"Why are we here, princess?" Twilight walked down the streets of Foaledo with her mentor, the princess Celestia.
"Foaledo is an ancient city, Twilight, with a rich and detailed history. You will be learning that history over the next few weeks. And what better place to learn about a city, than in the city itself?" Twilight nodded at her mentor's sage words. She looked all around. Foaledo was a city where the old met the new, where classical architecture was bedecked with glowing lights and neon signs. Merchants called out their wares from every corner of the globe. And no matter where in the city you stood, the scent of sea air permeated the atmosphere, reminding every pony of the importance of the harbor.
Celestia led Twilight to a major square. At the center stood a bronze statue of a pair of ponies. Twilight studied them. The first was an earth pony, tall and lanky, with a corded wiry strength. In his hoof he clutched a sword, and even though it was just a model, Twilight could see the quality of the blade. Beside him stood a pegasus mare, her body crouched and ready to spring. One hoof clutched a wicked looking dagger, as though ready to slit some ponies throat at the slightest provocation. Despite their violent poses, the two ponies smiled warmly at one another.
"Wisp and Whistles," said Celestia, breaking Twilight's concentration. "If you want to learn best about Foaledo's history, following their stories is one of your best choices. Their actions helped shape this city into what it is now."
Twilight caught the sound of sentimentality in her teacher's voice. "Princess, did you know them?" Celestia smiled.
"I did, though not as well as I would have liked. They helped me with a difficult situation, and they earned my eternal gratitude for it. Though they have been dead many centuries, I do my best to ensure their memory lives on. And right now, I will do that by teaching their story to you." Twilight pulled out a notebook and a pen.
"When do we start?" She asked.
"Right now. I suppose that if we want to tell this story right, we start at the beginning. It began with Whistles, who was not called Whistles at the time, but had a different name..."
...
"The sound, lad." Temper looked up from the anvil at his father's words. His father smiled down at him. "That's how you can tell a good blade. The sound." The large blacksmith turned to the wall behind himself and drew forth a small sword. The blade was a work of art. Temper had helped his father with the forging, a process which took the better part of a week, but the end result spoke of the love poured into it. This blade was nothing special, however. Every blade Temper's family had made for generations was incredible. They were among the most famous smiths in Equestria.
"Take this blade, for example." Temper's father gestured to the blade he held. He gave it a few swings. Temper listened to the sound of the blade whistling through the air. It was the most beautiful sound he had ever heard. "Is this blade good or bad?" His father asked.
"It's better than good," said Temper. "It sounds like a symphony." His father gave a great laugh.
"Well, I don't know that that's how I would describe it, but yes, the blade is good." He set the sword back on the rack, before he turned to face his son. He looked Temper square in the eye. "Now, it's time we had a talk." Temper cocked his head, then set down the hammer and tongs he held. "You're nearly a colt full grown, and I'm starting to get long in the tooth. I think it's time that you take over the forge full time." Temper stared at his father in surprise.
"You think I'm ready?" He asked, uncertain of his own abilities. His father smiled.
"Our family has worked this forge for generations. My father forged blades, and his father, and his father before him. You are ready for this." Temper gave his father an uncertain smile.
"I won't let you down, father," he assured the large smith. His father smiled back.
"I know you won't." He looked up suddenly. "Do you hear that?" Temper tilted his head. Sure enough, something was banging in the shop. Temper's father gestured back at the anvil. "Must be a customer. You keep working, I will handle it." He ducked through the doorway leading to the shop. Temper turned back to the anvil to resume his work.
CLANG! He listened to the sound the blade made when it was struck. He hammered away, until the sound was nearly musical. At that point, he knew the sword was ready. He lifted it from the anvil, then plunged it into a tub of water. The blade hissed and steamed as it cooled and hardened. He withdrew the blade, holding it up to study.
CRASH! Temper's ears twitched as he heard something fall in the shop where his father had gone. He rushed through the door to see his father collapsed on the floor. A tall unicorn loomed over him, a sword in his hooves and a scowl on his face.
"How dare you charge me such an outrageous sum for this sword, you peasant," the unicorn sneered. "You should be thankful for my patronage."
"Please, I meant no disrespect," Temper's father gasped as he lay in the dirt. "But all of our blades are valuable. The price is fair." The unicorn's gaze hardened.
"You dare to lecture me!" He raised the sword in question high. "Perhaps I should teach you some manners!" Temper heard the blade whistle through the air as it swung towards his father. He lunged forwards.
The whistle of the blade stopped. Temper panted hard, as blood pounded through his temples. The unicorn stared down in shock at the blade transfixing his chest. He stared at Temper with an expression of confusion, as though he could not understand that he had been killed by a dirty peasant. Then his eyes rolled back in his head, and he collapsed.
