The Cyclops of the Forge

Chapters

Issue 1: A Dangerous Mission
Issue 2: The Art of the Craft
Issue 3: Cry Havoc
Issue 4: Knowing the Path
Issue 5: Walking the Path
Issue 6: The Test

Issue 1: A Dangerous Mission

The sun sank slowly to meet the ground, covering the town in darkness. For just a moment, right after the sun had dropped all the way below the horizon, the sky was a deep, dark blue; only the faint light of the stars helped the ponies looking up from below keep from losing themselves in it.

Before the sky could be lit up again the lights in the town library had already been turned on. The colt who had turned them on, his dark blue coat the same color as the unlit night sky outside, trotted back to the desk he had been studying at. He stretched his neck, flopping his star-white mane here and there, and flexed his wings; he was painfully aware of how much time he had spent in the library, but he also knew it was important.

The moon rose in the sky, replacing the sky's dark blue with shifting shades of luxurious purple. The colt, Starforge, continued his studies oblivious to the majesty outside. He flipped rapidly past pages that held useless information: historical background, biographies, and so many pages detailing the old culture! He did make a note to come back to the book for the spells described within, but he had done all of his background research already; now all that immediately concerned him was the hammer.

He turned more pages. The book was the key, he knew that. Farrierview's library held many books about local history, but The Cyclopes of the Forge was old, only postdating the cataclysm by a little over a hundred years. Two other books, a few hundred years more recent, referenced it as containing the words of the last surviving cyclops. Those words were said to describe what he must do to get the hammer.

His eyes stopped on the page. "Beglan's final words." That was the section he needed. He devoured the text that followed, which contained an interpretation of an interpretation of words spoken long ago: what the Bellowskeeper said before he began his now thousand-year slumber deep in the Forge city.

The text was vague, and certainly not an exact transcript of Beglan's words. Still, the message came through clearly enough: Beglan had promised his magical hammer, an artifact built on the Forge itself, to anypony who ventured to the Forge city and proved their worth. The test was to forge a crown fit for the head of Beglan himself, out of the magical metal Irt, and shape the magic innate to the Irt into a powerful spell.

Irt... Starforge knew that term. Ponies in his time called it "Bliss", but it remained by far the rarest and most powerful of the magically charged metals. He had very little experience working with Bliss, but it was definitely more difficult to work than the Glee, and far more difficult than the Felicity he was accustomed to using.

He was snapped out of his thoughts by the sound of the door opening. When he turned around he saw the librarian, an older unicorn with a coat the color of unbleached paper, entering the library. The librarian smiled when he saw Starforge, and shut the door behind himself.

"Well good evening Starforge," he said. "You're still here? I thought you went home hours ago." He began making his rounds of the library, picking up stray books and placing them back onto the shelves where they belonged.

"No," Starforge replied. He motioned back towards the book with his head. "I've been doing my research." He turned back to the book and looked at it with an admiring smile. "This is quite the text you have here Lector."

The librarian walked over to the nook Starforge had set himself up in, and saw the book on the table. "Oh yes," he agreed. "A big beauty, that one." He beamed with pride. "It was the best day of my young life back when I convinced the Canterlot University library to give that one up." He relived the memory and chuckled. "Can you believe they had it boxed up in the back, and didn't even have it in the catalog?"

"Their loss," Starforge said simply. He was not surprised they had tucked it away: the book described things that happened a thousand years ago, and books stopped referring to the Forge city about five hundred years ago. If nopony knew there was a city with a powerful magical forge, nopony knew to ask for books about it.

Starforge stepped away from the table. He bowed his head down to the floor, scooping his saddlebags over it and onto his back. It was time.

"You're going?" Lector asked him. Starforge looked back at him and nodded. Lector turned his head back towards the book and saw that Starforge still had a couple of chapters left to read. "Would you like to take the book back to Ponyville?" he asked. "You can always bring it back later."

Starforge shook his head. "I'm not going back to Ponyville," he said. "Not yet." He stepped to the door and opened it. Standing in the doorway, he turned back towards Lector. "Sorry for reading and running," he said. Under normal circumstances Starforge would have re-shelved the book himself, but if he didn't finish his trip by the morning he'd probably get chased out of the jungle with no hammer.

"Oh think nothing of it," Lector said with a warm smile. "I think I'll leave the book out on the table." He looked at the book with fond remembrances in his eye. "I like the thought that somepony else might come along and read it."

"Well, good night Lector," Starforge said. He stepped onto the street and closed the door behind himself. Struck, as he always was, by the gorgeous night sky he stood and stared at it. It was his right to be awestruck, and he let himself enjoy the feeling for just a moment before he flew off into the night.

Starforge plunged below the canopy of the jungle again. He had worked out a system by now: he would break into a dive, quickly pull his lantern from his pack, turn it on, and tuck it against his chest so it didn't get snagged by a stray branch. Then he was free to find a safe – and well-lit – landing on the jungle floor.

He executed the entry and landing perfectly—he was glad, because he had already botched it enough for one night. Holding his lantern high, he looked into the dark forest; though he had brought a high-powered magical gem lantern, he could still only see maybe sixty feet around himself. He directed his attention away from the tall trees—they were invaders, having taken over the land when its caretakers had perished. His focus was on the ground instead, where the remnants of the old builders might still be found.

Intent as he was on observing what was in the dirt, Starforge's ears still perked up when he heard a rustling sound up in one of the trees. It could have been just his paranoia, but it could also have been a pangutan... The pangutans were long-haired apes; they walked on two legs, stood almost half again as tall as a pony, and had one eye just like the cyclopes. They also had a great distrust of ponies ever since the founding of Farrierview, when the ponies began logging the jungle for the wood they needed to build the town.

Starforge's attention snapped back to the ground. At the edge of his light he had spotted what looked like a stream bed. He placed his lantern into his mouth and trotted towards it.

As the light covered the trench, more details emerged. It was far straighter than an ordinary stream bed, he could see that easily. Though erosion had taken a heavy toll he could see bits of what looked like concrete. The "stream bed" was actually one of the city's old canals, now long-dry, leading from the cyclopes' ancestral mines to the city. Its old concrete lining was broken up, and the water had all evaporated; without any ore to transport on it, the only important thing about the old canal was that it would give Starforge a path into the Forge city to follow.

A tree rustled again. Starforge's view shot up into the trees but he could see nothing; he was certain he was being followed though. Grabbing the lantern with his hoof, he looked up at the trees nervously. Starforge wanted to avoid having to deal with any of the apes, but it sounded like he had already attracted their attention. He looked back to the canal: he could follow it into the city, where he would be able to avoid them by sticking to the sky or sneaking through the streets.

His wings came to life in an instant, carrying him into the air. Starforge heard a loud movement in the trees, likely a pangutan hopping from one tree to another. Not sparing any energy for later, he sped to the canal and began to follow it deeper into the jungle. The sound of leaps from tree to tree quickly grew quiet behind him, but Starforge only let himself slow down a little for safety's sake. There were more pangutans out there, he was sure of it; his lantern would be a beacon for them, but he needed it until he reached the Forge city.

The canal sped by under Starforge as he flew. It was largely empty, but he still needed to slightly adjust his altitude to avoid low branches growing over it. Even the occasional tree trying to take root in the canal popped up at the very far edge of his vision and had to be deftly swerved around.

Starforge's urgent flight carried on for several minutes. By his reckoning he had flown more than five miles; as the urgency of the chase had passed he had gradually allowed his pace to slow. That reckoning did him little good, however, as he had no way of knowing how long he would have to follow the canal: the canals in the area ranged from eight to twenty miles long, but he had started somewhere in the middle of his chosen path.

Without warning another obstacle shot up in front of him, a massive one. Rather than a scraggly tree trying to survive in the canal bed, Starforge found himself faced with a tall, wide building. Rather than stop, Starforge adjusted his flight path and flew straight up. He followed the wall of the building up, letting gravity help him slow down as he ascended thirty feet.

When he reached the top of the building Starforge floated gently towards the middle. By its placement he guessed it to be an old smelting facility, where ore would have been refined into workable metal. The book said there would be a straight line through any building's city-side door, the flagpole in the yard out front if there was one, and the Forge house; cyclopes were very meticulous creatures, never designing without meaning, and the city existed to service the Forge.

He set himself down onto the roof gently. With a curious eye he looked up to the jungle canopy over the city, which was more sparse than he had expected it to be. With the major gaps in the coverage of tree leaves, he reasoned that the moon would provide enough light for him to see by. Starforge turned his lantern off and placed it back into his pack. He wouldn't need it to see, and its light would just attract more pangutans.

He walked on the roof, away from the canal and towards the center of town. Going that direction the building was maybe a hundred feet long, but it was wider, perhaps almost two hundred feet. Numerous ventilation apparatuses stuck out on the roof, and massive sections were cut out to make skylights. Starforge gingerly stepped around the obstacles and pitfalls.

When he reached the edge of the building he quickly noticed the flagpole, as well as the flag being displayed on it. Woven from jungle vines, and maybe a dozen feet on a side, the flag was very securely tied to the pole. Starforge angled his head slightly to the right as he looked at the strange sight. It was obviously not a cyclopean flag, but he had never heard of the pangutans displaying flags before.

He unfolded his wings and gently flew over to the flag, casting a curious eye on it. It was covered with several different pigments, like a real flag; the pangutans obviously knew what was expected to fly on a flagpole. That would be curious enough, but as he got close to it he was also able to see the design in the center: a crude representation of the city layout. He angled his head again, to the left this time; he had not expected the pangutans to care much about the buildings they squatted in, let alone represent them on a banner.

Starforge turned back from the flagpole to look for the main door to the building. He spotted it easily, because it was the only door on a wall covered in large windows. Unsure of what to make of the flag, he looked back over his shoulder once before flying back to the roof. Starforge landed directly above the door and turned back towards the flagpole. He looked back up the canopy, trying to get a sense for what it would look like from above. It had been very difficult to find the city, and if he had to leave in a hurry he wanted to be able to find his way back more easily.

Assured that he could pick out the break in the canopy from the air, he lifted off from the building. He gained altitude until he was about twenty feet below the branches. Once he was at altitude Starforge turned his attention back to the ground, while flying slowly towards the Forge house. He spotted several small groups of pangutans walking around below him, in streets lightly illuminated with torches. Though they preferred the day, pangutans were more comfortable moving around at night than ponies were; Starforge had expected pangutans to be milling around. If so many were on the streets, though, that meant that there were many more living in the old city than he had anticipated.

He looked down at the city warily. Suddenly he was very glad that his dark coat would be particularly hard for the apes to see against the poorly lit canopy and sky. The founding of Farrierview had been difficult, and Starforge had learned a lot about the town's history; even with the royal guard doing their best to protect the town, peace only came when the initial rush of building was done and the ponies stopped clearing large sections of jungle for wood. The ponies were able to safely cut down trees in small amounts now, but they still remembered the pangutans' skills with the bow and arrow.

In the distance the distinctive outline of the Forge house came into view. Safe from the apes below Starforge allowed his mind to wander, imagining the city in all of its splendor: thousands of ponies and cyclopes living and working together, creating the most powerful artifacts of their time. The cataclysm at the Forge had been a major loss for artifice, as most of the preeminent scholars and craftsponies back then lived in the city.

Lost in his reverie, Starforge didn't hear the tree leaves rustle above him. A second later though, he couldn't help but feel the impact. A pangutan who had been climbing a tree had leapt at the intruding pony and had struck his left flank, spinning the pony in the air until he was falling onto his right side with an angry ape on top of him. The pangutan reached his arms around Starforge in a bear hug, pinning both of his wings against his back.

The ape shrieked into Starforge's ear at the loudest volume he could manage with his substantial vocal chords. Starforge winced, then looked down to the rapidly approaching ground; he saw not only a hard landing, but many pangutans looking upward. Some darted into buildings, but more ran out into the street.

Starforge grimaced as he wriggled, determinedly trying to force the pangutan off of him. The ape was gripping him firmly with both hands; he couldn't throw him off. With his teeth clenched, he looked back to the ground. He had started with only two seconds before the impact, and he had wasted one second already. His lantern: it was in his right saddlebag. If he was able to get out of this and find his way into the Forge house, he'd need light once he was inside.

He angled his head to the right and then slammed it back into the pangutan's face. The ape instinctively lifted his closer right hand to force Starforge's head forward, giving Starforge the opening he needed. He opened his wings; while his left wing merely pushed the ape back a few inches but couldn't get past him, his right wing was free. Seeing what was happening the pangutan scrambled around Starforge's torso, trying to get a hand on the wing. With no time to determine how much thrust he needed, Starforge flapped his right wing as hard as he could, rotating himself. He spun in the air until his left side faced the ground and his right side faced the jungle canopy.

The pangutan reached Starforge's back and got a hand onto his right wing just before the two of them struck the ground at more than forty miles per hour. Starforge's left flank crashed into the ground, and his partially extended wing bent under the pressure. He involuntarily cried out from the pain, screaming into the night as he curled into a ball on the ground and kicked his legs at the air.

His scream was matched in volume by the pangutan lying behind him, balled up as well and clutching his left ankle; it had been smashed against the ground from the fall, then crushed under Starforge as well. His hand also came up to feel the left side of his left rib cage, which had struck the ground hard.

The two gradually ceased their cries and everything was still for several seconds. Starforge gritted his teeth and opened his eyes. Through tears of pain he could see that many of the apes had surrounded them, at a distance of five feet. His brain was too frazzled from all of the pain impulses still slamming into it to try to count how many pangutans that meant were around him, but he knew it was a lot.

He closed his eyes again and arched his head back. His breathing was heavy and ragged, and he fought back against sobs that wouldn't stop coming. His left wing throbbed and burned, and was still trapped under him. He tried forcing himself to breathe slowly, but that didn't work: he still hurt, and his breath was still uneven and punctuated with sobs.

Starforge heard a pangutan in the distance shout. He opened his eyes and turned his head, seeing several of the pangutans in the circle making way for someone. He closed his eyes again. Whoever they were making way for, he wasn't in the mood to find out. He clenched his jaw shut hard, and concentrated on his breathing. In. Hold. Hold. Hold. Out. Hold. Hold.

Ready. His eyes shot open and, slowly, he got his hooves under himself and stood up. His entire left side still hurt very badly, and he felt shaky, but fear was a very powerful painkiller. Counting twenty healthy pangutans all around him now, and more on the way, he was plenty afraid.

He took a step forward then opened his wings. Sharp pain shot through his left wing but he ignored it; he only needed a short flight, nothing more. He tried to flap his wings down but instead cried out. His breath became heavy again, and his left wing felt like somepony had tried to rip it off.

One of the pangutans said something to the others in their language, then turned to Starforge. They all nodded and looked towards Starforge as well. The one who had spoken said something to him, but Starforge couldn't understand the pangutan language. Instead he looked around at the apes facing him, then picked out the smallest one of the group.

Without warning Starforge charged forward at his chosen target. The poor ape must have been preparing to restrain him, not resist a charge; his body straightened up in surprise when the pony moved, rather than a more effective brace. Hit while his muscles were still involuntarily tensed, the pangutan went to the ground without any meaningful ability to resist. Unwilling to even slow down, Starforge trampled him under his hooves and continued running down the street.

Behind him Starforge could hear a pangutan shouting, probably barking out orders at the others. Running down the street, passing by buildings with confused pangutans standing in the doorways or looking out windows, he searched the skyline desperately for the Forge house. For the first time he cursed the cyclopes for their design sensibilities, demanding to know why they felt the need to surround the Forge house with taller buildings rather than let it tower over the city like a species of egomaniacs would.

He took a turn down a street and found himself face to face with another pangutan, who looked ready for him. Starforge stopped suddenly, coming to rest about six feet away from the ape. Now he wanted to curse his own noisy hooves. Looking around at the narrow street, he decided his plan of attack.

He faked a charge to the right, as if he were going to attack the pangutan directly, then pivoted and bolted to the left. Starforge was too slow for the ape, though, and the pangutan managed to get his hands around him. He tried to lift Starforge off of his hooves but the pony was too heavy to be lifted with such a poor grip; all he managed to do was swing Starforge around briefly.

What he was able to see during the brief lift was enough to unsettle Starforge, though. He saw three pangutans running from around the corner, one of which was wearing a primitive chest plate and holding a bow. The ape nocked an arrow on his bow, and Starforge panicked.

As soon as his hooves touched the dirt he thrust up and to the side with his legs, slamming the pangutan holding him into the building he had emerged from. His grip loosened but he didn't let go, so Starforge quickly turned his head and placed his jaw on the ape's side; he bit down, hard. The ape howled and his hands went for his side and Starforge's face, but Starforge was already running down the street.

An object flew past Starforge from behind him, on his right side: an arrow! It was flying slightly low and to the right, but if he had been any slower getting out of the ape's hold it would have been a direct hit. The arrow struck a building's side wall; Starforge continued his sprint forward and hoped that the building's placement meant he was on one of the diagonal streets near the city center.

He made a left turn onto a minor street and saw that halfway down the alley was a smaller pangutan—likely a younger adolescent. Starforge didn't slow down, preferring to barrel straight through anything in his path. The ape readied himself to grab him, but then he saw that the pony wasn't stopping. He stood there for a second, unsure of himself, as Starforge charged towards him with his head lowered. At the last moment, though, he lost his nerve and jumped to the side—out of Starforge's way. He let the pony pass, but did something even more dangerous than a poor attempt at grappling: he called into the night for his fellows.

Starforge emerged from the alley and stopped to have a look at the buildings on the street. He had memorized the maps, and so many of the buildings. Only one clue to his location, that's all he needed! Desperate, he scanned the skyline. One tower stuck out, built with enormous windows. It had to be the university library, and he knew the library's tower had a clear view of the Forge house.

Having decided his direction Starforge started running again. As he crossed the street and ran towards the tower he was able to make out the edifice of the university, which assured him he was in fact near the Forge house.

Despite his good fortune, however, the hairs were standing up on the back of his neck. He didn't hear the sound of pursuers anymore, but the pangutans had been so close to him just before he reached the alley. There was no way he could have evaded them, not after the young one had shouted. If they had guessed his destination they could be moving to surround him. He continued running, ignoring the ache in his chest and the dull throb of his wing.

He ran for the last stretch. Tired and anxious as he was, he was still paying enough attention to his surroundings to see that the buildings in this area seemed uninhabited. There were no lights on inside, no pangutans looking at him from the windows, and even the dirt did not seem as hard-packed by footsteps as the rest of the city.

