//------------------------------// // Fire, Terror, and Strength // Story: Hunter's Path // by SwordTune //------------------------------// Fiora walked confidently toward the gate of the village. Her armor was still damp in some places, but on the outside no pony could tell she had been involved with the Sunken Sow. The guards at took one glance at her--wings, horns, and all--and let her pass into the village. They needed a monster hunter, that much was certain. The main road of the village followed its wall, circling the houses with a single road running to the center where a small stone fortress stood, surrounded by an additional wooden compound. Most houses were short and built from sod, stone, and branches. The only thing keeping each thing warm enough to brace the snowfall were the fireplaces. Each denizen was hard at work; mares and children weaved carpets of plant fibers and clothes from cotton, and stallions chopped firewood, hammered nails, and hauled hay into the barns. Leering eyes followed Fiora all the way to the inner keep of the village. She suspected they were wondering if she had anything to do with Sharp Tone, who was likely imprisoned by now. Outsiders thought monster hunters were all part of the same group, working with each other like soldiers in an army or doctors in a hospital. It was true of course in this case, but that still didn't change the fact that she only knew a few hunters by name. "Hold!" shouted the guard at the entrance of the keep. Fiora noted that his armor was marked blue, like the flags flying over the warehouses by the docks. "Where'd you come from?" "Had some trouble south. Been working my way north." A hunter fleeing Bach Kha'morhgen wouldn't be a hard story to sell, nor would it be entirely false. She did face some trouble from the commander, after all. The guard nodded and pointed to her saddle. "First you'll have to surrender your sword. You'll have it back once Admiral Windred finds you a contract." "And if I find my choices unsuitable?" she asked. "Then you'll have them when you leave," answered the guard. Fiora knew his accent. His vowels was close to something of a northern accent, but his other letters were not, particularly his "d's" which sounded like "t's". He waved to one of the guards inside, gesturing to Fiora to be taken to the Admiral. It was clear to Fiora they were taking measures to make their presence in the village unnoticed, and though the banners waving inside the keep were blue, the equipment was not of the grade expected from a village blacksmith. Dozens of apprentices inside polished plates of armor and sharpened ax heads. Further away she heard the twang of crank bows firing their bolts into hay targets. Other signs of the occupying force became noticeable as she was guided to the Admiral's quarters in the center of the keep. Furs were piled up and being made into cloaks and lining chest plates. Northern garrisons knew the pattern of the seasons, and would have had winter armor prepared by this point. The guard escorting her held up a hoof. "Wait here while I tell the Admiral." He hurried into the stone building. Small and only slightly higher than the wooden walls of the keep, the Admiral's quarters included a large rectangular ground floor. Two floors were stacked above, on one side, making it look like a misshapen "L." The guard returned, and Fiora was slightly surprised by the Admiral's appearance. He wore chain armor that draped over his body, reinforced with leather squares on the tail guard, peytral, and crupper. His helmet was painted black and accented with gold while its crinet was leather covered in more chainmail. Looking around, the solid chest plates of his soldiers and their full plated peytrals--looking like steel curtains covering their chest and forelegs--were better equipment. Why was he armored in just leather and chainmail, then? "My soldiers tell me you're from the South Coast?" he approached, extending his hoof. "I am," she told him bluntly, accepting the hoof shake. "Enjoying our lovely weather?" He laughed, but Fiora's purple eyes narrowed in judgement. He said our like he was a native, but he pronounced his "v's" as they did in the High Mountain Kingdom, like "f's". It confirmed her suspicions that they didn't want neighboring lands to catch wind of their occupation. "You'd be surprised," she replied easily, "there aren't any swamps around here. Can't say the same for the South Coast." The Admiral huffed, pleased with the response. "I'll admit, you've come at a busy time for us." He gestured around to the armorers hastily lining their armor with fur. "I'm shocked, really," remarked Fiora, looking up at the snow falling. "Winter comes months early this far up north. Though you'd be prepared by now." She listened for betraying signs of stress in his voice, but the Admiral spoke confidently. "It has been difficult hunting for