//------------------------------// // 4. The Twin Goddesses: Part 7. The Journey West // Story: The Wanderer of the North // by Alaxsxaq //------------------------------// 4. The Twin Goddesses: Part 7. The Journey West Damp. A light drizzle patted his mane; it never ceased in the North. It was always either cloudy or raining here in this wild country. The gloom, the grey, the cold…it all wracked his joints. He was getting too old for this sort of weather. The soft earth was cleaved in two by the plow he dragged from his collar; the only noise on this somber day. The orange stallion hardened himself; just a little more land to plow and sow, then he could return inside and warm by the fire. Strong legs continued the strenuous work, quite accustomed after over a century. Henarion periodically sputtered his lips, removing the excess water trailing from his head. The rain felt harder; soon it’d become an actual downpour. The weather was too wild up north; to fly out and clear the clouds would only last so long before more blew in. “To have been born on that sunlit southern shore…,” the alicorn groaned. An ear perked up, detecting a few voices from a nearby hill. He scanned his eyes and saw three figures rising, three alicorns like him. They approached, one white and tall and one dark blue, while the middle pony possessed both traits. Henarion’s mood lit up and he hailed them with a warm smile. They galloped forth, meeting a number of feet apart from one another. The middle alicorn, the eldest, raised his hoof, “Henarion! My friend! I hope you didn’t do all the best chores while we were gone!” “Oh I saved your favorite tasks, Maiëlindir.” The two stallions approached and embraced like the brothers they had come to be. Henarion then turned to Nikól and Taby, laden with goods in their saddlebags, “You girls find anything interesting down there?” “Yes Uncle!” Nikól chimed, levitating out a small paper wrapper, “Lots and lots of sugar!” Henarion chuckled; that sweet tooth of hers! Little Taby spoke next, pulling out some sort of stringed instrument. “It’s called a ‘Lyre’. See,” she demonstrated by magically plucking the strings, with no sense of harmony or rhythm whatsoever. She blushed and put it back in the bag, “I’m…still practicing.” Maiëlindir laughed and came between his daughters, “Alright now, girls, put away your things and come back out here. Henarion deserves a rest.” “No no, I’m fine. I need my exercise,” said Henarion, dragging that plow with a refreshed spirit. “You’re still young! Go out and enjoy it for once.” A magenta aura glowed around the plow and it was lifted off Henarion, and Maiëlindir saddled it on. As the midnight stallion picked up where Henarion had stopped, the door to the nearby cottage creaked open. Out stepped a slim and beautiful white alicorn, her straight mane a pretty red. She carried with her a tray with a pitcher of hot juice made from berries. The mare smiled and called out, “Maiëlindir! Don’t you start working before you’ve had something to drink!” Like a reprimanded colt, Maiëlindir shed the plow and cantered to his wife, levitating up the tray before swooping her up and planting a passionate kiss on her lips. “Eserindil, I missed you.” She giggled and straightened her mane, “Not in front of the girls.” Nikóleva rolled her eyes. “Father, really?” she teased before taking a cup of juice. “Well Ithink Papa is being very sweet,” Taby then hugged and kissed her mother, “I missed you as well.” Henarion looked at the family and smiled, admiring such love and purity. He stood like a stranger, so far away from them; they needed their space—he was simply their guardian. But then all four of their faces turned to him, and their hooves gestured for the orange alicorn to join in. He started to, but a paralyzing throbbing in his flank seized up his leg. And it would not go away…it only got worse. The cawing of crows filled the air, swarms of them darting from the trees. A fierce wind picked up; the rain became heavier. The sound of sinister thunder echoed; dark clouds rolled in overhead. The air grew cold, wisps of breath escaping Henarion’s snout. The five alicorns looked around, a dreadful panic taking hold of each. They huddled together in a circle as the rain froze into snow. Soon drifts a foot deep surrounded them. Burning shadows then flashed into existence, creeping across the cruel snow. A dim chorus of screams and shouts buzzed in Henarion’s ears, and he lost focus as the first shadows closed in on Eserindil. She wailed and thrashed, the brightness draining from her coat. Soon complete and utter darkness ensnared her and the cottage. A final distorted scream signaled her leaving. Henarion began to breathe heavily, almost uncontrollably. He tried to run towards the others, but his damn leg…and the snow caught every step and held it in place. No matter how fast he tried to gallop, he felt restrained—constricted. Maiëlindir and his daughters drew weapons, and fought the shadows. Metal clanked against each other, but the shades could not be touched. Henarion helplessly watch the three fight valiantly, but soon they were overwhelmed. A glowing red blade erupted from Maiëlindir’s chest, and he fell to the snow convulsing as his life poured out in a crimson cascade. He growled and raged, but he was dying. Henarion fell to his knees and screamed, but the shadows kept up their vicious onslaught. Black tendrils curled around Nikóleva’s body, their sharp ends stabbing into her eyes while they restrained her limbs. She flapped her wide wings like a trapped bird, finally ceasing once the tendrils had filled her insides. And little Taby, all alone and frightened for her life, simply had the light around her fade, feeling herself just…disappear. Her teal eyes stung with tears, and she began to cry out, “Henarion! Please…I need you!” He ran. He ran as fast as his old legs could take him. Yet he came no closer. Taby was now on the ground, freezing in the snow as more of her body vanished. She shook with sobs, voice quivering, “Please…please…they’re coming for me…the dogs…I feel cold…so…cold…” “No…no no no, Taby! You’ll be safe, I’ll be there!” he shouted as loud as he could, but the darkness only grew, and she became smaller and smaller. “Please…I’m afraid…I’m scared of the dark…” Taberanyn’s voice shrank ever quieter. “Hold on! I’ll light a candle; I’ll keep it lit all through the night, just like I used to.” “You…can’t…” she now spoke in a faint rasp, “You failed…now the bloodline is gone…” The last of her dissipated into blackness, Henarion left in a world of total dark. “No…no…” Henarion panted, panicking…, his wards, the ponies he’d sworn to protect, and grown to love immensely—gone. A dull silver light forced him onto his back, and then an alicorn shape emerged. Wrinkled, pale white, and almost skeletal, it loomed high over Henarion, eyes nothing more than sunken pits of fear and despair. “You lost…there is nothing more for you,” it spoke, voice an infernal composite of the four ponies he’d just witnessed be devoured by shadow. “You didn’t deserve our love…you don’t deserve anything.” The aberration approached, the air around it icy and cruel, “Your one task…your one purpose…now you can do nothing but fade away like the rest of them.” Henarion cowered, broken and defeated. The emaciated equine came closer, face twisting into a vile grin, “But to disappear with us…that would be mercy. You will linger on, for you cannot atone; we are gone now. You shall never know peace. Welcome to…eternity.” A thousand ages flashed across his eyes, the agony of it all too much to bear. A heavy stream of tears trailing down his cheeks, Henarion wailed for reprieve, for solace…for mercy. But this was his fate. The invisible ground gave way, and he began plummeting unending leagues below. He tried to open his wings, but they were constrained. Unable to do anything…even scream or close his eyes now, Henarion trembled in a terror few poor miserable souls have ever been cursed to know. A sharp jolt stirred him from slumber, hunched over his bed and heaving in a cold sweat. He felt his heart pound as few times before, unable to get enough breath. Mouth dry, he swallowed the lump in his throat and looked around the room he was in. Bed…side tables…door…curtains; he was in his home. He brought a hoof up to the right side of his face—still no eye. He looked to his left, finding the