Hell. Hell is what the humans called it; a plane of torments and evils. For Goldleaf, Hell was the horrible heat of Lûndôvîr, the searing sun of Sarathûl. It had not been this hot on the coast! How had alicorns ever been able to live here, thousands of years ago? Hemlock was taking it better than he was, if only by a little bit. She was lucky she was able to walk without trouble. Goldleaf was reduced to hobbling along, chained by the neck to the back of a wagon. At least it's a long chain, he thought grimly. It was a hot chain as well, and he was sure that he would end up burned by it.

“How are you doing?” Hemlock asked, a pained look about her. She was exhausted, almost as much as he was, from these three days of Hell.

Goldleaf didn't answer right away. It was as if the infernal climate was slowing even his thoughts. “I wish I was dead.” he finally rasped, his dry throat getting the best of him.

“It won't be much longer, if they keep up with this.” sighed Hemlock, her ears drooped as they had been since the relief of not being immediately killed wore off on the first day. It was entirely possible the humans were going to let them die by exposure. Hemlock was not happy with how they were being treated, like they were slaves instead of important members of the Night Court. But she had no way of telling them anything; neither pony spoke the tongue of men, none of the humans spoke Equestrian.

The Lûndôvîn had a strange habit. They liked to stop for lunch in the middle of the march. When traveling with the Princesses to Lithton, they had never stopped from morning to nightfall. But these humans just stopped; parking their wagons on the side of the road, sitting down in fields and under trees, breaking out their provisions to eat and their instruments for a few songs. Compared to the strict discipline Goldleaf had been noticing while actually on the move, it was strange. When they stopped for lunch today, Hemlock and he both took shelter under the wagon they were tied to.

On the first and second days, many humans had come by in the morning, lunch stop, and evening to see the two ponies. There was excited talk of alîkorrnai, Ekvestrrîm, Seleztîa and even a bit of Lûna. There were some other names as well, be he didn't recognize them. They could have been the Tarsen terms for Sun Queen and Nightlord, for all he knew. But today, few came. Goldleaf believed they had all seen the ponies by now.

“You know,” Hemlock said, “I don't think they know you're a unicorn.”

“What?” asked Goldleaf, not even raising his head from the hard-packed dirt beneath him.

“You're one of the most powerful unicorns in Equestria; why don't we have actual guards?” Hemlock sat up as best she could, looking out from under the wagon. “Nothing. They must be completely unaware. You could break us out in a moment!”

He had to surpress a sigh. “And go where, Hemlock?”

“Uh...” She laid back down again, glumness returned. “Good point. We're three days deep in foreign land, and we're definitely not inconspicuous.”

“Beginning to regret staying with me?” Goldleaf thought about laughing, but it'd probably come out as more coughs.

“No, not really.” Hemlock said. She put her muzzle between her hooves, scowling out at the world. “We're deep in enemy territory, we don't know where we are or where we're going, and we've got no way home. But...” Her expression softened. “It could be worse. You could be dead and I could be at home.”

“Arguable.” said Goldleaf. Death may have been better than this weather. Hemlock was quiet for a moment.

“I hope they give us some water.” she finally spoke. But there was no water for them.

Their journey resumed shortly after, the two ponies plodded along after the rearmost wagon. All the dust kicked up by the long column landed on them, and they often had to sidestep unsavory things left behind by the humans' beasts of burden. Between the heat, the dust, and the stench... this truly was Hell. Who needed an afterlife of torment when it existed here on Earth? The afternoon wore on, the iron collar burned on his neck, his head throbbed, and his bad leg sent spikes of pain up every time he had to use it to keep pace with Hemlock and the wagon.

I can't keep this up, he realized. Each step Goldleaf took was upon a bed of nails. The world was spinning, it was too bright, too hot, he couldn't see anything. There was a yank at his neck, the clank of chains, and he felt the ground drag under him and the collar dig into his beck. It was almost like being choked.

Hemlock shouted something, and kept on shouting until the choking stopped, and so did the wagon ahead. Footsteps approached, and there was muttering too. The water splashed over his face suddenly, making him bolt upright.

“Tîez.” said the wagonmaster, putting a skin of something down. It was sweet-tasting if not rather warm, but Goldleaf drank gratefully.

“I was really worried for a moment.” Hemlock said, standing next to him. “Are you alright?”

“I'm gone, Hemlock.” Goldleaf closed his eyes tightly against the sun. “Just leave me here.”

