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The Dusk Guard Saga: Beyond the Borderlands

by Viking ZX

Chapter 1: Prologue - Three Distantly Related Moments

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The Ocean of Endless Ice - Two weeks before the ERS Incident

It was cold around the Pinnacle.

Pinnacle. Subtle Eye scoffed under his breath as he watched the moonlight play over the gigantic tooth of rock. He’d heard the folk of the Ocean had a new name for it now. The Bloody Tip.

It was a fitting name, he had to admit. As the skiff he’d commandeered drew closer to the massive stone monolith he tilted his head back, running his eyes up the sides until he was staring almost straight up, his eyes fixed on the distant tip. The pale moonlight wasn’t enough to make out the color of the stone, but he could picture it in his mind well enough. Once a despondent, desolate grey that so well-fitted its surroundings, the tip of the Pinnacle was now a brilliant, bloody red that was slowly flowing downwards under the watchful eye of the Order. It would take time; months, perhaps even years. But eventually the entire piece of jagged stone would be a seamless, unbroken red.

He smiled, clutching his heavy cloak closer around his body as his breath formed a heavy mist in the air. He’d almost forgotten how cold the night could be, this close to the northern reaches. Part of him worried that perhaps he’d gotten soft during his stay in Equestria, but he dismissed the idea almost immediately. He’d been forced to conceal his identity, true, even strip the bands from his horn, but he’d never forgotten who he was. Never forgotten his purpose.

A purpose he was now fulfilling. Near the back of the skiff, one of his navigators—a minotaur—muttered something in his guttural tongue to his partner, hulking earth pony with a wretched scar across his face. Something was muttered back. The small skiff let out a creaking wail as the minotaur tugged the rudder to one side, changing its course. Ice crackled all around them, the vessel shuddering violently as it shifted, and the earth pony gave his companion a rebuke, smacking him across the shoulder.

Idiots, Subtle thought, sparing them a single glance that called hold to any attempts the minotaur was making at a retort. I still can hardly believe we’re working with these … impure cretins. He turned his attention back towards the front of the vessel, eyeing the lights that had been lit across the docks to guide their arrival. He could make out several hooded ponies waiting for his arrival, each as heavily wrapped as he was against the cold chill of the night.

Initiates, or perhaps chosen, he thought as the dock drew closer. A welcoming party, or just workers tending to the docks like dutiful brethren?

“Uh, sir?” the earth pony asked, and he turned to fix his gaze on the dark yellow stallion. “We’re approaching the docks.”

“I can see that,” Subtle said, his voice sounding raspy in his ears. Blast the cold, he truly had gone soft. He felt as if he was speaking with ice cubes in his chest. The earth pony navigator—one of the unlucky pirates who’d been rousted from his sleep to help bring the skiff in to deliver him—scowled.

“Yeah, well unless you step out of the way and let me tend to the sails, you’re going to be there a bit quicker than you’d like, too.”

Subtle glared at the pony, but he didn’t quiver. Apparently he’d been pushed to his limit for intimidation already that day.

Or perhaps I’ve gone soft, he thought as he stepped back, his horn carefully lighting with a dull-blue glow as he pulled his package with him, leaving room for the pirate to go about his duty. Maybe they don’t respect me as much because I have not earned it. He would have to do something about that before the trip was done.

The earth pony quickly stowed the sails and the skiff’s speed dropped, the cold, biting wind no longer sustaining it. It was up to the minotaur now, his chest bulging with muscles as he lifted a long pole and lowered it over the side, pushing off of the ice and moving the skiff closer to the docks.

The docks were close enough now that Subtle could see how new they were. The metal bracing shone in the pale light, silver flashes of moonlight moving up and down the framework as the skiff rose and fell. On the dock, horns began to light up, thick ropes snaking out towards the skiff like living things and wrapping themselves around the cleats. As one, the unicorns heaved, and the skiff slid right up to the dock, coming to a rest just before it would bump the side.

“Welcome, mage,” one of the unicorns said, lowering his hood and bowing deeply. There was a red, painted band around the base of his horn. A chosen, then. Behind him, the rest of the group did likewise, revealing their own faces to the harsh, biting chill of the wind and bowing. More red bands, but a few more red tips. Chosen and their initiates.

“Thank you,” Subtle said, lifting the thickly wrapped package he’d brought with him from the deck with a flick of his horn. “It’s good to be back.” He stepped off of the skiff onto the docks, glad to once again feel the solid ground beneath him. The metal was cold beneath his hooves, almost painfully so, but he didn’t care. He eyed the package he’d brought with him, carefully setting it down with a gentle tap that echoed across the docks. One of the initiates moved to pick it up, but he shook his head. “This is mine.”

No one objected.

He turned, looking back at the skiff that had brought him the last leg of his journey, gently bobbing up and down above the razor-sharp and ever moving field of ice that made up the majority of the Ocean, as well as gave it its full name. The constant crackling sound the ice chunks made as they ground against one another was even more pronounced here, where they met hard, unyielding rock to rub unceasingly against. Almost loud enough to cover up the faint snort of disdain the pirate navigator let out as he turned to tend to his skiff.

