Even though I was dozens of feet away from Pasture, enveloped by the clusters of tall grass, I could tell something was wrong, like a darkness had descended upon it—and I don’t mean the night. Outwardly, the place never looked better. When I’d first encountered Blaze and her militia, the town had been surrounded by a barricade that had looked like they’d just thrown the first things they’d found together. The gate had been more of a lopsided arch than anything and Blaze had been almost comical in how she’d thrown her weight around in questioning people.
Now, those barricades of trash had been replaced by proper log fencing, not unlike a miniature version of the log fortresses we’d seen in Ostfriesen. The gate, while still not large, was made of the same stuff and, as best I could tell, could actually be closed. Staffing the gate were two heavily armoured sentries, but—and this concerned me greatly—not the same Guard-inspired goons that were strutting around Iron Shoe. No, these guys wore duller, fuller steel barding without a significant paint job. The only thing that could maybe be considered flair was a red hoofprint emblazoned on their chests. At this distance, it was hard to tell, but it definitely wasn’t a pony’s. It was cloven in some way, but I wasn’t sure of the significance. I couldn’t imagine why they’d take on the mark of a deer or goat, and if they were trying to reference a chimera, there were much better ways to depict that.
Regardless, these sentries were deadly serious, without a single shred of the raw passion Blaze and her militia had exhibited. In fact, that whole sense blanketed the town, stifling it of any sound. The town’s nightlife should have just been getting going, but there was nothing—like the inside of those walls was filled with corpses.
I had no hope of getting in from this side. While the guards didn’t look antsy, likely long having realized there would be no suddenly zombie invasion, I couldn’t risk trying to pass the gate. Not when they were looking for me.
I shuffled along, getting out of sight of the gate. Thankfully, the fencing largely lacked watchtowers, with the sole exception sitting at the rear, near the town hall. This allowed me to slowly, carefully slink up to the wall. Even if I couldn’t see inside, perhaps I could hear something.
As I crept along, low, muffled voices reached my ears. Most of it was incoherent. The tone wasn’t quite fearful, but more along the care required to speak privately in a town with little background noise. Someone’s plate barding clanked as they passed in the street.
Leaning in a little closer, I put my ear to the fence.
“...malade … butter sneaking … behind bar together … … … believe it?”
I blinked and shook my head, almost cracking a grin. This was hardly a large enough sample size, but was at least a good start to determining that Pasture wasn’t about to riot.
Continuing to sneak along the wall, I caught what little bits I could, few as they were. While there were some whispers of the Necromancer and how they wished to be rid of her, there were equal parts gossiping about who was making out with who.
Soon, I reached my primary goal: the wall near the town hall. If the mayor, Prideful Policy, was up to anything, it’d be here and would likely involve a lot of noise. Getting close was no problem. I was approaching from along the wall and the watchtower had more than likely been told to keep an eye out for a horde of hostile corpses.
To my disappointment, there were little more than murmurs, grumbling about someone being late. I wanted to move a little closer, to the little rear gate where there might be fewer obstacles between me and whoever was talking, but a bright lantern was hanging overhead. Even the most inattentive guard in the world would be able to see my shadow sticking out.
As I sat there, trying to figure out how I might circumvent the issue, I quickly became grateful I hadn’t decided to be so brazen. Three figures in the mock-Guard armour were coming up the path to the gate.
Pressing myself up against the wall, I listened, hoping for anything, even a casual comment. I was rewarded with silence. Thugs as they might be, these ones knew the meaning of discretion.
Determined to get at least something out of the this, I poked my muzzle out just enough to get a glimpse of the approaching goon squad as they stepped into the light. The armour made it hard to pick out much of anything notable, but the middle one appeared to be leading and had a greenish-yellow coat. He was also a little bigger than the others.
As I ducked back behind the wall, I felt it vibrate a little as their leader banged on the gate.
“Ah've returned.”
Hinges creaked almost immediately as the door swung open. The wall vibrated again.
“About time. What took you? Tell me you at least found something useful.” Prideful Policy’s distinctly demanding tone oozed out into the air.