“I'm not leaving you to the rats.” she said, very seriously.

Rats? he wondered. Must have been a pegasus phrase. Goldleaf let his mind go silent, and focused on listening to the world around him. The buzzing and chirping of insects and birds were actually quite loud, when one took the time to hear them. Hemlock was trying to talk to the wagonmaster, who kept on replying in his own tongue. She seemed to have gotten through to him, because a box was thrown onto the road. He looked up and saw that the wagonmaster was constructing a rudimentary stair up to the interior.

“It'll be better than being burned alive out here.” Hemlock said, looking pleased with herself.

“Thank heavens.” sighed Goldleaf. The wagonmaster waved them up, and in they went. The wagon itself was cramped, hot, and bumpy; but it wasn't as hot, and it wasn't dusty either. The canvas arched over the bed was good shelter from the elements. He let himself collapse in the one corner the wagonmaster had cleared out.

It was well into the night when Goldleaf woke, the pain in his head gone, but still present in his legs. Hemlock was curled up on a chest, fast asleep; she had left the waterskin for him in case he woke up. He didn't think there was water in there, though. Lithton had dedicated plumbing, the water there was clean. But in his youth, he remembered that water often had diseases and parasites in it. The rustics would often drink watered-down wine or ale, a much safer bet for ponies who couldn't afford to become ill. No doubt the humans did the same here. Now that he was in his right mind again, Goldleaf deduced he'd come down with a case of dehydration or heat exhaustion, perhaps both. He was lucky he hadn't died.

Over the following days, Goldleaf made sure to not to let that happen again. It was much easier now they he and Hemlock had a ride through Lûndôvîr. They got to look out of the back of the wagon and see the landscape, obscured by dust as it was.

“It's so hot, but it's still rather green.” Hemlock noted as they bounced down the road.

“They must get wet winters.” said Goldleaf. He didn't know what else to add; he certainly didn't know much about this place.

Boredom became an issue for the two. Now that neither of them was dying from the weather, they could actually think about other things than the cruel sun. The column's progress was slow, whoever led it was in no hurry to get anywhere anytime soon. Goldleaf started to notice a pattern about their stops, as well:

“Castles.” he told Hemlock one evening.

“Castles?”

“Yes. Every third night, we stop by a castle.” Goldleaf said. They were outside of the wagon, as the wagonmaster let them stretch their legs whenever they stopped for lunch or the night. He looked at the hill, about half a mile away. There were lights on it, and a solid shadow sticking out of the dusk.

“Someone important must lead this army, then, if she can stop at whatever castles she likes.” Hemlock guessed.

“Most likely a he. Human men lead their society, absolutely.”

“Right.” she nodded. “Maybe there's a great lord up at the front, out of the dust?” Hemlock laughed. “I wonder if he'd like to trade positions for a day with us...”

“Perhaps even a king.” Goldleaf recalled the banners they'd seen. One was black with a silver star, he knew that one. But the other was the blue serpent on a golden field, the banner of Lûndôvîr. More specifically, it was the banner of the Kingdom of Lûndôvîr. Perhaps the King himself was here? That was an intriguing thought. He told Hemlock his idea.

“Why would a king be here, though?” she wondered.

“Why would the Lûndôvîn be going north with their king?” Goldleaf asked. He had an idea, but he wanted to see if Hemlock could come up with something. Keeping the young mare's mind busy was a good idea; she wouldn't try anything stupid as young ponies were wont to do.

“Maybe Princess Celestia's declaration of war has already spread this far.” Hemlock guessed, putting a hoof on her chin. “They knew we were there, at the cove, though. So either they knew we were coming, or they were already preparing to fight us... And now that we've been removed from their land, they're going north. But for what?”

“To Ar-Athazîon.” Goldleaf answered. “And the Emperor.”

“Do you think they're going after home?” A flash of worry passed over Hemlock, and her ears fell.

“I don't know.”

And truthfully, he didn't. Goldleaf had no idea why they were really headed north, but Ar-Athazîon was a good bet. Why else would they be dragged along with the army instead of left in a dungeon?

Two weeks had passed since they were captured. Goldleaf and Hemlock had taken to playing naughts and crosses on a crate, gradually expanding the playing field from three by three to ten by ten, and then by giving themselves the ability to move the naughts and crosses around. The games got quite intense at times.

