The Witch

by Zodiac

Chapter IV: Of the Battle We Fight and Its Justness

Night was falling.

The lasts rays of the sun painted the horizon gold. A gentle breeze nibbled the tree leaves, which tossed fanciful shadows on the ground. The road through the forest was poorly tamped and rarely chose by travellers. The place since long had been avoided by most, due to its bad fame. The beautiful surroundings offered a false feeling of safety, luring the passers-by into a trap.

She did not care. She kept walking forward, with her head raised, confidence and nonchalance in her steps. Still she was focused and careful, for death could have been hiding anywhere: in the tree stump and behind it, in the treetops or, quite commonly, underground.

But she was forced to take this path. Time was running short for her, hanging above her head like the executioner’s axe. Ponyville was still far away, and she had to reach it before the end of the month.

The wind blew with force for just a passing second. It carried danger, for the forest had fallen silent, none of the typical noises of its woodland residence making a sound. She stopped and pricked her ears, listening. Her hoof started to slowly move towards the sword swung over her back. She was ready, expecting an attack from behind, closing her eyes and relying on her other senses, such as hearing and smell to warn her of danger, imminent or otherwise.

She broke the deceptive tranquility of the forest and started to run. Swift as a doe, she leaped over rotting logs, bounded around trees and crashed through bushes and brambles, making the din of a panicked creature, pulling out her weapon as she did so.

She leaped off a cobblestone bridge, attacking with an upper cut. The mantodeaforb turned her way with hellish speed and parried her blow with its claw. The beast attacked with fury, each blow sending vibrations through her body and causing her to grit her teeth as she dealt with her foe.. Two times higher and much heavier than a pony, it still was incredibly fast. A greyish green chitin armour did not constrain the moves of the creature even in the slightest, despite how similar in appearance it looked to a praying mantis..

Snapping its mandibles, the mantodeaforb swang its claws like mad. Chromia moved backwards, blocking and dodging the chaotic strikes. At the same time she searched for weak points, waiting for her chance to attack or use a Word.

The mantodeaforb raised its front claws to crush the witch. Chromia didn’t miss a beat; she rolled over to the side and hit the beast with an Aard Word. The giant insect shrieked, collapsing onto the bridge. Chromia circled around it, wanting to separate it from its victim, a young stallion. The pony was injured, surely hit by one of the mantodeaforb’s claws. Blood oozed from his flank, as he tried to scramble away from the fight, looking at the witch with fear.

Chromia squinted her eyes. The mantodeaforb jump high in the air, thanks to its wings, and attacked again. The witch managed to avoid it, but this time she also countered. Her blade hit the giant insect in a gap in its segmented armour, between the claw and body. The mantodeaforb shrieked painfully, as green blood stained the cobblestones and the claw felt to the ground.

The mantodeaforb turned around quickly and hit Chromia with one of its remaining limbs. The zebra flew a few meters away, only by a miracle not falling off the bridge. She cracked her neck, got up, and waited for the beast to come.

The giant insect shrieked again, snapped its mandibles and charged. Just as it was about to strike with its sharpened leg, the witch shouted the Igni Word. Fire enveloped the mantodeaforb, which started to shriek so loudly, that the shrill noise caused her ears hurt, and it even caused flowers to fade and any milk which might be in the vicinity would curdle.

Chromia leaped with her sword raised in order to finish the beast off, but the mantodeaforb attacked with its mandibles in a last, desperate act. Chromia did not expect such a turn of events and was simply not prepared for the blow.

Her blade went through the insect’s head, but in a last, spasmatic move, the mantodeaforb jabbed Chromia with its żuwaczka in the shoulder. The witch cursed foully and threw the corpse away with an Aard Word. The insect’s body fell over the bridge, followed by a quiet splash.

The witch seethed through clenched teeth. Her injury was deep and painful, but that didn’t bother her so much. With her sword still out, she approached the young unicorn. She leaned on her sword and looked down at the stallion. He was afraid of her. She could clearly see it in his eyes.

“Did I just save you from suicide?” she asked finally. “No one in the right mind travels this way.”

“What about you?”

“I needed to take a shortcut,” she answered after a minute of thinking. “It’s getting dark. Hell, it’s night already.” True, the sun set some time ago.

“And everyone knows that the night is dark and full of terrors…”

“Why did you go through a bridge that’s considered to be cursed?”

“I don’t believe in some stupid peasant fairytales.”

She raised her eyebrow and took a look at the stallion. He did look like a noble or maybe even a merchant. At least not a rich one. He was too young.

“What’s your name?” she asked.

“Veks.”

She awoke abruptly, covered in sweat. She felt hot as if she was boiling in a cauldron at the ninth circle of hell. Something strongly clutched her whole body. She had no idea where was she and why she fell so much intense pain. The lack of clothes worried her, though. Her sudden wakefulness made her dizzy for a moment.

Slowly, everything started to return to her. The bridge, Au, the Reaches, tomb, lagunna, bandits. She remembered the fight in the village and the sight of Hoe casting spells. Chromia held her head and started to breathe heavily.

She missed her dream already.

“Veks…”

The witch looked around, immediately recognizing the inside of Old Hoe’s house. A quite comfortable bed, a furnace, bookshelves positioned where it was for the pleasure or convenience of its owner. A table littered with mugs, plates and various papers. A wardrobe with a jar on top of it, filled with an unknown substance.

The doors screeched and the village’s burgomaster entered the room, leaning on his walking stick.

“You’re awake,” he said in a croaking voice. “Good. I feared you’d never recover.”

“I’m a witch,” she reminded, looking at the old pony.

Hoe set his hat on the table and sat on a nearby chair. He sighed heavily and cursed under his breath.

“I always though wizards keep doing everything to cheat time, or to even stop its flow for themselves,” Chromia said, still looking at Hoe.

The burgomaster grimaced, as if he just ate a lemon. He shook his head and gave Chromia a tired look.

“If the Council and the likes of them are supposed to be the definition of mages, than I don’t want to be one anymore. I’ve cheated time for far too long anyway. I was deceived by those fools. They poisoned my mind with promises of power, wealth, and eternal life. And I, being young and stupid, allowed them to control me like a puppet.” Hoe looked at his hat. “I believed in their lies.”

“You’re the first wizard I’ve met that disagrees with the Council’s ideals. That’s uncommon. Impprobable, even.”

“And yet,” he snorted, “that is now in the past. My past. And I prefer to focus on present facts. Like you lying here, uncountious for two days. I’m impressed, witch. To loose so much blood and still live…”

“A neat trick, right?”

“Don’t make fun of me!” the old mage shouted, offended. “It’s a damn miracle you’re even alive. And I’m certain that’s not only because of your mutations, training and trials. For apart from being a witch, you’re also a zebra. A creature of the South.”

“To be honest,” Chromia said, grimacing, “I don’t really like when someone mentions that. I’m not a zebra. I’m just a pony with stripes.”

“Say what you want, but words won’t hide nor change your genes and roots,” Hoe said, moving his chair closer to the bed.

“That’s not what defines me. If I was wearing a cloak, you wouldn’t even know I’m a zebra. You wouldn’t see the stripes, the long eyebrows, you wouldn’t even notice that my face is not as smooth as a normal mare’s is.”

“Mayhaps,” Hoe answered. “Still, a zebra you are, and since we’re at the topic of your looks, you surely know that the South’s hard climate and life conditions, in which zebras exist…”

“I have no problems with my looks,” Chromia said proudly, showing Hoe her right profile. “I’m completely assimilated with the Central Dutches society. I mean, I would, if I weren’t a witch. It’s funny, how ponies who differ so much from one another have trouble accepting someone with a different eye shape.”

“You can try to assimilate, of course,” Hoe agreed, looking at the witch. “You can try. But in the age of ignorance, parochialism and backwardness it is an officium destined to fail.”

“Isn’t that what every mage says?” The zebra raised an eyebrow.

“I agree with then in that case, and only in it,” Old Hoe answered, shifting his gaze towards the floor.

Chromia eyed the mage for a short moment, and looked out of the window. It was a warm and sunny day outside.

An unusually sunny July, she thought.

“What…?” she started to ask. “What happened later? After I—“

“Fortunately nothing, thank the gods,” Hoe said, looking up. “The thug that survived and that second strange individual disappeared. I suspect… No, I’m almost certain that was a renegade mage. Or, what’s worse, one of the Council’s dogs. See, we didn’t exactly part our ways in peace. I would even say I managed to piss off those rotten fools. A few valuable items from the Mage Tower disappeared along with me.”

Chromia lips curled in a gentle, almost impossible to see smile, but the witch herself was still eyeing the burgomaster with an impassive look on her face.

The old pony gazed into the floor, clearly lost in thoughts. The witch stayed silent, waiting, for she knew Hoe had something more to say. The mage stirred up her curiosity, mainly because of his views and his attitude towards the Mage Council – it was very rare for wizards to become renegades due to their disapproval with the Council’s way of life. Most of the renegades were young mages, who wanted to taste the forbidden fruits, like necromancy or geocy. Such as they run away and his between bandits, murderers and marauders, trying to achieve their goals despite the costs, often leaving seas of blood and piles of bodies after themselves. Such renegades were hunted, for they vilified the opinion of legal mages. The Council’s fame and good name was the highest priority. They did not care for the wailing of mares, whose husbands have been torn apart by demons. They did not care for the life of innocent foal, lost in experiments. Nor did they care for the tears of fathers who watched their loved ones being killed by those, who were long dead, but some renegade had awoken them from their eternal sleep.

