Sword and Songby SharalothChaptersThe Empty TownSongbird: The Blue FeatherThe Forest of Lost VoicesBlademaster: The Monster HuntersCity Under GlassThe storyteller's songThe Empty TownSword and Song By Sharaloth Part One: The Empty Town At the northern edge of the vast tract of bare stone and weathered canyons that the locals called the Granite Playground, the land became one of rolling hills and thick forests. Dotting the trackless miles of wilderness were small towns connected by the rudest of dirt paths. It was said that only the desperate, the mad, and the insanely bold ventured between those points of light in the cold North. For those travelling out of the south, the town of Dust-Devil Valley was one of the first they would find beyond the Granite Playground, and so it saw more traffic than any other town in the North. It stood as a waystation for those foolish enough to travel in the Madmare’s domain, and was relatively wealthy as a result. It was also abandoned, and recently so. Clothing flapped untended from laundry lines, wagons stood unhitched or overturned, and food was left out to rot where it lay. Somewhere, a door stood open and slapping in the dry wind. Its unsteady beat and the sighing breeze the only sound to be heard in the dead town. Songbird looked to her companion, giving him a tilted glance that conveyed caution and curiosity. He returned it with a slow shrug before starting down the hill and into the town. Compared to the walled villages of the Heartland, Dust-Devil Valley could barely be called a hamlet. It was comprised of a cluster of only a dozen buildings to either side of the wide dirt path that led out of the Granite Playground and deeper into the North. It had no wall, tower, or stockade, no defensive structures at all. Whatever happened here, it was entirely possible that the residents hadn’t even put up a fight. They said nothing as they took in the state of the town. They took their time, wary of hidden attackers or traps. Songbird pointed at a window that had a spiderweb of cracks running through it, a dark stain at the point of impact. The stallion narrowed his eyes and nodded, and together they moved on. Even in the Heartland, they would have made a strange pair, and not just because they were among the few willing to brave the dangers of the North. Her companion called himself the Blademaster, and the truth of the name was easy to see. He was a white and brown pinto earth pony, his coat stained by sun and dirt and a hard life on the road. Built lean and small, he was tight with corded muscle and moved with a stalking, predatory grace. His cutie mark, hidden for now behind a pair of saddlebags, was a pair of crossed swords. A wide-brimmed black hat sat on his head, and a strange metal contraption clearly designed to fit over his teeth dangled from a chain around his neck. He wore a harness of thick, sweat-stained cloth which sheathed a dozen throwing daggers. A pair of swords hung at his sides, bouncing a bit as he walked, and a third, much larger blade was strapped across his back. This third sword was strange compared to the others, thicker and wider, with a hilt that was a ring of bare steel. It didn’t shine in the light, its surfaces dull and cold. Songbird was a contrast. She was a beautiful mare, and while she had some thinness of hard living to her, she was still soft enough to have fit in among the ballrooms of the Heartland. Her coat was a gray-tinged white that seemed barely touched by dirt or sun, her horn clean enough to gleam in the light. Her mane was a swirl of pink and purple curls that streamed and snapped when caught in the wind. She wore a fluttering cloak of fine silk with silver trim, clasped by a shimmering opal. A pair of saddlebags were accompanied by a heavy satchel that hung at her side, the neck of a lute sticking out. As different as they were in looks and dress, their eyes were still the same. Hers were green and his were brown, but they were both eyes that had seen the terrible heart of the fallen world and come away not entirely whole, but stronger nonetheless. Like most of the towns clinging to life in the North, Dust-Devil Valley was built on stilts. Every building was supported by thick wooden pillars, then surrounded by a wide porch that was connected by stair or a ramp to a boardwalk that ran through the town. Nowhere was stone used in construction. In fact, the ground all around had been piled with loose earth until no bare rock could be seen within a hundred paces. The place would have been one big mud-pit when it rained, but it would have kept the residents safe. It should have kept the residents safe. They split up, each going to a different side of the road to check the buildings there. The Blademaster passed by a couple silent houses and came to the building with the flapping door. He stilled it with a hoof, and saw a small metal hook dangling from the wall that met with a simple notch in the door, holding it open against the wind. He set the hook in place. It wouldn’t hold forever, but it would at least still the banging while they were passing through. The building itself was a small house, little more than a cottage. One story, one room. Barely large enough for a pair of ponies to live in comfortably. The exterior showed no signs of violence, but plenty of habitation. A pair of vases flanked the stairs leading from the boardwalk, the wildflowers inside only beginning to wilt. A long-stemmed pipe sat on the arm of a chair; a quick sniff confirmed that it was filled and ready for a smoke, but hadn’t been lit. Satisfied with the exterior, he eased his way through the open door. He placed his hooves with care, but the floorboards still creaked with every step. That was all the sound he made, his swords and daggers as silent as his breath. He examined the interior with slow care, his hard eyes scanning for signs of danger and clues to the townsfolk's fate. Dishes sat in a sink full of dirty water, half-done. The table was empty, save a couple candles that had burned down to wax puddles and gone out. The bed was made, and a glass of water sat on the nightstand, full. He walked further in, taking his time. There was blood, but not much of it. A single, small splatter of brown on the kitchen counter, a day or two old. Not enough to come from a knife or sword wound. He stood silently in the center of the empty house and let his senses guide him to the reason he felt so unsettled there. The answer came as he noticed what he wasn’t seeing. There were no flies, no insects, no sign of vermin at all, not even on the plates crusted with the remains of these ponies’ last meal. There should have been at least a few, and their absence told him that something dark and unnatural had happened here. Something that would make even flies avoid this town. None of the stories of the Madmare described anything like this. He withdrew from the house as quietly as he had entered, disturbing nothing. Then he continued to the next building, looking supplies more than clues, now. He’d seen enough to know he wanted no part of whatever had befallen Dust-Devil Valley. As he was looking into the house, Songbird was across the road examining her own chosen building, the one with the broken window. It didn't take her long to decide that this place wasn’t a house. It was built with more solidity than the other structures. The walls were thicker, and the windows along the back of the building were barred. A sheriff's jail, she decided. In the Heartland, such jails were larger places, since they often had to serve as barracks for the town guard as well. For a town as small and open as this, she wondered why they bothered. Then again, in the North every town would need somewhere to put those who succumbed to the Madmare’s influence. She walked up to the front door, sniffing at the air. There was the scent of decay and the sharp, unpleasant odor of offal. Wrinkling her nose in distaste, she pushed at the door. It opened easily, but she nearly gagged on the stench that rolled out. Taking shallow breaths through her mouth, she went inside. Hoping to be done quickly, she took a quick glance around the room. There was a desk with a few papers on it where the sheriff would have sat. The window beside the desk was the one that was cracked. The blood on that window was more visible inside, a splash and a short smear down to the windowsill. More blood had dried on the back of the desk chair, staining already dark wood an ugly hue. She looked away from the messy scene and took in the rest of the room. It was an open space, divided in two by a long row of iron bars. The space beyond the bars was further sectioned into three cells. The middle of which, upon closer inspection, was occupied. The pony in the cell was curled against the wall as if asleep. Heavy chains led from iron rings in the floor to manacles around each of his legs. He was lying in his own filth, the source of the disgusting smell. He was so dirty that the original color of his coat was impossible to tell, though his ragged mane and tail still showed some of its natural vibrant orange. He was gaunt, almost skeletal, but his sides moved with his breath and as she approached the one eye facing her opened and trained on her. The look he gave her with his green eye, fever-bright and full of unholy intensity, only confirmed her suspicions. This was one taken by the Madmare. A cursed prophet of the North. He opened his mouth to speak, but only a long, ragged croak came out. His gaze shifted to the waterskin that hung opposite her satchel. He shifted slightly to point a hoof at it, barely able to get his leg off the ground for more than a second. “You want this?” she asked. He nodded slowly. “Do you promise to play nice?” He nodded again, though she didn’t expect anything less. Still, she looked around until she found where the keys to the cells were hanging on the wall. She reached out with mint-green magic and plucked a likely key from its hook, then brought it to the door and slowly turned the lock without taking her eyes off the pony in the cage. The door opened with a metal squeal that cut through the silence of the dead town. She winced at the sound, but the pony in the cage didn’t so much as flinch. With an annoyed frown she levitated her waterskin over to him. He opened his mouth, though he carefully kept the right half of his face turned away from her, and eagerly swallowed as she began to dribble the lukewarm water down his throat. She took her time, knowing that going too fast risked him throwing up, which would only make the smell in there worse. Finally, he signalled that he’d had enough, and she brought the skin back to her side. “You,” he said, his voice still sounding like gravel. “You came from the south. Through the Granite Playground.” “I did,” she said. “What of it?” “She sees all stone,” the pony mumbled. “She felt your hooves. You–” he descended into a fit of coughing. She waited for him to continue. “You must leave. Run! Back to the soft Heartland or the comfort of the Tyrant’s rule. Far from here. Far from the stone and the party unending.” “So you’re not fully her creature, after all,” she mused, thinking on his warning. “No. Not completely. I am… I was a merchant.” As he spoke his pupil suddenly dilated so wide she was worried he was having a stroke. “Bright and brave, with rubber shoes and rubber wheels to hide me from the stone. Bouncer, they called me. Bouncer Bold, to travel from town to town through the paths of the North. Years and years I roamed, and one mistake was all it took.” His breath hitched, and she thought that if he could have cried he would have. “A stumble, a trip. A brush of stone and there she was.” He stopped, staring into the far distance, mouth working silently. “The Madmare?” she prompted. “Beautiful as blood and happier than hatred should be. She knew my name. She knew my name! She knew my name!” He let out a low, mournful wail that hitched higher and higher until he was shaking with laughter. “She made me a seat to sit in as she flayed my soul from my body and cooked it for my dinner!” The words came between wracking guffaws, and he rolled onto his back to kick his legs feebly in the air. This only revealed the ruin that had become the other side of his face. She recoiled from it, feeling her gorge rise at the naked bone and tangled muscle. “You! She’ll do it to you, too! She’s got the chair prepared, oh yes! A place for everypony at her party!” His mad laughter drifted away, and she could see a measure of sanity return in his remaining eye. “How long?” she asked. “How long did she… have you?” “Hours?” he replied with a weak shrug. “Days? There is no time under the stone. Enough to make me this.” He gestured at himself, and the destroyed right half of his face. “Bouncer Bold no more. Bouncing Mad, perhaps.” “You escaped?” He nodded, shivering. “She… there is something that resists her rule. A power in the North that she hasn’t been able to crush. It… something happened and she had to go fight it. I was left alone. I ran and ran, but I can’t ever get away.” He sobbed again. “She’s in me now. Forever. Forever.” His voice weakened to a whisper as he continued in a high-pitched sing-song. “Friends together now and forever, I’m never going to let you go. Friends to dance with and to prance with, the party never ends you know.” “Hey, 'Bird,” the Blademaster said, startling her. She turned to find him leaning against the doorframe, silhouetted against the light from outside. “I’ve checked the other houses. Not a soul left but this poor bastard.” His accent was an exaggerated version of the classic Trottingham dialect. She knew that it was more affectation than truth, but it rolled off his tongue with such insouciant ease that it sounded perfectly natural on him. He stepped into the room and leaned into Bouncer’s cell. “Ouch. Have an accident with a cheese grater there, mate?” Bouncer responded with a grin so wide it looked painful. “Did you get the supplies?” she asked him. “Most of what we need,” he said with a curt nod. “Ready to go and now free of charge. You get out of him what happened yet?” “Not yet,” she said. She turned to Bouncer with an expectant look. “I don’t know,” he said to the silent question. “The sheriff, he was here. Maybe she got him. Maybe… I see her everywhere now. I don’t know. I don’t know.” “You’re certainly a useful sort,” the stallion said with a cocky smile. “Pip,” she warned. He gave her a hurt look. “I told you, love, call me ‘Blademaster’.” She sighed, but relented. “Blade, then. Don’t insult him. He’s trying.” “It was dark,” Bouncer said. “I saw… I saw a shadow move like a pony, but with no-one to cast it.“ He shook his head. “It could have been her. I don’t know.” “That’s okay, Bouncer,” she said, giving him as comforting a smile as she could manage amidst the smell and the way her nerves were on edge. “If the Madmare’s distracted, you could still make it out of the North. I can’t help you get there, but I can let you out of here.” She brandished the key, but he shied back from it, shaking his head. “No. no-no-no. Hooves on stone. She’d see, she’d know. And… and she knows my name. If she calls… I can’t not go to her. Locked up, I’m safe. I’m safe.” “You’ll die,” she told him. He shook his head. “Dying here is better than dying there. I can’t… I don’t want to go back to the party.” She paused, looking to her companion for advice. He shrugged, his smile faded and his expression hard. “The bloke don’t want to go, he don’t want to go. But we should, and soon.” She hissed in anger at the choice forced on her, but nodded. “I’ll be right out,” she told him, and he tipped his hat at Bouncer before stalking out of the room. She turned to the prisoner, who watched her with his one, mad eye. “I’m sorry. I wish I could do more for you, but I can’t.” She turned to go. “She’s touched you too,” he said. She paused, looking over her shoulder at him. “I can feel it. Like a mark on your heart. Every beat a cry of pain. She knows your name.” “That’s alright,” she said, replacing the key on its hook and giving him a sad smile. “I know hers, too.” *** They left Dust-Devil Valley behind with their bags full of food and their minds full of worries. They had been lucky thus far, and they both knew it. The Granite Playground was often where travellers got their first, and usually last, taste of the Madmare. Even when they made it through without meeting the ruler of the North, they spoke of pathways that shifted like sand in the wind, and entire labyrinths appearing and disappearing in moments. No one knew when or where the Madmare would strike within it, and many who braved the journey never returned. It was one of the reasons they had rushed, moving day and night with only a few short breaks to rest or eat. Nothing had happened, though. It had been a hard hike, with no discernible road or path, but hardly the confusing maze of terror that had been described to them. For now they took their good luck and ran with it, though Bouncer’s words about a new power in the North worried at the back of Songbird’s mind. They walked along the rough path for miles before stopping to consult the map they had bought at great expense before making their journey. The traveller they had spoken to had given them a good overview of where they would need to go, and Dust-Devil Valley had been an absolute must for rest, supplies and aid in getting to their next destination. The supplies they had, but there was no way either of them was going to spend the night in the dead town, and any aid the villagers could have provided had vanished along with them. They had to think about their next move. “We should stick to the paths,” she said, frowning as Blade shook his head. “That’s just asking for trouble,” he said. “Whatever took the ponies back there, it might be attacking towns. We’d be walking right into it, or at least be easy pickings on the road. Look, we’ve got enough supplies on us, let’s cut through the forest.” He poked at the area on the map that showed a large green blotch. It was, indeed, a much shorter route than taking the meandering paths would be. “The Forest of Lost Voices,” she read. “That does not sound like a fun trot through the woods.” “No, it sounds exciting,” he said with a saucy smile. “Makes me want to find out why it’s called that.” “It’s too dangerous.” “And your plan isn’t?” He gestured back towards the distant town. “Face it, love, we left ‘safe’ behind in Trottingham.” She frowned and stared at the map. The worst part of it all was that he was right. “There’s probably animals in there,” she said. “Hungry ones. And unlike the Heartland, pony is definitely on the menu.” “That’s why you’ve got me along, love,” he said, tapping a sword. “Monster hunter extraordinaire, remember?” She sighed, folding the map back up and tucking it away. “Fine. We’ll take your shortcut. But if you get us lost, oh mighty Blademaster, so help me I will never let you live it down. I will put it into a song and make sure everypony from here to the the Grove of Truth hears it.” “Fair trade, love,” he said, grinning. “So long as they all know who I am.” She snorted and started off the road. He let out a triumphant laugh, and rushed to join her. Together they walked towards the dark forest that stretched out north of them. *** The forest was still many miles away, and the storm had rolled in fast. The field they’d stopped in had a few small copses of trees on hills that were little more than lumps on the ground, and it was there that they had decided to make their camp. The Blademaster worked furiously on a lean-to while Songbird cooked as much food as she could before they lost their chance. Thunder cracked overhead, making them pause in their duties. Clouds roiled in the sky and the smell of rain was heavy in the air. The small fire they’d laid wouldn’t survive the downpour. “Looks like we’re in for a wet night,” Blade said as he wove more hastily-cut branches into their shelter. Songbird didn’t reply immediately, thinking on how quickly the temperature was dropping. Her breath was beginning to mist, and she could practically feel the cold misery already settling into her bones. She reached for her satchel, putting her hoof in and feeling the static tingle of electricity as she found what she was looking for. She froze, thinking hard about what she was considering doing. “What’s on your mind, love?” he asked as he saw her pensive expression. “I’ve got something that will help,” she said. “But it will probably draw attention.” He looked at the oncoming storm and then back to her. “Well then, what do you want less? Some unsavory-type taking a look in our direction, or being soaking wet and miserable?” “Considering who that unsavory-type might be?” she asked, then reluctantly took her hoof out of the bag. “No.” He gave a sage nod. “You’re right. Best not. Come on, if we sacrifice a blanket for the roof, I can get this thing done before we needn’t bother.” “Which means we’d only have one blanket to keep warm with,” she said, giving him a nonplussed look. He just grinned back at her. “Didn’t say there weren’t perks.” He held one hoof to his chest. “I’ll be the perfect gentlecolt. On my honor.” She sighed, but nodded. He pulled out his own blanket and threw it over the roof of the lean-to, securing it against the wind. Soon the rain started coming down hard. She packed up the cookpot and shoved all her bags to the back of the lean-to before crowding under its roof with the Blademaster. They shared some of the food she had prepared, watching as the rain turned their little hill into an island and the lightning danced across the sky. After they had eaten, she pulled out her blanket and draped it over both of them, and they huddled together under its dubious warmth. She shivered, and he wrapped his forelegs around her. His earth pony constitution fought the chill, and she soon stilled as his heat soothed her. True to his word, he didn’t try anything, just held her as the storm went on. Eventually, the lightning passed and all that was left was the soft rain falling on the drowned field. She pulled away from him then and dragged her bag close. She shuffled through the contents, feeling her instruments, the tools of her trade. She didn't take them out, though, feeling around for the item she had touched earlier. When she felt that electric snap again she pulled out something that wasn’t part of her show: a long blue feather. “What’s that, then?” Blade asked, his voice a murmur in her ear. “Something I got just before I met you,” she replied, chuckling. The feather was bright even in the darkness, practically glowing with the power it held. “I nearly died for it. It’s powerful, I could use it to turn this storm to clear skies if I wanted to. If I was willing to let everyone in the North know what I was doing and where I was.” “There’s a tale there,” he said. “Care to share it, love?” She looked at the blue feather for a long time, turning it this way and that, feeling how the air crackled with electric life as it moved. It was a dangerous thing to have. Dangerous to talk about, even. Yet no more dangerous than simply being where she was. So, as the distant thunder rumbled and the rain poured down through the cold night, she told him a story. Songbird: The Blue FeatherSongbird Interlude: The Blue Feather Songbird looked up at the hundreds of clouds in the sky, and knew she was in the right place. They spun in lazy circles around an undefined center, spread out in three dimensions only so much that they would pass within mere pony lengths of each other. The overall shape they made put her in mind of a disordered helix, twisting a spiral path through the western sky. Each cloud moved at its own pace, but they all shared a coordination that went beyond mere elegance. They moved separately, yet fit together, like dancers around a festival fire. She couldn't help but admire the beauty of it. She stood under the western sky, deep in the Tempest's realm, and these clouds were the homes of pegasi. Each was a discrete thing unto itself: A house, a fortress against the elements. Most were no larger than their earthbound counterparts would be, kept contained and solid to make them easier to move. Songbird stared at the pegasus village and remembered that once the winged ponies had built enormous cities that, while a marvel to behold, still mimicked their land-bound cousins in form. The pegasi of the West didn't do that. They built their own homes and refused to connect them together in streets or avenues. To do so was to be seen as tacitly forming an alliance with another pegasus. In this place that would only lead to conflict, hardship, violence, and the inevitable betrayal. Nopony in the west trusted anypony else to have access to their homes. It wasn't safe. The village moved at the whims of the ones in it, flowing like a school of fish from place to place as the inhabitants sought food and water from the untilled lands below them. They couldn't be still. Couldn’t ever settle in one place. Their power was in flight, their homes in the sky. She understood that, if only a little. Her own home had wheels. She stopped on the top of a small hill, barely brushed by the shadows of the outermost of those floating houses. She set down her bag and its attached bundles, making a show of slowly unwrapping each item and laying them out. She knew how skittish pegasi could get, and didn't want to scare away her potential customers. The instruments she took from the bag were simple and worn: A wide drum, its skin stretched tight over the wooden frame. A silver flute, tarnished in places, but otherwise well kept. A lute, missing a string but with a deep bowl that gave a good hollow sound as she laid it on the ground. Finally she pulled out the streamers. There were two dozen of them, each of a different color. She took them out and laid them on a linen sheet, careful to keep them clean and untangled. They were the centerpiece of her show. She took a sip from her canteen and sat down, waiting to be acknowledged. It didn't take long for the first curious head to peek out of the clouds. Others joined it, and soon there were dozens of eyes on her. Once she was sure that there were enough of them watching she reached for her flute. It rose surrounded in the calm green glow of her magic, and taking a steady breath, she brought it to her lips. The song she played began with a simple tune, one that she had learned from a friend who had long ago gone her own way. It was soft, but her magic gave it the strength to be heard, and the song floated past the noise of the world like the wind through tall grass, unopposed. It sank into the ears of the hidden listeners, whispering to them of calm days and warm sunrises, of gentle winds and lazy afternoons. The song called to them like a siren: inexorable, unstoppable. So they came to her. A few at first, fluttering down from their cloud homes to circle cautiously about the hill she sat on. Then in greater numbers until the sky was full of color and motion as the pegasi descended. She picked up the pace of her music as they did. She'd caught their attention, now it was time to hook them. Her music picked up speed. No longer a gentle breeze, it was now a full fledged wind, pushing and swirling and daring the world to try to slow it down. The flute provided a piping flow, and with a jangle the lute joined in, providing a hurried impetus to counterpoint the trilling of the flute. She was brewing a storm with music. The pegasi began to land. Dropping down to the ground in front of her and jockeying for the best position to watch her from. They were more than curious now. They knew a show when they saw one, and good entertainment was a precious thing in the Fallen world. Soon the field in front of her was full of winged ponies, all staring at her with wide, enraptured eyes. Waiting for the best part. With a boom the drum joined the flute and the lute, a thunderous beat to the tempest of sound. The instruments circled her, clutched in her magic and amplified to be heard clearly all the way to the houses above. She took a deep breath, pulling the flute from her lips and letting her magic provide the air for its piping. Then she threw her head back and lifted her voice to join the music. She sang in a wordless cry that evoked speed and power and joy. She sang the storm and showed them that she knew what it was to fly. With a final crash of thunder her song ended, her instruments falling silent and her voice lifted in one final, triumphant note before fading away. There was silence for a long moment, then a cacophony of stomps and whistles and cheers as the villagers showed their approval. She waited for it to die down before bowing to her audience. They quieted, intent on her as her magic began lifting the streamers into the air, setting them to flow around and behind her in whirling spirals of color. "I am the Songbird," she said in a hushed voice that her magic carried to every listening ear. "I am the teller of tales and the keeper of secrets. I can spin a song from starlight, and pull a story from the wind. I have travelled the land from the forbidden snows of the north to the desert sands of the south. I have sung my songs in the City of Gardens and Cages, and played many a lonely night in the Heartland's halls. Now I brave the gales of the Tempest to bring my tales to you. Every story is a song, and every song is mine to sing. Listen." The crowd was silent, watching her with intent and eager impatience. She had made her boast, now was the time to live up to it. She began with a few notes from her lute, slow and simple at first but building in complexity and speed. She added a subtle drum beat as the tempo evened out, a bass framework to grow her harmony. The flute joined in, trilling the main melody of the song: a bright theme that swelled and danced in the air, accompanied by a flourish from the streamers that fluttered around her. She let the music die back a bit, and spoke the opening stanza of her song: It was so long ago When hope was still bright And the Fall had not yet begun That five friends came together And fought back the night For these were the days of the sun The streamers moved, arranging themselves into flowing shapes: five ponies. As she sang each verse she had the streamer-pony for that verse ‘walk’ in front of her, showing the audience a visceral image to go with the picture her song painted for them. At the chorus she brought all of her streamer-ponies to the fore, moving them in a spinning unison before dissolving them into a rainbow of spiralling silk. As the chorus ended she reformed them into their pony-shapes and began the dance anew. One was a mare of the gentlest of ways Who fell to the earth from on high She found there were wonders the clouds hid from sight And never again sought to fly The second was a pony of strength and resolve Whose loss made her hooves want to roam She went forth to find a new path she could take And it led her back to her home And they looked upon the colors A friendship born in light These five made one in the days of the sun Together they conquered the night Together they conquered the night The third wanted beauty with dazzle and flair She looked for a place to begin At the end of her journey she discovered the art Of finding that beauty within The fourth grew in toil and the cold gray of stone She needed release from the strife She found it in the joy of family and friends And she smiled the rest of her life And they looked upon the colors A friendship born in light These five made one in the days of the sun Together they conquered the night Together they conquered the night The last had a destiny, a legend to make She would not be barred from her fate She challenged the doubts and taunting of fools And showed what it meant to be great And where she went she brought the colors And together they took up the light They were five made one in the days of the sun Against the return of the night And they each took up the colors Friendship turned into light These five made one in the days of the sun Together they conquered the night Together they conquered the night With a final flourish she ended her song, letting the streamers fall into neat piles around her. There was silence from her audience. Ponies stared at her, processing what they had heard. It hadn’t been what they were expecting, not after her storm-like opening, but it touched them nonetheless. It was a song of hope, of triumph and of friendship. Not something these ponies were used to. The first cheer went up as the crowd decided they liked what they’d seen, and a wave of stomps rumbled across the field. Songbird smiled and bowed, relieved and elated at the reception, but she kept her eyes on the sky. It was time. "Come on," Songbird whispered as she took another bow to the cheering crowd. "Where are you?" The first scream was barely audible over the sound of the crowd's adulation, but she heard it. Her muscles tensed and her horn lit with a subtle glow as her eyes searched for the source of the scream. She didn't have to look for long as the body of a pegasus mare tumbled out of the clouds. Sweetie played her part, her eyes going wide and her hoof pointing at the falling pony. She let out a shout, calling for help. The audience was slow to react, some of them not realizing that it wasn't part of the show. Which was, ironically, exactly what she wanted them to think. Enough did turn, however, and saw the falling pony. There was a moment of shock, then the falling pony was joined by others, dropping out of the clouds like stones. Dead weight. From there it only took a moment for all of them to come to the same conclusion: they were under attack. Shouts of alarm and calls to arms went out, partially drowned out by the still-ongoing cheers. It was too late for them. Armored pegasi descended from the clouds, spears and hoofbows ready to deal death. Sweetie dove to the ground, gathering all her instruments to her and huddling into as small a shape as she could make. She wanted to hide her eyes from the carnage, but she couldn’t afford to block out the battlefield. Everything rode on her being aware of what was going on around her. The attack was precise and brutal. Dozens of pegasi fell in the first pass of the flying warriors. Some managed to gather together and put up a defense, but it was too little and too late. They had been caught at the worst possible time for them, their enthusiasm for the performance blocking out any of the warning signs they would normally have been watching for. Ponies scattered to the winds, flying as fast as their wings could take them, abandoning their homes and their neighbours. The attackers didn’t pursue, turning all their attention on the ones who stood their ground to fight. Those battles did not last long Songbird didn't move until the rout was over. When the last defenders broke and fled, the attackers only pursued them enough to ensure they wouldn't regroup and double back before leaving off the chase. Soon the armored pegasi circled the sky, the victors claiming the cloud village for their own. Songbird unfolded from her huddled crouch, standing tall and taking stock of her things. Both she and her instruments were undamaged, but she was annoyed to see that several of her streamers had been trampled during the fighting. She rolled them up carefully, slipping them back into her bag. They might be salvageable and were damnably expensive to replace. Just as she was tucking away the last streamer a trio of pegasi drifted down to her, hauling a small hot air balloon. She stood calmly and waited for them to address her. "The commander would like to see you," one of the warriors said, gesturing to the basket of the balloon. She didn’t argue, stepping into the balloon without hesitation. They lifted off and dragged the balloon roughly up towards the village. She held on to the edge of the basket and tried not to look down as the ground fell away beneath her. She couldn’t stop the light-headed feeling that came from the thought of being so high up, but she did her best to ignore it. It was essential that she not show fear. The warriors pulled the balloon to one of the larger cloud-homes, drifting near the top of the village. Pegasi were ransacking the other buildings, tossing personal effects to the winds and keeping anything they could use. Songbird watched with a melancholy detachment as dolls, clothes and family portraits fell like rain. Lives abandoned and ignored, left to wither on untrod ground. Appropriate, in its own way. She let herself compose a short requiem for this village, passing the time of her ascent. It was a song that would never be heard, but an unsung tribute was all the honor she could afford for the part she had played in the town’s demise. As she pulled even with the roof of the cloud home she saw the commander of the invading force waiting for her. He was a tall, strong stallion, his dark armor unable to hide where his light gray coat was criss-crossed with bare patches and scars puckering his skin. Remnants of past battles and reminders of a history he would likely rather forget. His helmet covered his mane and hid most of his face from view, but his purple eyes watched her with almost burning intensity as the balloon was brought to rest gently before him. “Commander,” she greeted him, ducking her head in as much a bow as the confines of the basket would allow her. “Songbird,” he replied, not bothering to so much as nod in return. “You played your part excellently.” “I’m glad it worked out for you,” she said, flashing a sweet smile that failed to move him even a twitch. She didn’t let up, beaming as brightly as she could. “I should really get moving before it gets dark, though. So, if you’ve got my payment?” She held out her hoof, still grinning. He snorted, reaching into a pouch on his armor and drawing forth a long blue feather. He held it out to her and she took it in her magic, drawing it before her and examining it carefully. “It’s genuine,” he assured her. “I know,” she chirped happily, but didn’t stop looking it over. “It’s so pretty!” That got a reaction. The warriors around her shivered, disgust clear in their faces. The commander’s eyes narrowed, anger in their purple depths. They all knew what she held, and they knew that she knew. She tensed her legs, her heart beating faster, but she was careful to let none of it show. “You have what you came for,” the commander growled. “I hope it’s everything you wanted.” She shrugged, slipping the feather into her bag. “I hope so too!” She tapped a forehoof in a steady rhythm, praying to long-vanished gods that she had gotten the movements of the clouds below her right. “And so we’re done here,” the commander said. The ponies surrounding her drew their weapons immediately. She put on a show of being surprised, eyes wide and mouth agape. “What?” the commander sneered at her look. “You didn’t actually think I’d let you walk out of here did you? With that?” “We had a deal!” Songbird cried, leaning towards the commander and rocking the basket dangerously. “The deal is over!” the commander snapped. “All you wanted was the feather, now you have it. Now I’m free to take it back, along with everything else you own. And, if you’re exceptionally lucky, then I might decide not to throw you out of the clouds for the presumption of demanding that feather in the first place!” Songbird’s expression of anger and surprise faded, turning instead to a resolute calm. “Sorry commander, can’t let you do that,” she said. Then her horn flared green and she sang a single, pure note. The sound exploded from her in a sphere of sharp force. The warriors surrounding her yelled in pain as their ears were assaulted, the magic shoving them back and knocking their weapons from their hooves. The commander reeled back, his helmet only making the force of the sound worse for him. Still, he was no stranger to pain, and with a roaring cry he drew his sword and slashed at her. She ducked in time to avoid the strike, but it cut through the ropes holding the basket to the balloon, and sent her falling through the cloud. She didn’t have time to see more than a glimpse of the interior of the house as she plummeted through it and then she was in open air again. She didn’t scream, didn’t flail about uselessly, instead she pushed off from the basket and leapt towards one of the passing houses. The impact when she hit the cloud-home wasn’t hard, but it wasn’t as soft as she’d been expecting either. Her legs protested, but she grit her teeth and forced herself into motion. “She’s cloudwalking!” a voice shouted. Other cries of surprise and shouts to attack went up, soon the entire attacking force would be after her. She ran, letting the springy surface of the cloud add a bouncing speed to her enchanted hooves. The house wasn’t a large one, however, and she came to its end within a few steps. Undeterred she took another leap, soaring out and down until she landed on a lower house that was passing just under the one she had left. She didn’t stop there, reversing direction and running off the end of this roof to land on another one a level down. Pegasi were already beginning to attack, levelling hoobows at her and loosing deadly bolts. She juked and dodged, jumping from the roof again just as the quarrels cut holes in the thick cloud walls. She tumbled through the air, reaching for another rooftop. She’d misjudged the speed at which this building was going, though, and so only landed with half her body on it, the edge catching her in the gut. She wheezed as her breath was forced out, then scrambled to keep a hold on the cloud as she began to slip off. She was just beginning to get somewhere when a pegasus warrior landed on the roof in front of her, his spear raised to jab into her. She let out a wheezing yelp and shoved herself away from the cloud. She spun like a pinwheel through the air, looking desperately for another building to land on. She fought down panic as she realized her push had sent her out into the middle of the village, where there were no houses. She called on her magic, singing a high, piercing note and focusing the sound into a cone of force that blasted out from her mouth. The force of that cry threw her to the side, sending her into the side of one of the houses. As solid to her as they were, the houses were still clouds. She crashed through the wall with a gentle ‘poof’ and bounced along the floor. Right into the legs of a warrior who was busy searching a dresser for useful loot. He looked down at her in surprise and she flashed him a grin, waving one hoof casually. He went for his weapon and she sang another piercing note at him, the force of it sending him staggering back and clutching at his ears. She rolled to her hooves and swiftly kicked him through the wall, leaping after him through the hole he had made. She dropped onto another rooftop and continued her run. Spears and bolts chased her as the pegasi realized where she was. The motion of the houses helped her here, allowing her to move in odd directions and block line of sight. She kept ahead of her pursuers as she jumped from house to house, moving ever downward. Eventually, however, she came to the end of her run. She dropped onto a rooftop and ran to the opposite edge, only to find that there were no other houses to jump to. She’d reached the lowest level of the village, and now only faced a long drop to the unyielding ground far below. She stopped, breathing heavily from her run, and turned to face the forces that pursued her. A few shot their hoofbows at her, but she sang a quick melody that solidified in the air before her, deflecting the shots. They stopped shooting at her after that, instead keeping their distance, wary of her glowing horn. Finally, the commander landed in front of her, flanked by a pair of warriors who brandished wicked-looking spears and glared at her with hard eyes. The commander had removed his helmet, revealing a patchy dark-gray mane that failed to cover the burns that ran down the back of his neck. Blood was trickling from one of his ears, but the other twisted towards her as he shook his head in exasperation. “Now, what did that accomplish?” he growled at her. “I was just going to rob you, you know.” “And throw me off a cloud?” she asked, trying not to focus on the sweat trickling down her face. Her heart was pounding harder than ever, and it wasn’t from the exertion of running. Her eyes scanned the skies, frantically praying that enough time had passed. “I was trying to scare you,” he replied. “Damn it, Sweetie Belle! You can’t be here! You can’t just come into the West and ask after things like that feather! You should stay in the Heartland, stay under the Sorceress’ protection.” She snorted. “Some protection.” “It’s better than being here,” he said, sweeping a wing towards the ransacked village to illustrate. “Especially for a unicorn.” He sighed, visibly forcing anger