pelts, and trade rarely comes from Tundra poachers. Their ports have been frozen for two months now." "Monsters in the forest?" she asked. That was the only reason poachers ever turned away from rich pelts of fattened hibernating animals. "One, specifically," he answered, unrolling a paper from a pouch that hung off the side of his chainmail, describing the contract and its problem. "We've yet to identify the monster. The survivors are still shaken by whatever they saw, but if you think you should question them, they are in the infirmary." He pointed to his right to a longhouse built from sturdy pine wood. Nurses and doctors moved in an out swiftly, wiping clean saws and scalpels and removing those not in immediate danger. The Admiral turned to the guard that brought Fiora in and ordered her to accompany her to the infirmary if she asked. Then, he looked back at her. "I know it's typical to haggle with a Monster Hunter, but I hope you understand the village has been short on hooves lately. War has choked us of many essential resources." "Of course. I think I'd like to speak to the survivors of the monster's attacks." She followed the guard but kept her eye out for anywhere big enough to hold prisoners. No matter what the Admiral said, she saw his ships at the port unloading an army's worth of foodstuff into the warehouses. Perhaps if some travelers or an independent merchant wandered through the village they would not notice, but Fiora would not be fooled by the High Mountain's officers. She marked most of the places with her mind. One hut cooked meat for hounds and boiled vegetables for the troops. Another held a forge with glowing unsharpened blades. There were the barracks and arrow stores, and tailoring workshops. But one building, behind the Admiral's quarters, saw no traffic. No ponies went in or out with supplies, yet two guards stood at its door tirelessly. Sharp Tone and Navier were in there, as well as the rest of the surviving crew. There was no chance she'd be able to stage a rescue for them in such a crowded keep. She'd need a distraction if she hoped to reach them. The guard waited at the door of the infirmary while she checked on the survivors herself. She asked one of the nurses, but they saw her and just pointed to three stallions lying on beds in the far most corner of the room. She walked around the center table where bloody rags, whiskey, and knives were all laid out for the doctors. She passed and approached the three. One was deeply asleep, recovering from a large bloody gash in his chest. The doctors had worked hard, but even though his bandages stopped the bleeding it was unlikely he'd live long. The the other two were shaken and in a better condition, but barely. One's arm was tied to makeshift stint, while the other had poultices over his entire left side to soothe his burns. She couldn't help but ask. "What happened to you three?" The burned one looked her in the eyes. "Red demons dancing eyes, in his eyes, red dancing always. The beast, the beast, prancing forest beast always." "He saw it first hoof," interpreted the crippled soldier. "Whatever it was, it burned him before he could run away. I followed the sound of his voice, but it was fast. All I saw was a red eye before it crushed my damn foreleg." "What were you doing in the woods?" Fiora continued to inquire. "We weren't the first victims of the beast," he answered. "A couple farmers, loggers, and children. We were sent to track it down, but we only knew it fled deep into the forest after each attack." "Dances in red flames!" the burned one hissed, like a horrible secret not to be mentioned. "To run, to die, all same. All same. Care not want not the beast want want." "Uh," Fiora looked to the other soldier for a clue. He simply shrugged. "The gist of it is that the monster's one bad bastard. But you already guessed that." "Where were you attacked?" Again, to Fiora's frustration, he shrugged. "I'm not a hunter, and I don't know the woods well." He pointed to the burned pony and the one asleep. "They knew, but the monster did something to both their minds. My friend here has been out for two days, and the other..." The burned pony jumped at his shadow flickering in the candlelight. "I could calm his mind with a simple charm," Fiora offered. "He'd be docile for an hour or two, and hopefully answer more coherently." The cripple's lips curled back into a snarl. "For the love of--he's had enough of your monsters and magics and curses, and you want to play witchcraft on him?" He barked at one of the nurses. "This mutant doesn't belong in the infirmary! If you ask me, she ought to go in the kennels." Fiora tried to explain what the spell would do, but her sentences were cut off before they could start by two insistent nurses who tried to push her away. Fiora decided it was hopeless to get them to understand, and showed herself out of the infirmary