But Hoe was different. He left the small and elite group of mages exactly because of those victims and those who survived, whom his brethern considered unworthy of anyone’s attention.

He was different.

“Why are you a burgomaster, here?” Chromia asked, finally breaking the silence. “You’re helping those poor fools, those simple ponies, to survive. Why? Do you feel guilty? Or maybe you’re ashamed of your former comrades and want to repay for their sins?”

Chromia face was solid, like a beautiful, stone statue.

“I want,” Hoe said finally, “to do something good in my life. To die doing it. And you, witch?”

And me? she thought. I travel from town to town. Kill monsters for money. Fight curses, end foul spells. And after I finish my job, I’m being paid with a few coins and cold looks. No one ever thanks me, no one appreciates it. Each and every time. Because that’s my destiny, she thought. Because that’s… that’s what I’ve been made for.

And now I’m on a vendetta, she almost said out loud. To revenge the only persons that even thank me. The only pony that gave me warmth. The only one… that loved me.

And the one whom she couldn’t protect. A mistake she never wanted to repeat anymore.

“I’m a witch,” she said coldly. “I protect others.”

She looked out of the window. The sky was clear, and the sun bathed the earth in its golden beams. “Even at the price of my own happiness.”

“Damn this weather! The sun’s really burning my butt!” Au Revoir said, wiping her sweaty forehead.

After a week of resting and healing, the two mares finally left the Reaches. Chromia was not pleased, she knew that she had lost a lot of time. Aloe and Erynia could be already hiding in some deep hole in Manehattan or its outskirts. They had a head start from the beginning, and each minute of delay raised their chances to evade Chromia for good.

Au, on the other hoof, seemed to be in a good mood, even despite the fact that she was pretty much cooking in her half-plate armour. Is was so hot that one could make some scrambles eggs on the sun baked rocks, which the mercenary mentioned a few times, bursting into laughter. Chromia, however, did not share her humour.

“It’s been a long time since we had such beautiful weather,” Au observed. “And your expression really adds to the image, witch. A retired gravedigger is merrier than you. Everything is sunny and beamy on this glorious day, expect for your striped self.”

Chromia said nothing, but shoot Au a look that carried many words. Most of them unpleasant.

“Really, your company will give me depression ... or the runs.”

“Could you shut your trap up for just one moment?” the witch said, wearing an expression similar to the martyr, Holy Potato”

“I’ll shut up,” the mercenary answered, “on the day I die.”

As they traveled further, Au kept bombarding Chromia with words, sentences, comparisons and curses. The mares kept going east, towards Phillydelphia, for the next two days. Not one cloud hid the Sun for all that time, thus – to Chromia’s great satisfaction – the weather started to work against Au. The heat turned out quite a burden for the armour-clad mare, ruining her good mood and putting her through the hoops. Au dragged her hooves, tagging along behind Chromia, who spitted at the sun and its hot rays.

“Is your leg starting to annoy you again, Au?” the witch asked mockingly.

The mercenary muttered such a litany of curses under her breath that if an experienced bouncer would hear it, he’d probably redden like a miller’s daughter when losing her innocence with a stallion her father simply hates.

The witch and the mercenary stooped by the river Flow to fill their flasks. Au immediately wished to do one more thing. “I’ve had enough of this,” she sighed, takin her shin guards off. “I reek something awful and I feel like I’m covered in a weeks worth of sweat.. I’m going for a swim, and I’m doing it now.”

Chromia looked at herself, and then at the river. The thought of jumping into the Flow’s cold, refreshing water was very tempting. To take off her clothes and cool herself would be like a dream come true on such a hot day.

So, without hesitation, the witch set her swords and medallion aside and began taking off her clothes. She took off her leather jacket, ditched her shirt, throw out her belt and braces with elixirs. The golden rings disappeared from her neck, just like the earing and ring that clipped her mane.

And so Chromia’s clothes were soon lying on the dry, sunburned grass. The witch’s body, though, covered with many bruises and cuts could still be called nothing short from attractive. If someone managed to find a hint of fat, he could be considered being a living magnifyng glass. Her musles were lean and looked as if they had been sculped in granite, but her figure could still make more than one sorceress or lady jealous.

She was, by all standards, a beautiful mare.

And the beautiful mare jumped and dived into the river. For a moment she swam under the surface, and when she came back up, she tossed her mane to the back with one, swift movement and wiped them with her hooves.

“You’re still wearing that armour?” she asked, looking at Au.

As if touched by a magic wand, Au started to hastily take off her armour, feeling the frehness of the water just by looking at Chromia. It took her a moment to free herself from her metal carapace like a hermit crab.

Au was similar to Chromia in terms of muscles and stature. She had less bruises, but the zebra had a better figure. Au probably drank a lot of beer. Which did not change the fact, that many stallions would stand on attention just upon seeing her hindquarters.

Nightingale jumped into the water, splashing it over Chromia and finding the so much desired refreshment. When she rised up from the water, she sighned blissfully, squinting her eyes.

“Nice tattoo,” Chromia said with a mocking smile.

“Tattoo? What?! How did you-”

“A little too much of your lower parts stayed above the water when you dived. I’ve seen similar tattoos before. Usually they were roses or other flowers, sometimes a skull or a deck of cards. But I’ve never seen a nightingale tattooed on one’s groin.”

“Nightingale!” Au shouted, splashing water over herself to hide her blush. “Friends call me Nightingale, so it’s no wonder I have one as a tattoo, right?”

“And in a very key spot, I might add.”

A loud and long whistle pierced the air. A few more joined not long after. And they were followed by the obligatory shouts, curses and dirty words. But most of all shouts of awe for female beauty.

Chromia turned towards the hill, on which the main road was located. On the river’s far side, a few stallions in chainmails stood, covered with differently coloured tunics and with weapon tucked under their belts. They were the source of shouts and whistles, they were the ones that barked and ślinili się while watching Chromia’s and Au’s bath.

“Look at that, lads! The gods have been merciful to us, they rewarded us for our lawfull behaviour!” one of them shouted, laughing lacherously. “Two nimphs, alive with wild lust, appeared on our way!”

“I’ll give you nimphs, imbecile! You gods-forsaken fool!” Au started to splash the water, like every true mare would do when offended. “You plowing rat, you piece of shit! When I get my hooves on you, lust will be the last thing you’ll think of!”

”Au, calm down,” Chromia wanted to ease the mercenary.

The stallions roared with laughter, which only stirred Au’s fury. She swam towards shore, and when she got out of the water, obsene, vulgar comments started to rain like hails. Almost all of them praised the marvelous shape of Au’s lower body parts.

The mercenary grabbed her sword, unsheathed it and whirled a few times in the air. The stallions went silent at once.

“I’m coming for you!”

Chromia jumped out of the water, wanting to stop the other mare, but she was stopped by a loud scream. The voice was low and powerful, it silenced the stallions and even forced Au to calm down. A short, burly mule appeared next to the soldiers, clad in heavy armour. On his back lied a great axe. He eyed the stallions, spitted and cursed meanly.

“What in the whole bucking world is going on here?!” he shouted. One of the stallions, a tall, but thin as a pole unicorn pointed at Chromia and Au with a shaking hoof. The mule gazed at the two mares for a moment. Then he spitted again, grimaced and faced the stallions, throwing another litany of curses. “You sons of bitches! You numskulls!”

“Please, do forgive us, dear ladies,” Roland Skywater, an officer and the royal quartermaster, said. “These… good lads are on duty since half a year, and you probably imagine that it is hard to come across such… beautiful mares in such conditions.”

Roland Skywater was a sky-blue unicorn with a mane the colour of the sea and orange eyes. He was taller even than Chromia, which made him very tall by all standards. Chromia, as a zebra, easily overtopped most stallions.

The two mares came across a military convoy, transporting weapons and supplies to the outpost in New Baltimore. Four carts, covered with a sheet and pulled by eight soldiers, escorted by thirty mercenary ponies and one mule. It was those mercenaries that adored Chromia’s and Au’s charms just a few moments ago.

The witch gazed at the quartermaster with a cold look and stony face. He answered with the same. As Chromia looked at him, she came a number of conclusions. Firstly, Roland was the veteran of many wars and battles. The toils of life were engraved on his leathery weather beaten face. Secondly, his stance stated that he was used to wearing heavy armour and weapons, which allowed to guess in what forces he served.

“Why,” Chromia asked slowly, “does the army recruit mercenaries? Isn’t there enough skinny soldiers sitting in cities and outposts?”

Roland grimaced, as if the aforementioned fact made him feel uncomfortable. He muttered something under his breath, looking at the mercenaries, at whom Au was currently throwing curses. Six stallions of all races cowered their ears, while the chunky mule laughed, drinking some vodka.

“It was an order,” Roland said at last. “Our troops numbers are limited, the garrisons in cities, forts and castles are to stay untouched. The landlords are scared. That’s why I was given the order to recruit mercenaries for protection. The Creator cursed me with these… dossiers.”

