One

Cygil kept a few paces behind as he followed the messenger, eyeing him closely. They walked on, their footsteps echoing in the large, vaulted halls. King Zygar certainly spared no expense; the marble floors and polished stone pillars, the tapestries of sundry colours hanging from the walls.

They came to a circular room and bore left, down a narrower and lower, but just as extravagant hallway, a dark green carpet laid along the path. To the right were several mullioned windows, spaced evenly and casting the last rays of sunlight across the floor. Up ahead, on their left, was a door that was surprisingly unadorned, contrasting with the rest of the décor.

The messenger rapped thrice on the door, and after a moment, a voice bade them to enter. Cygil stepped in first, the messenger following and shutting the door behind them. Cygil glanced obliquely at the faceless messenger behind, then said, "I hope you haven't brought me here to be executed."

Diodamir was sitting behind a squat desk made of unpolished oak, a lone candle illuminating the scene as he scribbled away on a yellowing swatch of parchment. The marshall was a middle-aged gargoyle, his physique lissome – and though he possessed a thinning mane, and the corners of his eyes wore the raven claws from years of suspicious squinting, his eyes were still as bright blue and perspicacious as they had always been. He looked up at Cygil, wearing a stolid expression. "Sit down."

Cygil winced and did as he was told, the marshall returning to his work as if Cygil didn't exist. After a few minutes, having grown restive, Cygil asked, "What's that?"

The marshall's quill stopped, and he gave a long, drawn out sigh. He then said, "It's an address."

"That's a long address," came Cygil's facetious reply.

Diodamir grunted and looked at him. "For the citizens of Brennic."

"Brennic?"

"Yes, Brennic," he said curtly. "There's been a massacre there, and at the king's behest, I'm authoring condolences and other trivialities like that."

Cygil looked surprised. "A massacre?"

The marshall groaned, pinching his brow. "I wasn't aware I had sent for a parrot."

"My apologies." Cygil bowed his head. "But I'm not sure I fully understand. I was at Brennic no more than three days ago."

Diodamir nodded, reaching under his desk. "It happened last night while you were away on your scouting mission." He pulled out a bottle of deep, red wine and placed it on the table, then pulled out two silver goblets and put them next to it. "Speaking of that, did you find aught of use?"

"A Fweilan encampment, not very large," he replied as Diodamir extirpated the cork and began to pour some of the blood-red liquid into his own cup. "They're all dead now, except for one who we took in for interrogation."

The marshall finished pouring and brought the cup to his lips, throwing it back. After draining the entire thing, he shakily poured himself another, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Good..." He motioned to the other cup. "Will you join me?"

"I...suppose I could. What kind is it?"

"Young red wine, imported all the way from Hamylton." He poured Cygil a cup, then slid it over to him.

"I'm not sure I know that place," he said as he took a sip. "But it is good wine."

Diodamir waved his hand. "A city on the other side of the ocean."

"Ah. Part of Cerusia, then?"

He nodded, draining his goblet again. "Hamylton is a riverside town not far from the Emerald Sea."

Cygil took another sip, then placed his cup back on the table. "I see." Then, after a pause, "So, this massacre...how exactly did it happen? When we left, there was still a decent garrison there."

Diodamir sighed, gazing down at the address he had been writing. "You know how the Fweilan work; swift and surreptitious. They crept in in the middle of the night and silently barred the doors to the barracks, then set fire to the place. As it burned, they went about plundering the rest of the houses and whatever was in them."

Cygil winced. "Where were the sentries during all of this?"

"Dispatched before anyone knew what was going on."

He nodded, then gazed at the floor for a while, his mind turning. A thought occurred to him, then. "How do you know it was the Fweilan?"

Diodamir's eyes snapped up. "I beg your pardon?"

Cygil drew back slightly underneath the marshall's gaze. "I, uh...I asked how we know the Fweilan did this?" He began to speak quickly. "There are innumerable marauding bands, and the Fweilan, even though we are officially at war with them, have made no incursions this far south for the past year."

Diodamir held up a hand, his gaze softening. "The rider that reported the incident said he saw the red wolf on their tunics."

"Ah..."

"I'll be riding out first thing on the morrow with a contingent to deliver the address, as well as to help bury the dead."

Cygil nodded slowly. "All right. Is that why you called me here?"