“Hold,” Subtle said, raising his hoof as he fixed his eyes on dark-yellow pony. Unlike the minotaur or the ponies on the dock, the navigator’s coat was bare to the elements, uncovered save for the single bandolier across his back that held his axe. It was a dare, a mad challenge to the Ocean that declared him better than others for his insanity.

“You there,” he said, raising his voice above the cracking of the ice. “Navigator.”

The stallion paused, one hoof on the skiff’s rigging. “Me?” he asked, turning and putting a hoof to his chest.

“Would I be speaking to anyone else?” Subtle asked. “Of course you. I have a task for you.”

The stallion scowled as he turned his body towards him, leaning up against the small skiff’s siderail. “Right, what is it?”

“I need you to deliver a message to the rest of your crew,” Subtle said, stoking the embers of anger that had been burning in his chest since he’d climbed onto the oaf’s boat.

“And that would be?”

“Respect.” A beam of jagged, vicious light erupted from his horn, slamming into the pirate’s chest and throwing him across the skiff. The stallion’s pained scream cut off abruptly as he hit the far gunwale, the skiff rocking back and forth under the force of the impact. Disappointingly enough, he hadn’t been pitched overboard by the impact, to fall down to the hungry ice below, where he’d be cut apart, frozen, and crushed as the ice pulled him downward just as it did anything else that fell into its grasp. But he did slump to the bottom of the boat, unconscious. It would have to do.

“Will my message be delivered?” Subtle called to the minotaur. He watched, his horn still glowing with vicious, purple light that seemed to bubble across its surface. The pirate gave him a slow, silent nod.

“Good,” he said, nodding to the initiates. One by one they released the knots that held the skiff against the dock, and one of them gave the vessel a small shove that sent it floating out over the ice. It bobbed there for a minute before the minotaur seemed to shake free of his shock. Carefully, he made his way towards the middle of the boat, stepping around his fallen comrade, and loosed the sails. Moments later, the skiff was skimming over the surface of the ice, on its way back to its berth.

“Was that wise, great one?” one of the chosen asked Subtle as he watched the skiff go.

“What? Letting him leave?” Subtle asked.

“No, nearly killing the navigator.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Subtle said, peering over the edge of the dock and wishing that the pirate had fallen. Not that there would have been much to see if he had. The ice would have swallowed him as thoroughly as it would swallow anything else that set hoof on its surface. “We’re going to crush them all in the end anyway, aren’t we?”

He turned and collected his package without waiting for a response. He had a duty to attend to, and it wasn’t on the docks dealing with disrespectful lesser beings.

The inside of the Pinnacle was in much better shape than when he’d last seen it . The last time he had been there, the floors had been charred, the windows shattered. Now the windows were sealed, the floor covered by a thick, luxurious carpet that made his hoofsteps all but silent, and the halls themselves were—despite the bitter, brutal cold beyond the outside walls—warm. He allowed himself a small feeling of pride as he strode through the keep, his hood down, the three red bands on his own horn worn openly for all to see. Initiates and chosen stepped out of his path, bowing their heads as he passed. He felt a faint sense of joy at being somewhere where once again he was respected by those who knew him.

Of all the things that had been improved during his time away, the means of egress to the keep’s peak was not one of them, and his good mood soon faded as he climbed stair after stair, circling the Pinnacle’s open interior again and again as he rose towards the top.

“Simpleminded griffons,” he muttered to himself as he completed yet another upwards circuit. “Would it have killed any of you to put in an elevator?” The featherbrained fools. From the outside, the Pinnacle was shaped like a unicorn’s horn, tall and peaked, but slightly bent, as if somepony had decided to form it into a scythe. It made for a striking fixture on the normally island-spotted Ocean, but the stability of the shape had also meant that when the accursed griffons had hollowed the inside out to make their fortress, they’d been able to make it incredibly open, wasting the whole lower three-quarters of the monument on a brainless, showy, impossible to heat, open area that served little purpose for higher beings.

Not that it saved them in the end, Subtle thought as he rounded yet another circuit and drew closer to the top, passing doors to rooms that served as quarters for the initiates, chosen or other members of the order. For all their pride, the Pinnacle is ours now, ours to do what we wish with it.

A shame that hadn’t involved filling in the inner space with a more useful design. But then, he reflected as he passed the final stair, stepping into the upper halls and more familiar architecture, they’d only owned the tower for a few years, and most of their group skilled at such things were involved with far more important projects. The Pinnacle could wait. As long as the Order achieved its ultimate goal, they could afford to wait.

He was entering the highest levels now, those reserved for only the most important of the Order. His own quarters were here, somewhere, along with those of the rest of the Order’s mages. He’d go to those later; both to relax, and to finally, at last, take a well-earned rest. He’d pushed himself hard on the way here. Maybe once he was done, once he’d delivered his report, he could have the initiates warm him a bath. A hot bath. It would feel delightful.

He rounded the corner of the hall and before him stood the entrance to the highest residence of the structure. A residence that had once been the office of the griffons that had owned the place, before they’d been culled. Now, it was the office of the leader of their cause, the most revered unicorn in existence.

Lord Sagis.

