Chapter Forty Five

A Breach in Protocol

The sun that rose over the city of Istanbul was as bright and cheery as ever, even though the clouds moving in from the mountains were definitely not friendly in appearance. Due to the location of the sea and the city’s borders, any storms that managed to gather enough strength before striking usually continued to rage far longer than storms further in the countryside. Perhaps this was why the docks along the more windy side of the city has more posts with which boats could anchor themselves; it was insurance against disaster.

Inside the enchanted (or cursed) cell, one figure in particular wasn’t feeling terribly well. Spike had barely felt any hunger since he and his wives had been more or less thrown in prison, and now he felt... unnatural. His scales had even started to lose a bit of their usually vibrant purple color, and his spines were becoming a bit more gray than their usual green. His body felt weak, and his mind, while still sharp, was beginning to feel fatigued by something he had no knowledge of.

The dragon coughed slightly, muffling it with one of the few small blankets he had allotted himself after making sure his wives were properly covered. He had no idea what was happening to him; it wasn’t a change of some kind, and dragons, sick or not, couldn’t catch the usual diseases of other creatures, like feather flu, cutie pox, rabies or pneumonia. No, dragons had their own set of unique diseases, usually having something to do with their scales, fire breath or eyesight. Spike had studied many of these diseases under his tutelage of Princess Luna, and for the life of him, knew none that had symptoms like this. He was growing weaker, sickly, and felt as though he wanted to do nothing more than sleep. This was not a disease destined to just get better with time; this, he could somehow innately tell, would just keep getting worse until he... until he...

No; he didn’t want to think of where that road would lead. He couldn’t contemplate his wives and future foals being left alone in this world, with no dragon to look after them. He had to find a way to stop whatever malady was afflicting him, before he grew too weak to really do anything about it. If he became too sick to travel, then in the ensuing months (assuming they were even released before then), his wives would grow only more and more labored with their foals. If they gave birth in this dungeon, or even so far away from his home, he would never forgive himself.

He had to know what was happening to him. He shivered as he slowly sat up, facing in the direction the guards would be. They were not there that morning, but instead in the room adjacent to the cell room. He had to speak with one, but not wanting to wake his wives, he decided to wait it out, coughing into the blanket again to muffle the noise. It was a terrible, retching cough, the kind lepers and those with some sort of plague usually made. Spike, being neither of these, sounded like he were dying instead; a fair observation, had anypony actually been observing him.

All the dragon could do now was wait for the guards to arrive and perhaps tell him what was wrong with him.

Meanwhile...

Slavers along the coast of north Africa, close to the boundary waters of Spreign, had once again struck along the coastlines of southern Europe. A small fishing village, one of many that sold their wares in larger cities farther inland, had been raided in broad daylight, though the cover of fog that had blown in had surely helped these slavers in sneaking up unannounced. The mares and foals had been lightly beaten and toyed with, and a few taken as slaves; the majority of the stallions had either been enslaved or mercilessly beaten. These simple folk had almost nothing with which to defend themselves, so it was no surprise that nopony was killed in the melee; none of the slavers had even been hurt.

On the deck of the boat that the slavers transported their “wares” in, the captain looked over some of the future merchandise. These were hard-working folk, and would fetch a hefty sum from some of their more regular clients. Some of the mares, especially, would be sought after by other pirate captains as personal slaves for their amusement, a fate more often worse than death.

“This is the best of them?” he asked his first mate.

“Yes sir; the rest are down below, in the cargo hold,” the nasty-looking stallion replied. “Should we put these down there with them?”

“See that you do: use ropes to tie them up. I don’t want them damaged from any chains, or else they’ll be worth less than what they should be,” the captain snarled as he watched the line of merchandise be led down into the ship’s bowels. “Leave the one with the blond mane for myself.” She was indeed a beautiful mare; young, firm, and most likely a virgin. A perfect little treat for a scoundrel like him to take advantage of. He watched as she struggled against her bonds, tied to a small piece of railing alongside him; soon, soon.

