Guiding Light

Guiding Light:

CHAPTER VIII -

Fear of the Wicked

* * *

Now was not the time.

Midnight Spectre, wielding a rebel sword, and strapped with rebel armor, trotted alongside the so-called “freedom fighters,” these insurrectionists, these pests.

The attack on the Hollow had not been a success for Lore’s troops, but that was dismissable, considering the rebels’ next move.

He had been eavesdropping on Hazy Sunrise’s conversations. They thought that while the soldiers of Blackhoof were concerned with travelling to the Hollow and attacking the rebellion’s remains, they would bare right into the city and attack the Shadowcrown itself.

But this was one of Midnight Spectre’s duties as an assassin and an informant.

He had contacted his father. The rebels would be walking into a trap. Walking back out, they would be limping severely, or worse.

But the end of the rebellion was not what motivated, nor was it his assignment.

Bolt would die soon enough. The moment she was alone, he would strike, and his father would have to pony up the information that he had been keeping from his son ever since he was a small colt.

Spectre relished in the thought. Thoughts of knowledge, thoughts of vengeance. Oh, how he had been dreaming of the day when he would enact his revenge.

He would be finally unbound from his father, leaving Blackhoof solely in his father’s hooves, eradicating the rest of this puny legion of imbeciles. But that would come later.

Now was not the time.

Thoroughly inspecting the new dagger I had acquired for her, Bolt effortlessly balanced the hilt on her nose, before slipping it into it’s holster.

“Thanks, Steel,” she said, giving me a faint smile. “I guess we’re even now.”

I blinked. “Even? So getting your exhausted, dehydrated rump to the Hollow, followed by saving you from probable execution just goes unnoticed now?”

She giggled. Rook, standing to my left, snorted and rolled his eyes. “If it wasn’t for her...” he mumbled.

“I guess they do. And so do breaking your rump out of a labour camp, and teaching you some life-saving spells, as well.”

Now it was my turn to snort and roll my eyes. Wrong as usual. Add that to my list~ …

We, the resistance, were a pack, a herd now. We moved as one, claimed our territory, set up camp for the night. Hazy had been telling her senior officers - Rook included, whom I had just discovered was a captain - of their plan to attack Blackhoof while a legion of troops, no longer guarding the gleaming city, set off to find the Hollow.

We moved by day, camped by night. There we no periods of rest, except to pass out food and water, during the daytime. Everything was one continuous motion. We functioned like a well-oiled machine. During the night, tents were quickly pitched and our soldiers quickly took their shifts, guarding their fellow pony brethren while they slept.

From dawn to dusk, Bolt had taken me under her wing (figuratively) teaching me about combat, and the art of hoof-to-hoof fighting. I learned how to properly use a sword, even though I was adamant that I could never be completely comfortable with it. A peculiar thing for a pegasus, Bolt taught me all about magical combat, teaching me how to mix and match spells, how to cast two at once, the works.

Every day of training ended with a punch to the shoulder, which I quickly learned how to effectively block. One punch quickly turned into two. Two punches were mingled with a kick. At the end of each training session, I could add martial arts to my skill set. She told me I learned at an alarming pace.

I did my fair share of hard labour as well. When sundown arrived, I helped Rook pitch the tent, construct makeshift tables, and pass out the food and water. Rook was responsible for keeping watch during the nighttime, and I usually lent him my enchanted candle. Sometimes I slept, others, not. During the times I couldn’t, Rook and I sat down at a makeshift table in front of Bolt’s tent. Mind games ensued.

Rook sharpened my mental skills by subjecting me to challenges that I might or might not figure out, given enough patience. For three nights, this went on. We were there for hours, until I figured out each trick.

Rook gave a chortle of laughter and patted me on the back. “You’re a model member of the rebels; brave, sharp, and willing to do whatever it takes to help the cause.”

“Thanks, Rook.”

“Don’t mention it. Now, go get some sleep. You’re gonna need it in the morning.”

“Will do.”