Finally, the Forge house came into sight. Built out of large blocks of black stone, with strips of smaller white stone blocks on the edges, it was an imposing structure even if it was only fifteen feet tall. Starforge's pace slowed as he tried to take in the majesty of the building, and as he noticed that no pangutans were waiting to leap on him from nearby roofs.

By the time he reached the Forge house's threshold his pace had slowed to a walk. He stopped just outside and looked up at the massive twelve-foot-tall arch. Bowing his head in reverence, he imagined all of the great researchers and artificers – to say nothing of the Forge Masters themselves – who had walked through the arches on the Forge house's outer walls.

He opened his eyes. He was ready to prove himself. He wanted it more than anything, and he had come so far in his studies. With a triumphant stride, he walked through the arch and into the grand hall of the Forge house's ground floor. He had done it.

The hall was dark: when the cataclysm struck it not only claimed all but one of the city's residents, it also acted as a very high-level disruption spell. The powerful artifacts had reconstituted their magics after a few years, but simpler devices like magical lights were completely disrupted and their magic returned to its pre-crafting state; they wouldn't shine again unless a craftspony worked the magic into the right form again. He reached into his saddlebag for his lantern, which would be more than enough light for his needs, and turned it on.

He stepped through the hall, holding his lantern in his mouth. The walls inside were made up of polished beige granite, and the floors a darker tan polished granite. Columns, the same stone as the walls, supported the roof and carved the massive lobby into distinct sections.

In one section he saw the old freight elevator, but he knew it wouldn't work; due to tradition it was operated by hand crank, and there were no cyclopes below to operate it. Ahead, in the center of the grand hall, was what Starforge sought: the massive spiral staircase that led to the lower floors.

He carefully walked down the stairs. After twenty steps he reached the first landing, which was three quarters of a circle made of flat, gray stone. The first floor was the administrative level, and the second floor would be where the Forge workers' apartments were. The third floor, however, was where the Forge was. The third floor was where Starforge needed to go.

He walked down to the second landing. As above there were four hallways at even intervals around the landing. With a curious eye, he briefly looked down each hallway. He wondered if this floor was where Beglan was sleeping. Every Forge worker had their own apartment here, but it was also normal for them to keep a residence elsewhere; they would use their apartment to wash up and to rest while working on long projects, but live further out in the city.

Where Beglan was sleeping was unimportant, though. Starforge continued down the staircase. Another twenty steps down it ended in another landing, but it was different. The spiral staircase ended on the third level, and the only hallway was the one at the foot of the stairwell. Instead of the other three hallways the walls were decorated with portraits of some of the most famous Forge Masters. Starforge recognized a few of them: Gilding, gentlecolt of the Forge; Magnitun, exemplar of the hill cyclopes; and the last Forge Master: Sure Strike, in his days called the greatest artificer ever to live.

Starforge turned back from the wall and walked into the hallway. It contained a straight staircase, and Starforge could make out light at the bottom. He hurried down the thirty steps. When he reached the bottom his jaw dropped; his lantern hit the floor with a light clink. The Forge room was immense, with a ceiling at least thirty feet high. The ceiling was still lit, though Starforge couldn't tell if the lights were so powerful that they reconstituted themselves or if they had been re-worked after the cataclysm. To his left was the freight elevator, and its hand cranks. Straight ahead, however, was the Forge.

It stood on the third level of a small pyramid, with steps about eight inches high and with five feet between steps. The final level, where the Forge was kept, seemed rather small compared to the room around it—only about twenty feet by forty feet. Ponies and cyclopes would have come in to watch the masters work, and the hall was built to instill the proper sense of awe.

He stepped into the room. His hooves clacked on the dark red granite floor as he made his way towards the Forge. Destiny. That was what he felt as he climbed the first two levels and stood before the third. Directly in front of him, in the center of the platform, was the anvil. It was very large and still pristine, even after being used for generations. To his right was the furnace, and its assortment of tools. To the left was the enchanting table. The enchanting table would be where the Forge Master did the important work; they would work the anvil sometimes as well, but they were always selected for their abilities on the enchanting table.

He stepped up onto the last level, then stepped forward to the anvil. Curious about its magical properties, he touched it with a hoof—he jolted and immediately withdrew it. The anvil was very, very heavily enchanted. Despite its large size he wasn't sure if even Bliss could contain so much magic in such a small package; he remembered reading about a fourth metal type, called "Nirvana" by modern ponies, but it was always mentioned as being merely a hypothesis—what the metal would be like if the Felicity-Glee-Bliss cycle continued to a fourth tier.

The anvil certainly didn't look like it was made of Bliss; the anvil had the appearance of an object made of platinum, like all magical metals naturally did, but with a thin layer of cobalt blue giving it a dull sheen. When it did not have its color magically altered Felicity had no sheen, Glee a red sheen, and Bliss a green sheen. Whatever enchantments were woven into the anvil were complicated, and Starforge couldn't identify them.

He circled to the other side of the anvil, examining it while he walked. It was brilliantly crafted, and even under close examination still showed no signs of wear despite the heavy use it had seen. On the side opposite there hung numerous hammers, tongs, and other tools. Starforge could sense magic from some of them, but others were mundane—though very finely crafted.

What Starforge had journeyed to the Forge for would be unmistakeably magical. He looked around the room again, his eyes stopping on the crafting table. It was made of the same material as the anvil, and the blue tones of the flat surface seemed to dance in the browns and reds of the larger room.

He shifted his attention to behind the Forge and saw what he needed. A chunk of metal and a hammer rested on a small wooden table about ten feet behind the series of steps that led to the Forge. Starforge hurried over to it and touched the metal. It was very magical, but its magic was as unshaped as the metal's physical form. He looked it over, and his eyes confirmed what his craftspony's sense told him: with the underlying platinum appearance and thin green-colored film, it was definitely unworked Bliss.

The hammer sitting next to it was very large. While eight pounds of Bliss did not work out to a very large chunk, the hammer was obviously made to fit comfortably into the hand of a cyclops. Starforge could sense that it, like many of the objects in the room, was very magical. From a distance of two feet he could definitely sense that it contained improvements in both metal and magic shaping, but the specific spells were beyond his ability to identify at a range. He reached to the hammer and touched it with his hoof.

After touching the hammer he was better able to feel the magic contained, and understood its capabilities much better, but he did not know any of the spells within it. That was fine for him: he didn't need to know how the hammer worked to use it. He grabbed it in his hoof.

As soon as Starforge's hoof wrapped around the hammer it began to shrink. In less than half a second it had re-sized itself so a pony could comfortably use it. Starforge tilted his head to the left, curious. He released his grip on the hammer, but it retained its new, smaller size. Interesting. He lifted the hammer, and found that it had a weight appropriate to its small size. Very interesting.

He set the hammer down again. The furnace would need to be started and made hot enough to get the Bliss into a workable state. There would be a lot to do, but Beglan would have his crown—and Starforge would have his hammer. He prepared to work, wondering what kind of spell he would place onto the crown.

Starforge wiped the sweat from his forehead. Even with Beglan's hammer it had been very difficult to work the magic in the Bliss crown into as grand a form as he had wanted. With the magic of the hammer and the anvil helping him, working the metal into the complicated crown shape had been rather easy; it had taken only an hour.

Crafting the flight spell into the crown, however, had been an entirely different matter. The crafting magics of the hammer and the Forge were multiplicative, not additive; an amateur would gain next to nothing from them, while a master craftspony could use them to create impossible artifacts. Somewhere in between, Starforge had struggled trying to put a very powerful spell he had never crafted before into a complicated type of metal he was still unfamiliar with.

It had taken him three hours but he had managed it. Starforge set the finished crown down onto the wooden table and briefly admired his work. He had magically removed the green sheen from the Bliss, leaving it with the physical appearance of a beautiful but mundane platinum crown. Because he had no gems to place into the crown he had gone with lower ridges on the crown, but many of them. It was too large and heavy for a pony, but perfect for a six-foot-tall cyclops with the muscles to match his stature.

Finished with his test, Starforge placed Beglan's hammer into his own saddlebag then put his saddlebags back on. He walked back to the stairway and picked his lantern back up in his mouth, then climbed the staircase. Once he reached the landing he ascended to the second floor, but rather than continue out of the building he stopped and looked down one of the hallways. He set the lantern down and chuckled.

"Sleep well Beglan," he said, self-satisfaction seeping into his voice. "Sleep well."

Issue 2: The Art of the Craft

Chatter all around him, the sound of the engine working to pull the train along the tracks, and even the sound of his own breathing assaulted his ears. Starforge sighed and turned his head away from his book for the moment—even it was just a distraction he was using to try to pass the time.

The train from Farrierview to Ponyville was more full than usual: Starforge was sharing the car with four other ponies. Judging from their conversations two of them intended to compete in some athletic event. The other two were Ponyville residents, like Starforge, who had been visiting family in Farrierview. Looking at the car ahead of his, he groaned inwardly: its only passenger was an earth pony, who had brought a large amount of luggage. Of course he got the car with the conversationalists.

It never ceased to amaze him how empty the trains ran in Equestria. A train would pull three cars with seats for twelve ponies each – and which could fit twice as many seats quite comfortably – on a route that would pick up eight passengers for a busy trip. Then the train would run the route two or three times a day.

Of course none of that mattered: Starforge was a blacksmith and an artificer, not an administrator. He turned back to the book, Examinations of Infused Materials. His humor as dry as his book, he quipped to himself that he had chosen some light reading for his expedition.

He groaned and closed the book. Only Professor Semi-Tone could make a subject as interesting as the naturally magic-infused minerals of the world so painful to read about; it was no coincidence that any co-authors he might work with always insisted on doing as much of the writing themselves as possible. Still, he knew his subject matter very well, and made a much better teacher than a writer. His lectures were still terrible, of course, but he gave very few: he was a more hooves-on teacher, and that suited Starforge very well.

The train began to slow. Starforge turned around and looked out the window. Much to his relief he saw Ponyville Station rapidly approaching the train. He sighed happily and placed the book into his saddlebag. Eager to be back at his workshop, he stepped off of the seat. He dug his head under his saddlebags and let them slide over it, down his neck, and onto his back.

As soon as the train stopped, the door opened. While the other ponies in the car continued their conversations, and slowly made their ways towards the door, Starforge trotted out of the car at a hurried pace. With practiced hooves, he took a left turn and walked briskly down the road into town. He needed to check on a special order he had made before leaving for Farrierview, but then he wanted nothing more than to be at his workshop.

Not too far from the train station, he saw the gutter on the Daytrips' office roof. Starforge grimaced immediately: it was still hanging down. He had hoped they would find somepony else to do the job when he left town, but they must have both gone to their meeting in Manehattan after all. He picked up his pace, walking even faster than before. With a little luck they may have decided to take in a few of the sights – "keeping current" they called it – before coming back; he might be able to avoid them.

He passed by several ponies all going about their own business. Some looked like they had some task in mind, like he did, but others looked like they were just walking around town with their friends. Starforge did turn his head as he passed by Lanny Tern though: for a few weeks he had been meaning to speak with her. On his last trip out to Fillydelphia, Dr. Aura had mentioned that Lanny had come to her for some lessons a few years before. The news had surprised Starforge: he knew she sold magical lights, but never knew she made them herself.

Lanny was speaking with Coal Crusher, the town's expert on finding magical gems. He looked dirty, like he had just returned from a gem hunt. If the heavy saddlebags he was wearing were any indication, it had been a very good one. Starforge pondered for a moment. Magical gems weren't his area of expertise, but he could use them too and so knew a bit about them. It was mid morning, so with such a large haul Coal Crusher must have been "night crawling"; certain gems functioned differently if harvested at night, and Starforge knew at least some would be useful for making lights.

"Starforge!" The cry penetrated deep into his ears: it was Mrs. Daytrip. Trying very hard to hide his displeasure, he plastered his best smile onto his face before he turned around to face her.

"Mrs. Daytrip," he said as she approached him. "How was Manehattan?" With all the ponies on the street, she of all ponies had to notice him. The market was only a little bit farther down the street; why hadn't he just run?

"Wonderful as always," she said, flipping her head to the side and allowing her mane to come between her and Starforge. It hung there for just a moment, separating the two ponies from one another, then gently returned to the side of her head. "But the office gutter is still most decidedly not wonderful." She turned her head back so she was facing Starforge directly. "Could you please get it fixed today?"

"I am very busy Mrs. Daytrip," he said. "I have some very important work to get to." He bobbed his head from side to side as he thought, trying to come up with a way out of doing the job. "Can't you get Hayseed to do it?" he asked.

"Most certainly not!" she exclaimed, lifting her chin up. "Besides, he is off in Canterlot helping his uncle with that store of his." She rummaged in her saddlebag and pulled out a very small bag, with its top tied off. "Here," she said, reaching to give the bag to Starforge. "Another ten bits, if you can fix it today."

Rather than grab the bag, Starforge turned it away with his hoof. "I'm sorry Mrs. Daytrip, I really am," he began. He shook his head and sighed. "But there's just no way I can get it done today. I have a lot to do."

Mrs. Daytrip frowned. Her eyes looked to the ground for a moment as she thought, considering her options. She lifted her gaze back up to Starforge, and thrust the bag back towards him. "Just, please, get it done as quickly as you can."

Reluctantly, Starforge accepted the bag. "Alright," he said. He turned around to put the bag into his saddlebag, then looked back to Mrs. Daytrip. "I'm still not going to be able to get to it today." Mrs. Daytrip raised her head slightly, until she was looking at Starforge down her nose. Her eyes half-closed, and she gave him that stern look she liked to use. He had definitely given the wrong answer.

"First thing tomorrow morning though," he promised, grinning sheepishly. She nodded, then turned. He watched her walk away for a few seconds, hoping she wouldn't turn around and make any more requests. As soon as she was far enough away, he turned back. Groaning about his bad luck, he continued his speedy walk to the marketplace.

At least he had been able to put the job off until the next morning. By then he expected to have his armor done; he had waited to build his armor for months, and he wasn't about to let a handypony job delay it even half an hour longer.

The sounds of the market filled the air. Ahead of him, Starforge could see and hear dozens of ponies walking among the stands. They bought their fruits and vegetables, their bread and honey. He wasn't interested in the primary business of the market though: he stepped through the crowd and made his way to one of the special-crafts stands across the clearing.

"Good morning Hilo," he said, already looking at the shelves behind the counter. On one of the lower shelves rested a small chunk of metal, platinum-colored with a light red sheen on it. He smiled and nodded his head towards the shelf. "I see you have my order in."

"Unworked Glee, just like you asked for," Hilo replied, beaming a prideful smile. "I told you I could get it." Of course, he left out the fact that he had never carried any before. Ponyville was far away from the metal mines, though it was rather gem-rich. Hilo turned around and picked the Glee up off of the shelf and set it down on the counter in front of him.

Starforge looked the metal over. It was a small block, only four pounds, but quite magical. He couldn't see any impurities, meaning it had been capably refined; it would be of good use for making anything he wished. A smile formed on his face; he was happy he finally had a source for magical metal in Ponyville. Still smiling, he reached into his saddlebag. He pulled out the ten bits Mrs. Daytrip had given him, then set the bag on the counter.

"You're paid up already," Hilo said. He pushed the bag back towards Starforge, to the edge of the counter.

"Take it," Starforge said. "It's a tip." He picked up the Glee but left the bag sitting on the counter. With a gentle hoof he tucked the chunk of metal into his left saddlebag, then affectionately patted the side of the bag. "See what you can do to get more."

Hilo's mouth curled into a wide grin. "Can do," he said as he took the bag and set it under the counter. As Starforge turned to leave, Hilo waved at him with a hoof. "Happy crafting!"

Though he had left Hilo smiling, Starforge was already trying to figure out how he'd pay for more Glee. The Daytrips would give him ten more bits tomorrow when he fixed the gutter, and there were always more handypony jobs to do around town. What needed, though, was a real payday: he needed smithing work, preferably a job that also involved magical artifice.

While he walked back to his workshop he considered his options. Lanny might have need of somepony who could help her make custom houses for her lanterns: he could make stunning mundane works, or make the housing out of Felicity and include some desirable magical spells. With a little luck there were also a few ponies he might be able to sell self-opening gates to.

With a twinge of regret, he also considered crafting and selling some mood bracelets. They were exactly the kind of frivolous things most ponies immediately thought of when magical minerals were mentioned, but they sold well enough. Though he had his reservations about the mood bracelets, he considered them a reasonable option if Hilo got a large stock of Glee too early; at least they functioned as adornment. Under no circumstances, however, would he ever craft a "pet slug": he had his pride to think of.

Making pet slugs... Starforge's mouth soured just at the thought of it. They were easy to make, and sold for a decent price, but they were far too impractical—even by the standards of the commonly made magical crafts. Small slugs of colored Felicity, shaped into the form of a literal slug, even finely made ones could be built at a pace of nearly thirty an hour and sold for twenty bits. The good ones would squeal or seem to blink their eyes when touched, but the cheaper ones just changed color.

It didn't matter: something would come up. Somepony always needed something done, and that had always been enough to keep him afloat. His workshop was where his mind needed to be, not the problems he might have in the future. As he rounded the corner he saw the workshop: two stories tall, with the ground floor windows shaded and the furnace's smoke stack sticking out of the roof.

Starforge grinned as he opened the door. Living for a year in Ponyville had done nothing to dampen his enthusiasm: the periodic crises were everything he could have hoped for, and exploring the Everfree kept him sharp in the meantime. He entered the workshop, turned on the lights, and let the door shut itself behind him.

Everything was just as he had left it. The furnace was already stocked with coal, ready for him. Small chunks of magical Felicity were laid out, ready to be pounded into strips and riveted together. His work table, a new one made so he would have enough room to work on such a large project, was cleared. Underneath the table lay the padding he would attach the armor to. The plans for the physical construction of the armor hung on the wall, as did his diagrams for its magical enchantment. All of his tools laid in their places by the furnace, his anvil, and his table. All of his tools except for one...

With a prideful flourish, Starforge took Beglan's hammer out of his saddlebag. He set the tool onto a pair of pegs, empty and waiting, on the wall over the anvil. And hammer makes it all complete. As he walked towards the stairs up to his living quarters, he turned his head to the magical diagrams. With the aid of the hammer's magic, he would be able to apply the complicated teleportation effects he needed on the armor.

After he reached the stairs he knelt down and bowed his head, allowing his saddlebags to slide off of him and onto the floor. His steps were quick and bouncy as he turned back to the furnace. He reached for his fire starter and lit the furnace. Watching the fire gradually take hold in the bed of coal, he set the fire starter back in its place. His eyes still on the fire, he reached for his bellows. To get Felicity to remember its shape after it was worked, it had to get very hot, then be shaped before cooling. A little bit of sweating in a hot workshop while making the armor meant a lot less time spent in repairs made later.