The weather would likely take a turn for the worse in a few hours, judging from some clouds in the east. Lucky for him the ship was still anchored within sight of the village they had just plundered, where deep currents and large waves would not be too troublesome, and he could almost imagine some of the more daring and foolish stallions still on shore trying to come up with a way to save their friends and family. Pathetic infidels, they would-

He heard the scout up in the crow’s nest give a shout of warning. Looking up and to the west, he saw in the distance a black cloud that seemed to be moving against the wind. It was constantly changing shape and apparent density, something he knew was impossible for clouds to do.

Upon the cloud getting too close, he screamed in alarm as the rest of his crew, upon returning from securing the captives down below, came up to see what the scout had shouted about.

They too, upon seeing the seething mass barreling down on them, screamed out in alarm and made for their weapons, spears, shields and swords and all the panoply of war. They were born and raised as warriors and had a long career of raiding and pillaging. They were experienced, mostly fearless and utterly ruthless when it came to a fight.

They never stood a chance.

It was only a few minutes later that a few small rowboats came out from the village, the few stallions in them armed with a few makeshift clubs and torches. Upon approaching the vessel, they clambered aboard, ready for a fight. Instead... they found no resistance, no slavers willing to fight for their cargo. They could hear cries of relief from below, as their fellow villagers had seen them through the cracks in the ship’s lower windows.

As they walked around the deck, all they could find and step in were obscene amounts of blood and guts, the sight of which made several of the stallions puke over the side of the boat. A limb here, a limb there, bone and bits of matted pelt lying around like the slavers had been ripped apart; surely they had been. Only, other than the bits and pieces here, and the sheer amount of blood coating the decks, and the hull, and the captain’s cabin, and the sails... there was no sign of the slavers.

One of the villagers walked over to a huddling mass, and found the one he had been looking for the most; his beautiful blonde-maned daughter. “What happened here?” he asked softly as he helped her up. Curiously, she had been on the deck, but the blood that covered her wasn’t hers. She appeared unharmed, and most strangely of all, her ropes had been cut by something before they had even arrived.

“D-d-demons,” she stuttered, her wild-eyed look like that of one who had stared death and madness in the face. “Great, b-black, w-w-winged demons.”

“What do you mean?” her father asked as the rest of the villagers wound their way up from their brief captivity down below. “Who did this?”

“T-they came from t-the west, and one s-spoke to m-me,” she said, sounding as though she would faint. If the creatures hadn't been utterly terrifying, she might have thought of them as roguishly handsome. “It a-asked me the way e-east, and I t-told it.” As if to validate her point, she pointed east, towards a great city far beyond the horizon.

“Why?” her father asked as she fell limp in his arms.

“V-vengeance, it said,” was all she said in reply.

Back in Istanbul, the pair of guards from the day before had managed to finally return to their posts, upon which Spike had immediately tried to engage them in conversation. It took a bit longer than last time, but eventually they listened to him speak of his symptoms, to which they simply said...

“Sounds like you inhaled more of that powder than we thought,” one said. “Though, I can tell you now, you’re not going to die.”

“Oh, really? That’s such a relief,” Spike said, his words truly earnest.

“Yes, well, don’t be too hasty in celebrating that good news,” the other guard said. “You might say that death could be preferable, depending on your pain tolerance.”

“What? What do you mean, pain tolerance?” Spike asked.

“You dragons; your species is a curious one,” the first guard said. “So strong, so long-lived, so wise and powerful and able to adapt, and yet for all that, you have weaknesses like no other. Your greed and wrath at any slight are the usual ones, but your biology works against you now.”

“How? In what way?” the dragon asked, wondering just what these two griffins meant.

“That powder that as used on you was the dried up dust of the bones belonging to that dragon who crushed this city’s walls all those years ago,” the second guard said. “In dragons, inhaling the dust of another’s bones isn’t a taboo, but it is highly advised against. The act of doing so severely weakens the dragon in question, giving them sickly symptoms unlike any other disease. Dragon hunters in the past often used this tactic to weaken their quarry enough to kill them without too much trouble, as a fully enraged and healthy dragon is indeed a very hard creature to kill, if not outright impossible to deal with.”

