Chapters I am Soulstorm, Supreme Wizard to the Court of Arcturus, Sovereign Ruler of the Four Kingdoms of Equestria.
It has been a month since the King's messenger came to my chambers late that night to deliver the letter that now rests beside me - a heartfelt plea from the stallion I have come to regard as Lord, Master, and true friend. On learning of the King's failing health, I rushed immediately to his side, taking with me a few herbal preparations to ease his pain.
I arrived early the following morning, my saddlebags packed with more herbal recipes. Once I had entered the chamber, he instructed me to sit next to him, and so I did. He summoned what little was left of his once considerable strength to rest his hoof on top of my own.
"You must do this for me," was all he said, and as I looked deep into his tired eyes, he repeated this one sentence many times over, growing more delirious as the hours passed and the terrible illness slowly claimed his mind.
My heart was heavy as I gave Arcturus the assurance he sought, not because I was reluctant to grant his dying wish or because I feared for my own life, but because the mission his letter had described was almost certainly doomed to failure. The enormity of the task was beyond his comprehension, and yet it had to be attempted for the sake of our little ponies.
"My Dear Soulstorm,
Many are the tribulations I have endured throughout my long reign over the Four Kingdoms, yet your unfailing guidance and friendship have sustained me, just as they sustained my father during his rule and his father before him. Your powers are indeed formidable and your knowledge unsurpassed.
My friend, were you able to restore my health now that it's fading, I know that you would do so. I know also that a Wizard's magic, however great, may not disturb the natural order of life and death, so as it is that I must accept my fate, you must as well. It pains me to tell you that I am growing weaker by the hour, and that I fear the end of my mortal days will not be long in coming.
My greatest regret is that there is one more thing I must ask of you, Soulstorm, before I depart this world. This task is so daunting that I can scarcely bring myself to set down the words upon this page, and the very idea that I should have to ask it of one who has served me so well brings me close to tears. Please try to find it in your heart to forgive me, for I know of nopony else who could attempt such a mission. You will have heard, I am sure, about a fearsome malevolence which is rising in our world. Many a long year has passed without threat from the dragons which reside in the Kingdoms, save for their occasional attacks on our livestock. However, something has changed. Our villages are under siege and many of our subjects have been taken by these terrible beasts. I am not given to understand why the dragons have turned against us, but my dying wish is that I should rid my little ponies of this appalling curse. There have been rumors that the exiled unicorn, Pollux, has set himself against us and is commanding the dragons with evil intent. History records a similar event one thousand years ago when the wrath of the dragons was visited upon the world, but few survived to speak of that cataclysm and how it came to pass. All I can tell you is that it came to be known as 'The Dragon Storm'.
And so, Soulstorm, what I must ask of you is this; I will put at your disposal one hundred of my fiercest Earth ponies, all of whom are hardened veterans of combat, four ships and all the necessary provisions for the journey. That is, if you will accept my task to seek these dragons and destroy them. The Sankaara Amulet, which has been held securely within the castle vaults since the reign of my Great-Grandfather, will of course be made available to you should you accept the commission. It cannot protect you from serious harm but the Eye of Sankaara, preserved in the center of the Amulet, has many properties which are well known to you.
It is my wish that my son, Sandorius, accompany you on the journey despite the dangers you will undoubtedly face, for he has much to learn before he is worthy of my title. He is headstrong, and such is the spirit of youth, but he has always shown great interest in your teachings and I believe your guidance will help him win the respect of our ponies. Had my health not failed me, I would have waited longer before initiating Sandorius, but my hoof has been forced. I hope you agree that he is ready and trust that you will protect him as best you can during your travels together. In time, he will make a great King. Of this, I am certain.
Lastly, I must ask you to document your expedition and gather such artifacts as you deem relevant for it is possible that, should your mission fail, there will be others who are brave enough to meet the challenge and follow in your hoofsteps. Their chances of success may indeed be poor, but the knowledge you have acquired on your travels will serve them well, echoing through the centuries as a testament to your efforts and those of the courageous individuals who aided you.
Three of the finest artists from my Court will accompany your endeavors, recording the encounters in sketches and paintings whilst addicting in the collection and preservation of samples. As I write this, a master craftspony is working through the night to create a book of great strength and rare beauty according to my design. You must keep it with you at all times since it contains a small compartment which provides for the safekeeping of the Amulet. An abundance of parchment leaves on which the artists can make their entries forms the main body of this tome, which will henceforth be known as 'The Soulstorm Chronicles'.
I wish you good fortune, and need not remind you of the urgency of the task which awaits you.
Your very great friend, Arcturus Sovereign Ruler of the Four Kingdoms"
It was late afternoon when I eventually left the King's chamber, bidding my friend farewell in the almost certain knowledge that I would never see him alive again.
As I walked back along a dark corridor towards the main section of the castle - a gargantuan atrium with workers and officials bustling about - my head hung low in sorrow. I could recollect many times where the sick pony resting in those chambers had saved my life, and I his. Arcturus was an extremely strong fighter and an even better strategist.
He has lost very few battles for the Kingdom of Villiandra.