and let the staff return to carrying for the other soldiers. She though back to the houses outside the keep. Most were just peasants, but they still must have had some herbs for medicine. With any luck, she could purchase enough to brew some potions. With the gold from Bovinus, that was very likely at the bottom of the sea. Now it was her turn to scowl. "I want my sword back," she told the guard, walking toward the keep's gate with him trailing behind. "I'll need to find where they were attacked. Could give clues on what I'm hunting." "Absolutely," answered the soldier, either eager to be free of escorting a mutant, or to be free of whatever monster terrorized the village. ============================================================= Fiora scanned for signs of her suspect. Fire, terror, and immense power were the tools of the monster. It could have been an athahck, but fire ruled out that possibility. Basilisks too, since none of their species lived this far north. A hadyhosh fit the description better, save for the aggressive nature. However, the burned survivor made mention of a demon, which was remotely possible. Flame demons preferred warm weather, but it wasn't a requirement for living. She was stuck with a decision, whether to assume one or the other. A hadyhosh was a bull-like monster and behaved like an animal, albeit a very deadly one. It was more predictable than any kind of flame demon. Demons did not make nests or dens, nor did some need to hunt. The pit of Tartarus was a nation of demons itself. Higher demons commanded armies of their lesser kin, and those that were sent to terrorize ponies could be well-provisioned with magical energy and dried meats. They used tactics, adapting to the monster hunters they faced, while a hadyhosh did not. She checked the branches of the trees. A flame demon's body heat would have left charred marks on the branches it moved on, but there were no such marks. Droppings helped clear the possibilities. They were large, or used to be anyways, before being flattened by wide, heavy hooves. But near the scat were deep gashes into the tree trunks. They were scorched at the edges, and while the hadyhosh was capable of generating fire, it did not have claws. "Deeper in, then," Fiora muttered. She was already in the thick of it, where poachers all turned back, but saw more of the same confusing evidence. It was possible a higher demon could have used magic to alter its droppings, to throw off pursuers. But it was unlikely it'd make monster dung to confuse regular ponies, even if they were High Mountain soldiers. There was also sign of vegetation being eaten as she closed in on the center of the woods. After a mile, more bushes and mosses looked half-eaten. Like a bull or cow, a hadyhosh was an herbivore, and spent most of its days grazing. Finally Fiora got her answer. It hit her like a gust of frozen wind. The stench of the beast, thick with sweat and musk, choked the air. Fiora pulled a wet root from the small pouch on the side of her armor and chewed on it. It was just a common root, ulderkstem the locals called it. Plenty grew on the forest floor, and its bitter taste clogged up Fiora's nose from the worse-smelling odor of the hadyhosh. Though an herbivore, hadyhoshes were extremely defensive after generations of being hunted for their magical horns. Their bodies were of blackish-brown fur, with burning red eyes that radiated a latent spell of intimidation. That, combined with being triple the size of a typical stallion, meant it eliminated most of its enemies by charging over them while they stood paralyzed with fear. As if that weren't enough, it emitted fire using magic, spewing it from its horns and all over its flame retardant coat. Going near a hadyhosh was just as risky as running away from its petrifying charge. Her steps were measure with care. If unprovoked, she could find its den and land a critical first strike on its neck and have a better chance at killing it. She'd also have time to think about how she was going to rescue her friends come nightfall. A raging cry from about a hundred meters away took away her optimism. The monster was fast, and covered a hundred meters in seconds, but Fiora's reaction speed was faster. She spread her wings and jumped, just reaching high enough to hang from a branch while the hadyhosh barreled below her. She dropped, slashing down at the hindquarters of the monster. Its hide wasn't any more protective than that of a typical bull's, but this one was old and may times her size. She charged a ball of energy in her horn and ejected it at the hadyhosh as it turned to face her, knocking it back before it could gain strong footing. Fiora's only chance to end the fight quickly was to panic it with unrelenting pressure from her own attacks. She slashed at its head, forelegs, and neck, tearing apart muscle and sinew but hitting nothing vital. She