As I've told Gideon, the results of my little spell were purely temporary. Once the stimulant effect wore off and another dose of poison had been quaffed with his wine, I was called - requested, with all the possible politeness, -- to attend again, this time together with the whole host of court wizards and royal physicians of Griffonstone gathered around the Prince in the hospital wing of Gormenghast.

"The bloodletting seemed to provide a reprieve," a greying-old griffon suggested. "We could try leeches again."

"You always suggest leeches," Gil snorted from his right. He was one of Gwyr's -- in fact he still owed me ten bits from the card game that we shared all that time ago. "If this is a magical problem we need to think magical solutions. And this is clearly a sign of a magical problem.” He pointed at a peak on a thaumospectrography printout. “Isn't that right, Lady?"

I nodded sagely. It was. I placed it there while I played the doctor with the two princes, so I would know. “What about dialysis? There was this new machine recently that could decrease the thaumic content…”

"Unicorn would suspect it is magic," the griffon doctor wheezed. "But the symptoms are--"

The Prince took this discussion with an expression of almost scaevolic stoicism, as we poked, prodded and argued about his illness.

"Wait," I extinguished my magic, and took a breath, gathering my courage for what I really came here for -- the next step. The next betrayal in my chain of lies. "Um, I'm sorry, if this is a stupid question." I put my fan to Timidity, "but...who's the third?"

"The third who, Lady?" Gwyr came alive, standing up from the corner where he slumped in wait.

"The third person with the Power. There are three connections to the winds the Prince summons. One to Your Highness, one, I assume, to His Majesty, and the third one. I thought only the King and the heir apparent may wield the power?"

"Yes! The King and the Heir hold the power -- no one else. You are mistaken."

"I’m not.” I shrugged when he moved his wing to polite Disbelief and grabbed a vial of powdered silver off the nearest shelf. “If your Highness would summon his power, I could demonstrate."

A wing inflected -- all it took for the nigh-invisible shadow of power to coalesce before him, like a djinn released from a magic lamp of Saddle Arabian story, except with ice and wind instead of smokeless flames.

"Now what?"

I threw the silver powder on the floor in a broad circle around him and his Power. "If Your Highness would now release it, all shall be revealed."

Another wave of the wing and the shadow dissipated -- in three distinct directions, seen in the scatter of the dust on the floor.

"One for his Majesty. One back to the Idol. Who does the last one belong to?"

They stared for a long moment. "And none of you have noticed it?" Gideon finally spoke, his tone low, and his crest drooped. "None of you?!"

"But Your Highness, this was unprecedented, impossible even. How were we supposed to--"

"Could it be the cause of the problem, little pony? Is that why I am weakened?"

"I don’t know. If it is then why would His Majesty not be affected?" I argued. "He too is connected to the same Power."

"A chemical genesis does seem more likely..." a griffon piped up. "A poisoning, perhaps?"

"Perhaps his connection to the Idol is more mature," Gwyr countered quickly, "perhaps they targeted the heir specifically. Perhaps it is the condition of the Idol. We'll need more study. The Lady did mention a spell yesterday. Could such a connection produce this effect?" he looked at me, shivering the wing his brother could not see into a half-Demand.

"Yes, I suppose," I conceded. "That sort of connection can go both ways. But it's not magic many would know. It would require access to the Idol, to the person of the Prince... if there is a conspiracy it must be very deep.” I took a deep breath, "If I am to investigate, I'll need access as well," I finally said, with an abandoned resolve of a mare jumping into the water without testing how deep it is. "To the library, medical equipment. To Your Highness’s person."

"It shall be granted. Gwyr?"

"I'll see to it."

"And to the Idol." I added. "If it is at the center of that spell, I'll need to examine it in person."

“It shall be granted.”

"Impossible!" the griffon wizard almost choked. "None may pass, not even the griffons!"

"It shall be granted," the Prince repeated, and his tone brooked no argument, as his wings moved to Resolve. “And you!” he turned to the doctors and the wizards. "In one day, the unicorn had healed my symptoms and found the cause of my ailment, while all of you were useless.”

“But Your Highness,” the griffons protested, “There was no way we could’ve known! We can’t be held responsi--”

"Get out," the Prince said, the cold rising across the room until I could see my own breath. "Out of my sight. I don't want to see any one of you again."

"But Your Highness, please, you’re not at your full capacity, and you're not thinking clearly!"

