//------------------------------// // VII - The Mare with the Leaden Tongue // Story: A Beginner's Guide to Heroism // by LoyalLiar //------------------------------// Chapter VII The Mare with the Leaden Tongue It turns out Graargh’s cave was well past the border of the Crystal Union, and his definition of “close” was utterly wrong.  I wish that would have meant Jade wasn’t following me, but as I’ve stated before, she wasn’t the kind of pony who frequently acted rationally. We wandered out of Grievous Gorge together, although most of the time Graargh rode on my shoulders.  I didn’t mind that much; even as spring began to set in, the chill still meant that a warm-blooded scarf was a welcome addition to my otherwise thin garb.  He didn’t talk much, which was fine by me.  Butchered Equiish and bear games weren’t exactly my idea of a good time. In fact, the only notable development with Graaaagh was that the next morning, when I woke up, he was a colt again… and exceedingly disappointed about it.  I did my best to console him, but at least in this case, my efforts were far from good enough to stop him crying.  My only option was to wait it out, grinding my teeth into dust as I walked. We stumbled onto a rough dirt road, and some time later in the day, I entered with somewhat more grace and class than the word ‘stumble’ can accurately convey into a small town utterly lacking in my aforementioned two qualities.  Were I to describe it in a single word, that word would be ‘hodunk’.  The town consisted of four, maybe five dozen thatched-roof cottages and exactly one larger structure that loomed like a fat six-year-old bully over a runty four-year-old.  I had no idea where they had found the stone, let alone the engineering skill necessary to support a two-story building in a place like this.  From the picture of a bed carved into the hanging wooden sign, I assumed it was an inn of some kind.  There were no obvious shops, no visible square or garden on the main street to even host a market, and no other conveniently illustrated wooden signs. What I did see were workers.  Earth ponies milled around, carrying satchels of grain and stone and whatever-else on their backs and in carts.  Their eyes mostly stayed on the road, downcast and focused on the task at hoof (whatever that might be for each pony).  They seemed so focused, in fact, that I—an outstandingly handsome young unicorn (‘outstanding’ in this case meaning that the fact made me stand out)—walked all the way from the first break in the woods where the cottages began up to the door of the inn without so much as a ‘Hello’, or even a ‘Get off my lawn, whippersnapper!’ At this point, I feel it prudent to provide a very brief lesson.  I had a grandiose metaphor for this lined up, but upon recording it and discovering it was over a page long, I realized that it would not be appreciated.  Thus, without further ado, I present Coil’s First Law of Heroism: The answer to any factual question can, given time and effort, be found in a library somewhere.  The answer to any useful question can, given much less time and effort, be found in a tavern. This particular tavern’s single common room was well lit from an ample collection of glassless windows (or, for the more literal-minded of you, ‘holes in the wall’), to say nothing of the candles mounted to support beams in the center of the room, or the roaring fireplace set off to one side.  Utilitarian wooden furniture, cut smooth by careful carpentry but lacking in lacquer or polish, filled the otherwise mostly open space.  Off to my left as I entered the door lay a likewise unvarnished bar, and a set of stairs which, on reflection, must have been the architectural pride of the village. Oh, and the room was also full of ponies.  I took notice of the innkeep, a stout balding stallion with a clipped ear and a dense bar moustache, first.  He was pouring a purple unicorn mare a drink—her horn was what really stood out to me in the sea of earth pony laborers.  As my eyes swept over the room, I found literally nopony else worth remembering for the purpose of inclusion in a record of the adventures of my youth some time after the fact. Thus, I approached the innkeep.  The purple mare slid to the side, staring at me for just a few seconds before returning to her drink. “Three new vis’tors all in a day,” the innkeep grumbled to himself.  “Roads must finaly be seein’ travel again.  Whore you?” he asked me, in a rather peculiar accent. I did not omit an apostrophe. “Umm… no, actually, I tend not to pay for my romantic liaisons.”  The mare beside me briefly choked on her drink holding back a laugh, even as the innkeep glared.  “I’m just looking for a meal.  And then maybe a room for me and my…” I glanced back at Graargh, whose wide puppy-like eyes were failing to instill any more sympathy in me than his previous hours of whining about his shape had.  “...friend.” The innkeep’s eyes narrowed.  “‘Friend.  Right.  I’ll scoop you two some stew.  Gimme a minute.”  He turned back to the purple mare, gesturing down to her drink.  “You wan’ another one a them?” I tuned out what she said in response, instead laying my jaw down flat onto the bar, and allowing myself to breathe.  