Chapter Forty Eight

A Warning of Danger

Walking up to the front door, Ebony entered the house and closed it behind him, making sure to turn several deadbolts into place. Walking down the hall and turning into the kitchen, he found the dishes magically washing, drying, and putting themselves away, like something out of a fairy tale. As the last small plate flew up into the cupboard, he turned and saw the pantry doors were still wide open. Several small jars of what had been honey mixed with dried cherries were gone, as was nearly an entire bag of salted sunflower seeds and a jar of pickles.

“They must have been very hungry, but then again, three of those mares are pregnant,” Ebony mused, rummaging around in the back of the pantry for something to eat before he too went to bed. Bingo; a jar of sugared apples and some cheese. Ebony couldn’t remember the “kind” of cheese it was, but he didn’t care, seeing as it wasn’t going to spoil anytime soon.

As he sat at the small table and began to munch on his food, the mercenary’s ears twitched; off in the distance, he heard a very faint rumble of thunder. Bat ponies had excellent hearing, as well as near-perfect night vision, which, combined with the echolocation they would occasionally use, meant they were just as comfortable during the night as they were during the day. Perhaps that was why they were so hard to sneak up on in a group; some were always awake during the night, and others, the day.

Ebony was one of those day-time ones, though if it were important, he could stay up as late as he needed to. “Storm might last some time,” he muttered as he bit into the cheese. “Been a while since the last one up here, and it’s coming down from the mountains. Should be a drencher.” The weather in Istanbul was not like this; here, farther away from large bodies of open warm water, the weather was often far more violent, and much more reliant on the changing air masses high in the mountains. That meant many more thunderstorms, which meant a lot of lightning strikes and, during some dryer points of the year, wildfires. Thankfully some of the more extreme weather phenomena, like tornadoes and hail, didn’t form often in this region of Transylmania.

Bat ponies didn’t like rainy or snowy weather all that much. They tolerated it, but most wouldn’t be caught out in a moderate rainstorm if they could help it, and none would ever go out in the snow unless they were truly bundled up. Their large, thin wing surfaces made them ideal for catching a cold, seeing as they gave off heat rather readily through the thin membranes. Sure, they could use them as thin blankets if the situation called for it, but that didn’t mean they were always useful for such out in the open.

Luckily for Ebony, his cloak served him rather well in keeping the rain off of his wings, or else he might not have been preparing to leave Istanbul when the storm hit. To think of what might have happened to all those in his charge had he not been there to be their ferryman and bodyguard, and instead had been sheltered in a tavern somewhere.

“Don’t bother to look back on “what-ifs”, Ebony,” he muttered to himself as he finished his little meal, making sure to pick up after himself. “Won’t do you any good to be thinking like that.” Leaving the table, he left the kitchen, heading down the long hallway to the master bedroom, passing several small unlit lamps and paintings. The house seemed to be growing darker with every other step he took, but it didn’t matter to him.

“Sir?” a voice called out, and looking up, the mercenary saw it was the unicorn named Maria, high above him at the top of the stairs on the second floor. She looked rather exhausted, though not yet sleepy; nerves from the trip and all that jazz likely keeping her blood pumping something fierce.

“Yes?” he asked, noticing she was still wearing the same robes they had all been given beforehand. Maybe he’d go down into town and buy them some new clothes; they had literally had only each other and the clothes on their backs when they had come into his care, plus the travelling cloaks Myrrina must have given them. He didn’t want to give them his wife’s clothes, as he doubted they’d fit.

“Do you want us to open the windows a tad?” she asked. “It’s a little stuffy up here, and these robes are all we have to wear other than what we have on underneath. Both could use some washing,” she added, almost as an afterthought.

“No miss, please keep the windows shut and locked tonight. There’s a storm coming down from the mountains and it’ll get cold enough with the windows shut,” he replied, hoping that the merchants down in town would at least be open the next day. If not, then he’d have to find others ways of clothing his guests. Washing what clothes they had wouldn’t be a problem, what with how easy it would be to collect rainwater, but then again, they’d have nothing to wear while the clothes were being washed. “The wind might blow the windows open if they aren’t tightly locked. I’ll start a fire in the morning if the rain hasn’t stopped and it gets too cold. From there, I might be able to start a bath if there’s enough collected rainwater. Goodnight, ma’am.”

“Goodnight, sir,” the unicorn replied, disappearing from view as she went off to bed, the soft click of a door shutting the last he heard from her.

“Nice mare,” the mercenary muttered as he turned a corner and continued towards his own room. She sort of reminded him of... “No, no, don’t think of her, don’t think of them,” Ebony muttered, balling his hands into fists as he walked down the hallway. His charges couldn’t know of his secret in the backyard, of the two little graves unless they stumbled upon it sometime in the future. There was no need to tell them otherwise.

Opening his door, he walked inside and closed it behind him. His bed was calling to him, as it had so many times before, and it just looked so comfortable this night...