”And what are the landlords so afraid of?” Chromia asked, rising her eyebrow. “Is there a war stirring up that I know nothing about? Do our neighbors from Rehenia plan to come here with swords and fire to burn, steal and rob? Or maybe the pegasi from the South want to attack, to cover the sky and hide the sun?”

Roland squirted his eyes and shoot Chromia a harsh look. She didn’t even wince.

”Your irony and sarcasm are unnecessary, witch,” he said in a voice cold as his gaze. “The Foxes wander the forests. They burn down villages, kill the peasants and our patrols. No one’s safe. That’s why our garrisons must be full, because those hellhounds attack in groups. Soldiers must be prepared to help nearby villages at every time as well. And the Foxes don’t mind spilling the blood of peasants, as long as those peasants are ponies.”

“Somehow,” the witch shoot a quick look at the mule, sitting on one of the carts, “that doesn’t stop you from hiring a mule to protect your goods from other mules. Do you hope that his brethren will leave you alone because of him? That they won’t bother you? That maybe they’ll just wave in a friendly way from the bushed they’ll be hiding in, treat you with some berries? Well, I say they’ll still kill you off, shoot you like ducks. And he will be called a traitor and the ponies dog.”

“You’re smart, witch,” he snarled,” but you haven’t told me anything new. I trust Vasyl. I hired him, because I’m certain of his loyalty, and even more certain of his experience and abilities. I wholeheartly believe… no, I know he won’t betray me. That he’ll stand and fight at the right side. For he, unlike the Foxes, is not a some snot. He understands what is right and wrong.”

“And what is right”? Chromia asked immediately.

Roland did not answer.

The mule – Vasyl – laughed loudly, showing his teeth. His armour crunched, the large axe swayed on his back. He looked at the mercenaries huddled ears and at Au’s proudly puffed-up chest and stern gaze. He knew a vast number of curses, but this inconspicious mare proved him that one learns all the time.

“Ha ha! My grandma, may she rest in peace, used to say something like that whenever grandpa came back home drunk like a pig. A long time has passed since I heard a repertoire as rich as yours, miss Au,” he laughed, and took a long sip from his flask. He didn’t even wince when the vodka washed down his throat.

“Your grandmother must’ve been a wise mare,” Au said happily, smiling thankfully towards the mule. “I assume that inherited her behaviour, or am I mistaken?”

”Right you are, miss.” Vasyl thumped at his chest, so hard his armour rumbled. “Those slimebags must be helt on a short leash, and if needed, whacked in the muzzle so hard that their teeth rattle. To serve, that is their damn duty, not to gaze at every flank they come upon on the road.”

“We’ve been travelling for a month now,” a young, armour-clad earth pony said. “And all we hear is ‘go here’, ‘go there’, ‘escort this’, ‘escort-”

“Shut your trap, Pike, or I’ll do it for you,” one of the mercenaries, who Au didn’t recognize, shouted. He was almost identical to the young pony, with the same coat colour, the same – albeit grayed – dark-blue hair. The only difference was the mustache, that the older pony proudly showed.

“What you saw wasn’t enough for you, snout? You should beg the good lady for forgiveness on your very knees. The pain I must come through with you…”

“Javelin, give the boy a rest,” Vasyl smirked. “I bet you were acting the same way at his age.”

“You see, miss,” the pony named Javelin said, seeing Au’s curious face. “This imbecile here is my son, my one and only child. The boy showed no talent towards sewing, shoeing, tannig or cooking, so I decided to teach him some of my profession. And he does a good job at that, like his father. Stupid he is, yes, after his mother, but damn can he use a sword!”

”And damn no one can ramble like you do, Javelin!” Vasyl chucked.

The old mercenary cursed under his breath. Au, on the other hoof, regained her good mood and seemed to forget all the “compliments” the soldiers gave her. She started to dabate with Vasyl and Javelin on various topics, most of them connected with the mercenary line of work - how much can one earn, how did it all look a few years earlier and so on. Finally, the conversation came to the topic of Foxes.

Vasyl became reticent, he only nooded or muttered in disagreement. But they all reached the conclusion that Foxes greatly increased the incomes of all mercenaries. Still, Au voted that the job was a very risky one. Javelin nooded, Vasyl stayed silent. All three of them knew how the Foxes treated their prisoners.

Meanwhile, Chromia was still busy chatting with Roland. They mainly talked about politics and the ruler’s view on the Foxes. The quartermaster was stern, harsh and precise in his opinion. The witch also.

Nevertheless, the conversation was due to steer towards another topic eventually.

“Which way are you traveling, witch?” Roland asked.

“Manehattan.”

“What a lucky coincidence.” Roland’s eyes flashed brilliantly. “We’re going the same way. As I said, this convoy is on its way to Baltimare.”

“I’m happy to hear that. But I don’t know how is that supposed to matter to me.”

“You see, I’m was given permission to hire mercenaries for protection. For a settled amount of time, but not only.” Roland made an effective pause, eyeing Chromia for a few seconds. “And I’m very generous when it comes to payment.”

“No,” she replied without hesitation. “I know what you mean, and I say ‘no’. Not now, not ever. I’m no sword for hire. I kill monsters for money, yes. But I’m not for sale. I’ll have to deny your offer, Roland.”

”You’re no sword for hire, that is plain. Mainly due to your apparent propiety.” The unicorn looked at his mercenaries, and then gazed at the one mare that was not part of his troop. “But she is. I’m interested in her opinion on that matter.”

“It’s not my business, if Au takes upon your offer or not. But don’t count on my help, Roland.” The witch’s voice was cold as a December night. “End of topic.”

Thousands of flashy points shined on the black sky, creating various constellations, a delightful sign for everyone whose sense of beauty goes beyond a mare’s spread legs. The silver moon plunged Equestria in its light, giving the land a mystical, almost fairy-tale appearance.

The mercanaries and soldiers set up their camp on a grassfield not far from the main route. The witch and the mercenary were standing outside the camp, next to a small altar of the Creator, built at an empty field for the sole reason that someone built it there.

“You said ‘yes’,” Chromia stated.

“That I did,” Au snorted, not looking at her. “I never ditch a chance to earn a few bits, and besides, we would have to take this road anyway. I don’t know what’s wrong in traveling in a bigger group and getting payment while doing that.”

“Because you allow someone to buy you like a sword. A dead item.” Chromia looked at Au, who kept avoiding her gaze. “Roland may be a royal quartermaster, but there’s something about him I don’t like. He just doesn’t look like a decent person.”

Au laughed loudly.

“You’re one to talk! You, my dear Chromia, hardly look like someone decent yourself. Especially when you try to freeze someone with that gaze of yours. It’s my life, witch. I’m a sword to hire. I kill those I’m ordered to kill, I protect those I’m ordered to protect. You kill monsters, and only monsters. And you’re an expert in that field. I kill everything, and also protect ponies. Not only from monsters.”

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t pretend to be stupid. I know you have that codex of your’s, that dumb rule to stay neutral and keep out of the outer world’s conflicts. You’ll protect a peasant’s family from a werewolf, wyvern od lesi. But would you protect them from marauders, thieves or other individuals? From those motherbucking Foxes? Please, tell me your definition of a monster, witch. What exactly is a monsters, according to you?”

Chromia answered with silence.

“Because you see, I think a monster is everything that behaves contrary to its species nature. For me, a monster is a father raping his own daughter, a mother killing her child. A monster is a judge that sends a pickpocket to the gallows, while murderers wander around freely. The Foxes, who kill peasant families for no reason, who rape underage mares and skin their fathers and brothers alive, who hunt foals with their bows. Those are true monsters for me.”

Chromia stayed silent. The two mares heard the loud talks of mercenaries, Vasyl’s chortling and Javelin’s commands. They heard crickets performing a concert for the fireflies. Chromia heard her heart beating, Au’s breath, and even someone eating beans in the camp. She even heard a wolf’s howl, far, far away.

“No, Au,” she said at last. “Those are not monsters.”

The mercenary wanted to rise her voice. Her face reddened, she was just about to shout, shout so loudly that she would be heard in Vanhoover, but Chromia stopped her with a quick gesture and looked in the eyes. Au saw true sadness on the witch’s face.

“Those are just ponies.”

The sun rose slowly above the horizon, bathing the fields and plains in gold. Water tinkled quietly in the stream that connected with the river Flow a few kilometers further. Au woke up before everyone else, or at least so she thought. She stretched like a cat, yawned, cracked her neck a few times and spat. The morning’s crisp air refreshed her, taking away the dizziness connected with getting up. She washed her face in the stream and was just about to start eating a biscuit.

She was interrupted by Vasyl’s loud yawn and squelching. The mule was also awake, but seemed to be taking his time getting up, unlike Au. He lazily opened his eyes and began to scratch his crotch.

The mare snorted, when she saw Vasyl, which alarmed the mule. His eyes shot wide open, his head started to turn, looking for the source of laughter, and his hoof quickly retreated. Au laughed even merrier, smiled towards the mule, took a bite of her biscuit and waved her hoof.

“No need to panic,” she said, chewing. “We’re all good friends here.”