With that, I retreated into the tent I had pitched for Bolt, and laid down on the second, unoccupied sleep mat. I quickly dozed off, thinking of how Rook would try to test me next...

* * *

He could feel it inside him - feel the poison coursing in his blood, feel the stiffness of each joint as he slowly regained consciousness.

He was moving. An impossible thing. He couldn’t move. That wasn’t right. It was only when he regained his hearing that he could faintly hear the clopping of hooves.

They were not his hooves. He could not move his hooves. There were the hooves of somepony else who was carrying him.

Carrying him where? He opened his eyes. They might of well have stayed closed. All he saw was black.

Black.

This place was was Black. Black in nature, Black in reality. Black in general.

He stopped moving. He never started.

He could feel it sliding against his fur, ruffling up his hair. It was a bag, pulled over his head, and now pulled off...

White.

White was all he saw. This wasn’t comforting white. Nor was it angelic white. It was painful white.

He felt hooves on him, turning him over. Pushing, prodding him.

He was flying. He was weightless.

Everything was black again.

He flew no more, slamming into the solid stone ground after the pony carrying him had thrown him. He saw stars. Stars in his eyes. As his vision cleared, he saw more stars. Twinkling figures. Twinkling runes, all around him, on the walls.

The pony that had pushed him threw things at him. The first thing hit him in the face. it was soft, warm. Bread.

The next plodded to the ground next to him. He felt the object’s smooth plastic case. Water.

The last object fell to the ground with a deafening clang. The pony left the room, shutting a large door on his way out.

He pulled himself over to where the mysterious object had landed. He felt it - felt the weathered steel forming a point, and the smooth wooden handle. Pickaxe.

As he moved his hoof along the handle, he felt something amiss. Strange indentations. As he held the handle up to his recovering eyes. He could almost make out the markings.

They were words.

What did they mean? What did they say?

Words... familiar words...

* * *

I awoke with a start. Another strange dream. Was is just a dream? It felt more real that any old dream. It almost felt like-

“Steel! Wake up! We’re leaving!”

I recognized Bolt’s voice at once. I immediately got to my hooves and started rolling up the sleep mats, packing them away inside their slipcovers. I started disassembling the tent from the inside, removing the metal beams that held up the fabric, before moving the actual tent material itself. I coiled up all the rope we had used, and packed everything back into the crate that the tent belonged to.

I turned around. Bolt and Rook were checking our gear, making sure everything was packed properly and that we hadn’t left anything behind.

Once we had loaded our supplies onto our unit’s caravan, I plodded over to Rook and Bolt as the rebel force started moving.

“What’s the big rush? Where are we going?” I asked.

“The Shadowcrown,” replied Bolt, frustration in her voice. “Commander Sunrise feels that we need to attack the capital as soon as possible, while their guard is down.”

“A solid plan, and logical decision...” added Rook. “...if it wasn’t a suicide mission.”

I honestly didn’t understand the nature of this decision. True, we’d catch the town’s soldiers by surprise, but Blackhoof was a half-days’ journey away! It’d be sunset by the time we got there, and if we planned to attack at night, then we’d all be exhausted. Rook was right. It was suicide.

“But, doesn’t Sunrise know just how tired everypony will-” I started to comment.

“Yes, she knows,” Bolt cut me off. “She’s insistent that we attack now. The reinforcements for the attack force used against the Hollow are returning to the city at an alarming pace. They might get there before we do if we don’t hustle.”

“The best we can do is prepare ourselves now and make sure we’re ready for the worst,” said Rook.

And that was that. We had less than nine hours until we arrived, and those hours had to be well spent.

The day continued like normal... except that it was really anything but. There were constant murmurs, and the volume of the rebel forces’ mutterings was much lower, but far more saturated than the previous days. All anypony did was sharpen their swords, flex their magical muscles, and shoot targets with arrows.

I adorned my breastplate and sparred with Bolt, even using some of the spells she had taught me. As we got closer to Blackhoof, she started to insist that I take a sword with me, even though I repeatedly claimed that I wouldn’t use it. Eventually, I relented, and sheathed a short, straight-edge sword at my hip.