was forced to retreat a few steps when the hadyhosh teetered back and erupted into flames. Its horns were fiery red from its magic, coating the flames all over its body. It leveled its horns and charged, tearing across the trees in its way. Fiora crouched, surrounding herself in a barrier of magic and tripping the beast as it shattered her shield. She sent another spell to its head, blurring its vision with a confusion charm. It streamed to spouts of fire from its horns, but missed wildly. Fiora danced around its thrashing, throwing a cut at its tendons when she could. It kicked once she stepped too close to its rear, sending her meters across the forest until she hit a tree. Her dragon scale armor was strong but flexible, and did little to soften the impact. But the hadyhosh was charging and she had no choice but to roll on the ground out of its way. Fiora clenched her teeth, feeling a broken rib moving around at her side, but the pain would be nothing if the hadyhosh landed its horns on her. It went for her again, but she blast three shock waves from her horn, throwing the monster off its path and into a tree. It's head went wild, shaking off the broken branches in search of its target. Fiora crawled back slowly. She couldn't swing her sword right. Landing on the tree damaged her wing, so she resorted to levitating it. The monster turned, but before it could bear its horns at Fiora again, she lunched her sword forward through the air, penetrating its exposed neck. The beast reared and howled with pain, shaking itself around to throw off the biting blade. Its night silver edges cut into the fire magic that covered its skin, denying the magic any hold and reducing the flames. Snow trickled into water where the beast trampled, ensuring no fires spread. But the hadyhosh showed no sign of slowing down. Instead, it made for the deepest parts of the forest, leaving a trail of slushy snow in its wake. Fiora groaned and quickly sat down on a tree the monster had snapped. She felt inside herself, moving the broken rib around with magic until it felt like it was in the right place. Fighting had turned it the wrong way, and she needed to fix it before it punctured any organs. Even with magic in her system speeding up her healing, it'd be days before her wings and rib showed signs of recovery. Her magic helped, but it couldn't work miracles like Geiss. Still, staying would mean certain death. The hadyhosh wasn't the only monster in the woods, that was for sure, and she needed her sword back. She had hoped her sword would sever a major blood vessel and kill it quickly, not let it run off to the center of the forest. Fiora forced herself to walk, keeping her focus on her rib. She levitated some snow up to her side, alleviating some pain, but she also held the cracked bone in place when she needed to maneuver through the forest's uneven ground. Blood and wide hoof prints were easy to track. Even as snow fell over the monster's trail, the heat it left behind melted the snow, and would continue to do so for the hour. She eventually came across a camp. The campfire was extinguished but still warm. It was small, and in the poor weather the smoke it would have made when it was burning would have been unnoticeable. There was food lying around as well, abandoned mid-meal by the looks of it. Butter spread over cold cornbread sat on plates made from woven tree bark, and carrot stored in baskets. "Who could be living out here?" Fiora looked around for tracks. Snow was thrown around to cover hoof tracks, but she could still see the bends and cracks in the tree branches where they had climbed to disappear. She could still hear them, even as they tried to ambush her. Should she threaten them? She could still use magic but she wasn't in any condition to fight, even it they were just ponies. No, she looked around, keeping the guise of a confused hunter. She had the element of surprise. Twang! And then her magic was flaring, forming a barrier in the air that burst the crank bow bolt into tiny pieces. More shots came from the trees, but though she couldn't see them through the leaves, her hearing was enhanced with her magic. She honed in on the sound and fired a series of energy bolts to meet them mid-air. Soldiers around her yelled out a battle cry. "And so the plot thickens," she complained to herself. High Mountain troops were notorious for their discipline, and often attacked by sneaking on the enemy in the night. No pony has ever heard a High Mountain battle cry because there wasn't one. So, she wondered, who were these fighters? She forced herself to turn and face the first stallion to reach her, blasting him back with a ball of force from her horn. He tumbled back, crashing into his comrades. Another leaped off a tree, but she shot him back with the same spell. Now the attackers began to soften their voices. The shriek of bloodthirsty warriors