down. “You were stupid to come here, Songbird, and you were stupid to run. Now, give me the feather.” “No.” The anger was back instantly. “Then I will take it off your corpse! Soldiers! On my order break this cloud to mist.” She felt it then, a shift in the wind. Twin surges of elation and dread flowed through her, strong enough to make her laugh out loud. The commander paused, staring at her in confusion. She tamped down on the laughter, managing to reduce it to a few giggles before replying to the unasked question in his gaze. “I’m sorry,” she said, stepping back to the edge of the cloud. “I knew this would happen.” “And yet you went through with it anyway,” he said. “Did you listen to my song?” she asked him, a nervous grin creeping onto her face. “It wouldn’t be a very good distraction for me if I was the one distracted,” he replied. “You should have listened, Rumble,” she said. His eyes widened, and reflected in them she saw a ring of colors expanding through the air behind her like an apocalyptic halo. “You know she doesn’t like it when we talk about who she used to be.” With those final words she stepped back and dropped off the cloud. “Fly!” the commander roared, panic ripping through his voice. “Fly now! The Tempest!” Songbird twisted in the air, looking towards the massive prismatic explosion that dominated the horizon. A brilliant streak of rainbow light was lancing from the center of that shockwave, travelling faster than sound, faster than any living thing in the world. There would be no escape. The Tempest shot through the center of the pegasus village with enough force to shatter light. Songbird’s breath caught in her throat as she saw the burning colors that followed, rolling across the landscape and dragging the sky along with it. Pegasi were caught in midair, their attempt to scatter made moot by the all-encompassing nature of the Tempest’s power. The rainbow caught them, and dragged them along with it. Unstoppable. She couldn’t help but admire the beauty of it. The glory of one of the rulers unleashed in anger on her subjects. Beautiful, but terrifying at the same time. Enough to freeze her heart in her chest at the thought of being caught herself by that impossible light. She rolled away from it, focusing instead on the rapidly approaching ground and the shockwave that was going to hit her first. She opened her mouth and began to sing. It was a wordless song, but filled with the power of her magic. She wrapped the sound around her, compacting it into a solid barrier against the world. The shockwave hit the bubble of sound and added to its power. Sound compounding sound, all twisted to her will by the power of her spellsong magic. She fell through the shockwave and to the torn, bloody ground. She hit with all the force of her fall, wrapped in the power of a sonic rainboom. Dirt flew in rippling spirals around her as her spell spent all the energy of the impact into the ground and away from her. She stopped singing and dropped the final few inches to the broken earth. Wind dragged at her mane, whipping it all about her face as a fierce storm was dragged overhead by the Tempest’s wake. She didn’t wait around, running towards the hill where she had made her performance. She could hear screams in the distance, pegasi caught by the Tempest howling in fear and agony. She didn’t pay it any mind, forced herself to ignore the cries. She could do nothing for them. The only pony she could save was herself. She grabbed her instruments from where they had been scattered by the shockwave, gratefully noting that they weren’t terribly damaged. She didn’t have time to place them properly, so she shoved them into her bag, hoping that she wouldn’t damage them further in her haste. She turned to go, but cast one final look back at what she had wrought. The village was a whirlwind now, cloud homes torn apart and spinning in a darkening cloud of debris and violence. Lightning flashed through the vortex, and in its light she could see the forms of pegasus ponies caught in the storm. They couldn’t escape from winds that strong, left at the mercy of the one who controlled them. They would join the Tempest’s storm and maybe, if they were very good or exceptionally lucky, they could escape to pick up whatever pieces of their life would be left. Songbird was just about to leave when she spotted a figure on the ground beneath the vortex. There, a pegasus mare stood firm against the intense winds. She glowed as if the sun lit her despite the dark clouds above her head. Her wings were stretched wide and her rainbow mane whipped about her like a banner of doom. A ruby lightning bolt shone at her throat, echoed in crimson glow of her eyes. Those eyes turned in Songbird’s direction, and the unicorn was paralyzed with terror. “No,” she whispered, barely able to draw the breath for that. “Don’t see me. Don’t see me. Please don’t see me!” A moment later the Tempest took off into the sky, and Songbird was released from her fear. Her legs shook and she nearly collapsed as relief stole her strength. She took a first wobbling step, though, and found the next few came easier. She was done here. It was time to go home. The Forest of Lost VoicesPart Two: The Forest Of Lost Voices “Hello?” The Blademaster crept through the undergrowth, his steps as silent as the rain that sprinkled the forest. “Can anypony hear me?” He drew a dagger from its sheath, holding the blade in his lips. His breath came in a steady rhythm, neither fast nor slow. He counted his heartbeats, strength coiling in his muscles. “Please help me, I don’t know where I am!” He surged forward, darting around a thick tree towards the source of the call. He skid to a halt as he found nothing there. “Where am I?” The call was close, almost at his shoulder. The Blademaster’s ears swivelled as he sought out its source. “Please, where am I?” He locked in on the sound, and slowly turned back to the tree he had just passed. There, settled in a hollow in the trunk was a disc of flattened stone. A cherry-red muzzle protruded from the stone, lips moving in soft repetition of confused words. “Well, that’s just… not right,” he mumbled past the knife. Then he passed the blade to his hoof and raised his voice. “It’s alright, ‘Bird. You can come out.” Songbird made her way through the same brush he’d just come through, stepping daintily. “What is it?” she asked. “Search me,” he replied, gesturing towards the stone-bound mouth. “But I’d guess we’ve found where this forest got its name.” She rounded the tree, and let out a squeak of surprise when she saw what he had discovered. “That’s horrid!” “No argument from me, love,” he tentatively reached out with the knife to poke at the stone. It wobbled at the touch, but the mouth didn’t react, continuing to plead with the hopeless desperation of the terminally lost. Songbird sang out a piercing note, her horn flaring with pale light. The stone shattered, the muzzle fading into ephemeral smoke that was washed away in the wind that rustled through the leaves of the Forest of Lost Voices. He jumped at her cry, giving her a startled, angry look. “You’ll bring the bloody Madmare down on us, you keep doing that!” he hissed. “Would you want to be left like that?” she asked, shuddering at the thought. He didn’t bother replying. Instead he shook his head and turned back to their original course, muttering about unreasonable mares. Her sharp ears would catch every word, he knew, but that was half the point. The other half was to make whatever was stalking them believe that he wasn’t paying it any attention. He’d noticed the creature as they’d been breaking down their camp to start heading into the forest. He’d seen it prowling through the long grasses out in the field, getting a good enough look to be sure that it was no pony. Once they’d gotten into the forest, it had become harder to keep track of the beast, and he’d been reduced to catching glimpses of it out of the corner of his eye and hearing the subtle noises of movement as it passed from branch to branch through the trees. At first he’d worried that it was the Madmare or one of her servants. He dismissed that after a little thought. The Madmare was as erratic as her name suggested, but while she was known to play games with her victims, she usually let them know that they were playing too. Whether they wanted to play or not. No, this was something different. Something that was stalking them more like a wild animal than the immortal, invincible ruler of a fifth of Equestria. Songbird might have noticed too, but on the other hoof she might not. From travelling with her this long he could tell that her senses were nearly as sharp as his, but he also knew that they didn’t see the world the same way. She missed things that stood out to him, didn’t put the same amount of importance on the signs of violence and predation that surrounded them out here in the wild North. He supposed that was only natural. She was a minstrel, after all, a showmare. She wasn’t expected to understand the dance as well as he did. For the moment, that dance was still in overtures. To the unseen watcher they were the prey, stalked until the moment to pounce came on. It was up to him to predict that moment, and turn it around on whatever beast thought two armed and wary ponies might be good prey. He didn’t think it’d be much longer. She caught up, walking beside him with her mouth pressed into a thin line. It was an invitation, and he wasn’t the kind of stallion to refuse a mare. “What’s on your mind, love?” “A power in the North, other than its Ruler,” she said. “None of the stories I know mention anything like that. Do you know anything about it?” He shook his head. “I know the same stories you do. They all say the same thing. Nopony can fight them.” He casually flipped a throwing knife into the air, catching sight of something crossing the path behind them in the reflection on its spinning blade. “‘No blade can cut them, no arrow can pierce them, no spell can reach them.’” He flipped the knife again, but this time didn’t spot anything. He returned the knife to its sheath and kept walking. “It might be the only sure thing left in the world. And let’s not forget what the Madmare can do to the ground under your hooves. I don’t see how it’s possible, love. That caged pony was mad. Another victim like the poor sods with their mouths stuck in stone.” “I don’t think he was lying,” she said. “Didn’t say he was,” he replied. “Just crazy.” She shook her head, but didn’t argue with him. Which was just as well. He didn’t think he could keep up his end in an argument against a Songbird with the bit between her teeth at the best of times. Right now, while he was on the lookout for attack at any second? She’d both win the debate and be a distraction that might get them both killed. He flexed his jaw a couple times. He was getting tired of waiting, and Songbird wouldn’t leave well enough alone for long, he knew. Even now, he could see her neck stiffen and her steps grow even more dainty. She was working herself up to a good, strong angry. While she was pretty enough when mad, he always preferred a smile to a frown. “I can’t see it,” he said, and she shot him a sharp look. “But that doesn’t mean it’s not happening.” Her brow crinkled as she thought about how to respond to that. He didn’t give her the chance. “I imagine we’ll find out as we head north, love.” “I’m worried someone else found the amulet already,” she said. His eyes went wide in surprise and he stopped suddenly. “Hadn’t thought of that,” he said. He could see the problem that would present. It would make things a whole lot more complicated. Maybe even impossible. Of course, this was the moment the creature chose to attack. It leapt out of the trees, claws leading. A cougar’s body, but featuring a yellow scorpion’s tail tipped by a vicious stinger. He’d fought others like it before: a lesser manticore. The Blademaster grabbed at one of his side-swords, the blade only halfway out of its sheath by the time the beast was on them. He brought the partially-free sword up, catching the first swipe of the claws on the steel. He dropped into a roll immediately afterward, barely avoiding the lightning-fast jabs of the manticore’s stinger. The beast came on with a feline roar. Still on the ground, he wasn’t in a good position to stop it, and steeled himself against the raking claws that were about to come his way. Songbird saved him from that fate, her voice lifting in furious exultation as her magic threw the manticore to the side. The magical cat recovered quickly, turning to hiss in anger at her. The Blademaster used the opportunity to fully pull his sword. He gave a thankful nod to his companion, then set himself into a low crouch as he squared off against the beast. The manticore snarled at him, swiping with its forepaws. He dodged the strikes, but didn’t counter. He knew how manticores fought. He’d killed enough of them. Sure enough, just as he was supposed to be worrying about those deadly claws, the stinger snapped out. Vicious poison dripped from the sharp tip of that tail. Not as deadly as the venom of a greater manticore, but more than enough to ensure that the cat would get its meal. He twisted, the stinger missing him by scant inches, and swiped with his sword. It bit into the hard shell of the tail, only cutting a quarter of the way through. The manticore shrieked, yanking its tail back with enough force that it caught his sword and pulled it from his mouth. He wasted no time in drawing its twin, setting his stance low again and watching the injured creature carefully. Songbird began to sing again, but he held out a hoof to forestall her. He was sure she could do something nasty, but it was unnecessary. He had this. The manticore, injured and angry, came on in a rush. He caught one swipe with his sword, and with a well-timed stomp he crushed the other paw into the ground. Earth pony strength ensured that the blow was stronger than his slight size would have allowed, breaking delicate bones. The beast went wild, snapping at him with its teeth and lashing out with its deadly tail again. He reacted with the grace and style that had earned him crossed swords for his cutie mark. He leapt up, the teeth and tail just missing him. Then he came down on the sword that was still embedded in the tail, his hooves finding the flat of the blade and driving it in even deeper as he his weight forced the tail to the ground. The great cat reacted by jerking at its trapped limb, its roars turned from intimidating to frightened. That reaction only resulted in tearing its injured tail further, until finally with a wet ripping sound the stinger was completely severed. The injured manticore ran, vanishing into the foliage in moments and leaving a trail of slightly luminescent orange blood behind it. The Blademaster sheathed his clean sword, then carefully removed the other one from the remains of the stinger. He looked over the blade’s edge and sighed at how much work it would take to get it sharp again. Songbird was looking in the direction the cat had run. “Are you going after it?” she asked. He shook his head. “No need. It won’t be after us again.” “Won’t it just bleed to death now?” He shook his head. “Magical beastie, love. It’ll have to hunt easier prey for a while, but it’ll be right as rain again in a year.” “Less likely to attack travelling ponies, I hope.” “I think it’s learned its lesson,” he said with a laugh as he cleaned the blood and chitin from his sword. “Now, what’s this about the amulet?” “I was just thinking, if whoever it is can challenge a Ruler, they might have found it.” “Only one way to be sure,” he said, sheathing the blade. “Let’s not dawdle.” *** “Another one,” he said, pointing it out. Songbird shivered as she spotted the stone disc hanging in a spiderweb. The thin strands of the web didn’t look strong enough to be holding the stone, but seemed to have no trouble with its weight. “That’s the third one this hour. They’re getting thicker the closer we get to the center of the forest.” He nodded in agreement. Two days into their journey through the Forest of Lost Voices and they could hear the cries of the Lost constantly now. It was mostly just whispers carried on the breeze, but some, like this one, were set too close to their path to ignore. “Figure it won’t be long before we’re seeing them all the time. You sure you don’t have any earplugs, love?” She shook her head, and kept moving. “I don’t understand it,” she said. “Why do this to ponies? They don’t do anything, they just… talk. What does she gain from it?” “You’re looking for sense in the wrong place,” he replied. “She’s not called what she is for nothing.” “She was always crazy,” Songbird mumbled under her breath in a way he knew he wasn’t meant to hear. “But this is just senseless.” He didn’t quite know what to say to that, if he was supposed to say anything at all. Still, he didn’t want to let the conversation die. “Maybe this is just her way of playing silly buggers even when she’s not around to do it personally.” “Maybe,” Songbird said. She spun, lighting her horn and singing out a trill that shattered the stone to powder. “You gonna do that to every one of them?” She shrugged. “Maybe,” she said again, then turned north and kept walking. He held out a hoof to stop her, and she gave him a quizzical look. “Something’s not right,” he said in response to the unasked question. “Hold a moment. I’ll be right back.” Not waiting for her to respond, he darted into the trees. Something had caught his eye when he had looked back to watch her destroy the disc: a tree that had branches cut from it. It took a minute for him to reach the tree, and it took only a moment to confirm that the branches had been cut with a saw rather than torn down by weather or some beast. It had been cut recently, too. A short examination of the area revealed even more signs of recent passage by a group of ponies. “What does it mean?” Songbird asked after he had shown her the remains of the campsite. “It means we’re not the only ones walking these woods,” he said. Then he indicated the trail heading away from the site. “North. Same direction we’re heading, almost the same line, too. If I hadn’t spotted this, we might have walked right into them.” “They might be travellers,” she said. “Maybe we could learn more about what’s going on from them.” He nodded. “Might do. But I’d want to make sure of them before I let them know we’re here. The look of this camp is, well, I don’t know. Something just doesn’t sit well with me about it.” He pointed at the doused firepit and the indentations where efficiently-placed tents had sat. “This doesn’t look hurried, or rough. They took the time to dig and then bury a latrine pit. It reminds me more of a military camp than something a bunch of travellers going through a forest as scary as this one would make. Then there’s this.” He pointed to a few areas of flattened ground that were clearly not made by tents. “It was cold and raining last night. Yet there were at least three ponies sleeping outside of tents. I don’t know what it means, but it’s best not to take chances.” “What happens if we catch up to them?” Songbird asked. “Don’t worry, love,” he said, flashing her a cocky smile. “If that happens you can just leave it to me.” *** Snow was drifting through the trees, flashing in the ghostly light of a waxing moon that shone through a break the clouds. The Blademaster would have spent some time admiring the sight, if he wasn’t so focused on the figures moving slowly about their campfire. There were half a dozen of them, all earth ponies, each wearing suits of black armor that reflected like glass. He couldn’t be sure, but it looked like what was visible of their tails and hooves sparkled as well, as if they were covered in glitter. They hadn’t spotted him, but that wasn’t due to any deficiency in their alertness. They had set up this camp with a professional efficiency that reminded him of the Sorceress’ Guard. Those were supposed to be some of the last professional soldiers in Equestria, and they did not wear armor that looked anything like this. Nor did they have any business travelling an enchanted forest in the deep North. Lying on the ground, almost hidden from view, were a trio of lumps. Only the soft motion of those lumps let him see that they were ponies themselves. When he focused on them he could see the strange, glassy manacles that held their legs tightly, as well as the blood that stained their coats darker in the moonlight. He maneuvered around the camp a little, and the remains of a fourth pony, this one clearly dead, lay steaming and still near the latrine pit. Carefully, moving with the practiced silence that had helped him become the greatest monster hunter in the Heartland, he left the strange camp and returned to where Songbird waited. Not that his stealth mattered much, he could have stepped on a dozen twigs and he doubted they would hear anything this deep in the forest. The susurrus of voices was like standing in a vast room where everypony was whispering to each other. No one voice was raised high enough to understand, but all of them were talking at once, creating a noise that was just on the cusp of being understandable. It had him on edge, and he knew that Songbird was feeling it worse. She was more attuned to sound, to words. Perhaps she could even understand what some of the Lost were saying, and he did not envy her that possibility. He made sure to be visible to her as he crept up. She sat in a glade of night-blooming wildflowers and moon-touched snow. A quintet of stone-locked mouths whispered their secrets to her as they hung from branches or sat propped against gnarled roots. The rays of moonlight touched her white coat with silver and shone off her green eyes. Her expression was contemplative, introspective. He always recognized her beauty, but it was in moments like this that he was truly struck by it. He could see why she was such an effective storyteller, her mere presence could be mesmerizing. Even more, despite the story she had told him of how she had acquired the blue feather, he still couldn’t shake the feeling of innocence he got from her. Somehow, even through all the trials of her life, it seemed like she had held on to some spark of purity. It was a rare thing in the fallen world, and it made him feel especially protective, above and beyond the promise he’d made to her and her mistress. She looked up as he approached with nervous expectation. He stopped for a moment, scanning his backtrail, trying to ensure that he hadn’t been followed. The noise cut both ways, after all. They wouldn’t have been able to hear him creep up and away, but neither could he have detected the crushing leaves or snapping twigs that usually alerted him to something following. Once he was sure that he hadn’t been tracked, he stepped up close and spoke right next to her ear. “Ponies,” he began. “Earth ponies. All in black armor. I’ve never seen the like before.” “Who do you think they are?” she asked. He shrugged. “If I had to guess, I’d say they’re your rebel power.” She looked off in the direction of the soldiers’ camp, ears flicking as a dangerous thought crossed her mind. He could see the content of that thought as clearly as if she had performed one of her streamer-puppet shows about it. “Don’t even think it, love. They didn’t look like the talking sort.” “We need information,” she replied. “We’re like as not to get robbed and murdered,” he said. “And this place, it’s not good for pulling one from the herd and having a quiet word.” She set her jaw, but he tapped it with his hoof, and her eyes popped wide in surprise. He made sure her eyes stayed on his, so that she could see how serious he was. “Not tonight. The chained-up nutcase said this rebel power was up north, right? Well, that’s where we’re heading anyway, there will be another chance.” “I just don’t think–” “They won’t talk to us,” he said. He put as much steel into his eyes as he could. In his mind’s eye he saw the cooling body of the dead pony again. He didn’t want her trying it on her own. “Come on, love. We should be away. With the moon out we’ve got enough light to travel. We’ll cut an angle, through their path so we don’t run into each other again.” Her frown remained, but she nodded in acquiescence, allowing him to lead her onward in their steady march to the farthest reaches of the north. *** The whetstone made a soothing, clean noise as he drew it across the steel. It had taken more than an hour of work, but his blade was sharp again after fending off another minor monster attack earlier that day. He sent it along a couple more times to confirm that he’d worked out all the burrs and chips, then flipped to the sword upright to give it one last visual look-over in the light of their campfire. A few hard days of walking, and they were finally reaching the northern edge of the forest. Snow had completely replaced the rain, and the landscape was rapidly becoming more wintry, though the trees still kept their leaves. They hadn’t seen any more signs of the black-armored ponies, and that was just the way he liked it. “Are you finally done?” Songbird asked. He grinned at her. “A clean sword is a happy sword, love. You don’t hear me complain when you tune your guitar.” “It’s a lute,” she replied, reflexively looking over to where her instrument lay in her bag. “And it’s a lot better than listening to that horrible scrape over and over again.” “Agree to disagree, love,” he said with a chuckle. “I’ve yet to hear the tune that matches the ring of a properly sharpened blade.” She gave him a look that was as much considering as it was annoyed. “What about that one?” She pointed at the largest sword, the one with the ring for a hilt. “I’ve never seen you sharpen that one.” “Don’t need to,” he said, touching the sword with a gentle hoof. He could feel the metal vibrating, singing a song just beyond his ability to hear. “This is something special. Steel Glory is her name. Cost enough money to retire on, with a mansion and servants and everything.” “It doesn’t look that special,” she said. It didn’t. Steel Glory was a long, wide wedge of dull metal. It didn’t have the elegance or killer shine of his other blades, though its two straight edges were wickedly sharp. The ring-hilt was scarred and pitted, as if it had been corroded by time and overuse. He didn’t much care about the aesthetics of it, the sword looked exactly as it had when it had been given it to him, and was every bit as deadly as he’d been promised. Songbird hadn’t seen him use it yet, but if the North lived up to its reputation, it wouldn’t be long before he had to rely on its terrible power. “Looks are deceiving,” he said. “You should know that better than anyone, love. No pony’d guess a pretty mare like you’d be clever enough to play the Tempest against her own Pegasi.” Her lips quirked up into a smile, which he returned. “I shouldn’t have told you that,” she said. “It’s a good story,” he said. “I’ve got a few of my own,” “I’ve heard some of them,” she said. The gleam in her green eyes was part professional curiosity, and part her own love of stories. “The Blademaster, greatest monster hunter in Equestria. I heard about you slaying the Chimera at Saddlehorn Pass. Or when you fought the Plague-Driver down by Appleoosa! You versus a swarm of mutant ponies and buffalo created by a pony corrupted by eating a Druid’s Apple. That’s practically a modern legend!” He shivered at the mention of that incident. “Wasn’t as fun as the stories make it sound,” he said, touching Steel Glory again and remembering the sounds of the dying. “No. It wasn’t fun at all.” She caught on to his mood immediately. “Well, why don’t you tell me another story? Something that was fun?” He considered it for a moment, then smiled. He would oblige. “Alright. Now, you told me what you were doing before you got sent on this mad errand. Suppose it’s only fair I should do the same.” Then as the fire crackled and her eyes practically glowed with eager attention, he began to weave his tale. Blademaster: The Monster HuntersBlademaster Interlude: The Monster Hunters The sign said ‘reward’ in big, red letters, and that was all it needed to do to catch his attention as he walked past. The Blademaster stopped dead in his tracks, his head turned and his eyes locked on that beautiful word. Other ponies in the street grumbled and cursed under their breath, forced to walk around him. None said anything to his face, though. He was carrying too much steel for that to be a rational option. He sidestepped over to the bulletin board where the poster was nailed, a grin pulling at his lips as he read the details. REWARD! For the defeat of a vicious H Y D R A that has been attacking caravans passing through the MUDFOOT MARSH. 1,000 golden bits to the individual or group that brings proof that the creature has been slain to DAME CLEVER WILES, Chosen of the Sorceress. “A thousand, hmm?” he said, tapping a hoof on his chin. His coin purse had been feeling a little light lately. He was in no danger of starving any time soon, but more money was always better than less. Plus, a hydra would provide more of a challenge than he’d faced in quite some time. Another note just beneath the reward poster caught his eye: To the Monster Hunters: Meet at noon at the Cockatrice’s Garden. Better to work together than against each other. Money doesn’t spend when you’re dead. “Noon,” he said aloud, squinting up at the sun. It was already past its zenith. “Bugger!” His head snapped back and forth as he scanned the street, finally spotting, far down the street, a sign painted with the grey silhouettes of several ponies. As good a representation of petrification as he could expect. He shot off, dodging through the midday traffic to reach the tavern, hoping it wasn’t too late. “Oi! Coming through!” he shouted at the ponies who were slow to clear his path. Most just stopped in their tracks and watched him with confusion, which didn’t help him any. He leapt, using earth pony muscle to launch himself high into the air. Sun glinted from the hilts of his blades as he soared up two stories before coming down on top of the first floor awning of a general store. The material of the awning stretched, then snapped back like a trampoline, sending him arcing farther down the street. Ponies shouted in surprise and–he assumed–awe as he came down on the back of a cart hauling hay to the market. He rolled out of the hay, spilling some on the street and managing to catch a sprig in his teeth. He dusted himself off, chewing idly on the hay and ignoring the shouts of indignant anger from the farmer pulling the cart. Then, with a tip of his hat to the irate farmer, he trotted up to the door and pushed his way into the Cockatrice’s Garden. It was dim inside, the window shutters closed against the light. The transition meant he was blind for a moment as his eyes adjusted to the candlelight, and he let his other senses give him an idea of the scene. He heard the creak of leather, the jingle of chain armor, and the clink of porcelain against wood. It was the music made by the movements of half a dozen people as they looked over to see who had entered. He took a slow breath, letting his nose fill in more details. There was, first of all, the distinct scent of unwashed ponies, which he expected. It was joined by the smooth, cold odor of pipeweed, the spicy sting of hard cider, and the acrid waft of the oils used to protect weapons from rust and wear. Above it all was the greasy scent of cheap candlesmoke, and all together it gave him the mental image of a room full of the roughest, toughest, most scarred up bunch of hard fighters he could hope to see. He grinned at the prospect. When his vision cleared, he was not disappointed. Four figures sat around a table where a map of the local marshland was laid out. Mugs were in front of three of them, one steaming, a wine glass sat before the fourth. The bartender had just set down one of the mugs, the foam spilling over the side and dribbling down to the table. “If you’re here for the monster hunt, you’re late.” The Blademaster focused on the one who had spoken. He was a big blue earth pony draft stallion, one ear cut down to a stub and the other festooned with rings of gold and silver. His icy white mane and long beard had been twisted into several braids, each clasped by several jewelled pins along their length. He wore barding of oiled chainmail over thick cloth, and a long-bladed spear was propped against the wall next to him. He looked like an old barbarian warlord. To the barbarian’s right was a fiery-maned pegasus mare. She was the one wearing leather, a set of boiled plates and soft joints which was dyed black which gave off little sounds as she breathed and adjusted her wings. A hoofbow was set down next to her chair, and a dozen knives were sheathed along her legs. Her smoldering blue eyes watched him, and when she caught him looking she flashed a smile that showed she had capped her teeth with steel points. He made a mental note not to try to kiss her. To the barbarian’s left was not a pony, but the hulking grey shape of a minotaur. Like the barbarian pony, he was older, with his long hair and neatly-trimmed beard frosted with silver. His enormous arms and scarred, bare chest showed that he was still strong and tough as ever. An iron ring through his nose glinted, the open ends capped with a pair of small sapphires that seemed to glow, little eddies of mist forming around them with every breath the minotaur took. He held a long-stemmed pipe in one hand, its bowl sending up a thin tendril of smoke that coiled like a snake as it reached the ceiling. His expression was dark and pensive, and the Blademaster recognized a considerable intelligence shining in his small, black eyes. He had a massive two-headed battleaxe next to him, its notched blades evidence of the many battles it had seen. For all the damage it had sustained, though, he did not doubt the wicked sharpness of its edge from the way it gleamed in the candlelight. The final pony at the table was not quite what he’d been expecting. She was a light green unicorn mare with a mane of grey-green striped with white and orange-yellow eyes that stared at him with a kind of hollow quality that belied the pleasant smile that was on her face. She wore a harness of padded cloth that didn’t make much sense. It didn’t protect her back as much as it did her chest, and it protected one foreleg but not the other. She had a curved stick next to her that didn’t look like it could be used as a spear or staff. He supposed she might be specialized in magical attack. He’d seen a few unicorns who could turn the elements on their enemies, and they were always terrifyingly powerful. Still, something about her didn’t sit quite right with him. Maybe it was the way she didn't seem surprised to see him, unlike all the others. He decided he’d keep an eye on her. “Sorry, mate,” he said, sauntering over to the table. He grabbed a chair and dropped into it, shifting the blade on his back so he could lean back in a cocky pose. “Traffic, you know?” The green unicorn laughed, a sound that was surprisingly genuine, and the barbarian grunted in annoyance. The other two just stared at the Blademaster in silent judgement. “Well, you’re out of luck," the barbarian said, tapping We’ve already worked out a plan and made our pact. The four of us are more than enough to defeat a hydra.” “Aw, come on, now,” the Blademaster said, flashing his best smile. “Don’t be like that. You all look like a fascinating bunch of hunters, I’d hate to miss the opportunity to fight with you. Besides, if you lot say no, then I’ll just have to go out and kill the beastie on my own.” The pegasus barked out a laugh. “You think you can take on a monster like that yourself? I’m bigger than you are, string bean.” The Blademaster dropped his smile. “I think a thousand bits splits five ways just as well as four, and losing fifty from your share is better than losing all of it.” “You little–” “Stop!” the barbarian thundered, slamming a hoof on the table. He gave the Blademaster an appraising look. “What’s your name?” “I go by ‘Blademaster’,” he said, letting his smile creep back onto his face. “You expect us to believe that you are the Blademaster?” the pegasus snorted out. “It’s him,” the minotaur said, folding his arms across his chest. “I love being recognized,” the Blademaster said, tilting his chair back. The steady look the minotaur gave him was appraising, but not disappointed. “How do you know?” the barbarian asked. “I’ve heard him described by people who’ve met him,” the minotaur replied. “He fits. Right down to the idiot ego.” “Hey!” the Blademaster protested, leaning forward again. “I’m right here!” “I say we take him along,” the unicorn said. her voice was light, breezy, but it had an edge to it. It was a voice that could turn cutting in an instant. “He’s right. Fifty off each share isn’t so bad.” “Thanks, love,” he said, flashing his best smile at her. Her expression didn’t even flicker, his charm shattered against the stone wall of her pleasant facade. The barbarian grunted in annoyance again. Then he slid a page of freshly-inked parchment across the table. “Fine. Blademaster, if you want to sign on, put your mark here. The terms are that we work together to defeat the hydra and gain the reward offered. If one of us dies, their share gets sent to whoever they list on this page. If no one is listed, the rest of us divvy up the share between us. We register this with the Chosen before we leave, so there’s no profit in backstabbing.” “Do I have to list somepony local?” the Blademaster asked. “I’ve got some mates in Trottingham that’d see some use from the gold.” “Go ahead, just say where they can be found,” the barbarian said, pushing over a pot of ink and a quill. The Blademaster wasted no time in scratching out his title and cutie mark, as well as listing the friend he would like his share sent to in the–incredibly unlikely–event that he not return. When he was done, the barbarian took the page back and looked over what had been written with a nod of satisfaction. “Alright. So, let’s introduce ourselves again. I’m Riddle Snow, sometimes called the Shieldbreaker. I’ve been fighting since before the Fall, one way or another.” The Blademaster had heard of him, and his excitement at hearing who his companion would be almost broke his cool, but he kept it down and let the others speak. “Summer Gale,” the pegasus said, giving him a sullen glare. “Professional monster hunter.” “Iron Will,” the minotaur said, poking a thumb at his huge chest. “Travelling mercenary and entertainer extraordinaire.” “Entertainer?” the Blademaster asked. “Prizefighting and wrestling,” he explained. “Though Iron Will used to be a big name in motivational speaking before it stopped being profitable.” “Neat.” The Blademaster turned to the final pony at the table. “And, let me guess, you’re a mage, right? Have I heard of you?” She laughed again. “Nope. I’m Lyra. I’ve got a lot of skills, but combat magic isn’t really one of them. Also, I’ve travelled a lot, and I’ve been overseas for the past few years, so I seriously doubt you’d have heard of me.” Her smile turned sheepish. “I have heard of you, but only obliquely. I don’t know any tales of your deeds, sorry.” He shrugged, relishing the opportunity to impress someone with no expectations. “No worries, love. You’ll have a few to tell yourself, soon enough. Though, if you’re not a mage, what do you bring to this merry band?” “I’m an archer,” she said, tapping her strangely curved stick with a hoof. He didn’t see how that stick could be a useful hoofbow, but he wasn’t a unicorn so he just assumed it was magic and rolled with it. “Alright. As I said, I’m the Blademaster. I’m a fair hoof at the monster-slaying business myself. I reckon that with all five of us, this hydra won’t stand a chance.” “That’s the hope,” Riddle Snow said, then turned his attention back to the map. “Alright now, the plan is to start our search along the marsh road here. If we’re lucky, the hydra will come to us. If not, we’ll have to go into the swamp to search for its lair. Hydra-fighting tactics are fairly simple. When we find it, Lyra and Summer will be holding back and harrying it with arrows to keep the heads confused. Iron Will and Blademaster will be working as a team to cut the heads off one at a time. I will then burn the neck stump to prevent it from regenerating into two new heads. We’re going to need torches and oil for that. So long as we each do our part, it shouldn’t be too dangerous.” “Sounds good,” Blademaster said. It was as fine a plan as he would have come up with. “Iron Will agrees.” “So long as I get my share,” Summer Gale said. “Well,” Lyra said with a wide smile. “When do we leave?” *** The sun was touching on the horizon by the time they made it to the edge of the marsh, and there was an unspoken, unanimous agreement that they did not want to be wandering around a swamp looking for a dangerous predator in the dark. So they set up a camp to the side of the road and settled in for the night. The Blademaster spent some time checking his weapons over, though he knew they were in good order. He used the opportunity to observe the other monster hunters without being too obvious about it. Riddle Snow was tending the fire, cooking up a pot of vegetable stew that was smelling absolutely divine after the long afternoon on the road. Iron Will was a little ways out, flexing his massive muscles and going through exercises with his battleaxe. He held still on each movement for a touch longer than was strictly necessary, giving the impression that he was posing for some ephemeral artist. Lyra and Summer Gale sat together on a fallen log, having a quiet conversation that the Blademaster strained to hear. “But doesn’t it feel weird?” Lyra said. “Wearing someone like that?” “At first, yeah,” Summer replied, stretching out her foreleg and looking at the leather gauntlet that protected it. “But you get used to it. It was weirder when I was wearing cowskin.” “That’s not cow leather?” Lyra asked. Summer chuckled, showing off her metal-capped teeth. “Nope. Monster hide. I personally killed everything that went into making my armor, and they all deserved it.” Lyra shook her head. “I just don’t get why you’d want to in the first place.” “You ever try to fly in metal armor?” Summer asked, grinning as Lyra just gave her a flat look. “You ever try to do anything acrobatic in metal armor? Doesn’t work so well. Cloth like what you got on is good to move in, but protects about as well as pissing in the wind to stop the breeze.” The Blademaster chuckled at that, causing the mares to look over in his direction. He kept his head down over his sword, pretending to study it for imperfections. “Anyway,” Summer continued. “Leather’s the best medium. Good against blunt weapons, and it can even turn aside claws and teeth, but not as heavy or restrictive as metal so you can really get moving in it.” “But you’re wearing a dead thing.” “Better than being a dead thing.” Lyra fell silent at this, and the Blademaster sneaked a glance at her and saw a calculating look in her orange-yellow eyes. He could tell that she was considering a change in wardrobe, and he couldn’t blame her. It had been a decent pitch. Deciding that he wasn’t going to hear anything more from them, he decided to put away his blades and approach Riddle Snow. The old earth pony looked up at him as he stuck his head over the bubbling stew and took a deep breath. “Smell’s good. Almost professional, where’d you learn to cook?” Snow gave him a flat look, but answered. “I grew up in the far north. My family travelled a lot, bringing supplies to the Guard outposts and crystal mines. We spent a lot of nights under the stars, and we had to take turns cooking. You learn very quickly how to make a lot out of a little, and how to make it taste decent.” “I always just had my mum’s cooking growing up,” the Blademaster said. “Never got the hang of it myself.” “You must go hungry a lot, then,” Riddle Snow said, sweeping his gaze across the Blademaster’s compact form. “More than I’d like,” he admitted with a sheepish smile. “You should learn,” Snow said, giving the pot another stir. “There’s little a warrior needs more than a full belly to keep him going.” “Fancy giving a mate a few tips?” It turned out that he did, and he spent the next half hour talking about all the different ways a pony could make any meal worth eating. The Blademaster listened intently, asking questions about what spices were the best to travel with. When the stew was ladled out, he ate eagerly, savoring the way Riddle Snow had managed to make foraged greens and flowers into something as good as he’d ever gotten in from a village inn. He knew, mostly from trial and error, which roadside plants were the most edible, but he hadn’t realized how much better they could be with a little preparation and