Lightly at first, then with more force as the fire spread, Starforge used his bellows to blow air onto the fire. With a solid bed of fuel under it the fire devoured the air, and consumed more coal. His head darted to the box next to the furnace: he had forgotten to check how much coal he had ready. The bellows still held in his right hoof, he threw the box's lid open.

A sigh escaped his mouth as he was overcome with a sense of relief. The box was full, he had just absentmindedly closed it like he would on a normal day. Having to make another trip to the coal bin out back would not have been a disaster, he was willing to admit that to himself. Still, having something so simple go wrong so early would have been a terrible way to start what he hoped would be a momentous job.

Chunk by chunk, he worked his way through the metal he had prepared. Each was heated in the furnace, then pulled out and pounded into its rough shape while it was still hot. Afterward, a combination of smithing techniques and magic from Beglan's hammer made it what it needed to be. It was quenched in the waiting water tub, then its color magically changed to black. Finally, it was set on the table with other identically sized strips. There were a few different piles, one for each size of strip.

The larger plates took more old-fashioned smithing know-how to shape, but everything else went the same with them. The hoof guards were like the plates, but even more complicated. Beglan's hammer was more use in shaping them, and he gave them a nice polished-steel color—the same color he gave the inside of his helmet's ear guards.

The helmet was easy for him, since he was working in a state of flow: despite its mix of the plates' size and the hoof guards' complexity, he easily worked its pieces into shape, colored them black, and set them at their places on the table. The rivets were very easy, and he saved them for last: one brief touch of the hammer and they formed into shape, then magically compressed themselves in the same moment their color changed to the same shade of black as the rest of the armor.

Flipping off the switch for the furnace's air pump, Starforge turned around to admire his craftsmanship. Sitting, spread out on his table, he saw what he considered to be his finest work ever. Even without the magic of the Forge anvil helping him, Beglan's hammer had been powerful enough to make the intricate armor the easiest job he had ever done.

Satisfied that the fire was dying down in the furnace, his attention turned to the cloth armor liner under the table. He reached under the table and picked it up, all of its various pieces. Sorting it so each piece would be next to the armor pieces that would be fastened to it, he set the padding onto the table.

Riveting all of the armor pieces was easy, though it took a little while: it was the one thing he had to do that couldn't be made faster with the aid of magic. Still, his riveting machine efficiently drilled a small hole in the armor pieces, jabbed the rivet into place, then unlocked the magic that compressed it. The rivet expanded in the hole, holding two pieces of armor together and onto the soft cloth liner.

Finally he had assembled them all: one piece each for the back, belly, and chest; two pieces for each leg; and a helmet. It was a time consuming and monotonous process, but it had allowed him to rest up: he would need to be at his best for the next part.

A deep growl escaped from his stomach. Of course, that was to be expected when working for hours without taking time for breakfast before starting. He looked up at the clock above the door, which indicated it was still early afternoon. There was easily enough time to finish his armor, even if he took a short trip out for something to eat; he even had enough money to pay for some proper meals.

Just because he had time, however, didn't mean he wanted to use it. Doing complicated enchantments would be hard with an empty stomach, that much was true. Nothing said he had to leave the workshop to take care of that, though.

He returned the riveting machine to its shelf, then turned to the box he kept on the floor under the shelves. Stepping quickly, he walked to the box and pulled out an apple. Looking the apple over first, he bit into it and closed the box. There were plenty of apples for him in there, so long as he could stand them. He chewed his first bite of apple, then swallowed: apples would be just fine.

Still eating, Starforge turned so he could look over the enchantment diagrams he had drawn. Most of the space on the paper was taken up with the teleportation effect. The link to him was actually the most complicated part, and the one which would have been impossible without Beglan's hammer. With the link properly placed onto the armor, he would be able to summon the armor from anywhere at a moment's notice, and send it back too. The armor would just need half an hour between trips to or away from him for its magic to recharge.

More magic described the way the armor would fit itself to him once it arrived. He had been unable to diagram the teleportation spell perfectly, so his armor pieces would appear around him and move into place after teleporting, rather than simply appearing already fitted to him.

With a great chomp Starforge bit into the core, then chewed it up and swallowed. He stepped back to where he had hung his hammer, and picked it back up. This was going to be the fun part.

Shiny, black, and beautiful: that's what he thought when he looked at his finished armor. Each piece was perfect, and the magic all shaped exactly to his specifications. The enchanting had taken him hours to get right, but Starforge couldn't complain: it was time spent on a deeply personal project, using a craft he loved.

After finishing the enchanting, Starforge had added the last piece to the armor: the injection system and reservoir for his alchemical strength enhancer. The formula, which he called Bully, could make him a lot stronger and quicker for a short time; when it expired, however, it would make him very nauseous.

He included an automatic cutoff, so he couldn't accidentally consume too much of it in the heat of a fight. He didn't relish the thought of ever using so much Bully: if he ended up with enough of it in him to trigger the cutoff, he would be in big trouble even if he had won the battle.

According to the clock it was early evening: time for all good ponies to be eating dinner with their family or friends. Starforge looked back to his armor with an elated grin on his face; he knew exactly what he'd like to spend his time doing.

Leaving his armor on the table, he ran towards the door. He barely slowed down as he opened the door, and was already well away from it when it slammed shut and the magical lock turned into place. With the exuberance of a pony whose stars had finally aligned for him, Starforge ran with his back to the sun and chased his shadow down the street.

The exhilaration of galloping through Ponyville towards what felt like his destiny filled him, and it showed on his face. Ponies briefly turned to see what the thunderous roar of hooves trampling the ground was about, then turned back to their conversations when they saw it was just Starforge running through the streets again. Those who lived on the street though, and saw him often, could tell something was different. The pure glee on his face, the extra bounce in his stride: this wasn't an ordinary training run.

"Starforge!" one called to him as he approached, waving from his window. "It looks like you're having a great day!"

Not even slowing, he galloped past the house. He turned his head back, though. "The best!" he called out as he continued his run.

His gaze returned to the street ahead of him: the turnoff was coming up, and he flexed his wings in preparation. As soon as Carousel Way appeared to the right, he changed direction and ran towards it. His eyes were fixed firmly on the invisible line between Oak Street and Carousel Way, and he gritted his teeth in anticipation: he always loved this part.

His front-left hoof came crashing to the ground just ahead of the line, then his front-right hoof struck the line perfectly. A grin covered his face as he opened his wings. His rear hooves struck the ground, then pushed him off of it again with all of their strength. He flapped his wings once, at the apex of his leap, then began beating them against the air with all the strength a pegasus could manage.

Concentrating nearly all of his effort into his forward speed, Starforge only made himself rise to the level of the rooftops of the buildings lining the street. Flying much faster than he had been running, he saw Carousel Boutique approaching him very quickly. Deftly adjusting his wings' beats as he came within a hundred feet of the building at the end of the street, he arced up and flew over it.

Beneath him, he could see groups of ponies gathered in the park enjoying the last hour of sunlight. Ahead of him, across the stream, he could see the treeline taking shape. Another grin came to his lips: the trees were his favorite part of his routine.

He entered a gentle dive, then leveled off when he was about six feet away from the ground. When he reached the treeline, the trees started coming at him fast. Banking left and right, he swerved around the trees while flying at top speed. His speed was the only source of difficulty in the first set of trees: the land was well-tended, making it well-suited as a warmup for the main event.

The transition from the regular woods to the Everfree forest was gradual: nopony could say with certainty where one stopped and the other began. It was a very real transition, however, and Starforge found himself on the more technical part of the course. Vines hung down and attempted to snare him, bushes grew too tall, and scraggly trees struggled to grow their way up to the level of their larger kin.

His agility was tested whenever he went speeding through the Everfree. The carefully tended trees of Ponyville were always the same, and weren't really a challenge even at high speeds. Nature grew wild in the Everfree forest, though, and could change the course significantly in just a few days. It was the untamed wilderness that had developed his skills in the air.

Of course, nature could always use a helping hoof. Starforge had memorized all of the big trees on his path, and knew he was almost at his destination: a large clearing in the Everfree forest, and the first magical curiosity he had explored when he moved to Ponyville. For reasons his attempts at research had never uncovered, the clearing's soil was enchanted with the essence of a faraway land. Rather than short shrubs and tall trees, the meadow wished to grow tall grasses somewhat similar to those in his home town: Hayton.

No matter what the cause of the meadow's growth, it was an ideal place for Starforge's personal obstacle course. Boarding school in Cloudsdale had been fine, but there was one part of it he had really enjoyed: the Royal Reserve Corps. It was there that he was introduced to the Royal Guard's obstacle course, and he had built the full course in the meadow.

The course had two components: a section for pegasi to prove they were agile and controlled fliers, and a section for all ponies that tested how sure of hoof they were. Both tested a guard pony's ability to avoid obstacles and hit targets quickly.

Starforge burst from the trees and smiled confidently: it was time to test the armor. Vocalization was unnecessary, as it keyed in on his intention. Still, he enjoyed the thought of shouting into the evening. "Armor!"

Faster than his eyes could make sense of it, a magenta rip in the air formed ahead of him—then enlarged. It spread until it was all around him in a sphere, then disappeared so quickly that all anypony not knowing exactly what to expect would have seen was a flash of purple.

His armor had come through the formed rift, and surrounded him at a distance of about two feet; he hadn't been able to devise a teleportation spell more accurate than that. It came through matching his velocity, then had extra speed applied to it. The armor pieces flew to his body and locked themselves into place; their enchantments had functioned exactly as they had been designed to.

Still moving quickly from his flight through the forest, but now much heavier, he strained his wings to slow himself as he flew into the first section of the obstacle course. It took him over, below, and in-between numerous obstacles. Targets would appear at all sides as he moved through the course. A wing strike would net a tenth of a second off of a trainee's time for the course; a hoof strike was worth fifteen hundredths of a second; a direct tackle would take two tenths of a second off of the time.

After what had felt like almost no time at all, but had actually taken him about five seconds, Starforge came across the last targets; placed to either side of the course, and relatively close, they tested technique more than reaction time. Most trainees learned to knock them down with their wings as they passed, while still being able to fly forward. Others would try to tackle one and kick the other with a rear hoof, but ended up losing more time than they gained. When a pony knew how to take the course just right though, he could turn perfectly; a front hoof would strike one, the rear hoof the other, and the trainee could spiral quickly to right himself and continue on to the final stretch of the obstacle course.

It was the final part that was the hardest. Starforge had learned the double-hoof strike-and-spin early, but flying at full speed through the tunnel was a trick he hadn't picked up until he had built the course in Ponyville and kept practicing. It would narrow until it was not much wider than a large pony, and anypony not taking great care with their form would strike the tunnel with their wing. At best, striking the tunnel meant the trainee slowed down; at worst it could knock them out of the air and ruin their time.

His wing armor made his flying stiff: he had to fly a lot slower at the constricted end of the tunnel than he was used to. Still, that was exactly what he was practicing to find out; he could improve his armored flying technique over time.

As soon as he exited the tunnel he opened his wings wide, bringing himself to a sudden stop. He turned to his right and looked at the ground course. In mixed programs the pegasi would traditionally have their wings bound—as solidarity with their classmates, or to ensure nopony cheated, the explanation supposedly varied from school to school. At Cloudsdale Academy, though, all of the students were obviously pegasi—that meant everypony in the Royal Reserve Corps program was a pegasus too. Despite that, a lot of the cadets would bind their wings anyway. It was machismo, mostly.

Of course there was no reason to bind his wings here. Nopony was keeping score, and if he cheated he would only be cheating himself. With all of his usual verve, he threw himself at the ground section of the course. Just like the aerial section, all of the obstacles were close to the ground. Since a cadet's hooves were expected to be on the course or on the ground, however, the design considerations were completely different. There were still targets on the course, and wing strikes were officially scored exactly as they were in the aerial course despite the prevalence of wing binding in most training programs.

He hopped off a block in his way, spun in the air, and kicked a hoof at a target to the side. His hooves hit the ground and he ran, diving under a net. Immediately he sprang back up and dove for another target, then hopped off of it and over the short wall in his way.

When he reached the end of the course he was breathing more heavily than he normally would be after finishing; the extra armor weight definitely affected his endurance, but not as much as he had expected. Anypony could probably wear armor so heavy he couldn't fly in it and still be able to fight effectively—so long as he didn't have to chase anypony. Armor that heavy, though, would be so absurdly thick Starforge would have trouble designing joints that were both protective and could move freely; like all guard trainees Starforge had practiced flying while holding two classmates pretending to be unconscious, and a pegasus's wings continued to strengthen for a few years after their school days ended.

Since he had no way to record his time, there was no way to be sure about exactly how well he had done. Still, he had enough experience on the course to get a good sense for his clear speed. He hadn't just been going slower in the tunnel: the extra weight had slowed him slightly. Physical conditioning would help with that.

He turned his head to the forest. If he needed to condition himself, then there was no reason to wait for morning. Being eager to put his armor to good use was only a part of the reason he decided on that. Maybe a large part...

There was really no reason for him to pick one part of the forest over any other. He had already explored all of the areas near his meadow, and Zecora's hut was the only interesting thing nearby. Still, dangerous creatures wandered the Everfree forest at will. He knew he wouldn't run into anything – he rarely did – but just dreaming about it made the evening feel even more perfect as he lifted off of the ground and sped into the trees.

Issue 3: Cry Havoc

"Top notch work, Starforge," Trim Finish said. He made another circle around the carriage chassis, which took up much of the floor in Starforge's workshop, admiring it. "Exactly what Holly asked for." He pressed down on one of the suspension's springs, then released the tension on it. "Maybe better than she asked for."

"You said she asked for the best," Starforge said simply. His lips curled back in a self-assured smirk. "That's exactly what I'm giving you." He held the smirk for just a moment, looking at Trim, then laughed pleasantly. He patted Trim on the back with his hoof, then rested it there and pointed his other hoof at him. "Now it's all up to you," he said.

"I have everything else ready," Trim replied. "The chassis was the last piece I was missing." He smiled, and walked with Starforge towards the back door of the workshop. The large bay door was already open, letting in a fair amount of light. "I can wheel this back on my own," he said. His horn glowed, and his saddlebag opened. A large bag floated out of the saddlebag, then gently set itself down on the nearby work table. "That should be the last of it," he said.

Starforge helped Trim push the chassis out of the shop, then waved to him before closing the bay door. He knew carriages weren't likely to cause much of a stir, no matter how well-made they were, but Canterlot was a city where everypony knew who all the good craftsponies were. A high-society pony seeing a well-made carriage from a designer none of his peers knew would be certain to ask some questions; Starforge had a feeling he'd be working with Trim again.

The workshop was a lot darker with the door shut. There were lights on the ceiling, of course, but it was a lot easier to judge a metal's temperature when it was darker; mostly the lights were there for night time work, or showing the workshop off.

A quick look up at the clock told Starforge it was already mid afternoon. Certain that he had missed the mailpony, Starforge trotted over to the door and opened it. He turned left to face his mailbox, attached to the wall. Sure enough, its red flag was up. He reached inside and grabbed his mail: a couple of letters. Absentmindedly, he flapped his wings and floated his way back inside while examining the return addresses on the envelopes.

The first letter was from the Artificers Society—probably a query for articles for the quarterly newsletter. He grabbed the bag of bits while examining the second letter. Interestingly enough, it was from somepony in Farrierview. He didn't know the sender though, and that interested him more than anything.

Wanting to read in comfort, Starforge fluttered to the stairs. He placed the letters into his mouth, then landed. Once his hooves were on the floor he tucked the bag of bits under a wing, then walked up the stairs.

At the top of the stairs was a door with a magical lock, just like the kind he had on his workshop's front door. When he touched the door, it sensed that it was him, then unlocked itself. He pushed the door open, and stepped into his living quarters. They were much more well-lit than the workshop downstairs: there were more windows, and they were not so heavily shaded.

Intrigued by the letter from Farrierview, he placed both letters onto his table. He set the bag of bits down beside the mail, and picked the envelope from Farrierview up with his hoof. Musing for just a moment, he opened up the envelope; he pulled out the letter, and set the now-empty envelope aside.

It was a job offer. A part of the town hall clock's mechanism had broken, and they needed a replacement. It was a rush job, and paid rather well. The carriage job with Trim had brought in enough money, but word must have gotten around about Starforge's particular obsession: the main payment for completing the job was ten pounds of Glee. Not only was the Glee valuable, but its status as an uncommon specialty mineral made it hard to find in large amounts. The bits they were offering as extra incentive were nice, but wholly unnecessary to attract his attention.

Starforge placed the letter into his mouth and raced down the stairs. He still had enough time to dig up some details on the piece Farrierview needed at the library, then get it built and catch the last train to Farrierview.

The sound of the train wheels rolling over the tracks was relaxing. Smiling, Starforge lay on his seat. The book he had borrowed from the library had been helpful: he had read over the relevant section a few times during the trip, and knew exactly what he needed to do to safely exchange the new part for the broken one. With the clock stopped as it was, it would be an easy procedure; getting somepony to make a replacement so quickly would have been the town's only challenge—fortunately, they had him.

There were no other ponies in the car, only him. He hadn't seen anypony get on the train at Ponyville, and nopony got on at either of the stops along the way; if there were any ponies in the other cars, they would be riding through from previous towns on the route.

His tools, the borrowed book, and the replacement part all rested on top of his back, in his saddlebags. He had been in quite a rush to look the part up and get it made before the last train for Farrierview left. In fact, there had been no time for him to eat. Still, Farrierview was too far away for him to comfortably fly to with saddlebags on: he wasn't very good at waiting, so the only option available to him was a slight delay to his dinner. With luck, he'd be able to get a sandwich or something on credit before he made the repair.

Starforge lurched forward in his seat as the train began to slow. His head perked up immediately, and looked ahead. Even after all the train rides he had taken in the past couple of years, he could not remember a single time the conductor had been forced to apply as much pressure on the brakes as he had just felt. Carelessness, allowing the train to get too close to the station without beginning to decrease speed, was the only explanation he could think of: if the train was being stopped to avoid an obstacle, it would be stopping even more quickly.

The train engine door up ahead of him was closed, and he couldn't see anything through its window. The view out of the train's side window, however, was much more helpful.

Farrierview Station was pure chaos. The platform was covered with dozens, probably hundreds, of ponies pushing and shoving at one another. It was overflowing, with more ponies pushing up from the back, and Starforge was amazed that despite the chaos nopony had been pushed off of the platform and onto the tracks.