Out of a side passage barely concealed by decorative shrubbery, a Pegasus courtier trotted out in bright red robes with a gold trim. He ushered me into a small, dimly-lit antechamber. In the antechamber was a big desk made from what appeared to be mahogany, and resting on the desk was a casket finely embossed with gold. The courtier slowly removed the lid and, with the utmost reverence, eased a mighty tome out of the deep red cushioned lining of the casket. He held it out with his front hooves, using his wings to stay upright as the crimson glow of my magic wrapped around the tome, levitating it over to me. The book in which I was to record my journey, and upon which I make this entry, was indeed beautiful and very strong. My friend had made sure that whatever misfortunes befell us in the months ahead, this great book would be equal to the rigors of the quest.
Gently, I released the gold clasp that sealed the book and began to turn the pages, each of which was fashioned from the finest parchment. As I neared the back cover, I motioned to the courtier to avert his eyes, for if the King had indeed made the legendary Sankaara Amulet available to me, then it would surely be secreted here.
I myself had not seen the Amulet since the battle of Carnverion which took place some one hundred years ago, but as my hoof fell on the final page of the book, I recognized the unmistakable turquoise glow of the stone beneath. I turned the leaf and once again found myself entranced by the Amulet's beauty. A small velvet-lined recess had been created within the hard cover of the book and it was here that the Amulet emanated from the center of the stone, briefly illuminating the darkened room.
For a few moments I allowed my mind to travel back through the distant past, recalling the various myths and legends in which the Amulet was alleged to have played its part. Though many of the stories were apocryphal, I knew from my own experiences that the Amulet's power was beyond doubt. I knew too that it had been the servant of ponies both good and evil, and that the responsibility associated with being its temporary guardian was therefore considerable. As I closed the book and replaced it in the casket, the courtier once again turned to face me, bidding me good fortune as he gave to me a specially crafted leather bag in which to carry the book. I thanked him before quietly taking my leave and making my way back through the shadowy corridors to the main gate.
Day One...
The day of our departure dawned bright and clear. A thin mist hung over the vast natural harbour which rings the port of Villiandra, way below my home, located high up in the cliffs. From a small window in the corner of the room, I could see the last of the provisions being loaded onto the four ships King Arcturus had provided. The dock workers, the majority of which were unicorns, coordinated the cargo efficiently as the warriors readied themselves for the long journey, saying their farewells to their families. There was no doubt in my mind that for most of them, it would be their final goodbye.
It was high tide and the strong easterly breeze that sweeps down the valley from the Jorgas mountains at this time of year was set to carry us on our way. I read the King's letter one more time before placing it carefully in the opening pages of the book, and it was then I resolved that it would never leave my side.
When the knock on my door finally came, I was standing on a terrace, looking out at the ocean and trying to imagine the battles that lay ahead. The arrival of the porters shook my reverie. I trotted to my door and opened it, greeting the unicorns before leading them through to an area where a large wooden crate had been assembled. Its contents included almost all the knowledge, materials and equipment I had gathered during the past three hundred years. As I watched the unsteady progress of the porters down the steep track towards the harbor, I prayed that the crate would be safely delivered to the scenes of these dreadful encounters, for there cannot be the faintest hope of victory without it. When the time came for me to leave, I placed the book in the specially made leather pouch, which was then placed in my saddlebags. I threw on my cloak and started down the path towards the ships. Mindful of missing the turning tide, we departed almost immediately.
Chapter 1 - Westwards to Trotmana
Day Three...
For the first three days, we have made good progress under sail. Having nothing of particular importance to record during the initial stages of our journey, the artists on board our vessel today amused themselves by making sketches of their fellow crew members and giving imaginary names to the seabirds which followed in our wake.
It had been decided to head West because words had reached us shortly before our departure that the Third Kingdom, Trotmana, had been suffering renewed and increasingly violent activity. There could be no doubt that the dragon attacks, once confined to livestock and occasional assaults on lone individuals who had strayed too far into the hills, had increased greatly in magnitude and number. The latest incident had reportedly occurred in the foothills of the Arrean Mountains, a relatively low area, where an old stallion had been slain as he farmed his crops.
Day Four...
The winds that have carried us out so far in the first few days have now blown themselves out, leaving our ships becalmed. We are making some progress thanks to the efforts of our oarsponies, but the mood has grown noticeably darker as, for the first time, the ponies begin to contemplate their fate. At around noon there was a brief moment of levity when we were hailed by one of the other ships. It appeared that they had discovered a stowaway in the grainstore - a small unicorn filly, not above the age of ten. She gave her name as Celestia. Her coat was as white as snow, her mane a soft pink. She was winched across to our vessel, and when I questioned her, she explained that she'd overheard one of the warriors talking about our mission back at the port, and was unable to resist the adventure. We both knew that it was too late to turn back and the girl seemed likable enough, so I told her she can earn her passage by serving as my assistant until we make landfall.
We were passing between a series of small islands at dusk when I first heard the lookout's cry. The pegasus pointed to a patch of sea in the middle distance where the water's surface was boiling angrily. Dark clouds swirled in the sky above, and although it was unlike anything I'd ever seen before, I knew instinctively that something evil was about to rise from the depths.
The ship's sails snapped back and forth, cracking loudly as vicious gusts ripped into the canvas. Across the water, I could hear agitated cries from our compatriots on the other vessels, and there could be no doubt that they were right to be afraid. Experienced seafarers one and all, they knew that Mother Nature herself, for all her violent moods, could never conjure up a storm such as this within the few short minutes that had passed.
By that moment, the water immediately ahead of us was heaving ominously, and great plumes of spray were being hurled into the air, where the waves pounded a jagged rocky outcrop on our starboard side.
