The Trials of Shmarity: an Ogres and Oubliettes Story

by TheMessenger

First published 20th of November, 2020

When the campaign falls completely off the rails, it’s up to Rarity to play the role of Princess Shmarity and save Spiketopia and her friends from the dastardly Squid Wizard.

Creative. Patient. Fair. Empathetic. All are traits of a good game master, but perhaps above all is to be adaptive, for one never knows how the dice will fall or what foolishness one’s players will come up with. Misfortune or stupidity, it takes but a little of either to leave a band of adventuring heroes in need of rescue rather than doing the rescuing.

Now the fate of Spiketopia falls on the shoulders of its sovereign, Princess Shmarity, and if newcomer Rarity wants to save her friends from the clutches of the evil Squid Wizard or even survive in the world of Ogres and Oubliettes, she’s going to have to figure out the mechanics of the game and fast.

Not exactly her idea of a fun Saturday night, but sometimes that’s just how the dice roll.

NOTE: This story is complete and will be updated twice a week.

1. The First Rule

1. The First Rule

This was not her bed.

It was an unsettling realization that struck Rarity before her eyes had even begun their struggle to flutter open. Much of her body was still under the spell of sleep, and the only sense available to her that was not undermined by weary reluctance was touch, but it was all Rarity needed to know that something was, well, off. The mattress beneath her was too stiff, too hard against her soft, sensitive body. The cushion her head rested upon lacked the depth and fluff she usually required when it came to pillows. And the coarse comforter that lain over her couldn’t possibly be mistaken for the custom silk linen she had ordered and painstakingly prepared for the purpose of providing the maximum level of stylish comfort without having to sacrifice warmth, and also this one itched terribly.

To Rarity, it was clear as polished crystal; this was not her bed.

Given that she hadn’t yet fully broken sleep’s seductive embrace, it took Rarity a few moments before she could grasp the severity of her deduction, and along with that understanding came a rather healthy dose of shock. Her eyes flew open, disregarding the heavy weight of dreariness still upon them, and Rarity’s panic grew further as she took in the dark, dusty stone walls around her. The scratchy blanket was flung into the air as Rarity tumbled out of the small cot she had found herself in and onto the cold, dirty floor. Dust clung to the ugly, blindly pink, and overly puffy dress that had replaced her silk nightgown.

“What in, how, where,” was all she could muster as she struggled back onto her hooves, confusion and shock keeping her from vocalizing a coherent thought. In an effort to steady herself and calm her fraying nerves, Rarity took in a deep breath only to collapse into a fit of coughs from how stale and dusty the air was in the room.

“Quiet down in there, prisoner!” came a loud, gruff snarl from the other side of the metal door through a small barred opening, the only opening in the entire room.

“P-prisoner?” Rarity repeated. Slowly, she made her way to the door and tried to squint past the rusty bars to spot the source of the growl. By the light of a dimly lit torch on the opposite wall, she could barely make out the silhouetted figure of a pony like herself. “There must be some mistake. I haven’t—“

“I said quiet!” the being on the other side shouted, punctuating the demand with a strike against the bars. Rarity’s ears flattened against her head as the piercing sound of metal on metal rang through the room. There was an annoyed huff followed by the clatter of hooves against stone that slowly grew quieter and more distant with each subsequent step.

“Rude,” muttered Rarity, and with a huff of her own, she returned to the bed that did not belong to her. With her head back against the sorry excuse for a pillow, her nose wrinkling at the sour scent of hay, Rarity closed her eyes and started to count. When she reached one hundred, she opened her eyes and looked around.

“Still here,” she said with a sigh as she sat back up. “Well, I suppose we can rule out this all just being a bad dream.”

But then, what other possible explanation did that leave her? As Rarity removed herself from the cot once more, she ran through what she could recall of the previous evening. She, Princess Twilight Sparkle, and the rest of their close friends and fellow saviors of Equestria had just returned home from yet another grueling friendship mission, this time in the coldest regions of Yakyakistan to deal with the most stubborn of yaks. After saying her goodbyes for the evening, Rarity remembered going straight home for a light supper consisting of little more than a small salad and some fruit followed by a thoroughly extensive shower before turning in early for the night. In her own bed and in her own bedroom, that she was sure of. There was nothing in her recollection that would have warranted her lawful imprisonment, and even if she had somehow become victim to some suddenly draconian legal system, Rarity was certain she would have remembered being taken away and locked up and being forced into this abomination of a dress.

A spell then perhaps, some new magical experiment that either Twilight or Starlight Glimmer or possibly the both of them together were so eager to test out that they couldn’t wait until morning. It wouldn’t be the first time Rarity woke up to find herself in some strange situation due to the insatiable curiosity of powerful magicians, though being trapped in some dank prison without reason was arguably mundane compared to, say, having your Cutie Mark and destiny swapped with another pony.

Discord was always a potential suspect, what with his nigh omnipotence and odd senses of humor and morality, but again, this felt too simple, too plain to be one of the draconequus’s pranks. The walls weren’t made of cheese, the dress she wore wasn’t screaming obscenities at her, and gravity was definitely still a thing, so any blame Rarity could direct toward Discord seemed misplaced.

Was this the work of some new threat to Equestria then, an attempt to capture, contain, and separate the land’s champions to prevent them from foiling whatever diabolical schemes the villain had in mind? Would her friends also awaken to find themselves imprisoned and in kitschy outfits just as she had?

A loud thud interrupted Rarity’s musings and redirected her attention to the door just as a small section near the bottom of the door slid open. A small tray with bowl and a plate with what appeared to be a sizable rock on it was squeezed through the opening and dropped to the floor before the section slammed shut.

Rarity stared at the tray with a look of disgust. The bowl was brown with rust and filled with some thin, green broth, some of which had splashed out onto the tray, and there was a distinct lack of utensils or napkins. The stone on the plate was revealed after further investigation to simply be a chunk from a very old and very crusty bread loaf. What little appetite she had faded at the sight of the unappealing affair before her.

“Excuse me,” Rarity called out as she marched toward the prison’s door. The initial surprise she had experienced was quickly being replaced with forced indignation as she prepared herself to escape. “Is this supposed to be breakfast? What even is this? I understand you’re not running a three-hoof establishment, but really, this is completely unacceptable. And don’t even get me started on these living conditions. This isn’t my first time as a prisoner, I’ll have you know, but this has certainly been the worst experience so far. Even those dastardly diamond dogs knew how to treat a lady when properly prompted. Who’s in charge here? I demand to speak with your supervisor, and rest assured, I have several choice words for—“

A loud slam silenced Rarity who could only stare wordlessly with her mouth agape at the equine skull pressed against the bars. The empty sockets it used to glare at her seemed to emit a dull, eerie glow. The skeletal jaw lowered, and from the open maw it let out a hiss and a chilling steam that sent a shiver down Rarity’s spine as the temperature of the entire room seemed to have drastically lowered. Then, just as suddenly as the skull appeared, a large furry paw shoved the pony skeleton aside, and in its place was the face of a clearly disgruntled diamond dog.

The scruffy mongrel regarded Rarity with a look of distain and irritation. “What prisoner want?” he growled, drool dripping from his jowls that shook with each word he spoke.

It took a moment for Rarity to recover and her voice. “I-I’d like a-a spoon, please,” she stammered, the rest of her planned complaints having died in the presence of the autonomous skeleton.

The diamond dog grunted and vanished, leaving Rarity in isolated suspense for several long seconds before reappearing to toss a spoon crudely carved out of wood through the bars and onto the floor. Then, without another word, the dog left her view.

Rarity, her heartbeat slowing to its usual rhythm as she began to calmed down, returned her gaze to the provided meal. Regardless of how she felt about its presentation, she would have to eat eventually, especially if she wanted to be in any condition to escape. However just the very thought of her lips even touching the contents in the bowl, let alone allowing it passage through her mouth and down her throat, made her mouth run dry and her stomach churn. How much longer could she delay and ignore her carnal need for sustenance, before the hunger became unbearable? An hour? Two hours?

No, better to get it done and over with sooner rather than later, Rarity decided with a sigh. She turned to the wooden spoon and directed her magical grasp toward it as she mentally prepared herself for breakfast.

The spoon refused to move.

Rarity stared at the stationary wooden utensil with rapidly widening eyes. The initial shock subsided, and she tried again, focusing her magic through her horn like all little unicorns were taught. The spoon remained motionless, and there was an absence of slight tingling she normally felt when calling upon her innate unicorn magic.

Her panic surged when she brought her hoof to the top of her head and felt only the fur of her forehead beneath the curls of her mane. Frantically, Rarity looked around her prison cell, searching until her gaze settled on the bowl. She rushed forward and looked down into the green fluid the bowl held, and what she saw confirmed what her hoof had suggested.

Rarity’s reflection stared back at her through the broth, recognizable even with the murky green tint of the makeshift mirror. There was just one odd detail, something that made her question whether the mare in the soup was truly her, that being the utter lack of a horn.

Rarity’s chest tightened, her breathing quickened. Her head suddenly became light, and the room began to spin. As she started to sway, something hard bounced against her chest, distracting her momentarily from the impending fainting spell and causing her to look back down into the reflective surface of the green broth.

A small glint caught her attention, drawing it to the small chain around her neck she had failed to notice before. It was a necklace, Rarity came to realize as she lifted the strange symbol connecting the ends of the chain, the object that had gotten her attention in the first place. The symbol was of plain silver, nothing too special or overly expensive, and its shape reminded her a bit of a snowflake, with jagged arrows branching out of a center in every direction. This gaudy little trinket certainly hadn’t been part of her collection, and even if it had been, Rarity never went to bed with jewelry on. It must have been put on her along with the dress during or following her capture, Rarity deduced.

It was another mystery to add onto her growing pile of mysteries, one that was certainly less pressing than where was her horn or why she was being held in this cell but equally as perplexing. The symbol was not one she recognized or could even hazard a guess to its meaning, if it even had a meaning. Perhaps it meant something to the villains that had imprisoned her, maybe even a hint to their identity. Or could it be magical, another powerful arcane artifact with ruinous potential? Was this responsible for the disappearance of her horn?

Rarity carefully held the symbol up to what light seeped the bars of the door, rotating it as she looked for any additional markings or runes, anything that could be a clue. The silver gleamed in the light almost as if the metal itself was aglow, and for a mesmerizing moment all Rarity could do was stare as cell around her seemed to blur and fade.

A sudden knock at the door took her attention from the pendant. The room became still once more, and Rarity instinctive shoved the silver symbol down the dress she wore, hiding it just in time for the cell’s door to creak open. The possibility of a rescue lit a spark of hope within her, a spark that was swiftly snuffed out as out of the light stepped in a hulking diamond dog and an animated pony skeleton, both armed with spears and donning rusty helmets and chain mail shirts, shuffled in.

The sight of another pony like herself only without fur, skin, and tissue again left Rarity without breath, and in her efforts to keep herself from fainting in the proximity with such a being, Rarity failed to notice the third intruder that had entered after until they cleared their throat loudly.

“It’s time,” the large equine figure announced in a low gravelly voice. The black helmet they wore that obscured their features muffled the equine’s words slightly, giving them an unsettling echo. The rest of the figure’s body which rivaled the diamond dog in size was covered in plate armor, black and spotless like their helmet, a far contrast in quality to what the others wore. Spikes protruded from the massive shoulder pads, and a collar with bright red runes was around the being’s neck. “The Squid Wizard will see you now.”

“The, the Squid Wizard?” Rarity repeated, the absurdity of the phrase compounding her confusion. “I’m sorry, I must have heard you, hey!” She slapped at the paws of the diamond dog that reached out toward her. “I will not be touched, not by such filthy appendages and certainly not without my—“

The bony structure took a step toward her. It hissed, and like before, a chilling mist flowed through its open mouth. The air around her grew cold, and she felt a shiver play against her spine. “—permission,” Rarity finished with a nervous swallow. She tried to move back but only managed a single step before finding herself against the wall.

With a grumble, the diamond dog pushed the skeleton to the side and slammed a set of shackles around her front knees. A second set were applied to her back legs, and any protest Rarity had was reconsidered under the eyeless gaze of the skeleton guard.

“Prisoner secure,” the large dog barked, giving the chains of the shackles a tug. Rarity yelped out as she was suddenly pulled forward, tripping over herself. Ignoring the diamond dog’s snickers, Rarity attempted to stand, a normally simple task that was made nearly impossible by the bindings around her legs. She looked up to see the armored pony now looming over her. A few seconds passed as they watched Rarity struggled for a few seconds before they released an impatient huff and reach out. Taking hold of Rarity’s shoulders, the pony in black armor forced her up onto her hooves.

“Th-thank you,” said Rarity, wincing as the metal gauntlets dug into her. She look into the thin slits of the helmet, and there, past all the shadows, she caught the glimpse of the guard’s eyes. It less than a peek, just a gleam of green and white, but it was still a sight of another pony’s features, something she recognized, something familiar and safe.

The moment shattered when the pony in black armor turned away and started toward the cell’s exit. They tilted their head back slight and issued a single, simple command:

“Move.”

No one questioned the order, not the diamond dog nor the skeletal pony. And certainly not Rarity.

2. The Seat of the Ruler

2. The Seat of the Ruler

As much as she had to gripe about her current lodging conditions, what with the dust, the cold, lack of light, dreary dull walls, the hard floor, cramped environment, stuffy air, and missing necessities like a proper washroom and a decent bed with quality linens, Rarity left the cell with a great deal of reluctance, though she knew better than to vocalize such feelings.

The pace, set by the armored pony in front, was thankfully manageable even with the shackles and chains and the sloped floor, and Rarity, with very little else to do, took the time to look around. Just like the cell and ground, the walls they passed were made of cut stones, each one as dull and uniform as the one before save for a few minor chips and imperfections. Lit torches held in place by bronze sconces lead the way as they continued through the narrow pass. Every several steps, they would arrived at a corner and turn, only to reach another corner and turn in the same direction. Were they going in circles? No wait, the continuous incline they were still traveling down, the constant turns, they were in a tower, Rarity realized, moving down a spiraling path.

Well, better down than up, she supposed. Not having wings left her with very few means of escape if she were stuck at the top of a tower. At ground level she could at least make a run for it, if she ever got out of these chains. Maybe she could loosen them subtly with her magic, just to find and break the weakest link, then wait for the right moment and—

Oh. Right. Her horn was missing. She’d have to figure out a way to escape without her magic. Acting out and being a high-maintenance nuisance hadn’t worked, and Rarity doubted her charms would have much affect on the skeleton, if she could even bring up the nerve to try. Perhaps she should focus on finding and restoring her lost horn before making any escape attempts. But where would even she start? And what about her friends? If there was even a chance they were here as well, Rarity couldn’t just leave. And surely they’d be able to come up with a better escape plan together than she on her own.

The floor was beginning to level, and the group came to a sudden stop. Rarity, still caught up in her own speculation, nearly tripped and stumbled into the diamond dog in front of her. Once stable and having given the oversized mongrel a glare that went ignored, Rarity tried to look past the guards to see why they had stopped. Peeking over the dog’s massive shoulder proved difficult, however, and all she could see up in front was a giant wooden door illuminated by torch light.

The shuffling of bodies could be heard, followed by a sharp click and a creak and a groan. The doors started to slowly swing outward, and the diamond dog hissed and raised a paw over his eyes as sunlight burst through the enlarging crack. Rarity shut her own eyes to shield them from the sudden brightness.

She felt a tug at her legs. “Move,” commanded the diamond dog, already moving forward without waiting for her affirmation. She followed the guards out, doing her best to avoid the stares of the additional skeletons standing by the doors.

The sun greeted her with warm beams. Rarity took a deep breath and sighed as fresh air filled her lungs. It was a vast improvement over the dust in the cell and the tower. She blinked, letting her light starved eyes adjust as she was led onward down a paved path, past a variety of guards made up of diamond dogs and skeletal equines and even a few earth ponies and pegasi with actual flesh under their armor, though the cruel smirks and sneers they shot at her as she passed dampened any joy she felt from seeing other ponies. There seemed to be sentries in every direction Rarity could turn her head, along with walls that reached up high into the clouds where a small flock of large beastly birds could be spotted circling overhead. The tower they had descended was behind them, slowly growing further away with each step.

A sharp tug jerked her forward. “Eyes front,” growled the diamond dog holding her chains. This time, Rarity didn’t bother hiding her eye rolls.

“Just appreciating the view,” she sniffed. “You have wonderful, er, walls.”

Both the diamond dog and the skeleton leading her stopped to turn and stare. The skeleton hissed, and though breathtaking chill from earlier never came, she still found the sight of a collection of bones moving on its own immensely unnerving. “No talking,” said the diamond dog with another tug before turning and continuing forward.

Rarity rolled her eyes once more and looked around again for another quick appraisal of her surroundings. A jab at her shoulder stopped her.

“Eyes front,” said the sullen earth pony stallion that was suddenly next to her, returning his spear to its position against his shoulder. More guards had joined them, Rarity discovered, two on each side and at least a couple more right behind her by the sound of their steps.

“Is this really necessary?” Rarity exclaimed. She shook her shackles, clacking the chains. “I’m not exactly going anywhere. Well, anywhere you’re not leading to. I’m flattered by all this attention, but I’m sure you all have better thing to do than act as my entourage.”

No one answered. Rarity sighed. “Well, can somepony please tell me where we’re going at least?”

She got another jab in her shoulder. “No talking,” said one of the guards. “Save your mewling for later.”

Rarity glared at the guard who had spoken. The spearhead had been dull, but she could still feel the inflicted area starting to grow sore, and she couldn’t very well alleviate the pain with her bindings in the way. Still, she kept her complaints to herself and quickly returned her gaze to the front, having no desire to further test her captors’ patience.

The rest of the short journey through the courtyard went in silence until they reached the gates of a giant obsidian castle keep. Dark red spires rose from each of the four corners, as high as the outer walls, toward a bloody sky of swirling storm clouds. The warmth of the sun was gone, and when they passed through the gates, Rarity noticed the guards around her, the ones with flesh anyways, were also shivering.

The skull of a gigantic beast with curved horns greeted them, attached to the front of the keep. A pinkish glow seemed to emit from the skull’s sole socket that Rarity swore seemed to follow them as they entered the bony maw and waited for a great pair of iron doors to slowly open. Even when they were all inside the building proper and the doors shut behind them, Rarity still couldn’t shake the feeling that something was watching her.

“Achoo!”

Something besides the guards, Rarity amended, watching in disgust as a short scrawny diamond dog snorted and wiped his wet snout with his wrist. The feeling slowly lessened as they continued through the halls, however, and Rarity instead turned her attention to the new setting.

Unlike the unadorned stone walls of the tower she had been imprisoned in, the keep was lavishly decorated. The paved floor quickly gave way to a soft carpet that stretched to the ends of the halls. Statues of grotesque beasts with multiple heads and limbs and displays of shiny plate mail, similar to what the black armored pony leading the pack wore, lined the walls. Lit candelabras illuminated paintings of fields aflame and crimson rivers, of torrent seas and monstrous tendrils choking ships, of a mighty hurricane stretching down from a bloody sky. Every ten or so feet there would be a crest carved from silver in the shape of a tentacled creature with eyes made of rubies and indecipherable runes written in green running across the creature’s body. Large wood doors sealed with the image of the same symbol hid away rooms and passages, hinting at potential secrets.

The hallway opened up into a dark foyer, allowing the neat rows they had been traveling in to clump together into a messy crowd. There was a moment of stillness, no one moved a muscle and every breath was held. Suddenly, as a single unit, the guards bent their knees and bowed their heads. The chains around Rarity’s legs were pulled, dragging her to the ground, and a pair of spears extended over her back, keeping her from getting up.

“Rise.”

The voice that carried the command lacked any authority that such an order typically required. It was so squeaky and high-pitched that Rarity was left baffled when every being in the room obeyed.

“Let me see the princess.”

The crowd parted, finally giving Rarity a decent view of the room. It was a throne room, one very similar to Princess Celestia and Princess Luna’s in Canterlot, with banners of violet and of orange tumbling down the side walls. A great mural of stained glass that reached up to the ceiling served as a backdrop, depicting the same creature from the crests. There in front of the glass, on top of a hill from which the rest of the room and its inhabitants could be looked down upon, was a large seat of gold.

And in the golden throne sat a purple squid with the largest, most brushy set of eyebrows Rarity had ever seen. It wore a bright orange stage magician’s cape and a blue cone decorated with silver stars for a hat. An admittedly unladylike snort echoed through the room.

“Princess Shmarity,” the squid said in that ridiculous voice. “Are you enjoying your stay?”

No one spoke for a good few seconds. The top of squid furrowed. “I don’t recall telling you fools to gag her. In fact, I distinctly remember specifically telling you not to.”

“She isn’t, my liege,” someone said, the black knight in front by the sound of it, the full helmet giving the words a reverberation as they passed through the slit openings.

A blunt spear tip dug into Rarity’s back, prompt a soft yelp of surprise.

“Ah, the lady speaks!” The squid began to laugh, its tentacles wiggling wildly.

“Oh, were you talking to me?” Rarity asked, turning her head to face the squid directly as best she could while being forced prone. “Because this is hardly the sort of position one should take when having a conversation. That is, of course, assuming that I am allow to speak without having some ruffian stab me with something dirty, yes?”

“Defiant to the end I see.” The squid appeared amused, as far as Rarity could tell, she hadn’t interacted with many talking squids. “It would appear that your stay in my dark, isolated tower of darkness and isolation has done little to dampen your spirit. Or your sass. Let’s see if we can fix that here and now.” Wrinkles formed near the base of the squid. Was that supposed to be a smile? “Tell me, Princess Shmarity—“

“Rarity.”

The squid paused. It raised an eyebrow. “Pardon?”

“My name is Rarity. Rarity.” She placed extra emphasis on the first R.

“Uh, are you feeling alright, Princess?”

“And that title,” Rarity continued with a roll of her eyes. “Honestly, if you’re going to refer to me as such, you should be treating me like royalty. I can’t fathom how anypony, or creature for that matter, would find that unfurnished cramped cell proper for a princess.”

“Um—“

“Or is that why I’m wearing this cheesy Nightmare Night costume of a dress, as some kind of cheap humiliating joke?”

The room went silent. The guards alternated between staring with the mouths agape at the mare flat on the floor and at the squid on the throne who was busy rubbing the back of its head with one tentacle while using another two to lift its hat and wipe at the moisture beneath it. “I, er, it seems like all that time alone in the dark did have some effect. Just, well, ah. I was expecting, well.” The squid coughed. “Ahem, well, I’m sure you’re wondering as to why you‘re here. You’ve, ah, been wondering that, right?”

“I have,” Rarity said, “amongst other things.” She attempted to replay Twilight’s lectures on old myths in her head, trying to remember any mention of talking cephalopods.

“Yes, yes.” The squid slid out of the golden chair and started to pace. Every time it lifted a tendril off the ground, there was a distractingly loud, wet popping sound. “Now why would I be wasting my time with my captive when I should be dealing with those pesky ‘heroes’ of yours, you must be asking yourself. After all, your champions must be getting close by now, they’ll be bursting through these walls any day to rescue you.”

Heroes, champions, was the squid referring to the rest of her friends? Did that mean they weren’t captives like her? But then why her, a simple dressmaker and rising entrepreneur? Surely the actual princess of the bunch would make a more appropriate prisoner. Or had it just come down to a case of bad luck?

The room had gone quiet, though it took Rarity, lost in her thoughts and speculations, several moment to notice the silence and the attention that every being had been directing at her. All eyes were upon her, watching and waiting expectantly.

“Er, yes. Yes! Of course,” she declared. She’d play along for now, perhaps gaining some extra information. “My friends will be here any moment, so you had better let me go.”

“Yes! Finally! Now we’re back on script.”

“What?”

“What? I mean, ahem.” The squid raised a slimy limb to its base, just below its eyes, and coughed. “Oh my dear, that’s the thing. There’s no need to wait. They’re already here.”

A tentacle slithered behind the squid’s back and returned grasping a smooth stick with a glowing orb at one end. The squid waved the stick in the air and stabbed it toward the roof. The air hummed and crackled as the ceiling suddenly opened up into a pool of whirling lights. To objects, one long and lanky, the other small and stout, fell to the floor with a thud. Another wave of the stick, and the light above vanished, returning the ceiling to its previous state.

“Your heroes,” the squid announced triumphantly, gesturing toward the fallen objects. Every breath was held, and grips around shafts and hilts tightened. A simple three note chord from an invisible organ rang out through the entire castle keep. No creature made a sound, a dropped pin could be heard against the soft plush carpet.

Time passed, and the dramatic silence turn to one of awkwardness. “Well?” the squid demanded, slamming one of its many tentacles against the floor.

“Oh, er. What an, impressive light show?”

Those weren’t the words the squid had been waiting for, if the shade of pink it was turning was any indication. “Is that all you have to say?” the squid demanded. It pointed at the objects below. “Do you not recognized the situation you are in? How can you act so calm while in the presence of that!”

“Of what?” Rarity shot back with a frown. “You’ll have to forgive me if the position you’ve put me in doesn’t give much of a view of whatever you’re trying to show off.”

“Oh, right.” The squid cracked a tentacle like a whip, making a snapping sound. “Let her up and get a closer look.”

The spears were lifted, and the chains went slack. Slowly, Rarity got to her hooves, carefully looking around as she rose. No exits beyond the way they went in, and with all of the bodies in the way she didn’t have much of a chance reaching it safely. For a brief second, she considered going through the stained glass. Maybe she threw something first.

No, even if the weapons the guards carried could break through the glass, the opening wouldn’t be large enough to escape through, and she’d have to be crazy enough to try and disarm a guard with her bare hooves first. Her shackles and chains, still held by that large diamond dog, would have made sure she wouldn’t get very far anyways, no matter how she tried to escape.

Given few choices, fewer still that were of any good, Rarity approached the piles lying between her and the throne, turning to the larger one first. At first glance, she thought it was a giant serpent with an odd coloring scheme. The body was made up of three sections, one gray and white, one green, and one red, and only the red part was of scales. The gray parts appeared fuzzy, like fur, and the whites were like hairs of a pony’s tail. The green seemed to be some sort of outer layer, skin perhaps, that was in the midst of being shedded, revealing something brown beneath.

No, not skin, cloth! It was a green tunic, Rarity quickly realized, like the costumes she had made for medieval fairs and plays. And there were sleeves, with the paw of lion coming out of one and an eagle’s talon out of the other. A mix of emotions ran through her, of surprise to relief to worry to fear, leaving her cold. She looked up to the gray section at the top, and slowly recognized Discord’s face.

The long, white, flowing mane threw her off for a moment, as did the strange black Xs drawn over his eyes, but there was no mistaking that lopsided, bulbous snout, that set of mismatching horns, or that silly tuff of hair that he called a beard. His one fang that was always sticking out of his mouth was even visible. What wasn’t recognizable was how still and silent he was.

“Discord?” Rarity whispered. No response. She took a step forward and reached out but the chains stopped her from getting any closer. “Discord,” she repeated a little more loudly. Again, the draconequus said nothing, didn’t even stir at the sound of her voice. Her worry grew as she struggled avoiding the obvious questions like what could’ve possibly left a powerful being like Discord in such a state. Or why he didn’t seem to be breathing.

Perhaps that was just how draconequus slept, Rarity told herself. Yes, the whole unresponsiveness and lack of respiration, perhaps that was completely normal for Discord’s kind, she wouldn’t know. She turned to the second object that fallen with Discord, hoping to distract herself long enough to regain composure and return to a state that could actually make calm, rational, and above all else, useful decisions.

That proved to be a mistake. Even with that ridiculous wizard getup on she easily recognized those purple scales, rounded green spikes, and chubby cheeks beneath that beard.

“SPIKEY WIKEY!”

Rarity tore towards the unmoving dragon, screaming and struggling against her bonds as the squid above her started to laugh. “There!” the squid exclaimed, pointing. “That’s the despair I’ve been looking for, right there! Oh, that cry makes this all worth it in the end. I don’t even care that you’re getting their names wrong.”

“Uh, sir?” one of guards closest to Rarity said. He looked to the diamond dog holding the mare’s restraints nervously as the huge dog started to pant. There was flash of light and a scream, and in the place of the outspoken guard was a pile of ashes, armor, bones. The bones picked themselves up and reassembled into a complete skeleton.

“Don’t interrupt me while I’m in the middle of gloating!” the squid screamed, waving its stick in the air, steam billowing from the orb. “Now, where was I?”

“But sir, she’s getting—“

Another flash of light, another scream, another animated skeleton rose from the ashes as the chains suddenly slipped through the diamond dog’s paws. Rarity stumbled forward, tripping over her bindings and collapsing less than five or so feet from Spike’s body. The silver symbol flew from its hiding place, detached from the chain around Rarity’s neck, and slid against the sole of Spike’s foot.

Rarity crawled forward even as the guards rushed forward to stop her. Her ears barely registered the yells and screams around her as she forced herself toward Spike. The guards recovered the chains and pulled, and Rarity pulled back, ignoring the tearing in her muscles as she, a single mare, fought against a legion of thugs in a lopsided tug-of-war. She reached, stretching out her foreleg further than she ever thought possible for her. Spike was just out of reach, her hoof just inches away. Rarity called out the dragon’s name one more time and threw the last of her strength into one final pull.

Her hoof brushed against the symbol, and the room was flooded with blinding light. The world started to spin, and soon, everything faded to white.

For about a second. Then, everything turn brown, wet, and sticky.

3. Out of the Abyss

3. Out of the Abyss

It could’ve been worse. There were certainly far more disgusting brown, wet, and sticky things out there she could’ve landed in. And at least the mud had softened the impact, leaving her bruised rather than broken. Yes, all things considered, everything could’ve been much, much worse.

The thought didn’t exactly cheer her up.

Slowly, Rarity picked herself out of the muddy puddle, letting out a soft groan with the least amount of mouth movement possible to avoid getting any wet dirt inside. She cleaned her hooves as best she could, flicking the excess mud off before wiping them against each other. Once satisfied, or at the very least as close to satisfied as she could get with her limited capacities, Rarity moved on to her face, taking hold and flinging off large clumps of mud from her cheeks and snout, and wringing out what she could from her mane.

She needed a bath, a hot one, with several bars of soap and bottles of body wash and shampoo followed by a second hot bath for a proper rinse. Maybe a third just to be safe.

With the mud now out of her eyes, Rarity took a moment to look over herself and her surroundings. There was nothing she could for the dress, and as much as she hated its gaudy style and color, Rarity couldn’t help but feel a pang of sadness for its ruin. The shackles and chains around her legs had vanished, as did the castle’s walls and all of its furnishings and inhabitants. Instead, she found herself staring in a field under a bright and open sky. Several stalks of corn or possibly wheat, some sort of crop in any case, grew a little distance away while on the other side were a few heads of grazing cows. A small collections of cottages could be seen, with smoke rising from the chimneys and villagers, ponies from what Rarity could tell, rushing down the dirt road leading out to the field.

The same dirt road she had landed in, Rarity swiftly realized as she watched those ponies grow larger and closer. Were they friendly? In league with those ruffians and that talking squid? None of them appeared armed, but Rarity couldn’t be sure. She started to take a step back only to stumble and nearly collapse as the world began to wobble and shake. Her stomach churned, and a growing lump in her throat threatens to reach her mouth.

“Whoa! Miss, you alright?”

There was a comforting rural twang to those words. It reminded her a bit of home.

“Fine. Just—“

Rarity leaned over and heaved out what little was in her stomach onto the ground. Hooves firmly grasped over her shoulders, holding her steady. “Hey, that’s alright,” the voice said. “Better out than in. Probably.”

“Wait, isn’t that.” There was a new voice, younger than the first, female, but with the same country accent. “It is! Pa, it’s the princess.”

“What are you, wait.” The first voice gasped. “Heavens above, you’re right! What in tarnations?”

“You’re kidding, right?” Another newcomer, male. “It can’t be. Y’all know they’ve got her.”

“Just look at her!” the female said. “There’s no mistaking it. Those adventurers must have rescued her!”

“But—“

“Let’s get her inside first,” the one holding her interjected. “Princess or not, she needs our help. Come on, miss. Can you walk?”

Rarity nodded weakly and took an wobbly step. Strong hooves caught her before she fell back onto the ground. “Here, miss, lean on me.”

“Thank you,” she mumbled, accepting the offered shoulder. The nausea had passed, and in its place came a wave of exhaustion and lightheadedness. Every step she dragged through the dirt was an effort. A young filly pranced nearby, the owner of the female voice perhaps. Every so often, she’d run up right in front of Rarity and stare in awe, looking up at the tired mare as she cantered backwards until she was shooed away.

More ponies were arriving. Curious mutters and questions filled the air, blending into an incomprehensible cacophony. Some voices were raised, then came the sounds of bickering and arguing, none of which Rarity could understand. The noise grew louder, approaching unbearable, and her dizziness became worse, driving Rarity to close her eyes for a brief respite.

When she opened them, she found herself indoors, sitting on a stool at a small table. A mare walked over to her, her cherry colored mane mostly hidden under a gray bandanna, and set down a cup.

“Here,” the mare said. “You look like you could use a drink. It’s nothing fancy though, just water. Sorry.”

Rarity nodded her thanks and raised the cup to her lips. The first sip of cool water drove away the dryness of her mouth and tongue. The second sip returned feeling to her throat. Rest of the cup soon followed.

“Thank you, madam,” Rarity said after a short refreshed sigh.

“It’s nothing, Princess. Another?”

“Please.”

The cup was filled then emptied. The previous vertigo had been banished, and though she was still feeling tired and somewhat weak, Rarity was now coherent enough to take stock of her new surroundings and notice the din of raised voices just outside.

“Is something the matter?” Rarity asked, gesturing toward the door that muffled most of the argument.

“Hm? Oh, that.” The mare shook her head. “Don’t worry about that, Princess. Just some ponies who’ve forgotten their manners. You just focus on getting better first. Hungry? It ain’t much, but we’ve got a bit of leftover stew and some bread.”

Her empty stomach gurgled its approval. When was the last time she had eaten? Her last opportunity had been in that cell in the tower, and Rarity had left that sickly broth and crusty loaf largely untouched. “That would be lovely, please.”

“Right away.” The mare stepped up to what appeared to be a crude stove and opened a cabinet at the base, revealing a couple of still smoldering embers. “Just got to heat it up a bit,” she said with an apologetic smile as she began feeding the embers chopped pieces of wood. A plate of bread was placed on the table, a little less than half a full loaf, but it was certainly a fresher morsel than what had been offered earlier today.

Had it only been a day? It couldn’t have been more than an hour or so since she first awoken in that damp, dark cell, but so much had happened since, it might as well been ages ago. The walking skeletons, the knight in black, those massive castle walls, the keep, the silly talking squid.

Discord with long, flowing hair. Spike, unresponsive, motionless.

Lifeless.

Rarity took a deep breath and held down a shaking hoof with the other. No, she couldn’t be sure that was the case, and if she was going to figure a way out of this whole disaster, she needed to keep a level head. No unnecessary thoughts, no jumping to the worst assumption.

The first step was determining where in Equestria she was. Rarity gave the room another once-over, looking for distinctive souvenirs or pictures, posters of landmarks or flags from local sport teams, anything that could be a clue. The kitchenette was bare, with only the stone stove as an appliance. There wasn’t even a sink or a refrigerator in sight.

The cottage itself was impressively small, making even Fluttershy’s cozy abode seem opulent. From her position, she could see just about every corner of the home. The only other pieces of furniture besides the table she was at and its companion stools were a couple of lumpy, frameless mattresses.

“Princess?”

The mare had returned with a bowl of thick stew. Rarity’s mouth began to water at the fragrance of the dish set before her. “It ain’t much,” the mare said again with a rueful, sad smile, “but I hope you’ll enjoy it.”

Rarity repaid the smile with an appreciative one of her own. “It looks wonderful. Thank you.”

The mare brightened, either at the gesture or at the simple compliment, perhaps even from both. She placed a wooden spoon beside the bowl and stepped back to tend the pot on the stove. Rarity stared at the utensil for a moment, recalling her attempts to use magic and the subsequent discovery. Figuring out where her horn went, finding out where she was, somehow saving Spike and Discord from whatever was ailing which also probably meant getting them away from that squid, she was going to have to come up with a priority list.

Her stomach rumbled. First on the list, food, Rarity decided with a blush as she picked up the spoon after some practice. The stew was a warm hearty blend of squash, pumpkin, and onion with chunks of carrots and potatoes. A simple affair, the only seasoning appeared to be a bit of salt, but still delicious, and it worked wonderfully with the bread. The spoon quickly scrapped against the bowl’s bottom.

“Would you like some more, Princess?” the mare called over from the stove.

“Oh, no. I’m fine for now,” Rarity answered. “And please, you don’t have to keep calling me ‘Princess.’ It’s flattering but hardly appropriate.”

“Oh, er.” The mare gave her a quizzical look. “I, um, if you insist, Prin—er, Miss Shmarity.”

That name again. Rarity frowned. “That name, Shmarity,” she said slowly. “Miss, er, I don’t believe I got your name.”

“Oh, it’s Hearth Stead, Prin—I mean, Miss Shmarity. My husband, Farm Right, he’s the one who brought you to our little village.”

Hearth. Like the holiday. It matched the mare’s Cutie Mark, the image of a lit fireplace. “Well, Mrs. Stead, you called me, ah, ‘Shmarity,’ was it?”

Hearth Stead nodded. “Oh, er, was that too forward? I’m sorry, Prin—Your Majesty? Your Highness? Sorry, haven’t much practice in referring to royalty.” She laughed nervously.

“Go with whatever you’re comfortable with,” Rarity assured with a dismissive gesture. “I just wanted to know, why did you call me by that name?”

“Um, you mean, uh?”

“‘Shmarity.’ That squid called me that as well.”

“Because, that’s your name?” Hearth Stead offered uneasily. “Miss Shmarity, are you feeling alright?”

In all honesty, Rarity wasn’t sure she could answer that inquiry with a definite yes. Before Rarity could even begin to think of a reply, the door swung open, and in stepped a stallion. Much like Hearth Stead, he was an earth pony with a dirt brown coat, and instead of a handkerchief he wore a torn gray skullcap. The mark on his flanks was that of a pitchfork stabbed into a bale of hay.

“Alright, got them leave, least for now,” he said with a tired exhale. “Oh!” The stallion removed his cap, revealing a messy mane of tan. “Pardon me, Princess,” he said, lowering his head toward Rarity. A little filly, maybe a good few years younger than Sweetie Belle, peeked over the stallion’, staring with eyes wide.

A familiar uncomfortable silence invited itself inside along with the brisk outside air as once again, everypony waited for Rarity. “Oh! Er, please, there’s no need to bow,” she said quickly.

The stallion’s back straightened. “Thank you, Princess,” he said before kicking the door shut. “You gave us all a bit of a scare back there, if you don’t mind me saying. Hope you’re feeling better. We don’t got a lot, but if there’s anything you need, you just let us know.”

“Um, Farm, dear?” Hearth Stead walked to the stallion’s side and placed a hoof on his shoulder before turning back to Rarity. “I’m so sorry, Prin—Miss Shmarity, but I need to have a quick word with my husband. Pardon us.”

“Oh. Of course.” Rarity started to leave her seat, but the two had already retreated to the other end of the cottage, whispering furiously. She settled back down on the stool, doing her best not to appear offended. Though she couldn’t make out the details, it was obvious that she was their discussion subject, but considering the situation in its entirety, their suspicion wasn’t exactly unwarranted. It must have been very odd after all, Rarity reasoned, for somepony you thought you knew to suddenly not know her own name.

Almost as odd as waking up without your horn and being mistaken for somepony else with a strangely similar name to your own by every single being you’ve meet.

Something tapped against Rarity’s leg, interrupting her thoughts and musings. She looked down just in time to see the filly’s blank flanks as she leapt behind the table.

“Hello there,” Rarity greeted as gently as she could. She had never been particularly good with children, those were more of Fluttershy and Pinkie Pie’s expertise, but she had been around both to pick up a couple of things. “It’s alright, I won’t bite.”

The filly stuck her head out, her eyes as wide as ever. “If you bite me, do I become a princess?”

Rarity blinked, the unexpected question catching her completely off guard. “What?”

“You know, like werewolves.” The filly bounced out of her hiding spot. “Like the ones in the forest that the heroes took care of. Were there any werewolves with the Squidzard? Ooh, what about vampires?”

“Vampires? Squidzard? What’s a Squidzard?”

“It’s what the heroes called the Squid Wizard,” said the filly. She began to approach. “But don’t let Ma or Pa know I said that. Lot of the grownups are afraid of even saying his name. Some of the older foals say that’s ‘cause his name is enchanted or something, and if you say it three times at midnight near water, he’ll appear and gobble you up, but I don’t think that’s true, ‘cause if it was, the heroes would’ve done it already and beat him up, right then and there instead of having to find a way into his castle. Oh, but they’d still have go there to save you, huh?”

“Is, is that right?” Rarity wasn’t sure how to address the filly’s sudden enthusiasm, a complete reversal of her early subdued demeanor. It was only due to her practice in entertaining the excited rants and raves of Pinkie Pie, Rainbow Dash, and, to a lesser extent, Twilight that she was able to follow the filly’s words. “You seem to hold these heroes in rather high regard.”

“Um, what?”

“You seem to really like these heroes.”

“Yup! They’re so amazing, nice too. They come ‘round here every so often asking if there’s anything they can help with, like with those werewolves ‘while back. My favorite’s Mr. Captain Wuzz ‘cause he’s the tallest. Who’s your favorite? Oh, oh, did you see them in action when they rescued you? Is that how you got here? I bet it was Mr. Garbunkle, he’s got all those spells and magic and stuff. Where are they anyways? Did they stay back to fight?”

A cough interrupted the stream of questions. Hearth Stead and the stallion had returned. “Harvest, please, you’re bothering the princess,” said Hearth as she peeled the filly away from her guest. “I’m so sorry, Miss Shmarity, Harvest here’s can be a tad excitable.”

“Am not!”

“It’s quite alright, no trouble at all,” Rarity assured, despite her growing relief and gratitude toward the parents’ timely intervention.

“Well, Prin—er, Miss Shmarity?” the stallion, Farm Right if Rarity recalled and assumed correctly, began. “Are you, ah, feeling alright. Pardon me for asking and all,” he quickly added. “I know it ain’t my place. It’s just, you were looking a little green when we found you, and, well, maybe it’s all just a misunderstanding, but it sounds like you’ve been having problems with your own name.”

“I...” Rarity hesitated. Could anypony call themselves fine after everything she had just suffered through? She wasn’t sure she’d be able convince herself of that, let alone the ponies before her. “I’m certainly feeling better,” she finally answered with a practiced smile. “Hearth makes a wonderful stew.”

Farm gave a small smile back. “That she does,” he said, sneaking a glance at the mare next to him, and for a moment, the tension in his features was gone. “Ahem, uh, well. Good to hear but, um, then you are well?”

“I, yes.”

It was obvious from look the couple shared that her reassurance did not assured nopony. Rarity sighed. “I am feeling rather confused and more than little tired,” she admitted. “It’s been a long day.”

“Ah. Well.” Farm Right let out a weak chuckle as he rubbed the back of his neck. “Hate to be the one to tell you this, but the day might be getting a little longer. See, not everypony is too happy with you being here—“

“What? Why?” demanded the filly, ducking out of Hearth’s hold as the mare tried to hush her. “She’s the princess!”

“I know, Harvest, I know,” Farm Right said, shaking his head. “But a lot of ponies are afraid.” He turned to Rarity. “The ponies in this village are good ponies, really, but we’re not fighters or heroes or adventurers. If they find out you were here, that’ll be the end of us.” His gaze fell upon Hearth Stead and Harvest, and his shoulders tensed. “All of us.”

“But what about the heroes?” Harvest asked. She looked to her parents, then to Rarity. “They’ll protect us, right?”

Nopony spoke for a good long minute. Nopony could look directly at the filly. Rarity’s mouth opened, but the comforting lies froze and jammed up her throat. Just as well, she wasn’t sure if she could come up with something that would even fool a child right now.

Farm Right cleared his throat. “Nopony’s decided on anything yet though. The plan’s to first wait for the village head to return later tonight and see what he thinks. He’ll want to see you and hear what you have to say, Princess, and that could take a while, so you should probably take it easy until then, if you don’t mind me saying.”

“This village head, is he reasonable?” Rarity asked, wary.

Farm Right nodded. “Elder Woods, he’s a good stallion, a little odd but always does the best for all of us. He’s the one who asked those heroes of yours for help when we had a werewolf problem a while back. Wasn’t a popular decision at the time, but I think most of us’ll say it was the right one. You can stay here while we’re all waiting, if you like,” he added. “It ain’t much, but we’ll try to keep things comfortable. Like I said, you’ll probably be wanting to rest up for tonight.”

“That sounds wonderful,” was Rarity’s reply. “You’ve already done so much for me, I can’t thank you and your family enough.”

“Shucks.” Farm Right chuckled as he rubbed the back of his neck. “Just trying to be neighborly. Though if you, I don’t know, could remember us when this is all over, maybe—“

Hearth Stead nudged her husband in the side who hid his yelp under a cough. “I’ll, er, be outside if anypony needs me. Still got a couple of chores to finish off while there’s still sunlight. Come on, Harvest.”

“But I want to talk to the princess some more,” the filly whined even as she was led outside. The door closed behind Farm Right, leaving Rarity and Hearth Stead alone with each other.

“You’re welcome to the bed, if you’d like,” Hearth eventually said, gesturing towards the mattresses. “It’s, well it’ll probably be more comfortable than that seat anyways.”

“Oh, thank you, but I couldn’t.”

“Well, I wouldn’t want to insist, but it could be another hour or so before the head gets back,” said Hearth. “You mentioned you were tired?”

Yes, Rarity had mentioned that, and it hadn’t just been a deflective excuse. While she no longer felt in danger of fainting away, a short nap did sound rather nice, if only to give her head a little break from all those stressful questions and mysteries. And those mattresses certainly looked much softer than that cot she woke up in, cleaner too.

“I wouldn’t want to impose anymore than I already have,” Rarity said even as a part of her protested in the form of a yawn that punctuated and undermined her statement. “Maybe for just a few minutes, just to rest my eyes.”

Hearth averted her gaze, but her attempts to spare Rarity of further embarrassment just intensified her blush. “Of course, Miss Shmarity. Let me just get it all sort.”

The two mares made their way to the opposite end of the cottage where the mattresses lain, covered by a thin sheet of bedding. Hearth Stead smoothed out the most noticeable wrinkles and unfolded a patchwork quilt. “It’s not exactly palace quality, I imagine.”

“Still impressive compared to my previous arrangements.”

They shared a giggle. “Well, if there’s anything else you need, just holler. I’ll be around.” Hearth Stead started lowering herself into a bow only to catch herself and stop. She quickly raised her head, straightened her back, and gave Rarity an unconfident nod. “Prin—Miss Shmarity.” And with that, Hearth returned to the kitchenette.

Rarity slowly climbed onto one of the low mattresses and struggled to hide her grimace. They were much harder than they appeared. She patted the surface. Was that, straw? She could feel the fibrous stalks beneath the sheet.

She shuddered as she forced herself to lie down. That made it so much worse, with loose pieces stabbing at her if she made any attempt to move. There were no cushions to rest her head or support her neck; Rarity had to improvise with the quilt.

Her eyes squeezed shut. How she missed her own bed, that wonderfully plush mattress, those incredibly soft pillows made from the finest down, silk sheets that caressed and soothed every aching muscle. Thoughts of such familiar luxuries slowly grew into thoughts of home, of her boutique, of Ponyville. Some dark part of her wondered if she’d ever see that little rural town of hers again, and Rarity found that part harder to argue against without the presence of her friends acting as a constant reminder nearby.

So much for giving herself a break. Her worries bounced between the unknown fates of her friends to the ambiguous fate of Spike and Discord to her own personal predicaments. Rarity still had no idea where she was and missed the opportunity to ask her hosts. Perhaps this village head could provide her with more information, and not just on her location. Who was this “they” Farm Right has referred to? Were they the ones who had been imprisoning her. Who and what was the Squid Wizard? Was that the same squid on the throne?

What was she supposed to do now? And what after that?

The nap was a bust. Whether from the physical discomfort that her tossing and turning only seemed to worsen or the multitude of questions and worries bothering her like a swarm of gnats, Rarity couldn’t fall asleep. She opened her eyes and sat up. Hearth Stead was at the other end, peeling vegetables and humming softly.

Hearth raised her head at the sound of hoofsteps. “Oh! Miss Shmarity, is everything alright?”

“Fine, fine. Just a lot on my mind is all,” Rarity said. “Is there anything I can do to help, maybe with a few chores?” She made a motion toward the potatoes and carrots.

“Oh, I couldn’t ask something like that from you. I mean, you, helping with something like, I don’t, it’s beneath you. But thank you, I—“

“Please, Hearth.” It sounded more like a plea than a request. “I could use a distraction, and it’s the least I can do after everything you’ve done for me.”

Hearth Stead chewed her lip and looked around anxiously as if the cottage was full of eavesdropping busybodies. “Well, I suppose, if you insist. Can you wash these in there?” The mare gestured first to a pile of vegetables, then to a basin full of water. “Er, I can show you how it’s done, if you like.”

“That’s alright, I believe I know how,” Rarity said with a small sniff of annoyance that didn’t go unnoticed.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to assume.”

“No, no. I apologize. I didn’t mean to be rude.” Rarity settled down in front of the bowl and started on the pile. It was a simple task, washing produce, though she was more used to having a sink and a constant stream of clean water to work with. Still, Rarity quickly found her rhythm, dunking the potatoes and carrots and such into the water and rubbing the dirt off their skins before air-drying them and giving them to Hearth to peel.

Hearth tried not to hide her surprise. Apparently, wherever this was didn’t exactly hold royalty in very high esteem when it came to simple kitchen chores, though admittedly Rarity herself had a hard time imagining Prince Blueblood and some of the Canterlot nobles doing such tasks like this. Eventually, Hearth came to trust Rarity with a knife after a some practice and left her to slice the vegetables while she finished up on the peeling and started preparing the pot on the stove.

From there, they moved onto cleaning the kitchen and dining area, making sure the floor and table were clean. Much like with cutting up the vegetables, dusting without her magic took some time getting used to, and Rarity hadn’t been able to be as thorough as she liked, but they got to a point where Hearth was satisfied.

Cooking came next, and after a short impromptu lesson, a pot of stew consisting of the earlier leftovers mixed fresh broth and vegetables sat simmering on the stove.

“That stove,” Rarity began as she watch Hearth throw in a few pieces of firewood.

“Hm?”

“It’s quite, rustic. Is that a common design around here?”

“I guess?” Hearth answered after a moment. “Its what everypony here uses anyways.”

“Here, as in here in this village here, or?”

“I mean, can’t say I’ve been to many places outside of the village, and it’s not exactly a safe time to be traveling.” Hearth tapped her chin. “There used to be a town about half a day from here we’d do some trading with, can’t say I paid much attention to that sort of thing the few times I visited, but they had an honest to goodness bakery, and as far as I could tell their ovens worked just like ours.”

She patted the top of the stove. “Probably something was different though, their bread was the best gosh darn, er.” Hearth blushed. “Well, anyways, why do you ask?”

“No particular reason, it’s just, not a design I’m quite used to.” Rarity tittered. “Just curious.”

Hearth shrugged, failing to find anything untoward about Rarity’s inquiries. Did Rarity know of any places in or around Equestria where such ancient kitchenware was considered common? Yakyakistan perhaps, though the lack of snow and, most obviously, yaks made that unlikely.

Farm Right and Harvest stepped inside shortly after, and once Farm got over his surprise of finding Rarity up and about and helping, they settled down at the table. Harvest managed to sit still for a commendable minute and a half before she launched into a torrent of questions and statements about being a princess and life as a prisoner, all directed at Rarity at breakneck speed.

Between breaths or scolding by Hearth, Rarity managed to sneak in a few questions of her own to Farm Right, about the village itself, the types of crop he grew. The information she got was next to useless, with nothing standing out. No notable landmarks or attractions, no unique cuisines or products, there was nothing distinctive. The village didn’t even appear to have a name.

“Alright, enough talk,” Hearth said, interrupting Farm Right in the middle of an anecdote on growing turnips next to carrots. She placed a loaf of bread down in the center before setting down bowls filled to the brim before each pony. “Tonight’s supper’s special.“

Harvest bounced in her seat. “Is there cheese?”

Hearth chuckled. “Not tonight, no. Maybe tomorrow. But this stew, the princess helped make it.”

Both the filly and her father’s eyes grew large. “Hearth, honey, you didn’t—“

“It wasn’t any trouble at all,” interjected Rarity. “And I was the one who offered my assistance.”

“Ah, oh. Well. Wow.” Farm Right swallowed. “Just, wow. I mean, having a meal with royalty was one thing, but then having her make the food for you?” There was another visible gulp.

“Hearth did the majority of the work. I just helped where I could.”

“Still, wow. This is—Harvest!”

The filly slammed her empty bowl down and licked her lips. Some of the stew still clung to the edges of her mouth. “Seconds, please!”

The thump on the door could barely be registered over Hearth’s scoldings, Farm’s pleads and apologies, and Rarity’s assurances. The second one went ignored as well, and it wasn’t until a third, louder knock that everypony’s attention was drawn to the cottage entrance.

“Now who could, it’s supper time,” Farm grumbled as he got up and marched to the door, opening it just a crack. “Yeah?” he said. “What are you doing here? You know what time it—“

“Yeah, yeah. And you know I’d rather be at home enjoying a hot meal.” a gruff voice shot back impatiently. “But figured since you’re the one taking the biggest risk, harboring her and all, you’d want to know first.”

“Know what?”

“Elder Woods, he’s back.”

4. Elders’ Eyes Upon You

4. Elders’ Eyes Upon You

Supper resumed and ended in silence, despite Harvest’s attempts to engage in conversation. Even the little filly eventually seemed to recognize the air of seriousness in the room and quietly concentrated on her food. The stew had been delicious, the fresh additions made it even more so than the one from earlier, but Rarity found it impossible to enjoy in such a tense and solemn atmosphere that she wasn’t exactly sure she could explain.

Elder Woods, that was the name of the village head, if Rarity remembered correctly. Farm Right had been right; the pony outside was swiftly join by a second messenger, requesting an audience on the behalf of Woods and the village with Her Highness at the earliest convenience.

Farm had looked over his shoulder at the dining table, at his family and their guest. Confusion, worry, and uncertainty were all expressed on the stallion’s face as he turned to Rarity. Slowly, she rose from her seat.

“After supper,” Hearth Stead had asserted. The ponies outside started to protest, making arguments about not wasting Elder Woods’s time and keeping order in the village. Hearth Stead was unmoved.

“After supper,” Hearth had said, and that had been the final word.

Well, the final spoonfuls were now being finished, the bowls were all emptied, and loaf had been reduced to crumbs. They sat there quietly, trying to waste away a couple of more minutes when Farm Right sighed and got to his hooves. “Well, guess that’s that. Come on, Princess, we’d better get going.”

“We could use some help with cleaning,” Hearth suggested, motioning to the table. “I’m sure Elder Woods would understand.”

Farm shook his head. “We’ve delayed long enough. Princess?”

Rarity got up as well. “I agree. It wouldn’t be very becoming to keep everypony waiting.” She turned to Hearth. “Thank you for the lovely meal. Excuse us.”

Three ponies started toward the door. “Harvest,” Farm Right began, frowning.

“I’m going too.”

“Harvest, come here and help me clean up,” called Hearth.

“No, I’m going too.” The filly stamped her hoof. “What if they try to make the princess leave? I need to be there to stop them.”

Farm Right glanced over to Hearth. They shared an uncomfortable look. “Look, Harvest, we all want what’s best for all of us, including the princess. Whatever happens, it’ll be for the—“

“No!” Harvest screamed. “Everypony here is a coward! They’re all too afraid to actually do anything except hide and hope the Squid Wizard just keeps ignoring us. And now that the princess is back, we’re just going to return her to the bad guys? Is that what Summer Springs would’ve wanted?”

“That’s enough,” Farm exclaimed. “We are leaving, and you, young filly, are staying home. That’s final.” He sighed. “You’ll understand when you’re older, but until then,” he said, his tone becoming stern once more, “leave this to the adults. Am I understood?”

“But—“

“Am I understood?”

All of Harvest’s little body seemed to shake, of helpless anger, of hopeless frustration. She turned to her mother, but there was no support to be found there; Hearth Stead simply looked away. She returned her gaze to Farm, but despite her large sad, desperate eyes, the stallion appeared unmoved. Defeated, she bowed her head and let her shoulders sagged.

It was for the best that Harvest’s eyes were downcast, else she’d have spot the relief on Farm Right’s face as easily as everypony else. “Good girl, now—“

Rarity stumbled back from the sudden force to her front. It was a familiar blow, one any friend of Pinkie Pie quickly became accustomed to. She looked down at the filly who had rushed over and latched herself onto her.

“I-if we don’t s-see each other again,” Harvest was whispering between hiccups. “I w-want to s-say, g-goodbye.”

Rarity placed a hoof on Harvest’s head and gently brushed her mane. “It’ll be alright. Please, don’t cry,” she cooed softly. “I’m not going anywhere. Not tonight. And certainly not without saying goodbye to you first.”

Harvest sniffed. “P-promise?”

“I do. And a lady is only as good as her word.”

Harvest didn’t fight, didn’t even say a word, when her mother peeled her away. She must have tired herself out, Rarity reasoned. She could sympathize, an emotional cry could be quite draining, especially for such a young filly. Held between Hearth’s forelegs, Harvest managed to return Rarity’s wave right before she and Farm Right stepped outside and shut the door behind them.

The village was dark. There were no streetlights, and few lights could been seen from the neighboring cottages. Clouds hid away the moon and the stars, and besides the small hooded lantern Farm carried, the only other light source Rarity could detect was a distant glow further within the village, in the same direction Farm Right was leading her.

Was that the wind, or were those whispers? She looked around to discover a few ponies walking the same way they were. They kept their distance and became silent when they noticed Rarity’s stare, but the second her back was turned, the whispers resumed.

Farm Right cleared his throat. “Summer Spring, that’s Harvest’s older brother. My oldest.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Hearth and me, we couldn’t agree when he was born. I’d say late spring, she’d say the start of summer.” Farm chuckled. “Strong boy, but a bit bookish. Loved telling stories, made his own too. I kept worrying he’d leave us for one of them fancy academies. Instead, he volunteered with what was left of the royal guard when they came along recruiting for that one final hurrah.”

The last couple of words were bitter. Rarity kept silent. The glow grew brighter as the structures became few and more spaced out.

“Harvest looked, well, looks up to him, still thinks he’s out there fighting the good fight.” Farm sighed. “Sorry, Princess. I don’t blame you, nopony with half a brain would, but just wanted to explain, before anything else happens. See, Summer Spring weren’t the only pony this village’s lost.”

“I, see. Farm Right, I need to say something, I’m not who you think—“

“We’re here.” Rarity followed Farm’s gesture toward what seemed to be a small bonfire. Several logs with ponies already seated on them surrounded the flame contained in a pit of uncut stones. Eyes turned away from the crackling, burning wood and toward her. “Sorry, you were saying something?”

A cool evening breeze came through, picking up sparks and hints of hushed conversations. Rarity shivered. “I—“

“Oh, dang,” Farm Right suddenly muttered with a shake of his head. He stepped forward, placing himself right in front of Rarity as another stallion, his coat a dirty beige and mane darkly blond, approached. Like Farm, this new pony had the build of a workhorse, with toned back and shoulder muscles and a wide neck. He was noticeably larger than Farm, a taller too, but what distinguished him were his gaunt cheeks and sunken eyes that did not match the rest of his body. Those left him looking thin and exhausted, as if he hadn’t slept for days. A shadow, cast from the nearby flames perhaps, seemed to linger over his features, further attributing to that tired appearance. A tied bundle of straw served as his Cutie Mark.

The stallion’s eyes narrowed even further. “Farm Right,” he said slowly, with each syllable emphasized.

Farm shot a scowl back. “Don’t want any trouble now, Rowdy,” he said. “You’ve made your case already.”

“I did, didn’t I.” The sullen stallion chuckled lowly. “You made sure Her Highness—“

The title was spat out with such venom, Rarity instinctively took a step back.

“—understood, yeah?”

“I told her what she needs to know. No need to go repeat and embarrass yourself further.”

The stallion lowered his head, keeping it eye level to Farm Right. “Is that so?”

Farm took a similar stance. He pawed at the dirt separating them. Several ponies had begun to take notice, and a small crowd was starting to form. “Yeah.”

“Farm, please,” Rarity whispered. “Let’s go.” He didn’t respond, not even an acknowledgement. The crowd was getting larger, but nopony made any attempts to deescalate. If anything, the growing crowd seemed to encourage confrontation. Rarity took a deep breath and stepped between the two stallion.

Farm Right nearly lost his balance. “Princess, what are you—“

Rarity ignored him. “Rowdy, was it?” she said instead, turning to the larger stallion.

Those tired looking eyes blinked. “That’s right.” The hesitation was only for a split second, but it was present.

“Well, Mr. Rowdy—“

A loud, collective gasp filled the air that was just as suddenly snuffed out when Rarity turned her gaze to the crowd. “Mr. Rowdy,” she continued, “it appears that you take issue to my presence in your village, or is that inference mistaken?”

“What?”

“Do you have a problem with me being here?”

The stallion straightened and found himself now looming over Rarity. A hush came over everypony watching. His gaze met Rarity’s, and for the brief moment it held, every breath was held. He quickly looked away. “I might,” he mumbled.

“Well, if you have any issues with me, you’re welcome to let me know. But no matter what disagreements you may have with Mr. Right, it doesn’t justify picking a fight. For shame.” Rarity turned to Farm. “Honesty, going to blows like a bunch of untaught colts. What would Hearth or Harvest think if they saw you now?”

“We weren’t really going to fight, Princess,” Farm said quietly.

“Good.” Rarity turned back to the stallion named Rowdy. “Now then, if you have something to say, go on, speak.”

The ponies watching were starting to mutter amongst themselves once again as the sullen stallion turned red. His drawn features twisted into a scowl, and he opened his mouth.

“Enough.”

Everypony looked to the figures standing behind Rowdy. They were equine in shape, Rarity could tell that much, but the rest of the defining details were shrouded by shadows from the fire behind them. One of the figures placed a firm hoof on the stallion’s shoulder. At the touch, his entire body seemed to sag.

The other stepped out of the darkness. A mare, with a powerful and defined physique barely softened by her feminine structure and curvatures, similar to that of Applejack. Her body was of an ashy gray color with a braided mane to match, perhaps a shade or two darker. A single scar, the remains of a once large open gash, ran over the bridge of her snout, right below her light blue eyes, and a quiver of arrows adorned her flanks

The second figure soon followed, removing the hoof from Rowdy and limping out of the shadows. If the first figure reminded Rarity of Applejack, this one was more like Granny Smith, with crooked parts that appeared to creak and groan with each motion and wrinkles for every year past their prime. They were male, with limbs attached at edges and angles instead of ending in rounded bends like his companion. His front leg, the one that stayed grounded when its brother was raised to Rowdy’s shoulder, appeared particularly stiff. The limb was partially discolored as well, brown up to the knee in contrast to the gray of rest of the old stallion’s coat, which was marked with bold black lines and dark spots and in dire need of a good brushing.

More became visible as he drew closer. His white mane was cropped short and styled so that it stuck together and pointed up toward the sky, like the bristled brush of a broom. More black lines, like the ones on his body, streaked across his face. Strips of white linen were tied around the stallion’s head, covering his eyes. His tail appeared to have been sheared, bare save for the very tip. As for his Cutie Mark, Rarity couldn’t entirely tell. It appeared to be a large jagged swirl of sorts, but its meaning eluded her despite invoking a vague sense of familiarity.

“Elder Woods,” Farm Right greeted, bending his neck. The old stallion returned the gesture. “I thought.” He looked around at the crowd and frown. “I thought this was supposed to be a private thing. You know, between you and the princess. It looks like the entire village is here.”

“The princess’s presence affects us all. Should not the whole village hear her before I make my call?”

The black lines, the distinctive mane style, the odd Cutie Mark, and now the rhyming. Was Elder Woods a zebra? Rarity only had Zecora as a reference, but there certainly were similarities that could be drawn between the Everfree Forest hermit and this village’s leader, from their appearances to that air of mystery with which they carried themselves.

Such musings were interrupted when the old pony, possibly zebra turned to Rarity and began approaching. The discolored leg seemed to bury itself into the dirt with each step it took, and it made no noise in contrast to the soft clicks of hooves against ground that the other three made. As he got closer and Rarity got a better view, it became clear why; much of the leg was artificial, carved out of wood.