Only, in that moment, after weeks of constant running from the spectre of Jade’s vengeance, did I realize just how utterly tired I felt.  And, if I’m forced to be honest with myself, just how far I’d fallen.  Sure, I’d felt the aches in my shoulders after days of walking and in my back from sleeping on hard earth; it’s just that until I sat down on a real stool inside something resembling a real building, that some sense of adrenaline and adventure had pushed all those feelings down. I was tired.  I was effectively alone, save for some… thing that mostly looked like a young colt.  I was sore, hungry, thirsty, and above all of it, lost.  I didn’t even know the name of Hodunk (not that knowing the name would help me find it on a map, which was yet one more thing I didn’t have). I might have fallen asleep if it weren’t for a piece of wood pressing up against my cheek.  I opened my eyes to find a tall tankard forcefully nudging my raised, elegant right cheekbone, its handle wrapped in a magenta magical glow. “What…?” I managed to groan. “Have a drink, and stop being such a…” Ahem.  Apologies; it wasn’t that her words trailed off.  I just feel the need to give you a warning.  See, this particular mare had a certain way with words, and I have far too much respect for her to misrepresent those words.  So instead, I’m going to trust that, if you’ve made it past my discourse on topics like necromancy, being framed for murder and government conspiracy, you can handle a little bit of language. If not, as she would put it, grow a pair. Continuing where I left off, she told me “Have a drink and stop being such a fucking pussy.  Or at least give some to your kid; he looks like he’s about to keel over.” Pulling myself up into a slightly more dignified slouch, I allowed myself to take a better look at the mare.  She was a unicorn of reasonably average height for a mare, with magenta eyes and a dirty blonde mane.  Both meanings of the former description are true: her mane was a dirty blonde, and it was also dirty, with rough pine needles and the remains of at least one maple leaf helping to accentuate the complete lack of any recognizable style.  Her tail was in similar disarray, and trimmed shorter than was probably socially acceptable, given the sort of view it would offer to anypony standing behind her—and dirty or not, at that age I envied the stallion lucky enough to be in that position.  Her cutie mark, helpfully left unobscured by the lack of reasonable tail, depicted a glittering tiara framed around a slender rapier—a set of symbols that seemed starkly at odds with the rough-and-tumble pony who had just cursed at me while she offered me an ale. More than any of that though, my eyes caught on her sword.  She was wearing a few saddlebags that mostly concealed the weapon from the door, but up close, it was unmistakeable: a blade most of the length of her torso, with a gilded crossguard and a sizeable amethyst set in the pommel. “You might be cute, but I don’t fuck stupid, so you can stop staring at my ass.” “Not your…” I rolled my eyes.  “I was more interested in why you have such an—” My honest thought, ‘Expensive sword’, was truncated by the arrival of the innkeep with two bowls of some thick, golden-brown stew. “‘s apple-cabbage stew,” he told us, setting one down in front of me, and one in front of Graargh, whose efforts to climb onto a barstool clearly demonstrated that he was unfamiliar with the idea of ‘furniture’.  “Enjoy.” “Thanks.” “Don’ mention it.  Good to be cookin for ponies who aren’t from town again.” The bowl that I’d lifted halfway to my lips (for want of a spoon) slowly returned to the bar.  “Hold on; shouldn’t this town be full of merchants and travelers?  You’re sitting on the road between the Union and River Rock, right?” “Lübuck is the city that matters;” Gale cut in.  “Economically speaking.  Fucking Horseatic League banks are where all of Equestria’s money is sitting these days.” “Aye, but the colt’s right;” the innkeep nodded to me.  “Lübuck’s where you’d go to catch a boat to River Rock, if ye were really dead set on freezing to death.  And we are sittin’ on what oughta be the main road here.  But we’ve a problem with bandits.” “Bandits?” I asked, suddenly more interested in the problems of the small town of Hodunk. “Ol’ barbarians, we think.  Crystals from back before Hurricane killed off all the warlords.”  The reference to a far darker time in the history of the Crystal Union wasn’t lost on me, but I pushed down recollections of history, both then in order to focus, and now, so that the narrative flow might not be interrupted for your sake. The innkeep continued.  “They attack ponies in the wood.  ‘N they steal foals from the town.  Slavers, we figure.  Selling ‘em off to somepony in Lübuck or one o’ the pirates who sail the waters past it.” “Stealing foals?” Gale asked, her brow rising.  She too leaned forward.  “Have you contacted the Legion?” The stallion nodded to her.  “Aye.  A full squad o’ ‘em showed up.  Went into the woods.  None o’ em came out.”  The innkeep sighed.  “We asked again, an’ they said we were gonna get some old veteran.  But the stallion never showed.  