“Now that’s a surprise,” the mule also smiled. “It is a rare occasion that mares travel with mercenaries, and even rarer that they sleep amidst them. And frankly, this is the first time someone saw my morning ritual and didn’t criticize it.”

“I’m not some spoiled landlady, used to live in luxuries and unable to imagine life without them,” Au declared proudly, crumbling her biscuit everywhere. “I’m a mercenary and to sleep on sole ground, under the stars, is nothing strange for me. And when something itches me, I consider it necessary to scratch myself.”

Vasyl got up, his bones cracking in all possible ways. He snorted loudly, scratching his beard. Then he pulled out two big carrots from his bags and started to eat. He chomped off half of the first carrot in the first bite.

“How did it happen that someone like you took up a job like this one?” Vasyl asked after a few moments of silence.

“Let’s say,” Au started to answer, smiling, “that it’s sort of a family tradition. My father taught me everything he knew. Sword-fighting, the art of survival. How to take care of myself in this world. And I learned, busily and eagerly, because it was something attractive for me. An independent life without chains; like children, a husband, piles of laundry and cooking. I wanted to be free, not to work like a slave. And I made it.”

The mule smiled, showing off his slightly yellowish teeth.

“Your father surely was a great pony, to love his daughter so much. At times like these, where nowhere is safe, where one can get his throat sliced for a few bits, he helped you fulfill your dream. Even if that dream was a dangerous one.”

“To be honest, he sort of had no choice. You see, I have two older brothers. Theoretically they were the ones my father wanted to teach fighting. But… they weren’t fit for that. At least not in his eyes. One of them is an extraordinary drunk; I don’t even know if his still alive. And the other one, laugh if you want, became a cleric in one of the Creator’s temples.”

“Shit in a bag and punch it! Two rotten apples in one family! Well, miss, I don’t envy you. I have four brothers and three sister myself, but I love all of them. Even if sometimes I have to punch one of them in the nose. But that’s because I care! You see, my family has a very strong sense of tradition. My great-grandfather was a farmer, my gramps also. And my father as well. So after that came the time for me and my siblings. But… well, it looks like I’m the rotten apple in my family.”

“So everyone in your family is a farmer?”

“That’s the way mules live, you see. Real mules, not those snot-nosed idiots, those plowing Foxes! Freedom, they say. Freedom and equal life for mules and donkeys! Horseapples, I say. I don’t know what they’re fighting for, but it sure as hell isn’t a better life for me and my kind. Pogroms, torment and oppression, that’s all that comes out of their struggles. Ponies are scared and see an enemy in every mule and donkey now.”

Au looked away, for she also despised, and even hated, Foxes and treated mules and donkeys with wariness. Vasyl managed to break that barrier almost immediately.

“I don’t know, who started it all,” Vasyl added with a sigh, “but I hope he’ll rot for that. For all the blood that’s been spilled.”

”For the sake of us all, Foxes must be caught, hanged and killed.”

Both Vasyl and Au were surprised by the sudden and quiet emergence of Roland. The unicorn looked at them with a cold, bored gaze. Au eyed him, showing no particular emotions, much like Vesyl.

”For you are right, dear Vasyl,” Roland said. “The Foxes only bring bad fame to ones like you.”

The convoy started to buzz with activity . The soldiers with caparisons in royal colours ate a quick meal and prepared themselves for travel in short time. Roland looked after everything, giving orders firmly and precise. Chromia was ready to leave before anyone even noticed her. The mercenaries assembled slowly and lazily, despite Roland’s reprimands; the quartermaster threatened them that they wouldn’t get any payment, but the mercenaries hardly believed him.

They moved out when the sun raised wholy above the horizon, but was still far from reaching its highest point. The convoy moved slowly on the eastern road that leaded to Manehattan, through Phillydelphia and Baltimare. Chromia felt more and more anxious with each step. She could not stop thinking what will she do when she finds Aloe and Erynia.

I’ll kill them, she though. Kill… just like they killed Veks? That would be the proper thing to do. The easiest one. But why did they do it? Why did she do it? It would have not been so puzzling if only the renegade mage was involved. But why did a witch murdered someone? She had no personal feuds with Veks. She couldn’t have.

Chromia cursed under her breath, grimacing.

“A bad day?” Au asked, coming towards her.

“Even more than a day.”

“Yes ... I’ve seen your attitude and faces since quite some time now. Is it what I think it is?”

“No,” the witch sighed. “I don’t have periods. I’m sterile. And besides… I’m too old for that.”

“How old are you, anyway?” Au tilted her head.

The witch smiled slightly. “Far older than you.”

The sun was high in the sky now. Chromia’s attention was focused on a squabble with Roland, about the validity of the witch’s codex that Chromia kept referring to. Or at least Roland though it was all about the codex, for even though the witch kept mentioning it, the truth was that long ago she had set her own rules, which she followed.

For the witches never had any codex. They were taught only a few basic rules and laws, and they formed the rest on their own, basing on the experience they earned during their travels. The only books ever written by witches was their bestiary, which was constantly growing, and a book containing recipes for their potions – the second one was protected by the witches by all means and costs.

Roland was of the opinion that Chromia should agree to join the mercenaries, if only because of the chance they get attacked by some monsters. The zebra insisted that her rules don’t allow her to do that. The quartermaster had no idea that the only thing keeping Chromia from agreeing were her own suspicions and speculations.

They were not the only ones with a different opinion on certain things. Au and Vasyl argued what kind of weapon is better. Au thought one-hoofed swords the superior weapon, light and fast, that allowed the warrior to use his free hoof to wield a shield, hold a dagger or to simply punch the opponent in the shout.

The mule, however, believed that a heavy, two-hoofed weapon allows to kill the enemy much faster and easier.

“All it takes is some strength,” he said, and then began to recount the many times when he managed to kill whole groups of enemies just by swinging his large axe back and forth. He kept guffawing while returning to those memories.

Au clutched her head in disbelief, explaining that such a fighting style was stupid and barbarian, and above all extremely dangerous. She tried explaining to Vasyl that agility and speed are enough to win with someone like him.

The mule laughed, pointing out that those words were said by a mare in a half-plate armour.

Young Pike listened closely to their discussion, hoping to get a chance to support Au’s statements. His father was debating with one of the mercenaries about the recent prizes of shields and the dishonesty of tax collectors. Pike knew this was an opportunity he was waiting for for some time now.

For Au Revoir, also known as Nightingale, catch his interest from the very moment he first saw her. Truth be told, the sudden appearance of two mares became a sensation between all the mercenaries and royal soldiers, but Au invaded Pike’s thoughts in a very special way. Chromia also did that, but in a far less positive sense. The stallion was young, his imagination spurred and when he thought of Chromia, shivers run down his spine, while every thought of Au made his heart beat faster and a wave of heat run over his soul and body.

The problem was, Pike didn’t think his feelings were mutual. Truth be told, he even felt scared. So he patiently waited for a chance to grow in Au’s eyes. A debate about various weapon types seemed like the perfect occasion.

Almost, for Pike didn’t really agree with any of them.

“I tell you,” Au snorted, “that all I need to parry your attack is a small bounce back and then a block to your axe with my shield. After that, all I need to do is swerve and thrust with my sword.”

“Take heed, miss, that I’m not a cart loaded with coal, and I can move on my own as well. I’m not some dumb lumberjack to press hold an attack; I’m the one that leads my axe, not the other way around! Even if you manage to leap away, I won’t just stand and wait for you to strike. I’ll just leap after you and attack in a pirouette.”

”Then I’ll jump back again and wait for you to stop. You’ll be feeling slightly dizzy, and that’s when I’ll start to attack with fast strikes that you won’t be able to block with your axe.”

“That’s what I have my armour for; it’ll stop your fast, but light attacks. And when I swing my weapon, that shield of yours won’t help you.”

“Horseapples. Yopu wouldn’t manage to back away on time. Your armour may be strong, but it has a few gaps and you don’t even wear a helmet. All I need are a few strikes to distract you and then I could finish the job.”

“You oversell yourself, missy,” Vasyl snorted. “And you underestimate me!”

“Don’t call me a plowing missy!”

Pike felt a tad scared, seeing Vasyl in such an angry state, but noticed that the thing Au needs most right know is… to tell her she was right.

“Miss… I mean, Au is right,” he said with confidence, though his heart was thumping like a hammer.

Vasyl glared at him, squirting his eyes so hard, that his bushy eyebrows hid them almost completely. Au looked at Pike with amazement and satisfaction.

“And what do you know about fighting, squirt?” the mule snorted.

“What’s wrong, old bull? The youngster is only saying I’m right. Ask the witch, and she’ll tell you the same thing.”

Vasyl muttered something under his breath, like a curse most foul, and slowed down a little, joining the mercenaries at the back of the convoy. Au looked glad and proud because of the won debate. Pike started to trot along her, not knowing, what to say next.

“You were right,” he finally said.

“Of course I was! It was all simple and logical! But thanks for the support anyway; that old mule would never gave up. So, how do like a mercenary’s life, Pike?” Au asked.

“There’s always something to do,” he answered with a smile. “And always a chance to earn a few bits. Well, my dad takes most of our wages, but that doesn’t put me off. I like this kind of… freedom and so on…”

“Why do I get the feeling that’s not entirely true?” Au grinned a bit. “Family tradition? You wanted to live up to your father’s expectations?”

