Smoke veiled the bright blue sky, here on the edge of Equestria. The edge of civilization.
The village burned, it’s temple and town hall, and the market bazaar were all aflame, tongues of fire lapping at the pale blue sky above. Most of the ponies had fled into the hills to the east, moving deeper into Equestria proper. However, not all had been so fortunate.
A group of two dozen ponies knelt or lay, huddled amongst each other, bound and gagged, in the midst of twice as many Changelings. The creatures stood a bit shorter than the average pony, but terrifying in visage, black chitin shot with holes and fine, gossamer wings like spiders’ web. Large fangs and slit eyes completed the horrifying image of the Changelings, who stood, armed and armoured, guarding the prisoners, while the majority of their number fanned out, encircling the town governor’s home.
The walls were pepped with the black oak shafts and broken obsidian heads of Changeling arrows. There was blood smeared on the wall next to the door, and a trail of it led inside. Around the building lay nearly two dozen slain Changelings, their green-black blood drying in the cold air. Amongst them lay a half dozen ponies, mares and stallions both, armoured in the manner of the Equestrian guard, with chainmail over padded jackets, covered over by a jerkin which was emblazoned with the Equestrian coat of arms, the sun and moon overlaid.
These dead ponies were a shame, to the Changelings. Afterall, why waste good food by making it so much meat in the wintery air?
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Inside the building, ten ponies lay around the room. Two had crossbows trained on the impromptu barricade they had pushed up against the door, and another was watching the back door, which was barred with a chair and a poleaxe.
The axe had belonged to Diamond Sash, the pale blue mare with the beautiful smile and friendly laugh who now lay on the far side of the room, sightless eyes gazing eternally at the ceiling. The blood had long stopped flowing from the horrible injury in her side, where a Changeling spear had driven through her maille and jack, and into the vitals below.
Flower Free sat, leaning against the wall, staring at her. The stallion was young, enough so to almost be called a colt. At only seventeen winters, he wasn’t sure what to do. He knew how to fight, his father in Canterlot had been certain to teach the young Earth Pony how to do so. Grappling, striking, the art of the sword and the dagger. These were all things that he knew how to do.
Killing, on the other hand, he had never had any experience with. Until today.
He had felt the life leave the Changeling, earlier, as he drove the tip of his sword through the gate of the creature’s eye. He had watched it jerk to a stop and fall like a puppet with it’s strings cut. Watched it, no, him. Watched him thrash and twitch, and then go still while blood pooled around his head.
He had watched the same thing happen to Diamond, as she gave her final breath. The same desperation, the same fear, the same surprise.
The same.
He heard a grunt, and looked over at their captain, Flash Sentry. The blue maned Pegasus ground his teeth as his left wing was bandaged close in to his body, in an effort to stop the bleeding. A Changeling sword had cut it through the middle, leaving a vicious injury. Flower, being an Earth Pony, did not know enough about Pegasi or their anatomy to know exactly how serious it was, or if the young captain would ever fly again. The look in Flash’s eyes, however, spoke volumes for his own worry and concern.
No. He couldn’t do this. He simply could not sit here, doing nothing, any long, while their deaths crept closer and closer. And nor did he want to see anypony, anyone else die, either. Not even those Changelings out there. He wasn’t sure why, but he felt there was more to them than met the eyes.
Grinding his teeth, he found himself standing without really thinking about it, walking over to stand beside the window, just out of view of the creatures outside.
“What are you doing, Flower?! Get down!” Flash growled from behind him, causing the other members of their company to look up in shock and concern. But Flower barely heard, his mind was roaring with the beat of his own pulse, and the thoughts that screamed through his mind. Of blood, and death, and the heartbreak off all those back home who would never see their loved ones again. This had to be stopped, before anyone else could die in this senseless bloodshed.
As suddenly as it started, the roaring stopped, and he heard his own voice, young, still a bit childish in places, calling out through the window.
“Changelings!” He shouted, voice cracking halfway through. With a frustrated sound, he shouted again, his lungs swelling, and the sound coming out clear and deep, like a church bell. ”Changelings!”
A moment passed, then a brittle, hissing voice responded. “What iss it, pony? Final wordss?” Flower felt his teeth clinch, then stepped partially into view, staring out at the mass of black forms that waited.
“I have a proposition to make you! We have lost friends, and I believe so have you. And if you care not for those that died as friends, then perhaps you will care to at least see how many we felled!”
“Sso what?! We are Changelingss! We are the Hive! Cut one down, three more will replace them!”
“Perhaps that is true, but even you will run out of new bodies, eventually.”
