The Old World: Shadows

“Solaire’s Sun!” Forest exclaimed. “But if they’re not dead where are they?"

“Not here,” Snow replied.

Onyx’s face darkened even further. “You mean to tell me that not only did Cyandor burn this place to the ground – but they snatched the foals too?!” he snarled.

“Looks like it,” Forest said, taking a knee to examine the scorched earth more closely. “I can’t tell from these markings exactly what happened, there’s too much charring and debris, and where I can find tracks they’re all frenzied and confused.”

“Don’t need tracks. Quicksilver said it was Cyandor; she described their coat of arms perfectly, the royal one!” Onyx fumed, raising his voice. “Why attack Ironshod?”

“Soldiers were stationed here,” Snow murmured. “This might have been a military target.”

Onyx’s furious eyes glistened with tears. He sank to his haunches, anger giving way to grief.

“Wait, let’s think about this a minute,” Forest said. He brought a hoof to his head, thinking hard. “They must have been in a hurry, they left all the valuables.” He glanced a Snow. “There can’t have been more than ten guards posted here. It was hardly a threat to Cyandor’s borders, just a few men to guard the town from bandits or beasts.” He began pacing around the wreckage of the big house ruins. “Is this a statement? A reminder of Cyandor’s power?

“This was probably supposed to be a secret attack,” Snow spoke deliberately, thinking as she did. “There was no evidence of Cyandor’s fault, except eyewitness testimony. I don’t think there were supposed to be survivors.” She brought her hoof to rest on her chin thoughtfully. “We found bandits when we arrived. They could’ve been hired to make it look like a bandit raid.”

“Bandits are opportunistic savages, coyotes, all of them.” Onyx shook his head. “I doubt they were paid; they probably saw the smoke and thought it would be easy pickings.”

Forest stopped pacing. “Then they’re after our infrastructure? Attacking our food sources? Perhaps to soften us up for invasion . . .”

“I don’t know. Maybe,” Snow said.

Onyx rose to his hooves, blinking away tears. “Enough. Let’s take the mares back to Smallclover. We need to take them to a safer place.”

Forest nodded. “Make them ready. I’ll take one last look around.”

Snow and Onyx cantered back to the church, leaving Forest Thorn to his own devices. Despite years of tracking experience, he could make out no coherent idea of what exactly happened; the tracks were as muddled as a highway’s. Hoofprints scattered every which way, trampling over themselves and blotting each other out. He did find a relatively untouched trail of small hoofprints, weaving around the larger ones towards the outskirts of the village. Hope flared in his chest, and he followed it anxiously. The trail got to the ruins of where the northern gate guardpost used to stand, before ending abruptly, no veering to the side, no indication of backtracking. His heart plummeted.

“Forest! We’re ready to go!” Snow called from across the town. “Come on back!”

He got up, and trotted to meet up with the main group. The seven surviving mares stood behind Onyx. Beaten and haggard, they stared dully at him. One of them shied away as he approached, one of the younger ones. Forest felt a pang of sympathy. “Right, let’s go,” he said.

Forest took the lead, with Snow right behind him. She dragged along their captive, his lead tied to a rope harness around her chest. The bandit himself looked miserable, with rope hobbling his legs and around his muzzle, preventing any hope of escape. Behind them were the liberated mares, flanked by Onyx Shard in the rear. Travel was much slower than their quick pace to Ironshod, as the mares were sore and underfed. Once they left the town’s scorched grounds, all the mares immediately bent their heads to graze, tearing the grass in a violent attempt to satiate their hunger.

While they ate, Little Snow gave her captive to Onyx and decided to walk ahead of the group for a bit. She found herself cresting the hill where they first saw the ruins of Ironshod. Gazing back at the smoldering ashes, she felt a deep sense of sorrow for her countrymen, wantonly slaughtered for some political feud they had nothing to do with. “Bastards.” Tearing her gaze from the village, she scanned the road heading south. “Might take all day, the mares might not have eaten for days,” she muttered. She sat down and let her gaze wander over the fields and woods. It felt surreal; the hills and valleys, plains and forests, they all looked so peaceful, so pristine. Yet behind her lay death and destruction; the burnt husk of a once thriving farming village. She sighed.

She pricked her ears. There was a soft murmur, almost a moan, coming from the forest beside her. She frowned. The air is calm. No wind to rustle the leaves. Intrigued and alert, she investigated the sound.

