Chapters Forest Thorn strode quietly through the woods. He was a solidly built earth pony, with grey fur and green eyes and mane. His tail was green as well. Around him, the rich forest teemed with life. Mice skittered this way and that, a few hedgehogs crossed his path, and birds sang in the treetops. However, all these things were not the reason Forest was here. He stopped, and examined the large tracks in the muddy ground ahead. It was large, enough space for him to fit all four hooves inside, and had three clawed fingers stretching out front and one smaller one in the back. Forest grinned. After a few days of searching, he found the trail. A far ways off from the provided location. No matter. The trail had been found, and it was only a matter of time before he encountered the creature
He broke into a trot, following the large tracks. His harness rubbed uncomfortably on his body. Today was hot, and his fur was matted with sweat. He wiped his forehead with his foreleg, brushing his mane out of his eyes. He shook his head. He was no stranger to discomfort, he having spent weeks in the wilderness on some missions. His being uncomfortable came with the job.
Forest looked skyward. The sun was halfway between the horizon and the middle of the sky. Must be about four o’ clock. Plenty of time, these tracks are getting fresher. As he took in his surroundings, he noticed that the beast was leaving behind more than just tracks. The trees had long claw marks above Forest’s head, and the plants around the footprints were heavily trampled upon. Forest quickened his pace. Not long now.
Eventually the tracks led to a steep cliff-face. The beast did not look to have veered off its course, and the rocks looked to have new scratches in them. Forest stopped, and looked up. The cliff was about thirty feet high, and had some noticeable cracks, ledges and crannies suitable for hoofholds. He unslung his pack. Rummaging around, he found his grappling hook and rope, and retrieved them. Tying the rope to the eye of the grapple, he swung it round and around, and let it go. The grapple latched onto a thick tree branch atop the cliff. Testing his weight, Forest clung to the rope and dangled a few inches off the ground. Since the rope seemed to hold, he dropped down, donned his backpack, and started up the cliff.
Climbing is not an easy task for a pony. Races with fingers and feet had it easy enough, but hooves are unwieldy while vertically moving. Forest struggled to find purchase. Finding a suitable crag, he jammed his hoof in, and pushed himself up. He grasped the rope higher with his forehooves, and felt around for a second hole to put his hoof. “Three in, one out, three in, one out,” he said aloud, remembering the golden rule for climbing. Repeating the process as he went, Forest slowly scaled the rocky bluff.
Reaching the top, Forest grabbed the branch he threw the grappling hook on, and hoisted himself up. He slung his hind leg over the ledge, and rolled over, completing his climb. He got up, and retrieved his grapple. After coiling the rope and returning it to its place in his pack, he searched around for the trail again. The ground here was firmer and rockier than down below, so it took a few minutes, but he found the trail again. Forest set off in a westward fashion, following his quarry.
As night began to fall, Forest happened upon a large cave. The tracks ended here, so he assumed the cave was the beast’s lair. Not only were the signs clear, but he could sense it. The presence of predators has always made his kind uneasy, and now he felt that a great danger was near. Forest took in a shaky breath, exhaled, and unslung his pack. Forest opened the top, and rummaged around. He took out some smaller lengths of rope, and four squares of thick cloth. He tied these to the bottom of his hooves. Testing his makeshift mufflers, he strode across a nearby rocky surface. The usual *clip* *clop* of hooves on stone were replaced with a much quieter *pff* *pff*. Forest checked his hoofblade. The retractable double-edged blade was attached to the right foreleg’s bracer. Nervous, he unsheathed it with a flick of his hoof, and the blade shot out with an audible *shink*. About two and a half feet long, it was shorter than the swords usable by griffons and minotaurs and the like, but its design was hoof-compatible. He retracted it with another flick of the hoof, took a deep, shaky breath, and plunged into the cave.
The air is slightly cooler here. Forest slowly walked deeper into darkness. He paused, allowing his eyes to adjust. There seemed to be a soft, blue light emanating from further in. Curious, but cautious, Forest hugged the cold, rough stone wall and crept closer. *pff* *pff* *pff* *splonk* Forest froze, and the noise echoed throughout the cavern. After a few seconds of what seemed to him like a deafening chorus of stepping in puddles, the cave grew quiet again. Skirting around the puddle, Forest moved on. The light was getting closer, and he could see more clearly his surroundings. The walls were coated in ancient, grey grime, scored with large claw slashes. Within these marks he could see the blue-grey stone walls.
As he got closer to the light, he could make out what was causing it. The object was a rock roughly the size of a dinner table, and stood about five feet tall. It sat below a hole in the ceiling, with moonlight shining through. It hit the large stone, and was reflected by what looked like millions of tiny diamonds beset upon it.
Forest looked on in awe, mesmerized by the enchanting light. So beautiful. He reached his hoof out to touch it.
It was terribly cold. After a second, Forest could feel it through the mufflers on his hoof. It penetrated his hoof’s keratin and slowly reached up his leg to his knees. Forest shuddered, and pulled away. His forehoof was numb. He shook it, trying to regain some feeling. After vigorously shaking, some semblance of feeling returned, and he moved on.
The room the stone was in had four openings. One was the passageway leading up to the surface, and three others were placed at ninety degree angles from each other. Of all the choices, turning left smelled the worst, so that’s where he went. The light from the cold stone room gradually faded as he progressed down the passageway. Just before the light left completely and plunged him into darkness, his hooves stopped impacting hard rock and instead met what felt like dry bracken. *crunch* *crunch* *crunch* This must be the beast’s nest!
Suddenly, many more eyes opened up, all yellow with reptilian pupils. The screeching grew tenfold in intensity, and Forest flattened his ears and shook his head. This must be a nest of its young! Forest knew this was not good. Here he was, in a dead-end cave, and he just upset a nest of his quarry’s offspring. Since he now knew his target was a protective mother, he grimaced as he thought of the fight ahead.Shit! Shit! Fucking Shit! Forest frantically increased his speed to a sprint. One of his mufflers fell off his hoof. *pff pff clip pff* *pff pff clip pff* *pff pff clip pff*
As he reached the cold rock room, he heard thundering pawsteps coming from the passageway on his left. He immediately turned right, scrambling for purchase as he started sprinting towards the cave entrance.
He burst out of the mouth of the cave, and thinking quickly, turned tail and scrambled up the steep, dirt hill next to the cave, and positioned himself above the entrance. He took some breaths to calm himself, and he shook a little from the adrenalin rush. Still on all fours, he extended his blade and waited for the beast.
Forest did not have to wait long. After about three seconds the creature came barreling out of the cave. Forest’s eyes widened. The creature had the head of a predatory bird and the body of a bear. The white feathers on its head merged with the brown, shaggy fur on the creature’s torso, but even through all that thick hair he saw the muscles ripple underneath its skin. It had a black, curved beak, and yellow reptilian eyes. On each of its four massive paws, three long black claws protruded about half a foot each. Standing about nine feet tall on all fours, it was an owlbear.
Forest uttered a quiet prayer for protection, and sprang up and out, holding his hoofblade pointed down towards the beast. Hearing the scree of rocks from Forest’s leap, the beast turned around, looked up, and sidestepped. Forest raised his weapon as to not blunt it on the hard stone floor, and landed with a clumsy tuck-and-roll. He again rose to a bipedal stance and held his blade in a low ready position, trying to keep his fear hidden.
The owlbear was not deceived. Its angry eyes grew more sedate, and it almost had a look of smugness plastered on its face as it circled Forest. He kept his front facing the owlbear, and while his fight-or-flight response was screaming at him to flee, he steeled himself and held his ground.
The beast casually snapped off a large tree branch with its powerful beak, and hurled it at Forest. He tried to dodge, but the tree limb hit Forest hard regardless, knocking the wind out of him and sending him flying. As he hit the ground, still under the branch, the owlbear lumbered up to him to deliver the final blow. Luckily, Forest’s weapon was still extended, and when the owlbear lunged to bite him, he thrust his blade up in the path of the beast.
It howled in pain as it impaled itself on Forest’s blade, shaking the woods around with its deep voice. Blood welled from a new wound on the beast’s shoulder. Its eyes grew angry, and it lunged again. This time Forest used his raw Earth Pony strength, and delivered a powerful buck to the creature’s chest. Despite its large size, the owlbear was temporarily repelled, and an audible *crack!* could be heard as some ribs were broken.
Forest kicked the branch off, retreated a few steps, and rose again to a bipedal stance. His chest was bruised, and he could see it through his grey fur. He winced, and looked at his adversary. The animal was clawing the ground, leaving deep gashes in the rock. It charged again, its eyes full of rage. Forest waited until the last second, then spun to the side and slashed his hoofblade out. It sliced through the tangled fur into the creature’s flesh, leaving a shallow but painful wound from its shoulder to its haunches. It screamed in pain, and turned about. In its rage, it struggled to find purchase on the smooth rocky ground, its claws scrabbling.
Sensing the opportunity, Forest charged. He leapt, bringing his weapon down in a vicious punching stab. The blade embedded itself in the beast’s side, provoking a snarl of anger. It quickly lashed its paw out, clawing and bludgeoning Forest. Once again he found himself soaring through the air, and he landed with a loud *thud*, blood flowing freely from a trio of claw marks across the soft undersection of his barrel. The owlbear rose to its full height, though it winced from its new puncture wound. Even so, it seemed to grin with cruel intentions as it slowly advanced on the dazed Forest Thorn. He struggled to rise, and he faced the owlbear. It stopped, and then charged with great speed. Forest gritted his teeth, and waited, hoofblade still extended. Just as the beast was about to reach him, he sheathed his weapon and jumped aside, running in the opposite direction. The owlbear collided into a tree, stunning the creature. Forest galloped over to the other side of the clearing, realizing his hoofblade was not large enough to defeat his target. The beast recovered from its daze, and turned angrily to face Forest. It started pawing the ground again, preparing to charge. Forest, beginning to panic, looked this way and that for a suitable weapon. He spotted the tree limb that the owlbear threw at him early in the fight. Where the beast snapped it from the tree it was sharp and jagged. Forest galloped over and placed his hind hoof on the blunt side of the limb. He looked up, and found the owlbear charging again. Its yellow eyes saw only its own imminent triumph, and it licked its beak, anticipating its next meal.
The feral beast closed in. It was about fifteen feet away, still running at top speed. Forest quickly grabbed the front of the branch and lifted, rising to his fighting stance. He held the point facing the charging animal, his face grim. Time seemed to slow down, and he was keenly aware of his surroundings. The wind rustled the leaves around him, the trees swaying in the breeze. The owlbear chicks still squawked from within the cave, and he heard the distant calling of wolves. The mother owlbear ran itself through on his makeshift spear, and the force of impact jolted into Forest, knocking him aside. The beast still continued to run, screaming in a disturbingly high voice, until it crumpled into a heap of limbs and fur and blood on the ground, its dying howls echoing throughout the Everfree Forest. More than half the branch-spear was lodged deep in the owlbear’s chest.
Forest rose from the ground, wincing from his cuts and bruises. He walked over to the owlbear, now pitiful in its dying state. The creature’s pathetic howls, whines and whimpers tugged on Forest’s heartstrings, and he was unable harbor anger for the creature. It looked up at him with pain in its eyes, and whimpered again. It raised a paw weakly at him, but it fell. Its strength was failing. Forest saw it struggle to continue breathing, the long, thick tree branch sticking out of its chest and back. Blood swelled out, and pooled on the ground. It surrounded his forehooves, and soaked the cloth mufflers tied to them. The creature kept coughing up blood in its efforts to stay alive, ironically furthering its own death. Forest extended his hoofblade and climbed up to the beast’s neck. “Suffer no more, and cause no suffering,” he said, slicing its neck open. It looked at him, failing to understand as it gurgled on its own blood. Then its eyes glazed over, and its heart beat no more.
He got up, wiping his weapon on the beast’s fur. The squawks from the owlbear chicks still emanated from the cave entrance. He took off his mufflers, and inspected his wounds. Luckily, the gashes from the beast’s claw attacks were superficial, and would heal quickly, but the bruises hurt more. He pressed down on his chest, and winced. Hopefully, the bone isn’t bruised. Had he been a pegasus or unicorn, he would have surely broken many, if not all, of his ribs. He gave thanks for his race, and then turned his attention to the matter at hoof. What to do with the chicks?
Forest frowned. If they were too young, they would die of starvation if left on their own. If they were old enough to look after themselves, they would grow up to terrorize the countryside as their mother has. If he took them back to be trained as attack animals, their childhood lives would be full of pain and suffering instead of frolicking and happiness. He growled. Owlbears were supposed to inhabit lands far to the north. Why was this one here?
Regardless of where they came from, they couldn’t stay here. That left him few choices. Forest shook his head. He rose on two legs, and again extended his hoofblade. Entering the cave, he saw that the chicks had moved from the nest to the entrance tunnel. They screeched in confusion and fear when they saw not their mother return, but an earth pony. Forest quickly swung his blade, connecting with the front chick’s neck. The creature’s head was severed, and it rolled around on the floor. He brought his blade up in an uppercut formation, stabbing another through its skull. The other three realized what was going on, and tried to run away. They were not fast and were obviously newly hatched. Forest grimaced. He slew another, its dying screech echoing throughout the cave. If he didn’t kill them, they would kill countless ponies and cause much more grief. He slaughtered another, and approached the lone survivor. It ran into a corner, saw no way to go, and turned around. It looked up at him with pleading eyes, whining. Forest’s own eyes softened. “I’m sorry.” He swung the hoofblade in a horizontal slash, cleaving the youngling’s head in two. Blood sprayed on his face. He fell on all fours, turned around, and walked out of the cave. Bodies littered the floor, and blood stained the ground and walls.
Walking over to the mother’s corpse, he decided the head would make good proof of his kill. He hacked at the beast’s neck five times, and the head rolled away. He wiped his messy weapon once again on the creature’s fur, and retracted the blade. He picked up the head, and walked over to his backpack. It got kicked away in the battle, and was underneath a large fern. He emptied it out, wrapped the head in his mufflers, and shoved the package inside. He slung the pack over his back, picked up the grapple and rope, and set out. After repelling down the cliff face, he left the rope dangling and returned to town, ready to collect the bounty.
Smallclover was an average community, populated mostly by earth ponies. A few unicorns were scattered here and there, of course, but its diversity was not as profound as in many of the big cities Forest Thorn had been to. He walked slowly out of the forest, following the road to the town. Forest Thorn crested a grassy hill, his trophy slung over his back, when he saw the village. A high stone keep towered over the settlement, with stone walls surrounding its inner ward. At the gate to the castle, the village started. Wooden walls projected out from the castle’s stone ones, encircling the town. Many small cottages dotted the interior of the walls, as ponies milled about. All around the village, farms stretched out as far as the eye could see. Earth pony farmers labored on their lands, working fervently to grow enough food for the winter season.
Forest Thorn walked on by the gate guards, two armed, mail-clad earth ponies, their lord’s sigil emblazoned on their grey capes: a blue and white quartered shield, with a tower in each white quadrant. Forest nodded to them as he passed. Upon entrance, he was plunged into the hustle and bustle of the town. Ponies were travelling this way and that, trying to sell their goods, buying groceries, heading off to work in the mines or in the fields, or just loitering about, enjoying the beautiful morning.
“Watcha got there, Forest?” A voice shouted. Turning around, Forest saw a black earth pony beckoning him over. Growing impatient, the caller trotted over to Forest, and they met each other halfway. “What’s in the bag?”
Forest, despite his exhaustion, grinned. “This is what you call money . Look,” he said, unslinging his pack. He untied the strings, and pulled out his gruesome token. During the long trek back through the night, the head had the slight beginnings of decay setting in. Most of the feathers had fallen out of the face, due to the bumpy ride through the night, but it was still recognizable as an owlbear head.
The pony had jet black fur, and a red mane and tail. His eyes were yellow, and currently gazing at the severed head in jealousy. A hoofblade and retractable shield adorned his forelegs. He gave out a long, low whistle. “Damn. That’s a pretty penny. Seven-hundred fifty bits, right?”
“I’m sorry, I couldn’t hear you over the sound of me getting rich,” Forest said, laughing. “Ah, shit,” he said, wincing. Laughter isn’t the friendliest of experiences with cracked ribs, and now was no exception. “Onyx, I’ve had a rough night, and a rougher yesterday. Could you carry this? I think I need aid.”
His laughter died as Onyx Shard stuffed the head into Forest’s backpack, and he slung it over his back rather awkwardly. “Forest, how bad are you hurt?” he asked, genuine concern entering his voice. “Something tells me you had a bigger fight than you can handle.”
Forest nodded sagely. “Yeah, that was a tough one,” he said, wincing again. “Ten out of ten, would not do again.”
The pair walked along the dirty streets, dodging busy ponies about their jobs. Onyx shifted uncomfortably as they walked. “Why the backpack? Wouldn’t a saddlebag have worked fine?”
Forest shook his head. “I had to scale a cliff, so yeah, no saddlebags.”
They arrived at the apothecary, a one room cottage bearing a sign adorned with alchemical symbols out front. They entered the building, where Little Snow was busy at her worktable, scribbling with her notes and pouring beakers of substance into vials of other substances, eliciting a sharp hissing sound. Snow was a small earth pony with a white colored coat, soft blue eyes, and a dark red mane and tail, tied back in braided ponytails. When Forest and Onyx opened the door, ringing the bell, she called out, “Just a minute!” She put down the beaker, and slowly set aside the currently active test tube for later. Rising from her stool, she cantered over to the counter. “What can I do for you?”
As soon as the words were out of her mouth, her usual cheery countenance was replaced with cautious worry. “By Solaire, what happened to you?”
“Ah, don’t worry about that. It’s just Forest getting rich,” Onyx said, rolling his eyes.
Forest Thorn glared at him. He turned to Little Snow and said, “While my hunt for the owlbear was successful, I took home more than just the head as a souvenir. I might have cracked a rib or two,” He raised a hoof and touched his chest, wincing again. “Will you take a look at it?”
By the time he finished his question, Little Snow had already dashed around her counter to inspect Forest’s wounds. “You’ve definitely cracked at least three ribs, maybe more, considering the size of your catch.” She inspected the rest of his body, poking and prodding with a hoof. “You seem to have a fracture on your sternum, as well as significant bruising along the chest area,” She looked up at him. “You’re lucky you came back relatively in one piece. This owlbear has been literally ripping everypony apart for a month now. You’re my first patient in such good condition.”