Silence reigned for a moment. Then: “Thiss one is listening.”
Flower took a breath, stepping further into view, letting them see him. There were hissed warnings from behind him, and he knew an arrow could come flying in at any moment and end his life. But something else, something Other, was guiding him now, and somehow he simply knew that they would not kill him in that way.
“I challenge your best fencer! A sword duel, out on the lawn! If I win, you will release us and the villagers and go home! If you win. . . . The lives of all here may be forfeit to you.”
The villagers outside wept, and his comrades inside snarled in anger and anguish at his foolishness. But Flower cared not. He felt a strange peace, a sense of righteousness and . . . Harmony, filling him. This was the right thing to do, he could feel it. He stared into the eyes of the gathered Changelings outside, their expressionless faces glaring back at him, and waited. . . .
“Very well, pony. This one acceptss your challenge.” Finally, the crowd outside parted, and a single Changeling stepped out into the cold winter sunlight. He looked no different from the others around him. Wore the same armour, carried the same sort of weapons.
And yet, to Flower, he stood out like an oak amongst pines. Flower found himself moving again without any thought of his own, his hooves making soft thumps on the wooden floor. He opened the window, rather than taking time to try and move the barricade by the door, and jumped out, hooves impacting the cold earth outside, sending reverberations up his spine.
He slowly straightened up, taking a deep breath as he wasn’t pin-cushioned with arrows. The Changeling’s eyes narrowed as he stepped out a bit farther from the rest of his group, making a buzzing gesture with his wings. The others that formed the black, chitinous mass behind him fell back, giving more space.
Flower heard noise from inside the house behind him, and the door opened, the rest of his lance pouring out. Hearing them moving closer, Flower lifted a hand. “No.” He said, softly.
“Flower, this is insane!” Flash snarled, but the young earth pony did not let him finish. Without looking at him, he shook his head. “No, Captain. This is what needs to happen. Stay out of it.”
With that he took another step forward, staring at the Changeling from large emerald eyes. Flower was not terribly exciting in appearance, with a simple dark brown coat and a dusky, blonde mane. The only spot of brightness was a single streak of bright reddish-gold that ran through his mane and tail, and often glinted in the sunlight like a corona.
The two looked at one another, eyes locked, breathing softly, small plumes of mist forming in the frigid air with each exhalation.
The Changeling moved first, surprising all by bringing his hooves together, tucking his hands close to his side and bending at the waist in a sharp, formal bow, his eyes remaining locked on his adversary.
After a brief pause, Flower followed suit, slipping one hoof behind the other, one hand behind his back and the other over his heart and lowering himself in a formal, courtly Canterlot bow. Like the Changeling, however, he never removed his eyes from the other fencer.
With that, they straightened up, and faced off once more.
With a soft scrape, the Changeling drew his sword from it’s wooden scabbard. A typical Changeling weapon, it was short by Equstrian standards, with a single-edged, slightly curved blade with a thick, wedge shaped profile and little taper. A simple disk guard kept the Changeling’s hand from sliding down onto the sharp blade, and it was completed by a simple, unadorned wooden hilt that was oddly designed, to the pony’s eye, seeming too long for the blade, and lacking any sort of pommel other than a simple metal cap on the end.
The Changeling tossed the wooden scabbard to one of his companions, and shifted his hooves, bring the left forward, and sinking his center of gravity by flexing his knees. He brought the weapon up, angling it so the tip was pointed at Flower’s muzzle.
Flower felt a moment of trepidation, but it was soon dissolved by the odd tranquility that had come upon him. He removed his sword’s scabbard from his belt, and, with a soft sound, drew the blade free. Only a touch longer than the Changeling’s weapon, overall, this sword had a strongly tapered, double-edged blade ending in a sharp point. A fuller ran down half of it’s length, starting at the wide cruciform guard that protected the stallion’s hands. It’s grip was wrapped in cord, and tapered to fit his hands comfortably, ending in a large, wheel shaped pommel. He threw the scabbard back to his lance-mates, and readied himself.
Gripping the longsword in both hands, one near the guard, the other by the pommel, he stepped back, putting his right hoof forward, left back and to the side, and sunk his weight as well, bringing himself low and balanced, his blade matching the Changeling’s, pointing up at the other fencer’s face.
They both stood, staring at one another for a moment while their weight shifted back and forth slightly, finding their balance and hoofing. Flower took a sliding step forward, caution warring with the need to finish this in his mind and heart.
The Changeling responded in kind, his back hoof slipping forward, and his right following suit, keeping the same distance between the two, keeping his balance intact.
Flower shifted slightly to the right, stepping around the Changeling in a circle, and the other fencer followed, moving to keep the pony in front of him.