As Little Snow approached the treeline, she could see that there was no wind rustling its branches. As she drew nearer, the murmur-moan sound grew louder and louder. Cautiously, she stepped towards the sound; slowly, lest she give away her position. She looked back to her companions; they were far away and weren’t looking - - no way to contact them without the risk of giving away her position to whatever it was that she heard. She steeled herself and continued to the sound, ready to draw her sword in an instant.
The murmuring sound grew louder. Nearly there. Not sure what to expect, Snow slowly peered through the leaves of a willow tree, the source of the noise. Her eyes widened. “Forest! Forest, get over here!” She called urgently.

There on the forest floor lay a dark red pegasus with a brown mane and tail lying down next to a broken tree limb. Splinters lay all about him. The sound she had heard was his labored breathing, wheezing air in and out of his clearly wounded lungs. Confident there was no threat, Snow knelt by the pony on the ground to see what was wrong. On first analysis, she realized he was seriously injured, and his wounds hadn’t seen attention in a long time. He was armed with boiled leather armor and two hoofblades and wingblades, a warrior.

“Forest, hurry up!” she yelled.

“I’m here! I’m here, what is it?” Forest shouted, bursting though the willow leaves, his sword drawn. A surprised look washed over him as he saw the scene. “Damn. . .”

“Quickly! Find some sticks and make a stretcher for him, he’s unconscious and needs more thorough treatment than what I can provide here. We need to get him to Smallclover now!” she commanded, her voice loud, clear, and full of authority.

Forest nodded and hastily charged off into the woods.

Little Snow turned back to her patient and inspected his wounds, muttering to herself under her breath. “severe lacerations on the abdominal region, left foreleg broken, light burns throughout body, blunt trauma to the head,” she glanced at his mangled wings, giving them a gentle feel with her hoof. “Both wings broken, possibly due to a fall,” she gently lifted him up to inspect his underside, and fought the urge to vomit. “Abdominal lacerations much deeper on ventral side, jagged gash probably from the broken tree branch, massive splinters, entrails slightly exposed and heavily damaged, evidence of infection, reconstructive surgery necessary-”

“This good?” Forest asked. He was pulling a makeshift sled, made of a four-stick frame with rope tied in between. He had tied more rope to the front of it and made a harness, allowing it to be pulled like a wagon.

She looked up from the wounded stallion. “Yes, that’ll do, help me lift him,” she said.

Forest and Snow both carefully lifted the pegasus off the ground and onto the stretcher. They laid him down on the rope, and Forest got to work securing him there, tying knots to keep him in place. “Let’s go,” he said.

Snow nodded, and the two left the woods. Forest was dragging the sled behind him.

Snow waved a hoof at Onyx. “We need to go now!” she called, “No time for eating!”

Onyx gave an incredulous look. He cantered towards them, irritated. “Oh, come on Snow, they haven’t eaten in –” he stopped short when he saw the pegasus. “What.”

“You see? Now go get the mares moving, we don’t have time for delays!” Snow commanded, exasperated. “I’ve no idea how long he’s been out here, and I don’t know how much longer he can hold on!” She glanced back down to the wounded stallion. “We need to move right now.”

Onyx Shard quickly nodded, and galloped down the hill to round up the mares. They reluctantly left their grazing and followed him. Onyx grabbed the bandit hostage and dragged him to his hooves, untying his lead from a tree.

As the mares climbed the hill, one of the older ones caught sight of the pegasus. Forest noticed a spark of recognition in her dull, shell-shocked eyes. Before he could question her about it, she opened her mouth to speak.

“He was there the night of the raid.” Her words sounded hollow, her voice frail, but there was surety in it.

Little Snow’s ears perked at the mare’s words. She spun around, questioning her intensely. “Did you see what happened to him?”

The mare shied away at first, then shook her head. “No, he fought a little, then fled.” She glared bitterly at the pegasus.

Shakily, another mare spoke up. “While I was running for our cellar, I-I saw a mage cast lightning bolts at something outside the town. It might have been him,” she offered, rubbing her foreleg nervously.

Snow’s eyes widened. She whipped her head back. “Forest!” she commanded, “we need to go, NOW.”

“What about the mares?” Forest asked.

“If we don’t get this guy back to the city as soon as possible, he’ll die!” Snow’s eyes were wells of panic, frustration, and anxiety, pleading with him. “I’m amazed he’s still alive, it’s been days since the attack!”

“If we’re taking him ahead you and I both have to go!” Forest countered. “You're too small to pull him fast enough, and I don’t have the medical skill to help him once we get to Smallclover!” Forest snorted. “You gonna risk the mares’ lives by leaving them for this outsider, this pegasus?”