At the train's rate of deceleration, it was clear that it would come to a stop at its normal place on the platform. Starforge left his seat to go stand by the door. He planned to get some answers about what the fuss was, and he wasn't afraid to force his way past a few ponies if they wouldn't stand aside.

As soon as they saw that the train was pulling into the terminal, the ponies towards the back of the crowd applied more pressure; the ponies closest to the train pressed against it even as its wheels carried it the last few feet on the tracks. Starforge's ears drooped: it didn't seem like he would be getting out through the door after all.

The train lurched as it finally came to rest, and the doors shot open. As soon as the train door opened a solid mass of ponies attempted to force its way in. Two mares dove for the doorway at the same time, each shoving the other in her frenzied rush to board. The door frame dug into their flanks as they writhed, trying to fit two ponies through a one-pony door. The crowd behind them pushed, clamoring frantically the entire time.

While the mares fought to reach safety, Starforge was able to look at them and was immediately struck by the overwhelming fear in their eyes. Pure terror. He raced to the window and looked out at the desperate crowd, and saw the same scene being repeated at the other train cars: the enormous crowd of ponies was doing everything it could to escape something.

In a flash his fore hooves hit the window, forcing it open. Starforge turned back to the door briefly and saw that one of the mares had managed to wiggle her way in front of the other. She was just seconds away from making her way into the car, clearing it for dozens of ponies after her; he had just a few seconds more to get out of the car before he was packed in tighter than a chunk of steel between a hammer and an anvil.

Hopping off of the floor with a quick flap of his wings, he found himself able to get his head and chest out of the train; however, his saddlebag snagged against the small window. He turned his head back to the door and saw the mares finally work their way through. The wave of ponies crashed into the door, trying to fill all of the space in the car. With a twist Starforge scraped his saddlebag off, and as he flew from the train car he could hear it land on the floor with a loud THUD.

"What is it?" he called out to the crowd below him. The panicked ponies ignored him, their minds too focused on escape to worry about much else. "What are you so scared of?" The flow of ponies into the train car stopped—the car was full, and the faces of the ponies that made up the mob turned from scared to despondent.

Starforge turned away from them and flew higher up into the air, looking into the town the ponies were so intent on fleeing. Bright orange light danced at its far edge, where the buildings came closest to the distant jungle, breaking the fresh evening darkness. The smell of smoke wafted gently into his nostrils. Starforge's eyes narrowed, his teeth gritted, and his wings cut the air as he flew into town at full speed.

The town rushed by under him as he flew in the direction of the flames. Above him, some pegasi hovered and sat on clouds; they watched the fires burn from a safe distance while all wearing the same fearful, heartbroken expressions. Starforge's heart sank and he turned his eyes to the ground: after seeing them he was sure he needed to be on the lookout for attackers.

Starforge's eyes diligently scanned the streets while he flew closer and closer to the burning fires. More than halfway through town, he finally spotted his marks: two tall, lumbering shapes walking through the streets. They walked upright, keeping their chests puffed out and occasionally thumping them with their fists. By the light of the moon Starforge could make out the long, dull orange hair that covered their entire body.

"The pangutans," Starforge growled. He knew – first-hooved – that the pangutans were violent and territorial enough to do something like this, but having only one eye meant they were very uncomfortable when they could see long distances; the pangutans rarely left the jungle and never left it in large numbers. Whatever they wanted, Starforge didn't care; he leaned forward and started a dive, his wings driving him towards the ground like a hawk swooping down on prey.

His hooves hit the ground in front of the two pangutans with a thunderous CLAP. His quarry staggered backwards, surprised by his sudden appearance and the noise. Quickly regaining their composure, the pangutans both took a single step towards him; the bigger ape focused his eye onto one of Starforge's while the smaller one stood up to his full height, standing head and shoulders above the pony in front of him. Starforge stared back at the cyclops, then stepped a hoof forward himself. The large ape bared his fangs and emitted a low growl, and the small one savagely beat his chest and howled to the night sky. Starforge flared his wings and dug at the ground with his fore hoof, then bared his own teeth to the ape.

The large pangutan rushed forward towards Starforge. The ape balled his hand into a fist and pulled it above his head, then plunged it down towards the pony's head. With all of his strength Starforge dug his hooves into the ground, lunging forward as he flapped his wings to give him more speed. Before the pangutan could land his blow the pony had struck; his forehead rammed into the ape's stomach, and Starforge knocked him down to the ground. As the smaller pangutan jumped in surprise from the sudden assault, Starforge reared back on his hind hooves. Showing no mercy, he brought his fore hooves crashing down on the fallen ape's chest.

The small pangutan stepped forward, swinging a fist at the attacking pony, but Starforge ducked under the blow and turned his back to the ape. Caught recovering from his swing the pangutan was unable to react as Starforge bucked forward and sent his rear hooves pounding into the ape's stomach. The pangutan reeled backwards; he finally found his footing and panted for breath while Starforge stepped towards him at a slow, deliberate pace.

The larger pangutan stood up and said something to the smaller one before breaking out into a run. The smaller pangutan was quick to follow, and together the two sprinted towards the fires as quickly as their legs could carry them.

Not wanting to let them get away, Starforge gave chase. The pounding of his hooves echoed off of the walls of buildings, and drowned out the dull patter of the apes' padded feet as they struck the ground in their desperate retreat. The distance between the chaser and the chased shrank quickly; Starforge was much faster on four legs than either of them on their two. He opened his wings and got ready to pounce.

Pushing against the ground with all four legs at once Starforge leapt at the nearer of the two apes; wanting more speed for the impact he flapped his wings twice. He struck the ape in the shoulders and tackled him to the ground. The ape raised his hands in an attempt to catch himself, but was too slow; his chest hit the ground hard, and Starforge heard the breath being forced from the ape's lungs. The ape was slow to try to get up, winded and hurt as he was. The pony standing on his back made every breath difficult, and his face hurt from hitting the dirt so hard. When he did lift his head up, however, he did not try to rise from the ground but instead started hooting, as if laughing.

Starforge quickly looked up to see five more pangutans carrying bows, perhaps twenty feet in front of him; behind them stood several more of the apes with empty hands. He hesitated, then stepped backwards off of the pangutan, who pushed himself from the ground and hurried behind his fellows.

The pangutans with the bows wore grim expressions on their faces, but the unarmed apes behind them grinned. When the pangutan Starforge had tackled reached the group, one of them threw his arm around the hurt one's neck and started rapidly scraping the knuckles of his balled fist on the hurt one's head. The other unarmed pangutans focused their attention on the confrontation unfolding between their friends and the pony, some hooting with excitement and others jeering at Starforge in their strange monkey language.

Two of the armed pangutans raised their bows—one of them grunted at Starforge, and shooed him away with his right hand. Starforge took one step backwards, eying them warily; he knew that in a fight with them his wings would be vulnerable, but he also knew that the fires would keep burning until the pangutans had left.

Starforge stepped a determined hoof forward towards the pangutans. The ones with their bows lowered quickly raised them, and all of them nocked arrows. The one on the far right said something to the others; they nodded and grunted as he pulled his bowstring back. Starforge looked up above the pangutans, seeing only one safe angle of approach. He drew in a deep breath and slowly let it out through his nose, keeping his jaw clenched shut.

With a sudden burst of movement he threw his wings open and carried himself up into the air. The pangutan loosed his arrow and the others pulled their bowstrings back. Starforge shouted into the night as loudly as he could: "Armor!"

With a flash of magenta light his armor appeared in the air around him: above and below, to the left and to the right, in front and behind. As suddenly as it appeared the armor shot into motion, flying to the pegasus's body; while it moved it gently crackled with bolts of the same magenta energy that it arrived with. His back and belly armor fastened into place, then were joined together by his chest plate. His leg armor moved into place and coupled around each leg, as did the armor reinforcing the muscle of his wings. Finally, his helmet slipped onto his head. Starforge continued his arc through the air towards his prey, no longer another vulnerable pony but a cannonball covered from head to tail in shiny black metal armor.

The arrow's bronze tip bounced harmlessly off of the armor's belly plate. With a second flap of his wings Starforge reached the top of his arc. He folded his wings back against his body so they would be shielded during his return to the ground. The other apes loosed their arrows towards Starforge and the leader nocked another arrow.

The other arrows, flying towards a target making no effort to evade them, all found their marks; each struck the armor with a dull PLUNK and bounced off the same as the first arrow had. The leader pulled his bowstring back. As he swept his head to the side to judge the distance to his target, he realized just how quickly Starforge had closed the gap between them with his leap; he also realized where he was going to land. He lifted his left foot off of the ground and started sweeping it away from his body, trying to quickly get out of the way of the plummeting mass of meat and metal about to hit him, but he was too slow.

Starforge crashed into the ape with full force while he was still unbalanced on one foot. His fore hooves landed on the ape's shoulders, and as the ape fell backwards Starforge's rear hooves landed on his stomach. While Starforge's momentum carried the two back and to the ground, he forced his head forward with as much strength as he could get out of his neck. He jammed the hard metal helmet into the soft tissue of the ape's face. The sudden pain caused the pangutan to reflexively drop his bow and pull his hands up to defend his face from another attack.

The pangutan's shoulders, forced back by Starforge's fore hooves, hit the ground first—the rest of him followed quickly. Starforge didn't wait at all: he immediately leaped off of the ape. As soon as he felt solid ground beneath his hooves, he turned towards the remaining bowmen. One of them managed to let an accurate arrow fly, but like all of the others it found its mark and was harmlessly repelled by the armor. Starforge charged towards the pangutan who had fired the shot and, seeing that the apes had lowered their bows, opened his wings.

Starforge didn't slow down as he approached his target. He swept the pangutans on both sides of his target off of their feet with his wings as he ran past them, then dealt his hammer blow with his helmet. He dug his head into the pangutan's stomach, and heard the breath rush from the ape's mouth as he stopped his charge. His unfortunate target took a step back, then fell onto his rear end.

The last pangutan warrior still standing dropped his bow, but kept his arrow in his hand. He rushed towards Starforge, arms extended and ready to try to grab the pony and bring him down into a dangerous fight on the ground. Seeing the ape barreling towards him Starforge turned away from his attacker and shifted all of his weight onto his fore hooves. He lifted his rear hooves off of the ground, and pulled his legs back.

The ape continued to charge forward, either oblivious to the danger or too brave to care. Starforge let his hooves fly, and they struck the ape in his upper chest. The force of the blow was enhanced by the ape's own movement towards him. Starforge's strike lifted the pangutan off of his feet and threw him backwards; he hit the ground and stirred, holding a hand to his chest and groaning.

The pangutans that had been tripped by Starforge's wings as he ran past them climbed back onto their feet. They first looked to Starforge, who was standing back a short distance away from them, and turned to their friends who had been more badly hurt by the pony. With their heads still turned towards Starforge, watching him warily, they extended their hands to their cohorts still on the ground and helped them to their feet. All five of the apes took several steps backwards, until finally they ran into the unarmed apes who had been standing behind them. The apes in the back had been grinning before the fight, but now their eyes darted among one another; each was afraid to take any sort of action.

All of their bows lay on the ground, too far away to reach safely, and most of their arrows had fallen from their quivers when they were knocked down. When the armor-clad pony in front of them that was the cause of all of this jammed a hoof to the ground and scraped it back, preparing to charge them again, the pangutans turned and ran. Ponies weren't supposed to be aggressive, they were supposed to run when threatened; those few who wanted to fight weren't supposed to want to stay around and be shot with arrows, and they weren't supposed to wear armor either.

The pangutans ran but Starforge couldn't afford to chase after them; he spread his wings and raced into the sky. He flew through the air at his top speed until he reached the nearest, lowest cloud over the town. His momentum carried him a few feet past the cloud before he could stop himself. He turned around as quickly as he could and placed his fore hooves on the cloud, ready to push it.

Starforge turned his head back to the other pegasi, and saw that they were still watching from a safe distance. "Come on!" he shouted back to them. "We have to put the fires out!" Not waiting for them, he immediately turned his head forward and began flapping his wings, pushing himself and the cloud towards the burning buildings.

Behind him the other pegasi snapped to work. Those that had been resting on clouds followed his lead and began pushing them towards the fires, while those that had been hovering descended to the lower clouds that they had judged too close to the archers to be safe to sit on. Every pegasus was trained in how to handle fires, and now that they were safe from the arrow-shooting apes they could do their job.

As soon as he had pushed the cloud to a spot above the nearest building, he pulled his hooves back. It stopped and Starforge let his momentum carry him forward until he was above it. He forced himself down onto the cloud with his wings. Controlled but urgent, he hopped up and down as quickly as he could. Below him, a torrent of water poured onto the burning building.

The cloud drained quickly, and Starforge brought his fore hooves crashing down on it; his hooves first dug into it, then made it disappear in a light puff of fog. After clearing the way for another cloud to be pushed into place, he turned around and flew to get another. On his way up, he passed by another pegasus already rushing another cloud into place over the building.

Turning back around, ready with another cloud, Starforge saw that the makeshift pegasus fire brigade was getting the fires under control. Because the fire had already progressed so far, he expected them to eventually punch holes through the roofs and any elevated floors. After that, the team would flood both buildings.

They had definitely averted a crisis. The ponies would need to do some work on the interior of the buildings, but at least they had been able to act quickly enough to save the structure. While he helped the other pegasi, Starforge's mind wandered; he couldn't get his mind off the pangutans, and why they had tried to run the ponies out of town. Whatever the reason, he wasn't about to let them succeed.

His stay in Farrierview had just gotten longer.

Issue 4: Knowing the Path

Everything in Farrierview was finally calm. The fires in the two burning buildings had been extinguished by Starforge and the pegasi of the town, and most of the ponies who had boarded the train had been persuaded to return to their homes. Those few who remained on board said they would sleep a lot better if they spent the night in Canterlot.

He wondered if they would actually manage to get any sleep: nopony around town seemed to plan on it. Everypony had initially gone to their homes; Starforge had first gone to check for more pangutans lurking at the edge of the jungle, then to fix the town's clock when he found none. When he emerged from the clock tower, he saw that he wouldn't have to worry about any more of the apes sneaking into town overnight: many ponies had moved out into the streets, and were speaking to one another in low voices. Lights were also on in many homes.

Their unease was natural, and most of them would probably settle down after another hour or two; eventually they'd be too tired to keep worrying. As for himself, Starforge rested comfortably in his bed. With food in his stomach, and a comfortable mattress underneath him, he had no trouble falling asleep.

Unsure of where his hooves were taking him, he walked down the street. They seemed very confident in their judgment, like they knew exactly where to go. Contentedly, he allowed them to guide him, while he busied himself with looking around. There wasn't much to look at though, and nopony was around to speak to.

It was dark out, or maybe he just couldn't see very well. Either way, his hooves knew the path. Unexpectedly, they increased their pace. Galloping down the street, Starforge could feel a knot forming in his stomach. Something bad was about to happen; he didn't know how he knew it, but the sense was in the air, and it was overwhelming him.

The familiar smell came to him from further down the street: the sweet scent of burning wood, mixed with choking ash. As soon as his mind could make sense of the smell, his hooves stopped their furious sprint down the street. They scraped against the dirt as he skidded to a stop, until finally he was as still as the night around him.

Confused, Starforge took stock of the scene. The buildings to his left and right seemed so dark, and were decidedly nondescript. Behind him, a fog rolled towards him; it dawned on him that he wasn't sure if he had been running through it, or if it had just formed.

With nowhere else to turn, his gaze returned to the direction he had been traveling. He could finally see it: the building ahead of him was burning. Large but nondescript, its appearance didn't suggest what it could be. Whatever its purpose, it had multiple floors and took up a lot of space on the ground.

There was no time for thought: Starforge charged into the building. All around him there were flames, from the floor to the ceiling. It had taken him too long to arrive; he hadn't been fast enough, and he'd be lucky to find anypony in the chaos of the inferno.

Smoke filled his nose, burned his eyes, and irritated his lungs. Involuntarily, he squinted his eyes as they watered; he instinctively coughed, trying to clear his lungs of the soot that was already collecting in them. With a more measured mind, he remembered to crouch low to the ground, where the smoke was thinnest.

From the floor, he could think clearly enough to make a second visual sweep of the room. One doorway ahead of him was relatively clear of flame, so he kept his chest on the ground while he beat his wings to propel him forward.

He slid through the doorway, but the scene inside was much like it was in the entry way. Fire and smoke were everywhere, and there was only one doorway which he could safely make his way towards and enter. He began to slide across the room, staying low so he didn't breathe in too much smoke.

Before he could reach the doorway, however, something large hit him on the back. Confused, and worried that he had been hit by a burning support beam, he tried to stand. As soon as his knees started to flex, something struck him in the back of the head. His face hit the floor, but he wasn't hurt. Instead, he immediately forced his legs up and reared onto his hind hooves.

Behind him, something sounded a THUD as it hit the ground. Without turning back, Starforge bucked onto his front hooves and pulled his hind legs back. Aiming low, he fired his legs away from him with a hammer blow. They impacted soft flesh, and continued to push back.

When he turned to see what he had hit, Starforge wasn't surprised: it was a pangutan, of course. It lay on the ground, either too hurt or simply unwilling to get up. It was clear that the ape was no threat to him at the moment, but Starforge couldn't help but feel as if something he dreaded was still approaching him.

Trying to find what was coming after him, he spun around. When he turned, he saw four more pangutans in the room with him. He stepped back once, then a second time. For a moment the apes stared at him, seeming wary but hesitant to attack. Stepping a defiant hoof forward, Starforge picked the largest of them and stared back into his eye.

The stare-down was interrupted by the sound of a great crash outside. Whatever it was, it was so powerful it shook the floor inside. The pangutans turned away from Starforge, and instead looked through the wall in the direction the crash had come from. It had sounded like a footfall, from something very, very big.

What was stomping around outside? Had his hooves been directing him towards it? They had certainly wanted him at the building, for whatever reason. The pangutans were another mystery. One had attacked him, but the others looked like they had been sheltering inside the building when he came across them. Was whatever the footstep outside belonged to so scary that hiding in a burning building was safer than facing it?

Standing up, no longer concerned with the smoke, Starforge ran past the apes and into the next room. There were windows, so many windows, in the room. But it was hot, so very hot. As quickly as he could, he stepped towards the outer wall. He was no longer sure whether he wanted a look at the monster or just relief from the heat, but if he could just get a window open he could have both.

Looking outside, he could see that the fog had grown. It was so thick that he could not even see the neighboring building, let alone the monster. The heat wasn't going away though, it was getting stronger; Starforge didn't know how much longer he could bear it.