Their breaths plumed in front of them, their eyes narrowed, locked onto each other, but not focusing. The Changeling knew his business, at least as well as Flower did. An early lesson from his father had taught him to look his opponent in the eye, but to not stare at them, to not focus too strongly on any one point. Rather, to let his eyes lose focus, that his peripheral might better encompass his opponent’s form, allowing him to see more than he might otherwise.
They stopped moving, and Flower felt the breath slip slowly out of his lungs.
The Changeling shifted his stance, hooves spreading apart more as he lifted his blade up, above his head in a threatening, dominating posture.
Flower shifted as well, switching his right hoof for his left in the lead, and bringing his blade back and down, so that the hilt was held loosely against his right hip, and the blade lay off to the side, angled down towards the ground, slightly.
They stood like this for but a moment, eyes looking into each other, past the surface, into the soul. Flower saw it, then, the honour within the creature standing opposite him, the feeling of strength he derived from fighting for his Hive, and the knowledge that he would do anything to keep more of his brothers and sisters from dying.
Flower felt his heart swell, and saw the same feeling mirrored in the strange orbs across from him, melding them into partners in this oldest and most emotional of dances.
The Changeling moved, hoof stepping forward with calm deliberation, his sword sweeping down, fast and fluid, towards the stallion’s head.
Flower’s right hoof stepped swiftly around and out, while his left fell back and behind, the triangular step crossing him under the path of his partner’s blade, even as his own snapped up with a sweeping motion, contacting the Changeling’s blade high, towards the tip, and pushing it aside, and the stallion’s motion brought him out from under the blade and forward, inside his partner’s reach.
The Changeling stepped back, attempting to disengage, and Flower twisted his hands and arms, stepping forward with his left hoof, keeping him in the same distance, even as his arms propelled his weapon around, bringing the true edge towards the Changeling’s face in a blur of motion.
The Changeling did. . . something, and Flower found himself chest to back with his partner, weapon grappled, and before he knew it he was flipping over and landing painfully on his back, his sword clattering away across the dirt.
He gasped for breath as his partner turned, bringing his sword to bear. Flower kicked one hoof out, connecting with the Changeling’s thigh, and his partner grunted, staggering back in pain.
Flower rolled, scurrying across the ground and grabbing his blade. He felt the air simmer with the sharp blade of the Changeling sword right behind him as he forward rolled, and came back to his hooves, turning to face his partner yet again.
The both stepped back and caught their breath, finding themselves right back where they started, only slightly more bruised and tired. However, they both knew, a feeling deep in their guts, that this next pass would see the end of it.
They both breathed in and out, staring through one another, their souls linked in this moment, bonded close by their mutual need to serve their countries, and save the lives of their comrades.
But Flower wanted to save more than just his fellow ponies, and he let that truth, that Harmony, burn within him as he took a confident step forward, bring his sword up to rest above his right shoulder.
His partner stiffened at his sudden, confident approach, but then stepped forth, bringing his sword back and down, into a low tail guard.
Flower took a step and slashed his sword down and forward, aiming at his partner’s skull.
The Changeling in turn swept his sword up, aiming to halt the downward strike, perhaps in hopes to line his own blade up for a thrust.
Upon contact, Flower felt how strong his opponent’s position was, the first half of his blade blasting up, through the lower half of Flower’s, towards the tip, where his control was weakest. The stallion stepped left and back, letting his resistance drop and curled his hands up and around his opponent’s blade, releasing the pommel to leave it free, and used it to hook his partner’s blade down. His free left hand grabbed the Changeling’s elbow, locking it tight, and then he took a short half-step forward and stopped, staring into the Changeling’s odd eyes.
The narrow, needle like point of his blade rested under his partner’s chin, tickling lightly against a weak spot in the chitin there.
The Changeling froze, blinking rapidly, then glanced down at the blade, and back up at Flower.
“Yield.” The stallion said, softly.
“Kill me.” The Changeling demanded.
“No.” Flower said, sorrow in his eyes. “There has been enough death today.”
They stood and stared at one another for a long moment, their breaths mingling at such close range. Then, the Changeling’s sword clattered to the ground with a dull chiming sound, and he bowed his head. “Very well, pony. I yield.”
A clamour arose from his fellow Changelings, all hissing and snarling in their tongue, but, without moving, Flower’s partner snarled something back at them, tongue dripping acid-like words into the air. Silence reigned for a long moment. Then, with a disturbing buzzing, their wings fluttered to life, and the Changelings took to the sky, departing back towards their own borders, glaring hateful daggers at the Equestrians, but leaving all there without lifting a claw to harm them further.