Temper withdrew his sword and stared at it in horror. His father stared up at him with wide eyes, then swallowed.
"You killed a unicorn." Temper nodded, his mind to numb to come up with a response. His father pushed himself to his feet, then shuffled back behind the counter. "If you are caught, you will be hanged." He took a key from his apron, and unlocked the strongbox. He withdrew a pile of coins and pushed them at Temper. "You have to run." Temper stared at his father in horror.
"But father, I can't-"
"You must," his father spoke in forceful tones. "Get out of the city. Head for the frontier, it will be easier for you to hide there." Temper still stood in place, as though chains held him down. "Go!" His father roared. Temper turned and ran, still clutching the sword in one hoof. His father watched him leave as a tear rolled down his cheek. "You are meant for great things, my son," he whispered to himself. "No matter what life you choose, you will succeed. I know this, for you are my son. You will succeed."
…
Tarsus silently studied the pony. It was a mare, a pale white Pegasus with a mane the color of honey. It was also dead, burned out from providing food for the hive. Tarsus cocked her head as she watched it.
"Are you playing with your food again, Tarsus?" Tarsus turned to see her brother, Acanthus. The taller changeling watched her with an expression of disapproval. Tarsus smiled sheepishly.
"I was just wondering. Why do the ponies feel love? Is there some benefit for them? Does it help them to survive?" Acanthus responded to her philosophical inquiries with a shrug.
"They have love for the same reason plants grow fruit, or animals grow meat. It is so we can feed on them. That is the way of nature. The strong take from the weak." Tarsus bit her lip and studied the pony. She knew that Acanthus' argument was sound. Ponies were weaker than changelings, despite their love. That meant that love could not be important. But if that was so, why did it exist?
"If you feel worried about this pony, you should know she won't be alone much longer." Acanthus grinned, his fangs bared in a predatory manner. "Our scouts have sighted a wagon train approaching. They estimate at least twenty ponies, maybe even more. Enough to feed the hive for at least a year." Tarsus did not turn. Acanthus' grin faded, and he snarled at his younger sister. "We strike at dawn. Prepare yourself for the raid, sister, and remember; it's us or them." He turned and stormed from the chamber. Tarsus listened to his hoofbeats echo into silence. He was angry with her. She had isolated herself from him, as well as the rest of the hive, thanks to her questions.
She stared at the pony for a while longer. The pony stared back with lifeless eyes. Tarsus allowed herself to taste just a flicker of the ponies love. The raw emotion caused the hair of her neck to stand on end, and she felt a shiver run down her spine. In that moment, she made a decision. The ponies were more than food. Whatever their emotions were, she wanted to learn about them, and there was no way to do that if the ponies were locked in cocoons.
Tarsus concentrated on the ponies form, then willed her body to change. A green flash enveloped her, and where a changeling had once stood was now a twin to the pony before her. Tarsus turned and left the room, racing towards the hive exit. She had just a few short hours if she wanted to save the ponies.
…
It took Tarsus less than an hour to find the ponies. They were making no true effort to conceal themselves. Several campfires shone brightly through the thick forest, and the sounds of laughter and singing echoed in the dark. Tarsus, in her disguise, rushed out into their midst.
"You have to leave, now!" She shouted. The ponies turned to stare at her in surprise.
"Who are you?" One of them asked. Tarsus shook her head.
"There's no time to explain," she said, "a hive of changelings are on their way here right now! You need to get out of here!"
One of the ponies stepped forwards. He was a tall, heavily built stallion, with a bushy mustache and an aura of control.
"You can calm yourself down, lass, we're safe from changelings here," he declared. He draped an arm around Tarsus' shoulders and pointed into the crowd. "We've got ourselves our own little secret weapon. You see him?" Tarsus followed his hoof. One of the ponies in the crowd stepped forwards. He stood differently than the others. Despite appearing to be the youngest there, his stance spoke of quiet confidence and a familiarity with danger. A longsword lay strapped across his back, and he watched her with a critical eye. "That there is Whistles, and he's the finest sellsword money can buy. He got his name because it's the sound his sword makes when it cuts a pony in half." Whistles inclined his head in greeting, then turned to the mustached pony.
"If she's right, we should get going, Duster. If we've got changelings incoming, I say we push on." The mustached pony, evidently named Duster, shook his head.
"What is the point? This position is as defensible as any we are likely to find between here and Foaledo, and I personally detest the thought of travelling through the darkness. No, I say we stay where we are and ready our defenses."
"But-" Tarsus began, but Duster cut her off with a shake of his head.
"Have no fear, lass, you're in good company tonight. By they way, how did you come to be out here? I don't know of any towns nearby." Tarsus thought quickly.