care. Finally, with the whole group settled down and basking in the afterglow of a good dinner, he decided to broach the subject that had been on his mind since he’d heard Snow’s name. “You know, I have heard of you,” the Blademaster said, and Snow looked up at him with a grim set to his jaw. “You’re a bloody legend, mate. You were in the Royal Guard. Protecting Princess Celestia right in Canterlot itself. I heard you fought when the city fell. I heard you got away and led a resistance group near the border with the North before it got stomped by the Sorceress. Captain Shieldbreaker the Good.” Snow grunted. “Never liked them calling me ‘Good’. I was just doing my duty to the Princess.” “So it’s true,” Lyra said in a half-whisper. Her eyes were locked on Snow’s face, unblinking and almost cat-like in the way they reflected the light of the fire. “You fought the Rulers.” Iron Will barked out a laugh. “And you walked right into that Chosen’s office today like it was nothing! You got some big, brass balls, Snow. Iron Will is impressed.” Snow flashed the minotaur an annoyed frown. “Don’t be. I fought the Sorceress, yes. Fought, past tense. Spent five years hiding with the remains of the Guard near the border with the Madmare’s domain and making guerilla strikes anywhere we thought it could weaken her. We thought if we could find out what had happened to the Princess, we might have a chance of bringing her back and ending the Rulers’ hold on Equestria.” He sighed, looking down at his hooves. “We were fools, that’s all. It just took us a while to find out exactly how stupid we were.” “What happened?” the Blademaster asked. “We made a mistake,” Snow said. “We caught one of her Chosen. We were interrogating him, trying to find out better targets. But we got a little too rough. He got… hurt.” Snow grimaced, his voice coming out in a harsh growl. “She came down on us herself, riding her favourite Dragon, Ferriotrax. Turned half my soldiers into torches before we even realized what was happening. Then the Sorceress came in and got her Chosen. The stories you’ve heard about them, how they can’t be harmed by blade, hoof or spell, they’re all true. I saw good, strong ponies die in agony just from touching her in anger.” He stopped for a moment, shaking his head hard enough to make all his jewelry jingle. “The worst part wasn’t the death, wasn’t how easily she broke our discipline. No, the worst part was how little she seemed to care about us at all. She could have crushed us at any time, but she’d let us run free for five years with only a token force set against us. Then, when all she wanted was her Chosen back, she destroyed us. We weren’t a threat. We weren’t anything. That was the end of my rebellion.” “Did you ever find any clues about what happened to Celestia?” Summer asked. He shook his head. “Never.” “But, you still led a rebellion,” the Blademaster said. “That’s got to mean something. At the very least you should still be a criminal to them. Aren’t you worried you’ll get recognized by the Chosen?” He stared into his stew in cold silence for a long moment. His lips were pressed into an angry line, but when he spoke his voice was only full of quiet weariness. “After she’d broken my forces, she gave amnesty to the survivors. Didn’t even take prisoners. She said she was being… ‘generous’.” Lyra stood suddenly, kicking over her bowl and spilling the remains of her dinner into the dirt. Without a word, she stalked off into the dark. They watched her go in silence. Finally, Summer spoke. “Was there anyone else?” she asked. “Rebelling against the Rulers? I mean, you couldn’t have been the only Guards to try fighting.” To this, Snow actually chuckled. “Oh, there were others. Still are, in some parts. Flash Sentry leads a bunch that are little more than bandits in the East. He was just a raw cadet in my day, but he’s kept up some of the discipline of the Guard. There’s a pony they call the Stormbreaker working along the border between the West and the South. Former Wonderbolt, still as much a speed-jockey as ever, I hear.” His face fell a little. “There are a few more left. There were a lot of us in the early days, but time and lack of leadership has killed or broken most." He paused, staring into the fire. "It didn't have to be that way. We had a chance, once, to be a united force. We had a leader, and a Princess to rally around, even if it wasn’t Celestia.” “Really?” Iron Will asked. “I thought Celestia was the only royalty you ponies had.” He nodded. “Mi Amore Cadenza. She was a young Alicorn, hadn’t really been introduced to the public yet, and nopony really knew if she would ever be as powerful as Celestia. She wasn’t in Canterlot during the Fall, and I guess that’s why she survived. For a time after the Rulers took over she was our secret weapon. Legitimate royalty to counter the usurpers. She gave a lot of us hope, but she vanished about a year after the Fall.” “What happened to her?” the Blademaster asked. Snow shrugged. “Nopony knows. Maybe she realized it was futile before the rest of us did, and abandoned us all to our delusion.” He sighed and took a slow drink from his canteen. “I hope so. I hope she found a quiet town to settle down in and make as good a life as she can from the ashes we’re left with. Wherever she went, she took our commander with her, the first captain of the rebellion. They were sweet on each other, and I can see them going off to live together away from all the pressures of their rank. I got the job after he was gone, and I guess I couldn’t live up to it, either.” “Hey, you did you best, right?” the Blademaster said. Snow grunted. “Maybe. It’s been more than a decade since I was captain of anything, in any case. I put it all behind me years ago.” “Damn, Snow,” Summer said with a steel grin. “You’re a real hero. Like from the stories. Dark past and everything.” “Everypony’s past is dark,” Riddle Snow said. “That’s why we look to the future.” “Oh, that’s good,” Iron Will said, brightening. “Do you mind if I borrow that?” “Go right ahead,” Snow said. “But right now you should all get some sleep. I’ll take first watch.” The Blademaster had so many questions for the old stallion, but he held off. He’d heard a good story for the night, and they did have a full day in the morning. So he curled up under his blanket, his swords laid out next to him in easy reach, and relaxed towards sleep. Before dreams took him, as he looked out in the darkness, he thought saw the light of the fire reflecting off Lyra’s shining eyes, and the glittering tears that fell from them to the black earth below. *** “Ugh, I hate swamps!” the Blademaster said, pulling his hoof out of deep, sucking mud for what seemed like the hundredth time that day. “Why couldn’t the hydra have just been nice and attacked us on the road, like a good vicious, bloodthirsty predator?” His tail swished from side to side, swatting at the biting insects that had already succeeded in making his flanks itch like fire with their constant attacks. “I don’t know,” Lyra said with a chuckle from behind him. “I think this a great place to build a nice little cottage.” She stomped on a rotten log that was poking out of the still water of the marsh. It split open, spilling a squirming mass of bugs that crawled all over each other to get out of the open. She grinned at the Blademaster as he recoiled from the sight. Whatever had gotten to her the previous night, she seemed to have recovered her good cheer completely by the time he had woken up in the morning. “At least you’ll have lots of company.” “You’re mad, love,” he replied, giving her a look of mock horror before turning back to the front. “Right raving starkers. Oi! Where’s the path!” he shouted up ahead. Iron Will was in the lead, his big axe in his hands as he squared off against a tangle of vines and branches that blocked their path. “When somepony tries to block, show them that you rock!” he snarled, swinging in vicious overhand chops as he tore through the foliage. When he was done he poked his head through the new break in the vines before turning back to the rest of them. “Iron Will has found dry land.” “Finally,” the Blademaster sighed, slogging ahead past Summer Gale to peek through the break next to Iron Will. A moment later he turned back to the group. “I think we’re getting close, mates.” “Why do you say that?” Snow asked. He was bringing up the rear, carefully keeping several torches and jugs of oil above the water. “That’s a big footprint,” Iron Will said, sounding impressed. “What he said.” The Blademaster jumped through the hole, happy to have something solid beneath his hooves. The island wasn’t large, but it was big enough to have several imprints of enormous, clawed feet moving in a clear direction. He bent and examined one of the prints as the others came through the break, each relieved in their own way to be out of the water, even if it was only for a little while. “Excellent,” Snow said. “Summer, do a circuit and see if you can spot the lair from the air.” She took off without a word, and Snow made his way next to the Blademaster. “What have you found?” He shrugged at the question. “Not sure. This is a hydra track, no question, but there’s something else here.” He poked a hoof at the edge of the print, which had some strange scratches down it. “This is another track, almost right where the Hydra was stepping. It’s not another hydra, I know that much, but I’m not sure what it actually is.” “Prey?” Snow asked. “Could be,” the Blademaster said, but he made it clear that he didn’t think so. “These other tracks have claws, and big ones. I don’t know many animal with claws like that. Whatever it was would have put up one heck of a fight, but I’m not seeing signs of that around here.” He gestured around the area. “And these other tracks aren’t anywhere else, just around where the hydra was walking. Whatever it was, the hydra was following it, and close. There’s no way this other critter would miss something that big walking right behind it, but it doesn’t look like either of them were running either.” “What does that mean?” The Blademaster shrugged. “Search me. I guess we’ll find out when we catch up to the bugger.” Just then Summer swooped down, landing in the footprint. “I’ve got him,” she said, a triumphant smile gleaming on her face. “A mile west. Rocky island with a cave. Looks like it’s his lair.” “Good work,” Snow said. “Alright everypony! Time to get ready. We’ll be fighting the beast in its home turf, and Blademaster says there might be something else there as well. Be alert. Be aware. Be ready to help if any of us are in trouble.” They dropped their various baggage on the dry ground. It wouldn’t do to go into combat weighed down by bedrolls and cookpots. Then they set about making themselves ready for battle. Iron Will pulled out a hauberk of glittering scale and donned it without a padded undershirt. The Blademaster didn’t envy the chafing that would cause, but he supposed the minotaur had a thick enough hide that it wouldn’t be a problem. He cinched the armor in place with a wide belt that featured an enormous golden buckle which sported the image of an upraised fist. He completed his armor by donning a pair of heavy iron gauntlets with wickedly sharp spikes protruding from around the wrists and across the knuckles. Summer Gale hadn’t been carrying much more than her combat gear to begin with, and so only shed her canteen and small bag of rations. She checked over her quiver, ensuring that she had a full complement of bolts for her hoofbow. Then she checked over her knives, and, finding them to her satisfaction, took to the skies to circle and await her fellow monster hunters. Riddle Snow prepared his torches, wetting the cloth-covered heads with oil. He’d been wearing his armor since they had left camp that morning, and did not seem the least tired by its constant weight. Earth pony endurance showing its value. The Blademaster smiled at that thought, he supposed his own cache of metal would be quite a burden if it weren’t for the gifts of his heritage. His own preparations were quick. He simply dumped the extra weight of supplies and made sure that his weapons weren’t snagged on something. He reached a hoof back to touch the cold metal of the large sword on his back. A faint vibration could be felt in the steel, pulsing in an excited tempo that urged him to action. The song of steel, folded deep into the metal and giving that one blade a life that his others could never match. He pulled his attention away from the sword and observed his last companion as she readied herself. Lyra had her strange stick out, surrounded in her yellow magic as it was bent slowly into a new shape. With a grunt of effort she held the stick in its new position and quickly set a thick string between its two ends. When she relaxed her telekinetic grip he could see that it really was a bow, but not like any he’d seen ponies wield in combat before. “Is that a practice bow?” he asked, incredulous. He’d seen things like it in archery competitions before, but those had been firmly grounded. “Nope,” she said, smiling brightly as she admired the bow. It was a pretty thing, lacquered black with green highlights. “It’s a minotaur bow,” Iron Will said, looking at Lyra’s weapon with curiosity. “I didn’t think ponies could use them.” “Unicorn,” Snow reminded him, grunting as he stepped up next to Lyra. “Horns make everything easier. How does it fare against a hoofbow?” “Better penetration over a longer range,” Lyra said. “Faster rate of fire, too. Aim’s a teensy bit more tricky if you don’t have hands, though.” “I assume you’ve compensated for that?” She grinned. “Oh yeah. Stand back.” She closed her eyes, visibly gathering energy to her horn in little streams of amber light. Crackling bolts of yellow and green flashed from her horn over the rest of her body, and where they passed the Blademaster could see muscles shifting and bunching beneath her coat. With a hiss of pain, Lyra rose to stand on her hind legs. They twisted a little, reorienting her hips to hold her in the new bipedal posture. She held out her forelegs and they were sheathed in crackling energy that extended beyond her hooves to form fingers, turning her hooves into makeshift hands. She reached out and grasped her bow, testing its draw with a satisfied smile. Iron Will let out a booming laugh. “That’s right, girl! If they say you can’t do it, then you make them chew it!” “‘Chew it’?” Summer asked, snickering as she hovered above the group. Iron Will looked a little crestfallen. “Yeah, you know. ‘Eat their words’? It’s one of my old motivational mottos.” “It could use some work,” the Blademaster said. “Alright,” Snow cut in before Iron Will could retort. “I assume this means we’re all ready to go. Remember, we keep our heads and work together, and this shouldn’t be much of a challenge. We might even be back in town before nightfall. If we are, a round of drinks on me.” That got a cheer from the assembled monster hunters, and they set off to finish the job. The final mile to the hydra’s lair was a slog, but without the extra weight of their camping gear and the knowledge that they would soon be able to get out of the marsh, it passed by without comment. They crept to the edge of the rocky island and looked in on their prey. The hydra was a four-headed specimen, its poison-green scales and beady red eyes glinting in the midday sun. It sat in front of the cave, which was too small for the enormous beast to have fit into. It was also half asleep, with two heads hissing at each over the remains of a sheep while the other two lolled, snoring, on the ground. “Well, it’s an ugly one,” the Blademaster mused quietly. “Big, though.” “Big and stupid,” Snow whispered back. “Summer, Lyra, hang back and wait until we’re engaged before firing. We’ll strike the sleeping heads first. Once we’re in, we concentrate on one head at a time. Archers, start hitting any head we’re not attacking to keep them off balance. Ready?” There were affirmative nods all around. “Then let’s go.” They burst out of the foliage in a rush. The Blademaster kept low to the ground, his steps as silent as they were swift. Iron Will wasn’t nearly as elegant, standing tall and bellowing a war cry as he sped towards one of the sleeping heads. His hooves struck hard against stone and he leapt into the air, bringing his axe up for a brutal downward swipe that buried the head of the weapon into the creature’s neck. The hydra head’s eyes opened comically wide, its tongue shooting out as a croaking hiss emerged from its injured throat. The Blademaster wasted no time, skidding as he rounded the front of the injured head. He pulled one of his side swords, the single-edged blade flashing razor-sharp in the light as he brought it down right across from where Iron Will was pulling his axe free. The sword cut through scale, but got stopped by the thick meat beneath. The Blademaster placed his forehooves on the flat of the blade and called upon his earth pony strength to push. Blood sprayed from the wound as his sword sliced cleanly through, severing half the head. Another roaring chop from Iron Will completed the work, and Snow was right there, a burning torch in his mouth as he coated the open wound with oil and set it alight. The attack had taken barely three seconds, but by now the other heads were reacting. The two awake ones hissed in rage, diving to gobble up the Blademaster and Iron Will. They were halfway to their targets before arrows began to fall on them. A bolt from Summer’s hoofbow struck one of the heads right in its eye, bursting the orb and making the serpentine head rear back in pain. Lyra’s first arrow fell wide of her target, however, and while the second did sink into its nose, it wasn’t enough to stop the head from plowing into the Blademaster and sending him flying across the island in an uncontrolled tumble. He rolled against the stone and into the marsh water, splashing to a halt amid a thick bed of reeds. He spent a few slow breaths lying there, making sure nothing was broken. He’d gotten off lucky, but it could have been much worse. He decided he’d talk to Lyra about improving her aim once this was all over. He pulled himself up and looked over to the battle. Iron Will and Snow were attacking the head that had hit him. The one that had been sleeping was looking around in confusion, apparently unaware that the fight was right under its nose. The more awake one was being peppered with shots from Summer, who was flying around it to keep it focused on her and away from the fight. Lyra was throwing a few arrows in, but she was standing in the open and appeared to be scanning the surroundings instead of paying attention to the fight. The Blademaster started back towards the island just as his companions succeeded in severing the second head. He let out a whoop and sped up, only to be brought short as he saw something moving in the cave. He could only see it because the angle he had been thrown gave him a different vantage point, allowing him to get a glimpse of what was beyond the bulk of the hydra’s body. Something moved in the shadows, something with flashing claws and wide, black wings. “Get out of there!” He screamed, fear making his heart pound in his chest. “Dragon!” Just as he shouted, the Dragon made it’s move. It scrambled over the hydra with the surprising speed some lizards were capable of. The Blademaster’s warning was all that the monster hunters got, and it wasn’t soon enough for them to escape the wyrm. A swiping claw caught Iron Will in the back, sending broken pieces of his armor flying in a spray of blood. He spun to face the new foe, but the hydra moved at the hissing direction of the black Dragon, dropping a heavy claw on the minotaur and pinning him to the ground with a teeth-rattling stomp. Snow dropped his torch, reaching for his spear instead. The Dragon took a deep breath and blew a stream of purple flame that washed over Snow. When it cleared, the old warrior was burned, but still standing as he levelled his spear at the Dragon and charged. Instead of fighting, the Dragon leapt up, its wide wings beating hard to bring him level with the circling Summer Gale. She turned her hoofbow on the new threat, but one of the hydra’s heads smacked into her from behind, causing her to fly into the Dragon’s reach. It grabbed hold of her, talons scoring her armor as it almost casually plucked the bow from her grasp, then hurled her like a stone down at Snow. She screamed as she fell, her wings barely slowing her before she hit the earth pony, sending them both tumbling to the ground. The Dragon spent a moment in the air, grinning in triumph, before one of Lyra’s arrows punched through the thin membrane of its wings. It hissed and spun on her, only to have her to put several more holes in its wings in quick succession. Losing lift, it spiralled down to land in front of the hydra, glaring hate at Lyra as she lined up another shot. A screech from the Dragon was all it took for the hydra to curl one long neck in front of it, blocking Lyra’s shot. The Blademaster finally made it to the stone island. Instead of rushing to his downed companions, though, he barrelled towards Lyra. A quick flip of his head and she squeaked as she found herself lifted onto his back as he galloped away from the Dragon’s lair. “What? Stop! We have to go back!” she shouted at him, kicking at his flank. “Sorry, love, not feeling suicidal today,” he replied, putting on as much speed as he could as his hooves hit deep muck. “No! I have to kill that Dragon!” she screamed. She tried to roll off of him, but he was too practiced at rescuing damsels to give her a chance. “I have to!” He didn’t reply, just kept forging ahead until they were in a copse of vine-ridden trees that blocked every line of sight. Then he dropped her unceremoniously into the mud. She sat there, tears falling from her eyes. He ignored her at first, looking through the foliage to see if either of the monsters were making pursuit. When he was satisfied that the Dragon had let them go, he turned to the unicorn. “Alright, time to clue the Blademaster in. What in bloody tartarus is going on here?” She scowled at him. He rolled his eyes at her sullen silence. “Look, I’m not as silly as I come off, right? I notice things. I saw you looking for the Dragon before it showed up. The hydra’s just his bloody pet, and you knew about it! You knew, and you didn’t bother telling the rest of us. What I want to know, right now, is why?” She wiped away her tears with one muddy hoof, leaving dark streaks on her face. “What does it matter now? I failed.” “Bloody right you did,” he snapped. “Failed us. Now talk.” “I knew the Dragon was here. I… I was told it would be here.” “Who told you?” She looked at him squarely, haunted determination and an ocean of rage burning clearly in the depths of her eyes. “The Druid.” He recoiled from that. “No…” He shook his head, then looked at her in a new light. She nodded. “I didn’t know if it was true, of course, but she didn’t lie about the hydra, or about the rest of you. She told me how to bring you all together, the note under the reward poster. She told me I had to come here and fight the Dragon.” “Why in Equestria would you want to do that?” He leaned against a tree, feeling a little weak in the knees at the mention of the ruler of the South. “To prove I can,” she said. “To practice for the real fight.” “Practice?” He blinked at her in amazement. “You think that’s just practice? I’m not sure I want to know, but what kind of fight are you practicing for?” “Ferriotrax Sanguinus.” He goggled for a moment before throwing his hooves up in exasperation. “I was right! I didn’t want to know!” He sank down to sit across from her. “You really are mad. He’s the Sorceress’s favourite. He’s bloody invincible.” “I know,” she said. Her voice barely more than a whisper, but its tone was uncompromising. “Still gonna do it. And you’re going to help me.” “The hell I am.” She let out a harsh laugh. “The Druid said you would. Maybe that’s what she was lying about. Maybe this whole thing has been one big joke to her.” He shivered at that. It was universally accepted that there were only two options with the Druid: absolute truth or utter lie. If she said that a pony would do something and wasn’t lying, they would do it. Even if they knew about her prophecy. Even if they did everything in their power to avoid it. If she wasn't lying. The problem was, until the time came there was no way to know. Philosophers had gone mad with questions of free will and the Druid’s foresight. “It doesn’t matter now,” Lyra said, sighing. “I failed. I’m just going to have to… find another way.” She stood, shaking some of the mud from her coat. “Come on, we should get the supplies before some swamp creature eats all of them.” He took a deep breath and speared her with a cold look. “You can run off if you want to, but I’m gonna rescue the others.” She paused, frowning at him. “They were taken down by the Dragon. What’s to rescue?” “If nothing else,” he said. “Their bones and their pride.” He stood and looked through the woods towards the Dragon’s lair. “I’m not letting that monster get away without feeling some punishment for what it’s done.” “You sound spiteful,” she said. “Bloody right I am,” he replied. When he turned back to her she was grinning, her eyes shining with the light of her magic. “I can get behind that. Do you have a plan?” “Bit of one, yeah,” he said. “It could use an archer. That is, if you’re not forgetting to tell me something else that'll get me killed, or planning to bugger off the first time something goes wrong.” She winced. “I deserve that. No, if you’re going to take on that Dragon, I’ll stand with you.” “Right. Good. Well, some good news: that Dragon’s just a juvenile. Big as a cart, sure, but that’s better than big as a castle and twice as tough. Can’t have too much in the way of a hoard, either, which explains why it’s sending its pet to attack travellers. You’ve already grounded it, which is good because if it could still fly we’d be butchered. It’s gonna be pissed about that, so here’s what I need you to do...” *** The sun was still high as the Blademaster crept up on the Dragon’s lair. He moved through the shallow water of the marsh like an alligator, with just his eyes and snout above the surface. When he reached the island, he circled it so he was behind the hill with the cave in it before stepping carefully onto dry land. With slow, silent movements he removed his side-swords. Then he took the wide blade from his back and began unwrapping the thick black cloth from around it. The sword sang in anticipation as it was revealed to the air, its dark surface drinking in the sunlight and barely reflecting any of it. He ran a hoof along the heavy blade, steadying his own nerves with its steel confidence. It was made to cut whatever he set it to, and the blade named Steel Glory would never fail in that. He took the mouthpiece and slipped the metal cage over his teeth. It was the companion to the sword, and the only thing that would allow him to control the powerful blade. Ready, he crept up the side of the rocky hill. It took agonizing minutes, every hoof placed with care, but he made his way over the hill until he was perched just above the entrance to the Dragon’s cave. He observed the scene for a moment, seeing right away that his companions were still alive, if hurt. Both Snow and Summer were conscious, glaring at their captor with defiant rage. Iron Will seemed unconscious, his head curled tight against his chest. They were covered in some sticky slime, likely a product of the hydra, which was keeping them from escaping as the Dragon picked through their gear. “Shiny,” the Dragon hissed as it looked at one of Snow’s jewelled hairpins. Its long, serpentine tongue snaked out and snatched the hairpin into its mouth. It swallowed and let out a long, satisfied sigh. “Stupid pony adventurers,” it said, turning to its captives. “Should have brought more gems.” The hydra let out a whimper as one of its heads nosed at the burnt stumps of two of its necks. “Quiet!” the Dragon snapped, prompting another rumbling squeak from its pet. “You wouldn’t have gotten hurt if you’d been standing guard, like you were supposed to!” The hydra made a hissing noise. “Well, what do you expect me to do about it? My breath is flame! Bite your own heads off!” The hydra’s eyes widened as if the idea was revolutionary genius. The Blademaster decided not to wait around to see if such a plan would actually work for the hydra, drawing a dagger and angling it so that the light reflected out into the marsh, to the place where Lyra was hiding. He was rewarded a moment later when an arrow arced out of the sky and sank deep into the hydra’s body. It squealed and its two living heads reared up, eyes searching for whatever had hurt it. “Remember me?” Lyra shouted, leaping from her cover and rushing through the water. Her bipedal run was swift, and better at moving through the muck than a normal pony’s four-footed gait. “You!” the Dragon hissed, smoke beginning to billow from its mouth. “You ruined my wings!” “And I’m here to ruin your day!” Lyra said, stopping to fire an arrow that hit the Dragon right in his puffed out chest. The arrow pierced through the Dragon’s scales, but the moment it did the heat from the wyrm’s body made the rest of the arrow explode into flame that quickly reduced to ash. From his angle, the Blademaster could even see the thin trail of molten metal leak from the wound, the remains of the arrowhead that hadn’t survived the strike. Still, even doing minimal damage, the shot enraged the Dragon. He let out a roar and splashed into the water after Lyra. The hydra made a hissing, babbling noise and made to follow the Dragon. The Blademaster didn’t give it the chance, leaping from the top of the cave. He took the ring-shaped hilt of his sword in his caged teeth, locking the device tightly. Then, his neck muscles bulging with the strain, he whipped his head around as he fell, and brought the edge of his sword down on one of the hydra’s remaining necks. He didn’t even feel it when the blade connected, the cut so smooth that it tore through scale, flesh and bone as easily as air. He hit the ground in a rain of blood, the sword slicing deeply into the stone. He dragged it up, and it came free with ease. He spun, working his jaw as he repositioned the blade and struck upwards, severing the last bit of flesh connecting head to body and putting the sword in line to fend off the other head as it dove at him. He slashed across, rolling to the side, and the bottom of the hydra’s jaw fell free, slamming into the spot he had just vacated. The injured head reeled back, tongue flapping wildly in the air. The Blademaster snapped his head around, shifting his sword to the side as he rushed towards the bound monster hunters. “Burn it!” Snow roared at him as he got close. “You have to burn the stump!” The Blademaster’s eyes widened as he remembered that bit of hydra lore, and he turned around just in time to see two new heads erupt from the stump of the one he had severed. They towered to full height in the span of a second, glaring down at him with anger. The mouth-cage he used to control Steel Glory didn’t let him talk, but if it did he’d have a few choice words for his own stupidity. The hydra’s heads swept down at him, and he scrambled to dodge. Teeth snapped on his tail-hairs as the first head bit at him, he yelped as they were torn free, but kept going. The second head snaked into his path, hissing at him. He spun Steel Glory around, spearing the beast through its nose. This time the hydra was the one who yelped, the head pulling back and flailing around in pain. He didn’t have time to capitalize on this, as the third head, the one he’d lopped the jaw from, had already regenerated and was rushing at him, low to the ground and with its new mouth wide open. He twisted, leaping as it came for him. He put all his earth pony muscle into the jump, and so cleared the snapping jaws and landed upright on the hydra’s neck. He ran along the serpentine length, leaping as the neck bucked and thrashed. He came down on the hydra’s body. It took a moment to orient himself, then he went into a roll, sending Steel Glory through the neck he had just leapt from. The head fell free, but he was already seeing the problem this would create. He could lop heads off until he exhausted himself, but it would only ever make the situation worse if he couldn’t stop them from regenerating. The oil and torches were over where the Dragon had been picking through the spoils of its victory, but he couldn’t reach them without having to fight his way through the hydra. He couldn’t do it alone. Not like this. He looked towards his companions, pleading with his eyes for them to do something, anything that would help. Snow and Summer struggled with their bonds, but the goop covering them was just not letting go. Then Iron Will raised his head, and his breath was coming out in misty puffs. The nosering he wore was miraculously still in place, and the gems that capped it were glowing with stored magic. “If somepony tries to hold you down,” he growled, then with a deep breath he blew a stream of supercooled air over the goo covering him, freezing it to brittle solidity in an instant. “You bring them to the ground!” With a mighty heave he flexed his enormous muscles and exploded the solidified goo away from him. The Blademaster let out a muffled shout of joy as Iron Will turned and used more of his magical breath to free the other two. His exulting was cut short as he was attacked by the two remaining hydra heads. He ran and dove off the side of the beast, making sure to keep the heads from turning on his companions as they got free. They came at him with no strategy, no coordination, but their sheer bulk and strength more than made up for it. He ducked and rolled, jumped and parried. Steel Glory spun so fast it was a grey blur as he turned it from side to side, keeping the hydra from crushing him by the barest of margins. He saw opportunities to hurt the beast, to cut off a head or just a chunk of flesh, but he let them pass. It would be worse than useless if what he did resulted in more heads to deal with. Holding back meant that he was vulnerable, though, and the heads were going to get lucky eventually. Sweat trickled down his face, stinging at his eyes as he kept moving, his jaw aching from the effort of controlling Steel Glory’s powerful swings. Then he tripped, a leg going out from under him and leaving him unbalanced as a head speared towards him. He scrambled to get Steel Glory up and ward off the attack, but before he had the blade halfway ready, the head stopped. Its eyes went wide and it yelped with pain as a notched waraxe was hurled into its skull. “Hey, you! Iron Will has something to say!” The Blademaster and hydra both looked over to where the minotaur was holding a cask of oil in one hand and a lit rag in the other. “It’s barbeque time!” The Blademaster took the hint, launching himself towards the distracted head. He leapt up, the cords of his neck standing plain as he worked Steel Glory’s wicked edge up and down in three precise chops. When he touched ground again, the hydra’s head fell free and Iron Will pitched the oil over the bloody stump before lighting it up. “One down, three to go!” Summer shouted as she dove down and grabbed the Blademaster around the barrel, lifting him into the sky. As he got a better perspective on the fight, he saw that the head he had cut off just before Iron Will had made his escape had indeed regenerated into two new ones, both of which were battling Riddle Snow, who was spinning his spear like the master he was, keeping them both too confused and tangled to be effective. “I’ve got the oil,” Summer said in his ear. “You do the chopping!” With that she let go, throwing him at the two heads Snow was fighting. He twisted in the air, spinning around to build momentum before he hit the hydra with all his might. The downstroke cut almost completely through one neck. The sword bit into the ground, but he didn’t slow, dragging it through the rock and up again to shear through the other neck on the upswing. As the two wounds yawned wide, Summer Gale swooped down and lashed out with two pots of oil, smashing them on the exposed bone. A moment later Snow was there, dragging the tip of his spear along the ground to cast sparks on the oil-soaked stumps and set them alight. In tandem, the Blademaster and the Shieldbreaker lashed out with their weapons to finish the job of severing the heads, ensuring that the fire would stop them from regenerating at all. The last head was fighting with Iron Will, who left a trail of red from the blood streaming out of the slashes across his back. The hydra snarled and snapped at him, but the minotaur stood his ground, reached out with his gauntleted fists and slammed them into the monster’s jaws. He let out a roar of effort and wrenched the mouth wide, holding it open with his great strength. Casting a single glance at each other, both Snow and the Blademaster rushed in. Snow leapt high, coming down with his spear leading to pin the serpentine neck in place as the Blademaster came in low, and with three swift chops severed the last head. Summer was there a moment later, throwing a lit cask of oil that shattered in a burst of flame and smoke on the final stump. There was a moment of quiet triumph as the monster hunters caught their breath. Steel hissed against steel as the Blademaster slid his sword into a ready position. Snow pulled his spear free, and with a spinning snap he cleaned the blood from its blade. Summer landed next to Iron Will and took a look at his back as he bent down and huffed in deep breaths that came out in a cloud of frost. “Oh yeah, that’s gonna be infected,” Summer said, wincing. “Not gonna kill you right away, which is a plus. Must hurt pretty bad, though.” “If it’s not going to take you out, it’s not worth whining about,” Iron Will said, straightening. Just then a sharp yell caught their attention, and they looked up to see Lyra running full-tilt across the island. She leapt, turning in mid-air to nock and fire an arrow with lightning speed. The moment her hooves touched ground she was vaulting into a backflip that took her completely head over hooves before leading into another flip, and then another. With each time she touched ground, she fired another arrow. Each shot hit the furious Dragon that followed her. The arrows burst into fiery ash the moment they pierced the beast’s scales, not even slowing it as it sloshed out of the marsh water on its hind legs. The Dragon roared in rage, but skid to a stop as it caught sight of the burning corpse of the hydra. It stared at the body for a long moment, shock plain in its eyes. Then those eyes narrowed and focused on the group of monster hunters, a new and greater rage burning in their depths. The Blademaster put a hoof up to balance his sword while he removed the mouth-cage. “You got any more ice breath left, big guy?” Iron Will shook his head. “Maybe one more full burst. Won’t be any good against a Dragon anyway.” “It’ll be good enough, mate. You come with me. Summer, get up there and wait for your opportunity. Snow, you think you can buy me a minute?” Riddle Snow spun his spear up to a ready position. “What are you planning?” “A surprise,” the Blademaster replied with a cocky grin. “Just buy me the time and I’ll let you know when to bring me the beastie.” Snow returned that smile with a chuckle and a shake of his head. Then he brought his spear up and charged at the Dragon. The monster was ready for the charge, its claws ready to tear the pony apart, but an arrow from Lyra distracted it at the last second, and allowed Snow to score a jab that cut a burning line in the Dragon’s side. The Blademaster fit the cage back into his mouth and motioned to Iron Will to follow as he galloped off the island and into the reeds of the marsh. As soon as he got far enough he held up a hoof to hold Iron Will back at the edge of the island. He stood still for a second, gathering his strength. Then he slid his sword to point straight out from him, and sank down so that the water just covered it. He took another breath, focusing his intent along the cutting edge. Then he spun. Water shot up in a jet as Steel Glory cut through it as easily as it had flesh and stone. More important than the water, though, were the reeds and weeds that were sliced cleanly about an inch beneath the surface. The Blademaster kept spinning, standing up to slap the severed plants with the flat of his blade and send them flying away, then back down to cut a new circle into the marsh. When he stopped he was in a patch of clear water, the waves he had created swiftly evening out to stillness. He looked towards the island and saw Snow battling the Dragon. The old warrior rolled to the side to avoid a blast of purple flame, coming up in a lunge that made the beast rear back. Lyra was running low on arrows, and so she picked her shots more carefully, using them to distract the Dragon and allow Snow to get in a few hits. For all his skill, however, Snow had still taken several strikes himself, one of which had laid the skin and armor over his ribs open enough to see the bone beneath. The Blademaster spat out his sword. “Snow!” he cried. Snow heard and immediately broke combat to run to him. The Blademaster watched him come, and watched as the Dragon pursued. “Iron Will, on my signal,” he said, and the minotaur hunched down and began drawing deep breaths. The Blademaster hooked one leg through Steel Glory’s hilt, the still-attached mouth-cage biting into his skin as he tensed. His heart pounded as he waited, timing the moment and praying to whatever gods were listening that he wouldn’t get it wrong. Then Snow’s hooves touched the water and he shouted with all his might. “Now!” He leapt, and Snow followed the motion. Their earth pony strength sent them both high into the air, momentarily beyond the reach of the monster below. The Dragon’s head went up to follow them, its eyes locked on prey that had just made their trajectory so much easier to anticipate. So it was that it missed the stream of magical cold that blew from Iron Will, flowing over the clear water the Blademaster had made and freezing it into a nearly smooth, solid sheet instantly. The Dragon stepped on the ice, and its legs immediately went out from under it. It shrieked in surprise and anger as it flopped and flailed, spinning to face backwards as it came to a halt. Riddle Snow and the Blademaster reached the apex of their jumps, then came down on the Dragon with all their fury. Snow speared the beast through one of its legs, driving his weapon through the monster’s flesh and down and into the muddy bottom of the marsh. The Blademaster hit a wing, shearing it almost all the way off, but the blow had been awkward, and ended up wrenching his leg from its socket. The Dragon thrashed. Snow jumped away in time, leaving his spear embedded in the Dragon’s foreleg. With his injury, however, the Blademaster wasn’t quick enough. The Dragon’s tail crashed into his side, sending him cartwheeling through the air towards the Dragon’s head. He slammed into the ice and broke through it, plunging into icy water. A moment’s disorientation was all he felt before his head broke the surface, and he found himself staring into the eyes of the beast, only a few feet away. Smoke billowed from its nostrils and it opened its mouth to reveal the fire rolling up from its throat. That’s when Summer Gale dropped from the sky, landing on the back of the Dragon’s neck and sinking her sharp, metal teeth in. The Dragon reared back, its blast of flame roaring into the sky instead of cooking the Blademaster to a crisp. The Dragon whipped its head around, throwing Summer away. It tried to refocus on the Blademaster, but Iron Will was there, swinging one gauntleted fist into the beast’s snout hard enough to send it reeling for a moment. The Blademaster did not waste his opportunity, dragging his limp limb from the hilt of his sword and putting the mouth-cage back in its proper place. He jerked his head, sliding Steel Glory into place, then lunged. He struck the Dragon’s chest, the blade sinking in deep. Then he wrenched his head and Steel Glory exploded from the monster’s side, spraying molten blood that set the water to boiling wherever it touched. The Dragon let out a howl of agony, and now it was fighting not to kill them all, but to escape. “No!” the Dragon bellowed. “You can’t do this! You can’t kill me! I am Depthrazer! I own this swamp! I will not be brought down by a bunch of pathetic, little ponies!” His voice cut off as an arrow streaked in and penetrated his eye. It burst into flame immediately, but the damage was already done. It tried to rise, but Riddle Snow was there and with a mighty two-hooved buck he collapsed one of the