There were guards outside his door, unicorn bruins both, openly glaring at him with eyes that implied suspicion, even distrust. Subtle couldn’t hold it against them. One of the two let out a snort, her body twisting as it bulked up, muscle and bone snapping and popping as she grew.

“What do you want, mage?” she asked, her tone harsh. He refused to be impressed.

“I’m here to speak with Lord Sagis,” he replied, keeping his tone clipped. Bruins were always testy. Probably on account of the magic-warping device on their horns that made them what they were. They’d offered him one of the contraptions once. He’d turned it down without even trying it. I like my magic the way it is, thank you.

“It’s late,” the bruin said, her eyes narrowing.

“He’s expecting me,” Subtle said, shaking his head ever so slightly. “I bring news he needs to hear.”

The two bruins glanced at one another and the first nodded. “Very well,” she said, her cream-colored coat sagging as her body deflated, before catching up and snapping tight over her frame once more. Her substantially larger-than-average frame, Subtle noted. Was she channeling just a little magic to keep herself that size, or had she always been a larger pony?

Not worth asking, he thought as he approached the doors. He lit his horn just as his nose was about to touch the aged wood, pushing both doors open in front of him and removing his package from his back.

Lord Sagis’s study was truly one of the most ornate rooms in the entire Pinnacle. The carpet underhoof was a deep red—not unlike the red coloring the surface of the Pinnacle, though deeper and more royal. The woodwork along the walls was exquisite, molded by some of the best shapers among them. Almost a third of the circular room’s wall was taken up by a massive window that looked out over the Ocean, an impressive view separated from the harsh elements only by thick, heavy, triple-paned glass and a checkerboard framework that held it in place. A map of the entire Ocean stretched along one wall, a tapestry made specially so that it could be manipulated by magic. Subtle allowed himself a moment’s pride as he looked at the markers and notes scattered all across it, marking the location of forces spread throughout the barren wasteland that made up the Ocean of Endless Ice. You are part of something great, he reminded himself.

Lord Sagis himself sat behind a titanic wooden desk that was resplendent in artifacts of conquest as well as bits of information gathered from all across the Ocean. Despite the fact that he had likely been woken upon Subtle’s arrival, nothing about him suggested that he was in any way put off by the lateness of the hour, nor the unexpectedness of Subtle’s visit. His grey eyes locked with Subtle’s, and they seemed to bore into his soul, searching through his mind as if determining whether or not Subtle’s appearance had been worth his preparing for. Then they flickered to the package at Subtle’s side, and he could see the slight creasing of his leader’s brow as he looked at it, then at Subtle, and then back at the package.

“Welcome home, Subtle Eye,” Lord Sagis said at last, beckoning him forward. “You’ve been away from us for quite some time.”

“Yes, Lord Sagis, I have,” Subtle said, taking a few steps towards the desk and offering a small bow of subservience.

“Six-hundred and seventy-three days, to be exact,” Lord Sagis said. There was a calm to his voice, but Subtle knew how much control the dark-red unicorn had over it. Had Sagis not been a unicorn, surely his cutie mark would have been for his talent with oration.

“Yes, Lord Sagis,” Subtle said when his ruler’s words didn’t continue further. There was a slight rustle, and he looked up to see Sagis leaning forward, flicking his blue mane away from his dark-red horn and lighting it with a dull grey glow.

“And so I must ask myself,” the unicorn lord said slowly, a single piece of paper floating up in front of him. “Why have you come back now when your orders were to remain in Equestria for three years in total?” It was a question, but Subtle could see the look in Lord Sagis’s eyes. It wasn’t one he was supposed to answer.

“I must then conclude,” Lord Sagis continued, sinking back in his seat, “that you have found something so vital to our cause that you would abandon your subterfuge and observations in order to bring it here immediately.” The grey eyes shifted once more to the package, still gently floating in the air. “So show me, my trusted Eye, what you have found.”

“With pleasure, my lord.” Subtle floated the heavily wrapped object forward, spacing it between them. Then, with slow, deliberate flicks of his horn, he began to unwrap it.

“I recognized it at once, from the ancient inscriptions,” he said as the heavy cloth began to fall away, dropping to the floor in shapeless heaps. “The magic in it is faint, but still alive. The poor fool who owned the store had no idea what he was in possession of. Lord Sagis ...” he said, pausing as he reached the last layer of cloth. “I have found the key.”

The last piece of protective covering slipped away, and Subtle couldn’t help but feel a thrill of excitement course through his body as he beheld the object he’d so carefully guarded over the course of his journey. It hung in the air, floating in the gentle grip of his telekinetic magic, light shining off of its crystalline sides. It was shaped like a cone, one about two feet long, with smoothed, rounded edges that had been polished to a faint sheen. The surface was equally smooth, save for the sharp etchings of arcane symbols that had been carved across the exterior face, etchings that even he, a senior mage of the Order, had been unable to decipher.

The cone itself was partially hollow, the flat side open to the air with a single, carefully carved bar extending across it that was clearly meant to serve as a grip. Not that he, as a unicorn, would need such a thing. Clearly that was a part of the design that had been deemed necessary in the event that lesser races found the key, but such precautions would hopefully prove unnecessary now.