On the thirteenth morning, they saw a legend. A great white pillar rose out of a low hill, covered in vibrant wildflowers. It was rounded at the edges, and tapered to a sharp point quite abruptly at the top. “An obelisk!” exclaimed Hemlock.

“An obelisk.” Goldleaf affirmed. They both leaned out of the wagon for a better look. “The alicorns built them as monuments to their fallen heroes. I've heard of this one!”

“Who is buried there?”

“This is the obelisk of Castus, who fell in battle against something evil. I know that much. And I know Castus was a son of our friend, Lord Aegis Vigil.”

“Oh.” Hemlock quietly said. She bowed her head.

“His wife, Versa, is buried in the Far North, on a hill of white roses. They say they were her favorite flower, which is why Lord Aegis uses it as his sigil. Versa was killed by a shadow spirit, if I recall rightly...” he went on, before pausing. Goldleaf recalled how Hemlock had once made the poignant remark that Lord Aegis had buried every child he sired... A twinge of feeling came over him, and he found himself bowing his head too. He's really lost everything, hasn't he? And yet, Lord Aegis carried on. A brave soul, if Goldleaf had ever known one. “Perhaps I could have left that out.”

“Yeah...” Hemlock agreed. “Real life doesn't have happy endings, does it?”

“Not always.” said Goldleaf. “But there are times when everything works out.”

“Really?” she asked hopefully.

“Of course. Ashvale the Great made peace with King Vesper, who gave her and her line all of Eastmarch to hold against the ice demons of the Frozen North. Discord was utterly defeated and the ponies of Equestria freed by the alicorns. The Whitewinds drove the rat-folk out of pegasus lands... or something like that.” recited Goldleaf, recalling all his history. “Things do turn out for the best. Not always, but not never, either.”

“Oh, I know about the war with the vermin!” said Hemlock, beaming. She seemed eager to get to tell a story of her own for once. “We'd always lived in tension with the rats, in Highcrest. It was my ancestors who led us to our future kingdom, and who were attacked by the rats. For some reason or another, Hurricane Whitewind was our first Queen, not a Farpeak, but I wouldn't want to be Queen anyway. They brought the war to its climax. When Tempest Whitewind learned that the rats had been making ritual sacrifices of ponies to fuel their blood magic, she led the war in person. We tore down their Temple, razed their cities, and scattered them to the four winds of the world.”

“Ah, yes, that's how it went. Very pegasus-like, I must say.” Hemlock raised an eyebrow. “What? It is.” said Goldleaf, tapping a hoof on a box. “Your kind do like your dramatics, don't you?”

“I guess we do...” admitted Hemlock. “But it is something that deserves drama. They were the last servants of darkness in Equestria, save for Discord who was content to leave us to our wars. We'd gotten rid of the dragons, and the changelings, and the ice demons were contained... The griffons had yet to come, though.”

“I wouldn't call the griffons servants of darkness, Hemlock. If anything, they're as much victims of greater powers as we ponies have been.” Hemlock only turned her nose in the air dismissively. There was no small amount of bad blood between the two races, though not nearly as much as between pegasi and rats. Goldleaf sometimes wondered if rats were even real, he'd never seen one before. Not even a skeleton, come to think of it.

A few days later, Hemlock and he woke to voices outside the wagon. One was the wagonmaster's, they knew his voice by now. The other was new. They came around the back, and found both ponies awake and expecting them. Beside the wagonmaster was a dusty-looking man in worn black robes, carrying a pack and wearing a silver medallion of an eight-pointed star. He held a hooked staff with a lantern dangling from it, even though it was dawn. Unlike many of the humans he had no beard, and his hair was cut very short. To Goldleaf, the man looked to be middle-aged, perhaps even as old as he himself was.

“Hello, Equestrians.” said the man. Both ponies straightened up right away; it'd been a long time since they heard any other voice speak Equestrian besides their own.

“How do you-” Hemlock started to ask.

“I have been all over the world, little pony. If a people speak a language, I have tried to learn it. Though not always with success!” he laughed. “I am Thônar. Who might you be?”

Goldleaf and Hemlock exchanged a glance, before he nodded to Hemlock to answer. “I am Lady Hemlock Farpeak of Greatfall.” she declared, before pointing to him. “And this is Goldleaf, my... servant.” Goldleaf nodded.

“My lady,” Thônar bowed, “why ever do they have you in chains?”

“Because I can fly, I suppose.” answered Hemlock, shrugging.