Dragon’s legs, sending it sprawling back to the ice and muck. Iron Will laid into the Dragon’s head and neck, blood from the wounds he made causing his gauntlets to glow cherry red. He blew on them, the remains of his nose-ring’s magic managing to cool the metal back to dullness, then grabbed the Dragon’s neck in a crushing hold, choking it. The Blademaster slashed again, this time Steel Glory taking off a leg at the elbow. All the time, arrows flew from Lyra’s bow, each aimed for the eye she had already maimed. Maddened by pain and panic, its head kept in place by Iron Will’s grasp, the beast didn’t have the wherewithal to do more than shriek and thrash as arrow after arrow sunk into its eye, cracking the bone beneath, laying open the path for one final shot that broke through and drove into the monster’s brain. It went rigid, the end of its tail shaking like a leaf in the wind. Then it collapsed. Iron Will dropped its head, the ice beneath melting in moments to allow it to sink into the mud in silence. Slain. There was a minute of quiet as the monster hunters caught their breath. Then one of them spoke. “Iron Will is not getting paid enough for this.” “Cheers, mate,” the Blademaster said after he’d dropped his sword. “I’d think that was worth, oh, a thousand apiece, at least.” “You know what the Chosen’s going to say,” Snow said, dragging his spear out of the dead Dragon’s leg. “‘The reward is for the hydra, anything else was personal choice’.” He snorted. “Cheapskates.” “Hardly fair,” the Blademaster agreed. Summer Gale fluttered over to them, her mouth raw and cracked with how badly it was burned. “I need new teeth,” she slurred, pulling her lips back to reveal the melted remains of her sharp caps. “And she needs new teeth,” the Blademaster said, but he was grinning. “I say we put this Dragon right back as we found it and refuse to move our rumps about it until they pay us proper.” “Yes, we’ll just un-kill the Dragon,” Snow said, then continued in a chuckling imitation of the Blademaster’s accent: “Won’t take but a moment.” “Right! That’ll show them!” the Blademaster shouted, falling on his back and pumping his good forehoof in the air. “Don’t mess with the monster hunters!” “Mess with the best,” Iron Will said, kicking at the dead Dragon. “And we’ll put you to rest.” Then he let out a bellowing laugh that got the Bladmaster and Snow going as well. Even Summer gave a few cackles of mirth. Only Lyra seemed aloof from their relief, and the Blademaster kept an eye on her as she slowly returned to a normal four-footed stance. She was staring at the Dragon’s corpse, and he could see the wheels turning behind those yellow-orange eyes. It wasn’t really over for her, not by a long shot. *** The trek back to the village took all night, and was hard for all of them. Lyra and the Blademaster were the least hurt of the monster hunters, so they ended up carrying the bulk of the equipment. The Blademaster had the special challenge of dragging the Dragon’s head and hydra’s heart as proof of what they had done. His injured leg, while useable again, complained loudly with every step. Riddle Snow and Iron Will had their injuries bound and soaked with some celebratory alcohol that Iron Will had brought with him. It wasn’t perfect for preventing infection, but it helped stave it off until they could be properly seen to. Summer Gale’s wounds were more difficult to deal with, but she managed to work through the pain well enough to fly ahead and have a contingent of healers waiting when they made the town gates as the sun was rising. The monster hunters got a cheer from the ponies of the town, before the injured were swept away to be cared for and the healthy were left to deal with what to do now. Lyra and the Blademaster dropped their burdens off at the inn they had all rented rooms at, then with unspoken agreement they walked to the Cockatrice’s Garden. The proprietor, happy to have the local heroes at his establishment, opened early just for them. They sat at the table where they had planned the adventure two days before, and ordered a very well deserved drink. “To the monster hunters,” the Blademaster said, holding up his mug of hard cider. “May their next job pay a fair wage.” “To us,” Lyra replied, clinking her wine glass against the mug then taking a sip. She watched him over the rim of her glass as he drained his mug and called for another. She didn’t even blink as the bartender set a new drink in front of him and took payment for a half dozen rounds after that one as well. He let her watch, taking a slow draught from his new mug before the tension grew too much. “I’m not helping you fight a bloody Chosen,” he said, keeping his voice quiet enough that the bartender wouldn’t hear. “Get that one thing straight first.” “I have money," Lyra said, leaning close. "A lot of money. I was told how much this would cost me." "It's not about money." "What then? You’re not afraid of them,” Lyra said. It hadn’t been a question, but one was still implied. “Not them, love. Their boss,” he said. “You remember Snow’s story? You do what you say you’re gonna, and there’s not going to be any leniency for you. She’ll come down on you like bloody fire from the sky, and there won’t be anywhere to run. They can’t be fought, Lyra. You know that.” “I know,” she said. “It doesn’t matter.” He shook his head. “Not doing it, love. I don’t care what the Druid said.” He put as much steel in his voice as he could without raising it above a whisper. He saw a flash of anger in her eyes, but it died out as a new thought occurred to her. “Your sword,” she said. “It cut through the Dragon like… it cut through everything.” He frowned. “You’re not getting my sword, either.” She shook her head. “No, but my arrows were, well, almost useless. If they were made like your sword, though…” She trailed off, but he caught what she was saying easily enough. “There’s a thought.” He smiled. “I guess there’s more than one way for me to help you, isn’t there?” “Please,” she said, leaning forward, a new light in her eyes. “Please, who made your sword?” He took a long drink, finishing the mug and motioning for another before he spoke. “Well, love, there’s this smith. She’s the best there is. The steel sings to her, see? I’ve heard tell that the blades she makes never dull, never break, that some of them only ever get sharper the more you use them. I don’t know about all that, but my Steel Glory’s cut through stone and bone and never needed sharpening. Now, her work doesn’t come cheap. In fact, it’s about as expensive as anything gets, but she doesn’t ever skimp on her work. If she makes something for you, it’ll be the best you’ve ever had, or ever will have.” “Who is she?” “Nopony knows her real name anymore," he said, taking a new mug and breathing in the scent of fermented apple as he remembered the heat of the forge and the way she had shaped Steel Glory. It had been powerful magic, and unlike any he'd seen before or since. "But they call her the Shaper…” City Under GlassPart Three: City Under Glass Songbird was cold. Snow crunched under her hooves, each mislaid step breaking through a thin crust of ice and plunging her leg into the powdery cold that lay beneath. She paused for a moment, magically drawing her cloak tighter against a wind which gusted in chill bursts that whistled and roared like an angry crowd. That wind was coming out of the north, the very direction they were headed, so she couldn’t even lift her head to see beyond the swish of the Blademaster’s tail without her eyes stinging and watering from staring into the teeth of the frigid gale. The Blademaster forged ahead at a steady pace. He didn’t seem to be as affected by the temperature, his head held high and his breath steaming in the air as he broke a trail for her. She didn’t see how his thin frame could provide much insulation, but she supposed it was one of the advantages to being an earth pony. He seemed tireless, never uttering a sound of complaint as they walked through the snow squalls and unending, vicious wind. She would have collapsed long ago were she in his place. As the wind picked up in another chilling gust she recalled the old Hearth’s Warming Eve stories, wondering if this was what her ancestors had endured before they found Equestria. It certainly wouldn’t surprise her to discover that some mad Windigo was responsible for this endless, frozen misery. She hummed a quick tune, her horn lighting as she combined song and magic, sheathing herself in the warmth of a cozy tavern hearth. It wasn’t a difficult spell to manage –according to her mentor, sound and heat were closely related– but the song took breath, and she had little to spare if she was to keep up with the pace the Blademaster was setting. So, with a bit of the magical warmth ebbing away with every step, she hurried on. “How much longer until we stop?” she called out. She had to shout over the wind, but she was a master of being heard and knew how to pitch her voice. He glanced back at her and said something back that was stolen by a gust that also carried a flurry of snow which seemed determined to funnel itself into her hood to melt against her neck. She shivered and shook her head. He stopped, stepping close enough that their muzzles were almost touching. “There’s no shelter around here!” he shouted. She winced at the sound, even with the wind he didn’t need to be so loud when he was this close. “How far until the next forest?” He shook his head. “The snow’s slowing us down too much! We won’t hit another forest before nightfall!” “Nightfall!” she gasped out. She had lost track of how long they’d been walking, and with the sky as clouded over as it was, telling the time was all but impossible. “Can we make a shelter here? Wait out the storm?” He paused, looking around at the snow that surrounded them as far as they could see. Which wasn’t far, considering how the flurries were getting steadily worse. “Can do,” he replied, but she could see the uncertainty in his eyes. “I’d rather be in some trees, though!” She shook her head. “I don’t know if I’ll make it to nightfall! We need to do something now before I’m not able to help!” He nodded at that, scratching at his head as he considered what needed to be done. “Right! Clear a spot out here, just big enough for the two of us and our gear! Pile up all the snow here!” He indicated a line perpendicular to the wind. “We’ll build ourselves a lee, then I’ll set up my cloak as a tarp! Sorry, love, it looks like it’ll be close quarters again!” “I’ll live!” she replied, then set to work doing what he asked. She used muscle and magic to dig down and clear out a small pit in the snow, using the fill to build up a wall against the wind. The pit was only a foot deep, and its bottom was frozen dirt, but it would suffice to hold both of them. The Blademaster did his part, adding to the wall, packing the snow down so that it was a solid bastion against the coming storm. He took his cloak and fixed it between layers of snow, testing it to make sure it wouldn’t be pulled out by the wind. Soon, their shelter was ready. It was just in time, too. The wind began to gust even stronger, carrying thick, wet snow with it. Soon she was choking on the heavy flakes every time she looked north. “Blade, it’s getting bad!” she called out. “On it!” he yelled back. He tore his gear off, dumping his saddlebags into their makeshift shelter. His many blades he stripped off and dumped into another, shallower hole he had dug, covering them over with more snow before taking Steel Glory and driving it down, leaving a foot and a half of blade and hilt exposed to mark where he had left his weapons. Then he jumped into the pit with her, drawing his cloak over them and tucking it beneath himself. The makeshift canvas flapped with the wind, but a little bit of magic and creative shifting of their bags had those parts battened down, leaving them in close darkness with the sound of their breathing louder than the wind that screamed outside. They were squeezed uncomfortably close together. This was far worse than the night they had spent in the rain south of the Forest of Lost Voices. There wasn’t even room to stretch out here, and they were forced to curl about each other awkwardly, her muscles already beginning to cramp from holding the unnatural position. A strange panic began to bubble up inside her, stealing her composure. There was no room to breathe in there, filled as it was with the scent of earth pony and wet cloth. The heat of his body overwhelmed the remaining chill of the storm, but it also felt smothering and oppressive. She could hear his heartbeat under his skin, the steady march of strength that drove the warrior to fight Hydras and Dragons and brave the inhospitable North for a mare he barely knew. “Easy, love,” he whispered in her ear. She twitched, suddenly becoming aware of her own speeding heart and panting breath. With an effort of will she took control of herself. Old techniques for meditation, intended to help her focus her magic, allowed her to slow her breathing and set a rhythm in her head that her heart eventually matched. “Sorry,” she said. “I’m just on edge.” “No sorries needed,” he said. She let out a slow breath. “I’m not used to… being this close to somepony,” she said. “Travel off the beaten path for a while and it’ll start to come naturally,” he replied, and she could hear the grin in his voice. “I’ve bivouacked in tighter places than this, believe it or not. You’ve not lived until you’ve had to sleep with your face snout-deep in another stallion’s…” he paused for a moment. “Wait, scratch that. You’ve lived plenty without ever having to do any of that.” She allowed herself a quiet chuckle. “That sounds like a story.” “Not one I’ll be telling, love,” he said. “Maybe if I’m dead drunk, but not before.” “Why?” she asked, teasing. “Too intimate?” “You might say,” he said, and his voice had lost all its humor. “It’s got a bad end, is all.” She didn’t reply to that, instead shifting slowly and with painstaking care until her back was to him and her position not so painful to hold. The cloak holding the wind at bay was cold, but the air in their little shelter was warm, and the Blademaster was a living furnace. Strangely to her, the walls made of snow and ice were reflecting their heat back at them instead of soaking it all up as she had expected. It was far from comfortable, but, like the Blademaster, she’d could say that she’d slept in worse conditions. A particularly powerful gust of wind rattled the cloak, and Songbird’s ears perked up as she heard something behind the wind, something more chilling than the blowing snow. “You know, if this storm goes on long enough I might be begging you to use that feather of yours, and damn the consequences,” the Blademaster said. “Quiet,” she said, and she felt him tense against her. “I hear something.” She listened, her musician’s ear straining as she searched for a sound that was not part of the storm. Another heavy gust hit the shelter, and she heard it again, this time for certain: A high-pitched, full-throated laugh. Suddenly all the warmth of the shelter was gone, and she could feel her heart breaking its rhythm and speeding away like one of the trains that no longer ran. She frantically tried to remember if she had exposed any stone when she’d been clearing the shelter floor, but her haste then and panic now made recollection impossible. “Oi, Songbird, what’s–” She twisted and seized his muzzle between her hooves, holding his mouth shut. The movement opened the cloak to the air outside, letting a flurry of snow into their shelter, but she didn’t care. The cold was the least of her worries now. “Sshh!” she hissed, putting her own mouth right to his ear. “It’s her.” He slowly nodded, showing that he understood. She took her hooves from his muzzle, carefully fixing the cloak and sliding down as much as she could until her head was resting on his chest as he sat back against the snow wall. She listened to his heart, that steady drumbeat that had barely tripped in its tempo as she had told him how close they were to their doom. She was a veteran performer, she knew how to sync herself to another’s beat, and she let that training take over, using his calm to steady herself. They stayed like that for hours. She searched every blast of wind for more of that tell-tale laughter, but heard nothing. Finally, somewhere between heartbeats, she fell asleep. *** “‘Bird, wake up,” the Blademaster said, nudging her face with a hoof. “You’re gonna want to see this.” She shivered as she came back to consciousness and realized that there was a cold breeze touching her. Her eyes opened to find the Blademaster silhouetted against a sky on fire. “What?” she asked, sitting up. The Blademaster’s cloak hung limp from the snow wall, revealing that their pit was now a foot deeper than it had been when she had dug it. It also revealed a sky that was clear and bright, lit with both the stars as well as burning curtains of light and color. She gasped at the sight, standing to get a better view of how the bands of light stretched from horizon to horizon. “I’ve heard about auroras before,” the Blademaster said, grinning at the celestial ribbons that gently swayed and rippled high above. “Didn’t half believe in them, though.” Songbird swallowed her awe and forced her mind into action. “I don’t think this is an aurora,” she said. He frowned at that. “Looks pretty close to me, love.” “No, look,” she pointed a hoof north. There were more lines of light there, but it was easy to see how they were oriented differently from the ones that passed directly overhead. A moment’s observation was all it took to see that this aurora was radiating from a single point, not too far north of them. “Something up there is causing this. What could do that?” “Search me, love. My money’s on the Madmare, though. She shook her head. “She doesn’t control the sky. The Tempest could do something like this easily; the Sorceress could too, with some effort. But her? No. This is something else. This is somepony else.” “The other power?” There was clear unease in his voice as he asked the question. “I don’t know,” she said. “This could be some kind of beacon. Something to call ponies to rally there.” “It could be a trap, too.” She had not response to that but to nod in acknowledgement. Something about the lights stirred confidence in her, however. She could feel magic in those shifting ribbons, and that magic felt like victory. They could mean anything, and she knew that, but she couldn’t help but be encouraged just by the sight. They stood in silence for a long time, watching the shifting lights. “Whatever it is, we’re heading right for it,” he eventually pointed out. “Then we should be careful as we get closer,” she replied. She looked around at the landscape, lit brightly in the false aurora. “Do you think we can walk some more tonight?” “I don’t see why not,” he said. “Maybe we’ll make that forest early enough to catch some more shuteye before sunrise.” “Then let’s go,” she said. They packed up quickly, the Blademaster finding his stowed weapons and strapping them back on as she magically cleaned and dried his cloak. Then they set off. All the they walked that night she looked northward, to the point where the aurora lines converged. She didn’t know what they would find there, but she knew it would be a tale worth telling. *** Songbird and the Blademaster lay side by side in the snow, staring out from the top of a hill at the incredible vista that was spread before them. “It’s beautiful!” she gasped, her eyes as big as saucers as she took in the sight. It was a city. Wide boulevards connected by angled avenues and streets to create a snowflake pattern, the true complexity of which would only be visible from high above. Buildings made of solid crystal glistened in the sunlight, and the tiny figures of ponies were like little points of twinkling light as they went about their business amongst those marvellous buildings. Beyond the city spread a circle of fields, all of them green and lush in defiance of the cold snow that held the surrounding land in its grip. At the center of the city stood an enormous tower. More than a tower, a palace made of crystal. All of this was covered by a great, transparent barrier that had its apex just above the tip of the great crystal palace, giving the impression of a city under glass. Songbird had walked the high streets of Canterlot between the ivory spires. She had sung for crowds amidst the terrifying verdant majesty of the City of Gardens and Cages. She had been to Manehattan and Las Pegasus, and all the cities in between. Nowhere had she seen anything like this. Still, the sight triggered a memory. “The Crystal Empire!” “What’s that, love?” the Blademaster asked, tearing his eyes from the city to give her a confused look. “It’s an old story,” she replied, wracking her brain for the details. “A thousand years ago there was a great kingdom in the north, the Crystal Empire. The tale goes that it was conquered by a wicked pony and that Princess Celestia defeated him, but not before he banished the entire city from the world.” “Doesn’t look so banished to me.” “I guess it must have come back. How long have they been here? Why haven’t we heard anything about this?” Her mind raced with the questions, and the burning need to go down to that astounding place and find the answers. “Look at that,” the Blademaster said, drawing her mind away from the mysteries of the city. “I think we found your rebels, love.” He pointed a hoof towards the west side of the barrier. She followed his gaze and saw a pile of boulders and churned earth that went right up to the barrier and stopped. “That’s the Madmare’s work. I’m sure of it. Looks like she attacked the city, but didn’t make it through.” She couldn’t help but nod in agreement, even as her heart surged at the sight. If they were strong enough to keep out the Madmare, who knew what kind of power they had? “We should go down there,” she said. “And what?” the Blademaster asked, shaking his head. “Knock on the bloody terrarium wall and ask nicely what’s going on? From the looks of things these ponies have been holding out against one of the Rulers. If they don’t like us right off, I don’t fancy our chances of getting back out again.” “You think they’d be hostile? To fellow ponies?” His face was set in a grim scowl. “I think the ones who lived in Dust Devil Valley were ponies too, and I’m not keen on sharing whatever their fate was.” “You don’t know it was these ponies who did that.” “The soldiers in the forest, love,” he said, his voice low and touched with anger. “They weren’t being too nice with the ones they were dragging along. I’d say I’ve seen more than enough to tell me they’re not good ponies.” Songbird opened her mouth to reply, but then closed it after a moment’s thought. She hadn’t seen what he had, and he refused to talk much about it. She had to take his word for it. Then she felt a pulse of magic flare out from the city. It washed over them, leaving a dusting of sparkles that flared brightly for a moment before dying. “If we’re not going down there, we should get going,” she said, standing up. “You don’t have to make it so bloody easy for them!” the Blademaster protested, also standing. “They know we’re here anyways,” she replied. “I don’t see any pegasi flying around down there, so by the time they muster a force to come out and get us we’ll be long gone anyway… what?” She frowned at him as she noticed that he was staring down at the city with wide eyes. “What is that?” the Blademaster cried out, and she looked down to find a blob of inky darkness hurtling towards them from the city. She couldn’t see any sort of texture in it, just the amorphous shape that was cut out of the snowy fields like a hole in the world. It crossed the distance between them and the city as fast as a pegasus could fly, unhindered by the snow and hills. Songbird knew all the stories, and a general rule with them was that mobile pools of utter darkness were things to be avoided. Faced with one approaching her now, she found that to be sound advice. “I don’t want to find out!” she shouted, leaping to her hooves and turning to run. The Blademaster wasted no time in joining her. They were halfway to the forest when the living shadow caught up to them. It circled around, spreading up from the ground into a wall of darkness that cut off their retreat. They stumbled to a halt, Songbird losing her footing and falling to the snow. The Blademaster cursed, slipping the mouth-cage into place and drawing Steel Glory as he put himself between Songbird and the shadow. The world seemed to grow hushed as a sound came to them from every direction. It was deep, hellishly distorted, but recognizably a pony’s voice. The sound swirled around them, then settled into the mass of darkness, and the distortion lessened until the noise was recognizable as a dark chuckle. “A sword,” the voice in the shadow said, and two blazing eyes opened in the depths of the void. They had red irises and green sclera, a purple-black mist leaking from their edges. “How pathetic.” “‘Bird, when I go, make a break for it,” the Blademaster whispered to her, the words garbled by the mouth-cage, but recognizable enough to her. “Can you even fight something like that?” she asked, gathering her legs under her. “We’ll find out,” he said, narrowing his eyes at the creature. Then he lunged forward, Steel Glory leading. Songbird sprang into motion as he did, rushing out to the side and angling to get around the shadow creature. She looked to the side and saw the Blademaster stab the magnificent sword into the darkness. She heard a piercing chime from the blade, a note from the hymn of battle and blood forged into the steel. He twisted his head to the side, tearing a streak of light into the shadow, and the eyes widened with surprise and pain as the distorted voice growled in anger. Then she was around the creature, and lost sight of her companion. She ran a dozen steps before skidding to a halt and turning around. She planted her hooves solidly and lit her horn as she began to sing. She began with a simple scale, taking her through the entire range her voice was capable of and ending with a sustained cry at the very top of her voice in frequencies that some ponies couldn’t even hear. Her magic gathered all that sound, swirling it around her in a whirlwind of light and pressure that sparkled with tiny illusory musical notes. Then, still holding her cry, she unleashed her magic against the shadow. It flashed from her, the magic taking the form of a music-sheet’s staff filled with the notes she had sung as it turned sound into a coherent force that lanced out and sheared through the creature, splitting it in half. The Blademaster leapt through that breach the moment her magic was done its work, slashing his sword at the shadow as he did. There was blood on his face and a worried look in his eyes, the reason for which was probably how quickly the shadow creature was recovering from being attacked. It flowed together like water, the damage vanishing in an instant and its eyes simply appearing on their side of the darkness rather than having to turn around. A deep, rasping laugh erupted from it as a tentacle of shadow reached out and smacked the Blademaster to the side, sending him careening head over hooves. Songbird gasped out, then turned that into a cry that she sent out to slow and cushion the Blademaster’s fall. He looked to her, and there was a warning in his gaze. Some instinct took that warning to heart and told her to move, and she leapt away just as a jagged black crystal exploded up from the ground where she had been standing. “Strong. Interesting.” the creature said, its ugly voice almost conversational in its tone. A shudder went through the ground as black crystals burst up all around her, growing at a phenomenal rate and closing her in with their wickedly sharp edges. “What brings you to my empire, little ponies?” Songbird sang out, shattering the crystals around her and flinging their remains towards the shadow creature, which only laughed as the shards passed through it without harm. She scrambled over the jagged crystal-covered ground, sending another burst of song-magic at the creature. It moved like oil on water, sliding closer in a way that was both nearly imperceptible and frighteningly immediate. It reached for her with a tendril of darkness, faster than she could dodge. The Blademaster appeared as if he had teleported, Steel Glory sweeping down and severing the pseudo-limb in a blur of grey. The creature recoiled from that, the touch of Steel Glory clearly causing it pain even if it couldn’t do any permanent injury. The shadow growled and a crystal shot up from under the Blademaster’s hooves. He dove to the side to avoid it, but it had been a feint, and a tentacle caught him instead, flinging him up high into the air where he tumbled end over end. “Pip, no!” she cried out. Her heart skipped a beat as she realized that she couldn’t save him and fend off the attacking creature at the same time. She could hear the voice of her mentor in the back of her mind, telling her to save herself. Telling her it was the Blademaster’s job to protect her, not the other way around. Telling her that he was an earth pony, and that he might even be tough enough to survive a fall like that, so she should worry about more important things than whether he’d be hurt or not. She grit her teeth and pushed the voice from her thoughts. The blind witch wasn’t here, she didn’t get a say. Songbird sent her voice out again, directing it at the falling Blademaster and not at the crystals once more enclosing her in a ring of gleaming death. He slowed, the spinning fall turning into a gentle drift downwards. She maintained the song, watching as the crystals grew ever closer. She froze as spikes grew to press painfully into her flesh. They did not break the skin, but were set with just enough pressure that to struggle would be to flay herself. She kept up her song as the shadow creature slid up to her, stretching out a tendril that wrapped around her horn. She could feel its touch like a cold, viscous slime spreading down the spiral of her horn. It reminded her of being covered in tree sap, which in turn dredged up other memories that she would have preferred remained buried. She refused to stop her song, though, until she was sure the Blademaster was low enough that he wouldn’t be injured by the fall. Foolish girl. Her eyes widened as she realized the voice had come from within her. She frantically worked to close off her mind, using techniques her mentor had taught her long ago. She slammed mental doors, filling her thoughts with a song that repeated endlessly and denied the invading presence a hold. A good defence. The shadow’s mental voice was like grinding rocks in her ears and hissing snakes rubbing against her legs, like the the smell of ashes and the hot tang of blood on her tongue. I think I might give you to my wife as a gift. I do so love watching her break the strong ones! Songbird didn’t dare move, and with her mental defenses in place she couldn’t put together enough concentration to cast a spell. So all she could do was watch in trembling silence as the eyes in the darkness came nearer. They stopped so close that it was almost as if she was nose-to-nose with another pony. But still. You are not one of the Madmare’s minions, so why are you here, little bard? I will know. The pressure in her mind increased tenfold. She held it back, but her vision blurred as the creature’s eyes blazed with an unholy light. *** The sky flashed with lightning, the rumble of thunder following a few scant seconds after. A storm coming, and soon. Sweetie Belle blinked up at the swirling clouds and thought for an instant that she saw a pair of terrible eyes staring back at her. Something about them had been important. She shook her head. The thought felt like the remnants of a dream, impossible to hold on to. She stood in a clearing in some forest in the Heartland. She wasn’t wearing any of her travelling clothes, and her musician’s bag was missing. She spent a moment looking for them, but the confusion over where she could have left them drifted beyond her like the clouds that covered the sky. Ahead sat her home. The large wagon had four wide wheels that stuck out from its side. The better to roll over the rough ground of wilderness roads that only had the most cursory of maintenance done to it. It was painted in shades of blue and purple, though that paint was faded and peeling in so many places it was hard to tell what it had looked like when new. The hitch to pull the wagon was empty and little-used. The occupants of the wheeled house were more than capable of moving it without the vulgarities of manual labor. The door set in the back of the wagon was closed, but as she approached it creaked open. Within was only darkness, blacker than the heavy clouds in the sky. Sweetie Belle paused for a moment, swallowing past the lump in her throat as she stepped up to the door. “Do you have it?” came the question from inside. Sweetie Belle’s head drooped. “I…” she began, but trailed off as she realized she had no idea what to say. “Do you have it?” the voice of her mentor asked again, almost screaming the question. She couldn’t think straight. Something was wrong, and with a rising sense of panic, she realized what it was. “No,” she said, her answer coming in a whimper. “How could you fail me?” the voice asked, filled now with contempt and anger. “It was… in the North there was… something…” Sweetie Belle trailed off again, struggling to understand how she could have come back empty-hooved. “I took you in!” her mentor snarled from within the darkness. “I saved you from a short, miserable life in the streets! I gave you everything I had! And this is how you repay that? This is how you thank me?” Sweetie Belle sank to her knees, a nauseous terror stealing her strength. “I should never have let you into my home! In fact, I think I’ll fix that mistake right now!” The door was gripped in the glow of her mentor’s magic and slammed closed just as a peal of thunder cracked across the world and rain began to fall in heavy, wet drops. “No!” Sweetie Belle cried out, crawling to the door and pounding on it. “No, please! Let me in!” She pawed at the door, trying to grab the knob, but somehow unable to find a grip. “Please! I’ll go back! I’ll get the amulet, I promise! Don’t leave me out here! Please don’t leave me!” Amulet? What amulet? A voice growled from the storm that crashed and poured. Wait… Could it be? And so close at hoof! The storm laughed, thunder and lightning shaking the earth around her, making her scream and pound on the door ever harder. Tell me, little bard. Tell me where this amulet your mistress sent you for lies. Tell me, or I will ensure that you are left pounding uselessly on this wheeled shack for eternity! “The North!” she cried out, weeping as the cold soaked into her coat and the terrible loneliness filled her heart. “A temple in the Crystal Mountains! Beyond the pa–” *** Crystals shattered and Songbird fell to the ground. Pinpricks of pain told of a hundred small injuries as shards of broken crystal cut at her. The pain brought her back to her senses faster than anything else could. She rolled free of the shards, coming to her hooves in the practiced motion of a professional tumbler. A single glance told her what had happened: the Blademaster had attacked while she had been under the shadow creature’s sway, breaking her free and defeating the fell magics of the monster. She could still feel the residual effects of what he had done to her. The illusion had felt real while she was inside it, though now it was like some half-remembered nightmare. Disturbing, she doubted she’d sleep easy for a long while, but not overwhelming. What felt worse to her was how quickly she had broken, revealing her purpose in the North. The Blademaster fought with a ferocity that she would have gawked at, given a less desperate situation. Steel Glory was a blur of grey and gleam, every stroke intercepting a part of the darkness, making it flinch back in pain. Crystals lanced at him, but he ducked and dodged between them with expert precision, avoiding dismemberment and death by razor-thin margins. This was not a dance of steel like she had seen before. There were no flourishes to his attacks, no wasted motion at all. It was so easy for her to forget the skill lurking behind his customary attitude, and not for the first time she realized that he had truly earned the name he had taken for himself. Still, he was going to lose. He could stab all he liked at the monster they faced, but it was not going to die. Her own efforts had been just as ineffective. Neither of them had the power to defeat it. They could run, but it was faster than they, and eventually they would tire. Then it would have them, and would take what it wanted at its leisure. She shivered at the thought, the cold-slime feeling still on her horn. She couldn’t allow that to happen. No matter what. She reached into her bag, feeling for the one thing that could help them. It was right there, the first thing she touched. It practically leapt out of the bag, the tingles it sent through her hoof feeling eager. She caught it in her magic as she drew it forth and held it horizontally in front of her. Then she called upon her spellsong and the world seemed to slow as she sang to the feather, drawing its power to the surface. The snow in a circle ten feet wide around her burst to steam instantly, the resulting mist spiralling up in a wind that arose from nowhere. The fighting paused as the combatants became aware of the change in the atmosphere. Already clouds were gathering above her, twisting and boiling unnaturally, caught in tortured sway by a fragment of the Tempest’s power. She drew one hoof across the feather, as if she were striking a match, and it came away burning with electricity that arced back to the blue feather in spitting, crackling bolts. She locked eyes with those of the shadow creature, seeing the confusion and surprised fear there. Then, with a wordless cry that was filled with the force of her magic, she threw the lightning at the creature. It blasted out with explosive force. She screamed in fear and pain as the feather sent a surge of power through the channel she had created, more than she had been expecting. More than she thought was possible for her to withstand. It felt like her entire leg would be burned off from the heat and light. She frantically tried to shut off the flow of electricity, and the feather resisted. It wanted to show its power. It was a piece of the Tempest, after all, a Ruler not known for half-measures. She clamped down on her scream, turning it into a hum. Her horn burned brightly as she poured effort into stopping what she had started, and was rewarded with a lessening in the flow of lightning. She pressed her advantage, and the power shut off all at once, leaving her staggered and blinking to clear the spots from her eyes. The first thing that she noticed was that her hoof was thankfully intact, a few tentative stamps confirming that the burning agony had only been in her head. Then as her vision returned, she saw the result of her desperate action. All around, the ground was scored and torn where the lightning had touched it. The destruction reached as far as the dome covering the city, which was charred and smoking but still intact. The shadow creature was still there as well, but it was riddled with holes that smoldered and glowed at the edges. With a roar of pain and rage, it folded in upon itself and fled, flowing back towards the Crystal Empire with incredible speed. She watched it until it vanished from sight, then dropped to sit on the blackened earth beneath her. She felt drained, but she pushed beyond the fatigue and took stock of her surroundings. “Blade!” she called out, her eyes searching for him as her hooves stuffed the feather back in her bag. Some of its strength had been drained, but not nearly all of it. “Here, love,” he said, poking his head up from the snow. She let out a relieved sigh as she saw that he was uninjured. “What the bloody stars was that and why didn’t you do it earlier?” “I didn’t know if I could,” she replied. “I didn’t know if it would work or kill me or kill everyone or what. We’re lucky I was able to get it to stop.” “Well… good job. Try not to do it again, yeah?” She managed a thin smile and a nod. “Still want to go down to the city?” She shook her head. “I think you were right about it. About everything.” “Sweeter words I have never heard,” he said, trotting over to her and offering his hoof to help her up. “But right now I think we should be a long way from here before that thing decides to come back.” She took his hoof without a word, then they ran for the forest and the mountains beyond, hoping to outpace any pursuit that would come from the city. *** Songbird looked up at the stars. They were clearer than she’d ever seen them before, their brilliance not even obscured by the moon that shone down on the mountains. Her head was heavy, her legs barely able to hold her upright, but still she stood and stared at the sky. Three days since they’d escaped the shadow creature, and every night she had found herself like this, watching the wheeling sky until dawn. They had passed through a quiet forest and into the mountains with no sign of pursuit. The Paths of Radiance were in sight, their subtle iridescence more visible with every passing mile. Beyond them was the Monastery of the World’s End, and within would be the item they had travelled so far to find. She needed to be ready for the trials yet to come, but sleep eluded her. “You won’t be much use if you don’t get some rest,” the Blademaster echoed her thoughts as he walked up next to her. “I try to sleep, but it just won’t come,” she said. The exhaustion and frustration were plain in her voice, and she had to hold back a sudden sob. “I close my eyes and I see what it… what he showed me. I know it was just some illusion, some trick of dark magic, but it still... I can’t help but wonder if we come back without the amulet, what then? Will she...” Songbird shook her head, unable in her fatigue to put her thoughts into words. He lay a hoof on her shoulder. “You’re really afraid of the witch kicking you out, aren’t you?” She gave a slow nod. “My worst fear.” He was silent for a long moment before speaking again. “You’d have another place to go.” “What?” “If she did shut that door on you for real, and I don’t think she would, you wouldn’t be left out alone. You’d have another place to go.” She smiled, letting out a light giggle. “You just want your own personal minstrel, singing your praises wherever you go.” “Well, a bloke’s gotta have dreams, right?” he said with a wide grin. Then the smile faded. “She did you a good turn at a bad point, love. That doesn’t mean your life revolves around her and what she wants.” She sighed and shook her head. “I don’t think you can understand. It’s not just about her. It’s about me. It’s about what happened in the Fall. What happened with my family and my... my sister.” He frowned at that. “I may not be able to understand, but I can still offer to help.” She smiled again, leaning against him as they looked up at the night together. “Speaking of your sister, I would have thought your greatest fear would be her.” Songbird let out a small laugh. “Once upon a time, I would have agreed with that. But I’ve faced my sister once already. I think I’d be able to do it again.” “Oh? I didn’t know that,” he said, curiosity piquing in his voice. “Care to tell that tale, love?” She thought about it for a long moment, then nodded. She wasn’t going to sleep any time soon, and maybe remembering this would give her the strength to face the vision the shadow creature had inflicted on her. “I was performing in the City of Gardens and Cages,” she began, “when I was approached with an opportunity I was told would be the show of a lifetime…” The storyteller's songAt the northmost of the Heartland A plain of naked stone Beyond this place of lifeless rock The Madmare keeps her own Across the barren borderland Two ponies made their way To pass this granite hunting ground They travelled night and day Others had warned them not to go And hold their lives more dear Safety had long since fled the North All that remained was fear But Songbird and the Blademaster Would not be turned away Their course was set, their eyes were hard There could be no delay For life within this fallen world Can come at such a cost The Songbird’s mentor made her swear To find a power lost The journey would be perilous Alone, she could but fail And so the Blademaster agreed Together to prevail The two went North and swore to keep Their promise come what may And friendships born in dark of night Still hold in light of day So as the fire is warm and bright And my voice is strong Come gather round and listen to This tale of Sword and Song
