For a spring day, it sure was awful warm. Sundance sat in the grass, his mind on the meeting that had just been adjourned, and he was feeling great. About everything. He felt hopeful. Cucumber had rallied the peasants and together, they supported his cause of unity. Of course, whether or not it worked remained to be seen, but he was feeling overwhelmingly optimistic. Cucumber was a pony that Sundance admired, respected a great deal, and having his support made everything better.
Plans had been laid out; official plans, with milestones for progress. Of course, this meant more work for him, but he was okay with that. For now, and for the foreseeable future, he would have to haul goods to Canterlot himself—which was fine. When they started to have goods to take to market, he would do so.
“Hey, you, listen up.”
Not content to merely have his attention, Corduroy physically grabbed him by his right ear and pulled his head around so that he might look her in the eye. She hunkered down, and as she did so, he wondered how she had snuck up on him. Had he been that distracted by his own thoughts? She was gentle, but firm, a no-nonsense nurse.
“I’m going to be heading to the marsh to survey alchemical ingredients, so I can see what I have to work with. If Hollyhock has any sort of problems at all, even just bad cramping, you come and find me. I’m white, so I should be easy to spot from the air.” Then, as a kind gesture, she let go of his ear and patted him on the head whilst saying, “Good pony.”
“The marsh,” Sundance replied. “The marsh down at the end of the river where the orchard is?”
“Yeah, that one. I’ll be stuck in the muck for a while.”
“Good luck,” he offered. “I hope you find… stuff.”
“I hope I find stuff too.” Then, wagging her tail, Corduroy departed.
While there was always something to do, there wasn’t a whole lot to do. The crops were planted. Corduroy’s stone block infirmary was nearing completion; at the moment, timbers were being hewn to form the roof, which would be shingled with blue slate. The walls were finished, had openings for windows and a door, which he needed to go to Canterlot and purchase.
But Sundance wasn’t sure how he might get panes of glass home safely.
As for the door, it would be big, maybe too big for the cart. The door would need to be two-yards long and the sky truck had a five-foot bed. Something could be figured out, but he was too distracted to think of solutions. It was too-perfect of a day and the warm sun made him think about napping. The clouds here quite nappable, pleasant, perfect, because they were natural clouds, and not smog clouds belched from smokestacks.
Eating boiled mush and plain vegetables was wearing on him; he longed for something fried, something crispy perhaps. Something sweet might be good, or salty—or salty and sweet. He thought of deep fried cheese curds and his mouth flooded with drool, which he struggled to contain. Or chocolate-dipped caramel-coconut bombs. Thinking of the food he loved, he missed his life in the city.
Potato—who was surrounded by goats—went still. She sniffed once, twisted her head about in an almost owl-like manner, and then cocked her head off to one side, as if she was straining to hear something. Sundance took note of all these things, and wondered if they had a visitor incoming, or if Gage was returning from Canterlot.
“Owlbear,” Potato announced, and then she scrammed.
In mere moments, she had led the goats and livestock into the fortress-barn, and panic, like a wildfire, spread. Sundance tried to make sense of what had just happened, and his brain was still catching up when he heard somepony shout, “OWLBEAR!”
The peace was gone in seconds as there was a flurry of activity. Potato came out of the barn, moving at an impressive run for her age, at any age, really, and she plucked up two foals with remarkable ease and plopped them on her back—all while never slowing down. Cucumber hefted Hollyhock, who could not move fast enough on her own and while this was happening, Sundance concluded that they had precious seconds, as the owlbear was coming.
Potato’s early warning had saved them.
“Get inside!” somepony hollered. “Get in the barn! Shut the doors!”
Hearing a roar, Sundance turned just in time to see a creature of nightmares as it lept from the top of the waterfall. It was—immense, defying all description, and much to his relief, it did not fly, though it had wings. These wings, far too small, allowed the creature to have a sort of controlled fall, and it landed on all fours not far from the waterfall basin.
Sundance was on his hooves in an instant.