The key sparkled under the light as he rotated it, its core pulsing with faint, blue light. He had no idea what it was made out of, although judging from the shape it was in after all these years, it was clearly a very tough material. The crystal was clear around the edges, like glass, but as one looked deeper it changed, darkening into a brilliant, neon blue that radiated out from the center like lightning that had been frozen in time. There was a faint darkness to the very center, a backing of deep black that vanished as soon as you tried to get a better look at it, but was always there, just behind the blue.

Lord Sagis let out a faint gasp, and Subtle felt a brief glimmer of satisfaction as the unicorn gently wrapped his own grey magic around the key and pulled it across his desk. That’s right, my lord. We have it at last.

“How?” Lord Sagis asked, looking from the key to him and then back again.

“The storekeeper would not say how he came into possession of it, my lord,” he said, bowing his head slightly. “Nor was he aware of what he held, the power that was in it. Once I felt the magic inside of it, however … I knew.”

“Yes,” Lord Sagis said, gently setting the key on his desk. “It matches the inscriptions perfectly.” He tapped his horn against its surface, grey light spilling over the crystalline skin before fading away. Inside the key, the blue brightened briefly. “And just as they said,” Sagis said with a smile. “It needs magic.”

“Once charged …” Subtle intoned.

“... the vault shall open, its prisoner set free,” Lord Sagis finished, nodding. The unicorn’s eyes almost seemed to glow with anticipation. “I assume that you have made a detailed study of the key on your journey?”

“Indeed, my lord,” Subtle said, stepping forward and lowering his horn to tap against the crystal surface. “The bindings inside are complex beyond anything that I have ever seen or felt, but I was able to glean a faint knowledge of its operations. It is, as the inscriptions say, a key, but it requires great power to function.”

Lord Sagis nodded. “Great power indeed will be needed to break the seal over our master’s prison.” He smiled as Subtle’s eyes widened. “That is correct, Subtle. We have found it at last. Just as the inscriptions said, deep within the ruins.”

“Then my lord, all we need do is charge it,” Subtle said, trying to conceal his glee, but failing to keep a faint quiver of excitement from his voice. “My research shows that it will take time to charge the key to its full potential and open the prison. If left on its own, it will never gather enough.” He looked Lord Sagis in the eyes. “It will take daily sacrifice of power from each of us to bring it to full capacity.”

“Then it will have it,” Lord Sagis said, his eyes locking on the stone once more. “Our numbers are strong, and there are many who would lend their power for chance to win our king’s favor. Those at the excavation site will need a new task once the main chamber is cleared. Charging the key for our master’s return will be the highest of honors. I myself shall contribute during my visits there.” His grey eyes flicked back to Subtle. “You have done well, brother.”

Subtle smiled. “Pardon, Lord Sagis, but the key is not all I have brought.” He flicked the corner of his robe up, revealing the saddlebags tied at his side. “There is … more.” Lord Sagis leaned forward, but said nothing.

“I do not know what this is, my lord,” Subtle said, flipping the bag open with a quick twist of his magic. “But it was with the key.” A smaller piece of crystal floated out, identical in type and coloration to the key, as if they had both been hewn from the same material. “It even echoes with a similar magic,” he said as he spun the piece gently in the air. “But it feels … incomplete, as if it is a part of a whole.”

“And it has not been lost on you that it looks like—?”

“A portion of a key such as the one sitting before you, my lord?” Subtle said, dropping his head slightly to convey his respect despite the interruption. “No, it has not.” He floated the small piece over to the desk, setting it next to its larger sibling. The similarity was readily apparent. The new piece was roughly half as long and a sixth the size, but only because where the key was a full cone. This, on the other hoof ...

“It’s a third of another key,” he said. “For what purpose I do not know. The magic contained within it is weak and fragmented, and not at all similar in purpose to the key.”

“I have seen the vault myself,” Lord Sagis said. “The complete key is the one we have needed. This … smaller piece must serve some other purpose.”

“Incomplete as it is, my lord, I have no way of telling what that may be,” Subtle said, lowering his head in disappointment. “At most I could detect faint glimmers of what felt like a linking enchantment, but broken and fragmented, like the piece itself. Perhaps if we were to find the other two pieces …”

“In good time, my brother.” Lord Sagis stood, wrapping the key in the shimmering glow of his magic. “We have the key, and that is what we needed.” He smiled, not the warm smile of joy or caring, but a smile as cold as the Ocean, the smile of someone who was at last seeing their goal of decades come within reach. Subtle knew that his own expression was mirroring Lord Sagis’s, after all, as the one who had found the key, he would surely share in the glory when the vault finally opened.

“Get some rest, brother,” Lord Sagis said, looking at him with a hunger in his eyes, a hunger that all in the Order knew and understood. “Tomorrow you and I will leave for the vault—for a short time, as we are needed here, but so that you can see with your own eyes the majesty of the future you have assured us. And you shall share in the honor of being the first to begin charging the key, to see the beginnings of our completion, before returning here with me to aid in our preparations in making things fit for the return.” The key began to float in the air, point down, spinning as they both looked at it.

“Soon, King Sombra will rise to lead the Order once again.”