Forest smiled. “Not everypony is as good a fighter as me. That, combined with my quick wits and dashingly handsome looks,” at that, he winked at Snow. She shook her head in mock disgust. “I was able to come out on top. It still hurts like a bitch, though.”
She smiled ruefully. “I’m sure. Now, I might have something for the pain, and something else to speed up the healing process, but the best I can recommend you to do is to get some rest. At least two days, no less.”
Forest and Onyx both groaned. Snow wasn’t having any of it. “I don’t care what your plans were, but now, they involve a lot of dedicated bedrest.” She gathered her full height to look more imposing. It didn’t work. “Do you understand me?”
Forest nodded, forlorn.
“It’s for your own good. We don’t want you breaking more of your ribs now, do we?”
Forest shook his head bleakly.
Onyx hefted Forest’s backpack. “Well, we could stay here and wallow in this pity-party, or we could go to the tavern. I’ll let you decide,” he said, looking at Forest.
Forest’s dejection evaporated in the face of beer and mirth. “Consider it a standing response: yes,” he turned back to Little Snow. “You wanna come? First round’s on me.”
Snow nodded. “Yeah, just gimme a sec,” she said, and with that, she went back behind her counter and rummaged around her shelves. “Aha! Here it is!” she exclaimed. Snow turned back to Forest Thorn. “Drink this potion. It should help with the pain. Oh, and this one too,” she said, reaching for another, much bigger, vial. “This’ll speed up the bones’ healing processes. You need to drink it all.”
Forest sighed, and received the potions. The first one was thin and went down very easily, and it tasted vaguely of copper. The bone-healing draught, on the other hand, was extremely bitter, thick, and unpleasant. He choked on it. “What’s in this?” He asked.
Snow shook her head, grinning. “Family secret.”
Forest managed to choke down the remainder of the disgusting, oozing liquid. “Right,” he said, gasping for air after chugging the vile potion. “To the bar!”
“Whoa, there, hotshot. Turn in the head first!” Little Snow remarked, laughing.
The pain remedy she gave me is really effective… Forest thought, slinging his pack over his back. I can hardly feel it anymore!
The trio walked down the street, and Forest told them both the details surrounding his fight with the owlbear. “So you used a tree branch. To kill an owlbear .” Onyx said, shocked.
“Well, technically I used my hoofblade. I did stab it with the branch, though. I held it like this,” He demonstrated, standing on his hind legs and holding an imaginary spear out like he did the branch. “Like a boar spear.”
He told them about how he used his cloth mufflers to try to sneak up on the owlbear before the battle. Onyx and Snow both shook their heads at his reckless foray into a beasts’ lair. Forest shrugged their concerns off, moving on to the large, freezing rock in the central chamber. “What d’you suppose that was?” Onyx asked.
Forest merely shook his head. “Your guess is as good as mine. Whatever it was, though, it was huge. Easily the size of a wagon."
Little Snow looked thoughtful. “I wonder how it got there?”
The three friends made their way through the village streets, past all the stall vendors, shops, and homes of the villagers. Soon they reached the castle gates. Forest stepped forward to the guards, saying, “Good day, gentlecolts, I’m here to turn in a bounty. The owlbear.”
With words of congratulations and respect, the guardsmen confiscated their weapons and ushered them inside. Past the gates, the inner ward was bustling with activity. The castle smiths pounded out iron and steel into blades, horseshoes, bolts, lance tips, and armor, while the soldiers trotted this way and that, in squadrons. Lookouts were on the wall and keep, watching for any sign of trouble. To one side of the keep, an archery range lay. Three soldiers were practicing with crossbows, and their sergeant was barking orders. The courtyard was unusually busy. The trio trotted up to the keep doors, and were gestured inside by the guard.
The lord of the castle sat at his seat, in the great hall, before a long oak table. It stretched out across the stone room, with space for dozens of guests to eat, drink and be merry. The lord smiled at the return of Forest, and rose from his throne. “So, have you brought me its head?” He asked, gesturing towards Forest and his friends.
The three bowed. “Yes, my lord, its right here.” Forest took out the head, bloody and ugly, and placed it on the table before the lord.
His name was Frozen Lake. He was a light blue unicorn, with a long grey mane, swept back, a grey goatee, and a medium length grey tail as well. His eyes, once a sharp yellow, now were dull with age. He had grey flecks around his muzzle. Lord Frozen Lake walked over to the head, and examined it. He levitated it to get a better view. “Didn’t give much trouble, did it, Forest?” he asked, in a deep, hearty voice.
Still bowing, Forest Thorn responded, “Yes my lord, he was a tough one indeed.” The three rose from their bows. “She was a mother. There were chicks in her lair.”
Frozen Lake looked up from his inspection, a slight frown adorning his face. “You did take care of them too, correct?” he asked, challenging Forest.
Forest responded, “Yes my lord, there aren’t any more owlbears in those woods.” He scuffed the ground a little, unable to look him in the eyes.
Frozen Lake’s face brightened. “Ah, very good,” he said. Smiling, he waved one of his servants, who bowed and quickly went away. “Then you have earned this reward. Seven-hundred and fifty bits for the bold hunter. You deserve it. My servants shall bring it down now,” he said. He turned to face Forest and asked, “Do you want it in coin, or do you want a note?”
Before Forest could answer, Little Snow quickly said, “He’d like a note, my lord. He won’t want to tempt some pony down on his luck with theft.”
Frozen Lake nodded. Forest looked at Snow with silent frustration. The servant returned, carrying on her back a small chest. She had pale yellow fur, and a brown mane and tail, blue eyes, a red bowtie, and a matching red bow in her hair. She placed it at Frozen Lake’s hooves. “Thanks, Rain. Take this head to the physician. The mighty owlbear is a magical beast; he may have use for its parts.”
“Whatever pleases your lordship,” the servant said, curtseying. She bagged the head, hefted it over her back, and trotted to the court physician’s quarters.
Frozen Lake opened the chest, and showed the trio the contents. Forest and Onyx gasped. Inside lay a large mass of gold coins. The yellow metal seemed to glow, and cast a soft light on their faces. Onyx whispered to Forest, “Best friend taxes. I get half.”
Forest snorted.
“Come, walk with me.” Forest, Onyx, and Snow followed Frozen Lake. He said, “Few of my subjects have proven themselves more useful than you, Forest, and your friends. I can hardly count how many times you three have served me. I should like to meet you sometime in the near future. I may have some more work to offer you.
Little Snow asked, “What kind of work?”
The group walked up a spiral staircase and into a bare room. The stone walls here were unadorned, save for unlit torch sconces, and arrow slits in the far wall provided light and air to the room. On the plain wooden floor was a great oak table, simple in design, and upon it lay a map. This map detailed the borders and features of the Everfree Kingdom and the surrounding nations. They were alone in the room.
Frozen Lake walked to the opposite side of the table, stood on his hind legs, braced his forelegs on the table and looked at the map. “Close the door, Onyx Shard.”
Onyx closed the door behind them.
“I would have you be my agents,” he said. He looked up at Forest, Onyx, and Snow. “What I’m about to tell you can’t leave this room. If word reaches me of these matters circulating in the streets, I’ll have each of you executed.”
Forest, Onyx, and Snow all stood a little straighter. Onyx said, “Yes, my lord. We won’t tell a soul.”
Frozen Lake nodded. “You’d better not,” he said. He looked back down to the map, and pointed at it. He said, “We’ve been at peace for quite some time, and this is good news. However, tensions have started rising. Some chalk it up to the international cycle of power and competition, as many lords and kings have fought pettily in the past; however, I am not convinced this is entirely natural. I think somepony’s pulling strings he or she shouldn’t be.”
Forest and Onyx looked at each other uneasily.
He continued, “Nations are forming alliances, and hostilities are emerging. Should war break out, I fear for the safety of not only the Everfree Kingdom, but also all other nations. Conflict of an unprecedented scale is eminent, and I fear that diplomacy will ultimately fail. Certainly, we must be prepared, and I have few soldiers to spare for domestic missions and investigations.” He paced around the room, thinking. “I need ponies I can trust to deal with potential threats to the common folk of not only Smallclover, but the whole realm,” he said, looking at them. “That will be your duty, should you accept this position.”
Sweet Rain left the great hall, still carrying the owlbear head, and trotted across the courtyard. As always, some of the guards’ gaze followed her movements. She smiled, and swished her tail to and fro, teasing the soldiers. The sergeant caught his subordinate with wandering eyes and barked an order, and Rain’s admirer immediately dropped and started doing push-ups, an angry drill sergeant yelling insults at him. Rain’s smile widened, as she opened the door to the medical building.
“Amber Leaf! I’ve brought you the beast’s head!” She called, looking around the room. The building was two stories, but with only one level on the interior. Windows higher up let natural light cascade down and illuminate the room, filled with complicated alchemical equipment, including beakers, flasks, smoke catchers, and various glass instruments. Vials of different color powders, liquids, gases, and more gruesome reagents in jars lined the shelves and tables, and a green unicorn with a blue mane and tail, a red vest, a hairless burn scar on his rump, and glasses worked diligently at one of the workstations.
“Ah, my dear, just set it down wherever you find room. But don’t touch anything!” Amber called, concern entering his voice. He didn’t look up from his experiment.
Sweet Rain placed the head on the nearest table. “You want anything else, Amber?” she called.
“Yes, actually,” Amber said. A cloud of red smoke exploded upwards from his experiment. Coughing, he turned around and asked, “Who brought the head?” He would otherwise be handsome, except for the burn scar that spread across the right side of his face, leaving one of his orange eyes cloudy and sightless, and his right ear disfigured.
Rain smiled. “The ranger, Forest Thorn hunted it down, and turned in the bounty. Onyx Shard and your daughter were with him.”
Amber Leaf walked over to the owlbear head, levitating a jar, and immediately removed the beast’s eyes. He placed them in the jar, inserted a syringe into the owlbear’s eye sockets, and began extracting brain fluid. While he was doing this, he shook his head, smiling. “Those two always find trouble. I’m glad my Little Snow is looking after them this time.”
As Little Snow, Forest Thorn, and Onyx Shard left the castle keep, they were returned their weapons. Forest fastened his hoofblade to his right foreleg, and Onyx did as well. Each of them bore a shiny new badge, a blue and white quartered shield with a tower in each white quadrant, pinned to their new grey cloaks. As the trio left the courtyard, where soldiers were training (one was still doing push-ups), Onyx said, “Let’s go to the bank. Drinks are on Forest tonight.”
“You’re right on that one. Except yours,” Forest teased.
Onyx scoffed back, “How romantic.”
Laughing, the three friends traversed the busy streets of Smallclover and headed to the bank. It was one of the only buildings in the outer ward made of stone. The bank was three stories high and had a slate roof. Glass windows reinforced with iron bars were set in the walls, and a large double oak door was awaiting them. An imposing soldier stood guard outside it.
“Good evening, Stone Hoof,” Little Snow said.
“Good evening, little lass,” the guard replied, tipping his helmet. They could see the muscles rippling under his grey fur, where the mail wasn’t covering. He was armed with a hoofblade and spear. “I’m going to have to ask for your weapons, now.”
Forest and Onyx shed their hoofblades and gave them up. Stone Hoof put them in a box beside him, and gestured for them to enter. He opened the door for them.
Inside the bank, there was a large lobby with benches lining the walls, which stood bare. Their hooves clipped on the stone floors. On the far side of the room was a large chest high mahogany counter, stretching from wall to wall. Above this counter were sets of iron bars, a preventative measure against robbers. Three bankers were on duty, and two were in use. The open banker waved them over.
He was of a light tan color fur, with a green mane and tail, both cut short. He had a grey vest on, and a grey tie to match. His brown eyes shone in the torchlight. “Hello, my friends, how may I help you today?” he asked.
Little Snow responded, “My friend here turned in the owlbear bounty, and has a note from Lord Frozen Lake. He’d like to make a deposit, and a withdrawal.”
Forest Thorn walked up to the counter, and handed in the note. The banker took it and read it over thoroughly, inspecting the handwriting and the signature. After a while, he looked up, smiling, and said, “The note’s good. I’ll add seven-hundred and fifty bits to your account, mister . . . ?”
“Forest Thorn,” Forest said.
“Forest Thorn,” the banker repeated, as he pulled out a parchment from a file and a pencil. Grabbing it in his mouth, he wrote down the figures, and put it down. “How much will you withdraw?”
“Forty. We’re hitting the tavern today,” he said, grinning. Onyx grinned as well.
The banker made the necessary adjustments, and said, “One moment, please.” He turned around and cantered off to the back room. After a short time, he returned with a bag grasped in his mouth. He put it down next to the item slot and pushed it through. “I took the liberty of giving it to you in bits and halfbits, for ease of purchase,” he said.
“Thank you,” Forest said. He grabbed the money, counted it, and the three of them left.
“I’ll drink you under the table,” Onyx told Forest.
Little Snow rolled her eyes.
“Make way! Make way for the noble Lord Sleek Stride!” A voice cried out. Forest, Onyx, and Snow exited the bank, rearmed, and saw the main road was clogged with ponies. “Make way for Lord Sleek Stride, Earl of Lune!” the voice cried again.
“What’s going on?” Forest asked.
Little Snow glanced at Forest. “Oh, I forgot, you wouldn’t know, you’ve been in the forest for almost a week now. Lord Frozen Lake is calling a feast today. He must be the first guest,” she said.
“Feh. I hate the hoity-toity ‘genteel’ characters,” Onyx scorned. “Of course, Lord Frozen Lake and his sons aren’t a bad sort, I’ve had good times and good drinks with Frost Burn, but on the whole, nobles are all fancy talk and condescending and no honor or quality,” Onyx spat on the ground.
“Shhh! Not so loud, you idiot!” Little Snow hissed. “You’re not wrong, but that kind of talk will get you killed!”
Forest Thorn smacked Onyx upside the head. “Anyway, let’s see who this ‘Sleek Stride’ is first. He might be one of the good ones,” he said. The three of them peered over the heads of the crowd. Little Snow had to stand on her hind legs to see.
Lord Sleek Stride was a grim unicorn of a smaller build, and had a dark red fur coat and a black mane and tail. His mane was pulled back with a lock of hair falling down the side of his face. He had a scar going down his right eye, which was all white, and his good eye was grey. He had a stern look about him, and seemed to ignore the townsfolk he and his entourage passed, trotting on with a singular determination.
“Well, that’s enough of that,” Forest said. “I’m not sure where he falls on the scale.”
“I don’t know either. I still say let’s keep away from him, just to be safe,” Onyx said.
Little Snow and Forest Thorn nodded their consent. “Sounds good to me,” Little Snow said.
Onyx Shard grinned. “Anyway, let’s hurry up, we’re supposed to be celebrating Forest’s grand victory over the beast!”
Forest smiled. “Let’s get going then,” he said.
Chapter 3 - Swords in the Ring
“Come on, you can do better than that!” Frost Burn scoffed, a look of mock disdain smeared across his face. “You need to focus more.”
Eager Ice relaxed his spell, panting, and said, “What?! I did it just how you told me to!”
“No, you didn’t. Watch,” Frost Burn retorted, exasperated.
The two unicorns stood in the training yard in the inner ward of Smallclover’s castle. There were no guards present, as the brothers were practicing volatile combat magic that could easily go awry. Frost Burn was blue with a white mane and tail, with dark blue streaks running through them, and had yellow eyes. His younger brother, Eager Ice, had an aqua coat, a dark blue mane and tail, and yellow eyes not unlike Frost Burn’s. They faced each other across the combat ring, both unarmed.
Frost Burn, standing on his hind legs in standard battle stance, one hind leg positioned just in front of the other, cast the spell. His horn glowed yellow, and illuminated the predawn twilight. A long triangular blade materialized on his right foreleg, the base attached to the end of his hoof. “See? It should appear to be a crisp and clear-cut blade, easily distinguished as a spirit sword. Yours was . . . blurry, to say the least.”
“What are you talking about? It was shaped exactly like a triangle,” Eager Ice said. “Sort of.”
Frost Burn pointed his sword at Eager Ice. “Aha! There’s your problem. It was only ‘sort of’ shaped correctly. If you focused entirely on your spell while you’re casting it, you don’t need to use nearly as much energy. When it’s easier to fuel, it’s easier to maintain.” Frost Burn smiled mischievously. “So, where’s your focus at, hmm? Not still wondering about a certain servant of ours, are you?”
Face turning red, Eager Ice couldn’t formulate a witty retort. He sighed. “Yes.”
Frost Burn laughed. “Well, save those thoughts for later. Now is practice time,” he said. A thick wooden pole stood upright in the middle of the fighting ring. Still standing upright, Frost Burn walked across the sandy ground, approaching his target. “This is why you need to learn,” he said, slashing the post. His glowing yellow blade cut deep scores in the wood, much thicker than a steel sword would do. “If I can do this against stout oak wood, imagine what it can do against flesh and bone.” He dispelled the sword.
Eager Ice nodded. “Here, let me try again,” he said. He closed his eyes, and focused the magic around him into his horn, clearing his head of needless distractions. Envisioning a sharp, contoured triangular blade, he let his magic go. Opening his eyes, he found a spirit sword protruded from his right foreleg. He smiled. “Got it.”
Frost Burn grinned. “Aye, you did it. A bit wobbly, but you did. Now, come at me.”
Eager Ice looked up in confusion. “Come at you? With this? Shouldn’t we practice with tourney swords first?”
Frost Burn shook his head. “No, just lower the energy flow on your blade, so it’s nonlethal. About one quarter. Then, we-“
Before he could finish, Eager Ice flew at Frost Burn, and thrust his blade up to his brother. Frost Burn quickly sidestepped, and summoned his own blade. “You sneaky bastard!”
Eager Ice turned around, his competitive nature glinting in his eyes. “I almost had you there,” he taunted. He raised his arcane weapon. The yellow glow was dim, but was still bright enough to light up the darkness. “Let’s go!”
“You’re on!”
Frost Burn sprinted at Eager Ice, sword raised. Their swords clashed, again and again, sending sparks flying every which way. With each sword strike, and subsequent parry, short bouts of intense light greatly illuminated the predawn darkness. Frost Burn thrust, and Eager Ice spun out of the way, going to elbow Frost’s stomach. He succeeded, knocking the knight square on his back. Eager Ice quickly pointed his blade at Frost’s neck. “Yield,” he commanded.
Without hesitation, Frost Burn swept his hind legs in a kick that tripped his younger opponent. He got up, and assumed a ready stance once again. Eager Ice scrambled to get up, and raised his sword just in time to deflect Frost Burn’s savage overhoof swing. With such force, the low-powered swords crackled and sparked, temporarily blinding a surprised Eager Ice.