Gideon’s eyes narrowed, and his wings unfurled into Anger, silencing the doctor. "You're done.” he repeated slowly, his voice as cold as his power “The unicorn will heal me, the rest of you -- get out."

He watched Gwyr usher them out, whispering his assurances and apologies, and his claw flexed in barely contained anger, slicing into the armrest of the chair. Then he turned to me.

"Do you trust this pony, brother?" he asked, soon as the last of griffon doctors was ushered out, and the door was closed.

Gwyr threw a look at me, but, eventually, he nodded.

"Good. Good." the Prince shifted in his seat, "I don't believe them." He said, lowering his voice. "I do not trust them. The doctors, and the wizards, and everyone else. If it is a spell, if someone meddled with the power of the Idol, there is a conspiracy. A plot -- against me!" His claw scratched into the armpit of the chair. "You're the only griffon I can trust, brother."

A spasm of shame contorted Gwyr's wings and he lowered his eyes.

"My brother trusts you.” the Prince turned to me, “and you exposed the conspiracy to me in the first place, little pony. I shall trust you too."

"You don't think it's Galad, do you?" Gwyr asked, his wing and tone implying sarcasm.

Gideon furrowed his brow caught by surprise by his brother’s question. The thought had not occurred to him. "No.", he dismissed it with a wave of his wing. "Not Gally. I'd sooner believe its little ponies than him standing against me. No, brother I think..." He shifted uncomfortably, even going as far as to lower his voice. "I think it could be Father. He's the only one who has access to the Idol, he's the only one who would try to stop me. And he stands unaffected by whatever is done to me as well."

"Gideon, that's absurd."

"Is it? Is it really, brother? I intend to challenge him, and if he were half the eagle he used to be he'd challenge me back. Instead he summons those ponies, he makes parties and he talks, and he talks and he talks incessantly. He has every reason to fear me. And the way he knew yesterday to accost me just as I was weakened..."

“He couldn’t have known!”

“He has access to the Idol, Gwyr, he knows it. Better than I,” the admission took some effort from the Prince. “He could’ve arranged it--”

"I'll ask around," Gwyr said curtly, "but I can tell you now - you're being paranoid. And while this development is troubling, I am sure Father has nothing to do with this."

"If you would follow me, Lady. "He opened his wings, in one swift motion, the whoosh throwing my mane off my face. "I could use your magical expertise."

"Wait.” The Prince held me up. "There were some things I wanted to ask of the unicorn, brother."

"Oh, ok." The Gwyr began to settle back down, but Gideon waved him away. "Go. You promised to talk to Father."

Gwyr hesitated, looking at his brother, unsure, then at me. I nodded, trying to be as subtle as I could. “I’ll see you later Lady.” He nodded, and turned away.

I remained alone with the Prince.

"Earlier, I had lied," he finally said, after the door was closed. "There is a creature that had access to my blood."

"A creature?" I asked carefully. I could not let my connection to the arimaspi slip. "Not a griffon?"

"No. Not a little pony either. You know of it, you have even seen it. It's the arimaspi, that creature that used to give my Father counsel."

I nodded.

"He gave me counsel too. And he had a gift of prophecy, the old Coltec haruspicy -- and for that he required of me my blood as the fuel for his magic.”

"Your Highness!" I tried to sound shocked and haughty, almost like Dame Strawberry would. "You shouldn't have. You can't--"

"Feed blood to the arimaspi, yes, little pony I was aware. But the creature is locked, and I needed to be sure about... well, you know. The war." At least he had good enough manners to hesitate about talking about war on my country.

He cleared his throat.

"He might be doing something with it, as you said. And I wish for you to investigate it."

"Me?" I pretended to be surprised. "Why me? Wouldn't Your Highness wish to ask the culprit yourself?"

"I know little of magic. It's a thing of old tercels and little ponies, not a thing meant for eagles."

"Why not ask Gwyr, then? E-er, His-Highness-your-middle-brother. He's not a little pony, but he's knowledgeable enough about wizardry, I think."

"My brother thinks highly of me." Guilt? From the arrogant Prince? I was speechless. I sooner expected Phlegethon to freeze and Styx to dry up, "I don't want him to..." his wing shivered in vague gesture and he never finished the sentence.

"I.. I'll need to investigate. Ask questions. I'll need access. Authority."

"Yes," his wing swept Assent, regal even as he dropped a few more feathers on the floor, and unlocked a bracelet of silver off his forearm, a claw-mark and inscription upon it. It bore the sign of his power too, as unmistakable as the claw-mark if you knew how to look.