It was so, so hot. His legs felt weak, and his knees buckled. Collapsing down to the ground, he looked up at the window again. Something moved in the fog, towards him. It was large, very large. There was the sound of another large crash outside, and the floor shook.

The hot sun on his face finally woke Starforge up. He groaned as he got up: he had just had another fire dream. It seemed like every time he felt he was close to figuring something out, he would dream of some burning building or another. For whatever reason, his mind had chosen that motif to express its frustration at not knowing something.

Old habits, he supposed. He had done a lot of wondering before, but everything had felt so different after his parents sent him to boarding school in Cloudsdale. Being around so many other pegasi for the first time had been great, but they weren't like he thought they'd be.

Sure, they were a bit more boisterous and prone to daredevil antics, but all in all they acted like the pegasi – and unicorns and earth ponies, really – of Hayton. Even he had felt rowdier thanks to the confines of the school; they never gave him the impression that they would have been much different from the pegasi of Hayton, had he had been able to see them in their own home towns. Of course, he had never gotten that chance—his weekends were spent back home with his parents, not off visiting friends from school he got to see all week.

The normalcy of the other pegasi meant that his excitement when his parents announced their decision to send him away had been unwarranted; it also meant their rationale, that he'd feel more comfortable around normal pegasi and settle down, wouldn't work out either.

He chuckled as he walked up to the room's shades and pulled them shut. At least, he had never managed to find anypony else at the Academy who had flown into a burning building, guided some foals to the exit, then been overcome by smoke after going back in to make sure there weren't anymore.

At the time, he hadn't understood why his parents were so upset that he didn't just wait for the – trained – adult pegasi to take care of it: by his figuring, his actions meant they were only looking for one pony instead of three. The fact that he had enjoyed it, even felt fully alive, shouldn't have mattered to them. The perspective of four years and a couple different towns of residence had allowed him to reflect, though.

He had eventually realized that his parents' reactions to his antics were normal. They had nothing to do with his father being a unicorn, or even with parents being overprotective. Ponies in general just weren't so comfortable with hopping into danger. Any daredevil might have done what he had done in that building, but upon being rescued would probably have admitted what they did was foolish, or at least say they had to try to save somepony. Nopony who did that and passed out in the process would try to explain why it had still been a good idea.

After he moved to Ponyville he befriended Quickwing and Mighty Buck, who told him they had similar experiences. Back when they were younger, before they made it as heroes, nopony understood why they did what they did; after they came to see him as a hero, they said, nopony would care why he did it. Of course, they also warned him that a pony eventually got too old to go running around seeing what sort of trouble he could stop. Once that happened, well, nopony seemed to remember for long.

They still watched out for things – both had built their homes on the side of town bordering the Everfree forest – but their traveling days were over. Still, they had regaled him with tales of their exploits. Two of Equestria's greatest heroes, and probably nopony else in Ponyville even knew: that's what bothered Starforge the most. He looked up to them, at least, so somepony knew all they had done for everypony.

Rather than walk out of the room, he stopped just in front of the door. A sigh escaped from his mouth. Suddenly feeling enervated, he sat on the ground: there was nothing he could have done to train for this. He wished Quickwing was with him; she would know what to do.

For a moment he sat there in the doorway, his eyes closed. The gentle rhythm of his breath was all he let himself focus on, ignoring any worry that tried to creep its way in. He stood up and opened his eyes, feeling as ready as he was going to. Confidently, he grabbed the doorknob and opened the door. Nopony was in the hallway when he left the room, and there wasn't anypony at the front desk either.

Out on the street, however, Starforge could see that life in Farrierview was carrying on. The hotel was downtown, near town hall and many businesses. Many of the shops were still open, and there were a few ponies that looked like they were shopping. The biggest collection of ponies, however, was at the one cafe that was open. Starforge could see the mayor sitting at a table, eating with two ponies who looked like her assistants.

Without any hesitation, Starforge walked up to speak to them. "Good morning, mayor," he said as he approached the table.

"Oh, Starforge," she said, turning to him. "Good morning." She sounded exhausted. A look of realization came to her face, as if remembering her manners, and she motioned with a hoof towards an empty seat at the table. "Join us, please."

Putting on his best confident smile, Starforge sat down at the table. "So," he began. "It looks like it's shaping up to be a good morning." Of course, he didn't mention that it was the evening they had to worry about—the mayor knew that very well.

"Yes," she said with a tired smile. "Everypony seems to have calmed down a lot since last night."

As one of the mayor's assistants rattled off a summary of the damage to the two burned buildings, Starforge ordered something to eat. When his full attention returned to the conversation, he chimed in. "I've got a little bit of carpentry experience," he said. "Have you got many volunteers for that?"

"Enough," the assistant said. He flipped through a small notepad. "If you're any good with a saw, though, I'm sure everypony would appreciate your help gathering the lumber." From the edge of the jungle, of course. Starforge nodded.

"I'd be glad to," he replied. The waiter brought his food to the table, and Starforge began to eat while the mayor and her aides continued discussing matters. They were minor concerns, really: how to reach out to those residents not on the morning train back into town, increased vigilance towards the jungle, keeping community spirit up, and similar things.

Also, there was a sense of worry about the pangutans—that was the reason Starforge was staying in town. The last time the pangutans saw fit to attack the town, they may very well have perceived the ponies' logging as the prelude to the complete destruction of the forest. If a single pony, on his way to a part of the city clearly not inhabited by the apes, could cause such an overreaction...

Starforge quickly finished his breakfast and spoke up. "Has anypony scouted the jungle?" he asked.

The chatty assistant was quick with an answer. "No," he said. Starforge's eyes narrowed—they needed to know what was going on at the jungle edge, at least. The assistant saw his displeasure, and spoke more. "Plenty of ponies are watching the jungle, though," he assured him. "There's no way they'll take us by surprise again."

Starforge nodded again. A passive stance, standing back and watching, would work just as well as more aggressive reconnaissance. There was nothing they could do with any extra warning earned by entering the jungle to scout, and the scouts would be in danger. He knew from experience that the pangutans could make life as difficult for a pegasus as for an earth pony. Still, he wanted to take a look—to reassure himself if nothing else.

Before he could rise from his seat to fly off for the jungle, he caught sight of a group of ponies walking towards the cafe. At the front was an earth pony wearing a uniform, probably for the railway. Beside him was a unicorn, very official looking, wearing a stern expression. Bringing up the rear of the procession were four guard ponies: two pegasi, a unicorn, and an earth pony.

Seeing that something had caught his eye, the other ponies at the table turned to look as well. "Would you look at that," the mayor's second assistant said, relief in her voice. "Celestia sent the Royal Guard."

The procession reached the table, and the uniformed earth pony turned to the mayor. His chest puffed out, he looked like he was just short of saluting. "Mayor Sagebrush," he said, in a voice that sounded like it was deeper than his regular tone of voice. "Inspector Loosesheaf of Canterlot has asked to speak with you."

"Thank you, Mr. Watchclock," the unicorn standing next to him said. "You are dismissed." The earth pony bowed his head and took several steps back from the Inspector before finally turning. He walked slowly away at first, then broke into a quick trot once he was far enough away from the Inspector.

There was no need for his caution: the Inspector never looked his way, even once. Instead, his eyes drilled into everypony at the table. When his attention finally reach Starforge, his head cocked to the left idly. His lips curled into a small smile, though when combined with his penetrating gaze it was anything but pleasant.

"You must be Starforge," he said. His head returned to its upright position, but the smile remained. "Sitting right there with the mayor, not a bit on you." He briefly, and conspicuously, turned his eyes to the empty plate in front of Starforge before looking back at the pegasus.

Starforge's eyes narrowed, and he rose from his seat. The unicorn guard pony lifted his head, but Inspector Loosesheaf didn't acknowledge Starforge's change in posture with anything more emotive than a return to a neutral facial expression.

"Can I help you, Inspector?" Starforge asked. His tone was icy, but the pique was worthless against the Inspector's practiced disinterest.

"Inspector!" the mayor interrupted. A sudden drop of sweat dripped from her forehead, and her lips parted in an unnaturally large smile as she spoke up. "What can I do for you?"

"Your job," Loosesheaf said curtly. "It is Starforge I need to speak to." He turned to look at the mayor directly. "We will be in your office." Before she could raise any objection, he had already turned away from her and started walking towards the town hall. "Come with me," he said to Starforge.

Snorting first, Starforge reluctantly turned to follow him. After he had fallen in behind the Inspector, the guard ponies turned to follow them.

Once he was across the street, Loosesheaf used his horn's magic to open the town hall's door in front of himself. He stepped through it quickly, entering the building just in front of the door as it swung itself shut.

Starforge opened the door and followed the Inspector in. The two pegasi stayed outside, but the earth pony and the unicorn entered after Starforge did. Inside, a worker pointed down a hall for the Inspector. Without a word to Starforge or the two remaining guards, the Inspector turned and walked down the hall.

At the end of the hall, he reached the mayor's office. Again, he used his horn to open the door. He entered the office, then began stepping around the desk. Starforge and the unicorn guard pony followed him in, while the earth pony guard stayed outside.

Inspector Loosesheaf sat behind the mayor's large, wooden desk. He nodded to the unicorn guard, who closed the door and moved to the back of the office. Having the guard pony behind him made him nervous, but Starforge took a seat in front of the desk anyway.

"Now," the Inspector said, readying his pen and notepad. "I already know that you went out into the jungle a few days ago." He looked directly at Starforge. "Tell me everything that happened."

Silence filled the office, occasionally interrupted by Inspector Loosesheaf flipping to a different page in his notebook. The guard hadn't made a sound during Starforge's story, and he was no noisier now that the story was finished.

Too nervous to break the silence himself, Starforge sat and waited. The Inspector hadn't spoken a word while listening to Starforge describe the events in the jungle. Any time he had wished for Starforge to elaborate, or attest to the truth of a fact, he would cock an eyebrow at him. If Starforge had to guess, Loosesheaf was paying at least as much attention to how he reacted to the eyebrows as he was to the rest of the story.

The entire time, his pen was writing on the notepad at a furious pace. Starforge was certain that had he taken an exact transcript of his story. With the incredible speed the pen had been moving at, he may very well have been annotating it with Starforge's body language. He was certain that, at the very least, he had been noting down any concerns he had with the tale.

With a great sweep of his hoof, Loosesheaf finally pushed his notebook to the side. His eyes narrowed, but his expression relaxed at the same time. For the first time, the Inspector looked genuinely curious, rather than regarding everything as purely professional. Teeth clenched, Starforge tilted his head to the right so the Inspector couldn't look directly into his eyes. He didn't know why, but the Inspector's sudden change in demeanor made him feel more nervous, not less.

"I have read your file," Loosesheaf began. "Two years in Cloudsdale Academy, and in both you participated in the Royal Reserve Corps." Those were basic facts, but Starforge didn't see how they mattered. Without thinking, he turned his face directly towards the Inspector again.

"In the Corps, your instructors found you very capable. They stated that you took to the training program very well." He paused before continuing. "In their assessment, you would have made a great guard. But when you graduated from the Academy, you declined to enlist. On your paperwork, you put down your reason as 'Seeking different career'."

The Inspector's expression tensed again—he looked at Starforge accusingly. Under the implied pressure, Starforge leaned his head back, trying to put as much distance between Loosesheaf and himself as possible. As his quarry leaned back, Loosesheaf put a hoof on the desk and leaned forward.

"So I am quite interested to know why, after turning down a career in the Guard, you made it your mission in life to create a set of magical armor for yourself." He pointed his hoof at Starforge for emphasis. "If half of what I heard about how you handled those apes is true, then it is obvious that you have continued training." He then motioned towards his notepad. "Your own testimony implies even more training than the witnesses' did."

None of it should have mattered, but the Inspector clearly thought he was guilty of some crime. Starforge stood up from his seat. His lips curled back, and he briefly snarled at the Inspector before opening his mouth to speak. Before he could object to the Inspector's insinuations, however, Loosesheaf held up a hoof.

"You enjoyed the work then, and you obviously enjoy it now—your entire career as an artificer seems to be dedicated to making you a better fighter." Inspector Loosesheaf relaxed his face again, returning to his curious expression. For his part, Starforge's gaze also softened: no longer angry, he was starting to wonder things himself. "What I want you to answer is this: why does a colt turn his back on the Guard, but dedicate his life to fighting anyway?"

"I..." Starforge stammered. He struggled to come up with something to say. A small smirk came to Loosesheaf's lips, and he sat back in his seat. Following the Inspector's lead, Starforge sat back down in his seat as well. His training, his studies, it was all very deliberate. However, he had never, not even once, stopped to consider why he had chosen the path he walked.

"I don't see how that matters at all," he finally managed to counter. It was true, he couldn't see how his motivations mattered in even the slightest way. However, that wasn't the reason he wanted to avoid the subject. He tried to put on a brave face, but Inspector Loosesheaf was very experienced in seeing past the facades ponies tried to put up. His smirk widened, and he leaned slightly forward in his seat.

"Of course it matters," he said. "Because what you are looking for, is excitement." He pointed his hoof towards Starforge, and continued his accusations. "You thought the Guard was where you would find it, but it was all too stable for you. You realized that there was a whole world of trouble you can stir up out there, without having to worry about anypony else."

"I didn't go out to make any trouble!" Starforge shouted. Loosesheaf's expression changed from satisfied to bemused, like he had heard such an objection before, but he didn't say anything. "I told you exactly what happened: I went out for the hammer, and I got it. They came after me, but I didn't do anything to them. I flew through peacefully, and ran away when they tried to get me."

"You have already admitted to trampling one, attempting to trample a second, and slamming and biting a third." The Inspector leaned even closer to Starforge. "I wonder what else you have not seen fit to tell me."

Indignant, Starforge opened his mouth to object again. Loosesheaf held a hoof up to silence him, and continued. "Do not think that you are the first pony to venture into the jungle," he said with a softer tone. Far less than accusing Starforge, he sounded like he was trying to counsel him. "Plenty of ponies look for adventure when they are young, but not everypony understands the limits implicitly. Sometimes, they need guidance—it is what is best for everypony."

The room was quiet for several seconds, while Starforge mulled the implications of what the Inspector was saying, and the Inspector contentedly allowed him to. Starforge let his breath out of his nostrils, then looked to the floor for a moment before looking back up at Loosesheaf.

"What..." he began. He sighed, then looked the Inspector directly in the eyes. "What exactly are you saying?"

"It is not a bad thing at all, Starforge," Loosesheaf said. For the first time in the conversation, he had an understanding, almost conciliatory tone in his voice. "You are actually quite lucky you were in the Royal Reserve Corps back at school: your instructors' recommendations still stand."

Again, the room was silent. Starforge sank into his seat, weighed down by everything being in the Guard meant to him. It should have been, at the very least, not a bad thing. The Royal Guard stood for everything he believed in: the strength to handle anything, duty to protect ponies from the dangers of the world, and freedom from fear.

Inspector Loosesheaf was right: he had enjoyed his two years in the Royal Reserve Corps. It was the best part of being at Cloudsdale Academy, which itself had been a good experience. The Corps had taught him that there was more to being a hero than bravery, and Starforge was still dedicated to his training even after having been out of the Corps for two years.

It had been a difficult decision not to join the Royal Guard once his schooling ended. He had been very motivated to serve, and his rare skill with magical materials would not have gone to waste: some guard ponies also served as armorers.

But the thought of joining the Guard now, after all he had done, filled him with a sense of failure. Joining did, after all, mean his life would be dedicated to service. There would be little time to practice new, unconventional magical effects if he had to make sure an entire unit's armor was up to standards. He would have precious little time to travel the kingdom, learning what skills various artificers could teach him. Even his time spent patrolling the streets or attending to the Princess would mean he had less time to train his body for a fight.

There was no way Inspector Loosesheaf could force him to enlist. His superiors would be the ones to decide on Starforge's fate, if he could even convince them that there was cause for concern. Should they consider him likely to endanger other ponies, the most they would do would be a travel restriction. Since there was little trouble he could get up to in the cities – where the master artificers who taught him lived – he could easily continue his craft.

It meant, however, that he would no longer be allowed to travel to any trouble spots. Ponyville, with the Everfree forest, would very likely be on the list of places he could not visit—they would almost certainly make him choose somewhere else to relocate to.

No trouble spots. No Ponyville, and no danger. Free to keep his armor, but kept away from the monsters it was meant to protect ponies from. A peaceful life, dedicated to his craft. Starforge could easily become a distinguished artificer, and accomplish his dream.

He closed his eyes and sighed. The Inspector's words repeated themselves in his head: "What is best for everypony."

The gentle rustle of a paper being set down on the desk snapped Starforge's attention back to the room. Still wearing that same understanding face, Inspector Loosesheaf telekinetically picked up a pen and floated it towards Starforge.

Starforge grabbed the pen in his right hoof and leaned forward towards the desk. Enlistment papers—the Inspector had planned ahead. Gulping, Starforge started to fill out the form. Name. Parents. Town and date of birth. Mane, coat, and eye colors. Type. Address.

Signature. That was the difficult part. He rested his pen on the paper for a moment. Reluctantly, he admitted to himself that it was the best thing for everypony. Finally, he signed the form. Date. Not so hard, after signing his name on the form. Witnesses. His part was done, so he set the pen down and slid the paper towards Loosesheaf.

The Inspector wasted no time in signing the paper, writing his name with a stroke as efficient as it seemed he did everything. He turned the paper back around and pushed it to the edge of the desk again, but his attention was directed to the guard in the back.

"Sergeant," he said. The sound of a pony's voice suddenly seemed very loud to Starforge, and he cringed as he heard it booming in his ears. "If you will." Starforge sat with his eyes closed, but he could still hear as the unicorn approached the desk. The sound of pen against paper was unmistakeable, as was the sound of the pen being set back down on the desk.

When his eyes opened again, he saw the enlistment form in front of the Inspector. Loosesheaf was placing a second form on top of it. Judging from the large amount of empty space for writing, and how much was written in it, Starforge guessed it to be a short-form report of some sort, likely an explanation for the circumstances of the enlistment. With a loud CLICK, the Inspector stapled the two forms together.

"There." His mission accomplished, his face returned to its practiced disinterest. He slid the stapled forms into his bag, and walked out from behind the desk. The unicorn guard opened the door for him. Without any ceremony, the two left Starforge alone in the mayor's office.

Issue 5: Walking the Path

"What is best for everypony." His thoughts kept returning to those words. Deep in his gut he could feel a knot, twisting and tightening the more he let himself think. A soft groan escaped his lips, and he rested his head on the floor again.

