King and I - 13

An oppressive silence rains over the crowd as the King walks to the stand, you and Warm hesitantly following him. Hushed whispers emerge from the crowd. the wooden gallows stand tall, allowing for enough ground clearance to show the area underneath, just in case anypony wants to watch the life be choked out of a hapless victim. Although some are already facing away, their faces etched with worry for the events about to unfold.

The mages remain hidden beneath hoods, something missing from your own robes; they scan over the crowds like hawks to prevent potential attacks, but also to keep a path open for the guests of honor to be walked to their death. Beyond that a contingent of guards surround the wooden stage in a circle, leaving an open space around it.

The King strides ahead without remorse or doubt, forcing you and Warm to scurry after him. A cold wind pierces your robe and stands your fur on end. You look out to the crowd and for the briefest moment spot the familiar façade of Silver Shield, who is quickly swallowed back into the shifting masses and away from your view.

You look ahead, Sombra and Warm already ascending the rickety wooden steps. You swallow your fear and follow them, the burning gaze of a thousand angry citizens boring into you. A cool drop of sweat slithers its way down your muzzle and onto the wooden floor. Silver Shield is nowhere to be found, the large numbers of ponies, of all colours and sizes makes finding him an impossible task.

His support would be really handy right now.

The King surveys the crowd with a disinterested stare, they flinch away and bow their heads meekly as he sweeps over them. He clears his throat, the rough sound traveling through the yard and promptly silencing the whispers. He smiles for the briefest moment. Horn alight he begins to address them.

“Greetings, citizens of the Crystal Empire. I come forth today, not only with a message for you all, but to show you the swift hoof of justice upon a traitor to our fold. A pony whose sole wish is to destroy our ways, and allow our Empire to be conquered by the tyrannical goddesses,” he spits with contempt. The crowd murmur for a moment, mulling over his accusations and what is soon to be done.

The doors open once again, a set of four guards emerging, flanking a frazzled looking green stallion. A dirty brown blindfold covers his eyes, and a set of heavy metal shackles chain all of his legs together to prevent an escape. His hooves clack heavily against the crystal covered ground. The chatter intensifies as he’d marched to the gallows.

“Spyglass,” You hiss under your breath.

“This traitor, this shell of a pony, wishes to leave us open to attack by imperial soldiers. His crimes are innumerable, assisting in the assault which killed several of my personal palace guards. However they were no simple soldiers; they had families and friends among you in the crowd. Their faces will never be seen by us again, buried under the weight of our earth.”

The crowd draws silent once again as Spyglass is forced up the steps, his hooves clumsily knocking against the next thanks to the blindfold.

“And so, it is with great sadness that I return his crimes onto himself. By the order of the Crystal crown, I hereby sentence this stallion to death… by hanging.” Your throat burns with a rising tide of bile, vile images of Spyglass’ lifeless face flash across your consciousness. Sombra steps back from the front, allowing the guards to position Spyglass beneath the frame.

The coarse rope is slipped around his neck. His chest heaves rapidly in panic as his hooves shuffle and shake. The guard pony pulls the noose tight, compressing his windpipe and pulling his head backwards. A burlap bag follows, cutting of his vision again.

The crowd is captivated by the display, death and suffering being the furthest thing from their minds normally. They don’t seem to be very outraged by the conviction, Sombra acting as judge and jury, you wonder if he’ll pull the lever too. You hope that one of them will cry out, to stop it before it’s too late.

But they remain silent; their lips stitched shut by the careful hoof of mages and pointed spears.

You look to Warm, who’s turned around to stop herself from looking. A small damp patch where she was standing shows her true feelings to the execution. Sombra takes no notice, or simply doesn’t care, his eyes locked firmly onto the quivering stallion. You doubt he really cares about the death of those stallions, he just wants an excuse to strike fear into his subjects.