"By my order and will,” it said in curt Griffinstonian script.

"Do you know what this is?"

"Yes, your Highness," The form was a little different from the one I had, but the function was the same. "It's a paiza. To mark one who bears it as your agent. I have one just like it in my room." The one from my Princess - similar, but vastly different in what power they represented. My Princess's paiza was meant for small expenditures, getting train tickets and books from Canterlot archives. Abroad it would do even less - to perhaps courtesy and assistance owed to an envoy and a letter of credit. Anything more and my Princess would know - and she would not approve.

This one, with all of Gideon’s weight behind as the Prince and heir apparent, could open any door, get griffons to do anything for me...as long as it was not countermanded by the Prince himself -- or his father, I supposed.

"I shall put guards around the creature, some of my own, just in case. And you -- you'll go and investigate. Do your little pony magic and figure it out."

"I'll talk to the creature," I said, hiding away the paiza, "investigate it, and if I find something out, I'll tell you."

“Good. Good.” He stood up abruptly, stretching after a long period of immobility. "Are we done here, Lady or are there any more tests or spells you can run?"

"No, Your Highness," I sighed, making a show of gathering, the mess of printouts and notes all the griffon doctors left behind, "I think I have enough for now. "

As the Prince had left, I tarried behind, left alone in the hospital. Well, not quite alone. The Prince was not the only patient there, and the other one, in a room not too far from here, and somewhat less important, and I wanted to visit him as well.

“Hello, my lord,” I moved the curtain to give us some privacy. “Nice to see you again.”

Lord Graven -- more bandages and casts than feathers at this moment, glanced at me, shifting as if he’d try to run or fly if he could.

“How are you today?” I asked politely. ‘Recovering, I hope.” I picked up the medical chart off his bed. “My, a bruised trachea. That’s unfortunate.” He glared at me from below the bandages covering his forehead. “Any troubles breathing?” I grabbed one of the pillows off the nearby bed and raised it slowly over his head. "Breath is the most valuable thing in the world," I said, as it was once said to me. "none sings hymns to it, praising the good air breathed by Prince and dog alike, but oh to be without it..."

"No," he whispered, urgent and hoarse. "Please..."

The pillow came down, propping up his head. "I'll come back for you," I promised, fluffing it up for his comfort. "Soon. After making my wish tomorrow, and then this will all be over. Promise.”

"What?" He looked at me, stuck between relief and even greater fear. "What do you want of me?"

"You'll find out." I smirked, "tomorrow I'll tell it to the Prince, and I'm sure someone will relay it to you. Eventually. Meanwhile,” I stepped back, happy with my pillow-work, “I suggest you learn to breathe properly, milord. I was told it helps with the pain."

His eyes still burned the back of my head as I left the room, leaving the poor Graven to stew in fear and uncertainty.

This time, when I came to see the creature, I was not a prisoner, nor did I need to sneak through the secret tunnels and servant passages. I came branding the Prince’s paiza and surrounded by Gideon’s griffons.

The creature sat in the corner, his lean, cadaverous figure huddled away from the torchlights, and his thin, ugly fingers fiddling with a sharp piece of stone, carving bloody scrapes into his chains.

“Hello there, little pony,” he raised his head when I came into the room, his eyes looking me from underneath long, matted hair, his lips, spread in a thin, ugly grin, showing his fang-like canines. ”You’ve moved up in the world, yes, yes you have.”

I shivered. The halls of the prison seemed to have become even colder this time around, and running around with the princes, I really worked up an appetite that now flared up in my belly with dull, gnawing pain.

“I came to ask you some questions.” I said, “At His Highness’ commands.”

"I won't talk to the birds, pony. Make them go away." he turned back to his chains, resuming his muttering and his carving.

I did not relish what would come next. Not at all.

A cold wave rose from within, but I beat it down. What we want or don't want doesn't matter... and they wouldn't save me anyways -- they would only make things worse.

I turned to the eagles behind me, "You heard him. Go."

The griffons looked at each other, unsure. "Lady," one of them started, "His Highness had ordered---"

"Out." I remembered how the Count chased out that dog and tried to assume the same notes of entitled confidence. "Gideon -- your Prince -- had ordered you to do what I say, and I say you two are waiting behind those doors."

"But His Majesty..."