chilled ponies to the bone. Every soldier, even the most disciplined High Mountain commander, dreaded the sound of suicidal fighters. But monster hunters were not soldiers. What sound could curdle blood more than a snarl from a High Fiend, or the taunt of an amull? Injured and missing a sword, Fiora treated their shouts like the blowing of a breeze, and the attackers considered their movements carefully. Three marched forward with a spear aimed at her chest. She winced at her ribs, but stepped forward before they thrust. She levitated a dagger from one of them and stabbed him in the throat, slashing the shoulder of another. The third readied his spear again. The dagger met his eye. The click of a reloading crank bow was followed by a bolt's whistling. A young stallion with a heavy ax ran at Fiora. She curved a blast of energy from her horn, directing the bolt on a new path into the stallion's chest. She side stepped, avoiding a sword swing behind her. Whoever he was, she had him turned into a smoldering corpse the next second. "You idiots, stop fighting!" Fiora turned her head at the mare's voice that rang through the trees. She recognized it. But one fighter, young and fueled by adrenaline, kept his attack. His mace swung, striking a barrier of magic throwing him back. "I said stop fighting!" shouted the voice one more time. Fiora was certain her voice was familiar, but only when the commander revealed himself did she realize who had spoken. Their leader, or who she assumed was their leader, wore a coat of plate with a single bear pelt draped over it, making up his flanchard, peytral, and crupper. Though he didn't possess the same muscular bulk as his fighters, his muscles were sharply defined, the result of rigorous training. Following him was a medic, wearing an apron with herbs and powders and bandages. She had spoken. "I can't believe this is where you found yourself," Fiora marveled. Silver Drop smiled. "Stole the words out of my mouth, Monster Hunter." It had been nearly two months since they met at that crossing between Midshore and the South Coast. Silver Drop was an excellent herbalist and had the makings of an excellent surgeon. Fiora wondered what could have brought her here, far from any medical college. "It seems this Monster Hunter is acquainted with one of our own," said the leader, interrupting their Fiora's exchange with Silver Drop. "Forgive me, hunter, if I was skeptical at first. It was your blade that injured our secret weapon, after all." Fiora's brows nearly touched as she tried to comprehend what he had just said. Their weapon? The hadyhosh she fought was maddened attacking before provoked. How could they of all ponies control a monster like that? "Didn't seem much like a weapon," she replied, keeping her gaze on Silver Drop. "Controlled chaos at most." "Either way, it suits our purpose," he insisted, waving his fighters to pull back into the forest. "It seems we have a lot to discuss. I don't suppose the name Stranglethorn means anything to you?" Fiora's purple glare widened. "How do you-" "She mentioned a special hunter," he supplied. "One I 'could not miss,' to quote her words. Please follow, I'm sure you'd want some answers for a change. And I need your help." He waved to Silver Drop. "No doubt our weapon has left its mark. You'll want to tend to her injuries, I'm sure." "That's understating it," Silver Drop muttered. She rushed to the camp and put her hoof around Fiora. "You shouldn't be moving with your wings like that. And your rib, is it broken?" Fiora's grunting as they walked was an answer enough. She shook her head at her fool hardiness. "You'll be relieved once we reach our camp." ============================================================= The camp was situated at the base of a mountain range, where the pressing of the mountains on each other opened a small cave system to hide the guerrilla fighters. Silver Drop pulled Fiora to the side of the cave entrance where a pot of water boiled over a fire with knives, tongs, and other medical tools were being cleaned. The fighters that had attacked Fiora shuffled quietly into the hideout. Fiora followed them with her eyes. Deeper in the cave, she saw what the leader meant when he said the hadyhosh was their weapon. A massive steel cage surrounded by scorched bowls and plates lay in full view of the camp. "That could never work," Fiora commented while Silver Drop ground up a mixture of herbs with a mortar and pestle. "How do you calm it?" Silver looked at the cage and chuckled. "Amazing right? Everseeds, they're called. It's actually why I came out here." Fiora looked at her. "What do you mean?" "Well, it wasn't easy finding a college that would take me," she explained as she mixed the herbs in a flask of alcohol. "I went further inland to Neighagra City, by the falls. Have you been?" "Once," Fiora said, "to clear a wyvern nest." "Well, there