I looked up and, for just a moment, was awestruck by the sky above us. Never before have I seen the elements exhibit such fury, and yet there was a terrible beauty to the black clouds which spiraled overhead, twisting and turning in on themselves as lightning bolts slashed through their dark, seething forms.
I rushed below deck in the full knowledge that the opportunity for preparing our defense against this threat would be brief indeed. The ship began to pitch violently as I rifled through a great trunk seeking the equipment I would need. In the situation, speed was key, and so I enveloped the entirety of the contents in my magic, pulling everything out and grabbing what I needed. Hurrying back through a corridor, I found Sandorius emerging from his cabin and, with all the sternness I could muster, bade him return to the relative safety of his bunk.
Back on the main deck, the scene that greeted me was one of chaos. It was dark as night by then, and the crew worked furiously to secure all the loose objects on board and strip the sails. Returning to the bow I found my worst fears confirmed.
A dark funnel of cloud was slowly descending from the center of the maelstrom, and within it something unspeakable was beginning to take shape. Out of the corner of my eye I could see Celestia cowering in a small storage compartment at the side of the deck, and I immediately ordered her below. She was too terrified to move, however, and I had not the time to escort her, so I turned my attention to the contents of the small cloth bag I'd retrieved from the trunk. In front of me, a low plinth provided just enough space for the ritual I would have to perform. I cursed the winds for blowing the salty spray of the ocean into my eyes, fighting to concentrate my magic on undoing the ties of the pouch and release the nine flattish pebbles contained within. Eventually they spilled out, bouncing off one another and skidding off the foam-flecked wooden surface of the plinth.
To form the Sacred Circle and generate the energy required, the outer ring of eight stones must all be touching each other and the ninth must be placed in the very center, something that became harder and harder to achieve as the conditions progressively worsened. And as yet another difficulty upon the mountain that already challenged me, I could not use magic to arrange them. Once I nearly had the formation, but the ship was struck by a great wave that shook her to the core and sent the stones tumbling across the deck. At that moment we crested another huge wave and, as we plunged downwards into the relative calm of the watery canyon between the peaks, I made another desperate attempt to complete the pattern. After failing yet a third time, I realized that it was only by beaching on the lee side of the approaching land mass that we would be able to find a stable base on which to perform the ceremony.
A few moments later, skilfully guided by our Captain, we found our vessel heaving itself into a shingle bay and rolling onto its side. Celestia decided to break cover, finding in herself a new courage as she galloped from the shadows to assist me. In the darkness we could search the island only by the light of the brief but intense lightning flashes, and by the time we'd located a suitable vantage point, our foe was fully formed, its immense bulk towering over us like the embodiment of evil itself. A grotesque head, half dragon and half serpent, jutted forward from the main column of swirling wind and water on a barbed and scaly neck.
At the sides, its claws were clearly visible, but most terrifying of all was the creature's cry, a guttural scream which melded with the ocean's roar to produce a noise of such extreme ferocity that it shook the ground on which we stood.
The leading vessel was now no more than a few seconds away from the base of the tornado. It was impossible for me to determine whether this fearsome apparition was merely composed of the elements, or whether it had somehow metamorphosed into flesh and blood, thereby acquiring the ability to attack in the manner of other beasts. Either way, we were all in grave danger since the tornado itself would surely tear our vessels to shreds, even if the monster could not. The outer ring of pebbles was ready, and as I dropped the ninth stone into place, it was immediately apparent that the alignment had been perfect. A powerful white light, like a miniature lightning bolt, raced around the outer ring, bathing the stones in its glow. Celestia stood to one side of me, her look of terror now having given way to one of sheer wonderment as the strange light illuminated her features. A second later, the ring of energy u arced into the center pebble just as I knew it would, and I recognised this as the moment to strike. Without hesitation, I knelt down to touch the center stone with the tip of my horn. But a moment passed before I felt the familiar jolt of supernatural power coursing through my body.
My horn acts as a conductor and it was crucial that my aim was true if we were to avoid an appalling fate. For a brief but agonizing moment, nothing happened, and then the tip of my horn gave off a brilliant light. I fought to keep my hooves steady as I was kicked back, the power now at its maximum threshold. I pointed my horn directly at the creature before an intense streak of the whitest lightning shot skywards, piercing through the darkness. The victorious cries of our fellow travelers could be heard above the din of the oceans as the energy stream found its target, and a second later the sky appeared to burst open as the creature itself exploded with cataclysmic force, raining debris all around. So violent was the blast that we were all thrown off our hooves, and as the pebbles scattered once again I found myself unable to prevent at least two of them from bouncing across the rock surface and dropping into the ocean, where they would remain beyond use for all time.
Our crew was jubilant, but I was not so sure that the danger had passed. The tornado that had spawned the monster now appeared to be dissipating and spiraling into the ocean. But as the seas around us calmed, I began to feel more uneasy than ever. No more than a couple of minutes had passed before the ocean was completely still again, the tornado having blown itself out.
Still, the dark clouds loomed overhead, circling with less urgency than before, but maintaining their threat of evil. A cry from a crew member on the leading ship, The Verana, heralded the peril we were about to face. We couldn't make out his words, but shortly afterwards our ears were assailed by the roar of the phenomenon that had so alarmed the stallion. Not three leagues distant, at the point where the tornado had disappeared, an enormous whirlpool had formed in the ocean's surface. I watched with horror as The Verana banked sharply into the revolving wall of water and embarked on its final, desperate journey. Our oarsponies, along with those of the other vessels, immediately rushed below decks and set about the task of turning the ships around.