Outside, as the wind began to pick up from the approaching storm whose clouds seem to boil in the sky, a shadow crept across the open ground of the backyard, the very last light of sunset disappearing completely from view as it did so. Now, in total silence and an ever-deepening gloom, it moved swiftly, silently, around the house, avoided the stone path with every step and, eventually, made its way to the front door. It raised a large, lithe hand and gently, ever so gently, tried to turn the knob, the slightly curved nails skidding softly over the metal.

Locked. Should have expected that.

No matter. With a shuddering gasp the specter seemed to shrink in on itself, the body twisting and working its way down to the ground like an ice sculpture melting into a puddle. Soon, no more solid than a thick layer of mist, the shape slithered up against the door, seeking a way inside. The door was of sound quality and had no real cracks or holes through which it could enter. The edges around the door were tightly flush with the doorframe as well. However, it was not impregnable, and soon enough, the shape found purchase within a small, looked-over spot; the keyhole itself. Pressing against it, and flowing like water through a straw, the shadow filtered into the main hall, pooling onto the floor like a fallen silk dress.

As if caught in a wind, the boiling mass of darkness rose up, reforming into an actual shape. Letting out a soft sigh, the specter slowly walked down the hall, ears twitching, nose sniffing, eyes darting this way and that to find what they were looking for.

“Surely he hasn’t gone upstairs,” it muttered as it followed the scent of the home’s owner. It grew stronger the closer they drew to the main room, and for the second time that night, once at the door, the figure tried the knob ever so gently with a firm, steady grip.

This time, they found purchase, and with the slowest of movements, gently pushed open the door. It did not creak, for which the specter was thankful, but it was not two steps into the room before something ice cold and solid was pressed against the back of their neck. Even in complete darkness, to the creature, the room was as bright as day.

“Who are you and what are you doing in my house?” a voice hissed. “Face me, slowly; keep your hands in the air where I can see them. Any sudden movements, and I remove your head from your shoulders; clear?”

Turning ever so slightly, the figure saw Ebony Blade, effortlessly wielding his bastard sword Scylla as if it weighed barely more than air around them. Even in the darkness, the blackened sword seemed to give off an oily sheen, as if coated in the blood of previous intruders.

“Don’t you recognize me?” the figure asked, slowly turning around with the sword now pointed up at their throat. “Surely your eyes haven’t begun to go bad?”

“I know many ponies, know many faces,” Ebony said, his voice starting to lose its gruffness but not its dead seriousness. “I also know it is foolish to try and sneak up on a batpony in near-complete darkness.” He could see the intruder just fine, after all.

“I knew that, and know you can see me just fine. Surely you know my face as well as I do yours?” she replied, gently raising her hands in surrender.

“Of course; I could never forget a mane like that,” the bat pony said, his eyes glancing at the moving piece of hair. It was... unearthly, to say the least. Colored like the darkest flame, and moving as if set ablaze in a small wind; it was not the mane of a regular pony. “Just need to keep myself trained for the worst. You would know all about that... Bakhtak.”

“Ah, so you do remember me,” she replied, two of her fingers gingerly pushing the tip of the sword away from her throat. “I did not come to fight you, Ebony Blade; not now, not ever again. I give you my word on that, as I have many times before.”

“Your word? I think there is just enough trust in me left to take you up on that,” the bat pony replied as he sheathed his sword. Bakhtak was indeed good for her word, but the ways she honored them, sometimes... it was rather dubious. She’d find loopholes and exploit them to within an inch of her losing his trust, but never, ever crossing the line. She was hard to trust, but then again, the fact that he could trust her made her intentions all the more intriguing. “So, what brings a Nightmare to my humble home?”

“I have been living in this house too for many years, Ebony Blade. It was one of our previous agreements that allowed me to stay here, to stay in this land; it was by your word that I live here when you do not. Now you have company; I smelled them from a mile off. A zebra, two unicorns and a griffin, all female, with the unicorns being pregnant. A fifth female scent I detected, also pregnant, but with a smell unlike anything I’ve ever encountered before. The sixth... a dragon, decidedly male at that, and for some reason or another, smelling as if afflicted with some sort of sickness. Are you seeking to rid yourself of my presence, to try and protect your guests from the big bad Nightmare? Am I that much of an embarrassment to you?”

“Don’t give me a sob story premise like that, Bakhtak; you know as well I as I do I keep you on for your stellar cleaning skills,” he replied, his mouth an unwavering line but his tone dryer than smoke. He hadn’t seen a single cobweb inside the house since he had arrived, though the fact that she was able to not only tell who his guests were by their smell, but tell him their current states, made him feel very uneasy. She always made him feel uneasy for some reason or another, though thankfully not the kind where he was constantly looking over his shoulder to see if she was trying to sink her slightly serrated teeth into his neck.

“And not my looks?” she replied, gesturing down at herself.