The Empty TownSword and Song By Sharaloth Part One: The Empty Town At the northern edge of the vast tract of bare stone and weathered canyons that the locals called the Granite Playground, the land became one of rolling hills and thick forests. Dotting the trackless miles of wilderness were small towns connected by the rudest of dirt paths. It was said that only the desperate, the mad, and the insanely bold ventured between those points of light in the cold North. For those travelling out of the south, the town of Dust-Devil Valley was one of the first they would find beyond the Granite Playground, and so it saw more traffic than any other town in the North. It stood as a waystation for those foolish enough to travel in the Madmare’s domain, and was relatively wealthy as a result. It was also abandoned, and recently so. Clothing flapped untended from laundry lines, wagons stood unhitched or overturned, and food was left out to rot where it lay. Somewhere, a door stood open and slapping in the dry wind. Its unsteady beat and the sighing breeze the only sound to be heard in the dead town. Songbird looked to her companion, giving him a tilted glance that conveyed caution and curiosity. He returned it with a slow shrug before starting down the hill and into the town. Compared to the walled villages of the Heartland, Dust-Devil Valley could barely be called a hamlet. It was comprised of a cluster of only a dozen buildings to either side of the wide dirt path that led out of the Granite Playground and deeper into the North. It had no wall, tower, or stockade, no defensive structures at all. Whatever happened here, it was entirely possible that the residents hadn’t even put up a fight. They said nothing as they took in the state of the town. They took their time, wary of hidden attackers or traps. Songbird pointed at a window that had a spiderweb of cracks running through it, a dark stain at the point of impact. The stallion narrowed his eyes and nodded, and together they moved on. Even in the Heartland, they would have made a strange pair, and not just because they were among the few willing to brave the dangers of the North. Her companion called himself the Blademaster, and the truth of the name was easy to see. He was a white and brown pinto earth pony, his coat stained by sun and dirt and a hard life on the road. Built lean and small, he was tight with corded muscle and moved with a stalking, predatory grace. His cutie mark, hidden for now behind a pair of saddlebags, was a pair of crossed swords. A wide-brimmed black hat sat on his head, and a strange metal contraption clearly designed to fit over his teeth dangled from a chain around his neck. He wore a harness of thick, sweat-stained cloth which sheathed a dozen throwing daggers. A pair of swords hung at his sides, bouncing a bit as he walked, and a third, much larger blade was strapped across his back. This third sword was strange compared to the others, thicker and wider, with a hilt that was a ring of bare steel. It didn’t shine in the light, its surfaces dull and cold. Songbird was a contrast. She was a beautiful mare, and while she had some thinness of hard living to her, she was still soft enough to have fit in among the ballrooms of the Heartland. Her coat was a gray-tinged white that seemed barely touched by dirt or sun, her horn clean enough to gleam in the light. Her mane was a swirl of pink and purple curls that streamed and snapped when caught in the wind. She wore a fluttering cloak of fine silk with silver trim, clasped by a shimmering opal. A pair of saddlebags were accompanied by a heavy satchel that hung at her side, the neck of a lute sticking out. As different as they were in looks and dress, their eyes were still the same. Hers were green and his were brown, but they were both eyes that had seen the terrible heart of the fallen world and come away not entirely whole, but stronger nonetheless. Like most of the towns clinging to life in the North, Dust-Devil Valley was built on stilts. Every building was supported by thick wooden pillars, then surrounded by a wide porch that was connected by stair or a ramp to a boardwalk that ran through the town. Nowhere was stone used in construction. In fact, the ground all around had been piled with loose earth until no bare rock could be seen within a hundred paces. The place would have been one big mud-pit when it rained, but it would have kept the residents safe. It should have kept the residents safe. They split up, each going to a different side of the road to check the buildings there. The Blademaster passed by a couple silent houses and came to the building with the flapping door. He stilled it with a hoof, and saw a small metal hook dangling from the wall that met with a simple notch in the door, holding it open against the wind. He set the hook in place. It wouldn’t hold forever, but it would at least still the banging while they were passing through. The building itself was a small house, little more than a cottage. One story, one room. Barely large enough for a pair of ponies to live in comfortably. The exterior showed no signs of violence, but plenty of habitation. A pair of vases flanked the stairs leading from the boardwalk, the wildflowers inside only beginning to wilt. A long-stemmed pipe sat on the arm of a chair; a quick sniff confirmed that it was filled and ready for a smoke, but hadn’t been lit. Satisfied with the exterior, he eased his way through the open door. He placed his hooves with care, but the floorboards still creaked with every step. That was all the sound he made, his swords and daggers as silent as his breath. He examined the interior with slow care, his hard eyes scanning for signs of danger and clues to the townsfolk's fate. Dishes sat in a sink full of dirty water, half-done. The table was empty, save a couple candles that had burned down to wax puddles and gone out. The bed was made, and a glass of water sat on the nightstand, full. He walked further in, taking his time. There was blood, but not much of it. A single, small splatter of brown on the kitchen counter, a day or two old. Not enough to come from a knife or sword wound. He stood silently in the center of the empty house and let his senses guide him to the reason he felt so unsettled there. The answer came as he noticed what he wasn’t seeing. There were no flies, no insects, no sign of vermin at all, not even on the plates crusted with the remains of these ponies’ last meal. There should have been at least a few, and their absence told him that something dark and unnatural had happened here. Something that would make even flies avoid this town. None of the stories of the Madmare described anything like this. He withdrew from the house as quietly as he had entered, disturbing nothing. Then he continued to the next building, looking supplies more than clues, now. He’d seen enough to know he wanted no part of whatever had befallen Dust-Devil Valley. As he was looking into the house, Songbird was across the road examining her own chosen building, the one with the broken window. It didn't take her long to decide that this place wasn’t a house. It was built with more solidity than the other structures. The walls were thicker, and the windows along the back of the building were barred. A sheriff's jail, she decided. In the Heartland, such jails were larger places, since they often had to serve as barracks for the town guard as well. For a town as small and open as this, she wondered why they bothered. Then again, in the North every town would need somewhere to put those who succumbed to the Madmare’s influence. She walked up to the front door, sniffing at the air. There was the scent of decay and the sharp, unpleasant odor of offal. Wrinkling her nose in distaste, she pushed at the door. It opened easily, but she nearly gagged on the stench that rolled out. Taking shallow breaths through her mouth, she went inside. Hoping to be done quickly, she took a quick glance around the room. There was a desk with a few papers on it where the sheriff would have sat. The window beside the desk was the one that was cracked. The blood on that window was more visible inside, a splash and a short smear down to the windowsill. More blood had dried on the back of the desk chair, staining already dark wood an ugly hue. She looked away from the messy scene and took in the rest of the room. It was an open space, divided in two by a long row of iron bars. The space beyond the bars was further sectioned into three cells. The middle of which, upon closer inspection, was occupied. The pony in the cell was curled against the wall as if asleep. Heavy chains led from iron rings in the floor to manacles around each of his legs. He was lying in his own filth, the source of the disgusting smell. He was so dirty that the original color of his coat was impossible to tell, though his ragged mane and tail still showed some of its natural vibrant orange. He was gaunt, almost skeletal, but his sides moved with his breath and as she approached the one eye facing her opened and trained on her. The look he gave her with his green eye, fever-bright and full of unholy intensity, only confirmed her suspicions. This was one taken by the Madmare. A cursed prophet of the North. He opened his mouth to speak, but only a long, ragged croak came out. His gaze shifted to the waterskin that hung opposite her satchel. He shifted slightly to point a hoof at it, barely able to get his leg off the ground for more than a second. “You want this?” she asked. He nodded slowly. “Do you promise to play nice?” He nodded again, though she didn’t expect anything less. Still, she looked around until she found where the keys to the cells were hanging on the wall. She reached out with mint-green magic and plucked a likely key from its hook, then brought it to the door and slowly turned the lock without taking her eyes off the pony in the cage. The door opened with a metal squeal that cut through the silence of the dead town. She winced at the sound, but the pony in the cage didn’t so much as flinch. With an annoyed frown she levitated her waterskin over to him. He opened his mouth, though he carefully kept the right half of his face turned away from her, and eagerly swallowed as she began to dribble the lukewarm water down his throat. She took her time, knowing that going too fast risked him throwing up, which would only make the smell in there worse. Finally, he signalled that he’d had enough, and she brought the skin back to her side. “You,” he said, his voice still sounding like gravel. “You came from the south. Through the Granite Playground.” “I did,” she said. “What of it?” “She sees all stone,” the pony mumbled. “She felt your hooves. You–” he descended into a fit of coughing. She waited for him to continue. “You must leave. Run! Back to the soft Heartland or the comfort of the Tyrant’s rule. Far from here. Far from the stone and the party unending.” “So you’re not fully her creature, after all,” she mused, thinking on his warning. “No. Not completely. I am… I was a merchant.” As he spoke his pupil suddenly dilated so wide she was worried he was having a stroke. “Bright and brave, with rubber shoes and rubber wheels to hide me from the stone. Bouncer, they called me. Bouncer Bold, to travel from town to town through the paths of the North. Years and years I roamed, and one mistake was all it took.” His breath hitched, and she thought that if he could have cried he would have. “A stumble, a trip. A brush of stone and there she was.” He stopped, staring into the far distance, mouth working silently. “The Madmare?” she prompted. “Beautiful as blood and happier than hatred should be. She knew my name. She knew my name! She knew my name!” He let out a low, mournful wail that hitched higher and higher until he was shaking with laughter. “She made me a seat to sit in as she flayed my soul from my body and cooked it for my dinner!” The words came between wracking guffaws, and he rolled onto his back to kick his legs feebly in the air. This only revealed the ruin that had become the other side of his face. She recoiled from it, feeling her gorge rise at the naked bone and tangled muscle. “You! She’ll do it to you, too! She’s got the chair prepared, oh yes! A place for everypony at her party!” His mad laughter drifted away, and she could see a measure of sanity return in his remaining eye. “How long?” she asked. “How long did she… have you?” “Hours?” he replied with a weak shrug. “Days? There is no time under the stone. Enough to make me this.” He gestured at himself, and the destroyed right half of his face. “Bouncer Bold no more. Bouncing Mad, perhaps.” “You escaped?” He nodded, shivering. “She… there is something that resists her rule. A power in the North that she hasn’t been able to crush. It… something happened and she had to go fight it. I was left alone. I ran and ran, but I can’t ever get away.” He sobbed again. “She’s in me now. Forever. Forever.” His voice weakened to a whisper as he continued in a high-pitched sing-song. “Friends together now and forever, I’m never going to let you go. Friends to dance with and to prance with, the party never ends you know.” “Hey, 'Bird,” the Blademaster said, startling her. She turned to find him leaning against the doorframe, silhouetted against the light from outside. “I’ve checked the other houses. Not a soul left but this poor bastard.” His accent was an exaggerated version of the classic Trottingham dialect. She knew that it was more affectation than truth, but it rolled off his tongue with such insouciant ease that it sounded perfectly natural on him. He stepped into the room and leaned into Bouncer’s cell. “Ouch. Have an accident with a cheese grater there, mate?” Bouncer responded with a grin so wide it looked painful. “Did you get the supplies?” she asked him. “Most of what we need,” he said with a curt nod. “Ready to go and now free of charge. You get out of him what happened yet?” “Not yet,” she said. She turned to Bouncer with an expectant look. “I don’t know,” he said to the silent question. “The sheriff, he was here. Maybe she got him. Maybe… I see her everywhere now. I don’t know. I don’t know.” “You’re certainly a useful sort,” the stallion said with a cocky smile. “Pip,” she warned. He gave her a hurt look. “I told you, love, call me ‘Blademaster’.” She sighed, but relented. “Blade, then. Don’t insult him. He’s trying.” “It was dark,” Bouncer said. “I saw… I saw a shadow move like a pony, but with no-one to cast it.“ He shook his head. “It could have been her. I don’t know.” “That’s okay, Bouncer,” she said, giving him as comforting a smile as she could manage amidst the smell and the way her nerves were on edge. “If the Madmare’s distracted, you could still make it out of the North. I can’t help you get there, but I can let you out of here.” She brandished the key, but he shied back from it, shaking his head. “No. no-no-no. Hooves on stone. She’d see, she’d know. And… and she knows my name. If she calls… I can’t not go to her. Locked up, I’m safe. I’m safe.” “You’ll die,” she told him. He shook his head. “Dying here is better than dying there. I can’t… I don’t want to go back to the party.” She paused, looking to her companion for advice. He shrugged, his smile faded and his expression hard. “The bloke don’t want to go, he don’t want to go. But we should, and soon.” She hissed in anger at the choice forced on her, but nodded. “I’ll be right out,” she told him, and he tipped his hat at Bouncer before stalking out of the room. She turned to the prisoner, who watched her with his one, mad eye. “I’m sorry. I wish I could do more for you, but I can’t.” She turned to go. “She’s touched you too,” he said. She paused, looking over her shoulder at him. “I can feel it. Like a mark on your heart. Every beat a cry of pain. She knows your name.” “That’s alright,” she said, replacing the key on its hook and giving him a sad smile. “I know hers, too.” *** They left Dust-Devil Valley behind with their bags full of food and their minds full of worries. They had been lucky thus far, and they both knew it. The Granite Playground was often where travellers got their first, and usually last, taste of the Madmare. Even when they made it through without meeting the ruler of the North, they spoke of pathways that shifted like sand in the wind, and entire labyrinths appearing and disappearing in moments. No one knew when or where the Madmare would strike within it, and many who braved the journey never returned. It was one of the reasons they had rushed, moving day and night with only a few short breaks to rest or eat. Nothing had happened, though. It had been a hard hike, with no discernible road or path, but hardly the confusing maze of terror that had been described to them. For now they took their good luck and ran with it, though Bouncer’s words about a new power in the North worried at the back of Songbird’s mind. They walked along the rough path for miles before stopping to consult the map they had bought at great expense before making their journey. The traveller they had spoken to had given them a good overview of where they would need to go, and Dust-Devil Valley had been an absolute must for rest, supplies and aid in getting to their next destination. The supplies they had, but there was no way either of them was going to spend the night in the dead town, and any aid the villagers could have provided had vanished along with them. They had to think about their next move. “We should stick to the paths,” she said, frowning as Blade shook his head. “That’s just asking for trouble,” he said. “Whatever took the ponies back there, it might be attacking towns. We’d be walking right into it, or at least be easy pickings on the road. Look, we’ve got enough supplies on us, let’s cut through the forest.” He poked at the area on the map that showed a large green blotch. It was, indeed, a much shorter route than taking the meandering paths would be. “The Forest of Lost Voices,” she read. “That does not sound like a fun trot through the woods.” “No, it sounds exciting,” he said with a saucy smile. “Makes me want to find out why it’s called that.” “It’s too dangerous.” “And your plan isn’t?” He gestured back towards the distant town. “Face it, love, we left ‘safe’ behind in Trottingham.” She frowned and stared at the map. The worst part of it all was that he was right. “There’s probably animals in there,” she said. “Hungry ones. And unlike the Heartland, pony is definitely on the menu.” “That’s why you’ve got me along, love,” he said, tapping a sword. “Monster hunter extraordinaire, remember?” She sighed, folding the map back up and tucking it away. “Fine. We’ll take your shortcut. But if you get us lost, oh mighty Blademaster, so help me I will never let you live it down. I will put it into a song and make sure everypony from here to the the Grove of Truth hears it.” “Fair trade, love,” he said, grinning. “So long as they all know who I am.” She snorted and started off the road. He let out a triumphant laugh, and rushed to join her. Together they walked towards the dark forest that stretched out north of them. *** The forest was still many miles away, and the storm had rolled in fast. The field they’d stopped in had a few small copses of trees on hills that were little more than lumps on the ground, and it was there that they had decided to make their camp. The Blademaster worked furiously on a lean-to while Songbird cooked as much food as she could before they lost their chance. Thunder cracked overhead, making them pause in their duties. Clouds roiled in the sky and the smell of rain was heavy in the air. The small fire they’d laid wouldn’t survive the downpour. “Looks like we’re in for a wet night,” Blade said as he wove more hastily-cut branches into their shelter. Songbird didn’t reply immediately, thinking on how quickly the temperature was dropping. Her breath was beginning to mist, and she could practically feel the cold misery already settling into her bones. She reached for her satchel, putting her hoof in and feeling the static tingle of electricity as she found what she was looking for. She froze, thinking hard about what she was considering doing. “What’s on your mind, love?” he asked as he saw her pensive expression. “I’ve got something that will help,” she said. “But it will probably draw attention.” He looked at the oncoming storm and then back to her. “Well then, what do you want less? Some unsavory-type taking a look in our direction, or being soaking wet and miserable?” “Considering who that unsavory-type might be?” she asked, then reluctantly took her hoof out of the bag. “No.” He gave a sage nod. “You’re right. Best not. Come on, if we sacrifice a blanket for the roof, I can get this thing done before we needn’t bother.” “Which means we’d only have one blanket to keep warm with,” she said, giving him a nonplussed look. He just grinned back at her. “Didn’t say there weren’t perks.” He held one hoof to his chest. “I’ll be the perfect gentlecolt. On my honor.” She sighed, but nodded. He pulled out his own blanket and threw it over the roof of the lean-to, securing it against the wind. Soon the rain started coming down hard. She packed up the cookpot and shoved all her bags to the back of the lean-to before crowding under its roof with the Blademaster. They shared some of the food she had prepared, watching as the rain turned their little hill into an island and the lightning danced across the sky. After they had eaten, she pulled out her blanket and draped it over both of them, and they huddled together under its dubious warmth. She shivered, and he wrapped his forelegs around her. His earth pony constitution fought the chill, and she soon stilled as his heat soothed her. True to his word, he didn’t try anything, just held her as the storm went on. Eventually, the lightning passed and all that was left was the soft rain falling on the drowned field. She pulled away from him then and dragged her bag close. She shuffled through the contents, feeling her instruments, the tools of her trade. She didn't take them out, though, feeling around for the item she had touched earlier. When she felt that electric snap again she pulled out something that wasn’t part of her show: a long blue feather. “What’s that, then?” Blade asked, his voice a murmur in her ear. “Something I got just before I met you,” she replied, chuckling. The feather was bright even in the darkness, practically glowing with the power it held. “I nearly died for it. It’s powerful, I could use it to turn this storm to clear skies if I wanted to. If I was willing to let everyone in the North know what I was doing and where I was.” “There’s a tale there,” he said. “Care to share it, love?” She looked at the blue feather for a long time, turning it this way and that, feeling how the air crackled with electric life as it moved. It was a dangerous thing to have. Dangerous to talk about, even. Yet no more dangerous than simply being where she was. So, as the distant thunder rumbled and the rain poured down through the cold night, she told him a story.
Songbird: The Blue FeatherSongbird Interlude: The Blue Feather Songbird looked up at the hundreds of clouds in the sky, and knew she was in the right place. They spun in lazy circles around an undefined center, spread out in three dimensions only so much that they would pass within mere pony lengths of each other. The overall shape they made put her in mind of a disordered helix, twisting a spiral path through the western sky. Each cloud moved at its own pace, but they all shared a coordination that went beyond mere elegance. They moved separately, yet fit together, like dancers around a festival fire. She couldn't help but admire the beauty of it. She stood under the western sky, deep in the Tempest's realm, and these clouds were the homes of pegasi. Each was a discrete thing unto itself: A house, a fortress against the elements. Most were no larger than their earthbound counterparts would be, kept contained and solid to make them easier to move. Songbird stared at the pegasus village and remembered that once the winged ponies had built enormous cities that, while a marvel to behold, still mimicked their land-bound cousins in form. The pegasi of the West didn't do that. They built their own homes and refused to connect them together in streets or avenues. To do so was to be seen as tacitly forming an alliance with another pegasus. In this place that would only lead to conflict, hardship, violence, and the inevitable betrayal. Nopony in the west trusted anypony else to have access to their homes. It wasn't safe. The village moved at the whims of the ones in it, flowing like a school of fish from place to place as the inhabitants sought food and water from the untilled lands below them. They couldn't be still. Couldn’t ever settle in one place. Their power was in flight, their homes in the sky. She understood that, if only a little. Her own home had wheels. She stopped on the top of a small hill, barely brushed by the shadows of the outermost of those floating houses. She set down her bag and its attached bundles, making a show of slowly unwrapping each item and laying them out. She knew how skittish pegasi could get, and didn't want to scare away her potential customers. The instruments she took from the bag were simple and worn: A wide drum, its skin stretched tight over the wooden frame. A silver flute, tarnished in places, but otherwise well kept. A lute, missing a string but with a deep bowl that gave a good hollow sound as she laid it on the ground. Finally she pulled out the streamers. There were two dozen of them, each of a different color. She took them out and laid them on a linen sheet, careful to keep them clean and untangled. They were the centerpiece of her show. She took a sip from her canteen and sat down, waiting to be acknowledged. It didn't take long for the first curious head to peek out of the clouds. Others joined it, and soon there were dozens of eyes on her. Once she was sure that there were enough of them watching she reached for her flute. It rose surrounded in the calm green glow of her magic, and taking a steady breath, she brought it to her lips. The song she played began with a simple tune, one that she had learned from a friend who had long ago gone her own way. It was soft, but her magic gave it the strength to be heard, and the song floated past the noise of the world like the wind through tall grass, unopposed. It sank into the ears of the hidden listeners, whispering to them of calm days and warm sunrises, of gentle winds and lazy afternoons. The song called to them like a siren: inexorable, unstoppable. So they came to her. A few at first, fluttering down from their cloud homes to circle cautiously about the hill she sat on. Then in greater numbers until the sky was full of color and motion as the pegasi descended. She picked up the pace of her music as they did. She'd caught their attention, now it was time to hook them. Her music picked up speed. No longer a gentle breeze, it was now a full fledged wind, pushing and swirling and daring the world to try to slow it down. The flute provided a piping flow, and with a jangle the lute joined in, providing a hurried impetus to counterpoint the trilling of the flute. She was brewing a storm with music. The pegasi began to land. Dropping down to the ground in front of her and jockeying for the best position to watch her from. They were more than curious now. They knew a show when they saw one, and good entertainment was a precious thing in the Fallen world. Soon the field in front of her was full of winged ponies, all staring at her with wide, enraptured eyes. Waiting for the best part. With a boom the drum joined the flute and the lute, a thunderous beat to the tempest of sound. The instruments circled her, clutched in her magic and amplified to be heard clearly all the way to the houses above. She took a deep breath, pulling the flute from her lips and letting her magic provide the air for its piping. Then she threw her head back and lifted her voice to join the music. She sang in a wordless cry that evoked speed and power and joy. She sang the storm and showed them that she knew what it was to fly. With a final crash of thunder her song ended, her instruments falling silent and her voice lifted in one final, triumphant note before fading away. There was silence for a long moment, then a cacophony of stomps and whistles and cheers as the villagers showed their approval. She waited for it to die down before bowing to her audience. They quieted, intent on her as her magic began lifting the streamers into the air, setting them to flow around and behind her in whirling spirals of color. "I am the Songbird," she said in a hushed voice that her magic carried to every listening ear. "I am the teller of tales and the keeper of secrets. I can spin a song from starlight, and pull a story from the wind. I have travelled the land from the forbidden snows of the north to the desert sands of the south. I have sung my songs in the City of Gardens and Cages, and played many a lonely night in the Heartland's halls. Now I brave the gales of the Tempest to bring my tales to you. Every story is a song, and every song is mine to sing. Listen." The crowd was silent, watching her with intent and eager impatience. She had made her boast, now was the time to live up to it. She began with a few notes from her lute, slow and simple at first but building in complexity and speed. She added a subtle drum beat as the tempo evened out, a bass framework to grow her harmony. The flute joined in, trilling the main melody of the song: a bright theme that swelled and danced in the air, accompanied by a flourish from the streamers that fluttered around her. She let the music die back a bit, and spoke the opening stanza of her song: It was so long ago When hope was still bright And the Fall had not yet begun That five friends came together And fought back the night For these were the days of the sun The streamers moved, arranging themselves into flowing shapes: five ponies. As she sang each verse she had the streamer-pony for that verse ‘walk’ in front of her, showing the audience a visceral image to go with the picture her song painted for them. At the chorus she brought all of her streamer-ponies to the fore, moving them in a spinning unison before dissolving them into a rainbow of spiralling silk. As the chorus ended she reformed them into their pony-shapes and began the dance anew. One was a mare of the gentlest of ways Who fell to the earth from on high She found there were wonders the clouds hid from sight And never again sought to fly The second was a pony of strength and resolve Whose loss made her hooves want to roam She went forth to find a new path she could take And it led her back to her home And they looked upon the colors A friendship born in light These five made one in the days of the sun Together they conquered the night Together they conquered the night The third wanted beauty with dazzle and flair She looked for a place to begin At the end of her journey she discovered the art Of finding that beauty within The fourth grew in toil and the cold gray of stone She needed release from the strife She found it in the joy of family and friends And she smiled the rest of her life And they looked upon the colors A friendship born in light These five made one in the days of the sun Together they conquered the night Together they conquered the night The last had a destiny, a legend to make She would not be barred from her fate She challenged the doubts and taunting of fools And showed what it meant to be great And where she went she brought the colors And together they took up the light They were five made one in the days of the sun Against the return of the night And they each took up the colors Friendship turned into light These five made one in the days of the sun Together they conquered the night Together they conquered the night With a final flourish she ended her song, letting the streamers fall into neat piles around her. There was silence from her audience. Ponies stared at her, processing what they had heard. It hadn’t been what they were expecting, not after her storm-like opening, but it touched them nonetheless. It was a song of hope, of triumph and of friendship. Not something these ponies were used to. The first cheer went up as the crowd decided they liked what they’d seen, and a wave of stomps rumbled across the field. Songbird smiled and bowed, relieved and elated at the reception, but she kept her eyes on the sky. It was time. "Come on," Songbird whispered as she took another bow to the cheering crowd. "Where are you?" The first scream was barely audible over the sound of the crowd's adulation, but she heard it. Her muscles tensed and her horn lit with a subtle glow as her eyes searched for the source of the scream. She didn't have to look for long as the body of a pegasus mare tumbled out of the clouds. Sweetie played her part, her eyes going wide and her hoof pointing at the falling pony. She let out a shout, calling for help. The audience was slow to react, some of them not realizing that it wasn't part of the show. Which was, ironically, exactly what she wanted them to think. Enough did turn, however, and saw the falling pony. There was a moment of shock, then the falling pony was joined by others, dropping out of the clouds like stones. Dead weight. From there it only took a moment for all of them to come to the same conclusion: they were under attack. Shouts of alarm and calls to arms went out, partially drowned out by the still-ongoing cheers. It was too late for them. Armored pegasi descended from the clouds, spears and hoofbows ready to deal death. Sweetie dove to the ground, gathering all her instruments to her and huddling into as small a shape as she could make. She wanted to hide her eyes from the carnage, but she couldn’t afford to block out the battlefield. Everything rode on her being aware of what was going on around her. The attack was precise and brutal. Dozens of pegasi fell in the first pass of the flying warriors. Some managed to gather together and put up a defense, but it was too little and too late. They had been caught at the worst possible time for them, their enthusiasm for the performance blocking out any of the warning signs they would normally have been watching for. Ponies scattered to the winds, flying as fast as their wings could take them, abandoning their homes and their neighbours. The attackers didn’t pursue, turning all their attention on the ones who stood their ground to fight. Those battles did not last long Songbird didn't move until the rout was over. When the last defenders broke and fled, the attackers only pursued them enough to ensure they wouldn't regroup and double back before leaving off the chase. Soon the armored pegasi circled the sky, the victors claiming the cloud village for their own. Songbird unfolded from her huddled crouch, standing tall and taking stock of her things. Both she and her instruments were undamaged, but she was annoyed to see that several of her streamers had been trampled during the fighting. She rolled them up carefully, slipping them back into her bag. They might be salvageable and were damnably expensive to replace. Just as she was tucking away the last streamer a trio of pegasi drifted down to her, hauling a small hot air balloon. She stood calmly and waited for them to address her. "The commander would like to see you," one of the warriors said, gesturing to the basket of the balloon. She didn’t argue, stepping into the balloon without hesitation. They lifted off and dragged the balloon roughly up towards the village. She held on to the edge of the basket and tried not to look down as the ground fell away beneath her. She couldn’t stop the light-headed feeling that came from the thought of being so high up, but she did her best to ignore it. It was essential that she not show fear. The warriors pulled the balloon to one of the larger cloud-homes, drifting near the top of the village. Pegasi were ransacking the other buildings, tossing personal effects to the winds and keeping anything they could use. Songbird watched with a melancholy detachment as dolls, clothes and family portraits fell like rain. Lives abandoned and ignored, left to wither on untrod ground. Appropriate, in its own way. She let herself compose a short requiem for this village, passing the time of her ascent. It was a song that would never be heard, but an unsung tribute was all the honor she could afford for the part she had played in the town’s demise. As she pulled even with the roof of the cloud home she saw the commander of the invading force waiting for her. He was a tall, strong stallion, his dark armor unable to hide where his light gray coat was criss-crossed with bare patches and scars puckering his skin. Remnants of past battles and reminders of a history he would likely rather forget. His helmet covered his mane and hid most of his face from view, but his purple eyes watched her with almost burning intensity as the balloon was brought to rest gently before him. “Commander,” she greeted him, ducking her head in as much a bow as the confines of the basket would allow her. “Songbird,” he replied, not bothering to so much as nod in return. “You played your part excellently.” “I’m glad it worked out for you,” she said, flashing a sweet smile that failed to move him even a twitch. She didn’t let up, beaming as brightly as she could. “I should really get moving before it gets dark, though. So, if you’ve got my payment?” She held out her hoof, still grinning. He snorted, reaching into a pouch on his armor and drawing forth a long blue feather. He held it out to her and she took it in her magic, drawing it before her and examining it carefully. “It’s genuine,” he assured her. “I know,” she chirped happily, but didn’t stop looking it over. “It’s so pretty!” That got a reaction. The warriors around her shivered, disgust clear in their faces. The commander’s eyes narrowed, anger in their purple depths. They all knew what she held, and they knew that she knew. She tensed her legs, her heart beating faster, but she was careful to let none of it show. “You have what you came for,” the commander growled. “I hope it’s everything you wanted.” She shrugged, slipping the feather into her bag. “I hope so too!” She tapped a forehoof in a steady rhythm, praying to long-vanished gods that she had gotten the movements of the clouds below her right. “And so we’re done here,” the commander said. The ponies surrounding her drew their weapons immediately. She put on a show of being surprised, eyes wide and mouth agape. “What?” the commander sneered at her look. “You didn’t actually think I’d let you walk out of here did you? With that?” “We had a deal!” Songbird cried, leaning towards the commander and rocking the basket dangerously. “The deal is over!” the commander snapped. “All you wanted was the feather, now you have it. Now I’m free to take it back, along with everything else you own. And, if you’re exceptionally lucky, then I might decide not to throw you out of the clouds for the presumption of demanding that feather in the first place!” Songbird’s expression of anger and surprise faded, turning instead to a resolute calm. “Sorry commander, can’t let you do that,” she said. Then her horn flared green and she sang a single, pure note. The sound exploded from her in a sphere of sharp force. The warriors surrounding her yelled in pain as their ears were assaulted, the magic shoving them back and knocking their weapons from their hooves. The commander reeled back, his helmet only making the force of the sound worse for him. Still, he was no stranger to pain, and with a roaring cry he drew his sword and slashed at her. She ducked in time to avoid the strike, but it cut through the ropes holding the basket to the balloon, and sent her falling through the cloud. She didn’t have time to see more than a glimpse of the interior of the house as she plummeted through it and then she was in open air again. She didn’t scream, didn’t flail about uselessly, instead she pushed off from the basket and leapt towards one of the passing houses. The impact when she hit the cloud-home wasn’t hard, but it wasn’t as soft as she’d been expecting either. Her legs protested, but she grit her teeth and forced herself into motion. “She’s cloudwalking!” a voice shouted. Other cries of surprise and shouts to attack went up, soon the entire attacking force would be after her. She ran, letting the springy surface of the cloud add a bouncing speed to her enchanted hooves. The house wasn’t a large one, however, and she came to its end within a few steps. Undeterred she took another leap, soaring out and down until she landed on a lower house that was passing just under the one she had left. She didn’t stop there, reversing direction and running off the end of this roof to land on another one a level down. Pegasi were already beginning to attack, levelling hoobows at her and loosing deadly bolts. She juked and dodged, jumping from the roof again just as the quarrels cut holes in the thick cloud walls. She tumbled through the air, reaching for another rooftop. She’d misjudged the speed at which this building was going, though, and so only landed with half her body on it, the edge catching her in the gut. She wheezed as her breath was forced out, then scrambled to keep a hold on the cloud as she began to slip off. She was just beginning to get somewhere when a pegasus warrior landed on the roof in front of her, his spear raised to jab into her. She let out a wheezing yelp and shoved herself away from the cloud. She spun like a pinwheel through the air, looking desperately for another building to land on. She fought down panic as she realized her push had sent her out into the middle of the village, where there were no houses. She called on her magic, singing a high, piercing note and focusing the sound into a cone of force that blasted out from her mouth. The force of that cry threw her to the side, sending her into the side of one of the houses. As solid to her as they were, the houses were still clouds. She crashed through the wall with a gentle ‘poof’ and bounced along the floor. Right into the legs of a warrior who was busy searching a dresser for useful loot. He looked down at her in surprise and she flashed him a grin, waving one hoof casually. He went for his weapon and she sang another piercing note at him, the force of it sending him staggering back and clutching at his ears. She rolled to her hooves and swiftly kicked him through the wall, leaping after him through the hole he had made. She dropped onto another rooftop and continued her run. Spears and bolts chased her as the pegasi realized where she was. The motion of the houses helped her here, allowing her to move in odd directions and block line of sight. She kept ahead of her pursuers as she jumped from house to house, moving ever downward. Eventually, however, she came to the end of her run. She dropped onto a rooftop and ran to the opposite edge, only to find that there were no other houses to jump to. She’d reached the lowest level of the village, and now only faced a long drop to the unyielding ground far below. She stopped, breathing heavily from her run, and turned to face the forces that pursued her. A few shot their hoofbows at her, but she sang a quick melody that solidified in the air before her, deflecting the shots. They stopped shooting at her after that, instead keeping their distance, wary of her glowing horn. Finally, the commander landed in front of her, flanked by a pair of warriors who brandished wicked-looking spears and glared at her with hard eyes. The commander had removed his helmet, revealing a patchy dark-gray mane that failed to cover the burns that ran down the back of his neck. Blood was trickling from one of his ears, but the other twisted towards her as he shook his head in exasperation. “Now, what did that accomplish?” he growled at her. “I was just going to rob you, you know.” “And throw me off a cloud?” she asked, trying not to focus on the sweat trickling down her face. Her heart was pounding harder than ever, and it wasn’t from the exertion of running. Her eyes scanned the skies, frantically praying that enough time had passed. “I was trying to scare you,” he replied. “Damn it, Sweetie Belle! You can’t be here! You can’t just come into the West and ask after things like that feather! You should stay in the Heartland, stay under the Sorceress’ protection.” She snorted. “Some protection.” “It’s better than being here,” he said, sweeping a wing towards the ransacked village to illustrate. “Especially for a unicorn.” He sighed, visibly forcing anger down. “You were stupid to come here, Songbird, and you were stupid to run. Now, give me the feather.” “No.” The anger was back instantly. “Then I will take it off your corpse! Soldiers! On my order break this cloud to mist.” She felt it then, a shift in the wind. Twin surges of elation and dread flowed through her, strong enough to make her laugh out loud. The commander paused, staring at her in confusion. She tamped down on the laughter, managing to reduce it to a few giggles before replying to the unasked question in his gaze. “I’m sorry,” she said, stepping back to the edge of the cloud. “I knew this would happen.” “And yet you went through with it anyway,” he said. “Did you listen to my song?” she asked him, a nervous grin creeping onto her face. “It wouldn’t be a very good distraction for me if I was the one distracted,” he replied. “You should have listened, Rumble,” she said. His eyes widened, and reflected in them she saw a ring of colors expanding through the air behind her like an apocalyptic halo. “You know she doesn’t like it when we talk about who she used to be.” With those final words she stepped back and dropped off the cloud. “Fly!” the commander roared, panic ripping through his voice. “Fly now! The Tempest!” Songbird twisted in the air, looking towards the massive prismatic explosion that dominated the horizon. A brilliant streak of rainbow light was lancing from the center of that shockwave, travelling faster than sound, faster than any living thing in the world. There would be no escape. The Tempest shot through the center of the pegasus village with enough force to shatter light. Songbird’s breath caught in her throat as she saw the burning colors that followed, rolling across the landscape and dragging the sky along with it. Pegasi were caught in midair, their attempt to scatter made moot by the all-encompassing nature of the Tempest’s power. The rainbow caught them, and dragged them along with it. Unstoppable. She couldn’t help but admire the beauty of it. The glory of one of the rulers unleashed in anger on her subjects. Beautiful, but terrifying at the same time. Enough to freeze her heart in her chest at the thought of being caught herself by that impossible light. She rolled away from it, focusing instead on the rapidly approaching ground and the shockwave that was going to hit her first. She opened her mouth and began to sing. It was a wordless song, but filled with the power of her magic. She wrapped the sound around her, compacting it into a solid barrier against the world. The shockwave hit the bubble of sound and added to its power. Sound compounding sound, all twisted to her will by the power of her spellsong magic. She fell through the shockwave and to the torn, bloody ground. She hit with all the force of her fall, wrapped in the power of a sonic rainboom. Dirt flew in rippling spirals around her as her spell spent all the energy of the impact into the ground and away from her. She stopped singing and dropped the final few inches to the broken earth. Wind dragged at her mane, whipping it all about her face as a fierce storm was dragged overhead by the Tempest’s wake. She didn’t wait around, running towards the hill where she had made her performance. She could hear screams in the distance, pegasi caught by the Tempest howling in fear and agony. She didn’t pay it any mind, forced herself to ignore the cries. She could do nothing for them. The only pony she could save was herself. She grabbed her instruments from where they had been scattered by the shockwave, gratefully noting that they weren’t terribly damaged. She didn’t have time to place them properly, so she shoved them into her bag, hoping that she wouldn’t damage them further in her haste. She turned to go, but cast one final look back at what she had wrought. The village was a whirlwind now, cloud homes torn apart and spinning in a darkening cloud of debris and violence. Lightning flashed through the vortex, and in its light she could see the forms of pegasus ponies caught in the storm. They couldn’t escape from winds that strong, left at the mercy of the one who controlled them. They would join the Tempest’s storm and maybe, if they were very good or exceptionally lucky, they could escape to pick up whatever pieces of their life would be left. Songbird was just about to leave when she spotted a figure on the ground beneath the vortex. There, a pegasus mare stood firm against the intense winds. She glowed as if the sun lit her despite the dark clouds above her head. Her wings were stretched wide and her rainbow mane whipped about her like a banner of doom. A ruby lightning bolt shone at her throat, echoed in crimson glow of her eyes. Those eyes turned in Songbird’s direction, and the unicorn was paralyzed with terror. “No,” she whispered, barely able to draw the breath for that. “Don’t see me. Don’t see me. Please don’t see me!” A moment later the Tempest took off into the sky, and Songbird was released from her fear. Her legs shook and she nearly collapsed as relief stole her strength. She took a first wobbling step, though, and found the next few came easier. She was done here. It was time to go home.
