A slumber-inducing drizzle pitter-pattered on the oilskin covering of the wagon and the temperature hovered somewhere near the freezing mark. Travel was slow, but Motte and Bailey insisted that they would reach the cultist compound today before it was too late. The day before was an uneventful day upon the road and today, the fourth day of their journey, had shown itself as a real snorefest.

Wrapped in a coat and a blanket, the Bard shivered and suffered in silence. He was miserable and nopony or nobirdy that he had spoken to had seen the dragons they had sought. With each mile away from the city, each league, time seemed to roll backwards, and this had a profound impact upon the longsuffering earth pony. The fortified farmhouses became smaller, and smaller, and yet smaller still. Some of the farms they passed now didn’t even have walls around them.

Only a coat of alchemical whitewash protected them from certain disaster.

Seeing the bleak, destitute poverty around him in a non drug-addled state was getting to Dim, wearing him down, and causing him to think crazy thoughts. Seeing what it was doing to his friend was difficult—and Pâté au Poulet was his friend, wasn’t he? Glancing in the Bard’s direction, Dim tried to imagine what his earth pony friend must be feeling. He had come home and was now facing whatever ghosts from his past that existed here. Perhaps he wondered if things might have been different if he had stayed? Did the Bard feel regret?

Dim, a pony so wrapped up in his own feelings, had trouble empathising with others.

“We got trouble! Hippogriffs!”

Blackbird’s voice snapped Dim from his thoughts and right away, he began casting spell protections. It seemed that more hippogriffs had come to join their fellows, and if they wished to die, Dim would oblige them. If he had to get wet, then somebirdy had to die, it was just that simple.

“I see a white flag,” Bailey reported while she peeped through the scope of the sharpshooter’s rifle. “Doesn’t mean much, but the other hippogriffs are staying back. I count thirty-two staying back.”

“They are smart to stay out of range,” Motte said to his counterpart. “Word of Dim is probably spreading, sort of like how a bad rash and unsightly warts spread around a whorehouse.”

Behind his thick smoked glass goggles, Dim’s eyes somehow rolled while he also kept his guard up. Payback would come later, perhaps, if at all. Right now, there were far more important things to think about. Blackbird hovered overhead with her long gun revolving ten gage held tight in her talons. The drizzle continued to fall and Dim knew that Munro would be busy later, cleaning and oiling everything that was getting wet now.

“I’m dying to see what this fourteen millimetre anti-materiel rifle will do.” Bailey’s words held a calm, chilly reassurance. “Should I aim for that white flag and turn our guest into a pile of claws, fuzz, and feathers?”

Peering out from beneath the brim of his hat, Dim studied the incoming hippogriff, who made a slow, cautious approach. After thinking about the situation, he said to Bailey, “Hold your fire… for now. You as well, Blackbird. Munro, I want you by my side while I speak with our guest. Smile pretty, Munro.”

The hippogriff that landed was very much like Blackbird, in that he didn’t have a beak, though he did have feathers on his head rather than a mane. A dark, dusky purple, he cut a commanding figure while he stood on three legs with the white flag held out in front of him. Studying his eyes, Dim saw fear, but he also saw confidence and intelligence.

“My name is King Grover, and I did not come looking for trouble, only answers.”

Before Dim could say anything, the Bard beat him to it. “You bear the name of a dead griffon king, Grover. How very curious. You are a king? Where is your kingdom?”

Grover bowed his head, but made no other movements. “I am a king without a kingdom and I am fully aware of my namesake. Like Good King Grover, it is my sincere hope to lead my subjects to greatness.” Raising his head, the hippogriff stared straight ahead, ignoring the many weapons pointed directly at him. “I humbly ask to know what happened. All I have heard is hearsay. Garrulous is dead, along with his misguided fellows.”

“I am curious, King Grover… what do you know of your subject, Garrulous?” A steady rain beat down upon Dim’s hat and water dribbled down from worn places along the brim.

At this, King Grover seemed irritated and sad; the youngish hippogriff did nothing to hide his emotions. His claws flexed, sank into the mud, and his tail flicked about in agitation. “Garrulous was mouthy and militant. He sought to usurp my leadership and believed a little too much in his own superiourity. He was a firm believer in taking everything by force and believed that we were far too superiour as creatures to engage in diplomacy. Garrulous and his followers were the worst.”

Even though his suspicions lingered, Dim felt some sympathy for the hippogriff standing in the rain before him. Grover had a noble bearing, spoke in the right way, and appeared educated. There was, indeed, something exceptional about this hippogriff, in much the same way that there was something exceptional about Blackbird. Upon reaching this conclusion, Dim decided that Grover would live—for now.

“Garrulous and his followers tried to seize my companion, Blackbird. They desired her for the purposes of breeding and were not content to take no as an answer. He foolishly believed that history would favour his actions and show that he was in the right.”

“That sounds like Garrulous alright.” Grover slumped, dejected, shook his head from side to side, and let out a weary sigh. “He was overly convinced of his own greatness, his own perfection. More and more, his words were poisoning my subjects, and I feared him leading them down a ruinous path. He spoke only of war, of greatness, and war is not something our fledgling nation can afford to do. Every life is precious.”

Turning, lifting his head, Grover looked up at Blackbird, who hovered overhead. “I offer you my most sincere apologies. I would never allow for abduction and coercion—these are not things I wish to be remembered for as king. I hope you will not think poorly of me… of us, though I would not blame you if you do. I humbly beg you for your forgiveness.”

“But you did no wrong,” Blackbird replied.

“But I am King Grover, and my subjects did you, and your companions, wrong. Ultimately, I am responsible for the actions of my subjects.” Bowing his head, Grover stared down at the muddy ground where his talons flexed.