Breathing out in sudden shock, Flower stepped back, releasing the Changeling. He stepped back away form him slowly, then bent, staring at the ground as he sucked in several deep breaths, trying to steady his suddenly rattled nerves.
“Sslow breathss, pony. Ssteady and deep through your nosse.” He followed the hissed advice and, when he was feeling calmer, glanced up at the Changeling, who simply stood, staring at him.
“What are you doing here?” Flower asked, perplexed. “I thought you would leave with them.”
The Changeling shook his head. “No. I losst thiss fight, and did not die an honourable death. As ssuch, my honour iss worthlesss to the Hive, now.” He glanced away, a strange, lost look on his face. “I am without clan or home, now. Banisshed.”
Flower took a breath and stood up straighter, staring at the Changeling. “Why did they listen to you, then, when you told them not to attack?”
The Changeling gave a rough laugh, and looked at Flower. “Foolissh, pony. They were not going to attack you. Doing sso againsst my agreement with you would ssully their honour as badly as mine. They were inssulting me, for having losst and not given my life for the Hive. I told them to go to Tartaruss. That this wass my ssacrifice to make for the Hive, and that they would be besst to leave me to it.”
“So, you. . . What do you intend to do now?”
The Changeling shrugged. “That iss up to you. I am your prissoner, now.”
“What?!”
“I believe your kind have lawss of ranssom, do you not? By yielding to you, I’ve agreed to be your prissoner until ssuch time as ssomeone has paid to ssecure my releasse. That iss unlikely to happen, however.”
“So. . . “ Flower was unable to complete that sentence, as he didn’t have the words. He was uncertain what to say or do. He was seventeen, had just won a duel against a Changeling fencer, and now had no idea what to do next.
Flash had taken charge quickly, getting the rest of the lance moving to free the villagers, and starting to organize groups to help put the fires out before they spread any farther. Turning, he walked up to Flower and the Changeling. “Flower Free. . . I don’t know how you managed it, but we’ve you to thank for our lives, I suppose. I’ll be sure the Regent hears of this.”
Flower looked up at him and nodded as his captain patted his shoulder, before giving a mistrustful glance to the Changeling, who simply looked back at him with a bland expression. “I’d keep a close watch on this one. And keep this,” he bent down, picking up the Changeling’s sword and handing it to Flower. “Where he can’t get his hands on it.”
With that he gave a final nod to Flower and left, jogging off to help with the flames. Flower looked at the sword in his hands. Somepony had passed him his scabbard, at some point, and he clipped it back to his belt, sheathing his own blade, before he looked once more at the Changeling, pursing his lips in thought. “What’s your name?”
The Changeling looked at him for a long moment, cocking his head to the side. “Manyx.” He said, softly, and Flower nodded, then held out his free hand. “Manyx. I am Flower Free. A pleasure to meet you.”
Manyx stared at him for a moment, then at his hand, then hesitantly reached out and took the proffered grip. Flower shook him by the hand, smiling at him, and, slowly, Manyx smiled in return.
“I knew there wass ssomething off, about you, pony. You sseem one of a kind.”
Flower’s smile turned a bit forlorn. “Once, I wouldn’t have been. I would like to think, someday, perhaps. . . . Equestria will be a land that values second chances and friendship, again. For now, though, I simply do what I can to follow the ways of Harmony.”
Manyx nodded bemusedly, taking his hand back and staring at it as though he thought something might sprout from it. Flower bit his lip, thinking for a moment, then, before he could think twice, he reached out and placed the hilt of the Changeling sword back in it’s owner’s grasp.
Manyx brought his eyes up, even as his fingers closed around the hilt, staring in shock. He silently asked why, and was answered by a small smile playing around the pony’s lips. “Call it instinct, but I feel you have enough honour to be trusted.”
Manyx stood for a moment, then smiled in return, and, very briefly, there was flicker of some brighter colour in the backs of his eyes. Flower chose to not notice, and nodded back towards the village, where the other ponies were busily battling the worst of the fires. “Seems they could use some help. Shall we?”
Manyx glanced over towards the damage he and his swarm had helped cause, and nodded resolutely. He walked over, picking up the scabbard of his weapon where it had been carelessly discarded by one of his former companions in their flight, and reverently sheathed the sharp blade. He then tucked the entire thing back under his belt, and nodded once more. “I believe we sshall, Flower.”
Flower’s smile blossomed into a full grin, and, side by side, the pony and the Changeling made their way into the heat and the smoke, to help set right that which was wrong. . . .
TO BE CONTINUED