The Forest of Lost VoicesPart Two: The Forest Of Lost Voices “Hello?” The Blademaster crept through the undergrowth, his steps as silent as the rain that sprinkled the forest. “Can anypony hear me?” He drew a dagger from its sheath, holding the blade in his lips. His breath came in a steady rhythm, neither fast nor slow. He counted his heartbeats, strength coiling in his muscles. “Please help me, I don’t know where I am!” He surged forward, darting around a thick tree towards the source of the call. He skid to a halt as he found nothing there. “Where am I?” The call was close, almost at his shoulder. The Blademaster’s ears swivelled as he sought out its source. “Please, where am I?” He locked in on the sound, and slowly turned back to the tree he had just passed. There, settled in a hollow in the trunk was a disc of flattened stone. A cherry-red muzzle protruded from the stone, lips moving in soft repetition of confused words. “Well, that’s just… not right,” he mumbled past the knife. Then he passed the blade to his hoof and raised his voice. “It’s alright, ‘Bird. You can come out.” Songbird made her way through the same brush he’d just come through, stepping daintily. “What is it?” she asked. “Search me,” he replied, gesturing towards the stone-bound mouth. “But I’d guess we’ve found where this forest got its name.” She rounded the tree, and let out a squeak of surprise when she saw what he had discovered. “That’s horrid!” “No argument from me, love,” he tentatively reached out with the knife to poke at the stone. It wobbled at the touch, but the mouth didn’t react, continuing to plead with the hopeless desperation of the terminally lost. Songbird sang out a piercing note, her horn flaring with pale light. The stone shattered, the muzzle fading into ephemeral smoke that was washed away in the wind that rustled through the leaves of the Forest of Lost Voices. He jumped at her cry, giving her a startled, angry look. “You’ll bring the bloody Madmare down on us, you keep doing that!” he hissed. “Would you want to be left like that?” she asked, shuddering at the thought. He didn’t bother replying. Instead he shook his head and turned back to their original course, muttering about unreasonable mares. Her sharp ears would catch every word, he knew, but that was half the point. The other half was to make whatever was stalking them believe that he wasn’t paying it any attention. He’d noticed the creature as they’d been breaking down their camp to start heading into the forest. He’d seen it prowling through the long grasses out in the field, getting a good enough look to be sure that it was no pony. Once they’d gotten into the forest, it had become harder to keep track of the beast, and he’d been reduced to catching glimpses of it out of the corner of his eye and hearing the subtle noises of movement as it passed from branch to branch through the trees. At first he’d worried that it was the Madmare or one of her servants. He dismissed that after a little thought. The Madmare was as erratic as her name suggested, but while she was known to play games with her victims, she usually let them know that they were playing too. Whether they wanted to play or not. No, this was something different. Something that was stalking them more like a wild animal than the immortal, invincible ruler of a fifth of Equestria. Songbird might have noticed too, but on the other hoof she might not. From travelling with her this long he could tell that her senses were nearly as sharp as his, but he also knew that they didn’t see the world the same way. She missed things that stood out to him, didn’t put the same amount of importance on the signs of violence and predation that surrounded them out here in the wild North. He supposed that was only natural. She was a minstrel, after all, a showmare. She wasn’t expected to understand the dance as well as he did. For the moment, that dance was still in overtures. To the unseen watcher they were the prey, stalked until the moment to pounce came on. It was up to him to predict that moment, and turn it around on whatever beast thought two armed and wary ponies might be good prey. He didn’t think it’d be much longer. She caught up, walking beside him with her mouth pressed into a thin line. It was an invitation, and he wasn’t the kind of stallion to refuse a mare. “What’s on your mind, love?” “A power in the North, other than its Ruler,” she said. “None of the stories I know mention anything like that. Do you know anything about it?” He shook his head. “I know the same stories you do. They all say the same thing. Nopony can fight them.” He casually flipped a throwing knife into the air, catching sight of something crossing the path behind them in the reflection on its spinning blade. “‘No blade can cut them, no arrow can pierce them, no spell can reach them.’” He flipped the knife again, but this time didn’t spot anything. He returned the knife to its sheath and kept walking. “It might be the only sure thing left in the world. And let’s not forget what the Madmare can do to the ground under your hooves. I don’t see how it’s possible, love. That caged pony was mad. Another victim like the poor sods with their mouths stuck in stone.” “I don’t think he was lying,” she said. “Didn’t say he was,” he replied. “Just crazy.” She shook her head, but didn’t argue with him. Which was just as well. He didn’t think he could keep up his end in an argument against a Songbird with the bit between her teeth at the best of times. Right now, while he was on the lookout for attack at any second? She’d both win the debate and be a distraction that might get them both killed. He flexed his jaw a couple times. He was getting tired of waiting, and Songbird wouldn’t leave well enough alone for long, he knew. Even now, he could see her neck stiffen and her steps grow even more dainty. She was working herself up to a good, strong angry. While she was pretty enough when mad, he always preferred a smile to a frown. “I can’t see it,” he said, and she shot him a sharp look. “But that doesn’t mean it’s not happening.” Her brow crinkled as she thought about how to respond to that. He didn’t give her the chance. “I imagine we’ll find out as we head north, love.” “I’m worried someone else found the amulet already,” she said. His eyes went wide in surprise and he stopped suddenly. “Hadn’t thought of that,” he said. He could see the problem that would present. It would make things a whole lot more complicated. Maybe even impossible. Of course, this was the moment the creature chose to attack. It leapt out of the trees, claws leading. A cougar’s body, but featuring a yellow scorpion’s tail tipped by a vicious stinger. He’d fought others like it before: a lesser manticore. The Blademaster grabbed at one of his side-swords, the blade only halfway out of its sheath by the time the beast was on them. He brought the partially-free sword up, catching the first swipe of the claws on the steel. He dropped into a roll immediately afterward, barely avoiding the lightning-fast jabs of the manticore’s stinger. The beast came on with a feline roar. Still on the ground, he wasn’t in a good position to stop it, and steeled himself against the raking claws that were about to come his way. Songbird saved him from that fate, her voice lifting in furious exultation as her magic threw the manticore to the side. The magical cat recovered quickly, turning to hiss in anger at her. The Blademaster used the opportunity to fully pull his sword. He gave a thankful nod to his companion, then set himself into a low crouch as he squared off against the beast. The manticore snarled at him, swiping with its forepaws. He dodged the strikes, but didn’t counter. He knew how manticores fought. He’d killed enough of them. Sure enough, just as he was supposed to be worrying about those deadly claws, the stinger snapped out. Vicious poison dripped from the sharp tip of that tail. Not as deadly as the venom of a greater manticore, but more than enough to ensure that the cat would get its meal. He twisted, the stinger missing him by scant inches, and swiped with his sword. It bit into the hard shell of the tail, only cutting a quarter of the way through. The manticore shrieked, yanking its tail back with enough force that it caught his sword and pulled it from his mouth. He wasted no time in drawing its twin, setting his stance low again and watching the injured creature carefully. Songbird began to sing again, but he held out a hoof to forestall her. He was sure she could do something nasty, but it was unnecessary. He had this. The manticore, injured and angry, came on in a rush. He caught one swipe with his sword, and with a well-timed stomp he crushed the other paw into the ground. Earth pony strength ensured that the blow was stronger than his slight size would have allowed, breaking delicate bones. The beast went wild, snapping at him with its teeth and lashing out with its deadly tail again. He reacted with the grace and style that had earned him crossed swords for his cutie mark. He leapt up, the teeth and tail just missing him. Then he came down on the sword that was still embedded in the tail, his hooves finding the flat of the blade and driving it in even deeper as he his weight forced the tail to the ground. The great cat reacted by jerking at its trapped limb, its roars turned from intimidating to frightened. That reaction only resulted in tearing its injured tail further, until finally with a wet ripping sound the stinger was completely severed. The injured manticore ran, vanishing into the foliage in moments and leaving a trail of slightly luminescent orange blood behind it. The Blademaster sheathed his clean sword, then carefully removed the other one from the remains of the stinger. He looked over the blade’s edge and sighed at how much work it would take to get it sharp again. Songbird was looking in the direction the cat had run. “Are you going after it?” she asked. He shook his head. “No need. It won’t be after us again.” “Won’t it just bleed to death now?” He shook his head. “Magical beastie, love. It’ll have to hunt easier prey for a while, but it’ll be right as rain again in a year.” “Less likely to attack travelling ponies, I hope.” “I think it’s learned its lesson,” he said with a laugh as he cleaned the blood and chitin from his sword. “Now, what’s this about the amulet?” “I was just thinking, if whoever it is can challenge a Ruler, they might have found it.” “Only one way to be sure,” he said, sheathing the blade. “Let’s not dawdle.” *** “Another one,” he said, pointing it out. Songbird shivered as she spotted the stone disc hanging in a spiderweb. The thin strands of the web didn’t look strong enough to be holding the stone, but seemed to have no trouble with its weight. “That’s the third one this hour. They’re getting thicker the closer we get to the center of the forest.” He nodded in agreement. Two days into their journey through the Forest of Lost Voices and they could hear the cries of the Lost constantly now. It was mostly just whispers carried on the breeze, but some, like this one, were set too close to their path to ignore. “Figure it won’t be long before we’re seeing them all the time. You sure you don’t have any earplugs, love?” She shook her head, and kept moving. “I don’t understand it,” she said. “Why do this to ponies? They don’t do anything, they just… talk. What does she gain from it?” “You’re looking for sense in the wrong place,” he replied. “She’s not called what she is for nothing.” “She was always crazy,” Songbird mumbled under her breath in a way he knew he wasn’t meant to hear. “But this is just senseless.” He didn’t quite know what to say to that, if he was supposed to say anything at all. Still, he didn’t want to let the conversation die. “Maybe this is just her way of playing silly buggers even when she’s not around to do it personally.” “Maybe,” Songbird said. She spun, lighting her horn and singing out a trill that shattered the stone to powder. “You gonna do that to every one of them?” She shrugged. “Maybe,” she said again, then turned north and kept walking. He held out a hoof to stop her, and she gave him a quizzical look. “Something’s not right,” he said in response to the unasked question. “Hold a moment. I’ll be right back.” Not waiting for her to respond, he darted into the trees. Something had caught his eye when he had looked back to watch her destroy the disc: a tree that had branches cut from it. It took a minute for him to reach the tree, and it took only a moment to confirm that the branches had been cut with a saw rather than torn down by weather or some beast. It had been cut recently, too. A short examination of the area revealed even more signs of recent passage by a group of ponies. “What does it mean?” Songbird asked after he had shown her the remains of the campsite. “It means we’re not the only ones walking these woods,” he said. Then he indicated the trail heading away from the site. “North. Same direction we’re heading, almost the same line, too. If I hadn’t spotted this, we might have walked right into them.” “They might be travellers,” she said. “Maybe we could learn more about what’s going on from them.” He nodded. “Might do. But I’d want to make sure of them before I let them know we’re here. The look of this camp is, well, I don’t know. Something just doesn’t sit well with me about it.” He pointed at the doused firepit and the indentations where efficiently-placed tents had sat. “This doesn’t look hurried, or rough. They took the time to dig and then bury a latrine pit. It reminds me more of a military camp than something a bunch of travellers going through a forest as scary as this one would make. Then there’s this.” He pointed to a few areas of flattened ground that were clearly not made by tents. “It was cold and raining last night. Yet there were at least three ponies sleeping outside of tents. I don’t know what it means, but it’s best not to take chances.” “What happens if we catch up to them?” Songbird asked. “Don’t worry, love,” he said, flashing her a cocky smile. “If that happens you can just leave it to me.” *** Snow was drifting through the trees, flashing in the ghostly light of a waxing moon that shone through a break the clouds. The Blademaster would have spent some time admiring the sight, if he wasn’t so focused on the figures moving slowly about their campfire. There were half a dozen of them, all earth ponies, each wearing suits of black armor that reflected like glass. He couldn’t be sure, but it looked like what was visible of their tails and hooves sparkled as well, as if they were covered in glitter. They hadn’t spotted him, but that wasn’t due to any deficiency in their alertness. They had set up this camp with a professional efficiency that reminded him of the Sorceress’ Guard. Those were supposed to be some of the last professional soldiers in Equestria, and they did not wear armor that looked anything like this. Nor did they have any business travelling an enchanted forest in the deep North. Lying on the ground, almost hidden from view, were a trio of lumps. Only the soft motion of those lumps let him see that they were ponies themselves. When he focused on them he could see the strange, glassy manacles that held their legs tightly, as well as the blood that stained their coats darker in the moonlight. He maneuvered around the camp a little, and the remains of a fourth pony, this one clearly dead, lay steaming and still near the latrine pit. Carefully, moving with the practiced silence that had helped him become the greatest monster hunter in the Heartland, he left the strange camp and returned to where Songbird waited. Not that his stealth mattered much, he could have stepped on a dozen twigs and he doubted they would hear anything this deep in the forest. The susurrus of voices was like standing in a vast room where everypony was whispering to each other. No one voice was raised high enough to understand, but all of them were talking at once, creating a noise that was just on the cusp of being understandable. It had him on edge, and he knew that Songbird was feeling it worse. She was more attuned to sound, to words. Perhaps she could even understand what some of the Lost were saying, and he did not envy her that possibility. He made sure to be visible to her as he crept up. She sat in a glade of night-blooming wildflowers and moon-touched snow. A quintet of stone-locked mouths whispered their secrets to her as they hung from branches or sat propped against gnarled roots. The rays of moonlight touched her white coat with silver and shone off her green eyes. Her expression was contemplative, introspective. He always recognized her beauty, but it was in moments like this that he was truly struck by it. He could see why she was such an effective storyteller, her mere presence could be mesmerizing. Even more, despite the story she had told him of how she had acquired the blue feather, he still couldn’t shake the feeling of innocence he got from her. Somehow, even through all the trials of her life, it seemed like she had held on to some spark of purity. It was a rare thing in the fallen world, and it made him feel especially protective, above and beyond the promise he’d made to her and her mistress. She looked up as he approached with nervous expectation. He stopped for a moment, scanning his backtrail, trying to ensure that he hadn’t been followed. The noise cut both ways, after all. They wouldn’t have been able to hear him creep up and away, but neither could he have detected the crushing leaves or snapping twigs that usually alerted him to something following. Once he was sure that he hadn’t been tracked, he stepped up close and spoke right next to her ear. “Ponies,” he began. “Earth ponies. All in black armor. I’ve never seen the like before.” “Who do you think they are?” she asked. He shrugged. “If I had to guess, I’d say they’re your rebel power.” She looked off in the direction of the soldiers’ camp, ears flicking as a dangerous thought crossed her mind. He could see the content of that thought as clearly as if she had performed one of her streamer-puppet shows about it. “Don’t even think it, love. They didn’t look like the talking sort.” “We need information,” she replied. “We’re like as not to get robbed and murdered,” he said. “And this place, it’s not good for pulling one from the herd and having a quiet word.” She set her jaw, but he tapped it with his hoof, and her eyes popped wide in surprise. He made sure her eyes stayed on his, so that she could see how serious he was. “Not tonight. The chained-up nutcase said this rebel power was up north, right? Well, that’s where we’re heading anyway, there will be another chance.” “I just don’t think–” “They won’t talk to us,” he said. He put as much steel into his eyes as he could. In his mind’s eye he saw the cooling body of the dead pony again. He didn’t want her trying it on her own. “Come on, love. We should be away. With the moon out we’ve got enough light to travel. We’ll cut an angle, through their path so we don’t run into each other again.” Her frown remained, but she nodded in acquiescence, allowing him to lead her onward in their steady march to the farthest reaches of the north. *** The whetstone made a soothing, clean noise as he drew it across the steel. It had taken more than an hour of work, but his blade was sharp again after fending off another minor monster attack earlier that day. He sent it along a couple more times to confirm that he’d worked out all the burrs and chips, then flipped to the sword upright to give it one last visual look-over in the light of their campfire. A few hard days of walking, and they were finally reaching the northern edge of the forest. Snow had completely replaced the rain, and the landscape was rapidly becoming more wintry, though the trees still kept their leaves. They hadn’t seen any more signs of the black-armored ponies, and that was just the way he liked it. “Are you finally done?” Songbird asked. He grinned at her. “A clean sword is a happy sword, love. You don’t hear me complain when you tune your guitar.” “It’s a lute,” she replied, reflexively looking over to where her instrument lay in her bag. “And it’s a lot better than listening to that horrible scrape over and over again.” “Agree to disagree, love,” he said with a chuckle. “I’ve yet to hear the tune that matches the ring of a properly sharpened blade.” She gave him a look that was as much considering as it was annoyed. “What about that one?” She pointed at the largest sword, the one with the ring for a hilt. “I’ve never seen you sharpen that one.” “Don’t need to,” he said, touching the sword with a gentle hoof. He could feel the metal vibrating, singing a song just beyond his ability to hear. “This is something special. Steel Glory is her name. Cost enough money to retire on, with a mansion and servants and everything.” “It doesn’t look that special,” she said. It didn’t. Steel Glory was a long, wide wedge of dull metal. It didn’t have the elegance or killer shine of his other blades, though its two straight edges were wickedly sharp. The ring-hilt was scarred and pitted, as if it had been corroded by time and overuse. He didn’t much care about the aesthetics of it, the sword looked exactly as it had when it had been given it to him, and was every bit as deadly as he’d been promised. Songbird hadn’t seen him use it yet, but if the North lived up to its reputation, it wouldn’t be long before he had to rely on its terrible power. “Looks are deceiving,” he said. “You should know that better than anyone, love. No pony’d guess a pretty mare like you’d be clever enough to play the Tempest against her own Pegasi.” Her lips quirked up into a smile, which he returned. “I shouldn’t have told you that,” she said. “It’s a good story,” he said. “I’ve got a few of my own,” “I’ve heard some of them,” she said. The gleam in her green eyes was part professional curiosity, and part her own love of stories. “The Blademaster, greatest monster hunter in Equestria. I heard about you slaying the Chimera at Saddlehorn Pass. Or when you fought the Plague-Driver down by Appleoosa! You versus a swarm of mutant ponies and buffalo created by a pony corrupted by eating a Druid’s Apple. That’s practically a modern legend!” He shivered at the mention of that incident. “Wasn’t as fun as the stories make it sound,” he said, touching Steel Glory again and remembering the sounds of the dying. “No. It wasn’t fun at all.” She caught on to his mood immediately. “Well, why don’t you tell me another story? Something that was fun?” He considered it for a moment, then smiled. He would oblige. “Alright. Now, you told me what you were doing before you got sent on this mad errand. Suppose it’s only fair I should do the same.” Then as the fire crackled and her eyes practically glowed with eager attention, he began to weave his tale.
Blademaster: The Monster HuntersBlademaster Interlude: The Monster Hunters The sign said ‘reward’ in big, red letters, and that was all it needed to do to catch his attention as he walked past. The Blademaster stopped dead in his tracks, his head turned and his eyes locked on that beautiful word. Other ponies in the street grumbled and cursed under their breath, forced to walk around him. None said anything to his face, though. He was carrying too much steel for that to be a rational option. He sidestepped over to the bulletin board where the poster was nailed, a grin pulling at his lips as he read the details. REWARD! For the defeat of a vicious H Y D R A that has been attacking caravans passing through the MUDFOOT MARSH. 1,000 golden bits to the individual or group that brings proof that the creature has been slain to DAME CLEVER WILES, Chosen of the Sorceress. “A thousand, hmm?” he said, tapping a hoof on his chin. His coin purse had been feeling a little light lately. He was in no danger of starving any time soon, but more money was always better than less. Plus, a hydra would provide more of a challenge than he’d faced in quite some time. Another note just beneath the reward poster caught his eye: To the Monster Hunters: Meet at noon at the Cockatrice’s Garden. Better to work together than against each other. Money doesn’t spend when you’re dead. “Noon,” he said aloud, squinting up at the sun. It was already past its zenith. “Bugger!” His head snapped back and forth as he scanned the street, finally spotting, far down the street, a sign painted with the grey silhouettes of several ponies. As good a representation of petrification as he could expect. He shot off, dodging through the midday traffic to reach the tavern, hoping it wasn’t too late. “Oi! Coming through!” he shouted at the ponies who were slow to clear his path. Most just stopped in their tracks and watched him with confusion, which didn’t help him any. He leapt, using earth pony muscle to launch himself high into the air. Sun glinted from the hilts of his blades as he soared up two stories before coming down on top of the first floor awning of a general store. The material of the awning stretched, then snapped back like a trampoline, sending him arcing farther down the street. Ponies shouted in surprise and–he assumed–awe as he came down on the back of a cart hauling hay to the market. He rolled out of the hay, spilling some on the street and managing to catch a sprig in his teeth. He dusted himself off, chewing idly on the hay and ignoring the shouts of indignant anger from the farmer pulling the cart. Then, with a tip of his hat to the irate farmer, he trotted up to the door and pushed his way into the Cockatrice’s Garden. It was dim inside, the window shutters closed against the light. The transition meant he was blind for a moment as his eyes adjusted to the candlelight, and he let his other senses give him an idea of the scene. He heard the creak of leather, the jingle of chain armor, and the clink of porcelain against wood. It was the music made by the movements of half a dozen people as they looked over to see who had entered. He took a slow breath, letting his nose fill in more details. There was, first of all, the distinct scent of unwashed ponies, which he expected. It was joined by the smooth, cold odor of pipeweed, the spicy sting of hard cider, and the acrid waft of the oils used to protect weapons from rust and wear. Above it all was the greasy scent of cheap candlesmoke, and all together it gave him the mental image of a room full of the roughest, toughest, most scarred up bunch of hard fighters he could hope to see. He grinned at the prospect. When his vision cleared, he was not disappointed. Four figures sat around a table where a map of the local marshland was laid out. Mugs were in front of three of them, one steaming, a wine glass sat before the fourth. The bartender had just set down one of the mugs, the foam spilling over the side and dribbling down to the table. “If you’re here for the monster hunt, you’re late.” The Blademaster focused on the one who had spoken. He was a big blue earth pony draft stallion, one ear cut down to a stub and the other festooned with rings of gold and silver. His icy white mane and long beard had been twisted into several braids, each clasped by several jewelled pins along their length. He wore barding of oiled chainmail over thick cloth, and a long-bladed spear was propped against the wall next to him. He looked like an old barbarian warlord. To the barbarian’s right was a fiery-maned pegasus mare. She was the one wearing leather, a set of boiled plates and soft joints which was dyed black which gave off little sounds as she breathed and adjusted her wings. A hoofbow was set down next to her chair, and a dozen knives were sheathed along her legs. Her smoldering blue eyes watched him, and when she caught him looking she flashed a smile that showed she had capped her teeth with steel points. He made a mental note not to try to kiss her. To the barbarian’s left was not a pony, but the hulking grey shape of a minotaur. Like the barbarian pony, he was older, with his long hair and neatly-trimmed beard frosted with silver. His enormous arms and scarred, bare chest showed that he was still strong and tough as ever. An iron ring through his nose glinted, the open ends capped with a pair of small sapphires that seemed to glow, little eddies of mist forming around them with every breath the minotaur took. He held a long-stemmed pipe in one hand, its bowl sending up a thin tendril of smoke that coiled like a snake as it reached the ceiling. His expression was dark and pensive, and the Blademaster recognized a considerable intelligence shining in his small, black eyes. He had a massive two-headed battleaxe next to him, its notched blades evidence of the many battles it had seen. For all the damage it had sustained, though, he did not doubt the wicked sharpness of its edge from the way it gleamed in the candlelight. The final pony at the table was not quite what he’d been expecting. She was a light green unicorn mare with a mane of grey-green striped with white and orange-yellow eyes that stared at him with a kind of hollow quality that belied the pleasant smile that was on her face. She wore a harness of padded cloth that didn’t make much sense. It didn’t protect her back as much as it did her chest, and it protected one foreleg but not the other. She had a curved stick next to her that didn’t look like it could be used as a spear or staff. He supposed she might be specialized in magical attack. He’d seen a few unicorns who could turn the elements on their enemies, and they were always terrifyingly powerful. Still, something about her didn’t sit quite right with him. Maybe it was the way she didn't seem surprised to see him, unlike all the others. He decided he’d keep an eye on her. “Sorry, mate,” he said, sauntering over to the table. He grabbed a chair and dropped into it, shifting the blade on his back so he could lean back in a cocky pose. “Traffic, you know?” The green unicorn laughed, a sound that was surprisingly genuine, and the barbarian grunted in annoyance. The other two just stared at the Blademaster in silent judgement. “Well, you’re out of luck," the barbarian said, tapping We’ve already worked out a plan and made our pact. The four of us are more than enough to defeat a hydra.” “Aw, come on, now,” the Blademaster said, flashing his best smile. “Don’t be like that. You all look like a fascinating bunch of hunters, I’d hate to miss the opportunity to fight with you. Besides, if you lot say no, then I’ll just have to go out and kill the beastie on my own.” The pegasus barked out a laugh. “You think you can take on a monster like that yourself? I’m bigger than you are, string bean.” The Blademaster dropped his smile. “I think a thousand bits splits five ways just as well as four, and losing fifty from your share is better than losing all of it.” “You little–” “Stop!” the barbarian thundered, slamming a hoof on the table. He gave the Blademaster an appraising look. “What’s your name?” “I go by ‘Blademaster’,” he said, letting his smile creep back onto his face. “You expect us to believe that you are the Blademaster?” the pegasus snorted out. “It’s him,” the minotaur said, folding his arms across his chest. “I love being recognized,” the Blademaster said, tilting his chair back. The steady look the minotaur gave him was appraising, but not disappointed. “How do you know?” the barbarian asked. “I’ve heard him described by people who’ve met him,” the minotaur replied. “He fits. Right down to the idiot ego.” “Hey!” the Blademaster protested, leaning forward again. “I’m right here!” “I say we take him along,” the unicorn said. her voice was light, breezy, but it had an edge to it. It was a voice that could turn cutting in an instant. “He’s right. Fifty off each share isn’t so bad.” “Thanks, love,” he said, flashing his best smile at her. Her expression didn’t even flicker, his charm shattered against the stone wall of her pleasant facade. The barbarian grunted in annoyance again. Then he slid a page of freshly-inked parchment across the table. “Fine. Blademaster, if you want to sign on, put your mark here. The terms are that we work together to defeat the hydra and gain the reward offered. If one of us dies, their share gets sent to whoever they list on this page. If no one is listed, the rest of us divvy up the share between us. We register this with the Chosen before we leave, so there’s no profit in backstabbing.” “Do I have to list somepony local?” the Blademaster asked. “I’ve got some mates in Trottingham that’d see some use from the gold.” “Go ahead, just say where they can be found,” the barbarian said, pushing over a pot of ink and a quill. The Blademaster wasted no time in scratching out his title and cutie mark, as well as listing the friend he would like his share sent to in the–incredibly unlikely–event that he not return. When he was done, the barbarian took the page back and looked over what had been written with a nod of satisfaction. “Alright. So, let’s introduce ourselves again. I’m Riddle Snow, sometimes called the Shieldbreaker. I’ve been fighting since before the Fall, one way or another.” The Blademaster had heard of him, and his excitement at hearing who his companion would be almost broke his cool, but he kept it down and let the others speak. “Summer Gale,” the pegasus said, giving him a sullen glare. “Professional monster hunter.” “Iron Will,” the minotaur said, poking a thumb at his huge chest. “Travelling mercenary and entertainer extraordinaire.” “Entertainer?” the Blademaster asked. “Prizefighting and wrestling,” he explained. “Though Iron Will used to be a big name in motivational speaking before it stopped being profitable.” “Neat.” The Blademaster turned to the final pony at the table. “And, let me guess, you’re a mage, right? Have I heard of you?” She laughed again. “Nope. I’m Lyra. I’ve got a lot of skills, but combat magic isn’t really one of them. Also, I’ve travelled a lot, and I’ve been overseas for the past few years, so I seriously doubt you’d have heard of me.” Her smile turned sheepish. “I have heard of you, but only obliquely. I don’t know any tales of your deeds, sorry.” He shrugged, relishing the opportunity to impress someone with no expectations. “No worries, love. You’ll have a few to tell yourself, soon enough. Though, if you’re not a mage, what do you bring to this merry band?” “I’m an archer,” she said, tapping her strangely curved stick with a hoof. He didn’t see how that stick could be a useful hoofbow, but he wasn’t a unicorn so he just assumed it was magic and rolled with it. “Alright. As I said, I’m the Blademaster. I’m a fair hoof at the monster-slaying business myself. I reckon that with all five of us, this hydra won’t stand a chance.” “That’s the hope,” Riddle Snow said, then turned his attention back to the map. “Alright now, the plan is to start our search along the marsh road here. If we’re lucky, the hydra will come to us. If not, we’ll have to go into the swamp to search for its lair. Hydra-fighting tactics are fairly simple. When we find it, Lyra and Summer will be holding back and harrying it with arrows to keep the heads confused. Iron Will and Blademaster will be working as a team to cut the heads off one at a time. I will then burn the neck stump to prevent it from regenerating into two new heads. We’re going to need torches and oil for that. So long as we each do our part, it shouldn’t be too dangerous.” “Sounds good,” Blademaster said. It was as fine a plan as he would have come up with. “Iron Will agrees.” “So long as I get my share,” Summer Gale said. “Well,” Lyra said with a wide smile. “When do we leave?” *** The sun was touching on the horizon by the time they made it to the edge of the marsh, and there was an unspoken, unanimous agreement that they did not want to be wandering around a swamp looking for a dangerous predator in the dark. So they set up a camp to the side of the road and settled in for the night. The Blademaster spent some time checking his weapons over, though he knew they were in good order. He used the opportunity to observe the other monster hunters without being too obvious about it. Riddle Snow was tending the fire, cooking up a pot of vegetable stew that was smelling absolutely divine after the long afternoon on the road. Iron Will was a little ways out, flexing his massive muscles and going through exercises with his battleaxe. He held still on each movement for a touch longer than was strictly necessary, giving the impression that he was posing for some ephemeral artist. Lyra and Summer Gale sat together on a fallen log, having a quiet conversation that the Blademaster strained to hear. “But doesn’t it feel weird?” Lyra said. “Wearing someone like that?” “At first, yeah,” Summer replied, stretching out her foreleg and looking at the leather gauntlet that protected it. “But you get used to it. It was weirder when I was wearing cowskin.” “That’s not cow leather?” Lyra asked. Summer chuckled, showing off her metal-capped teeth. “Nope. Monster hide. I personally killed everything that went into making my armor, and they all deserved it.” Lyra shook her head. “I just don’t get why you’d want to in the first place.” “You ever try to fly in metal armor?” Summer asked, grinning as Lyra just gave her a flat look. “You ever try to do anything acrobatic in metal armor? Doesn’t work so well. Cloth like what you got on is good to move in, but protects about as well as pissing in the wind to stop the breeze.” The Blademaster chuckled at that, causing the mares to look over in his direction. He kept his head down over his sword, pretending to study it for imperfections. “Anyway,” Summer continued. “Leather’s the best medium. Good against blunt weapons, and it can even turn aside claws and teeth, but not as heavy or restrictive as metal so you can really get moving in it.” “But you’re wearing a dead thing.” “Better than being a dead thing.” Lyra fell silent at this, and the Blademaster sneaked a glance at her and saw a calculating look in her orange-yellow eyes. He could tell that she was considering a change in wardrobe, and he couldn’t blame her. It had been a decent pitch. Deciding that he wasn’t going to hear anything more from them, he decided to put away his blades and approach Riddle Snow. The old earth pony looked up at him as he stuck his head over the bubbling stew and took a deep breath. “Smell’s good. Almost professional, where’d you learn to cook?” Snow gave him a flat look, but answered. “I grew up in the far north. My family travelled a lot, bringing supplies to the Guard outposts and crystal mines. We spent a lot of nights under the stars, and we had to take turns cooking. You learn very quickly how to make a lot out of a little, and how to make it taste decent.” “I always just had my mum’s cooking growing up,” the Blademaster said. “Never got the hang of it myself.” “You must go hungry a lot, then,” Riddle Snow said, sweeping his gaze across the Blademaster’s compact form. “More than I’d like,” he admitted with a sheepish smile. “You should learn,” Snow said, giving the pot another stir. “There’s little a warrior needs more than a full belly to keep him going.” “Fancy giving a mate a few tips?” It turned out that he did, and he spent the next half hour talking about all the different ways a pony could make any meal worth eating. The Blademaster listened intently, asking questions about what spices were the best to travel with. When the stew was ladled out, he ate eagerly, savoring the way Riddle Snow had managed to make foraged greens and flowers into something as good as he’d ever gotten in from a village inn. He knew, mostly from trial and error, which roadside plants were the most edible, but he hadn’t realized how much better they could be with a little preparation and care. Finally, with the whole group settled down and basking in the afterglow of a good