When he had been forced to choose between his dream and his calling, there had only ever been one possible outcome. Artifice was his passion, and he took pride in being one of the few pegasi to practice the craft. A life without valor, though, a peaceful life—it just wasn't a life worth living.

He closed his eyes, and immediately the pain in his stomach felt even worse. Why did it have to have to come down to a choice between his talent and his nature? There was no way he could live his life letting other ponies go into danger while he studied at home, but the thought of never creating again hurt him so much.

With his eyes closed, his mind was free to wander to the future. He could see himself, wearing the gold armor of a guard. It looked good, but the fit was off. Distracted by the knot in his stomach, which was throbbing with his heartbeat, he couldn't tell if his observation of the armor's fit was a metaphor or just a keen craftspony's eye.

Minor cosmetic deficiencies in their armor didn't matter in a true guard's eye, though, even if he noticed them. The armor was part of a uniform—the most important part. As long as it was worn, it would complete the ensemble by changing his coat, mane, tail, and eyes to the color of a guard's. Armored, on the job, and part of the team...

That thought made his stomach twist again. Back in the Royal Reserve Corps, being part of the team meant working and fighting as a group. Being there for his team came easily; depending on them did not. As a full guard, the demands of the team would be much greater. Being in the Royal Reserve Corps was an extracurricular activity, but being in the Royal Guard came with more expectations.

Despite its reputation for being filled – to a pony – with consummate professionals and stalwart defenders of the land, the Royal Guard strongly encouraged its members to have regular lives outside of work. Oh, Celestia... How long would he be in for before they dragged him out of the training rooms to find himself a—

There was a quiet knock at the door. Starforge's eyes opened and he turned his head towards it.

"Starforge?" The mayor's voice came through the door, though she sounded like she was trying not to speak too loudly. She was knocking on the door to her own office, as if he had some kind of a right to it. His stomach turned over again, but he also felt a wave of nausea. Still lying on the office floor, he fought back against the urge to vomit.

"Are you still in there?" she asked, not having heard a response. "Nopony saw you leave."

Grimacing, still feeling sick, Starforge stood up. "I'm..." he began. He felt so short of breath. His nostrils flared as he inhaled sharply, then he breathed out normally. "I'm just thinking." With shaky legs, he walked over to the door and opened it. The mayor gasped when she saw his face.

"I can go if you want," he told her, as he leaned against the doorway for support. Pausing only briefly to gather his strength, he took his weight off of the doorway and started walking into the hall.

"Starforge, wait," the mayor said. He turned back, and she hesitated for a moment. There was no gentle way to phrase what she was about to say, not quickly, so she just spoke. "You look awful," she said. "What happened?"

There was really no denying it. He should have left sooner—gone back to his hotel room where he could be alone. "I'll be fine," he said. "I just..." He looked down the hall, and swallowed. "I need some time to myself."

He bowed his head to her briefly, then turned towards the exit. "Good day, mayor."

Even in his restless sleep, brought on by a desperate emotional exhaustion, Starforge's dreams were taken from him. His bed was no less comfortable than it had been the night before, but he didn't feel like he was the same pony. A victor's sleep was deep and restful, but the sleep of the vanquished was always troubled.

It was not difficult to wake up a pony sleeping so lightly, and so fitfully. The panicked uproar outside snapped him to his feet, and turned his head immediately. Unsure whether he was awake or finally dreaming, he ran to the window. Everything certainly seemed to be as it should as he threw open the shades, then forced the window open with his hooves. The bright sun in the sky illuminated everything, and he could see quite clearly.

He dived out of the window and stretched his wings wide open, soaring into the sky. Beneath him, ponies ran down the street as fast as their legs would take him; above him, pegasi circled, or rested on convenient clouds. One of them called out to him.

"Starforge!" the pegasus shouted. He broke into a dive, and Starforge flew up to meet him. "There you are!" the pegasus called as he opened his wings to slow his descent. "Nopony could find you."

"What's going on here?" Starforge asked him grimly. He already knew the answer, and it wasn't good.

"The pangutans are back!" the pegasus exclaimed. "A lot of them are." He pointed towards the jungle, where a splotch of orange was barely visible against the green grass. "I..." he stammered. Swallowing deeply, the pegasus turned back to Starforge. "The Inspector was asking where you were, but he was pretty busy getting a flier to go to Canterlot."

"I'll find the Inspector," Starforge said. His head was still throbbing from the awful sleep he had, but he knew his duty. "Just stay safe." The pegasus nodded, and flew back up into the air—he certainly didn't need to be told twice.

Still aching in his head, Starforge flew towards the jungle. There were few ponies still in the streets beneath him—everypony else had probably already evacuated. Anypony still left in the streets was either a brave soul, or desperately searching for somepony else. It hurt him to ignore their plight; when disaster struck in Ponyville, he had always rushed to help other ponies endure the crisis. This was a different kind of catastrophe though, and he knew where his place was.

Lined up at the edge of town were the guard ponies that had come with Inspector Loosesheaf to Farrierview. A quick count showed Starforge that there were twelve: a full squad—enough to easily detect and handle a raiding party, but hardly fair odds against the whole war band. The Inspector was also with them, standing with the sergeant at the head of the formation.

Starforge touched down about ten feet in front of Loosesheaf. The Inspector turned to the sergeant, then nodded and stepped forward towards Starforge. As he walked, the rest of the unit walked behind him.

"I must confess," the Inspector said as he reached Starforge, and the pegasus moved to walk beside him. "I was not certain that you would come." Rather than reply, Starforge focused his mind on his armor. Responding to his mental impulse, it tore open a hole in the air around him and teleported to him from his workshop. In the blink of an eye, the pieces flew into place and attached to one another—it had taken less than a second to armor the colt, from muzzle to tail.

After walking for about a minute, the pangutans were close enough for the ponies to be able to get a clear look at them. At the front of the group, there were dozens of the apes holding their bows. Each of them had an arrow in their hands, already nocked on the bow. Behind them were more apes in all shapes and sizes, almost beyond counting. Crowd estimation was a vital skill for a guard, though, and Starforge could tell that there were at least five hundred—probably more than seven hundred.

"I'll take the left half," Starforge said, loudly and clearly. The Inspector may have taken his dream from him, but he still had his calling—he could still fight. "The rest of you take the right half." Breathing slowly – in, then out... in, then out – he prepared himself for combat. This was exactly where he belonged.

"Do not be too hasty," the Inspector said. He stopped, and held a hoof in front of Starforge. After Starforge stopped, Loosesheaf pointed his hoof towards the approaching mass of pangutans. "There are warriors, yes, but behind them," he said while pointing his hoof. "Females, young, elderly, wounded."

The horde of pangutans stopped about two hundred feet away from the squadron of ponies. As he looked at them, Starforge could see that Inspector Loosesheaf was right: of the probably eight hundred apes in front of them, less than sixty of them were standing in the battle line. With two unicorn guard ponies, and maybe Loosesheaf too, screening the arrows, the three earth ponies could cut the line in half while the seven pegasi swept in from the flanks.

Starforge nodded. Scraping a hoof against the grass, he planned out the fight in his mind. Everything was building up inside of him—he needed this. He needed to let it all out, somehow. His anticipation burned him, and only his concentration kept his breaths strong and deep rather than short and shallow. "Wait for me to break their line, then—"

"And this is why you need direction," the Inspector said. "Sergeant," he said, turning his head to the right. "Hold position; I do not think we will need to fight this battle." He then turned to his left. "Starforge, with me." Leaving the safety of the Royal Guard squad behind him, Loosesheaf made his way for the space in between the two forces. Starforge followed, one step behind him.

The two stopped somewhere roughly in the middle of the two groups. "You really think they'll be willing to talk this out?" Starforge asked, looking towards the apes. They were confused. Some of the warriors held their bows up, as if they were considering firing, and behind them numerous apes whispered to each other.

"Of course," Loosesheaf replied. "Nopony brings wounded if they plan battle." His eyes swept from left to right, over the horde of pangutans in front of him. The battle line looked hastily assembled: only some of them had quivers, and the apes behind them were disorganized. There seemed to be no planning behind it at all.

Out of the pangutan group, two large apes stepped forward. In the lead was a wizened pangutan. Several patches of his fur had turned from orange to gray, and wrinkles had formed ridges on his forehead and cheeks. He walked with something of a limp, holding a stick in his right hand to help support himself, but the rest of his body still seemed to be quite capable. His arms, though moving stiffly, were still quite thick.

The pangutan behind him did not seem to suffer from such infirmities: he was simply large, strong, and wary. Not having any of the wrinkles or gray fur of the leader, this pangutan was more distinguishable by the gear he carried. On his chest, he wore a bronze breast plate. Though he had left his bow and quiver behind, he still kept a large bronze knife strapped to his side.

As they neared, Inspector Loosesheaf's horn began to glow gently. The two pangutans tensed briefly, but relaxed when he discharged the energy into the grass. A light-purple circle, just big enough for a pony to stand in, had appeared in the grass. Unless the Inspector knew the pangutans' language, it was probably a translation circle of some kind.

Inspector Loosesheaf stepped into the circle, and the pangutans approached. Tense, Starforge stayed one step behind the Inspector. Normally, it would not be nearly as hard for him to keep calm. His pent-up emotions – shame, despair, even anger – made it difficult for him to hold back. Still, he knew his job. Instead of attacking, he kept his eyes on the pangutan leader's bodyguard.

The bodyguard looked back, his eye looking up and down Starforge's armor. It was clear that he hadn't seen anything like it. The bodyguard's own breast plate was primitive, of little use for much beyond protecting his vital parts from another pangutan's arrows. The knife he was wearing was fairly sharp though, and Starforge came to focus on it. If it came down to a fight, he could probably have the pangutan on the ground before he could reach it. Then, it would just be a matter of smashing his hand before he could try to use it.

"Speak," the Inspector said to the leader. "I will understand your words."

The pangutan leader spoke, for quite some time. Inspector Loosesheaf didn't try to say much, only every so often saying things like "I understand" and "continue." At the very end of the pangutan leader's long monologue, Loosesheaf simply said "this is true."

While Starforge kept his watchful eyes on the pangutan bodyguard, the Inspector turned back. Staring at Starforge, he tried to decipher what was going on in the colt's mind. His face was covered by his helmet, but Loosesheaf could still look at the tell-tale emotional cues betrayed by his eyes.

"The pangutans have been forced from their city," he said. "Beasts made of living rock have attacked them from the 'forbidden place', and are keeping everypony away from the city." Starforge gritted his teeth upon hearing about magical constructs made of rock, and the Inspector saw his eyes narrow as soon as he mentioned the "forbidden place".

Starforge shook his head slowly from side to side, but kept his eyes focused forward. Everything in front of him looked like he was seeing it through a long tunnel, and he wished he really could be far away. But no... He still had a job to do. He turned to look at Loosesheaf, but turned away as the Inspector met his gaze.

"I'm sorry..." Starforge said, hanging his head low. "This is all my fault." He closed his eyes and focused himself. His own feelings didn't matter, Farrierview mattered. Even the pangutans mattered: they didn't deserve to be driven from their home. There was only one thing for him to do.

He opened his eyes and lifted his head. "I'll take care of it." Without waiting for approval or acknowledgment, he spread his wings and flew into the air.

The construct was big, but it moved clumsily. The entire thing was carved out of a single piece of black rock, with no detailing on its four limbs or its head. As Starforge dove head-first to attack it, the walking statue lifted an arm up to protect its head. Starforge smirked: the arm would be an easier target for him.

Lifting his wings, Starforge evened out his flight path earlier than he had planned to. He twisted slightly to the left, so rather than flying over the thing's head he would pass over its shoulder instead. The construct gazed at him blankly, its featureless face incapable of expressing either fear or confusion.

As he passed over the construct, Starforge thrust a fore hoof down onto its elbow. Its arm was bent perfectly to resist the blow rather than be pushed by it. Metal struck rock, and both refused to yield.

The rock was coursing with magical energy, but behind the metal flowed the blood of a stallion. A fracture formed in the statue's elbow. It was small at first, but Starforge had strength to spare. He followed through with his strike, throwing his weight down into it.

A spider web of hairline fractures erupted from the central break in the rock, then the fissured opened in a sudden burst. The arm crumbled under Starforge's assault, and it fell to the ground in small chunks.

Starforge landed on the ground quickly. Behind him, the construct managed to wildly stumble a single step, attempting to turn around. With the breaking of its shell, however, all of the magic inside of it fled—the balloon had been popped, so to speak, and the air had rushed out of it. No longer animated by magical energy, the crude thing collapsed to the ground, lifeless once more.

Triumphant, Starforge turned his head to the sky. "I've destroyed all of your guardians, Beglan!" he shouted. "I'm coming for you next!" He dug at the dirt with a hoof. The area around the Forge house was clear—there would be nothing coming to Beglan's aid.

Slowly, he turned towards the Forge house. The force of constructs had been scattered through the city, but the Forge house had been at the center of their loose patrol patterns. It made perfect sense: there wasn't much else in the city worth protecting. Now, Starforge just hoped Beglan wasn't one to shy away from a fight just because he didn't have any help coming.

Starforge stepped towards the Forge house, warily watching his surroundings. The constructs he had faced were numerous, but very crude; he was certain they were far below Beglan's true abilities. If a golem was lying in wait for him in the dark halls somewhere, it could hold him in combat indefinitely—so long as Starforge was able to last during the battle. If Beglan chose to attack him then, he would be easy pickings for the cyclops.

Above him, the leaves rustled. He snapped his head back and up to see the source of the disturbance, then groaned. One of the pegasi of the Royal Guard was descending towards him, carrying Inspector Loosesheaf in his hooves. Both of them wore their practiced faces: the Royal Guard one of unfeeling, the Inspector one of uncaring.

Still on edge, he took one last look over his shoulder to make sure there was nothing leaving the Forge house. Satisfied, he stepped over towards where Loosesheaf was landing.

"What is it?" Starforge demanded as Loosesheaf's hooves hit the ground. "I've just secured the area." He turned towards the Forge house. "But I can't promise that Beglan doesn't have any surprises waiting inside."

"Maybe you will not need to worry about them," Loosesheaf said. He nodded to the guard, who immediately flew back up into the canopy. The Inspector walked towards Starforge, stopping next to him. "Tell me, how did you intend to resolve the situation?"

"He pushed first," Starforge said simply. "I was going to push back."

"That is quite brave of you," the Inspector said, expressionless. His horn glowed, and lifted a book out of the pack he was carrying on his back. "But you might not have to fight." He held the book forward so Starforge could see: it was The Cyclopes of the Forge.

His helmet masked the confusion on his face, but it carried through in his voice. "What did you bring that here for?" he asked. "What did you find?"

"You told me you placed a flight spell into the crown you offered in exchange for the hammer," Loosesheaf said. His horn glowed more brightly, and the book flipped open to nearly the end. "It is true that the book does not state a definite requirement for the offering, but it offers a good idea."

The pages stopped turning for just a moment on the approximation of Beglan's final words: the last part of the book Starforge read before his trip into the jungle. Then, with a flourish, Loosesheaf turned the page.

The section header leapt out at him: "The meaning behind the words." Loosesheaf turned the page two more times, revealing six pages of analysis by scholars of what Beglan likely meant. The pages passed by too quickly for Starforge to read, but he had read enough of the book to get the idea: there was plenty of homework for the researchers to do, and they knew how to do it.

The Inspector closed the book, and started placing it back into his pack. "There is a lot of dithering," he said. "But the book eventually concludes that Beglan desired that a powerful sleeping spell be placed onto the crown." He nodded to Starforge. "If you can find and re-work the crown, perhaps you might put the giant back to sleep."

Starforge immediately felt sick to his stomach again, and his face burned like it was on fire. He turned to Loosesheaf and opened his mouth to try to speak, but he couldn't think of anything to say. After a moment, he closed his mouth and hung his head.

A booming laugh filled the air. It was loud and slow, and not at all pleasant. His mortification replaced with a sense of danger, Starforge shot his head up and joined Loosesheaf in searching for the source of the sound. It was coming from high in the air, somewhere in front of them, but too low to be coming from the trees.

"Isn't this time just full of surprises?" a voice asked, from the same empty space the laugh had boomed from. "I'm glad. I was beginning to worry that the ponies of this time had lost their ability to read." It laughed again. "Or maybe you all can still read, but some are just too impatient to do so."

At ground level, a cloud of orange smoke erupted ten feet ahead of the two ponies. The cloud rapidly solidified into a massive, nearly featureless figure. It was eight feet tall, almost three times as tall as either of the ponies standing before it, with a head, two arms, and two legs.

The details of the figure filled in as the last traces of smoke disappeared. The figure's orange surface became hairy; arms grew hands, which grew fingers; a mouth, a nose, two ears, and an eye developed. Its face was one that Starforge knew well, having seen it several times in the book.

"Beglan," he spat, stepping a hoof forward. He held his head high, trying to look the giant in the eye. "You've got a lot of guts, showing your–"

Beglan waved a dismissive hand at Starforge. "Don't make me trifle with you, colt." He snorted at Starforge. "I have a city to rebuild." He turned around, gesturing at the dead city around them. "Then I will find and train a new Forge Master." The giant finally directed his eye to Starforge. "You can keep my hammer," he said. "As a gift of thanks, for at least being willing to attempt the challenge."

"If that's what this is all about," Starforge said to the giant. "Then just make me the Forge Master. You don't need to force the pangutans from their homes."

Beglan chuckled. "An interesting proposition," he said. "But I was able to feel your stress as you took the test: you still require quite a bit of instruction." Crossing his arms over his chest, he snorted again. "And I can't deal with a pupil who cannot follow simple instructions." Accusingly, he pointed a large finger at Starforge. "You have the ability to learn, but not the willingness to!" He narrowed his brow, looking down at the young artificer. "You are not worthy."

"I'm not going to let you simply throw the pangutans from their homes!" Starforge roared. "And unlike you, I'm not going to send a horde of shabby, sub-standard constructs to do my job."

Beglan chuckled, then looked at Starforge curiously. Far from backing down, the colt seemed to be practically bristling. Judging from his posture, every muscle in his body must have been tensed.

"You're not joking, are you?" Beglan asked him. Standing very still, Inspector Loosesheaf's eyes turned towards Starforge.

Starforge shook his head. "I could be the Forge Master," he said. "But whether I am or not, I'm not letting you throw the pangutans out."

The giant took a deep breath. He cracked the knuckles on his left hand, then his right, and looked straight into Starforge's eyes. "So, you really do want to face me?" As he spoke, he rolled his shoulders and gently stretched his arms. The Inspector simply nodded—he knew Starforge wouldn't turn his back on this fight. Calmly, and slowly, he walked away from Starforge so the field would be clear.

