//------------------------------// // VI - The Pale Master // Story: A Beginner's Guide to Heroism // by LoyalLiar //------------------------------// Chapter VI The Pale Master Graargh woke up while I was drawing on the ground with my hoof.  It wasn’t a complicated sigil, but to a little earth pony colt (or a little ‘bear’), it probably represented the greatest magic he’d ever seen.  A septagram inlaid within a circle inlaid within yet another septagram, inlaid within yet another circle… I’d been doing it for almost three hours when he woke up, so you can imagine how long that sentence could go.  I’d covered almost three square strides of soil in the complex symbols. “What shape?” the little colt asked me, both signaling that he had finally woken up and reminding me of his curious grammar. “It’s called a septagram,” I explained to him.  “It represents unicorn magic, because there are seven schools. It’s useful for organizing complex spells.” Without putting too blunt a point on it, if you ascribe to the six-pointed understanding of magic—what we traditionally call being a ‘six-schooler’—then you may as well give up the study of magic. He cocked his head.  “Spells? Do they taste like snails?”  He scrunched his nose at the thought.  “They don’t taste good.” I must have squinted down my muzzle at him when I asked my next, fundamentally stupid question.  “Were you born in a cave or something?” “Yes,” Graargh said proudly.  “This one.” The sound of a hoof slapping on a face echoes quite well in a cave. “Right… Look,” I pointed my horn over to Wintershimmer’s spellbook, resting at my side.  In a pale blue glow, it rose up into the air. Graargh took it about as well as one could imagine.  When the screaming stopped ringing in my ears, I walked over to the rock he was huddled behind.  “Graargh, I promise I’m not going to hurt you.  Okay?  It’s completely natural.” “No!” He shouted, covering his ears.  “Is bad!  Like green fire bad!” “Green fire?”  I rolled my eyes and shrugged.  “I don’t know what green fire is, but there’s no such thing as good or bad magic.  What’s good or ev—” I caught myself on that.  “...or bad is how you use it.  Do you understand?” Graargh didn’t seem to be inclined to listen to me.  Instead, he covered his head with his hooves, tucked his tail against his side, and shivered.  “Go!  Bad leave!” Now, for just a moment, I entertained the idea of leaving him behind to go on my way before Silhouette’s scouts—or Sisters forbid, Queen Jade herself—showed up tracking me. At first, my thoughts of heroism from the previous night died in the face of just how annoyed I was with Graargh’s reaction to basic magic.  Besides, a colt would slow me down… But was that really the right thing to do?  Would I ever be able to tell the true story of my adventures if I left a poor orphaned colt alone to starve to death in a cave… somewhere? As brutally self-centered as my logic was at the time, it did produce what I would argue is the moral outcome. So instead of leaving, I grabbed onto Graargh with my telekinesis and prepared to put him onto my back. For the second time in recent memory, everything in my life went terribly wrong.  Within my arcane grip, Graargh screamed, and then roared unnaturally again.  Then he burst into flame. Green flame. My magic was blue, and it takes pegasus magic to make real fire anyway, so as you can imagine, I dropped him in shock.  What hit the ground, though, was definitely not the little colt I had been expecting.  Little colts don’t weigh dozens of stone, or have massive claws on the ends of their legs, or… well, my point is that they aren’t bears.  Especially not grizzly bears, if my guess was correct. Although, once my shock had time to turn to amusement, I realized Graargh was still a young grizzly bear.  He looked small and cuddly and adorable, and if I brought him into any civilized town in Equestria I would probably be swimming in mares in under three minutes—an absolutely desirable quality for a young mage like I was at the time, lacking hard-earned wisdom on the subject.  The only thing that really stood out to me were his solid turquoise eyes—and when I say solid, I mean no pupils, no whites, just smooth turquoise.  I probably would have stared at him for a good few minutes trying to figure out what that meant, had I not been clawed across the brow by the incongruous grizzly bear I was now dealing with. “Ah!”  I clutched my bleeding cheek with a hoof as I backed away.  “Graargh!  What in Tartarus?” “Bad!” he shouted.  I discovered I hadn’t yet run out of the potential to be surprised, as my eyes widened at his clearly still-Equine voice.  “Not fire!  Not green!  Am bear!” “Yeah, you’ve made that pretty obvious.  But… what are you?  Some kind of lycanthrope?” I don’t know why I asked that question but I got the exact answer I should have expected.  “Am bear!” “At the moment…”  I rolled my eyes.  “Forget it. I’ll ask somepony who actually knows.  Are you done trying to maul me?” Graargh contemplated that question, and then nodded eagerly.  A wide smile crossed his… is it still called a muzzle on a bear?  We’ll go with ‘maw’ for now.  “Yes!  Am bear!” “Oooo-kay.”  I sat down next to my drawing again, pulled my hoof away from my face, and let a few drops of blood fall in the center of the crude nested septagrams.  “Graargh, I’m about to do more magic.  Please don’t panic, and also please don’t kill me.  I would really appreciate both of those things.  Can I trust you?” Graargh nodded again, hesitantly, so I closed my eyes and let familiar magic draw into my horn. Reaching from the physical world into the Between was easy; mana wanted to go to its natural resting place, even without my encouragement.  