The path below did in fact lead to the canyon floor, its winding road becoming ever more obscure as the fog grew thicker. By the time that it began to widen out near the bottom, Silver Cross could barely see for three feet in any direction. The sharp blades of the two ponies to either side of him poked and prodded as they moved, both of them wary of any false moves.
Not much of a problem, huh? Derpy commented. What're we gonna do now?
Stay calm, for the moment, Cross replied before turning to the stone-faced Feather. "Y'know, it puzzles me, dear comrade. How on earth can you stomach the thought of teaming up with this miserable blighter?"
Fink pressed his dagger against Cross's neck. "I thought I told you to keep that gob shut."
"Take it easy, Fink," said Feather. "He's no more threat to you."
"I'll take it any way I darn well please," Fink shot back with a wave of his rapier. "We're partners in this, 'member? Equal cuts."
Cross ignored Fink and kept his gaze on Feather. "So, it all comes down to a matter of bits then?"
"A matter of preference, actually," answered Feather, her hair ornaments tossing about as she walked. "I'm done risking my life on the words of dead ponies. Besides, this way we both get what we want. I get enough supplies to make it back to civilization while you get to travel further south with these fine chaps." She gestured ahead.
The three ponies had reached the canyon floor, and the vague outline of slavers' encampment could be seen at the base of the cliff. Even with the limited sight distance, Cross could tell that the flora here was much thicker and more lush than in the forest above. He also spied a faint blue glow coming from thickets of unearthly flowers nearby.
"Oh, fantastic," Cross quipped. "I get to go on a field trip with bunglers who make camp in the middle of Poison Joke gardens."
"They don't got much choice; stuff grows everywhere down here," Fink growled, smiling wickedly. "Watch yer step. Wouldn't want anythin' bad to happen to ye."
A rust-colored pegasus strode forth from the encampment, tipping his wide-brimmed hat to the party. "I don't believe it," he declared. "How did your mangy hide actually manage to deliver where this whole mess of hooligans failed?"
"All in the skill, Mr. Bound," Fink crooned as he brought Cross to a halt. "'Tis all in the skill."
Iron Bound stopped suddenly. "Why haven't you trussed up that unicorn wench?"
"Because I'm the 'skill' he's referring to," Feather answered, cutting off Fink's reply. "We've agreed to equal shares of the bounty, although I'd like to substitute half the bits on my end for five days' water and hardtack."
Iron Bound looked her in the eye for a moment, then responded, "Well, 'never let a bit of bad blood sour a good deal' I always say." He made a sharp clicking sound with his teeth. A stallion rose from a nearby cooking fire. "Fetch me 75 bits and five days' trail rations." The stallion dashed off into the mist. Iron Bound walked right up to Silver Cross. "You had a good laugh at my expense yesterday," he seethed. "But I suppose that the joke's on you after all."
"Not sure I get it if that's the case," Cross retorted, a defiant smile on his lips. "Is the funny part where this piece of pond scum somehow outdid you and your whole crew?"
CRACK!
Iron Bound's full-hoofed haymaker smashed into Cross's face and sent him sprawling on the ground. "No," he vented, his voice full of unrestrained anger. "The funny part is where you get the will to live beaten out of you and I sell your soulless husk to the Diamond Dogs as a chew toy." He turned toward the encampment. "Halfnose, Hope Dasher!" A pair of tough-looking stallions approached wordlessly. "Get this flankface on the shackle line."
The muscular henchmen hauled Cross's half-conscious form from the forest loam and roughly dragged him toward the main encampment, passing a stallion carrying the bounty in a pair of haversacks on the way. They dropped him back to the ground next to the yellow earth pony mare he'd seen earlier and began to tighten a pair of iron shackles around his joints.
Okay, Derpy commented. Do we panic now?
The voice brought Cross back from the inky blackness. He swiveled his eyes back to where he'd stood just a few seconds before to witness a minor disagreement unfold.
"One condition," Iron Bound stated as he deliberately withheld Feather's portion of the bounty. "Supplies are worth more to us right now than money." He gestured to the object slung across her back. "I'll be taking his sword too."
Feather's gaze narrowed. It occurred to Cross that this was the most emotion that he'd seen from his traitorous partner all morning. Whatever she considered in that moment though, was quickly dismissed. She levitated the sword & scabbard, laying them to rest at Iron Bound's hooves. "May I leave now?" she asked discourteously. "I've got a lot of ground to cover."
Iron Bound relinquished the haversack to her possession. "I like your professionalism, Miss Unicorn. Perhaps one day we'll do business again."
"I doubt it," Feather stated coldly as she disappeared in a flash of pink light.
Both Fink and Iron Bound recoiled a bit as she did so. Iron Bound spat contemptuously. "Hornmongers. Never did have a taste for their kind."