“Well, I wouldn't want my prisoner flying off either.” said Thônar. “Do you know where you're headed?” They shook their heads. “This army is going to Ar-Athazîon, to serve the new Emperor. The King of Lûndôvîr leads it in person.”

“I thought so.” Goldleaf said. “But who is the new Emperor? It was Katastanîôs last we heard.”

“Alas,” lamented Thônar, “our late Lord and Master passed from this life some two and a half months ago. Now Îrilôs, fourth of his name, sits on the throne. Long may he reign, and Heaven protect him.” He touched two fingers to his forehead, and bowed his head again. Some kind of religious sign, I presume, Goldleaf thought.

The wagonmaster had returned to the front of the wagon, and now they were setting off. Oblivious to the dust, Thônar followed them as they moved off, only empty road behind him.

“Where are we now?” asked Hemlock. “You must know your way around here better than us.”

“We are forty miles out from Ar-Athazîon; thirty south of the Sorcerer's Bridge, and ten west of the Imperial city itself.” answered the man. Goldleaf wondered what the Sorcerer's Bridge was, but had a feeling he'd be finding out soon enough. “At the rate you've been traveling, you have a little less than a week left to go.”

“So slow.” Hemlock grumbled. “We travel much faster back home.”

“I'm sure of it. Equestrians are a fast-moving race, it suits you. But us?” Thônar looked about, with an apologetic glance to them. “The speed of walking is the speed of being human. We do not need to go faster, we do not need to go slower. The pace of humanity will take you where you need to go in precisely the same amount of time it takes to get to know another human. This was the design of God, Equestrians. All things serve their purpose.”

“That was more of an answer than I was expecting.” said Hemlock quietly.

“You seem like a religious fellow.” Goldleaf observed. Thônar smiled, and nodded, tapping his staff along the road as he followed the wagon.

“Naturally. I am a priest of the Ezerîn Order.” He tapped the silver medallion he wore. “It is my solemn calling to walk the world, reminding the faithful of the word, and bringing the word to those who have not yet heard it.”

“I find it hard to believe that people this close to the capital would need to be reminded...” Hemlock tilted her head questioningly, expecting an answer.

“My lady, I am not on this road to preach today. I am on pilgrimage, to the Cathedral of Saint Aikâlon.” stated Thônar. “And once I have prayed to the savior of my race, I will seek to serve the Emperor in what way I can. There are whispers of an expedition to Equestria...”

They talked with Thônar for another hour, before the column turned from a dirt road onto a paved road of solid stone, without a single rut, crack, or crevice in it. “One of the great highways of Old Alicornia!” Goldleaf told Hemlock. If he didn't know better, Goldleaf would suspect the alicorns had just poured lava into the ground and let it cool, before smoothing it all over. But controlling volcanoes was beyond even alicorn magic.

“They have proven exceedingly long-lived.” added Thônar. “The same can be said many things in this region. The Sorcerer's Bridge stands without a single support, and has gone without need for maintenance since the day it was found.”

“Why is it named that?” Hemlock asked. “If the alicorns built it, what does a sorcerer have to do with it? I heard that human magic is cold and dead.”

“You are right, my lady: 'human' magic is cold, and can only take life. It is my order's belief that we are not naturally inclined to magic, and those who do use it are remarkable individuals, who get it from some... other source.” Thônar explained, absent-mindedly touching his star medallion. “I have never seen any in my life, but I heard from an elder of my order, long ago, that the only magic we humans can use is derived from the power of blood.”

“How grim.” Goldleaf remarked. Blood magic was what the rats had used, in Highcrest, many centuries ago. It was an abominable thing, far more dangerous and potent than unicorn or dragon magic. Perhaps even evil. But blood magic could be used by any creature, magically-inclined or not. Rats were once a local problem for a tribe of pegasi; but human use of blood magic was something any pony in the know whispered about, and thus was widely considered to be a human brand of magic. It was an unfair judgment, but it was an unfair world.

“Yes, grim indeed. We have a tale here of a certain Lord Ezarethîz, the most powerful sorcerer who ever lived. He could summon demons, turn himself invisible, and kill a man with a single word! Lord Ezarethîz invaded Sarathûl with all manner of vile things. He came to the river Karthâ, but found he could not cross it. However, because he could turn invisible, he could also see invisible things, and broke the spell concealing the great bridge that spanned the river. It had stayed hidden for five centuries, so the stories go. After Sîvôs foiled his plans and the Emperor defeated Lord Ezarethîz, the bridge became free for all to use... so long as folk paid a toll to whomever controlled it, of course. And that's why they call it the Sorcerer's Bridge.”