But finding the Summer Lands with the tendril of magic I wielded wasn’t easy.  At least, not in general.  Necromancy was long held to be the hardest (and most dangerous, for reasons that will become even more apparent as we continue) of the seven schools of magic.  But a lifetime of practice specializing in the pale school had made me a practiced expert. But at times, even an expert had to refer to the Pale Master. In this case, in addition to being the chapter title, that honorific also refers to the greatest living practitioner of necromancy. Only halfway down writing this page does it occur to me that since Wintershimmer was now dead, that title no longer applied; as I mentioned, one must be alive to be considered the master of one of the seven schools.  I confess, the only reason I haven’t ripped out this page and started over is that it took me a very long time to get my sketch of Graargh right, up above. Returning to the story and away from my poor choice in titling, my septagrams lit up in blue, and my blood spread out to color the surrounding concentric circles in red.  Brilliant light flooded the mouth of Graargh’s cave, and the little… cub, I guess… withdrew a few steps.  Unlike Queen Jade’s rudimentary seance, my work was both elegant and suitably visually impressive to represent the incredible feat I was achieving: namely, taking the soul of a dead pony and rendering it back into a demi-solid material state. All thoughts of technical terms and visual emphases left my mind, however, when a ghost sat down just in front of me. “Coil.” “M— Wintershimmer.” My mentor’s ghost was younger, just as he’d appeared before Jade: with a mane full of hair that actually touched his horn, and a healthy dose of muscle filling in cheeks that I had always known in life as gaunt, skull-like cavities.  His expression was still ancient, though: firmly set lips, and a low brow that constantly judged everything that passed by his gaze. “Do not pretend that losing your grip on a simple spell has made you my equal, Coil.  I’m still your Master.  And despite my jest for Jade’s benefit, you are no archmage.  Not yet.” “Who—? What—?”  Graargh’s truncated vocabulary failed him in an almost impressive way. I waved a hoof between the small bear cub and the ghost of my mentor.  “Graargh, this is Wintershimmer the Complacent, formerly Archmage of Union City, and the Pale Master.”  Wintershimmer always insisted on his full title when being introduced to a new pony.  I briefly entertained the same practice myself, until I got to the point where ponies ran out of breath on mine.  “Wintershimmer, this is Graargh.” “A bear cub?  In a cave?  You’ve certainly fallen in the world.” “Yes.  Literally.  Grievous Gorge is quite deep.”  I made a show out of putting my hoof in the middle of my chest.  “You’ll have to forgive me, Wintershimmer.  You see, I was unjustly accused of murder and politically motivated poisoning, and it cost me most of my worldly possessions.  And, for that matter, very nearly my life.  You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?” “It was the right decision for me to make as your mentor,” Wintershimmer replied, as if casually observing the weather or his estimation of the worthlessness of some passing earth pony. Yeah, Wintershimmer was exceptionally racist.  After the whole ‘ripping out souls’ bit, the permanent muting of an innocent mare, and insulting the Queen to her face, I figure that isn’t much of a surprise. “The right decision?!” I roared (like a pony, for a change).  The events of the past… week, or however long it had been, had finally pushed me just a little too far. It took only a raised brow from Wintershimmer to draw my attention to my attitude.  The old wizard had a way about that sort of thing.  I swallowed heavily, and forced down two breaths—they did absolutely nothing to make me less justifiably angry, but they did put me in control of my tone.  I continued with a forced icy smile.  “How in Tartarus can you possibly claim that trying to get me hung was the right decision?” “I had the utmost confidence you would escape.  If you couldn’t defeat Jade’s paranoia and Silhouette’s tiny imagination, you would have proven me a failure of a mentor, and I would have no further use for you.  But, as you are currently alive, I would say that you’ve proven yourself well.  I admit, I was expecting a seance sooner.  Ten days was quite the wait.” That confirmed my suspicions about Graargh taking care of me, at least.  “Jade got a few good hits on me when I was on my way out of Union City,” I told him, carefully omitting the canyon-diving portion of my adventure.  “I needed to let my horn heal.” “Reasonable.  Well, since you have clearly failed to grasp the blunt message I was conveying to you in Union City, allow me to beat it through your skull, Coil.  With my death, had you not been exiled, you would have inherited the title Archmage of Union City.  Without an arcane thesis, or even time as a journeystallion, you would not be properly eligible, but Jade and her lackeys know nothing of our rules.  You could have had it if I hadn't interfered.  Do you think you deserve that?” “I—” He didn’t bother letting me actually answer.  “I know you would have stayed, Coil.  I know your ego.  You would have smiled and picked up my staff and sat down at the Council, and then fundamentally humiliated yourself when the Union inevitably came into conflict with Equestria.  Star Swirl and his lackeys would have destroyed you.  You might have been doomed to be one of Clover the Cruel’s projects, or you might have had the great fortune of living out your days in self-importance.  In either case, you are not ready to take an apprentice.  