Turuncu Desert - Week of the ERS Incident

“No, no, no, no,” Dusty said, shaking his head as he looked down at his notes once again. “It has to be here, it has to be!” He spread his hooves across the map of the desert once more, eyeing the lines he’d sketched across it, the notes he’d written in the margins. “The terrain has changed, but it has to be here!”

It’d better be here, he finished mentally as he glanced down at his notebook once more. There aren’t many options left, and if you don’t find something to report soon, funding will be— He didn’t finish the train of thought. He knew it well enough.

He sank back on the stool with a groan, trying not to blink as sweat drizzled into his eyes. Even inside of the tents that they’d managed to set up, the heat of the desert was almost unbearable. I don’t know how Stal puts up with this, he thought as he wiped a foreleg across his muzzle. It’s almost unbearable. He dropped off of the stool, his hooves making soft whispers against the tarp-covered sand as he trotted to his saddlebags by the tent wall and retrieved his canteen.

And I thought the badlands could get hot, he thought as he threw his head back, emptying the last of his canteen into his dry mouth. This place certainly has it beat sometimes.

He dropped the now empty canteen around his neck as a reminder to fill it later and trotted back to small, collapsible table that filled the center of the tent. It’s got to be here, he thought as he picked up his pencil in his lips and drew another circle around the dig’s current location. It has to be. Of all the places left after the last four years, this one has to be it.

It would also probably be the last one unless he and Stal could convince their backers to give them another grant. And without any evidence to show for the last three weeks of digging … There would be no chance that. The Canterlot Museum and the Caretaker Clan were both eager to fund expeditions, but one that went on as long as this ...

I refuse to give up, he thought, shaking his head as he looked back at his notes. It has to be somewhere in this valley. It has to be! There was little to be had on the subject of their search, but he and Stal had studied every scrap of information they could find. It had to be somewhere in the valley.

Just finding out where was the hard part. The Turuncu Desert was tens of thousands of square miles, a large swath of heat and sand that straddled the gap between the territory claimed by the Griffon Empire in the north and that of the Plainslands to the south.

So much ground to cover, he thought as he stared down at the map. Even just in this one valley. It’d taken Stal and the rest of her search team three days just to narrow down where they were to this close. Now they were on their fifth—sixth? No. He shook his head. Five locations so far. Which made this the sixth. And last.

He dropped his pencil to the table and pushed his stool back, his long mane brushing his shoulders as he trotted across the tent towards the exit. Maybe if we put up another rare collectible as collateral, he thought as he brushed aside the cloth over the entryway, squinting as the piercing desert sun bit into his eyes. But then I really don’t want to do that to Stal. It would hardly be fair to her. They’d already given up so much in pursuit of this. To ask her to give up another relic of her family’s history to finance the expedition … No, he couldn’t do that. Selling some of his own personal finds to help had been hard enough.

He couldn’t ask his wife to do that. He knew how much her heritage meant to her. As important as the dig was to them both, he wasn’t about to even suggest that she sell away her own heirlooms to continue.

His eyes adjusted at last, and he stepped out of the tent, his hooves sinking into the hot sand. Around him was a large circle of similar tents, all for various members of their expedition. A few varied in size here or there—the tents for the diamond dog workers, for instance, were very low to the ground—but for the most part, each was cut from the same, dull cloth.

We could really use some color, he thought as he began trotting through the tents, his canteen bouncing against his chest. It was odd to walk through the collection of tan-colored dwellings and have the only flash of color be his own orange coat. Maybe we should try and convince the museum to get its gear from the Plainslands. That would certainly liven things up a bit. He’d seen the trade caravans that crossed the desert from the zebra nation before, even ridden with them a few times, and the bright, cheery colors of their tents had always seemed warm. It’d be nice to get some variety.

He stepped out of the shadow of the tents, the ground beginning to slope slightly beneath his hooves as the valley opened up in front of him. A vast, open bowl of rock, dirt, and sand, uninhabited for more than a thousand years, if it ever had been at all.

No, he reminded himself as he started down the winding path that the team had worn into the dirt over the last few days. Not if. When. Someone had been here, he was certain of it.

Though they’d chosen to camp on the side of the valley to avoid the worst of the winds that could often sweep through it at night, there were still a few temporary structures near the massive excavation that made up the dig site. Several hastily erected cloth roofs served as shade for workers that were on break, and a few large patches of upturned sand marked the location of the team’s water supply, buried to help keep it cool as well as protect it from the frequent storms that swept the area. Once a container was empty, it was easy enough to hoist free of the sand for its journey to the nearest water supply, and the diamond dogs were more than willing to rebury containers as they arrived. Something about water that had been underground tasting better.

Sand swirled across the path in front of him as a griffon dropped from the sky, her wings kicking up clouds of dirt as she swept them together and came in for a landing. Dusty covered his face with one hoof, holding back the worst of the dirt ... but still feeling a good portion of it settle across his coat and mane. “Hey, Stal,” he said, dropping his hoof as the dust cleared.

“Hey, baby,” she responded, stepping up to him and giving his light blue mane a quick ruffle to shake the dust out. “Looks like you’re living up to your name today.”

“As opposed to every day?” he asked, giving his wife a grin as she brushed her talons across his cheek.