She stomped her hoof. “It’s the right thing to do, he’s dying! And use your head, he might know something! We need to-”

“Hey!” Onyx interrupted. He stepped forward, placing himself between Snow and Forest. “Nopony’s risking anypony’s life here. You two go on ahead, try to save this guy,” he jerked his head at the pegasus, “I’ll stay with the mares. I’ll keep them safe.”

Forest turned on Onyx. “Oh, come on big man, as if you can protect them all if something happens! We barely have enough for a proper escort now, let alone after two of us go on ahead!”

“STOP IT!”

Onyx, Forest, and Snow all turned around. “Quicksilver?” Onyx asked.

The young mare angrily strode forward, radiating waves of hostility and disbelief. “Is this really the argument we’re having? This guy is dying, and has been for days!” She pointed at the unconscious red stallion. “We’re all alive, and currently out of danger, but he loses strength with every minute we waste arguing here!”

Forest interjected, “We just rescued you from bandits, and now you’d send away most of your protection for a stranger?”

Another mare stepped forward. “We aren’t completely helpless. The outlaws got us because we were each isolated in different cellars.” She glanced back to the other mares behind her. “As a group, we’re not so weak.”

Onyx nodded. “They’re right. Also, a couple petty brigands wouldn’t attack a group as big as this without valuables. We have no wagons, mostly no saddlebags, and no incentive for attack.”

Forest huffed. “Fine.” He rummaged around in his saddlebags, and pulled out the bandit’s hoofblade. He tossed it to Quicksilver. “Put this on. Just in case.”

“I’m glad we’ve settled our differences, but we need to go right this minute!” Snow demanded, pushing Forest to get moving. She glanced back at Onyx Shard. “We’ll see you back at Smallclover.” Without another word she and Forest started to gallop down the road, Forest pulling the wounded pegasus behind him.

Onyx turned his attention to Quicksilver, holding the hoofblade. “You know how to put that on? He asked.

“Give it to me, let me redeem myself!” The young bandit wheedled.

Onyx glared at him. “You rape and murder. Shut your fucking mouth or I’ll gag you,” he said.

The bandit continued, desperation entering his voice. “None of these here so much as know how to swing it! Give me-”

The nearest mare punched his jaw. The sound of bone breaking rang out across the valley. The bandit cried in pain, and said no more.

Onyx turned his attention back to Quicksilver. “Here, extend your hoof,” he said. Taking hold of her outstretched forearm, he continued, “drape the leather over your arm like this, and fasten the laces,” he tied the laces firmly. “You’ll need to tie them with your mouth when you do it for yourself.”

Quicksilver pulled her arm back.

Onyx smiled. “Now, stand on your hind legs,” he rose to combat stance, one hoof slightly in front of the other.

She nodded, and pushed off her forelegs. She rose to stand on her hind legs, and though a bit wobbly, she held steady.

Onyx nodded. “Now flick your swordarm hard,” he said as he demonstrated unsheathing his hoofblade. After the three blade sections extended all the way, circular locking mechanisms at each junction snapped shut, holding the sections together to make a three foot long sword. “It’s not as stable as a minotaur, wolven or griffin style single-tang sword, but as long as you try to parry blows away from you, not absorb them with a block, it shouldn’t break on you in a battle.”

Quicksilver jerked her swordarm downwards, sending the blades slithering through the leather sheath and extending to its full length of about two and a half feet past the end of her hoof. While Onyx’s had three shorter blades, she had two longer ones. The locking mechanisms were slightly rusted, but besides that she thought it looked very fine indeed, gleaming in the sun.

“Looks like yours is an older model,” Onyx remarked. “To sheathe it, you have to manually unclasp the locks and fold the blades together, then push them into the scabbard.”

“Like this?” Quicksilver twisted her sword’s lock, swinging the top blade to line up with the bottom. Her sword clicked as she pushed her folded blade into her sheath.

“Exactly. Good job,” Onyx said. He dropped back down to all fours. “Come on, let’s get going.” He looked up at the sky. “I’d say if we leave now, at an easy pace we’ll reach Smallclover by dusk.”

