//------------------------------// // The Forest of Lost Voices // Story: Sword and Song // by Sharaloth //------------------------------// Part Two: The Forest Of Lost Voices “Hello?” The Blademaster crept through the undergrowth, his steps as silent as the rain that sprinkled the forest. “Can anypony hear me?” He drew a dagger from its sheath, holding the blade in his lips. His breath came in a steady rhythm, neither fast nor slow. He counted his heartbeats, strength coiling in his muscles. “Please help me, I don’t know where I am!” He surged forward, darting around a thick tree towards the source of the call. He skid to a halt as he found nothing there. “Where am I?” The call was close, almost at his shoulder. The Blademaster’s ears swivelled as he sought out its source. “Please, where am I?” He locked in on the sound, and slowly turned back to the tree he had just passed. There, settled in a hollow in the trunk was a disc of flattened stone. A cherry-red muzzle protruded from the stone, lips moving in soft repetition of confused words. “Well, that’s just… not right,” he mumbled past the knife. Then he passed the blade to his hoof and raised his voice. “It’s alright, ‘Bird. You can come out.” Songbird made her way through the same brush he’d just come through, stepping daintily. “What is it?” she asked. “Search me,” he replied, gesturing towards the stone-bound mouth. “But I’d guess we’ve found where this forest got its name.” She rounded the tree, and let out a squeak of surprise when she saw what he had discovered. “That’s horrid!” “No argument from me, love,” he tentatively reached out with the knife to poke at the stone. It wobbled at the touch, but the mouth didn’t react, continuing to plead with the hopeless desperation of the terminally lost. Songbird sang out a piercing note, her horn flaring with pale light. The stone shattered, the muzzle fading into ephemeral smoke that was washed away in the wind that rustled through the leaves of the Forest of Lost Voices. He jumped at her cry, giving her a startled, angry look. “You’ll bring the bloody Madmare down on us, you keep doing that!” he hissed. “Would you want to be left like that?” she asked, shuddering at the thought. He didn’t bother replying. Instead he shook his head and turned back to their original course, muttering about unreasonable mares. Her sharp ears would catch every word, he knew, but that was half the point. The other half was to make whatever was stalking them believe that he wasn’t paying it any attention. He’d noticed the creature as they’d been breaking down their camp to start heading into the forest. He’d seen it prowling through the long grasses out in the field, getting a good enough look to be sure that it was no pony. Once they’d gotten into the forest, it had become harder to keep track of the beast, and he’d been reduced to catching glimpses of it out of the corner of his eye and hearing the subtle noises of movement as it passed from branch to branch through the trees. At first he’d worried that it was the Madmare or one of her servants. He dismissed that after a little thought. The Madmare was as erratic as her name suggested, but while she was known to play games with her victims, she usually let them know that they were playing too. Whether they wanted to play or not. No, this was something different. Something that was stalking them more like a wild animal than the immortal, invincible ruler of a fifth of Equestria. Songbird might have noticed too, but on the other hoof she might not. From travelling with her this long he could tell that her senses were nearly as sharp as his, but he also knew that they didn’t see the world the same way. She missed things that stood out to him, didn’t put the same amount of importance on the signs of violence and predation that surrounded them out here in the wild North. He supposed that was only natural. She was a minstrel, after all, a showmare. She wasn’t expected to understand the dance as well as he did. For the moment, that dance was still in overtures. To the unseen watcher they were the prey, stalked until the moment to pounce came on. It was up to him to predict that moment, and turn it around on whatever beast thought two armed and wary ponies might be good prey. He didn’t think it’d be much longer. She caught up, walking beside him with her mouth pressed into a thin line. It was an invitation, and he wasn’t the kind of stallion to refuse a mare. “What’s on your mind, love?” “A power in the North, other than its Ruler,” she said. “None of the stories I know mention anything like that. Do you know anything about it?” He shook his head. “I know the same stories you do. They all say the same thing. Nopony can fight them.” He casually flipped a throwing knife into the air, catching sight of something crossing the path behind them in the reflection on its spinning blade. “‘No blade can cut them, no arrow can pierce them, no spell can reach them.’” He flipped the knife again, but this time didn’t spot anything. He returned the knife to its sheath and kept walking. “It might be the only sure thing left in the world. And let’s not forget what the Madmare can do to the ground under your hooves. I don’t see how it’s possible, love. That caged pony was mad. Another victim like the poor sods with their mouths stuck in stone.” “I don’t think he was lying,” she said. “Didn’t say he was,” he replied. “Just crazy.” She shook her head, but didn’t argue with him. Which was just as well. He didn’t think he could keep up his end in an argument against a Songbird with the bit between her teeth at the best of times. Right now, while he was on the lookout for attack at any second? She’d both win the debate and be a distraction that might get them both killed. He