He stopped a couple of steps directly before her, an impressive feat considering the coverings over the zebra’s eyes, and bowed his head. “Princess Shmarity, Her Highness of these lands. You grace our little village with your presence so grand. A thousand pardons for making Your Highness wait, but I had matters to attend that kept me late.”

“It’s quite alright. And please, there’s no need to bow.”

The crowd stirred at Rarity’s assurance. Slowly, cautiously, the older equine lifted his head. “If that is your insistence, I shall obey. Tell me, Princess, how have you enjoyed your brief stay?”

“It’s been wonderful,” Rarity said. “I can’t thank your village enough for the hospitality I’ve been shown, especially from Farm Right and his household.”

The large stallion in the back snorted and muttered something under his breath.

“Rowdy, do you have something to add?”

“Nothing I haven’t said already,” Rowdy grumbled, ignoring the glares from the audience and from Farm Right. “And nothing nopony with half a brain who actually cares about their neighbors and family don’t already know.”

“Oh, shut your gab,” Farm growled. Some in the crowd nodded in agreement. Others now scowled and sneered at him. Bickering soon broke out. “All you’ve done is gripe and complain and—“

“Enough!”

The scarred mare had been the one to speak and silence the crowd. “We’ve heard all of your arguments already. That is not why we’re here. We’re here to hear her,” she said, pointing at Rarity.

“Thank you, Huntress, my dear,” Elder Woods said with a nod in the mare’s direction. He turned back to face Rarity. “Now please, Princess, tell us how you end up here. The last we had heard, you were prisoner of that magic squid none could defeat. Is it possible, has that tentacled terror been beat?”

Murmurs among the watching ponies began anew. Excited, hopeful whispers and scoffs of incredulity mingled in the air as Rarity considered her only honest answer. The truth was a disappointing reality, but Farm Right and his village deserved better than half-baked lies.

“I, I don’t know.”

Those that had been paying attention became quiet. Others who took notice to their fellows joined the confused hush after a few short inquiries. Some, like Rowdy, frowned.

“You don’t know?” said the mare with the scar. “What do you mean, you don’t know?”

“I—“

“Did you see the heroes or maybe a few stray adventurers?” the mare continued. “Was there a fight? How did you get away? What don’t you know?”

“Anything!” Rarity suddenly found herself shrieking. It was as if every bit of stress she had experienced from the minute she woke up had been building up and boiling, waiting for an opening to explode out of. Well, it got its opening, a chance for her to finally express and air out her frustration, manners be damned. “I don’t know anything about where in Equestria I am or what I’m doing here or what’s going on. I’m sorry.” She looked to Farm Right, the stallion who had shown her such kindness. “I’m sorry, but I’m not this Princess Shmarity. My name is Rarity. Rarity! All I know is that I woke up this morning in a bed that wasn’t my own wearing a dress I wouldn’t dare be seen in unless I was six during Nightmare Night in a cell owned by some silly squid that got into that stage performer Trixie’s wardrobe who put two of my friends in some kind of a coma after dressing them in garish costumes from a cheap fantasy production and drawing Xs over their eyes!”

Her chest heaved as her lungs struggled to gather enough oxygen to compensate for the flood of words she expelled. Rarity took a deep breath. “Oh, and my horn’s missing, and I don’t know why or how or what I need to do to get my magic back, and normally that would be my greatest concern, but with how this day has gone, I don’t know what to be most worried about. So excuse when I say I don’t know because I. Really. Don’t. Have a clue about what’s going on!”

Rarity, face flushed red, again fought to breathe evenly as the crowd stood sand stared silently, for a good long minute. Then came their questions, all screamed over one another, leaving everything except for a few contextless words obscured and unintelligible. Anger and confusion could be heard in their voices and seen in their eyes. The mare with the scar shouted and stomped and pointed, but her attempts to establish order were largely ignored.

Any feelings of relief from having finally releasing all that pent-up anxiety, vanished with one glance at Farm Right. His features were a collage of emotions, of worry and concern, of confusion, of uncertainty, like a lost child separated from their guardian. Over the din, Rarity uttered one more apology as clearly as possible, hoping that he could at least read her lips. There was no reaction from the farmer who just continued to stare. Rarity turned away and looked instead at Woods.

The elderly zebra’s face was unreadable. He wore a mostly blank expression with a a small, almost unnoticeable frown. For a while, he simply stood there, standing directly in front of Rarity. He tilted his head to one side, then to the other, then coughed.

It wasn’t a very loud sound, quite soft really, but despite the noise coming from the crowd, Rarity still heard the cough clearly. It appeared she wasn’t the only one as the other ponies gave pause and turned to the old zebra in front of the bonfire. The hoots of owls and chirps of crickets along with the snaps and pops of the flames licking away at the wood were the only sounds now as all waited on Elder Woods.

“Start from the beginning,” he said.

And so Rarity did, from the moment she awoken onward. Woods interjected every so often at her mentions of Ponyville and Equestria, making sure he had heard correctly, but for the rest he was quiet. Rarity wished she could’ve said about the scarred mare who seemed to have a question every other sentence. How many guards were there, what was the quality of their armaments, were there any large monsters, how high were the walls, what were the walls made of, were any secret passages or magical artifacts, and the only answer Rarity could provide, a short admission of ignorance, was one the mare did not care for.

The only answer she seemed satisfied with was Rarity’s description of the large squid, this “Squid Wizard” as the mare called it, perhaps the same “Squidzard” Harvest mention. The whole crowd gasped when she got to her interaction with it, and Elder Woods’s brow furrowed when she mentioned how the squid seemed to refer to her as “Princess Shmarity,” just as the village had been doing. The gasps grew louder and there were even cries when Rarity reached the part about Spike and Discord’s unmoving bodies being presented to her. Elder Woods became just as intrusive as the mare next to him, asking multiple times whether Rarity was certain about what she had seen, what were the details, and was her description of Spike and Discord accurate.

“And was there a third?” the mare with the scar added once Woods was finished. “A large red stallion in armor. Was he among them?”

“No. It was just Spike and Discord. The only armored ponies were the guards.”

“Then, then there’s still hope.” The mare let out a sigh. “If Sir Bigguns is still alive, maybe—“

“Maybe what?” Rowdy suddenly exclaimed. “He’s one stallion. I wasn’t sure ‘bout their chances when there were just three of them, and now that Garbunkle and Captain Wuzz are dead, well, what can Sir Bigguns do now?”

“They’re not dead.”

The sullen stallion turned to glare at Rarity. “What was that?”

“Spike and Discord aren’t dead. They, they’re just sleeping. Or under a spell.”

“Oh, shut it!” Rowdy took a step toward her. “That’s ridiculous, and don’t go trying to give us all false hope. You’ve done enough already.”

“Hey!” Farm Right once again placed himself between Rarity and Rowdy. “Don’t you talk to her that way.”

“Or what?” Rowdy laughed. “Why are you defending her? She’s not the princess, she said it herself. For all we know, she could be a spy or something. Heck, don’t know why she even acts like she cares about the deaths of those heroes, nopony here’s falling for it.”

“How dare you!” Rarity growled. She found herself trying to push past Farm Right. “How dare you say I don’t care about Spike! How—“

“Ha, you can’t even get their names right,” Rowdy said, snorting. “Well you can’t fool me, I—“

“Enough.”

Elder Woods hadn’t raised his voice, and his tone remained calm and measured, but at that single word, barely even a command, Rowdy shut his mouth. His lips pressed tightly together, and his cheeks became red, as if the effort of containing the rest of his opinions to himself was causing physical strain. The zebra turned back to Rarity.

“Now, continue, if you please. We’ve yet to learn how you broke free.”

“I, I’m afraid I really don’t quite know.” The mare with the scar narrowed her gaze and opened her mouth, but Rarity continued on before her complaints could be vocalized. “I remember trying to get to my friends. The guards, they were all over me, trying to keep me away. I fell, and then there was this white light that filled the room, and when it faded, I found myself at you village’s doorstep.”

“A blinding white light,” Elder Woods hummed.

“Did you hear any incantations,” the scarred mare, Elder Woods had called her huntress, either as a name or a title, questioned. “See any images or runes? Was there a source to the light?”

“No, no, and I don’t believe so.”

“Well, that’s convenient,” Rowdy scoffed as murmurs and mutterings resumed within the audience. “Elder Woods, you don’t actually believe what she’s saying, right? It’s crazy, ridiculous. Don’t fall for her—“

The old zebra silenced the stallion with a raised hoof, his only front hoof. Slowly, he brought the hoof to his face and tapped the wrappings around his eyes. “Huntress?”

The mare called huntress approached. She hesitated before lifting her own hooves and undoing the bindings. There were more gasps in the crowd, and many of the ponies Rarity observed turned their gaze to the night sky, the ground, anywhere other than directly at her, Huntress, or Elder Woods. She turned back to face the elderly zebra just as strips of linen fluttered to the ground.

Staring blankly back at her were a pair of milky orbs. There were no pupils or irises, just an endless sea of white. The village head moved toward Rarity, suddenly appearing inches away at a speed she wouldn’t have thought possible for the old zebra. Wordlessly, he placed both his front hoof and the end of his artificial leg against the sides of Rarity’s head and held it still, forcing her gaze to met his. Any urge to struggle or look away or even blink disappeared. The world became blank, as white as those sightless eyes. A slight buzz rang through her ears that drowned out the ambient nocturne sounds and the crackling of the fire.

“I see.” Elder Woods released Rarity’s head, letting it drop and hang limply and break eye contact.

“Well?” the mare called Huntress asked.

Elder Woods closed his eyes. “She believes what she says is true. There will be no need for more questions, she has indeed told us all she knew.”

“Then, she’s telling the truth?” the scarred mare asked. “She’s not Princess Shmarity?”

The zebra pointed to the discarded wrappings. As Huntress helped tie them back over his eyes, Elder Woods answered, saying, “All I can say is that she believes it so, but whether that is reality, I do not know. The Squid Wizard’s arcane powers are mysterious and vast, it is possible this is all a result of a spell he’s cast.”

“A spell that changes a pony’s identity and memories?” Huntress frowned. “For what purpose?”

Elder Woods shook his head and shrugged. “Who can say what the Squid Wizard has planned. It could be a way to seed chaos across the land. Or maybe it was just a mistake and a sign that his might is starting to wane. Her presence could be a boon or a bane, for certain I cannot say.” He sighed, and his shoulders sagged. He turned to Rarity, and what vigor was left in his aged body seemed to leave, leaving him appearing very exhausted. Every wrinkle on his face deepened as he frowned. “However, for the safety of our village, she cannot stay.”

Farm Right was the one to break the silence that followed the village head’s announcement. “W-wait a minute, we can’t just—“

Elder Woods raised another hoof, cutting Farm off. “You have your objections, and I understand why, but the dangers of keeping her here are too high. If this was indeed an escape and not an elaborate ruse, the Squid Wizard’s guards will be on the look-out, and a battle with them is one we will surely lose, and it would be a costly battle at that, of that there’s no doubt.“

“But—“

“Farm Right, I commend your kindness and compassion, but I cannot permit endangering us all in this fashion. Are you willing to throw away our lives, not just yours and neighbors, but that of your child and wife?”

“I—“ Farm’s limbs shook. He looked away, muttering curses under his breath. “I’m sorry.”

“As am I.” Elder Woods bowed his head. “You may stay for the night,” he said to Rarity, “but you must leave this place at first daylight. It pains me to abandon a being so confused and lost, but to continue harboring you here, we cannot afford the cost. Please understand, as its head, I must ensure that my village strives. If we ever drew the Squid Wizard attention and ire, this place would not likely survive.”

The evening air had gotten much cooler. Rarity shivered. “Where would I go?” she asked. Her voice was soft, subdued, and dulled as she struggled to contain her rising panic. Again, she found herself grappling with a question she had no answer.

“There’s a town with an adventurers’ league out in the west, about a week or so away,” Huntress interjected. “Baldursgait, I think it was. With that many adventurers around, she could easily find a place to hide or find help. At the very least, they’d be better equipped at defending themselves if the Squid Wizard ever caught wind of her.”

“Hm.” Elder Woods tapped his chin as he considered the suggestion. “Yes, that may be for the best. Come morning, leave for Baldursgait in the west.”

“Wait, we’re just letting her go?”

All turned to the stallion who had spoken, and for a moment, he shrunk back at the sudden attention. A crease formed in the bindings around Elder Woods eyes as they narrowed behind them. “Rowdy, you were the one against having her here from the very start. Or has there been a change of heart?”

“What? No, that’s not it,” Rowdy said hurriedly. He rubbed the back of his neck, clearly becoming uncomfortable from all of the attention as now the audience’s whispers were about him. “It’s just, I was thinking, if we gave her back to, you know, them—“

Boos and groans from the crowd interrupted him. “Listen, think about it!” he shouted, gesturing frantically. “If we cut a deal, say we caught her or something, maybe we’d earn some favors, keep everypony here safe. We’d—“

Screams filled the air as the small bonfire suddenly exploded into a towering inferno, completely consuming the fuel, leaving nothing but smoke, ash, and darkness. What little light was left was provide by a couple of torches and a few lit lanterns. Something dashed through the shadows. Once again, Elder Woods’s speed exceed Rarity’s expectations as Rowdy suddenly found himself face to face with the blind, old zebra. The gaunt stallion took a step back, and with an audible gulp, he shut his mouth.

“No.”

“But—“

“My decision has been made. To such an idea, I will not be swayed. Suggesting something so shortsighted and cruel.” Elder Woods scoffed. “Making a deal with the Squid Wizard? Don’t be a fool.“

The larger stallion clicked his tongue and scowled before turning his back to the village leader and marching away. The crowd parted, letting him through without trouble while Elder Woods continued to face Rowdy’s path. When darkness hid Rowdy from everypony else’s eyes, Elder Woods let his sightless gaze fall. He let out a sigh and began to sway. The scarred mare immediately went to his side, letting him lean against her for support.

“Elder Woods has spoken. This meeting is adjourned. Everypony, return to your homes.” She turned to Rarity. “We’ll discuss the details of your journey tomorrow morning. Rest assured, we will not allow you to leave unprepared.”

Rarity could only nod. The scarred mare turned to face Farm Right. “Are you still willing to house her for the night?“

There had only been seconds between the inquiry and Farm’s answer, but to Rarity, the delay spoke volumes. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Make sure she’s comfortable. We’ve a long day tomorrow.”

“Yes, ma’am. Let’s get going Prin—ah, Miss, um, miss.”

With another apathetic nod, Rarity followed Farm Right as he guided them through the village and the crowd of ponies also making their way back home. Home. The very word wanted to make her laugh and cry. Here she was, far from home and with no way of returning. She had hoped that meeting with the village head would have given her answers, but now she felt even more lost.

Lost and abandoned, alone, trapped in a place she didn’t belong with an identity that didn’t belong to her. Her heart felt as heavy as her hooves as she forced herself forward with each dragging step. Rarity didn’t seem to notice when they had stopped before the front door of Farm’s cottage, barely noticed Harvest rushing up to her with dozens of questions already gushing out. Farm Right pulling Harvest to the side, Farm and Hearth Stead speaking in private, setting up those straw mattresses, lying down on one all to herself as her host family squeezed onto the other, it was all just a blur. It didn’t even occur to Rarity that she was going to bed without brushing her teeth or that she hadn’t done anything to avoid bedhead.

The cottage had gone dark. Rarity felt more than a hint of envy toward the ponies next to her who were already lightly snoring. Rarity meanwhile wasn’t sure how much sleep she could manage with every worry she’d been carrying. No doubt they would haunt her nightmares. Still, restless sleep was better than no sleep at all, Rarity supposed as she suppressed a yawn. It had been a very long day, and tomorrow promised to be no shorter. She let her tired eyes close shut. Her thoughts eventually quieted as the lingerings of consciousness faded.

For a moment, all was still and silent. Rarity was at peace.

Then came the sensation of falling.

5. Awakening of Fates

5. Awakening of Fates

Gusts of wind rushed past her face, blowing her mane and the fur of her coat back. Her limbs flailed wildly as they searched futilely for support. Her heart beat furiously and her lungs gasped for air as her chest was compressed by the sudden pressure.

It was a feeling Rarity was all too intimate with, from ballooning accidents and incidents to discovering the limits of wings made from gossamer and morning dew to having been dropped by a rampaging dragon after the behemoth reverted back to his original, adorable self. For a creature without wings, she certainly found herself tumbling through the air quite often.

Rarity forced her eyes open, and suddenly her hooves found purchase. The ground beneath them was soft, softer than any cushion. It was like standing on cotton fluff. Pink cotton fluff, Rarity determined as she looked down and around. More colorful, fluffy platforms dotted a blank blue skyline. Were they clouds? Rarity shifted her weight from one side to the next, and the ground clung to her hooves as they moved. If memory served, clouds weren’t supposed to be so sticky. Or so sweet smelling, Rarity added after taking a cautionary sniff at her raised hoof.

The pink clumps were starting to move despite the lack of any breeze. Several flew toward Rarity and attached themselves to the fluff she stood on. A bridge soon formed before her, leading out to a reddening horizon.

Rarity hesitated. She took a quick look behind her. Nothing there but blue sky. Swallowing to steal her nerves, she glanced over the side. Nothing below her but blue sky. The ground, if it existed at all, was too far to be seen. And unsurprisingly there was nothing above her but blue sky.

“Well, onwards and forwards, I suppose,” Rarity muttered, having exhausted all other directions. She started onto the path, cringing as she peeled her hooves from the sticky, sugary surface with each step.

More clumps of pink cotton flew to the end of the bridge, extending it with every step she took, of which Rarity quickly lost count of. She had no way of keeping track of time, it could have been hours and definitely felt like it, but the end was nowhere in sight. Every bit of progress she may have made was swiftly erased as the path continued to grow. She tried to quicken her pace, but the softness and stickiness of the path’s surface kept her at a maximum speed of a brisk walk.

Time passed, and Rarity’s patience reached its breaking point. She groaned to the heavens above and turned around, only the find that the way behind her was gone. The pink fluff had vanished, cutting off her retreat and leaving her with only two options, and Rarity hadn’t yet become desperate enough to try diving off the side.

Gritting her teeth, Rarity turned forward and prepared for the continuation of this endless, pointless trek. Instead of a horizon in the distance, however, she found herself just a hop, skip, and jump away from a floating island. Tropical trees with shady, blue palms lined the coast as a waterfall of bubbly purple liquid cascaded off the side, raining down onto whatever was below. Carved out of a volcano actively releasing melted chocolate from the center of the island was a massive throne.

And in the throne sat a familiar mismatched serpentine body, sipping from a golden goblet it held in a claw.

“Discord?”

The creature chuckled, and Rarity lost confidence in her assessment. The laugh she heard was higher and lighter in pitch and tone than the draconequus’s typical guffaws. Upon further inspection, the body before her wasn’t a perfect match either; there was a sleekness here that was absent on Discord. The brown fur seemed to shine in the light while the red scales on its tail sparkled. There were few bends in its serpent-like body, and the ones that were there reminded Rarity more of the twists and turns fashion models performed on runways than of the accordion shape Discord normally presented himself in. The wings of the creature were just as conflicting as Discord’s, with one like a pegasus’s or a bird’s consisting of white feathers and one dark and webbed with a leathery membrane that could’ve belonged to a dragon or bat, but while the set on Discord’s back were comically small for a being of his size, these wings were proportional to the body they were attached to.

Perhaps the most striking difference were the facial features. Now Rarity wasn’t the kind of mare who would ever describe an acquaintance as unattractive, just that if she had to be generous, Discord’s face looked like it had been punched squarely in the snout by a professional pugilist then compressed by an industrial vice before being thrown into the streets that an entire tribe of buffalo was stampeding through. She couldn’t say the same about the face before her, however. Like the rest of its body, the head was smooth, with curves instead of lumps, and it was more noticeably equine. The tuff of hair on the chin was missing, as was that single fang that was normally sticking out of the draconequus’s mouth. Its white mane seemed to flow in some nonexistent breeze, much like with Princess Celestia and Princess Luna, and the way the creature held their head reminded Rarity of Equestria’s sovereigns as well.

The eyelids remained closed, but something gleamed through the slits. The creature smiled, flashing rows upon rows of fangs. Rarity swallowed. “M-my mistake. I apologize, I thought you were, well—“

“Someone you know? Or shall we say, knew?” The creature laughed again and made a motion toward Rarity. The fluffy platform she was on suddenly rose and floated up to the throne. “Don’t be afraid, child. I know of your blight, and I am here to help.”

“You do? You are? Then, do you know how I got to this world? Why I am here?”

“But of course! My child, I’m the one who brought you here.”

“You? But—“ Rarity shrugged against the sticky fluff at her feet. “You did this? Why?”

The being shrugged. “We made a pact, the king of Spiketopia and I. He needed children to continue his dynasty, and I required an agent in the mortal material realm. And you, child.” The being reached forward and tapped a talon against the tip of Rarity’s nose. “You are the product of that pact.”

“Pact? Spiketopia? Court of what?” Rarity shook her head. “What are you talking about? None of this makes any sense!”

The creature on the throne sighed and pinched the bridge of their (her?) snout. “I forget how slow you mortals sometimes are. Let’s start with something simple. You want to save your friends, don’t you?”

Rarity nodded slowly. “Yes?” she said hesitantly.

The creature clapped. “Wonderful! And I need the Squid Wizard taken out of the picture. Don’t worry about why, your mortal mind wouldn’t understand. What you do need to understand is that our interests align, and I am willing to help. It’ll be a, what’s the mortal word? Starts with T, something to do with the exchanging of goods and services?”

“Trade?” Rarity suggested.

“Yes! A trade. You do this favor for me, I help with this problem of yours. Reasonable, yes?”

“Then, you can get us back home?”

“One step at a time.” The being shook their head. “So impatient, but I suppose it comes with having such a limited lifespan. First, let’s get your friends back into fighting condition, and we’ll work from there, okay?“

Rarity frowned. Every part of her was tense. The creature’s very presence seemed to carry an air of suspicion, much like with Discord, and it took time before Rarity could look past that air and give Discord a modicum of trust for him to toy with. And to be given such a tempting offer, assistance when all other avenues seemed lost to her, it was far too good to be true. “You’ll help me save Spike and Discord?”

“Amongst other things, yes,” the being purred.

“And in return, what will it cost me?”

“I told you, I want the Squid Wizard gone. I have plans for Spiketopia, plans that that meddling cephalopod is interfering with. And again, don’t bother asking about those plans,” the being added with a sniff. “You wouldn’t understand them even if I wanted to tell you, but rest assured, you’ll have a future part to play. So yeah, helping you helps me. What, sounds too good to be true? That look on your face, you don’t quite believe me, do you?”

“How did—“ Rarity began before cutting herself off. The being’s eyes were still all but shut. They couldn’t have possibly seen her expression.

The being laughed. “Don’t trust me? A wise decision, but if we’re going to get any work done, that’s going to have to change, at least a little bit. Hm.” They rubbed their chin thoughtfully. “Ah, I know. You must have many more questions. Go ahead, ask away.”

“And you’ll answer them?” asked Rarity. “You’ll answer them honestly?”

“To the best of my ability. I’ll admit, I’m not omniscient, and some knowledge can’t be handled by mortal minds. How about this, if I can’t give you a straight answer, I’ll let you know. Sound fair?”

Rarity mulled over the presented opportunity as she looked over the serpent-like creature in front of her. Their features were unreadable, their body language still so foreign, Rarity had no way to confirm whether the answers she’d receive were truths or lies. Still, the chance for actual answers was too great to squander.

“Very well,” Rarity finally said. She considered her long list of questions before settling on one quick and easy and fresh on her mind. “What is Spiketopia?”

“The country we, or rather, you, are currently residing in, recently conquered and under the control of the Squid Wizard.”

“Why is it named after Spike?”

“Sheer coincidence.”

“Who are you?”

The being made a sweeping bow, stretching out one of their arms while placing the other over their chest. “Why, the Queen of Fey, your most humble of patrons.”

“Fey?”

“Or fairy, fair folk, Children of the Weave, or...” Rarity’s ears flattened against her skull at the following string of unrepeatable syllables. “Whatever your preference. Fey just felt the most concise. And, as my agent, you carry my symbol.”

The creature’s eyelids lifted. Rarity covered her eyes, shielding them from the blinding light. The light quickly subsided, and Rarity lifted her head for a quick look at what had been hidden.

Instead of a backdrop of white, Rarity found herself staring into an ocean of gold. The round black pupil normally found in the center was missing, and in its place was a silver snowflake, with jagged arrows branching out of the middle in every direction. Something burned against Rarity’s chest, and Rarity, as a reflex, grabbed at it. The silver pendant from earlier now sat in her hoof, humming away.

The being smiled. “Yes, that’s it. Most won’t recognize it, but those with connections to the Fey will understand that you are under my patronage, so do be careful about whom you show it too. It will also serve as a focus through which you may channel a small portion of my power.”

Rarity tore her eyes away from the pendant. “I’m sorry, channel your power? What do you mean?”

“Oh, just a small favor to help you on your way,” the being said. “Like how you escaped from the Squid Wizard.” They leaned over and laid a finger against the silver symbol. “Now there is a limit to what you can do with my magic, you are only borrowing a small piece of it after all, and you can only use it so many times before that pool runs dry. After that disappearing act, I’d say you’ve got two miracles left, so make them count.” They lifted themselves up and returned to their seat on the throne. “We can discuss increasing that amount after you take care of the Squid Wizard for me.”

Rarity gave the symbol a little shake. “How does it work? The channeling, I mean. How exactly do I use your magic?”

“Dunno. This is all pretty new to me too. But I’m sure you’ll figure it out. You got out of the Squid Wizard’s clutches pretty okay.”

“I was dropped into a muddy puddle,” grumbled Rarity.

“Eh, practice makes perfect. Only, hm, you don’t really have much to practice with. Ah, well, I’m sure you’ll be fine,” the being blustered. “Next question.”

It was hardly a satisfying answer, but Rarity moved on. “Do you know why everypony thought I was this Princess Shmarity?”

The Queen of Fey shrugged. “Probably because you look like her. Or are her. Possessing her body? I don’t know, I don’t really understand that sense of identity you mortals put so much stock in. It doesn’t really matter.”

“It does to me,” Rarity protested. “This whole identity crisis has been most confusing and has caused more than enough heartache already.”

“Look, just think of it as playing a role in a stage production,” the Queen of Fey responded with a dismissive wave. “In that world, the world you’ll wake up to, you are Princess Shmarity, princess of Spiketopia, former prisoner of the Squid Wizard, secret agent of the Fey. You might even be able to use that identity to your advantage. Or play the crazed amnesiac who was potentially brainwashed by the Squid Wizard and thus probably shouldn’t be trusted and likely won’t be able to accomplish anything, your call. Next question.”

“Why am I here?”

“Ah, one of life’s greatest mysteries. Be a little more specific or we will be here for the rest of your relative short lifespan.”

“Okay, let’s start with why am I here right before you? Where is this place?” Rarity gestured to the empty skyline behind her.

“Oh, your dreams,” the Queen of Fey answered nonchalantly. “That’s the where. It’s a tricky thing, communicating to mortals. Even in dreams my presence is enough to cause lesser beings to lose sanity if I’m not careful. As for why, well, it seemed like you could a bit of guidance. Was I mistaken?”

“Then—“

“That was a rhetorical question by the way,” the Queen of Fey added. “You most definitely needed a shove in the right direction. Don’t go making a habit of it, though. I do have an entire plane of existence to maintain and won’t always be available. A bit of self-reliance goes a long way, you know.”

Rarity rolled her eyes. Queen of Fey, Lord of Chaos, both were utterly infuriating to deal with. “Right, well. Then do you have any advice for me?”

“Well for one, make sure your next question is a good one.” The Queen of Fey pointed up. Rarity’s gaze followed the gesture. Parts of blue sky had gone dark and gray, and that lack of color was slowly spreading. The world suddenly shook, and Rarity grabbed her forehead as a shrill, deafening screech rang out and through her ears. The noise subdued, but it left behind a throbbing headache. “You’ll be waking up soon. I won’t be able to keep you for much longer. Oh, and two, if you want to save your friends and, I suppose by extension, this land, you’re going to want to head south. That’s where you’ll find information on necromancy.”

“Necromancy?” repeated Rarity. It wasn’t a word she knew, but she was well read enough to recognize the prefix for death, which only raised more questions. Before she could consider the subject further, however, the world shook violently, nearly knocking Rarity off balance.

“Yes, in the south! Ask for the scrolls of Valmeyjar! Last question!” the Queen of Fey yelled over the rumbling. “Hurry!”

The pounding in her head was becoming unbearable. The winds were picking up in strength, throwing up sand and dust into the air. Rarity raised a hoof over her eyes and squinted as the island and the Queen of Fey became blurred. She tried to scream over the howls of the wind and the rumbling of the world.

The Queen of Fey leaned forward with their paw cupped around an ear. “What?”

“My horn!” Rarity tried again. “Where is my horn?”

The being was no longer visible. Rarity strained to listen past the noisy din. “Look south!” Rarity managed to hear just as her vision went red and she fell to the floor, screaming. She grabbed hold of her head, digging her hooves into its sides. Her skull felt like it was seconds away from splitting apart as the pain intensified relentlessly.

And in a single instant, without any warning, the aching disappeared. Rarity’s breathing calmed, and the sensation of touch slowly returned to her body. The softness of those pink sticky fluffs was replaced by a hard, itchy surface.

Something stirred beside her. Rarity opened her eyes just as the crow of a rooster rang through the village, welcoming a new day.

6. Impression Left Behind

6. Impression Left Behind

The sun took its time climbing over the horizon to take its place in the sky. The village was still largely dark, but already it bustled with life. Several ponies were up and wandered the streets just outside their homes, chopping wood or sharpening tools as they prepared for the day ahead. A small line had formed before a well in the center of the village as the ponies waited to fill their jugs with water. A couple of chimneys were already puffing out smoke as the rooster continued to sing.

The cottage of Farm Right and Hearth Stead was no exception. The whole family had waken themselves, gotten up, and shoved the mattresses to the side while the rooster’s first crow was still echoing. Farm, after a quick greeting and throwing on his cap, stepped out while Hearth busied herself at the stove, feeding the fire with bits of kindling and bundles of fire wood before pulling out a sack of grains and the cutting board and preparing some vegetables.

Only Rarity and Harvest sat around with nothing to do. Rarity had offered her assistance but Hearth was adamant in her refusal.

“You’ll, ah, be having a long day,” she had said with a halfhearted smile. “It might be best to save your strength until then.”

So Rarity took her place at the dining table and watched Hearth prepare breakfast for a few minutes before turning to the filly sitting across from her. Harvest was being strangely quiet, considering the loud and apparently boundless energy she, like many youth, seemed to exude the previous day. Perhaps she was simply tired, Rarity reasoned as Harvest let out a large yawn.

Should she attempt engaging in conversation? As versed as she was at making small talk with members of high society, Rarity was much less experienced in the kinds of topics that would interest a filly like Harvest. She tried to recall the times she had spent with Sweetie Belle, tried to remember what her younger sister enjoyed talking about, tried to ignore the waves of homesickness that came with such memories.

Show tunes, tutoring at Twilight’s school, her most recent escapades with the rest of the Cutie Mark Crusaders, nothing there seemed very appropriate for Harvest. Rarity went back further, to when Sweetie Belle was closer to Harvest’s age. Puppet shows, dress up, ice cream, her most recent attempts with the rest of the Cutie Mark Crusaders in earning a Cutie... Mark.

One quick glance confirmed it; Harvest’s flanks were blank. Rarity cleared her throat. “So, Harvest?”

The filly lifted her head and blinked. “Hm?”

Rarity managed to continue smiling despite her misgivings at Harvest’s intonation. That reluctance in her tone, was that really just from a shortage of sleep? “I noticed you don’t have a Cutie Mark. It’s nothing to be ashamed of, my very own sis—“

That vision, it was so vivid, it couldn’t possibly have been just a dream. It certainly refused to fade from her memory like a simple dream. Even now, the Queen of Fey’s advice ran through her head, and the part about playing a role caused her to pause. Did Princess Shmarity have a sister? Did Rarity even want to assume this identity? Was there any point in pretending with Harvest? Farm may have already explained what had happened at the village gathering last night. Perhaps that was why Harvest was acting so shy, and attempting to act like Princess Shmarity might further damage Harvest’s perception of her.

Harvest was staring, waiting with a look of confusion. Rarity cleared her throat. “Er, that is to say, somepony I was close to didn’t get her Cutie Mark until she was older than you are now. Is there anything you’re particularly interested in? Any hobbies?”

Harvest gave a little shrug. “Not really,” she said, resting her chin on the table. “Not a whole lot to do around here.”

“Oh. Well, there must be something you enjoy doing, maybe something with your friends?”

The filly rolled her head onto a cheek. “Nah.”

“Oh.” Rarity’s smile wavered. “I see.”

“Harvest, get your head off the table,” Hearth Stead called over from her position at the stove. Harvest’s annoyed sigh was the last sound either she or Rarity made before an air of silence and awkwardness settled over them. Rarity’s failures in starting a conversation sapped any desire to try again.

The spell over the table finally broke when the door swung open, and in stepped Farm Right. He dragged a large jug behind him while carrying a small bag in his mouth, letting it hang limply from his clenched teeth. With a quick nod to Rarity, he continued on to his wife and set the jug of sloshing water next to her. The bag he placed right in the middle of Hearth’s breakfast preparations. The mare raised an eye brow at the interruption.

“A little something from Mellows and her family,” Farm Right explained. At that, Hearth lit up and all but tore open the bag. Four large, golden, lopsided orbs rolled onto the counter and into Hearth’s outstretched hoof.

“Eggs!” Harvest cried out, rushing over to her parents. She squeezed past them and placed her hooves against the edge of the counter, hopping up and down for a better look. “And there’s so many of them.”

“Be sure to thank Mrs. Mellows when you see her,” Farm Right said with a chuckle. “Come on, go get ready for breakfast. Can you show, um, our guest where to wash up?”

“Huh? Oh, sure.” Harvest pushes herself away from the eggs and the counter and ran out, not bothering to wait for the pony she was supposed to be guiding. Hearth Stead gave Rarity an apologetic smile as Farm rubbed the back of his neck, looking away in embarrassment.

“Sorry for Harvest’s attitude, miss,” he said. “Wasn’t easy explaining the situation to her, and looks like she’s still taking it pretty hard. I mean, you saw the fit she threw last night.”

Rarity, lost in her own worries and panic that night, couldn’t honestly say that she did; there wasn’t much she could recall from that period between the end of her meeting with Elder Woods and her vision of the Queen of Fey. “What did you tell her?”

“Told her you’d have to leave,” Farm explained, “that you, um, might not be our princess.” He grimaced. “Didn’t feel right to lie to her, but maybe I said too much. Sorry.”

“It’s alright,” Rarity assured. “I understand, there’s no need to apologize. Now, where do I wash my hooves?”

“There’s a washbasin around the back,” said Hearth. “Right next to a large barrel with the water. Just be sure to cover them both when you’re done, please.”

With a nod and a quick word of thanks, Rarity followed Harvest’s path out of the cottage. A brisk morning air greeted her almost immediately, and she shivered in response. The pendant from her dreams, the Court of Fey’s symbol, bounced against her front. Rarity placed a hoof gingerly on it, making a face as she brushed past the crusty cloth of the dirty dress she’d have to change out of the moment she got the chance to. The silver symbol was still, no humming, no vibrations.

A focus to channeling the Queen of Fey’s magic. Well, while she had no idea how it work, at least she knew its origin and purpose and could now put those mysteries to rest. Not to mention she had at least the direction where she could find information on this ‘necromancy’ to save Spike and Discord and reunite with her horn. How fortuitous that all her answers seemed to lie south.

Maybe even a little too convenient, Rarity thought to herself as she headed behind the house and found the large tin washbasin covered with a sheet of canvas. There was still the matter of actually trusting the Queen of Fey. Maybe it was the disinterested way they carried themselves, maybe it was the references to a plan she wasn’t privy to, maybe the being just reminded her too much of Discord, whatever the reason, there was just something about the magical sovereign that sent Rarity’s guard up.

Rarity shrugged with the barrel’s lid for a bit before filling the basin with water. Well, she had a direction and a term, perhaps Rarity could find somepony who could confirm the information she was given. And if the information couldn’t be verified, if it was all just a pile of lies, Rarity tried not to ponder too long on that scenario and what her potential options would be. For now, she tried to maintain a level of optimism tempered by caution and skepticism.

The water settled down as Rarity readied her hooves for a washing. There was an obvious lack of soap or towels, and Rarity questioned the reasoning behind washing up outside instead of indoors given how dusty the path between here and the front of the cottage had been. She looked down and nearly screamed at the mare in the water. Her mane could have been more appropriately described as a nest, messy and sticking out in parts that had once been perfectly curled and arranged. Spots of dirt clung to the face reflecting off the water’s clear surface, and there were sections of visibly matted fur. She could only imagine and shudder at what her tail and the rest of her body was like.

There was little she could do with her mane without the proper tools, she’d have even settle for a simple comb, so she focused her efforts on her her face, scrubbing at her cheeks as she splashed them with freezing water. She eventually reached the limit of what could be done with just water and unassisted physical exertion and came to terms with her disappointing appearance before continuing onto her hooves. Again, the final result wasn’t exactly what Rarity considered satisfactory, but she supposed it would have to do. The used water was spilled onto the ground, making mud, and after making sure both the canvas covering and the barrel’s lid were replaced, Rarity headed back inside.

Bowls of porridge were waiting for her at the table, each with a collection of stewed vegetables and an egg. Farm Right looked up at the sound of Rarity’s approach. He expression slowly became one of confusion . “You, uh, happen to bump into Harvest out there?”

“No, I hadn’t seen her,” Rarity answered. “I thought she had finished ahead of me and was already inside.”

“Well, nopony’s gone through that door since you went out,” Farm Right said, frowning. “Hm, where is that filly?”

“I’ll go look for her,” Hearth Stead declared as she undid the apron and removed it. “You two go ahead and get started on breakfast.”

“Maybe we should all look together,” Rarity suggested, starting toward the door. Hearth shook her head and motioned her back to the dining table.

“Elder Woods’ll be here soon. You’re going to need your strength for the—“ The mare hesitated. “For your journey.” Hearth lowered her gaze. “It’ll be a hard one, I’m sure. I’m sorry.” And with her head bowed, Hearth rushed past Rarity and left the cottage.

Farm clasped his hooves together against the table’s surface and sighed as he closed his eyes. “She’s right. We’ve both got a hard day of work ahead of us. Er, I mean, not to say mine’ll be as bad as, just that there’s a lot of work we’ve both got to, um.” He coughed. “Let’s eat.”

Rarity took the seat across from the stumbling farmer and, after seeing Farm dig into his own bowl, picked up her spoon and pierced the egg yolk. It broke easily, spilling out warm, gooey, yolk over the stewed grains. She lifted a spoonful of porridge and egg to her mouth. The lightly seasoned barley mixed perfectly with the subtle flavor of the yolk. A second spoonful soon followed, this time with a slice of salted radish.

The bowls to the sides of her went untouched. “Will Harvest be alright?” Rarity asked.

“Hm?” Farm Right raised his head and quickly wiped his chin with his hoof. “Well, her breakfast’ll be cold when she gets here, and I figure she might be getting few extra chores for her attitude. Besides that, I don’t think there’s much to worry about. Harvest was like this the morning Summer Springs left too. Don’t you worry, she’ll be back when she gets hungry.”

“If you say so.” Rarity returned to her breakfast. “You mentioned that Elder Woods was coming to see us?”

“Well, you specifically,” Farm Right said. “To, make sure you were prepared and, uh, left the village without trouble.” At this, Farm swallowed and averted his gaze. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright.” Rarity set down her spoon. Suddenly, breakfast wasn’t so appealing. “I understand your leader’s reasoning. It’s alright.”

“It really ain’t alright. I mean, even if you aren’t the princess, just throwing you out like this instead of helping.” He shook his head. “Ain’t right. Yeah, these are hard times, but that’s exactly when we should be helping folks who need it, not just looking out for ourselves. Just, ugh.” Farm Right slumped in his seat. “Wish we had more to offer you.”

“You’ve been generous enough already,” Rarity assured. “After everything you and your household has done for me, I couldn’t possibly ask for more.”

Farm was silent, but he allowed a smile to slowly creep across his face. “Thank you,” he eventually said after a bit.

Rarity smiled back, and the two returned to their breakfast. It didn’t take long before their bowls were empty, and Rarity had her fill. The seats beside her remained unoccupied even as she and Farm Right left theirs to clean up. Suddenly, there was a knock at the door. Farm looked to Rarity for moment, then turned to the entrance.

Even as Rarity considered whether Hearth and Harvest would’ve bother knocking, the door was opened. She couldn’t see past Farm Right whose body almost immediately stiffened at their visitor’s presence. Then, he seemed to relax, just a bit before his shoulders became tense once more.

“Elder Woods,” Rarity heard him say. “Huntress. We, uh, we were just finishing up breakfast.”

“Then she is ready?” It was the voice of a mare, the same voice of Elder Woods companion from last night.

“Well, I mean, we just finished eating.”

“There’ll be time to digest on the road,” the mare said sharply. “Come, we have much to discuss and little time to spare.”

“Right.” Farm sighed. “Alright, yeah, I get it.” He stepped to the side. “Miss? They’re here for you.”

Rarity took a deep breath and approached the entrance. With Farm Right now out of the way, she could clearly see both the mare called ‘Huntress’ and Elder Woods, with the older zebra a few steps behind the mare. Both were fitted with large saddle bags, and a couple of additional bundles were strapped to Huntress’s back, including some blankets and what Rarity assumed to be a rolled up sleeping bag. An unstrung bow with a covered quiver was attached to her side.

Rarity cleared her throat. “Good morning.”

“Ah, a good morn to you too,” Elder Woods declared, his wrinkled face cracking into a weathered smile. “How has this day been treating you?”

“It’s been fine, I suppose,” Rarity said. “I can’t complain. And you?”

“We can exchange pleasantries later,” Huntress interjected just as Elder Woods was opening his mouth to speak. He sighed, his smile fading. The mare turned back to Rarity. “Let’s get you geared up first, then we discuss the details.”

She helped the old zebra remove the bags from his back, and from it she pulled out a folded piece of cloth. “Here,” she called out, tossing the cloth toward Rarity. The bundle unraveled, revealing itself to be a hooded cloak. “Get changed. It’ll be easier to travel in than that dress. Something wrong?”

Rarity shook herself and tore her eyes away from the cloak. She tried to smile. “No, no. It’s nothing.”

“Then hurry it up,” the mare ordered. The scar running below her eyes appeared to widen as she scowled.

“Right, of course. Farm, excuse me please.”

“Huh? Oh!” the farmer exclaimed as Rarity all but pushed him out of his own home and slammed the door behind him. He looked to his two visitors with a quizzical expression, and they in turn could only shrug in bewilderment.

“Is that, some sort of royalty thing?” Farm Right asked.

“Wouldn’t know.” Huntress sat back and folded her forelimbs over her chest. She glared at the closed door. “She’s better not be trying to barricade herself inside.”

“One moment please!” came Rarity’s voice from inside. She turned back to the cloak in her hooves. Here was the first opportunity to change out of that old gaudy, dirty dress she found herself in, an opportunity Rarity had been looking so forward to, and now, face to face with the alternative, she found herself hesitating.

Her eyes twitched at their very exposure to the color. Such a drab mix of greens and browns, a less refined mare might have made the comparison to vomit. The fabric was coarse and stiff in her hooves, she didn’t want to think how it would feel against her delicate body. And it was just so, plain. Dull. No designs, no exterior pockets, not even sleeves. It was little more than a blanket with a hood attached.

There was a pound at the door. Somepony was clearly getting impatient. “In a minute!” Rarity called out as she started to undress. Getting out of the dress without her latent magic proved to be a challenge, and she had to stretch to reach the laces on the back, but in the end, she stood triumphantly over that overly pink and puffy crime against fashion, crumpled into a pile.

Donning the cloak on the other hoof took Rarity nearly no time at all, just a simple matter of slipping her head through the hood’s opening and making sure the rest of her body was covered. It surprised how soft the interior of the cloak compared to the toughness of its exterior, perhaps even being made of a different material. She looked down at herself and frowned. As much as she dreaded her current appearance, Rarity still wished for a mirror to at least give herself an appraisal and maybe even provide a few improving touches.

She took one last look at the discarded dress. As much as the seamstress despised its design, it had served her well, protecting her from much of the mud that she had fallen in. The stains had actually reduced the brightness of the pink, making the color almost acceptable. She patted down her new cloak, making sure her pendant was well secured, picked up the dress, and opened the door.

“Apologies for the wait,” she said, the warm smile she wore in contrast to the coolness of her tone.

Huntress responded to Rarity’s look with a glare of her own. “If you’re done wasting time, here.” She marched over to Rarity’s side and threw on the saddlebags that Elder Woods had brought along. Rarity’s knees buckled under the sudden weight. “Let’s go.”

“Wait.” In the short time it took for Rarity to adjust to her new burden, the other mare had already made a good amount of distance between them. “Um, are we leaving right now? As in, this very second?”

Huntress groaned. She continued walking but was stopped by Elder Woods. “It is best that you leave before it gets to late. Is there any reason you are wanting to wait?”

“It’s just, I was hoping to thank Hearth one last time and give my farewells to Harvest before I left,” Rarity explained. She looked around. There was the grumpy mare with the scar, there was the old, wizened zebra, there was the compassionate farmer, but only the farmer’s kind wife and their curious daughter were missing.

There was a frustrated sigh from Huntress. “We can’t afford to wait, not if you want to make any real progress before nightfall.”

“Don’t worry, miss,” said Farm Right. “I’ll be sure to pass the message along. They’ll appreciate it, that’s for sure.”

“Thank you, Farm, for everything.” Rarity held out her old dress to the farmer. “It isn’t much, but I’d like you and your family to have this.”

Farm Right simply stared blankly at the offered garments. It struck Rarity a moment too late that a secondhand, unwashed dress from a stranger might not have been the greatest present. “Er, the fabric is very high quality.” And it was, Rarity had to admit that much in spite of her distaste for the dress. “I’m certain your family can find some use for it, maybe for blankets or other clothing.”

“We could never!” Farm exclaimed. He took the dress with shaking hooves. “Thank you, miss. For something this grand, thank you.” He bowed. “We’ll cherish this for generations, ma’am. Thank you.”

“Well, that’s, that’s good! Yes, good.” Rarity let out a short laugh, relieved that she hadn’t offended her host. The mare ahead of them looked less impressed as she coughed loudly and jerked her head toward some point in the distance. Rarity sighed before turned back to Farm Right. “I wish you the best, you and your family. Farewell.”

“Safe travels, miss. May those above watch over you.”

The goodbyes were said, and yet, Rarity lingered, hoping to hear or see a certain little filly rush toward her. No such luck. With one last sigh, Rarity turned to Huntress and Elder Woods and made her way toward them, each step heavy and not just because of the extra weight on her back.

”A lady is only as good as her word.”

She was leaving behind a dirty dress and a broken promise, hardly the kind of impression Rarity wanted to leave.

7. Storm King’s Thunder

7. Storm King’s Thunder

It didn’t take long before Farm Right’s house was no longer in view. As they continued on and started to approach the fields of grain stalks, the collection of cottages that made up the village became smaller. Elder Woods instructed Rarity on the gear she had been provided with as they walked, with the mare just ahead of them jumping in every so often to correct the elderly, blind zebra on which pocket a piece of equipment was specifically located. There was a tinderbox, a simple sewing kit consisting of some string, a few squares of canvas, and a wooden needle, rope made of hemp and straw, a canteen already filled with a day’s worth of water, a lodestone to serve as a compass, a small mix of dried berries, mushrooms, and nuts, a purse of a few copper coins, a rudimentary first aid kit made up of a roll of bandages, some salves, and a few vials of some reddish liquid, a small knife, and of course, a crude hoof-drawn map of the area, consisting of triangles for mountains, dots with names scribbled next to them for settlements, and wavy lines for streams and rivers.

“Huntress,” Woods called out. “I require your aid. Show her the path we have made.”

Huntress waited for Rarity and Elder Woods to catch up, then removed the map from Rarity’s saddlebags. “Alright, pay attention,” she commanded. “Your destination is Baldursgait right here.” Rarity followed her hoof toward the dot labeled “Baldursgait” on the map. A thick line descended down from the dot that eventually broke off into an angle. “All you need to is find your way to the main road.” The hoof pointed to the line. “There’ll be several towns along the road, so it shouldn’t be hard to follow.”

“And where are we?” Rarity asked.

“Somewhere around here.” Huntress lazily waved her hoof at a largely blank space on the map before folding the parchment and stuffing it back inside the saddlebag. “You don’t need to know where exactly. Better if you didn’t.”

“Excuse me? How am I supposed to get to this road without knowing where am I to begin with?” protested Rarity. “Or am I just supposed to wander westward until I hit civilization?”

Elder Woods placed his one remaining front hoof on Rarity’s shoulder as Huntress rolled her eyes. “Do understand, I cannot allow my village’s location known, not while the Squid Wizard’s influence is still so overgrown.”

Rarity frowned. It was a reasonable precaution, keeping the village’s position unmarked and hidden, it just would’ve been nice if their safety hadn’t been at her expense.

“Not to worry, my dear daughter will act as your guide.” He nodded toward Huntress. “She will not leave you until you’ve reached roadside. A better guide you could not ask. I assure you, on all I deem of worth, she is more than up to this task.”

So that was their relation. Rarity turned to Huntress who was hiding her prideful beam in reaction to Elder Woods’s endorsement rather poorly. The color of their coats were somewhat similar, both of them being shades of gray, but Huntress’s lack of distinctive stripes made all the difference; if she hadn’t heard Woods, Rarity doubted she’d have guessed that the two were related.

Huntress‘s expression hardened and became an icy glare as she came to notice the other mare’s stares. “What?”

“Nothing. Nothing.” Rarity looked to Elder Woods instead. “And you?” she asked. “Will you be traveling with us as well?”

There was something hopeful, even desperate, in her voice. Rarity had no reason to doubt Huntress’s abilities, that wasn’t the issue, it was just the matter of having to deal with the sour, ill-tempered mare alone over the course of what could potentially be a very long journey. Her heart sank as Elder Woods shook his head.

“I am needed here, as our village’s head. To leave so suddenly, for so long, I fear of the chaos that would spread,” he said, turning back to the village behind. A breeze blew by, and he sniffed at the air. The old zebra stiffened as Rarity also looked back and saw that out in the distance, ponies were starting to make their way out into the fields to work. “You should leave soon, but before you go, I have one last gift to bestow.”

Elder Woods held out something in his hoof, about the size and length of his forelimb. Most of the presented item was covered in linens, similar to the wrappings around the zebra’s eyes. “Careful, careful,” he warned as Rarity took the gift. She slowly unraveled the linen, starting from the end that the object was presented toward her, and revealed a polished wooden handle. The images of wolves and of eagles decorated the wood between indecipherable runes that seemed to shimmer in what little sunlight was available.

Huntress’s jaw dropped at the sight of the wooden hilt. “Father, you can’t—“

Elder Woods hushed the scarred mare as Rarity continued removing the wrappings. The last strips fell away from a shiny black blade extending out of the decorated wood. A piece of twine was wrapped tightly around the area where the wood handle transitioned to the black blade. More runes she couldn’t read ran down its length, flashing silver against a backdrop of black when brought into the light. There was something odd about the blade itself, something beyond the runes and the color. Something about its weight, about its uneven textures.

The blade wasn’t made of a traditional metal, Rarity quickly realized, but of some kind of stone. Obsidian she concluded upon further examination, a material she had experimented with but never found much use for, not when onyx or black jaspers could be used for the same effect while also being both more readily available and easier to utilize. The concept of using such brittle material for a dagger’s blade puzzled her. Why not steel or iron, like the weapons of the Squid Wizard’s guards or even the knife she had been provided with? Even Hearth Stead’s kitchen utensils were metallic.

Whatever the reasoning was behind the construction of this dagger, there was clearly some importance behind it, if the look of shock Huntress was shooting at Elder Woods were any indication.

“The path you walk is dangerous, keep that close,” Woods said, stepping back. “May the earth guide you through everything life throws.”

Rarity rewrapped the dagger and carefully placed it in the saddlebag pocket closer to her. The gift, in all honesty, made her feel less safe. In all her adventures, Rarity had never had to wield any sort of weapon, and the closest she ever got to even touching a dagger were kitchen knives and garden trowels. Always, her own wit and magic and her friends were enough, even when violence broke out. Well, two of those problem solving options weren’t available to her, and as special as the dagger may have been, she didn’t think it was going to be an adequate replacement.

“Thank you,” Rarity said, lowering her head in respect. She kept her misgivings to herself. “Perhaps, when your village is no longer threatened by my being there, we can see each other again.”

At this, Elder Woods cracked a small smile. “If that day comes, it would be an honor to have you back.” He returned the gesture, then turned Huntress. “Get going. And don’t worry about going through the forest.” The old zebra craned his neck upwards toward the clouds. “I’ll be sure to cover your tracks.”

Huntress looked up as well and frowned. With a sigh, she said, “Very well. I’ll should be back in a few days. Until then, take care.”

“And you as well,” replied the elderly zebra. He pressed his lips to the mare’s forehead. “Take care.”

For a moment, Huntress was still, then she turned to Rarity and motioned her head forward, in the direction they had been walking. “Let’s go.”

And with that curt command, Huntress continued on the rough dirt path, not bothering to wait for Rarity’s response. Rarity gave Elder Woods one final word of thanks before rushing after her impatient guide, following her down the trail that led between the farm fields. Huntress’s early start and hurried gait forced Rarity to quicken her own pace to a trot, and even then she still always a few steps behind.

“Is there any reason why we’re in such a hurry?” Rarity eventually asked.

“Tired already?” Huntress asked without missing a step. There was no mocking or teasing in the inquiry nor any sign of genuine concern, and Rarity wasn’t sure whether she would preferred this utter disinterest over being derided.

“Hardly,” Rarity said with a sniff. Appearances could be misleading, and though she carried herself with the daintiness of a proper lady, she was no stranger to physical exertion. As it so happened, being a member of Princess Twilight Sparkle’s personal circle of friends meant having plenty of opportunities to stretch those legs and run about. “You just seem awfully eager is all.”

Huntress grunted, and for a moment Rarity thought that was the end of that discussion before the mare continued by saying, “I want to get to the edge of the Bitwoods before we get caught in the rain.”

“Rain?” Rarity looked up into the sky. There were indeed clouds, many which seemed to be moving on their own oddly enough, but most of them were small and none were very dark. She couldn’t recall seeing any pegasi in the village, only earth ponies, but perhaps weather maintenance here was outsourced. But even if that was the case, Rarity would have still expected to see pegasi flying about, pushing clouds together and making their preparations, especially if Huntress was in such a rush to get to shelter. “Are you certain?”

Huntress suddenly slowed down. She turned back towards the village in the distance, now just some smoke trailing from the unseen chimneys, giving Rarity the opportunity to finally reach her side, and frowned. “So he insists,” she muttered with a shake of her head.

“I’m sorry?”

“Be grateful instead.” Huntress returned her attention back to the front. The dirt trail was gone, overtaken by grass as they stood before a vast empty prairie. A thick gathering of trees sat some distance away. “Elder Woods has done a lot for you, some would even say he’s gone too far. He seems to think you’re special.”

“And what about you? What do you think?”

Was confrontation wise? It was clear from her attitude that Huntress didn’t hold Rarity in high regard. Who knew how Huntress would react now that she was offered the chance to vent, but at least then, her opinions would be out and aired instead of being silently bottled up inside. It was even possible that after opening up and presenting her grievances, Huntress would become more approachable. Becoming friends with the mare was optimistic, but one didn’t spend all that time with the Princess of Friendship without becoming a bit of an idealist.

All Huntress had to offer in reply, however, was a noncommittal grunt. Instead of elaborating, she reached into the folds of her own cloak and pulled out her own sheathed dagger. Both hilt and scabbard were plain, completely without decoration, and unlike the weapon Elder Woods had gifted Rarity, there was a cross-guard running perpendicular through the handle.

“Here,” she said, holding the dagger out toward Rarity. At least she had the decency to present it handle first. “Give me the one Elder Woods gave you. I’m not sure what he was thinking, you’d just hurt yourself when you try to use it.”

Part of Rarity protested at the suggestion, a rather childish part that kicked and screamed at the very possibility of having something of theirs being taken away. It was hers, Elder Woods gave it too her! Huntress was just jealous it went to Rarity instead of her, and now she want to offer such a dull alternative as a trade? That part of Rarity roared out angrily.

It was a very small part of her, and the roar was more of a kitten’s mewl than the proper growl of a beast that was quickly drowned out as the rest of Rarity presented their arguments in swift succession. Elder Woods’s dagger had felt heavy in her hooves, and it still worried her that the sharp point parts were made of such an easily breakable material. And then there was Rarity’s utter lack of experience. Huntress was right, Elder Woods’s gift was as much, no, more of a danger to Rarity than to any aggressor she’d have to defend herself against.

She took great care in retrieving the dagger from the saddlebags. When it was out and presented to Huntress, the mare seemed to hesitate despite this trade being her idea, if only for a couple of seconds. Once it was safely secured in her grasp, Huntress unwrapped the handle of the obsidian dagger and stuffed it under her cloak as Rarity took the time to examine her new dagger. She slide it out of the scabbard.

When it came to the art of metalworking, Rarity knew very little, and her ability to appraise martial implements may have been even less than that. What exactly could she say? The sharp and pointy end was sharp and pointy, and the handle fit comfortably in her hoof. It certainly felt more balanced than the dagger Elder Woods had given her. Both edges of the blade were sharp, Rarity noted, and if the old adage about swords and dual edges was applicable in this case, she’d need to take extra care when putting the weapon to use.

It disturbed her that she had said ‘when’ in her thoughts, not “if,’ as if she believed that a scenario where she would have to wield such a weapon was inevitable. With that worrisome thought in mind, Rarity started to place her new dagger back into her bags, but Huntress stopped her.

“There’s a pocket in your cloak,” she said. “Keep it there.”

It was less of a suggestion and more of a command. Rarity found the pocket and slipped the sheathed dagger into the cloak. It pressed uncomfortably against her body, constantly reminding her of its presence.

As she readjusted her cloak and her saddlebags, a low rumble shook the skies above. Rarity looked up and watched the clouds congregate and darken, and yet there wasn’t a single pegasus pony up there with them. Another wave of thunder rolled by, and the bottoms of the clouds flashed brightly. Huntress clicked her tongue in annoyance.

“We’ve wasted too much time,” she said. “Pick up the pace.”

Rarity broke into a trot after Huntress who again took off without bothering to wait. The trot gradually became a run as the two hurried through the grasslands. Raindrops started to fall, and the winds began to pick up in strength. The droplets grew in size and in number, and the winds threw them into Rarity’s face with a force that stung her cheeks. Several steps ahead of her, Huntress had somehow managed to throw the hood of her cloak over her head without slowing down, a feat Rarity wasn’t sure she wanted to attempt, not if it meant potentially having to spend more time in this growing storm.

The trees were getting larger as they got closer. At last, just as the downpour began in earnest, the two mares reached the edge of the forest and tried to hide under the leafy canopy. The cover here was relatively thin, simply reducing the amount of rain hitting them rather than blocking the precipitation completely.

“Are we not going further?” Rarity asked when Huntress found spot under one of the nearby trees to rest. “Surely there’s more shelter deeper in the forest where there are larger trees.”

“Best not go too deep inside if you don’t have to,” Huntress answered, shaking her head. “Bitwood might not be the biggest or most dangerous forest in Spiketopia, especially since those heroes took care of the werewolf problem awhile back, but you can still get lost pretty easily if you’re not careful, and the regular wolves and bears can still put up a heck of a fight. Also, here I can watch the storm. I’ll need to know it stops raining.”

Rarity followed Huntress’s gaze out into the open prairie. Their current position did give them a good view of the rainstorm, and though the thicker canopy of the forest’s interior would’ve provide more cover, it would have also prevented them from seeing the sky and the storm’s progression. She couldn’t disagree with the rest of rationale behind Huntress’s decision either, her own personal experiences with the Everfree Forest speaking out in favor for it.

But as much as Rarity understood the logic, she could not bring herself to like it. Her mane was already messy, and now it was soaking wet, and any semblance to her signature coiffure was gone. Every time part of it brushed against her neck whether from a stray breeze or from just moving her head, she shivered as it left behind a cold, damp spot, and without the proper tools, none of which were in her saddlebags, an unfortunate lapse in foresight on Elder Woods’s part, Rarity had no way to control her mane’s appearance when it dried. She shuddered at the imagined monstrosities her pride and joy would become once the sun came out.

At least the cloak did its job. Whatever material it was made of seemed somewhat waterproof and kept most of her body dry and insulated, providing her a degree of protection from both rain and wind.

Rarity took a seat in the driest spot she could find. The howls of the wind and the roars of thunder were getting louder. She flinched as the world went white for a moment, and thunder rolled in seconds later. “Make yourself comfortable,” Huntress said. Her bow was in her hooves and now strung, and every now and again, she would look away from the storm and pull at the string, testing its elasticity and wiping away any moisture. “Could be up to an hour before it lets up.”

“Are sudden storms like this common?” asked Rarity.

“No,” Huntress said. “Elder Woods doesn’t tend to abuse his druidic abilities like this, and even when he does it’s for an emergency.” She snorted. “Like I said, he seems to think you’re special.”

It took Rarity a little time to apprehend Huntress’s words and a little longer to fully grasp the implication. “Are you saying this is his doing?” she exclaimed, pointing to the storm above. “How?”

Huntress shrugged. “Couldn’t tell you the specifics, but I know it isn’t done easily, not for him.“

Not done easily? Rarity felt that Huntress was downplaying the difficult of such a task. Weather maintenance was a delicate job that required the deftest touch and the keenest eye, which is why it was normally left to pegasus ponies who were already accustomed with working in the sky and with clouds. Even unicorns with all their magic were limited in weather manipulation beyond small patches of sky, and more often than not such attempts ended in disaster.

Was this an ability exclusive to zebras? The only zebra she could claim familiarity with was Zecora, and she had never her demonstrate any sign of such powers. Then again, even after all these years, the striped hermit was still largely a mystery to her, sharing little of her past and of her homeland and culture. Perhaps there was more to her than just somepony to visit when in need of a curative.

“The storm will cover up any tracks we might have left behind,” Huntress continued. “If it weren’t for that, we’d have to go through the forest a couple of times to throw off any pursuers.”

“Is that really such an issue?” Rarity questioned.

“If you told us the truth, and Elder Woods believes you, then you just escaped from the Squid Wizard’s stronghold. Princess Shmarity or not, he’ll want you back and fast, and he has the resources to make that happen.” Huntress looked away from the storm and turned to Rarity. “It’s why we needed you to leave as soon as possible.”

“I see.”

“Hm.” Huntress turn her attention to her bow. “You’ve heard enough apologizes. I won’t bother adding mine.”

It took Rarity a couple of moments to unravel the meaning behind Huntress’s rudeness. It was quite the roundabout way of saying she was at least a little sorry, but with the impression the stubborn grump of a mare left her, Rarity couldn’t think of a more fitting way of her saying so.

“Thank you?” she offered. Huntress simply brushed her off with a grunt. She provided no additional words, and Rarity lost any desire to urge more out of of her. She couldn’t think of any relevant conversation starters anyways, and discussing the weather further felt like a moot point. If it weren’t for the voices of the storm, the howls of the wind, the pitter-patter of the rain, the crashes of thunder, they would have sat there in silence.

Without any other stimulating means, Rarity let her mind wander. She marveled at the storm and the mysterious power behind it. She wondered how Farm Right and his family were doing, how they were coping with the storm. She hoped they managed to find Harvest before the rain started to fall. Knowing that the storm had been been for her benefit, Rarity hoped the sudden change in weather hadn’t caused too much of an interruption to the village’s routine.

Her legs were starting to grow restless. As Rarity shifted in the grass into a more comfortable position, the dagger in her pocket dug into her chest, forcing her to adjust her cloak. Her hoof brushed against something cold, and she looked down to find that the silver symbol of the Fey had slipped out. She quickly shoved back into her cloak and glanced over to Huntress who had her attention drawn to the stormy sky once more.

Would she recognize the symbol, Rarity wondered. Perhaps Huntress knew something about the being calling themselves the Queen of Fey, maybe even confirming what her supposed benefactor had said or elaborating on the information she had been provided, like what exactly was in the south. Elder Woods may have been more knowledgeable on the subject, and Rarity regretted not asking him when she had the chance.

And then there were the questions about her current journey. What kind of city was Baldursgait? Was the road there well traveled, and should she expect to meet other travelers? Were there any specific settlements along the way she should visit? Avoid?