"My caravan was attacked by changeling's not two days past. I was the only one to make it out. Trust me, these changelings are vicious warriors, trained from birth in the art of war! One alone would be capable of incapacitating every pony here, and they have at least a dozen!"
"A dozen, eh?" Whistles nodded slowly. "I've had worse odds." Tarsus glared at him.
"I assure you, you have not." Whistles simply gave her a self confident smirk. Tarsus bristled. "Now, see here-"
Whatever she was about to say next was cut off in a sudden cry of fear and surprise. Tarsus, Whistles and Duster spun about to see a green flash envelop the rear of the caravan. From out of the darkness, changelings descended upon the unsuspecting ponies.
Whistle's sword appeared in his hooves as if by magic. He charged towards the nearest changeling, but barely made it a step before he was enveloped in a pile of green slime. Tarsus cowered back as Acanthus stepped forth from the shadows. He gave her a savage grin.
"Thank you for your assistance, Tarsus," he said with mock civility. "This went so much easier with you distracting the ponies with your rambling."
"I-but you said the attack would come at dawn!" Tarsus protested. Acanthus laughed.
"That was my plan, yes, but when I saw you leave the hive, I realized what you intended and took action. Thanks to you, the hive will eat well for at least a month." His smile faded. "Of course, whether or not you eat is a separate story."
"I-I-"
"We will speak more at the hive," Acanthus declared as he turned his back on her. "For now, help us take these ponies back to the hive." He glanced at Whistles, whose head was still clear. "And finish binding this pony." He stalked off, barking orders to the rest of the hive.
Tarsus looked down at Whistles. He glared back at her. Tarsus closed her eyes, then lit her horn. When her eyes opened again, Whistles was frozen in place. She looked around. The once lively caravan was now silent, save for the humming of wings as the changelings carried off their prey. Tarsus knew that there would be retribution for her actions. She only hoped that it would not be too great.
…
"Traitor!" The force of Acanthus' blow sent Tarsus sprawling across the cold stone floor. She lay on the ground, rubbing her stinging cheek as her brother glared down at her. "You had a home here. A family. But you chose to give that up, for what? For these ponies?" He shook his head in disgust. "If you wish to learn so much about them, perhaps it would be best for you to share their fate."
One other changeling stood watch. Acanthus beckoned him forwards. "Seal her in a cocoon. We shall see if a few months of imprisonment change her outlook." He gave one last look to Tarsus before he left. "You brought this on yourself."
Tarsus watched as the other changeling stepped forwards. She hung her head in shame, resigned to her fate. Her fellow changeling lifted his horn and began to charge the spell that would entomb her.
Tarsus thought about the ponies from the caravan. How full of life they had been, how happy. How empty they had seemed when they were imprisoned. Soon, that would be her fate.
At that moment, some survival instinct in her burst to life. She would not let herself succumb to such a fate! She could not, not while there was life left in her body. She lunged forwards and tackled the other changeling to the ground. The two rolled about, each seeking control, before Tarsus managed to wrap an arm around her opponent's neck. She squeezed tight, cutting of the flow of blood to his brain. In just seconds, his struggles ceased and Tarsus released her grip.
She rose to her hooves, panting heavily. She realized that with her last action, she had effectively disconnected herself from her hive. She straightened. So be it. She would live alone, making her own way through the world. She began to make her way towards the hive exit, then stopped. There would be guards there, guards on the lookout for her. She had no hope of getting past them herself.
Tarsus recalled what Duster had said earlier about Whistles. The best sellsword money can buy, had been his exact words. He had not seemed too special when the changelings attacked, but then again, he had been taken off guard. Perhaps if he were the one with the element of surprise, the story would be different.
She turned around and began to travel deeper into the hive. It was nearly deserted, with most changelings down in the vaults feeding on their new prey. Tarsus faced no opposition as she made her way down the twisting corridors.
Finally, she came to the vaults, the section of the hive where prey was kept. Keeping watch all about for other changelings, Tarsus slowly crept through the vast chambers. As she passed by one room, she glanced in to see her fellow changelings feasting on the love of the ponies from the caravan. She looked around, but saw no sign of Whistles anywhere. She kept going.
In the next chamber, she saw him. His cocoon sat alone in the center of the room, his face frozen in a perpetual scowl. She crept over to him, then began to use her horn to cut through the bindings.
Something struck her side and sent her crashing against the wall. Dazed, she climbed to her hooves to see Acanthus glaring at her, his horn bathed in sickly green light.