Immediately, Frost Burn ducked under Eager Ice’s blind slash, and plunged his sword up into Eager Ice’s chest. The blade passed through his torso, and stuck out his back. The force of the blow lifted him into the air. Frost slid him off his blade, and dispelled it. “You alright?” He stepped back, half-anticipating a counterattack.
Where a gaping stab wound should have been bleeding, there was nothing but a bruise. Eager Ice looked up from the ground, a pained expression on his face. “I’m fine,” he groaned, “Help me up, will you?”
Frost Burn extended a hoof, and Eager Ice hooked his own hoof on it. Frost pulled him up. “Come on. The sun’s rising,” He said, cocking an eye towards the dawn. “Father’s feast and tournament are soon. Let’s get some rest before it begins.”
The brothers hoof bumped, and left the fighting ring.
“Where have you lollygaggers been? The tournament’s in two hours!” Tough Nails shouted, sitting on a stool and banging his hammer against a helmet. The castle smith, Tough Nails was a dark brown earth pony with a black mane, beard and tail. “Ye need to get prepared!”
Frost Burn nodded his head. “Nails, you know I would never miss father’s tournament. I was just training my faithful squire,” he said, patting his younger brother’s head. “Oh, that reminds me, isn’t one of the duties of squire to take care of his masters’ arms and armor, and help him don said armor?”
“Right away, Frost- er, I mean, sir,” Eager Ice stammered. He hurried off into the armory.
Tough Nails looked up at Frost Burn. “Ye know, ye shouldn’t give yer brother too much of a hard time. He is you’re squire, aye, and he must treat you as his master for the time being,” he said in a gravelly voice. “But if ye abuse him too much, he might come to resent ye.”
“Aw, come on, what’s the point of being an older brother if not to give younger siblings grief?” Frost wheedled, looking innocently at Tough Nails.
Tough Nails banged on his helmet some more. “Nothing, I reckon. I’m just sayin’ don’t overdo it.”
Eager Ice returned, bearing his brother’s armor and swords. “Sorry it took so long, sir.” He began to fumble with Frost’s helmet straps.
Frost Burn shook his head, “No, Ice, you start from the legs up. Get me my bracers and boots first.”
Eager Ice mumbled an embarrassed apology, and reached for Frost’s boots. Made of supple brown leather and more like sleeves than boots, they reached his shoulders and hips, and provided protection from armor chafing, an otherwise common occurrence from leg armor. They went on first. Frost Burn lifted each leg to allow Eager Ice to put them on. Over the boots, which went up to Frost’s knees, went the lower bracers. These steel plates protected all four of Frost’s shins from attacks. Eager Ice strapped them on easily. Unsure on what to do next, Eager Ice looked to Frost Burn for guidance.
“Now the upper bracers. They look like the ones you just put on, only smaller,” Frost said patiently.
Eager Ice got them and put them on Frost. With Frost’s legs all armored up, he grabbed the breastplate.
“Not yet, Ice. First the main barding.”
Eager Ice sheepishly put down the breastplate, and picked up the barding. He threw the coat or armor, made of bands of steel and mail sewn into a cloak of leather roughly the shape of a saddle blanket, over Frost, protecting him from attacks to his rear, back, and sides. He tightened the auxiliary girths to prevent the main barding from sliding, and fastened the shoulder straps and the main girth to ensure it wouldn’t fall off when he entered the bipedal combat stance.
Eager Ice picked up the breastplate. Frost Burn, and Frozen Lake before him, never cared much for ornate finery, so it was a plain piece of armor. It had no designs, no carvings, and no enamel. It was just grey steel. Eager Ice moved it into place, so that the back portion went over the main barding, and started tying the leather straps tight. Wherever the breastplate was too loose, he tied the straps tighter. After the breastplate was done, Ice placed Frost’s gorget around his neck, protecting it from frontal assault. Next Ice grabbed Frost’s collar. The piece of metal snapped shut around his neck, further protecting it from side and rear attack.
“Now you can do the helmet,” Frost said.
Eager Ice placed the helmet on Frost Burn’s head, tightening the bridle to keep the helm secure. He threaded Frost Burn’s horn through the small hole in the forehead area of the helmet, making sure it wouldn’t rub on it uncomfortably. He struck the back of Frost’s head with a hoof. “All done, Frost.” The entire procedure took a little less than an hour.
Frost looked pointedly at Ice, who nodded sheepishly and quickly picked up his swords.
Frost grinned. “I’m a knight now, remember? A lordling no longer.”
“Bah. You’ll be a lordling till the day ye die.” Nails said.
Eager Ice quickly went to work attaching the hoofblades to Frost’s forelegs.
After his swords were strapped on, he said, “Now, little brother, the tournament begins soon. Watch the fights, you’ll learn something.”
Frozen Lake stood at the nobles’ box, elevated from the stands. He looked down on the arena before him; the melee ring, the jousting rail, and a larger ring where the team fights would be held. Running about outside the marked off arena, squires were making last-minute preparations for their masters’ armor and weapons. Knights were casually talking to one another, getting armed by their squires, or just loitering about, waiting for the games to begin. Along the sides of the square fighting arena, droves of townsponies, farmers, and travelers sat in the stands and on the dry grass, waiting excitedly for the tournament to start. After letting his gaze drift from knight to knight, analyzing the contestants, Frozen Lake glanced back to his fellow box-seat holders. King Stoic Gaze, an ageing pony, looked weak and frail. He was the head of house Summerhearth. His once brilliant scarlet coat had faded to dull maroon, and streaks of grey dotted his body. His muzzle was completely white, and his mane and tail were too, but his green eyes haven’t lost their spark. He wore a hoofblade, but that was just a formality; the ornate sword strapped to his foreleg likely hadn’t seen use in forty or more years. To his side sat his granddaughter and heir, Princess Gold Star. She had a lovely golden coat, gleaming red eyes, a dirty blonde mane and tail, soft features, and all around looked stunning. If I had been twenty years younger. . . Frozen thought. He grimaced. Maybe thirty years. He quickly banished those unfaithful thoughts as soon as he saw his lady wife. Morning Pyre, now getting on in her age, was about fourteen years younger than himself. He remembered the marriage, arranged, of course, essentially the contract that kept his house and hers at peace. House Coldheart and house Firelight ended their dispute, more or less, that day, when their houses joined, enabling a lasting peace throughout the realm. Luckily, the marriage worked out for the best for them; they developed a strong love that most arranged marriages lacked.
Of the other box-seat holders, there were representatives from house Redwood, house Dusthelm, house Ironeye, house Blackbrook, house Firelight, house Hardfoot, and house Heavystride. Lords and ladies, either too old or otherwise not inclined to violence, populated the box, although there were more ladies than lords. The less important houses occupied the stands closest to the box, distancing themselves from the more raucous commoners.
“You’ve drawn quite a crowd,” King Stoic Gaze said, voice sounding dusty with age. “The tournament holds many mighty contestants. One of your sons is competing, is he not?”
“Yes, your grace. Frost Burn, my eldest. He will be showing his valor and his house’s this day.” Frozen Lake said in a respectful tone.
Stoic Gaze waved his hoof dismissively. “You don’t have to be so formal with me, Frozen. Leave the pettiness to the petty nobles. You and I are above them.”
Frozen Lake bowed. “I thank your grace,” he said. “Shall we begin?”
Entering a fit of wracking coughs, Stoic Gaze nodded his head, waving for Frozen to continue.
Frozen Lake nodded, and turned back to face the crowd. “Men and mares of Smallclover, of the Everfree Kingdom, it is my great pleasure to commence the start of this tournament,” he said in a loud, commanding voice. The mass of common folk below him quieted down, letting their lord speak. “This test of the strength of arms of our realms’ mighty knights is in part being held for your enjoyment. Over the next two days, the tournament will hold the team fights and the jousts. In addition to a two-thousand bit reward to the champion of the melee duels today, free bread will be distributed to you good people throughout the entirety of the tournament!”
At this, the crowd of ponies got so rowdy that it threatened to degenerate into a mob. Coldheart soldiers kept them from storming the field right then and there, such was their excitement.
Stoic Gaze raised an eyebrow. “Your commons love you well, I see,” he rasped. Gold Star nodded in agreement.
“Let the tournament begin!” Frozen Lake shouted, raising a hoof and unsheathing his sword. The already excited crowd cheered again, and bread-bearers began distributing food courtesy of Lord Frozen Lake. He sheathed his hoofblade, and sat down beside the king and his lady wife, Morning Pyre. “From my time with the Drycons of the Roaman Empire, I learned a method on how to stay in the commons’ good graces. Occasional free food breeds loyalty in the people,” he said, smiling.
An earth pony herald announced the first melee duel. He was very loud and proud of his work, absolutely shouting at the crowd. “My good ponies! First to fight is Lord Broken Stone of house Redwood, the head of his proud and noble house, and Sir Lyric Awe of house Blackbrook, the heir to his!” As the herald spoke his words, two knights entered the arena via ducking under the rope fence. Lord Broken Stone was a tall unicorn, clad from head to hoof in full steel plate, and his armor was enameled red and etched with golden runes and ornate designs. Gleaming in the midmorning sun, he calmly made for the melee ring. Lyric Awe was something else entirely. Laughing as he went, he galloped around the outskirts of the arena, among the commoners. He riled them up, and got him cheering his name. He was smaller and slimmer than his competition, and his armor was less extensive as Broken Stone’s. It was lighter, and less intricate. “When I win, I’ll share the prize with all you fine folk!” He shouted. This got the crowd even more rowdy, and they threatened to boil over the stressed guards and spill out onto the arena. He turned to face his opponent, and cantered over to meet him. “Good luck, friend!” he said. Broken Stone said nothing in return.
“My lords!” the herald shouted once more. “This is a duel for spirit swords only; no other magic and no live steel. Tone the energy for the blades down to one third capacity, and the winner is declared when his foe falls in battle, or yields. Are you ready?!” he yelled.
“I am!” Lyric Awe shouted back. Broken Stone only nodded.
The herald looked hard at both of the knights. He then looked at the crowd. “Then let the duel begin!”
Immediately, Lyric Awe was on the offensive. Rising to fighting stance, he summoned his sword and released his shield, which rotated outwards to full position with a loud, rachety sound. With a yell that sounded almost like a laugh, he leapt at Broken Stone. The red armored lord cast his own sword and activated his shield, rose, and the two swords clashed over Broken’s head. A red and green blade crackled with excess energy, sending off rays of white light in all directions. Lyric Awe immediately disengaged, and began to circle around his opponent. He made a quick thrust, but Broken Stone was quicker. With a loud, deep yell, he shield bashed the blade and his enemy away from him, and sent Lyric Awe stumbling to the ground. Broken Stone jumped towards his foe to execute a falling stab, but Lyric Awe rolled out of the way just as the blade plunged into the dirt.
Lyric Awe scrambled to his hooves, only to be met with Broken Stone’s vicious backhoof strike, spraying dirt with his swing. He raised his shield just in time, and the low powered sword deflected off with a sound akin to steel screeching along steel. Lyric was laughing no more.
Wordless, Broken Stone attacked again. He swung his sword in long arcs, using his superior reach to drive Lyric Awe back. He pressed his adversary up against the fence before Lyric charged in. He took Broken by surprise, and knocked him down with a shield bash strengthened from his full body’s force. Lying prone, Broken tripped Lyric, who collapsed to the ground, and he rolled himself over and rose a crouching position. Lyric Awe tried to squirm out of the way, but it was too late. Lord Broken Stone plunged his spirit sword deep into Lyric’s chest. The audience erupted in disappointed wails and boos.
On the sidelines, Frost Burn remarked to Eager Ice, “You see that move? It’s the one I used on you this morning, less the fast counterattack. If Lyric Awe was paying attention, he could have sidestepped or jumped back, or even jumped forward to do a falling stab. That’s how you counter it”
Eager Ice nodded.
In the melee ring, Broken Stone rose from his kneeling stance, bringing his sword to bear. He looked around challengingly, and the crowds quieted a little. Lyric Awe lay on the ground, unconscious, and his sword winked out.
“We have a winner! Lord Broken Stone of house Redwood, Earl of Dorhart, stands victorious over Sir Lyric Awe of House Blackbrook!”
Up in the nobles’ box, Frozen Lake nodded. He figured Broken Stone would win, as he had fought many battles with him in years past, and he knew the lord’s skill. The king shook his head slowly. “Fool. Save your boasting for after the battle!” he rasped, scowling at Lyric Awe as he was dragged off the field.
The herald’s loud voice rang out once more. “Next up, we have Sir Night Strings and Sir River Ward, two hedge knights seeking fame and fortune in the Coldheart tournament!” The two unicorns, about of equal size, wore simple armor, devoid of decorations, carvings, runes, or enamel. They entered the melee ring. The herald looked hard at each of the contestants. “Sir Night Strings, are you ready?”
“I am!” the young knight said.
“Sir River Ward, are you ready?”
“Yes,” he said.
“The rules are the same as before; spirit swords are permitted, no live steel and no other magics.” The two knights nodded. The herald nodded too. “Alright then. Let the match begin!”
The tournament had been going on for some time now. Knights entered the arena in twos, and either left walking or were dragged out by their squires and retainers. Currently, Lord Blue Mist of house Dusthelm fought a traveling earth pony hedge knight, Sir Sea Rock. Since he couldn’t conjure a spirit sword, Sea Rock used a blunted tourney hoofblade. Many paid especially close attention to the duel, as earth pony knights were a rare sight in the Everfree Kingdom.
Blue Mist seemed to have an advantage, as his spirit sword was longer than Sea Rock’s tourney sword. Their swords clashed again and again, overhoof, backhoof, sidehoof and thrusts, lacking the signature sparks of light that spirit swords made when fighting. Despite the longer reach, Lord Blue Mist seemed to be having a tough time of it. Sea Rock swung at him hard, again and again, driving his enemy in circles, all the while deflecting Blue Mist’s strikes with his shield or hoofblade. He landed a few swings, and at each one, Blue Mist grunted in pain.
Sea Rock made an overhoof swing, only to feint as Blue Mist moved to parry, swinging his sword down in a heavy slash to Blue Mist’s lightly armored midsection. Blue Mist gasped, and fell to his haunches. A little blood seeped out from under his armor. With a savage battle cry, Sea Rock quickly sheathed his hoofblade and punched Blue Mist’s face with all his brute earth pony strength. His helmet’s cheek guard dented, his head whipped back, a tooth flew, and blood flowed freely out from his mouth. He slumped to the ground, defeated and unconscious. His spirit sword disintegrated into nothingness.
“That’s my man!” one of the spectators called out, and the thundering applause was louder than ever before. Most of the viewers were earth ponies themselves, thus feeling more attached to Sir Sea Rock than the other nobles. In the nobility box, Frozen Lake brought a hoof up to his chin and nodded thoughtfully, as the king sat beside him utterly surprised. Lady Gold Star joined in the applause, and cheered loudly. The rest of the lords and ladies in the box sat uneasily, and were clearly unhappy that an earth pony bested a unicorn knight in a tournament. One of the pages came to refill Frozen’s wine.
“Page, wait a moment,” Frozen Lake said as the servant started to leave.
Puzzled, the colt stopped, and returned to face Frozen. “Yes, my lord?” he asked.
He gestured towards Sea Rock, standing over Blue Mist’s unresponsive body. “I want you to go tell that knight that I want to see him after the tournament’s over.”
The page nodded. “Yes, my lord. I’ll make sure he comes to see you,” he said, before trotting off to refill some other noble’s wineglass.
The king raised an eyebrow at Frozen Lake. “You know, you can’t trust those earth ponies,” he said, coughing. “They’ll stab you in the back for two bits.”
Frozen Lake scowled. “I’ll be careful, your grace,” he said through gritted teeth.
Morning Pyre saw her husband’s distress, and gently touched a hoof to his foreleg. She looked at him with her soft, knowing brown eyes, and gave the slightest shake of her head. It’s not worth it.
Frozen Lake forced a neutral expression, and pointed to the new contestants walking out onto the field. “There’s my son, your grace. Let’s see how he does.”
King Stoic Gaze chuckled. “Old friend, if he’s anything like you, I think it’s safe to say he’ll be the victor.”
Before stepping out onto the field, Frost Burn was stopped by Sir Swift Spark. “Hey, Frost!” he said, “Be careful. From what I’ve heard, your opponent is quite the fighter.” Frost turned to face the knight. Clad in black enameled armor with yellow highlights, Swift Spark’s helm showed his face, covered in black fur, and yellow eyes peered out at him. His mane and tail were long and grey, with yellow streaks. He looked quite the spectacle, despite the fact he wasn’t next in line to be head of his house, house Freeroot. He was one of Lord Frozen Lake’s bannermen. “He’s a dangerous one.”
Frost rolled his eyes. “Spark, I’m dangerous. You’re dangerous. All of us here are dangerous. That’s what knights are supposed to be. I’m sure I’ll be fine,” he said, gesturing to Lord Blue Mist, being dragged out by his squire. “Look at him. At the worst, I’ll just be knocked out.”
Spark shrugged. “Good luck, then.”
Frost Burn thanked him, then ducked under the ropes to enter the arena. He made for the melee ring as the herald announced the competition as loudly as he could.
The herald bellowed, “By fellow citizens of the Everfree Kingdom, I give you Sir Frost Burn of house Coldheart against Lord Sleek Stride, head of house Ironeye and Earl of Lune!”
Sleek Stride approached the melee ring, and Frost Burn could get a better look at him. Under his steel plate armor, the smaller unicorn had dark red fur, and one good grey eye. The other was cloudy-white and sightless, and had a scar running through it. His black mane and tail were of medium length, and flowed freely out from his armor. He nodded to his opponent, Frost Burn. “Well met, son of Frozen Lake,” he said, flashing him a brief smile.
“And greetings to you too, lord Sleek Stride,” Frost Burn replied respectfully.
The two knights entered the melee ring. The herald approached them, and instructed them on the rules of the match. Maximum one-third powered spirit swords only, no other magics and no live steel. “Do you understand?” the herald asked, giving each of them a serious look.
“Clear as day,” Sleek Stride replied.
“I do,” Frost Burn said.
The herald looked back and forth between Sleek Stride and Frost Burn. After a few seconds of this, with tensions rising in the stands, the herald spun about in a flourish, shouting “Let the match begin!” as loud as he could.