“Alright,” Huntress suddenly announced, interrupting Rarity’s thoughts. She stood up. “Time to go.”

Rarity looked up, and to her surprise, the skies were beginning to clear. The dark storm clouds were dispersing as the winds quieted and lost strength. The downpour was now only a little more than a drizzle. She could even see a bit of sun. How long had Rarity sat there, lost in her thoughts?

“Something wrong?”

“No,” Rarity finally said. She got up as well and brushed off the loose grass and dirt. “Was that really an hour?”

“Just about,” Huntress said. “Maybe a couple minutes less. It can be easy to lose track of time if you’re not careful. You need to pay more attention.”

To a mare that prided herself for her attentiveness, Huntress’s advice stung more than Rarity cared to admit. “I’ll keep that in mind,” Rarity said steadily.

Huntress just nodded before turning away and marching onward. Rarity followed after her with her head full of questions. Hopefully, her guide wasn’t expecting the rest of their journey to continue in silence.

8. Edicts of Neutrality

8. Edicts of Neutrality

Rarity’s attempts to converse with Huntress as they walked along the edge of the forest had been less informative than she had hoped. Either it was her guide’s knowledge of the subject or her willingness to share such knowledge that was lacking, which made most of her answers to Rarity’s questions frustratingly dissatisfying. She knew nothing of the southern lands and questioned why Rarity would even consider going to that region. Rarity decided to keep her reasons to herself, a decision she felt reaffirmed after Huntress had little to say in regards to the Fey. Huntress had made mention of fables known to every foal of this land and said that her father had personally dealt with such beings on very rare occasions but did not elaborate on either point.

“If you want to hear a fairytale so badly, wait until bedtime,” she had finally snapped after Rarity’s continual insistence.

“Well, there’s no need to get snippy. I was simply curious.”

“Hm.” And that had been the last word before the beginning of a blissful era of peace and silence, which lasted only about a couple of minutes once Rarity continued with her questioning.

At least Huntress knew more about her destination. Though she had never been to Baldursgait herself, the port city’s less than stellar reputation preceded it. It was a home to mercenaries, a sanctuary to smugglers and pirates, a den to criminal organizations and vigilante groups. The gathering of such dangerous individuals as well as having one of the regional adventurers’ league headquarters made Baldursgait an attractive place to everyone looking for a way to make some quick coin and didn’t mind getting a little dirty and to those with the economic shrewdness to capitalize on such a market. In Rarity’s case, it was a place to lay low.

“Baldursgait doesn’t exactly sound very, inviting.”

“It’s not,” Huntress agreed. “But it’s also one of the last big cities that hasn’t been destroyed by the Squid Wizard’s forces. Kind of hard to conquer a city when just about every inhabitant can swing a blade or throw a fireball. You’ll be safe from the Squid Wizard at least.” She paused for a moment before adding, “Probably.”

“Probably?” Rarity repeated, slowing to a stop.

“Just keep your identity, or your supposed identity, a secret,” Huntress said. “I wouldn’t put it past a pack of thugs and pirates to sell you out the second they smelled a hint of a reward. Heck, I’m surprised no one there has tried selling themselves to the Squid Wizard’s service.” She shook her head. “So just stay low and don’t draw attention to yourself, and the worst you’ll need to worry about are your new neighbors.”

“Well, do you have any advice on surviving the inhabitants of Baldursgait?”

Huntress shrugged. “Keep your head down, watch your purse, don’t piss off the wrong individuals. Use your common sense.” She slowed to think for a moment, giving Rarity some time to catch up to her. “You might be able to find some individuals still loyal to the royal family, maybe at the adventurers’ league, but that’s a huge maybe. Be smart with your trust. Probably better not to trust anyone there. Like I said, use your common sense.”

The more she heard about the place, the more discouraged Rarity felt about going to Baldursgait, but it wasn’t like she had any real alternatives. “And the road to Baldursgait, the one on the map,” she said, changing the subject, “what can you tell me about that?”

Huntress let out a tired sigh. “It’s a road. Dirt. Long. Used to be part of a big trade route, pretty much abandoned ever since the Squid Wizard came to power. It’s probably not too dangerous during the day, but you don’t want to be traveling down it when it gets dark. There should be plenty of towns along the way that night shouldn’t be an issue.”

“I remember there being a few labeled on the map. Any of them worth mentioning?” Rarity inquired.

“Well, some probably no longer exist, now that the trade route’s gone. The map’s based on Elder Woods’s memories, and, well, neither of us have kept up with the ongoings of those settlements in a good while,” admitted Huntress. “Bakersfield’s gone, we know that much at least.” Her frown deepened as her expression became grim. “I saw what was left of it myself.”

“Bakersfield.” Rarity considered taking the time to pull out her map. How easy it would have been to rummage through those saddlebags for it with magic without having to stop. She wondered if she’d ever grow accustomed to the lack of her horn. She certainly hoped not. “What happened?”

“Couldn’t say. We only saw the aftermath, and there weren’t any witnesses, but the Squid Wizard’s probably a safe assumption,” Huntress said. “Anyways, even if they are abandoned, the buildings will still be around so there should be plenty of shelter when night falls. Speaking of which.” She looked up to the sky and scowled.

Rarity followed Huntress’s gaze, trying to see what her guide found so distressing. The blue skies were being painted in shades of red and orange as the sun slowly descended toward a distant horizon. All in all, a very picturesque sunset. Nothing appeared out of the ordinary, and she couldn’t see anything that would warrant such a strong expression of dislike. Or did Huntress just dislike pretty things? “Is something wrong?” Rarity asked.

“We only have maybe an hour of daylight left, and we’ve barely made any progress today,” Huntress grumbled. “Come on, pick up the pace.”

And with that, she was off, again without any additional consideration for the pony she was supposed to be escorting. Rarity hurried behind, breaking into a brisk trot that quickly sped up into a run as she struggled to keep up. Patches of tall grass growing along the edge of the forest grabbed and clung to her legs as she dashed through them. A couple of such obstacles barely slowed her, but as time passed and she encountered more and more of these spots of overgrown shrubs and sod, she felt her strength slowly wane and her chest gradually tighten as her lungs grew strained from effort. And they were so numerous to the point where trying to run around the grassy patches would have spent just as much energy as forcing her way through them.

Huntress, meanwhile, seemed to glide through those spots effortlessly, passing through the grass as if it wasn’t there. It didn’t even appear like she was running, and yet, despite Rarity’s best efforts, the distance between her and Rarity was growing, and only when Rarity called out did it shrink even a little.

The skies darkened. The air chilled. Rarity tried to keep her guide in sight, but even as her eyes slowly adjusted to the decrease in light, Huntress seemed to melt into the dark background. She squinted, struggling to keep track of an equine silhouette, of the fluttering of Huntress’s cloak, of the shuffling of grass. Rarity’s eyes were becoming heavy, and she allowed them a moment’s rest, just a quick blink, and in that short quarter of a second, Huntress vanished.

Panic spurred her forward into a sprint. She cried out Huntress’s name, begging her to slow down. Something grabbed hold of her, and she screamed, flailing her limbs at her unseen assailant. Rarity’s hoof struck something hard, and there was a pained grunt. She directed a blow at the source of sound, but something blocked it and held it still.

“Knock it off,” hissed Huntress. Rarity opened her eyes and found herself right before her glowering guide. Huntress released Rarity and rubbed her jaw, as bruised as Rarity’s hoof.

“Er, sorry.”

“Shh!” Huntress raised a hoof to her lips. Immediately, Rarity clamped her mouth shut. She turned around, looking in the same direction as Huntress had been, but all she could see were the fading shadows of grass stalks and the first of the fireflies.

“What is it?” she whispered.

“You’re too loud,” Huntress responded in a low voice before turning away and moving toward the forest’s initial row of trees. “All that screaming’s bound to have attracted attention.”

For a moment, Rarity just stood there, fuming. “Excuse me?” she exclaimed, not bothering to control her volume.

Huntress stopped and groaned. “Keep it down.”

“No. I am not going to take this any longer.” Rarity stomped over to Huntress and stood in her way. “I’ve dealt with rude ponies before, with the boorish and the sleazy and the socially incompetent. But you! I don’t think I’ve ever met a more inconsiderate pony, especially not one who’s supposed to be helping me.“

“What are you talking about?” Even in the dark, Rarity could see Huntress’s piercing glare to which she fired back with one of her own. “I’ve been more than accommodating, answering all your questions, keeping you safe.”

“You left me behind! You disappeared on me only seconds ago!”

“All I did was stop!” Huntress shouted back, wincing at her own raised voice. She took in a breath to calm herself and at a lower volume said, “You’re the one who ran forward recklessly, and when I tried to keep you from getting lost in the dark, what do I get? A hoof to the face.”

“You could have said something! A warning would’ve been wonderful, but no, apparently that would be too much. Instead, you just decide take off and stop without bothering to check if the pony following you is ready. I don’t know what you would call that sort of action, but from where I’m from, that’s most definitely inconsiderate.”

Huntress’s mouth opened. Her hoof was raised and pointed at Rarity. It shook as Rarity tried to make sense of the sputtering sounds that Huntress was making. The mare slammed her hoof down and, with her lips pursed tightly, she stomped past Rarity. She made it a few steps forward before coming to a stop. Huntress’s shoulders sagged, and she sighed.

“We need to make camp for the night,” she said, pointing to the dark outline of trees at the edge of the forest. “Best if we stay out of the open.”

“Don’t change the subject.” Rarity started to march toward Huntress. “We’re not done discussing this matter.”

“I’m[i/] done discussing this matter,” Huntress said. “Like I said, you’re going to draw attention to us if you keep making so much noise.”

“Attention from what? There’s nopony here.”

“Just because you can’t see them doesn’t mean they can’t see you. Are you ready?”

Rarity had just arrived at Huntress’s side with a mouth full of arguments prepared to spring off her tongue and cut through whatever other excuses the mare had. The sudden question, however, caught her off guard. “What?”

Huntress shot Rarity a sideways glance. “Are you ready to move?” she asked, again motioning to the forest.

Rarity’s temper flared, setting aflame the shackles of eloquence and etiquette that kept it in check. Now is the time she decides to be considerate? How dare she, after everything she put her through, and her reaction is to mock her with this sudden display of thoughtfulness, to make parody of Rarity’s utterly justifiable grievances? Every snarky comment and barbed word she had in her mouth, spurred by her fury, fought for passage past her lips to be the first blow in a righteous verbal crusade.

The anger burned out as quickly as it exploded, leaving Rarity mentally exhausted and emotionally drained. All those arguments building up inside spilled out as a single long sigh as she re-evaluated Huntress’s surprising show of tact. There was nothing in Huntress’s tone or what Rarity could see of her body language that suggested of any malice intent. If anything, the mare just appeared tired and sick of arguing and almost even a little remorseful. Had she actually understood Rarity’s position, maybe even, dare she assume, agree with her? It certainly seemed more likely that this gesture was to demonstrate that she could change and show more consideration than a way to mock Rarity’s concerns. It was probably the closest she was going to get to an apology from the perpetually grumpy mare.

“Yes, I am ready,” Rarity said. “Thank you,” she added with a small smile she wasn’t sure Huntress could see.

Huntress simply nodded and started toward the tree line. She still moved at a rather quick pace, but at least she had waited for Rarity before marching off. Given that Rarity hadn’t gotten very far in her panicked state before Huntress successful caught up to her, it didn’t take long before they returned to the forest’s edge and walked past the first row of trees.

“This is far enough,” Huntress declared, coming to a stop. She removed the bundles from her back and set them against the trunk of a nearby tree, before rummaging through the pockets of her saddlebags. “Get started on gathering fuel for a fire. There should be enough around here for a small one.” She paused and lifted her head from her bags. “Actually, I‘ll work on the fire. You can get the beddings ready.”

“I can handle finding some dried twigs and leaves, if that’s what you’re wondering,” Rarity declared. It was a tad snippety, she had to admit, but Huntress’s condescension was sapping what good will she had earned just moments prior. “This isn’t my first time roughing it out.”

“Good to hear.” Huntress returned to her bags and removed a spool of string and, oddly enough, a number of bells that jingled as she moved. “I’ll be within earshot, so yell if anything comes up.”

Rarity watched as the forest appeared to swallow up Huntress, leaving her alone in the dark as the last of the daylight left with the sun, giving way to evening. Even with her traveling cloak on, Rarity shivered from the cold night air. Better get working on that fire, she thought to herself.

Now the gathering of fire starting materials was normally left to Rainbow Dash and Scootaloo whenever Rainbow, Rarity, and Applejack took their respective little sisters and little sister figures on their yearly Big Sister-Little Sister camping trips to Winsome Falls. Coincidentally, Rarity and Sweetie Belle were the ones in charge of getting all the tents and beddings ready. Still, Rarity knew what to look for, Applejack had made sure to drill the basics of every camping skill into all of their skulls after the fifteenth accident, and though it took some time to get past having to dig through the dirt with her bare hooves, she eventually had a sizable pile of dead branches, dehydrated brambles, shredded bark, and crisp brown leaves, all carefully arranged within a circle of stones.

Now came the tricky part, generating the initial spark. Rarity removed the provided tinderbox from its pocket and stared at the separate pieces that fell out of the case. She had just assumed, rather erroneously, that a tinderbox was simply an outdoorsy way of saying matchbox.

She turned and flipped the parts around, looking for instructions or symbols, anything that could be used as a clue to how this thing operated, but the darkness made it hard to see much. However, while her sight failed to discover anything, her hooves felt and found several light scratch marks on a slab of dark metal almost invisible in the night.

“Not done yet?”

Rarity looked up. She could barely make Huntress out of her surroundings as she approached. Huntress turned her gaze down to the gathered materials, then to the metal parts in Rarity’s hooves. She couldn’t see it past the shadows that hid most of Huntress’s face, but Rarity knew, somehow, that one of Huntress’s eyebrows was being raised, and she could all but hear it that patronizingly incredulous look.

“I, er, no,” Rarity said, lowering her hooves. “Sorry.”

Huntress sighed. “Give it here. I thought you said you’ve done this before.”

“I have.” Rarity placed the parts into Huntress’s extended hoof. “Made a campfire, I mean, just not with whatever this is.”

Now that she was close, Rarity could easily see the raised brow. “Sure. Well come here and see if you can pick something up.”

The two mares made their way to the ring of rocks. There was a hum, of approval Rarity hoped, from Huntress as she knelt over the pile of dried plant matter. Rarity watched Huntress press the iron piece against the black slab and scrap it across the surface towards the tinder. Sparks flew from the slab as she did so, brightening the small area they occupied in the air shortly before they went out. Huntress repeated the motion, creating more and more sparks over Rarity’s sticks and leaves. Most died before they even made it to the ground, but eventually, the sparks lit the fuel, and after a little bit of fanning, a modest flame sat within the stone ring.

“That’s all there is to it,” Huntress said, putting the two parts back into their case before returning it to Rarity. “Now help me with the bed rolls.”

There wasn’t much to set up, just a couple of simplistic sleep bags and some blankets, and in just a short while, everything was rolled out and readied just close enough to the campfire for warmth while maintaining a safe distance. There were no tents or any other form of shelter, Rarity noted, and when inquired, Huntress explained that that had been deliberate.

“Too cumbersome,” she had said. “We’re trying to travel light here, and you won’t need anything like that once you’ve reach the road and all its towns. Until then, this is all you’ll need.” Huntress gestured to the fire. “It’ll keep you warm and scare off the wildlife,” she elaborated when Rarity gave her an unimpressed look. “Most of it, anyways.”

“Most?” It was becoming something of a habit, Huntress adding a quantifier and Rarity repeating it worriedly.

“Some are desperate. Some simply don’t follow the laws of nature. We have other ways of keeping them away.” Huntress patted the bow beside her. It was strung, Rarity noticed, and an arrow was already nocked and in place. “It won’t be a problem once you’re on the road and as long as you reach a town before dark, so I wouldn’t worry too much.”

“If you say so,” Rarity said. She sat on a blanket and let herself enjoy the heat of flames as she stifled a yawn. She removed her saddlebags and placed them to side before digging through them and taking out the bag of travel mix. The porridge from this morning was nothing more than a distant memory, and she couldn’t recall if she had eaten anything else since.

“Save that for the trip on the road,” Huntress suddenly called out from her side of the campfire. From her own bags she pulled out a small stem and muttered something under her breath. “Here, catch.”

Something flew from Huntress’s hoof and bounced against Rarity’s cheek. It fell to the ground, rolling in the dust between her forelimbs. Rarity picked it up and brushed off the dust. It was a plump, red berry, she discovered. Just the one, hardly what anypony would consider a mouthful, let alone a meal. Rarity watched Huntress pop in a berry of her own before returning the stem, now suddenly colored with dots of red, back into her pack.

“What?” Huntress said, noticing Rarity’s attention.

“It’s ah, well, it’s nothing really. Just, I’m not entirely familiar with this sort of berry.” It was a deflection, yes, but not a lie. The color was that of a strawberry or a ripe raspberry, but it was round and smooth, like a blueberry only maybe twice as large.

“Well you eat it like any other fruit, nothing complicated there,” said Huntress between chews.

“Right.” Rarity sighed. Try as she might, she didn’t think there was going to be a more polite, less direct way of saying this. “Is this going to be enough? It’s just, well, it’s just one berry.”

“If you really, really want more, I can give me another, but that one’s more than plenty.”

Rarity looked down at the berry in her hoof. At the sight of such a small morsel, she struggled with Huntress’s ridiculous claim. And yet, as Rarity turned back to face the other mare, it didn’t look like Huntress had eaten anything else after swallowing her berry.

It didn’t matter to her stomach. The selfish organ begged and pleaded and threw tantrums with each delay Rarity made. The portion didn’t matter, the berry was food, and the stomach was empty. Even the matter of it having fallen in the dirt didn’t really mean much to her stomach, despite Rarity’s own protests. She, at the very least, had the sense to wash the Berry’s skin with some water from her canteen before putting it into her mouth.

The berry was much less juicy than Rarity had anticipated, and the innards were crunchier than expected. It was like eating a miniature apple and tasted like one too, with the sweet flavor of a honeycrisp. It only took a couple of chews before her teeth turned the berry into little more than mash, and most of it was swallowed without any exerted assistance from Rarity.

Her stomach was silenced almost immediately. The discomfort of hunger was gone, leaving Rarity with the odd sense of satisfaction, as if that single berry had been an entire fruit salad. With a muffin. And a side of soup.

The berry had also left her mouth dry and sticky. “Still need another?” Huntress asked as Rarity washed it down with some water.

“I think I’ll be fine.”

Huntress nodded and returned to the campfire, occasionally throwing in a leaf or branch or prodding at the burning remains. Rarity, meanwhile, shifted until she found a more tolerable spot on the forest floor, a difficult task even with the soft layers between her delicate body and the hard ground.

“So,” Rarity said after a couple of long, silent minutes. Huntress didn’t respond, so Rarity tried again with another, “So.”

“More questions?” Huntress said with a sigh. “What is it now?”

“Nothing really. I just thought, now that we have a moment to relax, we might as well get to know each other a little better.”

It was a completely reasonable idea, nothing wrong with a little bit of socialization after a long day, at least Rarity thought so until she saw the look Huntress was giving her. “What?”

“You know, talking. Having a conversation. That sort of thing. I mean, you already know my story. Well, as much as I know of it in any case,” Rarity amended with a dismissive wave. “But I don’t know anything about you, and if we’re to be traveling with each other, I’d like that to change.”

Huntress frowned. “Elder Woods told you that I would be a good guide. What else would you need to know?”

“Well, it’s not that I’d need to know per se,” Rarity said, doing her best not to appear discouraged, “just that it would be nice to know a little more about you. Like, for example, how did you become such a good guide? Did Elder Woods teach you all those survival skills?”

“My mother.”

“Ah.” Rarity waited for an elaboration that never came. “Well, she must have—“

“My late mother.”

“Oh,” was all Rarity could think of saying as she mentally kicked herself.

“Hm.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring up anything difficult.” Rarity hesitated, mulling over her choice of words. Comforting had always been more of Pinkie Pie and Fluttershy’s speciality, their innate talents and nature making them better suited for sympathetic gestures, but Huntress didn’t seem the type to accept hugs easily nor did she seem very interested in sharing her feelings.

“It’s fine. That was some time ago.” There was a small, sad smirk, almost wistful, on Huntress’s face that quickly faded. “We should be reaching the main road tomorrow, and we’ll be parting ways then, so there’s no need to, um, get to know each other.”

She opened up her sleeping bag and slipped inside. “It’s getting late,” she said, turning her back to Rarity. “Get some sleep.”

With nothing else to do, their sad little conversation having gone nowhere, Rarity followed suit. She huddled under the provided coverings and closed her eyes, enjoying the warmth of their tiny campfire before eventually falling asleep.

9. Nothing Happens in Elmwood

9. Nothing Happens in Elmwood

The impossible had occurred.

Despite having spent the night completely exposed to the elements, on a hard surface without the proper coverings, without performing her nightly rituals, Rarity had gotten a complete night’s worth of rest. Her body was a little sore from having slept on the uncomfortable forest floor, sure, but besides that, her body was refreshed and her mind was ready for anything the day had in store. There had been no dreams, no visions, no haunting questions, just a long peaceful slumber that was only now being interrupted by her own bodily needs.

Reluctantly, Rarity forced her eyes open and after blinking and adjusting her eyes to the light streaming through the branches of the trees, she crawled out of her sleeping bag as carefully as possible. Either she hadn’t been as quiet as she thought she had been or Huntress was a very light sleeper, because Rarity only gotten about halfway out before she was startled by Huntress suddenly sitting up.

The mare squinted through the light as she turned to face Rarity with a questioning look. Her hoof, Rarity noticed, was already around her bow, the string in between her teeth with the arrow already nocked from the previous night. Her ears twitched in the morning breeze, moving in every direction. Slowly, having heard nothing unusual, she relaxed and released the bowstring as she turned to Rarity. “What?” she muttered sleepily.

“Nothing,” Rarity said. She finished removing herself from the sleeping bag. “I just need to powder my nose.”

“Powder your, what?”

“Er, use the little filly’s room.”

This time, Huntress responded with a blank look.

“Do my, ahem, business.” Rarity started to blush. She was running low on polite euphemisms. Hopeful, she’d make her point before having to resort to the Applejack sanctioned ones. “Freshen up?Relieve myself?”

“Hm.” Huntress yawned and lied back down. “Don’t go too far,” she said before turning over.

Rarity got up onto her hooves and after taking a quick moment to brush off some grass, looked around. All that remained of their campfire were ashes, its smoke long since dispersed. With the trees in the way, it was difficult to determine what time it was, and the best she could tell, based on how chilly it was, was that it was early morning. She could probably make a more accurate estimate of the time if she left the forest for a better view of the sky and sun, but that would mean stepping out into the open field, and having to use the toilet in the middle of the forest where her only source of cover and privacy were the trees was bad enough.

It was, without a doubt, the utterly worst part of any camping trip, and no matter how many times she went through the process, Rarity always dreaded having to use nature’s restroom. After putting on her saddlebags and locating the pocket with the rudimentary toiletries, she made some distance from the campsite, far enough to prevent anypony else from hearing her, and went behind the thickest tree she could find.

Once finished and cleaned up, Rarity stepped out and found herself before a light green stallion. The stallion’s mouth opened and closed, but no coherent words came out. Rarity’s cheeks burned, and the stranger took a step back as if repelled by the intensity of Rarity’s glare. “You...”

“Please don’t scream,” the stallion whimpered, throwing up his hooves. “I-I didn’t see nothing, I swear it on my mother’s grave. I-I was just looking for, uh, for help. Please, I don’t want any trouble, miss. I didn’t see nothing. Don’t hurt me, please.”

All that pathetic cowering and crying sapped away much of Rarity’s rage. The stallion before her was young, barely out of colthood, and Rarity noted that his legs were covered in bruises. One of his eyes were black and swollen shut, and the brown tunic he was wearing was torn and falling to pieces. It was hard to stay mad at such a pitiful sight, despite the severity of his potential perverse crime. Rarity let out the rest of her anger with a sigh.

“Well, as long as you saw nothing, and swear that you will never speak of this again—“

“I swear! I swear, I was never here. Never seen you in my life. Nope, there was nothing to see.”

“Er, right,” Rarity said, a little taken back by the young stallion’s eagerness. “Well then, that’s settled. Oh!” She dug through her pack and pulled out the healer’s kit. “What happened to you? Those bruises look awful.”

“Oh, what? These?” The stallion chuckled nervously and took a step back as Rarity approached. “It’s nothing. Just, y’know, uh, tripped. Yeah, on a root.”

“Hold still please,” Rarity instructed as she took out a bottle of salve from the kit. “Let’s get those treated before they get any worse.” Rarity held out her hoof, and after some hesitation, the stallion extended his own, giving her access to the wounds. He winced as she rubbed the cold salve over the black and blue spots. “How’s that?”

The stallion stretched out his limbs. “Better, much better. Can’t thank you enough, miss.”

“There’s not much I can do about your eye, I’m afraid,” Rarity said, looking over the inflicted area with a grimace. “I wouldn’t want to risk causing more damage. You should see an actual doctor about that.”

“Right, right. Sure, but I’ve got to, got to, oh heck.” He ran his hooves through his already messy blue mane and gnashed his teeth, forcing a cautious Rarity back.

“Are you alright? Sir?”

“Oh heck, oh heck. Okay, um, alright.” The stallion took a deep breath. “Miss? I need your help, and I need it bad. My group, they’re in a heap of trouble. Trapped under a log, see? I barely escaped and came here looking for somepony, anypony. I just need another pony to help me lift the log off them. Please.”

“P-p-please stop s-shaking me.”

“O-oh! Sorry, miss.” The stallion immediately let go of her shoulders.

Rarity brushed the dirt off her shoulders. “Right, your friends. Let me just go get my, hm, traveling partner and—“

“No time. I don’t know if they can breath under there,” the stallion said, hopping side to side in panic. “It’s not a big log, it just needs two ponies to move. Please, we have to leave now.”

“Well, if it won’t take long—“

“It won’t. I swear it.”

“Very well, then.” Rarity returned the healer’s kit to its pocket. “Lead on.”

“Oh, thank you. Thank you, thank you. Please, this way, right this way, miss,” the stallion exclaimed as he broke into a run. Rarity followed after the light green and brown figure ahead of her. They dashed past rows of trees, through piles of dead leaves, deeper and deeper into the forest. The trees gradually became taller and thicker and the canopy above denser.

“Over here, miss!” the stallion would call out every now and again as they ran. “We’re almost there!”

As Rarity started to question what the young stallion considered to be “almost,” a clearing came into view. “Right there!” he yelled, disturbing a couple of birds in the branches above that squawked angrily in response. “We’re coming, guys! We’re almost here!”

Neither of them saw the hoof that smashed itself into the stallion’s face extend from behind a tree. With a gasp, Rarity rushed forward toward the fallen pony, and found herself face to face with a much larger stallion standing over the one she befriended.

“What’re you doing here?” the larger one growled at the smaller one. Scars ran right across his face, from forehead to chin, and part of his lower lip was gone. Chunks of fur were missing from his coat, leaving several bald patches. His mane and tail were both cut short and messily, as if dressed by the massive axe, appropriate for the stallion’s size, leaned against his broad shoulder. “Thought we told you what would happen if you came back empty-hooved.”

“B-but I didn’t come back empty-hooved.” The young stallion pointed a shaky hoof at Rarity.

The larger stallion looked up and blinked. “Well, how about that.” The sneer he put on sickened her. “What do we have here? That’s quite a find.”

“Then, then I did good? I did good, right?”

“Well, Runt, we’ll have to talk to the boss first. But yeah.” The young stallion winced as the other slammed a hoof into his back. “I reckon you did good. Didn’t think you had it in you. Now.” He turned to Rarity. “Why don’t you step a closer here, miss? I want a better look at you.”

Rarity slowly inched back. Something flew past her head and struck a tree behind her, showering her with bark. She turned and found an axe, smaller than the one over the large stallion’s shoulders, buried into the trunk.

The large stallion sighed. “And bring that back with you, will you?”

Another throwing axe was in his hoof. The message was clear, and after some struggling, Rarity managed to retrieve the thrown axe from the tree and slowly dragged it back to its owner. With a grin that revealed several gaps in his teeth, he put the smaller axes away and stabbed the handle of his main one into the dirt.

“The boss is going to want to see the both of you. Better hope he’s gotten enough beauty sleep, otherwise there’s going to be another beating.” The younger stallion shook at the larger’s guffaws and tried to join in nervously. He ended those weak attempts when he saw Rarity looking at him and quickly turned away. “Come on then.” The larger stallion pointed toward the clearing’s center. “Ladies first.”

The mighty axe did nothing to quell the indignant harrumph Rarity made as she passed by. The brute was dangerous, sure, but she had experience in handling brutes and was confident that, given a little time, she would be able to deal with him. No, a lack of manners and some testosterone poisoning were manageable, it was the younger pony Rarity was having trouble with. It wasn’t the first time somepony repaid her generosity with heartbreak, but it never stung any less.

“Why did you lie to me?”

The stallion kept his gaze pointed straight ahead to avoid meeting Rarity’s. They continued in silence and soon reached a ring of tents. A The larger stallion stepped forward and yelled out. The tents stirred, and after a couple of moments, more gruff and dirty ponies appeared, groggily stepping out of their makeshift shelters with groans and swears.

“Oi, the heck is it?” somepony said. “Ain’t my shift, so why are you bothering me?” Others grumbled in agreement.

“Thought the whole gang might want to see this,” said the stallion with the axe. He looked around the camp and over the crowd. “Where’s the boss?”

“Right here, wondering where to stab you.” The crowd parted, revealing a stallion wearing a wrinkled dress jacket that was obviously just thrown on without any care. It may have been a regal purple once upon a time, but after what Rarity estimated to be years of neglect and rough living, much of the color had faded. A stained dress shirt with a ruffled collar could be seen under the jacket, through a section of the jacket that was clearly missing a button. A horn stuck out from beneath the dusty tricorn he wore, and over one eye was a black eyepatch. A messy bush of a beard covered a significant portion of his face. “I’d be open to suggestions if I weren’t so sodding tired, so you’ve got ten seconds to explain, Axe-for-Brains, why you’ve abandoned your post and interrupted my beauty sleep before I just go for your eyes.”

“Well, boss, guess who came crawling back?” Axe-for-Brains, if that was his real name, shoved the younger stallion forward who stumbled and fell flat on his face, drawing laughs from the gathered audience. “And look here, he’s brought us a little gift.”

Rarity’s knees buckled at the sudden weight as the large stallion clapped a large foreleg around her shoulders. “Excuse me?” she exclaimed, ducking away from his grasp. “I don’t believe I gave you permission to touch me. Let’s not get too familiar.”

“Oh ho,” somepony chortled. “This one’s a feisty little thing.”

“Hey, might be nice to finally have something with a little bit of life in them, eh?” yelled out another. The whole congregation laughed.

Rarity gave her most disapproving frown, but the crowd of ruffians was not deterred. She turned to the gang’s apparent boss who was looking over her with a smirk barely visible under that beard he was stroking as he completed his examination.

“Is this how you run things?” she asked him. “Just letting your subordinates say and do as they like? Because, if I have to be honest, this is seriously coloring my opinion of you and your leadership.”

The dandy’s one good eye blinked. In a short split second, his grin became a frown only to be restored with new humor. The transition did not go unnoticed however, and Rarity, knowing that her statement had gotten under the skin of the gang leader, had to resist the urge to smile back.

“Ah, how right you are, my lady,” he said, removing his hat and sweeping into a boisterous, exaggerated bow. “Pardon my boys. They’re of common birth, and not exactly used to being before a lady such as yourself. Though,” the dressed up stallion added with a chuckle, “you can’t blame them and their ignorance entirely. After all, how were we to know that mare of beauty and refinement had honored us with her presence when she has hidden her grace under such rags?”

There were some snickers as the gang’s leader gestured to Rarity and her drab traveler’s cloak. Rarity sniffed and lifted her nose, tossing back her mane. “Perhaps not the most fashionable, I’ll admit, but it is certainly a great deal more practical for the wilderness than their mother’s finery.”

She made her own motion toward the stallion’s attire. Again, his smile wavered, but it quickly recovered and grew into a sneer. “Well, one must always strive to look their best, least they find themselves underdressed before their betters.”

“And yet, here you stand, as you are.”

The fop of a stallion hesitated. “Er, yes. Right. Well.” He cleared his throat and tugged at the ruffles of his collar. “Yes, well, please allow me the privilege of showing you the hospitality worthy a mare such as you. Lads, show our new friend to the guest suite.”

The gang mimic its leader and stepped to the side, creating a path that led to a large wooden cage on top of a wagon. There were other occupants, three by Rarity’s count, all huddled in the farthest corner.

“I’m afraid I must decline,” Rarity said, taking a step back. “My traveling companion, or rather, companions, must be waking up, and I’d hate to keep them waiting and worrying. Perhaps another—“

A large body blocked her path. Others pressed against her sides. Rarity took note of the sudden glister of blades that were suddenly exposed. The gang’s leader himself, with his hat back on, was brandishing a thin rapier in one hoof and holding up a dagger in the air with his magic.

“Oh but we insist. And you’ll be leaving those saddlebags of yours with us. I believe it is customary for guests to bring gifts, is it not?” His face suddenly twisted into snarl, throwing away all sense of affability. “I’m not asking a second time. Give up the bags and get in the cage, before I have to carve up that pretty face.”

Outnumbered and, in the physical and martial sense, outmatched and without any avenue of escape, Rarity surrendered her saddlebags to the closest thug and allowed herself to be led to the cage. The other prisoners pressed themselves against the opposite bars as the sneering bandits unlocked the cage’s gate and shoved Rarity in.

“Honesty, there’s no need for roughness,” Rarity said with a humph as the opening was closed and secured. The ruffians merely laughed before returning to their places in the crowd.

“Now,” their leader was saying, his features returning to their earlier smug state as he approached the cage. One of the other prisoners whimpered as they tried to keep as much distance between them and the bandits as the cage allowed. All Rarity could do was maintain eye contact while the foppish stallion came forward, presenting the confiscated bags like a trophy. “Why don’t we see what—“

“Uh, boss?”

The gang boss sighed and turned to face the young stallion who had gotten Rarity into this whole mess. Slowly, nervously, the youngster approached, rubbing his hooves together. “Just wondering, you know, cause I, um, got her here—“

“Spit it out, Runt.”

‘Runt’ flinched. “I just figured, I’d get first dibs. I mean, I did good, right? I should be getting—“

He flinched again as his superior wandered over to his side and wrapped a foreleg over his shoulders. The leader of the gang gave the shaking stallion a small smile, and he tried to return it.

“You know what? You make a good point there, lad,” the gang boss conceded. “To tell you the truth, when we sent you out, nopony here believed you’d be able to find anything. Heck, I was hoping you’d bump into something real nasty and save me the trouble of having to do away with you myself. Nothing personal, you have to understand, it’s just easier to split the loot with an even number, not mention not having to deal with an extra mouth to feed.

“And yet here we are,” he continued, waving wildly. “You, lad, have proven yourself. I don’t know how you did it, but you’ve made each and every one of us here very proud. This band is fortunate to call you a brother.”

“T-thank you sir.“ The stallion raised a hoof to his head in salute. “I’ll keep doing my best, sir. And, and I’ll do even better. You’ll see, just you wait. I’ll make you proud.”

“But!” the leader exclaimed, looking over the audience as he pulled the young stallion closer. “You have to remember, lad, that this is a team, and do you really think this team has a place for a selfish pony who’ll rudely wake everypony up to brag about their littlest accomplishment and then put his material gain before those of his brothers?”

“Sir?” The younger stallion stared at his elder in confusion. He tried to wiggle out of the gang leader’s grasp, but he was held in place. “I-I don’t understand. What are you—“

There was another sigh from the bandit boss as he pulled the young stallion into the still-levitating dagger. The waiting blade dug deep into the poor pony’s chest, and before he could react or even cry out, the young stallion was yanked off the weapon, only to be shoved right back into the cold, sharp steel. Some in the crowd chuckled and cheered as the motion was repeated over and over until the stallion ceased struggling and became limp.

Rarity’s eyes grew wide with horror, and she found herself pushing against the cage’s bars. “What are you doing?” she cried out. It didn’t even occur to her that it was her betrayer getting what some might consider his just desserts, and she felt no twisted sense of justice at the sight of his pain. “You, you murderer! Stop this!”

The dressed up stallion’s breathing was heavy when he finally cleaned the dagger against the ragged pieces of his victim’s tunic and unceremoniously tossed the body onto the forest floor. “Just doing a bit of downsizing. Fewer ponies, larger portions.” He yawned and tucked the dagger into the jacket. “So, anything good in there?”

“Just a bit of copper with a couple of silvers, boss,” called out the bandit bent over Rarity’s saddlebags and helping himself to its contents under the watchful eyes of his peers.

“That’s it?” The gang’s leader scowled and turned to Rarity. “So, you’re just a little peasant mare putting on airs. Well, don’t you worry, I’m sure we’ll find a generous price for your pretty head. Now if you’ll excuse me.” He grabbed at his collars and gave them a straightening tug as he turned to his band of thieves and ruffians. “I’ll be in my quarters, getting the last winks I need.” He pointed to the young stallion he had just killed. “Next pony who wakes me up gets some of the same, got it? Axe-for-Brains! Clean this up, then get back to your post. The next time you leave your position without my say-so will be your last. Well, the heck are you waiting for?”

The brute with the axe stirred. “Sorry boss. It’s just, doesn’t she looks kind of familiar?” He pointed toward Rarity who quickly stepped back from the wooden bars. A princess was a public figure, and if farmers of a small village could recognize her as Princess Shmarity simply on the account of her appearance, it was certainly possible that uncouth bandits such as these could too, and Rarity sincerely doubted she’d be treated anywhere near as well by this bunch if her supposed identity was revealed.

“Familiar?” the leader was saying. “What do you mean?”

Rarity held her breath as the large stallion looked over her, tilting his head to this side and that as he deliberated with himself. She turned her head and puffed her cheeks, doing what she could to mess with her features and the brute’s perception of them. The large stallion scratched one of his many bald spots and shrugged.

“Can’t put my hoof on it,” he said. “I just got this feeling that I’ve seen her before.”

“Well, if you figure it out, come wake me up so I can cut you open for wasting my time,” the gang’s leader grumbled. “Now get to work, all of you!”

The crowd began to disperse. Most of the group separated and went back into their tents. Soon, only the brute with axe, a scrawny stallion with lanky legs standing guard at the cage, and the body of the pony who had tricked her remained. As much as she wanted to, Rarity could not look away when the large stallion heaved the hole-riddled corpse onto his back, treating the body that once carried the life of a fellow pony with as much respect as one would toward a moldy sack of rotten potatoes.

Now, Rarity could never describe herself as an expert on such morbid subjects, she couldn’t recall the last time she was in proximity of a fatal stabbing, but as she watched the body be carried away, she couldn’t help but wonder about how clean it all was. She had always assumed that getting stabbed would be a messy affair, and yet the ground where the body had landed was devoid of blood or gore. The marks that the dagger had left were also oddly clean. There was no leaking from the gashes that seemed to lead to a mysterious dark void rather than open to the body’s inner workings. The young stallion’s eyes were shut, despite Rarity not having seen anypony bother to do so, and bold black Xs had appeared over the closed lids.

It was a strange curiosity that would have to wait. Sniffling from behind interrupted Rarity’s thoughts, and she turned to her fellow prisoners. One was an earth pony mare around her age, holding the other, a young filly and also an earth pony, close to her chest as the filly shook and cried. The two flinched and backed away as Rarity began to approached, and she quickly held up her hooves to show she meant no harm.

“Don’t worry. I don’t want to hurt you,” she assured softly. She smiled as the filly peeked past the mare’s arms. “Are you alright?”

“No worse for wear, I suppose,” the mare said, her voice scratchy and coming out barely louder than a whisper. “I just wish my sister didn’t have to witness that. She’s already been through enough.”

Something coughed and wheezed, drawing everypony’s attention to the last prisoner huddled up into a ball. “Our father’s the only one here really hurt,” the mare explained, nodding to the shivering pony in the corner. “He tried fighting back when they captured us.”

“That’s horrible.” Rarity made her way to the sole stallion in the cage and winced at the sight of him. Every part of him was swollen like an inflated balloon with unflattering shades of blue and black consuming much of his coat’s light yellow color which he shared with the filly. Every labored breath came out like a forceful, pained cough that cause his entire body to shake, the only sign the body showed of life. It didn’t matter how altruistic her attentions were, Rarity knew there was nothing she could do for the injured stallion, not without a first-aid kit and even with one Rarity wasn’t sure just how much she’d be able to accomplish.

“Don’t be silly. You know it can’t be her,” Rarity heard the mare say. “My sister thinks you’re Princess Shmarity, here to save us,” the elder sibling explained with a small apologetic smile when Rarity turned around. “She has a bit of an imagination.”

“Ah.” Rarity smiled back. “Well, she’s not the first pony to make that mistake. Apparently, I look a great deal like the princess.”

“Hm, yes.” The mare tapped her chin thoughtfully. “I suppose I can see the resemblance. So, how did you end up here?”

“Well—“

There was another fit of coughs, interrupting them and stealing their attention. The stallion raised a shaking hoof and beckoned. Rarity and the mare shared a look before they and the filly approached. An eye was cracked open, barely visible past its puffed lid, and his split lips parted and struggled to move as he forced out grunts.

“W-water,” he finally managed to croak out. The stallion pointed at his throat. “Need. So thirsty.”

The mare just shook her head. “We haven’t been given anything to eat or drink since they’ve caught us,” she said. “I don’t suppose you have a flask of something on you?”

“I’m afraid not.” Rarity stood back up and marched back to the side of the cage closet to the bandit camp. “What kind of treatment is this? Excuse me. Ahem, excuse me!”

“Huh, what?” The scrawny guard leaning against the bars looked up. He looked around and, with a look of bewilderment, slowly raised a hoof at himself.

“Yes, you. Obviously.” Rarity made a show of rolling her eyes. “Now, we’d like some water and some food. It is a little early for breakfast, I know, but I’m confident you can find us at least a little bit of bread.”

“Wait, are you—“

“But more importantly is the water,” Rarity continued. “Sparkling would, of course, be most ideal, though I suppose, given the limitations of our location, we would be willing to settle for less. As long as it is properly chilled, of course, and with a few lemon slices and maybe some sugar for the filly. Well, get on with it. We’ve waited long enough.”

“Uh, no.” The guard folded his forelegs across his front and scowled. “I don’t know what you’re trying to pull, but you’re our prisoners, and—“

“And does that leader of yours know that this is how you treat your captives?” demanded Rarity, frowning. “Honestly, how is he going to get anything out of us when we’re completely starved and dehydrated? Do you really think he left you here just to watch us and our value whither away?”

The guard scratched the back of his head. He had lost that confident scowl. “I mean, I guess, er—“

“Water, NOOOW!”

Every ear in the vicinity flattened as Rarity stretched out the final syllable for a few good long seconds in a tone and pitch practiced and perfected in the breaking down of nerves and patience. The wood bars provided the guard no protection from Rarity’s sonorous assault, and his dramatic attempts to rip away his ears in an effort to deafen himself proved futile and only left his ears red, stretched, and sore. “Alright,” he finally cried. “Just, shut up, already.”

“Excuse me?”

“Shut up, please,” the stallion amended. “Look, I’ll get you your water. Just keep it down, will you? No need to wake the entire camp.”

The scrawny guard grumbled to himself as he walked away. Rarity allowed a victorious smile to cross her features before turning to her fellow prisoners. Both the mare and and filly were staring at her in a mix of awe and disbelief.

“How did you, he, how?” the mare was whispering. She shook her head. “You’re a braver pony than me, miss. Thank you.”

“Oh, it was nothing really,” Rarity said, waving away the compliments. “I just happen to know a few tricks when dealing with such individuals. Now, let’s see what we have here.” She made her way to the back of their cage. The whole thing, Rarity quickly realized as she turned her intuitive eye on the structure, was crudely made. The bars that ran vertically and impeded any passage were all slightly varied in length and thickness. Whoever made this cage was either extremely stringy or simply didn’t care about the final product as there weren’t any nails or metal bindings to hold anything together. Instead, each bar was secured and held in place by a piece of rope tied around it and the wood beam it ran across.

Rarity gave the bars a solid push, but they refused to budge. Primitive as method might have been, it worked and kept the bars from moving. Of course, that meant if the bindings were to be removed, those bars would easily slip out of position and even fall, and it would only take couple of missing bars before there was a large enough space for, say, a pony or three to squeeze through.

And tied rope was much less of a hindrance than hammered nails would have been. All in all, this may have been the most escapable situation Rarity had ever found herself in.

10. The Battle of Elmwood

10. The Battle of Elmwood

Hoofsteps from behind called for her attention. Rarity turned and walked back to the front of the cage just as their guard tossed a canteen inside. “There,” he growled before slumping down against the cage. “Now quit your whining.”

The mare reached the water first, but Rarity gestured for her to wait. With a look of uncertainty, the mare gave the canteen to Rarity who seemed to struggle loudly with the cap. “Well?” she demanded.

The guard groaned and glanced up. “Well what?” He let out another groan when Rarity held out the canteen. Muttering curses under his breath, he loosened the cap and all but threw the container at her.

“Thank you,” Rarity said, ignoring the violent act. She brought the water up to her snout and wrinkled her nose. “Where’s the lemon?”

The guard made a sound that was something along the lines of an anguished sob and a reactionary howl of pain. His entire face was elongated as he crushed his head with his hooves, and those yellowed teeth of his were bared as he gnashed at the air.

With a prolonged sigh, Rarity gave the canteen over to the mare next to her and nodded. The mare took the water to the shaking stallion in the corner and held it to his lips as Rarity turned to their beleaguered sentry. “Well, I suppose that will have to do. I have to say, however, this has all been very disappointing.”

“Disappointing?” The stallion scoffed and turned away. “I’ll show you disappointing. Darn lousy, good for nothing, no breaks, in the cold,” he muttered, more to himself than to anypony directly. Again, his forelegs were crossed and pressed against his chest as he started to pout. “Standing here all night, lousy scheduling, only four hours my ass.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“What now?” the guard demanded, pressing his forehead into the center of his hoof.

“Well, putting aside your use of racially charged vulgarity in front of an impressionable child,” Rarity began, “I couldn’t help but notice that you do seem awfully tired. Those rings around your eyes, they’re hideous. And don’t get me started on your complexion. Have you really been up all night? Because it certainly shows.”

“Maybe I have been,” the scrawny stallion grumbled. “Not like I had much of a choice. Why do you care anyways?”

“Well, it would explain your less than stellar service, and as such, I suppose I can excuse some of that. Though I must say, it is rather odd.” Rarity hummed as she propped a hoof under her chin. “From what I’ve seen, your organization doesn’t appear to be suffering from a lack in horsepower. There were quite a number of you earlier. Couldn’t one of your comrades have acted as our guard while you took a break?”

Their guard snorted. “Yeah, so you’d think. So I’d think too, cause that’s what I was promised. Somepony was supposed to come and replace me last night, that’s what I was told, but did anypony show? No, and when I tried to complain, I got shouted at for—“ His own timely yawn interrupted him. “—leaving my post. Lousy bunch of horse apples.”

“How horrible.” Rarity shook her head. “The way you’ve been treated by your own friends is completely, utterly appalling.”

“Friends? Ha!” The stallion let out a bark of laughter. “Sure, let’s go with that.”

“Well whatever you call yourselves, this isn’t right,” Rarity said. “After everything you’ve already done for this ungrateful group, the least you deserve is some rest.”

“Oh believe you me, missy, I know that, but what can you do?” He sighed and gave a little shrug. “I’m stuck here, and there’s nopony coming to get me.”

“Then, if nopony will give you a break, I say you should seize one yourself.” Rarity clapped her front hooves together. “Yes, that’s it! Go and march into your bed and sleep those hours you’ve earn, and if anypony questions you, you let them know that you’re just taking what you were promised.”

“Heh, yeah right.” The guard rolled his eyes, but only after they had wistfully wandered toward the collection of tents. “I mean, what would the boss say if he found out?”

“That you are a stallion who knows how to take initiative and to stand up for himself and isn’t afraid to seize what he wants like a true bandit?” Rarity offered. “If I was your leader and I saw one of my subordinates taking charge like that, I’d have made them my second-in-command in a heartbeat.”

“You think so? I don’t know.”

“Look, I’ve only been aquatinted with your leader for a short while, but it’s obvious that he respects strength, and this is a perfect opportunity to show him just how strong—“ Rarity jabbed her hoof directly at the center of the thin stallion’s chest. “—you are. This is your chance to rise up in the ranks. You don’t want to be stuck with guard duty your entire plundering career, do you?”

“Well, I mean, no,” the guard said quietly, kicking at the dirt. “But I can’t just leave you all here unguarded.”

“Oh, pft.” Rarity waved dismissively. “Why not? We’re stuck in a cage, with no means out or anywhere to go. Do you honestly think anything is going to happen if you just took your eyes off of us for an hour? Think of what you have to gain. Are you really going to let this opportunity slip away just so you can keep doing a job you hate?”

“No. No, you’re right!” The guard jumped up to his hooves and stuck out his chest. “I’m going to show the boss and everypony else that I’m not going to be walked over. I’m no doormat. I’ll show them. Yeah, yeah! I’m taking my break, and I’m taking it now, and nopony, oh yeah, nopony is going to stop me!”

The little filly joined Rarity in giving their guard a small cheer as he marched off with his head held high and his lanky legs skipping every fourth or so step. When he had disappeared into one of the tents, Rarity hurried to the back of the cage and looked over the knots holding the bars together.

“What was that about?” the mare whispered. “What are you trying to do?”

“Darling, what does it look like I’m doing?” Rarity asked as she grabbed a loose end of rope with her mouth and pulled while her hooves fumbled with the knot. “Somepony please keep an eye out and let me know when another bandit walks by.”

“Wait, you’re—“

“Escaping, yes.” Rarity released the rope and glared at the binding she had been struggling with. The knot had been far more sophisticated than she had imagined, and her attempts to undo it by hoof were only making it tighter. Untying the rope with magic would have taken her mere seconds, and that’s if she handicapped herself by closing her eyes. She’d have even just settled for the horn itself as a means of filing through the rope and bypassing the knot entirely.

Well, she didn’t have her horn, but the dagger in her cloak would work just as well, if not better. Rarity carefully removed the weapon from the inner pocket and its sheath and immediately applied the blade to the bindings. A more serrated edge would have been preferable, but after a few slices, the rope came apart. The bar wobbled, and after Rarity had cut through the second knot, it dropped to the ground with a soft thud.

Rarity repeated the act until two more bars joined the first in the grass. There was now a large enough gap for a grown pony to get through without much difficulty, which after a moment of silent deliberation, Rarity concluded would suffice. “Come on then,” she whispered to her fellow captives. “Time to go.”

The filly went first, after she recognized that the distance she’d have to jump down to reach the ground wasn’t as high as it appeared. Then it was Rarity’s turn, and once she was safely out of the cage, Rarity helped the mare in moving the hurt stallion through. He had to lean against one of them for support, but at least he could stand and walk.

The mare was the last one out, and once her hooves touched the ground, they hurried off into the woods as fast as the stallion’s injuries would allow, with the role of leader thrusted upon Rarity as the others followed her. Not that she had a direction in mind. For now, they just needed to get some distance between them and the bandits, then they could figure out where to go.

It wasn’t the most thoughtful plan, Rarity had to admitted, but getting away from those murderous ruffians was her top priority, even if it meant the risk of being lost in some unfamiliar forest. Hopefully, her new companions knew their way around here better than she did.

The stallion stumbling behind suddenly started to cough and stutter. “Wait,” the mare supporting him called out. “We need a moment, please.”

Rarity turned back and frowned. The bandit camp was still in view. They didn’t have a moment to rest, not when in that single moment they could be seen and recaptured. Rarity couldn’t imagine such a display of insolence would go unpunished nor was she in any mood to find out what cruelties the bandits had in store. “We don’t have much time,” she said, her voice hushed just in case. “Anypony could walk by and notice the empty cage.”

“I’m not leaving him behind,” the mare declared as the older pony continued to wheeze. The filly seemed to bounce between her family and Rarity before rushing to her father’s side.

Rarity sighed. “Very well then.” She made her way to the family of three and offered her shoulder. “If we both support him, we might be able to carry him.”

The mare just stared, wasting precious seconds. Rarity’s patience thinned under the weight of her growing panic, and she snapped with a sharp, “Hurry!”

“R-right.” The mare moved and hobbled the coughing stallion over to Rarity. “I, this is, you’ve, thank you,” she managed to sputter as she draped one of the stallion’s forelimbs over Rarity’s shoulders.

They had only taken a couple of steps when the stallion moaned and started to thrash, forcing them to stop. He removed himself from the two mares and pushed away any attempts to get him back into position. “No, can’t go,” he mumbled. “Not yet. Need. Our wares.”

“Father, please,” the mare pleaded. “We can start over. Let’s just go.”

“No!” he screamed, brushing away the mare’s hoof. Without any additional warning, the stallion suddenly broke into a gallop, charging back toward the camp at a speed that ignored his age, his injuries, and the danger of his apparent destination.

The mare had recovered from her stunned state first, and she rushed after him, crying and pleading for him to stop. The filly, her eyes wide, had turned to her sister for instruction, and when the mare had ran off, the filly turned to Rarity.

Rarity’s own mind raced as it struggled to analyze the sudden developments. Split seconds were all she had, forcing her to decide on a split second decision. “Wait here,” she ordered the filly before running after the other two. They had a bit of a head start, but maybe, if she sprinted, if the mare caught up and slowed the stallion down, if whatever adrenaline that was driving the stallion to ignore his wounds ran out, if she could just reach him and bring him to his sense, maybe the situation could still be salvaged and they could still make their escape.

The opportunity arose when the stallion suddenly collapsed, just a few meters from the border of the camp. Any sense of relief Rarity may have felt was quickly overcome with worry for the old pony, and worry soon became despair as the foppish leader of the bandits stepped forward from behind a tree, holding a dagger. Despite everything, Rarity couldn’t help but notice how ragged and torn the stallion’s outfit had become. The coat was missing an entire sleeve, and his hat was missing, revealing a complete lack of a mane.

She forced her attention away from the bandit boss’s appearance and toward the fallen old stallion. The mare was knelt beside him, crying as she shook his body. The old stallion let out a groan as he tried to roll onto his back with his hooves clutched tightly against his chest. His breaths came out labored and pained, causing him to wince with each inhale and shudder with each exhale.

The leader of the bandits kicked the mare aside, silencing her pitiful petitions for mercy. Beneath that messy beard, his features were contorted into an enraged snarl as he glared at the old stallion laid at his hooves. He wasn’t long in this world, the old stallion. His futile attempts to keep his stab wound closed bought him a minute at most, but the bandit was in no mood to wait, not after the old fool had the audacity to survive the first strike. He lifted the dagger, ready to ensure that the second cut was a fatal one.

The dagger fell from his grasp when he suddenly found himself lifted up off the ground. Both of Rarity’s back hooves had found their way directly into the soft section beneath the bandit leader’s chin, and the momentum she had accumulated during her forward charge transferred into the blow when she turned and pivoted right into the kick. It might not have been enough to buck clean a whole tree of its fruit, but even Applejack would have been impressed by the height and distance Rarity managed to send the murderous dandy.

The glow of victory was already fading as the bandit leader was already slowly getting back up. His head shook to rid of the flashing lights in his vision, and he winced when he gave the tender area under his jaw a light touch. “You,” he hissed, turning his hateful glare toward Rarity. He picked up the dropped dagger and lunged forward.

It appeared that the leader of the bandit hadn’t completely shaken off Rarity’s kick. His swing was a clumsy attempt that Rarity easily sidestepped. What time she might bought for herself with that dodge was wasted, however, as she struggled to pull her own weapon out of her cloak. Rarity just managed to removed the blade from its sheath when the gang boss swung again.

It was near miss, but a miss nevertheless. The sight of a sharp, deadly blade flying only inches by her face ignited something innate and animalistic that had been deeply buried beneath societal norms and evolutionary developments. Her body, driven by adrenaline, panic, and instinct, reacted, and before Rarity could come up with a single thought, her hoof had already come down and plunged her dagger into the bandit’s one good eye.

He screamed and waved his weapon wildly, forcing Rarity to step back. The stallion let out another anguished howl as he yanked the blade out of his face, leaving behind a large gash. “I’ll kill you for this!” he screamed, brandishing both daggers. “Where are you?” Had Rarity’s blade gone any deeper, it may have been enough to destroy the bandit’s vision completely and permanently, but desperation could only get her so far, and his eye, red and barely visible underneath the mark Rarity had left, rolled about until it eventually found the pony who had damaged it so.

The leader of the bandits stumbled toward Rarity, slashing at air in front of him as he walked forward, cackling and screaming. He built up speed with each step he took, becoming faster and faster and drawing closer even as Rarity moved back. It was too late to try and flee. Sooner rather than later, that whirlwind of blades would be upon her.

Rarity tensed up, readying herself for the approaching assault. She had no weapons, and she didn’t think she’d get another opportunity to kick him like she had done earlier. At this point, her only defensive options were to dodge and to continue dodging. Hopefully, with that wound and the shouting and all of those erratic and wild motions he kept making, the bandit would soon tire out. Until then, all she had to do was avoid getting stabbed.

She had been successful in that regard her entire life up to now, Rarity could only hope her luck held. Her knees bent preemptively, preparing her to duck and tumble away at any second. The screaming grew louder, and she could hear the daggers whistle through the air. She forced her eyes open, ignoring all urges to blink or look away as the distance between them shrunk.

“I’ll kill you! I see you, and I’m going to kill you!”

Not yet.

She needed to focus. Her timing had to be immaculate.

“I’m going to kill you so dead! You hear me? Dead!”

Not yet.

There was no room for error. One miscalculation might be all it took to end everything.

“So dead! You are so dead! I’m going to kill you, you stupid b—“

The bandit stopped walking. The daggers fell to the ground. His body soon followed, crashing down with an audible thud, and buried deep in the back of his head, sticking out and up toward the forest canopy, was the shaft of an arrow.

“I told you not to go too far.”

And standing right across with the tip of her bow planted in the grass was Huntress, wearing an all too familiar scowl.

“Huntress! Thank goodness.” Rarity’s legs turned to jelly with relief, and she dropped to her knees. “How did you find me? No, that can wait.” She pointed to her fellow former prisoners. The mare was at her father’s side, helping him press against his wound as she wept. The old stallion was shaking, and he was still gasping painfully for air, but at least there were signs of life. “He’s badly injured,” Rarity explained. “I don’t know if, can you, is there anything you can do?”

Huntress slowly, perhaps even reluctantly, turned away from Rarity and looked instead to the ponies Rarity had directed her towards. She swung her bow over her back and started toward them. “Move over,” she ordered, giving the mare a shove to the side.

“It’s alright,” Rarity assured. She had managed to return feeling to her legs and quickly went over to help the mare. “Don’t worry, she’s a, well, she’s with me in any case. She can be a little abrasive, yes,” Rarity added with a frown in Huntress’s direction, “but she means well. Your father is in good hooves, that I’m sure.”

“Then, he’ll be alright? And, and my sister!” The mare paled. “Where’s Minutiae? Is my sister’s safe?”

“Y-yes, she’s s-safe,” Rarity stammered out as she got the mare to stop shaking her and let go of her shoulders. “I told her to stay put when we went after your father. She should still be over there.”

The mare followed Rarity’s hoof toward the direction they had been trying to escape toward. “Alright then,” she said with a relieved sigh. “If my father is being taken care of, we should go—“

“Hey!” Huntress suddenly called. Cradled in her forelegs was the old stallion’s head. and neck. Much of the color in his face had faded, and each breath he forced in sent a violent shudder through his entire body. “I need one of you to hold up his head for me. And hurry, he doesn’t have much time.”

“But, Minutiae,” muttered the mare, biting her lip. “I-I can’t just—“

“I’ll stay and help here,” Rarity offered. “You go find your sister. She’ll be more receptive to you than me. We’ll take care of your father. He will be fine, I promise.”

“It doesn’t matter who stays to help, just get over here!” Huntress shouted.

Rarity and the mare shared a look. Then with a nod, the mare took off, shouting out the filly’s name as she approached the area they had left her. Rarity rushed over to Huntress and knelt beside her. “What do you need me to do?”

“Here, hold him,” her guide instructed, thrusting the stallion’s head into Rarity grasp. “Now get his mouth opened.”

“His, mouth?”

“Yes, his mouth,” Huntress snapped as she tore through her saddlebags. “Ah, here we go.” From the bags she pulled out something plump, round, and red. It was a berry, the same berry from last night Rarity realized. “Well? What are you waiting for? Open his mouth already!”

Rarity, spurred by Huntress’s exclamation, obeyed and forced the injured pony’s jaw down. “More,” Huntress commanded. The gap between his lips widened as Rarity reluctantly pulled the upper section of the stallion’s head back. “Alright, that’ll have to do.” Huntress shoved the berry into the stallion’s open mouth, pushing it in as far as possible.

“Hold him still,” Huntress ordered loudly over the stallion’s thrashing. She held down his hind legs Rarity secured the front ones while keeping his head in position.

“Is, is this really helping?”

“Just get him to swallow the berry. Rub his throat. Yes, like that.” A sizable bulge could be seen traveling down the length of the stallion’s neck. “There we go.”

Huntress suddenly released the stallion, and to Rarity’s surprise, his kicking had ceased. He had gone still in her grasp, and when she cautiously released him as well, he made no additional pained and violent motions. His breathing, while still labored, no longer sounded forced and painful, and slowly but surely it was falling into a stable rhythm.

“He’ll be fine now,” Huntress said. She straightened her pack and turned to Rarity. “So, what happened? And don’t tell me you wandered all the way here just to piss.”

“N-no, of course not,” Rarity replied, turning red at Huntress’s vulgarity. “I was brought here by one of his subordinates.” She gestured to the lifeless body of the bandit boss. “How did you end up finding me? When did you know I was missing?” asked Rarity.

“I figured something was wrong when something, I thought it was you, might have been your ponynapper, tripped my alarm. As for finding your trail, that wasn’t much of a—“

“Papa!”

The two mares looked toward the cry to find the filly running right at them, with the elder sister right behind her. Before anypony could stop her, the little filly dove into the stallion and threw her forelegs around him. His eyes flew wide open, the eyeballs themselves almost protruding past their lids, as he let out a cross between a grunt and a groan along with a bit of spittle.

“Minutiae?” the old stallion sputtered. He struggled to sit up and look around, grimacing at the effort. He turned to his oldest daughter who had just arrive. “Pendula? Then, I’m..He patted his recently bandaged chest and winced. “I’m alive. And, everypony is alright? What about the bandits? Are we safe?”

“Well.” Rarity turned to the leader of the gang that had imprisoned them, and everypony else followed her gaze. “I don’t believe we’ll need to worry about him bothering us at least, but we do still have that entire camp of thieving, murdering scoundrels close by. We should probably leave before they come looking for their leader.”

“No need to rush,” Huntress interjected. She made her way over to the bandit’s body and yanked the arrow out of the back of his head. “They’ve been dealt with, more or less.” She wiped the arrowhead against the once fancy dress coat, and after confirming its sharpness, she placed it in the empty quiver attached to her side. “You’re welcome to whatever you can find in the camp, as long as you leave me the arrows.”

“Then, while you were there, did you happen across any sealed crates?” the old stallion inquired. “Anything that might have looked like it was holding valuable merchandise? Please, tell me those were intact.”

“Don’t know.” Huntress flipped over the body of the bandit boss onto his back and started rifling through the pockets and the folds of his coat and shirt. “Wasn’t paying attention to anything like that.”

“Right, of course.” The stallion sighed. “I suppose I’ll have to see for myself.”

“Father, wait,” the mare called after the old stallion hurrying back toward the camp they had just been prisoners of. “Please, I think we should stick together. What if there are more of them?” She turned to Rarity and Huntress.

“The camp is clear,” Huntress said without giving so much as a glance from her pilfering. “Some managed to get away, but I doubt they’ll be back any time soon.”

“I’ll go with you, if it’ll put you at ease,” Rarity offered the mare before turning to Huntress and the corpse she was rummaging with an eyebrow raised and a small, disgusted frown. “Huntress, you seem to have a handle with the—“

Looting. Plundering. Despoiling of the still warm cadaver that had once been a fellow pony with his own hopes and dreams, never to be fulfilled.

“—appropriation of whatever is on his person. I don’t suppose you’ll be needing my help here?”