In Ebony’s mind, whoever had come up with the term “Nightmare” for whatever species Bakhtak was, they weren’t kidding, and if it had indeed been a Nightmare who named them as a species, then the irony was not lost on the mercenary. A pelt as dark and somewhat shiny as oil, with a mane that flowed (and looked) as if it was made of fire. Old scars ran along the lines of her face, the swells of her arms and across her torso, the deep scarlet, golden and tawny streaks looking like minute rivers of magma coursing along her body. A pair of sunken eyes, a gaunt complexion, a pelt that seemed stretched over her bones, blood-red irises and slits for pupils: she was demonic in almost every sense of the word.

Also, she was tall; a good two feet taller than himself and even that Spike fellow, if Ebony had to compare the two of them. That, and she wore no clothes; then again, her appearance was closer to that of some demonically-possessed mummy from the depths of Tartarus, so clothes weren’t really big on a priority list for her, obviously. Plus, she didn’t have any real discernible body features, so it wasn’t embarrassing to look at her or anything.

“Maybe,” the mercenary replied as he took his sword from his belt. “What brings you into my... to home at this time of the night? Surely you aren’t lonely and looking for some company? Here I thought you liked being alone in a safe haven such as this.”

“I come with grave news, news from my liege, and from yours,” Bakhtak said, glistening fangs protruding from her lips every time she opened her mouth. “The sickness plaguing the land is a thing she cannot ignore, so she is proclaiming all take precaution. Do not travel at night, and if you do, never by yourself; do not leave your windows open or doors unlocked when you sleep, and along with that, always be sure of whom you are speaking with.”

“Anything else? Hang cloves of garlic on my windowsill? Carry a crossbow with silver-tipped bolts? Have a torch and pitchfork on standby? Stand inside a circle drawn in the dirt?”

“That was all Lady Fyrefly told me to say,” Bakhtak said with a small smirk; she’d always liked Ebony’s sarcasm, even if to others it might seem caustic. “That, and that to keep an eye on your guests; make sure they don’t cause trouble or leave the house without an escort. If word got out that they were here, some might think they were the cause behind all of this. If one was discovered and then became sick, then most would believe, and the trouble would only grow from there.”

How did the Lady know about his guests? It’s not like they ever talked anymore, not since they had gone their separate ways when they were younger. Time and society really did erase friendships, or at least, complicated them to no end. “It would seem that Lady Fyrefly knows of things she shouldn’t have,” the mercenary said. “I wonder who could have told her of my guests?”

“It was I who told her, before I came here,” the Nightmare bluntly stated. “It is one of my duties to inform her of new arrivals, especially those who have not sent her a message of their intentions.”

There was a pause. “It was none of her business,” Ebony replied softly.

“Everything that happens in her duchy is her business, as is much beyond its borders,” Bakhtak said. “It may have been you who granted me a place to live, something I am eternally grateful for, but it was your liege, Lady Fyrefly, that granted me pay, a service, and the right to be a citizen of her lands. Remember what I told you and the Lady of my earlier travels?”

“A fleeting phantom, never staying in one place for long; a shadow amongst the living, feared on sight and cursed by those with whom you fell out of favor?” Ebony asked. Neither he nor Lady Fyrefly had been keen at first to listen, but the Nightmare was nothing if not persistent. “Yes, Bakhtak, I remember just fine; you were a ghost to this world, as is the rest of your kind. You just happened along after one of my many campaigns and decided to tag along.”

“Then you know how loyal I am to you both; the Lady and you gave me a home, a place to stay, something I never had before. Do not ask me to proclaim my loyalty to either her or you, Ebony Blade. You know as well as I do that such a decision is far more difficult to make than even I am willing to attempt, and I do not wish to strain what little is left of your friendship with her.” There she was, playing her loyalty of him against her loyalty of Lady Fyrefly and the friendships they once shared. The mare sure knew how to make any argument seem futile and even childish.

“Then why would she need to tell me on how to live my life? Last I recall, I only live here from time to time, with much of my life now being employed outside of her borders,” the batpony said.

“You were born here and are a citizen of her lands, as you are a citizen of the High Lords above her. Renouncing that citizenship would bring great dishonor upon yourself and all your relatives, Ebony, no matter how distant they may be from you, in either miles or generations. She is also concerned for you, Ebony; she may not say it, but she wants to know what one of her former captains is up to from time to time.”

Damn, she had him there. Honor was one of the few things left in his life he cherished, as it was the reason he lead the life he did. If he had no honor, then he had nothing left, no reason to uphold the memory of the family that was taken from him and to make something of himself. Without his honor driving him to be the best and most reliable in his profession, he’d be... nothing. No, he’d be less than nothing.

“Why are you always so good at winning these arguments?” he asked with a sigh, his pride feeling a tad bruised as it always did when he dealt with this strange creature.

“Because I have more experience than you do,” she replied, glancing at the bed with a bored expression, as if it were nothing more to her than a simple collection of blankets.

“Ah, right, that; just how old are you now?”