No sooner than he said this, Frost Burn kicked off the ground hard, rising to standard bipedal stance. In an instant, he summoned his two yellow spirit swords, one on each hoof. Once he did this, he was forced to cross them above his head to block Sleek Stride’s first assault. The grey spirit sword crackled and sparked on Frost Burn’s own pair of blades, and short bursts of brilliant light shone on the crowd. Sleek Stride kept his offense up, and swung in varying patterns.
Overhoof swing, right slash, overhoof swing, right fast cut, left sidesweep, center thrust, uppercut, lower right sidesweep, Sleek attacked again and again, with such speed as to not give Frost Burn an opening. Sweat dripped down Frost’s blue muzzle, and stung in his eyes. He blinked quickly to clear them, and focused on Sleek’s attacks as he parried them. He seems to favor his left side more, I’ll start with that.
After parrying another overhoof swing from Sleek Stride, Frost Burn countered with his left spirit sword, attacking Sleek Stride’s right side. Sleek fumbled a little trying to parry it, and inside his helmet Frost Burn grinned. I’ve got you now. He swung again and again, forcing Sleek Stride back. He struggled to keep up with blocking attacks to his right side, the side where his eye was blind. He turned his head slightly to allow for his good eye to compensate more.
After retreating a few steps under Frost Burn’s dual blade flurry of blows, Sleek Stride managed to land a quick slash after blocking a double strike from Frost. His blade shallowly cut along Frost’s right side, leaving a small notch in his armor and bruising the flesh beneath. Frost Burn grunted, and his attacks slowed a little.
Sensing an opportunity, Sleek Stride swung right. Expecting a committed strike, Frost Burn brought his blades up to parry his upper right-side slash, leaving his lower left side completely unprotected. Sleek dispelled his sword at the last second, and his hoof passed through empty air. He quickly brought it down to his right side, resummoned it, and plunged it into Frost Burn’s left side before he could counterattack.
Frost quickly tried to spin out of the way, but Sleek landed a glancing blow, cutting shallowly and sending a burning sensation throughout Frost Burn’s lower left side. He cried out in pain, and instinctively brought a hoof down to press against where the wound would be. Even under his armor, the area was extremely sensitive to the touch, and he would likely have a massive bruise there for some time.
Sleek tried another stab. Frost Burn deflected it, and countered to Sleek’s neck. He ducked just in time, and the sword cut off a chunk of his mane. Bits of black hair scattered in the slight breeze. Sleek leapt up into Frost Burn, shield raised to deflect Frost’s now frantic slashes. He collided into his foe, knocking him to the ground. Prone, Frost Burn swept his hind leg to trip Sleek Stride. Sleek backstepped, and held his sword in the path of Frost’s leg. He noticed too late, and his leg passed through the glowing grey weapon. Fire shot up Frost’s leg, causing him to yelp in pain.
Thinking fast, Sleek Stride moved in for the final strike. He plunged his sword down into Frost Burn’s chest. Frost moved his right sword to deflect the thrust into the dirt, and he used his left to stab upwards.
Sleek couldn’t react in time, and the weapon pierced his heart, Frost’s blade sticking out his back. He gasped, eyes wide, and quickly backed up, bringing his swordhoof to his wound in pain.
Frost Burn limped to his hooves, and again raised to combat stance. His face blanked, and he failed to comprehend what stood before him. The audience all around was astounded, and the usually rowdy crowd fell dead silent. Guards dropped their usual composure, and the nobility box fell quiet as well. Sleek Stride stood there grimacing for a while, gritting his teeth, but he didn’t fall down. What would have easily incapacitated many other knights and warriors failed to do so to Lord Sleek Stride. He looked up to Frost Burn, face contorted in agony, and let loose a yell as he charged, sword out to his side and shield raised.
As he approached Frost Burn, he cleared his head and hastily dodged out of the way as fast as his injured leg would let him. Sleek Stride’s shield clipped Frost’s body, causing the unbalanced knight to collapse. He shot out his foreleg to grab the melee ring’s rope fence, stopping his fall. He got up and turned around to face Sleek Stride.
His enemy stood on the opposite side of the ring, breathing heavily and clutching his chest. Frost Burn watched him slowly spin to face him, and saw blood oozing from his bad eye. Gasping raggedly, he charged again, yelling in torment as he stumbled towards Frost. He had retracted his shield, and held his chest with his shield hoof. Frost himself started limping at Sleek Stride, his blades held out and down. Sleek Stride swung his sword, using the last reserves of strength he had. Frost Burn raised his left sword to block it, and with his right he swung at Sleek’s now unprotected left side. He brought his sword down on Sleek’s legs, dropping the lord to the ground. With a followup slash, Frost Burn held both his swords together and struck out at Sleek Stride’s neck. With that, Sleek Stride slumped on his side, hooves splayed out. His spirit sword winked out.
Frost Burn stood there panting. Eager Ice immediately made for his brother, but the crowds were silent. Everypony else just stared.
After a short silence, the herald boomed, “Sir Frost Burn has defeated Lord Sleek Stride, Earl of Lune!” and the audience suddenly burst out with cheers. The thundering of hooves striking wood and earth echoed throughout the clearing, and the herald praised the match further. “Never before have I seen somepony take a hit like that and keep going! And that finishing strike, truly a glorious sight!” The crowd roared its approval. Sleek Stride’s squire hurried out to collect his master, and Eager Ice did the same. He helped the injured knight out of the melee ring.
In the nobility box, everypony politely stomped their hooves on the floor. Frozen Lake and Morning Pyre beamed with pride, and Gold Star looked deeply impressed. Stoic Gaze was laughing. “Aye, that’s a fight to remember!” he rasped.
Frozen Lake watched as Eager Ice helped Frost Burn limp back to the sidelines, towards his tent. I couldn’t be prouder of you, my sons.
Grey River trotted on under the wet pine forest. Through the branches and pine needles he could see the clouds in the sky were black with thunder, and heavy rain fell in torrents around him. The tall earth pony, grey of fur and blue of eye and mane, plodded down the road through the downfall, shrouded under a woolen green cloak. On and on he went, for miles along the muddy dirt road, inching ever closer to his destination.
He looked skyward, grimacing in the darkness. It was late afternoon, he guessed, and he had been traveling for a few days now. It’s been a while since I left Ironshod. I must’ve passed the border by now. I should be close. Lightning flashed and thunder cracked, and a tree just down the road from Grey River fell with a mighty crash, its branches violently splintering off.
He instinctively started, but calmed down once he realized the tree didn’t fall anywhere near him. He stepped over the fallen pine and continued on his way, down the forest trail. The rain only grew heavier as he went on, and it was starting to soak through his cloak and seep into his fur. He shivered. Would be damn useful to have a unicorn along, maybe start a fire in this storm. He checked his weapons. The long retracted blade was strapped to his right foreleg, and a retractable heavy shield was on his left. Ugh. I’ll have to make sure these don’t rust.
Eventually, as Grey River trotted on through the woods, the forest began to thin. Unfortunately, fewer trees meant sparser canopy, and the rain fell even heavier than before. However, by now the pony was constantly shivering, his teeth were chattering, and he was through and through miserable. We could’ve sent a damn unicorn. As he was complaining to himself on how cold it was, the road winded its way through the thinning forest and into the plains. Here there was no barrier between Grey River and the wet sky save a soggy cloak. At this point, however, River didn’t even notice. The cold was complete; all he felt was the rain hitting his back a little harder.
On he walked, and as the sky began to darken for the evening, he reached the foothills of the mountains. It was here he hiked through the rain and countryside to reach. They towered high above in the darkened, thundering sky, looming over him with an almost malicious countenance, as if daring him to attempt the climb. His stomach grumbled loudly at him. After looking around for enemies and predators, he left the road to his immediate right and lowered his head. Grazing on the long, wet grass, he warily stretched out his senses to try to detect any potential threats. There were none. Having somewhat satisfied his stomach, Grey River got back on the road and continued through the hills.
About an hour passed, and the torrential rain gave way to snow. He was a fair distance up the mountain, though his goal wasn’t within reach. The road grew steeper, and sometimes his weary hooves slipped on the icy stone path, which was little more than a goat trail. The light continued to fail the further he ascended, until he could barely see four feet in front of him. The howling winds prevented any kind of firelight, so Grey River slowed down considerably, carefully checking where he put his hooves again and again. With a sheer drop off to one side, a fall here would be deadly. Finally, he came across a shallow cave. Now shivering violently, he made for the shelter, and once inside he shed his cloak, frozen stiff from the cold mountain air. Underneath, his boiled leather travel armor had soaked up a little rain as well, though not nearly as much as the cloak. The cold is more deadly to me right now than the threat of battle, he reasoned, as he removed the armor. He spaced out his barding, collar, vest and pauldrons on the floor, giving them plenty of air to dry. He then dumped his saddle bags and brought out his tinderbox, but he stowed it again when he realized there was no firewood nearby.
Instead, he pulled out a very small steel flask, containing about an ounce of liquid. He bit off the cork, and downed the potion eagerly. Slowly, the thin, fiery drink slid down his gullet, and from his stomach heat slowly radiated outward. It reinvigorated him, eventually warming his whole body, expelling the ice from his fur. He stoppered the empty flask, and placed it back inside his saddlebags. Already, the concoction’s warmth was starting to wear off. Glancing at his cloak, lying rigid where he left it, he decided he didn’t have the resources to thaw and dry it, and wearing a frozen cloak would only suck out the heat more. He looked outside, and saw the darkness pervading the air. Exhausted from his long journey and his hike through the mountains, as well as because of the rapidly approaching night, Grey River picked up his saddlebags in his mouth. Stumbling over his own hooves, he carried it further in the cave, and he laid it down where he would be resting his head. Light fading fast, he opened his bags and extracted his blanket. He laid it down on the stone floor, to make sure the icy rock wouldn’t absorb as much heat from his body as he slept. Before collapsing on his mat, he pondered the safety of his rest. Judging on the severity of the storm outside, I’d say I’m safe enough. He lay down on his blanket, and rested his head on his saddlebags. He felt the displacement effect his head had on all his various tools, flasks, and rations. It wasn’t by any means a down pillow, but it would do. He curled up to conserve body heat and closed his eyes, trying to ignore the moaning winds in the craggy mountain range just outside.
When Grey River woke up, it was still dark outside, still storming. The winds had subsided somewhat, however, and the darkness was less absolute than it was the previous night. He yawned, and then he rose from his bedroll. Grey River folded his blanket back up, and stashed it in his saddlebags. As he did so, he rummaged around and pulled out a cram. The loaf of compacted, hard bread had hay, oats, and nuts baked into it, and though it was definitely a rough-country meal, and far from the taste of fresh fruit and vegetables, he still thought it was delicious.
Upon finishing his meal, he donned his armor, now semidry, and his saddlebags, and he left his cave, heading back to the stony paths outside. It was definitely brighter out, though grey clouds still obscured the sky and hid the sun’s warm rays from the frozen rock. The storm had subsided, though white, powdery snow covered the landscape. The sight of it took Grey River’s breath away. It was beautiful, despite the overcast weather. Shaking his head to clear it, he carried on his way up the slopes of the mountain.
The snowfall had stopped sometime in the night, but the wind was just as cutting as it was yesterday, especially minus the cloak. Grey River was back to shivering. His armor was only slightly damp, and thanks to his fur it didn’t affect him. At least I’m dry. According to Council intelligence, the entrance to the target ruin was further up, towards the peak of the second-tallest mountain in the range. He shrugged, and hiked on, trying to ignore the cold, biting wind.
Eventually, just as Grey River was about to reach the summit of the mountain, the path split in front of him; on his right side the way lead up, a cliff-side road leading up and over the mountain, down to the other side. On his left, an unmarked, faint goat trail partially concealed by a gnarled bush, led down into a small valley deep in the heart of the mountain. Grey River smiled. At last. He pushed the bush aside and carefully went down the treacherous, rocky slope. The way was downhill for a fair amount of time, winding its way through narrow fissures and steep, dry streambeds, and after about half an hour it leveled out. The barren mountain rock gave way to sparse undergrowth and sad-looking pine trees, all bearing the white coat of snow. Though the trail disappeared a fair ways back, the trees and valley provided a semblance of protection from the heavy winds, for which Grey River was deeply thankful.
Finally, Grey River’s journey ended. He came across a stone statue, resembling a creature out of myth. An armored being standing on two legs stared grimly down the road Grey River just came by. A forerunner. It held what once was a magnificent stone greatsword, the kind of weapon minotaurs tended to wield, but age broke the blade and cracked the hands holding it. Through all the erosion and ruin, Grey River could just make out that a weatherworn tree motif was engraved on the hilt of the sword. The whole statue was in disrepair, covered in moss and lichen and riddled with deep, long cracks. The facial features and the body detail had been greatly diminished by the slow passage of time, but it was clearly depicting a forerunner warrior. Though the Council knew of the place, River felt that he was the first pony to see it in a very long time.
Standing just behind the old statue was a huge stone door. Runes from a long-forgotten language were engraved on the doorframe, and moss covered most of the door itself. Grey River reached for his saddlebags, and after rifling around in it he took out a small key. This was a massive pain to get. I hope this works. The key, made of adamant, had been broken into five parts and scattered across the continent, and it had been the work of Grey River and other Council members to collect them and reforge the key. Though they had the best locksmith on the job, he could still see the scarred weld-marks where the smith fused it back together. Grey River swept the moss away, revealing a worn hole, no larger than a wine-bottle’s cork. He bit his tongue, and carefully inserted the key in the hole. He turned it.
At first, nothing happened. Fighting the small sense of doubt growing in his stomach, he tried turning the key back the other way. Once Grey River turned the key a second time, he heard the ratcheting of machinery, the crushing sound of stone grinding along stone, as ancient gears spun. At this, he retreated a few steps from the door, and saw that it was shaking violently. As the gears reached their loudest, the door slowly began to rise, until it disappeared in the doorway above it. The whirring and grinding of the stone gears ceased, and silence fell upon the valley once more.
Cautiously, Grey River approached the open gateway. He peered inside. It was very dark, but as sunlight from the outside flooded in, he could see the entry chamber. He stepped through the open doorway, and into the ancient complex. He felt through his saddle bags once more, and pulled out his oil lantern. It was very small, so it would fit in his bags, but it would do the job. He lit it with his flint and steel, and attached it to his saddlebag strap, freeing his hooves for walking and fighting.
He walked down the hallway, full of cobwebs and silence. As he looked around, the yellow light from his lantern flame illuminated the halls. It flared out from the entryway, and it tapered towards the back to another door. He noticed that the walls were covered with intricate carvings. Ah! It’s the Hall of Stories. He frowned. It’s unusual for those to be the entrance of a forerunner ruin. He stopped to look at one. A great battle was engraved on the wall. Small figures fought each other with swords, shields, spears, maces, axes and the like, and many of them looked like the forerunner statue outside, although some had minute differences. An army of ponies fought alongside them as well, using the familiar hoofblades, battle-magic and wingblades. The combined pony-forerunner army was fighting other bipedal creatures, uglier and more grotesque than the comparatively elegant forerunners. They were taller than the forerunners, and had tails, long spines sticking out of their arms, not dissimilar to hoofblades, and they had wicked sharp teeth. These monstrosities seemed to be pouring out of a large fissure in the earth, accompanied by what looked like giant flaming dogs, huge horned beasts, and misshapen flying creatures that ran amok through the battlefield, ravaging all they came across. Must be the Great Dark. He examined the battle itself more closely. It was chaos: any sign of formation or strategy was abandoned or destroyed, and the carving depicted a throng of fighting warriors, of mixed race and allegiance. A small squad of unicorns and forerunners was bombarding the field with great and terrible spells, and Grey River saw that they ripped through many foes, large and small. One of the horned beasts had been ripped open by a spell cooperatively cast by a few of the mages. Pegasi dotted the sky, and they fought against the disfigured flying things. The whole battle seemed to be a losing one, as the ponies and forerunners were outnumbered by at least three to one. He looked the carving up and down, in awe that such a calamity happened. Reluctantly, he tore his attention from it and continued on his way.
He was immediately hooked by another illustration in the stone walls. This one focused on a group of earth ponies and forerunners fighting in a defensive circle around a few unicorns. All the unicorns were casting a spell, sending one conjoined beam of energy towards the great rift in the earth, from whence what must’ve been the demons of myth poured out. They closed in on all directions, and met their dooms at the blades of the pony and forerunner circle. On this up-close scene, Grey River could make out that on all the ponies and forerunners, there was a leafless tree emblazoned on their chests. There were much fewer pegasi in the sky in this scene, and the mangled, demented flyers were starting to dive-bomb the ponies and forerunners on the ground.
Moving on, Grey River looked at the next carving. The groundside battle still raged on in earnest, but the skies were won. He gasped, as he realized that dragons had come to fight. The surviving pegasi were all celebrating as the great dragons, each of them easily the size of an inn, bathed the flying demons in fire. A few of them attacked the huge horned beasts, ripping at them with their massive mouths. Burning husks fell to the earth in droves, and the forces on the ground rallied to their new airborne allies. The demons looked to be waning, and some were actively retreating back through the rift.
The next carving showed an earth pony holding a dying forerunner. Forerunners and ponies stood around them, solemnly looking on, openly weeping, or looking shell-shocked. The attention to detail was exquisite. Each ring in their mail was evident, and they all interconnected accurately. He could see the sweat, dirt, and blood on their faces, and the stains on their clothes. The fissure was much narrower in this picture, and bodies of the slain, be they ponies, forerunners, or the mangled monsters in the previous carving, lay strewn about, bloody and hacked to pieces. After moving on, he glanced to a different carving.
This one wasn’t a battle, but showed some forerunners and ponies standing in a circle around an anvil. His lamp bathed the carving in a soft, flickering yellow light, revealing that in the anvil’s center was a key, and one shorter, bearded forerunner was swinging a hammer towards it. He reached for his bags, brought the key out, and examined it. He held it up to the carving. Aside from the slight scarring from the reforging process, it appeared to be the same key. Grey River smiled, and put it back in his saddle bags.
He approached the door on the far side of the hall. Made of cast iron, it sported a leafless tree emblem identical to the ones in the wall carvings. Grey River reached for the door ring, and pulled. After overcoming a little bit of resistance, the door slowly started to move. The hinges, after enduring ages of rust, screeched all the way, and flakes of rust cascaded down to the floor. As soon as the door cracked open, he heard the rushing sound of a subterranean river, and the air felt slightly cooler. The hall hit a T-junction. To Grey River’s left, there was about twenty feet of hallway until another iron door. To his right, the hall stretched on into darkness. He decided to check the door out first. He walked down the hall, noticing that the walls here were rough-hewn, and not smooth like the previous room was. He approached the door.