certainly aren't any wyverns there now," Silver continued, "But thanks to the falls there are a lot of medicinal plants there, and the city has some of the finest schools of medicine. But the none of the surgeons there would teach me, at least not without certain favors in exchange. Only one asked for something reasonable." She reached into her apron and produced a bag of black seeds. "They're called everseeds because they never grow unless near powerful magic. They can be made into a magic-absorbing powder when crushed and is useful at keeping the monster docile. They're only found in these woods, and Doctor Viventi asked me to bring him samples of it to prove my dedication." "How'd that turn out?" Fiora asked. She threw the bag of seeds on the ground. "Those soldiers garrisoned in Faersbaerc was how it turned out. I arrived a month ago, and they immediately ordered me to work for them as a nurse as soon as one of their soldiers heard me say I was trying to get into a medical college." She turned to the leader. "Aeduard can give you the whole story. All I know is that he defected with the rest of his fighters, and took me along to treat the wounded." "Not going back?" She didn't see any reason for her to stay in the north. Silver Drop laughed. "I'm finally at the edge of the war. I know you know that those troops in Faersbaerc aren't locals. The High Mountain's here, somehow, and I'm doing my part to help." They both turned. Aeduard had finished speaking to his fighters, and by the look on his face, Fiora guessed it wasn't a good talk. He sat by the fire, drawing a long sip from a flask of vodka. "Couldn't help but overhear. Miss Drop's helped us greatly. Some of my stallions are still alive because of her." "Don't doubt it," Fiora told him. "But what are you trying to accomplish?" He tilted his head and waved a hoof at all the things around him. "Is it not obvious? We're fighting for our land back. Our homes, our families, those mean something to us." "You don't sound native." Fiora noted his accent back at the camp. His some consonants and vowels held some sense of a northern accent, but for the most part he sounded just like one of the soldiers garrisoned at the village. "Silver Drop said you defected, meaning you're from the High Mountain." "Trained by them, hence the accent" he corrected her. "A year ago the lord of our land was at war with another further north. We didn't know for what reason, we just kept fighting and dying. Then officers from the High Mountain arrived and promised to train and provision our stallions if we promised to overthrow the lord. So we did. Look forward a few months later and we were all wearing High Mountain armor and trading with their merchants." "Sounds lucrative," Fiora added. Aeduard's brown eyes narrowed, but his pause was short. "We didn't know the merchants were secretly buying up our food. The officers they sent oversaw the trade and sold more than we would ever allow. When winter came last year, we only had enough grain for two thirds of the village. When we threatened to warn the rest of the far coast, that's when a division of their infantry marched in and took our land." Fiora understood now what the High Mountain's war strategy was. Fighting on the river border between their kingdom and the Far Coast was a distraction. The High Mountain king wanted to annex the lords one by one, colonizing the Far Coast so it would fight for him. It happened with the lord near Bach Kha'mohrgen. But that revolt was spoken of throughout the Far Coast, according to Navier. "Didn't know the lord of these parts was gone," Fiora said. "Strange that I didn't hear about it." "You think I'm lying?" Aeduard remarked, though he didn't seem surprised. "I suppose down south you don't hear much. But there's a good reason you haven't heard from us: the lord's not gone. He's very much alive, and equally as much a puppet for the High Mountain king. In return for his life he poses as a lord while High Mountain generals make all the decisions." "Decisions like over-taxing on food?" Fiora replied. "I see why you're so motivated now. But I still don't know what Stranglethorn has to do with all this." He looked to somewhere inside the cave, then turned to Silver Drop. "Can she walk?" "I'd prefer if she didn't, but she's been doing more than walking lately." Silver Drop swirled her tonic mixture around. "Anyways, it'll be a while before the herbs infuse with the vodka, so she has time." Aeduard nodded and rose up, beckoning Fiora to follow. They paced slowly to a makeshift armory deeper in the cave, where a stallion was hard at work repairing some leather straps. His part of the cave was marked by boxes of furs, chestpieces, and steel plates. A fire lit the center of all the equipment, neighbored by two tanning racks for the furs. "Where is the package from our supporter?" he asked him. The armorer broke his