“Just don’t wander off again,” Huntress said. “Oh, and here.” She held out the dagger the bandit had borrowed from Rarity toward her. “Just in case. You know where the sheath is?”

“I, um.” Rarity pressed at the folds of her cloak, feeling for the dagger’s scabbard. “I must have dropped it somewhere around here.”

Huntress sighed. “Alright, I’ll look around. Just, try not to hurt yourself.”

“I’ll be careful,” Rarity said as she firmly took hold of the dagger’s hilt. She could’ve done without Huntress’s condescending tone, but she recognized the legitimacy of her guide’s concern, and as she and the two sisters followed in the old stallion’s path toward the bandit camp, Rarity made sure to move cautiously, keeping the blade at leg length and pointed directly downward and away from anypony.

Despite the slow pace Rarity forced them to follow, they soon reached the edge of the camp. The cheeks of the mare beside her puffed out as her face turned green, and she quickly threw a hoof over her younger sister’s eyes.

“Hey!” the filly exclaimed, trying to escape the mare’s grasp. “What? What is it?”

“I—“ The mare gagged and coughed. “It’s nothing, nothing you need to see. Just, let’s go this way,” she said as she guided the filly past a trio of bodies with a large collection of arrows and, very strangely, thorns and quills sticking out of them. More bodies of bandits could be found scattered throughout the camp in similar states with their swords and spears drawn and nearby, a few still holding their weapons tightly in a death grip. Like with what had happened with the poor stallion who had brought her here in the very first place, there was a strange lack of any visceral mess anywhere, not even blood stains on their clothes, despite the bandits’ obviously violent ends, and of what Rarity could tell, all of their eyes were closed shut and mysteriously marked with dark Xs.

Out of morbid curiosity, Rarity took a quick count. She couldn’t help but be impressed at the number that served as a testament to Huntress’s martial abilities. Several questions regarding how she had acquired such a proficiency at taking lives and what she was doing in a quaint farming village arose, but Rarity shoved them all to the side. As little as she knew of Huntress, it was obvious from last night attempts at conversation that the mare preferred her privacy, and from that experience, Rarity doubted any amount of prying would yield any information.

“Your friend,” the mare whispered, breaking Rarity away from her thoughts. “Did she really do all this? By herself?”

“I, er, I suppose so. I mean, if there had been another party involved in this mess, I’d imagine they would have stuck around.”

“Is she, an adventurer?”

“An adventurer?” Rarity repeated. “Well, I’m not sure. I suppose, if you were to consider our trip an adventure, then yes. You’ll have to ask her yourself to be sure.”

“I see.” The mare seemed to have more to say, but before she could, a call rang out from one of the tents.

“Hey!” It was the raspy voice of the older stallion. “Somepony get over here and give me a hoof, yeah?”

The three headed toward where the call had come from. They pulled aside the entrance flap and, seeing that there was only the old stallion struggling with one of the many crates around, went in. The filly, having finally been released by her protective sister now that all the grisly evidence of battle was no longer visible, ran over to her father’s side to watch as he pressed his entire weight on a crowbar wedged between the lid and the rest of the box. Each box in the tent, including the one the old stallion was working on, was marked with the faded stamp of a songbird, the same symbol as the one on the stallion’s flanks Rarity noted.

The stallion stepped aside and gave his daughter room to approach. Once she was sure that her dagger was in a place that wouldn’t cause anypony harm, Rarity joined her at the crowbar. Under their combined efforts, the lid creaked open as the nails holding it down were forced out of the wood. It took some time, but the box was eventually opened, and the stallion quickly pushed his way to it, muttering to himself worriedly as he stuck his head into the crate.

“Oh, thank all that is holy,” he breathed. “At least these ones are safe. We’re not completely ruined just yet. And we owe it all to you, miss.” There was some rummaging that could be heard from within the crate. “Miss, my family and I, we owe you our futures. Without my wares, we’d have no choice but to start over as beggars or worse.”

“Is, that right?” Rarity said, looking to the stallion’s two daughters for a potential explanation. The older one only shook her head as she let out an exasperated sigh while the filly shrugged. From their apparent lack of concern, it appeared that the old stallion was speaking in hyperboles. Rarity supposed she could empathize with him, to a degree; as a business owner herself, she was aware of how one’s perceived importance of one’s own merchandise could get a little out of control, through she couldn’t say whether she’d willingly charge into a gathering of murderers and thieves just to save an order of dresses. “Well, I’m pleased I could help in any way.”

“Yes, yes, but I’d rather not start my new life in debt.” At last, the stallion removed himself from the box. “So please, I want you to have this, for everything you’ve done for us.”

He placed something heavy into Rarity’s forelegs. It took her a moment to recognize the bulky contraption for what it was largely because it was, perhaps, the last thing she had ever expected to receive.

“We risk our lives coming back here, for clocks?”

“Ah, so you know what this is,” the stallion said with a grin. “But this is not just any old timekeeper. Because, at the end of each hour, well.” He chuckled and stuck a hoof into the bottom of the device. After a bit of fiddling, it began to tick softly as the hands on the clock’s face started to move. Suddenly, a flap near the top opened, and out sprung a toy bird that chirped and whistled before retreating back inside.

Rarity slowly lowered her gift and stared at the smiling stallion. It took every bit of willpower she had to force a grin back.

11. Shepard the Weak

11. Shepard the Weak

Huntress had been reluctant in continuing their journey with the family of three, especially when seeing the large and cumbersome cart full of fragile and apparently expensive cuckoo clocks. The increase in number and the added baggage meant having to sacrifice stealth and speed, and in her view, it wasn’t worth the additional safety that the larger group would have provided. Getting these points convincingly across to Rarity, however, proved beyond the reserved mare’s communicative capabilities, and Rarity in response countered that given that the family was heading toward the old trade route just as they were, it only made sense in a matter of convenience to join up with them.

And honestly, was Huntress really going to heartlessly abandon these poor ponies, including a young foal, to whatever danger lurked within the forest?

So, rather begrudgingly, the traveling pair grew into a party of five, and Rarity, in contrast to her dour guide, was more than happy to share the road with more talkative companions. As they made their way out of the forest and continued along the outer rim of trees, with Huntress taking the lead and Rarity and the mare in the rear with the cart, Rarity learned that the family had been ambushed and captured by the bandits after getting lost in the forest while searching for a shortcut. They were originally from the town of Trotlen where Pendula, as the mare introduced herself, her sister Minutiae, and their father Clockworks ran an old antique store specializing in the repair and restoration of timepieces. While most of their neighbors had long since fled the town due to its relatively short distance to the capital and the royal palace—

“I’m sorry, you’re saying ponies were leaving because Trotlen was so close to the capital city?” Rarity interjected. “I’d have imagined such proximity would have been a reason to move to the town, not a deterrent.”

Pendula gave Rarity a funny look as her father let out a humorless bark of a laugh. “Oh, once upon a time, sure,” he said. “Trotlen was the envy of all of Spiketopia. Then, you know who came along and, well, everypony knows what happened to the capital soon after. Anypony who needs a remind just needs to look up at the giant fortress where the palace used to be.”

“Oh. Yes, I suppose that would explain things,” said Rarity. “I had, er, hadn’t made the connection. Silly me.”

“Well, it’s been a long day,” Pendula said with an understanding nod. “Anyways, Father was against leaving the shop.”

“Hmph. That store has been in our family for four, no, five nonconsecutive generations. After everything my father had to do to get it back from those no good conniving—“

Pendula continued on, explaining that they finally abandoned their home some weeks ago when a rumor spread among the few remaining inhabitants that the heroes would soon be arriving. The sudden replacement of their sister town of Lentrotster with a massive crater and news from scouts of movement by the new regime’s forces lent credence to such rumors. Nopony wanted to be caught in the crossfire of the inevitable epic battle, so those still in Trotlen packed what they could and made their escape, scattering to the winds in just about every direction.

At this, Clockworks snorted. “Can’t believe I was talked into leaving. Trotlen’s probably already back on its hooves, and somepony else is profiting off of all our family’s hard work if those heroes are as good as the stories say. We should’ve stayed.”

“Well, in any case, that’s our story,” Pendula said. “We’ve been making our way west since.”

“To Baldursgait?” Rarity asked.

“Oh, heavens no,” Pendula had answered with shake of her head. “That’s no place for a family and certainly not a place for a filly.” She pointed to her sister. “We were thinking Candelkeep or maybe even Iriaebronc a little further north. Don’t tell me you’re going to a dangerous place like Baldursgait?”

“Er, well—“

“She has business with the local adventurers’ league,” Huntress suddenly interrupted, shooting Rarity a stern look over her shoulder. “Private business,” she added with emphasis on the adjective.

“O-oh! I see. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry.”

“Is it because you’re the princess?”

The cart came to a halt as Rarity and Pendula stopped and stared at the filly who had spoken.

“You know, to gather an army of adventurers to fight the Squid Wizard’s army while the heroes take down the Squid Wizard himself. Or, you know, something like that,” Minutiae continued. “That’s what I’d do if I was the princess of a conquered kingdom anyways.”

“Minutiae, you know this mare isn’t actually Princess Shmarity,” the older sister said with a small smile. “And if she were here, that would mean the heroes already won. Remember, the whole reason they’re going to the capital is to rescue the princess.”

“Oh, right. Huh.” Minutiae yawned.

“Why don’t we take a break?” Rarity suggested. “We’ve all been walking for quite a while. Huntress?”

The mare in front stopped with a sigh and looked up to the sky. “We still have a few hours of daylight. You can rest when we stop for the night.”

“Hmph,” grumbled the stallion, using the brief pause to shake out his legs. “In a hurry, are we?”

“Yes.” Huntress took a couple of steps forward, stopped, and let out another sigh before turning around. “You have five minutes.”

A third sigh rang out, filled with collective relief from the rest of the group as they took the time to stretch and rest their hooves. Five minutes wasn’t enough time to completely unhitch herself from the cart, but it allowed Pendula to loosen the straps around her and take a much appreciated seat. “Could you get me some water, please?” she requested.

“Of course.” Rarity made her way to the side of the wagon.

“Careful not to touch the merchandise,” warned Clockworks as he hawkishly watched her climb into the cart.

“Yes, of course,” Rarity said again with a hint of exasperation. She navigated past the crates with Clockworks’s symbol until she reached an assortment of cloaks, blankets, cooking utensils, canvas sheets, and various other supplies that those dead bandits probably wouldn’t miss. None of them raised any objections to the raiding of their belongings in any case, not even when Huntress helped herself to the purses on their persons.

The wallet in Rarity’s bag was now a little heavier, a little fuller. She had been initially reluctant in accepting the metaphorical bloodstained coins, but Rarity couldn’t argue with Huntress’s logic. She did need money if wanted to survive in a place like Baldursgait, and what Elder Woods was able to scrap together for her might have only been enough to pay the entry toll. She’d might be able to use her reputation as Princess Shmarity there to get what she wanted, but generosity was a far safer means of persuasion than exposing herself as the Squid Wizard’s supposed hostage. Besides, the money was likely already stolen. It didn’t belong to the bandits anyways.

There remained, however, the matter that they were still robbing from the dead. The strange lack of gore did mitigate Rarity’s disgust at the task a bit, but she still found the whole thing completely abhorrent and even sacrilegious. What kind of uncivilized, mannerless degenerates would steal from the still warm corpses of their fellow creatures? If they went through with the desecration of these bodies, were any of them any better than the now dead and scattered bandits?

It bothered Rarity that she had only felt so after she and Huntress had already gone through each and every pocket and abandoned saddlebag and laden the cart with the gang’s supplies. It bothered her further how easy it was to shake off those guilty thoughts, almost as quickly and easily as it had been getting used to being around and touching all those dirty corpses.

Well, what’s done was done, and Clockworks’s family certainly seemed to appreciate the extra supplies. Rarity removed a tin canteen from their gathered collection, and after making sure it was one of ones with water, she got down from the cart and made her way back to Pendula who gratefully accepted the drink. The canteen went around, giving everypony an opportunity to take a few gulps before Huntress stood up and announced it was time to move, and after some grumbling from Clockworks, they set off.

Rarity and Pendula spoke a little more, discussing life in Trotlen when Spiketopia was peaceful, with Clockworks chiming in every so often about the even ‘gooder and older’ days. Pendula tried asking for Rarity’s story but was quickly dissuaded by Huntress’s swift and sharp insistence that she respect Rarity’s privacy. Rarity couldn’t condone her guide’s rudeness, but she was thankful that she didn’t have to fabricate some elaborately convincing backstory. The truth, that she was some pony from a different and possibly distant land with no idea as to how she got here who had suddenly been given the identity of their princess that happened to look just like her and have a name very similar to her own, probably wouldn’t have been accepted anyways.

Eventually their conversation ran dry, with Pendula having run out of things to describe and Rarity having little to share in return, so Rarity turned to Minutiae, asking her to share more of her fantastic scenarios of what she’d do if she were the princess. Rarity found that the filly was of the three family members the most difficult to read. Clockworks was a stubborn old stallion obsessed with his craft and the past, always willing to offer commentary and complaints unprompted while Pendula reminded Rarity a little of Fluttershy, more subdued than her father and only really speaking after Rarity initiated dialogue.

Minutiae, on the other hoof, seemed to alternate between the two. At first, in response to Rarity’s inquiries, the filly only mumbled a few vague phrases about how she didn’t know or wasn’t sure about anything. However, just as Rarity was about to resign herself to continuing their trek in silence, Minutiae suddenly lit up and began jabbering nonstop, giving answers to questions Rarity had asked minutes earlier. Then, just as suddenly, as if a switch had been flipped, she was quiet once more.

Clockworks called his youngest over, giving Rarity the opportunity to ask Pendula, as politely as possible and with assurances that no answer was necessary should the topic be too uncomfortable, about her sister’s behavior. At this, Pendula frowned and turned to watch Minutiae as the filly became cheerful and started bothering Huntress up in front.

“I don’t really know myself,” Pendula admitted. “Minutiae, she used to be like all foals around her age. You know, curious, loud, wildly imaginative.”

Three words Rarity could have used to describe her own sister. She nodded.

“Well, she lost a lot of that ever since the capital was destroyed,” Pendula continued. “I don’t know if she really understood what had happened, she being so young and all, but after that, all of her friends left with their families. For a while, Minutiae was the only foal in Trotlen, and that can’t have been good for her.

“It’s been a little better since we left. Sometimes, we get to see a little of what she was like before this whole mess.” Pendula’s smile didn’t last. “Of course, then we got robbed and captured and saw a bunch of ponies die. Don’t know how it’ll affect her, but I can’t imagine she’ll be completely fine after all that.”

“Oh.” The next couple seconds passed by in silence, then, “I’m sorry.”

Pendula cleared her throat. “Please, don’t be. It could have been much worse if you hadn’t shown up. Heavens know what those bandits were planning with us. I just, hope that wherever we end up has ponies around Minutiae’s age.“

“Being around other foals will definitely help,” Rarity agreed.

The group suddenly halted when Huntress raised a hoof. “We’re stopping for the night,” she announced. Rarity caught the reluctance in the scarred mare’s voice, and she looked up just in time to catch the sunset. There was still color in the sky, the sun still shone and provided light. To be stopping now when in the night previously Huntress forced her forward until she could barely see her own hoof in front of her face was a tad odd, but Rarity kept her confusion to herself as she helped Pendula guide the cart into the forest. She was sure Huntress had her reasons; maybe she wasn’t comfortable guiding such a large group in the dark. Maybe she recognized just how tired everypony else was.

Or maybe she had predicted how much time it would take to find a path through the forest that could accommodate the wagon. Finding a clearing large enough for everypony and everything took even longer, and as they ventured deeper into the forest, the darkness of night and the shade of the canopy above necessitated the use of lanterns. At last, they found the required space and went about setting up camp. Rarity and Minutiae were given the job of getting a campfire ready while Pendula and Clocksworks started on raising the tents. Huntress had vanished into the foliage with some string and a couple of bells before anypony could question her, and despite Rarity’s assurances, Clockworks still grumbled.

Rarity needed a good couple of attempts, but she eventually got the hang of the tinderbox and managed to coax out the necessary sparks. This time, the fire was alive and well before Huntress had returned.

“Where did you run off to?” Clockworks asked as Huntress passed by. “What was so important you had to leave all this to us?”

Everypony else either sighed or shook their head. The old stallion’s ornery attitude had long since grown tiresome to all. “Setting up an alarm,” Huntress answered curtly, with as much tact as Clockworks had given her.

There was some more mumbled grousing from Clockworks, but nothing more came out of that exchange. They settled down and readied themselves for a meal. Some of the more perishable rations were removed from the cart like the cheeses, and fresher fruits that had been found in the bandits’s camp. Only Huntress and Clockworks refrained from partaking, neither having any apparent appetite, which was strange, considering that the two had also skipped lunch as well. Even Clockworks was surprised with his lack of hunger and ended up settling for a few mouthfuls of cheap cider they had pilfered from the gang’s leader’s personal tent.

Shortly after finishing supper, Huntress ordered everypony to bed. There would be a very early start tomorrow to make up for lost time, the mare explained, and after some whining from Minutiae, the family of three grabbed their beddings and went into one of the tents, leaving the other to Rarity and Huntress.

“Are you, not going to sleep in the tent?” Rarity asked as she watched Huntress roll out her sleeping bag out on the grass within view of the fire.

“No.” Huntress pulled out her bow, nocked it, and laid it beside her with a few additional arrows nearby.

“Well, there’s plenty of room if you change your mind,” Rarity offered. Having the tent all to herself wasn’t worth leaving a companion out here in the cold wilderness, but it was ultimately Huntress’s decision, and Rarity wasn’t about to let Clockworks and Pendula’s efforts setting this all up go to waste. “Goodnight.”

“Wait.”

Rarity stopped and turned and waited for Huntress to continue. Moments passed in silence broken only by the crackling of burning wood. “Yes?” Rarity finally prompted.

Huntress shifted onto her side and turned away. “It’s nothing. See you in the morning.”

Morning arrived early, just as Huntress had warned. Rarity was the first to be shaken awake at least an hour before she was ready by the mare, and she managed to force herself from her bedding and groggily exited the tent in time to catch Huntress silently slip into the family’s shelter. As she waited for Clockworks, Pendula, and Minutiae to get up, Rarity cleaned up what she could, putting away the blankets and making sure her saddlebags were in order.

Minutiae was the first of her family up and about, yawning and rubbing her eyes as she followed Huntress out of the tent. The filly sat and watched Rarity and Huntress start taking down the tent Rarity had slept in. They had gotten most of it down by the time Clockworks and Pendula finally stepped outside. Neither of them looked any better than Rarity felt, and it took them some time before they had their tent down and belongings secured.

After some cold pieces of fruit for breakfast and a lot of grumbling from Clockworks, they set off, following the trail from last night. Soon, with Huntress leading, they exited the forest and continued their way along its edge. For the most part, other than Clockworks’s constant mumbled complaining, the trip went in silence. Nopony was in any mood to talk, not while the sky was still dark and the morning birds were still fast asleep.

Suddenly, Huntress led them away from the forest and into the prairie. The tall grass caught around the wagon’s wheels, slowing them down and requiring the efforts of both Rarity and Pendula to move it along. As they crossed the empty plains, the sun rose and greeted them with a spectacle of bright colors. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky, and it was a pity that nopony, or at least nopony who might have cared, had the energy to appreciate such a perfect morning.

Over time, however, as the warm beams of sunlight shone upon them while a comforting breeze blew by, their tiredness faded, and each step was lifted with renewed vigor. Minutiae was ahead with Huntress, trying to keep up with the mare as she assaulted her with question after question. To Rarity’s surprise, Huntress eventually started to answer, if only to attempt to stem the flow of inquiries and sate the filly’s curiosity.

The sun has just gotten a decent distance up in the sky, around late morning, when Huntress stopped and called everypony over. They gathered around her, and she pointed down the hill they had stopped on. There, where Huntress’s hoof directed them towards, was an assortment of crumbling structures. Rarity could make out some roofless houses if she squinted, and passing by the rows of ruins was a paved road that stretched out and continued beyond the horizon.

“That’s what’s left of Bakersfield,” Huntress explained. “The old trade route is the road next to it. Still have your map?”

Rarity nodded and pulled the map out for all to see.

“Here’s Bakersfield,” said Huntress, directing everypony to a small dot with the name scribbled next to it. “Just follow the road until you reach your destination.”

“Yeah, yeah. We know,” Clockworks said with a dismissive snort. “What, was this the whole reason why we had to get up so earlier, to have you lecture about following a road? It’s not like this wasn’t our entire plan from the start.”

There was a pause, a second of stillness. Everypony held their breaths as they watched and waited for Huntress’s response. “Father,” Pendula finally whispered disapprovingly, placing a hoof on the old stallion’s shoulder as she gave their guide an apologetic look. “I’m—“

“Good to hear.” Huntress started back in the other direction, toward the forest.

“Wait, please.” Pendula caught the end of Huntress’s cloak. “I’m sorry. My father, he gets this way when he’s tired, he didn’t mean to act so rude. Father, apologize.”

“Don’t bother, I don’t need it.” Huntress pulled away. “I was only supposed to bring her to the road,” she said with a nod in Rarity’s direction. “My job’s done.”

“Hmph.” The old stallion turned away, sticking his snout up and toward the ruins and the road. “Good riddance. Well, let’s get going. Come on.”

He started down the hill, alone. Minutiae turned from the retreating figure of her father to her sister, looking for instruction. “I’m so sorry,” Pendula said. “After everything you’ve done for us, you even saved his life, you didn’t deserve—“

“I was just at the right place at the right time,” Huntress interrupted with a disinterested wave. “You should probably start moving if you want to reach the next settlement before nightfall. Take shelter in the towns during the night, and never travel after sundown.” She paused, then added, “Safe travels.”

Pendula gave a small nod. “Thank you, for everything. Come on, Minutiae.”

“Goodbye, miss!” the filly said, waving before she skipped off after Clockworks who, despite his head start, had barely made any progress toward the remains of Bakersfield. Pendula and Rarity began making their way toward them with the heavy cart of supplies and antique clocks.

“Wait.”

They stopped at Huntress’s exclamation and did so, looking to the mare as they waited. Huntress rubbed the back of her head, keeping her gaze toward the ground. “I, need to speak to, her.” She pointed to Rarity. “Privately.”

Rarity and Pendula turned to each other, and after a shared look and a shrug, Rarity removed herself from the cart. Pendula went ahead, walking slowly and carefully to keep the wagon under control, and after a minute or so, she and the cart were out of earshot. Huntress continued to say nothing however and kept her gaze averted, finding interest in the dirt around her hooves.

“Is something wrong?” Rarity prompt.

“No, nothing’s wrong, not really,” Huntress said. She sighed and pulled something out from her cloak. “Here.” She held her hoof out to Rarity, and in it was Elder Woods’s obsidian dagger, with the black blade wrapped with linen and the polished wooden hilt presented right at Rarity. “Take it.”

Rarity hesitated. “Are you sure?” she asked.

“No, but Elder Woods wanted you to have it for a reason,” Huntress responded with a frown. “Keep the other one I gave you too, just in case,” she added as Rarity started to dig through her own cloak for the other dagger.

“Alright then.” Slowly, Rarity gripped her hoof around the wood handle. Huntress did not release the dagger easily, and it required a few tugs before Rarity got the dagger from her, causing her to stumble a bit back. As Rarity recovered, Huntress stepped up, and after looking to each side, she leaned forward.

“Elder Woods, he believes that you, whoever you may be, are here to save Spiketopia,” she said, almost whispered. “He’s put his faith in you, as we all had in the heroes before you. Let’s hope this time goes better.”

Rarity placed her new dagger in her cloak’s inner pocket. With two weapons in there, it was becoming a little tight. “Thank you, for everything. I’m not certain I understand all that is happening, but if this is what I have to do to save my friends, you and your father can rest easy. I will not fail.”

Huntress stared for a moment before stepping back. With a nod, she threw the cloak’s hood over her head. “Best of luck.”

And with that, the two separated, Huntress toward the forest and Rarity toward the road.

12. The Black Road

12. The Black Road

Per Huntress’s advice, the family of former clock shop owners plus Rarity made their way down the old road while the sun was up, and when evening came along they stopped to take shelter in the structures of the abandoned villages and towns along the way. The first few nights had been an ordeal as the howls of prowling nocturnal beasts kept them from sleeping soundly, reinforcing the need to reach and stop at these old settlements before sundown. Nopony felt safe with just the thin canvas of their tents for protection, not after hearing those monstrous growls, but eventually even the loudest and most feral of such sounds was reduced to mere ambient noise to fall asleep to as the group fell into a routine of finding and securing a complete set of walls before darkness fell each night.

Besides the fright ambiance of the first nights, a couple of close calls where they barely made it safely indoors before nightfall, and the sightings of some sizable shadows, the worst the group had experienced was some damage to the cart and a loss in their rations when they had left the wagon and the excess supplies outside for the night, and even then the damage was largely superficial and after some panic, they determined that there would still be plenty of food for the trip as long as they exercised moderation. All in all, after the initial excitement, the trip was mostly uneventfully, and their greatest struggles were enduring Clockworks’s constant gripping on just about everything and dealing with the sheer boredom.

They encountered no other beings on the partially paved road. There were no bandits to fight off or merchants to barter or fellow travelers to exchange stories with. Every village and town they entered was a ghost town, devoid of life save for the weeds and grass and the nightly parade of beasts. All that remained of the original inhabitants besides their old homes were the small trinkets they had left behind: a moth eaten hat, a toy sword made of wood, a cheap wedding band, a broken music box, a cradle next to a rocking chair that was missing a leg.

In four nights, they had made four such stops in four such settlements differing only in size and the number of standing structures available. Rarity managed to find the names of two of them and referenced them with her map. After exhausting Pendula’s knowledge on the mysterious Fey, which mostly consisted of fairytales about naughty foals being spirited away or punished ironically, and sharing a little about her life as a seamstress, which she could tell didn’t really interest Pendula, Rarity kept herself busy by keeping track of their journey and determining how much further they had to go.

“So how much longer until we reach Candelkeep?” grumbled Clockworks. He and Minutiae had been taking turns asking Rarity similar annoying questions for the past few hours. She let out a sigh, the same sigh she had been giving out every time she had to answer.

“As I’ve already said, if the town we left this morning was indeed Marebrook, we should be reaching Candelkeep in another two days.” From there, there would be another day of travel to get to Baldursgait, a trek Rarity would be making alone.

“Another two days,” Clockworks repeated with a snort. “Yesterday you said it was three days.”

Rarity’s teeth could’ve grounded stone into fine powder if they were grit any harder. “Indeed,” she managed to say through pursed lips. “Funny that.”

“Are we even going the right way? We’re not wasting our time going the wrong way, are we? We’d better not be, because if we are...”

At this point, Rarity simply tuned the old stallion out and turned her focus on her surroundings instead. He and his tongue would tire out eventually, as they had the last hour and the hour before, after which it would be Minutiae’s turn to bother her about how much longer the trip was to be. At least Pendula could help distract the filly before her whining grew too unbearable.

There wasn’t much to see and take her mind off of Clockworks’s ranting, unfortunately. Some fields of grass, a couple patches of dandelions, the occasional lone tree that barely provided enough shade for them all, a dried up stream. It was the very landscape an artist would come up with if they were inspired by the very feeling of boredom. To relieve herself of her own dullness, Rarity’s imagination painted stalls along the road that was now suddenly smooth and maintained. Carts pulled by merchants passing by ran over the polished stones without a single bump as ponies at the stalls called out to them and peddled their wares, offering cheap souvenirs and refreshments to weary travelers at exorbitant prices. The old trade route came back to life in Rarity’s mind. Had this Ben what life was like back then, when the towns they passed through were still inhabited?

The daydream collapsed when Minutiae interrupted her thoughts with those four words any chaperone dreaded hearing:

“Are we there yet?”

And so the battle for Rarity’s sanity continued throughout the day, breaking only when they stopped for a midday meal before resuming through the afternoon as Clockworks’s complaints expanded to include how much his hooves hurt and how the sun was getting too hot and how tired his legs were getting. Rarity was honestly starting to miss Huntress as a traveling companion; the mare’s aloof quietness was an unappreciated blessing next to the endless noise she had to contend now.

More than her, however, for all of Huntress’s expertise, Rarity missed the company of a certain five ponies. Pinkie Pie would have found something entertaining out of this mire of tedium. Having Twilight direct the trip would have certainly alleviated any concerns of being lost or getting to their destination in a timely manner, and she could certainly field any questions about the trip better than Rarity could have. Rainbow Dash always had something to say, and Applejack could be counted on to have an engaging response ready. And Fluttershy was a wonderful listener, always there to lend an ear even if it meant never getting a word in herself, and her very presence seemed to bring an air of comfort that made it easy to relax around.

And then there was a certain little dragon, there to support whatever role was lacking, even if that role meant staying behind and taking on some extra responsibilities so that they six were free to set off and accomplish whatever mission they were assigned. Spike wasn’t always a traveling partner, but the times when he was were always enjoyable. He was always so attentive to her needs, whether they be a couple more cushions or an extra ear.

Rarity thought of the last time he had accompanied her on a trip, of their long conversation about nothing, of how she dominated the dialogue with a passionate rant on a topic she had since forgotten that had quickly scared off or bored everypony else, of how Spike clung to every word and encouraged her on with wide, eager eyes, of how lively and excited he had been. The memory was replayed, and after its second repeat, Rarity moved on to the next and then to the one after that, keeping her last and most recent instance of seeing Spike, of the dragon limp on the floor, unmoving and forced into those ridiculous robes and that silly beard, at bay.

She looked up and noted the sun’s slow descent. If there was one saving grace of this wreck of a road trip, one small ray of positivity that kept her from tearing out her mane in frustration, it was that the days went by quickly. It hadn’t felt like even an hour had passed since their stop for lunch, but based on the current position of the sun, it was much closer to evening than it was to noon. Pretty soon, they would be treated to a display of reds and oranges over the blue skies above.

Rarity turned to her fellow travelers. “We may need to pick up the pace,” she said, gesturing upward. “We might have a hour or so before sunset, and I don’t see any sign of the next town.”

Clockworks scowled at the sun. “We’re going as fast as we can. You sure we only got an hour left?”

“Well, no, not exactly,” admitted Rarity. “Could be a little more, maybe a little less. Considering what might happen to us if we don’t find shelter before nightfall, I’d rather err on the side of caution.”

Clockworks huffed. “Well that all very good and all for you young folk, but not everypony here can just break into a gallop. You know how much of a strain this is on me already? How much further is the next place anyways?”

“I, can’t imagine it’s much further.”

“Can’t imagine? You mean you don’t know? You’re the one with the map! How can you not know?”

“The map doesn’t have that kind of detail,” Rarity snapped back. “I’ve shown you that already. Now, why don’t we stop wasting time arguing about my timekeeping and distance gauging and get moving?”

“Don’t start ordering me around, missy. I’m old enough to be your father, and I demand your—“

“Father,” Pendula suddenly exclaimed, her tone sharper than it had ever been. Clockworks appeared just as shocked at her outcry as Rarity had been, and he turned his glare to her, opening his mouth to redirect his berating but was cut off before he get a word in as his daughter continued, saying in a much more sweetly voice, “Why don’t you ride in the cart the rest of the way? That way, you won’t have to worry about slowing us down.”

“I’m not worried. I can keep up with the best of you,” Clockworks grumbled even as he climbed onto the cart and pushed around the supplies to make room. “Alright, let’s go.”

Rarity bit back a sigh. “Wait, let me help pull the cart,” she said, and Pendula stepped to the side and adjusted the harness to fit the both of them.

“Can I ride in the cart too?” asked Minutiae, her tail shaking with excitement at the possibility.

“Might as well, I suppose,” Rarity said after she and Pendula shared a look, and the filly, with a small cheer, quickly made her way onto the cart as well.

“Everypony ready?” Pendula asked.

“Ready!” Minutiae said as Clockworks grunted an affirmative. Pendula looked to Rarity who nodded. She returned the nod, and together they took in a breath.

The mares stepped forward, and the cart and all that was in it went with them. With each step they took, they built up speed, slowly transitioning from a jog to a trot to a run to just short of a full out gallop. Their hooves thundered against the road’s rocky, uneven pavement as the wheels of the wagon clacked noisily over the cracks and the bumps.

Rarity’s heart pushed and pummeled against her chest as if trying to escape from its confines. Her lungs soon burned with each forceful inhale and each exhausted exhale. Her legs started to cramp as their muscles tightened. She was no stranger to running, given how being a hero of Equestria meant there was almost always some danger to run towards or away from. But running with a weight attached, physically, with no magic at her disposal, was something new. Applejack and even Rainbow Dash and Fluttershy of all ponies had made it look so easy. How all those taxis in Manehattan could do this for a living was baffling.

The setting sun spurred her onward, forcing her to ignore the pain while reminding her just how little time was left in the day. Huntress had said that the large number of towns and villages made the dangers of night a nonissue, that there was always some place they could find safety in became it became dark. Had she been mistaken? It was this late already, and still there was no settlement in sight.

No, wait, there in the distance. Rarity could barely make out the tips of chimneys, but there they were, and they were getting more visible with each step she and Pendula took. The chimneys became roofs, and the roofs turned into houses. “There!” Rarity heard Minutiae shout from behind. As if the filly had spoken some magic word, Rarity and Pendula found some unspent energy deep in their reserves and pushed themselves at an even quicker pace, leaving the main, partially paved road for the dirt side trail that was leading to that collection of buildings.

The town as a whole could now be properly seen against the backdrop of the setting sun, but there was still a good deal of distance between it and they. The shadows behind them were becoming larger and more prominent as the sun continued its descent, taking some of their hope with it as it sank past the horizon.

Rarity readied herself for an immediate frantic search for safety as they battled with whatever monstrosities hunted in the dark when suddenly a little light appeared, shining from within the town. Then, another appeared and then another until the entire town seemed to glow and shine like a beacon. As they got closer and more of the buildings could be seen and discerned, Rarity saw that several of those lights were coming out of the windows, their sources from somewhere indoors. But then, wouldn’t that mean—

“Hey!” came a cry as they and their cart shot past the town’s borderline. “I’m walking here!”

A surprised Rarity tried slowing down to turn and spot the source of the exclamation. The cart and all it carried, however, had no inclination of stopping for the sake of Rarity’s curiosity and continued onward, colliding into her backside and forcing her forward. With a panicked yelp, Rarity dug her hooves into the dirt, and suddenly the cart started to skid to one side. More screams joined hers as the cart spun out of control a good several yards before losing momentum and slowing to a shaky stop in the center of the road.

Rarity opened her eyes and found herself now facing the town’s entrance and the direction they had just came from. A crowd of muttering ponies had already gather around them, their confused and worried expressions illuminated by the light of lantern hanging from the doorways of houses. Many wore vests and several had on wide brim hats typically seen in frontier settlements like Appleloosa, but there were also some in long white robes clasped closed by a chain at the front of the neck.

“Is everypony alright?” she heard Pendula say. Rarity looked up and to her side and saw that the mare was still on her hooves, and besides some dirt in her coat and some heavy breathing, she looked no worse for wear.

“Y-yeah. We’re alright,” came Minutiae quiet, frightened voice. Rarity watched as Pendula look over to the wagon and let out a sigh of relief after she had finished her cursory assessment

“The heck we are!” Clockworks growled. “I could’ve broken something. Or worse, something could have happened to our wares. What then, huh? What happened back there?”

“I-I’m sorry. I was caught off-guard. I just, didn’t expect, well.” Rarity gestured to the growing crowd around them. “This.”

“What are you—“ Clockworks looked up. His jaw dropped as he finally noticed all the ponies before him. “I thought you said all these places were abandoned,” he hissed.

“I never told you that,” Rarity whispered back angrily. “When have I ever said that?” She turned to Pendula. “Have I ever said that?”

Pendula was in the middle of a shrug when a small group split from the main crowd and approached the wagon. Their leader, a brown stallion with a matching farm hat, cleared his throat. “So, uh, is everypony alright? Anypony hurt?” he asked.

The group looked to each other. For a moment, they just stared, waiting to see if somepony else would take charge.

“Thank you for your concern, truly, we’re just—“

“—all alright, thanks. Just a bit—“

“—what’s it to you? Who even are you folk, anyways?”

Not expecting to receive three separate, simultaneous responses, the stallion blinked and took an uneasy step back, as if creating a little space would help him better understand that jumbled mess of words they had offered him. One of his companions leaned over and whispered into his ear while the rest of the surrounding ponies muttered amongst themselves. Some even pointed shamelessly, undeterred by Clockworks’s scowl or Rarity’s judgmental frown. That frown deepened as Rarity slowly realized that a growing number of those stares and pointed hooves, a number too great to easily attribute to just coincidence, was directed at her and her specifically.

Now Rarity was not the type of mare who suffered from stage fright. Rather, she relished any spotlight if it meant an opportunity to make the world more stylish. In this instance, however, all Rarity had to offer was this drab traveler’s cloak and a messy mane that could, should, and better would be forgiven considering that she had been on the road for about a week now with few chances to fix it and fewer tools to do so properly. As such, Rarity doubted that the interest she seemed to be garnering was from sparking a fashion revolution, and besides, she didn’t look all that different from the rest of the group, and none of them appeared to be getting the same attention as she was.

Coming up with only one reasonable explanation, Rarity grabbed hold of the cloak’s hood, but after taking a couple of small, calming breaths, she refrained from throwing it over her head. There was no way to do so inconspicuously, and any attempt to hide her face now would only draw more suspicion. For now, Rarity decided, she would try and avoid attracting more attention and maybe just leave the speaking to Pendula and Clockworks.

The stallion who had initially approached waved away his whispering acquaintance. His face had been a medley of expressions during those whispers, from that of mild curiosity to intensive study as his eyes fell upon Rarity to confusion and finally to annoyance as the whispers in his ear continued on a tad too long. The stallion’s gaze alternated between her, Pendula, and Clockworks as he struggled to decide on who to address. “Um, sorry. Didn’t quite catch all that. Is everypony alright then? I think got that much.”

“Maybe,” Clockworks grunted. With some help from his daughters, the old stallion climbed down from the cart and stepped forward. “Who’s asking?”

The crowd stirred, roused by the display of rudeness. The stallion who had approached narrowed his eyes into a glare. “Friend, I don’t know why you’ve got such a chip on your shoulder, but if you’re just going to cause trouble the minute you step into our town, maybe you should turn that wagon of yours around and go back to wherever you came from.”

Some in the audience nodded and cheered their agreement. Clockworks’s face reddened, and his legs shook. He opened his mouth to respond, but Pendula, having freed herself from the cart’s harness, stopped him with a touch on his shoulder, a firm shake of her head, and a frightened expression.

Rarity sighed as she removed herself from the cart as well and stepped between the two glaring stallions. So much for staying in the background. “I am so sorry for my companion’s behavior,” she said to the local. “I won’t ask you to excuse him, but please understand that we’ve been on the road for a good while now, and you’re the first ponies we’ve encountered all week. We’re all in a bit of shock, not to mention very tired from walking all day and also panicking over the possibility of being out there in the open during the night,” Rarity rambled on with a small wave, a little giggle, and a subtle flip of her mane as she brushed it back. “Pardon me, this is all just a long way of saying he’s not himself right now, what with the exhaustion and the stress and everything.”

The stallion’s expression softened, and he returned the small smile Rarity had given him. “Well, I guess I can understand that,” he said, removing his hat and scratching his head. “Explains why you all were charging into town like a bat out of Hades. Wouldn’t want to be out there myself.” He put the hat back on. “So where are you folk from?”

“That’s none of your—“

“East.” This time, Pendula was the one to speak. “We’re from east.”

“East, huh?” The stallion let out a low whistle as a collective gasp rang through the crowd. “Didn’t think there was anypony still out that way. Is it, uh.” He swallowed. “Is it as bad as they say it is?”

After a hesitant moment, Pendula nodded, and the crowd’s chatter became louder and more animated. Some ponies appeared to have begun arguing, and many had replaced their curious looks with ones of concern. A few of the ponies in white robes caught Rarity’s attention with their wild gesticulations as they exhorted the ponies around them, and of those spirited few, Rarity noticed that none of them appeared all too worried, and the fearful expressions of some of their listeners, particularly of the ones also robed in white, had faded.

One robed pony stepped up to the stallion who had initially approached the cart, and after brushing aside the attempts of the stallion’s companions to keep him back, he began to speak softly into his ear. About what, Rarity couldn’t be sure, but if there was a chance it involved the fates of her and her fellow travelers, she couldn’t risk the town’s decision relying on a couple of whispers. She had to be the one controlling the conversation, and so with an exaggerated clearing of her throat, Rarity interrupted and stole the attention of the crowd.

“Sir, please,” she said, addressing the stallion currently acting as the town’s representative, “we’re just looking for a place to stay for the night. We won’t be any trouble, we promise, and we’ll be gone in the morning. That’s all we ask of you. Please, there is foal with us.”

Everypony followed Rarity’s gesture toward the wagon. It took Minutiae a while to notice that the crowd had turned to her, and by the time she ducked down to hide, it was too late. “Shucks.” The stallion in the front took off his hat again. “I mean, yeah, that’s not a problem. I’m sure Ms. Innskeeper would love getting some actual business. She’s the innkeeper, by the way, though these days it’s mostly just a tavern. She actually has the recipe that put Bakersfield on the map. Er, when it was on the map. Goes great with her potato soup.”

The robed pony suddenly took a step forward. “And if you haven’t the coin, I am certain we can find you room in our temple,” she offered.

Clockworks’s ears perked up. “You’re saying it’s free?”

The mare in the white robes smiled. “Well, I’m sure we can come up with some sort of an arrangement.”

The old stallion snorted and settled back. “Figures,” he said, but at least he had the sense to do so quietly.

“Why don’t we see the inn first?” suggested Rarity. “It has been some time since we last had a hot meal.” The others nodded, even Clockworks agreed, and she turned back to the local. “You mentioned soup, yes?”

“Soup, fresh bread, baked potatoes,” the stallion listed. “It’s, uh, nothing too special, but yeah, it’ll be hot. Not sure if there’ll be room for your cart there though, you’ll have to ask Ms. Innskeeper.”

“I’m sure we’ll figure something out,” Rarity said. “Now which way to the inn?”

“You want to head back that way,” the stallion instructed, pointing them to the entrance of the town. “There’ll be this wood cutout of a bed right above the door. It’s pretty hard to miss if you keep an eye out. I’d take you there myself, but.” He rubbed his neck. “I haven’t exactly kept a tidy tab there and don’t want my missus making any assumptions.”

“That’s quite alright.” Rarity smiled. “You’ve been so much help already, we can’t thank you enough.”

“Hey, not a problem, miss. Just keep this one in check, alright?” The stallion motioned to Clockworks who grumbled to himself and kicked at the dirt. “We really don’t need the extra trouble.”

“Of course. And again, thank you so much.”

The stallion gave one final nod before he and the rest of his companions melted back into the crowd. As Rarity and Pendula returned to the wagon’s harness, their audience shrunk. The gathered townsfolk had begun to losing interest and many were returning to their nightly rituals. Several were even walking in the direction where the inn was apparently located. By the time Rarity and the rest of the group were ready to move, only a couple of gawkers were still around to watch.

“Come down from there, Minutiae,” Pendula ordered. “Ride’s over, you can walk the rest of the way.”

“Fine,” Minutiae said with an annoyed sigh, and she jumped down from the cart. She walked beside her father, leading the way with Rarity, Pendula, and the cart trailing closely behind. As they walked, Rarity took the opportunity, now that they weren’t in a hysterical hurry, to better observe the town and what it had to offer. The settlement appeared to be organized into two long rows of buildings that ran along the length of the road, which was wide enough for several ponies to use comfortably at a time. The road was smooth from the regular traffic and was missing both the overgrown weeds and the scattered pieces of scrap wood and stone that covered the streets of the other towns they had visited, making the guiding of their laden cart a much simpler affair.

Regarding the structures themselves, there was a noticeable lack of ruined buildings, of houses with boarded up windows and broken doors and missing walls, as one would expect given the presence of actual inhabitants who could care for the upkeep their homes. The buildings were largely made of timber with the corners supported with columns of brick and cut stone, similar to what they had seen in the smaller settlements they had stopped in. Signs that distinguished the shops from the residences and from one another were at worst a little dusty and could easily be seen by the light of the many lanterns hung at the entrances, though much like in the previous towns the display windows were mostly empty.

And of course there were the actual ponies, the most distinctive feature of the town. The initial crowd that had greeted them had been a decent representation of the town’s population, with mostly earth pony stallions in work vest and farm hats along with a smaller number of mares in simple frontier style dresses and bonnets. There were also a few of those ponies with the white robes around, and as they continued toward the town’s entrance, Rarity noticed that there were also several ponies wearing padded barding and an assortment of protective headgear ranging from sporting helmets to pots and pans tied in place with rope. A few had spears, but most were armed with farming implements like pitchforks and shovels and wood axes, and there were even several with sticks that just had a kitchen knife attached to an end. A militia, Rarity recognized, and not a very well coordinated one by the looks of it, with members scattered haphazardly about and wandering aimlessly.

A pair of such ponies suddenly burst out into the streets, chortling and singing as they stumbled out of a building that had a carving of a made bed over its doorway. “This must be the place,” Clockworks announced as Rarity watched another armed stallion approach his fellows and tell them off. “Minutiae, stay here and watch the cart with, uh, hm.” He turned to Rarity and frowned. “Don’t think we ever got your name. That ranger or whatever she was, she kept saying it wasn’t our business.”

“Oh. Well, I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to—“

“Well, no matter,” Clockworks continued on. “You and Minutiae keep an eye on the cart while Pendula and me get us some boarding and maybe figure out if they’ve got some place to keep our stuff. And watch it carefully,” he added, glaring at a couple walking by. “I don’t trust this place. It’s too, rustic. Too small.” He started toward the door but was stopped by Pendula.

“Father, why don’t you stay with the cart, and I’ll go with her instead,” Pendula proposed with a nod to Rarity.

“What? Why?”

“Well, we all saw her back there with the crowd. I’d say she’s easily the most well spoken of us, and if we’re trying to secure lodging, she might be the best pony to be sending in there.”

“Are you serious? Pendula, it’s me, your father, the owner of the best clock shop in all of Trotlen—“

“The only clock shop in Trotlen,” mumbled Minutiae.

“—and I would not have that position if it weren’t for my impeccable customer service and pony skills,” Clockworks finished, pounding his chest proudly.

“Yes, but all you’ve done so far is pick fights with the locals,” Pendula argued. “You’ve haven’t exactly done anything to endear yourself.”

“So what?” Clockworks said. “What, you really think I’ve already got some sort of reputation? Please, don’t be silly.”

“Mommy, look! It’s the grumpy old pony who didn’t have his nap.”

“Don’t point, sweetie. Just because he was rude doesn’t mean we should be.”

Clockworks turned to glower at the ponies who had spoken, but with how many ponies there were on the streets staring or pointing at him, he had no way of confirming the source of his verbal ridicule. “Fine, I suppose we’ll leave the talking to you,” he conceded, jabbing a hoof at Rarity. “But I’m going with you, make sure you aren’t being fleeced or anything.”

“Very well,” Rarity said with a small sigh. She turned to Pendula and Minutiae. “As long as nopony else has any problems with this arrangement.” The two shook their heads, and with that, Rarity and Clockworks stepped onto the building’s porch, pushed opened the door beneath the image of the bed, and went inside.

Oil lamps hung on walls decorated with peeling flowery patterns bathed the room and all of the patrons in a warm light, slightly tinted red from the color of the lampshades. The establishment was crowded, with several packed tables between them and the empty counter in the back of the room. A hallway at the side led further into the building where additional reveling could be heard. Laughters and yells filled whatever space wasn’t occupied by bodies as the rowdier stallions and mares pounded their hooves and mugs impatiently against their tables. A few ponies spared glances at the two as they brushed by and made their way to the counter, but most were too preoccupied with their plates and bowls and mugs to pay them much heed.

The scent of something warm and filling reached Rarity’s nostrils, and after so many days of preserved, largely tasteless meals, even a lady with all of Rarity’s grace and poise couldn’t help but have her mouth water at least a little. She forced down the gathering saliva and hurried on, leading the way through the labyrinth of tables and ponies until they finally reached the receptionist area. All that was there to greet them, however, was a silver service bell on the surface of the counter and a wall of empty key hooks.

Rarity peeked around, looking for some clue that somepony worked here, maybe a sign explaining their absence that had fallen or some personal decorative knickknacks. With a scoff at Rarity’s fruitless search, Clockworks stepped up and slammed down onto the service bell. A second ring followed the first, and soon there was a continuous ring resonating through the building, competing with the hearty conversations of the clientele. Some ponies nearby turned to stare at the growing annoyance, but Clockworks continued banging away, ignoring the looks they and Rarity were giving him.

“Alright, alright! I heard you the first time. Knock it off,” somepony, a mare by the sound of it, said. “I’ll be there in a second.”

Two seconds after, a mare, maybe a little older than Rarity’s mother if the gray strands in her blond mane were of any indication, approached them. She wore a stained apron over her front and had her mane tied back with a bandanna. On her back was a tray with used dishes and mugs piled high.

“Look, if you want something to eat or drink, find a table and flag down one of the girls that don’t look as busy,” the mare said before either Rarity or Clockworks could open their mouths to speak. “There are more tables in the tavern proper. Now if you lot’ll excuse me.” She started to turn.

“Actually, ma’am,” Rarity said, “we were looking to get a room for the night. If there are any available,” she added, looking to the keyless hooks on the wall.

The mare stopped. “Wait, you’re looking for a room? Here, to stay in? As in, for lodging?”

“Well, we were told this is an inn. Were we mistaken?”

“Oh no, not at all. Just, let me leave these here.” The mare put the tray of dirty bowls and plates down and went behind the counter. “Yeah, this is the inn, but we haven’t had any actual visitors in forever. Not since that old trade route shut down, anyways. We’ve just been using the rooms these days to hold the ponies who’ve had too much to drink, but yeah, we’ve got rooms.” She returned to the countertop with a box and a smile. “I’m Ms. Innskeeper, by the way, the owner. Now, that’s a room for...”

The mare paused, giving Rarity an odd look. “Um, oh.” She chuckled. “For a second there, I thought Her Highness was here in my inn. Heh, anypony ever tell you you look an awful lot like the princess?”

“Er, yes. I have heard that.”

“Well, anyways, that’ll be two rooms.” The mare pulled out two brass keys from the box and placed them in front of them. “Or would you prefer to be in the same room? We can bring out an extra cot if you’d like.”

“There are four of us, actually. And we also need some place to keep our cart, if such space is available.”

“Alrighty then, that’s not a problem. Why don’t we take care of your cart first?” The mare ducked back behind the counter. “The barn we used to keep the travelers’ wagons and such in is a little cluttered at the moment, what with all the extra junk we’ve been storing in it, so we’ll have to move a couple of things first.”

“And it’s secure?” Clockworks asked. “You guarantee that it and all its contents won’t be tampered with?”

“I mean, you’ll get your own stable and your own padlock.” The mare got back up and placed a large, rusty lock next to the room keys. “We haven’t had any thefts or anything before, but if you’ve got valuables, you’re probably better off keeping anything shiny with you. And speaking of shiny.” She tapped her hooves together and placed them over the keys and the lock. “I’m going to need to see some coin before we continue. This is a business after all.”

“Of course.” Rarity started feeling for the purse in her saddlebag.

“Hold on,” Clockworks said, holding up a hoof. “Let’s talk pricing before we go and show the world all we’ve got. How much is this going to cost us?”

“It’s a gold piece per room, plus fifteen silvers to hold your cart,” the mare said. “Meals are separate, but if you decide to stay, we can work out a discount.”

“Fifteen?” Clockworks jerked back, as if the mare had jumped at him with teeth barred. “Just so you can shove our cart in some dusty shed? And you can’t even be sure it won’t get damaged or be stolen. No ma’am, we won’t be paying a copper over five silver. Who came up with that price? Where’s the owner? I ought to give them a piece of my mind.”

“I’m the owner. I came up with the price,” the mare responded, frowning. “I might be willing to knock a couple of silvers off of the first room since you all are my first actual lodgers in a good long while, but barn space is fifteen silvers and not one less.”

“That’s robbery. If these are your prices, no wonder nopony comes to stay,” Clockworks snorted. “Eight silvers for the barn, else we walk. I’m sure we can find some place more accommodating.”

The inn owner smirked and shook her head. “This is the only place in town, pal. You want somewhere to stash your cart, it’s going to be fifteen silvers.”

“Heard there’s some sort of temple that’s got room. Maybe we’ll try there, unless, of course—“ The stallion leaned over the with an elbow on the countertop. “—you can lower that price to a gold piece.”

“Ha! Yeah, if you can stand those crazy cultists, then have fun sleeping on the cold, hard floor, and even then you’ll still need somewhere to keep your cart. Fifteen silvers.”

Rarity coughed loudly. “Perhaps we could—“

“Alright, so how about a gold piece and two silvers?” Clockworks continued on, giving Rarity a silencing glare and motioning her to step back. “Come on, you really think you’re going to get a better deal than that?”

“Maybe, maybe not. Fifteen silver pieces.”

“One gold, three silvers.”

“Fifteen.”

“One gold, four silvers. And five, no, six copper pieces! Final offer, you’re not getting a better deal than that.”

The mare raised an eyebrow. “Fift—“

“Eight coppers!”

The mare sighed and slammed her face into her hooves. “Alright, fine, the barn space is yours for fourteen silver pieces and nine coppers. Take it or leave, your choice.”

“Ho ho, excellent.” Clockworks smiled triumphantly. “I knew we’d see reason eventually.” He reached into his pack, and after a bit of rummaging, he frowned. “Hm, odd. Must have left my coin purse in the cart or something. No, wait, I left it with Pendula.” He groaned and, with a grimace, he turned to Rarity. “Hate to ask of this, but you mind taking care of this this time? Don’t worry, we’ll work something out later, let’s just deal with this first.”

As long as it’s not another clock Rarity thought to herself with a roll of her eyes. She pulled out her wallet and looked into her assortment of coins. Only now did her unfamiliarity to Spiketopia’s foreign new currency dawn upon her. The golden coins had some similarities to the bits of Equestria, them being both gold and round, but the silver and copper ones were completely novel. They clearly all had some value, if she could make any assumptions based on Clockworks’ bargaining attempt, and if Rarity had to hazard a guess, she’d say that the value was in accordance to the value of the coin’s metal, with the gold pieces being the most valuable, followed by the silver, then the copper.

But then, how many coppers was equivalent to a silver? To a gold? Were the exchange rates proportional or did they vary between the kinds of coins? “Well?” Clockworks said suddenly, completely ignorant of Rarity’s struggle as he peered over her shoulder. “What’s the problem? I know you’ve got enough on you. Look, I told you, I’ll pay you back, so don’t worry about that.”

“Right, right. Just, ah.” Rarity removed two gold coins and set them before the mare. “Will this be enough?”

“Plenty,” the mare answered, sliding the coins to her side. “You want your change now, or would you rather use it to start paying for your rooms?“

Rarity thought for a moment, then asked, “Is there enough to pay for a warm meal for four ponies?”

“Yeah, sure.” The mare pushed the lock toward her and Clockworks and started making her way back around to them. “Why don’t one of you find an empty table and place an order while I take the other to the barn and get that cart of yours all settled in? We can discuss rooms after, they’re not going anywhere.”

“Hmph.” Clockworks swept up the padlock. “Fine by me. Let’s go.”

“There are more tables in the back, that way,” the inn owner said, pointing to the hallway at the side. “It’s a little louder in the tavern area, but service‘ll be faster, it being closer to the kitchen and all.”

Rarity nodded, and as she started toward that direction, Clockworks and the inn owner made there way past the merry patrons that shouted and waved at the mare as she walked by, to the inn’s entrance. There were a couple of tables to greet her in the hall, and Rarity had to press herself against the wall to make room for a waitress carrying a full platter, but eventually she managed to get through the hall and step into the cacophony that was a good old fashioned tavern.

13. The Tithes That Bind

13. The Tithes That Bind

Rarity’s exposure to such establishments had only been through the descriptions in mystery novels, where ne’er-do-wells hung around nursing fancy juices until they were shook down for information. Ponyville had seen little need for a tavern, what with there already being plenty of meeting spots and a tight control on the flow of cider, and though she had seen bars on the streets of Manehattan and Canterlot, Rarity could never find the time nor muster the necessary curiosity to visit.

As her ears flattened against her head from the noise, Rarity wasn’t sure she’d go for a second experience. The place was only about half filled, with several open tables remaining, but what the ponies here lacked in numbers they made up in volume. Loud cheering there by a group making a toast, angry exclamations here from a bunch of card players, and laughs and calls for service in all directions as mares in aprons bustled by and shouted their responses. Dancers of varying proficiencies, from the rhythmless and uncoordinated to those who could rivaled Twilight in a competition for the most unique moves, demonstrated their skills in an open space before a lyre player barely audible over the din of her audience. The front lobby had been a posh garden soirée compared to the Pinkie Pie party that was here.

Rarity took a seat at the cleanest table furthest from the crowd, in a corner of the room. She doubted Clockworks and his family would appreciate the noise anymore than she did, and at least here she was able to hear her own thoughts. There was, however, an issue of receiving service from this position as the wandering waitress naturally orbited around the busier areas where much of their attention was being demanded.

“Be right with you, ma’am!” one of the mares called out to her as Rarity tried to wave her over. Rarity lowered her hoof. Well, as long as somepony acknowledged her and knew she was here. At least the musician was close enough to listen to while she waited. It wasn’t the perfect view, but Rarity watched the mare strummed the strings of her instrument. Despite the crowd and its noise, there was a clear melody to be enjoyed, a fast and cheery tune that roused the ponies on the dance floor and incited those watching to stomp along. Even Rarity suddenly found herself tapping away to the musician’s beat. The lyre was a rare and difficult instrument, and to be able to play something so energetic and fast paced in such a distracting environment suggested an impressive mastery.

And then there was the musician herself. Watching the mare work was nearly as captivating as her music. Her hoof brushed past those strings so smoothly, with no wasted or exaggerated movements. Her expression was calm with no sign of exertion or even focused concentration, as if making her lyre sing was as innate as breathing. Under a tiny feathered cap, the curls of her orange mane bounced with each pluck and wave. The edges of her lips lifted slightly into a small smile as her tempo slowed and shifted from the rambunctious anthem of a hoedown to that of something gentler, like one might hear during a ballroom intermission. Nopony seemed to mind; the dancers didn’t seem to notice and continued their frantic jumping and flailing even as the rest of the world slowed.

The musician’s eyes opened, and they met with Rarity’s. Rarity’s mouth grew dry, and her breathing quickened. Her heartbeat picked up as their gazes held. The mare’s lips parted, giving way to her voice as it introduced itself into the performance, adding the final touches to it that Rarity had no idea were missing. The tavern had gone quiet, the conversations and arguments muted in the presence of the musician’s angelic vocals. Whatever those lyrics were, whatever they meant, that didn’t matter. She could’ve sung through entries from a dictionary, could’ve insulted each and every member of her audience in a hymn, and the world would have still begged for an encore. And she, the source of such euphonious beauty, was staring directly at her, focusing on her with those dark green eyes that were like jade. Playing to her with a skill that would make the greatest string masters in Equestria weep in inadequacy. Singing to her in that wondrous voice that could have only come from the highest of—

“Ma’am?”

Rarity blinked. The harsh clamor of the tavern was back, drowning out most of the musician’s act. The mare was no longer singing and had returned to the earlier dance number, her face toward the stomping crowd. For a brief moment, Rarity felt an odd sense of disappointment that she couldn’t explain, but it soon faded, and she turned to the serving mare waiting on her.

“So, what’ll be?” asked the mare in the apron before her. “You, uh, new in town?”

Rarity nodded. Her throat was still dry, and she had to clear it with a cough. “I’m sorry. Could we start with some water?”

The waitress stared. “I, think? Probably? If not, will spiced cider do? We can warm it up if you like.”

“I suppose. And do you have any warm bread?”

“Can do. You want any cheese or potato soup with that. We might still have some baked taters and mash left, Horshire’s speciality.”

Rarity took a moment to consider. As tempted as she was to indulge herself, as starved as she was for something other than dried travel rations, Rarity had to make sure her funds would last her to and through Baldursgait. “Let’s start with a loaf of bread and four bowls of soup. All warmed up, please.”

“Of course,” the waitress said. “So that’ll be one cider, one loaf of bread, and four soups. Expecting company?”

Rarity nodded.

“Alright. I’ll be back with your order in a bit, and if any of your friends want anything else, just give me or one of the other gals a holler.”

The mare walked off to the side of the room, toward an opening that connected the kitchen area to the rest of the tavern. Rarity sat up and tried to peek through the crowd of carousing ponies to catch any glimpse of her fellow travelers, but her search turn up neither hide nor hair of the family of clock peddlers. Rarity started to worry.

Shouldn’t Pendula and Minutiae have already found their way in here? Or had Clockworks taken them with him and the inn owner to the barn. Well, Pendula was the one still attached to the cart, and given that Rarity had never seen anypony else besides herself drive the cart, it would make sense that Pendula had to go with them. Plus, with there being no way any responsible adult would allowed a young filly like Minutiae to go unaccompanied, Minutiae would’ve obviously gone with them to the barn as well.

Rarity let her worries subside. She wasn’t entirely sure how long it would take to get the cart in place, but Clockworks was probably prolonging the process by being his argumentative, ornery old self. Seeing no real reason for concern, Rarity relaxed and settled down, turning back to the dance floor where the lyre player was performing. A few ponies were still there showing off, but all they had to dance to were the laughs and jeers from their fellows. The musician was still there, but it appeared that she was done for the evening, with her instrument packed and she up and on her hooves.

Then, to Rarity’s surprise, the mare with the lyre made her way to her table. “Is there room for one more,” she asked, her voice as silk smooth and light now as it had been during her performance. If Rarity’s breath hadn’t already been stolen, the smile the musician gave her would have certainly done it.

“N-no, of course not.” Rarity motioned the mare to take a seat. “Please.”

“Thanks.” The mare sat and leaned a foreleg against the table. “Did you enjoy the show?”

“Very much so,” answered Rarity, nodding furiously. “I’ve never heard anything so—“

Beautiful? Wonderful? Amazing? Every adjective Rarity could come up with felt lacking. Her tongue, so experienced in the exquisite art of flattery, the sealer to so many difficult sales, had abandoned her, leaving Rarity to wave and wobble with her mouth agape.

The musician giggled. Even that was music. “I’ll take that as a compliment.” She hummed and tilted her head to the side. “Are you new to town? I’m sure I’d have remembered you if I’d seen you before. You have some, distinct features. All good, of course.” She tapped her chin as she leaned forward, her grin widening. “Oh yes, all very good.”

“O-oh! Well, th-thank you.” Rarity tore her gaze from the musician and looked around the tavern for her waitress, hopefully with a full tankard. She could really use that drink right about now; the room was getting awfully warm. “Er, sorry. What were we, oh right! Yes, yes I’m new. Just arrived tonight, actually.”

“Ah. Staying long?”

“Just passing through, I’m afraid,” Rarity said with a small, rueful smile. “We’ll be leaving in the morning. My group and I, I mean.”

“Is that right?” The musician sighed. “A pity. For such a quaint little town, Horshire has so much to offer.” She gestured to the tavern around her. “Hm. I know, why don’t I show you around, give you a quick tour?”

“Oh, I’d love to, but.” Rarity bit her lip as her face fell into a frown. “I’m sorry, but I need to wait for my companions, and we have an early start tomorrow, so I can’t afford to stay out too late.”

“The evening is still young, you know. We could catch all of the most interesting sights before it gets much darker. And as for your friends?” The musician chuckled. “You’re all staying here, correct? I’m sure reuniting with your traveling group won’t be all that difficult if that’s the case. I can even arrange to have some rooms set up for all of you if you don’t already have something ready.”

Those were some very compelling points, Rarity had to say. The musician was right, the inn did serve as their rendezvous spot, so meeting the family back here didn’t seem like that big of an issue. There was just the matter of being chewed out by Clockworks afterwards, though perhaps a hot meal and the prospect of a soft bed would mellow the old grouch of a pony out, not to mention the musician’s offer to have rooms prepared for them.

In any case, the lyre player’s company would most certainly be a welcoming change to having to spend any more time with Clockworks. Rarity didn’t know what sights this town had to show, but if it meant spending time with this master of a musician, she’d be a fool to refuse. And after all, what would Twilight and the rest of their circle say if they saw Rarity throw away a perfectly good chance to make a new friend?

“Lead the way,” Rarity said.