“Please, you mustn’t ask a lady her age,” the Nightmare said with a rather short laugh, almost like the bark of a wolf mixed with the grumbling of a bear awaken too early from its winter sleep.

“Humor me.”

“Biologically, you might say I am about the same age as you, Ebony Blade: forty or so years. Chronologically, I am well over ten times that.”

“So... you’re over four hundred years old,” he said with a deadpan expression. “Even for a Nightmare, you look good for your age.” It wasn’t a compliment; merely a statement. He could only try not to imagine a very old Nightmare, its appearance likely being too terrible to imagine.

“Thank you, Ebony. However, it is not like you might think, for I am not immortal; I am merely somewhat ageless, though eventually I will pass away, in time, as we all do,” she said in reply. “It is late, and I grow tired. Do you mind if I stay in here for tonight?”

“I don’t know, sharing my house, let alone my room, with a carnivore seems pretty suspicious, or even dangerous,” Ebony said. Just what was she getting at? “Afraid of sleeping out in the garden shed like you always do when I’m home?”

“I moved my pillows into here last time, and... I would prefer not to tonight,” Bakhtak said. “This land... I feel something in it, some sickness I cannot describe. It has not been here since I arrived nearly ten years ago, though from what I have heard, it was before that. Whatever it is, it makes me feel uneasy, and so I wish to remove myself from its presence. Please, might I stay here, at least for a while? You won’t even know I was here.”

Ebony sighed; either she was being really cryptic, or she was afraid of catching whatever disease was going around (or at least, he still thought that was what it was), and it wouldn’t exactly hurt...

“Okay, you can stay, but on two conditions,” he said, holding up his fingers. “Number one, don’t bite anyone in here, or even think about eating them, including me. I don’t taste good.”

“Ebony, you know as well as I do I’ve never killed and eaten anypony, or anyone for that matter, in my life,” she replied. “I mean, I’ve never liked the taste of the battlefield dead anyway, so I’m a strictly non-sapient carnivore.” She was why many ponies ran such large herds of cattle, sheep and goats; there were always animals dying in winter, and larger herds survived better overall if the winter turned nasty, as much smaller herds were more easily wiped out by cold or predators. After getting sick of his “maid” smelling like blood and entrails all the time, even after she washed, Ebony had managed to arrange for the corpses of deceased livestock that were unsalvageable to be dumped far outside of town, deep in the secluded forests, so as to avoid attracting scavengers too close to local homes. Many wolves and even some younger bears dared not approach the corpses and try to dine alongside her until Bakhtak had had her fill on those cold nights, or else they too could wind up on the menu, either for her or for other scavengers. Only the largest of bears and wildest of wolf packs were wise enough to let her mostly eat her fill before they joined her. Strangely, foxes held no fear of her, and she left them alone because of it.

Luckily, she had a somewhat slower metabolism, and thus needed to eat far less often than the other carnivorous beasts of the world. She could still eat a helluva lot of food, though her figure never seemed to distort from the sheer amount of flesh she could consume in one sitting; no swollen-looking belly or anything.

“I wasn’t finished, but thank you for reminding me of your stories of feasting on battlefield corpses for centuries,” Ebony said with a fake gagging noise punctuating the end of his sentence. “Number two; don’t let any of my guests see you unless I introduce you. The last thing I need is for them to doubt me or my work if they find I’ve been letting a carnivore stay here. Like you said, three of those mares are pregnant, so no scaring them or else.”

“Okay, okay, I’ll stay hidden,” Bakhtak muttered, having heard this “stay hidden” rule for as long as she had been living here. Seriously, nopony outside of Ebony, Lady Fyrefly and one or two more knew she lived in these lands. She knew how to hide; how to be stealthy was ingrained into her since birth, as it was the norm for her kind.

“By the way, where’s Huma?” he asked. The phoenix that usually followed Bakhtak around like a lovesick puppy was nowhere to be seen.

“She’s up in Castle Enstein, in the company Fyrefly; she was in no mood to try and fly, not with weather like this on its way,” the Nightmare replied as a rumble of thunder added validity to her statement.

“Oh, right. Anyways, number three; make sure you don’t freak them out if and when I do introduce you to them,” the batpony said. “We’ll talk to them about your carnivorous nature when we get to it, okay?”

She blinked a few times in confusion. “Wait, you said there were two rules; that was a third one.”

“I added that one as an afterthought,” Ebony said. “I don’t need that dragon going full-blown psycho and trying to kill you if you appear to threaten his family. I’d like my house and myself to remain intact, please.”

“Fine, fine, I won’t freak anypony out. I’ll be a good little Nightmare and keep to myself in the cellar or something when they are awake,” Bakhtak said as she walked over to and curled up on her large throw pillow, situated on the floor in the corner of the room. “Goodnight, Ebony.”

He’d never understand why she preferred large pillows to beds, but he wasn’t going to argue over it by any means. She was a bit too tall to sleep in any of the beds he had, anyway. “Goodnight Bakhtak,” he replied. The sounds of her slow breathing signified she had already fallen asleep, and likely hadn’t heard him. “Figures,” he muttered as he too closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep, even as the rain outside pelted the roof with a dull roar.