Suddenly, his front hoof plunged through the floor. No, the floor fell from beneath him! He yelped, surprised. Instinctively he pushed hard on his other foreleg, rearing up on his hind legs. The ground beneath his forelegs and in front of him crumbled away. With a deep rumble, the flagstones fell into blackness. Grey River toppled backwards, heart racing. The stones splashed into water below. “What the hell?!” he exclaimed. He cautiously rose to his hooves, and inspected the damage. The gaping pit stretched widthwise from wall to wall, so shimmying would be impossible. Lengthwise, it was way too far to attempt a jump, even with a running start. He peered over the new hole in the floor. It was too dark to see anything, but he felt the spray of water on his face and heard the river below.
He shook himself off from the near encounter. He took a deep, shaky breath, adrenalin still coursing through is veins, and turned around. A few steps past the entrance to the Hall of Stories, his lantern’s flickering light revealed another fork in the road. This time, one way was blocked off by an iron portcullis, so Grey River headed to his right. There was a light at the end of this tunnel. Once he got through, he entered a circular room, with a pillar of white light pouring in from an airshaft leading to the outside world. The light rested on a lever in the exact center of the room. He drew closer, entering the light. The lever was ornately carved, with runes and symbols from the ancient language of the forerunners etched on its surface. He paused to look around the room. In the otherwise bare chamber were four large statues, one in each corner. Forerunner in appearance, they wore the same apparel as in the carvings in the Hall of Stories, a tunic over mail emblazoned with a leafless tree. However, there was one unsettling difference. Each of their mouths were open very wide, even grotesquely so, and each of them held the same stance; slightly leaning towards the center of the room, with their arms by their sides.
Unnerved and curious, Grey River left the center of the room and made for one of the statues. Upon closer examination, aided by his lantern’s light, he could see the details carved on the face. The being had very small, beady eyes, similar to a minotaur’s in proportion to his head. Why’s his mouth so big? Grey River peered into it. The lantern’s light glinted off something metal. He unhooked it from his saddlebags, and held it up to the mouth to get a better look. “Clever,” he said, whistling. A large, metal bolt was positioned in the statue’s mouth, undoubtedly as part of a heavy crossbow trap. He looked to where the statue was facing, and smirked. This statue’s mouth, as well as the others’, was aimed directly at the lever in the middle of the room. He didn’t’ realize at first due to the dark of the room compared with the blindingly bright light cascading from the surface of the mountain. His smile faded. How do I open the portcullis?
He decided that the device he needed must be in this room, since the trap was here and there was nowhere else for him to go. After a brief period of searching, looking at all the walls and behind all the statues, Grey River found a second lever. This one, a smaller contraption, was tucked in behind the protruding ridge surrounding the door, so put that one entering the chamber had no chance of seeing it outright. After a quick look around to make sure there were no obvious traps, he pulled the lever down. After a brief pause, he heard the now familiar sound of ratcheting stone and metal gears screeching down the hall. He left the room, and headed for the hallway blocked by the portcullis.
As he’d expected, the portcullis was being raised up into the ceiling above. Allowing himself a slight grin, Grey River proceeded down the newly opened hall. He didn’t go far by the time he entered another chamber, about as large as the Hall of Stories. The high, vaulted ceiling accommodated five larger-than-life statues. He recognized the room as the ruin’s Hall of Memory, a chamber believed to be dedicated to ancient forerunner heroes. Three of them were forerunners, and two were earth ponies. Similar to the previous statues, despite the size difference, they all wore the same armor, and bore the same symbol: the leafless tree. Each had a sword that they held point down, with two hands. The ponies just stood at attention. To his immediate right, the river had broken through the stone walls and was rushing through one side of the room, an icy torrent. The closest statue had fallen in, one of the forerunners, and lay face-first in the freezing water. He saw ripples and wakes all around it as the water surrounded the stone figure. The rest of the room showed signs of water damage, and because of this the other statues had eroded somewhat, lessening the contrast between their features.
To his left was the least damaged portion of the room, and it held another door. He approached it, the now familiar tree motif staring back at him. On either side were vertical rows of black holes, presumably another arrow trap. On each side of the door there were two buttons. On his left were a lightning bolt and a howling wolf. On his right were a flaming brand and a sword. Grey River sat down, and gave it a good think. Hmm. One false move and I could be dead. He eyed the buttons again. What did the mission brief say about this again? He tried to remember. He was told a lot about what to expect on the way to the ruin, and its location, but nothing about what to expect on the inside. He gave another look at the buttons. Well, I’ve seen a lot of swords on the statues and carvings. He got up, and tentatively gave the sword button a push. The piece of stone depressed into the wall, and Grey River backed up immediately afterwards. Nothing happened.
He sighed with relief, heart pounding. No arrows flew, but the door hadn’t budged either. He furrowed his brow, and looked the remaining buttons; a lightning bolt, a howling wolf, and a flaming brand. He remembered what the carvings in the Hall of Stories told, about the Great Dark and the scourge of demons being purged from the land. . .
Yes! That’s it, a flaming brand! You can purge with fire! He pressed the flaming brand button in. Upon doing so, he heard the twang of bowstrings let loose, and two arrows flew out to meet him. One soared right over his head, prompting him to duck, covering his head with his hooves. The other arrow flew right into his left foreleg, defending his head. The projectile, dulled with years of being exposed to the water vapors in the room, did not pierce all the way through to his head. Pain lanced up Grey River’s body, and his foreleg burned with agony. “aaaAAAAOOw! Fuck!” Grey River rolled onto his back, clutching his foreleg and cursing.
After a short period of prone profanity, the pony got back up. Gingerly, he shed his saddlebags again. With his right hoof, he rummaged around for his first aid kit. Upon getting it out, he took a few breaths, and attempted to pull the arrow from his leg. It didn’t budge, and the pain intensified sharply. “Shit!” he exclaimed. Damn flared arrowheads! He cursed again, then grabbed the back of the bolt. He counted to three, and pushed hard. The arrow went much deeper, and thankfully missed the bone upon passing through. He screamed in torment, as the wickedly shaped arrowhead emerged from the other side of his foreleg. He immediately bit into it, and yanked it out. Groaning through is teeth, he spat it out on the stone floor. Upon his dislodging the arrow, the wound began bleeding profusely. He quickly grabbed a bandage from his first aid kit, and wrapped it around his leg a few times. He tucked the free end under the bandage, and, standing up, he tested his weight on the hoof. He winced in pain, but it would have to do. Red slowly seeped into the bandage, but it stopped any more bleeding. He donned his saddlebags again, and favoring his left foreleg, he limped back over to the door. “Ok, not the fire then,” he said aloud, foreleg throbbing. He looked back and forth between the wolf button and the lightning button. “Fuck this,” he groaned, and he pressed the lightning one. Instead of the sound of crossbows firing lethal bolts at him, the sound of screeching rusty hinges echoed around the room as the door opened inwards. Stunned at his luck, Grey River allowed himself a brief smile before heading into the next chamber.
This room was much smaller than the Hall of Memory, and its main feature was the large spiral staircase, made of chiseled stone, leading down to a lower level of the ruin. He carefully descended the stairs, testing each one before putting his full weight on it. When he finally limped down to the bottom, he came across another black iron door. He reached out to pull it open, but it wouldn’t budge. He checked to make sure the door was one you pulled; the hinges were on his side, it wasn’t a ‘push’ door. He frowned. Is it locked? He didn’t find a keyhole. It’s probably just stuck. He grabbed it, and pulled, much harder this time. The door moved a little, and through the crack he saw very thick, white strands of . . . something. He yanked on the door some more, and he saw more of the strands, sticky strings attached to the door and the walls beyond. His face fell. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
He recognized them as spiderwebs. Monstrous Spiders were known to sometimes inhabit the mountains, and he just stumbled on one’s lair. “We’ll see how you like some of this!” he said, grinning as he unhooked the lantern from his harness. He raised the glass sheath, and touched the flame to the web. Immediately, it caught fire, and it quickly spread throughout all the webs. Watching it burn was immensely satisfying, and he hoped that the beast would be killed in the process. Content with his accomplishment, he proceeded through the hallway. There was another T junction waiting for him. However, one side had caved in, making his next course of action simple. He walked down the stone hall, going through the next elbow passage and turning to his right.
He came to another chamber. Grey River saw many things: he saw that the way forward was almost fully blocked by a cave-in, though he could move one of the rocks, probably. He saw that the room had many tunnels dug into the walls, up high and down low, leading off to unknown, deep, dark lairs and dungeons. He saw the spider webs in the corners of the room and all over the walls. He saw the disturbingly pony-shaped bundles of web in the far corner of the room, stacked on top of each other. Most importantly, however, he saw the webs’ producer right in front of him.
Eight black eyes stared back at him. The beast was huge; its brown, hairy body was the size of a barrel and its legs were as long as a minotaur was tall. It clicked its huge mandibles at him, and charged. Fear swept through Grey River, though he banished the thought and rose to combat stance, shedding his saddlebags and unsheathing his hoofblade and shield. No sooner had he done so when the spider leapt at him. He rose his shield, and bashed the creature away. Though heavy, it was much lighter than he thought it would be. It landed on its side, but it was quickly on its feet, as it had eight of them. It charged again, screeching at him. Grey River’s ears splayed back, and he charged off to meet it.
He rose his shield and slashed at one of the beast’s long, spindly legs. His blow connected, severing it. The spider hissed in pain and anger, and it lashed out at him with another leg. The blow sent Grey River careening backwards, and losing his balance, he fell. The spider was quickly on top of him, and tried to snap at him with its huge fangs. Grey River placed his shield in-between him and the monstrous spider, but it pressed down on him hard. The weight of the force on his already injured leg proved too much for him, and his foreleg gave out. The beast smashed his shield down on Grey River’s chest, but it still proved to be an effective barrier against the spider’s bite. With the beast’s head so close, Grey River yelled and plunged his hoofblade into its eyes. Brown liquid sprayed out in his face and open mouth, leaving a foul taste. The spider hissed again, and jumped back, its front two legs pawing at its eye wound.
Grey River hastily scrambled to his feet, preparing for another bout with the monster. However, the spider seemed to have enough of this unwelcome guest, and it crawled into one of the various holes in the wall. Still alert, Grey River headed towards the landslide. As he did so, movement in the corner caught his eye. One of the bundles of web was moving, and attempting to flap a wing. He cocked his head, and sheathed his weapons. Dropping to all fours, he limped over to the web sac. When he drew close, he could hear the muffled cries coming from the snared pegasus.
Without wasting anymore time, Grey River pried the web off the pony’s head. This revealed an orange face and bits of blue mane sticking out. The pony, a mare, gasped for breath, and coughed a few times. She opened her green eyes, and continued panting for breath. “You came just in time,” she said. She struggled a bit more. “D’you mind getting me free?”
Grey River pulled apart more and more webs. When her forehooves were loose, she began helping him. After some time, a lot of broken webs littered the ground, and the pegasus was free. Some residual web was left in her fur and wings, but it wasn’t enough to restrain her any longer. She ruffled her wings, and stretched them. “Ugh. I’ve been kept like that for way too long. Two days? Three? I can’t remember.”
“I didn’t expect to see a mare down here,” Grey River replied. “What were you doing?”
“I’m a courier, for the Skyhold Kingdom, and I had a mission to deliver a message to an important noble here in Cyandor. On the return journey, I stopped to rest in the clouds above these mountains.” She picked at the webs on her forelegs. “The storms began that night, and I was blown from my cloud. I sought shelter in a cave in the mountains, and I flew right into a web.” She made a face. “When that spider came out, I thought it was all over. Thanks again for freeing me.”
“You’re welcome. Anyway, I’m Grey River,” he said, outstretching a hoof.
She reached out her own to bump his. “Deft Wind.” She smiled hopefully. “You wouldn’t have any food to spare, do you? I can’t remember when I last ate.”
Grey River nodded, and passed her a cram from his saddlebags. “So, Deft Wind, I’m on an errand here, and so far I’ve encountered some troubles. Since I got you out of that mess,” he said, pointing to the other web-enclosed victims behind her, “how about you help me out?” He gestured towards her hoofblades and wingblades. “You look like you can fight well enough.”
As she swallowed the rest of her cram, her cheery countenance fell a little. “Well, I was kind of hoping to get out of here and report back home,” she said, rubbing her hoof uncomfortably, “but I guess I do owe you a debt of gratitude.” She thought about it for a moment, and sighed. “I’ll help you,” she said.
“Great. Here, let me get this rock out of the way,” he said. The two ponies walked over to the landslide blocking the path. Grey River placed his hind legs on it. He pushed hard, wincing at the pressure on his wounded foreleg. The rock rolled away, revealing the passageway beyond. Deft Wind looked impressed.
“You know, I always forget to appreciate just how strong earth ponies can get,” she remarked, nodding thoughtfully.
“I try my best,” Grey River said, a glint in his eye. He jerked his head towards the hallway. “Let’s go.”
Grey River limped on, with Deft Wind right behind him. The two ponies rounded the bend, and saw a long chamber open up in front of him. Ten black iron sarcophagi lined the walls, standing upright against them. Embedded on each one was a leafless tree. Grey River turned his head slightly back. “Be careful. Forerunner ruins tend to have wights guarding them. This is probably where they sleep,” he whispered, gesturing in front of him.
Deft Wind gasped. “This is a forerunner ruin?!” she whispered back, incredulous. “I thought they were just a myth!”
Grey River shook his head, smiling. “They’re not. They’re real, and we’re in one of their tombs.” He glanced across the chamber. “Wights usually rest just before some treasure or artifact. What I’m after is likely through those doors,” he pointed at the other end of the chamber.
“What are you after?” Deft Wind asked.
Grey River grimaced. “It’s a secret mission, sorry. I can’t say exactly what it is, but its powerful, and some powerful friends of mine need it.” Well, I didn’t lie.
She nodded. “I understand. What’s our plan of attack?” she whispered.
Grey River looked at the chamber before them. There were at most ten enemies. While he wasn’t a bad fighter, even he had his limits, and ten approached it closely. He smirked. But I’m not alone. He turned back to face Deft Wind. “We’ll be able to handle it. Let's go!” He said, and he rose to combat stance. He unsheathed his weapons, and advanced into the chamber.
Once he stepped hoof over the threshold, all the sarcophagi opened at once. The heavy iron doors fell to the floor with a cacophony of metal striking against stone, and the sound echoed throughout the entire complex. They were of mixed race: seven were forerunners, and three were earth ponies. The pony wights all unsheathed ancient, rusty hoofblades, which due to the moving parts all broke almost immediately. The forerunners, on the other hoof, drew longswords, battleaxes, and one drew a mace. These did not break. They advanced on Grey River, each of them equipped with very rusty mail and tattered white tunics, emblazoned with the remnants of a leafless tree motif. “They may be dead, but they die all the same!” he yelled.
Deft Wind rose to her combat stance, wings flared out. She unsheathed her hoofblades and wingblades, and with her four weapons she charged in right after Grey River, ears flat and eyes wide.
The wights rasped at them in their ancient, indecipherable language, and the one nearest to Grey River swung its sword at him. He rose his own hoofblade to parry the blow, and stepped forward, executing a quick shield bash to the undead. Unfazed, it swung again, this time in a strong overhand swing, its milky white, unsettling eyes staring right at him. Grey River used his shield to block the slash, and he countered low with his own cut. His hoofblade connected with his foe’s leg, sending the undead to its knees. Without hesitation, Grey River stabbed the wight in the chest, and placed a hoof beside his blade, pushing hard. The wight tumbled to the ground, its eyes losing their eerie glow. He turned to face another wight, coming up from behind the first one.
Deft Wind spun as if a whirlwind of steel. Four blades slashed at two forerunner wights, rending their ancient, desiccated flesh and breaking through their old, brittle bones. With a savage yell, she leapt, using her wings for extra distance, and stabbed a pony wight with all four blades on the way back down. The thing had no chance; it crumpled under her weight and her swords. Immediately, she tucked and rolled, slashing the hooves out from beneath another pony undead.
Grey River attacked another forerunner wight, leading in with an overhoof slash. The undead raised its axe in time to block the blow, which cut deep in the axe’s haft. The wight kicked Grey River down, and swung its axe in a fast, brutal overhand swing. Grey River rolled to the side at the last second, the axe blade missing his back by mere inches. It instead embedded itself deep between the flagstones, and the wight tugged stupidly at the weapon, all the while staring at Grey River. He rose to his feet, and in a rising underhoof slash, he cut both the forerunner’s arms off. The thing simply advanced again, snapping its jaws beneath its helmet, trying to bite him, arm stumps outstretched. Disgusted, he cut the thing’s head off, and the dead body slumped to the ground.
Deft Wind thrust with both her hoofblades at the last pony wight, but was deflected by its rusted shield. The undead moaned at her in its old, forgotten language, and it stepped forward, bringing its hoof down in a savage punch to Wind’s head. Stunned, she fell to the ground, and the wight descended on her, shield raised and ready to crush her neck. Her eyes widened, and with a yelp she wildly thrust her blades up at the thing again. Unprotected, both passed through its chest cavity, and its white eyes dimmed for the last time. It slumped on top of her, the weight of its embalmed body and its ancient armor pinning her to the ground.
The remaining two wights engaged Grey River. One swung its mace in a sidearm swing, while the other tried thrusting with its sword. He parried the sword thrust, and deflected the mace with a strategic shield bash. The mace-wielding wight was caught off balance by the force of its own swing, and it stumbled sideways. Grey River, with a loud cry, brought his shield down hard on the undead’s leg, shattering it. The thing toppled to the ground, groaning and growling at him, trying to swing its mace. The other wight, undisturbed by its comrade’s misfortune, attacked again, taking advantage of Grey River’s distraction by swinging its sword in an underhanded strike, attempting to knock him down. Grey River dodged left, the sword missing him by a hair’s breadth. Immediately, Grey River launched himself at the last enemy, plunging his blade into its chest again and again as he tackled it to the ground.
Deft Wind finally managed to push the undead pony corpse off her, and she got to her hooves. She saw Grey River savagely finishing off a wight, and she saw the sheer anger in his eyes. She’d seen bloodlust on the field of battle before, but nothing so . . . extensive, as this. She was taken aback, and a slight frown adorned her face.
