The Blue-Eyed Beast

by Mr Anomalous

Sic Admodum Frigus

The ice had had to become his friend a long time ago, despite the magic of his city-state Princedom. He had to learn to let it become his companion—it let him know he was alive.

And so, he sucked the icy air in, letting it scortch his lungs and plant icelings inside. His magic radiated a smattering of heat, but it only mixed with the cold.

Thankfully, atop the old stone outpost, while it was cold and the wind was blowing, it was not a vicious blizzard, and most within a mile or so was easily visible.

Shining Armor drew in another deep breath. There's another thing that cold and wind could do: nothing else purified the air so thourougly. It sifted away the smell of the cheap tobacco, the even cheaper whiskeys, the smoke from fires built with rotten, moldy wood, and—most thankfully—the damnable body odor emenating from the dozen some-odd other stallions about him: sleeping, reading, guarding, playing games. . . .

It was a good thing that this outpost was so far up north that it could not really be of much use. So Shining wasn't too harsh with them.

"Silver," he said, his voice slighlty raspy.

"Yessir?" responded a cool-mannered and soft-voiced pony, his armor clean and pristine.

"Everything appears to be in order. I'd advise a little more activity, though—few and weak though they are, there are a few renegades up here." Shining sniffed again. "And I'll get some soap shipped up here."

Silver Blade saluted smartly and Shining did so back at him. The straw scattered about the stone floor muffled his armored hooves as he left, saluting at least four more times. He was ready to return home; today was starting to make his bones creak. Unfortunately, it wasn't quite over yet.

Shining's ears piqued and then swivled about: the voices atop the tower became louder and were traced with elements of alarm. Shining spun about and hurried back up the narrow staircase, the stone echoing his urgent steps.

"Silver!" he barked, "What's going on?"

Silver gestured out into the wind at one particular snow bank. Behind it, lights were shooting. Magic, no doubt, but it didn't look unicorn.

"Soldiers!" Silver said, keeping his voice level, "Keep your eyes on that snow. Steel, Snow, Dawn, Starlight, Oak, Tome; you all come with me. Check your armor."

Shining stayed atop the tower, his eyes narrow and his chinstrap tightened. Odd but a tad convieneient that something like this should happen. He was about to see how disciplined the troops up here really were. Looking around him, things looked impressive.

Good soap, he thought and better ale.

Amidst all his thinking, Shining kept the front of his thoughts and his attention on the incident down below. The seven armored stallions, spears and hammers trained, briskly clomped and stomped to the blue and purple lights. Shining could not see everything, but he could see enough.

This, any trained and experienced captain, one who had actually fought in a war, was not a good assumption to make, as Shining was about to find out.

The lights, though they had been dimming, suddenly flashed and grew hundredfold. Not enough to blind anyone, but more than enough to stun him. Shining squinted, his mind racing, and leaned forward. All seven of them. On the snow.

"All of you, come with me!" Shining bellowed.

The Prince of the Crystal Empire galloped downward, out the heavy door, and into the outside world, a rabble of colts and stallions behind him. They sped forward and encircled the bank. Shining leaned over, only to see: nothing. No lights, no magic, and no enemies. A few of the other stallions rushed forward and checked their comrades.

All alive; just stunned.

"Stay on guard!" Shining called, cursing under his breath.

He heard another noise, this time coming from the tower: the door, it'd been slammed shut.

Shining cast his startled eyes around. All thirteen tower stallions were outside.

Shining saw a shadow in one of the tower's windows.

"In the outpost!" he bellowed, and the stallions rushed back, Shining cursing all the while.

"Silver," he said when they returned, "can you unlock this?"

"It's barred from the inside," he said, "We'll have to find another way."

This was shaping up to be a swell afternoon.

- - -

Phelora overturned a table, spilling candle wax and coins, and rolled it down the stairs, followed by at least three barrles full of something wretched-smelling. She held her knife tightly, pulling her silks and furs tighter.

"Vorra burn it all," she spat, "This is not where I wanted to go!"

And just what where those creatures! Four-legged demons with white flesh, clad in golden armor and plumed helmets! Phelora began murmering to herself and making wards. She did not even know if Vorra had power in this new world, but faith was not a thing to abandon just now.

A chest joined the growing pile of wood on the door, and Phelora managed to calm herself. She then realized that the noise from below had stopped. She growled and looked left, right. . . .

She backed into a room—the highest on the tower—and glared at the main window. For some daft reason, it had no shudders. A nearby braizer and her clothing managed to help warm here, but burn it all it was still cold, far colder than before she had stepped into the Wound.

She spat onto the stone and remained alert. The creatures may not mean her harm, but assumptions were stupid. Though, perhaps she should have been quieter in claiming the tower.

Phelora, her eyes darting from the open window and back, took in her immediate surrounding in snatches. Chests, a table, barrles, a weapon rack . . . ah, there's something useful: a map.

Phelora lingered in the doorway to the room for another second before dashing to the paper on the wall.

Careful not to damage it too much, she swiped it off the wall and stuffed it into her side pack. She then withdrew a crystal from that same bag and held it ready. She scolded herself; her actions were a tad too erratic. Not as random and ill-thought-out as her foes-for-now, though. A shadow flitted up and Phelora tracked it. Too slowly, she soon discovered, as a blast of burning light burned the fridgid air, flying though the gap that lead to the white outside and striking her shoulder.

It was unpleasant.

The air left her lungs and she fell backwards into a nearby chair. He shoulder felt an exquisite sort of burn, one she'd never felt before. It was hot and cold at the same time, really, and it tingled. Phelora found her mind wandering.

"Bloody ashes," she mumbled and stood back up. Another shadow came, but she didn't follow it. No blast of light.

Just what in the name of the Three Suns was she to do?

Author's Note:

Yes yes; if you're a follower I know what you're thinking: What the Hell are you doing!? You have . . . ten some-odd other stories you should be finishing! This is true. But I do what I want!!