If a similar fate was to be avoided, our other ships would need to put a good stretch of clear water between themselves and this gaping maw in the ocean's surface as quickly as possible. As our own vessel pushed back through the surf and came about, I could see only the tip of The Verana's main mast, now making its third circuit of the thunderous whirlpool. She appeared to be moving faster and faster in the ever-tightening funnel of water, and there was absolutely nothing I could do to save the ponies on board. I watched with several other ponies as she disappeared from view, dragged down into the unimaginable darkness of the ocean's depths.
Gradually, the roar subsided and the skies at last began to clear. For now, at least, we were safe. We took a new bearing and collected a few items that we found floating near the point where The Verana had been taken down before resuming our journey, assisted by the light Easterly wind which now filled our sails.
Exhausted and deeply saddened by the day's events, I had not intended to make further entries in the journal tonight but, as I sit here now, the page in front of me lit only by the faint glow of a candle, my mind begins to travel back to the distant past.
Many years ago, a Wizard called Pollux, whose powers were at least the equal of my own, served alongside me in the Court of our ruler Arcturus. There was peace throughout the Kingdoms during that period, and he worked with me harmoniously for quite some time before beginning to grow resentful of my friendship with the King. In truth, Arcturus extended no favors to me that he would not have extended to my colleague but, as time went by and Pollux's imaginings took hold, he slowly withdrew his services, ultimately making only occasional appearances at the King's Court.
A few months later, I was approached by one of Pollux's apprentices, who'd become fearful of his master's after interrupting him in the midst of a dark ritual. I confronted Pollux in the expectation that some kind of misunderstanding had occurred, but he was defiant when I questioned him, aggressively and somewhat mysteriously declaring himself answerable only to an authority higher than my own. When, shortly afterwards, the apprentice suddenly disappeared I had no alternative but to tell the King what I knew.
Pollux was duly summoned and a dreadful argument ensued, the culmination of which was the King's decision to banish Pollux to one of the Northen islands. Unable to exile Pollux against his wishes, Arcturus was forced to enlist my help on carrying out the deed, an act that further enraged Pollux and confirmed his sense of betrayal.
And now, we have come to this. The King made mention of Pollux in his letter, and in the light of today's events, I can be sure that his suspicions were well founded. The creature that attacked us today could have been the work of none other than Pollux himself.
Day Six
We have made good progress for the last two days, but the mood on board has been solemn. This morning, we sighted Arken Island on the far horizon. Its craggy cliffs rose sharply out of an otherwise featureless ocean, and its peaks reached skywards as if reaching for the heavens. Most of those on board knew it to be the place where Pollux now resided, and they stared fixedly at its forbidding profile as we passed by.
The Captain of our vessel later reported to me that he had noticed a marked change in the shape of Arken Island since he was last in these waters. The rocky peaks had now been joined by a cluster of colossal towers, darker even than the grey granite that surrounded them, and we were forced to conclude that Pollux had built a fortress on the island.
Briefly, the thought occurred to me that we could divert Northwards and seek Pollux himself, rather than pursue the great beasts he now appeared to command, but on reflection I realized how foolhardy this course of action would have been. The waters around Arken Island are extremely perilous at this time of year, and were we to make landfall successfully and find our quarry in residence, we would have been confronting Pollux at the height of his powers.
The rest of the day passed without incident, and I spent several hours demonstrating simple magic to young Sandorius. Like his father, he shows great determination and strength of character, but he has very little instinctive feeling for the Ways of Wizardry. It frustrates him so, but I try to explain that the qualities he does possess will one day make him a truly worthy King, which I know to be true. There is something different about the young filly, though. She is usually a fiery little waif, but she spent all afternoon sitting on her haunches, watching Sandorius and myself without uttering a single word. I could sense her understanding of much that I said, however, and when I shot an occasional glance in her direction, she met my eyes with a look that spoke to me of the wisdom of centuries.
Chapter 2 - The Farmer's Tale
Day Seven
We reached safe harbor in the Third kingdom at about midday today, and much of the afternoon was spent unloading the vessels. Trotmana is a bustling port, and our arrival appeared to cause much excitement amongst the local townsponies, all of whom were most hospitable to our crew. I dined well at a nearby Inn and retired early, relieved to be on dry land once again.
Late at night there came a knock at my door, and I immediately recognized the Captain of one of our ships. The young stallion who accompanied him I had never seen before, but he was introduced to me as Rigel Mourner, a farmer who had recently witnessed a fatal attack by a fearsome, two-headed dragon. On numerous occasions he had seen this creature, all over a vast number of years. But it had always remained at a great distance high up in the mountains. I learned that he and his family had worked a smallholding in the lowlands for many years, making a modest living by selling their produce in the town's market once a week. With a tremendous voice, he described to me the terrible events that had overtaken them one afternoon in the Autumn of last year.
He'd been ploughing a field at the head of the valley when a great shadow swept over him. Looking up, he'd been horrified to see what he assumed to be the Beast of Gremarnaca circling low overhead. Tearfully, he explained to me how he'd desperately tried to warn his family of the danger as they toiled in the neighboring fields, but that his voice had been carried away on the breeze.