Lord Frozen Lake sat at his seat in the great hall, before the feasting table. The afternoon sun poured in through the western windows, illuminating the room and casting light on his house crest, displayed proudly from the banners adorning his walls: a blue and white quartered shield, with a rook in each white quadrant. Splayed out on the table were various papers, scrolls, and records for taxation, treasury inventory, orders for imports, and the like. His lovely wife Morning Pyre sat beside him, sorting through petitions for bounties, and his son Frost Burn was writing a letter to the elder of Knotwood, a nearby settlement, addressing their complaints that a squadron of Coldheart soldiers apparently never arrived to garrison the town.

“Looks like a fellow by the name of Dusky White murdered a family west of Vale Valley with a few bandits and set up camp there,” she said, shaking her head. “Probably worth about two hundred bits for that bounty.”

Sweet Rain entered through the servant door bearing a flagon of wine. She poured Frozen Lake, Morning Pyre, and Frost Burn each a glass. She carefully set them down on the table, amidst the jumble of official documents and petitions, and carried the flagon of wine back to the cellar.

Frozen Lake nodded. “Sounds good, Pyra.” Grinning, he sidled up to his wife, brandishing a thick stack of paper. “Here, help me with these tax forms. The numbers always get mixed up in my head.”

Morning Pyre smirked. “If your penmanship was a little better, maybe you could write them out on parchment?” she prodded.

Frozen Lake laughed softly, then leaned over to kiss his wife. “I have to sort out the hay harvest. We need to restock the granaries for winter.”

Frost Burn rolled his eyes, dipping his quill in ink..

Morning Pyre scoffed and gently pushed his head away. “That’s your excuse every year,” she complained.

“That’s because it needs to be done every year,” he countered.

As the two playfully argued and bargained over who had to do what government tasks, a soldier burst through the door. “My lord!” he called, snapping his hoof over his heart in a quick salute. “Forest Thorn returns with news!”

Sweet Rain had just closed the door and was starting down the stairs to the wine cellar when she heard the soldier’s dramatic entrance. She heard that the ranger was back, and she knew of his mission. She quietly set the flagon of wine down on the flagstones and tiptoed up to the door, setting her ear against it.

He looked up, slightly irked at the interruption. He sighed. “Send him in.”

Forest Thorn entered through the open double doors. Though sweaty, dirty, and out of breath, the green-eyed stallion quickly strode across the hall. When he reached the dais where Frozen Lake and Morning Pyre sat, he bowed his head.

“My lord,” Forest began, gasping for breath, “My lady, we’ve confirmed that the smoke rising from Ironshod was more than just a fire.” He looked up and took another breath. “The entire village is destroyed.”

Frost Burn set down his letter, a cold wave of shock coursing through him. His father uttered no sound. Morning Pyre inhaled sharply.

Frozen Lake did not hesitate for long. “Give me a full report.” His voice betrayed no emotion. He levitated a scroll and quill in front of him, ready to record what was said.

Forest Thorn nodded. “My lord, we reached Ironshod before dusk, when we saw the smoke had waned but the town was burned to the ground. Only the church was left partially standing. We moved in to investigate, whereupon we encountered, surprised, and slayed a group of seven bandits, one of which we brought back as a captive. We suffered no casualties. Charred corpses littered the ground, and we found evidence that the raiders used stealth in their attack. The majority of the garrison stationed there were crowded around where the door to the guardhouse once was. They were trying to escape when it burned, but their way was blocked.” Forest paused. He cleared his throat, took another breath and said, “We rescued a group of seven mares who were being held hostage by the bandits in the church. Upon questioning, many described the attackers as wearing the Cyandorian royal standard, the white rose on a field of red, led by a tall earth pony clad in black. They must have had mages with them too, the mares heard the sounds of spells exploding all around them.” He paused again, and swallowed. “There were no foals among the dead, and what little track evidence was decipherable suggested kidnapping. We also found a severely wounded pegasus warrior not far from the town on the road back to Smallclover. One of the mares claimed to remember him being in the town at the night of the raid. Little Snow is tending to his wounds now, or she would be here with us. We left the mares under the protection and escort of Onyx Shard, and Little Snow and I ran back to Smallclover with great haste to provide medical aid to the pegasus warrior. Onyx should probably be back just before nightfall.”

Frozen Lake nodded slowly, a grimace on his face. “Is that all?”

Forest shook his head. “My lord, there’s one last detail. The houses were destroyed, but not looted. We found petty treasures scattered around the ruins, just lying there for the taking, but the Cyandorians did not take any plunder for themselves, or if they did, they were very hasty about it. Much of it was in plain sight.”