sleeping form of Primrose. She stirred and creaked open an eye, immediately becoming filled with concern. She pulled the blanket off herself and rose, placing her pink hoof along her husband’s aged face. “Was it that dream again?” she cooed. Henarion placed his larger hoof over hers and nodded slowly. He then let out one last quivering breath and wiped his good eye. Jittering his body, he leapt out of bed, “Come! We’re already up; let’s start the day.” Henarion gave a forced smile in the hopes his wife wouldn’t see through it. She always could, but responded in kind and placed her hooves on the wooden floor. Stretching her wings, she cantered out of the room, “You wake Eldowas; I shall start breakfast.” As Primrose ran off to the kitchen, Henarion opened the door to the other bedroom, trying his best to ignore the squeaking hinges. Inside he found a room with a bed on either side, a small table between them just below the window. The right bed was empty; Taberanyn used to sleep there. Henarion spared a longing glance at it before focusing his attention on the left bed. A small lump rested underneath the blanket, lightly rising and lowering. Henarion approached and gently placed a hoof on the sleeping body. A small wiggle and the colt awoke. Wiping his eyes, the young alicorn groaned, “Papa…good morning…” His father grinned, heart warmed at the sight of something so precious. He placed his hoof on his son’s messy aqua mane and ruffled it further, “Morning, Boy! Now get up; time to eat and get ready to work.” Henarion’s blue aura enveloped his colt, and he placed Eldowas on his back, trotting into the kitchen. The wood stove was crackling while Primrose tended to a pan sizzling with potatoes and green vegetables. The two alicorns then sat around the table and allowed Primrose to give them a plate of food once she’d finished. After saying their morning prayer, the family dug in. Eldowas immediately re-energized with that first bite, and dominated breakfast by recounting his vivid dream. He and Lord Vale had been brave knights, facing a shimmering black dragon who was holding a fair maiden captive. In his dream, Eldowas imagined himself a fully-grown alicorn, and flew Vale on his back to the dragon’s head. Both plunged their great swords into the beast’s skull, vanquishing the fiend. It fell from the mountaintop, while the two friends saved the damsel. Eldowas had woken up right as he and Vale set out for further adventure. Henarion laughed at this, remarking “You’ve been paying too close attention to your Aunt Nikól’s stories, eh?” The colt nodded then proceeded to ask his father about his dreams. Henarion nearly choked on his food, and then replied with a quick “Nothing special.” After breakfast, Primrose and Henarion cleaned up their kitchen, while Eldowas tried to rush outside and play. His mother though chomped down on his tail and dragged him in. “You’re not going anywhere until you’ve been preened.” Primrose then took his feathers and ran her teeth down their length to straighten them out. Eldowas was too young to do it himself, but hopefully in the next few years that would change. Eldowas squirmed and grunted, forcing his mother to grab hold of each feather several different times before it could be preened. Soon though she opted to press her hoof down on his neck, holding the poor colt on the floor. He still fluttered his wings just as ferociously, but Primrose made do. Now cleaned, Eldowas ran out of the home, his father trailing behind. Before he was allowed to play, however, the boy was to shadow and assist his father in performing the various chores homestead upkeep demanded. Without Taberanyn the light blue colt needed to shoulder some of the work. Eldowas was still very young, and did not have the strength or fortitude for many of the more demanding tasks, but he had his part. Firstly, Henarion had to repair a section of the fence. This job though didn’t really have anything Eldowas could do, so he couldn’t for the life of him figure out why he was supposed to simply stand there and watch. As Henarion drove in heavy logs to form the palisade, his son became distracted and chased after a passing butterfly. Wiping his brow, Henarion lost sight of the colt and groaned as he had to go off looking for him. Eldowas was found behind a bush, letting an inchworm crawl over his foreleg. Magically dragged out and carried back to the fence, Henarion sat him on a rock, “I told you: when we are finished, then you can play.” Eldowas sighed and crossed his forelegs, slouching on that lonely stone. He watched the incredibly dull spectacle of his father digging holes, plunging logs into the holes, and then covering them up. Sometimes, though, Henarion readjusted the palisade, ensuring the height and sturdiness were correct. Riveting. Once that was finally finished, Eldowas was led to the barn and given a sack of grain. Donning a plow Henarion trudged down the field they were going to sow this year and tilled the soft earth. Eldowas followed behind, placing seeds in the ground before covering it up. All the while he sported an annoyed and impatient face. Once that was done, Eldowas then had to give the animals proper feed. Then he had to defoliate the trees his father dragged from the nearby woods and chopped into firewood. At last, the chores were finished for today. It was a little past midday; all that time left for the colt to play. Henarion had been watching him the whole time, and felt the most cherished pony in his life deserved some entertainment. The old alicorn galloped towards Eldowas and scooped him up onto his back, the colt giggling the time. “Faster, Papa!” he shouted, and Henarion obliged. “Better hang on, boy!” Eldowas wrapped his hooves around his father’s neck as the stallion spread his wings and took off, curving upwards into the air rather gracefully for a two hundred-year-old pony. Eldowas screamed and laughed in utter jubilance so high above the ground. He grew so excited that he then flailed out his forehooves, feeling the cool air rushing past his mane and feathers. This was a mistake, and before the colt knew it he had been blown off his father’s back. Flipping through the air and careening down to the ground, Eldowas panicked and squealed for help. Although to such a young pony it felt like forever, only a few seconds had passed before Henarion pitched downwards, catching his son effortlessly in his hooves. “What’d I tell ya?” Henarion said, not truly upset; Eldowas was never in any danger. “I wanna fly too, Papa! How long before I can?” Henarion had slowed his flapping, and now lightly cruised through the air on his back, holding Eldowas on his chest like an otter. He tapped a hoof on his chin, “Tough to say. Your Aunt Nikól got real big wings when she was young; took her years to grow into ‘em. Taby’s though were small until she was…fifteen? She couldn’t do so much as hover until then.” Eldowas fluttered his tiny feathery nubs vigorously, but they did nothing more than buzz. Henarion chuckled and stroked his son’s mane, “When you’re grown like me, you’ll be one of the best flyers!” “And you’ll teach me! I bet one day I’ll be able to beat even Aunty Nikól in a race!” the colt boasted, a confident shimmer in his eyes. A mare’s laughed flew in along the wind. Henarion immediately perked up and spotted two other alicorns and a pegasus soaring closer. Eldowas noticed the three and grinned wide. He then squirmed and leapt free from his father’s grip, bounding forward a hundred feet above the ground. “Aunt Taby!” he yelled, the arc of his jump taking him directly to the darker alicorn. Taberanyn’s eyes bulged and she opened her forelegs to catch the manic colt. His mother yelped, heart stopping for what felt like the entirety of his leap. Naturally, Eldowas giggled the whole time, caught in Taby’s embrace as though no other outcome could have happened. “You’ve got to be more careful,” she said after several labored breaths. Once everypony had gotten over the shock, Primrose flew to her husband and rammed a hoof into his chest, “I told you to make sure you’re holding him tightly!” Henarion said nothing in reply; only winced in embarrassment. Nikóleva began to chuckle, but was silenced the moment Henarion focused his stare on her. The white mare cleared her throat, “Why don’t we land back down?” Once their hooves were all on solid ground, Henarion looked