Pike looked away. “Yes,” he answered shortly.

Au sighed and patted the young stallions shoulder. She understood him in a way: her own life as a mercenary also came from her family’s traditions and her father’s passion. But she loved this kind of life. She loved the freedom that no house would ever give her, she loved the adrenaline connected with fighting. The sound of a blade piercing the air was music to her ears. Her armour was like the most beautiful of dresses.

But she understood Pike.

“Then why don’t you say ‘no’ and start doing what you want to do? Live the way you want to? You are grown up, after all.”

“Are you serious?” he said. “How could I simply spit on my family tradition and disappoint my father? All my ancestor were soldiers and fighters! How could I just betray them?”

“Ha! That’s the thing, Pike. We all live our own life. What are you, some little princess, whose future husband was chosen before she even learned how to talk? Or some boy rised in a monastery, or maybe,” Au looked around, making sure she was out of Chromia’s earshot, “a witch? You’re free and you can live your own life!”

“You… you’re not making fun of me, are you?”

”If I wanted to make fun of you, I’d seduce you first and then gave a slating right in front of everyone else... Why’d you got so red all of a sudden?”

“It’s nothing, nothing… So what you’re saying is that I should go to my father and tell him, that I don’t want to be a mercenary anymore?”

“If you truly don’t like it. If you feel you’re not made for it… Tell me, have you ever killed anyone?”

“N-no,” he sputtered.

“And do you think you’re capable of doing so? Does the thought of blood flowing down your blade, the look of someone’s life fading away because of your strike makes you feel sick? Does the prospect of taking away a life makes you feel as if you had a hundred of eels snaking in your stomach?”

Pike paled, buried deeply in thought. He started to sweat and breath heavily. After a few minutes, when the storm in his brain passed, he dropped his head low.

Au send him an encouraging smile.

“Then this isn’t the life for you,” she said calmly. “And your father should know that. Because this is not about tradition, but about your very survival. If you’re not ready to kill, someone else will be. And sooner or later you’ll come across a fighter that won’t hesitate to strike you down. And then the family tradition will end. I’ll back you up in your talk with your father, don’t worry.”

The convoy traveled further to the east. Hooves click-clacked on the pavement, wheels rattled. Chromia stopped arguing with Roland when he had enough of it and went to the back of the convoy to see if everything is all right—at least that was what he said. Pike was all ill-tempered, he looked pale and scared. Scared of confroting his father, even despite Au’s good word and aid.

But he was also increadibly happy that Au noticed him. As to Nightingale herself, she was also back on speaking terms with Vasyl. They even gotten to another discussion, this time about different types of armour. The duo was cheerful again in no time and they did not shrink from showing that to the whole convoy with great bursts of laugher.

The travelers put up another camp in the evening, near the crossing of the roads towards New and Old Batimare. Chromia felt something heavy in her heart as she looked at the way leading to that last town.

Fire cracked in the campfire around which the convoy members gathered to rest, talk and laugh. Only Roland sat away from the others, checking some papers and nibbling on a halfloaf of bread. Vasyl took a large gulp from his flask with vodka and passed it further to Javelin. Pike talked to Au on the other side of the fire—the young stallion seemed to be telling her a story, judging by the interested look on her face, but only three could read the twinkle in her eye. One of them was saying how he once won a drinking contest, the other one was not interested in the fire and only used it as a source of light, and the third on kept looking at the road towards Old Baltimare with sadness.

He would have liked her, the witch thought. He was just like Au. Articulated, mouthy, fly. He had a responce to everything, he always had to make a comment. No one could say he had social graces, but that was what gave him charm. Bold and brave, he was always hanging. He even had the same sparkle in the eye when he came up with an idea…

Chromia closed her eyes. She listened to the sounds of talking soldiers, of Pike’s whispering. She heard Roland curse at someone under his breath every now and them.

She got up and sneaked into the night. No one noticed her. Or no one wanted to.

“Are you serious? You’re not pulling my leg?” Au said, smiling towards Pike.

“I would never do that,” the young mercenary answered quickly.

“Then sing something,” she encouraged him, “and don’t care about anything. Singing is quite common amongs mercenaries! How many times did I throw myself into battle with a song on my lips? It increases the morale in fighting. Come on, sing.”

Pike turned slowly towards the group of soldiers and mercenaries. He opened his mouth, but the chatter of talks drowne out his words. He panicked a bit, his throat felt dry and all of his confidence was lost. Au decided to intervine.

“Lads, be quiet for a moment,” she said loudly, but no one seemed to hear her. “Hey, shut up!”

Still no reaction.

“Shut your traps, dammit!”

In the sudden silence that felt upon the camp, the cracking of fire could be probably heard from a mile. The crickets in the nearby grass were loud as battle drums, and the wind howled in the treetops like some phantom. Roland looked up from his papers towards the campfire. Vasyl froze, his mouth agape. A soldier who was just about to have a drink dropped the flask and spilled all the vodka in it. He quickly passed it to his companion, thankful that Vasyl was gazing at Au.

In the distance, Chromia’s ears twitched.

“Thank you,” Au smiled lovely and batted her eyelashes. “Everyone of you likes songs, am I right? Of course I am! So, how about hearing a true artist use the talent that mother nature and father Creator gave him?” Au smiled again. “Pike, you may begin.”

Everyone, Roland included, seemed to be taken aback. Especially Javelin. Pike stood up, looked at his companions, gulped and closed his eyes. And started to sing:

Again, silence filled the air around the campfire. Roland eyed Pike with approval and respect. Vasyl smiled, showing his teeth. The mercenaries started to whisper amongst themselves, shake heads and made various – though this time most positive—gestures. Au drifted away into the land of great battles and even greater victory toasts.

Chromia, who was practicing with her sword a quarter of a mile from the camp stopped still. For a moment she stood, still as a statue, and then she smiled just slightly, though in her heart she cheered loudly. Then she returned to her sword-dance.

Javelin couldn’t shake off the shock. He looked at his son with a stone face. Pike started to get anxious and worried, afraid even. But then Javelin got up, approached him and smiled widely. He patted Pike in the shoulder and run a hoof through his mane.

“I’m proud of you, son.”

The stallion was galloping on the main road for a few hours now. He was tired, his breath slightly irregular, but he kept on running. He had orders. The Sun’s heat was burning him since a few days, but Deliver was in no place to argue. He was a messanger and when someone told him to go from one place to another, he did just that. The steward of New Baltimare—Sharp Horn—gave him letters for an officer stationing in Ponyville. Well, thruth be told, Sharp Horn had no idea what was in those letters, since he was also only passing them further, but orders were orders.

And Deliver was ordered to get them to Ponyville. The life of a messanger was not an easy one: they run from one spot to another, often without time for any breaks. Especially when the messanger was young. The payement was quite good, yes, but it paled in comparison to the amount of work one had to do.

The only small benefit was the chance to visit and see different places, but that did not made the young messanger’s mood much better. But he was intrigued by the greatly increased movement between the capital city and the gatehouses on the south-east borderline. Deliver was too young to remember the last great war, but he could somehow fell another one hanging in the air.

He run across the bridge over Flow river. He passed the gatehouse, not slowing down for even a second, and finally reached the Brogg Forest. Or rather the place where the woods crossed with the main road, for Brogg stretched through the whole length of the south side of the Foal Mountains.

The young earth pony welcomed the cool shadows of oak trees with pleasure. The whisper of leaves in the treetops felt refreshing for him.

The arrow whoosed through the air.

Deliver, happy to get away from the day’s heat, closed his eyes and sighed.

And never opened them back.

Two donkeys came out of the bushes quietly like ghosts. They looked around and quickly run towards the body of a young earth pony. One of the donkeys had a bow; he pulled out an arrow and readied himself, as him companion knelt next to the dead pony and pulled out the arrow that killed him. He opened Deliver’s bag and started searching for something.

“Faster, Jose,” the donkey with the bow said. “Someone can come here any minute.”

“Damn,” Jose cursed. “Nothing interesting here. Nothing about us. There was no need to kill him.”

“There’s always need to kill the bucking royal’s delivery dogs,” the other one said. “C’mon, let’s bury the body somewhere in the woods. Or burn it.”

“What… the hell… is that?” Vasyl grimaced.

“Holy shit,” Au sighed.

Chromia inspected the greenish, glueish substance flowing down the tree bark’s on something, that looked like a piece of torn off skin. Black skin. The witch, the mule and Nightingale preceded the convoy to make a recce. It was then that Vasyl found a most strange thing.

“Interesting,” Chromia muttered, crunching in front of the tree.

She neared her face to the substance and took a sniff. Her face sneered with disgust at the foul smell. To her companions disgust, she touched the substance with her hoof and tasted with the tip of her tongue. Her face sneered even more.

“Sour and spicy. Like venom.”

“How do you know what venom tastes like? “Au asked.

“If you ever get tired of life, I’ll let you take a sip of my elixirs.”

Au rised her eyebrow.

“When I manage to make some,” Chromia added, lowering her head down.

She pulled out her sword and lifted the strange skin with its tip, taking a closer look. The skin was scabrous on one side, looking quite thick and hard, but to be certain of that, the witch would have to touch it. She had no intention of doing so.