“So... this bone dust... what it’s doing to me... I won’t die?” Spike asked.

“No, but you will experience terrible pain instead,” the second guard said. “You may become irritable at first, followed by your brain’s natural instinct to lash out at whatever is causing you pain. Seeing as it is yourself that is causing this, and that your body will not be able to recognize that, it’ll want to lash out at the nearest being, no matter who they are.”

Spike’s eyes widened at that. “Oh no,” he whispered to himself.

“Then, after that, you’ll become so weak you’ll become lethargic and nearly catatonic, the last stage dragon hunters usually preferred to attack during to finish off their prey,” the first guard finished. “All in all, it’s a terrible thing to experience, from what I’ve heard.”

“Then... you can’t let my family be in this cell with me! They can’t be the unwilling targets of my body’s anger!” Spike said, concern of an all-time high filling his mind. “You must get your captain to move them to a different cell: any cell!”

“I doubt she’ll listen; she’s swamped with paperwork as it is, and transferring prisoners to another cell would only add more paperwork to her load,” the griffin said in reply. “Just because she’s good with that kind of work doesn’t mean she likes it.”

“Please,” Spike said, feeling he had no choice but to beg. Even if this sickness wasn’t destined to kill him, he’d never forgive himself if he hurt any of his wives in his soon-to-be addled state. “Please, at least tell her.”

“Fine, I’ll send her a note, but don’t get your hopes up,” the other guard said. “She’s probably dealing with something important even as we speak.”

“Such as?” a voiced asked, causing the three to look towards the prison’s main door. There, with the door wide open and a cloaked figure beside her stood Myrrina, a crooked smile on her face. “Did you forget I said that I would be swinging by the prison around this time? I needed to ask the prisoners a few more questions.”

“Please, I’ll answer everything you ask, just put my wives in another cell, any cell,” Spike said, his pleading causing the other two guards to roll their eyes. “I can’t put them in anymore danger now, and... please, just get them somewhere safe.”

The captain of the guard thoughtfully stroked her chin, her beak making a little clicking noise, as if she were in deep thought. “Well, dragon, I’m sorry to say, but the rest of the magic-proof cells in this city are currently being used,” she said. “It seems some of those troublesome unicorn dissenters that keep popping up have been getting caught more frequently, what with the more heavily-armed patrols the emperor has been sending out. I’m sorry; they’ll be staying with you for now.”

“But... but... but,” was all Spike could say, his heart sinking as his coughing threatened to spill out. “How... how can you be so... hollow?” he asked softly.

“Hollow?” the guards repeated, taking steps forward and placing their talons on their sheathed weapons. “You dare call the captain hollow? Have you any idea-,”

“No, guards, it is all right,” the captain said, walking forward and kneeling down to look the dragon in the eye. The figure next to her came forward with her and lowered their hood. A young griffin, likely around Spike’s own age; she had to be the captain’s daughter, as the resemblance was just too extreme to be coincidence. “Why do you call me hollow, dragon?”

“I know I’m a prisoner of the state, and by extension my family is, but... why must they suffer for being in my company?” Spike asked, desperation and utter helplessness giving way to inspiration and hope. He could see something in this griffin’s eyes, something he had not known any of the guards would feel: sympathy. He needed to appeal to her more compassionate side, even if it meant putting himself in a far more dangerous situation. “Your guards told me of what will happen when I continue to become weaker; I will become violent before I fall into a coma. I couldn’t bear the thought of hurting my family, no matter how much I would no longer be in control of my actions. Please, please, for their sake, just... get them away from me, to someplace safe.”

The griffin’s apparent daughter kneeled down and whispered something into the captain’s ear, and a curious emotion flickered across the elder griffin’s face. Surprise? Concern? Realization? It was so hard for the dragon to decipher, as his own emotions were colliding within a clouding mind.

“What exactly are you willing to do in exchange for their safety?” Myrrina asked softly, the dragon’s pleading striking a chord deep within her. This was a family, and this dragon was willing to send his family away from him, truly for their own safety. Not many stallions or griffins in his position would do the same thing; they would be filled with a bravado of a foolish sort and insist they stay with their loved ones. This Spike knew he would be a danger and wanted to protect his family from everything, even himself; that alone was enough to make the captain want to keep this poor soul’s family safe.