According to his account, the dragon had banked sharply, swooping so low over his head that the great gust from its wings threw him off his hooves. Terrified, he'd lain face down in the soul for a few moments, and when he raised his head, he beheld a sight so terrible that it will, I fear, stay with him until the end of his days. The creature had landed nearby, pinning a farmer to the ground with one of its enormous claws. Rigel had immediately recognized the victim as his father, and rushed to his aid, joining others who had quickly improvised weapons from their working tools.
There was nothing to be done, however, since the beast was all but oblivious to their efforts. It would not be distracted from its prey, whose writhing and screaming brought no release from the unrelenting grip of the dragon's talons.
Again and again, the creature's heads lunged downwards, ripping great chunks of flesh from the old stallion's ragged body, and only occasionally did they snake sideways, snarling and threatening to strike at those who baited the creature with hoes and scythes. In desperation, Rigel had galloped straight at the beast, driving a fence post forcefully into the side of one of its mouths. With a terrible cry, it leapt upwards, beating the air powerfully with its wings and creating dust clouds of such density that the farmers were left temporarily blinded and gasping for breath. As the air cleared, the dragon could be seen heading back towards it mountain lair, the lifeless body of Rigel's father still dangling in its grip.
Rigel sobbed openly as he neared the end of his sorry tale. He had not returned to the farm since the attack, and lived instead with friends in the port, still unable to accept the sad fact of his father's death, and his failure to prevent it. When at last I asked him whether there was anypony who could take us to the scene of the struggle, his reaction initially surprised me.
"I will escort you myself at first light," was all he said, and after a moment I understood just why it was so important to him.
Day Eight
Rigel was as good as his word, and our small army of warrior ponies left Trotmana early this morning, making only slow progress in the gray mist of dawn. I also have my suspicions that many of our company were suffering from an excess of revelry last night, since their faces were entirely bereft of good cheer.
By mid-morning we were well inland, but recent rain had caused a considerable softening of the ground. It proved extremely difficult to move the heavier equipment along the deteriorating tracks, and at one point the soldiers nearly exhausted themselves trying to dislodge the giant crossbow from a mud bank where it was stuck fast.
When a team of six of our strongest ponies failed to wrench it free, the decision was made to dismantle it, and so we incurred a further delay. It was almost dark when we eventually reached Rigel's smallholding, so we pitched camp and resolved to begin our inspection of the area in the morning.
Day Nine
The gray mist that has dogged our journey since we left Trotmana had lifted by the time we woke this morning, and the clear sky that greeted us appeared to raise everyponies spirits. Rigel led us to the area where the attack had taken place, but it would not have been difficult to locate even without his help, since signs of the struggle were all around. The broken implements that the family had used in their futile attempts to fight off the creature lay where they were dropped, and despite the rains, there were still traces of the old stallion's blood in the soil. Adjacent to this discolored patch of earth lay the fence post that Rigel had employed in his last desperate assault on the creature. We bowed our heads respectfully as he retrieved the post and retired to a mossy bank, before lowering to his haunches and sobbing quietly.
It was only then that we felt it right to begin a close examination of the site. Our hope is that by learning as much as we can about these beasts and their behavior, we will greatly improve our chances of destroying them in battle. Before long, one of our team uncovered a broken tooth in the damp soil. It was almost certainly dislodged by Rigel's final blow, and when we showed it to him he nodded in recognition. He allowed himself a half smile, since our discovery did at least prove that he was able to inflict some kind of retaliatory injury on the dragon before it took flight.
Unable to find any further specimens worth including in the journal after a thorough search of the area, our artists were forced to make speculative sketches illustrating the creature's method of attack based on Rigel's detailed account of the incident, and the teeth marks they found on some of the wooden implements.
I have to say that I've been most impressed by the abilities of the artists whom the King assigned to our mission. Although their respective specialties vary considerably, they all work quickly and accurately whether drawing from life or imagination, and I have no doubt that their contributions to the journal will provide a more informative record of our encounters than any of my written accounts could do.
By nightfall, we had learned all we could from the site, so it just remained for us to perform a simple ceremony marking the passing of Rigel's father. At my request, one of the artists carved the old stallion's name on the fence post his son had used in his attempts to save him, and was duly erected on a low ridge overlooking the smallholding.
Antares. He is lost, but not forgotten.
Day ten
With the coming of dawn, we bade farewell to Rigel, but not before he had indicated to us the area of mountains where he presumed the creature's lair to be. He had motioned to a jagged outcrop of rock in the high peaks, and provided a crude map on which a series of loosely interconnected tracks were drawn. These tracks, if they still existed and were yet passable, would lead us to the Beast of Gremarnaca,
We pressed onwards as quickly as we could, intent on gaining as much height as possible before fading light marked the end of another day. This evening we made camp at the entrance to Gordacas Canyon, a natural geological formation of outstanding scale and grandeur.
Day Eleven
Our intention had been to resume the climb at first light, but we awoke to fierce winds that delayed the dismantling of the tents, and hampered our every movement. It was apparent from the way the canyon's walls had been eroded that such winds were a common occurrence in these parts, but this knowledge did nothing to lessen our discomfort as we struggled to maintain our balance in the difficult terrain. When at last the gusts subsided, we were able to gain a little more height, but the path grew more and more tortuous as the hours passed, snaking back and forth as it slowly ascended the canyon wall. Greatly fatigued, we eventually sighted a small plateau just ahead of us, and planned to rest there awhile, but tragedy overtook us before we reached it.