“Nothin’. Not so much as a trace o’ the undead. Maybe we scared the Necromancer off?” There was something odd about the other stallion’s voice, but I couldn’t quite put a hoof on it just yet.
“Hmph. I would laugh were I in a better mood. Where are my results? I gave you more than enough additional hooves.” I could almost hear him getting up in the green-yellow stallion’s face.
“Yeah, yeah. And the mercenaries’re still out there for ‘nother hour, but their motivation ain’t ‘xactly the sharpest.” The other stallion let out the subtlest of sighs beneath his accent and that’s when it struck me—his accent managed to sound even more country than the mayor of this backwater town. “If’n there was more coin…”
“They will get their share when Pasture rises to glory!” Prideful Policy let out a cough. “No sooner.”
Moss sighed, this time not so subtly. “And jus’ when’ll that be? The bits we ‘ave fronted will only keep them around for so long.”
“You know exactly when. When that blight of a pony is gone, so will those nasty legends. Miners will be flocking to our doorstep!” As his voice hit the crescendo of his speech, I decided that there was zero chance he wasn’t posing, forcing me to stifle a snicker. “Then we will be swimming in bits!”
“Are ya sure tha’sall thas keepin’ ‘em back? This place is ratha remote.” Again with the accent. Some part of me just couldn’t let it go. It almost felt forced, overdone, like he was acting. In all honesty, by this point I was surprised Prideful Policy hadn’t strangled him for mocking him.
It was Prideful Policy’s turn to sigh. “You just leave that to me. I know a guy. Immaculate prospector. We clear up that nasty little problem and he’ll give the word. Bits talk.”
“If’n ya say so. I’ll talk to Crimson Haze, but y’know the further inta the forest ‘e has to go, the bigger the share he’ll want,” the other stallion said.
“Fine, fine. You know I’m willing to compensate more than generously. Just don’t promise it all at once.”
“You tha boss!”
The gate slammed shut and I just about jumped out of my coat. By the time I brought my ear back to the fence, Prideful Policy and the stallion who was presumably Moss were little more than muffles. I wanted so badly to follow after, but getting in would be more than difficult and last time I spied on Prideful Policy, Ivory had to bail me out in a way that set off an angry mob.
Besides, they’d already given me plenty to think about. Ironically, the fact that they’d had to bring in mercenaries made me feel a little better. Ivory had apparently been so elusive that this was the only way they could cover enough ground. On the other hoof, there were now professional mercenaries, in addition to professional criminals, hunting Ivory—all at the request of an insane mayor. I’d never heard of this Crimson Haze before, but I’d have to be more careful than ever to avoid detection. I wished I had time to send word back to Iron Shoe, to get some kind of profile on this guy and his soldiers. Alas, by that time, they’d almost surely have zeroed in on Ivory.
I guessed if nothing else, I could include the name in my message to Night. Perhaps Merri or Star would know something.
However, for the moment, I knew what I had to do. With the mercenaries withdrawing in less than an hour, it was the perfect opportunity to breach their lines and search throughout the night. It would be rough and without the protection of Ivory’s sentries, I’d have to be wary of wildlife, but this was the perfect opening and I couldn’t afford to lose it.
---
True to Moss’s word, the mercenaries called it quits within the hour. As I crouched behind one of the larger tree husks, I witnessed a mass exodus of people dressed just like Pasture’s new gate sentries. It took about three times as long as I was comfortable with, the close proximity of so many hostile professional soldiers making my heart liable to explode.
Even once the last of them passed, I waited another fifteen minutes just to be safe. Really, it was for the best, as it took about that long for me to stop shaking.
The full moon cast its pale light over the tree carcasses, as though mourning their loss. I slipped in among them, weaving my way along the shortest path to the intact part of the forest. If there was one thing I could thank the mercenaries for, it was the trampled hoofpaths cutting their way through the trees. While there was some risk to creeping up the paths made by my enemy, my knowledge of the forest was not so great that I could navigate the underbrush without making a ton of noise. A nice little bonus was that the paths seemed to have scared off any of the dangerous wildlife.