The musician smiled, and the two got up from the table and left the tavern area. They made their way through the front lobby and onto the streets outside. Rarity followed her guide down the road lit by the lanterns on the buildings’s doorways, passing by shops and ponies. It had been so long since Rarity had seen ponies out and about at night, she couldn’t help but find it a little odd, as silly as she knew that feeling was. The previous week had instilled or perhaps reinvigorate a primal fear of the dark and night, the same fears that plague her ancestors to the point of shunning the princess who represented those elements.

Thankfully, the hanging lights and visible signs of a nightlife, never mind how minimal, helped alleviate Rarity’s discomfort and return her thinking to that of her normal, modern self. Soon, she was curious to discover what the inhabitants here did when no longer under the watchful sun instead of being mystified.

“And here we are, our first stop,” the musician suddenly announced. Rarity turned to the building she was gestured toward and stared. Her guide sounded so proud when she pointed the place out, but Rarity struggled to determine what was so special about it. From a short glance, the building did not appear any different from all the other shops and residences. Like the other structures, it was of wood with the base and corners supported by stone, and from what Rarity could tell, it wasn’t much larger than its neighbors. There was no sign nor displays in the windows to explain the building’s purpose, and the windows themselves were blocked by curtains, hiding any clues the interior may have had.

From the way the musician was beaming at it, however, the building must have been special. Perhaps it was a historical monument, being of sentimental value to the townsfolk rather than having any tangible purpose. Rarity forced a smile. “It’s, quite nice,” she said.

“It is, isn’t it?” mused the musician. “Hard to imagine this was once an ugly, rundown bank. Well, let’s go.” She gave Rarity a soft nudge forward.

“What, inside?”

“Of course,” the musician said. “Don’t worry, they’re open. I promise you, this is not something you’ll want to miss.”

Rarity felt another nudge urging her onward. For whatever reason, her new friend seemed absolutely adamant in visiting this place properly, and her insistences were quickly coming across as oddly desperate. For a second, Rarity considered suggesting that they go somewhere else first, maybe where there were more ponies around, but it was only for a second. So what if the lyre player seemed a little enthusiastic? Obviously this place meant a lot to her and she just wanted to share it with somepony, Rarity thought as she allowed herself to be led inside.

Unlike the interior of the inn, this building was largely unlit, with only some candles on the tables to provide some dim light. Several of those lights were around a polished wood box with a slot cut into its top at the side of the room. Several ponies wearing white robes like the ones Rarity saw earlier were around attending to the surrounding candles, and some, seeing the presence of visitors, went over to welcome them.

“Yes, yes,” the musician said, cutting off the offered greetings and well-wishes. “Is Mother Shim in right now?”

“She is,” answered one of the robed ponies, “but she is in the middle of preparing for tonight’s sermon and is not to be disturbed.“

“Don’t worry, this won’t take long,” the musician said, and over the pony’s protests, she led Rarity around a long teller’s counter in the back that was split into sections with a series of gratings that blocked passage over the raised platform, and into a hallway going further into the building they went.

“Where are we going?” Rarity managed to breath out as she was pulled past door after door, room after room.

“Just going meet somepony. Don’t worry, you’ll like them,” the musician assured. “Ah, here we are,” she announced as they approached a door at the very end of the hall. As they drew closer, however, they made no show of slowing, and just as Rarity came to realize what the musician was planning to do, the mare had slammed her shoulder into the door, causing it to swing open and slam loudly against the wall.

A yelp and a second crash followed, and as Rarity followed the musician into the room, she saw that there was another pony in white robes lying on their back beside a writing desk with some scrolls, a feather pen, and a lamp that illuminated the room. They lifted their hood back to better glare at the intruders, revealing themselves to be a mare with plumb cheeks and her orange mane in a tight bun.

“What, what? Can’t you knock?” the mare demanded. Gold chains around her neck jingled against each other as she slowly got back up, and Rarity also noticed that the front of her robes were embroidered with similarly colored symbols. “This had better be important, I’m about to start soon. Is it about—“ Her eyes narrowed at Rarity, and she stopped herself. “Who’s this?”

The musician tutted and gave her head a little shake of disappointment. “Now now, be polite. After all, shouldn’t you introduce yourself first?”

The mare stared with a scowl firmly on her face. Her expression slowly softened as she let out a sigh and turned to Rarity, though Rarity noted that she kept the musician in her view. “My apologies. I wasn’t exactly expecting company to barge in, kicking in my door, so I hope my surprise is at least understandable if my slip in manners can’t be excused.” She released another sigh. “I am Mother Shim, the head of this holy community. And you are?”

“This, dear sister,” the musician said, placing her hooves over Rarity’s shoulders, “is an opportunity. One that might help us reach that breakthrough we so desperately need.”

Mother Shim raised an eyebrow. “How so?”

Now it was the musician’s turn to sigh. “Alright, if I really have to spell it out, look,” she said with an exasperated exhale. She released Rarity and made her way to the nun’s side. “See it’s like this,” she began and continued the rest of her explanation as hushed whispers.

Slowly, Mother Shim’s expression turned from one of confusion and skepticism to that of intrigue. “I see,” she muttered, rubbing her chin as she directed her studious gaze at Rarity. “Yes, that could work. And is she already...”

“Oh, most definitely.” The musician turned and smiled. Rarity smiled back.

“Alright then.” Mother Shim waved the whisperer away and stepped forward toward their guest. “Miss, we would like to ask of you a small favor.”

“A favor?”

“I assure you, it’ll be something small, and there won’t be much effort on your part, but if everything is done right, it could greatly benefit not just our organization, but the entire town.” The abbess held out her hoof. “Please, for the town of Horshire.”

Rarity, out of politeness, fought the urge to frown. First she was dragged to here without being any warning or hint about what this place was, and now she was being solicited? She had no idea who these ponies in robes were or what exactly made them so holy, but she doubted that any organization that needed to trick ponies into coming to them truly had the best intentions.

Not that Rarity was in much of a position to be much help anyways, what with she and her traveling party leaving early tomorrow. No, even if Mother Shim and her group proved to be trustworthy, even if their cause was truly for the benefit of the town, Rarity simply didn’t have the time to spare.

“I’m very sorry, but you’ll have to find somepony else. I don’t think I’m the right pony for this job.” Rarity took a step back. “I’ll just be on my way then. Thank you for showing me around.”

“Oh, on the contrary, you’re the perfect little pony for this little task,” the musician exclaimed. She slid over to Rarity and took hold of her foreleg. “In fact, we can’t do this without you. Won’t you reconsider?”

“You, you can’t do this without me? It has to be me?”

“That’s right.” The musician grinned as she tucked a hoof under Rarity’s chin and gently raised her head, forcing their eyes to meet. “Nopony else will do.”

“W-well then.” Rarity swallowed. “If it really isn’t too much trouble, I suppose I can help. I mean, at the very least I’d like to know what exactly I’ll be doing first.”

“Good, good. That’s all we ask.” The musician let Rarity go and returned to Mother Shim’s side. “Shim?”

“Right. Come here, miss,” the abbess called as she went over to the room’s wardrobe, walking over a green and red shag rug in the room’s center, and started to shift through its contents. “This should be around your size,” she said, holding some folded cloth out toward Rarity. “Hm, maybe a little big. Ah well. Here.”

Rarity let the cloth unravel in her hooves. It was a robe, white with the same decorative stitchings as Mother Shim’s.

“Now, all you have to do is wear that and stand next to us,” Mother Shim instructed. “Easy enough, no?”

“Is that it?” Rarity asked, looking down at the robe she held. “I just have to wear this and stand around?”

“And don’t forget to smile,” added the musician as she gave a demonstration and point to her cheeks. “Just give us a nice big smile, yes, just like that. Perfect.”

“Like we said, very little effort on your part.” Shim smiled as well. “So, what do you think? Can you do that for us?”

Again, Rarity stared at the white robe. It was as they said, just a small favor that wouldn’t require much out of her. She couldn’t imagine why they would need her of all ponies for this job or how exactly her standing about while wearing their organization’s uniform would benefit anypony, but even if they hadn’t been entirely truthful about helping the town, Rarity couldn’t see anything nefarious about such doing something so innocuous. If this was all they were asking of her, it wouldn’t hurt to lend a helping hoof.

A nod from the pony who had brought her here was the last push Rarity needed, and without another thought she tossed on the white cloth. Even with her traveler’s cloak and saddlebags on underneath, the robe was still a good half a size too large. The sleeves were baggy, and the hood when pulled over her head covered her eyes and much of her face. “Do you have anything, more to my size?”

“No, no, this is perfect,” Mother Shim declared. Rarity could hear the abbess’s steps as she came forward. “Yes, the surprise will be all the more impactful this way. Now, we should get going. We’ll be starting soon. Sister, do you have enough in you to prepare our other guest?”

“Not tonight,” said the musician. “But we shouldn’t need him, not when we’ve got her.”

Something patted Rarity’s back, the musician she presumed. “He was giving us trouble anyways,” she continued. “This is much better. You’ve got time to rework your speech?”

“No, not really,” Shim said with a loud sigh. “I’ll just have to improvise. Just like old times.”

“Just like old times.” The two shared a chuckle. “Well, come on then,” the musician ordered, directing Rarity with a push. “Let’s get going.”

With her vision obscured, leaving her with only a view of her own front hooves and the small section of ground they occupied, Rarity was left to navigate the dark building based on the verbal instructions of Mother Shim and the musician’s directive touches. They had left the room and made their way through the hall, and after a little time, they made it back to the front lobby.

Even with the hood over her eyes and ears, Rarity could easily tell that a crowd had gathered. Excited mutterings and whispers filled the room in such a way that it threatened to displace the air. Hooves and the ends of white cloth could be spotted stomping and swishing about within her limited, downward line of sight, and Rarity ended up uttering a number of pardons and apologies after several bumps, brushes, and prods. The bodies of ponies crushed against her sides as she tried to follow the hem of what she hoped was Shim’s robe.

As they continued forward, the whispers became more hushed and those accidental encounters became less frequent. The crowd had become less, well, crowded. Rarity saw fewer hooves, and those she saw hurrying out of sight as their owners scurried out of her way. Or more likely, out of Mother Shim’s way, given the mare’s apparent status. Suddenly, Rarity was stopped by a firm grip around her borrowed robes, and Mother Shim’s hem disappeared from her view.

“Wait,” she heard the musician say, along with the rustling of those around her. The whispers had quieted, and shortly after, the room went still. There still a few hisses and hushes here and there, but for the most part, everypony had gone silent. An air of anticipation that was almost palpable had taken the space that the noise had vacated as the crowd waited with breaths held.

“Brothers, sisters, friends of Horshire!” came Mother Shim’s suddenly booming voice. “Welcome to our sanctuary, to this hallowed dwelling of the Great Protector. May they watch over and bestow their blessing upon each and every one of you.”

The crowd stirred and responded with a mix of affirmations.

“We are gathered here tonight to reaffirm the deeds of the Great Protector, to remember the mercy they have shown to our town,” Mother Shim continued on, her voice shaking with conviction and emotion. “For without the Great Protector, this town would have fallen to the same fate of its neighbors. For without the Great Protector, this town would have been abandoned by those who called it home as fear overtook them. Oh, for without the Great Protector, this town would have been conquered, consumed by the great evil that has taken hold of this land. Oh yes, for if it weren’t for the Great Protector and their protection, none of us would be here, free to live the lives we wish, free from the tyranny of the enemy. None of the free creatures of Spiketopia would be able to, and so we who know of our great debt bring praise and glory to our Great Protector.”

“To the Great Protector!” the ponies chanted and stomped.

“One day, all of Spiketopia will know of the Great Protector, but for now we must focus on our home. There are those in this very town who reject the truth.” The crowd started to stir, but when Shim spoke of nothing more, they stilled and became quiet. “I know. I know how much it hurts, watching friends and family, ponies of your own blood, walk in willful ignorance. We have been ridiculed, looked down upon, viewed as less than equals. I know how much it hurts, how much this tests your trust and belief in the Great Protector. I know that there are some of us here with doubts forming in their hearts. I can see that our number has already fallen as a result of the mayor’s own crisis of faith and his embarrassing public denouncement.”

The murmurs restarted, and again they stopped as the gathered ponies waited for Shim to continue. “Those of us who do not suffer from such thoughts are blessed by the Great Protector, and I ask that you do not show anger toward your weaker brothers and sisters in faith. Likewise, be kind to your lost neighbors, to those who have yet to accept the truth, for one day, we shall all be united under the Great Protector’s name. Those who have turned away from the truth will be returned, and those who refuse to see or hear the truth will be forced to open their eyes and ears. Yes, brothers and sisters, that day is coming and coming soon, for the Great Protector’s power is growing, as is the evidence of their wondrous grace. As of tonight, all of Horshire will begin to understand.

“Please come forth, Sister Shmarity!”

The room exploded into loud whispers as Rarity was given a push forward. Slowly, as she kept a cautious eye on her steps, making sure her front hooves stayed within her confined view, Rarity made her way to where she thought Mother Shim stood.

“What did she say?”

“She can’t mean—“

“But, if it’s the Great Protector, then surely...”

The hushed exclamations from the audience weren’t making the navigation of this dark, cramped room any easier, but eventually, Rarity found her way to Mother Shim’s side, though the abbess had to hold out a hoof to stop her. Shim removed the hood covering Rarity’s head and face, and Rarity’s eyes were greeted by the light of so many candles. Rarity tried to shield herself from the sudden glare, but Shim forced her hoof back down, leaving her to blink away until her sight adjusted and she was able to keep her eyes opened while standing so closely to the light sources.

Now that she was so illuminated and her features were no longer contorting in discomfort, Rarity’s face was out and exposed for all in the room to clearly see. Rarity couldn’t make out any individual expressions from the crowd, which she could now see was smaller than she thought, maybe only filling about a third or so of the room, but the ponies here made their shock audible, with cries and shouts of disbelief that reached every corner of the room and so many gasps and even a smattering of shaky, unconfident cheers that more than made up their numbers with volume.

Mother Shim raised her hooves out toward her congregation, but even that seemed to fail to restore order as the ponies in front of her continued their spirited conversations amongst themselves. Shim frowned, and she brought her hoof to her throat.

“Children!” she roared. Rarity winced, and her ears slammed shut against her head. The entire building seemed to shake from the volume of that single shouted word. “Please, listen to me, and all will be explained. Calm yourselves. Still your hearts!”

The crowd, unable to compete with Mother Shim’s powerful voice, became silent and turned their attention to the front as Shim’s plea continued to echo against the walls.

“Thank you,” said Shim at a more moderate volume. “Brothers and sisters, let me explain. You did not hear me wrong, and your eyes do not deceive you. Princess Shmarity does indeed stand before you tonight. I, like you all, had thought the worst when the royal palace fell, that the princess had been lost to us. But look! Here she stands, not as a prisoner to that mighty evil but free, as free as you and I.

“But how is that possible, you may ask.” Mother Shim began to pace along the length of her stage, keeping her face toward her audience. “How? Dear brothers and sisters, you know how, for you know the truth.” Shim stopped to point into the crowd, letting her hoof linger on individual ponies before moving to the next in line. “Yes, it is by the grace of the Great Protector, the same grace that saved this town, that Princess Shmarity is with us, and because of your faith, you are the first to witness her. Give praise to the Great Protector who has saved Princess Shmarity! Let me hear you give praise.”

“Praise! Praise to the Great Protector!” the crowd cheered, stomping out a deafening applause.

“Is her presence here not evidence of the Great Protector’s power?” Mother Shim asked, now gesturing wildly at Rarity. “Those who deny the Great Protector’s grace, who claim that Horshire’s continuation is only a matter of luck, will they also say the same about the princess? Surely not. The time of revelation is upon us. Soon, all of Horshire will see the truth and come to accept the Great Protector as their savior. Soon, all of Spiketopia will know the truth.” Shim turned to one half of the crowd. “My brothers and sisters, are you with me?”

“Yes!” the ponies cheered.

Shim turned to the other half. “Are you for the Great Protector?”

“Yes!” exclaimed the other side.

“Will you help me and the princess spread this wondrous news? Will you help expand the Great Protector’s will and influence?”

“Yes!” came the crowd’s thunderous response.

Shim smiled. She took a couple steps to the side, motioned Rarity to follow, and swung her foreleg behind her, directing the room’s attention to the wooden box with the open top Rarity had seen earlier. “Then come, brothers and sisters! Come and give, so that the glory of the Great Protector may be expanded, so that our safety may remain secure.”

The crowd collapsed on itself as ponies rushed forward. Rarity was pulled out of the way just as the first wave of bodies swept over the stage and Mother Shim. “This way,” she managed to heard the musician say over the shouts and jubilant cries right before being dragged behind the teller’s counter and into the inner hallway.

“That went well,” the musician said cheerfully as she pulled Rarity along and shut the door behind them. “You did a brilliant job out there. We definitely couldn’t have pulled it off without you.”

“You’re welcome, I suppose,” Rarity replied. She tried to turn back to the front room, where the muffled sounds of the congregation could still be heard from. “Will Mother Shim be alright?”

“Oh sure. Don’t worry, she lives for this part.” The musician laughed softly. “But enough about her. I want to talk about you.” The two came to a stop as the lyre player twirled around to face Rarity with the biggest grin she’d seen on a pony outside of Pinkie Pie. “You were the star out there.”

“I-it was nothing. I mean, all I did was stand there, like you told me.”

“Yes, but you played that role perfectly,” the musician declared with a little gesture to emphasize. “And like I said, it was something only you could’ve done.”

“I, er, suppose. Well, if that’s everything, I should probably head back to the inn.”

“Hm? Oh, right. So soon?”

Rarity nodded and gave a sad smile. It had been nice, helping her new friends and the town, but she still had other obligations. “It is getting rather late, and I do have an early morning tomorrow. Not to mention, I’ve must have worried my traveling companions with my absence, and the sooner I explain that away the better.”

“Yes yes, all understandable, but do you really think going out right now is such a good idea?” The musician pointed to the door that led to front room and, subsequently, the exit to the building. “I mean, right now there’s an army of fanatics out there that think you are the princess. At their state, they’ll tear you to shreds or who knows what in their zeal.” She shook her head. “No, you’re better off staying here for the night, just to be safe.”

“But, my companions, they—

“Don’t worry, I let them know you’re safe, and you can just rejoin them in the morning,” the musician assured as she ushered Rarity along to a stairway behind one of the hall’s side doors. Lanterns on the wall led the way down to a section beneath the first floor where several crates and some spare cleaning supplies were held. The musician removed one of the lights and took it with her as she brought Rarity to the very back of the room.

They stopped in front of a set of closed doors. “Here, hold this,” the musician instructed, giving the lantern to Rarity while digging her spare hoof through the pockets of her shirt. She pulled out a key ring, and after unlocking the doors, the musician pushed her way in. “Come on, right this way,” she said, holding the door open for Rarity.

This next room was smaller than the previous one. There were a few boxes and barrels here as well, but most of the available space had been sectioned off by a wall of hardened cement, solid save for a long window blocked off by vertical metal bars as well as a large hinged gate made of iron that prevented any further access.

Through the barred window, Rarity spotted a figure hunched over and shivering in a corner. At the sound of their steps, she saw the figure raise their head and ears.

“This is where they kept the gold and such back when this place was a bank,” the musician explained. “It was empty by the time we took over, but it’s still in pretty good shape, and we’ve been keeping our most valued here. For their safety. You’ll, er, be having a roommate, hope that’s not too much of a problem.”

“I, suppose that’ll be alright,” Rarity said slowly. “Is this, truly necessary? I don’t mean to suggest anything, the room is lovely and all, and I don’t mean to question your judgement, but—“

“Good, good,” grunted the musician as she removed the gate’s heavy latch and looked through her ring of keys. “Here we go.”

There was a series of clicks followed by the creaking sound of turning gears as the metal gate slowly swung open. The figure charged toward the opening entrance, but before Rarity could shout out a warning, the figure yelled out and fell back as the musician pulled out a dagger from her sleeved and smashed the hilt into their face.

The musician sighed. “Stubborn old fool,” she said, shaking her head and turning to Rarity. “Sorry you had to see that, but don’t worry. He’ll behave after that.” She stepped to the side, making room for Rarity. “Well, go on and get yourself situated.”

Rarity did as instructed and stepped inside. The room was bare, with only a single cot to be found and an odd bucket in the corner. The floor was just as hard and as cold as the surrounding concrete walls, and the dull gray color of it all left the area with a drab, depressing appearance. She turned to face the musician just as the door closed shut and the locks clicked into place. The musician reappeared through the window, and with a bright smile, she said, “Give me a few minutes, and I’ll find you your own bedding. Let me also get you some supper, too. You must be feeling hungry right around now, huh?”

Rarity smiled, and as she started to nod, the temperature started to drop. Her blood turned cold and her stomach twisted at the sight of that grinning mare on the other side of the bars. Rarity’s body shook at that smug, mocking, haughty expression. Her own smile faded and became a snarl as she rushed to the window and slammed herself against the unmoving, metal rails that stood between her and the musician.

14. Poisoned Words

14. Poisoned Words

“Whoops.” The musician smirked. “Guess that finally wore off. Ah well, it was fun while it lasted.”

“You,” Rarity hissed. Her eyes narrowed. “I don’t know how you did that to me, but when I get out, I’ll, I’ll...”

“Yes, yes, make me regret all my life choices and rue the day I was born and all that,” the musician said. She raised a hoof to her mouth and mimicked a yawn. “Ooh, scary. Look, miss.” She walked right up to window and stared directly back at Rarity, all while still smiling. “I’m just using my talents to make a living. There’s nothing wrong with that, is there?“

“By bewitching ponies and forcing them to do your will? Of course there is, you, you crook. Swindler! Con artist! Cheat!” Rarity shouted, shaking as she held to the bars. “You’re no better than a thief or a street thug.”

“Hm, seems like you’re taking this a little personally.” The musician shook her head. “Why don’t you take some time to calm down while I go get you some food, and maybe by the time I get back, you’ll be ready to discuss this like a proper lady.”

“There’s nothing to discuss here, unless it’s about letting me go and giving me the most heart-felt apology you can muster. Don’t you dare walk away from me. I’m not finished with—“

The door slammed shut behind the musician as she left the room, and the place went dark. Rarity continued to stand there on her hind hooves and glare, supported by the bars in the window and her own righteous anger until her legs finally gave way. She slid down and collapsed to knees, still muttering out indignations at the mare who had brought her here when she noticed the shadow looming over her.

“Did she say something about food?”

Rarity let out a scream, and the figure quickly backed away with their hooves held up and in the open. “Whoa. Sorry,” they said. “Didn’t mean scare you.

The figure stepped into view. It took Rarity a little time to distinguish all the details from the shadows, but her eyes soon got used to the lack of light and managed to discover the scruffy, unkempt stallion before her. “How you doing, miss?” he said, extending out a hoof. “Name’s Burgo Masters, mayor of Horshire.”

Rarity shook the hoof and winced as his grease and sweat soaked into her own fur. “A pleasure. I’m, a traveler,” she answered him with a brief pause. “Just passing through town.”

“Oh yeah? Gosh, what a load of rotten luck.” The stallion exhaled loudly. “First visitor Horshire’s gotten in a good long while, and you end up in here. You from Stallmire? Iriaebronc?”

“Trot, er, Trotlen. Yes, Trotlen.”

“From the east? No kidding?” The stallion gave a low whistle. “Haven’t seen any refugees from there come in for several moons at least. I had figured that half of Spiketopia had long been abandoned.”

Something in the cell, something with them, growled. The stallion chuckled and rubbed the back of his head as an alarmed Rarity frantically looked around for the beast. “Sorry, that was me,” he said patting his belly. “I haven’t eaten in a couple of days. The bard, she mentioned food, right?”

“They’ve been starving you? Why? What are they planning?”

The stallion shrugged. “Don’t know. It might be to wear me down, make it easier to get me back under their control.” His hoarse laugh echoed against the walls of their cell. “Been showing a bit of a resistance against that charm spell of theirs, see, and those two didn’t even notice. Almost managed to expose their entire operation too, which is why I’m locked up in here.” The stallion sighed and wandered off to the back wall and leaned against it. “So, why’d they lock up some traveler passing through? Your personal struggles from out east not meshing well with the ‘Great Protector’s’ message?”

“Well, from what I can gather,” Rarity began, speaking slowly as she determined just how much she wanted to reveal about herself and her situation. Her very recent experience of being magically manipulated hadn’t left her in much of a trusting mood. Still, Burgo Masters has been straightforward with her, as far as she could tell at least, and even if this was a trick and the stallion had some antagonistic intentions, what was the worst he could do? Tell Mother Shim and that musician their own plan?

“It seems like they’re trying to expand their influence over the town by making me pretend to be Princess Shmarity.”

“What? That’s their plan? Everypony knows the princess is trapped by the Squid Wizard. Who’d be so stupid to fall for, actually, hm.” Burgo Masters got up and leaned forward, forcing Rarity to back up as the stallion studied her. “Actually, yeah, I guess I can see that working,” he said, stroking his beard. “Anypony ever tell you that you look a lot like Her Highness?”

Rarity rolled her eyes and was about to give her tired response when the door to the room opened, and through the cell’s window, they watched Mother Shim and the musician saunter in with a full tray and a lit candle.

Burgo sniffed at the air and rushed to the bars with saliva dripping from his lips. “Food.”

Mother Shim smiled. “Indeed, Mr. Mayor. Potato soup from the inn.” She turned to Rarity. “The town’s specialty. Such a simple dish, and yet, well, why don’t I just let you find out for yourself. Sister, the door.”

The musician drew her dagger and held it up to the window for everypony inside to see. “No funny business now. Wouldn’t want to mar that pretty little face of yours.”

She left their view, and after a short moment, there was a click, and the door to the vault slowly creaked open. The tray, which had a couple of bowls, a loaf of bread, some cheese, and a candle, was pushed inside. Before the door was complete shut, the stallion pushed past Rarity and dove onto the tray, tearing into the bread and slurping up the bowl’s contents without any regard to the provided utensils or the disgusted looks the surrounding mares were making at him.

“So,” Shim said over Burgo’s eating. “We have some things we’d like to discuss.”

“Not interested,” Burgo Masters grunted.

“Of course not, we already know your answer.” Shim sighed and looked to Rarity. “Stallions, always so stubborn and so narrow minded, can’t ever see past their own nose.”

“If this isn’t about letting us go free, then I agree with the mayor,” Rarity declared, glaring at the plump, older mare. “There’s nothing more for us to discuss here.”

“I’m sorry you feel so,” Shim said. She took a seat on floor right in front of Rarity. “You’re upset, that’s completely understandable, even reasonable. All I ask of you right now is that you hear me out, and after that, we might be able to arrange your freedom.“

“How do I know you won’t just put me under another spell?”

At Rarity’s question, Mother Shim turned to the musician who had taken her place against the wall. Shim nodded, and with a sigh the musician started toward the room’s exit.

“Oh, and you could lay off all that scary glaring?” she said over her shoulder. “We wouldn’t want you to get any nasty wrinkles.”

The door closed behind her. “There,” Shim said. “You have nothing to worry about now. My sister is the one with all of the charm abilities. My proficiencies lie elsewhere. You can confirm with the mayor if you so like.” She motioned the stallion still hunched over the tray. “Now, may I speak?”

Rarity frowned. Even without any magical assistance, she was sure that Shim was an expert manipulator and that nothing that came out of her mouth could be readily trusted. Part of her wanted her gone, just like the musician, but there was also another part of her that was curious to hear what the mare had to say, if only to confirm her own suspicions and theories. Perhaps she’d slip up and reveal something useful, something that might help her escape. Unlikely, sure, but Shim was still just a pony, and ponies, no matter how cunning or careful, could make mistakes, and at the end of this exchange, Rarity had nothing to lose.

“Very well,” Rarity said. “Despite how little you deserve this chance, I’ll allow an explanation. Speak.”

“Thank you.” Shim smiled and politely bowed her head toward Rarity. “Now, where to begin?” she said as she raised her head. “Do you remember what I said when I made our little request? That part about this all being for the good of the town?”

“Yes, I remember your lies.”

Shim chuckled. “You say that, but the thing is, I’ve actually been completely honest with you.” She got up and started to march across the length of the room, making sure to keep in Rarity’s view. “Not a single thing I said to you has been a lie. We told you it was a simple job we needed you to do, and it was. We said it was something only you could do, and, well, besides the princess herself, nopony else could’ve done a better job. We said all that required was for you to just stand there, and that’s all we had you do.“

Shim stopped and turned to Rarity. “And all I said about this being being as much to the town’s benefits as mine and my sister’s?”

“You can’t be serious.”

“Oh yes.” Shim smiled and nodded. “That was the honest truth.”

Rarity laugh out a loud, mirthless bark of laugh. It was the only acceptable response she could come up with. “Oh, excuse me, please. What kind of world are you from where tricking the town’s ponies out of their money is considered helping them?”

“How indeed.” Mother Shim resumed her pacing. “ The ponies of Horshire are dead. Yes, they walk around, eating and drinking and breathing, but they do so without any purpose. Ever since the collapse of the trade route, they have been without hope or any sense of a better future, and they go through the motions of life because that’s all they can do to distract them from the awful truth. That they have nothing to live for.

“But we have given the ponies here something to live for. We have given them direction, a goal to thrive for, and perhaps most importantly, something they can believe in,” Mother Shim said, rushing to the window. “Our means may not have been the most savory, but we have given Horshire hope, and in the current state of the world, isn’t that what we all need the most?”

“But it’s a lie.”

Shim’s smile wavered slightly. “Pardon?”

“It’s a lie,” Rarity said, staring directly at Shim. “You have your followers believing a deception, and even if I were to accept what you said as your true intentions, I would refuse to help. Having everypony place their faith into something you just made up will only hurt them, and I will have no part in such a reckless, immoral scheme.”

Shim frowned. “You would rather this town be without any hope at all?”

Rarity met Shim’s glare. “They have their family and their friends. As long as the town’s ponies have each other, they have more hope and purpose than you could ever dream of offering.”

The two mares stared at each other in silence. Even the slurping and munching from Burgo Masters had been quieted. It could’ve been seconds or it could’ve been minutes before either made a move or a sound. In the end, Shim was the first to look away, and she did so with a tired sigh. She brought a hoof to her forehead and rubbed the space between her eyes.

“Let’s try a different approach, then,” she said. “Look, you’re a smart mare. Naive, idealistic, but not stupid. I know you saw how willing the ponies here are to pay for our guidance, and I’m certain I don’t need to explain just how useful you can be. Help us solidify our control over this town, and I promise you, you will have a share in the bounty.”

Shim stepped forward. She wrapped one of her necklaces around her hoof and held it up for Rarity to see. The gold chain links chimed against each other as they gleamed and shone by the light of the candle.

“Think about it, having an entire town of ponies worship you, showering you with gifts, making sure you’re never in want. You’ll live the rest of your days in comfort, like a real princess, and all you’ll have to do is stand around and play a little pretend.”

Rarity regard the offer and the presented jewelry with visible distain in her features. “Get that gaudy thing out of my sight. If this is your best attempt at persuasion, it’s a wonder how you managed to convince so many ponies to follow you. Or was that all your sister’s doing?” she added with a smirk.

“Hmph. You’re no better than that stubborn fool inside with you.” Shim’s hoof retreated. “Maybe you just need a little time to consider my generosity. It doesn’t really matter. You will be helping us, willing or otherwise, but perhaps some time in here will change your current stance.” She looked into the vault and started to sneer. “Hm. It appears we’ve forgotten to bring you any additional sheets. Ah, well. I do hope you two don’t mind sharing.” Shim turned and begun making her way to the room’s exit. “You two have a wonderful evening. See you in the morning.”

Only when the door had finished closing did Rarity allow herself to relax, letting her shoulders sag and her stony, defiant expression crumble. Today had been a very long, very demanding day, and to think she had finally encountered some fortune, finally discovered a populated settlement with real housing and real beds and real hot food, and finally found something to look forward to after a long day of traveling.

Well, at least Rarity could still enjoy a warm meal, even if the dining atmosphere left much to be desired. She looked down at the tray and stared at the two bowls that were completely licked clean.

Burgo Masters hiccuped. His beard was messy with crumbs and wet in parts with broth residue. “Er, sorry, but you know, haven’t eaten in a couple of days. I, uh, left you some bread. It’s still warm.”

He pushed the plate of crusts toward her and immediately shrunk away as Rarity regarded the leftovers with a cold stare and a frown. The dried travel rations she had been surviving had more appeal, but she wasn’t exactly given much of a choice here. It was either this or going to bed hungry tonight, and Rarity saw no need to further worsen her already dismal sleeping arrangements.

“So,” Burgo said after Rarity finished eating. “How are we going to do this? The bed, I mean.”

Rarity turned to the single cot and shuddered. Even if, by some miraculous, all powerful force that could not be subverted which left the both of them with a twisted sense of what was proper, they were inclined to share the bed, there wasn’t enough room available for more than one pony.

“Looks like somepony’s going to have to sleep on the floor tonight,” said Burgo Masters. He tapped his hooves together. “So uh, listen, miss. I’m not exactly as young as I once was, and I’ve got this bad back, and well.”

He trailed off under Rarity’s gaze. “You know, Mr. Masters, a gentlestallion would most certainly have surrendered the bed to the lady.”

“Yeah, I suppose he would.” The deposed mayor of Horshire rubbed the back of his neck.

“I imagine you’ve had the bed to yourself for quite some time already.”

“Probably, yeah.”

“And you did eat my portion of dinner.”

“Come on, I hadn’t eaten in a couple of days. Can you really blame me?”

“But did you really, truly need all of it? And did you really, truly need it all so strongly enough to deprive me of any part of it?”

Burgo lowered his head. “I mean, maybe? I guess not.”

“So, with all that in mind, what do you suppose would be the right thing to do?”

“I have a bad back.”

Rarity looked away from Burgo’s sad eyes and turned back to the bed. She sighed. “Very well. I suppose, for tonight, you may take the bed.”

“Oh thank you. Thank you, miss, thank you. I’ll remember this when we get out of here, that I promise you.”

“Yes, yes,” Rarity said, doing her best to temper the frustration in her tone and keep herself from grumbling as she removed the ceremonial robes and laid it on the floor on the other side of the vault. The mattress was old, worn down from use, and really didn’t look all that comfortable, maybe only a slight improvement over the floor, and in all honesty, she wasn’t really looking forward to sleeping in a cramp bed that had already been used for who knew how long, with those dirty, unwashed sheets stained with somepony else’s sweat.

Besides, she had been sleeping on hard surfaces for almost a week already and was just starting to get used to it. What difference did one more night make anyways?

It was a pity sour grapes provided so little sustenance. Her self-assurances did nothing to quell her stomach’s complaints as Rarity nestled down and did her best to find some modicum of comfort while Burgo Masters took his place on the bed, its frame creaking under his weight.

“Don’t worry, miss,” the stallion suddenly announced. “I’ve got a brilliant plan to get us out of here. And now that you’re here, it’ll work out even better.”

Rarity opened her eyes. “Oh?”

“Yeah. See, all we’ve got to do is—“

The rest of Burgo Master’s plan was muffled by his own loud yawn. “I’ll tell you in the morning,” he finished just as a second yawn overtook him. The bed squeaked as he turned over onto his side.

The candle that came with their meal eventually burned out, leaving the vault in darkness. Burgo started to snore away, seemingly already fast asleep. At this point, there was nothing else for Rarity to do but follow suit and try to get some sleep. She was tired, too tired to come up with any coherent plans or even to organize her thoughts or review the events of the day. It wasn’t like she would be able to escape tonight, and there would be plenty of time to figure out what to do tomorrow.

Rarity let out a yawn and shut her eyes. She did her best to block out her roommate’s snores and waited for sleep to take her.

“So, what do you think?”

Rarity stared blankly. Thanks to a number of factors including the hard, cold floor, the pain in her empty stomach, a few lingering anxious thoughts and worries, some misgivings stemming from the unfamiliar experience of being in such a vulnerable state while in such close proximity of a complete stranger of a stallion, and Burgo’s snoring, sleep did not come for Rarity easily. She had woken up weary, stressed, and hungry in the dark with no sense of what time it was, and it was taking every little bit of her to keep herself from taking her frustration out on her fellow prisoner.

She had hoped that her mood would’ve improved after hearing more about Burgo Masters’s great plan to save themselves and Horshire. That had not exactly been the case.

“That’s your idea?” Rarity asked, her attitude toward the stallion souring. She raised a hoof and leaned her forehead against it. “I’m sorry, and I do hope I misheard because it sounded to me that all you wanted us to do is, wait.”

“Well, yes. For the right opportunity, I mean. I, uh, suppose I could explain things a little more.”

“Please.”

Burgo Masters took in a deep breath to steady his quivering limbs. “Alright, so you’re already aware of the bard’s magical abilities, yeah? You know, that charm spell of hers? Well, I’ve noticed that whenever they’ve had me charmed and under their control, I’d only be out for an hour or so before they’d bring me back inside. What’s more, it seems like you can resist the spell if you know it’s coming. Or maybe it’s if you’ve been under the spell enough times you build some kind of resistance to it.”

Burgo shrugged. “Look, I’m no expert in the arcane arts, but what I’m trying to get at is that that bard’s doesn’t seem to be much of one either. I don’t think she’s strong enough to keep us charmed for very long, and with there being two of us to deal with now, they’re bound to make a mistake. All we have to do is wait for them to slip up, make them think we’re under their control or something, and bam!” He slammed his hooves together. “We reveal their operation to the entire town. Until then, we just bide our time and wait for the golden opportunity.”

Rarity moved her hoof down under her chin as she considered the newly presented details. Burgo was more observant than one would have gathered based solely on his appearance and personality, and despite the simplicity of his plan, he had certainly put a lot of thought into it. It was more than she had managed to come up at the moment, Rarity had to admit, and it did make some strategic sense.

Still, Rarity couldn’t bring herself to approve such a passive plan, and she found herself feeling a restlessness more characteristic of Rainbow Dash than of her own being. Every second spent trapped in here waiting for something to happen was a second that could’ve been better spent working towards saving Spike and Discord. Surely there must have been something else they could do to aid their escape, something proactive.

And then there was one last thing about Burgo’s plan that was bothering Rarity, something that continued to nag her even as she begun to apply words to her suspicions.

“I believed you mentioned something last night about why you were locked up in here.” Rarity frowned. “Something about exposing their true intentions, if I’m not mistaken. It sounds like you’ve already attempted this plan of yours.”

“Yes, well, yes. I think I actually managed to throw off the spell, or maybe it wore off or something, while we were in the middle of some big public ceremony where I was supposed to be showing my support and all that nonsense. Made this huge scene in the middle of town.” Burgo Masters sniggered. “Ah, you should’ve seen the looks on their faces.”

“But you failed.” Rarity motioned to the dark walls around them. “Hence your current predicament.”

“Yes, but it wasn’t a complete failure,” Burgo quickly rebutted. “I’m sure seeing their guest of honor scream out about them being evil witches here to brainwash them would’ve shaken the faith of many of their followers. That would’ve caused their number to fall, probably. Some of the townsfolk might even be staging the rescue of their beloved mayor right this very minute. Just, you know, taking their time, making sure everything’s in order before they do.”

“Of course. But what I am trying to say is that, don’t you suppose our adversaries might be expecting us to try something like that again?” questioned Rarity. “Given how much damage your public outburst might have cause, I’d imagine they’d have prepared themselves for any similar attempts. Wouldn’t you?”

“Well, maybe.” He scratched his head and frowned. “I guess, that could be possible.”

“I’m not saying we can’t use your plan or that it’s an entirely bad idea,” Rarity added, “just maybe that it could be adjusted so that it’s not so predictable. Or we could have a few other plans working in conjunction with yours. It’d be to our advantage to have multiple options, and it would make us more difficult for Shim and her sister to anticipate, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Well sure, that’d be nice, but what can we do here?” Burgo threw his head back and sighed. “Maybe you can think of something, because I’ve tried everything else, and I’m stumped.” He knocked against the wall he was leaning against. “Hear that? That’s solid mortar, designed to keep out even diamond dogs. We’re not digging out of here. Plus, I’m pretty sure it’s soundproof too, otherwise some pony would’ve already heard and saved me.”

“What about the window?” Rarity pointed up to the barred space.

“Too small,” Burgo said with a shake of his head. “Even if we could get rid of those bars, it’s too small for a full grown pony to squeeze through. And don’t forget, the way out to the rest of this place is locked too.” He pulled his hoof down the length of his face and groaned. “Believe me, I’d love nothing more than to break out, but getting out of this vault is physically impossible.”

Physically impossible, he said. Rarity pressed a hoof against her front, feeling for the silver pendant around her neck. Well, the same could have been said of getting out of that fortress and away from the Squid Wizard. Rarity tried to recall what the Queen of Fey had told her. It was through the Queen of Fey’s magic that allowed her to escape the Squid Wizard’s hold, if she was remembering correctly, and their symbol, the pendant around her neck, was a key component in calling forth that power.

Maybe, if she could figure out how it worked, Rarity could magic the two of them out of here. But what exactly would that entail? Did she have to concentrate on what she wanted done in her head? Visualize the end result? Chant or maybe even make a verbal plea to the Queen themself?

She grasped the symbol, feeling its jabbing points. The number of times she could call upon this power was limited, only two more times the Queen had said. Was now the time to spend one of her remaining uses? After a moment of self deliberation, Rarity released the pendant. No, not while she still wasn’t sure on how to make it work. For all she knew, her ignorance could cause the magic to backfire and leave her in a far worse situation. Unless she found herself in an emergency that left her with no other choice, it would be best to save the Fey magic until Rarity understood it better.

So magic wasn’t looking to be her answer here, but Rarity still had a full set of saddlebags worth of supplies to work with. Burgo watched with widening eyes as she unstrapped the bags from her back and laid out their contents in neat rows before her.

There was the tinderbox consisting of the slab of flint, the piece of iron, and some dead leaves and dried grass Rarity had gathered for later, but she couldn’t see how starting a fire in their concrete, enclosed environment would improve matters. She didn’t think either the sewing kit or the first aid kit would be of much use in this situation, and she had trouble imagining how her coil of hemp rope would help them escape their prison. Knowing which direction was north wasn’t going to be much help here, so that limited the lodestone’s uses to those of any small rock one could easily find in the dirt. Elder Woods’s map, meanwhile, could be used to get a message out should she ever come across that chance, but it would require her to find something to write on it with, otherwise the parchment might as well serve as extra kindling should the plan of flooding this cell with asphyxiating smoke ever appeared more appealing. And then there was the coin pouch, which probably didn’t have enough in it to buy her way out and would’ve likely been confiscated had either Shim or the musician known about it.

There was also a half full canteen and some leftover travel mix, which Burgo had started reaching for but stopped and retreated in embarrassment under Rarity’s glare. Her empty stomach growled at the sight of food without any concern to its unappealing appearance or bland taste or the company present, and with cheeks blushing red, Rarity partook in some of the dried berries and nuts to try and quiet the rumbling as she finished taking inventory. That just left a small knife which might be thin enough to fit into any exposed screws if they found any, as well as the two daggers she still had hidden in her cloak’s pocket.

Burgo Masters pointed to the knife. “May I?”

As sudden as the request had been, Rarity saw no harm in letting Burgo take a closer look and gave her permission with a nod. Who knew, he might even figure something out after getting a better idea of what they had to work with.

The stallion picked up the small knife, letting it balance in his hoof before carefully feeling the edge of the blade. He took a few careful swings at the air before placing it back down. “There is one other thing I can think of.”

Rarity turned to face Burgo. “Oh? What is it?”

“It’s, well, desperate,” the stallion began, grimacing. ”We could always try overpowering whoever comes over the next time they try to get us. I’m not too worried about Shim, she’s the type of pony who gets winded from a staircase, but that bard’s tougher than she looks.” He brought a hoof to his cheek, the one still bruised from last night. “With the two of us together, maybe, I don’t know. You don’t exactly look like much of a fighter yourself.”

“I’ll admit, fighting’s not really my thing, but I assure you, I can hold my own,” Rarity said with an offended sniff.

“Alright, sure.” The disbelief in Burgo’s voice was obvious. “Still, the bard’s armed and knows her way around a blade, and I don’t think I want to try taking her on again even we outnumber her two to one. Maybe if we had weapons of our own, that’d be a different story, but this here really isn’t going to cut it.” He pointed down to the knife on the floor. “I mean, maybe it could work if we got the drop on her and hit something vital. You wouldn’t happen to have anything sharper on you, would you?”

Well, as it so was, Rarity did so happen to have a pair of genuine daggers right on her person, one of which had already demonstrated its effectiveness in inflicting harm. And yet, instead of showing off the daggers gifted to her by Elder Woods and Huntress, she hesitated and was silent. The last time she had ever used such a weapon against a fellow pony had also been the first time, and that had been in complete self-defense. She shivered at the memory of plunging her dagger into the eye of that crazed ruffian, and as much as Rarity despised the musician for what she had done, she was having trouble imagining herself doing the same to that mare. Even the thought of making threats with her dagger pointed and pressed against some soft and vulnerable part left a bad taste in her mouth and a sickening feeling in her stomach.

Rarity was not a violent pony. Yes, she knew how to defend herself and was more than willing to fight if it meant protect herself and those she cared about, but she certainly wasn’t looking forward to bloodshed, on either side. Still, if that’s what it took to get out of here, to get back to the task of saving dear Spike and Discord and finding a way back to Equestria, Rarity had to ask herself, was she willing to take that step?

The door to the room swung open, interrupting Rarity’s thoughts and cutting her contemplation short. There was some scrambling and scraping of the floor as Burgo dove down and quickly swept everything into the corner, right under the cot. The two figures who stepped inside didn’t seem to notice. The darkness kept their identities hidden, but Rarity couldn’t think of anypony else they could be besides Shim and her musician sister. Both approached the vault’s window and confirmed Rarity’s conjecture as the faces of the two mares came into view.

“Ah, good morning. I trust you’ve both slept well.” Shim hid her smirk with a bow of her head, but Rarity could hear it through her condescension and false concern. The musician standing to the side of her, meanwhile, made no attempt to hide her smug expression, and in the presence of all that haughtiness, Rarity was filled with an overwhelming desire to see the musician’s smile wiped clean off her face.

“Hm, perhaps not,” Shim said when she lifted her head and saw the tired expression Rarity had on. She whispered something to the musician who answered in kind and nodded before Shim turned back to Rarity and Burgo. “Well, I’m just here to see how our newest guest is doing. Unless, Mr. Mayor, you’ve finally had a change of heart.”

“Forget it,” Burgo grumbled, crossing his forelegs over his chest.

“Very well. And you, miss?” Shim said to Rarity. “Have you given my offer any further thoughts?”

“I have, and I continue to find myself as disgusted with your dealings as I do with your faces,” Rarity declared, turning up her nose at the false abbess. “And you should know, I have powerful friends waiting for me, and rest assured, they will be searching for me.”

“If you are referring to that family you came into town with, it might interest you to know that they left Horshire a few hours ago,” Shim said. “It would appear that you weren’t that close of friends after all.”

Rarity didn’t answer. “Well, in any case,” Shim continued, “it’s a shame you feel that way about us, but I’m sure you’ll be changing your mind sooner rather than later.”

With that, Shim exited the room, leaving Rarity and Burgo alone with the musician who was leaned lazily against one of the crates. The wood creaked as she shifted her weight, eroding what little tolerance Rarity had for the deceptive lyre player until she finally snapped. “And what are you still doing here?” she said sharply.

”Oh nothing in particular,” chirped the musician. “Just felt like loitering around down here is all. You see, unlike the two of you, I’m free to do whatever I feel like doing.” She got off the box and peeked into the repurposed vault. “Must be boring in there. How about a little, hm, entertainment?”

A soft melody rang through the room as the musician ran a hoof past the strings of her lyre that had been tucked beneath the folds of her costume and started hummed. More notes joined the initial chord, and before long, the entire room was alive with the sound of music. The dark walls seemed to brighten as the lyre’s song echoed against them, and when the musician added her own voice, for just a moment, Rarity forgot where she was. In that short second, the cold, dull cell had become a vibrant meadow full of warmth. She forgot her hunger, her soreness, her worries, and all her exhaustion.

The song ended far too soon. The musician put her instrument aside and approached the bars separating her from her guests. The smile she offered was warm and a welcomed sight. Rarity saw the mare’s lips move but only heard the sound of her voice; no words reached her ears.

“I-I’m sorry,” she stammered. “I-I don’t think I understand. Could you repeat that?”

Burgo Masters was scoffing and muttering something, but Rarity ignored him as she watched the musician giggle. Her laughter was like a wind chime played by a spring breeze. “I wanted to know if you wanted to leave.”

“L-leave? Leave here?”

“Of course,” the musician said. “Just for a little a while, just so you can stretch your legs out a bit, maybe take a stroll through town. And maybe, depending how things go this time, I might be able to convince my sister into letting you have a little freedom. Sound good?”

Rarity nodded. She started toward the door of their cell.

“What are you doing?” Burgo grabbed hold of her cloak. “You can’t be serious. They’re up to something, you know that. You can’t really be—“ He suddenly stopped himself as his eyes widened. “Oh no.”

“Oh, yes,” said the musician as she slid to her side of the vault’s door. “And, just in case you need a reminder.” She pulled out her blade, making sure it was visible to Burgo. “Let’s not try anything.”

“You...” Burgo’s legs shook, and through his beard, Rarity saw his face flush red. His mouth opened and shut several times as he sputtered and struggled to speak. “Darn it!” the stallion finally managed to say then turned and kicked angrily at the floor before marching over to the cot and throwing himself onto it.

The musician sighed. “I’m sorry you had to deal with him for so long. It must have been rough.” The heavy metal gate opened slowly, revealing the musician on the other side. “Well, come along now. Oh, and pick up that tray. And don’t forget your robe. You can keep the hood off this time.”

Rarity put on her borrowed clothes, again tossing them over her own cloak without any issue or discomfort, and looked down at the tray with the bowls and utensils from last night’s meal. Gathering it and all of its contents, she started toward the exit but stopped to turn to the stallion slumped over in the cramped bed.

“What about Burgo? Is he not coming with us?”

The musician blinked at the question and for a moment, Rarity thought she saw the musician’s smile start to falter only for it to return and shine with even more radiance. “Well, that really depends on his behavior. He’s been awfully unruly as of recent and needs to be punished, but I promise you, once he learns to play nice—“

At this, Burgo Masters harrumphed and rolled onto his side.

“—we’ll let him out. But he has to learn his lesson first. You understand, don’t you?”

Rarity hesitated. “Maybe, maybe I should stay. Something doesn’t seem right about leaving him here.”

“It’s kind of you to say so,” the musician said. “More than he deserves, really, but we need you, miss. We need you out there.”

“You, you need me?”

“Oh yes,” the lyre player answered with a nod. “We have ponies out there just dying to get a glimpse of you and hear you speak and, well, I’ll explain more on the way, but right now, you should just know that we need you far more than the mayor over there does.”

“Well...”

“And honestly, would you really prefer to spend your time in here in the company of that lout of a stallion than to go with me?” The musician gave Rarity a quick glance, and her smile became one of pity. “I bet he hogged the bed all to himself and just left you on the floor, didn’t he.”

Every sore inch of Rarity back cried out in confirmation of the musician’s accusation. Her bleary eyes and a slight lightheadedness served as additional reminders of how poor her slumber had been thanks to Burgo’s selfishness. Without sparing another word to or bothering to glance back at the stallion in the cot, Rarity followed the musician out of the vault.

15. The Marionette

15. The Marionette

The heavy metal gate of the vault was closed and secured behind Rarity, followed by the wooden door to the room as she was led back through the area with the boxes and janitorial supplies, to the stairway, and up to the ground floor. The way through the hall was lit by beams of sunlight passing through the windows. The two mares followed the path down to the room at the very end, the same room Rarity had first met Shim if she was remembering correctly.

If she wasn’t, it was certainly a very similarly furnished room, with a cluttered writing desk against the wall, a large wardrobe to the side, and a bed at least twice and a half the size of the cot from the vault complete with a complementary nightstand beside it. In the center was the red and green shag rug that added a little color to the brown of the floorboards. The lamp on the desk had long since burned out, its fuel spent, but there was plenty of light coming through the room’s sole window.

“You can drop that tray anywhere you like,” the musician instructed with a dismissive wave. “Shim should be here pretty soon to help you get ready. In the mean time, why don’t I grab some food for you while you wait here? Go ahead, take a seat anywhere you’d like. Shim won’t mind.”

Rarity did as she was told, placing the tray of dirty bowls down on the floor before looking between the rug and the mattress. She finally settled on the rug, deciding that the additional comfort wasn’t worth performing a potential faux pas by lying in her host’s own bed, even if she had the permission from Shim’s sister. It may not have been a bed, but the shag rug was still plenty soft and a vast improvement over the hard concrete floor of the vault.

As Rarity was enjoying her new comfy setting, the door reopened, and the musician returned with a basket and a mug. Shim soon followed, carrying a large bowl of water and wearing a set of saddlebags. “Here you are,” said the musician, placing the basket next to Rarity and revealing the several little dinner rolls within. “Go right ahead.”

At the musician’s prompting, Rarity took one of the bread rolls. It was still warm, maybe even fresh out of the oven. She bit into it and released a hum of surprise and satisfaction. There was a slight sweetness to its taste, not overwhelmingly so but enough to add a tantalizing flavor that made her mouth beg for more.

The leftover crusts from last night might as well have been ash, the dried rations sand. A second bite swiftly followed even before Rarity finished swallowing the first. The first roll soon disappeared, and Rarity moved on to the next one. Even after Rarity remembered herself and her manners and forced herself to slow down, eating more like a civilized lady, it did not take long before the plate of bread rolls became a plate of bread crumbs, and Rarity washed down the last mouthful with a sip of cool, creamy milk from the mug, another wonderful surprise.

“Done?” asked the musician. “Then let’s get you ready.”

The two mares worked together to pull out and prepare a collection of combs and brushes from Shim’s bags. “Don’t move,” Shim ordered as she went around and behind Rarity. Rarity winced as the teeth of a comb ran through her hair and ripped through the tangles and matted patches. After some time, Shim switched to a fine bristle brush which she used to straighten and smooth out parts of Rarity’s messy mane before going back to the comb and then moving on to a different style of brush.

A salon styling this most certainly was not. Shim pulled and yanked when a gentler approach would have sufficed, and the way she moved her tools was stiff and left Rarity’s mane uneven, which would then require Shim to go back and repeat a step. As Rarity struggled to follow Shim instruction and remain still, she wondered if the abbess had even an idea of what she was doing. Any attempts to check her reflection in the bowl of water were met with rebuffs and firm requests for stillness. At this point, Rarity was sure she could be doing a better job and was more than willing to take over. It was her own mane after all, and after spending so many years with it, she should and would know best.

As Rarity started to speak, however, getting out no more than a couple of words, the musician held up a hoof and gave out a smile of confidence.

“Don’t worry. Shim knows what she’s doing. Don’t you, Sis?”

Shim huffed as she continued to work. It wasn’t the most encouraging answer, but Rarity decided not to pursue the issue further. At long last, Shim set down her tools and stepped back around to face Rarity’s front side.

“Well, what do you think?” Shim asked the musician.

The musician took some time to answer, tilting her head side to side as she looked over Rarity’s mane. “Eh, it’s better,” she eventually said. “Don’t know if it’s princess quality, but at least she doesn’t look like she’s never seen a brush in her life anymore. Let’s keep going.”

The musician pulled out a small towel of from the saddlebags, not much larger than a standard dishcloth. Rarity watched as the musician plunged the towel into the basin, soaking it before wringing out the excess water. “Hold still for me,” she instructed as she approached Rarity and tossed the wet towel over her face. The sudden cold dampness of the cloth soaking into her coat sent a shiver through Rarity’s body, but before she could protest, she felt hooves press against her face. They scrubbed away, either ignoring or in ignorance of Rarity’s muffled whimpers.

Her cheeks were red by the time the towel was removed, and at the sight of all of the smudges on the once clean cloth, Rarity recoiled. She was well aware that her time on the road hadn’t left her with many opportunities to clean herself, but seeing just how dirty her face had been, how much gunk and grime had accumulated, was still a shock.

The musician took a step back to examine their work. “Well, it’s definitely an improvement,” she said. “Everypony will be able to see her face, and there’s really no mistaking it. We don’t even need the disguise kit.”

“Thank goodness for that,” Shim said with a relieved sigh. “There’s not much of it left.” She clapped her hooves together. “Alright, I’ll head out first and make sure everything’s in order. You make sure she’s still charmed. We don’t want a repeat of last time.”

“Yeah, yeah,” the musician grumbled as Shim left. She pulled out her lyre and started to play, filling the room with a bright, cheery melody. Part of Rarity wanted to cover her ears, to shout and scream over the music, but that bout of insanity quickly passed as everything beside the song of the strings was drowned out.

To Rarity’s sudden sadness, the music came to end. The last chord of lyre and the musician’s last sung note echoed throughout the room before it all went still and silent. “Well, that should do it,” the musician said, putting away her instrument. “Come on.”

Rarity was led out of the room and back into the hall. “Where are we going?” she asked as they hurried through the building.

“Just a meeting with some adoring fans and then a quick stroll through town,” answered the musician. “Remember the first night, how all you had to do was stand there and let Shim do all the talking? Well same sort of deal here, only some ponies are probably going to try talking to you, and when they do, you have to act like you’re Princess Shmarity and that you managed to get away from the Squid Wizard through the Great Protector’s divine intervention or something vague like that, and because of how grateful you are to the Great Protector, you’ve decided to devote your life to their will and their order. Actually, now that I’ve said that all out loud, it sounds awfully complicated so if things get too much for you, just leave the talking to Shim and I and just nod when we say so.” She looked over to Rarity. “Still, should be easy enough, right?”

“Um, I—“

“Oh, Sis,” the musician said, cutting Rarity off as she announced Shim’s return. “How’s everything coming along?”

“As well as can be, I suppose,” Shim said. She stood at the door that led to the bank’s front lobby. “The crowd is a bit larger than anticipated, but that shouldn’t be an issue.” She turned to Rarity and reached over to brush a few loose strands out of Rarity’s face. “There, perfect.” Shim turned to the musician. “Well then. Let’s get started.”

An audible hush and the stares of some several ponies were there to greet them as they stepped into the bank’s front lobby. This time, the room was well and packed. Many of the ponies before them wore white robes similar to those Rarity and Shim had on, but there was also a large number without such attire, wearing instead the vests and wide brimmed farm hats and simple dresses Rarity had more typically observed of Horshire’s population along with faces of shock and disbelief as she passed them by. Whispers followed after her as she was led through the room, the crowd moving out of the way as Shim and her approached.

“I told you, look!”

“I can’t believe it.”

“It’s really her!”

They stopped at the stage from the first night, right in front of the donation box, and turned to face the crowd. “Brothers, sisters, ponies of Horshire,” Shim exclaimed, her voice echoing through the room. “I thank you for your patience.” Shim’s head turned from one side of the room to the other as she looked over the crowd. “I see that amongst our congregation, there are those new to us and this house of worship as well as those whom we have not seen in some time.”

The assembly stirred with visible discomfort. Some in the crowd, both with and without robes, appeared to shrink back when the speaker’s gaze seemingly fell upon them. The crowd became still when Shim raised a hoof. “Brothers and sisters, you who have remained faithful to the Great Protector, do not hold any hard feelings toward those who have only now returned to our savior’s grace. Rather, we welcome you who have stumbled in your faith. And to you who have never accepted or known of the Great Protector’s will, who have been brought here because of news of Princess Shmarity’s presence, we welcome you as well and hope that you will not only satisfy your curiosity, for yes, as you can all see the princess is with us and well, but also come to understand of the mighty grace that has brought the princess to us.”

The gathered ponies started to mutter. Many nodded and spoke out in agreement with Shim, with Rarity hearing several exclamations of affirmation, but some, particularly those of the more plainly dressed, sounded and appeared doubtful. There was one stallion of note wearing a dark gray hat and had a similarly colored mustache who had managed to push to the front of the crowd. His skepticism was easily seen in the stare he shot at Rarity, and his dispassionate features slowly morphed into a deepening scowl as Shim’s grandiose speech continued.

“See how powerful the Great Protector is and know their wonderful works. Give praise to they who have rescued the princess from the stronghold of doom. Give praise to they who have bestowed their protection upon this humble town and keeps the enemy from our doorstep. Brothers, sisters, ponies of Horshire, let me hear you give praise!”

“Horse apples!”

Everypony turned to the stallion in the gray hat. He stepped forward and approached the stage. “If you think getting some look-alike to play pretend will get me to join your hokey cult, you’re just as gullible as the rest of the poor saps here,” he exclaimed, gesturing to the robed ponies behind him. At this, many in crowd shook in anger and some even approached the dissenter with their own select words of animosity. The stallion, with his face locked in a glower, showed no signs of being intimated, and some of the other outsiders, encouraged by his daring display, stood up around him in solidarity.

Again Shim raised her hoof, and again the congregation calmed. To her credit, she did not appear perturbed by the stallion’s insolence, her matronly smile unwavering. “Now now, peace, brothers and sisters. A little suspicion is understandable. With all that we have been through, I know how difficult it can be to hope again.”

“That’s not what—“

“But you don’t need to be afraid any longer,” Shim continued on, cutting the stallion off. She took a step toward him. “There is no need for you to continue living in fear. Why deny what is right before your eyes? Or are you so lost to the truth that you willing blind yourself to reality? Or perhaps,” Shim added, her eyes narrowing, “this is envy?”

“Envy? What are you—“

“Yes, envy!” Shim made her way back to the stage and to Rarity’s side. “Envy toward we who no longer live in fear. Envy toward we who know the truth and live in the hope that comes with the truth. Yes, I see an envy so great, so powerful and hateful, it would drive a pony to deprive his neighbors of what hope they possess just so he isn’t the only one living in darkness!”

Shim’s voice shook as she pointed at the stallion who had spoken out. The crowd, rallied by Shim’s exclamation, escalated from whispers and mutters to shouts and angry jeers. Most of the stallion’s supporters melted into the mob, hiding away and leaving him to fend for himself as the angry worshippers drew closer and grew louder. His face started to turn red and his mustache bristled as his collected countenance collapsed. He stepped up to Shim and Rarity, inciting several gasps and cries.

“Horse apples, all of it!” he snarled. “I’m just not stupid enough to fall for your tricks. You say that’s Princess Shmarity?” The stallion jabbed a hoof in Rarity’s direction. “Then tell me, ‘Princess,’ where in the palace is the captain of royal guard’s quarters located?“ He turned to Shim and sneered. “See, I had an uncle who worked at the castle. Bet you weren’t expecting that, huh?”

The ends of the abbess’s lips twitched. “That’s enough. We will allow no further disrespect toward the princess. Have you no shame? She has already been through so much already, far more than any of us can hope to imagine, and now you dare question—“

“Captain Gleaming Shield’s main living quarters are in the west turret, overlooking the training barracks of the royal knights, though there are offices in each of the palace’s towers that can accommodate the captain so that she can focus her attention on whichever section requires her most.”

Everypony turned to the pony who had spoken, their eyes wide and several with their jaws dropped. Rarity herself blinked a number of times in surprise when she realized that the answer had come from her. She brought a hoof to the lips that had moved on their own as the images of some regal structure faded from her mind. Where had her answer come from? How was she seeing this palace she had no memory of visiting and why did it feel so familiar? Rarity turned to Shim for instructions, but the mare in white and gold appeared just as confused.

A chuckle rang through the room. “Well, how about it?” Rarity heard the musician say. “Is she the real deal or not?”

The shade of red on the stallion’s features darkened to something closer to purple. His mouth was constantly opening and closing as the others around him demanded either confirmation or contradiction, but no words were formed out of his sputters. He spun around and rushed through the crowd, pushing his way past ponies until he reached the building’s exit. The silence that followed the slam of the door lasted until the stallion’s gray hat, thrown off and abandoned in his haste to escape, drifted to the ground, after which the assembly exploded into complete and utter chaos. Over Shim’s cries for order, the crowd rushed forward to Rarity, bombarding her with questions and a variety of declarations.

“Princess! Over here! Look here, please!”

“Where’s the army? Do we still have an army?”

“I can’t believe. The princess, she’s actually here!”

“What about the heroes that were rumored? Are they here too?”

“I really like your mane!”

“Praise be! Did you see the Great Protector when you were saved?”

“How did you escape?”

The crush of ponies got closer and closer, forcing Rarity to back up until she was against the wall. Shim stepped between her and the approaching crowd. “That’s enough!” she somehow managed to shout over the noise. She swept her glare across the initial line before her and caused some to back away. “Is this how we of the Great Protector should be treating such an esteemed guest? Is this how you want to represent Horshire to Her Highness? Surely not!” Shim turned to the musician standing off to the side and gave her a nod before returning to the audience. “Calm yourselves, brothers and sisters. There will be time for you to show your adoration, but only if you remain calm and civil. See here, you are only stressing the princess out with this disorderly behavior and, please, quiet down! Listen to me!”

