//------------------------------// // XX - Crying over Spilled Secrets // Story: A Beginner's Guide to Heroism // by LoyalLiar //------------------------------// XX Crying over Spilled Secrets “Please wake up.  Um... sir, could you… could you please?” I let out a small groan and a yawn, both quiet enough to have to fight with the crackling of the fireplace to be heard.  “Mortal Coil,” I mumbled out, as my vision wormed its way into something resembling focus. The mare who had spoken to me was a silken white pegasus, with a face that was at once strikingly beautiful and piercingly sharp.  I’m sure you’ve met the type—there’s a certain degree of ‘no nonsense’ personality that starts to show in lowered brow lines and tight lips.  Most such ponies tend to be short-tempered and aggressively postured, but the mare who stood in the doorway waking me struck me mostly as melancholy.  Her eyes barely met mine, but it didn’t seem to be out of shyness; she didn’t retreat when I stood up or walked toward her.  Instead, she seemed distant, absorbed in thought as her eyes drilled down onto whatever particular secrets were held in the heavy stone bricks beneath her hooves. I took the liberty of extending a hoof to the beautiful mare; the motion seemed to finally shake her from her stupor, and she stared at the proffered appendage.   “Yes?” “Forgive me.”  I swept my foreleg across my own chest, doing my best to gracefully recover from the lack of her own hoof.  I gave a short, sharp bow.  “Like I said, I’m Mortal Coil.  You can call me Morty; all of my friends do.” “Morty?”  She cocked her head for a moment, and then nodded.  “You’re the wizard Gale mentioned.  I see.  Blizzard.” “Is that your name?” The young mare nodded shortly.  “It is.  Oh, um, I don’t have a nickname.  I’m sorry.” That struck me as an odd thing to say, but I shrugged it off. “Believe me, Blizzard is a beautiful name—and in that way, it fits you.” Blizzard seemed to lock up.  At first, I was afraid I had somehow offended her—though I really did mean the compliment.  It took me only a few moments, however, to realize something perhaps far worse.  Blizzard had no idea how to reply to such a comment, as made clear by the obvious blush spreading over her cheeks, standing out from her pale coat like rose petals on snow. “I’m sorry, Blizzard; I—” My speaking seemed to have broken the spell.  She shook her head as she interrupted me.  “Don’t be.  It was… nice.” I gave her a genuine smile and warned myself not to offer further compliments if they were likely to make her so obviously uncomfortable.  “Well, I’m curious, Blizzard.  What got you looking for me?” “Hmm?  Oh, yes.  Breakfast.” The word conjured a rumbling in my belly, clearly indicating just how tired I had grown of bear hardtack and potatoes.  A castle’s breakfast seemed like just the solution.  “Please, Blizzard, lead the way.” Her wing draped over my back came as an unexpected, if pleasant, surprise. A nearly empty throne room often has an imposing or reverent quality.  The same, however, cannot really be said for a dining room. Burning Hearth’s grand dining room had a beautifully polished wooden table built to seat at least two hundred ponies.  Near the head of the elaborate furniture, something like twelve ponies were eating.  The huge majority of them were foals, all younger than Gale and myself.  I took note that somepony had found Graargh a seat, and that Angel was living up to his name, hovering over the little cub’s shoulder as he played with a similarly aged pegasus. I took a quick count of the five foals, and then turned to Blizzard.  “Are they all your siblings?” She nodded tersely.  “Maelstrom, Sirocco—” “I hope I don’t sound rude, Blizzard, but you can save your breath.  I won’t remember, and I’m terrible with foals anyway.” “Oh.”  Blizzard led me toward a pair of empty seats near the head of the table, where Cyclone sat beside Gale and Tempest.  “But you get along fine with the bear cub?” “That’s…”  I hesitated for a moment.  “Graargh is complicated.” Blizzard seemed content to leave it at that.  As we approached our seats, I watched Gale’s magic drag over a plate of fruit and sweetbreads.  Within a second she attacked the bounty. Further to her right, Tempest quietly and hesitantly consumed his own breakfast, though I suspect his focus on the food was less for fear of arsenic syrup, and more because it meant he wasn’t looking up at his uncle. As I slid into my seat, Cyclone looked up from his plate of some dish I didn’t recognize, smelling of salt and a dozen scents I couldn’t recall.  “Good morning, Morty.  I see Blizzard was able to track you down.  Good morning, daughter.” “Good morning, Father.” Blizzard’s reply wasn’t any more forceful than the rest of her quiet words, but somehow the room briefly felt colder than the eternal blizzard roaring outside the castle. I coughed heavily into my hoof mostly for show, and then put on my best charming diplomatic smile.  “Thank you for your hospitality… um…”  I took a few good seconds to think, and then finally admitted defeat. “Forgive me, Cyclone, I’m afraid I don’t know what you use for a title.” On my left side, Blizzard whispered to me.  “It’s Tsar.” “Ah.  Then you’ll have to forgive me again, as I don’t speak Cirran.  What’s a ‘tsar’?” Cyclone growled, and then sat upright in his chair.  “Hold your tongue, Blizzard.” Blizzard turned her head away from her father and lowered her gaze.  Apparently satisfied, Cyclone returned his attention to me.  “Before Cirra fell to the griffons, we were ruled by a line of emperors.  Whenever an emperor ascended the throne in Stratopolis, the old capital, he would take the name ‘Haysar’.  When we fought the griffons in the Red Cloud War, that title fell to my father, and he tolerated it for as long as he held Stratopolis.  But when we fled Dioda, father left that title behind.” “Gale actually told me about the ‘Haysar’ title.  No emperor without an empire?” Cyclone cocked his formidably bushy brow.  “My father’s words, almost to the letter. He still had an army, but the empire was gone.  So when I was old enough to fight to take it back, and stupid enough to believe I was doing the right thing, I called myself Haysar.  It was… political.  But it stuck, even after I failed.  As for the short ‘Tsar’, it comes from the dragons.  Their language has no word for ‘emperor’, and ‘tsar’ is what came out of trying to get a reptilian tongue to speak old Cirran.” Gale looked up from her food opposite me and donned as much of a grin as she could muster.  “At least it’s not something dumb like ‘Commander Secundus’ or whatever.” Cyclone raised a brow.  “Cirran titles may lack the distinct touches of unicorn naming, but the army they produce is far more organized.  Hasn’t Typhoon ever explained that to you?” Gale rolled her eyes.  “Don’t remind me. I’m going to have to put up with her ranting at me for a year.  Hopefully she’ll at least pull the icicle out of her ass first.”  My traveling companion rolled her eyes again and drained back a sizeable gulp of water, making a show of washing the bitter thought out of her mouth. To my amusement, Tempest brought his wing over his mouth, concealing a notable laugh at his mother’s expense.  Cyclone, however, seemed nothing so much as confused.  The behemoth sat back in his dining chair and cocked a brow.  “So Typhoon finally learned some discipline?” “Learned some discipline?”  Tempest swallowed whatever he had been chewing.  “Gale’s… kind of right about Mom.  Are you saying she didn’t use to be so… rigorous?” Cyclone snorted another of his muffled laughs.  “I was the ‘rigorous’ one when we were foals, Tempest.  Your mother had a habit of skipping Father’s lessons on rhetoric to go out stunt flying.” Gale spit out her drink in shock.  My first reaction at being assaulted by a deluge of the covert Equestrian heir’s spit-water was to fling up a dueling shield.  And, for want of more time to think, I chose Brineheart’s Buffeting Bulwark.  While gathering all distributed attacks against one’s person and flinging them back in a single mass at the assailant is a useful quality in actual combat, I suspect Gale wasn’t terribly appreciative when her water returned in a roughly hoof-sized and hoof-shaped mass that proceeded to punch her in the face with enough force to flip her elaborate dining chair onto its back. “Gale!” virtually everyone in the room shouted.  “I’m so sorry!” I added. “I’m…” Gale groaned out as we all started awkwardly removing ourselves from the elaborate dining chairs.  “I’m fine.  Sorry.  Ow.”  With a hoof, Gale waved away Tempest’s help, and then slowly rose to her hooves.  “Seriously, though, what the hell was that?” I coughed into my hoof.  “Brineheart’s Buffeting Bulward.  It’s a pretty standard dueling shield for protecting against attacks from acids or alchemical bombs or those sorts of threats.  And since you were the source of the ‘attack’, the spell returned your water to you forcefully.” “Thanks.”  Gale groaned as her horn lit up and picked up her chair.  I held my tongue at the sight of the sizeable bruise forming over her right eye.  “I didn’t need depth perception here anyway.” Blizzard stretched out a wing to her own goblet of water.  Spreading out from where her feather touched the water’s surface, a visible frost appeared.  Moments later, upending the goblet, she produced a small block of ice.  “Here, Gale.  Wrap this in a napkin and hold it over your eye.  That should keep the swelling down.” After a moment or two of silence, the table returned to our respective meals.  Cyclone looked up at Gale and Tempest.  “As I was saying, when we were foals, Typhoon was a free spirit.  Always anxious and energetic; you could hardly get her to sit still.  She loved to train at fighting and formations, but any time anypony sat her down with a book or a lecture, she was out the window the second their back was turned.  I was the ‘disciplined’ one.” Tempest looked down at his food.  “I wish I could have known Mom back then.” I placed a hoof as gently as I could on the table while still producing a noise.  “If I could make a suggestion, I propose we find a topic other than family history.”  Nopony objected, in part because I didn’t give them any time to.  “Cyclone, seeing as you’re at least the de facto ruler of River Rock, I feel I should ask: do you have an court mage?” Cyclone shrugged.  “I know very little of unicorn titles.  What is a ‘court mage’?” I smiled.  “Mages are trained basically the same as any other artisan trade.  Apprentices study under direct mentorship, and are then released as journeymages to travel the world as horns for hire, studying magic and defending cities from magical threats and monsters.  When a journeymage has enough reputation, they petition the noble or ruler of their choice for sponsorship, are assigned to a piece of land to guard, and become a fully-fledged mage.  Mages are given a small stipend from their sponsor, but mostly make a living producing research and enchanted tools on commission, though they are obligated to answer the call if a monster threatens their lands—that’s the important task a mage performs in society.  A mage’s magical research is important to them for one reason, though: their thesis.  A mage can submit a thesis to their peers and their archmage, and if the archmage and the majority of peers accept it, the mage earns the title of wizard.” “So ‘mage’ and ‘wizard’ aren’t just different words for unicorns who study magic?” Tempest asked, leaning forward. “Even we use the titles interchangeably most of the time..  The difference between a mage and a wizard just isn’t helpful.  The only title worth using is archmage.” Cyclone nodded.  “And what does that title imply?” I smiled.  “In simple terms, it’s somepony who leads other mages.  An archmage is assigned to what we call a ‘seat’—almost always a major city, whose citizens and surrounding land that pony is responsible for defending magically .  There are a finite number of archmage seats.  And due to some history we probably don’t care about right now, the rules of being an archmage are simple: you duel for the position.” Cyclone nodded.  “Encouraging combative skill makes sense, given that the position is ultimately for military defense.” “That’s the general idea.  Archmages aren’t allowed to ‘turn down’ a challenge.  If you’re challenged, you either fight, or you give up your title to the challenger outright.  We call yielding your title ‘the Complacency of the Learned’, because way back when, there were a lot of archmages who got the title of archmage as a means of earning a stipend from the crown.  Then they sat back and studied magic instead of making themselves skilled at fighting monsters.  When monsters did arrive, those archmages were powerless to defend their wards.” “Huh.” Tempest nodded.  “And you said there was a ‘court mage’ earlier?” “Yes.  A court mage is just the archmage whose seat is the capital of a nation.  They usually have more political clout and influence over the other archmages of their kingdom, and they tend to be the absolute best of the best.  A long time ago, before the Diamond Kingdom was united in River Rock, there used to be a lot of court mages.  One for every kingdom or noble house.  In more recent history, we only have two: Star Swirl the Bearded, formerly here but now presumably in Everfree City, and my mentor Wintershimmer the Complacent from Crystal Union City.” “And now there is only one, if I understand correctly.”  Cyclone steepled his hooves.  “I met Wintershimmer several times during my father’s campaigns against the crystal barbarians under Halite.  Though he was not a pleasant pony, the stability he brought to the crystals will be sorely missed.” I couldn’t help but cock my head.  “You survived meeting Wintershimmer on the battlefield?  He didn’t just kill you?” “I only met him over the negotiating table.  He never participated in Halite’s raids on the Diamond Kingdoms.  And by the time we met, Star Swirl had fashioned father’s black armor.  It is covered in crushed void crystal, which means it made him immune to magic.  Wintershimmer knew if he killed me, father would come for him, personally.” “We know what void crystal is, Cyclone.”  Gale rolled her eyes.  “Morty’s ex wears one around her neck.” Blizzard looked at me incredulously.  “…Did you really date a crystal pony?” “That’s where I grew up,” I explained.  “There weren’t very many ‘squishy’ mares around.  But no, I didn’t actually date her.  How do I put this politically?”  I didn’t actually pause.  “Obviously, I’m incredibly handsome even by normal unicorn standards, but to a crystal, that goes to another level.  Having a non-crystal partner is a sort of a status symbol, on account of their cultural…”  I let the phrase trail off. Cyclone was unburdened by anything resembling political tact.  “Kidnapping and rape?” “Well, I wasn’t going to be that blunt, but that is the general idea.  