“Really...” Hemlock looked fascinated. She had more of a love for history than she liked to let on, that was obvious. Goldleaf was interested in hearing what else Thônar had to say about blood magic, but didn't press the issue. It might not have been a polite subject in this society, and he wouldn't want to offend the only human who spoke their language they'd met so far.

Thônar followed the wagon for the rest of the day, not bothered by the burning sunlight. As far as Goldleaf could recall, humans on pilgrimage were generally not concerned with comfort. It was a strange ritual, to subject one's self to such humility and hardship. He could not fathom why they would do such a thing... At least Thônar was lucky that the paved road had gotten rid of the dust clouds, even if they were hotter from absorbing the sunlight.

However, Thônar was called away from the column on the second day. A local serf had asked him to perform something called the final dignity for a dying family member, and off he went. Goldleaf wondered if they'd see him again on the road.

Three more days passed until they saw the Sorcerer's Bridge. “Good heavens!” breathed Hemlock in awe.

The Sorcerer's Bridge was definitely more than Goldleaf expected. It was made of the same gleaming white stone as the obelisk of Castus. The bridge gently arched over at least three miles of water, if not four, touching down at the other side, and was two dozen yards wide. Not a single support held it up, it simply sprang out of the ground at one end and came back down at the other. At its tallest, the bridge must have been two hundred feet over the river below, maybe more on account of the steep rocky banks on either side. Walls guarded each side of the span, Goldleaf was glad to see; and at each end was an elegant gatehouse.

“Definitely alicorn magic.” Goldleaf said. Towns had sprung up on both sides of the bridge as well, walled with the same white stone in a neat circle. These walls and gatehouses had the same perfect look as the bridge; he guessed they were built with alicorn magic too. But the buildings of the towns were, without a doubt, man-made. “This must be the Karthâ river, the greatest watercourse in Sarathûl. That's what Thônar implied.”

“It's bigger than any river in Equestria.” Hemlock gaped at the river; it was wider than some bays in Equestria, and probably deeper too.

The traffic over the bridge was immense, and even with a King leading the column, they were forced to wait until the next day to cross at dawn. At first, Hemlock was excited to go over the great arc, but as they began the gentle climb, and gusts of wind began to grasp at the wagon's canvas cover, she started to look nervous. “No, I'm not.” she claimed, but Goldleaf saw through her lies.

“You are. And you're a pegasus, you could fly if we got blown off the bridge.”

“Too bad I'm chained to this wagon, just like you.”

“Hmm.” Goldleaf hoped those side-walls would keep them from being blown over the edge. Even the wagonmaster looked uneasy up here.

Crossing the Sorcerer's Bridge took them the better part of three hours, thanks to the column's length and the usual breakdowns of wagons. On the road, the column could simply go around the broken wagon, but as the were moving three abreast, there was no room. They were forced to wait for the wagon to be fixed before resuming. Both of them thought it wise to keep their heads down, though, with so many humans about in such a tight space. Goldleaf had to question if anyone even remembered they were there besides the wagonmaster.

Finally, they were across, and made progress of another mile before settling down on the banks of the Karthâ for the night. They must have been close to Ar-Athazîon, as there were many, many ships traveling up and down the river. In the towns at the Sorcerer's Bridge, there had only been Imperial banners flying as well; black and white with a blood-red star. He would guess that these towns paid tribute directly to the Emperor.

“Do you think we'll get there tomorrow?” Hemlock asked.

“We can't have more than nine miles left, I don't see why not.” he answered.

As it turned out, they did get there by sunset, the next day. Once again, they were awed by the works of Old Alicornia. Ar-Athazîon wasn't so much a city as a towering white wall, just as high as the Sorcerer's Bridge upstream. It bristled with towers, which themselves were lined with ports for what could only be cannons.

“Incredible!” exclaimed Hemlock, not minding how the setting sun shined so brightly off the wall. It got hotter as they moved closer; the reflected light at work, perhaps? Goldleaf wasn't sure. There was a smell in the air, too. For several miles now, the salt of the sea had been in his nostrils, but now it was joined by woodsmoke, and fouler things.