back at his home and spotted two earth ponies dressed in armor chatting by the entrance. He gave Nikóleva a glance. “Are you ready?” she asked her Uncle with a low tone. Husband and wife looked at one another, exchanging faces of sadness. Henarion then nodded, “Let me get my things.” Eldowas hopped off Taberanyn’s back and looked up at his father, eyebrow raised. “Where are you going, Papa?” The stallion knelt, eye level with Eldowas. “Your aunts are traveling to a faraway place. I must go with them to ensure their safety. I’ll be back, though, as soon as I can. Can you look after our home until then?” he asked with a hoof on the back of his son’s head. The colt thought for a moment, eyes moving back and forth before finally fixing onto Henarion. “Yes Papa! I’ll build the fence, and feed the animals, and plant the seeds!” The father brought the son into his embrace and gave a loving kiss to his forehead. “That’s my boy.” Henarion then rose up and set out for the house, Nikóleva joining his side. “Here,” she began, pointing her hoof at the two earth ponies near the door, “Are bodyguards the Prince insisted we bring over. That,” she motioned to the cream-colored mare on the left, “Is Almond Bright, and that,” she said regarding the emerald stallion, “Is Hemlock.” Nikóleva raised her hoof and lightly directed Primrose forward, “They will help with whatever chores you need them to do. And defend the homestead should it come under any attack, God forbid.” Hemlock cleared his throat and puffed out his respectable chest, “We are at your complete service, Mistress Primrose.” “Rest assured; we are members of the Prince’s personal guard, and we shall execute our duties here with the same diligence,” Almond Bright added with total deference. Primrose acknowledged them with a welcoming grin before looking up at Wintermail, “Thank you, Nikól…” A hint of melancholy trailed from her voice. The Wintermail smiled and nodded. Henarion crept into the house and emerged a short time later wearing a saddle bag and cloak. Nikóleva spotted his old worn sword underneath the billowing garment and smirked, “I don’t think you’ll be needing that anymore.” Henarion responded with a confused look, then saw Nikóleva summon her yellow aura around his sword’s scabbard. Unstrapping it, she took it away and undid the clasp on the long sword she’d been wearing in addition to Eónadin. A face of mild anticipation and curiosity graced Henarion as he watched the newer blade being presented to him. After a moment he collected it in his magic and inspected the weapon. It was beautifully crafted—he’d give his niece that. The copper hilt had an antique feel to it, orange color catching sunlight in an exquisite way. And the jewel on the crossguard; he gazed into it with his blue eye. The aquamarine had been cut with a flat center face, lined by numerous smaller faces arranged like the lines of an iris. It seemed to stare back at him. Of course, the next thing Henarion did was draw the blade, fully appreciating the alicorn-sized sword. And he could not possibly have missed the distinctive pattern of the metal, or the etched message written in alicorn. Henarion could not read, alicorn or otherwise, and simply looked at Nikóleva. “It says ‘Thank You’.” She stepped forward, about to say more, but sighed and licked her lips. A couple more attempts to speak passed before she summoned her courage, “You’ve done a lot for me. I mean you…fed me, bandaged my wounds when I fell, kept me safe and warm, taught me how to run a home like this, put up with my foalish tantrums, and…cared for my sister when I turned my back on her. “I made this for you, because you, Henarion, are the unsung hero. Without you, and all you’ve done…Taby and I wouldn’t be around. You took such good care of us; only now do I realize that.” A moment of warm sentiment was shared by the two before Henarion turned to Eldowas. “Look! Nikól made this.” The blue colt appeared mesmerized by the weapon, something right out of the romantic stained-glass windows at Canterlot Castle. “One day, this’ll be yours” Eldowas beamed, but then slowly grew sadder. Limping towards his father, he brushed up against Henarion’s foreleg, “I’ll miss you, Papa.” Taberanyn watched the entire exchange, with particular attention paid to the alicorn foal. The vicious sting of a dagger bored into her heart, and the mare felt she could no longer hold her peace. This wasn’t right. “I do not think you should go. Uncle,” she blurted out, inviting the consternation of the other ponies. Taberanyn continued, “Don’t you think it’s time…to retire? To enjoy this easier, more peaceful life?” Before Henarion could think of anything to respond with, Primrose stepped up, “She’s right. I love you so much, Henarion, but you’re old, even for an alicorn.” She grasped the sides of his face, staring into his one eye, “You’re covered in scars; how many more can you receive before the final one? I couldn’t sleep well when you went off to fight at that vale. You’ve told me your nightmares.” Husband and wife stared at one another, tears forming in Primrose’s eyes, “Mine is having our son grow up without his father.” “I know,” Henarion sighed, “But you knew what could happen when you joined us, and when you married me. I’m an alicorn: we live long, but do not often grow old. We love peace, but only know war. It’s in our blood; it’s in Eldowas’ blood.” “But you can change that…enjoy the spring breezes, and the garden’s flowers. The soft chirping of crickets at night and the laughter of your child. You can put away the sword, and live by something else…and you can stop the nightmares.” Primrose now cradled her head in Henarion’s chest; she felt him shaking softly. “Before I met you, I thought I’d run the rest of my life, until my legs couldn’t carry me any further. Now…I know we can build a better home, because we’ve already done that. I will watch Eldowas grow up, and you and I will become grey together.” Henarion then took a look at his nieces, “But Taby and Nikól…I raised them as much as I am raising our son. They’re my girls as much as they were Maiëlindir’s. “I swore an oath. I swore it before even your great-grandparents were born, to a stallion the world has forgotten. But I still hold it close to my heart, and shall till the end of my days. When we return, I will do everything I do now, and more. But my place is with the Heirs of Solárindil as much as it is here.” Primrose looked up and wiped her eyes, nodding in acquiescence. Henarion leaned in and kissed his wife. Strapping his new sword on himself, he walked next to the royal sisters. Primrose called out, half-smiling half-crying, “You better come back soon; I want another foal!” The orange stallion froze and felt a hot flash wash over him. Taby and Nikól giggled while Eldowas lit up over the prospect of a younger sibling. “Then we shouldn’t waste any time!” he yelled. “Safe trip, Lady Stellara; Dame Wintermail! His Highness is counting on you both!” Hemlock the Bodyguard shouted. “Do not fret, Master Stronghoof! We shall have everything exactly as you left it!” Almond Bright promised, waving to the alicorns. Wintermail and Stellara waved back, whereas “Stronghoof” could not resist, “I hope not exactly! The vegetable garden is getting terrible weeds and the underbrush is too thick in my woods!” The stallion chuckled when the enthusiasm the loaned-out bodyguards displayed faded quite clearly. The three mature alicorns thus began their journey, trotting along the dirt pathway leading back to the main road. “Uncle…,” Taberanyn murmured. “We’ll be fine; what could possibly happen to me when I’m traveling with the Wintermail and Lady Stellara?” Stellara was mollified somewhat by this, and grew more confident about the business via a wink from her sister. Wintermail on the other hoof was hopeful about the endeavor, especially appreciating this new, less-dour Henarion. It’d take some days to reach the regions they were headed to, even if they flew much of the time. Now walking down the Canterlot road, lush trees lining either side, the memories of her previous travels returned to Wintermail. The land would become strange and barren westwards. And no doubt there’d be those prepared to arrest their enterprise by whatever means necessary. Wintermail grinned in anticipation: she’d reach her target with methods in kind. *――――――――――S――――――――――* Short blades of grass