The marshall shook his head. "I have something else I need to discuss with you, but I'd prefer it if we could take a walk."

They went down a passageway, then into another with a loggia along the eastern wall, looking out onto the brume-shrouded hills and rivulets. The marshall's envoy had, at the aforementioned personage's behest, accompanied them all the way there – remaining taciturn the entire time, but leaving Cygil more than a whit disgruntled by his presence.

Coming out onto an open balcony, Diodamir stepped up to the parapet and rested his hands upon it. "Zygar is growing restive," he said, gazing at the vista before them. "And while the fighting has only been sporadic, the fact of the matter is that this has been going on for too long, and at too high a cost. The king's coffers are broad, but finite. If this attack on Brennic proves anything, it's that the Fweilan are testing us."

"I see."

"And now there have been reports of long-ships and knarrs along the northern coasts, landing at several burghs, offloading provisions and footmen. Zygar believes them to be mounting a full-scale attack, and while these tidings are not too unusual, I'm not of much a mind to dissent with his majesty – so I have a proposition for you."

Cygil's ears perked up. "I'm listening."

"Your recent scouting forays have proven to be succesful, and verily Zygar is not blind to your efforts. Since you currently have nought to your name, the king would be willing to grant you an estate and an annuity of one-hundred thrysmas – provided your success, of course." Upon Cygil's enquiry, he continued: "Since Zygar believes an incursion to be imminent, and since our forces are so lacking, he is looking for something that will give us an edge over our opponents. Tell me, what do you know of Equestria?"

"Hm," Cygil said, scratching the back of his neck, "I cannot profess much knowledge on the subject. They lie to the east, right?"

Diodamir nodded.

"I also know that we've had limited dealings with them in the past, mostly in trade. And I know that my old friend Jas' deceased mother used to visit there." At this, the guard behind him shifted in his armor. "That's all."

The marshall nodded again, then said, "You may also be aware of the fact that some of the populace is proficient with the usage of magic – throughout the years, they have continued to repel invaders and those who would oppress them. A group of six ponies, purported to be the embodiments of artifacts known as the 'Elements of Harmony', have defeated several villains over the past half-decade: Nightmare Moon, Chrysalis, Discord, Tirek, to name a few."

"Those names mean nothing to me."

Diodamir waved a hand. "All you need to know is that they were beings of immense power. Do you see where I'm going with this?"

"I think so. Zygar wants us to entreat them for help?"

"Not quite," he replied, drumming his fingers on the stone. "You see, every pony born in Equestria possesses a certain level of magic. Now there have been fairly recent rumours of an artifact capable of removing that magic, bestowing upon its wielder all the powers of the dispossessed."

"Zygar wants to steal pony magic?" Cygil asked, half amused and half horrified at the prospect.

"If it comes to that. But before it does, he wants a pony, willing or not, to come to our isle and demonstrate what they are capable of. If they are fain to fight for our cause, then there are no issues. Otherwise, well, you are going to research rumours of this artifact, and perhaps even retrieve it."

So the puzzle pieces itself together. "Zygar wants me to risk a voyage over the big open sea, to go to a land I've never seen before, to kidnap ponies we don't even know, so that we can potentially steal some magic that does who knows what."

"More or less." He shrugged.

If he was less self-aware, he might have found himself gawking at the stupidity of the whole plan. "You don't think that'll give them cause to declare war on us?" he said, hoping he wasn't transgressing his station.

"Not if we're surreptitious about it. Perhaps one or two ponies, preferrably with no connections, could be taken quietly. We need to know what this magic is capable of, and if the Fweilans really areplanning an invasion, we will need that magic. Without it, we will suffer heavy casualties against the Fweilan horde. But if you are not comfortable with this request, we can always grant the rewards to another..."

"Ah," Cygil held up his hands. "I'll do it. I am just not sure of how."

Diodamir grinned, resting a hand on Cygil's shoulder. "I was hoping you would say that. As for how, I cannot offer any advice. So long as you do it quietly, we will leave the rest up to your discretion. There is one other thing..." The marshall turned to his envoy, then made a flicking motion with his hand.

The envoy reached up, then undid the clasps that held his helmet in place. He doffed his helm, and Cygil's eyes widened in recognition. "Jas," Cygil said, breathing a sigh of relief, "you son of a bitch."