But the fact that her daughter Eutropia, a griffin with no social skills and little discernible reason to do so, had whispered in her mother’s ear to offer her own room for the mares to stay in. Surprisingly to some, Myrrina had made sure her house would be large enough to support an extended family, and each room would comfortably fit at least four. Plus, the home was built like a fortress and would take so much effort to get in, most intruders would likely give up on such a foolish notion of breaking in just from looking at it.

“Anything,” Spike replied, his voice sounding even more sickly than when he had started this conversation.

She looked at her daughter, raising an eyebrow in a questioning manner. This wasn’t exactly illegal, but it would result in some questions on Myrrina’s part. Oh well; she was prepared to deal with the repercussions, and this dragon’s request was seeming more and more desperate and selfless by the minute. It was an admirable quality, to be honest.

“Are you sure of this?” she whispered to her daughter, wondering why Eutropia would even consider such a proposal. Ligeia wouldn’t mind in the slightest, but how would they prevent those mares from trying to escape?

Her daughter nodded, and Myrrina sighed. “Guards, the mares are coming with me, but I want no griffin, minotaur or pony to know where I have taken them understand?”

“Yes ma’am,” the two guards said, snapping to attention. One retrieved the keys as Spike’s four wives awoke.

“Spike? What’s... what’s going on?” Maria asked with a yawn as the door to the cell was unlocked. “Are... are we being sent home?”

“No; you four are going somewhere safe, far from this cell,” Myrrina said softly as she walked in and helped the four mares to their hooves. “your husband has made a very convincing argument to have you released into my custody.”

“Your custody? Why are we going with you? What’s happening to our husband?” Chrysalis asked as she and the other three were gently led out of the cell. The door swung back and was locked, sealing Spike in all by himself.

“He is ill, and does not wish for your four to catch what he has, or to suffer for it,” Myrrina said as she motioned to her daughter. The young griffin rushed over to a small cupboard, where she retrieved four robes and face scarves. “You will see him again, soon, but for now, we must hurry quickly; there are always eyes watching this prison, and I wish for you four to be somewhere safe, as does your husband.”

“Will he be taken care of?” Asalah asked as she was handed a robe. “What if we don’t want to leave him?”

“Go,” Spike said, looking up at his wives. He barely had the energy to do so, and couldn’t stand up anyway. “Go, be safe; we’ll be together again very soon, I promise you.”

The four of them said nothing, for they saw in their husband’s eyes something they couldn’t believe; sickness. Not of the mind, but of the body, and they could see now he had indeed grown sickly overnight. If he wanted them somewhere safe and away from him, if only to protect them, then they would do as he wished. Quietly they donned the robes and followed Myrrina and Eutropia out of the prison and into the light, their groggy minds still waking up from the night before.

“When will he be better?” Trixie asked the captain softly as they walked away from the prison. Of in the distance, thunder rumbled and arc of lightning danced across the gathering clouds.

“Soon; as I said, you will see him again, very soon,” the captain said. “Quickly, this way.”

As the four hurried after the two griffins, Chrysalis could feel a storm of another kind approaching the city, this one from the west. “We’ll see him again sooner than you might think, captain,” she thought to herself as they turned a corner and vanished from sight.

Meanwhile...

Deep within the bowels of the palace lay a secret set of rooms, only known to a select few servants and the sultan’s closest family members. Within one such chamber, a mare wailed loudly, her voice echoing off the stone walls. She was in labor, and had been for some time. It was not customary within the culture for her husband to be present, but the emperor was a kind and utterly selfless stallion, and even against the wishes of both his guards and the attending midwives, he was by his wife’s bedside, letting her squeeze his hand with all her might. He ignored what pain was transferred to him; the only thing that mattered was that his wife would survive this, and so would their child.