waved in the breeze, beads of dew sparkling in the low morning light. A clearing, wildflowers dotting the field, gave a respite from the thick forests of this region. The paved roadways of Canterlot had long disappeared; now only wilderness remained. Three adventurers trotted through the meadow, somewhere in the west border territory of Fillydelphia. These were the marchlands, poorly settled and fraught with thick woods and difficult swamps. Vicious animals lurked in the dark growth, all too often preying on travelers who knew little of what they had wandered into. This trio of alicorns, however, was not so unsuspecting. Armed and more than capable of staving off any would-be assailants, they nonetheless enjoyed the meadow’s calm. They had flown much of their way, soaring over the villages and hamlets of Canterlot’s Princedom. It had felt free and exhilarating; an alicorn felt as at home in the winds and clouds as they did on the rock and soil. But for all the amiability flying invited, even the most airborne of creatures must eventually rest on the ground. Flying was both a physically and magically exhaustive effort, and doing so continuously took its toll. Alicorns were large and heavy creatures; they had to walk at some point. Considerable distances could be spanned in the air, unencumbered with natural barriers like trees, hills and marshes; the remainder would be on hoof. When not airborne, Wintermail, Stellara, and their guardian Henarion could not simply stand around. They kept moving, through whatever obstacles presented themselves; there was no time to lose. The three only stopped to eat, make camp or sleep, traveling until the last of daylight disappeared and setting out when the sun broke the horizon. At this afternoon nearly two days had passed. Once past the marchlands, the trees would thin and eventually give way to the prairie. From there about a day’s journey to the city of Mareposa, now captured and under some foul use by foreign invaders. The alicorns traveled lightly, taking only the absolute necessities. They did not wear armor; too slow. The plan was to sneak into the city, find what they needed, and leave as fast as they could. Once Mareposa’s towers were visible—if they still stood—it’d be too risky to fly. A solid plan, all things considered. Yet one item concerned Lady Stellara, and as she trudged beside her sister the blue mare cleared her throat and asked one simple question: “Exactly what do we intend to find or bring back?” Wintermail felt the impact of the query like a brick; that was a good question. Did it have an answer? A captive? Some evidence of dark magic being used? A written letter from the leader of the Minotaurs? Wintermail chuckled at her last thought: a severed piece of this chaos god? After an excessively long prelude, she finally replied to her sister, “We’ll know when we see it.” Stellara was not satisfied with that, “What?? Are you telling me we’ve gone out here with only the vaguest idea of what we’re supposed to be doing?” “Calm down. We have to see it ourselves, gather some information, and if we can, bring back some evidence. We’re glorified scouts right now.” The blue alicorn rolled her teal eyes, “If I get killed, I will haunt you.” “Get in line,” Henarion quipped, bringing up the rear. The party was silent after this, now crossing into the thickest of the forest. Virgin, wild forests could be very dangerous. They teemed with carnivorous creatures and sometimes even plants, all against a background of ancient, undisturbed magic. Eónadin and Stellara’s new axe Nocadecoë cleared a pathway through low-lying vines and bushes. The light was dimmed through the net of branches; only the most rudimentary of paths had been rutted into the ground. Sounds of birds and beasts came from the trees every so often, but little disturbed the travelers. In fact Stellara enjoyed trees like these; dense undisturbed forests were completely common in the alicorn wilderness far to the north. But they were not here for pleasure. The mare continued clearing her way through the growth. Then, after slashing away another vine with her axe, Stellara noticed a cluster of trees with oddly shaped branches. She nudged her sister, “What do you suppose that is?” “Hmm?” Wintermail replied, looking at the spot Stellara had pointed her hoof at. It seemed as though a few trees bowed outwards, like something had bored a pathway through them. Upon further inspection, Wintermail realized the “tunnel” was of a large size, larger than most creatures that dwelt in these forests. In fact, only one could have made thirty-foot trees bend out like that. Her eyes widened and she took a battle stance. Henarion and Stellara noticed this, and responded likewise. The trio paused, listening to the sounds of the forest for any indication. “What’s going on?” Stellara asked, holding her sword and axe, ready to rip into whatever sorry beast tried to make a meal of her. “It’s hard to see, but those trees lead into a rocky bluff; there’s no doubt a cave within it.” Henarion backed up into a circle with the others, all facing outwards. “A dragon?” “A young one; maybe a hundred years or so. It’s not terribly big; neither is its hoard.” No sounds…it seemed the dragon was out hunting for treasure. Moments of silence passed until Stellara shrugged and sheathed her weapons, “I guess he’s not home. Let’s keep going.” A faint rustling quickly erupted into the swoosh of leathery wings and a scaly body. A green drake slithered from his abode through the trees until it landed mere feet in front of Stellara. Guard down, she was only a second late to draw when it slammed its clawed foot down on her, pinning the alicorn against the root-infested forest floor. She could easily draw a weapon and slash through the foot with her magic, but that was not necessary. Wintermail was there. And if any being were to spare an ounce of wisdom, it would be to understand that nothing was allowed to touch the white alicorn’s baby sister. Dame Wintermail Flamecaster felt a torrent of rage at Stellara’s yelp, her eyes flaring in a blinding flash of fury. Eónadin’s blade erupted in fire. Spreading her wings, Wintermail curled her hindlegs for the most aggressive leap she would ever muster. Another had beaten her to the fray, though. An orange blur impacted the dragon, knocking it onto its back. Henarion stood where the beast had been a moment before, heaving and badly bruised, his face clenched in a frightful gnash. The white mare stood still, honestly shocked that Henarion could perform such a feat. She did not let herself become too distracted, however, as the drake stirred back upright and bellowed. Stellara, not one to remain so vulnerable, immediately found her feet and drew Nocadecoë, swinging it downwards onto the dragon’s front foot. The hardened steel cleaved through the topmost layers of scale, imbedding itself in the soft skin underneath. The dragon wailed in pain, raising up its other foreleg in an attempt to crush the blue mare. Henarion tensed his muscles and catapulted himself over the beast, spinning his blade into the drake’s neck, slashing the tough scales deep enough to causing bleeding. Henarion landed perfectly and saw the wet crimson on his blade. “You made a damn good sword!” he shouted, ready for more sport. The alicorn’s foe reared up, and shifted his body to the right. Winding up the momentum, it then swung left, bringing its heavy tail right towards Wintermail. Unfazed, she held up her sword and narrowed her gaze. Taking a deep breath, the mare accepted the full power of Eónadin’s internal magic, and made her move. Like a lightning bolt she charged into the dragon’s tail, making a clean and precise strike. The last third of the appendage fell to the ground, still wiggling. The miserable beast roared and bellowed and screamed, staring in disbelief at his mutilation. Eónadin’s primordial steel cut the armor and flesh; the magic fire cauterized the wound. Snorting, rearing back on her hind legs, Wintermail incited the dragon to continue the brawl. Only one of the two could survive. “Your blade…can cut through dragonscale like air,” it finally spoke. Its voice was clearly male, colored with the shaky unease of a creature that had no idea whom it had crossed. “It was you! You slew Ironscale! You killed the Queen of Dragons!” The drake then breathed in and unleashed a torrent of searing