The only emotion Silhouette— the mare Gale mentioned—feels for me is loathing.  She’s in denial, pretending that we could still someday be ‘nemeses with benefits’.” “Silhouette?” Cyclone asked, leaning forward.  “I feel like I know that name.” I shrugged.  “She’s the leader of the crystal army, but seeing as your family killed the last six or eight of her predecessors, I wouldn’t worry too much.  She’s my age, and she’s never led a real battle.” “I see.”  Cyclone nodded. “You say that, Morty, but she packs a hell of a punch.”  Gale rubbed the growing bruise on her brow as if it had come from the crystal mare instead of a spit take gone horribly wrong.  “I can see why you wouldn’t want to fuck that.” Cyclone turned toward Gale in a display of minor disbelief, and Blizzard blushed under her pale coat.  I coughed pointedly.  “Even violence aside, I don’t want the first thing to do with her.  Or any crystal mare, for that matter.”  A small silence settled in the room, and it took me a moment to realize that, outside the context of the society I had grown up in, such a statement sounded incredibly racist.  “Er, you see, they’re… how do I put this diplomatically?”  I tapped a hoof to my chin twice before words came to mind.  “Crystal mares aren’t just hard and shiny on the outside.” To my amusement, Cyclone winced.  Blizzard likewise pinched her wings together in visible discomfort. Tempest, however, rolled his eyes and leaned forward.  “You’re exaggerating, Morty.” I looked him square in the eyes.  “Your funeral, Tempest.” The pegasus donned a lopsided grin and answered me briskly.  “I hear there’s a necromancer I can talk to for that.” “Never in the bedroom.” Gale helpfully chimed in.  “Oh, he’s just trying to be sociable.  The truth is, he complains about real mares.  He likes it cold, and clammy, and—” Tempest stood up, flaring his wings in what was clearly a display of shock.  “Möbius, you actually slept with her? I tried to warn you.” “I didn’t—!” Cyclone rose more slowly, but much more ominously.  “That was not wise, necromancer.” I shrugged slowly, mostly hoping that taking time with the motion would calm the room.  “I swear I didn’t, but I understand the concern.  I’m well dressed, I’m handsome, I’m cunning… yeah, I could probably find my way into bed with the princess.  But that doesn’t mean I actually did.  Just that I could.” I got the silence I wanted, but as it settled across the room, I began to sense something was very wrong. My gaze swept from Cyclone to Tempest to Blizzard, all of whom were staring back in a potent combination of incredulity and shock. I only realized what I had said when Gale spoke.  “You knew?”  She sounded hurt.  Her words felt hollow, ephemeral. I realized all at once what was happening.  She thought I didn’t know.  I tried to protest.  To tell her I didn’t know, or maybe that I didn’t care.  To tell her about the archmage of Lübuck.  To tell her anything.  And, in a sense, I did. The problem was that all those words came out at once.  I won’t even try to record the stuttering, incomprehensible mess.  I’m sure you were all sixteen or so and romantically confused once. Gale stared back at me, quietly. I forced in a slow breath and found my Equiish.  “Gale, I didn’t mean… I wasn’t trying to…”  I hesitated.  “...to sleep with you.” “Don’t be such a little chicken shit, Morty.  You wanted to fuck me because I’m your in to Everfree City, so you can be important again.  And if you can’t even look me in the eye to say that, you can fuck right off.” “I didn’t know, Gale.  I swear, I only found out in Lübuck.” “Is that fucking so?” Gale asked, with more calm than her word choice would otherwise imply.  I found myself wishing she would shout. “Gale, listen to me—” She spoke over me.  “You know, part of me can’t blame you.  With all the fucking suitors, I shouldn’t be surprised this is about politics.” “I thought you were just some noble, not—” “Celestia, fuck!” Her hoof slammed against the table and her goblet of water spilled.  “Do you not fucking get it, asshole?” I stood up myself.  “You honestly think this is about politics?  Believe me, Gale, I can do better.  If I really wanted to sleep my way into power, I’d go for the seated queen, not some foul-mouthed illegitimate runaway.” Almost immediately, I realized what I’d spit out, but it was too late to recant.  Gale adopted that strange, regal posture I’d seen from her in dealing with the bears. “Enjoy the rest of your life, Mortal.”  The formal accent bit into me, despite the lack of spiteful emphasis or intonation.  Without hesitation, she turned away from the table. I tried to take a step toward her, only for a very heavy hoof to force me down into my seat.  I’d forgotten Cyclone was there until I saw him glaring into my eyes.  “Leave her be.” Outside of Cyclone’s reach, several seats down, Graargh outright leapt onto the table.  Clumsy paws and heavy claws sent plates and goblets scattering as the little cub rush down the smooth wooden surface.  