I looked at my companions. Bolt was stretching her wings, wearing sharpened blades across her them, clad in a fabric vest. She had her dagger on her hip.

To my surprise, she had smeared war paint across her purple face. She actually looked scary now, with a red stripe starting at her right temple and stretching diagonally across her muzzle and chin.

On the other hand, Rook looked scary naturally. Rook was simply... big, bulky, muscular. He was the kind of pony you didn’t want to cross. Add several scars on his sides that I hadn’t noticed before, and you had one monster of a pony. To top it off, Rook had that certain fire in his eyes, the one that wasn’t technically scary, but changed his appearance altogether. The valour adorned in his gaze spoke volumes about his experience as a soldier. It changed him from ‘monster-pony’ to ‘noble veteran.’

Oh, and let’s not forget his armor. Rook was covered in metal plates, each painted red in colour, with chain mail connecting each plate. He had two swords, each holstered at his hips.

It was at that point when I started wondering why the Voice of Knowledge hadn’t said anything to me in the few days we had been in the desert. It sure had a tendency to-

Just disappear?

No kidding. What’s the matter? Why are you so quiet?

Because I am not needed.

Well, perhaps I need some guidance, huh? Advice for the battle, or something.

You have nothing to worry about. The rebel attack will not succeed, however.

Why not?

It’s obvious. You mentioned it yourself, plus, there is one other factor...

Which is...?

None of your concern. Just be careful.

Mhm, I’ll be sure. Say, want me to pick up some eggs or milk while I’m in town?

Actually, yes. I want you to find Lucid Scripture.

Wait, what? Who’s he? Or she?

He’s a master of language. He’s a translator.

A translator for what?

Me.

You mean... the Shard?

Of course.

So... what do we do after we... lose the battle?

Just listen to my Voice. Oh, and be sure to look at 33rd Street, house number 201. Scripture will be hiding in his cellar.

And what about Solace?

On the other side of the city. Try to find him, and you’ll be killed.

That’s reassuring. Anything else?

No. Just stay with Rook and Agile Bolt.

Will do.

“Hey, Steel, you alright?” Bolt prodded me. It just occurred that I’d been staring into space.

“Huh? Oh, yeah, just... thinking about the battle.”

“You nervous?”

“Well, not necessarily. I know we’re gonna lose.”

“Don’t talk like that. I know we don’t have much of a chance, but if you’re gonna put yourself down before the battle even starts, then you’re just looking to panic when it all kicks off.”

I sighed. “Alright.”

Bolt and I looked up as there was a series of shouts down the crowd of rebels, until the message got within our earshot.

“Blackhoof in sight!”

Straining my eyes in the dying light, I could faintly make out the northern walls of Blackhoof, almost a kilometer away.

The crowd stopped moving. Murmurs ensued. We were camping here until we would attack.

This was it. Food and water was passed around in measured qualities, so much as to satiate everypony’s hunger while not over-filling them. I took my share, sat down and stared at the warm, orange sky as the sun set. I stared into space and meditated, just as Rook had taught me to. Reaching a state of confidence I felt was adequate for the size of the battle soon to occurr, I called upon the Voice.

Have you ever seen battle?

Sadly, yes.

Sadly? What happened?

Let’s just say I wasn’t always like this.

You mean you were a regular pony before you became a spirit?

Well... not exactly a ‘regular pony’...

What, then?

I really do not think I am at liberty to say.

At liberty? Who’s stopping you?

I am. The prophecy does not deem it so.

What exactly is this prophecy of yours?

So many questions... I really should say no more. Good luck, even though there is no such thing.

No such thing as luck?

Fate, my little pony. When there is fate, luck or circumstance do not exist. Everything is predetermined.

By whom?

You really do ask too many questions. Enough. Agile Bolt is calling to you.

“Steel! We’re ready for our attack! Get up, we’re moving!”

Shaking myself back to a state of alertness, I took a deep breath and turned around.

As I trotted back up to the waiting Bolt and Rook, my winged companion pulled me aside while Rook went ahead with the group.