flames, channeling enough heat to turn lead into a puddle. Wintermail reacted quickly, far quicker than she thought she could. The alicorn conjured a magical barrier cone, shedding the intense fires as she stepped forwards. Pushing against the force of his flamebreath and maintaining her spell imposed a great deal of strain on her body and mind. The heat was almost unbearable. Her skin was rife with a burning sensation, and the tips of her pink mane sizzled black. But Wintermail remained undeterred, and finally she managed to close the distance. Charging Eónadin with one last burst of magic, she swung her weapon and directed the trail of flames off into a random point of the forest. Sword still blazing, she pointed the tip at the neck of the dragon, seeing the fear grow in his slit eyes. The monster’s head then glowed with the alicorn’s magic, now caught in her grip. “I am the Queen,” she intoned, pressing her burning tip into a gap between his throat scutes. “I yield!” he shouted. The dragon then rolled over, exposing his slightly-more vulnerable belly. Wintermail sneered; a true dragon would have fought till the end. Even so, she kept her sword out, though the magical fire was snuffed out. Stellara and Henarion approached from either side, readying their weapons in case this dragon thought it would be a good idea to feign surrender. “You attacked my sister; I should slash your throat wide open.” Wintermail threatened, angling her sword’s edge over the body part in question. “Please; I know when I’m beat. I was just defending my hoard.” “We were just passing through,” Stellara said, rubbing her chest with a hoof. Wintermail noticed a faint red line from where the dragon had pinned her. The sight of it filled the alabaster alicorn with loathing. “I should think better of attacking travelers now,” the dragon sniveled, “If the ponies have warriors like you three, I’d best stay here in my burrow.” Henarion raised an eyebrow, “What do you mean?” The defeated drake swallowed, not wanting to take his eyes off Wintermail, “The great host that wishes to conquer all Equestria.” “We know about that,” Stellara quipped, “I take it dragons are invited.” “Yes. Several have already answered the call; a drake or wyrm could claim a massive hoard in the sacking of cities—enough jewels to last a thousand years.” “What else do you know?” Wintermail asked, still holding her sword at his throat. “Minotaurs and mustangs, thestrals from the mountains too. Strange striped ponies riding large grey beasts have also come, I’ve heard. And among the dragons that have joined, at least one is Qhumvraoli.” “A what?” Henarion said in a rather irritated tone. “A Greater Dragon; the largest, strongest, and oldest of them all—dragon alicorns, really,” Wintermail replied. She then stared down at the very much lesser dragon, “Crawl back in your hole.” Like a frightened foal, the drake meekly nodded and slowly turned back over onto is feet, creeping back into the path of the bent trees. “My name is Messelridge; thank you for sparing me.” “I don’t care who you are. My sister’s here and that makes me want to act on my better nature.” Ashamed and dejected, Messelridge slithered back into the damp mouth of his cave, the singed remnant of his tail the last thing to be seen. Still scowling, Wintermail put up her sword and began stepping down the pathway again, “Come on; let’s keep moving.” The three alicorns found their way out of the forest after a short time, seeing a new expanse of marshes before them. Still a little winded from their confrontation, flying could wait a while. Luckily, somepony had the foresight to set up a series of tall stakes outlining a route through the soft waterlogged terrain. Even so, the three would need to tread carefully; these pools were often deeper than they looked, hiding things more terrible than a common dragon. Thankfully, nothing interesting or exciting happened in the marshes. In lieu of “entertainment”, the alicorns engaged in conversation, mostly about their encounter with that drake. Henarion sported several bruises from where he had impacted a scaly armored creature hard enough to throw it off balance. They were in fact a lot better than they could have been; he’d channeled the earth pony magic within himself to steel his body. It braced his bones and muscles, but it couldn’t entirely eliminated injury. Stellara periodically rubbed the scratch on her chest. Wintermail kept swatting her sister’s hoof away, warning that further agitation would break the skin. Stellara simply rolled her eyes and made sure the white alicorn did not see. The Dame wasn’t stupid, yet she opted to let the matter die after a time. She’d after all led them into the woods, and though nopony was in great danger against such a young dragon, the pain of regret still stung. Wandering by her lonesome, Wintermail grew quite adept at defending herself. But with others…there was a reason she had fled from her northern home all those years ago. Stellara insisted that all was well, and the midnight mare was in fact proud to wear the scar. Wintermail had given a soft smile and turned her gaze back to the staked pathway. And compounding her frustration and self-directed anger, her minor burns began to itch. One seemed bad enough to start blistering, and the smell of burnt hair would fill the trio’s nostrils for the next fifty miles. The day passed on, and the three cleared the marshes with no incident. The pools and long reeds soon gave way to scattered groves of trees. Deer lightly frolicked from a safe observing distance, retreating into the security of the woods when the armed alicorns treaded along the ruined, overgrown remnants of the ancient royal highway. Crossing the ill-defined border from Fillydelphia into Mareposa somewhere along this parkland, Wintermail and her companions could look upon the uninterrupted grandeur of the prairie. Flat, immense, and covered in sprawling grasses, these windswept territories were oppressive in the summertime and cruel in winter. The weather was vicious, and not enough pegasi lived in these regions to control it as effectively as more civilized country. Mareposa sat on the eastern edge of this great plain. Past her once-formidable stronghold lived the mustang bands, now unified under some unknown leader. The alicorns would not be able to fly when the city peaked over the horizon; nothing to hide behind for miles on end—by the time they’d reached the captured city, the occupiers would long be made aware. They could sneak under cover of night, though. Wintermail looked up and saw the setting sun; perhaps only a half-hour left of daylight. They’d make camp here, in the shadow of the one boulder resting on the vast expanse of the prairie. “Hmmm…seems homely,” Stellara muttered, dropping her bags on the ground. She trotted to the large boulder and tapped it with a hoof. “This will make a nice shelter. Alright, Nikól, get digging!” “Excuse me?” the white alicorn asked, eyes narrowed. She placed the last of the stones into her fire pit and dropped her own things, “What? You want me to carve a hole into that boulder? I don’t even have a spade.” “You’ve got hooves, don’t you?” Stellara said with a coy smile. Wintermail eyed the dead tree standing in their new campsite. She motioned her forehoof for Stellara to do what she did best on their old homestead. “Do you think I’m some sort of...supernaturally strong anomaly of nature?” Stellara swung her axe and felled the tree shortly afterwards, simply smirking in reply. Soon the trunk was sectioned up and branches broken off as kindling. Wintermail levitated up the wood and sent a small spark from her horn. The kindling ignited, and a cavitation bubble intensified the fire. Using the logs they hadn’t thrown into the fire, the alicorns sat down. Henarion pulled out an iron pan and started frying some vegetables. He also divvied out a loaf of bread and a block of cheese wrapped in cloth. Devoid of plates or bowls, Henarion allowed his nieces to levitate the cooked food out from the pan. Uncouth, but who gave a damn out here? A cold wind blew through their campsite, and Wintermail scooted closer to the fire. She was then given a small canteen of liquor by Henarion, a small comfort in the wilderness. Stellara heard very distinctly two gulps. “Hey now, Nikól! Save some for the rest of us!” A pale blue aura gripped the flask. Wintermail