“Mmm, right,” she said, smiling and clicking her beak shut. “Just doing my job, that’s all. You coming down to check the dig?”

He nodded. “I checked the map again. We’ve got to be close, Stal. We are close. So close. There’s nowhere else it can be.”

She clicked her beak again. “I know we are, baby. This is it. We’re going to find it. One way or another.”

“Not if we run out of funding,” he said, shaking his head as he resumed his walk down the trail.

“We won’t,” she said, shaking her head as she followed him, her wings folded along her sides. “I promise. We’re going to find this together.”

“But if we don’t find anything by the end of this week—” he began.

“Then the clan is willing to purchase several of our lyres as collateral in order to continue this expedition.”

He stopped, almost stumbling over his own hooves as his jaw dropped. “Your lyres? Stal, you—”

“Dusty!” Stal said, turning and locking her red eyes with his, the light, golden feathers of her ruff flaring as she stared at him. Then her look softened, along with her tone. “They’re our lyres, remember? Ever since the day I married you. And this expedition? Ours too. And we’re going to finish it, all right? Besides,” she said, giving him a soft smirk as she rested a talon on his shoulder. “You already sold some of our stuff. We can live without it. Now,” she said, cocking her head in the direction of the dig. “What do you say we go see if we can find anything before we have to set up for another storm?”

He smiled, and they leaned towards each other, his cheek pressing lightly against hers. “Thanks, Stal. I love you.”

“Yeah, I know,” she said as they pulled apart. “I love you too, you starry-eyed ground-bounder. And we’re going to finish this expedition and find that city once and for all, even if we have to do the rest of the digging on our own.”

She turned towards the dig site, her tufted tail doing the slow, back and forth lash that she made when she was feeling content. He smiled as he caught up to her and bumped his shoulder into hers, and she let out a chuckle. Then something she said caught up with him and he paused.

“Wait, another storm?”

She nodded. “Yep, that’s what I was out checking out. We’ve got another light storm coming in. A big one.”

“Oh, by the moon,” he said, shaking his head. “Again?” He let out a sigh as the path began to wind back and forth down a particularly steep patch of ground.

“Yeah, again,” Stal said, walking alongside him on the path, though he knew she could have easily spread her wings and glided to the bottom of the trail. “It’s a few hours out and coming from the north, so we’ll have time to close everything up and settle in. But it’s a big one.”

“And the third one this week,” he added, kicking a small rock from the path. “We keep getting forced to hold up every time one of these comes through and—”

“Dusty?” Stal said in the tone that let him know he was overreacting. “Just relax, okay? Light storms are a part of life here in the Turuncu. Besides …” she said, giving him a sly, predatory look. “I think you and I can make the most of our time stuck in a tent together, don’t you? Ben ... enerjik hissediyorum. Sen benim anlamı olsun?

It took him a second to switch from his native equestrian to griffon, but then he caught the meaning, and he swallowed. “Oh!”

She let out a laugh. “I never get tired of that, Dusty. Now hurry up, and let’s get what we can done before we have to set up for the light storm.”

They moved down the trail, Dusty eyeing the small patch of orange glass that had been left on the sand after the last light storm. We should probably take that with us when we leave, he thought. I hear that light storm glass can fetch good money with the right buyers. There were even a few ancient sculptures made of the stuff in the Caretaker Clan’s museums, small figurines that had been carved thousands of years ago. They were actually quite pretty … when you didn’t take into account the terrifying force that made them.

Light storms. A naturally occurring phenomenon of the Turuncu Desert, unique—as far as anyone knew—to there of all the known lands. A swirling storm of sand that had grown large enough for the slight magical properties of the grit that made it to interact with the light of the sun itself, distorting and pulling together the very light in the air into powerful, superheated beams. He could still remember the first light storm he’d sat through, concealed beneath a tent that had been wrapped in a specially made, heat-resistant metal. The same type of metal sheets they were passing now as they drew closer to the dig, stacked nearby in case they’d needed them.

That had been the same trip where he’d met Stal, actually, though at that point he hadn’t spoken to her yet or singled her out from among her peers. But he could still remember their guide, an old zebra, trundling over to the door and asking if he wanted a peek. And he could remember the sense of fascination as he’d said yes, and the door had been pulled back to reveal a world of swirling, howling sands lit by a dull orange light. Light that was brighter in some areas and darker in others, constantly shifting.

And then the light had banded together, the world outside the door going dark everywhere save the beam of bright, yellow-white energy that hit the ground with a sound almost like a thunderbolt, sweeping across the horizon before fading.

The guide had closed the door, but not before he’d seen dozens of other, similar strikes flashing off in the distance, some rapid and quick, like running hoofbeats, and other long, like heavy blows, each with their own patch of darkness around them as they sucked up almost all nearby light and let it free in a blaze of brilliant, magical energy.

It was amazing, but at the same time, terrifying. A force of nature, completely untamed, and more wild than any storm he’d ever seen.

And now they seemed to be right in the middle of every storm that the desert formed. They’d broken camp several times a week since they’d started, covering everyone’s tents and their wagons in the heat-resistant metal sheeting. Then, it was just a matter of waiting.

