Night Bomber trudged dejectedly alongside the rest of the slaves as the crystal army advanced towards the Marazon Temple of the Moon, his shackles digging painfully into his hooves. He shifted his withers for the hundredth time to ease the heavy slave collar, it having already left a deep bruise around his neck.

He looked around. The weather had turned as foul as his mood, the evening's usually clean, white fog a dirty grey, even black...ominous. As Captain Iron Blade trotted past him, he called out, “Blade! Blade, please - “

The Captain slowed, came up to him and backhoofed him viciously across the muzzle. “You lost the privilege to call me that when you disobeyed mine and King Sombra's direct orders!”

“I know...master. I lost my head,” he rasped, his voice weak. His throat felt like he hadn't had water for a month, but it hadn't been that long.

Had it?

“Just give me another chance!” he begged.

The army suddenly stopped and all eyes were on him. Often vying for and loving attention, now he only felt deep humiliation at being ousted from the Lieutenant's Circle and shackled like their enemy.

Blade also stared at him. “Well? I'm waiting. And not just me, but the entire army – slave.”

He winced, despising being called that – again. All the hard work, the lies, leaving his family, the forged papers elevating his status so he would even be considered for the position he had won in Sombra's army. And worse, the people he had killed to prove his worth. What in Tartarus had made him so desperate for the King's favor he had completely taken leave of his senses and disobeyed orders?!?

It made him so sick to think about he threw up, but couldn't see where he had vomited, his gaze imprisoned in the disapproving stare of his former Commander – and the entire rest of the army glaring at him. Waiting.

Everyone except King Sombra. Where was he?

Whimpering, Night Bomber crumpled to the ground, putting his hooves over his eyes. STOP LOOKING AT ME!

There was someone else who would be disappointed in his performance. Somepony he was forgetting. Who was it?

Iron Blade frowned. Who else did Bomber have in this world to leave behind? He turned away from the cowering stallion, spoke to someone in the darkness and fog he couldn't see. “Why doesn't he remember?” Black fog closed in around the fallen Lieutenant, pressing in on his mind.

Wait, hadn't he been warned about this? His mind snapped closed reflexively against the pressure. Where had he learned to do that? He looked up. The army was gone, instead the Lieutenant's Circle surrounded him, their stone-faced expressions worse than the disapproval of the entire army.

Despite the chains, he backed away in terror, or tried to. There was no way out. Eleven stallions surrounded him. Eleven executioners...

Back with the rest of the army, over a ridge from the execution site, Sure Step winced, hearing Night Bomber's screams. True Aim looked ill as well.

“Gods,” Aim shuddered, putting his hooves over his ears, trying to drown out the sounds. “Poor Night Bomber!”

“I take it you haven't been around long enough to witness a Lieutenant's execution squad,” Terrain asked, coming up to them.

“This is the closest we've ever been to one,” True Aim told the palomino as he sat down with them. “Outside of the Lieutenants, no one ever sees one.”

“There are stories,” Sure Step replied, starting to look as ill as his companion. “Just rumors. The Lieutenants never let anypony outside their circle know their secrets, but just hearing that - “ he shuddered violently.

“I - “ True Aim gulped, trying not to lose his breakfast. “I mean, has this ever happened before?”

Terrain frowned. “Not that I can remember. At least not to a Lieutenant. They usually die in battle, but...this does seem excessive.”

Step put a hoof around Aim's withers. “You don't look so good. Why don't we get some water? It'll put more distance between us and - that,“ he nodded, indicating the ridge and what was going on beyond.

“Yeah, sure. Good idea!” he nodded, eagerly getting up.

“ENOUGH!” Captain Iron Blade ordered.

The Lieutenants stopped immediately, backing away from their victim. He gazed at Sombra, hovering several feet above the circle, His eyes glowing, basking in the power Night Bomber's fear had lent Him up until his death. All the Lieutenants, trembling with adrenaline and sweating from the exhilaration of the kill, turned their eyes to their King and bowed before Him.