It moved too fast for a creature so large and Sundance took the air—but did not fly away. Instead, he offered himself up as a distraction, because ponies were still retreating to the barn. Not thinking about what it was that he was doing, he placed himself between the owlbear and easy prey.
With a roar, it stood up and advanced. It had to be more than three-yards tall and it moved like a lumbering mountain on legs. Some of the ponies, unable to reach the barn, took refuge inside of the dining hall instead. Sundance darted to and fro, never staying in one place for long, and this caused the owlbear to hesitate. In a moment of mind-numbing terror, Sundance realised that he had no idea how to fight this creature, how to make it go away, so that he could keep his peasants safe.
Yet fight it he would, for reasons he could not understand nor explain.
Owlbears; ancient enemies of the pegasus tribe. Horrendous brutes that would climb up the sides of mountains, bash their way into pegasus rookeries, and feast on any foals they could find. Anything that was easy pickings, really, such as the elderly and the infirm. They rarely went for difficult meals, and this one, true to its kind, had come to this place populated by the elderly in search of a snack.
“I told you not to come back!” Earwig’s voice rang out and echoed through the box canyon as a hurled stone arced through the air.
It struck the owlbear right on the noggin, but did no real damage. This was disconcerting, as it was a pretty big rock, a sizable rock, and it had been thrown by a stout earth pony. Sundance wondered how the owlbear’s skull had not shattered. Incensed, driven to rage, the owlbear charged right for Earwig—and Sundance was almost too startled to react.
Earwig scarpered; She retreated, moving at a fantastic gallop, heading right for Plowshare and Rocky Ridge, neither of whom were moving. Sundance moved to intercept, and even flew a little too close to the owlbear perhaps, but the charging ambush predator ignored him. Earwig’s hooves cut divots into the grass and sent black soil flying up in rooster tails behind her.
Running full-tilt, Earwig ran right between both Plowshare and Rocky Ridge, and as she did, she shouted, “NOW!”
The owlbear ran on two legs, its wings flapping furiously, which made it light and agile. Plowshare and Rocky Ridge, arguably the strongest of the ponies of the barony, raised up two sharpened wooden poles that had been concealed in the grass, and the charging owlbear was unable to stop in time. One wooden pole impacted the owlbear’s ribs and shattered into splinters. The other skewered it right in its soft guts, impaled it, and the crude point came tearing out of the owlbear’s back.
Rocky Ridge was quick to escape, but Plowshare was not so fortunate. One of his mighty knees popped—a sound so loud that it echoed—and he almost fell to the ground. Earwig was throwing rocks again, trying to get the owlbear to focus on her, and Sundance, at a loss for what to do, began looking around for anything that might help, otherwise poor Plowshare would be a goner.
His sharp pegasus eyes saw a glint of shiny steel and Stump’s splitting maul presented itself. Moving faster than he had ever moved before, Sundance flew over to the woodpile where Stump’s splitting maul had been left when the panic erupted. Gripping it in his fetlocks, Sundance zoomed through the air and reached the owlbear just as it was dropping down to maul poor Plowshare.
With a desperate overhead chop, Sundance brought the splitting maul down upon the back of the owlbear’s head, hoping that he might cleave it in two.
The creature screeched, yelped, and then shrieking in pain, it stood up, the splitting maul now lodged in its skull. It ran in circles, its forelegs flailing about, its wings flapping, but it was unable to reach the wooden handle of the splitting maul buried in its skull. For a moment, Sundance felt bad about what he had done, the agony that he had caused.
But that moment of regret did not last long.
Wasting not a second of time, Earwig rescued Plowshare—she hefted him up like a sack of potatoes—and she sprinted away on two legs with the much larger stallion held in her forelegs like a foal. The owlbear—occupied and focused on its own pain—continued to wail and moan while it had its spastic fits, a titan stung by a wasp. Sundance meanwhile, was now feeling the first pangs of anger. How could the owlbear just ignore him? Was he not a worthy foe? Could it be possible he was so worthless that he did not even make an acceptable meal?