As Shim fought to restore peace to the room, her voice ringing over the crowd’s competing protests, Rarity was grabbed by the musician and dragged away. Some ponies tried to follow, but the unorganized crowded and noisy environment prevented them from getting too close. The two made their escape back through the door behind the counters.

“Well, that went well, don’t you think?” the musician said cheerfully as she brought Rarity back into Shim’s room. “Nice bit of improvising out there. Way to call that heckler’s bluff.” She snorted. “Bet he feels real stupid.”

Rarity smiled. It was always nice to receive a friendly compliment, but before she could thank her, the door was flung open and in stepped Shim looking flustered. Strands of mane were sticking out of her bun, and she was breathing heavily, as if she had sprinted all the way here, while her robes had become rumpled and messy. Her face was flushed, though from her glare it was difficult to know for sure whether it was out of physical activity, anger, or embarrassment.

“I thought I told you to make sure she was under control,” Shim hissed at the musician who frowned and raised an eyebrow.

“She is.” The musician looked to Rarity and said, “Go sit on the bed. Okay, now throw me the pillow.”

The cushion landed directly into the musician’s grasp. “See?”

“Then what was that about?” Shim asked, jabbing a hoof at the door. “Why did she answer that stallion?”

The musician tapped at her chin, hummed then shrugged. “I don’t see the problem. I told her to act like the princess, and she played that role perfectly. Shot that loudmouth down like a true champion. I mean, come on Sis. You have to admit the look on his stupid face was amazing.”

“It was a risk that could have ruined everything!” Shim all but roared. She took a deep breath before continuing. “I had it all under control. It wouldn’t have mattered whether that heckler was telling the truth or not, but if he had, her outburst would have been all he needed to expose us.”

“But he wasn’t, and it all paid off in the end, and look!” the musician argued. “That got the crowd moving faster than we’ve ever managed before. You should be out there accepting donations, not standing around and getting upset because for once in our lives we got lucky. Come on, tell me, how much coin did we already make today?”

“I, don’t know, I left one of our more loyal followers to deal with collections so we could deal with this,” Shim said, rubbing her forehead. “Look, we can’t afford to rely on luck. We need a plan, and we need to stick to it. Or have you forgotten what happened last time, during our short stay in Candelkeep?”

“Hey! It’s not my fault I didn’t know the head monk had an irrational fear of clocks. Nopony could have—“

A knock at the door shut the musician up, and before anypony could respond, the door opened to reveal a young mare on the other side. She wore the white robes of their order, though hers were more plain than the ones Rarity and Shim had on, and had her long, burgundy mane braided together. “Um, pardon me, M-Mother Shim,” she said barely louder than a whisper. “But, um.”

“What is it, Sister Patsy?” Shim demanded, her impatient tone causing the mare to shrink. “I thought I was clear that I was not to be disturbed. Did you at least handle the situation outside?”

“Oh yes,” the mare answered with an eager nod before adding a less confident, “I think. Everypony is going home now. Um, is that alright?”

“Yes, yes. That’s fine,” Shim said hurriedly. “Now is that everything or was there something else?”

The timid mare tapped her hooves together. “Actually, we were hoping...” She stepped to the side, allowing Shim, the musician, and Rarity to see the additional four or five robed ponies behind her. “We were hoping to see the princess. Just for a little bit, if it’s not too much trouble.”

The other ponies nodded. Some tried to peek over to catch a glimpse of Rarity, and those who succeeded announced their achievement in excited whispers. Shim looked to the musician who just gave a nonchalant shrug. With a frustrated sigh, Shim turned back to the group of ponies waiting in anticipation.

“Very well. But!” she added, emphasizing with a raised hoof. “Mind your manners. Remember, every one of us here is a representative of the Great Protector, so do act accordingly.”

It was too late. Shim’s disciplining fell on deaf ears as Rarity was swarmed by the group and was swept away in a second torrent of inquiries and acclimations. Even the shy sister who initiated this encounter added to the din, her voice growing as loud as the rest, and all Rarity could do was try to smile, nod, and thank her audience for being here.

Eventually, Shim called an end to the meeting and ordered her acolytes away, telling them to go home and to come again tomorrow if they wanted to see the princess. “Princess Shmarity is still recovering from her journey,” she had explained. “The Great Protector’s power is great, but the princess still need her rest. And do remember to tell your family and neighbors what you have seen today,” Shim added as the last of her followers reluctantly shuffled out.

They waited a couple of minutes, then once they confirmed that the hall was empty, Shim and the musician instructed Rarity to follow and brought her again through the door to the stairway. They descended, making their way through the dark storage area and past the locked doors before returning to the vault beneath the bank’s floorboards. Burgo Masters had gotten up and gone over to watch from the barred window as they approached. The gate was opened, and after a quick command from the musician, Rarity stepped inside.

For some time, she just stood there in the center of the cell, wearing a smile of contentment on her face as she enjoyed the feeling that came with doing a good job. Eventually, that small smile rotated into a massive frown, and any sense of happiness gave way to darker emotions as she angrily spun around, ready to shout, chastise, lecture, or maybe just scream at the ponies who had used her so. By the time Rarity had turned around, however, Shim and that damnable magical musician were already gone.

The gate had long since been locked and secured, but Rarity pushed at it anyways, letting out her ineffectual frustrations with an anguished growl. Unsurprisingly, the gate didn’t even rattle, and Rarity was left drained and out of breath.

“You, uh, know it swings inward, right?”

“Yes! Thank you!” Rarity snapped, before taking deep breath. “Ahem, yes. Pardon me.” She stepped away from the door and sat down on the cot.

“So, what happened?” Burgo Masters asked as he approached.

Rarity started to describe what had occurred during her brief time outside. She recalled the crowded lobby, the large gathering, the mix of cultists with nonbelievers, and Shim’s sermon. However, when she got to the parts involving the stallion with the supposed uncle from the castle, Rarity omitted mention of her odd reply, she herself not understanding what had happened then, and simply framed it instead as Shim twisting the poor pony’s reasoning until the whole crowd turned against him and turned to chaos.

“Do you suppose there any chance that stallion was telling the truth?” Rarity questioned Burgo once her story had concluded. The mayor had been quiet during the recount and now appeared to be lost in thought.

“What, you mean old Grays?” Burgo snorted. “He’ll have you believe he’s got a relative in every town of Spiketopia and in just about every position or job just short of the really public ones. I mean, sure, sometimes he really does have an uncle or a cousin or a something-in-law who really is a big shot adventurer or researcher or whatever, he comes from a huge family you see, but more often than not it’s just an entertaining tall tale. It would’ve been nice if Grays had managed to trip them up, but Shim’s a crafty one.” He shook his head. “So it’s exactly as we thought, huh? They’re making the town think they’ve got the princess in her pocket.” The stallion winced. “Ooh boy.”

It was certainly not the most reassuring reaction for her to be receiving. “Do you think they’ll find any success?” Rarity asked. “I know I saw a few skeptics today along with, Grays was it? Surely enough of your fellow ponies will have the guile to see through this and keep the town from falling further into their influence.”

“Oh, I’d like to think so,” Burgo said, running a hoof through his already messy mane, “but honestly? I’m not too sure. Horshire hasn’t had a lot to celebrate since the old trade route shut down, and now Shim comes along heralding the return of Princess Shmarity? Yeah, her whole message of hope and junk through some all powerful protector just got a whole lot more attractive now that she’s got actual ‘proof,’ and, well, have you looked in a mirror?” Burgo gestured at Rarity’s face. “If I didn’t know better, you could’ve fooled me, and it’s not like anypony in town actually knows the princess and can prove you’re not her.”

The mayor of Horshire sighed and slumped against the wall. The vault went silent as both he and Rarity sat with their thoughts, with one particular thought that they unknowingly shared being the most prominent:

We need to get out of here.

The question, of course, was how. Rarity ran through her list of possible escape means and found it lacking. She had a few options, yes, but they were all completely reliant on the folly of her oppressors or either dangerous and utterly distasteful, such as attacking the backs of Shim and the musician with the blades in her pocket, or dangerous and utterly insane, like, say, trying to invoke the magic of some strange and powerful and maybe not entirely benevolent being without having any idea as to how to control it.

One would think that with the disturbing number of times Rarity had been made a prisoner and then gotten free, she would have had an easier time coming up with a way to escape, but there were no simpleminded guards here for her to bully into submission or to have wrapped around her hoof (and it was extremely odd to be on the other end of the puppet strings), no friends on the outside planning a daring rescue, and no magical alicorn princess battling for her freedom. The closest analogy she had to the situation she was in now was the time she spent in Starlight Glimmer’s, during her misguided Cutie Mark hating phase, village, but it wasn’t like a peace-loving pegasus who had already demonstrated sympathy to the enemy cause was around to pretend to switch sides.

With her thoughts exhausted and the sound of her own mental deliberations becoming tiresome, Rarity finally broke the silence. “So how did this all start?” she asked.

Burgo Masters looked up. “How did what start? You mean the...”

“The cult, yes. Even if Shim is as good a speaker as you say she is, I’m having some trouble imagining how she and her sister managed to gather such a following to begin with,” said Rarity. “What did they have to offer? Maybe there’s something in their past methods we can use to our advantage.”

It was a play right out of Twilight Sparkle’s book, looking into past history for the answers to present problems, and an eyewitness to the event was just as good as a book on the subject.

“I suppose it can’t hurt to try and explain,” said the stallion. “I’m not sure what you’re expecting to find, but maybe you’ll get something I missed. Let’s see now, where to begin, where to begin?” Rarity watched as Burgo Masters scratched his chin through that bush of a beard.

“It was a little while after Bakersfield was wiped off the map, and we were dealing with that second wave of refugees. A lot of the towns neighboring Bakersfield were being abandoned at that time, ponies afraid that their homes would be next. I’m sure you saw what was left of them on the way here, you coming from the east and all. Still bit of a shock that there are still some ponies out in that direction.” He shook his head. “Anyways, we were just glad to get some traffic and some coin into town, what with the bulk of the merchants scared off the main road, but we were all worried about what would happen to Horshire once they left. There was even some talk among the townsfolk of leaving themselves. Well, around that time, Shim and her bard sister showed up.”

Burgo went on to explain how instead of leaving with the rest of the refugees, the two mares settled down and filled a couple of gaping holes in the community. The musician provided some much needed distraction with her craft, and for the first time since news of the capital’s fall the tavern had evenings full of patrons and laughter. Shim, meanwhile, became the town’s alternate healer whenever the first was too busy with patching up militia members. Over time, more and more ponies went to Shim first until eventually she became the primary healer while the old physician took up the role of the militia’s medic full time. That was around when rumors started spreading about Shim being able to perform miracles.

“What do you mean, miracles?” Rarity asked. “Can Shim use magic as well or was it all just hyperbole?”

“Hyper, what?”

“Exaggeration.”

“Oh. Well, it’s honestly kind of hard to say,” Burgo admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. “By all accounts, Shim’s a good enough healer, and I can chalk some of the rumors up to her patients over-exaggerating, but then there were reports of strange things happening during her treatments, like flickering lights or Shim’s eyes suddenly glowing and her voice deepening. I also remember a lot of her followers claiming that the ground shook when she first started giving sermons, but I’ve never actually seen it myself.”

Burgo shrugged before continuing. “It wasn’t a big deal at the time. We’ve got no problem with magic or magic users, had plenty of adventuring mages come through Horshire on their way to Baldursgait without any issue, and Shim wasn’t hurting anypony. Even when she started telling ponies about this new deity of hers called the Great Protector and how her healing came from them and all that junk, I didn’t see a problem as long as she kept my town healthy.”

“Really? You didn’t think there was anything strange about what was being said?”

Again, the stallion struggled. “Strange, sure, but in the end ponies were being taken care of. I didn’t think there was any harm in telling ponies they had a powerful and divine guardian that had a plan to get through these troubling times, and after everything the town’s been through, some of us really could’ve used an encouraging message like that.

“Anyways, word spread. Ponies starting going to Shim for more than just medical problems, and soon Shim started preaching her message publicly. We didn’t have any problems until she started telling everypony that the only reason Horshire was still standing was because of the Great Protector.” He let out a humorless chuckle. “Of course that angered a bunch of ponies, especially those from the older families, as you can imagine, and I had to step in as the mayor to mediate. That gave them the opportunity to put me under that charm spell of theirs and they’ve had free run of the town ever since.”

Burgo sighed and slumped against the wall, seemingly exhausted from having to relive the events of the his tale. Before Rarity could make sure if he was alright, however, the door to the room opened, and in came Shim and the musician carrying between them a bundle of blankets and another tray with some bread and a pair of bowls. The vault’s gate was unlocked, and enough room was made to slide the bundle and the tray in before the metal door was shut once more.

This time, Rarity made sure to grab a bowl before Burgo went and devoured both portions. She was about to follow in Burgo’s suit and start digging in, albeit less messily and with more care, when she noticed that neither Shim nor the musician had made any move to leave. She placed the bowl back down and stared back past the metal bars at the two mares.

Several moments of awkward silence passed before Rarity finally spoke up. “I’m sorry, are we waiting for something?” she asked.

“No, not at all,” Shim assured. “Don’t mind us. Go on, eat while it’s still warm.”

When Rarity did no such thing and simply continued to sit and stare, the two turned and looked to each other before turning back to Rarity. “Yes, well,” Shim said, clearing her throat as she returned the small frown on her face to her original smile. “We were planning on waiting for you to finish your meal before discussing business, out of courtesy, but I suppose we could always start now, if that’s what you’d prefer.”

“Is that right? How very considerate of you,” Rarity said, her voiced dulled by her true feelings on the matter. “But yes, I think it would be best to deal with whatever business we still have first. I’d rather have my meal in peace.” She gave Shim a rueful smile. “You understand, I’m sure.”

The only reaction Rarity got was some slightly movements in the ends of Shim’s smile, but it was a reaction regardless, and Rarity let herself enjoy the small victory. “Now, would this business happen to do with our little discussion from earlier today?” she asked, keeping her momentum rolling. “The one regarding my refusal to join your sleazy little operation?”

The musician snickered. “Ooh, look out, Sis. She’s a smart one.”

Shim ignored the musician and instead got up to look into the vault. “You should know, miss, we have rooms available. Furnished rooms, with windows and beds. Real beds, nothing like what you have in here.” She nodded at the small, cramped cot in the corner. “You can confirm with Mr. Mayor if you’d like, he knows we can keep our, assets comfortable. As long as they don’t cause us any trouble, of course,” Shim added, turning briefly to Burgo Masters who tore himself from his food long enough to look up and scowl.

“And am I right to assume that you are offering one of these rooms in return for my cooperation?” Rarity asked, an eyebrow partially raised.

“That, in addition to some other perks. I told you, with our help, you could very well live in comfort,” Shim declared. “It would be in both of our best interests for you to work with us willingly. Oh yes, we could certainly just keep putting you under a charm, but that would be just so tiresome, and what would you get out of it? Think about it.” Shim leaned forward, pressing her hooves against the bars. “We could get a room and bed prepared for you before bedtime.”

For a good few seconds, Rarity said nothing. Then: “Really? Is that it? A personal living space and some vague mentions of luxury?” Rarity smirked. “If that’s truly the best you have to give, it’s no wonder you can’t get anypony to do anything without resorting to trickery.”

The smile on Shim’s face faded. Her eyes started to narrow, and for a moment, Rarity wondered if she had overstepped. She kept her worries hidden behind an mask of indifference, however, as Shim sighed and shook her head.

“Ah well. Perhaps a little more time in here might help make you more agreeable.” The robed mare knocked on the vault’s exterior wall. “I know you’re an intelligent mare, miss, so do try to think of what you could gain by working with us as partners, as well as what you could possibly hope to achieve by struggling against us.”

Shim got up and with a smile and a bow, she and the musician started toward the room’s exit. As she reached the door, Shim paused to look over her shoulder. “Tomorrow will be another busy day, so get some sleep.”

A routine was soon established as the days passed, with each day starting with Rarity awakening and getting up whenever it was no longer comfortable just lying about. Burgo would either already be up or would be up in ten or so minutes, after which the two would spend the time talking. Usually, they would brainstorm and present any ideas of escape that came to mind, many of which were ridiculous and infeasible, but sometimes Burgo would tell stories about Horshire during its height or Rarity would describe how the weather was the previous day or the ponies she had met. These conversations were more of a means to stave off boredom than to achieve anything really, though there had been a couple of proposals they did build and expanded upon afterwards.

On most days soon after, perhaps just over an hour or so by Rarity’s best estimate, Shim and her sister would show, acting all friendly and such before the musician would bring out her lyre and start to perform. On occasion, once she had finished playing, she and Shim would leave the room, and Rarity and Burgo would have the rest of the day to themselves until it was time to go to sleep. Those days, they went to bed hungry, without having anything to eat all day, and Rarity’s supply of travel rations was quickly exhausted.

More often than not, however, that encounter would end with Rarity following Shim and the musician out per their request, and they would bring her up to Shim’s room for food and some cleaning up. Then, usually after a second private concert, Rarity would be brought to a cheering crowd that seemed to grow each time she saw it. Sometimes, she would simply stand by Shim’s side as the mare preached and just help with the collecting of donations at the end. Sometimes, Rarity herself would speak to the congregation, following the script Shim would have provided her as she told the ponies gathered before her of the tribulations she faced before the Great Protector rescued her. Rarity would pepper these tales with vivid details from events she did not recognize but could recall with eerie clarity, and Shim would eventually stop becoming upset over her going off script once she saw how awed and vulnerable the additions left the audience.

Some days, instead of speaking to a lobby full of worshipers, they would leave the repurposed bank and instead walk the streets of Horshire. Out there, Rarity would see other ponies, ponies who had never stepped inside the Great Protector’s temple, and she would watch their countenance twist in confusion and disbelief as Shim would speak out about her deity and about Rarity’s deliverance. There were times where, again, Rarity herself would speak to the doubter, and sometimes, the pony’s expression would turn to one of acceptance.

That had been the case with Ms. Innskeeper the innkeeper, and a couple of days later, Rarity saw her standing with the rest of the crowd in the front lobby, wearing those white robes.

They would never be out for long, no longer than an hour at most, after which Rarity would be returned to the vault, and she and Burgo Masters would have to try to amuse themselves with more of the same from the morning until supper, of which Shim and the musician would come down to provide. The requests for Rarity to join the sisters continued to be made, and occasionally the offer would be extended to Burgo, though the frequency of these requests soon dropped as their answer and stubbornness became predictable.

And so it would continue as days went by, blurring together until long before Rarity even knew it, she had lost track of time. Her desperation and impatience grew with every moment she wasted away in Horshire, but with her options limited, she was forced to wait and keep an eye out for the golden opportunity, as Burgo had described it, to arise. Part of her so very much wanted to do away all this waiting, but reason and caution won out in the end. It would do Spike and Discord no good if she was injured in their attempt to escape, and with how finite the resources she had to work with were, Rarity had little margin for failure.

So Rarity waited and endured the role of Shim’s puppet, looking for something to exploit as they paraded her around like a trophy. Then, one day after the conclusion of the sermon, Rarity noticed that a large number of ponies still lingered in the lobby, and a group stopped them just as they were about to go through the door.

“Mother Shim, Your Highness,” one of the ponies, the mare with the braided reddish mane, Sister Patsy was her name, Rarity believed, greeted with a respectful bow that the others with her imitated to which Shim responded in kind. “I don’t know if you’ve heard, but there’s been talk that the Provenance Festival will still be happening!”

“Ah, is that right? And that’s the celebration for?”

“The founding of Horshire, of course,” the mare said excitedly. She was bouncing from hoof to hoof, and her grin was so wide, the tips of her mouth were approaching her ears. “With all that’s been going on, we weren’t sure we’d have one this year, but now everypony’s putting up the decorations and talking about setting up booths, and it’s all thanks to the Great Protector!”

The others had nodded in agreement as Patsy continued, saying, “We, we were hoping, if it were all possible, if Her Highness could be there that day to say a few words to the town. I mean, I don’t want to presume, but she will be there, won’t she?”

“Well, we’ll have to see. The princess and I do have a strict schedule to keep, and when is this festival exactly?”

“Could be as early as the end of this week, least that’s what I’ve heard,” one of ponies behind Patsy had declared.

“Ah. Yes, I’m afraid with so little time to prepare, we won’t be able to—“

“Hold on,” the musician interjected. “This festival, is it a big one?”

Patsy nodded. “Oh yes, it might be the biggest holiday in Horshire. Everypony will be out there that day.”

“Everypony, eh? Then I don’t see why we can’t make an appearance,” the musician said before Shim sent the ponies away and took the musician and Rarity into the building.

The two sisters argued along the way. There was a contrast in their personalities, Rarity had noted, that often led to arguments like this, in which the musician would call for something daring while Shim would demand caution. They were still going on about the risks of having Rarity out in such a noisy and chaotic environment versus the reward of reaching a larger audience by the time they had reached the vault on the floor below.

When Burgo inquired about their heated discussion, Rarity had told him about the upcoming festival and of the request made of her.

“Is it that time already? Hm.” The stallion leaned back and stroked his beard. “They’re really going ahead with the Provenance Festival, eh? And without me?” he grumbled. “If the destruction of the nation’s capital and everything else wasn’t going to cancel the holiday, you’d think the mysterious disappearance of their beloved mayor would have at least.”

“Then I take this is indeed a big event?” asked Rarity.

Burgo nodded. “Oh yeah. Huge. It’s a whole day thing, full of games and food and, well, it’s a festival. You know how they are. We’d even draw ponies from the neighboring towns, and we’d even get some traveling performers, though I guess that probably won’t be happening this year, the main road being how it is,” he said, his wistful expression visible even in the dark.

“Still, the whole town will be out, that much I guarantee,” he continued. “And it sounds like they want you to make a speech. Yeah, they were probably talking about the opener, when somepony, usually either the mayor or some big important guest, kicks things off. Hm, I wonder...”

The two shared a look. It was time. Their golden opportunity was finally arriving.

16. Who Pulls the Strings

16. Who Pulls the Strings

Shim and the musician must have come to some agreement as the very next day there was an announcement made. The crowd whispered excitedly amongst itself at the reveal that Princess Shmarity would be gracing the Provenance Festival with her presence. It would only be for an hour or so, Shim had said, but in that time they would be sure to allow the princess to say a few words and further spread the message of the Great Protector.

The rest of the week was spent preparing for the festival, with Shim and her sister working on a schedule for that day and drafting out the speech Rarity was to give. Whenever she was brought up to Shim’s room, Rarity would find the writing desk covered in sheets of parchment and the floor littered with crumbled wads and empty inkwells. The sermons were canceled, and instead of going out to spread the glory of the Great Protector, Shim and Rarity spent the days practicing and rewriting, changing this word and reworking that phrase. Intonations were directed, emphases replaced, articulations stressed and committed to memory. Shim left nothing to chance when it came to this address, and she made sure that the musician understood that there would be no room for risks or variables this time, no improvisation, no surprises. Keep her under control and stick to the script, Shim had instructed, and with evident reluctance, the musician conceded.

The day before the scheduled festival soon arrived, and at this point Shim was finally feeling satisfied with her speech and Rarity’s performance of it. The final rehearsal came and went, the itinerary for tomorrow reviewed and memorized, the room cleaned and put back into order, and that night, like most other night, Shim and the musician went down to visit them. The bowls of stew and the bread that normally came with them were, however, absent. All that was provided for tonight’s supper was some water.

“Aw, don’t give me that look,” the musician said with a sneer as she pushed in the jug. “They’ll be plenty of food at the festival tomorrow. We just want to make you’ll have the appetite. Well, her anyways,” she added with a motion toward Rarity before turning and grinning at Burgo. “You, we really just don’t like.”

“Indeed.” Shim took her position before the bars as the musician stepped back and secured the vault. “A pity, Mr. Mayor, that you will be missing out on such an important event. From what I gather, the mayor tends to play a significant role in the Provenance Festival.”

Burgo scowled and grunted something under his breath, but the insolence was unmistakable. At this, Shim simply smiled, her face illuminated by the lamp that she had brought down. “You may wish to know that I have had ponies ask of you. Many are wondering if you’ll be there tomorrow, and, well, I had to disappoint several ponies today. Perhaps, had you been a bit more flexible, we could’ve have come to some sort of agreement. You are, after all, still useful.” She shook her head. “Oh well, I suppose there’s always next year.”

The jug smashed against the bars. Pieces of ceramic flew into the room as water splashed onto the floor right in front of Shim. With an amused chuckle, she and the musician left Burgo and Rarity to wallow in their hunger. The last of the water in Rarity’s canteen was shared between them in an attempt to at least take the edge off the pain in their bellies, but it was hardly enough to make a much of difference.

Neither spoke much as the two got ready for bed, making sure everything was in place. For a good while, Rarity lay there on the provided bedroll as her empty stomach and a nervousness regarding the coming day kept her conscious, and from the lack of snoring coming from the cot, Burgo Masters was also struggling to fall asleep. Eventually, however, as the hours went by, their eyes became heavy, and slumber soon followed. Night passed. They awoke as they usually did, without any indication of whether it was really morning or not, and after some stretching and some face rubbing, the two turned to watch the door of the room.

“Are you going to be alright?” Rarity asked after Burgo let out another yawn. He had been fidgeting for some time already.

“Yeah, just, you know, I’m fine,” he tried to assure as he rolled his shoulders and his front hooves against the floor. “I’ll be fine. Just, I don’t like all this waiting.”

His body stiffened as the door swung open, and in stepped Shim and the musician. The mare in the white robes approached the vault’s window. “Good morning, miss, Mr. Mayor,” she greeted with a nod toward each pony as she addressed them. “I hope you are—“

Burgo didn’t let Shim finish. He rushed forward, causing Shim to take an instinctive step back and her sister to pull out a dagger. His foreleg suddenly wrapped around Rarity and pulled her roughly toward the stallion into what might have been seen as an embrace had it not been for the knife Burgo Masters was now pressing against the front of her neck.

“Nopony move!” he barked, holding the knife up higher to ensure that the blade was clearly visible.

The color from Shim’s face drained away. “What are you—“

“I said don’t move!” Burgo forced Rarity’s head up, inciting a pained gasp from her as he hovered the tip of the blade over her exposed throat. “You think I won’t do it? I know just how vital this mare is to your plans. You want to see what happens when your ‘princess’ isn’t around anymore to tell your followers what to believe?”

“Burgo, Mr. Masters, you need to calm down,” Shim said, holding up her hooves. “You don’t want to do hurt her.”

“Shut up!” Burgo looked over to the musician. “Drop your weapon. I said drop it!”

The dagger clattered against the floor. “Alright. Now you’re going to unlock the door,” he demanded, nodding to the vault’s gate. “Then you’re going to let me out, and I don’t want you giving me any trouble. Otherwise.” Burgo made a slashing motion across Rarity’s neck.

Shim and the musician turned to each other, their discomfort evident in the shared glance. Burgo made another gesture. “Alright, alright,” Shim said, nodding to the musician who started toward the gate. “Now please, put the knife down. I’m sure we can work something out.”

“There’s nothing to work out,” growled Burgo. “You’re going to let me out and then—“

“And then what?” Shim asked, her hooves lowering. “You’ll step outside into the crowded streets with her as your hostage? The whole town is out there right now, and keeping in mind that everypony out there believes her to be the princess, what do you think will happen? You won’t even make it out of this building.” Shim slowly started making her way toward the bars.

Burgo raised the knife back up to Rarity’s neck. “Not another step! I know what I’m doing. You can’t trick me.”

Shim stopped her approach. “There’s no trick. There’s no place in Horshire for you anymore, not with how you are now, but if you work with us, I know we can come up with a way that will benefit us all.”

The gate of the vault slowly opened. Burgo, with Rarity still in his grasp, started moving toward the exit only to find the way blocked by the musician armed with her instrument, the last few strums of the lyre’s still vibrating strings continuing to echo through the vault as she started to smile.

“You really don’t want to do this. Drop the knife and let the mare go.”

The mayor of Horshire released both the knife and Rarity. The blade fell to the floor, and as Rarity’s legs gave way, so did she. She brought a shaking hoof up to her throat and looked up at Burgo. The stallion’s expression was a mostly vacant one as he looked to the musician and waited expectantly.

“Good. Now apologize.”

Immediately, he lowered his head, first to the musician, then to Rarity and Shim. “I’m sorry.”

“Well then.” The musician let out a relieved sigh as she went over to retrieve her dagger and, after ordering both Burgo and Rarity to back away, went into their cell to pick up Burgo’s weapon. “That was a close one,” she said, pocketing the knife. “Now, er, let’s see. What now?” She glanced over to Shim. “Hey, Sis?”

Shim’s face was still pale, and the color was only returning slowly as she paced across the length of the room, muttering furiously to herself.

“Sis!”

“What?” Shim snapped. “What is it?”

“Just wanted to know what’re we going to do now. Yeesh, no need to go biting off my head.” The musician gestured toward Rarity. “I mean, I’m guessing that plan of yours wasn’t accounting for this to happen.”

“No, it did not,” Shim grumbled. “Oh, goodness me, what are we going do, what are we going to do?”

“You know, I’ve got another spell left for the day. I could get try and get her under the charm too. We could get them both out there to play the crowd.”

“No, that won’t work,” Shim declared, shooting down the suggestion with a quick shake of her head. “You know the charm only lasts for so long, and we have so much that needs to be done. That other spell slot was to extend its duration. Ugh!”

“Alright, alright, don’t pop a blood vessel,” the musician said. She looked back into the vault and at Burgo. “Maybe we can still make this work. We’ve got the mayor under our control. Let’s just have him do the speech. We can play this off as him recovering his faith or seeing the light or whatever.”

“They’re expecting the princess, not some fat, useless bureaucrat!” Shim exclaimed with a wild wave.

“Hey!”

“She doesn’t mean it. Really, we don’t think you’re useless,” the musician assured, quickly calming Burgo down before turning back to the panicking mare. “Well what else are we supposed to do? Just make some excuse up about her being sick or tired or whatever.”

“It’s not that simple,” Shim said, her voice weighed low with frustration and anger. “Right now, she’s a symbol of the Great Protector’s power. How do you think the town will react if that symbol can’t make even a simple appearance because of some fatigue? Ponies are going to get suspicious and start asking questions.”

“Well I don’t see you coming up with any ideas,” the musician growled, her temper flaring. She turned to Burgo and Rarity. “Come on you two, back me up on this. At least I’m throwing out possible solutions and actually trying to do something, right?”

Burgo nodded. “All your ideas sound fine,” he said. “I don’t get why Shim doesn’t like them. I could give the speech, no problem.”

“See? Even the fat, useless bureaucrat, her words not mine,” the musician added with a glance toward the mayor, “gets it.” She turned to Rarity. “And what about, oh, right. You’re not under the charm. Well you could still at least say something.”

“That’s enough,” Shim interjected before Rarity could open her mouth. She had since come to a stop and held a hoof up to her forehead. “Just, give me a moment.” She let out a long sigh and took in a deep breath. A good few seconds passed before she finally exhaled. “Alright. What’s done is done, and there’s no way around it. The mayor will just have to give the speech, and we’ll just have to deal with whatever comes after. There’s no time to rework the speech so just, have him act mayoral or something.”

The musician nodded. “Hear that?” she said to Burgo. “You get to play mayor again.”

At this, the sole stallion in the room smiled. “Get him shaved and looking presentable,” Shim instructed with a sniff. “And do what you can about the smell. We might have some perfume still lying around somewhere. I’ll see what I can do to minimize the inevitable resulting backlash.”

“Got it. The musician tucked away her lyre and motioned Burgo over to her. “Come on, let’s get going,” she said, and at her command, the stallion stumbled toward the vault’s entrance.

“Wait.”

Burgo did not stop, but Rarity’s exclamation did draw Shim and the musician’s attention and give them noticeable pause, and when the two turned to her, they wore looks of surprise and confusion. Rarity got up off the floor and in a shaking voice, she said, “I-I have something to say. Please.”

Shim and the musician shared a glance before turning back to Rarity. “Very well,
but make it quick,” Shim said, motioning her to continue. “What do you want?”

“I—“ Rarity steadied herself with a quick inhale. “Please, let me do the speech.”

A long silence answered her before Shim did. “I’m sorry, what was that?” she said with an eyebrow cocked.

“I, I want to join you. I thought he was, and he, he tried to, and, I can’t do this anymore.” Rarity’s voice shook once more as her hoof was again lifted up to the spot the knife had been pressed against. “I can’t stand being down here any longer, not if it means being around, him.” Her lower lip was trembling, her eyes pleading. “I can do the speech. We’ve worked so hard on it, and I know exactly how you want it done. Please, I beg you, just let me out.”

Shim turned to the musician. “She’s not under your spell, is she?”

“What? Oh no, no. She’s saying all this willingly,” said the musician with a shake of her head. She broke into a wide grin. “But heck, this is great. Now we don’t have to worry about, hey Mr. Mayor, what was Shim so worried about again?”

“She was worried that if the mare who the town thinks is the princess doesn’t show up at the festival, our reputation will fall and ponies might stop believing in your made-up religion,” Burgo answered before frowning and scratching at his beard. “I mean, I think that’s what she was saying.”

“Right, that,” the musician said, shrugging as Shim pressed her lips together and threw her an annoyed glare. “So that’s all cleared up. The town will still have their ‘princess,’ our reputation stays safe, nothing to worry about.”

“Yes, so it would seem,” Shim said slowly. She had turned her gaze onto Rarity, staring even her sister continued to ramble excitedly.

“And now we’ve got the mayor back under our control too,” the musician cackled. “Oh, this is great. Come on, you two, let’s get ready. We’ll have you both give speeches. It’ll be great. The crowd’s going to love you, going to love us, and—“

“That wasn’t the plan,” Shim interrupted, her eyes narrowing. “We both agreed, no sudden changes, no improvising, no surprises, not today.”

“Yes, well, it’s a little late for ‘no surprises,’” the musician said with an exasperated wave at Burgo before letting out a sigh. “Look, I know how important this is, I’m the one who pushed for her giving the big speech, remember? I get that there’s a lot on the line here and that you really wanted everything to be perfect and without any risks and everything according to plan. You’ve been like that since we were foals, but sometimes we’ve got to work with what we’ve got, and right now, we’ve got both the princess here to preach your message and the town’s mayor to announce his renewed allegiance to work with. If anything, we’re in an even better position than before. I mean, you see what kind of opportunity we have here, don’t you?”

“I do,” Shim answered with some reluctance in her voice after a moment of silence.

“And you’re not seriously going to let that opportunity slip away just because it wasn’t in the plan, are you?”

Shim sighed. “No. No, you’re right,” she said. “Alright then. We’ll do it your way and have them both speak at the opening ceremonies. Just,” she added with a wince, “make completely sure that he’s under control. We won’t survive this if anything like the last time we had him out in public happens.”

“Don’t worry,” the musician said as she again beckoned Burgo Masters toward her. “I’ll make sure.”

She and Burgo soon exited the room and left Shim and Rarity with only each other. A couple of seconds passed in uncomfortable stillness before Rarity dared to take a wary step toward the vault’s open entrance. She stopped when Shim turned to face her, as if the mare’s line of sight had paralyzing properties, and for a good long moment, the two stood there, staring at each other.

“May I?” Rarity finally requested, pointing to the opened gate.

“Hm? Oh, yes.” Shim cleared her throat. “Right. Come along then. There’s still much to be done.” And with that, she led Rarity out of the room, to the staircase, and up to the ground floor, looking over her shoulder every other second or so to make sure Rarity was keeping up. Neither spoke until they had entered that familiar hall, when Shim suddenly stopped and turned to Rarity with a frown on her face.

“Would you, by any chance, happen to know how the mayor managed to get that knife?”

The question came with an uncomfortably intense stare that left Rarity’s mouth dry. She quickly swallowed before answering. “It, was mine,” she admitted. “I had it in my saddlebags.”

“Saddlebags?” Shim repeated, her frown deepening with confusion. “Did you have, ah, I can’t remember. And where are these saddlebags now?”

“Under the bed in the vault.”

“Hm, is that right?” Shim hummed, more to herself. “We’ll need to take a look later. Until we can ensure there’s nothing else in them that’s, suspect, consider those belongings of yours confiscated.”

“I understand.”

“Good.” They continued their way down to the end of the hall and reached Shim’s personal room. “I apologize if I am appearing short with you. With everything that’s happened already today, my patience has been, tested.” She reached for the door’s handle. “Rest assured, your cooperation is very much appreciated. It is a little late, but you will be rewarded accordingly.”

The door was opened, but neither stepped inside as the messy, ransacked state of the room was revealed. The floors, which had been clear when Rarity had last seen them yesterday, were once again littered with sheets and balls of paper and bits of trash and anything else that might have been swept off of the writing desk onto the ground. The nightstand’s drawers were ripped open, and Shim’s wardrobe was ajar. The contents of both could be found scattered about, with small personal effects like cloth handkerchiefs and gold necklaces on the floor and robes tossed onto the unmade bed and over the head of the stallion who stood in the center of the room with a dagger in his grasp and a bowl of water at his side.

“Oh good, you’re finally here,” the musician called from her position sprawled on the floor. She pulled her head out from the space beneath the bed. “What was taking you so long?”

Shim stared the blade the stallion was holding. “What’s going on?”

“Huh? Oh, you know, just looking for that perfume you mentioned,” the musician answered before sticking her head back under the bed. “And also some bandages.”

“Bandages?” Shim slowly inched into the room, keeping an eye on the armed stallion. “What happened?”

“Eh, nothing to worry about,” the musician assured. “I couldn’t find a razor in here and didn’t think there was time to go out to get one so I just gave the mayor my dagger. It, ah, didn’t really work, but I wouldn’t worry, it probably won’t leave anything we can’t cover up.”

Through grit teeth, Shim groaned as she snatched the dagger out of Burgo’s hold and removed the cloth from his head. “Alright, stop.” She made her way into the room and, after some rummaging, gathered a couple of brushes and combs into a bag and picked out a set of clean robes that were still hanging in the wardrobe. “Give me the key to the mayor’s old room. I’ll get her started over there then come help you with getting him ready. Just, stop making a mess.”

The musician got up, and, with a shrug, she dug out a ring of keys from her colorfully decorated vest and tossed it over to Shim. Shim, not bothering to even attempt a catch, picked the keys off the floor and exited the recently disheveled room. Rarity followed her back a little ways to a new door, and there she watched Shim first undo a chain latch and a set of bolts fastened to the door and its frame before taking a key to the locked handle.

“Here we are,” Shim announced as she opened the door and motioned Rarity inside. The room they entered was similar to Shim’s own, with an adequately size bed and a nightstand to its side, a small desk against one wall and a personal bureau with a cracked mirror at the one across, and even a shaggy red mat in the room’s center. The room was lit with the natural sunlight streaming through the glass window.

“This room was once the mayor’s,” Shim was explaining as Rarity walked around and absorbed her new settings. “He’s, ah, left his mark in some places,” she said, nodding toward the damaged mirror, “but for the time being, I believe you will find it satisfactory. As I’ve said, your continued cooperation will be rewarded, and depending how things go, we’ll see to getting you some additional comforts.”

Rarity pointed to the bed. “Those sheets, have they been washed since the mayor last used them?”

The smile Shim had given Rarity wavered slightly, and there was a short pause before she answered, saying, “They will be before the day’s end.” She set down the bag of brushes and such and the robes. “I’ll be back with some water and a wash cloth. I trust you can get started on your own mane?”

Rarity tossed her mane back over her shoulder and brushed aside a few clinging strands. “Oh, I believe I’ll manage,” she said, and despite her situation and current standing, she couldn’t help but add a little sass to her tone.

If Shim noticed any of the remark’s snideness, she didn’t show it. “Good,“ the mare said, and she turned and left the room. The door closed behind her, and there was the clicks of the lock being closed and of the bolts sliding back into their slots soon after. The sound of Shim’s hooves against the wood floorboards as she walked away slowly dissipated until there was nothing else to hear from the door’s other end.

Rarity grabbed the bag and the robes and brought them over to the dresser and the mirror before making her way to the window. Any thoughts of escaping through there were abandoned at the sight of the metal bars on the other side of the glass, and as she looked into a dark and dingy alleyway, the kind of unattractive space found between buildings that led nowhere and was largely just there to accumulate trash, Rarity recognized just how improbable the idea of flagging down a passing pedestrian for help would be.

If it really were that simple, Burgo Masters would have long since gotten free. Rarity tore herself from the window with a small sigh and walked back to the mirror. As she spread her supplies out on the dresser’s surface, she look up at her reflection for the first time in a long while. It wasn’t a perfect representation of her appearance, the branching crack that ran all across the reflective glass having left some details obscured, but it was certainly better than trying to catch a glimpse of herself in a pool of water.

Her reaction to her own appearance was mixed. The mare staring back at her was far from the standards Rarity held herself to, but it could have been much worse considering that she had spent about a week underground in an unventilated vault and the week prior on the road.

How long had she been away from home? It must have been close to a couple of weeks now at least, a stretch of time that had already exceeded the lengths of any of her previous missions and adventures. Rarity’s thoughts started wandered and turn to those of Ponyville. She wondered how her business was doing in her absence, how her family must have worried from not hearing from her for so long, how her friends must be working tirelessly for a way to bring back not just her but also Spike and Discord.

That is, if the rest of them hadn’t also been brought to these strange, foreign lands. Rarity shook herself mentally and refocused herself. Concentrate on saving Spike and Discord first. Then, with the draconequus’s nigh limitless magic, the three of them could figure out what to do after, whether it be to locate the rest of their friends or simply return to Equestria.

Rarity turned her attention back to her reflection. Those washes she had been roughly subjected to had kept her face clear of dirt at the very least, though she could have used some moisturizing soap or maybe even a mud mask and would most definitely be taking a facial treatment at the first spa she’d come across. What was far more concerning was the condition of her hair. Just as Rarity thought, Shim’s attempts at styling her mane, while successful in removing the tangles and keeping it neat and presentable, had left it dull, flat, and lifeless. Rarity immediately picked up a brush and got to work, and slowly, as she continued to brush and comb and caress, some of her mane’s luster had returned. The color was revived, its volume brought back, and there was now a shine and a brightness that had been missing before. It wasn’t perfect by any means, and she was still missing much of her signature curls, but it was the closest she could get to her mane’s former glory with the tools she had to work with, and with that, Rarity was content.

The Rarity in the mirror was now looking more like the Rarity she remembered herself as, sans the massive crack that split her face in two and left her eyes uneven and her smile crooked, and so she moved to the robes. Rarity removed the ones she had been wearing and quickly sniffed at the cloak she had underneath it and made a face. There was a slight sour smell to it. Again, it could have been much worse considering how long it had been on and the conditions it had been through, but she would need to give it a wash before much longer. And speaking of which, as much as she’d like to deny it, Rarity would also be needing a bath quite soon.

She heard the undoing of the door’s locks as she was just getting the new set of robes on. In stepped Shim with a large bowl and a towel who stopped and stood there blinking when Rarity turned to face her. “We should have had you fix your own mane to begin with,” she said, quickly recovering. “I have to say, you’ve done an impressive job capturing that regal style.”

Shim placed the bowl and cloth down at Rarity’s side and stepped back to give her some space to wash up. Once Rarity had finished thoroughly wiping down her face and neck, the two mares left the room, leaving the used towel and the basin behind to be cleaned up later. Instead of returning to Shim’s room, however, they continued to the bank’s front lobby where there was already a bit of a gathering as robed ponies ran about with baskets and bouquets. Those who saw Shim and Rarity stopped whatever task they had been doing and instead rushed over to them to give excited greetings and overly enthusiastic compliments. The crowd around Rarity quickly grew as more and more ponies took notice.

Shim clapped her hooves together loudly. “That’s enough. Everypony, back to work. There’s still much to be done. Don’t worry, there will be plenty of time to talk later,” she assured over a few raised protests. “There’s been, a change in plans, and the princess might have some more free time than expected.”

At this, the crowd’s excitement grew with fervor that carried on even as the ponies dispersed and returned to their duties. Shim stopped one of the passing stallion with a request for some food. “Something light, for the princess,” she instructed, and soon Rarity had herself a modest breakfast consisting of a bread roll and a bit of cheese that was enough to at least quiet her empty stomach. As she ate, she watched the ponies finish their work and begin to leave. Some tried to linger or even approach her, but those were quickly sent away by Shim until she and Rarity were the only ones remaining.

They were going over Shim’s speech, making sure Rarity could perform without being under the influence of the musician’s spell, when the musician walked into the lobby with Burgo Masters in tow. Well, Rarity could only assume that the stallion following the musician was Burgo. That scruffy beard of his had been shaved off completely, leaving his drooping, chubby cheeks smooth and bare and him with a face more fitting for an infant than a full grown stallion.

The way he polished off the rest of food was unmistakable Burgo, with his mouth hurriedly stuffed and crumbs flying everywhere. Rarity forced herself to ignore the utter disregard of table manners, something that was much more easily down when they were in the dark, as she continued to run through the speech Shim had prepared. “That’s enough,” Shim finally said, stopping Rarity with a raised hoof. “Good, good. Stay on script, and you’ll do fine.” She turned to musician. “And the mayor, is he ready?”

“Yeah, sure.” The musician tossed a rag at Burgo. “Clean your face. You’ve got crumbs all over it,” she instructed before turning to Shim. “Quit worrying, Sis. We’ve got this.”

The look Shim gave lacked any of the confidence the musician was exuding, but after a sigh, she nodded and got up. “Alright then. It’s time to go,” she announced, and the rest of them followed her out of the building.

17. Truths in Time

17. Truths in Time

Rarity’s view through the bank’s windows failed to do the day justice. The skies were bright, blue, and clear, with not a cloud above to block out the light and the warmth of the sun, and there was a cool, gentle breeze that was almost constant, the perfect weather for a festival. The songs of birds mingled with the cheers and eager exclamations of the ponies in the streets decorated with colorful streamers and the flowers of wild weeds. Stalls lining the road that led all the way through Horshire were already opened and selling food and trinkets and calling passing ponies over to play games. Large painted images of downtrodden settlers and wealthy traders hung all about town, from the walls of the buildings to the stands to random poles and stakes sticking out of the ground, depicting stories of a struggling settlement process and the establishment of successful trade respectively.

Some ponies stopped to gawk at them as Rarity and the rest of them walked by, but their number was far fewer than Rarity would have expected as most appeared to be more preoccupied with the festivities. Everywhere she looked, Rarity could find groups of ponies huddled around and chatting as they checked out the stalls or admired the decorations. Entire families were about, with elders telling stories as they pointed to the paintings to wide eye youngsters and bored adolescents while children dragging their parents to the stalls to demand gifts. Couples could be found blocking traffic as they leaned against each other and acted as if they were the only ponies in the world and those that were forced to go around them did not exist.

There were some wearing the white robes of Shim’s order, but most were in the typical Horshire attire, though the layer of dust on their vests and hats was notable thinner and many had on accessories like gold string bolo ties and colorful ribbons and beaded necklaces. Many of the mares had on bright dresses that in comparison to the drab outfits Rarity had normally seen them in could be considered fancy, and there were a few stallions in suit jackets and dress shirts walking the streets, with one particular stallion having a top hat.

As they continued their way to a raised platform in the center of town where a crude band consisting of jug flutist, a washboard guitarist, a drummer specializing in pots and pans, and a yodeler tried to entertain, Rarity noticed that there were also several ponies in hardened barding. Some had swords or clubs strapped to their sides while others leaned spears or improvised pole arms over their shoulders. Some stood at guard while others were on patrol, but regardless of what their assignment or equipment were, every single militia member looked miserable as they watched their carefree friends, neighbors, and relatives longingly.

Four of such ponies were waiting for them at the stage along with a small group of ladies and gentlecolts that were all in some of the more lavish attires of today. “Mother Shim,” boomed one bespectacled stallion in a blue waistcoat and matching jacket as he approached and bowed. Shim responded in kind. “Impeccable timing. We were just about to send somepony to go grab you. And here you are.” He had turned to Rarity with a massive grin splitting his face. “Our guest of honor, Princess Shmarity herself. Oh, this is indeed exciting. I’m sorry we didn’t get to meet sooner, but keeping the town without the mayor directing us has been a full time job.”

He let out a loud laugh that started from his belly. “Oh, where are my manners? Forgive me, Your Highness. My name is—“

“There will be time for introductions later, I’m sure,” an old mare in a flowery yellow bonnet cut in coolly. Her lips were pursed as she stared down at Shim and the musician and slowly turned her cold gaze to Rarity. “So, this is the princess, freed from the Squid Wizard’s hold by that Great Protector of yours?” Some of the others behind the old mare scoffed and snickered at this, but she herself made no such dismissive gestures. Instead, a look of confusion and uncertainty lit up her wrinkled features for barely a second, there and gone so quickly Rarity almost missed it, before the mare turned away. “Well, let’s get on with it then.”

“Ah, apologies, Ms. Blossoms—“

“That’s Councilor Blossoms.”

“Of course, my mistake, Councilor,” Shim corrected with a bow. “But we would like to make a few last minute changes.”

Shim stepped aside as the musician brought Burgo up to the front, revealing him before the group. All looks turn to shock as the well dressed ponies let out a collective gasp. The nearby guards, meanwhile, in the presence of the mayor, whispered amongst themselves and looked to each other for directions.

The elderly mare was the first to recover. “What’s going on here?” she demanded. “Where has he been all this time?”

“Since the mayor’s public breakdown, we’ve been taking care of him,” Shim explained calmly. “Treatment of the mind is a delicate procedure, and we could not afford any interference. But you needn’t worry,” she assured. “The mayor has returned to his senses and would even like open the festivities. That is, of course, if you’ll allow it.”

“But of course,” exclaimed the bespectacled stallion who had initially spoken. “I mean, that is, traditional, the mayor’s job after all.” He looked to the others around him, and they slowly began to nod and speak out in affirmation. “If the mayor is up to the task, the stage is his. Only...” The stallion‘s grin flickered. “I was, looking forward to hearing the princess speak today.”

“That was actually going to be our next request,” Shim said. She motioned to Rarity to step forward. “The princess and I have worked quite hard on her speech. Isn’t that right, Your Highness?” She waited for Rarity’s nod before turning back to the group and continuing. “It would be a shame to let all that effort go to waste, and we were hoping that you would permit them both to say a few words before the festival begins in full.”

“Oh, well, that’s—“

“Irregular,” the old mare said, interrupting the eager stallion once more. “We wouldn’t want to hold up the entire festival by extending the opening ceremony.”

“Perhaps, if they were to keep their speeches short,” presented one of the group’s members, a stallion whose large farm hat that was decorated with a silver star that clashed with the rest of his outfit. The others muttered a variety of reactions to the suggestion and either nodded or shook their heads.

“Excuse us for one quick moment,” said another, a mare with red ribbons in her mane, tail, and dress. The group then walked some distance away, keeping the contents of their discussion hidden; all Rarity could hear of it were the sounds of their voices carried by the wind.

Before he had left, the stallion with the glasses and blue waistcoat gave them an apologetic smile. The musician rolled her eyes at his retreating figure. “I hate dealing with those geezers.”

“Well, it should become easier if we can keep the mayor under our control.” Shim sighed. “Her speech takes priority,” she said, pointing toward Rarity, “so make sure whatever you’re planning the mayor to say is short.”

“Hey, don’t look at me. You’re the wordy one here,” the musician said with a chuckle as she pulled Burgo to the side.

With those two gone, Shim turned to Rarity. “If we do have to cut down our speech, cut out some of the details from the middle. As long as you thank the townsfolk for their hospitality and the Great Protector for everything else and keep in the parts about needing to further our message throughout Spiketopia, we should be fine.”

“Very well,” Rarity answered with a nod. “I believe I can manage that.”

“Yes, well, we shall see.” Shim frowned. “Actually, hm. We should just go over the speech and point out all of the less necessary parts, just to make sure everything is clear.”

“I don’t think there’ll be time.” Rarity pointed Shim to the returning dressed up ponies. The musician noticed their approach as well and brought the mayor back right before they arrived.

“We’ve come to a decision,” the old mare on the bonnet declared. “We are willing to extend the opening ceremony by a few minutes but only just those few. If you can fit the, ahem, princess in that time, we will allow her to speak.”

“That is acceptable.” Shim made a show of a bow. “Thank you, Councilor.”

The mare sniffed as she continued to stare with cold, skeptical eyes. She turned to Burgo. “We have much to discuss, Mr. Mayor. I trust you can spare some time after the opener before you run off to enjoy the festival?”

“Ooh.” The musician winced. “Yeah, that’s not going to happen.”

Shim shot a glare at the musician as she lifted up a hoof toward the old mare whose eyes were rapidly narrowing at the musician’s flippant statement. “Apologies, but the mayor is just here to make an appearance. He is still recovering after all and needs his rest. I’m afraid whatever it is you wish to talk about will have to wait until tomorrow.”

“Is that right?” the mare asked as her frown deepened into a scowl.

Shim responded with a small, disarming smile, but there was a challenge to be found in her steely stare. “Yes, that it is.”

“Well, that’s too bad,” the stallion in the glasses suddenly said, breaking the silence that had grown between the two mares. “A pity for sure, but what can you do, eh?” He chuckled nervously, and some of the others echoed him. “We’ll have to catch up tomorrow then, but for now—“ The stallion reached into his waistcoat and pulled out a brass pocket watch. “—we should probably get started. Come on, let’s get going.”

The rest of the group voiced their agreements and motioned them along. Rarity, Burgo, Shim, and the musician were quickly moved up to the back to the stage as the well dressed group dispersed, with many leaving to join the crowds. Only three from the group stayed: the bespectacled stallion, the old mare in the yellow bonnet, and another stallion, this one wearing a gray suit with a fake flower in his front pocket and his mustache waxed and properly curled. They signaled to the band, and once the performers had finished their piece, taken a bow, and left the stage to a few isolated smatterings of applause, they brought Burgo up onto the stage and to the front where an old fashioned megaphone was waiting.

From the steps leading up to the raised platform, Rarity watched Burgo clear his throat and lean forward. “Hello? Can everypony hear me?” he called out. The funnel amplified his voice, spreading it throughout the entire town, and soon, even from her vantage, Rarity could tell that everypony had gathered at the base of the stage, their mutterings in such great volume that their surprise could heard even from back there. “Can everypony hear me? Yes? Good, good.”

Burgo Masters looked back at the musician, and at her nod he turned back to the crowd. “Ahem, yes. Good day, Horshire. I guess it’s been a while since you all last saw me. Well first off, I just want everypony to know that I’m doing fine. Second, thank you everypony for showing up today. I know we weren’t exactly sure whether we’d be having a Provenance Festival this year, what with everything going on, but here we are.”

A cheer broke out from the crowd that slowly swelled until it became deafening, and Burgo waited for the hurrahs to subside before he continued. “Now before we begin, I would like to say a few words. First, I’d like to again thank everypony here today, for without you, there wouldn’t be a Provenance Festival and there wouldn’t be a Horshire.”

There was another cheer.

“Second,” Burgo said even as the cheering was still dying down, “I need to apologize for my outburst from before. I understand that because of the horrible, baseless accusations I made at Mother Shim, I have caused some of you to lose faith in the Great Protector. All I can do is ask for your and the Great Protector’s forgiveness.”

As Burgo lowered his head to the floorboards of the stage, the crowd started to whisper. The old mare in the yellow bonnet turned to where Rarity, Shim, and the musician stood waiting.

Burgo raised his head. “Finally, I need to thank Mother Shim and all of you faithful to her teachings for helping me come back to my senses. But above all, I must thank the Great Protector for bringing me back to the light.” He tilted his head up to face the perfect blue skies above and held up his hooves toward the sun. “For by liberating Princess Shmarity and bringing her here to our humble town, I have been shown the Great Protector’s wondrous power and have seen how far their mercy extends.”

The crowd was stirring. Suddenly, Rarity lost her footing and would have stumbled off the stairs had the musician not been there to catch her. Thanking her, Rarity steadied and braced herself, but the tremors had already stopped. She turned to the musician and Shim and saw that neither had much of a reaction. Shim even had a hoof raised and didn’t seem bothered despite only having an uneven number of legs to stand on. Rarity wondered, had it just been her who felt the ground shake?

“Now I’m going to turn the time over to Her Highness and let her say a few words of her own, but before I do, I have one last thing to say,” Burgo announced with his gaze lowering back down to his audience. “A request to all of you gathered here today. Accept the Great Protector as your great protector. Come join us in the truth, and help us spread the good news so that all of Spiketopia may live freely. Donations are always welcomed, and there will be a collections box available today in front of our temple. Thank you and enjoy the festival.”

And with a bow, Burgo left the stage. The applause that followed him sounded uneven and uncoordinated, as if starting in different parts of the crowd at different times. He spared only a couple of words to the three dressed up ponies before making his way to Rarity, Shim, and the musician.

“How was that?” Burgo asked, grinning eagerly as he looked to the musician. “I kept it short just like you said.”

“Eh, not bad, considering,” the musician answered with a smirk. She motioned him out of Rarity’s way just as the mare in the bonnet walked up.

“You’re up. Princess.”

Rarity wondered if the pause before the title had been deliberate, and though the mare was clearly addressing her, her glare was directed at Shim. “Do try to keep it short,” the mare said before turning to Burgo’s retreating figure. “Surely you can at least stick around for the princess’s speech, Mr. Mayor. Perhaps we can discuss a few things in that time.”

“I’m very sorry, Councilor Blossom, but—“

“I was talking to the mayor,” Blossom Interrupted with a stern look that Shim matched with one of her own.

“I have told you already, the mayor needs his rest.”

“He looks healthy enough to me. A little thinner, perhaps, but that can be fixed with a nice brunch over which we can go a couple of thing.” The old mare turned to Burgo. “He is a grown stallion. I believe he can make his own decisions.”

“Yeah, well, he doesn’t want to waste his time with you right now,” snapped the musician. She turned to Burgo as well. “Isn’t that right? You’d rather go rest now, wouldn’t you?”

“I—“

“Ahem.”

All turned around to find the stallion in the glasses tugging at the collar of his waistcoat. “I, uh, hate to interrupt, but if Your Highness could get started,” he said with a nod in Rarity’s direction, “that would be great.” He glanced over his shoulder toward the megaphone and the gathered ponies behind it and grimaced. “The crowd’s getting restless just waiting around and all, and I don’t think we can keep everypony’s attention for much longer.”

“Ah. Yes, of course.” Rarity brushed past both Shim and the councilor as she stepped up onto the stage. “My apologies, sir. I’ll get right on it.”

“Wait.”

Now all eyes were on Shim. “Yes, Mother Shim?” Rarity prompted with a tilt of her head and a smile.

“Nothing, it’s nothing.” Shim waved Rarity away. “Go ahead. Just, go.”

Rarity nodded and continued on as Shim, the musician, and the old mare continued to bicker, their arguments following after her until she had reached the stage’s center and could no longer hear them. They were replaced instead by the combined mutterings of the crowd below, and as she approached the edge of the platform where the megaphone was waiting for her, she stepped into view, and the sea of ponies before her, from foals not yet old enough to walk on their own to mares and stallions whose names have long since gone grey, became silent.

Rarity took a breath to steady herself and to slow the rush of blood as her heart pumped furiously. Such nervousness was unbecoming of mare who lived and thrived in the public spotlight such as herself. This was no different than a fashion display, she told herself, no different than performing in a play or as part of a singing troupe.

She leaned forward. The crowd, as a single unit, held its breath.

“What was just said to you has been a lie. There is no Great Protector. The mayor is currently under the influence of magic and was forced by Shim to say such things.”

Rarity looked down at the crowd. The initial lack of reaction was discouraging, but slowly those faces turned to looks of confusion and concern. The eyes of some narrowed while those of others widened, and many turned to their neighbors and resumed their whisperings.

Rarity took this as a cue to continue. “Those of you who have seen me and have heard me speak in Shim’s support,” she declared, placing a hoof over her chest, “know that I too was put under their spell and used against my will to further Shim’s interests. She has been deceiving you, taking advantage of your fears, stealing—“

The megaphone flew to the side as Rarity was tackled off the stage and into the dirt below. Ponies ran, their screams filling the air as she felt the ground tremble beneath their panicked hooves. Blows rained down upon her, and she pulled her forelegs over her head to protect it. Her back legs kicked out, hitting nothing but air as she shrugged and wiggled to escape from beneath her assailant. Rarity could feel their hot breath against her, and she listened as it grew more haggard with each blow.

The assault slowed, the strikes reducing in number and in forced. Rarity’s eyes flew open, and she pushed back at the with all of her strength. The musician snarling over her remained unmoved, but her hoof had hook around something in the attempt. Rarity swung desperately, and the musician yelped and jumped back as her own lyre raked across her face.

Rarity hurried onto her hooves and made a mad dash down the road, toward the scattering, panicking crowd. She ignored the screams behind her and the demands for her to stop, not even pausing to brush off the dust from her clothes. If she could just reach the crowd, she would be able to hide herself in chaos. After that, well, Rarity had to admit she hadn’t consider her plan much further than this point, but she figured it would only be a matter of time before Shim’s grip on the town crumbled and she and her sister were dealt with accordingly.

The cries behind her were growing louder. There was a thunderous storm of hooves that was getting closer. Rarity took a quick peek over her shoulder, and at the sight of Shim, the musician, and several armed guards coming after her, she forced herself faster.

”Halt!”

Suddenly, her mind went blank. Rarity’s hooves dug into the dirt as they forced her to a stop at Shim’s command, and by the time her thoughts had returned, she had no time to wonder about what had just occurred. She was surrounded, with two militia ponies in front of her and one at each of her sides. She turned around only to see Shim, the musician, and Burgo Masters quickly approaching from behind.

“You, you’re going to pay for that,” growled the musician, her beautiful face now twisted by rage into something unrecognizable. She yanked her dagger out from her vest and took a step toward Rarity as Rarity took a step back.

Shim stopped the musician with a raised hoof. Her lips were pressed so tightly in anger that the rest of her face broke out in wrinkles, and the look in her eyes far exceeded any frustration or impatience that Rarity had seen in them before. Still, it was better than the downright murderous glare the musician was giving, and at least she still looked like she could be reasoned with.

“I—“

“Spare us your excuses,” Shim said, her voice low and dangerous. She turned to the guards. “Capture her.”

Rarity’s body stiffened, readying to be grabbed. The armed ponies around her, however, hesitated. None of them approached any closer, and they instead looked to each other, as if daring to see who would be the first to obey.

“Well, what are you doing?” Rarity’s ears flattened at the musician’s shrill scream. The musician turned to Burgo. “Hurry up and get her!”

“Er, right.” Burgo motioned to the guards, and with a shrug to one another, they slowly circled around her and drew in.

“Easy, miss,” one said while another slowly took out a club. “Just take it easy, and nopony will get hurt.”

Rarity tore through the borrowed robes and pulled out one of her daggers, the more standard one Huntress had given her. The approaching ponies stopped and yelled out, telling her to put the weapon down. Some backed away and held up their hooves, dropping their own weapons, when she turned to face them.

When Rarity’s gaze turned to Shim, the mare scowled, and she let out a tired sigh. “You’re no better than he was,” she said with a quick glance at the mayor. “Struggling so stubbornly even though you know you’ve lost.” She shook her head. “Don’t make this any harder on yourself.”

Shim took a step closer. Rarity held up her blade, and everypony flinched. She looked to Burgo. “I’m afraid you’re mistaken, Shim. This is your loss.”

Rarity drove the blade through the strings of the lyre. Each string made a sharp twang as it was cut, and when the last one had been sliced through, the ruined instrument was tossed down to the ground. The moment that followed was silent, with nopony making a move or even daring to breathe.

Then, for the second time today, Rarity was tackled to the ground. This body was heavier than the first, and the fact that they weren’t trying to hit her barely outweighed their odor or the feeling of their sweat soaking into her own coat. “Let go of me, you brute,” she cried as she tried to break free, but the body held her down.

“Get her up,” Rarity heard the musician demand, and a moment later she was back on her feet. Her captor had wrapped a leg firmly around the front of her neck, keeping her in place, and she squirmed in their hold as she felt their warm breath so closely against her nape.

The musician approached her, giving Rarity little time to wallow in her discomfort as the mare commanded her attention. The small relief she had from seeing the musician sheath her dagger quickly faded when Rarity saw that the dark glint in the mare’s eyes had not. With each step she drew closer, and with each step Rarity’s heart beat faster. The musician stopped at the curved mess of broken string that had once been her lyre. She bent down and picked it up out of the dirt.

“I’m not sure why you did that, it’s not like that would’ve broken the charm, but you owe me a new lyre.”

