27th day of Frostfall
454 Years after the Defeat of Discord by the Sisters

Pallas glanced at the buildings around her as she followed Silver Tongue. When they’d walked out of the walls of the city, she hadn’t been expecting to find this. The streets here were crowded, buildings crammed together with no space in between, banners and signs hanging so low Pallas had to occasionally duck to get past while balconies and upper floors loomed so tightly over the street that it was rare to get a glimpse of the sky above them, as if they were walking through a huge building made by mashing an entire city together.

“Watch your head,” Silver Tongue mumbled. “And keep your eyes open. The Low City isn’t terribly safe, though I don’t think anypony here would be stupid enough to pick a fight with you.” Water dripped down from overhead, though in the gloom and confusion, Pallas couldn’t tell if it was rain, a leaking pipe, or something else.

Pallas’ wings shifted under her black cloak. Silver Tongue was wearing one as well. They were surprisingly easy to see in the dim light of flickering magic crystals that were probably as old as Pallas herself, colored lanterns, and candles.

“This place is a lot different from the High City,” Pallas mumbled.

“Of course it is,” Silver Tongue chuckled. “It has an interesting history. This neighborhood was contested by two nobles whom fought over who should control it. It turned out the deeds to their land had been drawn up improperly, and both had equal right to a strip of land directly between them. When they couldn’t agree on how to split the land fairly, Luna took it from them. She declared it to be totally free, though the wording of her decree meant it was free even from Equestrian law.”

“So this is a lawless, ominous slum?” Bianca gasped excitedly. Pallas and Silver Tongue looked back at her. “That’s so exciting!”

“Try not to look too much like a tourist,” Silver Tongue rolled his eyes. “Somepony might decide to take advantage of you.”

“With Pallas around?” Bianca asked.

“Some ponies are stupid,” Silver Tongue replied. “Why, they even tried to mug me, once. Exactly once. The whole Low City smelled like burning hair for a week afterwards.”

“I don’t see why you needed me to protect you,” Pallas said. “If you’ve got a reputation, that’s better protection than any muscle I could provide.”

“You’re absolutely right,” Silver Tongue agreed. “But it’s also been a decade since I was here, and that means I need somepony more obviously intimidating to give me a hoof. I’d rather avoid trouble entirely than have to explain to Luna why I set a dozen ponies on fire in the course of doing a little errand.”

“What are we doing here, anyway?” Bianca asked. Pallas paused to glare into a dark alcove until a shady-looking earth pony walked away, sweat dripping down his face.

“We’re getting something from my old apartment,” Silver Tongue said. “I hid copies of all my notes there from before the Academy had me expelled.”

“You said you were falsely accused of using mind magic,” Pallas frowned. “How false were those accusations?”

“That’s an interesting question,” Silver Tongue grinned, looking back at Pallas. “They were wrong about the exact circumstances. I do know the types of spell they accused me of using, but I never once used them improperly. Even I have limits. That said, Luna wants me to work on something new for her, and I need my old notes to do it.”

“Something new?” Pallas asked, raising an eyebrow. She winced a little as the stitches in her forehead pulled at her flesh.

“It’s nothing terrible,” Silver Tongue shrugged. “Just some improvements she’s looking at for the Dragoons’ armor. Speaking of which, I can’t help but notice you’ve still got Ghost’s wingblades.”

“I haven’t seen him around to give them back,” Pallas shrugged.

“If he wanted them back, he’d have taken them already,” Silver Tongue mumbled. “He must think you still need them. For such a brute, he has a sense about him for such things.” The unicorn walked in silence until they arrived at a nondescript building, the paint peeling and showing a dozen discolored layers, like the strata of a canyon.

“You lived here?” Bianca asked.

“I was quite a troublemaker, a long time ago,” Silver Tongue said. “I was born here. In this building, even. But last time…” Silver Tongue frowned. “Last time, there wasn’t this.” He touched a hoof to a glowing mark on the building’s door. It looked like a pony skull, with the teeth replaced with fangs and a crack in the forehead in the shape of the letter ‘S’.

“What is it?” Bianca asked, stepping up to look.

“It’s a gang marking. And not from my old gang.” Silver Tongue touched it grimly. “I think the building has changed hooves while I was gone.”

“So your notes are already destroyed,” Pallas shrugged.