"Yes," Starforge said, with a nod. He stepped a hoof towards Beglan, and held his head up high. "I woke you up, so this is my fight." Starforge tensed his hind legs and leaned forward. He was ready to explode forward at an instant's notice.

Beglan charged forward. "Very well!" he shouted. Though he was a giant, Beglan was amazingly quick. Starforge managed to jump forward and to the side, but he could not dodge the fist completely. Rather than coming down on his head, the giant's fist slammed into his back.

Starforge grunted. His armor was meant to protect him from talons and teeth: heavy things wouldn't have a chance of penetrating his armor, but his padding could only protect him so much. If he took too many hits that hard, he'd go down as surely as if he had taken a heavy kick to his unarmored belly.

For his part, Beglan didn't seem to be bothered by striking his massive fist against hard metal. The cyclops swung it back around, then swept it towards Starforge while the pony tried to open his wings and take to the air. This time, the fist found its mark: it struck Starforge's left flank, hitting him hard enough to knock him off of his hooves and send him skidding through the dirt.

"Time for a field test..." Starforge mumbled as he climbed back to his hooves. He flapped his wings and took to the air, flying high up and out of Beglan's reach. "Bully mark three!"

Underneath his back plate, at the base of his neck, the Bully injector silently whirred into action. Its throttle opened three units wide, and it began giving Starforge a moderate dose of the alchemical concoction. Starforge suddenly found himself half-again as strong as quick, and Beglan saw the pony gain a sudden burst of speed just as he came within striking range.

Surprised, Beglan wasn't able to get a fist up in time. Starforge flapped his wings as hard as he could, then thrust forward with both fore hooves.

The hooves hit Beglan's skull with a loud CLACK. Thrown off-balance by the fierce strike, the cyclops instinctively acted to keep himself from falling backwards. He threw an arm forward to help balance himself, and threw a leg back to catch himself.

Starforge roared: with the Bully flowing through his veins, he felt so strong! He adjusted the angle of his wings, turning tightly in the air and coming around for another strike. His wings continued flapping, driving him forward so quickly he appeared as a blur.

His eyes narrowed: Beglan's skull was thick, and the last hit hadn't even made him dizzy. This time, Starforge was going to aim a little lower. Focusing on the giant's neck, he managed to perfect his aim, but also announced his target.

Standing solidly on his feet again, Beglan was a dangerous target. He was able to see Starforge's trajectory, and began swinging a massive fist into the armored pony's path. Overconfident, and too focused on his own attack, Starforge didn't see that the fist would strike him until it was too late.

Having been started from over Beglan's head, and powering down towards the oncoming pony, the force behind the blow was immense. It hammered into the side of Starforge's chest plate, sending him off-course.

Starforge felt the pain in his ribcage first, as if somepony had taken a hammer to his unarmored chest, then his face slammed into the dirt. Still having a lot of speed behind him, Starforge slid for a dozen feet before coming to rest.

There was no way he was going to let himself be taken out of the fight though: he felt too powerful. Immediately, Starforge sprang back up. Both fighters turned around to face each other; Beglan raised his fists, ready to punish another attack, and Starforge spread his wings again. Ready to bring the giant down, he took flight again, keeping low to the ground.

His target was the gap in between the giant's legs. Timing was key: Starforge's wings were encumbered by the armor on them, but he could easily pass through the legs with his wings closed. Still, speed was also vital: Beglan's face showed the tell-tale signs of recognition. Flying as quickly as he could, Starforge raced to attack before Beglan could counter-attack or defend himself.

A fist came crashing down, directly in front of Starforge. Thrown down too early to strike him, the arm was still a formidable obstacle. If he ran into it, he would fall to the ground directly in front of the cyclops, who could grab him and thrash him against the ground at his leisure.

The pony grinned—Beglan had made the wrong move. Throwing himself to the side, Starforge avoided the obstacle, then immediately twisted again to reverse his angle. He shot through Beglan's legs, and immediately spread his wings open. Needing to stop as rapidly as possible, he also dug his fore hooves into the dirt. Finally, needing to attack just as quickly, he pulled his hind hooves back.

Stopped, and braced against the dirt, Starforge lashed out with his hind hooves. Beglan's legs were strong, but they were not his target. Instead, Starforge's hooves slammed the back of the cyclops's knee, where there was little his muscles could do to help him. With a crash, the giant's knee struck the ground.

With Starforge behind him, there was little Beglan could do to defend himself; before he could get up, the pony had already spun back around and ferociously rammed his helmeted head into Beglan's kidney.

"Argh!" Beglan roared. His vision turned to white, and he fell forward. His lower back throbbed where Starforge had hit him, and he desperately tried to concentrate. There was no way he could fight now.

Starforge ran around the fallen giant, until he was standing in front of his head. His vision still clearing, Beglan could barely make out the imperious look in the colt's eyes. Concentrate, he had to concentrate... With great effort, his right hand closed. A cloud of orange smoke erupted, and Beglan disappeared.

"Impressive!" Beglan's pained voice boomed as the smoke cleared. "If you are willing to face a prepared, armed, and armored foe, then I will grant you what you seek: you may retake my test and prove yourself—in the workshop and on the battlefield."

Issue 6: The Test

Starforge's own heartbeat throbbed in his ears. His stomach churned violently, threatening to hurl its contents into his helmet. Holding his breath, he swallowed deeply in an attempt to at least stave off the inevitable.

Everything was so bright. He squinted his eyelids to try to keep the light out, but it still felt uncomfortable. Trying to shut it all out, he closed his eyes. Immediately, though, he felt himself swaying to the side.

He opened his eyes again, then righted himself. There was only one way to make everything stop... He raised a shaky hoof, trying to reach it back so he could unlatch his helmet, but his balance failed him again. Tipping over violently, only his hoof's clumsy return to the ground managed to keep him from falling down.

His lungs began to burn, and Starforge realized that he was still holding his breath. Desperately, he forced a breath out, then inhaled sharply. It wasn't enough, really, but every breath he took felt like another chance for his stomach to heave and empty itself inside of his helmet.

The components that made up Bully were toxic, he had known that. There was a huge difference between reading the clean, clinical term "severe nausea", and feeling the overwhelming urge to vomit that it indicated.

What he was feeling provided a stark contrast to the light butterflies in his stomach that he had felt earlier, back in the mayor's office. While he had certainly felt stressed then, it was really just an upset stomach that had been brought on from feeling like the rug had just been pulled out from under him. Once he put his mind to it, he had been able to walk out without much difficulty, and felt just fine after a nap.

While Bully's nausea was far worse, it was actually easier to get rid of—at least at the low level of toxicity Starforge was experiencing, having only had a moderate dose pumped into him for maybe thirty seconds. Once he threw up, he would feel better. Of course, there was still the matter of his helmet...

Briefly considering trying to unlatch it again himself, Starforge shifted his weight to free up a fore hoof. He immediately felt himself go off-balance again, and went back to standing still, waiting.

"Starforge," he heard the Inspector's voice say. The Inspector! Starforge had completely forgotten about him. He turned, and saw Loosesheaf slowly approaching him. When the fight had started, the Inspector had hurried back, out of Starforge's way.

"Are you feeling alright?" he asked Starforge. He looked at the colt, furrowing his brows. Though his armor covered him from muzzle to tail, it was easy to tell that Starforge was not feeling alright. Whenever he wasn't staggering or squinting, his discomfort leaked out in other ways, such as a hung head or his enlarged pupils.

"My..." Starforge stammered. "My helmet..." He closed his eyes and hung his head towards the ground again. It would be easier for Loosesheaf to remove the helmet in that position, but it also provided faint relief from another crushing wave of nausea.

The Inspector nodded, and immediately lifted his head up. His horn glowed gently, then the latches on Starforge's helmet lit up as well. Loosesheaf worked calmly to unlatch the helmet, unfazed by its stubbornness and Starforge's uneasy swaying.

Finally, the latches gave way. Inspector Loosesheaf gently pulled the helmet off of Starforge's head, and got his first good look at the colt's face. Though it was difficult to make out, due to Starforge's dark fur color, Loosesheaf could see that the skin beneath the fur on Starforge's face was discolored.

Freed from his helmet, Starforge wasted no time. He simply stopped fighting against his stomach, and everything poured out.

"Ugh." Starforge's tongue hung out of his mouth while he closed his eyes and gently shook his head from side to side. He clamped his eyes shut even tighter, then withdrew his tongue and clenched his teeth as he slowly stopped swaying his head.

Gradually, he allowed his jaw to relax. Taking in a deep breath, he opened his eyes. On the ground, in front of him, he could see the remains of his breakfast. The foul stench was already making its way into his nostrils, assaulting his senses. Though the smell made his nose twitch, and his stomach gargled unhappily, his nausea was far more manageable—it was nothing compared to what the moderate dose of Bully had done to him.

"That stuff is vile," he spat out, finally able to speak. The Bully had been much worse than he had expected. Though he was no alchemist, Starforge resolved to adjust the formula later. There had to be something to help his body tolerate the active ingredients.

Bothered by the disgusting taste in his mouth, Starforge swallowed. Vomit residue still covered his taste buds, but he was determined to ignore it. Turning his attention to things that mattered, he looked back up to Loosesheaf. "Thank you," he said. His eyes turned to his helmet, which the Inspector was holding in the air a bit ahead and to the right of his own head.

The Inspector nodded, and moved the helmet towards Starforge. As the helmet approached, the pegasus bowed his head. Loosesheaf's sharp eyes and pinpoint control of his magic allowed him to slip the helmet into place both quickly and gently. The latches were much easier to fasten than they were to open—a sensible design decision for armor that was meant to be used in battle rather than parades.

Fully armored once again, Starforge lifted his head and turned towards the Forge house. "Are you coming with me?" he asked Loosesheaf.

"Starforge..." The Inspector walked slowly to the pegasus's side. Once he was next to him, the Inspector stood still for a moment. He briefly looked Starforge over, trying to discern his mindset, but said nothing.

"What?" Starforge spat at Loosesheaf. He turned his head to look at the Inspector, but immediately spun it back to the Forge house. Standing around outside wouldn't do any good: Beglan was inside, gathering his strength. It would take long enough to rework the crown—every second standing around gave Beglan even longer to plan.

Facing away from the Inspector, Starforge couldn't see Loosesheaf continuing to appraise him. The unicorn made no sound, preferring to simply look the colt over while trying to figure out what he was thinking. Starforge had already pleasantly surprised him a few times, but Loosesheaf wasn't a pony to leave questions unanswered.

"Do you have a plan?" he finally asked the colt.

Starforge slowly looked back towards Loosesheaf. His eyes were heavy—from the gravity of the impending challenge, not from weariness.

"Yes."

With nothing left to say, Starforge turned away. Making no noise beyond his hoof pieces crunching into the dirt, he walked to the Forge house.

The Inspector kept pace behind him, a smile growing on his face. If the first part of the plan was to not give his foe a chance to overhear it, Starforge had just pleasantly surprised him again.

"Well?" Starforge asked the Inspector. The Cyclopes of the Forge was laid out on the Forge's enchanting table. Starforge could not discern very much detail about what kind of sleep spell Beglan had asked for—the scholars dithered on for several pages without coming to any clear conclusions.

"This is your show, Starforge," the Inspector said. "You are the hero, and the artificer," he said, regarding Starforge with a heavy gaze. "You are the one who needs to make the decision."

Starforge's attention immediately snapped to Loosesheaf when he heard the word "hero". Because he had removed his armor so he could work, his furrowed brows and confused expression were clearly visible to the Inspector.

There were more important things to worry about. Shaking his head, Starforge again returned his attention to what mattered.

He flipped to the index at the end of the book. If he could get an idea for what kinds of spells were in common use at the time, he could at least craft a spell in a style Beglan was familiar with. His eyes first fell on the page numbers for a few of the spells that had caught his attention the first time he read the book, but the next entry promised to be even more helpful.

Self-illusion. That was close to dreams, an important part of sleep. Since the book didn't contain any actual sleeping spells, that would have to do. He turned back to the listed page with practiced hooves, and he looked the spell over.

It was sloppily crafted, but probably would have been considered cutting edge when it was made—artifice took six hundred years to catch back up to where it had been before the cataclysm at the Forge city; all of the best artificers had been lost with the city. Even when expeditions were finally launched to recover the old books, an undertaking that was only just starting when the book was published, there were no ponies able to use the more advanced spells they described.

Still, even if there was room for improvement in the spell, the real interest was in the way of thinking about magic it reflected. Not all artificers had lived at the city, after all, and the third-rate artificers that survived would have been familiar with the magical theories that were in vogue at the time. Since such poor talents rarely innovated much, Starforge could be confident that the self-illusion spell in the book used the same kind of magic Beglan might expect to see in the crown.

The loud CLAP of the book being closed echoed through the otherwise silent chamber. Closing his eyes, Starforge envisioned the spell he would need to work into the crown. It would be tougher this time, since the magic in it had already been worked into a specific form. He traced shapes on the enchanting table with his hoof as he tried to envision the spell diagram, mentally projecting it against his closed eyelids.

Inspector Loosesheaf rummaged around in his pack, drawing a bit of Starforge's attention from the necessary shape of the spell. Why did disruption chambers have to be designed after the cataclysm? Having one would make it so much easier to rework. No matter. Starforge gritted his teeth and continued his mental preparation.

"Do you need this?" The Inspector's voice had a gentle, but knowing tone to it. Starforge's eyes shot open, to see Loosesheaf offering a large sketch pad to him. The Inspector's lips were curled ever so slightly upwards in what could almost be a friendly smile.

"Yes," Starforge said. The Inspector set the pad down on the table, and offered him a pencil. "It will help a lot." He took hold of the pencil, then turned to the sketch pad. It was already open to a blank page, so he wasted no time in starting to diagram the spell.

After a few minutes of working in silence, Starforge was making good progress. The self-illusion spell in the book offered the base of the enchantment, and Starforge already knew how to let an object's user will themselves into sleep. Really, the willful waking would be the only difficult part—and Starforge was worried that without so skillful a component, the cyclops might again reject the offering. After the first battle with Beglan, Starforge was no longer certain he could force him to do anything he did not wish to do.

Lines connected circles filled with symbols for various effects, often strung together in particular orders to symbolize more complicated effects. Apprentice's notation was inefficient with its use of symbols, with any decently complicated effect needing numerous symbols, but Starforge was far more familiar with it than Master's notation.

Eventually, the pace of his scribbling slowed. The difficult part had arrived, and Starforge was taking more time to make decisions about what needed to go where in the spell. Idle hooves, combined with his worries, allowed other thoughts to seep in. Finally, he couldn't stay silent any longer.

"Inspector..." The word came out tentatively, but it was enough to get Loosesheaf's attention. Still making a show of working on the spell diagram, Starforge continued. "I know that this is all my fault." He stopped writing, and stared at the paper. Breathing in deeply, he struggled to find the courage to say the simple words he had to say.

"Thank you," he said, turning to Loosesheaf. "Thank you for helping me fix all of this."

"You do not need to thank me, Starforge," the Inspector said. "I protect ponies. We both do." He placed a comforting hoof on Starforge's shoulder, then continued. "You know," he said. "Sometimes I get things wrong too."

The Inspector's expression was serious. He removed his hoof from Starforge's shoulder. Looking Starforge directly in the eye, he finished. "The important thing is finding out how to fix your mistake."

He turned to the table for a moment, expression still showing concern. When he turned back towards Starforge, however, he had returned to his earlier expression with that small bit of cheer sneaking in. "This time, it is not too late."

"So," he said, pointing at the pad. "Are you ready?"

Starforge turned back to the pad, and began writing again. His pencil marked symbols onto the paper at a furious pace. "Almost," he said. "It will take me a couple of hours to do the re-enchanting once I'm done."

Loosesheaf nodded. "And when you are finished?"

Starforge didn't look up, and his writing didn't slow at all. "Then all that's left is Beglan's final test."

He had finally finished.

As he opened his eyes – for the first time in over an hour – Starforge was overcome by how bright the room was. He winced, and pulled a hoof up to cover them. It was bad enough that the concentration had given him a pounding headache—the extra sensitivity to light was just a cruel punishment heaped upon him because he had taken on such a difficult task.

Working with one of the lesser hammers, reworking the magic from an existing shape, Starforge had certainly tested the limits of his abilities. The only thing working in his favor this time was the spell diagram he had drawn. He was certain that he wouldn't have been able to succeed if he had been making up the spell as he went along.

"Artistic triumph." Starforge closed his eyes, grinned, and chuckled at himself. The ache in his head would be slow to recede, sticking around to remind of him how much he had yet to learn, but at least his eyes were adjusting to the light. He opened them back up and held the crown up over his head, admiring the way the light shined off of it.

"Even better looking the second time around." He lazily flew over to the wooden table the crown had been resting on when he and Loosesheaf had arrived. "Well," he mused. "I guess it's time to get ready for the final exam." The crown clinked gently as Starforge set it down onto the table.

The loud, slow hiss of rushing air made Starforge's ears twitch. It sounded almost exactly like the air from a forge pump passing over hot coals. Or maybe air rushing out of the bellows, into the furnace...

Starforge flapped his wings harder, gaining a bit of altitude. As soon as he was clear of the table, he closed his eyes and concentrated on his armor. The air around him ripped, and his armor rushed to his body.

Armored and ready, the colt turned around. At the foot of the staircase, at the front of the room, Beglan's imposing figure formed itself from orange smoke. Enough time had passed for the cloud to be in a concrete form, his arms and legs taking on a definite texture. Rather than hairy, like he had appeared before, the body was remaining smooth, like armor.

Instead of empty hands, Starforge could see that Beglan had brought a weapon this time. It was a hammer head stuck on a long pole. The cyclops was resting the butt of the pole on the floor, and the weapon stood almost as tall as he did.

Starforge let himself come to rest on the floor as Beglan finished materializing. The armor the giant was wearing immediately struck the pony: it was was exquisitely crafted, well-polished, and colored a dark shade of orange that reminded Starforge of a flame. The face covering on the helmet was ornately designed to look like a snarling cyclops, but looked sturdy enough to shrug off heavy blows.

Starforge had expected no less from such an esteemed blacksmith, but it was still enough to make him pause. If he was going to hurt Beglan, he'd have to hit him hard.

"Well," the colt said, finally speaking. "I guess this means I passed my re-test." He lifted his head up so he could look down his snout at the cyclops. From where he was standing, over a hundred feet away, Beglan looked small. It was an illusion, he knew that. Up close, the giant would dwarf him.

Size didn't matter though. All that mattered to Starforge was that the giant was in his way, in more ways than one. Test or not, the cyclops wasn't going to be a problem for anypony else. Not as long as he had anything to say about it.