“Indeed. Thank you for your service,” Frozen Lake said, rolling up his scroll and setting it aside. He got up from his seat. “You’ve served me well. Go now to my steward, Dry Opal; she’ll see to your reward. And remain silent of what you saw, to anyone. Tell the others.”

Forest bowed. “Thank you, my lord.” Forest turned around and left the great hall.

Nopony moved for a few seconds, nopony spoke. “Guardsman, leave us. Speak not a word to anypony.”

The grizzled household soldier gave his lord another salute before responding, “I heard nothing”. He exit the hall and shut the main doors behind him.

“Frost, come here,” Frozen Lake said after a short time.

The knight cantered over to his father, standing beside the feast table. “Yes?” Frost Burn asked.

“Map room.” He commanded, levitating the report he transcribed.

Frozen Lake, Morning Pyre, and Frost Burn went through the side-door in the great hall, and up the spiral staircase.

Sweet Rain listened carefully for the duration of the report. When she heard Frozen Lake tell his family to head to the map room, she waited until the door closed. At the sound of the sturdy oaken door latching shut, she opened the door to the Great Hall and stealthily followed the noble family.

Frozen Lake opened the door, and ushered his wife and son inside. He followed them in, and closed the door behind them. He locked the door. “Look at the map,” he said, walking around the table. “Cyandor is one of the biggest powers in our part of the world, second only to the Crystal Empire. They’re three times our size."

Frost Burn nodded. “Yes, and they’ve always been belligerent. They’re trying to-”

Frozen Lake raised a hoof to silence him. “No Frost, just listen.”

His face fell, but he complied.

Frozen Lake sighed before he continued, “Forest Thorn’s report led me to suspect that Cyandor is actually not to blame.”

Morning Pyre and Frost Burn looked at Frozen Lake with confusion. Frost started, “What do you mean? Eyewitnesses saw the white rose-“

“Yes, the white rose on a red field,” Frozen Lake interrupted, “led by an earth pony dressed in black, leaving behind the loot and taking with them all the foals.” He raised an eyebrow at his son. “What soldiers do you know who would leave the treasure and take the children? Extra mouths to feed? I know none.” He tapped Cyandor on the map table, on the eastern border of the Everfree Kingdom. “Cyandor is even more conservative than we are. The nobles there don’t look on earth ponies as equals, but as inferiors. I’ve never heard of a Cyandorian mage following an earth pony into battle before.”

Morning Pyre frowned. “Then who do you think raided Ironshod?”

Lord Frozen Lake levitated the scroll with Forest’s report onto the map table, and he grabbed another sheet of parchment. He started copying down the document, doctoring the information a little here and there. “I am unsure." He licked his lips as he changed a few details from Forest's record, namely the bit about Cyandor's colors. "Not Cyandor. This just doesn't seem like them. Especially because they didn't take the valuables with them."

Morning Pyre's frown deepened as she connected the dots. "Somepony wants to provoke war.” She looked up at his family. "Somepony's framing them."

Frozen Lake nodded. "Then we must be careful. If we're right, we know something that somepony powerful doesn't want us to. Say nothing to Eager Ice, or to anyone about what you heard here today. Unfriendly ears might be listening.” He folded his parchment and sealed it in an envelope.

Sweet Rain heard it all. Satisfied, she lifted her ear from the map room door and hastily but quietly descended the stairs. She picked up her wine flagon and headed for the cellar.

“Alcohol! NOW!” Little Snow barked, her usually small voice commanding the room. She outstretched her hoof, the other holding the pegasus’ innards in place.

“Alright, here!” Cinnamon Brew said, annoyed. “Calm down!”

Cinnamon Brew was a lad of twelve, Little Snow’s apprentice and assistant. The brown furred blonde maned colt was sorting herbs and reagents on the apothecary table when he heard the sound of nervous talking from outside. The door suddenly burst open and Forest Thorn charged through dragging a crude stretcher, which he promptly dumped. He and Little Snow hoisted a red pegasus on the table, knocking his stacks of leaves, berries and roots on the floor, foiling his efforts. The colt had grown up fast during the owlbear crisis, and had become desensitized to the sight of blood and gore, though he still felt a brief twinge of revulsion at some injuries. He twinged hard when he saw the angle at which the pegasus’ wings were bent.

Little Snow snatched the skin of ale, bit off the cork, and immediately got to work dousing the pegasus’ belly wound in an effort to purge any infection that may have set in. The red pegasus was out cold, oblivious to his surroundings. Finished with her skin, she stood up and tossed away the empty skin. She turned her burning blue eyes to Cinnamon Brew. “Get me a needle and thread!”