“No,” Silver Tongue shook his head. “They haven’t been touched. I had an alarm spell built into the strongbox. It hasn’t even been moved, and I doubt the ponies inside even knew to look for it.” He tapped a hoof on the ground in thought. “Well, that will make things less pleasant.”

“Um,” Bianca coughed. “Before you do anything else, what if we try asking nicely first? Maybe they won’t care as long as you take your notes and leave.”

“That’s not a terrible idea,” Silver Tongue admitted. He ushered Bianca back and knocked on the door. A window in the door slid open, a pony from inside looking out. A wide strip of red paint was across his eyes, as if he’d painted a visor on his face.

“This place is Splatterpony territory. Get out before we do somethin’ you’ll really regret.” The pony said. He sounded like a kid.

“I need to get something I left here,” Silver Tongue said. “I’m not leaving without it. You let me in, I’m in and out in five minutes and you’re ten bits richer.”

“There ain’t nothing of yours here,” the punk snorted. “I ain’t never seen you before.”

“I left it here before you moved in,” Silver Tongue said. “Fifteen bits.”

“Thirty,” the punk demanded.

“Twenty,” Silver Tongue countered. “And that’s my final offer before I get annoyed and have my friends tear this door off and shove it where Celestia herself won't be able to find it.”

The punk grumbled and closed the hatch. There was a sound of chains jangling as the door was unlocked. Pallas’ nose scrunched as she looked inside. As bad as the streets were, inside the apartment was like a dump. Garbage covered the floor, and it stank like something had died there. Maybe somepony had.

Silver Tongue walked in, with the two thestrals following. The punk at the door closed it behind them, locking it again. Pallas gave him a hard look. He was wiry and thin, obviously used to going hungry. Warpaint and scars decorated his coat.

“My room was this way,” Silver Tongue said, ignoring the rot around them. Pallas struggled to keep her wings at her sides as ponies watched them from dark corners, huddled around tiny points of light, fires burning in tin cans and mage lights sparking and sputtering from an improper recharge.

Silver Tongue led them upstairs, the wooden steps creaking ominously. One cracked under Pallas’ weight, nearly sending her through the ruined wood before she caught herself.

“Try not to ruin the building more than you have to,” Silver Tongue said. He tried to open a door with his magic, wood splintering as the knob pulled free and left the door behind. “If you would?”

“Tell me not to ruin the building then in the same breath ask me to break down a door,” Pallas snorted. She turned and bucked, the door exploding inwards. The revealed apartment was as much a mess as the rest of the building. Drifts of garbage were piled up, with mold and mushrooms growing from what was quickly turning into a compost pile.

“Looks like somepony else moved in while I was gone,” Silver Tongue muttered, displeased. He cleared a path through the worst of the garbage with his magic, though not even spellcraft could do much for the smell.

“You sure those notes are here?” Pallas asked, waving for Bianca to stay outside where the air was a little more clear.

“I didn’t just leave it out in the open,” Silver Tongue said. He stopped in front of a wall, tapping against it. “Right here, I think…” He punched through the wall with his hoof, revealing a layer of paper-thin plaster over empty space.

“I’m getting a bad feeling about this,” Bianca said, from the doorway.

“We’re almost done,” Silver Tongue grunted, as he pulled a panel away from the wall, the broken plaster revealing a hidden cubbyhole. A tarnished strongbox lay inside. Silver Tongue smiled and took it, stuffing it into his saddlebags. “Excellent. Undisturbed. I knew all that paranoia would come in handy one day.”

Pallas’ ear twitched, and she looked back towards the door. Bianca was already at the stairs and looking over the railing.

“There’s some kind of fight going on downstairs!” Bianca said, turning to look back at Pallas. As she moved, a feathered shaft suddenly sprouted from her shoulder. If she’d moved a moment later, it would have gone into her neck. Bianca’s eyes went wide, and she looked at the arrow in shock for a moment before screaming in pain and falling back towards the doorway.

“Bianca!” Pallas screamed, grabbing her and pulling her inside, out of the suddenly dangerous stairwell.

“It hurts!” Bianca gasped.

“We have to leave it in,” Pallas muttered. “It’s going to reduce the bleeding.”

“No, get it out now!” Silver Tongue hissed. “Look at the edges of the wound!” He lit up his horn to give them more light. Foam was starting to show where the arrow met Bianca’s skin. “That’s poisoned!”

Pallas grabbed the shaft and ripped it free before he even finished the word, spitting it out. Her lips were already going numb from the residual venom.