With one last great push, out slid a tiny foal, smaller than the stallion would have believed would come from his wife’s womb. It cried almost the instant it touched the cool air, its cries healthy and strong. “A good set of lungs, your majesty,” one of the midwives said as they wiped the infant clean and wrapped it in blankets to keep it clean.

“What is it?” the emperor asked, wiping the sweat and tears from his wife’s face.

“A son, my lord; an heir to the throne,” the midwife said, her smile reflected in her liege’s own.

“A son,” the stallion whispered into his exhausted wife’s ear, whose smile was weak but heartfelt. “We have a son, my dear.”

“Then make sure... he is safe,” she replied, laying her head back and closing her eyes as the little foal was placed in her arms. “Your nephew... I don’t trust him.”

“I never did, my dear,” the stallion said as he gently stroked his newborn son’s cheek. “I have been keeping tabs on him since he was just a child, and from the reports my spies have been sending me... he has been up to no good for these past few years. With the birth of our son, his claim on the throne has been all but erased. He will try to move quickly to eliminate the opposition. The only thing is, I shall strike first; he thinks me a fool, but I know what it takes to keep our empire and its citizens safe. If brutality is what he wishes, then it is what I shall give him.”

“Strike hard and strike fast, my dear husband,” the empress said softly as the little colt in her arms began to coo and snuggle against her. “Not for our empire, but for your son.”

“I will, my dear,” her husband replied, gently placing another kiss on her forehead and turning to leave. “I will.”

Upon closing the door behind him, he was greeted by three of his most loyal guards. They had all grown up together and were the best of friends; they would forsake their families for their emperor, something the stallion hoped would never have to happen.

“The foal?” one asked.

“A son, and your emperor” the emperor replied. “You all know what to do.”

“And of your nephew, should we capture him alive?” the guard asked.

“No mercy,” the new father replied. “He would have given none to me or my son, and as such, shall receive none. Ready the troops: we strike within the hour.”

“As you wish, your excellency,” the three guards replied in unison.

Meanwhile...

The storms to the east continued to approach, growing ever larger and more fearsome looking by the minute. They would likely be within the city by nightfall, and thus would provide the perfect cover for Devrim’s forces. Or at least, that was what the spy had told the emperor’s nephew.

“I always thought we should strike early as possible, before too many of the guards have been roused from their slumber,” Devrim said as he and the spy enjoyed the afternoon delights of several exotic dancers.

“No, I have learned from experience that striking too soon can doom a plan,” the spy said, orders unknown to the stallion across from him still drifting in his mind. Delay was the key, or else how else would the plan come to ultimate fruition? “Are your forces positioned correctly? That royal guard you own seemed awfully intent on seizing the prison for some reason.”

“He wants the mares of that dragon inside, and can have them when we are nearly finished with the day’s bloodshed,” Devrim replied. “The emperor has no idea of what is going to happen.”

“Of course not,” the spy said, lying through his teeth. In his profession, he could hire himself out to as many different employers as he wished, but at the end of every day, he was still loyal to his emperor, and as such had been designated to be the one to infiltrate Devrim’s inner circle. The fact that Devrim had paid him well for his own espionage activities was just a bonus. Thankfully though, his many years of such covert operations had given him the ability to be able to lie without giving any sort of hint he was indeed lying. “How could he know? He suspects nothing, and since he has no heir, he wouldn’t be looking for competitors within his own family.”

“You are right, my loyal friend,” Devrim said as the dancers continued to writhe before them. “Now then, about this zebra you brought with you; will he be joining Hyginus for the... festivities at the prison?”

“Most indeed,” the spy said, a bad taste in his mouth at the mention of the zebra. That ousted warlord could have been a great asset to the emperor if he had been willing to let go of his pain and hatred, but no; he clung to it, and the scars on his body were matched in severity only by his hatred of that poor dragon. He knew not why such an innocent creature would incur such wrath, and frankly, the spy didn’t want to know. “I must say, he is particularly looking forward to it, though the way he hides in the shadows all of the time is rather... unsettling.”

“Bah; merely some aspect of his religion or whatnot stating he must not be seen by the light for too long, lest his anger be destroyed by it,” Devrim replied. “A bunch of hogwash if you ask me.”