acquiesced and giggled, “Relax, Taby. I’m bigger; I need a little more.” The younger sister took a sip, all the while glowering at Nikóleva. Henarion quietly ate some bread and laughed, “Now girls, play nice.” Dinner did not last long. Nightfall had come, and the stars now shone bright and beautiful. Stellara leaned back and gazed at the great tapestry set within the sky. The way they twinkled, the way they could draw pictures…Stellara knew Prince Petrafyrm directed the sun and moon, and the stars as well. Maybe one day…perhaps just once, he’d let her—if not actually move one of the stars, at least make a suggestion for a constellation. Perhaps when they’d returned, and were heroes—or something like that. The blue alicorn continued staring at the blackness while her uncle and sister pulled out wooden pipes. A small bag of shredded leaves was opened, and a slight amount was packed into the bowls of each. Ensuring a proper draw, Henarion pulled a thin twig of kindling and lit the pipe. Puffing a cloud of smoke, he smiled, “This variety is from Neapony; brought in when that Sea Lady came into port. Very smooth, with a rich flavor.” Wintermail admired the experience, and let out a deep cloud, “I’d say you got your money’s worth.” Henarion relaxed his magic, and held the pipe up with a hoof. He stared into the fire, eerily reminding him of the dragon’s breath from earlier that day. He recalled the worry he felt when Taberanyn laid pinned underneath the drake, the rage and resolve that built up, and the force of the impact. Yet the recollection wasn’t filled with worry or anger, but with purpose. He had grown up specifically to defend the royal line, and today he had done just that. It made the old stallion feel good, reminding Henarion of the times he spent when they were young and tender. And for this fact alone he’d consider today to have been a success. He looked at Nikóleva, who was using a twig to play with the fire. Same as her fillyhood, the alicorn sat captivated by the movement and light of the flame. Heat touched her face and the crackling filled her ears. Henarion watched the mare for a time, her only actions the periodic drawing and puffing of pipe smoke. Finally, he spoke up, “The dragoness; Ironscale, was it? She was no ordinary dragon, was she?” Nikóleva did not answer right away, but did hear it clearly. The orange flames in her mind’s eye transformed to the emerald of Ironscale. She broke from her trance, “A Greater Dragon, amongst the last of her kind. Apparently she’d become recognized as a queen of dragons—in some capacity; they don’t exactly have kingdoms.” Stellara by now was watching her sister instead of the stars. Nikóleva continued, “She terrorized a land and stole its precious items. I…did what I felt right, in slaying her, but…” her eyes acquired a teary sheen, “Someday the world will no longer know the greater breed of dragons, and I will be in part responsible.” The mare saw the look on her companions’ faces, “But it’s not all dreadful. Among her hoard was a single egg. I was asked to care for it.” “An egg? Has it hatched? Does it call you ‘mama’?” Stellara teased. “I’m afraid not. A special sort of magic is needed…I think. I left it with the Librarian for safe-keeping. If it does ever hatch in my lifetime…I suppose I’ll have to raise the baby.” Henarion cleared his throat, “Your father once brought home a strange egg. Told me it’d be a falcon, and we could train it to fetch things and fight off dogs. Kept that egg warm for weeks, turned out to be a goose.” The aged stallion then burst into a fit of wistful laughter, “Still…he tried to train it. Lad was only…nine at the time. Once it could fly it was gone by morning.” “I remember that story!” Nikóleva perked up, “He used to tell it to me, and then Mother would imitate the goose with two leaves and make them flutter away.” “And then you tried to chase after it. You climbed up your mother’s back and actually jumped off! Fell and scraped your knees.” Henarion said rather smugly. As the two laughed to one another, Taberanyn sulked against the fire. Her smile drooped until but a sorrowful pout remained on her face. Nikóleva and Henarion ceased their laughter upon noticing the blue mare’s sullen mood. “Tell me about them,” Taby commanded, voice low and almost pleading. Of course, Love,” Henarion smiled, “I ain’t never seen two ponies so close, really. Used to do everything together. From the moment your father first met your mother, they were truly inseparable. Honestly it got a bit sickening at times—sweet though.” The two sisters giggled. Their Uncle continued, “Right, so he picks these flowers for her. They happen to belong a bear of all things! Gets maybe twenty feet away and he’s getting chased!” Henarion told this story with an amount of animation Nikóleva didn’t think he was capable of, “Comes running down the hill as fast as his leg’ll take him. Eserindil, your mother, gallops towards the bear. I’m getting my sword ready, but she demands I put it up. I call her insane, but after a couple more times I listen.” The two daughters of this now-deceased couple were utterly captivated, immersed by Henarion’s gestures and facial expressions. “She actually stares down this bear, and it stops dead. She then levitated the flowers out of Maiëlindir’s grip, and gives them back to the bear. Then, he starts purring, like a damn cat! Runs right along back home. “From that moment, your father knew he’d found somepony special,” Henarion finished, leaning back and blowing a cloud of smoke. “I’ll bet Grandfather was pleased with that,” Nikóleva said. “Oh not at all…,” Henarion replied, letting out dark and sardonic laugh, “Didn’t like it one bit. Your grandfather Aracílnë was a heavy-built stallion, with a big red beard. He didn’t smile much; laughed almost never. I remember the day Maiëlindir brought her to meet him. He said, ‘No son of mine will breed with a damn half-blood!’ Made it even worse that she was only thirty—too young for an alicorn to marry.” “Wait!” Taby interjected, “’Half-blood’?” “Aye. Eserindil’s mother was an earth pony. This is inappropriate among more traditional alicorns, like your Grandfather; especially for the royal bloodline. Goodness did he give your father and me a beating. Chased off Eserindil too, but nopony could keep them apart. Though, finally Aracílnë’s heart softened, and he ended up giving his son his blessing. Besides, the earth pony blood in their children—you, would be diluted enough for you to be considered full alicorns.” “Oh at least the precious blood purity was preserved. Why are you telling us this part?” Nikóleva asked, confused and angry. “So you understand that when your parents came to Canterlot and were wed by that…Librarian of yours, they wanted something better for their foals. Maiëlindir grew up with little love and warmth; he wanted to make sure his children knew what they meant to him.” An ache emerged in Henarion’s chest, and he took a breath before continuing, “He wanted you both to grow up safe, and…protected from the horror he’d endured in our youth. He wanted you to grow up…,” his voiced quivered, “Not like alicorns do.” Nikóleva and Taberanyn watched painfully as Henarion’s eye became red and glossy, “And when they were gone…” Fifty years’ worth of tears could be held back no longer. Carrying decades of regret and self-loathing, he’d worn a mask for his family. At last the mask broke, tears trailing down Henarion’s cheeks, “I couldn’t do it.” Body wracked by silent sobs, he buried his face in hooves, his pipe long fallen to the ground into the dirt. “I couldn’t protect your parents…I couldn’t keep you safe, Tabóna…” Taberanyn became weak upon hearing that name, the one Henarion had used when telling her stories at night or dressing her scrapes and cuts. Breathing heavily now, she lost control of her own emotions. She slid closer to her Uncle and wrapped her forelegs around him. “And when you finally left, Nikóleva, I knew then I could have never replaced your father.” Nikóleva had felt daggers stabbing into her heart before, but the sight and sounds before her created the sensation of a dozen such blades carving out her chest. She shook her head slowly, “No…please don’t say that…” “I was weak…I was weak when your sister needed me most; when…” He didn’t finish through the crying. Taberanyn held him closer, “No Uncle, you have been the kindest, gentlest