Bolt looked into my eyes and smiled.

“Thanks for everything.”

Before I could respond, she gave me a small kiss on the cheek.

Noticing my being a bit flustered, she smiled once again and said, “Just in case.”

Turning back to the group, Bolt rejoined the attack force.

Doing the same, I scratched at the back of my blue mane.

Talk about boosting morale.

I leaned closer to Bolt and whispered, “Don’t worry, everything will be fine, I promise you. Neither of us will be dying today.”

Bolt only smirked and rolled her eyes. “Yeah, if we’re lucky.”

I sighed. “...No such thing...” I muttered, just out of earshot.

Rook trotted up to me.

“Easy there, lover-colt. Confidence is good, but be wary of cockiness.”

Lover-colt. Pssh.

We were nearly at the north gate now. The sun had set, and the group quickly came to a halt.

I looked up. Gleaming black walls loomed dozens of feet into the air, adorned with glowing rows of lanterns hanging off the outer face and mounted on poles along the top. Turrets were set at intervals along the walls, and each had at least one archer perched on top.

The area we needed to penetrate was the North Gate; a set of sturdy, bolted metal doors rising well above a pony’s head, meant to be opened and closed by two bulky guards.

As we took up positions behind rocks and blended in with our surroundings in the darkening landscape, our own pegasi archers took up their positions and simultaneously let loose a volley of dozens of enchanted arrows that disabled all of the immediate guards surrounding the gate, even the guards in the turrets.

After the walls were confirmed clear, two earth ponies moved up with a single, scrawny unicorn. They reached the gate, and the unicorn got to work, disengaging each of the tron doors’ internal locks one by one in a matter of seconds.

Next, part of the primary assault division moved up and took flanking positions on either side of the gate. The two earth ponies were given the go-ahead signal and pulled the heavy metal doors outwards with two giant rings attached to the gate.

As soon as there was an opening big enough between the giant doors, the primary assault ponies flooded in, one by one, with each division following suit.

Our unit, commanded by Captain Rook, was last. Specifically, I was the last one in. However, many soldiers were commanded to stay behind to cover our backs and keep the doors open for retreat.

Passing through those iron doors yielded something far different from the harsh Badlands desert. Weathered cobblestone roads cut through a swath of buildings of all shape and size, each adorning the same lanterns that were affixed to the town’s walls. Each house was numbered and had lush greenery surrounding it. Gazing further down the road, I could see our destination, a shining castle of black: The Shadowcrown.

I was finally inside the city, walking the streets, the same streets that nopony who immigrated here would ever walk, forced to a life of labour and torture for a madpony’s desires for power.

However, I wasn’t here to walk the streets as a member of esteemed Blackhoof society.

I was here to burn it to the ground.

Fools, that’s what they were.

Fools.

Midnight Spectre, assassin, and son of the dark King Iniquitous Lore, knew just how foolish the rebels were.

Had they not questioned the ease of simply entering the city? Had they not wondered why there weren’t many guards around the gate?

And most of all, had they no idea why the streets were empty?

Spectre, dressed as one of those he found inferior, knew the situation quite well. The rebels were walking right into his father’s trap.

Of course, he’d remained with the unit of rebel soldiers on the other side of the wall, watching the main attack force’s back.

Spectre was going to change that.

The unit had about twenty ponies in all, not counting the unarmed earth ponies operating the doors.

Stealthily slinking behind a rock, Spectre cast a spell, aiming it’s effects a few dozen feet away.

“Help... me...” rasped a disembodied colt’s voice exactly where he had cast his spell.

It took a few cries of the voice to get a few of the unit’s ponies rushing to help.

That left about fifteen of the rebels unoccupied.

He knew he could cast up to five spells at once, so he prepared his confusion spell, and unleashed his arcane magic.

Ten left.

He shrugged, and unsheathed his sword.

Magic is only half the fun, he thought.

They were a swarm.

Blackhoof guards, clad in their spiky, midnight-coloured armor rushed from the streets into a single mass of dark, hate-filled death moving towards the advancing rebel force at an alarming pace.