dinner, he decided to broach the subject that had been on his mind since he’d heard Snow’s name. “You know, I have heard of you,” the Blademaster said, and Snow looked up at him with a grim set to his jaw. “You’re a bloody legend, mate. You were in the Royal Guard. Protecting Princess Celestia right in Canterlot itself. I heard you fought when the city fell. I heard you got away and led a resistance group near the border with the North before it got stomped by the Sorceress. Captain Shieldbreaker the Good.” Snow grunted. “Never liked them calling me ‘Good’. I was just doing my duty to the Princess.” “So it’s true,” Lyra said in a half-whisper. Her eyes were locked on Snow’s face, unblinking and almost cat-like in the way they reflected the light of the fire. “You fought the Rulers.” Iron Will barked out a laugh. “And you walked right into that Chosen’s office today like it was nothing! You got some big, brass balls, Snow. Iron Will is impressed.” Snow flashed the minotaur an annoyed frown. “Don’t be. I fought the Sorceress, yes. Fought, past tense. Spent five years hiding with the remains of the Guard near the border with the Madmare’s domain and making guerilla strikes anywhere we thought it could weaken her. We thought if we could find out what had happened to the Princess, we might have a chance of bringing her back and ending the Rulers’ hold on Equestria.” He sighed, looking down at his hooves. “We were fools, that’s all. It just took us a while to find out exactly how stupid we were.” “What happened?” the Blademaster asked. “We made a mistake,” Snow said. “We caught one of her Chosen. We were interrogating him, trying to find out better targets. But we got a little too rough. He got… hurt.” Snow grimaced, his voice coming out in a harsh growl. “She came down on us herself, riding her favourite Dragon, Ferriotrax. Turned half my soldiers into torches before we even realized what was happening. Then the Sorceress came in and got her Chosen. The stories you’ve heard about them, how they can’t be harmed by blade, hoof or spell, they’re all true. I saw good, strong ponies die in agony just from touching her in anger.” He stopped for a moment, shaking his head hard enough to make all his jewelry jingle. “The worst part wasn’t the death, wasn’t how easily she broke our discipline. No, the worst part was how little she seemed to care about us at all. She could have crushed us at any time, but she’d let us run free for five years with only a token force set against us. Then, when all she wanted was her Chosen back, she destroyed us. We weren’t a threat. We weren’t anything. That was the end of my rebellion.” “Did you ever find any clues about what happened to Celestia?” Summer asked. He shook his head. “Never.” “But, you still led a rebellion,” the Blademaster said. “That’s got to mean something. At the very least you should still be a criminal to them. Aren’t you worried you’ll get recognized by the Chosen?” He stared into his stew in cold silence for a long moment. His lips were pressed into an angry line, but when he spoke his voice was only full of quiet weariness. “After she’d broken my forces, she gave amnesty to the survivors. Didn’t even take prisoners. She said she was being… ‘generous’.” Lyra stood suddenly, kicking over her bowl and spilling the remains of her dinner into the dirt. Without a word, she stalked off into the dark. They watched her go in silence. Finally, Summer spoke. “Was there anyone else?” she asked. “Rebelling against the Rulers? I mean, you couldn’t have been the only Guards to try fighting.” To this, Snow actually chuckled. “Oh, there were others. Still are, in some parts. Flash Sentry leads a bunch that are little more than bandits in the East. He was just a raw cadet in my day, but he’s kept up some of the discipline of the Guard. There’s a pony they call the Stormbreaker working along the border between the West and the South. Former Wonderbolt, still as much a speed-jockey as ever, I hear.” His face fell a little. “There are a few more left. There were a lot of us in the early days, but time and lack of leadership has killed or broken most." He paused, staring into the fire. "It didn't have to be that way. We had a chance, once, to be a united force. We had a leader, and a Princess to rally around, even if it wasn’t Celestia.” “Really?” Iron Will asked. “I thought Celestia was the only royalty you ponies had.” He nodded. “Mi Amore Cadenza. She was a young Alicorn, hadn’t really been introduced to the public yet, and nopony really knew if she would ever be as powerful as Celestia. She wasn’t in Canterlot during the Fall, and I guess that’s why she survived. For a time after the Rulers took over she was our secret weapon. Legitimate royalty to counter the usurpers. She gave a lot of us hope, but she vanished about a year after the Fall.” “What happened to her?” the Blademaster asked. Snow shrugged. “Nopony knows. Maybe she realized it was futile before the rest of us did, and abandoned us all to our delusion.” He sighed and took a slow drink from his canteen. “I hope so. I hope she found a quiet town to settle down in and make as good a life as she can from the ashes we’re left with. Wherever she went, she took our commander with her, the first captain of the rebellion. They were sweet on each other, and I can see them going off to live together away from all the pressures of their rank. I got the job after he was gone, and I guess I couldn’t live up to it, either.” “Hey, you did you best, right?” the Blademaster said. Snow grunted. “Maybe. It’s been more than a decade since I was captain of anything, in any case. I put it all behind me years ago.” “Damn, Snow,” Summer said with a steel grin. “You’re a real hero. Like from the stories. Dark past and everything.” “Everypony’s past is dark,” Riddle Snow said. “That’s why we look to the future.” “Oh, that’s good,” Iron Will said, brightening. “Do you mind if I borrow that?” “Go right ahead,” Snow said. “But right now you should all get some sleep. I’ll take first watch.” The Blademaster had so many questions for the old stallion, but he held off. He’d heard a good story for the night, and they did have a full day in the morning. So he curled up under his blanket, his swords laid out next to him in easy reach, and relaxed towards sleep. Before dreams took him, as he looked out in the darkness, he thought saw the light of the fire reflecting off Lyra’s shining eyes, and the glittering tears that fell from them to the black earth below. *** “Ugh, I hate swamps!” the Blademaster said, pulling his hoof out of deep, sucking mud for what seemed like the hundredth time that day. “Why couldn’t the hydra have just been nice and attacked us on the road, like a good vicious, bloodthirsty predator?” His tail swished from side to side, swatting at the biting insects that had already succeeded in making his flanks itch like fire with their constant attacks. “I don’t know,” Lyra said with a chuckle from behind him. “I think this a great place to build a nice little cottage.” She stomped on a rotten log that was poking out of the still water of the marsh. It split open, spilling a squirming mass of bugs that crawled all over each other to get out of the open. She grinned at the Blademaster as he recoiled from the sight. Whatever had gotten to her the previous night, she seemed to have recovered her good cheer completely by the time he had woken up in the morning. “At least you’ll have lots of company.” “You’re mad, love,” he replied, giving her a look of mock horror before turning back to the front. “Right raving starkers. Oi! Where’s the path!” he shouted up ahead. Iron Will was in the lead, his big axe in his hands as he squared off against a tangle of vines and branches that blocked their path. “When somepony tries to block, show them that you rock!” he snarled, swinging in vicious overhand chops as he tore through the foliage. When he was done he poked his head through the new break in the vines before turning back to the rest of them. “Iron Will has found dry land.” “Finally,” the Blademaster sighed, slogging ahead past Summer Gale to peek through the break next to Iron Will. A moment later he turned back to the group. “I think we’re getting close, mates.” “Why do you say that?” Snow asked. He was bringing up the rear, carefully keeping several torches and jugs of oil above the water. “That’s a big footprint,” Iron Will said, sounding impressed. “What he said.” The Blademaster jumped through the hole, happy to have something solid beneath his hooves. The island wasn’t large, but it was big enough to have several imprints of enormous, clawed feet moving in a clear direction. He bent and examined one of the prints as the others came through the break, each relieved in their own way to be out of the water, even if it was only for a little while. “Excellent,” Snow said. “Summer, do a circuit and see if you can spot the lair from the air.” She took off without a word, and Snow made his way next to the Blademaster. “What have you found?” He shrugged at the question. “Not sure. This is a hydra track, no question, but there’s something else here.” He poked a hoof at the edge of the print, which had some strange scratches down it. “This is another track, almost right where the Hydra was stepping. It’s not another hydra, I know that much, but I’m not sure what it actually is.” “Prey?” Snow asked. “Could be,” the Blademaster said, but he made it clear that he didn’t think so. “These other tracks have claws, and big ones. I don’t know many animal with claws like that. Whatever it was would have put up one heck of a fight, but I’m not seeing signs of that around here.” He gestured around the area. “And these other tracks aren’t anywhere else, just around where the hydra was walking. Whatever it was, the hydra was following it, and close. There’s no way this other critter would miss something that big walking right behind it, but it doesn’t look like either of them were running either.” “What does that mean?” The Blademaster shrugged. “Search me. I guess we’ll find out when we catch up to the bugger.” Just then Summer swooped down, landing in the footprint. “I’ve got him,” she said, a triumphant smile gleaming on her face. “A mile west. Rocky island with a cave. Looks like it’s his lair.” “Good work,” Snow said. “Alright everypony! Time to get ready. We’ll be fighting the beast in its home turf, and Blademaster says there might be something else there as well. Be alert. Be aware. Be ready to help if any of us are in trouble.” They dropped their various baggage on the dry ground. It wouldn’t do to go into combat weighed down by bedrolls and cookpots. Then they set about making themselves ready for battle. Iron Will pulled out a hauberk of glittering scale and donned it without a padded undershirt. The Blademaster didn’t envy the chafing that would cause, but he supposed the minotaur had a thick enough hide that it wouldn’t be a problem. He cinched the armor in place with a wide belt that featured an enormous golden buckle which sported the image of an upraised fist. He completed his armor by donning a pair of heavy iron gauntlets with wickedly sharp spikes protruding from around the wrists and across the knuckles. Summer Gale hadn’t been carrying much more than her combat gear to begin with, and so only shed her canteen and small bag of rations. She checked over her quiver, ensuring that she had a full complement of bolts for her hoofbow. Then she checked over her knives, and, finding them to her satisfaction, took to the skies to circle and await her fellow monster hunters. Riddle Snow prepared his torches, wetting the cloth-covered heads with oil. He’d been wearing his armor since they had left camp that morning, and did not seem the least tired by its constant weight. Earth pony endurance showing its value. The Blademaster smiled at that thought, he supposed his own cache of metal would be quite a burden if it weren’t for the gifts of his heritage. His own preparations were quick. He simply dumped the extra weight of supplies and made sure that his weapons weren’t snagged on something. He reached a hoof back to touch the cold metal of the large sword on his back. A faint vibration could be felt in the steel, pulsing in an excited tempo that urged him to action. The song of steel, folded deep into the metal and giving that one blade a life that his others could never match. He pulled his attention away from the sword and observed his last companion as she readied herself. Lyra had her strange stick out, surrounded in her yellow magic as it was bent slowly into a new shape. With a grunt of effort she held the stick in its new position and quickly set a thick string between its two ends. When she relaxed her telekinetic grip he could see that it really was a bow, but not like any he’d seen ponies wield in combat before. “Is that a practice bow?” he asked, incredulous. He’d seen things like it in archery competitions before, but those had been firmly grounded. “Nope,” she said, smiling brightly as she admired the bow. It was a pretty thing, lacquered black with green highlights. “It’s a minotaur bow,” Iron Will said, looking at Lyra’s weapon with curiosity. “I didn’t think ponies could use them.” “Unicorn,” Snow reminded him, grunting as he stepped up next to Lyra. “Horns make everything easier. How does it fare against a hoofbow?” “Better penetration over a longer range,” Lyra said. “Faster rate of fire, too. Aim’s a teensy bit more tricky if you don’t have hands, though.” “I assume you’ve compensated for that?” She grinned. “Oh yeah. Stand back.” She closed her eyes, visibly gathering energy to her horn in little streams of amber light. Crackling bolts of yellow and green flashed from her horn over the rest of her body, and where they passed the Blademaster could see muscles shifting and bunching beneath her coat. With a hiss of pain, Lyra rose to stand on her hind legs. They twisted a little, reorienting her hips to hold her in the new bipedal posture. She held out her forelegs and they were sheathed in crackling energy that extended beyond her hooves to form fingers, turning her hooves into makeshift hands. She reached out and grasped her bow, testing its draw with a satisfied smile. Iron Will let out a booming laugh. “That’s right, girl! If they say you can’t do it, then you make them chew it!” “‘Chew it’?” Summer asked, snickering as she hovered above the group. Iron Will looked a little crestfallen. “Yeah, you know. ‘Eat their words’? It’s one of my old motivational mottos.” “It could use some work,” the Blademaster said. “Alright,” Snow cut in before Iron Will could retort. “I assume this means we’re all ready to go. Remember, we keep our heads and work together, and this shouldn’t be much of a challenge. We might even be back in town before nightfall. If we are, a round of drinks on me.” That got a cheer from the assembled monster hunters, and they set off to finish the job. The final mile to the hydra’s lair was a slog, but without the extra weight of their camping gear and the knowledge that they would soon be able to get out of the marsh, it passed by without comment. They crept to the edge of the rocky island and looked in on their prey. The hydra was a four-headed specimen, its poison-green scales and beady red eyes glinting in the midday sun. It sat in front of the cave, which was too small for the enormous beast to have fit into. It was also half asleep, with two heads hissing at each over the remains of a sheep while the other two lolled, snoring, on the ground. “Well, it’s an ugly one,” the Blademaster mused quietly. “Big, though.” “Big and stupid,” Snow whispered back. “Summer, Lyra, hang back and wait until we’re engaged before firing. We’ll strike the sleeping heads first. Once we’re in, we concentrate on one head at a time. Archers, start hitting any head we’re not attacking to keep them off balance. Ready?” There were affirmative nods all around. “Then let’s go.” They burst out of the foliage in a rush. The Blademaster kept low to the ground, his steps as silent as they were swift. Iron Will wasn’t nearly as elegant, standing tall and bellowing a war cry as he sped towards one of the sleeping heads. His hooves struck hard against stone and he leapt into the air, bringing his axe up for a brutal downward swipe that buried the head of the weapon into the creature’s neck. The hydra head’s eyes opened comically wide, its tongue shooting out as a croaking hiss emerged from its injured throat. The Blademaster wasted no time, skidding as he rounded the front of the injured head. He pulled one of his side swords, the single-edged blade flashing razor-sharp in the light as he brought it down right across from where Iron Will was pulling his axe free. The sword cut through scale, but got stopped by the thick meat beneath. The Blademaster placed his forehooves on the flat of the blade and called upon his earth pony strength to push. Blood sprayed from the wound as his sword sliced cleanly through, severing half the head. Another roaring chop from Iron Will completed the work, and Snow was right there, a burning torch in his mouth as he coated the open wound with oil and set it alight. The attack had taken barely three seconds, but by now the other heads were reacting. The two awake ones hissed in rage, diving to gobble up the Blademaster and Iron Will. They were halfway to their targets before arrows began to fall on them. A bolt from Summer’s hoofbow struck one of the heads right in its eye, bursting the orb and making the serpentine head rear back in pain. Lyra’s first arrow fell wide of her target, however, and while the second did sink into its nose, it wasn’t enough to stop the head from plowing into the Blademaster and sending him flying across the island in an uncontrolled tumble. He rolled against the stone and into the marsh water, splashing to a halt amid a thick bed of reeds. He spent a few slow breaths lying there, making sure nothing was broken. He’d gotten off lucky, but it could have been much worse. He decided he’d talk to Lyra about improving her aim once this was all over. He pulled himself up and looked over to the battle. Iron Will and Snow were attacking the head that had hit him. The one that had been sleeping was looking around in confusion, apparently unaware that the fight was right under its nose. The more awake one was being peppered with shots from Summer, who was flying around it to keep it focused on her and away from the fight. Lyra was throwing a few arrows in, but she was standing in the open and appeared to be scanning the surroundings instead of paying attention to the fight. The Blademaster started back towards the island just as his companions succeeded in severing the second head. He let out a whoop and sped up, only to be brought short as he saw something moving in the cave. He could only see it because the angle he had been thrown gave him a different vantage point, allowing him to get a glimpse of what was beyond the bulk of the hydra’s body. Something moved in the shadows, something with flashing claws and wide, black wings. “Get out of there!” He screamed, fear making his heart pound in his chest. “Dragon!” Just as he shouted, the Dragon made it’s move. It scrambled over the hydra with the surprising speed some lizards were capable of. The Blademaster’s warning was all that the monster hunters got, and it wasn’t soon enough for them to escape the wyrm. A swiping claw caught Iron Will in the back, sending broken pieces of his armor flying in a spray of blood. He spun to face the new foe, but the hydra moved at the hissing direction of the black Dragon, dropping a heavy claw on the minotaur and pinning him to the ground with a teeth-rattling stomp. Snow dropped his torch, reaching for his spear instead. The Dragon took a deep breath and blew a stream of purple flame that washed over Snow. When it cleared, the old warrior was burned, but still standing as he levelled his spear at the Dragon and charged. Instead of fighting, the Dragon leapt up, its wide wings beating hard to bring him level with the circling Summer Gale. She turned her hoofbow on the new threat, but one of the hydra’s heads smacked into her from behind, causing her to fly into the Dragon’s reach. It grabbed hold of her, talons scoring her armor as it almost casually plucked the bow from her grasp, then hurled her like a stone down at Snow. She screamed as she fell, her wings barely slowing her before she hit the earth pony, sending them both tumbling to the ground. The Dragon spent a moment in the air, grinning in triumph, before one of Lyra’s arrows punched through the thin membrane of its wings. It hissed and spun on her, only to have her to put several more holes in its wings in quick succession. Losing lift, it spiralled down to land in front of the hydra, glaring hate at Lyra as she lined up another shot. A screech from the Dragon was all it took for the hydra to curl one long neck in front of it, blocking Lyra’s shot. The Blademaster finally made it to the stone island. Instead of rushing to his downed companions, though, he barrelled towards Lyra. A quick flip of his head and she squeaked as she found herself lifted onto his back as he galloped away from the Dragon’s lair. “What? Stop! We have to go back!” she shouted at him, kicking at his flank. “Sorry, love, not feeling suicidal today,” he replied, putting on as much speed as he could as his hooves hit deep muck. “No! I have to kill that Dragon!” she screamed. She tried to roll off of him, but he was too practiced at rescuing damsels to give her a chance. “I have to!” He didn’t reply, just kept forging ahead until they were in a copse of vine-ridden trees that blocked every line of sight. Then he dropped her unceremoniously into the mud. She sat there, tears falling from her eyes. He ignored her at first, looking through the foliage to see if either of the monsters were making pursuit. When he was satisfied that the Dragon had let them go, he turned to the unicorn. “Alright, time to clue the Blademaster in. What in bloody tartarus is going on here?” She scowled at him. He rolled his eyes at her sullen silence. “Look, I’m not as silly as I come off, right? I notice things. I saw you looking for the Dragon before it showed up. The hydra’s just his bloody pet, and you knew about it! You knew, and you didn’t bother telling the rest of us. What I want to know, right now, is why?” She wiped away her tears with one muddy hoof, leaving dark streaks on her face. “What does it matter now? I failed.” “Bloody right you did,” he snapped. “Failed us. Now talk.” “I knew the Dragon was here. I… I was told it would be here.” “Who told you?” She looked at him squarely, haunted determination and an ocean of rage burning clearly in the depths of her eyes. “The Druid.” He recoiled from that. “No…” He shook his head, then looked at her in a new light. She nodded. “I didn’t know if it was true, of course, but she didn’t lie about the hydra, or about the rest of you. She told me how to bring you all together, the note under the reward poster. She told me I had to come here and fight the Dragon.” “Why in Equestria would you want to do that?” He leaned against a tree, feeling a little weak in the knees at the mention of the ruler of the South. “To prove I can,” she said. “To practice for the real fight.” “Practice?” He blinked at her in amazement. “You think that’s just practice? I’m not sure I want to know, but what kind of fight are you practicing for?” “Ferriotrax Sanguinus.” He goggled for a moment before throwing his hooves up in exasperation. “I was right! I didn’t want to know!” He sank down to sit across from her. “You really are mad. He’s the Sorceress’s favourite. He’s bloody invincible.” “I know,” she said. Her voice barely more than a whisper, but its tone was uncompromising. “Still gonna do it. And you’re going to help me.” “The hell I am.” She let out a harsh laugh. “The Druid said you would. Maybe that’s what she was lying about. Maybe this whole thing has been one big joke to her.” He shivered at that. It was universally accepted that there were only two options with the Druid: absolute truth or utter lie. If she said that a pony would do something and wasn’t lying, they would do it. Even if they knew about her prophecy. Even if they did everything in their power to avoid it. If she wasn't lying. The problem was, until the time came there was no way to know. Philosophers had gone mad with questions of free will and the Druid’s foresight. “It doesn’t matter now,” Lyra said, sighing. “I failed. I’m just going to have to… find another way.” She stood, shaking some of the mud from her coat. “Come on, we should get the supplies before some swamp creature eats all of them.” He took a deep breath and speared her with a cold look. “You can run off if you want to, but I’m gonna rescue the others.” She paused, frowning at him. “They were taken down by the Dragon. What’s to rescue?” “If nothing else,” he said. “Their bones and their pride.” He stood and looked through the woods towards the Dragon’s lair. “I’m not letting that monster get away without feeling some punishment for what it’s done.” “You sound spiteful,” she said. “Bloody right I am,” he replied. When he turned back to her she was grinning, her eyes shining with the light of her magic. “I can get behind that. Do you have a plan?” “Bit of one, yeah,” he said. “It could use an archer. That is, if you’re not forgetting to tell me something else that'll get me killed, or planning to bugger off the first time something goes wrong.” She winced. “I deserve that. No, if you’re going to take on that Dragon, I’ll stand with you.” “Right. Good. Well, some good news: that Dragon’s just a juvenile. Big as a cart, sure, but that’s better than big as a castle and twice as tough. Can’t have too much in the way of a hoard, either, which explains why it’s sending its pet to attack travellers. You’ve already grounded it, which is good because if it could still fly we’d be butchered. It’s gonna be pissed about that, so here’s what I need you to do...” *** The sun was still high as the Blademaster crept up on the Dragon’s lair. He moved through the shallow water of the marsh like an alligator, with just his eyes and snout above the surface. When he reached the island, he circled it so he was behind the hill with the cave in it before stepping carefully onto dry land. With slow, silent movements he removed his side-swords. Then he took the wide blade from his back and began unwrapping the thick black cloth from around it. The sword sang in anticipation as it was revealed to the air, its dark surface drinking in the sunlight and barely reflecting any of it. He ran a hoof along the heavy blade, steadying his own nerves with its steel confidence. It was made to cut whatever he set it to, and the blade named Steel Glory would never fail in that. He took the mouthpiece and slipped the metal cage over his teeth. It was the companion to the sword, and the only thing that would allow him to control the powerful blade. Ready, he crept up the side of the rocky hill. It took agonizing minutes, every hoof placed with care, but he made his way over the hill until he was perched just above the entrance to the Dragon’s cave. He observed the scene for a moment, seeing right away that his companions were still alive, if hurt. Both Snow and Summer were conscious, glaring at their captor with defiant rage. Iron Will seemed unconscious, his head curled tight against his chest. They were covered in some sticky slime, likely a product of the hydra, which was keeping them from escaping as the Dragon picked through their gear. “Shiny,” the Dragon hissed as it looked at one of Snow’s jewelled hairpins. Its long, serpentine tongue snaked out and snatched the hairpin into its mouth. It swallowed and let out a long, satisfied sigh. “Stupid pony adventurers,” it said, turning to its captives. “Should have brought more gems.” The hydra let out a whimper as one of its heads nosed at the burnt stumps of two of its necks. “Quiet!” the Dragon snapped, prompting another rumbling squeak from its pet. “You wouldn’t have gotten hurt if you’d been standing guard, like you were supposed to!” The hydra made a hissing noise. “Well, what do you expect me to do about it? My breath is flame! Bite your own heads off!” The hydra’s eyes widened as if the idea was revolutionary genius. The Blademaster decided not to wait around to see if such a plan would actually work for the hydra, drawing a dagger and angling it so that the light reflected out into the marsh, to the place where Lyra was hiding. He was rewarded a moment later when an arrow arced out of the sky and sank deep into the hydra’s body. It squealed and its two living heads reared up, eyes searching for whatever had hurt it. “Remember me?” Lyra shouted, leaping from her cover and rushing through the water. Her bipedal run was swift, and better at moving through the muck than a normal pony’s four-footed gait. “You!” the Dragon hissed, smoke beginning to billow from its mouth. “You ruined my wings!” “And I’m here to ruin your day!” Lyra said, stopping to fire an arrow that hit the Dragon right in his puffed out chest. The arrow pierced through the Dragon’s scales, but the moment it did the heat from the wyrm’s body made the rest of the arrow explode into flame that quickly reduced to ash. From his angle, the Blademaster could even see the thin trail of molten metal leak from the wound, the remains of the arrowhead that hadn’t survived the strike. Still, even doing minimal damage, the shot enraged the Dragon. He let out a roar and splashed into the water after Lyra. The hydra made a hissing, babbling noise and made to follow the Dragon. The Blademaster didn’t give it the chance, leaping from the top of the cave. He took the ring-shaped hilt of his sword in his caged teeth, locking the device tightly. Then, his neck muscles bulging with the strain, he whipped his head around as he fell, and brought the edge of his sword down on one of the hydra’s remaining necks. He didn’t even feel it when the blade connected, the cut so smooth that it tore through scale, flesh and bone as easily as air. He hit the ground in a rain of blood, the sword slicing deeply into the stone. He dragged it up, and it came free with ease. He spun, working his jaw as he repositioned the blade and struck upwards, severing the last bit of flesh connecting head to body and putting the sword in line to fend off the other head as it dove at him. He slashed across, rolling to the side, and the bottom of the hydra’s jaw fell free, slamming into the spot he had just vacated. The injured head reeled back, tongue flapping wildly in the air. The Blademaster snapped his head around, shifting his sword to the side as he rushed towards the bound monster hunters. “Burn it!” Snow roared at him as he got close. “You have to burn the stump!” The Blademaster’s eyes widened as he remembered that bit of hydra lore, and he turned around just in time to see two new heads erupt from the stump of the one he had severed. They towered to full height in the span of a second, glaring down at him with anger. The mouth-cage he used to control Steel Glory didn’t let him talk, but if it did he’d have a few choice words for his own stupidity. The hydra’s heads swept down at him, and he scrambled to dodge. Teeth snapped on his tail-hairs as the first head bit at him, he yelped as they were torn free, but kept going. The second head snaked into his path, hissing at him. He spun Steel Glory around, spearing the beast through its nose. This time the hydra was the one who yelped, the head pulling back and flailing around in pain. He didn’t have time to capitalize on this, as the third head, the one he’d lopped the jaw from, had already regenerated and was rushing at him, low to the ground and with its new mouth wide open. He twisted, leaping as it came for him. He put all his earth pony muscle into the jump, and so cleared the snapping jaws and landed upright on the hydra’s neck. He ran along the serpentine length, leaping as the neck bucked and thrashed. He came down on the hydra’s body. It took a moment to orient himself, then he went into a roll, sending Steel Glory through the neck he had just leapt from. The head fell free, but he was already seeing the problem this would create. He could lop heads off until he exhausted himself, but it would only ever make the situation worse if he couldn’t stop them from regenerating. The oil and torches were over where the Dragon had been picking through the spoils of its victory, but he couldn’t reach them without having to fight his way through the hydra. He couldn’t do it alone. Not like this. He looked towards his companions, pleading with his eyes for them to do something, anything that would help. Snow and Summer struggled with their bonds, but the goop covering them was just not letting go. Then Iron Will raised his head, and his breath was coming out in misty puffs. The nosering he wore was miraculously still in place, and the gems that capped it were glowing with stored magic. “If somepony tries to hold you down,” he growled, then with a deep breath he blew a stream of supercooled air over the goo covering him, freezing it to brittle solidity in an instant. “You bring them to the ground!” With a mighty heave he flexed his enormous muscles and exploded the solidified goo away from him. The Blademaster let out a muffled shout of joy as Iron Will turned and used more of his magical breath to free the other two. His exulting was cut short as he was attacked by the two remaining hydra heads. He ran and dove off the side of the beast, making sure to keep the heads from turning on his companions as they got free. They came at him with no strategy, no coordination, but their sheer bulk and strength more than made up for it. He ducked and rolled, jumped and parried. Steel Glory spun so fast it was a grey blur as he turned it from side to side, keeping the hydra from crushing him by the barest of margins. He saw opportunities to hurt the beast, to cut off a head or just a chunk of flesh, but he let them pass. It would be worse than useless if what he did resulted in more heads to deal with. Holding back meant that he was vulnerable, though, and the heads were going to get lucky eventually. Sweat trickled down his face, stinging at his eyes as he kept moving, his jaw aching from the effort of controlling Steel Glory’s powerful swings. Then he tripped, a leg going out from under him and leaving him unbalanced as a head speared towards him. He scrambled to get Steel Glory up and ward off the attack, but before he had the blade halfway ready, the head stopped. Its eyes went wide and it yelped with pain as a notched waraxe was hurled into its skull. “Hey, you! Iron Will has something to say!” The Blademaster and hydra both looked over to where the minotaur was holding a cask of oil in one hand and a lit rag in the other. “It’s barbeque time!” The Blademaster took the hint, launching himself towards the distracted head. He leapt up, the cords of his neck standing plain as he worked Steel Glory’s wicked edge up and down in three precise chops. When he touched ground again, the hydra’s head fell free and Iron Will pitched the oil over the bloody stump before lighting it up. “One down, three to go!” Summer shouted as she dove down and grabbed the Blademaster around the barrel, lifting him into the sky. As he got a better perspective on the fight, he saw that the head he had cut off just before Iron Will had made his escape had indeed regenerated into two new ones, both of which were battling Riddle Snow, who was spinning his spear like the master he was, keeping them both too confused and tangled to be effective. “I’ve got the oil,” Summer said in his ear. “You do the chopping!” With that she let go, throwing him at the two heads Snow was fighting. He twisted in the air, spinning around to build momentum before he hit the hydra with all his might. The downstroke cut almost completely through one neck. The sword bit into the ground, but he didn’t slow, dragging it through the rock and up again to shear through the other neck on the upswing. As the two wounds yawned wide, Summer Gale swooped down and lashed out with two pots of oil, smashing them on the exposed bone. A moment later Snow was there, dragging the tip of his spear along the ground to cast sparks on the oil-soaked stumps and set them alight. In tandem, the Blademaster and the Shieldbreaker lashed out with their weapons to finish the job of severing the heads, ensuring that the fire would stop them from regenerating at all. The last head was fighting with Iron Will, who left a trail of red from the blood streaming out of the slashes across his back. The hydra snarled and snapped at him, but the minotaur stood his ground, reached out with his gauntleted fists and slammed them into the monster’s jaws. He let out a roar of effort and wrenched the mouth wide, holding it open with his great strength. Casting a single glance at each other, both Snow and the Blademaster rushed in. Snow leapt high, coming down with his spear leading to pin the serpentine neck in place as the Blademaster came in low, and with three swift chops severed the last head. Summer was there a moment later, throwing a lit cask of oil that shattered in a burst of flame and smoke on the final stump. There was a moment of quiet triumph as the monster hunters caught their breath. Steel hissed against steel as the Blademaster slid his sword into a ready position. Snow pulled his spear free, and with a spinning snap he cleaned the blood from its blade. Summer landed next to Iron Will and took a look at his back as he bent down and huffed in deep breaths that came out in a cloud of frost. “Oh yeah, that’s gonna be infected,” Summer said, wincing. “Not gonna kill you right away, which is a plus. Must hurt pretty bad, though.” “If it’s not going to take you out, it’s not worth whining about,” Iron Will said, straightening. Just then a sharp yell caught their attention, and they looked up to see Lyra running full-tilt across the island. She leapt, turning in mid-air to nock and fire an arrow with lightning speed. The moment her hooves touched ground she was vaulting into a backflip that took her completely head over hooves before leading into another flip, and then another. With each time she touched ground, she fired another arrow. Each shot hit the furious Dragon that followed her. The arrows burst into fiery ash the moment they pierced the beast’s scales, not even slowing it as it sloshed out of the marsh water on its hind legs. The Dragon roared in rage, but skid to a stop as it caught sight of the burning corpse of the hydra. It stared at the body for a long moment, shock plain in its eyes. Then those eyes narrowed and focused on the group of monster hunters, a new and greater rage burning in their depths. The Blademaster put a hoof up to balance his sword while he removed the mouth-cage. “You got any more ice breath left, big guy?” Iron Will shook his head. “Maybe one more full burst. Won’t be any good against a Dragon anyway.” “It’ll be good enough, mate. You come with me. Summer, get up there and wait for your opportunity. Snow, you think you can buy me a minute?” Riddle Snow spun his spear up to a ready position. “What are you planning?” “A surprise,” the Blademaster replied with a cocky grin. “Just buy me the time and I’ll let you know when to bring me the beastie.” Snow returned that smile with a chuckle and a shake of his head. Then he brought his spear up and charged at the Dragon. The monster was ready for the charge, its claws ready to tear the pony apart, but an arrow from Lyra distracted it at the last second, and allowed Snow to score a jab that cut a burning line in the Dragon’s side. The Blademaster fit the cage back into his mouth and motioned to Iron Will to follow as he galloped off the island and into the reeds of the marsh. As soon as he got far enough he held up a hoof to hold Iron Will back at the edge of the island. He stood still for a second, gathering his strength. Then he slid his sword to point straight out from him, and sank down so that the water just covered it. He took another breath, focusing his intent along the cutting edge. Then he spun. Water shot up in a jet as Steel Glory cut through it as easily as it had flesh and stone. More important than the water, though, were the reeds and weeds that were sliced cleanly about an inch beneath the surface. The Blademaster kept spinning, standing up to slap the severed plants with the flat of his blade and send them flying away, then back down to cut a new circle into the marsh. When he stopped he was in a patch of clear water, the waves he had created swiftly evening out to stillness. He looked towards the island and saw Snow battling the Dragon. The old warrior rolled to the side to avoid a blast of purple flame, coming up in a lunge that made the beast rear back. Lyra was running low on arrows, and so she picked her shots more carefully, using them to distract the Dragon and allow Snow to get in a few hits. For all his skill, however, Snow had still taken several strikes himself, one of which had laid the skin and armor over his ribs open enough to see the bone beneath. The Blademaster spat out his sword. “Snow!” he cried. Snow heard and immediately broke combat to run to him. The Blademaster watched him come, and watched as the Dragon pursued. “Iron Will, on my signal,” he said, and the minotaur hunched down and began drawing deep breaths. The Blademaster hooked one leg through Steel Glory’s hilt, the still-attached mouth-cage biting into his skin as he tensed. His heart pounded as he waited, timing the moment and praying to whatever gods were listening that he wouldn’t get it wrong. Then Snow’s hooves touched the water and he shouted with all his might. “Now!” He leapt, and Snow followed the motion. Their earth pony strength sent them both high into the air, momentarily beyond the reach of the monster below. The Dragon’s head went up to follow them, its eyes locked on prey that had just made their trajectory so much easier to anticipate. So it was that it missed the stream of magical cold that blew from Iron Will, flowing over the clear water the Blademaster had made and freezing it into a nearly smooth, solid sheet instantly. The Dragon stepped on the ice, and its legs immediately went out from under it. It shrieked in surprise and anger as it flopped and flailed, spinning to face backwards as it came to a halt. Riddle Snow and the Blademaster reached the apex of their jumps, then came down on the Dragon with all their fury. Snow speared the beast through one of its legs, driving his weapon through the monster’s flesh and down and into the muddy bottom of the marsh. The Blademaster hit a wing, shearing it almost all the way off, but the blow had been awkward, and ended up wrenching his leg from its socket. The Dragon thrashed. Snow jumped away in time, leaving his spear embedded in the Dragon’s foreleg. With his injury, however, the Blademaster wasn’t quick enough. The Dragon’s tail crashed into his side, sending him cartwheeling through the air towards the Dragon’s head. He slammed into the ice and broke through it, plunging into icy water. A moment’s disorientation was all he felt before his head broke the surface, and he found himself staring into the eyes of the beast, only a few feet away. Smoke billowed from its nostrils and it opened its mouth to reveal the fire rolling up from its throat. That’s when Summer Gale dropped from the sky, landing on the back of the Dragon’s neck and sinking her sharp, metal teeth in. The Dragon reared back, its blast of flame roaring into the sky instead of cooking the Blademaster to a crisp. The Dragon whipped its head around, throwing Summer away. It tried to refocus on the Blademaster, but Iron Will was there, swinging one gauntleted fist into the beast’s snout hard enough to send it reeling for a moment. The Blademaster did not waste his opportunity, dragging his limp limb from the hilt of his sword and putting the mouth-cage back in its proper place. He jerked his head, sliding Steel Glory into place, then lunged. He struck the Dragon’s chest, the blade sinking in deep. Then he wrenched his head and Steel Glory exploded from the monster’s side, spraying molten blood that set the water to boiling wherever it touched. The Dragon let out a howl of agony, and now it was fighting not to kill them all, but to escape. “No!” the Dragon bellowed. “You can’t do this! You can’t kill me! I am Depthrazer! I own this swamp! I will not be brought down by a bunch of pathetic, little ponies!” His voice cut off as an arrow streaked in and penetrated his eye. It burst into flame immediately, but the damage was already done. It tried to rise, but Riddle Snow was there and with a mighty two-hooved buck he collapsed one of the Dragon’s legs, sending it sprawling back to the ice and muck. Iron Will laid into the