You are not ready to pass on my legacy, let alone your own.  I shudder to imagine what your legacy would be if I let you believe your education was completed today.” It’s hard to have something witty to say when the person insulting you is absolutely right, so I held my tongue. “I assume by now that you’ve realized your options in mentorship are limited.” “Star Swirl and Clover,” I replied.  “I was planning on going to River Rock; I’m not sure which one I’ll meet there, but it’s a sure bet that I’ll find one of them.” Wintershimmer made a show of sighing.  “You can’t study under Clover.” That commandment, couched though it was in caution, confused me.  “I don’t have a lot of other options.  Isn’t Star Swirl over a hundred years old?  I wouldn’t want him to just keel over in the middle of a lesson.” Wintershimmer snorted through ethereal nostrils.  “My ill-groomed counterpart has no doubt extended his life just as I did.  And nature granted him a body of far greater durability than my own.  You’ll find he has little sympathy for the condition of your horn.  But despite all that, the choice of his mentorship is the only one you have.  I would as soon expect Clover to kill you as to accept you.” “What?” Wintershimmer nodded.  “There is a reason she is called Clover the Cruel, Coil.  Most in Equestria use ‘Clever’ to her face.  She has a reputation not unlike my own…save in how we earned them.” “So are you finally going to tell me this story, then?  Why she’s called ‘the Cruel’?  Am I ‘ready’?” He frowned, more pointedly than even his usual self.  “No.  But my death has forced both our hooves.  I had hoped to wait until you were ready to face her.” That was a terrifying thought.  “Face her?  What, like… duel her?” “Preferably lethally.  Better yet, assassinate her, if you can stomach the thought.  It would be safer.” “I… Why would I do that?  Why would I want to do that?” “A talk for another day.  For now, focus on your survival.  I’ve already lost myself; I would hate to lose you too.” I drew in a deep breath, and remembered my place in the cave.  “So… I guess I’m going to keep learning from you, at least for the time being?” “Once you’ve found more suitable environs.”  Wintershimmer glanced around the cave, and out its mouth, where his vision was quickly cut off by a tree and a trickling stream.  “Are you still within the borders of the Union?” “Well…” I turned.  “Um, Graaargh, where are we?” “Cave,” he answered helpfully, giving me a look like I was the one being ridiculous. Wintershimmer leaned forward in my elaborate runes.  “Your name is Gur-arg?” “No,” Graargh replied firmly.  “Am,” and then he roared. Curious transparent yellow eyes widened.  “Guhrooragh?” “Oh, Sun and Stars!”  I stomped my hoof.  “You’re not going to get it right, Wintershimmer.  Just call him Graargh, it’s close enough.  But he’s not going to know.” “I know!” Graargh interrupted petulantly.  “Shiny ponies not far.”  He furiously pointed out.  “I see them, fishing.” Wintershimmer’s muzzle wrinkled at the mention of eating meat, though his only comment came in my direction.  “I see you continue to maintain a high standard of company.  It appears you’re still near Union City.” Graargh continued, oblivious to my mentor’s roundabout insult.  “Parents go many times.” At that revelation, the dead member of our little trio very nearly emulated the whip of a bear-tamer with his spectral neck. Aside: even though seanced ponies tend to look like themselves when they come back, they aren’t bound by usual rules of anatomy.  If you’ve ever heard of a soul turning its head around in a full circle, I can tell you personally that they’re true. “I’m certain I would remember if two bears had come wandering into Union City.” I leaned toward Wintershimmer.  “They might not have been bears.” “Beg pardon?” “He’s… Well, I don’t know what he is, but he was an earth pony colt when I first met him.  All I know is that he’s not ‘just’ a bear..” “No!” Graargh protested.  “Am bear! Always bear!” Wintershimmer turned to me, glanced at Graaaagh, and then nodded.  “You suspect shapeshifting might reside amidst his repertoire?” Graaaagh cocked his head, confused by the twenty-bit words Wintershimmer was wielding.  I caught on immediately, and picked up the role in kind. “I've borne witness to it myself,” I retorted.  “When my magic graced his form—” Wintershimmer’s eye twitched, probably resisting the urge to snort out something resembling a laugh. “—he was engulfed in an emerald inferno, and the corporeal being you witness found its genesis.  I had suspicions that his nature might be that of the lycanthrope; perchance some mutation upon that most ancient of curses grants him sway to take his form free of Luna’s influence.” “I see.” Wintershimmer shrugged, shaking away momentary amusement.  “Curious, but it isn't a mystery worth solving at the moment; not so long as you’re still fleeing Jade’s forces.  For now, he is only a distraction.  Go about your business.  Contact me again when you reach the snow of the old Diamond Kingdoms.” I offered a nod of acquiescence and ended my spell, though the back of my mind bristled with irresistible temptation.  Wintershimmer might have offered me what I thought was sound advice, but I still wasn’t happy with being betrayed in front of Jade and Silhouette.  Further, I confess that the idea of figuring out just what Graargh actually was as a way to bolster my reputation as a mage was an almost irresistible tug. “What speak?” Graaaagh asked me, once Wintershimmer’s shade had vanished.  “I not know that speak.” “Don't worry about it,” I told him.  “Just… If you need to gather anything, you should probably do it now.  We're going to try and find your parents.”