The broken instrument was dropped as the musician swung her hoof. The sudden blow forced her head to turn, and she gasped out from the stinging pain. She stumbled back, forcing the pony holding her to back away along with her. “Hold her still,” the musician growled as she stepped forward to swing again.

This time, Rarity saw the hoof rise and come toward her. She ducked her head as far as it could go and winced as she prepared herself for the impact. There was the loud sound of a hoof striking against a face and a pained yelp, but neither came from Rarity. The grasp around her was released, and she fell to the ground.

“Darn it all, I told you to hold her still! Can’t you do anything right?” Rarity looked up to see the musician screaming over her at Burgo. The stallion was holding his cheek and cowering as the musician continued to shout.

Shim placed a hoof on her sister’s shoulder. “Calm down. Right now, if we want any chance of getting through this, we need to come up with a plan. Get them back to the temple, and we’ll sort something out there.”

“Just, argh!” The musician jerked away from Shim’s touch. “Fine. I get it. You,” she said, pointing at Burgo. “You heard Shim. Get her and yourself down to the temple and make sure she doesn’t go anywhere. We’ll deal with the two of you there. Well what are you waiting for? Hurry up!”

Slowly, Burgo lowered his hoof and blinked. His brow furrowed as if in concentration, and his eyes started narrowing. “No.”

The musician stopped and turned back to the mayor. “What did you say?”

“Guards, by order of the mayor, arrest these two at once,” Burgo commanded, putting on an authoritative glare as he pointed at Shim and the musician, and before either of the two could react, they found themselves underneath a pile of ponies in heavy barding.

“Here.” Burgo extended a hoof to Rarity and helped her up. “That was some quick thinking on your end. That was a sure surprise. Didn’t think I’d end up getting charmed.”

“How are you feeling?” Rarity asked.

“S’all right. Could use something to eat.” He chuckled to himself and winced as he brought a hoof to his bruised cheek.

A yell from behind got their attention, and Rarity and Burgo turned around to see the old mare in the yellow bonnet hurrying toward them at a pace that should not have been possible on those old limbs of hers. An escort of guards followed her closely, and behind them, Rarity could just make out the blue of the bespectacled stallion’s vest as he struggled to catch up.

“Mr. Mayor,” the mare greeted the moment she arrived. She coughed and held up a hoof, waving away any offered assistance as she caught her breath. “Mr. Mayor, are you—“ She paused and looked down at the pony pile to her side. Muffled swears and curses could be heard coming from the very bottom. She turned to Rarity, then to Burgo with a raised eyebrow.

“Shim and her sister,” Burgo said with a gesture to the hill of equine bodies, as if that was enough of an explanation. “I’m having them arrested for, uh, magically tampering with the brain of the mayor, and, and trying to take over the town, without a permit. Yeah, that sounds legal. Er, I can do that, right? Making arrests?”

The mare continued to regard Burgo with a quizzical look for a few additional moments. “So she was telling the truth then,” she eventually said, turning to Rarity. “Shim had you under a spell.”

“Yep.”

“And you are?”

“No longer under the spell,” Burgo announced cheerfully. He started to grin only to wince and grab his bruised cheek. “Oh, and assaulting the mayor. That definitely can’t be allowed.”

“Hm.” The mare motioned her guards over. “Take them to the cells in the barracks, and make sure they’re properly gagged and bound. They are to be under the watch of no less than four of you, understand? If they are indeed magic users, I don’t want to take any chances.”

“Yes, ma’am!” exclaimed the guards, and they quickly rushed over to the pile of their colleagues and begun helping them up.

“This isn’t over!” the musician screeched as the militia ponies lifted her up and bound her legs. “You haven’t heard the last of the Shim and Sham sisters! Mark my words, you’ll—“

That’s as far as she got before the guards slipped a strip of cloth over her snout. They were just about to march her and Shim away when the blue vested stallion in the glasses finally arrived, and right behind him was a large menagerie of townsfolk, from militia members to the well dressed ponies of group he and the old mare had been a part of to the worried white robed followers of Shim to the everyday ordinary citizens in plains clothes whose curiosity had outweighed their panic.

“What’s, going on, here?” the stallion gasped, his chest heaving as he fought to catch his breath. “Wait, where are you taking Mother Shim? Why is she, are those shackles? What in blazes is happening?”

He and a few of the ponies in robes took a couple of steps toward Shim and the guards pulling her along, but the old mare stood between them and they, stopping them from getting any closer. “It appears that your faith was misplaced,” she said with a frown and a disdainful glance in the direction of the two charlatans.

“I-I don’t understand. What do you mean?” the stallion said as the ponies around him whispered amongst themselves, with the ones in robes being the most vocal as many stepped forward and, like the bespectacled stallion, demanded answers.

When the old mare turned back to Shim’s victims who had gathered around her, Rarity noted that she regarded them with a look of scornful pity. Her eyes were narrowed, and the ends of her lips were dragged down into a scowl. “You were tricked. Their religion was nothing more than a fraud. It’s just as this young lady said.” She nodded toward Rarity.

At this the crowd exploded. Many of those in white robes shouted at the elderly mare, demanding that she take her words back while others turned to their fellow worshipers nervously. The ponies of the more traditional clothes continued their mutterings but kept them exclusively to those of similar garbs and looked to their robed neighbors with shaking heads. The few dressed up mares and stallions joined the old mare in yellow and the stuttering stallion in blue.

“This, I-I don’t, then—“ He turned to Burgo. “Is it true? Were you, really under a spell?”

Burgo rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah. I was. All those things I said earlier, they forced me to say them. Sorry to have to break it to you like this.”

“But, the healing, it can’t be. They couldn’t have, and, I gave them so much.” The stallion swayed, and his glasses slipped off and fell into the dirt just as he fell against the shoulder of the mare next to him.

“Get him some water and lay him down in the shade until he gets a hold of himself,” the bonneted old mare instructed, and as the stallion was hobbled away, she turned to Burgo. “And you, Mr. Mayor, how are you feeling?”

“Well, like I said, hungry. I could go for a baked potato or some fried potato sticks.” He looked over at the deserted stalls and frowned. “I suppose I can wait.”

The mare in the yellow hat followed his gaze. “I hardly think anypony is in the mood for a festival,” she chided disapprovingly as the nearby members of her dressed up committee nodded and spoke out to agree. To emphasize her pointed statement, the mare waved Burgo to the street behind her where the once festive ponies slowly regathered.

Decorations that had been knocked down in the chaos now littered the road, with colorful streamers being trampled into the dirt and mud. The songs of merriments had been replaced with the crying of foals, and many of the townsfolk looked confused as they made their way into the growing crowd, whispering as they searched for answers. The number of armed guards had increased as more and more arrived at the scene. Several of the newcomers and the younger militia ponies reaching for their weapons out of both nervousness and excitement, which in turn only contributed to the swelling anxiety.

And then there were Shim’s followers, wandering the streets aimless in their robes of white, like lost lambs that had gotten away from the safety of their pens. Their faces had fallen into expressions of confusion and disbelief, of rage, and of despair as the news spread through the whispers, with a few swooning just as the stallion in the glasses had. Some had gathered a short distance away from the mayor and Rarity but got no closer as she noticed their looks of anger and desperate hopefulness.

Burgo winced as he turned away. “I, uh, guess nopony’s really in the mood for a festival, huh?” His weak chuckle died under the old mare’s stern gaze. “You think we should cancel?”

The old mare sighed heavily. “Yes, I believe that would be the best course of action right now.”

“I can’t agree.”

Everypony turned to Rarity. “Excuse me?” said the old mare, her eyes narrowing.

“Oh no, excuse me,” Rarity responded quickly with the most disarming smile she could muster. “I apologize if I spoke out of turn. It’s just, and I have to first say that I’m no expert at these sort of events, but setting all this up must have taken much of your time, and it would just be a pity to let your efforts all go to waste.”

The ponies before her followed her hoof to the stalls and the posters. “It did take us all day getting everything ready,” one stallion muttered loudly enough for those around him to hear and nod.

“Would be a shame to not try one of those fried potatoes after scrounging up all that oil,” said another.

“And this festival, it’s called the Provenance Festival, correct?” Rarity continued. She waited for them to nod in confirmation. “And I understand that it marks the founding of Horshire. Surely you wouldn’t cancel the celebration of something that significant over the ousting of a couple of interlopers.”

Ponies in dusty work vest and farm hats and plain frocks now joined those in suits and colorful dresses, and even a few in Shim’s white robes were gathering around to hear Rarity speak. “Your mayor is back, and the town is yours once more. Why, if anything, you have all the more reason to celebrate.”

Many more were nodding along to the points Rarity presented and spoke out in support of her case. The old mare in the flowery yellow bonnet was, however, not among that growing number. Even as phrases like, “She’s right” and “That’s not a bad idea” were being tossed around by her own colleagues and fellow committee members, the old mare continued to stare at Rarity with a frown and a look of suspicion on her face.

“Do you really believe our town is in any position to celebrate?” she finally said, silencing those around her. “After everything we’ve been through just today, you really think we should be partying?”

“I don’t see why not,” said Rarity. “After all, it is still the town’s anniversary. The town is still here. You all are still here, even after everything. Truly that’s worth celebrating, is it not?”

The old mare blinked, and for the briefest of moments, Rarity thought she saw the mare’s lips twitch into a smile. “Mr. Mayor?” she asked, looking to Burgo. “Your thoughts on the matter?”

“Huh? Me? I mean, yeah, of course,” Burgo exclaimed. He rubbed at his face, stroking at a beard that was no longer there. “I mean, I think she’s right. The Provenance Festival is all about Horshire, and, well.” He motioned to the dirt road, to the buildings lining the road, and to all of the ponies that had gathered before them. The crowds that had populated the street earlier were slowly returning, with more and more ponies coming back now that the dust was good and settled. “This, is Horshire, and, uh, geez, you know I wasn’t elected for my public speaking.”

Giggles spread through the crowd as the mayor gave out a rueful smile. “But come on, you get what I’m getting at, right?”

The old mare was silent for just a couple seconds longer before she broke out in a sigh. She turned to her well dressed fellows beside her. “How long will it take to fix everything?”

The ponies looked around for a bit, tilting their heads and tapping their chins as they whispered to one another. “No more than an hour,” declared the mare in the red ribbons acting as the spokespony. “Maybe even in half that time.”

The entire crowd turned to Burgo, but it took the old mare clearing her throat for him to realize what was happening and react. “Ah, yes. Then as mayor of Horshire, I declare the commencement of this year’s Provenance Festival! Er, as soon as everything is cleaned up.”

The beginnings of a thunderous cheer was cut off by a wail, and everypony turned to the source. It was the mare with the braided red mane and tail, Sister Patsy, still in her robes along with half a dozen or so of her fellow worshipers looking as miserable as she did.

“Don’t any of you see?” she cried out. “If there’s no Great Protector, then there’s nothing keeping us from suffering the same fate as the capital or Bakersfield! We’re all doom! What’s the point of celebrating Horshire when we are all going to be destroyed?”

A sobering mood fell upon the crowd like a storm cloud rolling over a once perfect day. “But nothing’s happened yet,” one pony exclaimed. “Maybe, maybe nothing will ever happen.”

“Yeah! Horshire’s doing fine!” shouted another. “What makes you think anything will happen to us?”

“Don’t you remember those visitors from a week ago?” Patsy asked. “Didn’t you hear where they were escaping from? The east, from Trotlen! That great evil and its forces are on the move again, destroying towns and cities, and there’s nothing to stop it from destroying the rest of us!”

“We can take them,” said a guard, a young one by the immaturity of his voice. A few of his fellows that were just as experienced voiced their support, but there was a much greater amount of grim, scolding laughter in response to the assertion.

“They took out the entire royal guard and all of their knights, with all of their real training and real weapons. Twice. What are we supposed to do against that?”

“Well what about those heroes everypony keeps talking about?” somepony asked. “Surely they’ll—“

“They’re just rumors. And even if they were real, what can a bunch of adventurers do that an army can’t?”

Cheers turned to bickering as the crowd split and argued. Burgo Masters’s attempts to restore order and garner attention fell flat as the townsfolk ignored his pleads and the waving of his forelegs. He looked to the old mare and the rest for help, but they were already busy trying to calm those nearby and, from the fearful expression on some of their faces, themselves. The few that could spare a glance at Burgo could only offer worried looks before turning their attention back to the panicking ponies around them.

The mayor let his legs lower and his shoulders sag. He opened his mouth for one last petition, one final, desperate attempt keep his town from collapsing.

“That’s enough!”

Burgo blinked. That didn’t sound like his voice, not at all. It was too high in pitch, too light in tone. Too feminine. Too confident. He and much of the crowd turned to Rarity as she made her way through the masses, shutting up the individual squabbles with a light touch and and a hard glare.

“Listen to yourselves,” she shouted, turning to all around her. “You’re acting as if the world has already ended, as if losing your homes and your families and friends to the whims of that magical squid is inevitable.”

A gasp rose from the crowd.

“Well it’s not over! There are still those out there fighting to protect you. And not some made up all powerful deity demanding your offerings but real creatures you can see and meet. Heroes who’ve risked everything for ponies like you.” Rarity pointed to a random pony in the audience. “And you.” She moved her hoof toward another. “And.” Her eyes and her hoof managed to find Patsy, the mare with the red braids, standing with her fellows in white robes. “And you.”

Nopony spoke for several seconds. Then, Patsy swallowed and stepped toward her. Ponies quickly moved out of the way. “How do you know?” the mare demanded.

“Because,” Rarity began, then paused. She took a deep breath. “Because I am Princess Shmarity Glory Sparkler de Tabitha.” The image of a powerfully built stallion with a mane and beard that resembled that of a lion next to a beautiful mare who’s curls match Rarity’s when they were done properly suddenly flashed through her mind. “Daughter of King Sovereign Regalia the Fourth and Queen—“ Rarity fought back a cringe. “.—Opalescence, sole heir to the throne of Spiketopia, descendant of the great hero Herro, born under the star of the winter phoenix...”

A list of descriptions and titles rolled off her tongue like the torrent off a waterfall. Words that held no meaning to Rarity rapidly left her lips, and yet she somehow understood every single one she spoke. The authority in her voice that had captivated the entire crowd surprised even her, and it wasn’t until her breath was spent and her chest rose and fell heavily as her lungs struggled to compensate that she finally stopped. The crowd watched her with wide, anticipating eyes, waiting with their own breaths bated for Rarity to continue.

“I am living proof that the Squid Wizard isn’t invincible,” she exclaimed. Another image flashed by, this one of the ruins of a once great city. Rarity suppressed a shudder. “They are powerful, yes, but they can most definitely still be beaten. Those heroes you’ve heard about are real, and thanks to their efforts, I am here before you today, ready and willing to fight against the Squid Wizard’s tyranny and take back this land.” Her gaze swept across the crowd. “I won’t ask you to come and fight for me, but as long as you have your families and your friends, I ask that you have hope.”

Rarity caught her breath as she lowered her hoof and slowly got down from the stall she had climbed on, all while fighting to keep her blush at bay. There was a reason why they usually left the grandiose motivational speeches to Twilight Sparkle. Rarity, lacking Twilight’s talent for this sort of thing, couldn’t help but feel that her attempts to raise the ponies of Horshire’s spirit were more than a little cheesy. As Rarity looked to gauge the crowd’s reaction, she could only hope that her audience was more receptive to her words than she was.

Slowly, ponies started to move again as they turned to their neighbors and waited for somepony else to act first. Nopony said a word. Not a whisper or utterance was made, and most that Rarity could see still looked in utter shock.

The sullen old mare was the one to take the first step forward. As she did so, she undid the yellow bonnet and removed it from her head, revealing an almost entirely gray mane tied back in a tidy bun and an unicorn’s horn. Her gaze met Rarity’s, with those sharp brown eyes still filled with suspicion and caution as they tried to pierce through Rarity’s own blues. However, Rarity saw that distrust faded, and the mare’s expression softened for the first time since she and Rarity had met.

It was now Rarity’s turn to be caught off guard as the old mare suddenly lowered herself into a bow. Not a nod or some kind of polite gesture, but a true bow of deference, with her head down and legs bent at the knee.

“Your Highness,” she said. There was none of her previous hesitation this time when she addressed Rarity. “I welcome you to Horshire.”

Starting from those nearest to the old mare, ponies followed suit until the street before Rarity was full of ponies bowing toward her. At the overwhelming sight of an entire town lowering itself before her, Rarity’s mouth ran dry. So distracted was she and busy were her processing faculties that she hardly had any attention to spare for Burgo’s stream of questions.

“Wait, what’s going on? What’s everypony doing? Why are you all bowing?”

“Mr. Mayor,” the old mare said with a sigh, “please stop embarrassing your town before the princess.”

Burgo blinked slowly as he turned to face Rarity, who, having recovered from her shock, was busy trying to help ponies up and assure them that such displays were unnecessary. “Wait, then, you’re actually—“ He gulped. Color drained from his face, and he stumbled back a few steps before fainting away.

18. City of Danger

18. City of Danger

By the time Hoshire’s mayor had come to his senses and returned to the realm of the conscious, the festival was ready to begin once again. The mess had been cleared away, the decorations were fixed and replaced, and the merry mood from earlier was restored.

Well, more or less restored. The confirmed presence of the princess whom many considered lost lending her assistance had certainly generated some additional buzz amongst the townsfolk, as well as the standard anxiety that came with having to entertain such an esteemed guest. There had been some earlier excitement going around when Shim had revealed that Princess Shmarity would be making an appearance, especially from Shim’s followers, but that was nothing compared to the feeling of actually having Her Highness next to you, speaking to you, and getting you help when you forget to breathe.

The festivities had soon begun in proper after Burgo Masters gave one final speech, which eventually had to be cut off as it ran long, but instead of running through the street and checking out what all the different booths had in store with the rest of the town, he and Rarity were pulled inside by the old mare and the rest of her colleagues to discuss certain matters. Burgo groused the entire way, but Rarity didn’t mind the break from having to tell ponies they didn’t have to bow or stand at attention in her presence. It was too late to take back what she had said, but a good large part of Rarity wondered if what she had done had been the right thing to do. She doubted Applejack would have approved the misappropriation of another pony’s identity, and yet, nothing Rarity had revealed felt, at least to her, like a lie.

What had the Queen of Fey said about this predicament? Rarity tried to recall their conversation, but it was like trying to remember the details of a dream that had long since faded. Her hoof found itself wrapped around her pendant as she followed those well dressed ponies and tried to tune out Burgo’s gripes and the old mare’s responding chides.

”In that world, the world you’ll wake up to, you are Princess Shmarity, princess of Spiketopia.

“Just think of it as playing a role in a stage production.

“You might even be able to use that identity to your advantage.”

For now, if it was what she had to do to saving Spike and Discord, she’d play the role of Princess Shmarity. It was a task Rarity found surprisingly simple as, per the old mare’s request, she described to her audience the destruction of the princess’s home and her capture once they had all gathered within a private room and took their seats at a round table. Again, her mouth seemed to move all on it’s own as she told of how a city the size and style of Canterlot shook from a sudden quake that heralded the appearance of skeletal constructs and vile beasts on the palace grounds while hordes of barbaric marauders burned through the city. She told of the princess’s separation from the rest of her family, her futile attempts to evacuate the burning castle, the approach of the Squid Wizard striking down entire legions of guards and knights in shining armor with streaks of lightning, balls of flame, and noxious clouds, and the following imprisonment and isolation in that dark tower Rarity had initially found herself. Her audience had clung to every word and detail as Rarity pulled from the recollection of an experience she, Rarity, had not gone through and yet could describe so vividly.

When it came to explaining how she got away, however, Rarity kept her description more vague. They didn’t need to know of how the Squid Wizard gloated as they tossed Spike and Discord at her feet, not after she made that speech about hope in order to raise the town’s spirits, and so Rarity only mentioned that she saw a dragon with a beard and an odd snake thing with long, blond locks of hair before she was magically whisked away.

“Was there a warrior in black with a large sword with them?” the mare with the red ribbons had asked.

Rarity thought for a moment. “Well, there were quite a few guards wearing black armor there.“

“But were any of them fighting on the side of the heroes? Or rather, did you see a stallion in black armor among the heroes?”

“No. It was just those two.”

The faces of the ponies before her had turned to expressions of worry, but nopony offered to elaborate, and as she had little desire to draw any further scrutiny to her story, Rarity decided not to pursue the issue. Instead, she chose to divulge her current plan of finding help in the city of Baldursgait before heading south where the key to the Squid Wizard’s defeat was supposedly held. Again, Rarity kept a few things to herself, namely the source of her plan as she doubted anypony here would’ve reacted favorably if she told them that the idea to go south came from a mysterious being declaring themselves ruler over creatures only referenced in fairytale who had appeared to her in a dream.

The mention of Baldursgait had roused a number of different reactions, from approving nods to bemusedly raised eyebrows to sour looks and winces. The reputation of Baldursgait was well known, with Horshire having hosted a few adventurers from there in the past, and a couple ponies here had actually visited the port city. They had little advice on the matter, however, mostly just iterations on taking care when venturing the streets alone and being careful about who to trust, and there was almost no information at all regarding the southern lands that Rarity could glean from the ponies here. Nopony at the table had even heard of the term ‘necromancy’ or the name ‘Valmeyjar’ before, much less could explain why either would be so important.

Information hadn’t been the only thing Horshire was lacking in. Really, much to the embarrassment of the ponies that were before her, all the town could offer Rarity were a few days worth of travel rations, some discounted supplies, and a complimentary room at the inn. They couldn’t even spare her an armed escort to protect her the rest of the way; the best they could do was provide a couple of guards that would only be able to get her to the next populated settlement just a day away.

That had been fine with Rarity, who hadn’t expected much more than that anyways.
She left the room shortly after, leaving the town’s leadership to discuss the matters of running the town privately as her business with the town’s leaders had concluded, and spent the rest of the day trying to enjoy the ongoing festival which was, in all honesty, a very basic affair by Equestria’s standards.

Rarity took the next day to take inventory and restock, replacing the rations she and Burgo had gone through and retrieving her knife. She also took the opportunity to bathe and do a bit of laundry. Then it was time for her to go. Despite requesting no fanfare and getting up early to leave first thing in the morning, much of the town had gathered to see her off, and with a militia pony on either side of her and the cheers and waves of the townsfolk still echoing at her rear, Rarity had finally left Horshire.

It was nice to finally to be back on road, Rarity thought to herself, at least for the first couple of hours before her legs started to hurt and dust got into her eyes, tail, and mane. As keen as she was to continue her journey and complete her quest, Rarity couldn’t help but wonder if she had been too hasty. Perhaps she could have spared another extra day or two in Horshire, and the town was certainly more than eager to house her, but responsibility and more than a little bit of guilt won out in the end.

After all, it would have been fairly difficult to relax when the fate of her friends and the memory of dear Spike and Discord’s motionless forms still weighed so heavily on her back.

Her convoy consisted of two earth ponies, a young stallion only a few years older than her sister by the name of Even Trot whose gray coat matched the dreary skies above and an older mare with streaks of silver running through her dark green mane called Pez. Both had their protective barding hidden underneath a brown cloak similar to Rarity’s, and strapped to their backs were a set of saddlebags and a spear, and Pez carried an additional dagger at her side. Neither had been very talkative or volunteered much about themselves at first out of either awed shyness from the younger or surprising professionalism from the older, but after some small talk and a bit of prodding during an impromptu picnic, Rarity learned that Even Trot was the nephew of Innskeeper the innkeeper and that Pez had once an adventurer when she was younger and had long since retired to Horshire to help run her cousins run their store.

They had arrived at the walls of Candelkeep late that afternoon. To Rarity’s astonishment, the settlement was more of a fort than your typical town or village. She had seen crumbling, chest high stone walls and rotten remains of fences in the abandoned ruins on the way here but nothing like the circle of log stakes sticking out of the ground. There was even a large gate protecting the entrance along with several ponies in iron chain mail who stopped them as they approached.

Rarity, recognizing how much trouble her appearance could potentially cause, made sure her features were obscured by the hood of her cloak, but the guards seemed far more interested in the pair of openly armed ponies than they were in another refugee, especially after learning that the two were from Horshire. Based on what Rarity could gather from the sentries’s comments and surprise, the two towns had lost contact a while ago, and Horshire was thought to have been destroyed.

When asked for a reason for their visit, Pez did the talking as she explained they were simply bringing a traveler fleeing from the east here per their mayor’s instructions. A few additional questions soon followed, after which a messenger was sent inside. The runner returned some minutes later with a reply, and Rarity, Even Trot, and Pez were allowed into the fortress with the suggestion that the Horshire inhabitants should speak with the head of the monastery before returning home.

As they made a path through the settlement, looking for a place to stay the night, Pez made a passing observation that the place felt deserted, and while Rarity considered that assessment a bit of an exaggeration, seeing as they had nearly bumped into a few ponies on their way, she did note that there weren’t as many ponies here as one might have expected from such a large place. There was a noticeable amount of empty space to be found, and several of the structures they passed felt unused and uninhabited. Horshire felt more populated, more alive.

Thankfully, the inn was one of the buildings still operating, though much like the one in Horshire, it had been largely converted into a tavern. Once their rooms were secured, Pez went off to see what the leader of Candelkeep had to say while Even Trot stayed behind with Rarity who was in no hurry to meet the head of another clerical order after her brush with Mother Shim. Instead, the two spent the evening seeing if Rarity could find anything regard the family of clock merchants she had been traveling with. Pendula had mentioned that they were thinking of settling down in Candelkeep, and though Rarity wasn’t certain she wanted to see them again after they had just left her behind without so much as a goodbye and also having to explain to Clockworks that she had lost that cuckoo clock he had gifted her would’ve been pretty awkward, it would have been nice to know that they were safe.

As it turned out, they hadn’t stayed long. According to the owner of the inn, Clockworks had taken his family and left about a week ago after learning that Candelkeep had no place for a clock store. Pez returned a little while after with a letter for Burgo Masters, and after a meal of porridge and cheap watered down apple juice, the three decided to turn in early. According to Pez who had been to Candelkeep during her adventuring days, there was little to see or do here anyways unless you were really into books, which might have tempted Twilight Sparkle into taking a tour around the fort, but Rarity was tired and more concerned with getting to her final destination in a timely manner.

Morning came, and after some farewells and wishes of luck, they went their separate ways, with Rarity continuing down the road toward Baldursgait and Pez and Even Trot going back home. It didn’t take long before a sense of isolation hit Rarity as she traveled down the old abandoned trade route by herself. For the first time in a long time, she was journeying alone, and at that realization, her steps slowed. They had only said goodbye to each other less than an hour ago and were barely acquainted, and yet Rarity was already missing the presence of Pez and Even Trot. She was even beginning to feel nostalgic towards Clockworks and Minutiae’s constant requests for updates and would’ve gladly dealt with Huntress’s stoic aloofness if it meant having the dour mare’s company.

And of course, Rarity’s thoughts eventually turned to her friends from Ponyville and to however since they had gotten together as a group, she had rarely taken a trip without at least one of them with her and never a trip of this magnitude or importance.

“Keep it together, Rarity,” she said to herself, gently tapping against her cheeks. “Concentrate. Focus.” It wasn’t the healthiest way to cope with her loneliness, talking to herself, but it served as a proper distraction as she pushed herself onward.

As her journey continued, Rarity eventually caught the scent of sea water that slowly grew stronger. The whispers of the winds now carried the noisy cries of gulls. To the right of her, the grasslands sharply dropped off into a wrinkling mass of murky blue that extend beyond what her eyes could see, and at the end of the day, by the light of the setting sun, Rarity could just barely make out the mighty stone walls of what she presumed to be Baldursgait peeking over the horizon ahead of her.

By Rarity’s estimates, there was still at least an hour of travel between her and the city, which exceeded what sunlight was left in this day. She had dallied for too long. Not wanting to brave the road in the dangerous dark, she stopped for the night at a farming village she had come across. It was a small place, smaller than even Elder Woods’s village and consisting of only a few cottages and farmhouses. Rarity had spotted a number of such settlements dotting the countryside along the way since leaving Candelkeep, their number growing as she got closer to Baldursgait, but as she had no real reason to visit them until now, they went largely ignored.

Rarity was initially met with suspicion, but the promise of coin swayed one of the farmers into letting her sleep in his barn. It wasn’t the most comfortable or the most dignified or the cleanest place Rarity could think of, but as the village was too small to house an inn or anything of the kind, it was the best she could get outside of convincing the farmer to give up his own bed, and with the stalllion’s wife watching her closely, Rarity didn’t dare try her more persuasive tactics to tease out a better deal.

Neither the smell of hay nor the gossip of the cows in the neighboring stall bothered her too much, not when her journey’s end was so close. It was almost over, Rarity told herself, resting her head against a bundle of straw and trying to get some sleep. Soon, as early as tomorrow morning, she would be in Baldursgait.

The path leading to the city’s gate was difficult to miss. If one failed to notice the sudden transition in the quality of the road’s stonework, then they could simply follow the rows of burnt out torches flanking the way to the massive stone ramparts. If one failed to see the tall ashy poles or, somehow, the imposing walls with red and blue banners streaming down from the battlements, then surely the lengthy line of individuals leading up to the city and the constant screams for order from the guards at the entrance would have tipped them off.

The line to Baldursgait was long, and it moved at the pace of an injured snail, but with a few honeyed words and some batting of her eyelashes, Rarity made some quick and early headway, skipping the initial few positions at the queue’s start. Many whom she passed were farm ponies in ragged sackcloths, and some pulled along carts of fresh produce or sacks of grain, but Rarity also saw several in protective gear of varying quality and material, ranging from thick standard barding to links of metal chains to even pieces of steel plate. Their armaments were just as diverse, with some carrying simple spears over their shoulders while others had clubs or bows strung across their backs. Blades of just about every size could be found, from daggers like the one Huntress had given Rarity to swords so long that their tips dragged against the ground, and the unusually large, scruffy pony ahead of Rarity even had an equally large dual headed axe nestled between the bags on their back.

Her nose wrinkled at the stench coming from those bags. Whatever was in them was starting to soak through and attract flies, and the smell only got worse as time passed and the sun rose higher and higher in the sky. By the time the entrance came into her view, it was approaching noon, with the sun reaching its highest point, and Rarity was gagging.

“Next!” shouted the guard, and the large pony in front of her stepped forward. “Alrighty big guy, why are you here?”

“Yak.”

“Didn’t ask for your race, but yes, I can see that,” the guard grumbled as his colleague snickered.

“Yak.” The creature turned to rummaging through their luggage, giving Rarity a glimpse of their face and horns. She could now clearly see that they were indeed a yak, which would explain the excessive size and hair. “Yak,” they said again as they pulled out a slip of parchment and gave it to the guards.

“Part of the adventurers’ league, eh? Back from a quest then, I take?”

The yak nodded and pointed to the oozing sacks they were carrying. “Yak.”

“Right,” Rarity heard one of the guards snort. “Well then, yak, go ahead. Keep out of trouble.”

“Yak,” the yak said with another nod before they continued into the walled city. Once the yak had left their view, the three guards at the entrance turned to Rarity who now stood at the very front of the line. There were four additional sentries that could be spotted standing under the archway that led into the city, two standing on each side, and at the very end Rarity could see the glint of a couple of spearheads.

At minimum, a total of nine guards were at the entrance, and that wasn’t counting all the ones positioned on the walls. Rarity had to wonder, was this level of security normal for Baldursgait or was it in preparation for things to come?

“Alright, next in line. Come on, we haven’t all day.”

Rarity approached the guards. Their armor reminded her of the attire of the Canterlot guards, with brass plates protecting their front and midsection and shoulders and a helmet with a plume over their head. Additional metal plates were strapped over their shins and haunches but left the knee uncovered and unhindered. All three of the guards carried pole arms, with the sole pegasus of the trio tucking hers beneath a wing, and had a dagger attached to their side. One of them also had a longer blade sheathed beside his dagger. The three would have been an impressive sight had they bothered to clean the metal of their armor and didn’t look so bored out of their minds.

“So what do we have here?” the guard with the sword barked as he and his partnered looked over Rarity from the top of her hooded head to the bottom of her hooves. “Purpose?”

“Just, visiting.”

Rarity’s answer caused the guard’s brow to raise. “Visiting, eh? Got relatives here? Friends?”

“I’m here to see the adventurers’ league,” she said, not seeing any harm in divulging that information.

“That right?” the guard said while the one of his colleagues, his fellow stallion and earth pony, let out a snort. “Looking to join or something?”

“Or something, yes.”

“Eh, alright then. I’m guessing you haven’t any papers, so see what’s in those.” The guard gestured to the saddlebags on Rarity’s back with his spear. “Come on, don’t waste our time,” he added when Rarity hesitated. “You want in? Then don’t give us trouble.”

Rarity wanted to argue and rebuke these ruffians over their lack in manners, but she was also very much aware of her current, precarious position. These ponies had complete control over whether she got into the city or not, and so Rarity swallowed her pride and complied, removing her bags and surrendering them to the guards. As the two earth ponies searched through the bags, the pegasus approached her, and without any warning, she ran her hooves along Rarity’s body.

“Stop squirming,” the armored mare ordered as she reached into Rarity’s cloak and removed the two daggers hidden within and the silver pendant around Rarity’s neck. Elder Woods’s obsidian blade drew a funny look, but the guard returned everything to Rarity swiftly and without incident once she had finished her examination.

“Well what do we have here?” the guard with the sword exclaimed, holding up Rarity’s coin purse. “Oh ho, a bit on the heavy side.”

Rarity could hear the ponies behind her stir and sigh as they all watched the guard shake open the purse. A number of gold, copper, and silver coins tumbled out into his outstretched hoof, and his grin grew.

“That ought to cover the entry fee,” he declared with a chuckle as he put the lightened purse back into the saddlebags. His sneering partner tossed them back to Rarity, and they landed roughly in the dirt before her. “Alright, you’re good to go. And welcome to Baldursgait.”

Having done a quick inventory review, it didn’t appear that they had taken anything else, but Rarity refused to feel grateful over that small fortune. She shot the obnoxious stallion a dirty look as she passed him by, but it was the only thing she dared do with so many of his allies watching. As tempted as she was to embarrass the lout in front of all his colleagues, Rarity didn’t want her first experience with Baldursgait to be within the city’s dungeon or to be kicked out before even stepping a foot within the city’s walls. Part of her wanted to tear off her hood and expose her supposed identity just to see how they would all react, but Huntress’s warnings against such recklessness and of the possible dangers Baldursgait posed to Princess Shmarity kept her in check.

The guards under the archway watched Rarity as she walked by them. “Another refugee,” one muttered with a sigh as she passed them. “Poor fools still flooding in.”

“Darn streets are already packed as is,” another mumbled. Rarity ignored them as she continued and entered Baldursgait on the archway’s other end.

Her first expression of the city was that it was crowded. Buildings were packed together with very little space between them. The streets were jammed with bodies and wagons that slowed traffic to a crawl, and the various street merchants and beggars in the way weren’t helping matters. The sounds of arguments and loud grumblings polluted the air along with dark smoke and the foul mix of sewage malodor and salty sea breeze. Venders shouted at potential customers from their stalls, peddling their wares while ponies wearing rags knelt in the dirt with their hooves outstretched as they cried out mournfully for any spare coin, all adding to the noisy din.

Something took hold of Rarity’s cloak. She pulled back and spun around to discover that she had been stopped by an elderly beggar. The old mare’s gray mane was stiff and dry like straw, and one of her eyes appeared glassy and sightless. The crooked smile she wore as she held a hoof up to Rarity was toothless.

Pity quickly replaced her initial surprise and horror. Rarity started to reach for her purse, figuring that even after that guard’s portion, she could afford to part with a couple coins, but something knocked hard against her rear, causing her stumble forward and gasp out.

“Out of the way!” growled the pony dragging the cart that had bumped into her. “Move!”

“Excuse me?” Rarity exclaimed, her eyes narrowing as she turned. Her grip over her temper began to loosen. “You’re the one who bumped into me, and instead of apologizing like a civilized pony, you get cross with me?”

“Hey, lady!” came a shout from behind them. “Quit blocking the way! Hurry up already!”

Other joined in, demanding Rarity and the one with the cart to move with increasingly rude jeers and taunts. The old beggar was already gone at that point, so with a huff and her face burning, Rarity continued on her way, following the crowd further into the city until she became just another small part of it. Eventually, the narrow street they slowly traveled down opened into a plaza, and the crowd broke apart as those that formed it went in their own separate directions.

Rarity stopped in front of a dried out, chipped fountain covered in carved initials and graffiti that stood in the center of the plaza. As she watched the others go and make their way down one of the many branching paths, she came to realize just how woefully unprepared she was. Here she was in a city completely new to her, like a little country filly in Canterlot or Manehattan for her very first time, and she hadn’t even considered acquiring a map of the darn place beforehand. Sweet sun and moon, Candelkeep might have even had a book on Baldursgait that she could have used to avoid the unpleasantness at the entrance had she bothered to do the research.

Rarity flattened her face against the bases of her hooves and released a long, muffled, frustrated groan that slowly tapered off into a sigh. Well, what was done was done, and both her time and energy would be better spent figuring out what to do now than kicking herself over this silly lack of foresight. Rarity took a breath and calmed down, and as she brushed her mane out of her face, she returned to the cool and collected mare of grace she knew she was, the kind of mare who’d be able to come up with a well thought-out plan.

Rarity’s first step? Reviewing her purpose for being here in Baldursgait, that being to find help at this adventurers’ league thing, which she understood to be some sort of mercenary organization. Rarity squirmed at the idea of having to hiring a bunch of brutes willing to hurt and harm for money, and that was if she even had enough coin to afford them, but the adventurers’ league might also be her best bet at finding somepony sympathetic to her, or rather to Princess Shmarity’s plight. If there were any survivors from the old royal army, it made sense that some of them would have joined something like the adventurers’ league as a way to make a living off of their old skills after their crushing defeat at the tentacles of the Squid Wizard and his forces. Perhaps Rarity could find a few that still felt some loyalty toward Spiketopia’s princess.

After that, well, she’d have a much easier time figuring out what to do next once she had some extra heads around her with which to brainstorm. Hopefully, her future companions, with all of their potential experience, would be more knowledgeable of the southern lands than she and have a way to get there, and even if they personally didn’t have that kind of information, they’d probably know somepony who knew somepony who did. Baldursgait was a big city, and Rarity was well versed in just how deep connections could run in such a place.

Of course, Rarity would need to find this adventurers’ league first. A map really would have come in handy, but where could she get one now? Rarity‘s first thought was a tourist booth, but she hadn’t seen anything like that at the entrance and doubted that a place as rough as Baldursgait would even have such a thing. She supposed she could trying asking for directions, but based on how she had been treated at the gate, Rarity didn’t think she’d get much help from any of the patrolling guards, at least not without paying a hefty fee. Asking one of the locals instead might be a cheaper option, but there was no guarantee that they’d know how to get to the adventurers’ league.

Rarity looked around. The plaza, she noted, served as an intersection for a number of streets, with the fountain standing in the very middle. Signs could be found near the opening of each street, either hanging from a nearby building or attached to a pole. Perhaps once upon a time those signs served as indicators for what streets was what and which street led to where, but they had long since been rendered illegible, the wood having rotted away and nopony bothering to rewrite the faded letters.

Most of the ponies she saw walking around were busy going down one way or another, save for a few beggars lying in the road. After a bit of pony watching, as she was considering whether and whom to stop and question, Rarity noticed a pattern. Of the multiple paths that led further into the city, two appeared to have the most traffic going down them. Of the two, one seemed to be used universally, with farmers in poorly stitched work clothes pulling carts along side armed warriors in armor and cloaked individuals with bows and quivers on their backs making their way past mares in dresses and stallions in suit vests, while the other path appeared more predominantly used by those openly carrying their weapons around.

Rarity approached a stallion around her age who had just entered the plaza from the second way. Like most going to and from this path, he had a weapon, a short sword strapped to his side that hung just below his saddlebags.

“Excuse me, sir?” she said, getting the stallion’s attention. “Is this the direction to the adventurers’ league?”

“Huh?” The stallion blinked in surprise, clearly not expecting to be addressed. “Oh, uh, yeah.” He gave Rarity a quick glance and frowned. “You, uh, new around here?”

“Just arrived, actually,” Rarity answered with a smile and a giggle. “It’s my first time in Baldursgait, and it’s a rather large place.”

“Oh.” The stallion rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah. You don’t want to get lost around here. Had a couple of close calls myself during my first week.” He gave a small chuckle. “But yeah, if you just follow this street you’ll find the adventurers’ league headquarters. It’s this small building on the edge of this square with a bunch of billboards in front of it. It can be hard to find if you don’t know what you’re looking for, but, I mean, now you know.”

“Yes, and thank you,” Rarity said, and with another smile, she started toward the street she had been directed to as the helpful stallion continued on his own way. For a time, Rarity kept her focus on the road ahead of her, doing her best to avoid bumping into one of the many tough looking pedestrians and their violent accessories or straying onto a branching path that led to who knew where or tripping over a loose brick or a hole in the pavement. As she made her way through Baldursgait, however, Rarity could feel her curious eyes wander to the surrounding buildings and the city’s inhabitants, absorbing in the sights.

Many of the structures looking over the path were windowless, and those that had windows had them blocked by bars and cloth coverings, hiding the inside contents from outside observers. Much of the walls were vandalized with rude etchings and shapes, similar to how the fountain had been, and there was a layer of grime over the stone surfaces that gave some sections a dark green color. The roofs of these buildings were flat, and Rarity saw that there were a few ponies on them looking down at the passing crowd, mostly young children but also a few in white robes with their faces hidden under their hoods.

Those she shared the street with were far more varied and far more interesting, with manes, tails, and coats of all colors and shades populating the road. Earth ponies were the most common, but a number of horns and feathered wings could be spotted in the crowd as well. There were ponies here of all shapes and sizes, from the large, the bulky, and those with a muscular definition vast enough for it’s own dictionary and maybe even drive a certain white pegasus stallion from Ponyville envious to the scrawny, the wiry, and those that Rarity mistook as foals until she noticed their lengthy facial hair and the lines on their faces. Speaking of age, Rarity saw ponies that looked old enough to be her grandmother or grandfather strutting as if they were half that age past young mares and stallions Rarity’s age and even younger, and then there was everything in between the two extremes.

As Rarity had observed earlier, just about everypony here was armed: daggers, short swords, long swords, blades so broad and big Rarity couldn’t imagine how anypony could swing them without magical means, thin rapiers, lances, spears, pole axes, single headed and double headed battle axes, bows of various lengths, mechanized crossbows, bandoleers of throwing darts, clubs, flails, and a whole host of other martial tools that Rarity didn’t recognize and could only describe as being sharp and pointy. Some were sheathed or covered in some fashion while others hung out in the open, their metal bits gleaming in the sunlight. The quality of the weapons varied pony to pony, from spears and the like with their wood warping and splintering and swords with visible rust and chips in their edges to pole arms with polished shafts and blades that looked, as far as Rarity could tell with her limited expertise, just recently forged. Some were covered in dust while others had clearly been cleaned recently and well maintained. One particular unicorn had his sword in a jewel encrusted scabbard that was so shiny it hurt to look, and while excessive and a waste of some perfectly good gems, it did go well with the stallion’s bright red cape, polished and spotless breastplate complete with an engraved coat of arms, waxed and curled mustache, and the air of pompousness he carried himself with as he walked with his nose pointed up to the clouds above.

Many kept their Cutie Marks hidden, their flanks covered by armor or by the hem of theirs cloaks, but there were some, usually the ones with the fancier looking equipment, that seemed to flaunt the symbol on their flanks. The meaning for some of the marks were obvious, like the mare with spear on her back having the mark of a spear, but there were also several that were too vague to interpret just by sight alone, like the marks of falcon wings and wolf heads and a crown of stars. Some Cutie Marks didn’t exactly seem to fit with the pony they were destined to, like for instance that rolling pin which one would’ve expected on the flanks of a baker and not on the scarred up mercenary Rarity saw it on. Then again, a Cutie Mark only describes one’s talents and not necessarily their profession, though Rarity had to wonder about the circumstances that drove this particular pony with all his culinary potential into a life of scars and wounds.

And then there were all those that never would receive Cutie Marks. As she got further into Baldursgait, Rarity began to notice an increase in the diversity of the species around her. Griffons shared the skies with pegasi and the occasional hippogriff while yaks like the one Rarity had seen early walked along side floppy eared donkeys and hearty horned oxen. Rarity even spotted a couple of stags with decorated antlers and a young dragon with reddish scales and a mask shaped like an equine skull in the crowd, and as she followed the street into a large square, hopefully the square that young stallion had mentioned in his directions, Rarity was greeted with the scene of a trio of young bipedal felines being chased by an elder minotaur while a small group of nearby parrot folk watched and laughed.

“Dang runts! I’ll turn you into coats!”

“Cheap supplies here. Don’t get ripped off at the market. Save some coin and some time.”

“You’ve got any healer’s kits? Any unused?”

“Weapons, get your weapons! Perfect for any occasion. Dungeons. Exterminations. Weddings.”

“Look, you know I’m good for it. Give me a couple days.”

“Fried fish for sale!”

“What are you trying to do, rob me? Knock it down a couple of coppers.”

“Heard about Grim. Darn shame.”

“Who’s hungry? Got fresh corn cakes, hot off the griddle.”

Exclamations of stall keepers as they tried to entice potential customers and bits and pieces of conversations between creatures filled the air that carried the scent of unwashed bodies, baked and fried foods, and the sea. Out in the distance stood a harbor and the endless stretch of blue. Seagulls circled above, screaming as they dived and stole scraps off the ground. With so many sights and sounds and smells, Rarity was starting to feel a little overwhelmed. She tried to refocus herself, shaking her head as she forced her wandering eyes straight ahead in search of a building with billboards in front of it.

The crowded environment did not help matters. Even if Rarity didn’t have to deal with how distracting all of the sights and sounds were, the crush of bodies, many of which were larger than her, blocked much of her vision, and it was incredibly difficult to stay perceptive when she was constantly being jostled around without so much of a pardon. Rarity wasn’t sure which was worse, being shoved down to the dirty ground by a bull rushing by or walking right into a group of kittens and knocking one poor dear off his two little back paws and scattering the rest. Neither instance presented an opportunity for an adequate apology, the bullish bovine hurrying off without even glancing at her and the little cat scurrying after his friends on all fours as Rarity extended a hoof to help him up, and she left both scenes with her face flushed.

To make things worse, Rarity’s stomach was beginning to grumble, and her growing hunger added to her list of distractions. It was early afternoon at this point, and all Rarity had eaten today were some mouthfuls of dried fruit and nuts from her own supplies, the farmers she had gotten boarding from not having included breakfast in their services. The aroma wafting from the food stands caused her mouth to water and her stomach to growl louder to the point that Rarity worried that others could hear it over all the noise.

She stopped in front of the cleanest stall she could see, which consisted of pancakes being flipped on a greasy tabletop griddle before a couple of waiting customers. The mare running the stand gave Rarity a toothy grin as she approached.

“And what’ll it be for you?” she said, brushing her hooves on the stained apron she wore. “It’s real flour, you know. Three coppers for a plain one, five if you want one with cheese, and there’s a discount if you get more than five.”

Rarity looked down at the pancakes currently sizzling away for those ahead of her. Those delectable brown surfaces were ruined by black smudges of residue grease, and they were disappointingly small. One would need far more than five of those flat little cakes to come close to having a decent meal, and Rarity, despite not being complete sure of the worth behind this world’s currency or its economic standards, had a strong intuition that the prices presented were severely inflated.

Her stomach, however, did not care and protested loudly at her hesitation. The rebellious organ wouldn’t even compromise over the promise of Rarity’s leftover travel rations, not while in the presence of something hot and fresh. She sighed and tried to ignore the chuckles coming from the other customers. “Seven plain ones, please.”

“Right away. Seven plain will cost you, uh.” The mare took a moment to do some calculations, her features twisting in concentration. “Twenty? Yeah, twenty coppers for seven.”

Twenty copper coins for pancakes. The equivalent of two silvers, according to Princess Shmarity’s knowledge. Rarity frowned. “Surely that’s can’t be with the discount included. Or is a single copper coin truly the best you can do?”

The mare snorted and shrugged. “Listen lady, if you don’t like my prices, you can find some place else. Now figure it out ‘cause I can’t have you holding up my business.”

She gestured Rarity to the pegasus stallion and the griffon waiting behind her. Seeing that the stand owner was in no mood to discuss the price further, and neither was she for that matter, Rarity let out another sigh. She reached over to her saddlebags, undid the strap, and reached inside.

Rarity brushed past her supplies, pushing aside the tinderbox, her knife, and the sewing kit amongst other miscellaneous items before reaching the bottom of her bag. Confused, Rarity pulled her hoof back and tried again, and then she tried the other side. In there she felt and found the first aid kit, the lodestone, Elder Woods’s map, and the bag’s bottom once more.

But there was no coin purse.

19. The Particular Case of Selptan Felines

19. The Particular Case of Selptan Felines

The stall owner stood there waiting, unamused, as did her customers in the line growing behind Rarity who were making their impatience vocal and clear. “Look, lady,” the mare in the dirty apron grumbled while she shot Rarity an even dirtier look, “if you’re looking for a free meal, that’s none of my business, but you’d better look somewhere else ‘cause this ain’t a charity.”

“No, wait, I just need a moment. It’s in here somewhere, it has to be.” Rarity took off her bags and tossed them open to checked them again, but her eyes only confirmed what her hooves had already told her. No matter how hard she looked, there simply was no wallet to be found, and yet it was a reality Rarity was having trouble accepting. She saw that guard pony return the purse to her bags after helping himself to some of its contents, Rarity was sure of it. But then, if that was truly the case, did she drop it on the way here? She had gone through several bumps since her arrival in Baldursgait, but Rarity didn’t think the purse could’ve just fallen out of her saddlebags simply from walking into another creature, not when the bag’s flap was sealed and there weren’t any holes.

“Out of the way,” the stallion in the skullcap behind Rarity huffed as he roughly nudged her to the side. “Here’s two silvers,” he said, tossing the coins over to the stall owner. “Give me eight with cheese and make it snappy.”

Rarity gathered her things and walked off, grumpy, hungry, and trying not to lose it. She didn’t want to make assumptions or accusations, but it was becoming quite clear that she had been robbed. It was a new experience for Rarity, being pickpocketed, a sobering experience that left her cold and feeling foolish.

She had been warned so many times that Baldursgait was a dangerous place, by Huntress, by Pendula, by all those ponies from Horshire, so why had she not been more alert? There she was, walking into everyone and being distracted by nearly everything, her lack of guile on full display. There could not be a more perfect mark for a thief. Why didn’t she take any precautions? She should’ve kept the coin purse closer to her person, like in her cloak with her daggers and the Queen of Fey’s pendant? It would have been safe under there.

Wouldn’t it?

Rarity reached into her traveler’s cloak. She quickly found both Elder Woods’s oddity of a dagger and the one from Huntress, but to her growing distress, both the silver snowflake and the chain it was attached to were missing. But who? And how? A thief certainly could have removed Rarity’s purse from her saddlebags and made off with it when she was busy observing the locals, but Rarity couldn’t imagine some creature managing to slip the pendant off her neck without her noticing them. It must have been when she bumped into someone in the crowd, that brief physical contact being all the opportunity the pickpocket would’ve needed.

Well, however the theft was done, there was no way of telling who or where they were now. The packed plaza present plenty of hiding places, and the thief could have easily gotten lost in the crowd. Even if this place wasn’t so cluttered and the thief was so brazen and arrogant enough to stick around, Rarity doubted she’d be able to find them as, if she had to be completely honest, just about everybody here, be they pony or nonpony, young or old, looked at least somewhat suspect.

The loss of her purse hurt and was certainly a significant setback that left her with nothing to buy basic necessities let alone hire a band of adventurers to help save Spike and Discord, but with time and effort the money could be replaced. The pendant, however, was an entirely different question, and Rarity wasn’t sure she could even contact the Queen of Fey without it. Not that she ever tried using it. She had been so careful and cautious about the power stored within the symbol, and now that power was in the grasp of some selfish and immoral thief dangerously ignorant of what they pilfered.

Would it work with creatures other than her? Rarity didn’t want to find out. Her priorities shifted, with locating and retrieving the Queen of Fey’s symbol thrown straight to the top, but she had few ideas as to how to achieve that goal. As much a fan as she was of mystery novels, there really wasn’t a whole lot of detective work Rarity could do without any leads or clues to work off of, and even the great Shadow Spade would’ve had difficulties tracking a trail this cold. Reporting the crime to the city guard and asking for their help was considered for the briefest of millisecond before Rarity remembered her treatment at the entrance, and Rarity had experienced enough of Baldursgait already to know she wasn’t going to get much sympathy off the street.

Her best bet, Rarity soon realized, was to continue her original plan of finding individuals who still supported Spiketopia’s royalty at the adventurers league. They’d be more willing to help at the very least, and she wouldn’t have to worry about being taken advantage of. Rarity secured her saddlebags, making sure they were tightly closed, and set off in search of the building behind the billboards. This time, as she made her way through the square, Rarity kept an eye out for anyone getting too close.

She had made some progress through the crowded plaza when she suddenly stopped and turned to look over her shoulder. Her ears twitched, and she squinted as the creatures behind her grumbled and brushed past. Seeing and hearing nothing that was felt out of place, Rarity shrugged and turned back around. Whatever it was, it must have just been her imagination and her nerves being on edge.

Wrong way.

Rarity stopped once more. There it was again, that strange sensation. It felt like someone or something was watching her, spying on her, making the skin under her alabastrine coat crawl. And then there was that whispering in her ear. Or was it in her head?

Over here.

There it was again, spoken in a darkly mischievous and mocking tone that sent a chill through her body and lifted the fur over her neck. Rarity looked around again, but despite the whisper sounding so near, she could not find the owner of the voice. None of the creatures she saw tried speaking to her or getting her attention, and except for a few side glances and scowls, most largely ignored her as they forcefully passed by. Not wanting to continue holding up traffic, Rarity returned her gaze straight ahead and tried to walk forward, but she only made a couple of steps before the voice behind her returned, this time with a giggle that caused her teeth to grate and grind.

This way.

With a exasperated sigh, Rarity turned her whole body around and headed toward the direction of the mysterious voice. She found ignoring the annoyed looks of the other pedestrians as she moved against the flow of the crowd a whole lot easier than ignoring the eerie whispers and giggles which seemed to grow louder with each step she took. The voice started to give out small encouragements, urging Rarity onward as it directed her to the plaza’s outskirts and onto an unfamiliar street.

Now Rarity certainly had her moments of naivety. Failing to stay vigilant while in a brand new city and getting robbed as a result was only the latest addition to a list that included letting a rival seamstress plagiarize her designs and almost falling victim to a scam friendship school run by known con-ponies. That did not, however, mean she was completely oblivious; one did not come to own a successful and growing business without having some level of shrewdness after all, enough to at the very least recognize the dangers of following a strange voice in her head down a dark, isolated path.

And so Rarity stopped, digging her into the dirt as if to keep herself from being dragged forward. She tried to resist the odd, unexplainable urgency she felt toward this street, tried to back up, tried to run away and return to the more populated areas, but the voice in her head only grew louder and louder until it became throbbing ache. Was this some sort of magic, Rarity wondered, a charm spell like what she had been through in Horshire?

The moment Rarity stepped onto the street she had been brought to, the voice immediately quieted and returned to a low whisper. She took a step back, and not too surprisingly, the voice swelled back to a painful scream and only stopped once Rarity pulled her hoof back up front.

“So this is where you want me to go, is it?” Rarity shouted, glaring at the surrounding buildings, at the clouds above, at the crowd some distance behind her, turning her head in every which direction. Silence answered her. Rarity tutted, annoyed by the lack of a reply. “Fine, so be it.”

Huntress’s dagger was unsheathed and removed from Rarity’s cloak. If this was a trap, some devious method to get her alone and into an ambush, she would not being going in utterly unprepared. Carefully holding the short bladed weapon out in front of her, Rarity slowly made her way down the street. The voice had gone silent, leaving her with only the wails of the wind and the sounds of fluttering paper scraps. Rarity’s eyes scanned every creeping shadow, and she pointed the tip of her blade at the slightest movement. Every five or so steps, Rarity would quickly glance over her shoulder to make sure she wasn’t being followed. She never was, and the street was clearly deserted, and yet Rarity could not shake the feeling that she was being watched.

The adrenaline from her display of bravado quickly wore off. Her grip around her dagger’s handle had become shaky and was loosened by anxious perspiration, and at the sound of a sudden loud thud, it slipped out of Rarity’s hoof and fell to the ground. A gasp escaped her lips before she could stop it, and she all but dove into the dirt to retrieve the dagger, making even more noise in her alarm and possibly alerting whatever was that caused the noise further.

Rarity placed her rear against one of the neighboring walls, ignoring the grime and dust that was likely seeping into her tail, and held her weapon toward the direction of the sound. There was a second thud, and then another, and then a pained groan, all of which were coming from a dark alleyway just around the corner. Those deeply buried animalistic instincts of hers were screaming, begging her to run as fast as she could away from this scene. The more advanced and rational parts of her brain acknowledged those primitive thoughts and agreed.

Feeling finally returned to Rarity’s legs as another thump echoed out of the alley. Slowly, quietly, Rarity removed herself from the wall and started to creep her way back to the populated plaza, keeping both her gaze and her dagger pointed at the alley. Knowing that any sudden movement would create noise and draw unwanted attention to her, Rarity resisted all urges to break into a gallop and escape, and instead she forced herself to move slowly and carefully.

Progress was slow as at every additional thud and thump Rarity froze, half-expecting something to jump out of the darkness and chase after her. She had only managed a few small steps when she heard something new from within that alley.

“Help.”

The whimper was weak, barely audible over the beatings. Part of Rarity questioned whether she had even heard the sound or attributed it to just a trick of the wind. What if it was a trap, another part of her asked, a ruse to get her into the alley for an attack? Whatever it was didn’t matter, reasoned a third part, and the smart thing to do would be to ignore what she thought she heard and get away from here without delay.

All those thoughts, the panicky and fearful, the suspicious and cynical, the rational and reasoning, Rarity disregarded them all as she took a step toward the alley. It did not matter that she really couldn’t be sure of what she had heard or that there most certainly was a likelihood of her walking right into some sinister ploy or that she could think of fewer things more reckless and stupid than continuing forward like she was currently. All that was insignificant when compared to the overwhelming disgust Rarity was feeling. The possibility, however slim, of abandoning some poor creature in need when she, Equestria’s supposed representation of generosity, could have done something to help made her sick to the core.

It wasn’t something she could living with, not if she wanted to ever be able to look any of her friends in the eye, and so Rarity approached the source of the sounds, of the thumps and bumps and the whimper, doing her best not to shake as she wondered of what she might find within. With blade and guard up, she peeked around the corner, steeling herself for whatever was to come.

None of the three figures she found in the alley jumped out at her. One of them sat huddled against the wall, crying softly and wincing as the largest of the three violently slammed their hooves down onto the body of the third. The third figure was curled into a ball, cowering and trying to protect their vulnerable neck and head with their arms and paws. Bruises could be seen forming through the orange fur, and in that mess of flying limbs, Rarity could spot a limp, spotted tail that was long, smooth, and fuzzy, unlike that of an equine’s. A similar appendage in both color and structure could also be found on the creature against the alley wall.

They were feline folk, Rarity realized, like the bipedal kittens she had first seen being chased around or the poor individual she had knocked over. The one standing over and pummeling the fallen cat was, however, a pony like Rarity. They were a stallion, large, about the size of Applejack’s brother Big McIntosh, with a coat of dark gray fur and a dirty yellow mane and tail that were both cut messily short. Unlike all the others she had seen, this stallion wore no weapons or any clothes, and there was something about his Cutie Mark that felt, off. The symbol was blurred, indistinguishable, and it left Rarity with a sense of unease that added to her discomfort with this whole distressing scene.

“Where. Did. You. Get. This?” the stallion was demanding, punctuating each spoken syllable with a blow to the hurt cat underneath him. Something was wrong with stallion’s throat which had left his voice incredibly low and added an odd reverberation to his words.

Another fearful whimper from the kitten hiding away from the violence spurred Rarity into action, and she stepped forward into the alley and shouted, “Stop!” It was a recklessness that was more characteristic of a pony like Rainbow Dash, but with there being no creatures nearby whom which she could get help from and the victim of the brutal beating’s status uncertain and condition worsening, Rarity’s options were limited.

At least now that she had gotten the large stallion’s attention, the rain of blows had stopped, with one of his hoof pausing right in the middle of its descent, sunlight glinting off a small chain thread that was wrapped around it. The stallion slowly turned to face Rarity, and at the sight of those little solid black beads that served as his eyes, Rarity questioned whether the being before her was truly a pony. Was he a changeling perhaps, one whose transformation was imperfect or incomplete?

Before Rarity could consider the creature’s appearance and nature further, the chain around his hoof started to shine, forcing Rarity’s eyes to shut from the sudden brief brightness. A second later, Rarity felt something cold around her neck and then something hard against her chest, and in her surprise, she nearly yelled out and released her hold on her dagger. Almost out of completely reflex, Rarity stole a quick peek down at her front. Whatever she have possibly been expecting to find there, it most surely was not the Queen of Fey’s pendant hanging from her neck and out in the open against the front folds her cloak, the many jagged silver points of the snowflake unmistakable.

“Emissary of the exiled harlot,” Rarity heard the strange stallion hiss in that unnerving voice of his. She raised her head and saw that he was no longer standing over the prone feline but instead had taken a step toward her. The chain that been wrapped around his hoof, Rarity noted, had vanished.

“D-don’t come any closer!” Rarity exclaimed. “I-I’ve already called the guards. They’ll be here any second, s-so just let those two go before you get into anymore trouble.” As the stallion took another step forward, Rarity nervously took one back. “Stay back,” she ordered, holding up the dagger and struggling to keep it steady and make it appear threatening. “I-I’m warning you, I’m armed, and I’m not afraid to defend myself.”

The stallion stopped his advance, and in that moment, Rarity was filled with relief as it appeared that the odd ruffian was seeing reason. Before she could even think of relaxing, however, the stallion disappeared, only to reappear mere inches in front of her a split second later. He batted the dagger out of Rarity’s grasp and swung. The strike missed, whizzing right past the front of her nose as Rarity stumbled back and tripped, causing her to fall.

She wasn’t given an opportunity to recover as the stallion looming over her press his hoof against her neck. Rarity tried to shove the larger pony off her, and when she saw that that wasn’t going to work, she tried to deter by swinging her hooves at his face. It was like punching at a wall made of bricks and just as effective, with the stallion showing no reaction to Rarity’s attacks whatsoever. He simply continued to push down on Rarity’s throat, and soon, Rarity was gasping for air.

“So the court of rebellion finally makes its move. No matter. Their plans dies with their messenger.”

Rarity tried to roll her head to side in order to make the stallion’s hold on her neck less secure, but her efforts and struggling only caused the stallion to apply more pressure. Something in the dirt next to her caught her eye, and she removed her hoof from her assailant’s face and reached out toward it. It took a bit of blind flailing, but Rarity’s hoof eventually found the dagger that had been knocked out of her grasp. Without a second thought, Rarity pulled the dagger back and plunged it into the side of the stallion’s neck.

The blade didn’t even get past the initial layer of gray fur. It bounced off the neck as if the exposed spot had been covered in metal plate, causing Rarity’s hoof to shake from the unanticipated recoil. Her confusion and desperation growing, Rarity tightened her hold on the weapon and swung again. This time, the blade bent and snapped against the stallion’s neck, and the resulting force made her drop what was left of the dagger with a pained wince.

The stallion lifted his hoof, giving Rarity the chance to take in half a breath before he slammed it back down. Rarity choked out a gasp of pain as her vision blurred from the tears welling up in her eyes. “Your existence is a mistake,” she heard the stallion whisper into her ear. “It shall be rectified.”

Rarity’s struggling weakened as her movements grew sluggish. Her limbs were losing feeling, and already her hind legs had ceased their wild kicking. Her left front leg collapsed to her side while her right one continued to push futilely at the stallion’s face. Bulging veins sprouted all over his features as his color became unnaturally pale and the snarl his mouth was twisted. He bared thin, needle like fangs, furthering his strange, monstrous appearance when in addition to his already abnormal eyes. That freakish, frightening face was all she could see as the edges of her vision slowly darkened.

At last, Rarity’s remaining active limb dropped. She dug it into her cloak, searching desperately even as her body started to give up. As the world around her grew dark, her hoof found the wooden hilt of Elder Woods’s final gift to her, and with the last of her strength, Rarity tore it out of her cloak and blindly swung it in front of her.