Grey River got up from what used to be a wight, panting, He glanced back at the undead with a broken leg, flailing around on the floor, unable to move. He deliberately strode towards it, and he swept the mace out of its reach. He sheathed his hoofblade, and stepped on the thing’s head. It crunched satisfyingly underhoof, and the ancient and rotted brain matter splattered all over his hoof and the ground.
Grey River gave a wry smile. “You’re not so bad yourself, for a courier.”
She snorted. “Anyway, lets get what you came for. I’m tired of stumbling around in the dark, and I’d like to leave as soon as possible."
Grey River nodded. “Of course,” he said. He stepped over the corpses and headed for the door. On it were large runes, written in the ancient forerunner language, intricate and indecipherable. As he was about to push the stone door open, the runes shifted, and visibly moved to change shape before their eyes.
“What’s going on?” Deft Wind asked, slightly concerned.
The runes eventually stopped shifting, leaving two words etched into the stone like they’d always been there. It was in the common tongue, and it read:
TURN BACK
Grey River paused. “What. . .” he said, pondering the message. He frowned. I didn’t come all this way for nothing. I have to go on.
“Should we leave?” Deft Wind asked, hopeful.
Grey River shook his head, huffed, and pushed the door open. The stone door opened inward loudly, on well-rusted hinges. The room beyond was massive. Grey River went through the doorway, and stared at his surroundings. Large flagstones lined the floor, and the chamber they stood in had a high, vaulted ceiling. It was hexagonal in shape, and the walls were smoothly carved stone. The roof formed an intricate dome, covered with ancient but mundane runes. In the middle of the large, mostly empty room was a dais, with stairs forming a small stone hill in the middle. He made for the stairs. Before stepping on the dais, he noticed there were six braziers embedded in the floor all around it, each one cold and dark, unused for millennia.
As he stepped up onto the dais, all the braziers suddenly roared to life. Grey River started, and stared at the new flames. They seemed completely natural, and crackled cheerfully at him. The light they gave off revealed that the stairs he stood on were engraved with countless runes, each one shifting to form the same cryptic message as before:
TURN BACK. TURN BACK. TURN BACK.
“I’ll just wait here by the door,” Deft Wind called, nervous.
“Sure, just stay there,” Grey River muttered, his full attention elsewhere. Unnerved, he shook his head. He determinedly strode up the stairs, focusing intently on the top. When he reached the final stair, he saw his prize. He grinned. In the middle of the landing, a stone pedestal lay, containing a sword. Grey River approached it, eyes wide. The black blade reflected his face back to him. The sword was a forerunner design, more fit for a griffin or minotaur to use. “The Fang of Demorgor. It’s said to form to the wielder. . .” He reached his hoof out, and touched the pommel.
Immediately, the firelight shifted from a soft yellow glow to a glaring blood red, and intensified, illuminating the entire chamber. The pommel suddenly ejected a spike, impaling Grey River’s hoof. He cried out in shock and pain, and blood seeped out of his wound. The blade greedily drank it up, and began to glow red itself. Dark energy whirled around it, and Grey River’s foreleg, with increasing speed. He was openly screaming now. The agony was like nothing he had ever experienced before, sharp and dull and spreading at the same time, and all the while growing more intense.
Deft Wind rushed to his side and called his name, asking if he was alright, but the sound echoed strangely in his ears. He simply writhed on the floor and waited for it to stop.
Slowly, the dark energy started to progress up his foreleg. There was a ripping sound, and Grey River’s hoofblade was torn off, and thrown across the chamber. The mangled weapon clattered to the cold flagstones below, straps torn and blade bent, useless.
Finally, the pain abruptly stopped. The red fires in the brazier turned back to normal, and the whirling magic ceased. Grey River stopped writhing in pain, and just lay there on the dais, panting. He sat up, and brought his right foreleg to rub against his head. When he opened his eyes, they grew very wide.
On his foreleg was a new hoofblade. Its blade was completely black, as were its straps, resembling a dark, exotic hide. He gave it a closer look. The weapon seemed to be made of obsidian, glassy smooth and wickedly sharp, but as he unsheathed it, he felt the blade’s steel-like flexibility. “Beautiful,” he said. He looked up. The pedestal was empty. “Is the legend true . . . ?” He murmured, running his injured hoof along the blade.
“What legend?” Deft Wind asked, confused. “What’s going on here? What’s the Fang of Demorgor?”
Grey River looked at Deft Wind, a fierce glint in his eye. “Only one way to find out,” he said. Without another second’s hesitation, he plunged the Fang deep into Deft Wind’s neck. Surprise and fear lit up her face, and she struggled against Grey River, choking on her own blood. He rose to bipedal stance, and held her up off the ground. Blood spurted and seeped out of her neck, and the Fang seemed to drink it all up. Magic, in the form of red tendrils of energy, began to flow from the wound in her neck, traveling along the blade and filling up Grey River. He felt new power, new strength, and new life enter through him, while Deft Wind slipped further into death’s embrace. Grey River’s leg started to heal, as red energy swirled around it. With a flick of his hoof, Deft Wind’s corpse fell to the ground with an audible thud, but the blade was clean as ever. He glanced at Deft Winds’ body. It was very wrinkled, sucked dry of blood. His gaze drifted back over his new weapon.
“So the legend is true. . .”
The Matchwood Inn was all but abandoned, everypony either too busy to leave their jobs or attending the Coldheart tournament; the only other patron at the tavern was an elderly stallion in the back corner, quietly sipping his mead. Forest Thorn, Little Snow, and Onyx Shard sat on wooden barstools, filling Forest in on what had happened while he was away.
“Yeah, contracts have been pretty dry lately. I took the last one three days ago, and there’s been nothing else on the notice board since,” Onyx complained, swirling his ale around in his mug. “I mean, that’s a good problem to have, but pretty soon I’m going to need a steadier source of income than odd jobs here and there.” He finished his beer, and motioned for Gold Scale, the bartender, for another drink. She dutifully poured him some more, for which he slid her a bit.
Little Snow grimaced. “Well, I’ve had no shortage of work myself. I normally get one serious case a month, a patient needing healing for some wound inflicted by wild beasts, but as of late, I’ve hardly had time to rest. I’ve been seeing farmers, shepherds, loggers, and the odd soldier come in for three weeks almost nonstop, sometimes five in a day, because of that blasted owlbear,” she said. She cast a sideways glance at Forest Thorn. “Thanks to you, I’ll not have to deal with too much for some time.” She took a swig of ale, sighing with satisfaction. “Some of the wounds were too much for me to heal on my own, and father was overwhelmed too. We lost a lot of good ponies this past month.”
Forest Thorn frowned, and stared glumly down at his drink.
Little Snow glanced up at him, noticing his remorse. “Hey, look at me,” she commanded, lifting his face with a hoof. “You did the best you could, as fast as you could. Right, Onyx?” she asked, somewhat urgently.
Onyx drained his mug, and slid another bit to Gold Scale. “That’s for damn sure. I heard that the moment you returned from the border, you accepted the contract and headed out.” He sipped his ale. “Nopony dared go after it until you came back. You saw the damage it was dealing, and you were the only pony brave enough to go out and confront it, alone I might add.” You could’ve waited for me, though.
Forest sighed. “I know, friends, I know. It’s just that so many ponies I knew for years, men and mares who I’d actually spoken to before I left, are dead now. I feel like I could’ve saved them.”
Little Snow placed her hoof on his shoulder, comforting him. “Listen. You did all you could, and nopony could’ve asked for more.”
“I know. It doesn’t help for the guilt, though,” Forest said. He raised his mug to his lips, finishing it off. Sighing, he gave the bartender five bits. “Gold Scale, how ‘bout some of that wolven ale?”
She smiled, and placed the bits in her apron pocket. “Sure thing, sweetheart. It’s in the back, it won’t take but a second.” Gold Scale wiped his mug clean with a white rag, put it back down on the bar, and headed towards the tavern’s storeroom.
Little Snow had concern written all over her face. “Hey, if you really blame yourself for the owlbear’s victims, go ‘round Smallclover and talk with anypony. Nopony blames you, and they’re all deeply thankful. Not only have you avenged their loved ones’ loss, but you’ve insured no more will be slain by the beast.”
Onyx placed his hoof around Forest’s shoulders. “This wasn’t your fault. Like as not, it was those two ‘adventurers’ bragging about monster slaying right before your trip to Ceria, remember?” he snorted. “Those amateurs barely knew how to swing a blade, and I don’t know much about magic, but that unicorn didn’t seem particularly skilled to me. You weren’t the problem; they were. You fixed the problem.”
Forest looked up at him. “Thanks.” He took a deep, shaky breath. “Aaaah. Don’t worry about it. You’re both right.” He shook his head to clear it. “Anyway, how ‘bout some more drinks?”
Gold Scale returned, balancing a barrel on her back. “I don’t think this one’s ever turned down another drink,” she called, waving a hoof at Onyx Shard, grinning. She placed the keg on the back shelf, and rummaged around the drawers underneath. She grabbed a spigot, and jammed it in the keg’s vent. Then she filled each of their mugs with the wolven ale. “We imported this a while back from southwestern Valarthia, in the mountains. They’re a strange people, those wolven, but they know their booze,” she said, putting the mugs down on the bar. “This right here is some of the best stuff I’ve ever had. We ran out a few days back, but I kept a barrel for your return. I know it’s your favorite.”
Onyx licked his lips. Little Snow grinned.
“Thanks, Scale,” Forest said. “Forget the bits, this is the real reward!”
Onyx lifted his mug. “To the excellent foresight of Gold Scale!” he said.
Forest Thorn and Little Snow lifted their mugs to meet his. “Amen to that!” Little Snow called.
The three ponies brought their drinks to their mouths, draining their mugs. The drink burned on the way down their throats, and they felt fire warm their bellies. They all sighed in satisfied unison. Onyx shook his head, and motioned for another round, sliding a few bits Gold Scale’s way. “Speaking of rewards,” he said, “this new contract with Lord Frozen Lake is just what I needed, assuming the pay is constant.”
Little Snow sipped at her ale. After swallowing, she said, “Of course it will be. Just like if we were guards, only a higher wage.”
Forest Thorn nudged Onyx. “By the way, how’s Minty?”
Onyx smiled, and opened his mouth. Before he said anything, he heard another pony enter the Matchwood Inn. He turned to take a look, and his smile widened. “Why don’t you ask her yourself?” he said.
The three of them turned to look at the newcomer. An earth pony mare, taller than Little Snow, trod towards them. She had light green fur and a black mane and tail. Mint Heart smiled and trotted towards Onyx, giving him a peck on the cheek. Immediately after, she turned and gave Forest a quick hug, then backed off. “Hey Forest! How did your hunt go?” she asked.
“Come sit with us,” Onyx said, motioning to the barstool next to him. Mint Heart sat next to him, and leaned on the bar, looking at Forest, gleaming blue eyes begging for a story.
Forest grinned. “Well, it was a good hunt indeed. I killed the owlbear, and took minimal punishment myself,” he said, prodding his chest with a hoof. He winced.
Little Snow rolled her eyes. “The painkiller draught only works if you let it. Don’t keep hitting it, you moron!” she said.
Forest chuckled a little, then looked back at Mint Heart. “It’s a very good story, I assure you. I was tracking the beast night and day, through dense forest and the bramble thickets . . .” he began.
Onyx raised a hoof to silence him. “Not yet, Forest. There’s something we need to tell you,” he said, glancing at Mint Heart.
“Oh really?” Forest asked. “What else happened?”
“You tell him,” Onyx said, grinning.
Mint Heart’s smile widened, and she looked up at Forest Thorn. “Well, we’re engaged!”
That caught Forest Thorn mid-sip. In surprise, he nearly choked on his ale. Coughing, he recovered enough to respond. “Uh, wow. Congratulations!” he sputtered. “When did this happen?”
Onyx Shard turned to face his fiancée. “Three days ago I popped the question. We’ve been working hard, preliminary planning and such, but now that you’re back we can begin in earnest,” he said. He looked Forest in the eye. “Will you be my best man?”
Forest, struggling to accept this life-changing information, took a moment to process the request. He smiled widely. “You might as well be my brother. Of course I will! But can we start the planning later?” he asked. "I have a feeling we'll all be pretty tired tomorrow."
“Sure thing,” Minty said. Onyx nodded.
Gold Scale stealthily slipped another pewter mug on the bar, and refilled the others.
Little Snow raised her ale. “I propose a toast, to the safe return of Forest Thorn,” she looked at Forest, “and Onyx’s and Minty’s wedding to be,” she looked at Onyx and Minty.
Everypony raised their drinks. The mugs clinked against each other cheerily.
“Another round on me!” Forest said, sliding bits to Gold Scale, who happily accepted them.
“Ahhh,” Little Snow sighed, placing her mug down. Glancing out the window, she realized the sun had begun to set, and she also remembered her responsibilities. She sighed. “Well, it’s been fun, but I’ve got a tall order to fill by tomorrow at noon. I have to check the first batch, the herbs are probably ready by now.” She got up. “It’s nice to see you home safe, Forest,” she said, hugging him.
“So long, Little Snow,” Forest said.
“Bye,” Minty said.
Onyx waved, mouth full of ale. “See you,” he sputtered as she walked through the doorway.
On her way out, Little Snow called, “Forest, I’m serious, after today you need some quality bedrest! Those bones need time to heal properly.”
Forest let his head drop to the bar with a thud, exasperated. “Fine,” he groaned.
Snickering, Onyx ordered more ale for the group.
“Anyway, you’d lost the tracks at the river?” Minty prodded.
Forest raised his head, and his face brightened. “Of course! I lost the trail at the Border River, the clever bastard. It took forever to find the trail again, and when I did it was at least at least sixty feet north on the far bank. . .”
The sun had set. Forest wasn’t holding his liquor nearly as well as Onyx was, and he was also drinking more of it than his black furred friend. The day’s tournament event had ended, Lord Broken Stone having won the one-on-one melee contest, and the tavern was flooded with a crowd of thirsty ponies. Many hailed Forest as a hero, and applauded at his story, especially at Forest’s recount of the battle. He was wrapping his tale up, embellishing a little here and there, as all great storytellers do. Mint Heart listened the whole way, nodding at some portions but respectfully keeping quiet. Forest Thorn left out the part where he slaughtered the chicks, and the large stone in the central cavern.
Having heard most of it before, Onyx didn’t pay as close attention as his fiancée. However, some things were ‘new’ to say the least, and Onyx perked his ears at these moments, most of which sounded like his usual exaggerations. He smirked and flicked his ears at these, shaking his head in mock disdain.
After finishing his story, Forest Thorn garnered applause so great it shook the inn. Soon after, a bearded earth pony bard wearing a feathered cap leapt on a table, and over the loud chatter of the room he strummed his lute and sang in a deep, hearty voice:
Deep into the Everfree Forest he braved, It’s dark and it’s deadly; he’s after fierce prey, Forest Thorn hunted the great owlbear depraved, A swordsman of green eye and mane with fur grey!
Through green woods and valleys and rivers to ford, Bold hunter, he tracked it, for those he held dearest, Though grey wolves and brown bears he put to the sword, The owlbear, in fury, caused great fear in earnest!
But he overcame, and he plunged quickly in, Courageously fast, he charged into the brute’s cave, The heart of the lion, risked all in that den, The beast screamed for murder, it fought Forest Thorn brave!
His sword, it was useless, its coat was too thick, It crashed all around and sent Forest a-flying, But in its foul rage, it broke off a great stick, Jagged and sharp, it kept Forest from dying!
Though bloodied and wounded, Forest took a stand, He brandished the branch, like a spear, to the monster, It ran itself through, the beast made red the land, Because of his deed, the earth drank its blood-water!
Triumphant, he chopped the beast’s head off, all glad, He took it to town, where he turned in the bounty, But bits aren’t the reason he risked all he had, For he loved his people, the Everfree ponies!
One of the townsponies leaned his chair back, raised his mug, and drunkenly shouted, “Aye, and we *hic* love ‘im too!” and without another word, he passed out, falling backwards in his chair and spilling his remaining mead all over himself. The crowd roared in laughter, and the merrymaking continued as many threw their bits in the minstrel’s eagerly outstretched hat.
A little while after the song, the Matchwood Inn’s patrons either left for home or for the rooms upstairs. There were a few ponies left here and there, drowsily discussing the tournament’s outcome.
Minty cast a sidelong glance at Onyx, raising an eyebrow suggestively. Onyx leaned in for a deep kiss, and he held the back of her head with his foreleg. Forest, thoroughly inebriated, continued on drinking, and he turned to say something to Onyx. When he saw his two lip locked friends, he stared dumbfounded at first, then he smirked. Quickly, he drained his last mug, left a few bits on the table, and stumbled to his feet. “Well, it’sh been . . . good to shee you again, friend. And congrat-u-lationsh on yer engagement,” he slurred. He placed a hoof on Onyx’s back to steady himself, and quickly after he stumbled out the door. “Thanksh, Gold Shcale!” He called over his shoulder.
“Get home safe, sweetheart!” she called back.
Now alone with her fiancée at the bar, Minty pulled back from Onyx. “What’s this I hear about a contract with Lord Frozen Lake?” she asked, somewhat threatening.
Onyx Shard nervously laughed. “Uh, well, we were sort of . . . hired by Lord Frozen Lake to be his personal ‘agents’,” he stammered. “I don’t think we had much of a choice in the matter, now that I think about it. . .”
Mint Heart interrupted, placing a hoof on his mouth to quiet him. “Onyx, don’t elaborate. Just tell me how it is. What kind of ‘agent’ are you?”
Onyx removed her hoof, held it in his own, and took a deep breath. “I, along with Little Snow and Forest Thorn, signed on to be, as I understand it, Lord Frozen Lake’s special operatives, to deal with domestic issues. Essentially, all that means is that when there are problems within the Everfree Kingdom, such as bandits or something, he’ll send us to deal with it.” He paused. “Also, I feel I should mention that when we leave on missions, we may be gone for extended periods of time,” he added, apologetic.
Minty grimaced. “Look, I know I was playing a dangerous game when I got involved with you, you being a sellsword and all, but at least promise me this: promise me you won’t try to be a hero, or do anything beyond your capabilities.” Mint Heart’s manner softened. “Promise me you’ll come home safely. Promise me you won’t leave me alone,” she pleaded.
Onyx leaned in for a kiss. “Minty, don’t worry about a thing.” He gently caressed her soft, black mane. “I promise I’ll return.”