He chuckled, slapping his old friend on the shoulder. "You never knew how to take a joke, Cygil."

"Some joke," came his reply. "I had thought for certain you were going to plunge a knife into me. How did I not recognise your voice?"

Jas smiled. "One of my few talents."

The marshal stepped up next to Cygil's friend. "Because he's been to Equestria several times already, Jas here will be acting as the principal navigator for this expedition. He'll also remain ashore as a contact. Write often, but prudently. If anyone is to infer your true purpose—" He levelled an inimical glare at Cygil "—there could be severe consequences – and not just for you. Do you understand?"

Cygil nodded, feeling suddenly light-headed. "I understand."

"Good. Your ship leaves first thing on the morrow."

Cygil walked alongside his friend as they strolled along the wharf, occasionally stopping to peruse a merchant's goods and make the odd purchase or two. Gulls circled overhead, their cries lambent on the sea-breeze that tousled his mane. He took a deep breath, enjoying the crisp, cool air of the harbour. Down below, the waves sloshed and lapped at the pier's wooden beams while the setting sun emblazoned colours of purple, pink, and orange across the sky.

"I can't help," Cygil began as they finished purchasing a few apples, "but feel like there are others better suited to this task than me."

"Like who?"

"Any of the king's dedicated spies, his suzerains, the spymaster himself...even you are more qualified than I."

Jas grinned, chuckling softly and earning a curious glance from his friend. "I am sorry, but you are a whit mistaken." When Cygil said nothing, he continued: "Everyone you have just mentioned are preoccupied with the fighting north of Adryssius' Wall or otherwise engaged in skirmishes in Cerusia."

"And you?"

"I am too reckless." He shrugged coyly.

Cygil raised an eyebrow. "I never thought you to be the reckless sort."

Jas stopped in his tracks and turned, looking Cygil dead in the eye. "Do you remember back when we were in primary?"

"Of course."

"And after getting caught cursing by my mum, special thanks to my father, I had to clean up horse shit for a month straight."

"Yes, I know. Every day you would spite her by throwing some of that shit out in the backyard despite the fact that you were the one that had to clean it up."

"See? That's reckless. I was continued to do something out of anger even though it was ultimately hurting myself."

"I see it less as being reckless and more as being a spiteful child."

Jas chuckled as they resumed walking. "True. All right, what about the last skirmish with the clans? I led a charge directly into a cluster of braced pikemen."

"That...may have been a little reckless." Cygil admitted with a smile.

"See? I'm reckless, and you're not." He elbowed Cygil on the arm. "Zygar wants someone that's reliable, someone that's prudent and can get a job done quietly. That'd be you."

"Yeah," he said, though he had his doubts. "I guess it is."

"Well, I'm starving. How about you and me get some food? There's a stand at the end of the pier that has incredible scallops."

Cygil shrugged, his stomach giving a light rumble. "Now that you mention it, I'm kind of hungry, myself. Let's go eat; I'll pay.

"No, I'll pay. You paid last time."

"How about we split it?" Jas replied with a grin.

Cygil smiled and shook his head. "Okay, fine."

After ordering, they sat by an old wooden table, the sun a copper disc that was slowly sinking beneath the waves. Many of the stars were already out, twinkling in the darkened sky. Jas was eating noisily as he shovelled scallops and bits of fish into his maw.

A few gargoyles were about on the pier, mooring ships and bustling up and down the gangplanks, carrying buckets of catch, crates of supplies, and personal belongings. Cygil watched them with slight disinterest. "Some day I'll be stepping off one of those ships," he said. "And if everything goes according to plan, I'll have company. Though I admit the idea makes me kind of sick."

"Better than getting killed at the hands of the Fweilan," Jas offered.

"Yeah, I guess." He sighed. "It just seems like such a shot in the dark."

"Most things are."

Cygil chuckled, glancing at his friend. I suppose he has a point there.

"Besides, it'll be an adventure; you get to see new lands—"

"Why hello," Cygil said with a laugh, "What a wonderful kingdom you have here. I hope you don't mind if I abduct a few of your citizens!"

Jas smirked. "You just stick to the plan, be clever about it; take a pony or two you know won't be missed, bring them back here. They demonstrate what they can do to Zygar, help us out, then they go home. Nice and simple."

