish children head into their own destruction at her hooves.” The aged Wingmaster moved to the far edge of the balcony and patted the space next to him. “Come, sit with an old, dying griffon while we wait for the end. Each of us shall mourn our dead, and we shall await the dawn together. I shall tell you of the history of my subjects, and you may tell me of the ones who died to protect you.”

With considerable trepidation, Morning Glory trod carefully through the mangled bodies, making a large detour around the dead Night Guard who had been so brutalized she could not even look at his wounds. She sat down beside the old griffon and blinked away tears in the suddenly bright moonlight. Never had she seen such a pure silver light, filling the entire balcony with such a brilliant luminance that the blood seemed to vanish, and the bodies lay peacefully.

“His name was Pumpernickel, of the Clan Rye…