High above the sleeping town and cottage, in Castle Enstein, several guards followed their captain along a wide stone walkway. Their uniforms were soaked, the rain having drenched them to the bone through layers of steel and wool. One of the younger guards shivered, his body not quite used to the more unusual tasks his liege had delegated him to do. The guard next to him patted him on the back and gave him an encouraging nod as they entered a pair of great wooden doors, huge bolts locking into place as they were closed behind them.

“Sir, do you think we are done for the night? Surely the Lady would not send us out in this storm,” one of the guards said as some removed their helmets and slicked back their manes. Luckily for them, inside the castle it was decently warm, though only around the torches and large fire pits the Duchess had going on nights like this. They were all lucky they had only been caught out in the storm a short distance from the castle. Too far, and they would have needed to seek shelter elsewhere for the night.

“We are done when she says we are done,” the captain replied, an older stallion with a scar running along his lower jaw, courtesy of a long-deceased brigand. “For now, let us dry our wings.” With a nod of his head, one of the awaiting couriers scurried off to tell the duchess of their arrival.

“Ugh, I hate the rain,” the younger guard said as he stripped off the travelling cloak he wore. They all followed suit, and although the drying racks were few and far between, they hung them up where they could near any source of heat.

“We all do for some reason or another lad,” the captain said gruffly as he unfurled his own wings. “Rain is much like snow or sunshine; in moderation, it makes everything good, but too much or too little is very, very unfortunate. Just be grateful you get that cloak over your armor; in my father’s time, they were given only armor, and those leak heat like cracked buckets leak water.”

“Why do you suppose we are going out on these searches anyway? This illness that keeps popping up all over the place is just a natural thing, right?” one of the other guards asked as he squeezed water out of his long, flowing mane. How he managed to find the time to comb and shove that inside his helmet, the captain didn’t know.

“Probably, but you never know,” another said, removing his sword from his belt and trying to dry it off to prevent rust from forming. “I’ve heard those Marengolians will fling diseased corpses over defending walls to bring plague to cities and thus win faster. Who is to say the Ottomares haven’t learned a thing or two from them? It could be some young general or noble with more ambition than common sense trying to stir up trouble out here.”

“Doubtful,” another guard replied, older than most of the others and near the same age as the captain. “Ottomares haven’t invaded these lands in a long time, lads, and even if there was some young fool of a Turk out there, there’s no way he’d be able to hide any sizable force in these lands, even with the aid of magic. Besides, we should be thankful whatever this disease is, it hasn’t claimed any lives. Probably just some nasty cold going around that takes a while to make itself apparent. Just be thankful it isn’t that bubonic stuff.”

Most of the guards nodded in agreement with that, remaining silent as they stared into the flames. The worst plague in the history of their nation hadn’t passed through their part of Europe for a very long time, but it was always out there, somewhere, and it always, always spread like wildfire when it erupted.

After a few minutes, and with their wings nearly dry, several removed their gauntlets and began performing routine weapons inspections. Very soon after that, the courier returned.

“Sir, the Lady will be expecting you in the throne room,” the courier said quickly.

The captain nodded. “All of you, make sure you don’t get too comfortable. We may need to be out in that storm on a moment’s notice, and I don’t want anypony slacking off while I’m gone, understand?”

“Yes sir,” the guards said, and rather cheerlessly at that. Their spirits were normally high, even in weather like this, but the weather combined with all the patrols they and other guards had undertaken for the past few weeks... it was taking its toll on all of them.

“Until then, dry off,” the captain said, retrieving his still-soaking cloak and wrapping himself up in it, the cold wetness driving away the little warmth and dryness he had gained. “Courier, did the Lady say anything else?”

“Only that you were to come to her with at least some haste,” was the reply he received.

Ignoring the chill in his bones and the ache in his wings, the captain purposefully strode down the halls, past tapestries, statues and paintings. Many depicted the history of the castle and its inhabitants; a painting of the small town of Old Wingda, long before the castle itself was fully built and the city was razed by the Ottomares many years ago. The large oil painting of the former duke and duchess, and their two daughters: a tapestry depicting the royal line of the High Lords of the land, along with their many inter-family marriages and subsequent descendants. There was also a statue of the first lord of Enstein Castle, his name all but forgotten in the deep past. However, his legacy continued to live on and grow, as it was his descendant that still ruled in the castle, and perhaps, in time, hers would as well, should she ever marry again.

Just as the captain’s father and grandfather before him had served the noble family, he would do so, as (hopefully) would his children and their children. Such loyalty was always rewarded; several of his ancestors, including his father and great grandfather, had been given high seats of power within the ruling lord’s court.