She allowed herself a small smile. “I’ll hold you to that, soldier-boy.”
Onyx snorted. “Not a soldier. We’re outside the regular chain of command, answering directly to Lord Frozen Lake. Our pay is better, too.”
“Well, at least there’s that.” Mint Heart said, laughing a bit. She waved Gold Scale over. “More ale, please!”
Getting into the small hours of the morning, the Matchwood Inn quieted down, the only active patrons left being the old stallion in the corner, and Mint Heart and Onyx Shard. The Inn’s rooms had sold out some time ago, and many travelers lay fast asleep by the dying fire. The minstrel lay slumped on a wooden chair, with his lute in his lap and his feathered cap covering his face. Mint Heart and Onyx Shard were kissing passionately, oblivious to the goings on around them.
Gold Scale reemerged from the back room, drying a mug with a rag. “Alright, you two, bar’s closed. Time to go home.”
Onyx Shard pulled away from Mint Heart, and gave Gold Scale a drunk smile. “Thanksh for the ale, Goldy,” he slurred, grinning lopsidedly. Mint Heart and Onyx Shard left, and staggered out of the inn, Minty’s head resting on Onyx’s shoulders. The old stallion nodded to them as they left.
The night was clear, and thousands of stars dotted the black sky. A half-moon gave off its soft blue light, illuminating the streets. At this time so early in the morning, no townsponies wandered the roads. The dirt streets were empty, save for a squad of four guards on night patrol. Onyx and Minty slowly made their way down the streets, under the slightly overhanging wooden buildings and the cool night sky.
“You know,” Onyx said, “I like thish town. It’sh . . . quiet.”
Minty giggled. “Yes, love, it is.” The two ponies ambled aimlessly through the streets. “I still can’t believe you asked me. I’ve been waiting for it for so long, and you finally did it!” She laughed. She looked up into his yellow eyes. “I love you so much.”
Onyx grinned ear to ear. “Oh, that’sh nothing compared to how much I love you,” He said, tenderly.
Mint Heart realized that Onyx was leading her to his house. “Whoa, there. I think you’ve had too much to drink. We agreed we’d wait for marriage, remember?”
It took Onyx a few seconds to process what was happening. Then, suddenly, it dawned on him what he was doing. “Oh! Shorry, honey. I dunno what I was thinking.” He shook his head, disturbing Minty’s fiancée-headrest, and veered back towards the main street. “Let’sh get you home.”
Chapter 6 - Where There's Smoke. . .
Smallclover’s streets were fit to overflowing with ponies. After the three days of the Coldheart Tournament drew to a close many travelers bid their families and friends goodbye before heading back to their homes. Farmers gathered their tools and got back to work preparing for harvest, working in their fields long before dawn. Loggers and woodcutters bid their wives goodbye and headed for the forests, ready for a hard day’s chopping. Craftsponies prepared for another day’s work. All was turning back to normal.
All was turning to normal, that is, except for Onyx Shard, Mint Heart, Forest Thorn, and Little Snow. Weddings are serious business and the wedding was to be held the following month. Today, Mint Heart and Onyx Shard were working on writing and sending invitations to send to various family and friends, and Little Snow was busy with the town’s vintner discussing which wines would be needed for the ceremony. Forest Thorn had spent the night at Onyx’s house the last few days too sore to move much at all. He sprawled out on the guest bed, a pallet of straw covered by a coarse grey sheet. A bright yellow light woke him. Groggily, he eyed the shuttered windows and the beam of bright sunlight blazing through its seam onto his face.
Forest Thorn inhaled deeply, stretching out his sore legs even more. With a yawn he sat up. He brought a hoof to his chest, and smiled. Little Snow, I don’t know how you do it. The painkiller draught wore off the night after his return, leaving him very sore and bedridden, but today his chest felt almost normal. He pressed his hoof harder, and was rewarded with a little pain. It’ll still be sore for some time, but I guess that’s to be expected.
He slowly stood up out of bed, and rolled his neck around. He yawned again and walked across the wooden floor to open the shutters. Squinting in the light, he looked out to the streets of Smallclover and all the ponies milling about. He spotted a few foals scampering around playing tag or some such, and he smiled warmly at the sight. Forest left the window shutters open and headed down to the first floor.
At the sound of his hooves clomping down the creaky stairs Mint Heart and Onyx Shard looked up from their invitations. “Good morning sunshine,” Onxy said, eyebrow raised. “You do know its afternoon?”
Forest shrugged. “Killing monsters and breaking bones really takes it out of you,” he said, walking over to his friends. “Need me to do anything?”
Minty gave him a semiserious look. “Forest, I want you in that bed until your chest is healed.”
Onyx shuffled through the list of names they were deciding whether or not to invite. “Yeah, we don’t want a cripple’s help,” he said, grinning. “Seriously though, go back to bed.”
Forest shook his head. “I think that potion of Snow’s finally worked. I feel fine.” He pressed his hoof to his chest. “It’s a little sore, but I think that’s normal.”
Minty sighed. “If you’re sure,” she said. She brought a hoof to her chin, thinking. “In that case, we could use your help. Would you go talk to Father Emerald Flare? Tell him we’ve finalized the date as May fourteenth. We’re almost done with the invitations,” she swept her hooves over the list and letters on the table before her, “but I’ve got to go get the entertainment figured out, and Onyx has to go organize the catering,” she waved her green hoof at Onyx, who nodded sagely. “It’d be great if you could do this for us.”
“Is that all?” Forest said. “That’s nothing. Sure, I’ll do it for you. May fifteenth?”
“Fourteenth,” Onyx corrected. “Clean your ears out.”
Forest grinned. “Alright, May fourteenth. I’ll be back soon.”
“Thanks Forest,” Minty said.
Forest Thorn left the house, a small two-story wooden home with two rooms on each floor. The stone chimney climbed out the center of a thatched roof and it seemed a warm, cheery place. Forest grinned. Onyx’s got a good life ahead of him with Minty. Happy for his friends, he trotted to Smallclover’s main square.
The square was crowded with ponies making travel arrangements, organizing group protection and emergency supplies for the road in case grazing wasn’t an option. On a normal day Forest would have sauntered on in and sold his sword to the highest bidder, acting as a bodyguard for the travelers. Instead he had a wedding to help plan, so he quickly made his way to the town’s church.
Towards the center of the town the church towered above all the other structures, rivaling the size of the castle’s keep. The stone building had a tall square tower rising from one of its corners, a big bronze bell hanging inside. The main hall had a slate roof with stained glass windows adorning each wall. The church’s sturdy oaken double doors greeted him, one of them slightly ajar. Forest made for the door and gently pushed it open. Inside, a small group of ponies were gathered to pray. Father Emerald Flare was giving them his sermon before administering the Sacrament of Protection. He was a tall dark green unicorn sporting a flaming red-orange mane and tail, and he wore simple white garments appropriate for a stallion of the cloth. His eyes were tan, and they blazed with a fierce passion at the ponies in his congregation.
“Indeed, my brothers and sisters, long ago Solaire the Radiant One promised that the Great Dark, the period of calamity and demonic slavery brought on by our own sins, shall never come again. For when that fell threat arises once more, and it certainly will my friends, our Lord will honor His covenant and send His Herald to destroy this foul blight and spread peace throughout the land! He means nothing but love for all His children, the diverse peoples of the world. Even now, the Lord of Light and Mercy watches over us and protects us, through men and mares with goodwill in their hearts. We are His instruments! He acts through US!” Such was his excitement that he was almost shouting. “Amen, Amen I say to you, rejoice in His merciful forbearance, for our Lord leads us to salvation, forgives us our sins and brings us up into paradise, where we shall experience the Beatific Vision. All we need do is accept His divine offer, freely given! If we let Him, the Lord our God will save us from the sin and pain of this world after death, and we shall bask in His glorious peace forever!” he bowed his head in quiet prayer, as did the congregation. A few moments of silence past, then Father Flare opened his eyes and said, “Come now in hope and love, and share in the blessings of the Lord.”
“Thanks be to God,” the ponies replied. They all got up from their pews and proceeded in a single-file line to Father Emerald Flare.
To which the faithful responded, “And also with you.”
Forest Thorn waited respectfully from outside lest he interrupt, until the end of the sacrament. Once the congregation was finished, he made his way over to Father Emerald Flare, greeting ponies on his way.
“Hello, Forest Thorn. How are your wounds?” Father Flare asked in his deep, smooth preacher’s voice. “I was otherwise occupied at the tournament, or I would have sought you out sooner.”
Forest waved a hoof dismissively. “I’m fine, Father, Little Snow gave me some potion and now I feel great.”
Father Flare smiled warmly. “Glad to hear it. Now, what brings you to church today?” he asked, “Come you for pardon? Or for prayer?”
Forest smiled. “Not today, Father. I’ve come to make arrangements for Onyx Shard’s and Mint Heart’s wedding. They were too busy preparing to come to you directly, so they sent me.”
Walking down from the sanctuary steps, Father Flare’s smile widened. “Ah, yes. I’ve been expecting a response from those two,” he said. “When do they want to have the ceremony?”
“A month from now,” Forest said, “May fourteenth.”
Father Flare nodded. His horn lit up with glowing tan magic, and he levitated a scroll and quill near him. “Got it,” he said, writing. “Give my congratulations to Onyx Shard. It’s about time he asked her!”
“I will. See you later, Father.” Forest said.
“Go in peace.” Father Flare responded.
“Did you write uncle Spring Haze’s invitation?” Mint Heart asked. She and her fiancée were still seated around their table, covered in scrolls and inkpots.
“Mmhm,” Onyx replied, mouth full of stylus. He spat it out, and said, “Just finished it.”
“Awesome! Then we’re done,” Minty said, rising from her haunches. “I’ll go get the entertainment sorted out. Can you clean this up?” she asked, gesturing to the mess of letters and sealing wax.
Onyx gave her a deadpan look, before breaking out in a grin. “Sure, honey. Won’t take a second,” he said.
“Thanks!” Minty beamed, leaning in and kissing Onyx on the nose. “I’ll be back before three.” She donned her saddlebags.
“Mmhm,” Onyx mumbled, carefully sealing the last letter with wax.
Minty left Onyx’s home, and turned her head back to look at it. She smiled excitedly and continued on her way. She made for the town square, now much less crowded than it was at noon. Most of the travelers had left, leaving just a few loitering about among the regular commuters of Smallclover.
The troupe of bards she requested sent a representative a while ago, the minstrel who put Forest’s hunt to song. He’s probably still in the tavern, drinking his bits away. He can wait. She cantered through the streets of the town, passing only a few ponies on the way. The wider streets gave way to smaller alleys, and she found the place they were to meet. She sat down at the corner of somepony’s house by an alley, and waited.
She didn’t have to wait long. Soon the one she was to meet came trotting around the corner, a pink unicorn mare clad in a grey cloak. Mint Heart waved the pony over with a wide grin on her face.
The cloaked unicorn came over to her, and she levitated a scroll out from her pocket. “You are Mint Heart, correct?” she asked, reading the scroll.
“Yes, that’s me,” she said. “Sixty-five bits, right?”
“Yep,” the mare responded cheerily.
Mint Heart rummaged around her saddlebags, and pulled out a check. “Here you go,” she said.
She grabbed the note with her magic, and gave it a closer look. Satisfied with its authenticity, she folded it up and placed it in her cloak pocket. She then levitated a small box out of the same pocket, and gave it to Mint Heart. “Congratulations!” she said, before cantering off.
Mint Heart opened the box, and her heart soared. It looked more beautiful than she’d imagined it; Onyx’s wedding ring. Made of blue enameled steel, its metallic luster glinted in the sunlight. A serpent was engraved on it, wrapping itself around the ring. It had a small amethyst eye, glinting in the light. “Well worth it for you, Onyx Shard,” she murmured. She closed the box, and shoved it into her saddlebags. Then Mint Heart trotted towards the tavern.
Onyx Shard ambled through the town’s streets, heading for the Matchwood Inn. It was the closest thing to a café that Smallclover had, and he had to organize catering for the wedding. Humming an upbeat tune, he entered through the tavern’s saloon doors. “Hey Gold Scale,” he called.
“Hey hon!” she drawled back. “Heard tell you’re gettin’ married. Here to order the food?”
“Yeah,” Onyx said. “But I wouldn’t mind a beer or two in the meantime.” He tossed her a bit.
She caught it, and placed the gold coin in her pocket. “So what do you want today, hon? Everfree Ale? Red Mead?”
Onyx sucked air in through his teeth. “Ahhh . . . I’m feeling a Red Mead today, Scale.”
Gold Scale nodded, and reached for a mug. She opened a keg of the drink, and poured him a half pint of the dark red mead. Stopping the flow, she gave the mug to Onyx. “Here.”
Onyx took it gratefully, and took a swig. With a satisfied sigh, he casually looked around the tavern. It was busier than the last time he was here. “So, care to cater for us?” he asked. “We’re looking for the best. That you?”
Gold Scale glanced up at him, drying a mug with a rag. “Is that even a question? Hon, I’m the best baker in this whole town,” she boasted, swelling with pride. “My grandmother had the old recipes, the good stuff, and passed them down to me. I’ll pass them down to my children and to theirs too before I’m done. Flour runs like blood in our family.” She looked back down to her mug.
Onyx Shard smiled at her and took another drink. “Great! So what kind of wedding cake can you whip up for us? And how about the main course?” he asked. “I can pay well.”
“Of that I have no doubt. I heard about--” at that moment, a very distressed Little Snow burst through the tavern’s doors. They swung wildly behind her. “Hey hon, come take a seat at the bar!”
“Sorry Scale, no time,” Little Snow said curtly, shaking her head. She had a very anxious look about her. “Onyx, you need to come with me right now.”
Onyx stood just outside the tavern in the alley behind it, a heartbroken look spreading across his face. Forest Thorn stood beside him, face somber, and Little Snow beside Forest.
“Indeed. The caravan from Ironshod’s three days late. We didn’t think much of it, because of that heavy storm that rolled over from the Cyandorian Mountains. However, my rangers have reported seeing a huge plume of black smoke billowing from that direction.” Lord Frozen Lake stood before them, flanked by two armed guards clad in mail. “There’s no evidence of a raid on the road. The wagons never left Ironshod.”
“Hahhh. . .” Onyx fought back tears, shocked. Why there? Why did it have to be there?
Forest slung a hoof over his friend’s shoulder, sympathy in his green eyes. “I’m sorry, brother.”
Frozen Lake continued, “This is your first mission. Go to Ironshod, and tell me what you find there. I need to know what we’re dealing with.” He paused. “We must know who was responsible. A bandit attack is a serious matter, but if Cyandor’s at fault, this could mean another war. If that is the case, we must gird ourselves.”
His guards shifted uncomfortably.
While Forest Thorn quietly tried to comfort Onyx, Little Snow addressed Lord Frozen Lake. “Of course, my lord. We’ll find out who’s responsible.”
“Excellent. I know you won’t let me down,” Frozen said. He jerked his head down the alley, and his two guards trotted off. Before following them, he gave Onyx a sympathetic look. “I’m sorry. I know your family lived there, Solaire protect them,” he paused. “Find them if you can. Avenge them if you must.”
Mint Heart was headed for the tavern to speak with the bard when she saw her fiancée and her friends standing by the door. “Hey everypony! How are you guys?” Her cheery countenance fell when she saw the looks on their faces. “What happened?” Her tone grew serious.
Forest Thorn looked away.
Little Snow looked uncomfortable, shifting her weight from hoof to hoof. “We’ve got some bad news. . .”
Onyx looked at his fiancée, tears flowing from his angry yellow eyes. “We fear Ironshod was attacked. They saw smoke rising from the town, and we’ve had no road traffic from there since.”
Minty’s heart fell. She felt the sensation of a heavy weight in her stomach, the slow sense of horror emanating from her gut to the rest of her body. “Oh, sweetheart, I’m so sorry. . .” she said, closing the distance between them and embracing Onyx in a warm, tight hug. Tears fell from her eyes. “I’m so sorry.” She felt his body tense up, and a furious heat radiated from his body.
Onyx pulled away, blinking tears away from his downcast eyes. “We leave for Ironshod today. It’s our first mission, and we’ll find who did this.” He raised his eyes to meet Minty’s, liquid and full of anguish. “I’ll have justice by the end.”
“You’re not alone, brother,” Forest said, walking towards him. He put a hoof on his shoulder. “Come, it’s nearly one-thirty. We should get going if we’re to make it by nightfall.”
“I’ll get us provisions, I already have my saddlebags ready,” Little Snow said, jerking her head towards the Matchwood Inn. “You two go get geared up. We’ll meet here in half an hour.”
Onyx sniffed, and nodded. “We’ll be back sometime tomorrow, probably.”
Mint Heart caressed his red mane gently. “Make sure you do. Take care to come back to me, love.”
He took her hoof in his, and kissed it. “I swear it.” He turned, and cantered to his home, leaving Mint Heart standing in front of the tavern.
She sighed, and walked into the tavern. “Scale, give me the strongest thing you have.”
Wearing his grey traveling cloak, Forest Thorn stood alone in front of the Matchwood Inn, tapping his hoof anxiously. Where are they? He looked at the sun’s position, judging that it was about two-thirty. He huffed, and scanned the road again. He grimaced as he saw Onyx Shard approaching from the distance.
Clad in his boiled leather traveling armor and wearing his hoofblade and shield, he took long strides to reach Forest. “Where’s Snow?”
“I don’t know. She should be here by now,” Forest replied, glancing back up at the sky. “It’d be about two-thirty right now.”
After another ten minutes of waiting, she came galloping around the street corner. “Sorry I’m late!” Little Snow called. “I was getting my father’s sword.” She gestured towards her hoofblade. “Tough Nails’ still working repairs on mine.” She wore a grey aketon and her sword on her left hoof. She wore leather saddlebags and a determined look on her face.
“We ready?” Forest asked. He glanced at Onyx.
“Time to go,” he replied.
Forest led the way, with Little Snow behind him and Onyx taking up the rear. They traveled single file out the wooden gates of Smallclover, and made it past the last farms nearby at about three-thirty. The road wasn’t a difficult one, though the silence on the party made oppressive the atmosphere. An anxious mood lay over the members of their little company, each member wanting to get to Ironshod as fast as possible, yet wishing they’d never arrive. Soon the rolling hills and fields that surrounded Smallclover gave way to vibrant woodland, teeming with trees, foliage, and small animals crisscrossing across the road. All these simple pleasures were lost on Onyx Shard, who trod on with single determination, a burning anger, and a faint hope in his heart.