One guard moves, slowly, with measured steps to the lever. You bite your lip to stop yourself from shouting out, you don’t want to cause a scene, but your friend’s life is on the line. He opens his maw wide, and leans over to grip the small handle between his teeth. You let out a whine of agony as he grips it gently, and moves to pull back.

Time seems to slow down for a moment, activity exploding across the yard. You look over to see a group of ponies struggling with the guards around you. A singular arrow bolt flying towards the skull of the executioner, the sound of crunching bone and splattering sinew as it pierces his head, sending a shower of blood across the ground.

The guards spring into action, moving to engage the assailants. A crossbow is discarded on the ground as one stallion flees and others block the way so the guards can’t arrest him. It looks like the assassin brought a lot of help. Sombra grunts and calmly walks back inside, ignoring the violence breaking out around him. Figures he’d run away. You find yourself too enthralled with everything to do the same.

The others surround a green unicorn, who smirks at their attempt to apprehend him. The familiar sound of charging magic is the only warning you have before a huge bolt of magic crashes through them and strikes the base of the stage. You barely have time to move as the stage collapses under your hooves in a blinding flash of blue magic before exploding outwards. You fly through the air for a few seconds.

The air forces itself out of your lungs as you hit the ground with a thud. You wheeze and clutch your throbbing midsection as the shouts of surprise and fear grow in volume and number. A scant few scream and flee from the area as the clashes grow more violent. The copper laden taste of blood in your mouth does nothing to ease your panic.

You force open your eyes to the sight of scattered wood, what’s left of the stage you were stood on, still alight with the blue flames that blew you across the crowd like a rag-doll. A crowd of ponies surround you, worry in their faces as they approach your unmoving body. They seem to notice your gaze and back away in shock.

You spit the blood onto the ground and sit up, your stomach throbbing in protest at the small movement. On shaky legs you stand and struggle, looking out into the much thinner crowd. You’re highly disorientated; blurry vision prevents you from seeing beyond a few feet in front of you. You shut your eyes and clutch your head, waiting for your eyes to stop watering. You peel them open again soon after find that your vision has thankfully cleared up.

Behind the concerned ponies you can see the chaos, unarmored stallions running into the guard ranks and pushing them back, the mages lost in confusion as they desperately attempt to keep the swarm of ponies away from them. The guards seem to be torn between harming them and pacifying them, falling back into a tighter circle to protect their own.

You look back to where the stage used to stand, a black scorch mark being all that’s left of the old structure. Bodies are scattered around, pools of blood gathering under them. That explosion must have killed some; it’s a miracle you survived yourself. With a gasp you shamble away, looking for Warm Welcome amid the riot. You hope dearly that she survived the blast.

You limp around the edge of the fight, making sure to keep out of sight of the angry ponies. The cloak you’re wearing doesn’t help, marking you as a dangerous mage, but they seem to be more interested in the healthy mages rather than your half dead ass. Even so your paranoia forces you to duck away from the peering eyes of the spectators.

You approach a scorched looking body, smoke still rising from the charred corpse. You can’t even discern the colour of their coat. With a hesitant hoof you roll the body over, revealing a dead face still twisted in agony. You resist the urge to vomit as you glance at the cadaver in the hopes of identifying them. One cutie mark is left intact, a bouquet of flowers.

You groan and scan the yard spotting several more unmoving ponies. With a deep breath you approach the nearest. You thank the heavens that you don’t have to touch this one. Their much more intact and you divert away once you get close enough to see their coat colour is nowhere near the same shade of blue. You take a short break to breath, your lungs are feeling increasingly constricted as time goes on.

Your heart sinks for every body investigated, some with painful looking scorch marks on their faces and bodies. That blast was very powerful and intended to kill. If this was meant to be a rescue mission, they must have nearly killed Spyglass to get him, or they cut him down without anypony noticing. Even then the question of how to transport him posed a challenge especially with the heavy presence of the guards and mages.