That was why, when he turned the corner and approached the throne room’s doors, the royal guards standing watch in front of the large doors did nothing to oppose him other than a mandatory inspection for hidden weapons. So many of them were beyond loyal to the duchess, and some, like himself, were even more so. They had grown up under the rule of her father and, when he passed away, had unerringly sworn fealty to her. He himself was content with being a trusted captain of the guard, having passed on several prestigious promotions, and several of his sons were on the right track to being the next generation of the duchesses’ guards. In time, during a visit, the guards stopping him could be his own sons. The thought made him swell with pride.

Entering the room, he found the war table once again in the center of the room, the finished wood shining in the light of many torches and candles. It had been so long since he had last seen it, and for a martial pony, he preferred it to not be in use, as it meant trouble, and he did not like trouble. Only one other figure stood in the room, bent over the table instead of upon the throne she had inherited years before.

“My Lady Fyrefly,” the captain said, dropping to one knee in respect, even though the cartilage in his knee somewhat protested the sudden movement. The phonix high above him, lazily perched on an old chandelier, looked down upon him with disinterest. “I wish to speak with you.”

“Proceed, Captain Chiro,” the lady said, looking up from her map with a small frown, as if she had asked it to reveal its secrets to her and had politely refused. She was a striking bat pony, even by their own standards. She possessed a pelt as white as freshly fallen snow, a pair of green eyes sharper than a dagger’s edge, lips redder than a rose in full bloom, and a pair of wings that seemed to be woven silk stretched across steel poles. The duchess was tall, taller than the captain, who was no shrimp himself, and while she did nothing to flaunt it as others might, she possessed a body that could have driven lesser mortals to their knees. However, one might have never guessed her figure, as she wore a set of armor that looked as though it were forged by ancient gods and sealed in a desolate tomb for centuries. It was not smooth and circular as the armors of the day were for her guards, or for the lords of other realms. It was far more jagged, threatening, with layer upon layer of steel woven under thick silk robes and fur-trimmed velvet. It was the armor fit for a warrior queen, and though Lady Fyrefly did not hold the title of queen, she was nonetheless a warrior through and through. Her skills with a sword, and those of her family, were legendary even to the Ottomares to the south, and for years the Tsars to the north had sent their sons to her family in hopes to learn from them.

Perhaps that was why, even after serving by her sides for years and years, the captain could not suppress a shiver when she looked into his eyes, her gaze as fierce and determined as that of a snarling tiger. Her will, and law, was iron, and she suffered no fools for very long. She was not tyrannical nor cruel, but very practical in her rule, and for that, she was respected; feared slightly, yes, but no more than any other ruler was. “My Lady, the storm is still growing in size, though thankfully not in intensity. The worst should be over within a day, though it will rain intermittently for several more. I feel that messages should be sent out to the more rural areas, warning of the dangers of streams and rivers swollen from this rain.”

“You did not come just to give me a weather forecast, did you, Captain Chiro?” the duchess asked, arching an eyebrow as she slowly walked along the war table, the map of her territory spread out over the entire surface. It was barely a question; more of a statement, really.

“No, my lady, I did not,” he replied. “I just wanted to ask if we are indeed going to continue the search in the midst of this storm. My soldiers are tired but will not hesitate to continue the search. We will search all night if we have to.”

The duchess was silent for a few moments, her ears twitching at far-off noises. “No,” she said simply.

“No?” This answer surprised Chiro greatly, as he had been expecting for his liege to send him and other squads out into the storm within the hour. It was what he would have done, and he knew it was what Lady Fyrefly’s father would have done, given the circumstances they were currently experiencing.

“That is what I said, is it not? Tell your guards and the others that I am calling off the searches for tonight,” Fyrefly said. “They shall continue as soon as the rain lets up. For now, bid them goodnight. I shall be expecting to see you all in the morning for your new orders. There are portions of our lands that we have not searched as thoroughly, and-,”

“But... why? Why would you have us be so slothful when we should be vigilant? Is this problem not a grave threat to the entire realm?”

“Of course it is,” Fyrefly said coolly, not upset at being interrupted by one of her most loyal and competent captains, but not happy about it either. “You are not being slothful, captain; we are always vigilant, but we are also mortal, and must rest from time to time. Even I must rest, and to not do so would impede my abilities to lead govern these lands. This threat of which we have spoken of many times before is comparable to that of an Ottomare invasion, should it remain free and unimpeded for long enough. I will not, however, risk the lives of my finest officers and troops in the midst of such a tempest when the ability to track is nonexistent, even for the most experienced of soldiers. Besides, in this weather, none would dare be caught outside, even if not out of fear from the threat. I am confident there will be no attacks tonight, captain. Go, tell your troops to rest; they have earned it, as have you.”

“Thank you, my lady,” the captain said with another bow, making to leave the room. He shouldn’t have second-guessed her; it wasn’t like him to do that. Maybe he was just being a bit too forward with his ideas; he still needed to remember his place from time to time, even after all his years of service to the duchess’s family. Complacency could kill careers like his, and besides, he could almost hear his barracks bed calling his name...