This was insulting like nothing he had experienced.
The owlbear—with the splitting maul still protruding from its skull—now moved towards the dining hall. Sundance, fearful, followed, but try as he might, he could not seem to get the owlbear’s baleful attention, though he did everything short of flying right into its face. Much to his relief, the barn doors, the massive, fortified doors to the cave, were shut, and no doubt reinforced from the inside.
Helpless, Sundance buzzed around the owlbear’s head, getting as close as he dared, but not too close. No matter what he did, he could not get the ursinoid invader to focus on him, and he tried everything. One sharpened pole was skewered through the creature’s body, and it had a splitting maul stuck in its head. Could nothing slow it down? What did it take to kill it? How could it survive these injuries?
Sundance thought of his javelins, tucked away for safekeeping so nopony might get hurt.
With a swipe of its paw, the owlbear ripped open the roof and the outer wall of the dining hall, revealing the panicked, shrieking ponies inside. Earwig, the defiant one, stood her ground, protecting those behind her. Sundance had to do something, he was panicked now. Another swipe turned more of the roof into rubble and splinters, making the opening almost large enough for the owlbear to crawl inside. One more swipe would do it. The dining hall was the best they had, their gathering place, the only warm, comfortable spot in the whole barony.
A sort of dreadful rage took over Sundance; it caused him to tremble, he drooled profusely even though his tongue had turned to leather, and the most awful red spots danced in his vision. Never in his life had he been this angry—this assertive. He would get the owlbear’s attention, and make the owlbear focus on him.
Twisting himself around in the air, Sundance aimed his hindquarters at the handle of the splitting maul and then bucked out his hind legs with all of the strength his rage could muster. The results—immediate—were spectacular. There was a squeal of metal against bone, a dreadful sound, a haunting sound that would remain in his memory until his dying day. It was a screech that came right out of the blackest pits of Tartarus.
The pain was such that the owlbear almost had a seizure, by the looks of it, and it began to flail about. Sundance, far too close, was clubbed by the owlbear’s waving leg; it sent him ragdolling through the air, somersaulting end over end, until he smacked headfirst into the stone wall of a cottage, which crumbled and collapsed atop him upon impact.
Nothing worked. Sundance couldn’t make anything work. His legs refused to move, his wings had no sensation, and he couldn’t tell which way was up or down. Sharp edges of rubble cut into him and he was buried beneath what remained of the cottage. When sensation did return to his limbs, the pain was so terrible that he didn’t want to move. Never in his life had he been in this much pain. He’d lived a sheltered life up to this point, mostly safe from danger, extreme injury, and overbearing hardship. As he lay there, buried beneath the remains of the cottage, he wondered what he was doing here.
When the rubble was slapped away by an enormous owlbear paw, Sundance screamed. Perhaps it was his imagination, his terror, but it felt as though those claws passed mere inches away from his flesh. He scrambled, trying to get away, and he emerged from the pile of stone, roots, and sod. Again, the owlbear slashed at him, and this time, the claws snagged his neck. At first, the damage was not great, it was merely a glancing blow to start, but as the claws traveled down his neck, to his withers, they tore through flesh, going deeper, and deeper. Down his back the claws traveled, visiting misery along the way, and Sundance could do nothing to defend himself.
With a grunt, he collapsed back down into the rubble, overcome by pain, and when the owlbear raised his paw for another swipe, Sundance—his senses both dulled and on fire—waited for the end to come. The dreadful sensation of torn flesh rubbing against itself was too much to bear, too much to process, and he tried to shut it out of his mind.
“Come away from him!”
Cucumber’s voice was almost unrecognisable. It wasn’t Cucumber, the retainer, but rather, Cucumber, the soldier. Cucumber, the veteran. The commanding voice roused Sundance from his stupour, it dragged him up from the depths that threatened to claim him.
“I warned ye what would happen if ye came back!”