flexed his jaw a couple times. He was getting tired of waiting, and Songbird wouldn’t leave well enough alone for long, he knew. Even now, he could see her neck stiffen and her steps grow even more dainty. She was working herself up to a good, strong angry. While she was pretty enough when mad, he always preferred a smile to a frown. “I can’t see it,” he said, and she shot him a sharp look. “But that doesn’t mean it’s not happening.” Her brow crinkled as she thought about how to respond to that. He didn’t give her the chance. “I imagine we’ll find out as we head north, love.” “I’m worried someone else found the amulet already,” she said. His eyes went wide in surprise and he stopped suddenly. “Hadn’t thought of that,” he said. He could see the problem that would present. It would make things a whole lot more complicated. Maybe even impossible. Of course, this was the moment the creature chose to attack. It leapt out of the trees, claws leading. A cougar’s body, but featuring a yellow scorpion’s tail tipped by a vicious stinger. He’d fought others like it before: a lesser manticore. The Blademaster grabbed at one of his side-swords, the blade only halfway out of its sheath by the time the beast was on them. He brought the partially-free sword up, catching the first swipe of the claws on the steel. He dropped into a roll immediately afterward, barely avoiding the lightning-fast jabs of the manticore’s stinger. The beast came on with a feline roar. Still on the ground, he wasn’t in a good position to stop it, and steeled himself against the raking claws that were about to come his way. Songbird saved him from that fate, her voice lifting in furious exultation as her magic threw the manticore to the side. The magical cat recovered quickly, turning to hiss in anger at her. The Blademaster used the opportunity to fully pull his sword. He gave a thankful nod to his companion, then set himself into a low crouch as he squared off against the beast. The manticore snarled at him, swiping with its forepaws. He dodged the strikes, but didn’t counter. He knew how manticores fought. He’d killed enough of them. Sure enough, just as he was supposed to be worrying about those deadly claws, the stinger snapped out. Vicious poison dripped from the sharp tip of that tail. Not as deadly as the venom of a greater manticore, but more than enough to ensure that the cat would get its meal. He twisted, the stinger missing him by scant inches, and swiped with his sword. It bit into the hard shell of the tail, only cutting a quarter of the way through. The manticore shrieked, yanking its tail back with enough force that it caught his sword and pulled it from his mouth. He wasted no time in drawing its twin, setting his stance low again and watching the injured creature carefully. Songbird began to sing again, but he held out a hoof to forestall her. He was sure she could do something nasty, but it was unnecessary. He had this. The manticore, injured and angry, came on in a rush. He caught one swipe with his sword, and with a well-timed stomp he crushed the other paw into the ground. Earth pony strength ensured that the blow was stronger than his slight size would have allowed, breaking delicate bones. The beast went wild, snapping at him with its teeth and lashing out with its deadly tail again. He reacted with the grace and style that had earned him crossed swords for his cutie mark. He leapt up, the teeth and tail just missing him. Then he came down on the sword that was still embedded in the tail, his hooves finding the flat of the blade and driving it in even deeper as he his weight forced the tail to the ground. The great cat reacted by jerking at its trapped limb, its roars turned from intimidating to frightened. That reaction only resulted in tearing its injured tail further, until finally with a wet ripping sound the stinger was completely severed. The injured manticore ran, vanishing into the foliage in moments and leaving a trail of slightly luminescent orange blood behind it. The Blademaster sheathed his clean sword, then carefully removed the other one from the remains of the stinger. He looked over the blade’s edge and sighed at how much work it would take to get it sharp again. Songbird was looking in the direction the cat had run. “Are you going after it?” she asked. He shook his head. “No need. It won’t be after us again.” “Won’t it just bleed to death now?” He shook his head. “Magical beastie, love. It’ll have to hunt easier prey for a while, but it’ll be right as rain again in a year.” “Less likely to attack travelling ponies, I hope.” “I think it’s learned its lesson,” he said with a laugh as he cleaned the blood and chitin from his sword. “Now, what’s this about the amulet?” “I was just thinking, if whoever it is can challenge a Ruler, they might have found it.” “Only one way to be sure,” he said, sheathing the blade. “Let’s not dawdle.” *** “Another one,” he said, pointing it out. Songbird shivered as she spotted the stone disc hanging in a spiderweb. The thin strands of the web didn’t look strong enough to be holding the stone, but seemed to have no trouble with its weight. “That’s the third one this hour. They’re getting thicker the closer we get to the center of the forest.” He nodded in agreement. Two days into their journey through the Forest of Lost Voices and they could hear the cries of the Lost constantly now. It was mostly just whispers carried on the breeze, but some, like this one, were set too close to their path to ignore. “Figure it won’t be long before we’re seeing them all the time. You sure you don’t have any earplugs, love?” She shook her head, and kept moving. “I don’t understand it,” she said. “Why do this to ponies? They don’t do anything, they just… talk. What does