Only, there was one more question he needed to ask. “My lady?” he asked over his shoulder.

“Yes captain?” she said, her sheathed sword tapping lightly against her hip as she took a few steps back towards the war table.

“And... and if she should... return? Return to the castle, and... surrender?” It was a false hope, the captain knew, but he had to know, if worst came to worst, or best, depending on how you looked at it...

“That need not concern you for the time being, captain. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, your highness.” With that, Captain Chiro left the duchess to her own devices, his figure disappearing as the great door closed behind him. The phoenix high above let out a soft cooing sound, as if letting the Lady know her visitor had left.

Lady Fyrefly sighed, her façade of fierceness dissipating as she glanced back at her war table. She had not needed to use it for ten years, ten peaceful, bountiful years, but now, after all this time... it- no, she was out there, wreaking havoc upon her citizens. A peace, a calm, shattered nearly a month ago, though the public had only known about it for only a few weeks. Her advisors had managed to keep a lid on the whole ordeal until it became too obvious to ignore, and ignore she never had. The duchess should have expected it, but she had hoped... hoped it could have been different this last time. Perhaps she could have found something else, something new and untested...

“No,” she muttered, pulling a small lever along the wall. With a scraping noise, a small doorway opened up in the stone, and with torches bursting into flame, she walked down the stone steps, deeper into the castle. Huma, high above still, let out a small squawk at the noise, but did not move from her perch. “No, Fyrefly, you have tried again and again. It’s been ten years; she’s not the pony you knew so long ago. She has changed for good, and if nothing can be done for her, then...”

The tall batpony didn’t want to believe it, but she had to; she just... had to accept it was all.

She choked back a small sob as she came into the room at the bottom of the stairs, steeling herself to not break down as she had when all this had begun again. Here, there was a steel door, hanging off one of its hinges, the interior of the room plain to see from the light of the torches. Normally moonlight would fill the room as well, but tonight, only water splashed against the great steel and glass window high above. Inside, there was a large cell, across from which many tables, bookshelves and glass beakers sat. Or least, that was how it had been for many years. Now, the tables were smashed, the bookshelves knocked over, the glass beakers in pieces all over the stone floor, and the steel door to the cell lying flat on the ground where it had been knocked off its hinges. The chains inside had been shattered as if made of glass, and the shackles attached to them had been ripped apart like paper. Books and scrolls lay where they had been scattered not too long ago, and in the air, there still lingered the faint smell of blood.

It was here where Lady Fyrefly had labored for years, with only a select few knowing, to find something nopony thought could have existed, absent even from myths and legends. It was here where she had devoted and given so much, and yet... it had all been for naught, it would seem.

“If... if she is as she will be forever, and... and if nothing can be done for her,” Lady Fyrefly continued, turning and leaving the room as if its presence would destroy her composure, “then something will have to be done, for the sake of all; something... permanent.”

High above, a loud crash of thunder sounded in the dark, and soon after, heavier and heavier rain began to fall over the land. What not too long ago had started as drips became a heavy mist, then a shower, and then, following another booming clap, transformed into an absolute downpour. If it were possible, the outside world was thrown into an even darker gloom, the only light cast from the lightning that punctuated the darkness every now and then.

In the upper story of the cottage, the four mares had managed to get Spike into one of the beds and, after very little debate, decided that the best option would be to have Maria and Trixie teleport two of the beds out of the other rooms and into the same room, with Chrysalis handling the fifth bed for Eutropia. Sure, it was somewhat cramped, but with all the beds now pushed together, all five were more or less comfortably laying where they wanted to be.

Spike and his wives on one side of the room, Eutropia nearby but still by herself in her own bed; just how she liked it. In a foreign house so far from home, she really didn’t feel like she wanted to be by herself at the moment, but that didn’t mean she was up for sharing a bed. She more or less got along with the four mares, so sleeping in the same room hadn’t been that big of an issue.

If only they’d stop talking and try and go to sleep.

“How long do you think it’ll be before he wakes up?” Asalah asked softly as she snuggled close to Spike, gently rubbing her fingers along his jawline. Slowly, regularly, her husband breathed in and out, never changing as he lay there in a sleep deeper than any they had known. It was almost like a coma to them, and because of that, they fretted over him constantly.

“Could be a few hours, could be a few days,” Chrysalis said softly as she and Maria cuddled with Trixie. Asalah had been the one to suggest they push the beds together, but with the room’s temperature dropping sharply as the cold rain splashed against the windows, the need to cuddle under the blankets had truly become a necessity. “We just don’t know. All we can do is hope he gets better soon.”

“Exactly,” Maria muttered as she gently stroked Trixie’s cheek. The blue mare had already fallen asleep, having consumed more than a good portion of the food they had grabbed before retreating to the room. The three of them, Maria, Chrysalis and Trixie, were all getting hungrier more often, more so than they would have liked to admit. Maria knew from talks with her mother that the “eating for two” spiel wasn’t true, but the fact remained that they were going through much more than most pregnant mares might find themselves doing. Hence why they were eating so much more than they would have thought they would; thankfully the cravings by now were few and far between, though right now Maria could have gone for some cheese-covered truffles on rye bread...