As the trees grew thicker and the sun began to set, the path started to follow a burbling stream. The sound of the cool water soothed their troubled hearts a small bit, and wordlessly they all stopped for a quick drink. Moving on, the road began to twist and turn through the dense woods, and Forest Thorn grew wary and kept on the lookout for any predators that may be lurking nearby. Nothing happened as the trees thinned again, greatly improving visibility. They kept their heads slightly down, and their pace was swift. They ate up miles quickly.
“Is it that bad?” Little Snow asked as she reached the top of the hill. “Ah. . .” she said, experiencing much the same emotions Forest just did. She stood there shocked and in sickening confusion. “Who would do something like this? To a farming village?”
Onyx reached the top of the hill and beheld the sight that disturbed his friends so profoundly. His mood darkened further, and his flickering hope for his family was extinguished immediately. Fresh tears welled up from inside, but he shook his head and blinked them away. “Come, let’s take a look. We shall see what we shall see.” His voice cracked with grief.
He started down the hill. As Forest and Snow followed him, Forest noticed something moving around near the dilapidated buildings. “Hey!” he hissed, “movement in the village! Get down and follow my lead!”
Movement? A desperate hope flared in Onyx’s heart once more. Then there’s a chance. . . Snow and Onyx crouched, and followed Forest as he quickly but quietly picked his way down the hill, using shadows and tall grass to conceal his movements.
They reached the town and were once again filled with disgust and horror at the sight, this time up close. Charred corpses littered the ground, burned beyond recognition by the bloodthirsty flames. They crept through the ruins, taking great care to avoid the bodies of the fallen, edging their way ever closer to the center of the town. As they reached what used to be the alley behind the church, Forest saw a pony sauntering confidently across the road in front of them. He wore a padded leather jacket and a hoofblade on his foreleg. An unkempt mane hung raggedly on his shoulders, and he looked as if he hadn’t bathed in months. Forest held up his hoof, motioning for his friends to halt. He carefully edged closer along the stone wall, and perked his ears at the sound of talking.
“-another mare, hiding in the tavern’s cellars. A stallion was with her, little more than a colt, must’ve been her brother. He didn’t stand a chance!” the stallion laughed.
“Ha haha haw!” another voice. “Did ye bring ‘er up with the rest?”
“Naw, I didn’t wanna share. She put up a right good fight, nearly lost me jewels!” they guffawed some more. “I taught her a fine lesson after, though.”
Forest Thorn curled his lip in a disgusted sneer. Bandits. He looked back at his followers. They heard the conversation too. Forest only needed one quick look to understand that Little Snow and Onyx Shard were ready for blood, their faces were dark and eyes full of death. He silently jerked his head towards the church wall, and motioned with his hoof for them to go around the building to surround them.
Onyx and Snow nodded, and they quietly crept around the church. Forest waited ten seconds. When he was fairly certain his friends had reached their destination, he quietly approached the outlaws ahead of him.
“She was a fine catch, though.” The first bandit whistled. “Don’t think I’ve had tighter!”
The other slapped his hoof on his companion’s shoulder. “Nothin’ beats a lass’s first fuckin! Where is she now?”
“Naw, she’s dead. Tired to nip my-” he didn’t get a chance to finish. Forest Thorn had snuck up behind him, and in one quick motion rose to combat stance and plunged his blade deep into the bandit’s neck. His eyes widened in shock and pain, and red blood spurted all over Forest and the other outlaw.
“’Ey! You sticked me mate, we’ll stick you!” the other spat, furious, rising to fighting position and unsheathing his own slightly rusted blade.
Before he could swing it, a sword broke its way through his chest. “Not if I stick you first!” Little Snow sneered, ears splayed back. He looked down in confusion at the bloody sword poking out of his belly. Suddenly it disappeared, and Little Snow swung the hoofblade roundabout to lop the bandit’s head off. Red blood sprayed on her white face as her enemy’s head spiraled through the air before landing unceremoniously on the stone stairs to the church. Onyx Shard appeared behind her, shield and sword at the ready.
“Hoy, what’s goin’ on out there?” a voice hollered from within the burned-out church.
“Help! Help us!” a female voice screamed.
“Shut your bitch mouth, you!” Onyx heard a sharp smack and a whimper. His face twisted with rage, and he charged into the building, ears flattened, screaming bloody revenge as he went. Forest and Snow were right behind him.
Inside the church, most of the pews had been burnt to cinders. Five more bandits were inside, two at a game of dice on an overturned pew and two guarding the mares where the sanctuary once stood. Another was advancing to the doorway when Onyx charged in. His eyes widened in surprise, but before he could unsheathe his blade Onyx Shard leapt upon him. He stabbed his sword deep in the brigand’s chest, and with the force of his leap he tackled his foe to the ground. The stallion grunted and exhaled sharply, his eyes glazing over. Onyx pulled his sword out, and sprinted for the hostage guards, shield raised and screaming.
Forest and Snow made for the dice players. They got up as Onyx killed their friend, but Forest was faster. Right as the bandit unsheathed his blade, Forest sliced his neck open. The outlaw brought his hooves up to his neck in a vain attempt to stop the bleeding, and collapsed on his side. Forest ran right on past him to the hostage guards, determination in his eyes.
Little Snow swung her sword in an uppercut stab, which the other gambler barely parried in time. She quickly spun, slashing out with her hoofblade as she did so. It cut through her enemy’s chest, cleaving between ribs and through his soft flesh. The bandit swung again, but was unused to fighting a left-hoofed opponent. The swing was sloppy, and Little Snow easily parried and riposted, cutting deep into the bandit’s unprotected abdomen. His entrails spilled out on the floor, and a swift punch sent him sprawling out next to them. As Snow bounded after Forest, the bandit weakly tried to push his guts back in his belly, frightened and confused.
The hostage-guards had more time to get ready, though one of them seemed visibly shaken by how the battle was going. The other, clad in scorched mail pinched off one of the corpses, was clearly drunk. “Yew wanna fight? Come get one!” he slurred. He stepped down to swing his sword savagely at Onyx, who deflected it quickly with a strong shield bash. The force of his own swing rendered the bandit off-balance, allowing Forest to follow-up with a quick thrust to his unarmored neck. He struck true, and the bandit drowned on his own blood. He toppled to the ground with the sound of clinking mail, bleeding out.
The final bandit panicked, and tried to flee. He quickly scanned his opponents. He singled out Little Snow as the weakest, assuming the diminutive mare couldn’t stop him. He desperately bull rushed her, swinging his blade wildly.
Little Snow parried his sword, and with her right hoof punched him hard in his nether region. The bandit doubled over in pain, and stumbled to the ground. He fell down the sanctuary stairs, and lay there groaning. He recovered somewhat, and scrambled along the ground in an effort to escape, but Little Snow easily caught up to him. She stomped her left hoof on his back to pin him to the ground, and her right on his blade, preventing a counterattack. She brought her sword to his throat, letting it rest on his dirty fur.
Realizing the futility of the situation, the bandit accepted defeat. His tensed muscles relaxed under Little Snow’s iron grip, and he got back to moaning about his balls. Little Snow looked up at Onyx and Forest. “We should interrogate him. Find out what he knows.”
Forest stepped down to Snow’s level. “Good idea.” He craned his neck down so his head was very close to the bandit’s. “You’re going to be cooperative. You wouldn’t want to upset Lord Frozen Lake’s officers, would you?” he asked, flashing his badge.
“I-I didn’t do anything! I didn’t touch those mares!” he groveled, tears flowing freely from his eyes.
Little Snow grimaced. “Good. You know the punishment for rape is gelding.” She looked thoughtful for a moment, and then turned her cold blue eyes back to the outlaw beneath her. “You know, I don’t think I believe you.” She glanced at Forest. “Cut him.”
He sighed. “Why do they go bandit? It’s never worth it,” he mumbled, just loud enough for said bandit to hear. He brandished his hoofblade, and reached for the stallion’s manhood.
“aaAH! No! Please, no, I’ll tell you anything!” the bandit screamed, pleading for mercy. “Anything! Just don’t geld me!” In fear, he released his bladder’s contents on the church’s floor, further defiling the scorched and bloody flagstones. He was a sobbing, pleading, peeing mess under Little Snow’s unforgiving hooves.
While Snow and Forest got about the interrogation, Onyx started freeing the hostages. As he approached, all the mares backed up in fear, as far as their ropes would let them. “Don’t worry, I’m here to help,” he spoke softly, cutting the nearest line. “Come here, let me see if I can get those bindings off.”
As he said this, a shaky voice piped up from the back of the line. “Uncle Onyx? Is that you?” it quavered.
Onyx’s dying spark of hope reignited, and roared to life as a raging inferno in his chest. “Quicksilver?!” he exclaimed. “Quicksilver, you’re alive!”
“Yes, I’m alive, I’m fine!” she said, crying.
Onyx Shard quickly got about setting all the mares free, and after freeing the first six he reached Quicksilver. His sister’s daughter, she was a dark green young mare of about seventeen years with grey eyes and a grey mane and tail. He saw that her eyes brimmed with tears as she spoke. “I’m so glad you came! That you rescued us!”
Onyx sawed through her bindings, and gave her a deep hug. “Did they. . ?” He spoke unsteadily.
Even more tears welled up in her eyes. She tried to speak, but her voice caught in her throat. She nodded her head and wept into her uncle’s shoulder.
Onyx gently caressed her mane, squeezing her tighter in his embrace. “They’ll never hurt you again, I swear.”
She nodded, staring at the bandits’ corpses scattered on the ground.
Forest Thorn reached into his saddlebags, and procured a coil of rope. He cut two short segments, and hobbled the last surviving bandit’s legs together. “Now tell me, and don’t lie, are there more of you hiding out in the village?” He stripped him of his hoofblade, deemed it recoverable, and stowed it in his saddlebags.
Little Snow twisted the hoof that was firmly implanted in the prisoner’s back. “I’ll know if you’re lying,” she said, flicking an ear. “If you are, we really will snip you.”
The bandit must’ve been no more than sixteen years old. His young eyes widened even further, his irises shrinking in fear. “Di-di-did you kill the two outside?” he stuttered.
Forest nodded. “Yeah. Friends of yours?” he asked.
The bandit shook his head vigorously. “No, no, not like that.” He looked up at Forest and Snow. “If you killed two out there, you’ve gotten all of us.” He sniffled. “Please don’t geld me! I didn’t touch them, I swear!”
Little Snow stepped off the bandit. “We’d better sweep the area, just to be sure,” she said, looking on the bandit with disdain. “Can’t trust his word.”
“Agreed,” Forest said. He turned back to face Onyx Shard. “Onyx, we’re going to go search for more bandits. You gonna stay and protect the mares?”
Still hugging his niece, Onyx cast his gaze over her shoulder to Forest. “Yeah. Go,” he said, tears of relief and fury in his yellow eyes.
Forest nodded, and he and Snow cantered out of the ruined church into the burned-out village of Ironshod.
Onyx turned his attention back to the mares he untied. “Stay near the sanctuary. If anypony else comes in here I’ll kill him,” he asserted. “None will lay a hoof on you.”
One of the mares nodded. “Thank you,” she said, gratitude in her teary eyes. She turned and gestured towards the back to the others. They followed her to the altar.
Onyx felt Quicksilver’s sobs wrack her body, and he felt a pang of sympathy for her. Poor filly. Gently, he stroked her mane. “Shhh. I’ve got you, you’re safe.”
She looked up at him, tears streaming down her face. They got mom and daddy,” she said. “They killed them.”
Fresh surges of anger and grief gripped Onyx’s beleaguered heart, but he didn’t show it. He just kept stroking Quicksilver’s mane. “I know, dear, I know. But you don’t have to worry, we got justice. They’ll never kill anypony else.”
Quicksilver shook her head quickly, and pulled back from the hug. Holding Onyx’s shoulder’s at arms’ length, with angry, teary eyes she said, “No, you didn’t. Those bandits weren’t the ones who razed Ironshod.” She took a deep, shaky breath. “Men dressed in red, bearing white roses, led by a huge grey pony clad in black.” She flattened her ears and shut her eyes at the memory, quaking. “The screams. . .” she broke down into sobs once more.
Forest Thorn and Little Snow patrolled all around the town, scanning for signs of movement or danger. Forest stood on his hind legs, brandishing his blade and a torch to light the search. Snow followed on all fours as backup. It took them about twenty minutes and they found not a soul alive. Forest sighed. “Colt didn’t lie.”
Little Snow nodded. “Good,” she yawned, “then let’s get some rest. Pick up the search in the morning. We’ve been on our hooves all day.”
Forest nodded. “Go tell Onyx that we got all the bandits, then get some sleep,” he said. “I’d like to take another look around.”
Snow nodded. She turned around, and cantered back to the church building. The broken structure still had its bell tower intact, clad with stained glass windows. What stories they once told were gone, blackened from the smoke.
Forest walked slowly and carefully around the ruined buildings, carefully examining the wreckage as he went. He picked through the rubble of a few of the houses, pushing aside blackened boards and brushing away ashes.Bodies still indoors, most of them. The corpses’ skin had burned away, leaving scorched and cracked husks littering the ground, frozen in their death throes. Many were piled around where the doors had been. They tried to escape. Something stopped them.
Something wasn’t right. Forest looked around at the bodies, the houses, and the streets. He felt that something was . . . off. I’m missing something. He took a closer look. Forest picked through the rubble more thoroughly, lifting charred beams and brushing ashes away to see what lay beneath. He found an old trunk, partially concealed by ashes next to the destroyed wooden wall of what used to be a cottage. It was still locked. Why didn’t they take this? Did they miss it? It was locked, but heavily damaged by the flames. He kicked the top of the chest open, splintering the burnt wood under his hoof. Inside laid a small treasure trove; a copper goblet inlaid with four small garnets, a bag of bits, a small locket made of silver, and an intricately carved comb made of bone. Some villager’s lifesavings most likely. He frowned. They couldn’t have missed it, it wasn’t hidden at all. Why didn’t they take this?
Forest shook his head wearily. He sighed. It’ll all be here tomorrow. He extinguished his torch and walked back to the church. When he got there, he saw that Onyx Shard had started a fire at the foot of the sanctuary, and he stood watch over all the mares sleeping around it. Little Snow stood with him. Forest went over to Onyx and whispered, “Why don’t you get some sleep? You had it the hardest.”
Onyx looked gratefully at his friend. “Thanks.” He quietly went over to where Quicksilver was sleeping. “Oh, Forest,” he said, “Quicksilver told me the bandits didn’t attack the town. Not initially.” He paused. “She described them as men bearing red with white roses. Could only mean Cyandor.” He curled up next to Quicksilver’s sleeping form. “She said they were led by a huge pony, a beast of a stallion, clad in black.”
“I don’t know of anypony like that,” he replied.
“Me neither. We’ll look some more tomorrow.” Onyx closed his eyes and quickly fell asleep.
Forest Thorn glanced over to Little Snow. “Hey, I can take the first watch. I’ll wake you up at about two,” he said, quietly.
“You sure?” Snow asked.
Forest nodded.
Snow flashed him a look of gratitude, and lay down where she stood. She sprawled out on the stone floor near the crackling fire and fell asleep quickly.
The last awake, Forest sat down a little ways off from the fire, stooped in shadow. He lifted his hood to cover his face. Eyes trained on the doorway, he thought about the bodies that lay outside.Mare and man both. He frowned. How did these mares survive? No men did. And why did the Cyandorians leave behind all that loot? It was just lying there for the taking! Deep into the night, Forest pondered the situation. It doesn’t make sense. There’s a piece of this puzzle we’re missing.
Solaire’s sun rose in the east, casting its warm rays through the church’s open doorway. Little Snow welcomed the warmth and the light, and got to waking up the rest. She prodded Forest’s sleeping form with her hoof. “Wake up.”
Forest’s eyes shot wide open, a little tired but alert. “Right. Let’s get Onyx up.”
He got up from his rest and stretched the sleep out of his stiff legs. Then he turned to his black friend and gently shook him awake. “Hey. It’s time to see what happened here, get up.”
Onyx opened his eyes, and saw that it was dawn. He shot up, indignant. “Why didn’t I take a watch? Why didn’t you wake me?”
Little Snow allowed herself a slight grin. “Because you needed a good night’s sleep. We’re all tired, but you were emotionally exhausted.” She cast her blue eyes over the hostage mares, who were just starting to wake up. “We can leave them here for now, they’ll be fine. Let’s go see if we can figure out what happened outside.”
Onyx Shard yawned. “Alright, let’s go.” Onyx gently shook Quicksilver awake. “We’re going to go search the town. Yell if you need us,”
She nodded her head, bleary-eyed.
Forest led the way, followed by Snow and Onyx. They started combing the village, picking through the dead bodies and the burnt rubble.
Onyx shook his head in disgust. “Look at this,” he said. “Over here.”
Forest cantered over, followed by Little Snow. “What’d you find?” Snow asked.
Onyx waved a hoof at the ruined building before them. “This used to be the garrison,” he said, pointing at the scorched and crumbling stone walls. “Look at all the bodies inside,” he said.
Forest took a look. “They’re all stallions, judging by their jawlines. All trying to escape through where the door was,” he gestured to their positions on the ground. “Must’ve been Lord Frozen’s soldiers stationed here. Cyandorians must've snuck in, probably disguised, hit them first.”
"Horrible way to die," Snow said.
Onyx nodded. “Let’s split up,” he said, “we’ll cover more ground that way.”
Snow and Forest nodded, and they separated. Onyx Shard took a closer look at the garrison, Forest went to see the remains of the town hall, and Little Snow picked around the houses.
“Onyx! Forest! Come here!” Snow called, waving her hoof. After searching for nearly two hours she was in the middle of what used to be one of Ironshod’s residential districts.
“What is it?” Forest called back. He cantered over to Little Snow, Onyx right behind him. “What’d you find?”
“Look,” Snow said, gesturing around her. She stood in the ruins of a particularly large house, what might have once been the home of a well-to-do merchant or craftspony. “See all the bodies?”
They nodded. “There are corpses all over, Snow,” Onyx said, a little irritated.
She rolled her eyes. “That’s not what I mean.” She waved her hooves to the charred dead around her. “Look at these,” she said, “no foals. And over there,” she pointed to the far side of the ruins. “No foals. And back there,” she pointed back towards where the church was. “No foals. None.”
“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.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."