At last, he jumped over an empty chair, just managing to meet Gale at the doors out of the dining room.  “Gale, not go!” I don’t know what Gale said in reply; she spoke in a whisper a room’s length away.  All I know is that as the doors closed behind her, Graargh crumpled into tears. I did my best to stand up, which mattered approximately nothing to Cyclone’s brute strength.  His hoof continued to pin me.  “Blizzard, take the bear cub to his room.” “Let me deal with him,” I snapped at Cyclone.  “For Celestia’s sake, let me go.” Blizzard remained seated, listening closely. Cyclone must have seen in my eyes that I meant to chase after Gale.  I doubt it was a hard guess to make.  “Gale made it perfectly clear that she no longer wishes you to be present.  I’m inclined to agree with her.” I could hear the anger in Cyclone’s almost tectonic voice, crackling like a bonfire.  “Leave her be for now.  In fact, if you intend to keep your head attached to your shoulders, leave her be forever.” “Says the pony who killed her grandfather,” I spat back. “Oh...” Blizzard whispered beside me, barely audibly.  When I gave her a short glance, her focus was locked firmly on her father, and she shrunk down in her seat. My attention was likewise pulled back when Cyclone’s good wing rose from my his chair and burst into flames.  “You would be wise to hold your tongue about things you don’t understand, Morty.” I swallowed hard, but I couldn’t restrain the words that fought their way up through my throat.  “You think I should follow your example?  Follow up on a mistake by avoiding her the rest of my life instead of fixing it?” The fire grew taller.  “You don’t know me, colt.” “You’re not complicated, and I’m smart.  It’s not hard to put things together.  You sit in a huge empty castle, but you haven’t done anything to fix the place.  You let ponies call you by a title they meant to make fun of you.  Three quarters of our conversation has been comparing you to your father.” “Morty…” Blizzard told me, tapping me on the shoulder. “Oh, right.  And given that your frankly beautiful daughter was confused by my compliment on her appearance, and didn’t know what to do when I offered her a hoof, I’d say you’re a repressive, if not outright abusive father.” Cyclone’s anger finally reached its breaking point.  Waving his wing in my direction, he sent a wall of fire rolling over the table. He hadn’t meant to hurt me, even with that.  He meant to make me feel threatened.  I refused.  Somewhat more forcefully than I intended, I leaned back in my chair.  The heavy woodwork cracked against the floor and I tumbled to a shaky stand near the dining room wall.  My horn ignited in blue.  “I’m going to fix this, Cyclone.” “You are going to leave River Rock and never return,” he answered, standing up to his full, dominating height. Blizzard rushed to his side, perhaps ready to protest. Without even looking at her, he swatted his daughter aside with a wing.  She collapsed painfully when her back struck the table.  Tempest briefly moved to help her, but hesitated when he realized how close that would bring him to his uncle. Cyclone brought his wing forward slowly, building a very visible ball of flame that slowly shifted from an untamed orange toward an almost blinding white.  With every step forward, I felt the heat grow. I gritted my teeth, held my ground, and let the magic in my horn build.  The words were familiar, but the sudden rush of power that followed was new.  “Do you feel that, Cyclone?  That chill at the base of your neck?” Cyclone stopped abruptly. “Morty, what are you doing?!” Tempest shouted. I ignored the protest, keeping my eyes locked on Cyclone’s.  “That’s my magic, wrapped around your soul.”  There I was, some runaway-turned-vigilante, and I had the conqueror of River Rock at my complete mercy.  In the moment, I couldn’t help but grin.  “If you threaten me again, I will snuff you like a candle.” Cyclone was silent, but his enormous shoulders heaved. “Let’s all just walk away,” Tempest advised, still cautiously keeping his distance from both of us.  “Nopony wants to get anypony killed here.” Cyclone stood, holding his flame and waiting.  I quietly wondered if he was honestly going to test me. Then, to my own dismay, I felt my magical grip failing—partly perhaps from the sheer volume of magic Cyclone himself was using, but mostly due to my own limited mana.  There was the twinge in my horn, the familiar pull of fatigue.  I could kill Cyclone, easily, but I couldn’t keep up the threat forever.  Even in that moment, it was hard to keep my grip.  I could feel his magic, scalding to my horn despite the physical distance between the two, rising up from his soul to push me away. Reluctantly, I let the spell fizzle away. The flaming behemoth reached out a wing, and just as I feared the white flame would burn me, it vanished with a hiss and a curl of smoke.  With heavy steps that rang off the floor, he moved forward to stare down at me. “You have one hour to leave River Rock alive.”