Beglan's deep belly laugh echoed through the room. He let his weapon tilt to the side as he threw his head back, letting his contempt fill the massive chamber from floor to ceiling. The sound bounced off of polished granite walls and assaulted Starforge from all sides.

Gritting his teeth, Starforge stood firm but tense. It was vital that he not let himself be unnerved; he reminded himself over and over that there was only one Beglan, and he was standing in front of him.

The giant ceased his laughter abruptly, then slammed the butt of his weapon onto the floor. He let the resulting clack echo through the room, while standing like a statue. Starforge gulped, then took in a deep breath, but did not flinch or step back.

"My little pony!" Beglan finally called out. "That's the interesting thing about your test!" He readied his weapon, then leaned forward. "We won't find out until you've completed the second part!"

Beglan took a step forward. "Now." He stopped, and held the weapon in a defensive position in front of himself. "Crown me, if you can!"

Starforge didn't need any more invitation. Pushing off of the ground with his legs, then flapping his wings to help him, he kept his attention fixed on Beglan while he jumped backwards. After the table passed by under him, he started beating his wings in the other direction and leaned forward into a dive. He swooped over the table, grabbing the crown with his two front hooves.

He sped forward, keeping his eyes fixed on the giant at the front of the room. Beglan was deceptively quick, he knew that, but cyclopes weren't accustomed to fighting anypony as fast as they were.

Taking advantage of that fact, Starforge flew directly towards Beglan's head. He saw him raise his weapon up, preparing to strike—exactly as expected.

Just before he approached the maximum reach of Beglan's weapon, Starforge's wings spread open, greatly reducing his speed. The drop in speed came too quickly for the cyclops to react—reflexively, he swung at where he had expected Starforge to be.

His hammer swept through the air in front of Starforge, then continued on its path until it slammed into the ground. Chunks of rock and powder flew, and a surprised Beglan looked up to see Starforge picking up speed again.

The cyclops was still a trained warrior, though, and his reflexes served him well for his next move. His hammer was on far too long a pole for him to bring it up around in time to strike his target, but speed was the colt's greatest asset. A quick push forward with his hands thrust the weapon's shaft into Starforge's path, turning his own speed against him.

Starforge struck the shaft, and was thrown back by the heavy hit the cyclops had landed. The dazed pony tumbled backwards and down, until he struck the floor. The sound of his armor scraping as it slid on the smooth surface filled the room.

Loud, clanking footsteps snapped Starforge out of his stupor. Beglan was racing towards him, and pulling his hammer back for another strike.

There was no time for him to get back onto his hooves. The cyclops tensed his muscles, and threw all of his power into the swing.

Lying on the floor, Starforge looked up at the hammer. If he moved too early, Beglan could re-adjust his aim; but if he moved too late, he would be finished. A hit on his back while he was standing would waste energy pushing against his legs, but with him already flat on the stone it would all be focused into breaking him.

All fighters needed to be able to pick the right moment to make their move, but pegasi had an edge: they were built for high-speed flight. Any time a pegasus spent zipping around obstacles was just more training for their mind—transferable skills, the same as a unicorn who honed their magic on peaceful things, or an earth pony who built their strength while working on a farm.

Starforge liked to fly fast, especially if there were obstacles to dodge around. He could see the hammer coming down, and he could see when it was going to strike. Just a moment... Not too soon, not too late... At exactly the right time...

It was time to move! His wings opened wide and thrust him forward. The hammer crashed down behind him, again sending chips of granite flying everywhere.

Safe for the moment, Starforge knew he needed to go onto the offensive—he needed to be able to stand. Shoveling upwards with both of his fore legs, he tossed the crown straight towards the ceiling.

His hooves empty, Starforge sprung up from the floor. He leaned forward and pushed his hind hooves into the floor, forcing himself forward. Beglan was directly in front of him, but he needed to be just a little bit closer to the giant...

One step. Then a second. Finally, he made his third step. Above him, the pull of gravity was still working on slowing the crown's ascent. Directly in front of him, he could see Beglan's knee. There wasn't any armor in the world that could completely protect a primate's knees; none that its wearer could move in, anyway.

As he turned around, Starforge could see Beglan's weapon sweeping towards him. It would hit him, but not before he hit the cyclops. Unable to brace for the hit, Starforge leaned forward onto his fore hooves. He could see the hammer picking up speed, already so close to his face...

There was nothing he could do about it. He turned his head back so he could aim, then let his hind hooves fly at Beglan's knee.

Metal struck metal, and the loud CLANG echoed through the hall. Beglan's shout of pain was even louder, and he pulled back on his weapon as hard as he could.

The hammer struck Starforge's helmet while the colt's head was still turned around. It didn't have the mechanical advantage of the long pole behind it, but Beglan's considerable strength was enough.

His head turned away, Starforge couldn't brace against the blow. The first thing he felt was his neck stretching, his head being turned as the hammer dug into the cheek of his helmet and pushed. Before his neck broke, however, his hooves started skidding on the floor as his entire body rotated under the force of the strike.

Starforge clenched his jaw as he slid across the floor, and was spun around by the force of the blow until he faced away from Beglan. His neck hurt, like he had pulled a muscle in it. He had been hit a lot harder than he had expected, and if his armor had allowed his head to turn any further it could have been a fatal mistake.

His hooves rammed into the staircase, stopping his slide. Momentum carried him forward, and he tumbled face-first onto the first few steps. Behind him, he could hear the ring of the crown hitting the floor.

That wasn't the only sound he could hear. Ahead of him, up the stairs, he could hear what sounded like footsteps. The steps echoed loudly, with a clack behind them, like rock on rock. He could only guess what was making the steps, but whatever it was there were a lot of them, and they were close.

The first one appeared in the stairway, giving Starforge enough of a startle to make him rise to his hooves instantly. It was another construct, like the ones he had destroyed outside. At the same time, though, it was utterly unlike them. It was carved from the same kind of rock, but it was made of several pieces, and each piece was finely rounded rather than crudely chiseled.

If Beglan was getting reinforcements, then Starforge needed to end the fight immediately. Turning his back to the oncoming constructs, he raced towards the crown. Beglan stood beside it, his helmet's mask regarding Starforge with its finely wrought snarl. The strike against his knee had obviously hurt the giant: he was hunched over, holding his weapon in his left hand and his knee in his right.

Time was running out. With a bunch of constructs running around on the floor, the first hit Beglan landed that put him on the floor would be the end of it. There was no time to be fancy—there was just enough to do the job.

Halfway to the crown, Starforge opened his wings. He pulled his legs up and started flapping, flying just a foot above the floor. His face was pointed straight forward, at the crown, but his eyes were looking up at Beglan.

The giant stood back up to his full height. Still hurting, and aware he had the advantage, the cyclops was allowing himself to move slowly. There was no time for him to hit the pony with his hammer, but even delaying him by a few seconds could make all the difference. His right hand balled into a fist, and he raised it up into the air.

Starforge flapped harder. His eyes turned away from Beglan's fist, dangerous as it was, onto his target. It would be too risky to give the cyclops a chance to get a grip on his weapon, so that crown had to be in his hooves on the first pass.

His hooves clamped onto the crown. The crown was tough, so there was no point in being gentle—Starforge squeezed it as hard as he could. He didn't want to lose his grip on it, and he was about to exert a lot of force.

One minor adjustment of his wings was all it took. In the blink of an eye he went from skimming above the floor to flying straight up towards the ceiling. The crown, with all of its own magic, violently resisted the magical force that allowed pegasi to change their course so radically. It tried desperately to continue flying on the horizontal path, even as Starforge's hooves tried to fly on the new, vertical path.

Held fast between two hooves, the crown wrenched but didn't slip. Starforge's eyes searched the air in front of him—he couldn't see Beglan's fist anymore. If he couldn't see it, that meant it was already behind him. Knowing there was nothing else he could do, he gritted his teeth and braced himself, hoping the strike came too late.

Beglan was moving more quickly than Starforge had thought. Before he could reach the giant's head, he felt the impact of a heavy gauntlet slamming into his back. Angled down and across, the blow sent Starforge tumbling to the ground again, skidding away from his foe.

As he flapped his wings to raise himself above the floor, Starforge threw a quick glance back over his shoulder. The first of the constructs had reached the Forge chamber, and there were at least eight more behind it that he could see. Time had just about run out. Either he crowned Beglan right away, or every time Beglan sent him to the floor he'd be at risk of being grabbed and pinned.

Seemingly oblivious to the danger that Beglan's hammer posed, Starforge flew straight at the giant's head. Both fighters keenly watched the space between them that marked where the range of the giant's weapon met the pony's path. Beglan's grip on his hammer tightened, and Starforge gritted his teeth. There was no room for error for either of them.

Beglan's hammer began to move. Coming down, it was already moving quickly. Starforge was faster, though: with another adjustment of his wings, he changed his course. As he sped around the giant, he could feel the gentle tingle of the magical field his armor and Beglan's hammer generated as they passed within inches of each other at such a high speed.

Once he was behind Beglan, Starforge leaned left and instantly reversed his turn. He would only have perhaps a second to—

He could feel a hard piece of metal slamming into his right wing, crushing it against his armor. All of his questions about how the cyclops could have possibly adjusted his grip, then turned around, so quickly would have to wait. He could feel the sensitive skin of his wing being crushed under the hammer, but he could also feel the force of the strike following through the wing into his back, battering his muscle and rattling his bones.

Starforge slammed into the floor, his armor ringing as it struck the stone. His belly plate scraped against the granite until he was stopped by hitting the first step up to the Forge platform.

The pain of his wing being crushed had turned his vision white, and sent his heart beating what felt like at least three times each second. Not that he could even begin to try to count his heart beats, with the agonizing pain tearing through his wing.

He could feel his armor digging into his back, where Beglan had dented it. Trying to force the pain out of his mind, Starforge instead thought about how he would fix his armor later. He knew he would need tools... Something, he would need...

His right fore hoof clapped determinedly on the floor. Defiantly, he raised his head. Through the haze of pain, he could make out Beglan and his constructs as they slowly approached him.

Gritting his teeth, he clapped his left fore hoof onto the floor and pushed up. Tentatively, he stretched his wing. Another sharp burst of pain shot through it, and he buckled under the pain.

"Starforge!" Seeing that Beglan and his minions were not stopping their approach of the injured colt, Inspector Loosesheaf began galloping from the side wall where he had been watching. Starforge could see his horn glowing, and his head turned towards the constructs, as if mentally probing them for weakness.

"No!" Starforge called out. The Inspector immediately turned his head towards the colt, his eyebrows raised. The glow on his horn dimmed, but did not disappear, and his place slowed to a gentle trot.

Taking a deep breath, Starforge forced both of his hind hooves to stand. He wasn't hurt... Everything was fine, he kept reminding himself. He was stuck on the ground, but that didn't mean he couldn't fight. He had done it before, and looking up at Beglan's grotesque face mask he was determined to do it again.

"Let them through!" His voice betrayed only a little bit of the pain still shooting from his wing and his back. He couldn't fly, but his legs were working just fine.

Inspector Loosesheaf's eyebrows widened, but he nodded. The glow around his horn dimmed, then vanished entirely. His gaze softened to his old, familiar observer's face, and he stopped his trot.

Beglan and the constructs were close, maybe just ten feet away. They moved confidently, like the fight was already over. Starforge took in another deep breath. It wasn't a fight, though, it was more like a game.

Hunching over, he tried to look the part of a vanquished competitor. It was easier to fake than he might have preferred to admit, with the tennis ball-sized dent in his armor digging into his back and his wing throbbing every time his over-excited heart beat. Keeping his eyes locked on Beglan's, he felt around on the ground until he had his hoof on the crown. The giant was eight feet away: just a little bit closer...

"Well?" Beglan asked as his foot fell yet again. There was an imperious tone in his voice. He held his hammer close to his chest, where it was easy to carry and could be hefted up for another swing quickly, and approached Starforge as a conquering warrior.

Five feet.

Starforge pushed the crown onto its rim, then flung it up at Beglan's face plate with a quick flick of his hoof.

Startled by the sudden – and unexpected – movement, Beglan acted instinctively: he reached a hand out to catch the valuable magical artifact.

As soon as he threw the crown, Starforge sprang from his position at one of Beglan's constructs. He pushed off of the floor with all of his might. Seeing the pony leaping directly at it, the construct stopped—if the colt wished to approach it, then moving its own feet was a waste. Instead, it began to lift its arms. If Starforge was within range, the next thing for it to do would be grab him.

It was quick enough to manage to make the grab, but not strong enough to do anything with it. Gritting his teeth, Starforge brought his hind hooves up to the statue's shoulders, as if he were climbing it, in one fluid motion. Sensing itself starting to topple under the weight, it staggered backwards and threw its arms forward in an attempt to counter its target's attempt to trample it.

But that wasn't Starforge's goal. As soon as his hind hooves were firmly on the construct's shoulders, he twisted to the right. He had managed to complete his jump quickly: the crown was still out of the giant's grip. Beglan's face plate wore its perpetual snarl, but with his head angled slightly to the side he was clearly confused.

Realization dawned on him as Starforge leapt off of his construct. The force of the jump finally knocked the thing to the ground, and the pony soared upwards towards his own target: Beglan's head.

Too late, Beglan turned his attention back to his weapon. As he pulled his hand back to its position on the pole, the crown struck the back of his gauntlet.

Touching down on the giant's shoulders, Starforge reached out a fore hoof and grabbed the crown. Triumphantly, he lifted his hoof up and brought it arcing down, slamming the crown triumphantly onto Beglan's helmeted head with a dull CLINK that echoed through the chamber.

Game point.

With the contest decided, all of the constructs halted their movements and stood still. Even Beglan relaxed his stance, releasing all of the tension of the now-completed contest. He set his hammer standing up at his side again, as he had appeared at the beginning.

Relieved, Starforge hopped back down to the floor. The armor's hoof pieces clattered loudly as they struck the floor unevenly. His right fore hoof was the first to hit, and his elbow buckled a little bit before his left hoof also touched down. Finally, his two hind hooves hit the floor. The landing was anything but graceful, but he was able to find his footing and keep his balance.

Inspector Loosesheaf stepped slowly towards Starforge, though his eyes were fixed on Beglan. The cyclops stood in his relaxed stance—not rigidly, but firmly enough that when the pony had hopped off of his shoulders he had barely swayed backwards. He made no move to strike the victorious colt while his back was turned, though, so the Inspector eventually forced himself to suppress his wariness.

Wordlessly, he approached Starforge's right flank. His wing had taken a direct hit, and the Inspector would have forgiven anypony's hyperbole if they had called it "mangled": it certainly looked painful, and was already swelling. Still, it would heal itself in time.

The thunder of footsteps startled both ponies. Loosesheaf was already facing the right direction, and saw it first, but Starforge turned his aching body around to see it as well: the constructs had all started moving at once, headed for the rear of the Forge chamber, away from the ponies.

A gentle hiss called both ponies' attention to Beglan. His armor was giving off a dark orange smoke, as if it were burning up without any flame. The burning sped up, and the hammer and armor both rapidly dissolved into a cloud of smoke. Finally, the cloud itself vanished, leaving Beglan standing before the two ponies, unadorned except for the crown Starforge had placed onto his head.

For a moment he simply stood, as if pondering something. Seeing no danger, Starforge reached a hoof back and unlatched his helmet. He set it down on the floor in front of himself, and looked back up to the cyclops.

Beglan finally saw fit to speak. "This effort is..." He searched for the right word. "Most acceptable." His eyes closed, as if he were trying to sense the crown's entire aura. Opening his eyes again, he looked down at Starforge and smiled. Whatever grudge he had harbored against Starforge seemed to be gone.

"Very well, colt," he said. "You have proven yourself both skilled and determined, and I accept your earlier proposition: the small ones may once again take up residence in the city ring, and I shall instruct you so that you may become the new Forge Master."

Starforge bowed his head slightly, ignoring the ache in his neck it caused. "Thank you, Beglan," he said. Raising his head back up, an effort which strained his neck just as much, he smiled slightly. "I hope there will be some time for me to rest, before we begin."

"Time for you to rest, yes," Beglan said with a nod. The giant yawned. "And time for me to rest as well." He started walking towards the rear of the chamber, where the constructs had marched to.

Something made him stop. He raised his hand up to his chin, then scratched it for a good while before he turned back around.

"Your passion print," he said, sounding half-asleep already. The giant pointed to Starforge's flank, where his cutie mark was covered up by his armor. "It's of his war hammer, you know."

He stretched himself, yawning the whole time, then continued his walk. The hiss began, and Starforge could see the orange smoke rising off of him. It rapidly dissolved the cyclops, until he was gone.

"Carry on with your adventures, Starforge." He could hear Beglan's voice in his mind. "I will find you when is time for your first lesson."

Starforge closed his eyes and tilted his head back until he was facing the ceiling. His entire body ached from the effort he had put into that trial, and he just wanted to rest.

He opened his eyes and turned down to his legs. Using his mouth, he unbuckled his leg armor, then proceeded to remove the rest of his armor piece by piece.

When he was finished, he laid down and rested his chin on his fore leg. He took a deep breath, held it for a while, then exhaled. When Loosesheaf stepped to his side, Starforge turned and looked up at the Inspector.

"I guess this complicates my enlistment, doesn't it?" he asked.

Loosesheaf didn't say anything, but stepped forward until he was a few feet in front of Starforge. He rested himself on the floor, so he wouldn't be towering over Starforge, with a serene look on his face.

"Actually," he began. "I had already decided to annul your enlistment." Starforge gently cocked his head to the right, but said nothing. "Even if I do not, my superiors will do it themselves after I report what you have done here."

Starforge took a moment to let those words sink in. The problems of the morning seemed so far away, almost like they had happened to somepony else.

"I'll confess," he finally said. "You really caught me off-guard with the inquisition."

Loosesheaf's lips curled upwards in a gentle smirk. "I will take that as a compliment. I was trying very hard to get a reaction out of you." After a moment, his eyes turned back to Starforge's wound. "So, how is your wing?"

Starforge turned to look at his wing. He gently tried to move it, but could feel the pain starting before he could even get it to twitch.

"It's been better."

Loosesheaf nodded, then stood up. "I will go fire off a signal spell," he said. A couple of guard pegasi would be able to carry them back much more quickly than they could walk. Everypony, townsponies and pangutans alike, would want to hear the good news as soon as possible.

Starforge closed his eyes as the Inspector walked up the stairs. Beglan had called it an "adventure." Letting himself drift off to sleep, Starforge certainly agreed with him.