“P-poison?!” Bianca gasped, as blood started to flow freely.

“Pallas, gangs don’t use poisoned crossbow bolts,” Silver Tongue said. “Whoever this is, they’re damn serious.”

“Fine,” Pallas said. “You get her out of here. I’m going to keep them busy.”

“Pallas, I’m scared…” Bianca shivered, trying to stand and failing, crying out as she put weight on her wounded shoulder.

“Don’t move around too much,” Silver Tongue said. He lifted her with his magic. “I know a few shortcuts to get out of here quickly. The castle is too far, though. I’m going to get her to somepony I trust.”

“Fine,” Pallas hissed. “Just get her out of here! Bianca, you’re going to be fine. I promise.” Pallas turned and charged for the stairs. She could hear ponies walking up, trying to be quiet about it. Not that they were quiet enough for the delicate hearing of a thestral. Pallas didn’t bother with the steps, just smashing through the rotting railing with her wingblades held in front of her.

There were three ponies on the stairs, each of them in odd cloaks that almost seemed to blend with the walls and stairs, patterns and colors shifting to make them almost seem to blur as they moved. Pallas felt a bolt bounce off of her right wingblade, fired on reflex by one of the ponies below. With a shift of her weight, and ignoring the pain in her sore wing from the forced glide, she slammed into the lead pony, blades sinking into his flesh.

The stairs gave out a moment later as her weight hit them, the unkempt wood finally collapsing, plunging all four ponies down two stories.

Pallas spread her wings again, just barely managing to slow her fall. The would-be assassins weren’t so lucky. She waited a moment until it felt like her wing was going to give out and let herself fall, dropping hooves-first onto the only one of the three to stand on his own. She felt bones break under her, and the twang of a crossbow going off.

Pallas flipped the pony over. Under the fancy cloak, he was a nondescript pony, the kind that could blend into the background anywhere and not stand out. Well, aside from the crossbow bolt through his eye, and the foaming mouth.

She dropped him and stormed over to the next pony, the one she’d stabbed. She didn’t bother moving him. The puddle of blood under his torso didn’t look terribly survivable.

Pallas glanced at the last pony. He was trying to crawl away, leaving a trail of blood and not using his back hooves.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Pallas growled, kicking him in the side. He screamed, and when she turned him over she saw why. A splinter of a beam, as long as her fetlock and as wide as a sword, was going through his belly and out the other side.

Pallas grabbed him by the collar and dragged him up to look into his eyes.

“Who are you working for?!” She demanded. “Where’s the antidote?!”

The pony just laughed and spat in her face.

Pallas threw him aside, running to one of the fallen assassins and searching them, looking for anything that might help. A sudden feeling of danger washed over her like a cold wind, and she threw herself through a doorway just as the air erupted into black flame.

“Damn…” Pallas hissed. The backblast from that fireball had burned half of her tail off, leaving the hair cropped and scorched. She’d landed in something warm and wet. She looked down to see the punk who had opened the door for them. Somepony had slit his throat from ear to ear.

Pallas stood and peeked around the doorway. She ducked back as a bolt of black fire lanced through the opening. She’d only gotten a glimpse of her opponent. A unicorn, in the same kind of cloak as the rest of the killers.

“How much are they paying you to die?” Pallas yelled, not leaving her cover yet until she thought up a brilliant plan.

“Fifty thousand for your head. Twenty five for Luna’s freak student,” the unicorn said. It sounded like a mare. Pallas could just about pinpoint her from the sound of her voice. Too far away to charge and avoid being burned to death.

“That’s a lot of money,” Pallas admitted. “Guess it helps now that you’re not splitting it.”

“Oh, I’m still splitting it two ways,” she said. Pallas felt the hair on the back of her neck rise up just before the shape crawling along the ceiling dropped down onto her back, fangs sinking into her neck. She roared in pain, bucking to try and get it to let go of her flesh.

“Stupid bucking-“ Pallas reared up and slammed her back into the wall, the monster on her back finally losing its grip. She turned to face it. It was a hideous thing, like a vulture with the head of a caribou and the fangs of a wolf.

“He’s a Peryton, in case you’re curious,” the mare said. Pallas looked towards her, only now realizing in her panic that she’d moved in front of the open doorway and into her firing line again. Her horn lit up with a flickering orange and crimson light. “Now be a good little pony and die.”