“We’ve had a lot of them, now that I think about it,” Stal said, tearing him from his thoughts. It took him a moment to catch up.

“What, the light storms?” he asked.

She nodded, her short beak clicking open and shut as she looked at the dig site. “Yeah. Like you said, we’ve had two already this week. This’ll be three. Must be a bad luck valley.”

He gave her a look. “I thought you didn’t believe in luck?”

“Just not bad luck, baby,” she said, winking. Then she caught sight of something. “Hello, what’s that?” she asked, her eyes narrowing as she stared at the excavation site.

“What’s what?” he asked. He followed her gaze, but they weren’t close enough to the dig for him to make out what had caught her eyes. He could see that there seemed to be a bit of activity at the site, but past that, his vision wasn’t sharp enough to make out any details.

“Looks like something’s up,” Stal said, shading her eyes from the sun with one set of talons and leaning forward. “They’re sending a runner our way. Let’s fly the rest of the trail.”

She spread her wings and lifted off without waiting for his response, dust and sand swirling around them. He reared back, spreading his front legs wide as she wrapped her forelegs under them, lifting him from the ground with powerful wingbeats. The desert sped by underneath him, and in moments they were close enough that he could make out the grey diamond dog running towards them.

“You know, I could have just run,” he said as Stal settled her wings in a glide.

“I know,” she said. “But I can fly, and it’s a good excuse to hold onto my grounder. Plus,” she said with a mischievous tone. “Now I can ask if it really was you that ate my dessert last night, and drop you into a sand drift if I don’t like how long it takes you to answer.”

“Um…”

Thankfully, he was saved from having to think of an answer by the approach of the diamond dog. Stal swooped low to the ground, dropping Dusty on his hooves and then landing next to him.

“Boss! Boss!” the diamond dog called, waving his arms. His name was Coal, if Dusty was remembering right. One of the diggers he’d hired. “We found something! In the pit!”

Dusty felt his heart leap, and he looked at Stal, his eyes wide. “What kind of something?” he asked, unable—and unwilling—to keep the anticipation from his voice.

“Stone, boss!” Coal said, grinning wide. “Carved stone! Not natural.”

Dusty only had to glance at Stal and then he was sprinting, shooting past Coal over the desert as he headed for the dig. A shadow swept past him; Stal taking to the sky and flying straight for the excavation.

This could be it, he thought as he reached the edge of the dig site, his hooves pounding down the wooden ramps that hung over the side. He could see the huge crowd of workers—mostly diamond dogs, but there were one or two griffons and ponies mixed in—all clamoring around something at the far end of the pit. He skipped the last two ramps, jumping from the side to land in the base of the dig even as Stal dropped from the sky with a yell to clear the way. The crowd parted for both of them, her landing, him coming to a skidding halt near the middle of what had everyone so excited.

And then he saw it. An ancient, weathered, pyramid-shaped stone poking out of the earth. For a moment he just stared at it, his jaw hanging open. There was no doubt about it, the corners were far too regular to be natural. It had been made by someone.

“All right!” he called as Stal looked at him, a huge, excited smile stretching across her face. “Listen up! We’ve only got a few hours until another light storm hits us, so I want to work fast! We need to get this excavated—carefully—and covered before the storm hits! We’ll need to get all the dirt out of the way as fast as we can, but take care that you don’t run into any other artifacts. Diamond dogs,” he said, turning to look at the eclectic group of hired diggers. “Full magic. I don’t want to run the risk of damaging anything. You’ll get a paid rest day tomorrow.” A few of the dogs cheered at that, turning and slapping paws with wide, toothy grins. A couple of them edged forward, flexing their massive, long forearms in anticipation of the dig.

“The rest of you,” Dusty said, looking at the few griffons and ponies. “Either will assist myself or Stal with doing the close up excavation work and examination, or helping the diggers check for other artifacts!” He clapped his hooves together, barely able to keep his excited grin from stretching so far it hurt.

“All right, everyone!” he yelled as Stal let out a whopping screech. “Let’s do this!”

The next hour passed quickly as the various parts of the dig went to work. Diamond dogs used their magic to feel the earth around the relic, scooping away huge swaths of soil and sand with mighty thrusts of their paws that left little more than a thin layer over the artifact itself. Then he and Stal, along with their assistants, would go to work, clearing away what was left with soft brushes and careful taps with rubber picks. Gradually the size and shape of the object became apparent as they dug lower and lower.

It was an obelisk, its four sides reaching towards the sky and capped in the pyramidal carving they’d uncovered first. As they dug downward the stone became better and better preserved, its sand-blasted surface slowly taking on shapes that resolved themselves into carvings, ancient glyphs that sent chills running down his spine. He glanced over at Stal and found her as amazed and excited as he was. This … This was the thrill of discovering legend, in finding that which had been lost to the sands of time. They were deep enough now that no one could have set eyes on the obelisk for more than a millennia. Maybe longer.

Then at last, the entire obelisk was excavated, and they stood back in awe as the first trickling of wind that marked the incoming storm began to build around them. The stone was massive, easily the height of a two-story building just from the tip to the base. The weathering had damaged the upward glyphs to the extent that they would likely need months of intense study to decipher them, but the bottom layers were intact enough to read, and he glanced over at Stal as she examined each of them.