Been near two months now.”  A pained sigh emerged from the stallion’s lips.  “An’ I only go through the trouble of tellin’ the two of you that so you know to be careful.  Only way out of town is the wood.  An’ if you’re smart, you don’ come back  when you go.  Now eat up.  Stew’s coolin’.” I have yet to meet a bad earth pony cook; I theorize it is part of their magic.  After my first few sips of the stew proved it was boiled in pure ambrosia, I tipped half the bowl back into my mouth.  It was only then that the ‘boiled’ part of the above overrode the ‘ambrosia’ portion.  Desperate for something even relatively cool, I grabbed the purple mare’s offered ale with both hooves, downing three sizeable swigs. The ale was everything that the stew was not: reminiscent of used socks, imbued with a fundamental hatred of equine physiology, and possessing a mildly nutty aftertaste only in the sense that anypony who drank it willingly had to be at least mildly nutty. “Heh.”  The barkeep chuckled as I put on a face, trying to swallow the bitter ale to save myself from death.  “Told ya unicorns can’t stomach an Old Cirran, Gale.” The mare, Gale, rolled her eyes.  “I drank three quarters of that piss—and frankly, I can’t fucking blame him, since that’s clearly ground-aged.” The innkeep snorted.  “Do I look like I’m about to fly up in the sky and grab some clouds for barrels?  We’re all earth ponies here; what were you expectin’ ordering an Old Cirran?” “Well, if that’s how we’re gonna play, do you know how to mix Luna’s Cunt?” Throughout the whole conversation, I’d been struggling to force down the ale and failing.  At the name of that drink, I released my stored arsenal; the stallion behind the bar dodged deftly to the side, wincing alongside my reaction. “Young lady, we’ve got plenty of gods-fearing ponies in these parts; ‘round here, we call that a ‘Luna’s Blessing’.” “Fine, whatever;” Gale rolled her eyes.  “As long as it tastes good, I don’t give a shit what you call it.  I’ll take one.” “I try too?” Graargh asked me, leaning forward. The old earth pony leaned forward, chuckling.  “Probably too strong for you, kid.  But you two seem to need drinks.  What can I get ‘ya? I got near about everything.” Graargh leaned forward, almost stepping up onto the bar to be seen past my shoulder.  “Honey!” “I’ve got mead…” the stallion answered. “Water’s fine.”  Graargh frowned at my interruption, but the bartender left all the same.  Not two seconds after the innkeep left, my curiosity got the better of me.  “What’s in a ‘Luna’s…?” “Cunt?” Gale seemed proud of herself for her vulgarity.  “Whisky, blackberries or blueberries or whatever you can find, some henbane to make it really kick, and an oyster, plus the mother-of-pearl scraped off the inside.  Y’know, cause all of Luna’s hair has stars in it, and they figure that’s got to include—” I coughed heavily.  “Right.  That sounds absolutely disgusting.” “You’re not supposed to really taste it; you just shoot it.”  Gale smiled.  “Though with the oyster and the whisky, it pretty much does taste like taking a good long lick.  The fun’s in what happens after.  Whisky’s whisky, of course, hensbane makes that even more fun—” “It’s a nightshade.”  I nodded.  “Strong hallucinogen, but it’s poisonous if you have too much.” Gale chuckled.  “One lick of Luna’s Cunt is always enough.  Oyster’s an aphrodisiac.” “And the berries?” “Luna’s dark blue,” Gale offered, with a shrug. “That’ll be quite enough blasphemy in m’ inn, thank you kindly.”  The innkeep set down Gale’s Blessing and two tankards of water.  “That’ll be four silvers, all told.  An’ six more if you want a room for you ‘n your colt.” It was as if the word were magic.  “Not colt!” Graargh screamed. “Beg yer’ pardon,” the barkeep muttered.  “Don’t sound too much like a filly to me, but…” “No!  Am—”  Graargh’s words were cut off by a simple stunning charm, and my telekinesis caught him gently before he slumped off the bar stool. I very quickly realized that everypony in the bar was suddenly staring at me.  I scratched the back of my neck.  “Uh… look, it’s a game he tries to play sometimes.  He claims he’s some sort of wild animal, and gets very… shall we say ‘insistent’, that he be referred to as that animal.  I didn’t want to cause a scene.” “Well then maybe you shouldn’t go around fucking stunning small children.”  Gale reached out a hoof, slapping me across the ears. Given her demeanor, I’d expected some strength to the blow.  What I got was an unholy force capable of shearing a tectonic plate in twain; not only did my ears ring, but the bar actually rotated in my vision from the force of the blow. “Ow!  What in Tartarus was that for?” “Somepony’s got to stand up for the colt,” she answered. I rubbed my ear with a groan.  “He’s fine.  I’m a trained wizard, not some colt throwing around his first spells.”  I made a point of rubbing a hoof on my jacket to draw attention to it, before sliding the same hoof into the breast of the coat.  What came out were a few long, thin rubies of standardized size: crystal shards.  I dropped them onto the bar. “What’s a silver bit in shards these days?” “Beg pardon?” I took a moment to roll my eyes before gesturing to the money.  “That is enough money in shards to purchase this entire town.”  Sensing my disdain, the bartender frowned.  “Obviously, I’m not paying that much for a bowl of soup and a bed.  So I’m asking you what the exchange rate is.” “Nothing.” I raised a brow.  “Beg pardon, what?” “Crystal money’s no good out here.  Only ponies that carry it are the bankers in Lübuck, and the bandits we sometimes get down from the Union; foalnappers and whatever.  If we had any trade from th’ Crystal’s, I might take it, but the road’s dead.  An’ I only take bits.” I slapped a hoof to my brow (and almost immediately regretted it, given the welt from Gale’s previous blow).  “Well, I don’t have any bits, so right now, your options are my shards, or giving out a free meal.” “Sound’s like you’re gonna be working for me…” I chuckled.  “Yeah, about that… I can’t exactly stay in one place for a while.” The bartender leaned forward, his brow forming a veritable cliff that shadowed his eyes.  “Don’t make me get the Cirrans.” “Are you hoping I’ll be afraid of a bunch of ponies who brew that vomit-water you’re serving?  I don’t know who you think you’re dealing with, old stallion, but you’re going to have a hard time intimidating me.  I studied under Wintershimmer the Complacent.” “Who?” I admit, in full honesty, that his response left me speechless, my mouth hanging open, for at least a dozen seconds.  “You… you’ve never heard of Wintershimmer?”  He shook his head.  “The greatest magical duelist of the past thousand years?”  Shake.  “The Pale Master?”  Again, ignorance.  “Archmage to Queen Jade of the Crystal Union?” He held up a hoof at me.  “Cute ‘n all, kid, but I don’t give a damn about your mentor.  ‘I’m a bloody wizard’ goes by a lot faster.  I don’t need forty titles to tell you I’m an innkeep.” I dropped a hoof on his bar and leaned forward; the earth pony was taller than me, but his lazy slouching posture gave me the upper hoof in the ‘looming’ department (the looming department: your source for all your discount needles, threads, and cursed spinning wheels!  Half-off today only!)  “Forty titles don’t tell you that I’m ‘a wizard’.  They tell you I’m the best wizard.  If I had forty titles as, I don’t know, an inn keeper, you’d know I was offering down-stuffed beds and exotic wines fit for royalty, instead of maintaining a run-down, dimly-lit, manure-smelling inn for some hodunk farming village where the beds are stuffed with moldy straw and there’s only three choices of drinks, served fresh from a grimy glass that I’m sweating into.”  I gestured downward at his idle polishing.  “You know, for that salt-of-the-earth flavor everypony asks for.” My tirade resulted in more than a few chairs sliding out from tables, and tankards being set down heavily onto tables.  The purple mare took two solid scoots away from me, becoming extremely focused in her drink. “Mares, stallions, siddown!” bellowed the innkeep.  “I can ‘andle this.” I couldn’t help but chuckle to myself, and my mood didn’t dampen in the slightest when he leaned down to glare at me.  “Yer not sleeping here, colt.  Not drinking here, not making friends here, not nothin’.  Go find summer else for the night;” (that would be an accented ‘somewhere’.) “I recommend the bottom of the lake.” “I wasn’t planning on it.  The grass outside is probably cleaner.  Care to join me, Gale?” The young mare rolled her eyes.  “You’ve been jacking yourself off all night, asshole.  I don’t give a shit if you can’t finish on your own.”  Pushing herself away from the bar, Gale’s magic brought her lick of Luna’s Blessing to her lips.  When the glass came to rest on the bar, it was joined by three gold bits.  “That should cover Mr. Wizard’s dinner.  I’m going to bed before my lick kicks in.”  With that, she wandered across the room to Hodunk’s aforementioned legendary stairs, and successfully exited the scene. “You don’t know what you’re missing…” was the best I could come up with, and even that pathetic rebuttal was offered far too late to be of any use.  The simple truth is that I had never been shut down so bluntly before.  Whatever origins might have explained Gale’s strangely ornate sword and her dispensation for powerful alcohol, it was the fact that she could match me word for word that cemented the conversation in my memory.  Before meeting her, Wintershimmer had been my only verbal peer, and between the two, I far preferred the young and attractive mare. As silence settled over the common room, my gaze fell to the not-inconsiderable sum of money Gale had set down upon her departure; evidently, the bartender was intrigued too.  “Are those… How much is a gold bit worth?” “That right there is three hundred silvers…” The balding stallion muttered, sliding the money into his pocket.  “I was only gonna’ charge her eight.” “So the sword’s real…” I scratched my chin, and then looked down at my water and stew.  “Right, well… I’d say pleasure doing business with you, but if I tried to lie through my teeth that boldly, I’d probably ruin my smile.”  Flashing my immaculate whites at the old stallion, I picked up Graargh and walked away.  “Tell Gale I appreciated dinner.  We’ll sleep outside.”