My plan was to go to the deepest hut first, where Ivory was most likely hiding. From there, I would work my way back toward the front, allowing me time to escape and return to the observatory before the mercenaries resumed their own search. Of course, ideally, I’d find Ivory sooner and we could make a direct exit, but in life, there are no guarantees.
Between the quiet and the moonlight filtering through the canopy, the forest seemed almost as lost in time as the field of burned husks. It left me feeling uneasy and moving even slower than I intended. After a few minutes, some of the bugs resumed whatever it is that bugs do, but that did little to ease my anxiety.
Finally, when I thought the building pressure was going to make me implode, the outline of the cabin appeared. There was a faint glow in the window.
Uncertainty gripped my heart. Ivory? Or a foe?
The mercenaries were supposed to be long gone, but I couldn’t afford to make assumptions. I hurried forward as quietly as I could, though I found it harder and harder as the fear continued to build. I swore I could even smell it in the air—as ridiculous as the notion was. I wondered if maybe Ivory had put some kind of fear glyph in place to scare off intruders.
Shaking it off as best I could, I pushed onward, step by step, until I was against the wall near the window. With the utmost of care, I turned my muzzle downward, seeking to cast the smallest silhouette as I looked in the window.
The cabin was a total wreck. Chairs overturned, cabinets and bookcases with their entire contents pulled from the shelves, papers scattered everywhere. But no bodies. No bodies was good.
A single lantern, sitting on the table at the far end of the room, drew my eye. There was a figure standing beside it and he was most definitely not Ivory. He looked like a large stallion, encased entirely in full plate barding, the whole thing painted a chilling blood red. But something was wrong. Proportionally, he was much longer than any pony I’d met. The neck, especially, seemed more elongated and J-shaped. What was even more bizarre was the armour had a large, convex extension at the top of his barrel, almost as though compensating for a hunched back.
The helmet turned toward the window, baring the artificial fangs of its timberwolf theme at me. I started back, a mistake before I even realized what I was doing.
With ungodly speed, the figure was already through the door, smashing it open with the force of an enraged yak. It was then that I realized how wrong I’d been about the air. A burning sense of fear flooded my nostrils, overwhelming my senses. I wanted to turn tail and run, but the smell held my legs in place.
A hollow, booming voice echoed out of the helmet and through the woods, no doubt crushing any smaller creatures in its path. “I have you now, necromancer!”
Instinctively, my body fell into a combat stance.
“Oh?” The armoured stallion tilted his head. “What’s this? A pegasus? Ah… You’re his quarry.”
I stared back, trying to watch for any sudden movement. Mostly, I was just trying not to throw up.
“Not much for talk, huh? And small, too. Hmph.” He settled into a deceptively light combat stance of his own. “In that case, come. Show me what it is about you that scares the great Moss the Paladin.”
This foe was beyond me, no questions asked. My eyes darted around, looking for something, anything to get me out of this. A rock at my hooves, a half-dead tree just back to the right of my flank. All I had to do was something brazenly stupid.
I rushed forward, swinging my wingblade at as extreme a range as I could, almost jumping back as I attacked. It was a good thing that I did, for no sooner had my blade glanced uselessly off of his chest, than his forehooves came, shaking the ground with a force that would have turned my chest into horse rib stew. And if that didn’t do it, the follow-up tail lash into buck would almost certainly have done so.
Backstepping as quickly as I could, I half-spun, making a show of things. Screaming at the top of my lungs so that my nerves couldn’t drag my voice down into nothingness, I yelled, “Ignis Shadow Bolt!”
WIth that, I kicked the rock as hard as I could toward his face. He brought one forehoof up and for a second, I thought I caught a glimpse of some kind of rune engraved on his bracer. There was no time to think about that, though, as I finished spinning, jumping up and buffeting myself back toward the tree.
The rock deflected harmlessly off of the side of his boot, but by then I was already gone. Ignoring the branches as they clawed at my face, body and wings, I powered through, breaking the canopy and into the open sky.
In fact, I burst through with such fervour, that I nearly flipped myself over and back down toward doom. Taking only a second to steady myself, I flapped as hard as my poor heart would let me.
A laugh boomed up from the forest below. “Run, little filly, run!”