"The marshall spoke of forcibly removing their magic. I'm not sure 'going home' is part of that process."

"Hm." Jas stuffed a shrimp into his mouth. "Perhaps."

Cygil leaned back in his chair, sighing to himself. He squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed his temples. "Still don't know why it has to be me. Any gargoyle could hit a pony over the head and drag them back here."

Jas leaned in with a smile, resting his arms on the table. "Yes, but it takes a special kind of gargoyle to know which pony to hit. Get the wrong one, and you risk all out war. Zygar and Diodamir believe that person is you, so I'm sure their faith is well placed."

"I suppose."

A couple piers over, a ship was lumbering into port, rocking back and forth steadily as the water churned against its hull. Some gargoyles cried out, and a rope with a large iron hook on the end was tossed on board. A gargoyle in tattered burlap shorts came forth, grabbed the rope, and fastened the hook onto the blackened rail. He gave it a quick tug, then satisfied, signalled for the others to drop anchor. Two gargoyles came forth with the large iron device, sweating and cursing as they heaved it up and over the railing. It fell several feet and splashed down into the water, spraying the dock and a few hapless bystanders. They then hauled a thick and wide plank of wood over to the edge and pushed it out until it was resting on the dock. A few men began unloading supplies, carrying barrels and baskets off the ship.

They finished their meal, watching as the sailors unloaded the ship's cargo and bandied with each-other. Feeling pensive, Jas said, "I cannot help but feel that if my parents were still alive, it would be one of them navigating this expedition instead of me."

Cygil looked down at the table. "Your father was a good sailor."

"A great sailor," Jas insisted, "and a burgeoning tradesman. We might have lived much more comfortably if he had not perished. I likely would not have had to enlist."

This was a subject Jas had spoken of before, back when they first met during Zygar's brief campaign against Cerusia and several times thenceforward. At the time, Cygil condoled with him and proclaimed that similar circumstances had brought him into the military. But at this moment, having discussed it so many times prior, he simply said, "I'm sorry."

"It's all right," Jas said. "It's not like it's your fault." He then glanced away, clenching his fists. "Just bad luck."

The next day they sat aboard the deck of the Maltonia, the ship that had arrived the night prior. Cygil groaned, trying to keep his mind off the rocking of the ship, the sweltering heat of the noon sun, and the fact that he wanted to vomit. Below deck it was dark and stuffy. Above deck there was seemingly no escape from the sun. There wasn't a cloud in the sky to grant respite, and it was so unusually bright that Cygil's eyes watered slightly. He was trying his best to focus on the card game Jas brought along: a game called Jasper they used to play in the army.

It wasn't going well.

In his hand he had two gold cards and a silver card; on the table there were five cards, none of which interested him. He grimaced and took two mules, slipping them underneath his glass of brandy so the wind wouldn't scatter them across the table. He replaced them from the top of the deck, revealing a cloth and a jasper. Cygil cursed as Jas snatched the latter, and after culling his anger, Cygil sighed to himself. You've been collecting those things for the past four rounds, so I know what's coming. Go on, just sell them.

"Right," Jas said, placing the cards into the discard pile and taking five jasper tokens, as well as a bonus token. "I'm going to sell five jaspers."

Cygil trembled, trying his hardest to focus on the cards and to ignore his sea-sickness. He went over the possibilities several times; he could sell his two gold, but it wasn't enough to catch up; Jas was ahead by twenty thrysmas. Cygil dropped them on the discard pile and took the requisite tokens. "I'm selling two gold," he said, getting to his feet. "Also, I'm going to throw up." He stumbled over to the railing and leaned over, his breath shaky and his knees buckling.

"I don't think that's a valid move," Jas said.

Cygil didn't bother to reply; he just looked down at the waves, deep and dark as they slowly glided by. After evacuating his stomach's contents over the gunwale, his friend stood up, laying his cards face down on the table. "We'll call it a draw, then?" Jas said.

Cygil shook his head. "You won – I'm going to go get some sleep."

He retreated to his cabin, which was nice and dark aside from the faint glow of a few lanterns. Cygil blew them out individually, then flopped down on top of the covers without bothering to undress. He closed his eyes and tried not to think about the task ahead of him.