soul in my life,” she wiped her eye, “I didn’t have Mother or Father, but I did have you.” A short time of silence filled only by sobs passed. Then the blue alicorn spoke up, captured by dangerous thoughts, “I started all this; I killed Mother.” “That was an accident; Mother was…sickly…,” Nikóleva uttered, eyes burning. But Taberanyn didn’t seem to hear it, “Sometimes I wonder…if Father hated me for it. He loved her so much…and I took her away from him—from both of you, Nikól.” The white alicorn flared out her wings and rushed over to the two others. She took a deep breath to recompose, “Don’t you ever say something like that again. Father loved you more than you could know,” Nikóleva then almost couldn’t speak the next part, “And his la…his last words were how much you meant to him. Only a monster would hold that painful tragedy against a foal; against you.” The younger sister simply stared at the elder. Henarion then lightly took hold of her head, “You are a Treasure, Tabóna.” He finished with a kiss to her forehead. Taberanyn broke away, ridding herself of the last tears and sniffles. “I…I hope you feel better. You have a wife and son, who both think the world of you!” Taberanyn then stood up and stretched out her wings, “And if we’re going to get back to them in one piece…we need to be alert.” “And not to mention your little friend!” Nikóleva added, her inner troubles let out for now. Taby blushed and shoved her sister. Henarion rose up, “Who?” Further inquiry was postponed by a sharp pain in his right eye socket when the orange stallion tried to rub it. “Here let me help you, Uncle,” Taberanyn said, tending to his disability. “And you, Nikóleva? Don’t tell me none of the strapping stallions of the guard haven’t caught your attention.” “I’m afraid not,” the tall white alicorn muttered, sitting back down on a log, “I haven’t met anypony that’s made me feel quite the same as…” “As who?” Henarion asked, jolting when Taby hit the wrong spot on his eye socket. “A pony I knew; a Tulicë. I met him shortly after…well I fled home. He was kind, and strong, and giving…but,” she paused, trying hard to stave off so many hurtful emotions. She’d hoped she was done with this for tonight, “He was Tulicë.” “Oh…,” Henarion intoned; he understood. “How do you deal with it? You know Primrose won’t live past—“ “Seventy. Eighty if she’s blessed,” he then gave a deep sigh, then a chuckle, “Truthfully I don’t think I’d live to see that.” Henarion spotted Nikól trying to inhale and ask another of her irksome questions, “Perhaps we’ve had enough excitement for one day. Get some sleep the both of you; we still have a day left till Mareposa. I’ll take first watch.” He levitated up his pipe from the dirt, shrugged, and relit it. Nikóleva and Taberanyn laid out their blankets close enough to the fire for warmth, far enough away to remain unignited. Letting out deep yawns, the sisters laid back and took in the last sight of stars and orange flickers before shutting their eyes. “Good night, Taby.” “Good night, Nikól.” “Good night, Henarion,” the sisters said in unison. “Sweet dreams, Girls. I love you both.” No more speech, no more noise. The dark quiet kept on, even as a pair of yellow eyes watched the three alicorns. *――――――――――S――――――――――* When day broke, Stellara was sitting on watch. As soon as golden rays shone above the horizon, she nudged Henarion awake. A pony his age took a little time to rise, but he managed on his own. Wintermail simply dropped his bags on him, following up with a giggle. Dirt was poured onto the fire pit, now filled with but a few smoldering coals. Blankets rolled up and placed away, the trio was ready for further travel in a matter of minutes. No time to waste; today they’d reach Mareposa, and hopefully the proof they’d set out for. Out here in the remote prairie, whatever roads of antiquity had passed through were little different than ordinary stones in this dark age. Without clear direction, Wintermail could only rely on the vague idea of traveling westwards. She’d been to Mareposa, and even further…once. Stellara and Henarion had been out on the plains, but more northwards, around Coltorado. The trio of course possessed a map, and they’d gone horizontally as straight as they could; terrain permitting. Cartography however in the days of the Wanderer of the North was primitive. Maps were often skewed and filled with blank spaces, or worse unsubstantiated places that their makers hadn’t actually been to. Worse still, navigation was done primarily by landmarks—the only ones available on this barren steppe were rivers. Mareposa was seated on a major one, but how would the travelers know which river when they reached it? Wintermail sighed and massaged her temple as she strode. “What’s wrong with you?” Stellara asked. Her eyes widened after a moment of thought, “We’re not lost, are we?” Wintermail turned her head and produced a nervous grin, “What? No, no! I just…am trying to get my bearings.” “I thought you knew the way!” “Oh great…,” Henarion could be heard muttering from behind. “I do! And if we keep heading this way…we’ll come to a river.” The white alicorn then tapped her chin, “Aaand…if we don’t find something special, we keep moving. And that thing is…ah yes! A variety of blue reed; only grows on the river that leads to Mareposa!” Stellara was feeling the effort exerted in furrowing her brow, “And it we find a stretch of the river that doesn’t have the reed?” “It grows along the whole length!” Wintermail smugly retorted; it wouldn’t be that easy, little Sister! The sun soon rose overhead; high noon. The trio opted to fly for a distance, passing over a small river—stream more like it, that distinctly did not have that blue reed. High in the air, the distance spread out for what seemed like an unbounded expanse. No large settlements or rivers; just little clusters of homesteads that all seemed to be abandoned when they got close enough to tell. It wasn’t longer after that when the alicorns touched back down and stopped for a quick meal. With no wood around for miles, it looked like bread, cheese, and raw fruit. Unpacking some victuals, Henarion rationed them off. Stomach grumbling, Wintermail took a bite of her bread. In between chews, however, she heard a slight rustling. Her masticating became slower and less frequent while her ears trained for anything else. The rustling started getting closer… “What do you hear?” Henarion asked, scanning his ears for any sounds he could pick up. “Shhh,” Wintermail shot, standing up and readying her blade. Isolating the direction of the noise, the knight spotted a patch of tall grass moving out of rhythm with the wind. Grey pelts…wolves were coming closer. The trio had spotted several packs of wolves moving across the plains during their flight; they ignored them, knowing they would never pick a fight with three full-grown alicorns. This was peculiar then… But further listening revealed not the soft stepping of paws, but harder hooves. “Swords ready!” Stellara and Henarion obliged immediately, the three coalescing into a circle as the “wolves” surrounded them. Once close enough, the assailants could be discerned as not canines at all, but ponies wearing wolf pelts. Dressed in the light cloth-metal armor of their culture, these foes were all earth ponies. There was no mistaking it; Mustangs, the roaming inhabitants of the further prairie. Fierce and warlike, their clans most often fought with one another. In times of unity, like in these days, they posed great threat to the civilized ponies of Equestria. Having no permanent place of residence, they often carried their valuables conspicuously for all their allies and enemies to see. Some wore long thin mustaches; others had their manes decorated with bands and beads. Tossing aside their pelts, these ponies drew long curved blades with their teeth, eyes filled with a hunger for violence. Wintermail grinned, ready to indulge. Eónadin flared up, magic throbbing in its steel. Stellara’s Ailéránen and Nocadecoë shroud into starfield. And Henarion’s yet-unnamed blade flickered with potent magic. There were eight mustangs. The first to dare attack was a dull brown stallion, charging forward with all abandon. He galloped straight towards the oldest and weakest alicorn, but Henarion was no easy prey. He charged his magic and encased the earth pony in a field of bright blue, putting up stiff