Where The Sun Shines Not
Prologue
The ancient fortress had seen far better days. The towers that flanked the entrance had crumbled to almost nothing, their stones littering the ground like tombstones. The portcullis, having once protected the fortress from many a siege, had long since rusted and fallen away, leaving the courtyard beyond exposed. The battlements had been battered harshly by the elements, giving the walls a jagged, broken appearance. The only thing that had weathered the test of time was a picture, etched proudly above the gate for all to see. It depicted the sun and moon, both guarded by a pair of ethereal alicorns with long, flowing manes. To the eye of a mere traveler, the strange etching meant nothing. But to the knight who stood outside the battered fortress, it made his heart giddy with excitement.
He was a tall man with sharp, hawkish features. His grey eyes regarded the picture intently, as though making sure they weren’t seeing a mere illusion. A dark green surcoat fell to his knees, its hem trimmed with intricate black designs. His arms were sheathed by the sleeves of his mail shirt, over which he wore burnished steel plates. A visored helm was tucked in the crook of the knight’s right arm, and the hood of his mail coif was pulled back, allowing his brown hair to be tousled by the cool morning wind. He rested a gauntleted hand on the hilt of his sword, the long blade hanging from a leather belt buckled to his waist. The weapon felt reassuring as he gripped it, a silent companion as he stood before the yawning maw of the fortress’ gate.
With a final glance at the symbol, the knight strode under the gatehouse and stepped into the forgotten stronghold, pausing only to let a stray rat run by his booted feet. The courtyard was quieter than a crypt, and the man couldn’t help but feel a chill run down his spine from the oppressive silence. It drove him to continue moving, to let the reassuring rustle of his armor break the eerie quiet. He walked until he stood before the back wall of the courtyard, his path blocked by unyielding stone…at least until he reached out and ran his hand across the worn, pitted surface. Faint white light followed the path made by his hand, gradually glowing brighter as the knight made a near-perfect circle. As soon as he closed it and drew his fingers away, the ancient stones began sliding over one another, dust falling from the cracks as an unseen entrance revealed itself. Beyond it was a roughly-carved tunnel, illuminated by guttering torches that burned with unnatural blue light. It sloped down, as if leading into the very bowels of the fortress. The man smiled faintly in satisfaction, before tugging his coif’s hood over his head and clamping his helm into place.
He walked cautiously into the tunnel’s cool embrace, his footsteps echoing faintly. It wasn't a particularly wide passage, but it lacked any twists and forks. It was a straight path to the man’s ultimate destination, the thing he’d been ceaselessly searching for. He’d forsaken his order to find the fortress, broken his oath to learn of the secret entrance. And after months of travel, the first leg of his quest was nearing an end. The thought quickened the man’s pace, his excitement and anticipation nearly palpable. He still had a long journey ahead, but the first hurdle had been cleared without incident. For that alone, the knight was thankful.
Before long, the tunnel began to widen. The ceiling gradually became higher and higher, until the light of the torches could no longer illuminate it. The air chilled noticeably, to the point where the knight’s breath became visible when exhaled. Strange runes adorned the tunnel’s walls, their intricate designs catching the man’s eye as he passed them. He could feel the power held within, the old magic brushing against his senses like a faint wind. Time had done little to lessen the potency of the runes, and had they been meant for defense, the knight would have been reduced to ash. Much to his fortune, however, the swirling symbols were meant for the channeling of magic, rather than protection against intruders. And as the man reached the tunnel’s end, he discovered there were far more than he’d ever imagined.
The chamber he stood in was vast, lined with towering columns that supported the vaulted ceiling. White crystals, rather than torches, were set into the ceiling, providing plenty of illumination by which to see. Runes covered nearly every surface, including the floor beneath the knight’s feet. Power thrummed through all of them, channeling into the center of the room like pipes to a fountain. The knight stood in awe as he looked around, his jaw almost slack beneath his helm. He walked forwardly slowly, until he stood mere feet away from the center of the chamber. With the utmost care, he reached into a pouch on his sword belt and drew out a small, gleaming silver coin. He regarded the little keepsake for a long moment, before flicking it into the floor with his thumb. It bounced and clattered across the stone, before suddenly disappearing in a flash of blue light.
“Who summons me?” a raspy, ghostly voice intoned. A spectral pony rose from the floor, hovering just in front of the knight. His tattered robes swirled around him on their own accord, and his wizened face was heavy with age.
“I do, honored guardian,” the man replied, bowing his head respectfully. “I am Sir Vandrid of Istenburg, former knight of Galcus.”
“Galcus, you say?” the spirit said, arching an eyebrow at the knight. “My, but you must have traveled far to find this forgotten place.” He chuckled quietly in amusement, smiling faintly to himself. “The princesses thought we had long since faded from the memory of mankind. It seems, however, that is not the case.”