The shape of their carapaces reminded me of insects. As I said, they were a swarm.

Bolt and Rook drew their respective blades while I prepared my paralysis spell. Ahead of us, the leading rebels and Blackhoof guards clashed, the clanging of swords dominating the air, mingled with shouts of pain and suffering. The silent air, only interrupted by the thunderous roar of marching hooves, gave way to the shouts of war.

Before I knew it, the two separate groups were completely intermixed. My only warning was the surprise of one guard that had somehow made his way through the stampede of limbs and blades, and ended up sparring with Rook.

I quickly turned and saw another guard barrelling toward me, and my reaction was barely calculated. Magic flew from my horn by sheer reaction, and the paralysed soldier crumpled to the ground.

Realizing the seriousness of how the tables had turned, I was caught by surprise yet again when I felt a presence charging towards me from behind. Like the last, I just reacted, bucking the guard in the face as hard as I could and sending him sprawling. It wasn’t until I turned that I realised he was one of our own.

I shouted an apology to the now-dazed rebel soldier, and turned back to my comrades to find that they had moved closer to the city centre by fifty meters.

I quickly remembered the Voice’s instructions. 33rd Street, house number 201. With my goal in mind, I galloped back to go find my companions.

That bastard bucked me in the face, thought Spectre, incredulous, as he pushed himself up off the ground.

He’d killed the remaining rebels outside the gates and shut the doors himself, and had been trying to rejoin the rebels when one of the imbeciles in the rear decided to buck at an unknown target.

He’d been so close to Agile Bolt as well. She was in the rear of the group, perfect for a stealthy kill. And that ignoramus had set him a hundred meters behind the group, stars in front of his eyes.

Whoever he is, thought Spectre, has got to have nerves of steel.

“Steel!” shouted Bolt, “We have to stay with the rebels! Have you gone mad?!”

“Listen, Bolt, I can’t really explain right now, and I’ll gladly do so when we’re not on a battlefield!”

“We’re almost to the Shadowcrown, we can do this, we can kill-”

“Iniquitous Lore!”

We looked to the front of the rebel formation, to see who had shouted the name. What we saw was much worse, The midnight blue, glowing unicorn stallion stood regally atop the highest turret on his gleaming black castle.

Immediately, almost all of the rebel archers and unicorns fired their spells and arrows at the evil figure of oppression.

Dozens of motes of magical light and sparkling enchanted arrows flew in perfect accuracy towards Iniquitous Lore and...

They stopped. The magic fizzled out of existence and the arrows dropped like stones.

It was at this point when I noticed everything had gone silent. Every single rebel had their weapon raised, but not a sound, not a single scuffle, was heard.

All that I heard was squeaking...

What was squeaking? It sounded like something was rolling from within one of the lower walls of the Shadowcrown.. until we saw it.

It was a strange, wheeled platform, with some sort of hollow, cylindrical, metal drum resting sideways on the platform.

Cautiously, some of the rebels backed up, including myself.

I looked up to Iniquitous Lore, who I found, to my surprise, staring right back at me, hate in his eyes.

He muttered a single word.

“Fire.”

Thunder roared. At least, I think it was thunder. I couldn’t tell; my head was resting against the cobblestones of the road. Which was funny, because I remembered being upright.

I could see all the rebels around me, tramping, and running away. That was strange too, why were we running away? We had almost taken the Shadowcrown.

Rook appeared in my vision. He was saying something; his mouth was moving, but there was no sound...

...No sound at all...

I shakily pushed myself upright, wobbling and looking up at the strange metal drum, which had smoke pouring out of it now. I looked down to where it was pointed. A large chunk of the ground was missing, also smoking. Surrounding the crater were the mangled bodies of a couple dozen rebels.

Then, I made the connection.

We ran. Ran for our lives, almost tripping over the couple-hundred still-paralysed Blackhoof guards. I had never been so scared in all my life. I had been that close to death. I could hear my teeth chattering...

… I could hear them.

“Rook! Bolt!”