A rumble of thunder sounded in the deep, and a gust of wind out of the east put to rest any hope that the storm would arrive sometime during the night. Out in the city, ponies and griffins alike began closing up shop, barring windows and getting all of their wares inside. The few naga in the city did none of that, as they were from an area of the world where it would literally rain every day for months on end. To them, a single thunderstorm was nothing to be scared of, any more than a week-long rain shower. All they did was put up enough of a shelter to protect their outdoor goods from the coming storm, and continued on with their business, calling out to one another in their native hissing language.

Inside Myrrina’s house, the four wives of Spike huddled against one another in a room, the chill of the storm barely offset by the warmth of the blankets around them

“You needn’t fear the coming storm,” Eutropia said as she shut the door to her bedroom. “It will pass in due time.”

“It’s not the storm we fear,” Asalah said softly. “We fear for Spike; we’ve never seen him in such a state before, and Trixie here is the one who has known him the longest.”

“I’m not sure if ‘known’ is the correct word for this situation, but yes, I met him many years ago when he was so much younger,” the blue unicorn said. “It pains me to think of him all alone in that cell, but as you told us, there’s nothing we can do for him. I just wish there was.”

“You really love him, don’t you?” the young griffin asked a sharp bolt of lightning seared through the clouds high above. The rumble of thunder grew closer with each boom, and the winds had indeed picked up even more.

“You have no idea,” Maria said softly. “He would gladly give his life for us, and has rescued us from certain death several times. In any other instance, we would likely do the same for him.”

“But I’m guessing that would destroy him, no?” Eutropia asked. “He sounds like quite the husband to hold you in such high regards.”

“Oh, he is; he just doesn’t like to show it in front of strangers most of the time,” Asalah said softly as she slowly rubbed Chrysalis’s shoulders. “Chrysalis? Are you all right? You’ve been quiet almost this entire time.”

“They are coming,” the queen said, and for once in their whole trip, her voice was devoid of all emotion. In it’s place was something deeply troubling; like the enchanted voices of seers and fortune tellers, it carried with it a sense of an impending doom.

“Who are coming?” Eutropia asked, somewhat intrigued by the changeling. She had never seen one before and had plenty of questions to ask her.

“My legion,” the queen said, her emotionless voice still managing to convey happiness and severity. “This city will burn in the fires of conflict, and my legion shall watch from on high.”

“Is she okay?” the griffin asked, glancing between the two unicorns and the zebra mare. “Is she normally this cheerful?”

“I’ve never seen her like this: usually she’s mad, happy, or some emotion inbetween,” Maria replied. “Your mother said the prison was being watched; by whom, may we ask?”

“Likely some of the less honorable guards in her unit,” Eutropia replied softly. “You four are quite beautiful, even with three of you pregnant and your husband being the most feared creature in this section of the world. There are many stallions would love to have a piece of you; one in particular.”

“Who?” Trixie asked fearfully.

“That would be me,” Hyginus whispered to himself under the barred window of the room. They did not hear him, but he had been quiet enough to sneak up on the house under the cover of the storm. He would find a way in and have his fun. That zebra fellow who had been with him was nowhere to be seen; likely on his way to the prison to try and find a way inside. “That fool will get himself killed,” the evil guard muttered to himself. “Devrim should consider himself lucky he has a pony of my skill in his employ.”

Slinking around the outside of the house, he was not surprised he could not find a way in. Oh well: there was a nice hiding spot near the front door where he could weather the storm and wait for one to come outside. Then, oh then, he’d have his fun.

High above, swirling around in the dark clouds, was what appeared to be an even darker cloud. It moved with a purpose and seemed intent on one area of the city in particular as it soared around overhead. The Censcorpions had finally arrived, and with a small burst of their combined magic, the storm began in earnest, rain and wind pelting the massive city far below.

Istanbul would be at war with itself very soon, and in the midst of that, the greatest escape in the city’s history would commence under the watchful eyes of a foreign army.

Author's Notes:

Well, I found a small flash drive of mine I haven't used in a good two years, and transferred my newest chapter from there to here. Voila!