“They are many in my kingdom who believe Equestria is but a myth,” Vandris replied, sighing quietly. “I, however, am not among their numbers.”
The spirit chuckled again. “So it would seem,” he said, nodding thoughtfully. “I know what it is you seek, Sir Vandrid, for only one thing would drive you to journey so far. As keeper of this Way, it is within my power to grant your request…but you would do well to heed my warning first.”
“I’m listening,” Vandrid said, swallowing as a cold knot of uncertainly formed in his stomach.
“The Equestria of the old tales is no more,” the spirit said solemnly, his tone grave. “A virulent plague has long since swept across the land, and many were claimed in its passing. Cities have become nothing more than graveyards, with those that have survived eke out meager existences among the husks of civilization. And since the disappearance of the princesses, the griffons have been warring with the dragons over dominion of the realm. Their conflict threatens to finish what the plague did not.” A hint of weary sadness glinted in the old pony’s eyes. “I will not deny you passage into Equestria. But understand that you shall not be journeying into a land of peace and harmony. Only despair and misery await you.”
“I…I see,” Vandrid replied quietly, his gaze fixed on the floor. The spirit’s revelations had hit him like bricks, and a part of him was tempted to just walk away. But the knight reminded himself of what he’d given up to find the way to Equestria, of the vows he’d broken to undertake a quest many thought was hopeless. There wasn't a chance of him being accepted by his comrades, and any hope of being knighted again was a fool’s dream. His lord would probably put him in the dungeon for even daring to show his face. But would venturing into a land wracked by plague and death be any better? To Vandrid, it seemed as though he’d be putting himself under the headsman’s ax no matter what he did.
Going back would mean he’d sacrificed everything for nothing. Going forward would mean venturing into a forsaken land that was far cry from the paradise it was supposed to be. Only after a long moment of deliberation, did the knight decide which path was worse.
“Take me to Equestria,” Vandrid said calmly, locking eyes with the spirit. “ I've given up too much to turn back now. I promised a friend I would see this quest through to the end.” He gripped his sword tightly as he spoke. “And a knight doesn't break his promises.”
“If that is your decision,” the spirit replied, “then so be it.” He nodded once at Vandrid, the gesture conveying respect…and, perhaps, a farewell. As he sank into the floor, the runes around Vandrid suddenly began glowing with bright blue light. The air hummed with power, crackling with arcs of lightning as a swirling vortex opened in front of the knight. He raised a hand to shield his eyes from the runelight, his surcoat whipping around his legs as he was pulled towards the vortex. Vandrid’s form seemed to stretch and distort, even as the knight began to feel an immense pressure bearing down him, making it impossible to even breath.
Then, with a sharp crack and a rumble of thunder, Sir Vandrid disappeared entirely.
_________
Sir Vandrid’s arrival in Equestria was not, to say the least, dignified. Rather than a soft landing and a subtle entrance, the knight suddenly found himself being hurled from the whirling vortex at a frightening speed. He tumbled along the ground for several feet, skidding to a painful halt as the base of a charred, broken tree. Steam curled from his armor as he stared up at the grey, featureless sky, his heart pounding like a war-drum. Vandrid stayed that way for a long while, his breathing gradually returning to normal as the shock ebbed away. He used the tree to help pull himself up, though he still leaned against it for support as he looked around.
The forest had, no doubt, been beautiful once. But whatever lush, verdant life it once held had been burned away, and its place were swathes of ash. The gnarled remains of trees stood as silent memorials, their branches turned beseechingly towards the clouded sky above. Vandrid stepped forwardly slowly, his eyes sweeping around the desolate forest. He saw no signs of life among the ash, but he did hear something. It was faint, but the knight’s well-honed senses could just barely make out the sound of a voice. A voice that, even as he listened, gradually grew closer. It was a frantic cry mixed with with a bestial snarl, prompting Vandrid to draw his blade. Even beneath the dreary sky, it still seemed to gleam dangerously as he held it aloft, ready to lash out as he walked forward.
“Help!” a desperate, feminine voice cried. “Somepony help, please!”
The plea prompted Vandrid to whip his gaze to the left, where his eyes were greeted by quite a sight. A young mare, sporting a sky-blue coat and a white mane, galloped as fast as she could towards the knight. Her gaze was fixed fearfully over her shoulder, and for good reason: The best pursing her was gaining ground swiftly. It looked akin to a wolf, albeit one made from blackened wood rather than flesh. It stood a head taller than the mare, its baleful red eyes glowing as it snarled, sap-like spittle flying from its fangs. The nightmarish wolf was like nothing Vandrid had ever seen before, but that mattered little to the knight. The mare needed his help, else she’d wind up at the mercy of the beast. He didn't have time to charge forward, not with the wolf so close to pouncing on the fleeing pony.