mental resistance. But restraining or manipulating opponents like this was a function of physical strength, and stopping a pony at full gallop was no simple task. His movement retarded but still incoming, the earth pony readied his sword and leaped to strike down on Henarion. His magic kept the pony just slow enough to properly counter, and one slash of Henarion’s new sword caused the mustang to crash into the dirt, winded but not defeated. He rose up and charged again, but Henarion parried him effortlessly and drove the blade’s edge into the stallion’s skull, the sheer weight of his great sword cleaving the mustang’s head in two. He suppressed the urge to gag and winced as hot blood splashed his cheek. “Good sword. I’m surprised you didn’t receive one of those cutie marks for smithing.” “Me too,” Wintermail curtly spoke before uppercutting another mustang, slicing and searing him from chest to back. Left a blackened corpse, he was trampled over by two comrades trying to pincer the white alicorn. She jumped into the air and magical grabbed one mustang. Using all her focus to not let go as he struggled, she then threw him hard onto the other one, a mare. Picking themselves up off the ground, the pair was beset by the giant pony. She drove Eónadin’s tip through the stallion’s face while her foreleg drove into the mare’s chest. Her ribs snapped like twigs and she seized on the ground for a few moments before dying. Three mustangs had singled out Stellara, perhaps as some sick vicious desire for a “prize”. As one galloped forward, two others attempted a flank. They all attacked with steel, but the flankers were caught by sword and axe. At the moment the center mustang almost bit into Stellara’s flesh, she spread her wings and evaded him. Landing behind the charger, she again caught the two flankers in their second attempt. A surge of magic coursed through her weapons and the flanking mustangs were blown back by a shocking pulse of lightning. Bright arcs jolted over their bodies, the foes moaning and screaming on the ground. And for her final trick, she bucked the center mustang while still airborne, sending the mare thirty feet away. She was an older mustang, and a seasoned warrior from her braids and trinkets in her mane. Stellara set her sights on the warband leader, and coolly approached. As the two ponies she’d electrocuted tried to right themselves, she plunged her weapons into their chests. The great sword pierced one’s heart, and the battle axe opened the other’s ribs. Having dropped her weapon, the venerable mustang still took on the challenge with a steeled face. Respecting the honor and resolve in her eyes, Stellara dropped her axe. Confused, it was a few moments before the mare realized and picked up the weapon. Now Stellara might have armed a defenseless opponent, but she did not hold back. One strike with Ailéránen, now held in her fetlock, pushed the mustang back to the ground. A second broke her hold over the axe. At that moment Stellara noticed how the bucking she’d given the mare left her weakened. She struggled to get up and wheezed. Gritting her teeth, the midnight mare recalled a few words she’d learn years ago, “Urdashatsayıt midemvekh.(Yield to me.)” Cringing in pain, the mare looked up with defiant eyes, strands of her greying mane peeking out from her helmet. She spat at Stellara’s hooves, “Jünü.(Never.)” The blue alicorn respected her spirit, but also the warrior’s code. A swift swing of her great sword separated the mare’s head from her body. Stellara turned and saw two more mustangs left, one in the grass meekly searching for an opening while another older stallion engaged with Wintermail. The white alicorn had held back with these last couple mustangs if only to see if they’d flee. It didn’t seem like that’d happen; instead he shouted at her in his mustang language. Blind noise, it might as well have been. This was becoming tiring; Wintermail aimed her sword as him and concentrated all her magic. A show of intense fire, and he was nothing but a pile of cinders and a howling scream. Eónadin was now made dormant, its bearer not wishing to repeat so taxing a spectacle. And the poor mustang rushing to try and slay the Wintermail was captured by her yellow aura. Dragged before the alicorn, he gazed in utter horror at what he now figured was an enraged goddess. With no other option, he groveled at her hooves and shouted, “Urdashkırn!” “We can’t leave any survivors,” Wintermail darkly replied. She raised him in her magic and aimed her weapon’s tip at his chest. Stellara galloped and pried one of her sister’s forelegs away with considerable effort. “He yields! Gives up!” He landed on the ground with a “thud”. Wintermail stepped aside, eyes half-lidded, “If you can make sense of his babblings…” She then approached Henarion and inspected his body, “Are you alright?” “Never better!” He grinned, wiping the blood from his face. The mustang colt, probably no older than fifteen, looked up like a said pathetic dog at Stellara. He was missing teeth, coat a dirty light green. Disheveled, split blonde hair sprouted from his head, his helmet long discarded. “Wogachıyıl duruvakh!(Thank you!)” he squeaked, kissing his “savior’s” hooves. She retracted them, “İleyighetseyit üdzeyez.(Stop that.)” Stellara cleared her throat, “These mustangs must have killed those wolves and hid with their pelts. They like to track their enemies over large distances; who knows how long they’d been following us—could have been since we entered the plains.” “Maybe even sooner,” Henarion added. “So what do you want to do with him? We can’t let him leave, “ Wintermail asserted. The younger sister thought a bit, then perked up with a solution, “He can show us the way, specifically how to remain undetected.” “And we can trust him? What if he leads us into a trap?” “That, Dear Sister, is where you come in,” Stellara then turned to the youth, “Furukhatsayıt midenezil Marapasayıshı i padazhdam. Gatıchatspan tombatam yuratam, i midenim kübesi mötösekijikseg runu ıbakanalzag.(Take us to Mareposa and get us inside secretly. Make one false move, and my sister will finish what she started.)” He nodded vigorously, "Nölüfekhishtem, Berne Sustazha!(Of course, Great Goddess!)” She turned back to her sister and smirked, “Oh he’s calling me ‘Goddess’.” Stellara’s attention was alerted again when he reached into his bag and produced a bright red apple. He then took a bite and offered it to his new mistress. Stellara returned a grin and took the apple. And as she helped him up, she noticed the image of a tree with little red dots in its leaves sitting on his flank. “What do you suppose his mark means? I know some mustang tribes aren’t complete nomads.” Wintermail did not try to hide her irritation, “Am I supposed to know that? Let’s go.” The now four-pony party began moving, the youth leading the alicorns in the same direction they’d already been traveling. What a surprise. Wintermail rolled her eyes and huffed, “How can you understand him anyway?” “Don’t you remember? Henarion and I spent some time with the mustangs.” “She picked up their tongue real quick. My old mind can’t do that no more,” the orange stallion said, winking at his younger niece. “Yep! So we’ll be ready if this one tries to play any tricks.” Stellara paused and hummed, “Speaking of whom,” she cleared her throat and craned her neck beside the mustang, “Runu khönigirnighep duruyaz?(What do I call you?)” “Khöniyetseyit midenez 'Halrıkanzha', Sustazha!” he beamed, as though being in her mere presence was enough to render him content. Well…he did owe her his life. Stellara giggled, still loving that honorific. Wintermail heard the laughter, “What? What’d he say?” “’Holrickendge’, Sister. And I think I’m starting to grow fond of him.” Raiding parties always had some foolish youths hungry for honor and glory; three alicorns would earn him a great deal of respect. Wintermail replied with a low groan, “Don’t let your guard down.” Flipping her periwinkle mane, Stellara pursued her lips smugly, “Never.” Dozens of miles remained, and if the route were not too arduous they’d reach the outskirts of Mareposa by nightfall. There, in a den of snakes, the real work would begin. For all the excitement of the trip to the captive city, Mareposa would provide amble activity to make the journey worth it. There’d be more to see and do there than anypony expected.