Heavy was the head that wore the crown, and Grover’s head was awful close to the mud. Although reluctant to admit it, Dim found himself charmed by Grover’s charisma and bore the young hippogriff no ill will. Tilting his head, he glanced up at Blackbird and saw a confused look upon her face. What was she thinking? The last encounter with her own kind had left her unsettled, unhappy, but what would this one do?

“All is forgiven, King Grover.” Blackbird’s wings made steady beats while she remained airborne, and though she had offered forgiveness, she still pointed the long ten at the hippogriff below her. “Now go on… prove your good intentions and go on and get out of here. Leave me be. No more pretty words, no more silver tongue, no more playing on my sympathies. I’ll not join you… ever… and no amount of appealing to my good nature will ever change that. If I see you, or any of your scouts anywhere near me or my friends ever again, I will fucking end you and your kingdom. There’s my forgiveness.”

And then, after a moment of silence, Blackbird had one final thing to say: “Next time, clean up your own damn mess. If you would have been half the king you think you are and dealt with Garrulous yourself, my friends and I wouldn’t’ve had to kill them. Now get out of here. Right now. I mean it. No fancy goodbyes, no pretty words… just fuck off and get gone.”

Grover started to say something, but this turned into a choked splutter when Blackbird thumbed back the hammer on her long ten. Water ran down the thirty-three inch length of the massive ten gauge barrel and dribbled down in a steady stream from the cavernous void pointed at the hippogriff down below. If Blackbird was crying right now, it was impossible to see in the rain, but just looking at her left a dull ache in Dim’s heart.

“Instant headache,” Blackbird said while she stared down the sights of her long barreled shotgun. “Don’t make me do this… please… just go.” The octogonal barrel remained steady and didn’t move while she maintained a bead on her target. “I don’t trust you, I don’t want to look at you, and I don’t want to hear you say another word. Now go.”

In silence, King Grover spread his wings, nodded once at Blackbird, and then fled while he still yet lived.

Motte and Bailey pushed themselves, picking up the pace to reach the cultist compound. By the virtue of its continued existence, the compound had to be a place of secure safety and there was a sense of urgency now to reach it before nightfall. What would they find upon their arrival? Dim wasn’t sure… but cultists obviously.

Sleet now fell with the rain and it made a muffled thudding sound against the oilskin covering. The Bard appeared unsettled and cradled a bottle of wine in his foreleg while he stared out of the back of the wagon. It was cold enough to see one’s breath with no sign of warming, which made Dim think about autumn. He had lived indoors for so long that he had very little knowledge of seasons, other than what he had learned in books, but book knowledge and practical knowledge were two very different things.

“I know Blackbird’s pain.”

The low, soft sound of the Bard’s voice was difficult to make out over the steady beat of rain and sleet against the cover overhead. Even though it left his head feeling chilly, Dim pulled his hat off so that he might hear better and he felt a troubling sense of concern for his companion.

“You expect so much from your own kind… your kith and kin.” The Bard’s eyes were dull, glazed over with pain, and wine could be heard sloshing within his bottle with each bump in the road. “I expect… expected?” A pause fell upon the Bard for a time and after an extended silence, he began again: “Hope. Yes. I had hoped for so much from my fellows. I had such hopes of greatness. Fancy would rise to its deserved position as a shining beacon of light.”

Dim could hear the disappointment in Pâté au Poulet’s voice.

“But rather than come together, we squabble, we bicker, we haggle with each other’s very livelihoods. We hang on tightly to the very worst elements of our past, the glories of a bygone era that burned itself out of existence. I was born in the twilight of our once great empire and I grew up listening to the stories of what might have been… what should have been.”

For some reason, Dim thought of his fellow Darks.

“No doubt, Blackbird probably wondered about hippogriffs other than her mother and herself. What great and noble creatures might they be? Blackbird, who is capable of so much just because of who and what she is… Blackbird, who is a great and mighty creature… Blackbird, who has the sort of strength that she might carry the weight of an entire nation upon her back… alas, poor Blackbird. To meet other hippogriffs, only to discover that they are reviled brigands, and not even very good ones at that. They relied upon their supposed strength rather than any real measure of backbone.”

Again, Dim was reminded of his fellow Darks… and maybe even of himself, if he were to be honest. They might have carried the weight of a nation upon their backs at one time, but had since grown spineless and weak. Snivelling cowards that fled into intellectual darkness, that demanded their entitlements.

“That Grover fellow was going to ask Blackbird to come with him you know. He was going to wheedle and plead and beg, and say sweet words, and no doubt convince Blackbird to let bygones be bygones. I have no doubt that, given a chance, he would explain Garrulous’ actions as those driven by desperation, and that if Blackbird would just come with him, she might restore some hope. I’ve seen his type… I grew up around them… I called them my kith and kin. They are my fellow ponies of Fancy. Blackbird was right to do what she did, but I fear greatly what it has no doubt done to her heart.”

The Bard closed his eyes and his body shifted until he came to rest upon his side. Stretching out his legs, he tried to make himself comfortable. His cheek rested against his beloved bottle and Dim realised that his friend was preparing to doze off, to wile away the hours, lost to slumber.

“They are doomed, you know. Doomed. We’re all doomed. Fancy needs to burn to the ground and the old must be turned to ashes. In fact, all of the world should be burned away, every country, every nation, every fiefdom, every city-state, all of it needs to burn, to go to fire. Maybe whatever comes next, whatever comes after, maybe they’ll do better.”

And with that, the Bard fell silent, leaving Dim alone with his thoughts.

Author's Notes:

Everything changes once we reach the cultist compound. Be prepared.