“Won’t he be hungry? He hasn’t eaten since we left him in his cell, or at least, since we were reunited with him,” Asalah said as she laid her head on Spike’s chest. Deep within him, underneath muscle and scale, she could hear, and feel, the beating of his heart; slow, methodical, deep and strong.

“I’m sure he’ll be hungry,” Maria said softly. “Ebony Blade might need to restock his pantry after we leave... or the whole house.”

The three mares giggled at that, the atmosphere lightening a little as they finished settling into their beds. Soon enough, after a few more minutes of idle chitchat, their breathing deepened, and they too were asleep.

“Finally,” Eutropia muttered as she removed the pillow from atop her head and laid down upon it. “Don’t they know others are trying to get some sleep in here? You’d think with how much they talk that their husband would wake up from it.”

Seriously, all they did was talk about their husband, fawn over him, and treat him like the greatest thing in the world. Surely that wasn’t like what life was like in a polygamous marriage, right? Eutropia would have thought that being one of four wives would mean there would be some intra-familial rivalry between them. Who was Spike’s favorite? Who was better at cooking, or cleaning, or using magic? Who was the smartest, the strongest, the prettiest, or the best at se-

“No, no, don’t think about that stuff,” the griffon muttered. She didn’t like the thought of sex as much as some might. To her, it seemed... it just seemed weird, okay? Putting his... whatever into her... whatever... it just seemed so out of place and unnatural, especially if he was married to others. That, and she was just so self-conscious about her looks that the thought of actual, honest-to-goodness sex absolutely terrified her. She’d gotten more than a good look at these mares when they stripped off some of their robes before going to bed: all were gifted somewhere or another. The griffon glanced down at her own chest under the covers. “They’re all bigger than these mosquito bites,” she muttered as she folded an arm across her breasts, almost as if shielding them from view. “Even that Trixie, and she’s the smallest of the four. Is that what males want? Large breasts, trim waists and big hips? Mother’s weren’t much larger than my own, but they still were: do they get bigger during or after a pregnancy?”

Her mother had neglected to tell her anything about sex, seeing as how she wasn’t going to be having any “on her watch”, as she had put it. Eutropia had never even had a “boyfriend”, as it was, while all the other girls had handsome young stallions or griffins pursuing them all the time. She had been the third wheel, the loner, the outsider, amongst her peers, if only in the terms of relationships. There had been that one cute griffin guy who had taken a liking to her, but as soon as her mother found out, he was off to basic training in the military within days. Sometimes having a mother with such good connections in the military really sucked. She still hadn’t seen him since; either he was off on his own thing, or he was avoiding her, if only to protect himself from Myrrina’s overly-protective “no-touch” mindset.

That being said, Eutropia was afraid; actually afraid at the prospect of sex, of mating, of finding love, settling down and raising a family. She was so young, so afraid of the new world she was being thrust into, that having sex was the furthest thing from her mind. Back in Istanbul, before all of this had happened, she had given it thought, but always come to the same conclusion; sex was something females shouldn’t, or at least, mostly, didn’t enjoy. It was hard to think of sex as enjoyable when everypony or griffin she had heard talk about it had said something about “the first time was painful” or “he was so rough last night” and so on. Sex wasn’t supposed to be a competition or some weird ritual to make you feel better, she had told herself; it was about procreation, or at least, that was what she thought.

In her head, sex was something for males to love, while for females, it was just another chore, something for their male to expect from them whenever they wanted it. Eutropia was not one to be dominated, to be intimidated into doing something she didn’t want. She had gone with them because her mother had told her to do so.

That did not make her weak. She was a Spartan, a griffon, a creature born to fight, born to win, and born to dominate. She would not be some male’s plaything; she would rule the roost.

“That was a terrible pun,” she muttered, closing her eyes as thoughts of running a household and demanding her slovenly, faceless husband do everything filled her mind. As she slipped off into dreamland, the rain continued to pour down in torrential sheets against the window, with the only light from the distant lightning casting shadows across the landscape.

Had Eutropia glanced at the window, she would have seen a pair of glowing green eyes in the darkness, their gaze drifting from one sleeping form to the other before a flash of lightning revealed their owner. A ghostly pale pelt, glistening fangs, an untamed mane and a mouth opened unnaturally wide in glee as it stared into the house, its tongue tasting the air, drooling, waiting, wanting...

As another flash of lightning sent the world of darkness away for another brief moment, the light revealed again... nothing.

It... was gone.

Author's Notes:

Well... this is getting interesting. Most interesting indeed. Also, many thanks to Drone of War for letting me use their character Bakhtak, whose backstory will be further expanded upon later. Remember, none outside of Equestria truly know anything about Nightmare Moon, so they would not associate the two just yet.

Like I said, all will be explained... eventually.