attention from his worktable and and walked across the armory, rummaging through his tools and supplied until he found a saddlebag. Tied to it was an envelope with a black wax seal of Bovinus. "This arrived a week ago, with a letter from Stranglethorn," explained Aeduard. "She told us she found some pony who could get us what we needed to take back out village and spread the insurgency." Fiora opened the saddlebag. Inside were satchels filled with ingredients for hunter potions and bombs, including organs harvested from monsters. There were two glass canisters filled with night silver dust, and small coin pouch of a hundred or so gold coins. "So you were expecting me, but still attacked?" Fiora asked, looking over to the fighters she had injured, and the bodies of the ones she killed. "My apologies, but not every fighter knows how we plan to free our village, nor how we plan to keep the Far Coast safe." Aeduard sighed. "The patrol was surprised to find our beast injured, and thought you were a High Mountain soldier. They didn't know." Fiora gently reached for the bag and slung it on the back of her armor. "Please, allow me," said the armorer, moving for the straps of the bag and adjusting them so it firmly on her back. "Easy, a broken rib needs space," she told him, and almost immediately he corrected the straps and the pressure washed away. "So, why me? Hunters are skilled, sure, but I'm no insurgent." She shifted her wait, making sure the saddlebag was properly in place. "We received the monster from Stranglethorn some six months ago." He pointed to the cage. "It came in that. I don't know how she got it to us, and frankly I do not care. We've been keeping it drowsy in the cave and provoking it with polished copper mirrors, but we can't direct it at the village walls." Fiora's eyes widened. "The hadyhosh is going to be a siege weapon? "A distraction." Aeduard beckoned Fiora over to the weapon racks, away from the armorer's workstation. Pikes and swords were piled up, but many had snapped shafts and chipped edges. It didn't matter how many they rallied to fight. They didn't have the equipment to mount a counter-offensive. Why Stranglethorn would spend so much to support an insurgent group was beyond Fiora's guesses, and she bet Aeduard knew the same. She'd have to ask the mare face to face for an answer to that curiosity. But it didn't matter why she did it. The fact was Stranglethorn had tasked her niece with securing her cargo, a job she knew the young mare was too inexperienced to do. Thesa would never admit to being inept, but she turned to Fiora because she didn't have the experience to haggle with mercenaries. And it was all just to force Fiora into a conflict with the High Mountain. "We need more equipment from the south," he said. "What we had was enough to flee the Admiral's troops, but no more." "But Stranglethorn's been shipping weapons for months, hasn't she?" Fiora thought back to the message she found when she cleared out a warehouse in Bovinus. The Sunken Sow wasn't the only ship bearing weapons, and Fiora knew that a single ship couldn't smuggle enough to equip an army. "Where's the rest?" "With the cargo of the Sunken Sow." He marched across to a candlelit table on the other side of the cave, where a ledger sat listing a number of shipments. Fiora spied what was written. The ledger counted how many fighters did not have proper weapons, how many bolts could be used a day to last a winter of fighting, and so on. But it all hinged on having the weapons that were shipped. "Stranglethorn sent us the hadosh when the first shipment was raided by the Admiral's ships," Aeduard said while flipping through the list of everything that was lost. "Now we need it more than ever. Any longer and the High Mountain's general can just march their armies over us." "Hadyhosh," Fiora corrected him. "Whatever you call it, we need it to be our weapon," Aeduard replied. "Will you help us or not?" Fiora touched her ribs. That, and her wings, wouldn't be a problem in a day once she brewed a healing potion with the supplies that were prepared for her. Quite honestly, she didn't care for the High Mountain, but she wasn't about to go to war with them over past grievances. Still, the hadyhosh could certainly demolish the walls surrounding both the village and its keep. Even with a battalion ready to fight, she doubted they could take down the beast. "Why not just release it near the village?" she asked. Aeduard answered with his shoulder, pulling back his armor and revealing a scar where a crank bow bolt had penetrated. "Scouts and archers have spotted us when whenever we near. We struggle just to fight them. There's no chance we can provoke the monster before we're all killed." Fiora raised a brow, feeling a plan in her mind hatching. "But I'm not one of you. And, they did pay me to bring it back." It could save the crew and Sharp Tone.