she gain from it?” “You’re looking for sense in the wrong place,” he replied. “She’s not called what she is for nothing.” “She was always crazy,” Songbird mumbled under her breath in a way he knew he wasn’t meant to hear. “But this is just senseless.” He didn’t quite know what to say to that, if he was supposed to say anything at all. Still, he didn’t want to let the conversation die. “Maybe this is just her way of playing silly buggers even when she’s not around to do it personally.” “Maybe,” Songbird said. She spun, lighting her horn and singing out a trill that shattered the stone to powder. “You gonna do that to every one of them?” She shrugged. “Maybe,” she said again, then turned north and kept walking. He held out a hoof to stop her, and she gave him a quizzical look. “Something’s not right,” he said in response to the unasked question. “Hold a moment. I’ll be right back.” Not waiting for her to respond, he darted into the trees. Something had caught his eye when he had looked back to watch her destroy the disc: a tree that had branches cut from it. It took a minute for him to reach the tree, and it took only a moment to confirm that the branches had been cut with a saw rather than torn down by weather or some beast. It had been cut recently, too. A short examination of the area revealed even more signs of recent passage by a group of ponies. “What does it mean?” Songbird asked after he had shown her the remains of the campsite. “It means we’re not the only ones walking these woods,” he said. Then he indicated the trail heading away from the site. “North. Same direction we’re heading, almost the same line, too. If I hadn’t spotted this, we might have walked right into them.” “They might be travellers,” she said. “Maybe we could learn more about what’s going on from them.” He nodded. “Might do. But I’d want to make sure of them before I let them know we’re here. The look of this camp is, well, I don’t know. Something just doesn’t sit well with me about it.” He pointed at the doused firepit and the indentations where efficiently-placed tents had sat. “This doesn’t look hurried, or rough. They took the time to dig and then bury a latrine pit. It reminds me more of a military camp than something a bunch of travellers going through a forest as scary as this one would make. Then there’s this.” He pointed to a few areas of flattened ground that were clearly not made by tents. “It was cold and raining last night. Yet there were at least three ponies sleeping outside of tents. I don’t know what it means, but it’s best not to take chances.” “What happens if we catch up to them?” Songbird asked. “Don’t worry, love,” he said, flashing her a cocky smile. “If that happens you can just leave it to me.” *** Snow was drifting through the trees, flashing in the ghostly light of a waxing moon that shone through a break the clouds. The Blademaster would have spent some time admiring the sight, if he wasn’t so focused on the figures moving slowly about their campfire. There were half a dozen of them, all earth ponies, each wearing suits of black armor that reflected like glass. He couldn’t be sure, but it looked like what was visible of their tails and hooves sparkled as well, as if they were covered in glitter. They hadn’t spotted him, but that wasn’t due to any deficiency in their alertness. They had set up this camp with a professional efficiency that reminded him of the Sorceress’ Guard. Those were supposed to be some of the last professional soldiers in Equestria, and they did not wear armor that looked anything like this. Nor did they have any business travelling an enchanted forest in the deep North. Lying on the ground, almost hidden from view, were a trio of lumps. Only the soft motion of those lumps let him see that they were ponies themselves. When he focused on them he could see the strange, glassy manacles that held their legs tightly, as well as the blood that stained their coats darker in the moonlight. He maneuvered around the camp a little, and the remains of a fourth pony, this one clearly dead, lay steaming and still near the latrine pit. Carefully, moving with the practiced silence that had helped him become the greatest monster hunter in the Heartland, he left the strange camp and returned to where Songbird waited. Not that his stealth mattered much, he could have stepped on a dozen twigs and he doubted they would hear anything this deep in the forest. The susurrus of voices was like standing in a vast room where everypony was whispering to each other. No one voice was raised high enough to understand, but all of them were talking at once, creating a noise that was just on the cusp of being understandable. It had him on edge, and he knew that Songbird was feeling it worse. She was more attuned to sound, to words. Perhaps she could even understand what some of the Lost were saying, and he did not envy her that possibility. He made sure to be visible to her as he crept up. She sat in a glade of night-blooming wildflowers and moon-touched snow. A quintet of stone-locked mouths whispered their secrets to her as they hung from branches or sat propped against gnarled roots. The rays of moonlight touched her white coat with silver and shone off her green eyes. Her expression was contemplative, introspective. He always recognized her beauty, but it was in moments like this that he was truly struck by it. He could see why she was such an effective storyteller, her mere presence could be mesmerizing. Even more, despite the story she had told him of how she had acquired the blue feather, he still couldn’t shake the feeling of innocence he got from her. Somehow, even through all the trials of her life, it seemed like she had held on to some spark of purity. It was a rare thing in the