I heard a sharp cry from on of the ponies near the back of the group, and turned around in an effort to identify the cause of his pain. He was quite some way distant from me, and my view back down the path was partially obscured by the rest of our entourage.
Intermittent glimpses revealed a figure flailing about in a frantic attempt to beat off a small winged creature resembling a bat. At first, his predicament was the cause of some mirth amongst the other warriors. Here was a stallion of great strength and courage, a survivor of many a battle, on a mission to slay the immortal creatures that plague the land, struggling to defend himself against the most insignificant of creatures. Only when he screamed, blood pouring from one of his eyes, and fell heavily to the ground did the laughter begin to fade.
I suddenly realized that the animal we had all assumed was a bat was, in reality, something far more sinister and dangerous. Dragonets are the piranhas of the dragon world, highly aggressive and extremely powerful for their size. I had seen them only once before, but knew from that encounter just how deadly they can be, savaging their victims in a mad frenzy of tooth and talon. Some were no larger than a small foal, but when they attack in a great swarm, as is their habit, there is no creature large or powerful enough to withstand the vicious onslaught.
A few ponies rushed to the fallen warrior's aid, but by now I could hear other cries coming from within the group. Raised swords sliced the air, but were too unwieldy to strike effectively at the creatures that reeled overhead, squawking and cackling with what sounded like malevolent glee. The main body of the swarm would not be far behind, and I hurriedly scanned the gloomy recesses of the vast gorge in an effort to ascertain the probable direction of attack.
My gaze quickly fell upon a swirling black cloud further along the canyon, and although I had known it was coming, the sight of the swarm made me sick to my stomach. It appeared to move slowly at first, swelling a little and then receding, like a plague of locusts in flight. Parts of the cloud seemed to push outwards from time to time, giving rise to the impression that the swarm might have been one huge amorphous creature, which in a way it was. The cacophony of shrieks reached us a few seconds later, amplified and echoed by the great stone walls which barred our escape.
I knew that it was within my power to protect our army from this foe, but only if they were to cooperate fully and swiftly with my instructions and trust me implicitly. In normal circumstances, it would have been impossible to make myself heard above the rising crescendo, so I filled my lungs with air, drew deeply on my powers and, in a voice which rang out like thunder, bellowed my instructions to the group behind me.
“Stand absolutely still! Restrain your movements as best you can!”
By the time my command had reached everypony’s ears, the swarm was almost upon us, and the noise had risen to a pitch of such extreme intensity that many of the warrior ponies simply dropped to the ground with their hooves held tightly over their ears. I clambered onto the wagon in which Sandorius and Celestia had been riding and, seeing the fear in their eyes, bade them lie down in the back before covering them with rough blankets. The swarm was at my back when I began focusing all of my power towards my horn, aiming towards the roof of the cave. The words I spoke as I did so have been known to me for many a long year, an incantation that empowers my horn and creates an invisible protective shell of limited strength and stability, but considerable size. If there is too much movement amongst those sheltered within, then the integrity of the bubble is undermined. It may grow weak in places, or even dissolve altogether, hence my order to the soldiers.
At best, it will hold its form for a few precious minutes and provide a shield strong enough to repel small objects or animals. A galloping stallion would have sufficient mass to penetrate it, but a dragonet, even diving from a great height, would not. The invisible ceiling above our heads also served to mute the creature’s cries, so I was able to repeat my order to the soldiers, imploring them to stand firm even as the dragonets began the first wave of their attack. A few of the stallions could not help recoiling as, one after another, the creatures either glanced off the unseen barrier or crashed straight into it with a sickening crunch. Those whose shallow angle of approach had allowed them a second chance merely circled the canyon and repeated the manoeuvre with even greater force until they too had either broken their wings on the shield, or worn themselves out in their attempts to pierce it.
Of greater threat were the few dragonets trapped within, most of which had arrived before I was able to raise the protective dome. They had now been joined by a couple which had managed to break through, where the thickness of the shield had been compromised by some of the pony’s panic-stricken attempts to flee the scene. I estimated about six dragonets in total inside the dome, and on finding themselves imprisoned, they seemed intent on inflicting as much injury as possible on their captors. In addition to their needle-like teeth and claws, which are sharp enough to tear leather, the dragonet has another weapon that is even more formidable. Like the scorpion, to which it is related, it has a raised tail with a deadly sting. A successful strike will render a full-grown pony paralyzed in minutes, and result in an excruciating death over the following few hours. I know of no cure and my magic is powerless to extract the venom from the victim’s bloodstream once it has taken hold.
As the shield gradually dissipated, and most of these last few demented creatures took flight, one of them, its wing too badly damaged to allow it to escape, attached itself to the scalp of a tall stallion, just a short distance from where I was standing. With a defiant shriek, it thrust its stinger into his neck, before dropping back to the ground. Another soldier immediately pinned it to the earth with a spear, and crushed its skull underhoof, but his actions served no purpose beyond revenge. The stricken stallion had already fallen to his haunches, emitting a low, mournful groan.
Jubilant in victory, and obviously much relieved to be safe once again, some of those who had not witnessed this last attack began a spontaneous round of applause, shaking the ground beneath us. I was forced to silence them as we lifted the injured stallion off the ground and, with the utmost care, lowered him slowly into one of the wagons. We reached the plateau not long afterwards, but his condition was deteriorating rapidly. A temporary camp was set up, and we made the soldier as comfortable as we could, but I knew the end would not be long in coming. Less than two hours after the initial attack, we had committed his body to the grave, marking his resting place with a large pile of granite slabs.