Last body and still no sign of Warm. You breathe a small sigh of relief, at least she isn’t dead. She has to be somewhere in the crowd, but with all the fighting going on it’s hard to see from one end to the other and your vision is still blurry from the explosion. Warm isn’t much of a fighter, so she’s either inside already or hiding out along the edges of the crowd.

You push past a line of enraptured mares and away from the fighting. All you have to do now is walk around the edge until you find her, easier said than done with your current state. You grit your teeth and decide to get it over with, picking up the pace into a brisk trot and gasping in pain as your body throbs in protest once again.

Half way around the edge you spot her, still wearing that red bow-tie and cowering at one the pillars that hold up the palace. Luckily it seems that they’ve decided to leave her alone, a concern given her position on the stage. You reach out and poke her with a hoof. “It’s me Warm,” you assure her, “are you going to be alright?” She doesn’t respond. You look back again, happy that the rest of the mob is ignoring you. You firmly grab her leg and pull. “We’ve got to move,” you wheeze.

An eye peers out from her cocoon and her body relaxes as she realizes it’s you. “W-what’s happening?” She whimpers. Screams of pain only cause the clashes to become more prolific.

“I-I don’t know, they’re fighting the guards. Listen, we have to get somewhere safe.” She looks around you and gasps at the fighting. It seems to jolt her into action as she climbs to her hooves and helps support you. You smile in appreciation.

“You look injured,” she worries, eying the nasty bruise developing on your stomach, “we need to get help.”

Help is far away you think bitterly, the guards seem to be too occupied fighting to help the injured. A big stallion charges in head first, knocking away a pair of guards and shattering their formation. It all falls apart from there, with several dropping their weapons and running for the door which has been left wide open. “The door,” you whisper, noticing it being pulled to by the last guard.

Warm supports you as you hobble over to the entrance. Unluckily for you the fight has winded down as the guards flee, and it seems to finally catch the attention of the mob, which promptly turns to face you. This isn’t good. Warm is terrified as her body shakes under the scrutiny of them. They prowl towards you like lions stalking their pray.

“The king’s whore!” One shouts, rousing jeers from the crowd. “I’d like to see your mage pals help you now!” They close in, bashing sticks and makeshift weapons against the ground. Your ears begin to ring and hammer as a familiar feeling wells up inside you, you’re in danger and you need to fight them. Warm steps back for a moment, sensing the imminent danger from being near you.

A small mercy for them comes when one sneaks up behind you and swings. You can’t even scream as you black out from the blow to your head.

The feeling of water dripping down onto your forehead brings you back into the realm of the living. Your head throbs in protest, compounded by the pain still emanating from your stomach. If you find who blew up the gallows you’re going to choke them to death. Why did they even do that? They stood to injure the man they wanted to rescue for god’s sake.

You roll over onto your side, wincing as ice cold water seeps through your coat and meets your skin. A good way to wake yourself up, but for you it’s an unwelcome irritation that only serves to make you feel worse. You peel open your eyes to meet a smooth stone wall, naturally formed. You must be in some kind of cave system.

You crack your neck and look around, noting the makeshift holding cell you find yourself in. Flimsy iron bars cover a wide opening, while the rest is surrounded on all sides by the cave wall. It’s very dark, much darker than Sombra’s own dungeon. You can’t even see to the other end of the room, the only light source being a singular candle stood proudly on a rickety wooden table.

Warm Welcome is nowhere to be found, leaving you along and isolated. You growl and shift to sit on your backside. A flash of pain rocks your nerves and you clutch your heavily bruised midsection. The formerly white fur is heavily discoloured an ugly shade of purple, a paltry ring of bandages try and fail to cover the entire injury. You were lucky to not break a rib, judging by the size of the bruise. One of the spare pieces of wood must have hit you during the blast.

They took you prisoner that much is obvious. You sigh and hang your head in shame, some powerful mage you turned out to be, bowing out from a simple to the head. Sombra is probably going ballistic right now trying to find you; a small solace amid your heart of fear.

You even find the mirth to give a bitter chuckle.