Dragon’s head and neck, blood from the wounds he made causing his gauntlets to glow cherry red. He blew on them, the remains of his nose-ring’s magic managing to cool the metal back to dullness, then grabbed the Dragon’s neck in a crushing hold, choking it. The Blademaster slashed again, this time Steel Glory taking off a leg at the elbow. All the time, arrows flew from Lyra’s bow, each aimed for the eye she had already maimed. Maddened by pain and panic, its head kept in place by Iron Will’s grasp, the beast didn’t have the wherewithal to do more than shriek and thrash as arrow after arrow sunk into its eye, cracking the bone beneath, laying open the path for one final shot that broke through and drove into the monster’s brain. It went rigid, the end of its tail shaking like a leaf in the wind. Then it collapsed. Iron Will dropped its head, the ice beneath melting in moments to allow it to sink into the mud in silence. Slain. There was a minute of quiet as the monster hunters caught their breath. Then one of them spoke. “Iron Will is not getting paid enough for this.” “Cheers, mate,” the Blademaster said after he’d dropped his sword. “I’d think that was worth, oh, a thousand apiece, at least.” “You know what the Chosen’s going to say,” Snow said, dragging his spear out of the dead Dragon’s leg. “‘The reward is for the hydra, anything else was personal choice’.” He snorted. “Cheapskates.” “Hardly fair,” the Blademaster agreed. Summer Gale fluttered over to them, her mouth raw and cracked with how badly it was burned. “I need new teeth,” she slurred, pulling her lips back to reveal the melted remains of her sharp caps. “And she needs new teeth,” the Blademaster said, but he was grinning. “I say we put this Dragon right back as we found it and refuse to move our rumps about it until they pay us proper.” “Yes, we’ll just un-kill the Dragon,” Snow said, then continued in a chuckling imitation of the Blademaster’s accent: “Won’t take but a moment.” “Right! That’ll show them!” the Blademaster shouted, falling on his back and pumping his good forehoof in the air. “Don’t mess with the monster hunters!” “Mess with the best,” Iron Will said, kicking at the dead Dragon. “And we’ll put you to rest.” Then he let out a bellowing laugh that got the Bladmaster and Snow going as well. Even Summer gave a few cackles of mirth. Only Lyra seemed aloof from their relief, and the Blademaster kept an eye on her as she slowly returned to a normal four-footed stance. She was staring at the Dragon’s corpse, and he could see the wheels turning behind those yellow-orange eyes. It wasn’t really over for her, not by a long shot. *** The trek back to the village took all night, and was hard for all of them. Lyra and the Blademaster were the least hurt of the monster hunters, so they ended up carrying the bulk of the equipment. The Blademaster had the special challenge of dragging the Dragon’s head and hydra’s heart as proof of what they had done. His injured leg, while useable again, complained loudly with every step. Riddle Snow and Iron Will had their injuries bound and soaked with some celebratory alcohol that Iron Will had brought with him. It wasn’t perfect for preventing infection, but it helped stave it off until they could be properly seen to. Summer Gale’s wounds were more difficult to deal with, but she managed to work through the pain well enough to fly ahead and have a contingent of healers waiting when they made the town gates as the sun was rising. The monster hunters got a cheer from the ponies of the town, before the injured were swept away to be cared for and the healthy were left to deal with what to do now. Lyra and the Blademaster dropped their burdens off at the inn they had all rented rooms at, then with unspoken agreement they walked to the Cockatrice’s Garden. The proprietor, happy to have the local heroes at his establishment, opened early just for them. They sat at the table where they had planned the adventure two days before, and ordered a very well deserved drink. “To the monster hunters,” the Blademaster said, holding up his mug of hard cider. “May their next job pay a fair wage.” “To us,” Lyra replied, clinking her wine glass against the mug then taking a sip. She watched him over the rim of her glass as he drained his mug and called for another. She didn’t even blink as the bartender set a new drink in front of him and took payment for a half dozen rounds after that one as well. He let her watch, taking a slow draught from his new mug before the tension grew too much. “I’m not helping you fight a bloody Chosen,” he said, keeping his voice quiet enough that the bartender wouldn’t hear. “Get that one thing straight first.” “I have money," Lyra said, leaning close. "A lot of money. I was told how much this would cost me." "It's not about money." "What then? You’re not afraid of them,” Lyra said. It hadn’t been a question, but one was still implied. “Not them, love. Their boss,” he said. “You remember Snow’s story? You do what you say you’re gonna, and there’s not going to be any leniency for you. She’ll come down on you like bloody fire from the sky, and there won’t be anywhere to run. They can’t be fought, Lyra. You know that.” “I know,” she said. “It doesn’t matter.” He shook his head. “Not doing it, love. I don’t care what the Druid said.” He put as much steel in his voice as he could without raising it above a whisper. He saw a flash of anger in her eyes, but it died out as a new thought occurred to her. “Your sword,” she said. “It cut through the Dragon like… it cut through everything.” He frowned. “You’re not getting my sword, either.” She shook her head. “No, but my arrows were, well, almost useless. If they were made like your sword, though…” She trailed off, but he caught what she was saying easily enough. “There’s a thought.” He smiled. “I guess there’s more than one way for me to help you, isn’t there?” “Please,” she said, leaning forward, a new light in her eyes. “Please, who made your sword?” He took a long drink, finishing the mug and motioning for another before he spoke. “Well, love, there’s this smith. She’s the best there is. The steel sings to her, see? I’ve heard tell that the blades she makes never dull, never break, that some of them only ever get sharper the more you use them. I don’t know about all that, but my Steel Glory’s cut through stone and bone and never needed sharpening. Now, her work doesn’t come cheap. In fact, it’s about as expensive as anything gets, but she doesn’t ever skimp on her work. If she makes something for you, it’ll be the best you’ve ever had, or ever will have.” “Who is she?” “Nopony knows her real name anymore," he said, taking a new mug and breathing in the scent of fermented apple as he remembered the heat of the forge and the way she had shaped Steel Glory. It had been powerful magic, and unlike any he'd seen before or since. "But they call her the Shaper…”
City Under GlassPart Three: City Under Glass Songbird was cold. Snow crunched under her hooves, each mislaid step breaking through a thin crust of ice and plunging her leg into the powdery cold that lay beneath. She paused for a moment, magically drawing her cloak tighter against a wind which gusted in chill bursts that whistled and roared like an angry crowd. That wind was coming out of the north, the very direction they were headed, so she couldn’t even lift her head to see beyond the swish of the Blademaster’s tail without her eyes stinging and watering from staring into the teeth of the frigid gale. The Blademaster forged ahead at a steady pace. He didn’t seem to be as affected by the temperature, his head held high and his breath steaming in the air as he broke a trail for her. She didn’t see how his thin frame could provide much insulation, but she supposed it was one of the advantages to being an earth pony. He seemed tireless, never uttering a sound of complaint as they walked through the snow squalls and unending, vicious wind. She would have collapsed long ago were she in his place. As the wind picked up in another chilling gust she recalled the old Hearth’s Warming Eve stories, wondering if this was what her ancestors had endured before they found Equestria. It certainly wouldn’t surprise her to discover that some mad Windigo was responsible for this endless, frozen misery. She hummed a quick tune, her horn lighting as she combined song and magic, sheathing herself in the warmth of a cozy tavern hearth. It wasn’t a difficult spell to manage –according to her mentor, sound and heat were closely related– but the song took breath, and she had little to spare if she was to keep up with the pace the Blademaster was setting. So, with a bit of the magical warmth ebbing away with every step, she hurried on. “How much longer until we stop?” she called out. She had to shout over the wind, but she was a master of being heard and knew how to pitch her voice. He glanced back at her and said something back that was stolen by a gust that also carried a flurry of snow which seemed determined to funnel itself into her hood to melt against her neck. She shivered and shook her head. He stopped, stepping close enough that their muzzles were almost touching. “There’s no shelter around here!” he shouted. She winced at the sound, even with the wind he didn’t need to be so loud when he was this close. “How far until the next forest?” He shook his head. “The snow’s slowing us down too much! We won’t hit another forest before nightfall!” “Nightfall!” she gasped out. She had lost track of how long they’d been walking, and with the sky as clouded over as it was, telling the time was all but impossible. “Can we make a shelter here? Wait out the storm?” He paused, looking around at the snow that surrounded them as far as they could see. Which wasn’t far, considering how the flurries were getting steadily worse. “Can do,” he replied, but she could see the uncertainty in his eyes. “I’d rather be in some trees, though!” She shook her head. “I don’t know if I’ll make it to nightfall! We need to do something now before I’m not able to help!” He nodded at that, scratching at his head as he considered what needed to be done. “Right! Clear a spot out here, just big enough for the two of us and our gear! Pile up all the snow here!” He indicated a line perpendicular to the wind. “We’ll build ourselves a lee, then I’ll set up my cloak as a tarp! Sorry, love, it looks like it’ll be close quarters again!” “I’ll live!” she replied, then set to work doing what he asked. She used muscle and magic to dig down and clear out a small pit in the snow, using the fill to build up a wall against the wind. The pit was only a foot deep, and its bottom was frozen dirt, but it would suffice to hold both of them. The Blademaster did his part, adding to the wall, packing the snow down so that it was a solid bastion against the coming storm. He took his cloak and fixed it between layers of snow, testing it to make sure it wouldn’t be pulled out by the wind. Soon, their shelter was ready. It was just in time, too. The wind began to gust even stronger, carrying thick, wet snow with it. Soon she was choking on the heavy flakes every time she looked north. “Blade, it’s getting bad!” she called out. “On it!” he yelled back. He tore his gear off, dumping his saddlebags into their makeshift shelter. His many blades he stripped off and dumped into another, shallower hole he had dug, covering them over with more snow before taking Steel Glory and driving it down, leaving a foot and a half of blade and hilt exposed to mark where he had left his weapons. Then he jumped into the pit with her, drawing his cloak over them and tucking it beneath himself. The makeshift canvas flapped with the wind, but a little bit of magic and creative shifting of their bags had those parts battened down, leaving them in close darkness with the sound of their breathing louder than the wind that screamed outside. They were squeezed uncomfortably close together. This was far worse than the night they had spent in the rain south of the Forest of Lost Voices. There wasn’t even room to stretch out here, and they were forced to curl about each other awkwardly, her muscles already beginning to cramp from holding the unnatural position. A strange panic began to bubble up inside her, stealing her composure. There was no room to breathe in there, filled as it was with the scent of earth pony and wet cloth. The heat of his body overwhelmed the remaining chill of the storm, but it also felt smothering and oppressive. She could hear his heartbeat under his skin, the steady march of strength that drove the warrior to fight Hydras and Dragons and brave the inhospitable North for a mare he barely knew. “Easy, love,” he whispered in her ear. She twitched, suddenly becoming aware of her own speeding heart and panting breath. With an effort of will she took control of herself. Old techniques for meditation, intended to help her focus her magic, allowed her to slow her breathing and set a rhythm in her head that her heart eventually matched. “Sorry,” she said. “I’m just on edge.” “No sorries needed,” he said. She let out a slow breath. “I’m not used to… being this close to somepony,” she said. “Travel off the beaten path for a while and it’ll start to come naturally,” he replied, and she could hear the grin in his voice. “I’ve bivouacked in tighter places than this, believe it or not. You’ve not lived until you’ve had to sleep with your face snout-deep in another stallion’s…” he paused for a moment. “Wait, scratch that. You’ve lived plenty without ever having to do any of that.” She allowed herself a quiet chuckle. “That sounds like a story.” “Not one I’ll be telling, love,” he said. “Maybe if I’m dead drunk, but not before.” “Why?” she asked, teasing. “Too intimate?” “You might say,” he said, and his voice had lost all its humor. “It’s got a bad end, is all.” She didn’t reply to that, instead shifting slowly and with painstaking care until her back was to him and her position not so painful to hold. The cloak holding the wind at bay was cold, but the air in their little shelter was warm, and the Blademaster was a living furnace. Strangely to her, the walls made of snow and ice were reflecting their heat back at them instead of soaking it all up as she had expected. It was far from comfortable, but, like the Blademaster, she’d could say that she’d slept in worse conditions. A particularly powerful gust of wind rattled the cloak, and Songbird’s ears perked up as she heard something behind the wind, something more chilling than the blowing snow. “You know, if this storm goes on long enough I might be begging you to use that feather of yours, and damn the consequences,” the Blademaster said. “Quiet,” she said, and she felt him tense against her. “I hear something.” She listened, her musician’s ear straining as she searched for a sound that was not part of the storm. Another heavy gust hit the shelter, and she heard it again, this time for certain: A high-pitched, full-throated laugh. Suddenly all the warmth of the shelter was gone, and she could feel her heart breaking its rhythm and speeding away like one of the trains that no longer ran. She frantically tried to remember if she had exposed any stone when she’d been clearing the shelter floor, but her haste then and panic now made recollection impossible. “Oi, Songbird, what’s–” She twisted and seized his muzzle between her hooves, holding his mouth shut. The movement opened the cloak to the air outside, letting a flurry of snow into their shelter, but she didn’t care. The cold was the least of her worries now. “Sshh!” she hissed, putting her own mouth right to his ear. “It’s her.” He slowly nodded, showing that he understood. She took her hooves from his muzzle, carefully fixing the cloak and sliding down as much as she could until her head was resting on his chest as he sat back against the snow wall. She listened to his heart, that steady drumbeat that had barely tripped in its tempo as she had told him how close they were to their doom. She was a veteran performer, she knew how to sync herself to another’s beat, and she let that training take over, using his calm to steady herself. They stayed like that for hours. She searched every blast of wind for more of that tell-tale laughter, but heard nothing. Finally, somewhere between heartbeats, she fell asleep. *** “‘Bird, wake up,” the Blademaster said, nudging her face with a hoof. “You’re gonna want to see this.” She shivered as she came back to consciousness and realized that there was a cold breeze touching her. Her eyes opened to find the Blademaster silhouetted against a sky on fire. “What?” she asked, sitting up. The Blademaster’s cloak hung limp from the snow wall, revealing that their pit was now a foot deeper than it had been when she had dug it. It also revealed a sky that was clear and bright, lit with both the stars as well as burning curtains of light and color. She gasped at the sight, standing to get a better view of how the bands of light stretched from horizon to horizon. “I’ve heard about auroras before,” the Blademaster said, grinning at the celestial ribbons that gently swayed and rippled high above. “Didn’t half believe in them, though.” Songbird swallowed her awe and forced her mind into action. “I don’t think this is an aurora,” she said. He frowned at that. “Looks pretty close to me, love.” “No, look,” she pointed a hoof north. There were more lines of light there, but it was easy to see how they were oriented differently from the ones that passed directly overhead. A moment’s observation was all it took to see that this aurora was radiating from a single point, not too far north of them. “Something up there is causing this. What could do that?” “Search me, love. My money’s on the Madmare, though. She shook her head. “She doesn’t control the sky. The Tempest could do something like this easily; the Sorceress could too, with some effort. But her? No. This is something else. This is somepony else.” “The other power?” There was clear unease in his voice as he asked the question. “I don’t know,” she said. “This could be some kind of beacon. Something to call ponies to rally there.” “It could be a trap, too.” She had not response to that but to nod in acknowledgement. Something about the lights stirred confidence in her, however. She could feel magic in those shifting ribbons, and that magic felt like victory. They could mean anything, and she knew that, but she couldn’t help but be encouraged just by the sight. They stood in silence for a long time, watching the shifting lights. “Whatever it is, we’re heading right for it,” he eventually pointed out. “Then we should be careful as we get closer,” she replied. She looked around at the landscape, lit brightly in the false aurora. “Do you think we can walk some more tonight?” “I don’t see why not,” he said. “Maybe we’ll make that forest early enough to catch some more shuteye before sunrise.” “Then let’s go,” she said. They packed up quickly, the Blademaster finding his stowed weapons and strapping them back on as she magically cleaned and dried his cloak. Then they set off. All the they walked that night she looked northward, to the point where the aurora lines converged. She didn’t know what they would find there, but she knew it would be a tale worth telling. *** Songbird and the Blademaster lay side by side in the snow, staring out from the top of a hill at the incredible vista that was spread before them. “It’s beautiful!” she gasped, her eyes as big as saucers as she took in the sight. It was a city. Wide boulevards connected by angled avenues and streets to create a snowflake pattern, the true complexity of which would only be visible from high above. Buildings made of solid crystal glistened in the sunlight, and the tiny figures of ponies were like little points of twinkling light as they went about their business amongst those marvellous buildings. Beyond the city spread a circle of fields, all of them green and lush in defiance of the cold snow that held the surrounding land in its grip. At the center of the city stood an enormous tower. More than a tower, a palace made of crystal. All of this was covered by a great, transparent barrier that had its apex just above the tip of the great crystal palace, giving the impression of a city under glass. Songbird had walked the high streets of Canterlot between the ivory spires. She had sung for crowds amidst the terrifying verdant majesty of the City of Gardens and Cages. She had been to Manehattan and Las Pegasus, and all the cities in between. Nowhere had she seen anything like this. Still, the sight triggered a memory. “The Crystal Empire!” “What’s that, love?” the Blademaster asked, tearing his eyes from the city to give her a confused look. “It’s an old story,” she replied, wracking her brain for the details. “A thousand years ago there was a great kingdom in the north, the Crystal Empire. The tale goes that it was conquered by a wicked pony and that Princess Celestia defeated him, but not before he banished the entire city from the world.” “Doesn’t look so banished to me.” “I guess it must have come back. How long have they been here? Why haven’t we heard anything about this?” Her mind raced with the questions, and the burning need to go down to that astounding place and find the answers. “Look at that,” the Blademaster said, drawing her mind away from the mysteries of the city. “I think we found your rebels, love.” He pointed a hoof towards the west side of the barrier. She followed his gaze and saw a pile of boulders and churned earth that went right up to the barrier and stopped. “That’s the Madmare’s work. I’m sure of it. Looks like she attacked the city, but didn’t make it through.” She couldn’t help but nod in agreement, even as her heart surged at the sight. If they were strong enough to keep out the Madmare, who knew what kind of power they had? “We should go down there,” she said. “And what?” the Blademaster asked, shaking his head. “Knock on the bloody terrarium wall and ask nicely what’s going on? From the looks of things these ponies have been holding out against one of the Rulers. If they don’t like us right off, I don’t fancy our chances of getting back out again.” “You think they’d be hostile? To fellow ponies?” His face was set in a grim scowl. “I think the ones who lived in Dust Devil Valley were ponies too, and I’m not keen on sharing whatever their fate was.” “You don’t know it was these ponies who did that.” “The soldiers in the forest, love,” he said, his voice low and touched with anger. “They weren’t being too nice with the ones they were dragging along. I’d say I’ve seen more than enough to tell me they’re not good ponies.” Songbird opened her mouth to reply, but then closed it after a moment’s thought. She hadn’t seen what he had, and he refused to talk much about it. She had to take his word for it. Then she felt a pulse of magic flare out from the city. It washed over them, leaving a dusting of sparkles that flared brightly for a moment before dying. “If we’re not going down there, we should get going,” she said, standing up. “You don’t have to make it so bloody easy for them!” the Blademaster protested, also standing. “They know we’re here anyways,” she replied. “I don’t see any pegasi flying around down there, so by the time they muster a force to come out and get us we’ll be long gone anyway… what?” She frowned at him as she noticed that he was staring down at the city with wide eyes. “What is that?” the Blademaster cried out, and she looked down to find a blob of inky darkness hurtling towards them from the city. She couldn’t see any sort of texture in it, just the amorphous shape that was cut out of the snowy fields like a hole in the world. It crossed the distance between them and the city as fast as a pegasus could fly, unhindered by the snow and hills. Songbird knew all the stories, and a general rule with them was that mobile pools of utter darkness were things to be avoided. Faced with one approaching her now, she found that to be sound advice. “I don’t want to find out!” she shouted, leaping to her hooves and turning to run. The Blademaster wasted no time in joining her. They were halfway to the forest when the living shadow caught up to them. It circled around, spreading up from the ground into a wall of darkness that cut off their retreat. They stumbled to a halt, Songbird losing her footing and falling to the snow. The Blademaster cursed, slipping the mouth-cage into place and drawing Steel Glory as he put himself between Songbird and the shadow. The world seemed to grow hushed as a sound came to them from every direction. It was deep, hellishly distorted, but recognizably a pony’s voice. The sound swirled around them, then settled into the mass of darkness, and the distortion lessened until the noise was recognizable as a dark chuckle. “A sword,” the voice in the shadow said, and two blazing eyes opened in the depths of the void. They had red irises and green sclera, a purple-black mist leaking from their edges. “How pathetic.” “‘Bird, when I go, make a break for it,” the Blademaster whispered to her, the words garbled by the mouth-cage, but recognizable enough to her. “Can you even fight something like that?” she asked, gathering her legs under her. “We’ll find out,” he said, narrowing his eyes at the creature. Then he lunged forward, Steel Glory leading. Songbird sprang into motion as he did, rushing out to the side and angling to get around the shadow creature. She looked to the side and saw the Blademaster stab the magnificent sword into the darkness. She heard a piercing chime from the blade, a note from the hymn of battle and blood forged into the steel. He twisted his head to the side, tearing a streak of light into the shadow, and the eyes widened with surprise and pain as the distorted voice growled in anger. Then she was around the creature, and lost sight of her companion. She ran a dozen steps before skidding to a halt and turning around. She planted her hooves solidly and lit her horn as she began to sing. She began with a simple scale, taking her through the entire range her voice was capable of and ending with a sustained cry at the very top of her voice in frequencies that some ponies couldn’t even hear. Her magic gathered all that sound, swirling it around her in a whirlwind of light and pressure that sparkled with tiny illusory musical notes. Then, still holding her cry, she unleashed her magic against the shadow. It flashed from her, the magic taking the form of a music-sheet’s staff filled with the notes she had sung as it turned sound into a coherent force that lanced out and sheared through the creature, splitting it in half. The Blademaster leapt through that breach the moment her magic was done its work, slashing his sword at the shadow as he did. There was blood on his face and a worried look in his eyes, the reason for which was probably how quickly the shadow creature was recovering from being attacked. It flowed together like water, the damage vanishing in an instant and its eyes simply appearing on their side of the darkness rather than having to turn around. A deep, rasping laugh erupted from it as a tentacle of shadow reached out and smacked the Blademaster to the side, sending him careening head over hooves. Songbird gasped out, then turned that into a cry that she sent out to slow and cushion the Blademaster’s fall. He looked to her, and there was a warning in his gaze. Some instinct took that warning to heart and told her to move, and she leapt away just as a jagged black crystal exploded up from the ground where she had been standing. “Strong. Interesting.” the creature said, its ugly voice almost conversational in its tone. A shudder went through the ground as black crystals burst up all around her, growing at a phenomenal rate and closing her in with their wickedly sharp edges. “What brings you to my empire, little ponies?” Songbird sang out, shattering the crystals around her and flinging their remains towards the shadow creature, which only laughed as the shards passed through it without harm. She scrambled over the jagged crystal-covered ground, sending another burst of song-magic at the creature. It moved like oil on water, sliding closer in a way that was both nearly imperceptible and frighteningly immediate. It reached for her with a tendril of darkness, faster than she could dodge. The Blademaster appeared as if he had teleported, Steel Glory sweeping down and severing the pseudo-limb in a blur of grey. The creature recoiled from that, the touch of Steel Glory clearly causing it pain even if it couldn’t do any permanent injury. The shadow growled and a crystal shot up from under the Blademaster’s hooves. He dove to the side to avoid it, but it had been a feint, and a tentacle caught him instead, flinging him up high into the air where he tumbled end over end. “Pip, no!” she cried out. Her heart skipped a beat as she realized that she couldn’t save him and fend off the attacking creature at the same time. She could hear the voice of her mentor in the back of her mind, telling her to save herself. Telling her it was the Blademaster’s job to protect her, not the other way around. Telling her that he was an earth pony, and that he might even be tough enough to survive a fall like that, so she should worry about more important things than whether he’d be hurt or not. She grit her teeth and pushed the voice from her thoughts. The blind witch wasn’t here, she didn’t get a say. Songbird sent her voice out again, directing it at the falling Blademaster and not at the crystals once more enclosing her in a ring of gleaming death. He slowed, the spinning fall turning into a gentle drift downwards. She maintained the song, watching as the crystals grew ever closer. She froze as spikes grew to press painfully into her flesh. They did not break the skin, but were set with just enough pressure that to struggle would be to flay herself. She kept up her song as the shadow creature slid up to her, stretching out a tendril that wrapped around her horn. She could feel its touch like a cold, viscous slime spreading down the spiral of her horn. It reminded her of being covered in tree sap, which in turn dredged up other memories that she would have preferred remained buried. She refused to stop her song, though, until she was sure the Blademaster was low enough that he wouldn’t be injured by the fall. Foolish girl. Her eyes widened as she realized the voice had come from within her. She frantically worked to close off her mind, using techniques her mentor had taught her long ago. She slammed mental doors, filling her thoughts with a song that repeated endlessly and denied the invading presence a hold. A good defence. The shadow’s mental voice was like grinding rocks in her ears and hissing snakes rubbing against her legs, like the the smell of ashes and the hot tang of blood on her tongue. I think I might give you to my wife as a gift. I do so love watching her break the strong ones! Songbird didn’t dare move, and with her mental defenses in place she couldn’t put together enough concentration to cast a spell. So all she could do was watch in trembling silence as the eyes in the darkness came nearer. They stopped so close that it was almost as if she was nose-to-nose with another pony. But still. You are not one of the Madmare’s minions, so why are you here, little bard? I will know. The pressure in her mind increased tenfold. She held it back, but her vision blurred as the creature’s eyes blazed with an unholy light. *** The sky flashed with lightning, the rumble of thunder following a few scant seconds after. A storm coming, and soon. Sweetie Belle blinked up at the swirling clouds and thought for an instant that she saw a pair of terrible eyes staring back at her. Something about them had been important. She shook her head. The thought felt like the remnants of a dream, impossible to hold on to. She stood in a clearing in some forest in the Heartland. She wasn’t wearing any of her travelling clothes, and her musician’s bag was missing. She spent a moment looking for them, but the confusion over where she could have left them drifted beyond her like the clouds that covered the sky. Ahead sat her home. The large wagon had four wide wheels that stuck out from its side. The better to roll over the rough ground of wilderness roads that only had the most cursory of maintenance done to it. It was painted in shades of blue and purple, though that paint was faded and peeling in so many places it was hard to tell what it had looked like when new. The hitch to pull the wagon was empty and little-used. The occupants of the wheeled house were more than capable of moving it without the vulgarities of manual labor. The door set in the back of the wagon was closed, but as she approached it creaked open. Within was only darkness, blacker than the heavy clouds in the sky. Sweetie Belle paused for a moment, swallowing past the lump in her throat as she stepped up to the door. “Do you have it?” came the question from inside. Sweetie Belle’s head drooped. “I…” she began, but trailed off as she realized she had no idea what to say. “Do you have it?” the voice of her mentor asked again, almost screaming the question. She couldn’t think straight. Something was wrong, and with a rising sense of panic, she realized what it was. “No,” she said, her answer coming in a whimper. “How could you fail me?” the voice asked, filled now with contempt and anger. “It was… in the North there was… something…” Sweetie Belle trailed off again, struggling to understand how she could have come back empty-hooved. “I took you in!” her mentor snarled from within the darkness. “I saved you from a short, miserable life in the streets! I gave you everything I had! And this is how you repay that? This is how you thank me?” Sweetie Belle sank to her knees, a nauseous terror stealing her strength. “I should never have let you into my home! In fact, I think I’ll fix that mistake right now!” The door was gripped in the glow of her mentor’s magic and slammed closed just as a peal of thunder cracked across the world and rain began to fall in heavy, wet drops. “No!” Sweetie Belle cried out, crawling to the door and pounding on it. “No, please! Let me in!” She pawed at the door, trying to grab the knob, but somehow unable to find a grip. “Please! I’ll go back! I’ll get the amulet, I promise! Don’t leave me out here! Please don’t leave me!” Amulet? What amulet? A voice growled from the storm that crashed and poured. Wait… Could it be? And so close at hoof! The storm laughed, thunder and lightning shaking the earth around her, making her scream and pound on the door ever harder. Tell me, little bard. Tell me where this amulet your mistress sent you for lies. Tell me, or I will ensure that you are left pounding uselessly on this wheeled shack for eternity! “The North!” she cried out, weeping as the cold soaked into her coat and the terrible loneliness filled her heart. “A temple in the Crystal Mountains! Beyond the pa–” *** Crystals shattered and Songbird fell to the ground. Pinpricks of pain told of a hundred small injuries as shards of broken crystal cut at her. The pain brought her back to her senses faster than anything else could. She rolled free of the shards, coming to her hooves in the practiced motion of a professional tumbler. A single glance told her what had happened: the Blademaster had attacked while she had been under the shadow creature’s sway, breaking her free and defeating the fell magics of the monster. She could still feel the residual effects of what he had done to her. The illusion had felt real while she was inside it, though now it was like some half-remembered nightmare. Disturbing, she doubted she’d sleep easy for a long while, but not overwhelming. What felt worse to her was how quickly she had broken, revealing her purpose in the North. The Blademaster fought with a ferocity that she would have gawked at, given a less desperate situation. Steel Glory was a blur of grey and gleam, every stroke intercepting a part of the darkness, making it flinch back in pain. Crystals lanced at him, but he ducked and dodged between them with expert precision, avoiding dismemberment and death by razor-thin margins. This was not a dance of steel like she had seen before. There were no flourishes to his attacks, no wasted motion at all. It was so easy for her to forget the skill lurking behind his customary attitude, and not for the first time she realized that he had truly earned the name he had taken for himself. Still, he was going to lose. He could stab all he liked at the monster they faced, but it was not going to die. Her own efforts had been just as ineffective. Neither of them had the power to defeat it. They could run, but it was faster than they, and eventually they would tire. Then it would have them, and would take what it wanted at its leisure. She shivered at the thought, the cold-slime feeling still on her horn. She couldn’t allow that to happen. No matter what. She reached into her bag, feeling for the one thing that could help them. It was right there, the first thing she touched. It practically leapt out of the bag, the tingles it sent through her hoof feeling eager. She caught it in her magic as she drew it forth and held it horizontally in front of her. Then she called upon her spellsong and the world seemed to slow as she sang to the feather, drawing its power to the surface. The snow in a circle ten feet wide around her burst to steam instantly, the resulting mist spiralling up in a wind that arose from nowhere. The fighting paused as the combatants became aware of the change in the atmosphere. Already clouds were gathering above her, twisting and boiling unnaturally, caught in tortured sway by a fragment of the Tempest’s power. She drew one hoof across the feather, as if she were striking a match, and it came away burning with electricity that arced back to the blue feather in spitting, crackling bolts. She locked eyes with those of the shadow creature, seeing the confusion and surprised fear there. Then, with a wordless cry that was filled with the force of her magic, she threw the lightning at the creature. It blasted out with explosive force. She screamed in fear and pain as the feather sent a surge of power through the channel she had created, more than she had been expecting. More than she thought was possible for her to withstand. It felt like her entire leg would be burned off from the heat and light. She frantically tried to shut off the flow of electricity, and the feather resisted. It wanted to show its power. It was a piece of the Tempest, after all, a Ruler not known for half-measures. She clamped down on her scream, turning it into a hum. Her horn burned brightly as she poured effort into stopping what she had started, and was rewarded with a lessening in the flow of lightning. She pressed her advantage, and the power shut off all at once, leaving her staggered and blinking to clear the spots from her eyes. The first thing that she noticed was that her hoof was thankfully intact, a few tentative stamps confirming that the burning agony had only been in her head. Then as her vision returned, she saw the result of her desperate action. All around, the ground was scored and torn where the lightning had touched it. The destruction reached as far as the dome covering the city, which was charred and smoking but still intact. The shadow creature was still there as well, but it was riddled with holes that smoldered and glowed at the edges. With a roar of pain and rage, it folded in upon itself and fled, flowing back towards the Crystal Empire with incredible speed. She watched it until it vanished from sight, then dropped to sit on the blackened earth beneath her. She felt drained, but she pushed beyond the fatigue and took stock of her surroundings. “Blade!” she called out, her eyes searching for him as her hooves stuffed the feather back in her bag. Some of its strength had been drained, but not nearly all of it. “Here, love,” he said, poking his head up from the snow. She let out a relieved sigh as she saw that he was uninjured. “What the bloody stars was that and why didn’t you do it earlier?” “I didn’t know if I could,” she replied. “I didn’t know if it would work or kill me or kill everyone or what. We’re lucky I was able to get it to stop.” “Well… good job. Try not to do it again, yeah?” She managed a thin smile and a nod. “Still want to go down to the city?” She shook her head. “I think you were right about it. About everything.” “Sweeter words I have never heard,” he said, trotting over to her and offering his hoof to help her up. “But right now I think we should be a long way from here before that thing decides to come back.” She took his hoof without a word, then they ran for the forest and the mountains beyond, hoping to outpace any pursuit that would come from the city. *** Songbird looked up at the stars. They were clearer than she’d ever seen them before, their brilliance not even obscured by the moon that shone down on the mountains. Her head was heavy, her legs barely able to hold her upright, but still she stood and stared at the sky. Three days since they’d escaped the shadow creature, and every night she had found herself like this, watching the wheeling sky until dawn. They had passed through a quiet forest and into the mountains with no sign of pursuit. The Paths of Radiance were in sight, their subtle iridescence more visible with every passing mile. Beyond them was the Monastery of the World’s End, and within would be the item they had travelled so far to find. She needed to be ready for the trials yet to come, but sleep eluded her. “You won’t be much use if you don’t get some rest,” the Blademaster echoed her thoughts as he walked up next to her. “I try to sleep, but it just won’t come,” she said. The exhaustion and frustration were plain in her voice, and she had to hold back a sudden sob. “I close my eyes and I see what it… what he showed me. I know it was just some illusion, some trick of dark magic, but it still... I can’t help but wonder if we come back without the amulet, what then? Will she...” Songbird shook her head, unable in her fatigue to put her thoughts into words. He lay a hoof on her shoulder. “You’re really afraid of the witch kicking you out, aren’t you?” She gave a slow nod. “My worst fear.” He was silent for a long moment before speaking again. “You’d have another place to go.” “What?” “If she did shut that door on you for real, and I don’t think she would, you wouldn’t be left out alone. You’d have another place to go.” She smiled, letting out a light giggle. “You just want your own personal minstrel, singing your praises wherever you go.” “Well, a bloke’s gotta have dreams, right?” he said with a wide grin. Then the smile faded. “She did you a good turn at a bad point, love. That doesn’t mean your life revolves around her and what she wants.” She sighed and shook her head. “I don’t think you can understand. It’s not just about her. It’s about me. It’s about what happened in the Fall. What happened with my family and my... my sister.” He frowned at that. “I may not be able to understand, but I can still offer to help.” She smiled again, leaning against him as they looked up at the night together. “Speaking of your sister, I would have thought your greatest fear would be her.” Songbird let out a small laugh. “Once upon a time, I would have agreed with that. But I’ve faced my sister once already. I think I’d be able to do it again.” “Oh? I didn’t know that,” he said, curiosity piquing in his voice. “Care to tell that tale, love?” She thought about it for a long moment, then nodded. She wasn’t going to sleep any time soon, and maybe remembering this would give her the strength to face the vision the shadow creature had inflicted on her. “I was performing in the City of Gardens and Cages,” she began, “when I was approached with an opportunity I was told would be the show of a lifetime…”
The storyteller's songAt the northmost of the Heartland A plain of naked stone Beyond this place of lifeless rock The Madmare keeps her own Across the barren borderland Two ponies made their way To pass this granite hunting ground They travelled night and day Others had warned them not to go And hold their lives more dear Safety had long since fled the North All that remained was fear But Songbird and the Blademaster Would not be turned away Their course was set, their eyes were hard There could be no delay For life within this fallen world Can come at such a cost The Songbird’s mentor made her swear To find a power lost The journey would be perilous Alone, she could but fail And so the Blademaster agreed Together to prevail The two went North and swore to keep Their promise come what may And friendships born in dark of night Still hold in light of day So as the fire is warm and bright And my voice is strong Come gather round and listen to This tale of Sword and Song