But Vandrid had more at his disposal than just a sharp sword.
Pressing his index and middle fingers together, the knight trust his left hand toward the wolf. He spat a jagged-sounding word during the motion, causing a tendril of white-blue to shoot from the tips of his outstretched fingers. It snaked towards the wolf at a blistering speed, leaving a wake of ash and a high-pitched shriek in its passing. The very air warped and distorted around it, the potent magic honing in on the wolf like a marksman's arrow.
Whether by luck or fate, the magic projectile struck the beast just as it leapt towards the mare, tearing into its chest with a sound akin to splintering wood. The creature was sent flying back, impacting against a gnarled tree with enough force to crack the bark. It tumbled limply to the ground, its red eyes dimming. The hole in its chest was as wide, its edges smoking and hissing as viscous sap dribbled onto the ground.
Vandrid hunched over and put his hands on his knees, just as a wave of nausea washed over him. Magic was a powerful tool for a warrior to utilize, but hasty casting had a wide variety of side-effects. Vandrid hadn't focused the energy tightly enough, and the excess power was making his stomach threaten to disgorge its contents. He raised the visor of his helm, sinking to his knees as he wiped the cold sweat from his face. The knight stabbed his sword into the ground, using it to steady himself until the nausea finally passed. It wasn't the first time Vandrid had slipped up with a spell, but he never did enjoy the consequences afterward.
It could be worse, he reminded himself, taking a deep breath as he finally looked up. The mare he’d saved was standing in front of him, her eyes wide with a mixture of awe and fear. He gave her his best reassuring smile, nodding at her in polite greeting. The mare gulped audibly and returned the gesture, albeit far more hesitantly. The strange iceberg tattoo on her flank piqued the knight’s curiosity, but he decided that was something he’d inquire about later.
“Hello there,” Vandrid said, his tone pleasant. “There’s no need to be afraid, milady. I've no intention of harming you.” He put a hand to his chest and bowed slightly. “I am Sir Vandrid of…well, let’s just say I’m not from around here.”
“H-hello,” the mare replied, her voice tight with uncertainty. “I’m Glacial Winds.” She glanced at the smoking corpse of the beast behind her and shuddered, clamping her eyes shut. “Thank you for saving me. I thought I was done for.”
“It was my pleasure,” Vandrid said, smiling faintly. “If you don’t mind me asking, what were you doing out here? This doesn't seem like the place for a lone mare to be wandering.”
“It isn't,” Glacial Winds admitted, a blush coloring her cheeks. “My parents told me not to stray from the caravan, but I couldn't help it! I…sort of went off exploring on my own, and…well you can guess what happened. That mutant timberwolf came out of nowhere and started chasing me."
Vandrid nodded thoughtfully, rubbing at his chin as the mare spoke. “A caravan, you say?” he said, quirking an eyebrow when she was finished.
“Yes,” Glacial Winds, gradually becoming more at ease with the armored human. “There’s a dozen of them that travel around Equestria. Their owners usually let other ponies tag along, provided they lend a helping hoof. It’s not easy work, but it’s safer than traveling alone. The roads haven’t been all that safe, these past few months.”
“I see,” Vandrid said, nodding again. The knight knew his options were limited, and the plan he’d cobbled together wasn't exactly the best. His entire reason for coming to Equestria revolved around the princesses, but they were nowhere to be found. Yet, there was a part of Vandrid that refused to believe they’d abandoned their subjects. And if there was the slightest chance he could find them, he would gladly brave any challenge. But he couldn't just traipse around Equestria while calling their names aloud. Traveling with the caravan would ensure he had shelter, not to mention a readily available well of information. Provided, of course, its owners allowed him to stay. He certainly had no qualms about working to earn his keep if he had to.
“Would you mind taking me to this caravan, Glacial?” the knight asked. "Besides, a knight never lets a lady travel alone. Especially not in a place like this."
“That's very kind of you,” Glacial Winds said, blushing as she smiled shyly. She turned, gesturing for Vandrid to follow her. “Besides, my parents will want you thank you for saving me. After they're done tanning my flank for wandering off.”
Vandrid smiled in amusement and rose to his feet, brushing ash from his greaves. He sheathed his sword as he followed Glacial Winds, his thoughts adrift on the the future of his adventure. He knew ponies would scoff at the idea of him finding the princesses. He could almost hear them calling it a fool’s errand, a quest only a madman would attempt. And perhaps they were right. But Vandrid had found Equestria, a task that many of his own kind had deemed impossible. What harm was there in testing his luck a second time?
Well, besides dying, of course.