Cucumber advanced, fearless, his legs stiff, his spine ramrod straight. “I told ye when ye left the last time that I’d kill ye if ye returned, ye great brute! Step away from the Milord and I’ll give ye a merciful death, which is more than ye deserve, ye lout!”
The owlbear had another go at the prone pegasus, and this time, roused by Cucumber’s voice, Sundance scrambled away. Somehow, he pulled himself from the rubble, stood up, and wobbled away, just out of the owlbear’s monstrous reach. A dreadful crackle could be heard, and Cucumber appeared to be charging up some sort of spell. Sundance realised that he only had to stay out of harm’s way for as long as it took for the spell to reach potency.
He couldn’t fly; the damage to his muscles prevented that, and he wasn’t quick on his hooves at the moment. The owlbear was yanked back by some invisible force, Sundance didn’t stop to wonder how, or why. It was hot now, as if the sun had come too close, or if he was standing a bit too near to a raging furnace.
“Ad serve sole!” Cucumber cried, and there was a flare of light that blinded Sundance.
When Sundance could see again, the owlbear lay on the ground, unmoving. There was a massive, gaping hole burned through its torso, an almost bloodless wound that had been cauterised by the sheer heat of the blast. As far as holes went, it was quite large—big enough for a slender pony to crawl through, not that one would. The splitting maul still protruded from the back of the creature’s skull.
Tearing his eyes away from the fallen owlbear, Sundance glanced over to where Cucumber had stood, but his retainer no longer stood. He lay in the grass, a heap of legs, and Sundance, his whole body aching and his gashes oozing blood, rushed over to aid his fallen retainer.
When Sundance drew near, what he saw alarmed him. Thin, runny blood poured from Cucumber’s nostrils and one eye—his left—was glazed with blood. His horn was still smoking, a little curl of smoke rose and wafted upwards. Sundance realised that he didn’t know what to do; he couldn’t fly right now and his retainer—his friend—needed help.
“Cucumber?” Sundance’s words came out thick and muted.
“With my last, I have served the Sun.” Cucumber’s words were slurred, distorted, and difficult to make out.
“I wish I had come sooner.”
The unrecognised voice caused Sundance to jerk in place, which caused his torn muscles to ache all the more. He whirled around and much to his surprise, he saw a pale alicorn folding his wings. This one was thin looking, with spindly legs, a thin body, and an even thinner neck. It wore glasses, something that Sundance had never seen on an alicorn before.
But the paleness stood out and was terrifying, given the situation.
“I knew the stroke was coming, but not the cause. I felt it this morning.” The pale alicorn advanced, his head turned in Cucumber’s direction. “I was compelled to come, so that I might hear a confession.”
“Who are you?” Sundance demanded as his peasants began to peek out from their hiding places.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I get lost in the flow of the Ink sometimes and the present blurs over for me. I’m Sumac. Lord of Lulamoon Hollow.” Upon reaching Cucumber’s side, the graceful alicorn paused and lowered his head to have a better look at the fallen unicorn. “We don’t have much time, Revered One. I can save you from a terrible fate, but you have to work with me. Confession will break the chains that bind your soul.”
“What’s going on?” Sundance demanded, lost, confused, hurt, angry, and bewildered.
“You. You’re needed. As the Lord of this land, you are bound to it. Come. I do not sense your death today, so you’ll be fine.” Extending his wing, Sumac made a gesture for Sundance to come closer. “Don’t stand there with your mouth hanging open. Do your best to look lordly in every situation. These ponies depend on you.”
“But I—”
“We have a soul to save, Sundance. The living will sort themselves out, but you and I… we have a special task. Come. Do not question and do as I say. Our time grows ever-shorter.”
Compelled by a curious force, Sundance found that he had no desire to resist. Something important beckoned, he was needed. A strange, unexepected calm overcame him and his senses returned to him little by little. He watched as his retainer was lifted from the grass, and he noticed that everything on Cucumber’s left hung limp.
“How a life ends,” said Sumac as he carried Cucumber away, “is every bit as important as how it was lived. I wish to help you die well, Revered One.”