We proceeded on our way, eyes still focused on the sky ahead lest there be a repeat of this dreadful incident. By dusk, we were nearing the upper reaches of the canyon, and although most of the stallions were keen to be free of its confines, there could be no doubt that the walls afforded a degree of shelter from the elements. It was therefore decided that we would pitch camp for the night under a broad overhang near the point where the rising path finally breached the top of the near-vertical cliffs.
Day Twelve
This morning, I was awakened by a cry from one of our scouts. He had risen early with the intention of planning a route that would ensure our safe passage, and was eager to show me what he had found. I took with me a telescope, and the two of us clambered up a steep slope to a vantage point that yielded a spectacular view of the Arrean peaks. The scout motioned towards a natural gully that had formed between two rocky outcrops and, although it was difficult to establish the scale at this distance, clearly some kind of giant nest had been constructed within this relatively sheltered area. The true size of it became more apparent as I panned across the rock face with the telescope. It was not unlike the sort of eyrie an eagle would create for itself but, instead of small branches, this nest was made up of what appeared to be fully mature pine trees. It had to be the Beat of Gremarnaca's lair although, judging by the width of the nest, which would scarcely have been spanned by seven of our wagons laid end to end, the creatures itself was likely to be rather larger than any of us had anticipated. There was no sign of life, but we felt very exposed on the open ridge, so we wasted no time in returning to camp.
Once again, I had cause to refer to Rigel's map, which despite certain inaccuracies had served us well thus far, bringing us to the head of the canyon in only three days. As I traced the various paths with my hoof, it quickly became apparent that we had, in truth, reached journey's end. The track we were using would climb higher, but it would take us no nearer to the beast's lair than our current position, veering to the right instead and snaking up through another pass to a different part of the mountains. We were as near to the nest as it was possible to get, and yet it was still well beyond the reach of our weaponry. Even the huge wooden Madagan crossbow we had brought with us had barely half the range we would need, and would serve only to provoke and attack. I summoned the Captain and we considered our options.
Chapter 3 - Friend of the Enemy
Day Twelve - Afternoon
My meeting with Captain Rosemary was barely underway when we were suddenly interrupted by a strange noise outside the tent. We looked out to see multiple of our ponies pointing down the canyon and speaking in whispers. The sound we had heard was the wing beat of the Beast of Gremarnaca, big lazy strokes that lifted its great bulk ever higher and almost drowned out the desperate cries of the tiny figure that dangled from the beast's talons. Yet another victim that was beyond my help.
I ordered everypony to return to the safety of the overhang, and they obeyed most readily. As we watched from the shadows, the creature glided past without seeing us, and I was later informed by the scout that it had returned to the nest and made short work of its meal. It was obvious to me that our only hope of destroying the creature was to bring it within range of our weapons, and the Captain agreed. We would position a catapult such that it would hurl boulders into the far wall of the canyon and, on hearing these great crashes, the creature would surely venture out to investigate their source. Only then would we unleash the lance from the giant crossbow, which would remain hidden in the darkest recesses of the overhang. The plan was immediately put into action, but we repeatedly failed to provoke the beast. Some of the boulders thudded uselessly into soft earth, and the loud cracks generated by those that struck the rock face were too similar to the sounds produced by a nearby glacier to attract any attention.
Reluctantly, I came to the conclusion that pony bait would be required to lure the creature from its lair, and since my skills afford me some protection from attack it seemed only right that I should be the one to offer myself up. After checking that everything was ready, I again ascended the ridge I had climbed earlier.
The dragon was still in the nest, and both its heads were pointed in my general direction, but at first it failed to notice me. Only when I performed a simple spell, which created a shimmering arc of green light in the air above me, did the great heads slowly rise from the edge of the nest. A few moments later the creature was airborne, bearing down on me at a speed that caught me off my guard. I was still a short distance away from the point where the path drops below the ridge when the dragon made its first pass, swooping low and creating a downdraft of such force that it sent me tumbling across the rocks. By the time the dragon had made a circuit of the canyon, however, I was limping towards the relative safety of the overhang, confident by now that it would move in for the kill. Instead, it made several high-speed dives at the area where we were hiding, each time peeling off at the last moment with a terrifying cry. Evidently, the creature was too suspicious to effect a landing, and it began to seem increasingly unlikely that we would get the clear shot we needed.
Suddenly, from somewhere behind me, a figure darted out of the darkness. It was the young stallion Sandorius, and he was moving so fast that I had no chance of intercepting him. A second later he had cleared the protective canopy of the overhang and reached an open section of the path, where he was in full view of the creature. Mindful of my promise to the King, I immediately galloped after the young stallion and threw him to the ground, covering his body with my own. Raising my head a second later, I was horrified to see a pair of giant talons gripping an outcrop of rock just a short distance ahead of us. The creature was so close that we could smell its rank odor and even feel its hot breath on the backs of our necks. Sandorius strained to see but I forced his head down with my hoof, and with my free foreleg I gave the signal to fire. The great lance passed so low over our heads that we felt the rush of its slipstream, but before we could react it had struck home, driving deep into the dragon's underbelly with a resounding thump. Tempered many times over in the King's own foundries, the metal tip had been designed to penetrate the scales and lodge firmly in the soft tissue underneath, before releasing a potent toxin into the creature's bloodstream.