“Are there any more signs of this thing?” she asked, pointing at the venom.

“There’s one over there.” Vasyl pointed to greenish stains on the grass. “That damn thing has surely run away into the woods!” He spat on the ground.

“That’s possible. I have no idea what it was, though. I’ve never came across such a substance before. I suspect something like a giant insect, they tend to excrete… similar matter.”

“Wonderful,” Au snorted. “All we needed were giants bugs. As if this place didn’t have enough monsters already.”

“I’m not complaining,” the witch smiled awkwardly. “At least there’s plenty of job opportunities for me.”

“Dear Creator… And you’re happy because of that and keep saying that those are not monsters. It’s Vasyl and me here who fight the less abominable enemy. I mean, because-”

“You’re mercenaries,” the witch finished. “And didn’t you tell me yourself it was that the worst monster is that less abominable enemy?”

“I… you… . That’s not what… Oh, get lost, you dumb whore!”

Chromia laughed under her breath, when an outraged and confunded Au started to march quickly back to the convoy. Vasyl looked dumbfounded; he looked at Chromia slightly amazed, a little scared and absolutely lost.

“Damn… You say this belonged to some kind of insect? A big one?” he asked, placing his hoof on his axe’s handle.

“The size of a dog. At least. I don’t even know what this is.” Chromia swinged her sword, throwing off the skin. If it even was skin. “But I wouldn’t worry about it. I’’m more concerned about Au.”

“Nah, she’ll be okay. She probably having her mare days. She’ll bellyache about everything for two days and then she’ll calm down,” the mule said.

“Maybe. But that’s not the case, Vasyl.” The witch shook her head. “It’s about the crush of two different worldviews. You see, we have two different definitions of monsters. Hers is more symbolical, while mine’s more… practical. And she’s mad that I kill the literal monsters, but don’t want to work as a mercenary.”

“For me, a monster is everything that takes joy in killing. And it doesn’t matter if it’s a mule, pony, donkeys or whatever the woods hide. Sure, I took many lifes away with my axe, but I never did that with pleasure, like those plowing Foxes.”

“There’s much truth in that,” Chromia ageed. “But still… Killing mules, ponies, donkeys or other rational beings means I would have to take sides. If I support you, I’ll become an enemy to the Foxes; if I choose them, I’ll become you’re enemy. But I don’t want to take part in this war, because it’s not my war. I can kill stigas or vampires and protect both little foals, mules and donkeys.”

“And that’s something very much to your credit, witch. But, as my grandfather tend to say, war touches everyone. Lords, soldiers, peasants, merchants, and everyone else. Because war knows no mercy and doesn’t care who will die. Neutrality is like sitting on a fence: either you’ll get hemorrhoids, or you’ll end up on one of the fence’s sides. There’s no other option. I need a drink. Cursed louses… they drunk away all my good stuff.”

“War touches everyone... I’ve heard that before. You’re a wise mule, Vasyl.”

The mule smiled widely, showing off his teeth.

“But I lived through a few wars and never took sides. Never. I didn’t fight for Rehenia, when it went to war with Suraman, because King Ghringhor wanted to take revenge for seducing his daughter. The witches stood and watched, when Laulerin’s troops passed the river Flow, near Neighagra Falls, and attacked Rehenia.”

“And what about… back then?”

Chromia didn’t say a word. She knew what Vasyl had in mind. She was aware of the horribleness connected with the Great War. She read about it, heard about it. But she never though how the witches would behave in such a situation. She never wanted to. Still, Vasyl was right.

What about back then?

“There were no witches back then,” she answered after a long silence. “Not yet…”

In the evening, as the golden circle of the sun hid behind the horizon, the convoy came across a surprise: a few dozen soldiers of Laulerin. Twenty warriors armed with lances and twelve crossbowponies.

Their leader, a tall unicorn with orange colouring and eyes, stood in front of his soldiers and proudly puffed his chest.

Roland, dressed in similar, but more modest colours, also went up front.

“Who are you?” the orange stallion asked sharply. “Where are you heading and what for?”

“At ease, my friend,” Roland answered slowly and lazily. “We’re a royal convoy. We carry supplies to the guardpost at New Baltimare.”

The orange stallion eyed the carts and their guardians critically. He smiled a crooked smile and looked at Roland, who still didn’t show any kind of emotions.

“A royal convoy, you say? Supplies for New Baltimare, you say?”

“Is something unclear about that?”

“A few things, actually,” the orange one snorted. “I don’t understand what are all those mercenaries doing here. Not to mention a zebra. This doesn’t look like a royal convoy at all.”

“If you don’t know about the permission to hire mercenaries for protection, then I’m not sure if you’re really a servant of the crown. What about you? Cities are supposed to held garrisons and soldiers are to sit there quietly, biding their time. I may be looking at a bunch of deserters, for all I know.”

The troops commander reddened with anger and his face twisted in a comical grimace. He snorted and backed away, signaling his soldiers. Roland’s mercenaries started to discreetly unsheet their weapons. Javelin scratched his side, but his hoof was in a position that allowed him to quickly reach for his spear. Vasyl seemed to eye the westering sun, but petted his axe at the same time. Au smiled innocetly to everyone, but also toyed with her swords handle.

Chromia stood unmoved and calm, as always. She didn’t even pay much attention to the whole commotion.

The soldiers in caparisons looked at their weapons and at each other, but did not move. The atmosphere was tense, seconds turned into hours, the wind caressed everyone’s faces, irritating, disturbing, frustrating.

”You’re calling me a deserter?” the soldier’s leader snorted, breaking the silence.

“Yes. Because I was given precise orders. I have all the gleits and documents. And you and your soldiers? Where are you going and why?”

“We’re patrolling the road to New Baltimare. The Foxes wander around Brogg, many ponies have disappeared without a trace. There’s too much of those freaks out there. A lonely traveler or even a small group don’t stand a chance. They Foxes shoot them while hidden in the bushes!”

“As you see, we’re no small group.” Roland grinned. “But thanks for the warning, fellow soldiers. Have a good day.”

“Hold on. Show me those papers and gleits of yours.”

“To whom? A bunch of run-offs?”

“I’m a royal officer called Sharp Blade! I’ve been serving in the Laurelian army for ten years!”

“Ah, yes, I’ve heard of you,” Roland said, keeping his eyes on Sharp. “You fight the Foxes, and you’re quite efficient at that. I’ve heard you’ve been already rewarded for that a few times.”

“So you know me and you know, that I serve the Queen. Show me your passes and you’ll be free to go.”

Roland pulled from under his chainmail a round, silver medialion with the royal symbols: a star wand and the crescent moon. Sharp Blade looked at it and nodded. Roland took out a scroll from his bag and passed it to the officer. Sharp examinated it and nodded again. He shoot a hard glance at the quatermaster, but Roland’s face was still rock-solid.

“All right, everything seems to be in order. Move on. But be warned: the Foxes were seen east from here, not a long time ago. I’d watch out if I were you. The bastards might get interested in your convoy.”

“We’ll be all right. But thanks for the warning. Godspeed, soldiers. Long live the Queen!”

“Long live the Queen!”

The troops started to march west, in Ponyville’s direction. Roland watched them for a long moment, his expression bland. The mercenaries looked at one another, whispered and talked about the incoming fight. Vasyl lowered his head down. Pike gulped and started to look around nervously, which caught Javelin’s attention. The unicorn started to feel anxious as well. Au looked at Chromia, who in turn also looked at her. The witch really wanted to leave the convoy.

But she didn’t want to leave Au.

The quatermaster returned to the mercenaries. They all looked at him with anticipation. They knew he was about to say something.

“Well, there goes our peaceful stride to Baltimare,” he said. “Horse-bucking-apples. And here I was, hoping that we can somehow circle around those bastards. But then that plowing Sharp Blade had to come and crush all of my hopes.”

He was answered with silence.

“But,” he started again, “I have orders. And orders must be executed. And you all signed a contract, dammit. We’re… supposed to deliver all this stuff to New Baltimare and we will, for crying out loud! Right?”

No one answered. The mercenaries and soldiers kept looking at each other. Roland paid no heed to that.

“And that’s what you get paid for. To protect these plowing carts. And that’s exactly what you’re gonna do. If the Foxes attack, we will fight back. If only for a principle. Because those motherbuckers must be fought. But don’t worry. After all, what is a bunch of mules and donkeys, with their rusted swords in comparison with you, veterans and experienced fighters?”

This time he was met with shouts of approval. The mercenaries cheered, nodded their heads and started to talk about the incoming fight. Vasyl and Chromia did not share their enthusiasms. The mule kept looking at the witch, and vice-versa. Pike and Javelin also did not get carried away.

“So, we move out tomorrow, my dear gents… and ladies. We’ll get all this stuff to Baltimare and no bucking Fox will stop us. Are you with me?!”

“Yeah!”
“Kill the Foxes!”
“Death to them!”

“Get a good rest, lads, because tomorrow we might have a tough day!”

Roland disaapeared behind one of the carts, while the mercenaries started to light a fire. The soldiers were cheerful and smiling. Soon enough a fire was cracking merrily and warmth filled their bodies, while the thoughts of an upcoming fight filled their minds.