The source of the smell was an ugly mass of buildings outside the wall. The city sprawled over the great barrier, into a haphazard mess of shabby looking structures. The column stopped some distance from this urban planning disaster, for which Goldleaf was grateful. Any unicorn architect would have been disgusted by this.

“I wonder what they'll do with us now that we're here?” Hemlock asked.

“Only the stars know.” sighed Goldleaf.

The sun had long set, Hemlock was fast asleep beneath the wagon, and Goldleaf was dozing off, when the soldiers came. Some wore the Lûndôvîn colors, yellow and blue; but the others were new. Their armor was a deep green, with red and gold leaf patterns, and they wore white plumes in their helmets. One among them was devoid of all armor, in dark blue robes bearing some sigil or another... Goldleaf blinked. He knew this one! This was the man who had come to negotiate with Princess Celestia all those months ago, in Lithton!

“Ekvestrrîm,” he greeted in his ridiculous accent, smiling coolly, “velcome to Ar-Athazîon!”

“Kairôs Gadis, isn't it?” asked Goldleaf, narrowing his eyes. “I remember you. You came to see the Princess.”

“Ô, haô forrtunate! Thîs is delicious!” he chuckled. “Perrhaps you vill stand before the Emperor?” Kairôs clapped once, and gave an order in Tarsen.

“Hemlock, we're moving.” Goldleaf said, as he prodded her awake. She didn't say anything as they were led by their chains to another wagon, one no doubt meant for criminals given the iron bars over its windows. “Just our lot.” remarked he. “We're in the greatest city on Earth, and we can't see anything!”

“At least we're still alive.” Hemlock said back, with a hopeful smile.

Wherever they were being taken, it was a mystery to him. There was hardly a moment to look around before they got shoved into a tunnel lit only by torches. They quickly left the night's heat behind, and entered a cool subterranean realm. “You knô,” said Kairôs, as he led them on, “these tunnels vere carrved by rrats? They do not speak highly of you Ekvestrrîm.” The two ponies dwelt on that for the rest of their passage. There's rats, here, in Ar-Athazîon? Ill tidings for Hemlock, if they ran into one.

Up stairs they went, and up a spiraling tunnel, until they came into what only could be a dungeon. The ponies were shoved into two separate cells, and the doors closed. “You vill have guests tomorrô.” he said, before departing. Only a single torch on the opposite wall of the iron-barred doors remained to give light. Hemlock and he were separated by bars as well, though there was a heavy canvas woven through them for some semblance of privacy.

“Who could our guests be?” Goldleaf wondered out loud. “Any ideas, Hemlock?”

She yawned before answering. “I'm guessing the torturer.”

“Very funny.” he frowned.

“Sleep well, Goldleaf.”

“Hmmph.”

Their guests arrived in the morning, but not before the guards had moved Goldleaf to Hemlock's cell. He supposed it was for convenience. But no torturer came, no Kairôs Gadis, no questioners or officials or any human of the sort.

Instead, there were three pegasi standing at the entrance of the cell. Pegasi! Here, in Ar-Athazîon! Goldleaf pushed his confusion to the back of his mind, and beheld the three before him.

One was a brick red mare, battered and tough. Another was a blue-grey color, with a charcoal mane; she seemed much younger than the red one . The third, though, was a pretty mare that made him look twice. She looked just like Hemlock; the same beige coat and mane of blues, only a few shades lighter; the same vivid green eyes, the same height, nearly the same face, and even close to the same smell. The only real difference was that she was rather pudgy, not at all as sleek and slender as Hemlock. They could easily have been sisters. Wait a second-

Could this be her? Goldleaf glanced at Hemlock, whose mouth was slightly agape. For once, the pegasus seemed to be too shocked to say anything. She knew the pony she was looking at. There was no doubt, this had to be the long-lost Snowy Farpeak. And if this was Snowy Farpeak, then the one in the middle was...

“Good morning.” coolly greeted the blue-grey one, with a hint of accent under her voice. She seemed almost disdaining of his appearance, and Goldleaf became very conscious Hemlock and he had gone unwashed for nearly a month. “Do you know who I am?” the pegasus asked.

“I'm afraid not...” Though he had a very good idea.

“I am Tempest Blackwind, second of my name, Queen of Highcrest.” stated she, doing her best to look regal. “These are my followers; Lady Snowy Farpeak, and Streaming Breeze.”

“How?” whispered Hemlock. So it really is her... Snowy too seemed at a loss for words, her mouth trembled but she did not speak. Goldleaf wasn't able to count all the emotions running across her face.