"Or should I tell Gideon that I could not do his bidding?" No need for volume or bluster -- I understood that now. I knew the tone that would carry the threat on its own - and do so much, much better. "Should I tell him that his paiza, his will was not enough?"

They shuffled uncomfortably, looking at each other. "Five minutes," the bigger one decided. "We'll be right outside the door. If anything happens..."

"Nothing will happen. Go."

"Will you talk now?" I turned back to the creature when the last of griffons closed the door behind them.

"Yes, little pony, yes, we shall talk. Do you have that which I need?” The flutter of my magic beating against my chest reminded me of our real positions. Even though he was behind bars and I carried the royal paiza of Griffonstone and all the power of the Prince’s will behind me, still he had the power over me. But unlike the last time, he did not have all the power.

"I have a way to get it.” I said, “But we will need to renegotiate our deal."

"Will we little pony?" his hands crooked into claws, and the deadly chill of magic leaving my body spread from my chest. "Why is it that we would need that?"

"You know what I've done. Your dogs must've told you."

"Yes, yes, I heard. Telling the arrogant one stories of magics and curses you were, clever, yes, very clever. You have him wrapped around your little pony hoof, with leads and silvers, just as I did. It is true what they say, yes, you’re a very good student, yes, she has chosen wisely."

That “she” spat like a curse… It reminded me of the creature’s master. Hatred and fear and envy.

"One word from me,” I said coldly, “and the Prince would rip your throat out. ”

"Yes, yes he would, the angry arrogant Prince, yes,” the creature scoffed, unthreatened, “But then you would be dead, yes you would, and your pretty little nobling too, and the war would be back on again, yes, yes it would. There will be no words from you little pony, no ripping of the throats, I think. Your lead rings hollow, and you brought no silver. You’ll have to try harder next time if you want to lie to me."

Ice and Nightmares. The creature had called my bluff. It was a weak one, I knew already even before I came here, but it was worth a try.

"And you've been a bad pony. Yes. Going behind my back--" he raised his hand, the sparks going along the keratin of his nails. "Speaking to the eagles." the pain blossomed out of my gut, as the magic ripped out of me through my horn. "Trying to prevent the war."

"Wait!"

I did not need to try to make it convincing. Fear was worse than pain itself-- that cold dread of someone standing over you, an unhinged psychopath who can singe your skin of one inch at a time and you can't do anything about it... I breathed and pushed it away. I was stronger than this -- and I had a plan B this time.

"I've left notes. If I die, you die”

The creature stayed his hand.

“And you still need me. I'm close. Very close. I almost got it."

"And what is it that you have, little pony?"

"I have the feather. The King's feather, and I've been to Geskletonheir. I've seen the Idol, and I can get it for you."

“The King's feather?" The arimaspi licked his thin lips again. "Show me, pony, yes, so that I may see if you lie."

I reached into my bag and produced a feather - red-rouge and short.

"This is not a King's feather, pony." he raised his hand again, and the pain that almost disappeared uncoiled again within my chest. “It’s not even the right colour!”

"No. Not yet."

The creature laughed, or maybe coughed, each strangled "khe" like something broke deep within its chest.

His raised paw went down, and the tension in my chest, the deathly chill abated slowly.

"And the claw?"

"I know how to get it too. I just need time."

"So you do bring me some silver, yes, and what a sweet silver you bring little pony. Perhaps you will not be punished, yes, perhaps not yet."

"Good,” I admitted, feeling the traitorous knot finally untangle in my belly, “good. I’ve the feather and the claw, but I still need the blood. Where did you hide it?"

"It's with me, little pony, yes, yes it is."

"Here?"

“They have bound me yes, they have bound me with walls and with chains and with the burning silvers, but they can't take my knowledge, my blood from my veins, my skin and my coat and my horns, not without killing me they can't. And they won't kill me quite yet, no, no they won't.”

He dragged his nail across his wrist, drawing blood, and concentrated. A large red drop budded from the cut, a ruby-red of pure crimson. "Take it, little pony" he snarled. "Quick."

I put a vial underneath to collect it. There wasn't much -- few ounces perhaps. But it would be enough.

We are the ancient folk, we!
   Too little to love or to hate.
Leave us alone and you’ll see
   How we can drag down the State!
We are the worm in the wood!
   We are the rot at the root!
We are the taint in the blood!
   We are the thorn in the foot! 

A Song of Arimaspoi
Fancy Pants, Count Hoofington
"Land and Sea Tales"