They were confident that if there will really be a battle, they shall surely win it. Some started to bet how many Foxes will they kill, others boasted they won’t even earn a scratch during the fight. One even claimed that he’ll fight with only his salwars on.

Javelin sat next to Vasyl. They both observed thei companions, shaking heads. Concern filled Javelin eyes, while the mule’s eyes were full of sadness. He cursed the lack of vodka and sat with a grumpy face through the rest of the evening.

Chromia disappeared in the dark again, but this time because of doubts. She had really no intention of staying and observing the masacre. Roland’s speech made her sick. He incited them to fight, assured that they have advantage over the Foxes. That was bullshit of course, empty words. The Foxes, though living in the woods were very dangerous even in open combat.

First, a few, if not more, will die from arrows, the witch thought, looking at sun slowly hiding under the horizon. The rest will panic and start to run. The Foxes will jump out off the forest and finish the job. They’ll spare no one. They won’t hasitate to kill Vasyl, but now withbout calling him a traitor first. They’ll butcher Roland, Pike, Javelin, the Greenhorn brothers, Shining Shield… They’ll even kill—

Her ears twitched. Someone was behind her.

“Au.”

“Idiots, all of them. Or at least most of them,” Nightingale snorted, standing next to Chromia. “Roland fooled them like foals. They bought his lies like some snots that just joined the forces. Damn, Pike is smarter than them. That boy will become someone, I tell you.”

“He does have a good voice,” Chromia admitted.

“That he has! I know what I’m taling about. Because—”

“You’re Nightingale. I know, Au. Everyone knows by now.” Chromia turned to Au, rising her eyebrow. “What are you going to do?”

“What do you mean?”

“You very well know what I mean.”

“True. And all I’ll say is that you’re a coward. You want to run away, leave us in those motherfucker’s mercy. You don’t want to get your hooves dirty, keep your blade away from blood. Or maybe you’ll simply stand and watch how those savages murder good ponies? You’ll sit comfortably under a tree and observe how they skin us, butcher us, and how they rape me?”

“Au—”

“No, dammit. Not Au. Chromia. Chromia is the one that doesn’t know what to do, the one that wants to keep her plowing neutrality. Is that some kind of a witch’s tradition? I don’t know and I don’t care, but what I do know is that Chromia can’t tell good from evil. That’s not so hard, witch. All you have to do is look at the world with your own eyes, and not through the eyes of some instilled ideology.”

Au eyed the witch with a stern face and fire in her eyes. Chromia looked away, focusing on some point far in the horizon.

“All you need to do is think, Chromia,” Au said finally, “and decide whether you think something is right, not what someone else thinks.”

She didn’t wait for the witch to answer, but turned her back on her and return to the mercenaries. The witch for a moment and then looked at the bunch: at Roland, who was going through all of his papers, as usually; at Vasyl, who was sitting with his hooves crossed and his head hanging low; at Javelin and Pike, talking to each other. Chromia saw Javelin holding his hoof on his son’s shoulder, clearly trying to rise his spirits.

The witch turned towards the eastern road and started to trot into the darkness.

“What do you mean she dissapeared?”

“Rumor has she just walked away early in the morning.”

“Well I’ve heard she had a squabble with that other mare…”

“Wasn’t she the one Roland threw away?”

“Skywater’s not stupid. He wouldn’t give up on an additional sword that easily. And I’ve heard that witches can do miracles with a blade.”

“Maybe not just with blades, ha!”

“Fool! You wouldn’t have the guts to say that in her company!”

“You’re the one that whistled when they were bathing in the river! And later what? You just stood with your tail between your legs and let Revouir shout at you! Ha ha!”

“And then Vasyl did the same!”

“Shut your trap or I’ll shut it for you, you dirty whoreson!”

“Take that back!”

“Make me, whimp!”

“Shut up, you riffraffs!” Vasyl shouted.

The convoy was approaching the place in which the forest of Broog intersected the road. The mercenaries were extremely talkative today. By contrast, Au and Vasyl, who walked next to each other, were very quiet. The sun shined so forcefully, as if it wanted to burn the very ground. It was almost noon, everyone waited with anticipation, when will they reach the forest and hide in the shadows of its trees.

Au was in a pretty dark mood. Chromia’s disappearance surprised her. She believed… she hoped that the witch would turn out to be more… reliable. So did Vasyl. Roland simply hoped that the witch would stay with them.

None of that changed the fact that she was gone.

They entered the shadowy woods. The leaves of great, old oaks whished, moved gently by the wind. Hooves click-clacked on the paved road, the carts wheels rattled. The mercenaries laughed, talked and shouted. Unknowing, stupid. Roland lead the convoy, carefully looking around, doubt on his face, fear in his eyes. Au walked next to Vasyl, Pike and Javelin fallowed right after. The quartet seemed to walk calmly, but their hooves looked anxious to grab and pull out their weapons.

Most of the mercenaries made much ado, as if they wanted to deliberately tell the Foxes where they are. One of the warriors walked only in his shalwar, with a bastard sword tucked behind his belt, singing happily and not giving a buck about the looks that a few of him comrades kept sending him.

“Hey, Pike!” a few others shouted. “Sing something for us!”

“No!” someone else disagreed. “Sing ‘The Sad Donkey’ for those whoresons! So that they know what they can expect! Ha, ha!”

“Come on, Pike! Sing something! Let those damn pricks hear it!”

The young unicorn tried to ignore the shouts. Roland was on the edge of shouting at the mercenaries, but that would only slow down their travel. Besides, there was no need for more yelling.

“Shut yer traps, dammit,” Vasyl snarled angrily.

All he got in return were more laughs and shouts. “What’s wrong, Vas? Afraid of your brethren?”

“Don’t worry, they’ll have a quick death here!”

“Too bad we don’t have the time to build some gallows! Ha ha!”

“Whoresons,” Au grunted under her breath.

Chromia observed the passing rabble with disdain. She stood under one of the oak trees, not too far from the road, so she could see it. She observed, shaking her head with disapproval.

She felt sorry. Sorry for Au, for Vasyl, for Pike. But she couldn’t interfere. She couldn’t let her personal feelings take the best of her. Damn, she shouldn’t have any feeling at all. She was a witch, and had no debts to pay, she didn’t owe anything to anyone.

Even Au.

Especially Au.

The witch waited. Anxious.

She did not wait long.

No one heard the whooshing of the arrow. No one expected it. It hit an earth pony by the name of Plunge, sinking in his occiput with ease. The stallion felt to the ground with a loud crash of his armour. Everyone around suddenly stopped feeling so merry, an uproar raised almost immediately.

Everyone grabbed their weapon, if he wasn’t holding it already. Roland cursed loudly, pulling out his sword. Au did the same. Vasyl closed his eyes and clutched his teeth, then sighed heavily and raised his axe.

“I’m ready,” he whispered.

Arrows started to fly like hailstones, striking everyone who didn’t shield himself. Everyone who didn’t lay down, or hide under a shield or cart, felt to the ground, punctured by arrows, without even the chance to groan in pain. Au shielded herself in the last moment, when two arrows flew at her. Vasyl seethed as one of the arrowheads cut his skin on his shoulder.

“You’ll need more than that to kill me,” he hissed through clenched teeth.

Pike felt to the ground, holding his head and gritting his teeth. His father lied beside him, also clenching his teeth, not with fear, but with anger. The mercenaries grabbed their crossbows that lied on one of the carts, but no one could see the enemies. They were all hidden somewhere in the woods. The mercenaries started to shot blindly, between the trees.

A few pegasi flew up, to have a better view and shooting position. But all they achieved was diverting attention from their comrades. Bodies fell on the unicorns and earth ponies, crushing, wounding, and even killing some of them.

“Show yourselves, you plowing cowards!” Roland Skywater shouted, not even wincing, as an arrow flew passed his head.

Like on command, mules and donkeys charged from the woods, yelling and swinging their swords and axes.

“Nocturne!” one of the donkeys shouted.

The mercenaries that were still standing rised their weapons and rushed to the battle. Two forces clashes in a fight. Blood soon stained the cobblestones road to New Baltimare.

Au shielded herself from a young donkey’s strike. She parried the blow and cut his skull with a swift move of her sword. Another Fox came running at her, with a battle cry on his lips. Au leaped aside and smashed him in the snout with her shield. The Fox swayed back. Au cut his throat with a fast attack and moved forward.

Vasyl kicked his opponent and lowered his axe from high up in a crushing attack, driving it through the Fox’es shoulder. The mule cursed and hissed painfully—someone hit him in the back with a sword, but thankfully his armour protected him from earing more than a shallow wound. Vasyl turned around, swaying his axe. The other mule—one of the Foxes—jumped back, avoiding the strike and grasped his sword firmly. Vasyl hesitated for a second. That was a mistake, for his opponent did not waver and prepared to impale Vasyl with his sword.

But he fell to his knees, eyes wide. A mercenary appeared behind him; he pulled out his axe from the mule’s back and shoot Vasyl a quick glance. Sorry, his eyes seem to say. The mercenary run away, towards the center of the battle. Vasyl never saw him again—the mercenary died moments later, killed with a blade to his eye.