The stallion let out a loud yelp as he released Rarity’s neck. The moment she felt the pressure leave her throat, Rarity rolled to her side and gulped down several breaths worth of air. Gradually, light and color returned to her eyes, and she could begin to feel and freely move her limbs once more. The deafening ring in her ear had been replaced by the stallion’s howls that continued on even as Rarity recovered. There he stood, clutching at his cheeks and snout and trying to cover the massive gash that extended across the length of his face with his hooves.

One of his black eyes was closed shut. The other had turned to Rarity. “You—“

She didn’t let him finish. With a mighty, animalistic scream, Rarity dove at the injured stallion, and as he stumbled back, she drove the dagger into his collar. The obsidian blade did what the one made of steel could not as it sunk into the flesh and incited a tortured cry. Rarity yanked the black blade free and struck again, widening and deepening the wound.

Over and over, the dagger was buried into the stallion’s neck, until Rarity was out of breath and could barely hold onto the dagger. She took a step back and watched as the stallion shuddered and then collapsed. Rarity held up her blade and took a readying stance, preparing herself for when he climbed back to his feet. A good minute or so passed with her staring at the unmoving body before Rarity eventually lowered her weapon and let her own body relax a little.

Physically, anyways. Mentally, she was busy trying to come to terms with having killed another being. It did not matter that the deed had been done out of self-defense or that her victim seemed to have been of an otherworldly persuasion. The life of another had still been ended by her own hooves, cut short by the blade she was still holding.

And yet, even as Rarity watched the body of the stallion she had just struck down flake apart and turn to ash, leaving behind only a misshaped skull with bold black Xs over its sockets, the numbing guilt she felt was already fading away. It was like the time back at the bandit camp when she felt little to no discomfort over the moving and looting of the slain brigands, another task Rarity had thought unimaginable, especially for her of all ponies. Now all she felt was her earlier hunger when it would have been more appropriate to find a corner and start vomiting. To think, she was already thinking about her next meal after getting over her committing one of the worst crimes in Equestria and in a matter of mere seconds. Heavens above and Tartarus below, what was wrong with her?

A soft sob interrupted Rarity’s pondering, and she turned to the two kittens. The larger one, the initial subject to the strange stallion’s ire, was lain on the street, unmoving while the smaller, younger of the two knelt over them with tears streaming down their face as they tried to shake the larger body. The smaller kitten glanced up and their body stiffened at the sound of Rarity’s approaching steps. The fur on their arching back rose, a sign of aggression Rarity was familiar with from her own pet feline, but their eyes betrayed more fear than anger.

“It’s alright,” Rarity assured, lifting up her hooves before she remembered that she was still holding a dagger and a frightfully odd looking one at that. Realizing how threatening she must’ve appeared waving a weapon around, Rarity quickly tucked it back into the inner pocket of her cloak. “You’re safe now,” she said, again with her hooves raised to show that they were empty. “I‘m not going to hurt you, I promise.”

Rarity took another step forward, and at this, the kitten hissed and opened their mouth to expose their teeth. Not wanting to aggravate the nervous creature further, she immediately stopped. “It’s alright.” Rarity removed her hood and as she revealed her face and let her mane tumble out and flow free, she gave out a small smile.

The kitten blinked twice and their mouth fell open, likely taken aback by Rarity’s unexpected appearance. Her disarming smile seemed to have done the trick as the cat’s stiff shoulders started to sag and their fur flattened. They swallowed, sniffed, and wiped their face with the back of their arm. “W-where did he go?” they asked, the pitch of their voice suggesting that they were indeed very young and quite likely female in gender. It certainly matched their more feminine appearance, well, as far as Rarity who was hardly an expert on cat folk could tell.

“You mean the stallion who was attacking you?” The kitten nodded, and Rarity looked to the pile of dust where the brute’s body had once lain. The lopsided skull, all the remained of the stallion, had also disintegrated, leaving them with nothing but questions and adding to the mystery of what he was really. “I, don’t believe he’ll be bothering you again.”

“Oh. Okay.” Rarity did not miss the hesitation in the kitten’s words nor the look of suspicion she had on. The two stared at each for a short moment before the kitten looked down at her fellow feline, then back to Rarity. Another moment passed, and the kitten’s wary expression turned to one of worry and steadily increasing panic. “Can, can you help my brother?” It sounded more like a desperate plea than a request. “Please, he’s hurt.”

Rarity smiled again. “Of course,” she assured, and the kitten expressed her evident relief with a sigh. “Let me just—“

As she approached and the kitten hovering over the body of her brother reluctantly made some room, Rarity realized she had spoken too quickly. She had to fight back a wince at the sight before her. Just looking at all of the bruises and welts covering the poor cat was painful, with there being more areas black and blue and red than there were of the cat’s natural fur color. One of the arms looked bent, possibly even broken, and the only movement that could be seen, the only signs that the creature before Rarity still clung to life, consisted of a bit of shuddering as the cat forced down some shallow breaths and some pained twitches of his crooked tail.

A sudden fury filled Rarity that burned away what little lingering regret and guilt remained over her vanquishing of the being who inflicted this damage. Thoughts of her own pet cat lended kindling that furthered the blaze, but when that righteous anger finally burned out, however, all she was left with was concern and a growing sense of despair. It didn’t take a doctor’s diagnosis to determine that the cat was in a bad shape, but that same lack of medical expertise caused Rarity to question if there even really was anything she could do for him. She wasn’t even sure if it was safe to move him.

Rarity had to look away. She glanced up to find the younger, still cognizant cat looking at her expectantly, waiting. Rarity owed them nothing. Hadn’t she done enough already by saving them from that monster of a stallion? With the Queen of Fey’s pendant back in her possession, she could just walk away, just leave and wash her hooves clean of this whole affair.

She could have, just like she could’ve ignore the soft cry for help, but if she had, she wouldn’t be Rarity. Instead, she took in a calming breath and said, “I’ll see what I can do.”

Standing over the injured cat, Rarity dug out her first aid kit. Bandages weren’t going to do much good here, there not being any cuts or other open wounds, though she might be able to fashion a sort of crude splint and sling for the contorted arm. As for the bruises, Rarity didn’t have enough salve to address them all so she’d have to pick and choose the worst of the them. Or was one supposed to bandage bruises? She didn’t think so, but again, her knowledge in providing this kind of treatment was limited, and it didn’t appear that Princess Shmarity was much of a nurse either. Was there anything else in here that could help, like an instructional guide perhaps? Rarity rummaged deeper, only for her hoof to slip and knock the kit over, slipping some of its contents onto the ground.

She heard a gasp and looked up. The kitten was crouched in front of her, and in her paws she held one of the small red vials from Rarity’s bag. Those bright, yellow eyes were wide as they stared down at the vial. The paws started to close around it but stopped when she realized that Rarity was watching.

“C-can I?” the cat asked. Her body had stiffened again, wounding up like a spring that was readying to jump.

The look Rarity wore one of confusion and curiosity. “I, suppose,” she said with a delay that betokened of her uncertainty. She watched as at her permission, the kitten rushed to the other cat’s side and lifted up his head, causing him to groan and grasp.

“I don’t think—“ Rarity began, but the kitten had already snapped the glass lip, thrown away the lid, and was pouring the vial’s red contents into her brother’s mouth. He struggled weakly for a bit, but eventually, the younger of the two cats got him to swallow the mysterious red liquid down. Before Rarity’s eyes, the large dark bruises on the cat’s body became smaller and grew lighter. His irregular breathing steadied as his crooked tail slowly straightened. The arm still appeared a little out of shape, but at least it no longer hurt to stare at it.

Seeing that her patient no longer appeared to be in critical condition, Rarity dropped her gaze down to her kit of medical supplies, and she took a quick count of the few vials that still remained for future use. She was no stranger to potions with miraculous properties, having been acquainted with Zecora and her own magical brews, and wondered if she should try to save a sample for the Everfree Forest’s premier herbalist as a souvenir.

“What, what happen?”

The voice Rarity heard was young, not as young as the kitten perhaps but still within the throes of adolescence, and unlike the voice of the first cat, this one had a lower pitch that was clearly belonging to a male. He was sitting up, the older feline brother, propped by the elbow of his uninjured arm as he stared at his surroundings with alert eyes wide with confusion. His sister let out a cry, and if that hadn’t already gotten his attention, her tackling him into a hug that nearly knocked him back down definitely would have.

“Lyn?” he grunted. His features turned to a scowl. “What are you still doing here? I told you to run.”

The kitten simply shook her head as she wailed into her brother’s chest. The young tom sighed, but Rarity saw that his face softened when he raised a paw to gently pat his younger sister’s head. “Alright already. Just, what happen? Where’d the guy who attacked us go?”

The sister lifted her head and sniffed. “I don’t know. I-I think that lady save us from him. And, and she even gave us a healing potion too!”

“Oh yeah?” The cat looked up to see Rarity, noticing her for his first time. He tried to peel the kitten off of him, and when he failed, he shot Rarity an embarrassed grin, and with his better arm, he waved. “Well, uh, thanks miss. Sounds, uh, like you saved me and my sis’ hides.” He chuckled weakly and rubbed the back of his neck. “Sorry. It’s just, I’m not really used to giving thanks and all. Aren’t a whole lot of creatures in Baldursgait who would’ve done that, not unless they knew they were getting something out of it, and, well.”

The cat gestured down at himself and the tattered, dirty rags he wore. “We don’t exactly look like we’re of gold. But, ah.” His smile wavered, shrinking to a near frown for a good long couple of seconds before it returned to its original, bashful state. “I guess you’ve already got your reward.” He made a gesture which directed Rarity to the silver symbol hanging from her neck.

“Listen, miss, ah, I know I’m not in a place to ask this, but that necklace you got there, you picked it off that guy, right? Could, could we have it?” The cat bowed his head and put his paws on his sister’s shoulders. “Please. It isn’t worth much, really, but it means a lot to me and my sis. It belonged to our mother. Our late mother. Lost her when Catlyn here could barely crawl. Pop left us pretty soon after.” For a moment, he stared wistfully past Rarity, then he cleared his throat. “Please. It’s all we have left of them.”

Rarity’s eyes narrowed. “You’re the cat I bumped down earlier back at the crowds.” Her own smile turned into a disgusted scowl. “So that‘s when it was stolen from me!”

The cat blinked. “S-stolen? I-I don’t—“ His mouth fell open and the color of the fur over his face drained away. His eyes widened as he was struck hard with realization. “Oh nuts.”

“Oh nuts, indeed!” Rarity took a threatening step forward, to which the young pickpocket responded with a timid move back. “So not only do you go about stealing from other creatures, but you also have the audacity to put on this big show for me, after everything I’ve to help you, to try and guilt me into giving back this pendant you stole, which was rightfully mine in the first place? Have you truly no shame?”

“Hey hey, a cat has to eat, and I’ve got two mouths to feed.” He ushered his sister behind him. “Look, I didn’t recognize you at first. If I had, I wouldn’t have tried tricking you. Honest.” The cat placed one front paw over his chest and raised the other into the air. “But hey, you got your jewelry back, so no harm no foul, yeah? We good now, right?”

“What about my purse?” Rarity demanded, her glare intensifying. “Did you take that as well?”

“What? No, no of course not.” The cat shook his head hurriedly. “Really, honest, I didn’t take any purse. Chump Change would have me offed if I tried something like that. Here, look.” He patted down on the loose rags serving as his shirt and pants. “See, nothing. If you lost your money, sucks, but I seriously had nothing to do with that.”

Rarity‘s frown deepened, but it didn’t seem to her that the cat was lying this time, this display all too desperate to be deceptive, and judging from his earlier attempt at an emotional ploy, he was no skilled actor. “Very well then.”

The cat lowered his arms. “Then, we’re good? No hard feelings? Then I’ll just, take my sister and—“

“Hold it!” At Rarity’s exclamation, the cat shrunk back. “We most certainly still have a great of hard feelings to deal with. In case you’ve forgotten, you still stole this from me.” She held up the Queen of Fey’s pendant before tucking it back under her cloak. “You’re a scoundrel and a criminal and worst of all an absolutely horrible influence to your sister.” They both spared a glance at the young kitten hiding behind the older brother. “I should turn you into the city guards this very moment.”

The cat gulped. “Whoa, whoa! Hold on now, let’s not get hasty, miss.” He held his paws up and out, a show of submission and surrender. “Look, there’s no need to get the guard involved. I’m sure we can work something out between us without bothering those jerks.” The smile he put on was weak and shaky. “I mean, you just saw me get beat up. You don’t really want to see that again, do you?”

Rarity’s glare continued to burn, and in the presence of its heat, the cat’s attempt at a sunny and optimistic disposition melted away quickly. “Alright, what do you want?” he asked, his smile vanishing. “Please, I can’t, they’ll take me away from my sister.” At her mentioning, the kitten grabbed hold of the larger cat’s arm, the still injured one, which incited a grimace from him. “Just, please, what do you need me to do to make things right? I’ll do anything, just don’t get the guards.”

He was all but on his knees, begging. It was hard for Rarity not to feel pity for how vulnerable the cat was looking before her, and the sad, quivering eyes his sister was giving her made it even more difficult to stay and act angry. With a sigh, she let her expression relax. “Can you retrieve my money?”

The cat shuddered, and with apparent reluctance, he shook his head. “Sorry miss, but you’d better just forget about that. Sounds like you got got by Chump Change and his gang, and I can’t help with that.” He looked around, and with his voice dropping in volume, he continued, whispering, “There’s a rumor on the streets saying that he’s a Zhent agent. Can’t say if it’s real or not, but the guards leave him and his alone, and even most adventurers won’t mess with him.”

“I see,” said Rarity, and she did for the most part. Neither she nor Princess Shmarity knew what a ‘Zhent’ was, but with the hushed, reverent way he spoke of it, the cat made the danger and fear behind the term clear as crystal. She sighed again, this time out of frustration. Leaving her collection of coins in the clutches of some disreputable criminal organization didn’t sit well with her, but there really wasn’t much either she or the young cat here could do at this point.

So then, what could the street urchin feline do for her? Not much, Rarity thought with a frown as she considered some of the limited, more reasonable possibilities. Perhaps he could tell her more about Baldursgait and even be able give her a tour of the city. Maybe he knew of more rumors that Rarity might find useful. Or maybe...

“Do you know of anypony in this city who still has ties to the royal family?”

“Ties?” the cat repeated. “What do you mean?”

“Ties as in loyalties,” Rarity tried to elaborate. “As in, is there anypony in this city that is still loyal to the crown? Like, say, a survivor from the royal guard or a retired retainer?”

The cat scratched his chin as he tilted his head in thought. “I mean, there are the dukes and duches that run this place. They probably had connections to the king when he was still around. I heard that Duke Ravenguard’s a retired general or commander or something from the army, but good luck getting an audience with him, if that’s what you’re looking for. I definitely can’t arrange anything like that.”

He winced again when the kitten at his side interrupted him with a tug at his hurt arm. “What about that one guy, the one who sits at the league hall who drinks all day? Didn’t he say he was a royal knight?”

“Oh yeah. That guy.” Seeing Rarity’s curious look, the cat turned to her to explain. “There’s this one adventurer, settled down here pretty recently, some time after the army tried to retake the capital and got crushed actually. When he has enough to drink, he’ll start telling these stories about him being a royal knight and stuff.” He shrugged. “I couldn’t tell you if any of it is true though. He doesn’t really look like a knight or anything.”

“Can you take me to him?” Rarity asked. Whether he was a real deal or just a teller of tall tales with an inflated ego, she figured it was worth checking out.

The cat gave Rarity a sideways glance. “If I do, we’ll be square? No turning me into the guards or anything like that?”

She nodded. “You do this, and you and your sister are free to go in peace.”

The stare the cat shot her was one filled with unmasked suspicion, with his eyes squinted and narrow and his mouth in a frown. His lips moved slowly as he silently repeated Rarity’s promise, trying to discern any hidden, double meaning behind her words. Carefully, with a long and forceful exhale, he crossed his arms.

“Alright. Follow me.”

20. Bound by Duty

20. Bound by Duty

Rarity followed the young cats out of the alley, with the older of the two leading the way through the deserted streets and towards the packed plaza. As they approached the collection of stalls and the many crowds surrounding them, Rarity made sure that this time her guard was up. She eyed any creature that drew near or got a little too close all while regularly patting down her saddlebags to make sure they were closed and secured and feeling for the Queen of Fey’s symbol beneath her cloak. At the same time, she had to keep a close eye on her less than trustworthy guide, there being the possible matter of him running off in a bid to escape her.

A possible matter, yes, but Rarity didn’t really think he would try something like that, not if it meant abandoning his sister. The affection the two siblings had displayed toward each other, the concern the sister showed for the brother’s wellbeing and the joy she displayed at his recovery, the worry in the elder sibling’s voice and the fear in his eyes over being separated, it all seemed genuine, the older brother’s use of the younger as a prop for emotional manipulation notwithstanding. Still, it was better to be safe than sorry, and even if that hadn’t been a concern, keeping track of the cat and his smaller frame within the crowd’s overwhelming crush of bodies was no easy task, and there were multiple close calls when Rarity thought she had lost sight of that fuzzy, orange tail.

She wasn’t sure what to make of that whole encounter back in the alley. As angry as she had acted over discovering that the old brother was a thief, a thief who had stolen from her at that, and his unscrupulous attempt to retrieve his ill gotten prize, Rarity was glad to have saved him, and as a bonus, the little pickpocket knew of a potential ally. She was still broke, and that money of hers was probably permanently lost, but at least now she was back on track of her mission, with each step she took a step closer to saving Spike and Discord.

There was still the mystery of the strange assailant, however. When asked, his initial victims had no answers regarding who or what he was, and the questions only increased when the cats told Rarity that he had made all his demands in some unfamiliar language. A language they couldn’t understand but she could and did.

Not that his words made any sense to her. What was this court of rebellion he mentioned and who was this exiled, ahem, individual? His actions appeared to revolve around the Queen of Fey’s symbol, so maybe he was related to them or their kind in some way. The Queen had warned her about showing the symbol around, and perhaps this was why, though Rarity hadn’t a inkling on how to contact the mystical being to confirm these theories.

Those mysteries had to wait for the time being, and Rarity shoved such distractions aside as she focused on following the cats in front of her. They eventually arrived at the collection of billboards Rarity had originally been directed to, each one being about the size of a typical schoolhouse blackboard. On each of them there were some dozens of posters, possibly what was attracting the dozens or so of rough and tough looking individuals with all of their armaments. Their great number and mass made it nigh impossible for her to read what was nailed to the wood, unless she wanted to try to force her way through to the front.

“Anything good?” she heard someone ask. There was a barking laugh in response.

“Either small errands or suicide missions, so waste your time or waste your life.”

Rarity followed the cats around the swarmed boards. There behind the crowd, just like that young stallion she met earlier had said, was a small building, maybe a little smaller than her own shop in Ponyville. It certainly lacked the frills of the Carousel Boutique, the building devoid of any decorations save if you perhaps counted the boards at the front and the warriors loitering at the entrance. If it hadn’t already been pointed out to her and that she was being led right to its door, Rarity probably would have walked right past the unassuming structure.

The group standing and chatting around the entrance, which consisted of a pegasus mare with a massive crossbow almost as large as its owner and an earth pony wearing a scarf over his mouth and snout and a pair of daggers on his belt, stopped to raise brows at Rarity and the two cats as they approached. Rarity’s hood was up and covering much of her face, so she didn’t think it was the identity of Princess Shmarity drawing their attention. She did note that their stares were more on her chaperones than her, and the way they covered their pockets as they walked by seemed to suggest that either the cats themselves or their kind in general had a bit of a reputation.

They entered, and Rarity’s first impression as she stepped into the building was that she was reminded of the interior of a post office. Lines extended from a counter in the very back where a team of mares and stallions in blouse and vest assemblies on the other side recorded the information provided by those before them. To the left there was a second, smaller counter being operated by a single, bored looking mare as well as a good portion of the wall covered in posters and pamphlets while much of the right side was taken up by rows of long picnic tables with connected seats. There all sorts of creatures sat and conversed amongst themselves, from ponies of all three tribes to griffons and hippogriffs, zebras and deers to yaks and large two legged avians, even a few older specimens of cat folk and a minotaur who had somehow managed to squeeze into a seat, causing the wood to creak and groan.

To no real surprise from Rarity, almost every single one creature there had some weapon visibly on their person. Many were also holding tankards, and some had small meals, mostly just a bit of cheese and some bread, on the table in front of them. A third booth was built into an alcove in the wall, similar to the one was on the left, where an uniformed stallion gave out large full mugs and refilled old emptied ones in exchange for coin.

“See the old guy over there?” the cat who had brought her here said, pointing. “The one with a gray head hunched over way in the back?”

“Sitting next to that giant sword?”

The cat nodded. “Yep. That’s him,” he confirmed before clearing his throat. “So, uh, I’ve brought you to your guy, like we agreed. A deal’s a deal, and the deal’s done, right? So I’m good to go, right?”

Rarity turned to the fidgeting feline and frowned. “You’re not going to introduce us?”

The cat rubbed the back of his head. “I, don’t actually know the guy. Like, at all. I just hear things, so I’m not going to be much help with getting him to do, whatever it is you want him for, if that’s what you’re trying to ask. Also,” he said with a sheepish grin as he turned his head to both sides, “I’m, uh, not exactly really supposed to be here.”

Rarity followed his nervous gaze and saw that several of those within their proximity were watching them closely. A few even scowled and glowered as they made a show of holding tightly onto their belongings.

“It’s a long story, just a misunderstanding really,” the cat assured with a dismissive wave of his paw when Rarity turned back to him. “But yeah, me and my sis, we should really get going.”

“I suppose it can’t be helped.” Sighing, Rarity quickly checked her cloak. Her hooves found her dagger and pendant. “Very well,” she said. “As promised, you are free to go. Oh.”

The cat had just started to turn to leave. At the last syllable, he stiffened and slowly turned back around. “Yeah?” he asked, swallowing.

“Thank you. For bringing me here.” Rarity’s warm smile transitioned into a small smirk as she added in some cheekiness. “And do try to keep out of trouble.”

“Oh.” For a good moment, the cat stood there blinking and staring until his sister finally shook him out his surprised state with a tug at his tail. “Right, sure. Uh, no problem,” he said. “Um, and good luck, I guess, with whatever you’re here for. I’ll just, um.” He pointed a paw at the exit and started towards it.

“Bye, miss!” cheered the kitten, and as Rarity returned her wave, she hurried off after her brother. Rarity watched the two go until the door shut behind them and they left both the building and her line of sight.

“Alright then.” She turned to face the alleged knight sitting in the back of the hall and begun her approach. Like the cat said, he didn’t look the part, what with his wrinkled, faded clothes, his slumped over posture, and his complete lack of a mane which Rarity noticed once she got closer. It was certainly a far cry from the shining and chivalrous image presented in fairy tales and romance novels, though if the great hunk of metal sitting beside him was more than just for show, his apparent strength made up for, well, maybe not exactly all of his less than impressive presence but at least some of it. Maybe he’d look more imposing in armor, most stallions did.

Rarity got no reaction when she finally reached his seat. Was he sleeping? It was hard to tell with his back toward her and his head hidden beneath his fore limbs. She cleared her throat loudly. He didn’t stir. Rarity leaned forward and tried again with additional force.

That earned a groan. “What?” her quarry grumbled as he pulled his head out from under is front legs and lifted it to glare at her. A cracked beak was where Rarity expected to find a snout, and as he scowled, the feathers of his face ruffled. A griffon, Rarity realized, and one whose face she somehow recognized beneath all those horrific new scars and burn marks.

“Sir Gustford?”

The griffon paused before he forced a humorless chuckle and the line of his beak slowly curved into a smirk. “Been a bit since anyone referred to me by that prefix. Or by my full name, for that matter.” He stretched across the table to grab at a mug that was just out of reach. “Dang it, who moved my drink?” he mumbled as the tips of his talons scratched at the tankard’s handle. “So, you know who I am, eh? Sounds like you’re in the know. Well what can this old bird do for you?”

“I’m—“

“Got it!” the griffon exclaimed triumphantly, thrusting the mug into the air. Some nearby lifted their drinks up as well and added their own cheers, but most only bothered to give him a look of annoyance before returning to their conversations and meals. “So let me guess,” he continued, “you have a job for me. Probably something real special if you went out of your way to search me out personally instead of just running it by the league.” The older griffon she knew as Sir Gustford snorted and turned away. “Today’s my day off. Come back tomorrow, and I might consider it if it’s worth my time.”

“Excuse me?” Rarity frowned as she walked over to the griffon’s side. “I’ll have you know I’ve been through quite the ordeal to find you. The least you could do is find a little time to listen to what I have to say.”

“Everyone’s gone through something these days,” Gustford said with a shrug. “Believe me, you’re nothing special.” He raised the cup only for Rarity to reach out and force the it back down. His glare was met with one of Rarity’s own. Irate, hawkish golden eyes locked with determined blues. Some several seconds passed before the griffon sighed and broke eye contact as he leaned back.

“You’re not going to stop pestering me until I hear you out, are you?” he said, frowning. “Fine. Let’s this off right.” He gestured to the counter in the wall closest to them, the one selling beverages. “Buy me a drink, then we’ll talk.”

“I don’t have any money.”

A moment or two passed before the griffon vocalized the incredulous look he was giving Rarity with an exasperated, “Seriously?” He shook his head. “You came to the adventurers’ league with the intent to hire a specific adventurer but don’t have anything to pay them with?”

“I—“

“No, just, shh.” He brought a claw to his forehead and dug into it as he released a long exhale. “Alright. You see this?”

He motioned Rarity to look into his mug. With some apprehension, she did so and saw that it was only about a fifth of it was full of some amber liquid, cider if the smell of sour apples was any indication and of rather poor quality. At most, it was a mouthful.

“You have until I finish this to grab my attention. Then I’m out of here. Sound fair?”

“That’s—“

“Good,” the griffon said, cutting off Rarity’s protest with a smirk. “Ready? Go!”

He lifted the mug to his smug smirking beak. Rarity lifted her hood from her head. She allowed herself a small smile of satisfaction at the griffon’s sudden stop and the look of shock on his face. His eyes slowly dilated, the black pupil shrinking until it was hardly any larger than the head of a pin, and the bottom half of his beak dropped. He lowered the mug and stared into it for a second or so before looking back up at Rarity, then it was back to the contents of the tankard.

“Oh boy,” the griffon breathed before slamming the mug down on the table and stumbling out of his seat and up onto his feet. “Alright, which of you jokers spiked my drink?” he growled, pointing at the creatures sitting near or walking by. “Was it you? You? Well you got me. Real funny prank, really clever. Come on, come clean so I can show my appreciation!”

With a wild roar, he grabbed the handle of the broad sword next to him. He got the blade a few inches off the floor before he started to lose his balance. Those he had just tried to threaten merely laughed and shook their heads, bemused and in a couple of cases in pity, as they watched him fall backwards. Rarity walked over to the collapsed griffon and helped him up.

“This, it can’t be,” he was mumbling as Rarity brought him back to his seat. “I’ve been poisoned or I’m drunk or, or—“

The griffon started to sway again. Rarity caught him by his shoulder, and as she held him up, she forced him to look up at her. “Sir Gustford the Gilded Claw of the Stormslayers,” she said sternly, “listen to me. I am really here, and I need your help.”

He stared at her in complete silence for almost an entire minute. His features bounced between expressions of confusion and awe, suspicion and relief, guilt and hope, with each face only lasting for a split moment before moving to the next emotion. “P-Princess Shmarity?” he whispered.

Rarity nodded in answer. The griffon didn’t seem to notice her slight hesitation as he breathed out and rubbed at his temple. “I need a drink,” he announced, getting up and taking a wobbly step toward the refreshments kiosk.

Rarity raised an eyebrow at the griffon’s unsteady movement. “I think you’ve had enough.”

“A drink of water,” he clarified, his eyes rolling before he could stop them. “You, uh.” He coughed and averted his gaze. “You want anything, Your, uh, you? Miss?”

“Water would be nice, thank you,” Rarity said. “And perhaps a bite to eat, if you could please,” she added over her stomach’s not so subtle reminder.

“Right. It’s, um, not going to be anything all that fancy,” said the griffon with an awkward wave. “Just, thought I’d let you before you, I mean, I should go. Get the water. Excuse me.” And with one final nod to Rarity, he shuffled off.

While the griffon stood in line for their water and such, Rarity glanced around to gauge the rest of the room’s reaction. As far as she could tell, there didn’t appear to be any creatures paying her much mind, so it didn’t seem like anyone else had recognized her as Princess Shmarity. Rarity threw the hood back on just to be sure as she recalled Huntress’s warnings regarding Baldursgait’s treacherous population, of which her own early experiences with the city’s inhabitants seemed to support.

Gustford returned to the table a few minutes later with a jug, a couple of cups, and a plate with half a loaf of bread and a chunk of cheese. “Here,” he said, placing the plate before Rarity. “Like I said, it’s not exactly palace fare.”

“That’s quite alright,” Rarity assured, breaking the hard bread into smaller pieces. “I’ve grown a tolerance for this sort of quality.”

“Hm.” Rarity noticed that the griffon’s claw shook for half a second at her statement as he filled both cups with water. He pushed both cups toward Rarity, then proceeded to drain the rest of the jug straight from the container. Water leaked down, soaking into his feathers and his clothes. When he was finished, he all but slammed the ceramic jug down and wiped his mouth with the back of a claw.

“That’s better,” he breathed with a sigh. “I can think straight again.” He turned to Rarity. “And you’re still here. So that wasn’t a dream. Or wait.” Gustford winced from the pinch he gave himself. “No, guess not.” He gestured to the cloth that was back over her head. “May I?”

Rarity nodded and allowed him to remove the hood. “Heavens above, it’s really you,” the griffon whispered. “I mean, I thought, maybe a changeling, but why? And, you knew my actual name, my title.” He hesitated. “Can, can you say it again, my full title? The one your father gave me?”

“Sir Gustford the Gilded Claw of the Stormslayers.”

“Of the Stormslayers,” he repeated with a glance at his blade. Sighing, he let the cowl of Rarity’s robe fall back down along with his claws and his shoulders. The griffon appeared to melt into his seat before Rarity as he placed his head into his open claws and dug his talons into it. The slouching figure in front of her was nothing like the powerful and distinguished knight who carried himself with pride and honor in Princess Shmarity’s memories.

“What happened to you?”

“What happened to me?” Gustford lifted his head and chuckled hoarsely. “With all due respects, Your Highness, what happened to you? What happened to all of us? We lost, that’s what.” He let his head fall back into his dirty yellow claws. “How did you get away? Did your father?”

“I’m sorry. I don’t know what happened to him.” Suddenly, Rarity found herself in a burning hallway, with flames licking away at the tapestries and curtains. An older stallion wearing a gold crown stood some distance away with a sword aloft with a company of guards. His face was shrouded in smoke as he turned to Rarity and ordered her away. When she refused, she was grabbed and pulled away, screaming as she watched the black smoke consume the hall. Then, she was back in the adventurers’ league building, sitting beside the gruff griffon with a plate of day old bread and smelly cheese before her. “We were separated during the Squid Wizard’s attack.”

“I see,” Gustford said slowly. His claws folded over each other, with each individual talon crossing another, and he propped his chin on top. “So what happened after that?”

Again, just as with the ponies in charge of Horshire, Rarity told of how she had been captured and imprisoned in the Squid Wizard’s fortress and how she had been spirited away magically while in the presence of the heroes she assumed had been there to try and save her.

“Right, right. Those, ah, heroes. There was that wizard fellow, Garbunkle was it?” Gustford said, tapping the tip of his beak. “And the, uh, the guy they just gave away knighthood to. Bigguns or Macons or something.”

“McBiggun,” Rarity corrected, surprising herself.

“Right, him. I noticed you didn’t mention anypony in black armor with Garbunkle. Figures. I never had a good feeling about that one, and considering his past, can you blame me?”The griffon scoffed. “I heard rumblings that they also picked up some foreigner, a Captain Wuzz, probably that snake-like fellow. Can’t say much about him.” He snorted. “I was never in favor of the king using adventurers, not when he had us knights to do his bidding. Of course, here I am now, hanging around in an adventurers’ league making an adventurer’s wages to live an adventurer’s life. What a world we live in.” He sighed. “So what happened to them, those heroes?”

“They, ah, I don’t quite know. It all happened so suddenly.”

“Is that right?” inquired Gustford as he stared at her with a cocked brow. Rarity suddenly found interest elsewhere and looked away. The griffon shrugged. “Ah well, at least they got you out of there. Certainly got further than I could’ve.” He raised his old tankard and poured what was left inside onto the floor, a gesture which got him some dirty looks from the other patrons. “To them.”

“They’re not, I mean, I’m sure they—“ Rarity cut herself off with a shake of her head. “Well what about you? What happened that led you to spend your days drinking away in the company of mercenaries and thugs?” She waved at their surroundings. “How did you end up here?”

“Oh. Well, to put it simply, it’s like I said earlier. We lost.” Gustford shifted in his seat and leaned a cheek against his closed fist. “It was some time ago, after the Squid Wizard had gotten his fortress set up on what was left of the capital.” His face broke into a scowl. “If we had organized quicker and hadn’t wasted so much time arguing over logistics and who got to lead what, maybe we could’ve attacked when their defenses were still down. Then, maybe.”

He smiled sadly. “We tried retaking the capital twice, us knights and what was left of the guard and the royal army. First time was your typical siege, second was a sort of diversion to keep the enemy’s attention off our infiltration team. Both ended in complete and utter failure, and after the second retreat, we kind of just, fell apart. Scattered. Every creature for themselves. The survivors anyways,” Gustford added, his gaze turning distant as it looked to past Rarity and all the others in the room. “You might be looking at the last living member of the Stormslayers, though I don’t think I can really hold that title anymore.”

At this assertion, he shivered and pulled up his tunic. Turning, he exposed to Rarity his back and the multitude of white scars and naked sections of blistering flesh beneath fur that had yet to grow back on it. In the center there were a pair of bandages nubs that stood where his wings should have been. Rarity raised a hoof over her mouth, covering it, but her gasp managed to escape through.

“Haven’t been able to fly since,” the griffon said as he rolled his shirt back down. “But I guess I was one of the luckier ones. So.” He crossed his forelegs over his front. “You said you needed my help. Well, I don’t know how much help I’ll be, but the least I can do is hear what you have in mind. Just, ah.” He raised a claw, stopping Rarity from starting her request. “No promises.” The claw retreated and tightened into a fist as he stared down at the table’s surface. “I owe your father, His Majesty, everything, but I’m sorry. There’s a lot, I just can’t.”

“I understand,” Rarity said with a solemn nod. “And all I need is passage to the southern lands. Is that something you can do?”

“The southern lands?” The griffon looked at her and frowned. “Why there? I mean, don’t get me wrong, I understanding wanting to get as far away from here as possible. Spiketopia’s a dangerous place now, especially for you, but if you’re looking for sanctuary, I wouldn’t recommend there. The deserts aren’t the most hospitable of lands, and from what I hear you’re not going to find much sympathy among the locals. The magi there tend to keep to themselves.”

“I’m not looking for somewhere to run to and hide away,” Rarity said briskly. “I have reason to believe that in the south there is—“ How had the Queen of Fey put it? “—information. Information that can be used to save those heroes and all of Spiketopia.”

“Really?” Gustford said, his head tilted to one side. He quickly straightened his posture. “My apologies, I didn’t mean to presume or suggest anything. Please, continue.”

“Well, have you heard of the term necromancy?” asked Rarity. She hoped he did because beyond that vague direction, she had little idea of what she was supposed to be doing and how any of it was going to help her save Spike and Discord.

“Necromancy, necromancy.” The griffon rubbed the top of his beak thoughtfully before shrugging. “I feel like I’ve heard that word somewhere, but for the life of me I couldn’t explain it. No, wait.” His talons flicked against each other, making a snapping sound, much like Discord would before opening the skies with chocolate or some other chaotic effect. “I’m thinking of pyromancy.”

“Pyromancy?” Rarity repeated.

“That’s right. A couple of jobs back, there was this adventurer I had the pleasure of working with. A mare, pegasus. She was a little, eh.” Gustford made a circular motion with his claw as he pointed it at his head “Though in my experience, most magic users are a little eccentric in one way or another.” He chuckled softly. “This one though, she had an obsession for setting things on fire and had a real gift at it. Called herself a pyromancer and her magic pyromancy. I’m guessing necromancy is something similar, a specific kind of magic or something like that.”

Rarity took a sip of water as she mulled over Gustford’s observation and proposal. “You mentioned something about the south, something about magi?”

“Yeah. They run a whole bunch of prestigious magic schools down there where they’re all isolated from the rest of the world. If I’m remembering correctly, Garbunkle is or was a student from one of them.”

“Hm. I’d imagine a school of magic would have more information on this necromancy subject then.”

“If it’s magical, then yeah, probably. But, uh.” Gustford frowned. “You really think getting that information will make that much of a difference? Enough to push the Squid Wizard back? Do you truly believe that?”

“I—“ The look Gustford was giving her kept Rarity from finishing her answer. It was just one word, just one short syllable, and yet Rarity could not force it out of her throat, not while under the gaze of such desperate eyes. She had to look away. “I don’t know,” she said. “I honestly cannot say that I do. I’d love to have something more concrete, but this is the only lead I have to saving my friends, and I can’t just sit around and do nothing.”

Rarity took in a deep breath and turned back to face Gustford. “Sir Gustford. I can’t tell you that I know for certain that this information will be the solution to all our problems, but I know that I have to at least try to find out.”

Gustford breathed out heavily. “You should know, the southern lands, it won’t be an easy trip. There’ll be plenty of danger along the way, and then there’s deserts themselves. I mean, you’d be putting yourself in a lot of risk over what sounds like just a hunch.”

“Yes, well. As they say, nothing ventured, nothing gained,” Rarity said. She tried to sound nonchalant but had to admit, silently and to herself, that the proposed task before her was significantly more daunting than attempting new and untested dress styles or opening new store locations in heavily competitive areas.

“Are you sure about going through with this? I really don’t think—“

“I am sure.” There was no hesitation this time when Rarity spoke, no shakiness in her voice as she looked the former knight directly in the eyes. ”So I ask you again, can you get me to the south or not?”

Gustford leaned back and let out a long and loud breath as he drummed his claws against the wood of the table. “Alright,” he finally said. He gestured to Rarity’s untouched plate. “Eat up, then we’ll see what I can do.”

Rarity released her own breath that she had been holding. “Then, you can help?”

“I can try.” He cracked a small smile. “It’s definitely leagues more doable than, say, gathering you an army for a third go at it. Finishing eating first, and we’ll head to the docks afterwards. I might know a guy.”

Rarity started to relax, and in her unguarded state, her earlier hunger hit with the force of a steam locomotive that nearly knocked her out of her seat. Her stomach grumbled and quaked, making sure that Rarity, without an iota of doubt, knew of its frustration over her having ignored it and its needs for so long. At Gustford’s prompting, she got started on the meal before her. She soon found the bread stale and the cheese hard, with neither having much taste to write about and only seasoned by her own hunger. Each unladylike bite she had to take in order to get through the thick crust was noisy and with an audible crunch, and crumbs spread all over the table no matter how much care she took. When Rarity at last cleared her plate and had washed everything down with lukewarm water, it was to the satisfaction of her belly and to her own relief that that dreadful display of table manners was finally over.

She forced back the rumblings of a belch and disguised what did escape as a cough. “Shall we?”

Gustford nodded and stood up. He strapped his sword across the length of his back while Rarity returned the used plate, cups, and the emptied jug to the counter they came from. Once they were ready, the two set off, leaving the hall filled with adventurers.

21. A Fool and His Gold

21. A Fool and His Gold

Rarity followed the griffon closely as she entered the crowded square once more. Gustford, while not having an entirely formidable presence in comparison to some of the larger creatures around, did alleviate some of the stress that came with fighting the crowd by shoving open a path through which Rarity could readily follow as he led her down a new street that branched out of the center plaza. The scent of the sea grew stronger as they slowly made their way to the harbor Rarity had spotted earlier, and as they continue along this path, she noted that the horde of bodies in front and around her gradually became less and less dense.

There was also a noticeable shift in the population’s diversity. While the square now behind them was packed with a healthy mix of ponies from all three tribes, here on this road leading to and from the sea Rarity could only find a small number pegasi and earth ponies in dirty sailor caps and red scarves. She would have counted herself as the sole unicorn here had it not been for her still missing horn. Griffons like Gustford and hippogriffs meanwhile appeared to make up the majority along with several birdfolk, many of whom were dress lightly and armed with only a dagger or maybe a short sword strapped to their belt. Very, very few had on any heavier armor, and of those that did, most appeared to be members of the city guard on patrol.

Shadows fell over Rarity as winged creatures flew overhead. Despite the reduction in traffic density, the area was as noisy as ever, with the skies above rife with the screeching of gulls. As they got closer to the ocean, the calls and invitations of stall owners, several of which were of an amphibious frog-like race that Rarity did not recognize, were added to the din. The smell of rotting fish coming from the stalls assaulted Rarity’s nostrils, and her stomach churned at the rows of fish heads watching her pass by with their dull, dead eyes. The walls of the nearby houses were bleached white and grainy, and Rarity couldn’t help but notice that those with fur had dried and parched sections in their coats. Mostly ignored beggars lines the street sitting in trash and dirty puddles with their forelegs out and open to receive alms.

The paved road eventually gave way to wooden planks as the street opened up to a large pier. Some several ships floated about at the docks while their crews worked on them loudly, shouting and laughing and singing in harsh and out of tune voices as they scrapped off barnacles from the hulls or mopped the decks or made repairs. Foamy waves roared and crashed against the coast and the sides of the ships bobbling about. There were some barely any bigger than a standard luxury yacht while others were the size of large buildings. The biggest ship here was a colossal that sat at the very end of the harbor and could very possibly fit the entire population of Ponyville twice over. Its masts were nearly tall enough to reach the clouds, and the wide sails attached to them could have been used for circus tents. Painted on the sails was the image of a raised hoof wreathed in flames, and carved into the ship’s bow was the image of a fully matured dragon.

Gustford led her past a pair of griffons drying out a wide net and to one of the more modestly sized vessels. As they approached, Rarity heard a splash. Looking over the side and into the sea below, she found a couple of hippogriffs in their aquatic form cleaning grime and seaweed off a ship’s hull with a brush.

“Oi, Brine Drinker!” Gustford called out, startling Rarity and causing her to nearly jump. The griffon stood right before the ship with his claws cupped over his beak. “Brine Drinker, you here?”

A trio of heads popped up, a griffon’s, a pony’s, and a hippogriff’s. “Yo! Who wants t’ know?” growled the pony, frowning as he leaned over the side of ship.

“Some creature that that captain of yours owes a huge favor to,” Gustford answered as he folded his forelegs over his chest. “Ask him about the debacle at Port Meowza-rows.” He placed a hard emphasis on the last syllable. “He’ll know what I’m talking about.”

The three turned to one another and begun to whisper. “Alright, sit tight,” the pony instructed after they finished deliberating, and he walked off and disappear from sight.

“Who is this Brine Drinker,” Rarity inquired as they waited.

“Depends on the day of the week,” Gustford said with a smirk. “He’s a freelancer and will take just about any seafaring job. Ferrying passengers, carrying trade goods, smuggling contraband, scavenging wreckages, I’d bet he’d have tried making it as a pirate if he wasn’t such a coward. Has a bit of an odd sense of humor, but as far as dock regulars go, he’s an alright fellow.”

“Sounds like quite the interesting individual,” Rarity said. “And you met him at this, Port Meowzarows?”

“Meowzaru, actually. An old city on the coast of one of those jungle islands. He just kept pronouncing the place wrong, and it didn’t matter how many times he was corrected,” Gustford explained. “I was hired by him as a bodyguard for a, ah.” He winced and rubbed the side of his neck, his shame obvious. “An extralegal transaction. Weapons mostly, rare ones, magical, along with some experimental potions. One of my first jobs as an adventurer actually. It was just supposed to be a quick and easy drop off, but Brine got spooked and decided he needed the extra muscle.” He shook his head. “Turns out he was right. I barely got us all out of there with our lives, and since his clients figured he broke contract for not taking their dagger in the back, we weren’t paid. The moron didn’t even get anything upfront, so I only got half of what was agreed upon.”

“And you think he can help us?”

“Well, he owns a ship, and the quickest way to the south is by sea,” Gustford said. He continued to stare up at the boat’s edge. “We just have to convince him to take you there.”

A few additional minutes passed before the pony returned. “Yo! Ya think it can wait?”

“I haven’t the patience nor the time!” Gustford shouted back. “Is your captain here or not?”

The stallion looked to his colleagues before turning to Gustford and Rarity. “Make some room,” he ordered, and once they had, the three pushed a large plank over the ship’s side until one end of it landed on the docks with a thump, creating a bridge that connected the ship to the pier. “Right then, come ‘n up,” he barked. “The cap’ll see ya. But, uh, a little heads up,” the sailor added to Gustford as he climbed the plank, “he’s not ‘actly in the best of states, ya hear?”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” the griffon said, though his tone was less than assuring. He stepped onto the ship’s deck and extended a claw to help Rarity down.

It took Rarity a little time to find her balance. “Is that wise?” Rarity asked quietly once she found her footing and could stand on her own. “Perhaps we should come back at a better time. I wouldn’t want to antagonize this potential benefactor.

“Don’t worry about it,” Gustford told her, waving away her concern. “Take it from me, if you want to get any business done around here in the docks or back in the lower city, it has to be on your terms. This isn’t like court life or the palace. Politeness won’t get you anywhere, and acting considerate just makes you look like an easy target.”

“If you say so,” Rarity conceded. The stallion motioned them forward and led them to the cabin behind the ship’s main mast. He knocked twice, then he opened the door and let Rarity and Gustford inside.

Rarity’s eyes needed a few moments before they adjusted to the darkness when the door closed behind her. The only light was what managed to get through the lines between the boards and the pieces of dark cloth covering a small, round window, which meant that much of the room was shrouded in shadows. All she could really make out was a desk at the other end and a figure sitting behind it.

Gustford squinted at the figure. “Brine Drinker, is that you?”

“Yeah, of course it’s me,” they grumbled, their voice low and hoarse. “Who else’d be the captain of this blasted boat?” They leaned over and hissed as they entered into the light and revealed themselves to be a hippogriff male, approaching middle age like Gustford. His entire body seemed to sag from evident exhaustion, and there was a sickly shade of green that was different from the lime color of his feathers. He held a claw to his forehead and groaned as the three sided hat he was wearing slipped over his eyes.

Gustford bent down to pick up a brown bottle from the pile and shook it. “Hard times?”

“Hardly,” the hippogriff snorted. “I was celebrating. Agreed to a job last night that’ll settle all my debts. By next month, you’ll be looking at a free bird. Or, fish. Or whatever I’m fancying on being that day.”

“Then it looks like I caught you at a good time,” Gustford said. “I’m calling—“

“Yeah, yeah, calling in that favor I owe you. I already heard from my guy,” the hippogriff interrupted. “You’ve been holding on that one for a good while now, you know. I figured you’d just forgot about it.” He stretched and leaned back in his chair. “So what can Captain Brine Drinker and the good old Merry Landing do for you? Looking for something or some place more exotic?”

“Not me. Her.” Gustford pointed a talon over his shoulder at Rarity. “She needs passage to the southern continent, the closer to the magic schools the better. Is that something you can do?”

Brine Drinker broke into a loud and boisterous laughter. His entire body shook as he threw himself onto his desk and pounded away. “Oh, oh, this is—“ he managed to say before being consumed by another fit of giggles that slowly turned to coughs as he started to choke. Rarity and Gustford turn to each other and shared a look of concern and awkward confusion.

“I suppose that would be a no,” Rarity said with a sigh.

“No, no, you’ve got it all wrong,” the hippogriff wheezed as he struggled to sit up. “Sorry about that, it’s just, hoo.” He steadied himself with a deep breath.

“You good?” Gustford asked, his forelegs crossed in front of his chest.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m good, I’m good,” Brine assured. He cleared his throat and smirked. “Alright, so that job I mentioned, the one that’s going to get all my loans sharks off my back? Guess where it’s taking me.”

“Would it happen to be the southern lands?” Rarity ventured.

Brine Drink clapped his claws together, and his grin widened. “I know, right? It’s this big bunch of bookworms from Candelkeep that need me to take them and their collection over to the southern schools for safekeeping. I can’t believe it myself. I mean, what are the odds? Funny coincidence, that.”

“Yes, hilarious,” Gustford said without an ounce of mirth in his voice. “So you’re already heading south. Good. You think you’ve got room for her to tag along.”

“Of course, of course. Not a problem, I can, well, actually.” Brine‘s face screwed into a wince. “Actually, now that I think about it, it’s not going to be that easy.”

Gustford frowned. “Brine, you owe me.”

“I know, I know.” The hippogriff held up both his claws. “Look, if it was anywhere else, I’d take you, your friend, and both of your extended families, no problem, no problem at all. But the southern seas, do you know what’s going on down there?”

“Can’t say I do,” Gustford answered.

“Storms, unnatural ones, and sea monsters bigger and more aggressive than anything anyone’s seen before!” Brine Drinker extended his front limbs out as far as he could stretch them. He then leaned over and motioned Gustford and Rarity to him. “They say it’s the Squidzard’s doing,” he said in the quietest of whispers, looking to each side warily, “that he’s trying to keep everyone in Spiketopia from leaving. I hear the same things are happening if you head too far west or north. Anyone that’s tried...” He drew a line across his neck. “No survivors.”

Rarity leaned over the table as well. “Then who’s this they and how do they know of all this?” she asked with a small smile. Next to her, Gustford stifled a chuckle as the ship captain started to stutter.

“Well, okay, okay. Maybe there were some who made it back. Look, I’m just trying to get you to understand what kind of situation’s going on over there. I can’t afford to make a three week voyage into those dangerous waters for free, it’s not worth the risk.”

“But you’re already planning on going through those waters already,” Rarity argued. “Surely my addition wouldn’t be that much of a burden.”

“Yes, yes, but I’m being paid to do that and being paid well. If word got out that I was giving out free rides through the south seas, I’d be known as the guy who’s willing to brave the dangers out there, and then every creature and their roommate’ll be coming to me for that sort of thing, and that’s really not the kind of business I can afford to be in,” Brine Drinker explained. “I don’t want anyone to get the idea that I do this regularly, it’s hard enough for me to keep a full crew. I know, I know,” he said, turning to Gustford, “I owe you, but the best I can do for you is a discount.”

“Then, you can take me there,” Rarity slowly and carefully said as she regarded the ship captain with a questioning look.

“Oh yeah, yeah,” he announced. “I can do that, sure. Just, you know, not for free is all, yeah?”

Gustford groaned. “You could’ve made that clearer. I was about to try and shake you down.”

Brine chuckled, but it was a weak chuckle that Rarity noticed, and he was eyeing the massive blade on Gustford’s back nervously. “Ha, y-yeah.”

“So, when do you leave and how much are we looking at?” Gustford inquired.

“Ha, right, ahem. The plan is to set off at the end of the week, early morn. Weather permitting, of course,” answered the hippogriff. “As for how much, um, just for her or are you coming along too? Because, um, I don’t know if I’ve got the room for the both of you. I mean, I can try, but—“

“Let’s start how much for just her.”

“Right, right. Well, considering how much we’re charging those Candelkeep guys, let’s see.” Brine hummed as he traced a claw around his beak. “Three hundred gold pieces.”

“You want how much?” Gustford exclaimed. Rarity, hearing the disbelief and ire in his words, turned to the griffon and saw that his eyes had narrowed.

“Whoa, hey, hey!” Captain Brine Drinker threw up his claws and pulled back from the desk. “Look, that’s a perfectly reasonable price considering what you’re asking. It’s a long trip, and I’ve got make room for her, make sure she’s fed, keep her safe. Er, you do want her safe, yeah? I’ll take that as a yeah,” he said quickly when Gustford responded with a glare. “Look, with all the extra provisions I’ll need to get, I need you to settle some of the cost.” The hippogriff looked to Rarity, his expression pleading. “You understand, yeah? Come on, look at it from where I’m standing.”

Gustford removed his broadsword, causing Brine to flinch. Rarity started to speak out until she saw that the griffon was only leaning it against the edge of the table. “Brine, I saved your life back then,” he said in a low voice.

“I-I know, I know. And I appreciate it, really.” Brine Drinker gulped. “Alright, I’ll bring it to two hundred, but that’s the lowest I can go. Honest. “

Gustford continued to stare at the shaking hippogriff for a while longer before sighing and straightening up. “If that’s really the best you can do—“

“It is. Best I can do. Really. Honest.”

“—then we’ll have to take it,” the griffon finished, frowning. “You said you’re planning on leaving at the end of the week. Anyway you can push that date back?”

“Can’t,” Brine Drink said. He removed his hat and wiped his brow. “Sorry, but my employers want to leave as soon as possible. The only way we can delay is if the weather’s not working for us. But, uh, look. This job, there’s a good bit of cargo that they’re trying to move, and it’s going to need a couple of trips.” While he explained, Brine moved his claws back and forth as if to demonstrate. “If you can’t make it when we leave at the week’s end, I’ll be back in, what, six weeks? Yeah, a round trip’s six weeks. That ought to give you enough time to get ready.”

“Six weeks?” Rarity repeated. The room around her begun to spin as she struggled with such a stretch of time. She had already spent so much time away from her home, her friends, and her family, longer than she had ever had before, and as much as she trusted Sassy Saddles and the rest of her managers, she shuddered to think of the state her business was in currently. The thought of extending her stay in these foreign lands by an entire month and more caused her chest to tighten, and she found her breathing constricted. She could hear Gustford and Brine continuing to converse, but their words were muffled as if the two were underwater or in a separate, distant room.

Something touched Rarity’s shoulder, which shook her out of her daze. She was back on the noisy pier, with Brine Drinker’s boat behind her. Gustford’s claw retreated, his expression one of worry as his beak opened and closed.

“I’m, terribly sorry. Were you saying something to me?” Rarity asked. She tried to force an encouraging smile, but from how the former knight’s face was painted with concern, it was apparent that she was failing.

“I asked if you were doing alright,” the griffon said. “You got awfully quiet back there. Seemed distracted, if you don’t mind me saying. I think even Brine was noticing, so I cut things short.”

“Oh. Er, it’s nothing,” Rarity assured hurriedly. “Just, tired. I’ve had quite an exhausting day today. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt anything. Should we go back and finish?”

“Nah, it’s not a problem. Don’t worry about it, Princess,” Gustford said. He gestured to the road and started forward, walking at a leisurely pace that Rarity could easily keep up with. “We were just wrapping things up anyways, nothing important.”

The sounds of the busy harbor slowly quieted as they got further and further away. “So, now happens now?” Rarity asked after a few moments had passed.

“First thing’s first, we need to get you settled in,” Gustford replied. “We’ll see to getting you some lodging. I’ll try for something private, but with how crowded Baldursgait is these days, that’s going to be difficult. It’d probably be safer just to keep you in my room, but that’s, ah, not exactly, um, proper.” He brought a closed claw to his beak and coughed as he turned away. “In any case, you shouldn’t expect much, nothing like the palace or anything that you’re used to.”

“That’s quite alright,” said Rarity. “I spent last night on a pile of straw. I’d consider anywhere with a mattress an improvement.”

“Oh. Um, wow. That’s, I’m sorry to hear that,” the griffon said, his words stumbling as his features turned and twisted with discomfort. Again, his claw rose to his mouth, and he cleared his throat. “So anyways. You try and get some rest. We’ll focus on finding some work tomorrow.” Gustford ran his talons through the feathers of his neck and let out a forceful breath.

“Oh boy. Two hundred in gold,” he muttered with a shake of his head. “I’ll take another look around later to see if there’s anyone else willing to go south, but if Brine was telling the truth, I doubt we’ll find a deal better than what he’s offering. Still, we’ve got some time. If we find something steady pretty early on and save everything, we should have just enough by the time Brine returns and makes his second round.”

“You mean, when he returns in six weeks.”

“Yes.” Gustford stopped and turned around. “I, uh, are you sure you’re doing alright? I don’t mean to be presumptuous, but you sound a tad, well, off.”

“It’s just...” Rarity sighed. “Six weeks is a rather long time, and I was hoping for a more, expedient option. I don’t wish to delay this any longer than I must. The sea can’t be the only way of reaching those magic schools in the south, can it?”

“Well, no,” Gustford said, though he spoke with uncertainty. “I suppose you could always go by land, but there’s a line of mountains you’d have to get over, and then you’d have to cross a series of deserts. By the time you’d have reached your destination, Brine would already be halfway into his second trip there, and that’s not even considering how much more expensive it’d be to make all those preparations.” He shook his head. “I wouldn’t recommend it.”

“What about flying there?”

Gustford’s initial response to Rarity’s suggestion was a look of puzzlement. “You, um, don’t have wings.”

“Well no, but I was referring by hot air balloon or chartering an air ship or, ah.” The expression of the griffon before Rarity was turning from slight confusion to bewildered concern and growing apprehension. “Never mind,” she said instead and started moving again, which prompted Gustford into continuing on as well. “Then, would there be any way to gather enough funds before Captain Drinker leaves. Perhaps I could use my position to get an audience with the city’s high society and convince them to give me a loan.”

“Ah, ha, no no, no.” A weak, nervous laugh left Gustford’s beak. “You do not want to owe any creature from the upper city anything, and you, you specifically, don’t want any of them to know your real identity.” He looked around and lowered his volume to a whisper. “A good part of the nobility in Baldursgait are from families your great grandfather kicked out of the royal court for one reason or another.”

“But that was generations ago,” Rarity protested. “Prin— I mean, I wasn’t even alive at that time. Surely enough time has passed to clear out any bad blood between us.”

Gustford made a face. “Well, when we were gathering strength against the Squid Wizard’s forces, Baldursgait was the only city we never heard back from, so someone close to the top obviously still holds a grudge.”

“But I heard there was a duke here who was a retired member of the army. Duke Ravenclaw or something similar,” Rarity said, recalling the street cat’s brief mention. “Surely he, wouldn’t he willing to aid us?”

“You mean Ravenguard? He’s just a mercenary who helped us in a previous campaign. That’s not to downplay his contributions,” Gustford added swiftly. “Don’t get me wrong, he’s a formidable fighter and an impressive strategist, and he’s certainly earned his title, but you shouldn’t expect anything out of him without being able to guarantee something in return first. Even more so than the rest of this place, if you can believe it.”

There was a pause before he continued. “Listen, Princess, I understand your impatience, your frustration, I really do, but becoming indebted to Baldursgait’s upper class isn’t worth it. Just, take it a day at a time, and before you know it, six weeks will have flown by. I know it’s not the capital, but Baldursgait has its, well, I maybe wouldn’t say charms but it’s not that, I mean, not all the time.” Gustford frowned. “Well, you’ll get used to it.”

“If you say so,” Rarity said, her words heavy with reluctant acceptance. Though a large part of her wanted to argue, to protest against the notion that there was a cost too high for saving her friends, she struggled to spin her feelings into reasonable thoughts and statements, and her brainstorm of alternative avenues and options was clearing rapidly, leaving her mind as blank as a cloudless sky. It was apparent that Gustford’s sincerity and worry were genuine, and Rarity, recognizing that the griffon was more familiar with the area and its dealings and had nothing but the best intentions toward her, or at least toward Princess Shmarity, decided to trust his judgement on the matter.

They had now reached the busy square, but instead of returning to the hall the two had initially met, Rarity found herself following Gustford past the billboards that were still attracting a sizable crowd and around the ring of merchant stalls. For a short second, her gaze lingered on the sheets the boards advertised, their contents still unreadable due to the bodies in the way, before she hurried after her griffon guide to one of the buildings surround the plaza. A faded sign with the painted image of a bed was hung over the doorway they entered through.

They were greeted by an empty receptionist counter that stood between them and a wall made up of rows of small box compartments, many of which were stuffed with envelopes and packages. Gustford stepped up to the front of the counter and looked around.

“Huh. Must be taking a long lunch or something. I’ll have to track him down later. In the mean time, I suppose you can rest in my room.” He continued to the side of the room where a rusty gate stood barring access to a stairway leading upward. Rarity watched him dig through the pockets of his shirt and remove an odd, double ended brass key, as if someone had attached two keys together at their heads. Gustford unlocked the gate, and with Rarity following closely behind him, he made his way up the stairs and into a hall with doors on one side and windows that let in sunlight and provided a pointless view of the building next to them on the other.

Each door had a single digit number carved into it, and as they continued down the hall, the numbers increased. They came to a stop near the middle of the hall at the fourth door, and Gustford took out his key. He stuck the other end into the slot beneath the handle and turned it until there was a soft click. The door creaked open to reveal a small room furnished by only a small bed shoved to the side.

“Pardon the mess,” Gustford said as he scooped up articles of clothing that were scattered all over the floor and kicked bits of scrap paper and other assorted trash out of the way, some going right into the space between the bed and the floor. He gave Rarity a rueful grin. “It’s not much but at least the lock works.”

Rarity stepped inside. The room was cramped, with barely enough space to accommodate her in along with Gustford, the bed, and all of the junk on the floor, and it only got worse once Gustford had shut the door behind her. “It’s certainly, cozy,” she said, forcing a smile.

“Yeah. I try not to spend too much time in here.” Gustford picked up a blanket off the floor and shook it out. “I, uh, had the sheets cleaned a couple of weeks ago, so it should be fine,” he said as he stretch it out and over the bed’s surface. He gestured Rarity to the mattress, and she took a seat. To her welcomed surprise, it was much softer than it had appeared.

“You mentioned you were tired, right? Try to get some rest. I’ll look into getting you your own place.” Gustford started to the door. “Do you need me to get you anything else while I’m out? Food, maybe some extra clothes?”

“Actually, there is this.” Rarity went through her saddlebags and removed something wrapped in linen. “Do you think you could find some creature who could repair this?” She placed the package into Gustford’s outstretched claw. “Careful,” she warned as he undid the wrapping. “The pieces are still sharp.”

The remains of Huntress’s dagger now sat in Gustford’s claw. Rarity had been unwilling to abandon it in the alley where it had been broken. Leaving such dangerous litter around where it could potentially do serious harm did not sit well with her, but there was also an additional, less reasonable reluctance stemming from an odd attachment Rarity felt toward the weapon. Perhaps it was because she still considered the blade borrowed and that maybe one day she would be able to return it to its rightful owner, or maybe it was due to all the dagger had gotten her through. It had saved her from that foppish bandit in woods, and though Rarity could not say the memory of sticking the dagger into the murderous dandy’s eye was a fond one, it left her feeling that this inanimate piece of sharpened metal deserved far better than being left to rust away in the dust and refuse.

It was like having to throw out or give away an old and well worn dress after it no longer fit. Rarity knew it was silly, becoming attached to something so material, but she couldn’t help but feel as if she was bidding a good friend farewell.

Gustford examined the broken parts with a frown. “I don’t think fixing this is possible. Even if I manage to find a blacksmith who could put this back together, the blade would be too brittle to use properly. It wouldn’t be worth the fee. The iron’s still in pretty good condition though, all things considered, so you’d could probably get a fair amount of copper if you sold it for scrap metal, maybe even a couple of silvers. Do you want me to take care of that for you while I’m out?”

Rarity hesitated, but logic won out in the end. A dagger that would only break could end up doing more harm to its user than a theoretical enemy, and she very well needed the money. “Very well,” she eventually said, turning her head so that she could no longer see the dagger pieces in Gustford’s claws.

Gustford rewrapped the parts. “Do you have another weapon? I can lend you another dagger or I can go buy you one.”

“That’s quite alright,” Rarity said. “I still have this one.”

She pulled Elder Woods’s blade of obsidian out from her cloak to show Gustford who regard the strange dagger with a curious look. The griffon held out a claw, and Rarity allowed him to take it and get a closer look. He studied the runes in the stone blade for a while before returning it to Rarity and walking over to and digging through a pile of shirts and cloaks. “Here,” he said to Rarity when he had returned, presenting her with a new dagger complete with its own sheath. A red ribbon was weaved tightly over the dagger’s handle, and she noted that the ends of the cross-guard had been sharpened at the tips. “I’d feel better knowing you were armed with something a little more, conventional. We’ll get you your own later, but you can borrow that one for the time being.”

“Thank you.” Rarity accepted the weapon and pocketed it with the obsidian one. “Well, I suppose that will be all. Unless, hm.”

“What is it?” Gustford asked, gesturing for her to continue. “Is it pressing?”

“Ah, well, I’d certainly say so.” Rarity rolled her shoulders and rubbed at the spot they connected to her neck. “You wouldn’t happen to know of any place in town that gives massages, would you? Or maybe some place where I could get a nice warm bath?”

She had expected Gustford to give her a sideways look and a simple negative answer softened by an apology and maybe a half-hearted promise that he would keep an eye out for such an establishment though she really shouldn’t keep her hopes up for much success.

She had not expected him to nod.