Cinnamon nodded quickly before fleeing to the cabinet. He searched around and found a needle already threaded. Grabbing it in his mouth, he galloped back to Little Snow and gingerly gave it to Snow.

Snow bit the needle and got to work sewing the wound shut, Cinnamon holding the wound closed with his forehooves. With the innards taken care of she backed off and gave the pegasus another look. She frowned.

“Who’s he?” Cinnamon tentatively asked. “Will he be okay?”

“Mmmmm,” Snow replied. She spat the needle on the table. “Don’t know who.” She sighed. “Don’t know if he’ll make it either. But if he does, I don’t know if he’ll ever fly again. Just look at those wings!” She exclaimed, throwing her bloodstained hooves at the unconscious red pegasus.

Cinnamon cringed. “Not sure I want to.”

Little Snow shook her head. “Just focus on the present. I'll mix a remedy for these burns, you mop up the blood…”

Frozen Lake, Morning Pyre, and Frost Burn descended the spiral staircase, headed for the great hall. They walked in a cold silence, each of them feeling the gravity of their current situation.

Frost Burn’s mind was racing. All his life he was taught the code of knightly chivalry, taught to protect the weak. He was taught to repay kindness with generosity and loyalty, and to repay bloodshed and treachery with the sword. His first instinct was retribution against Cyandor. But it wasn't Cyandor. Without a solid enemy he could see and fight, he felt . . . helpless. A cold sense of weakness sat in his stomach like a stone, knowing he could do nothing about it. He steeled his uneasy mind, grimacing. Nothing yet, anyway.

They entered the great hall. Frozen Lake sighed, and picked up his quill. "Let's get back to it. Still got a town to run." He cocked his head towards his son. "Not you though, Frost. I need you to go to Captain Fireshield. Tell her to prepare her men for battle, and keep a sharp lookout." His gaze fell to the endless petitions of his citizens. "I want patrol sizes and frequency to increase, and for fresh recruits to be trained up. We must defend our people."

Frost nodded. He turned around and headed for the main doors.

"Oh, and Frost?" Morning Pyre called out to her son.

He stopped.

"Accelerate Ice's training." She paused, her face grim. "The time may soon come we need every knight we can get."

He nodded again, then left the great hall.

With the sun setting in front of them, painting the clouds red, orange and pink, she could almost forget the horrors of the past three days. They had been walking off and on all day, taking many breaks as they tried to regain their former strength. Quicksilver glanced back at their bandit captive. Because of his hobbled hooves he had a hard time keeping up with the rest of them. She saw each of his ankles rubbed raw and bleeding from the cords binding him, the hairless bloody bands above his hooves. She saw his parched lips and his fearful eyes. She heard his ragged breathing. She felt no remorse for him, no pity. She didn't expect to. But she felt no satisfaction either.

"You doin okay?" Onyx asked. Quicksilver was sitting at the foot of a great yew tree watching the rest of the mares graze when her uncle came up to sit beside her.

She took a deep breath and sighed. "I'm a lot better than I was yesterday."

Onyx eased himself down on the grass next to her with a grunt. For a while they just sat there, watching the other mares eat and rest. "We're close now. Smallclover's just beyond those hills," Onyx pointed his hoof west. "We'll get there in about an hour, once we get moving."

Quicksilver looked at her hoofblade. The rusted thing had surely seen better days. The leather was discolored and stained with blood, the jointlocks were rusted, and the blade was dull. "Uncle Onyx, can I ask you a favor?"

He perked his ears. "Anything."

"Teach me to use this. Teach me to fight." Quicksilver raised her swordhoof. "I want to be able to look after myself."

Onyx Shard turned his head to look at his niece, a grim but sad look on his face. "You'd be getting into dangerous territory, donning a blade for real. It's no game."

"I'm already in dangerous territory" she countered. She jerked her head towards the bandit. "He's made sure of that. And I know it's not a game." She sighed again. "I don't want to be at anypony's mercy ever again." She looked down at her sword again. "Never."

Onyx Shard put his leg around her shoulders, bringing her in for a hug. "I can't protect you." He felt her head resting on his chest, his heartbeat reverberating off her body. "But, I can teach you how to defend yourself." His yellow eyes gleamed with the hint of tears. "You're the only family I have left. I don't want to lose you too." He looked down at her. "I will teach you how to fight."

She looked up at him, determination in her eyes. "That way, we can protect each other."