My two friends, who were at my side the entire time, looked at me like I had lost my brain.

“33rd street, house 201! We need to go there, now!”

“We can’t, Steel,” Bolt insisted. “The retreat has been sounded, we’re getting out-”

Bolt stopped dead in her tracks. I followed her gaze.

The gate was closed, and hundreds more Blackhoof guards were flowing in from the streets adjacent.

We were trapped.

While Bolt was still frozen, I quickly scanned the streets of Blackhoof until I found the one I was looking for; 33rd Street.

“Rook, we need to go. Just trust me. I’ll explain afterwards.”

“There won’t be an afterwards, Tempest!” We need to retreat!”

I locked my gaze with his.

“Rook, we’re not leaving until we get to that house. Nothing will happen to us. We’ll be alright. Now, you can leave me to die here, or you can come with me and we’ll all survive.”

Rook chewed it over for a bit, before looking to Bolt, who was chattering and pacing along the streets, panicking.

“Bolt! Snap out of it! You know the drill, soldier. You will not panic in a situation like this. It’s panic that kills you, not the other factors.”

With that, Bolt closed her eyes, breathed a few times, and then pushed herself up, her knees wobbling, but devoid of panic.

“A-alright, I’m ready. I-I hope you know what you-you’re doing, Steel.”

I nodded my reassurance, and quickly galloped off in the direction of 33rd street, Bolt and Rook on my tail.

We got to 33rd street, which was empty and silent. In the distance, we could hear the cries of ponies as the rebels tried to get the gates open while the remaining Blackhoof guards moved in to finish them off.

We carefully trotted down the street, keeping our attention directed both down the road and at the house numbers.

197... 199... 201!

“Got it! In there!”

Rook and Bolt swiveled, Rook reading the name on the mailbox.

“Scripture? As in Lucid Scripture? The translator?”

“Yes, precisely,” I replied, motioning Rook to break down the door.

Bolt chimed in. “Wait, a translator? This is about the Shard, isn’t it?”

The wooden door snapped in two and Rook barrelled his way through the mess he had just made. We followed him inside.

“Yes, it’s about the Shard. Now, let’s leave explanations for later.”

I quickly located the staircase to the basement, which we found to be dark and empty. I pulled out my candle, which, as I had assumed, was still burning.

I motioned for Bolt and Rook to be silent, and we listened carefully. We could just barely make out the stressed, fearful whispers and heavy breathing of a hiding pony.

The Voice had mentioned a cellar. There was no obvious room in the basement that could be a cellar. From that, I assumed it was hidden in the floor.

A large portion of the room was covered by a rug. I wondered...

Pulling the rug away revealed a trapdoor. I tried at the handle. It was locked.

The whimpering increased in volume.

“Let me,” said Bolt, pushing past me. She dug out a Key from her satchel and jammed it into the lock.

“No!” came a cry from within.

Bolt opened the trapdoor.

Inside was a tall, slender, cream-coloured unicorn, his bright blue eyes wide with fear. An image of a scroll adorned his flank. He was curled up and shaking with fear.

“D-don’t kill m-m-me! Please! I’ve do-don-done nothing wro-o-o-ong!” He pleaded for his life, scared beyond anything I’d ever seen.

“We’re not here to kill you,” I reassured him. “We’re here to get you out.”

“W-w-why would y-you do that?”

I pulled the Shard out of my saddlebag.

“I was hoping you could help me with this.”

Iniquitous Lore was seething with rage.

How had he come back? How had ‘Steel Tempest’ come back?! It wasn’t possible. Solace had made sure his memories were wiped clean.

And that presence with him... It was familiar, it felt like...

...The Chamber.

Lore knew just how big of a mistake Solace had made. Solace did as well.

“Guards!”

Two guards showed up at his door not a half second later.

“Yes, your majesty?” They both chimed in unison.

“Have Solace arrested for treason and put in the dungeon.”

“Very good, your majesty.” They disappeared.

Solace had been holding back something. The true nature of the Chamber of Perception. Solace knew where the Markers were.

Lore intended to beat it out of him.