“They all say the same thing,” she said eventually, breaking the silence that had fallen over the dig. “It’s old, Dusty. Really old. Glyphs like these …” She shook her head. “They haven’t been used in almost two-thousand years. I can’t even tell what some of them mean.”

“But these look familiar,” she said, tapping a claw against some of the lowest glyphs. Then she grinned. ‘And you’re going to like what it says.”

“What does it say?” he asked, wishing for a moment that he was as good with the ancient markings as she was.

“I don’t think funding is going to be a problem anymore, baby,” she said, clicking her beak.

“What does it say?” he asked again, stepping forward.

“We definitely don’t have to sell the lyres, that’s for sure,” she said, giving him a maddening grin. “We might have to worry about how big a house we want though, and what we want the plaque in the museum to say.”

“Stal!” he said, throwing his hooves up. “Stop teasing! Just tell me! This is it, right? What we’ve been searching for?”

She smiled, and then, ever so slowly, dropped her claw to the highest of the glyphs. Dusty leaned forward as she opened her beak.

“I’ll read this last part,” she said, moving her claw down the glyphs. “It says—roughly—‘follow this path, never changing course, until ten leagues pass south, and you shall find entrance to …” She paused, winking at him, and he let out a strangled squeak.

“Necropolis,” she said, grinning as he opened his mouth to let out a wild whoop. “We did it, baby. We’ve found the map to the legend. We’ve found—” she said, raising her voice as the team began to cheer, “—the guidepost to the legendary city of the dead!”

As the dig erupted in chaos, sapients yelling and congratulating one another, Stal looked at his dumbfounded expression and wrapped him in a hug. “We did it, Dusty,” she said, her eyes misty. “After ten years of looking, we’ve finally found it.” A whole city, lost to history. An archaeologist's dream.

And at long last, they’d found it.


Canterlot - Two weeks after the ERS Incident

Hunter shifted his weight as Princess Luna and Steel continued to talk about the state of the team, trying to find a more comfortable position without making it too obvious that he was doing so. Both the captain of the Dusk Guard and the Diarch of the Night had been going back and forth over budget proposals for the last ten minutes, and since none of it really had much to do with him, he’d started to zone out pretty quick.

Still, at least the Princess’s office was pretty nice, and there was plenty to look at. Like the paintings hanging on the wall, including the one of Derpy and Dinky. That had left him gobsmacked the first time he’d seen it. Luna might have been somewhat aloof by reputation, but judging by her paintings, she was doing well at reintegrating herself with the populace.

The same could be said for us, he thought as he turned his attention to the paintings once more. Each member of the team, picked from a selection that Luna put together in the first place. Did she know what the team would be doing for all of us?

Luna sat back with a satisfied look on her face, a folder flipping shut in front of her, and Hunter mentally shrugged. Looks like they wrapped that up. Good, he thought as Luna opened her mouth to speak. Maybe now we’ll talk about something that I can be involved in. Otherwise, I’m just wasting breath here.

“Now that we have concluded that business,” the Princess said, her voice somehow filling the room without being overbearing. “There is one last item we must discuss. One I would like both of your opinions on.”

Good.

“You are both familiar with the train hijacking that occurred at Northgait last week?”

Nevermind, not good!

“We are,” Steel said, giving Hunter a quick glare when he failed to react.

He swallowed, giving his head a slight shake. “Yeah, I am,” he said.

“Good,” the Princess replied with a shake of her mane. “Then you know that it was caused by one fugitive from justice you are both familiar with: Blade Sunchaser.”

Oh boy. Not good.

“I need your opinions as those who have fought against her,” Luna continued, oblivious to his train of thought. “In light of her escape, we must make the grievances against her known, and contact our allies in the event that she attempts to leave the territory of the Ocean of Endless Ice.”

“Well—” Steel began.

“Actually, that won’t be necessary, your highness,” Hunter said, cutting him off. I’m going to pay for this one. For a moment the pair both looked at him, and he swallowed. Oh yeah, this might have been a blue.

“Lieutenant Hunter—” Steel began, only for Luna to cut him off.

“Explain,” she said, fixing a level stare at him.

“Well,” he said, taking a deep breath. “I don’t want to aggro anyone, but—”

Outside the door to Luna’s personal study, the two Night Guard assigned outside her doors jumped as the Royal Canterlot voice roared out from inside the room, rattling the doors with its volume and shoving both the pair stumbling forward.

Thou didst what!?

Author's Notes:

The Dusk Guard Book II
Beyond the Borderlands

For the first note, I'm going to thank the efforts of the Alpha Readers, whose help fine-tuned this book into the work of awesome that it is. In no particular order these guys get all the thanks: Seirs, Raptra, and Jorlem. They sacrificed who knows how many hours reading over each chapter as it went up, and then again as I made edits and changes, each of them pointing out weak spots, plot inconsistencies, and errors that accrued over the course of writing the story. Without them, this story wouldn't be what it is.

Next Chapter: Chapter 1 - Northgait Estimated time remaining: 19 Hours, 27 Minutes
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