Fink chuckled darkly as he retrieved his share of the bounty. "Can't argue with they handiwork though."
Another sound much closer to Cross summoned his attention. The earth pony mare shackled in line next to him was sobbing softly, clearly muting her voice so as not to anger the slavers. Her coat of brilliant yellow complemented her curly but well-kept mane's shade of auburn. She bore a Cutie Mark that resembled a pair of wheat tillers with floret spikes at the tips, and it shook along with the rest of her form as she tried to hide her sorrow from those who might beat her for it.
Seriously, Mister Cross! Derpy lamented. That's gonna be us if you don't do something!
"What's your name, lass?" Cross half-coughed around the swelling of his left cheek.
The earth pony mare looked up at him for the first time. When she spoke, her high-pitched voice sounded much younger than her appearance had let on. "What does it matter now?"
"They've taken your freedom," Cross admonished. "They can't take your name; 'tis yours to give."
The mare studied his bruised face with tearful eyes. "Golden Harvest," she whispered.
Cross smiled. "You have a beautiful name, Miss Harvest, but you should try having a bit more faith." He closed his eyes. "That which is beautiful in this world does not suffer needlessly."
Golden Harvest looked away from him as if angered somewhat, but she did not return to sobbing.
You say that a lot, Derpy observed. Does having 'faith' really make a difference?
Certainly not on its own, Cross responded. But knowing in your heart that everything will turn out as it should clears away many stumbling blocks that we set before ourselves.
"What d'you mean yor not gonna kill 'im?" Fink shouted.
Cross turned his attention back to the bottom of the cliff, mildly surprised that Rat Fink had remained.
"Why did you assume that I would?" Iron Bound rebuffed. "I happen to be in the slave trade; I never waste a good set of working muscles."
What does this guy have against you anyway? asked Derpy.
He's got quite a few reasons to dislike me, Cross answered in mental monotone. It's just that most of them are his own bloody fault.
Fink stomped his front hooves. "I thought you was out fer revenge after he made fools outta you n' yor gang."
Iron Bound waved dismissively. "To my mind, a lifetime of slavery is far better vengeance than a quick execution." He stared dangerously at Rat Fink. "I think you'd best be on your way, friend. You've got what you wanted."
Fink's contorted expression made his dissatisfaction plainly apparent. He cast about as if in search of something as Iron Bound began to walk away. Before the rust-hued pegasus had gotten too far out of earshot, he found it. "You're not gonna want to keep him alive, Chief," Fink shouted with a hint of smugness. "He's a stinkin' Topian."
Iron Bound whirled about in an instant. "He's a WHAT?!"
What's a toh-pea-uhn? Derpy wondered.
Cross groaned. "That moron . . ."
Iron Bound marched right back to Fink's position. The green stallion's smugness faded from his face. Open-mouthed dread replaced it as Iron Bound grabbed him by his vest's collar and nearly lifted him bodily. The chief's voice dripped with anger. "You mean to tell me that you brought a bleeding TOPIAN into my camp and didn't think to tell me about it?!"
Fink's pupils had narrowed to pinpricks. "I- Um- I didn't think you'd try to . . . y'know . . ."
Iron Bound hauled Fink by his collar and flung the unlucky wretch through the air. Fink came to a harsh landing several feet away as the chief barked orders. "Halfnose, Hope Dasher! Put this piece of filth on the shackle line! Bring me the Topian!"
"WHAT?!" Fink screeched, all pretense at hiding his naturally high-pitched voice now gone. "You can't do that! We had a deal!"
"We did indeed," said Iron Bound. "One viable slave for 100 bits. Since the one that you brought me is no use, I'll have to take your sorry hide instead."
Rat Fink tried to fight back against the slavers, but a single strong punch to the jaw was all that it took to reduce him to a whimpering invalid. They stripped his gear and dragged him toward the next set of manacles on the iron chain. Cross felt his own shackles released for a moment only to feel a similar, portable pair lock tightly into place. The two goons dragged him roughly before their chief and forced him to kneel.
Iron Bound snorted angrily, but a hint of curiosity shone through in his voice. "So you're one of those rotten plague-carriers as well?"
Cross looked up at him with a half-grin. "Is that what you heard about my people?"
"'Tis all one needs to hear," Iron Bound responded, taking Cross's claymore off his own shoulders to examine it. "I never thought I'd see one for meself. Who knows? Maybe I still haven't." A dark scowl crossed his face. "Not that it matters; I won't take the risk of spreading pestilence this far from civilization proper." He handed the sword and scabbard to one of the two subordinates holding Cross down. "Hope Dasher, take this diseased filth ten minutes' march north to the clearing at the other end of the canyon. Snuff him out with his own pigsticker and burn the corpse."
Hope Dasher received the sword with reverence. "It'd be mah pleasure, Chief."
LL