“How?” repeated the elder Farpeak, finally solidifying her expression to hard and angry, if pained. “If you're asking how I'm alive, know that it was no thanks to you!”

“I- I-” stammered Hemlock, moving towards the back of the cell. “Snowy, I-”

“No, I won't hear it!” Snowy declared, sneering at Hemlock. “The ten years you all were out of my life have been the only ten years of my life worth living! You're dead to me Hemlock, you and the rest of them!” Her voice started to tremble, and Goldleaf swore she was blinking back tears. Snowy looked like she had more to say, but she suddenly turned and bolted from the cell. There was a moment of silence from the four remaining ponies.

“You know,” Blackwind said, “it usually takes a few inconsiderate remarks from me to get her to snap like that. But you managed to do it in a single word. I don't know if I should be impressed with your speed, or upset at your apparent cruelty.”

“You do realize this is Hemlock Farpeak, don't you?” Goldleaf asked the exile. Blackwind blinked.

“Who?”

“Hemlock Farpeak, younger daughter of Silver Farpeak of Greatfall... Younger sister of a certain Snowy Farpeak who disappeared some ten years ago.” explained Goldleaf. The pegasus blinked again, still not understanding what she was hearing. He had to admit, Tempest Blackwind was far less impressive than what he was expecting. She was a bit on the tall side, yes, but she was also as skinny as a rustic after a bad winter, and rather plain-looking on top of that. The Blackwind heir was more a daughter of a worn-down peasant than a daughter of a beautiful queen like Maelstrom. Goldleaf almost felt sorry for this young mare. He stopped himself from feeling any actual sympathy when he remembered the chaos she could bring to her homeland.

“She never told me she had a sister!” said Blackwind, scowling. She yelled something in Tarsen, with Snowy in it, before dashing out of the cell too. That left only the red mare, Streaming Breeze.

“Those two girls...” sighed Streaming Breeze, shaking her head. “It's been like living in a house made of glass in a world of stone-throwing, between the two of them. But, I might as well get your names.”

“I'm Goldleaf of Lithton, an important courtier of Princess Luna. And you already know Hemlock Farpeak.” he gestured to his traveling companion. Hemlock hadn't said a further word, she was looking at her hooves guiltily.

“That sounds like a fancy way of saying you're a worthless commoner like me who wants to be taken seriously.” The red mare laughed. “Well, Goldleaf of Lithton, we'll be seeing you again shortly. I've got to go track down wherever my Queen has run off to in search of Lady Farpeak. The former won't have gotten far, because the latter can't have gotten far. I'll be back. The shit I put up with...” She retreated, and the cell door was closed behind her by one of the human guards.

“Well.” Goldleaf said, at a loss for anything else. Hemlock just sat in her corner, still shocked by what she had heard.

“She's alive.” murmured Hemlock, staring at the floor, stricken with guilt. “How? How did she survive this long?”

“I'd think that you'd be pleased to see your sister again, after ten and a half years.” Goldleaf said, not sure what else he could say. He had no idea what had happened between them, to make Snowy so hateful of her little sister.

“My mother always told me that Snowy was weak and worthless, a disappointment to the family. But when she wanted Snowy to do something, and Snowy couldn't do it, I'd be the one who was punished.” Hemlock laid down, ears going flat and tucking her tail over her muzzle. “I started to hate Snowy. I thought that maybe she was making mistakes just so I'd be hurt for it... But she was still my sister, and mother would hurt her too when she was angry, so... I just didn't know... After all these years, after hearing about how pathetic and contemptible she was from my mother... I started to believe it. And I started to believe she was dead, too. And now... here she is.”

“Here you are, too.” said Goldleaf. He didn't really know what to say. Hemlock was only telling one side of the story, what had she done to earn Snowy's ire? Going against his friend wasn't something he wanted to do, but he couldn't help but wonder what really happened. He'd stay silent on that for now. “The real question is, what are you going to do next? We haven't seen the last of them.”

Hemlock only sighed. “I wish I knew, Goldleaf.”

Author's Notes:

And so we resume our journey, after two and a half months. This chapter is very long, and it's just for you patient readers. We'll be alternating between Across the Sea and Horn of the Damned from here on out, though with finals in three weeks, and then summer chemistry all morning every morning until late August, we'll see how fast I can be about it.

So, how about that Farpeak Bowl 2014: Episode one? Not as dramatic as you were expecting?