The deep violet glow of dark magic surrounding the Umbrum faded as He melted into his shadow form, reconstituting on the ground just inside the circle. Turning His back to the now still stallion, the others did the same, except for Iron Blade, who stepped aside so Sombra could stand alongside him. Once there, no pony dared look at their King as He looked back over His shoulder, breaking tradition only to sniff and say, “Apology accepted, Bomber,” before turning and walking away.

“Showers,” Blade ordered the elite force as Sombra passed him. “There is a waterfall nearby. Wash the stink of death off you and return to your posts. I shall confer with His Highness for our orders before we break camp.”

Wordlessly, the stallions complied, leaving the body of Night Bomber to the buzzards. He stood there only a few seconds longer, regarding their foolish, dead companion, then trotted after the King.

Once he caught up with Sombra, he noticed he was distant, his expression thoughtful. Only an Umbrum pony could witness such brutal carnage and not give it a second thought, he mused, wondering what was on His mind this time.

“You didn't seem to enjoy that as much as usual, Sire,” Blade ventured.

“These manner of feedings I neither enjoy nor dislike,” Sombra rumbled. “It is always a shame to lose a Lieutenant, except when they outlive their usefulness.” He paused, turning to their priorities.

“There is something else about this one, though,” Blade cocked his head at Sombra. “Something - different.”

“He was hiding something,” the Umbrum nodded. “Right up until the end. Once I figure out what it was, it will more than likely confirm our suspicions about him, Blade.” He huffed, unused to not being about to read a pony as well as he always did, but he was confident the answer would come in time. “We shall attend to the dead Marazons presently. Inform those guarding the bodies.”

Blade saluted. “Did something happen at the temple? We assumed she would be - ”

“Not here, Blade,” Sombra shook his head. “my tent, after you update the sentries.”

“Yes sir.” Sombra watched him trot off to carry out His orders, then headed back to His tent.

The familiar trappings of his command tent were lost to Him as the Dark Pony quietly entered. Surveying it briefly, but not registering any of it, He trotted over to the divan at the back and sat down. Though He loathed to admit it to any other - even Iron Blade, for the first time since his emergence from Lake Evershine, the King of Shadows felt well and truly, even utterly out of His depth!

He drew out the consort collar Nyx had impossibly produced, examining it for falsehoods. It carried the stamped design upon its surface of His stylized crown, His talent for gems telling Him its crystalline surface laid over an unbreakable metal was not only mined from His Empire, but the structure was exactly how he wove crystal, as unique as a hoofprint! These were indisputable facts.

But there was the slimmer, more delicate motif in the front – an upside down version of His own crown's centerpiece - just exactly what HE would design for a consort if He had ordered His metal smiths to create one.

The problem was, He never had.

...if you but promise to not end me... Her strange, double-edged voice drifted through His thoughts, as if this elusive witch knew her very presence excited His Umbrum senses in a way He could neither grasp nor explain, that alone making their meeting a risk on her part.

And then there was the inscription...He shook His head. “This must be a fake!” He said softly to himself. “It cannot be real!”

“What cannot be real, your Highness?” came a stallion's voice from the entrance.

He looked up, seeing the Commander beyond the slowly spinning collar before Him. “Ah, Blade. Join me.” He teleported the consort collar away before the red-bodied stallion got a good look at it yet. There was much to discuss before revealing it to His companion.

His visitor settled himself at Sombra's side, gratefully accepting the glass of wine offered him. “I hate those damn rituals,” Blade muttered. “They are too violent for my tastes.” He took a long pull from the metal cup, refilling it from the flask.

Sombra was not for the first time, ever grateful for His friend's tact. By changing the subject, Blade was allowing Him time to bring up the subject when He was ready. “Then why do you let the Lieutenants engage in them?” He asked him point blank.

It was a tease. Sombra knew well why – it was more of a way to engage his Second's thinking on such matters. Iron Blade swirled the strong drink around in His cup before downing it and refilling a second time. “It makes them feel – privileged,” Blade answered anyway. “And I have hopes they will go easier on the mares when we capture them if our stallions blow off steam now. No use killing them all if they can be brought back as concubines.”