Roland parried another blow. The two mules fighting against him unleashed their attack with fury. Finally, Roland leaped aside, avoiding a thrust and used his magic to pull one of the Foxes closer and ended his life with a precise cut. When the other Fox saw his companion’s death, he performed an upper-cut attack. Roland backed away, but not fast enough; the blade cut his cheek and nose, a wave of burning pain washed through his body.

The unicorn shouted angrily and jumped towards the mule, hitting him in the snout with his free hoof. The he pierced him with his sword. The Fox fell to the ground, convulsing for a moment, until he finally became still forever.

Roland kicked another Fox, who was just about to kill one of the mercenaries focused on fighting his own opponent. The royal quatermaster did not waste time and decapitated the Fox with his blade. He sighed heavily and looked around.

Almost immediately he was attacked by a mule wielding a a large battle-axe.

One of the donkeys cut a light-green pegasi in the face. Then he pierced his chest. The donkey was not victorious for long, for a bolt impaled in his occiput ended his own life as well. The bolt came from Au’s crossbow. The mare throw the weapon aside and rised her shield, just in time to block the blow of an axe. The force of the strike made her back away a few steps. She looked forward and saw a blade coming at her from above.

She had no chance of reacting as the Fox executed his attack. But he didn’t. Something stopped him. Au pushed the axe aside with her shield and looked forward. Pike was breathing heavily, his hooves shaking. It was amazing how deep he managed to bury his spear in the mule. He looked at the dead mule, and then at Au. She smiled a sad smile, giving him a thankful glance.

But at the same time she very much regreted Pike doing that.

Chromia thought about the things Au told her.

She hit the nail on the head, the witch thought. Right in the head. I really am standing next to a tree, watching this carnage. She was right.

She watched as the convoy’s guard thickens, much like the Foxes commando. She watched as they spilled blood in the name of values she didn’t—and never wanted to—understand. That they themselves didn’t understand either. She saw bodies falling to the ground, blood filling the gaps in the cobblestone road.

The witch sighed, shook her head and fished out Au Revoir with her eyes. She was fighting with a excepcionally fierce mule, who was quite the swordsman.

A shame, Chromia thought. They could use their blades to kill someone else, to kill those who deserve it. They’re just wasting talents here. Killing themselves, eyeing each other with hatred. Hatred, that no one even remembers where it even came from. One of them will fall down soon, and the other one will continue fighting. Until he dies as well.

Au is going to die, she realised, and a cold chill run down her spine.

She’s going to die… just like Veks. With a slit throat, waiting for help. She’ll fall to the ground, asking in her last thoughts: “Why, Chromia?”. Her blood will stain the ground, and she’s going to watch. A shiver will run down her back again. She’ll feel something heavy grasp her heart again. Again…

She’ll cry another tear.

“No,” Chromia whispered to herself. “I won’t let anyone down. No more.”

The hiss of the witch’s sword pulled out of its sheath was lost in the clamour of the battle.

Au swung her sword in a wide arc, but the donkey dodged her attack. He kicked Au and attacked from above. Au rolled to the side and unleashed a horizontal strike, but the donkey blocked it. The two fighters exchanged more blows, their swords whizzed by their heads like mosquitos. Sweat beaded up on their foreheads, flooded their eyes.

They both swung their weapons and clashed, looking each other in the eyes, seeing their own reflections. Fury and anger filled them, burned them inside, poisoned their hearts. They bore their teeths like wolves that were about to jump at each other’s throats, fighting over their pray.

The donkey kicked again, this time harder. Au bend in half, barely stopping herself from puking. The donkey smiled, ready to deal the final blow. Au wasn’t even able to see it.

And she didn’t. Because the donkey was suddently throw into the air and landed several meters away, falling on two of his companions and knocking them over. A few seconds later all three of them were pinned to the ground by mercenary swords.

Au looked up, thought she expected who will she see.

A black and white shadow flashed pass her eyes and landed in the middle of the fight. Au smiled and thanked the gods. She picked up her shield and looked around, searching for more enemies.

And charged.

Blinding pain hit Roland, when an arrow pierced his side. But the royal quatermaster did not stop fighting. He clenched his teeth and smashed a mule in the occiput with a whirlwind attack. One of the donkeys leaped on two mercenaries, knocking them over to the ground. His companion—a mule—was suppose to finish them off, but he was stopped by Vasyl, who blocked his axe. Vasyl did not hesitate this time and performed a powerfull uppercut attack, crushing the Fox’es skull like an eggshell.

He failed to see another Fox sneaking behind his back, but Chromia appeared next to him in the blink of an eye and slashed the Fox with her sword. Vasyl turned around.

“You came back,” he breathed, surprised.

“I came back,” she repeated.

She hit an incoming mule with the Aard Word, and sliced the throat of another one. The clank of weapons sounded through the forest, scaring birds and critters. All one could hear were the sounds of metal hitting metal and the wailing of injured.

Another arrow hit Roland, this time in the leg. The stallion fell to the ground. He tried to rise, using his sword for support, but the pain was too strong. He saw a Fox running towards him, who suddently burst into flames. Chromia jumped out of nowhere and ended his life with a quick move of her blade.

Roland looked at the, confused. “But… you said—”

“I know, what I said. But that’s not important anymore. What’s important is that you’re injured. Badly.”

“It’s a flesh wound, I can still—”

“Bullshit,” Chromia hissed. “We need to get you—”

“Freedom!” a mule shouted, charging at Chromia and Roland.

Chromia looked in his direction, but before she moved, the Fox was sweeped away by a thrown axe. Vasyl appeared; he was soaked with blood, his beard looked entirely black and glittered in the sun that shone through gaps between the treetops.

“Retreat!” one of the Foxes shouted. The commotion was so great Chromia couldn’t even tell if he was a mule or a donkey.

The Foxes began to run in all directions, into the woods. The mercenaries shot bolts after them, managing to kill a few, but no one had the strength or will to chase after them. The fight was over. Blood covered the path as if poured out buckets. The survivors were covered with dirt and deadly tired.

The fallen mercenaries have been placed in a row next to the carts, while the bodies of the Foxes were thrown onto a pile. Au sat by one of the wheels, greedily drinking water from a water bag. A makeshift bandage enwrapped her forehead. She was heavily bruised and blood still oozed from her many wounds, slowly dripping away her life. But it was dripping too slow, and Au still had much life left in her.

She got up and started to walk by the row of dead bodies. Vasyl sat on the ground, his head hidden between his hooves, swaying back and forth and breathing heavily. Others wandered around, picking up weapons and pieces of armour. They were all sad like a beaten dog. As if they lost. But the victory was theirs.

Right?

Au looked at the bodies with sad eyes. Sixteen dead, more than half of their whole convoy group. Au’s sadness deepened when she saw a stallion only in his salwars, with a sliced throat and a nasty wound on his forehead. Something gripped her heart when she looked at the stallions that whistled at her and Chromia by the river. She felt stupid for yelling at them back then.

Among the dead was Greenhorn, Bleu Sky, Havoc Strike and many others, whose names she couldn’t remember.

She approached Vasyl and sat next to him.

“Vasyl… I’m sorry. I’m so damn sorry…”

“No, Au,” he said, lifting his head. “I’m sorry.”

“You? What—”

A scream pierced the air. A terrible, heart-ripping scream. Everyone turned in it’s direction, but not abruptly, with no traces of being surprised or scared. Many lovered their heads, some hid them in their hooves. Au’s heart stopped, shivers run down her back, tears filled her eyes.

“PIIIKEEE!” Javelin shouted, kneeling before a young and still as a statue unicorn.

His cry pierced every living soul, the mercenaries clenched their teeth, closed their eyes, turned their backs. No one had the courage to watch. Except Au.

“Nooo! Don’t do this to me! What will I tell your mother?! What will I say?! Pike!”

Javelin hugged the lifeless body of his son and started to weep loudly. He kept swaying, as if wanting to rock his baby to sleep.

A sleep that Pike won’t wake up from.

Au wanted to run away, but her legs gave in, her whole world seemed to fall apart. She started to back away, to turn, she was just about to start running. But she was stopped by Chromia’s hooves. The witch hugged her silently.

“Au, calm down, all right? This isn’t your fault.”

It’s mine.

“If this is freedom,” Vasyl said slowly, gazing at the ground, “then I want to die in chains.”

The wind blowed, leaves whished, the treetops flackered. All the sounds of the Brogg Forest, where thirty seven wariours died that day. Sixteen ponies, twelve donkeys and fifteen mules.

The cry of a father, who lost his son, sounded for a very long time.

They moved on. They had to. But they were much fewer in number and much more… subdued. Roland Skywater, the royal quartermaster and leader of the convoy was also.among the ones that had been killed.

On the next day they saw Baltimare, the vast fields of green grass surrounding the city, the sky-high temple tower and castle walls. Everyone walked slowly, dragging their hooves. The death of their friend stigmatized them all. Javelin broke down because of Pike’s death.

Chromia walked last, alone. She felt bad. Not because she broke the rules, that she took sides. That didn’t bother her anymore. But she bad because of every death that happened on that day. Was that how being neutral looked like? Was that indifference? Isn’t that the very thing that witches are suppose to protect from?

But that’s not my problem anymore, she thought.

“Because I’m no longer not a witch…”