"I was wrong. You are beyond redemption. First you try to prevent us from finding these ponies, then you seek to release them? You are no sister of mine." Tarsus turned to flee, but another blast from Acanthus knocked her back down. He walked forwards until he loomed over her. "Perhaps you may find some shred of redemption in death." He reared back and plunged his horn into Tarsus' chest. She shrieked in pain.
Her flailing hooves suddenly found a rock. She seized it, lifted it high into the air and brought it down on her brother's head. The crunch seemed to reverberate through Tarsus' entire body. Acanthus slumped to the ground. Tarsus fell to her knees, sobbing over the corpse of her brother. At length, she recalled her purpose and rose. She limped over to the cocoon, pain flaring with every motion, and plunged her horn into the cocoon. With desperate sawing, she cut Whistles free. She nearly collapsed from exhaustion, when a hoof reached out and caught her. She looked up to see Whistles holding her. Then he twisted her around into a chokehold. A knife flashed out into his hoof and he pressed it up to her throat.
"Alright, you filthy changeling, any last words before I...um... is that blood on your chest?" Whistles paused. He turned to see the corpse of Acanthus and his bloodied horn, the stone lying atop his skull, then turned back to Tarsus. "I would be pretty grateful if your last words were an explanation of what's going on here."
"I saved you," gasped Tarsus. Breathing was a painful chore with her chest wound. "But I killed my brother. Do what you want." Whistles stared at her in confusion, then suddenly looked up.
"Do you hear that?" He asked. Tarsus frowned, then concentrated. There were voices approaching, changeling voices. They sounded angry. Whistles dropped Tarsus to the floor.
"Alright, you just... you stay there for a minute. I need to deal with this." He sheathed his knife, then drew the sword from his back and struck a ready stance. Changeling burst into the room a second later. They saw Acanthus and Tarsus, then the pony standing before them with a sword. With a cry, they charged Whistles.
Tarsus watched as the two sides met, then began to wonder if blood loss was leading to delusions. Because it seemed as though rather than be overwhelmed, Whistles was somehow holding his ground before the changelings. He slipped between their attacks as though he were made of water, reappearing in the perfect place to launch a counterattack. It more closely resembled a dance than a fight. Tarsus closed her eyes, slowly drifting off to sleep to the sounds of clashing steel.
She awoke when she felt something lift her up. She opened her eyes to see Whistles carrying her across his back. He was covered in small cuts, none of which would be serious if not for their multitude.
"What are you doing?" She asked, her voice slurred from exhaustion.
"Probably something stupid," he grunted in response. "Can you show me where the others are?" Tarsus weakly lifted a hoof to point towards the vault where she had seen the other ponies of the caravan. Whistles limped his way over to them, cutting each pony down. Within a few minutes, the entire caravan was free once again. Several ponies began to approach Tarsus, but they backed down after a quick glare from Whistles.
As a group, they left the hive. Whistles made short work of the guards by the door. The ponies all cheered when they felt the sun on their faces. Tarsus, her wound bandaged with a quick dose of slime she had given herself, found herself smiling at their good cheer.
Whistles approached from behind her. "What are you going to do now?" He asked. Tarsus shrugged.
"I don't know. Without the hive, I'll have to find some new way to feed myself." Whistles shuffled his hooves.
"You know, we're going to Foaledo. Probably plenty of ponies there with some excess love to take, if you were careful."
Tarsus raised an eyebrow. "Are you offering to let me come with you?" Whistles hesitated, then nodded.
"I can think of plenty of benefits to having a partner that can shapeshift at will. Besides, I suppose I sort of owe you one, what with you saving me." Tarsus smiled and nodded.
"That sounds like it could work," she said.
"Just one problem," said Whistles. He gestured at Tarsus' body. "You might, uh, stand out a bit." Tarsus glanced down at herself, then nodded. She began to change her form. She gave herself white fur, a honey mane, and a pair of wings, just like the pony from the vaults.
"You might want to pick a new name, too," said Whistles. "Speaking from personal experience, if you want to avoid your past catching up with you, changing your name is a good option. Speaking of which, what is your name?"
"Tarsus," she responded. "But from now on, call me... Wisp."
"Why wisp?" Asked Whistles.
"This pony died back in that hive, and I think Tarsus died along with her. I guess now, I'm just a wisp of both of them." Wisp responded. Whistles smiled, and she smiled back. Whistles extended a hoof.
"In that case, Wisp, would you care to accompany us to Foaledo?" Wisp took his hoof and let herself be pulled up.
"Lead on, Whistles."
Author's Note
This is potentially the first of several short stories I thought up. Swords and sorcery has always been one of my favorite genres, and I wanted to create some characters who could bring it into Equestria. My idea is to write it like Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser, where each story is it's own independent adventure. I guess I'll just have to wait and see if that works out.