“That depends in part if the Marazons are in heat when that happens,” Sombra muttered, emptying his own glass.

“And how beautiful they are, of course,” Blade grinned.

“Very.”

“Eh?” His second-in-command did a double take Sombra missed as He stared into His empty cup. Sombra snapped out of it, setting the cup aside.

Iron Blade smiled for the first time since the King had returned from the temple. “You saw her!”

“Indeed. It was an – interesting encounter.”

“Wait, if you saw her, Sombra, why did you not - “ Blade trailed off as Sombra stared at him. His eyes widened. “She didn't..? Did she? No!”

“Escape?” his King grunted.

“I won't believe it!” the Commander breathed, astonished. “NO ONE escapes You!”

“There is a first for everypony, Blade,” Sombra smirked, holding back the temptation to down another glass. He needed to keep a clear head.

“You aren't everypony!”

The temptation was too much. Sombra levitated the flask over, refilled his cup and downed it in one shot. “And she is no ordinary mare – nor unicorn.”

“Obviously not!” Blade threw his now empty cup down, eyes riveted to his King's. “Now you have my attention!”

“You have a soft heart, Blade. The Lieutenants will do what they will with them. These mares are warriors. Warriors make poor slaves, you know this to be true. They will not be so easy on us when we take – her...them,” He shook His head, annoyed His attention was so divided between Nyx and the subject of her tribe. When He was met with silence, he glanced over. Blade was grinning like an idiot.

When Sombra stared at him blankly, he grinned even wider. “Are you dodging the question, my King?” his Second teased.

“What question?” Sombra asked, amused but also slightly annoyed at Himself for being so distracted. “Of course I will have her!”

Iron Blade jumped up, too excited to sit any longer. He paced, his mind racing. “I never thought I would see the day - “ he began to say.

“She was from the future, Blade,” Sombra said quietly, cutting off what his companion would have said – for his sake.

That stopped him pacing. “What?”

“It never occurred to me that her gift came from being in the future rather than seeing it,” the Dark Pony rumbled.

“You can't be...no, you are always serious,” Blade took his thought back, the manic grin fading slightly.

Sombra didn't reply.

The Commander came back to sit in front of his King. “Psah! What proof could she have of this? It sounds like a trick!”

“That is what I thought,” He replied, bringing forth the collar Nyx had given Him.

Blade frowned at the levitated item. “A consort collar? Why have you had this made? She's not to be your - ”

“I didn't,” Sombra told him. “She took it from her own throat and gave it to me – to give back to her when we meet again.”

His Second shook his head, confused. “Sombra, why do you think this is real?”

The Umbrum rotated the collar closer to him, letting him see the inside. “To the one who gave me...” Blade paused. “This is your writing!”

“Yes.”

“Forged into the metal, when it was created,” Blade emphasized. He reached out with his senses, then backed up, stunned. “With your crystals? Sombra, with your magic!” He added in a shocked voice.

“Indeed,” Sombra nodded. “All magic leaves an imprint of the user.” He drew the collar closer. “And this one unmistakable carries mine.”

Iron Blade shook his head violently, his coal-black mane thrown about his face and withers. “None possess the talent of time-travel – not even that old goat Star Swirl!”

Sombra rose from the divan, setting the collar back on the table to one side. He fluffed out his own flowing mane with a flick of His head. “True, though I suspect he's been working on that for a while now. He had told me once it was an ambition of his.” Moving to the center of the room, he fixed his friend with a gaze. “There was one other thing that has me – convinced this is no deception, Blade,” he said seriously.

“What is that?”

“She told me my mother's name.”

Blade frowned. “She was a Queen. That knowledge would be common. Not easy for the mares to confirm this far South, but it would be doable.”

Sombra grunted, shook His head. “True, but for one thing.”

“What is that?”

“She told me what her name was,” He explained. “in the language of the Umbrum.”

Author's Notes:

Night Bomber was hiding something, King Sombra now knows, but even his powers could not see what. How is that even possible and will it be revealed before it is too late to stop the repercussions it may have for both sides of the war? Find out soon in the next chapters of Mad Seeress of the North!