The sheer force of the impact caused the beast to reel backwards, slipping off the path and dropping into clear air with a scream which echoed throughout the gorge. A cheer went up and everypony rushed forward to the edge of the precipice, whereupon we were rewarded with the sight of the dragon going through its death throes on the canyon floor far below. As I retire tonight I draw some comfort from the day's events, for although there are many such encounters ahead of us, we have at least proved ourselves equal to the challenge.
Day Thirteen
Late last night, Celestia came to my tent and roused me from my slumber with a warning that I did not at first comprehend. Her expression was deeply troubled and her eyes darted from side to side as she spoke, her words delivered in a nervous whisper...
'I felt a voice! I felt a voice!'
When I tried to correct her, suggesting that she might have heard a voice, she insisted that I was wrong and went to tell me that the voice she'd felt was that of Captain Silva, one of the highest ranking ponies in our battalion. As she calmed down I began to understand a little more, and when she revealed that the voice had been recounting our every moment over the last three days, I suddenly grasped the true significance of her words. I reached over and lifted the journal out of its sling, before swiftly turning to the back page and finding the Amulet gone.
Certain by now that we had a traitor in our midst, I rushed out of the tent and woke two of the most dependable guards. Together, we stormed Silva's tent and found him sitting on his haunches with the Amulet hovering in front of him, its concentric rings revolving about themselves while the central stone glowed brightly. He appeared not to even notice our dramatic entrance, continuing instead with his detailed account of the dragon's violent death earlier in the day.
The old stallion's report was delivered in a dull, impassive monotone, but as he spoke not once did his lips move, and he undoubtedly would have continued thus had he not been roughly assailed by one of the guards. As the trance broke he suddenly started, as if waking from a deep sleep, and at the same moment the Amulet snapped shut with a brilliant flash, before dropping to the ground. The guards dragged him outside, and when I concentrated my magic around it to pick it up, I noticed a piece of parchment lying nearby, which upon closer examination confirmed my gravest suspicions.
Written in a spidery font that I instantly recognized as that of Pollux, the page consisted of notes and diagrams, which, if carefully followed, would enable even a laypony to avail himself of the Amulet's most basic function, this being the conveyance of telepathic communications. Whether Septimus had promised the Captain great wealth for acting as his spy or whether dark magic had been employed to secure his loyalty I could not determine, but this morning Silva was subjected to a rigorous interrogation which revealed much about his master's plans.
As the Captain gradually gave up his secrets, I began to realize just how seriously I had underestimated Pollux, not just in terms of his desire for vengeance but also for his overwhelming determination to return to the seat of power. Naively perhaps, I had originally thought that the 'turning' of the dragons was merely an act of defiance - a means of spiting the ailing King and preventing him from going peacefully to his grave. It now seemed that his true motives were far darker than any of us could have imagined. Under considerable duress from the guards, Silva explained that the aggressive behavior of the dragons under Pollux's influence was simply a diversion, designed to draw me away from the Palace on a long and difficult mission at the time when the King himself was growing weak. Clearly his intentions were to return to the Palace in my absence and seize the power he considered rightfully his. I will probably never know what led Pollux into the ways of darkness all those years ago, but I find it hard to attribute his corruption to a simple matter of jealousy.
I strongly suspect that he somehow made contact with the Dark Dragon of Demonarchy and was unable to resist the lure of its power. The spirit of Demonarchy is pure evil and had it been raised by Pollux, whether accidentally or deliberately, it would have inexorably poisoned his soul. Such conjecture is pointless now, however, for although Pollux may well have grown very powerful during his years of life in exile, we cannot countenance the idea of returning to confront him until our tasks are completed. We have many battles yet to fight.
Carefully, we began our descent of the canyon wall, retracing the steps we'd taken in recent days. Flanked by two guards, and with his legs loosely bound together, as to not allow anything faster than walking, Silva trailed behind us with his head bowed low in shame. As I slowly trotted along the path, my thoughts returned to the previous night and Celestia's visit to my tent. So intent had I been on understanding her urgent message that the significance of her precise words slipped my mind. If she had indeed felt the Captain's voice rather than heard it, then there could be no doubt that she had the gift. With appropriate guidance and tuition she had the potential to become a great Unicorn.
Suddenly my reverie was shaken by a shout from the back of the group. Turning swiftly, I was just in time to see Captain Silva quickly sprint across the path, despite the binding method, and leap to certain death. Perhaps understandably, the guards made only a token attempt to stop him.
We reached the canyon floor soon after sunrise this morning and I immediately dispatched a small team to gather specimens from the dragon's carcass. They rejoined us several hours later, bringing with them a number of interesting samples which I deemed worthy of inclusion in the book. On the way back they had also passed the mutilated corpse of Captain Silva, his flesh gashed and split in many areas. Despite his injuries, they noted a strange symbol which had appeared on the Captain's flank where the cutie mark was supposed to be, and made a quick sketch of it to show me upon their return.
I had never seen its like before but the motif strongly suggested to me that the Captain had indeed fallen prey to the powers of dark magic, and that this was Pollux's way of marking his pony.
Day Sixteen
It has taken just two days to journey all the way back to the port of Trotmana, and we found ourselves feted upon our return. The townsfolk had re-stocked the vessels during our absence, adding many gifts of their own in an effort to make the next stage of our voyage as comfortable as possible.
We set sail early the next day, immediately heading towards a complex archipelago that would lead us to the Southern Kingdom.