fallen world, and it made him feel especially protective, above and beyond the promise he’d made to her and her mistress. She looked up as he approached with nervous expectation. He stopped for a moment, scanning his backtrail, trying to ensure that he hadn’t been followed. The noise cut both ways, after all. They wouldn’t have been able to hear him creep up and away, but neither could he have detected the crushing leaves or snapping twigs that usually alerted him to something following. Once he was sure that he hadn’t been tracked, he stepped up close and spoke right next to her ear. “Ponies,” he began. “Earth ponies. All in black armor. I’ve never seen the like before.” “Who do you think they are?” she asked. He shrugged. “If I had to guess, I’d say they’re your rebel power.” She looked off in the direction of the soldiers’ camp, ears flicking as a dangerous thought crossed her mind. He could see the content of that thought as clearly as if she had performed one of her streamer-puppet shows about it. “Don’t even think it, love. They didn’t look like the talking sort.” “We need information,” she replied. “We’re like as not to get robbed and murdered,” he said. “And this place, it’s not good for pulling one from the herd and having a quiet word.” She set her jaw, but he tapped it with his hoof, and her eyes popped wide in surprise. He made sure her eyes stayed on his, so that she could see how serious he was. “Not tonight. The chained-up nutcase said this rebel power was up north, right? Well, that’s where we’re heading anyway, there will be another chance.” “I just don’t think–” “They won’t talk to us,” he said. He put as much steel into his eyes as he could. In his mind’s eye he saw the cooling body of the dead pony again. He didn’t want her trying it on her own. “Come on, love. We should be away. With the moon out we’ve got enough light to travel. We’ll cut an angle, through their path so we don’t run into each other again.” Her frown remained, but she nodded in acquiescence, allowing him to lead her onward in their steady march to the farthest reaches of the north. *** The whetstone made a soothing, clean noise as he drew it across the steel. It had taken more than an hour of work, but his blade was sharp again after fending off another minor monster attack earlier that day. He sent it along a couple more times to confirm that he’d worked out all the burrs and chips, then flipped to the sword upright to give it one last visual look-over in the light of their campfire. A few hard days of walking, and they were finally reaching the northern edge of the forest. Snow had completely replaced the rain, and the landscape was rapidly becoming more wintry, though the trees still kept their leaves. They hadn’t seen any more signs of the black-armored ponies, and that was just the way he liked it. “Are you finally done?” Songbird asked. He grinned at her. “A clean sword is a happy sword, love. You don’t hear me complain when you tune your guitar.” “It’s a lute,” she replied, reflexively looking over to where her instrument lay in her bag. “And it’s a lot better than listening to that horrible scrape over and over again.” “Agree to disagree, love,” he said with a chuckle. “I’ve yet to hear the tune that matches the ring of a properly sharpened blade.” She gave him a look that was as much considering as it was annoyed. “What about that one?” She pointed at the largest sword, the one with the ring for a hilt. “I’ve never seen you sharpen that one.” “Don’t need to,” he said, touching the sword with a gentle hoof. He could feel the metal vibrating, singing a song just beyond his ability to hear. “This is something special. Steel Glory is her name. Cost enough money to retire on, with a mansion and servants and everything.” “It doesn’t look that special,” she said. It didn’t. Steel Glory was a long, wide wedge of dull metal. It didn’t have the elegance or killer shine of his other blades, though its two straight edges were wickedly sharp. The ring-hilt was scarred and pitted, as if it had been corroded by time and overuse. He didn’t much care about the aesthetics of it, the sword looked exactly as it had when it had been given it to him, and was every bit as deadly as he’d been promised. Songbird hadn’t seen him use it yet, but if the North lived up to its reputation, it wouldn’t be long before he had to rely on its terrible power. “Looks are deceiving,” he said. “You should know that better than anyone, love. No pony’d guess a pretty mare like you’d be clever enough to play the Tempest against her own Pegasi.” Her lips quirked up into a smile, which he returned. “I shouldn’t have told you that,” she said. “It’s a good story,” he said. “I’ve got a few of my own,” “I’ve heard some of them,” she said. The gleam in her green eyes was part professional curiosity, and part her own love of stories. “The Blademaster, greatest monster hunter in Equestria. I heard about you slaying the Chimera at Saddlehorn Pass. Or when you fought the Plague-Driver down by Appleoosa! You versus a swarm of mutant ponies and buffalo created by a pony corrupted by eating a Druid’s Apple. That’s practically a modern legend!” He shivered at the mention of that incident. “Wasn’t as fun as the stories make it sound,” he said, touching Steel Glory again and remembering the sounds of the dying. “No. It wasn’t fun at all.” She caught on to his mood immediately. “Well, why don’t you tell me another story? Something that was fun?” He considered it for a moment, then smiled. He would oblige. “Alright. Now, you told me what you were doing before you got sent on this mad errand. Suppose it’s only fair I should do the same.” Then as the fire crackled and her eyes practically glowed with eager attention, he began to weave his tale.