Chapter 2: Threads Left Untied
Sound echoed far in the dark, curving tunnel’s of Broodmother Chirziane’s subterranean fortress. She'd come to name the fortress "Highbounty" in honor of the great wealth of resources she intended to funnel down to the rest of the Aranea race from the surface world, using the fortress as the primary hub. Aside from the heavily defended inner chambers and tunnels she'd commanded expansion in the form of several new outlying chambers in preparation for housing a larger population of workers and hunters. Construction on the fortresses outer fortifications had recently finished, in case of any retaliatory strikes the pony or ursan prey species might try to mount, but Chirziane suspected it would be some time before either species managed to even locate Highbounty. She had her hunter-caste spread out in several eights worth of hunting parties in all directions of the surface realm specifically to throw off any such searches, and soon their numbers would grow.
With a loving leg she stroked the thick, white cocoons, half a dozen of them that rested snugly in her breeding nest, deep in the heart of her fortress. Thirza had supplied ample seed to spawn what would be the first generation of hunter-caste to be born this close to the surface, and she intended them to be trained from hatching to adapt to the surface land’s harsh light and strange terrain. A new breed that would capture the wealth of the surface and make Chirziane’s brood respected and relied upon by all other broods of the Aranea realm. Within the next year she intended to have firmly established herself as the only Broodmother with access to the vast wealth that could be plundered from the surface, and use that to further entrench and expand until her position was unassailable by the surfacer races or rival Broodmothers alike.
Then of course there were her other plans. So many plans, so many threads, spinning and connecting to one another, a beautiful web of schemes that if all paid off would catch her power and wealth to rival the Queen herself. Such was the ambition of all Broodmothers, but Chirziane knew herself to be the most clever, the most daring, and hence the most worthy of ascending to prominence. There was great risk in her ventures, yes, but that was where Chirziane would succeed where other Broodmothers suffered mediocrity. She, unlike them, was willing to take great risks for the chance of great reward.
Now I must attend to my other threads, she thought, reluctantly leaving her nest, a vast domed web set at the bottom of Highbounty’s lowest cavern, not far from her throne chambers. Only her most trusted hunter-caste guarded this room, a trio of massive, hairy Aranea whose thick legs were plated in rune crafted armor, bladed gauntlets large enough to cleave a surface tree in half. They excluded pheromones of pleasure and obedience as Chirziane left her nest, prostrating themselves at her passage. She favored them with comforting chitters and a burst of satisfied pheromones that would tickle their senses with pleasure and maintain her standing order to destroy any that would dare try to enter her breeding nest without permission.
Often Thirza would have this honor, but he was commanding the hunters dealing with the ursans to the west. The fool Ulragnok, the pretentious ursan Warchief that Chirziane had used to weaken the ponies, had not only failed to do as much damage to the pony lands as she’d hoped, but was now seemingly bent on hunting her brood a well. Several eights worth of spinner-caste workers attempting to string together watch posts in the ursan lands had been destroyed. An irritating setback. Thirza’s task was to slay Ulragnok and put an end to that bur in her chitin. She had faith her darling Thirza would succeed in that task, even with his most recent injury from confronting the ponies.
Then there was Leyshi, precious little Leyshi, her most cherished and favored brood-caste servant. She was likely still in the lab, Chirziane knew. Probably had not rested since the troubles with the most recent test subject. Leyshi was such a hard worker, but flighty of personality, easily distracted until an interesting problem presented itself... then she was relentless to the point of self damage. Chirziane had also noticed Leyshi had been acting odd since returning from her excursion to the surface. The little thing had been captured by ponies, tortured by them, yet since then her obsession with learning more about the surface world and its various prey species seemed to overtake the young brood-caste Aranea's common sense. Chirziane had even recently caught her extensively conversing with the test subjects rather than pursuing her research! Quite troubling.
Why Leyshi had even felt it important to speak at any length with their test subjects was not something Chirziane understood, though learning the language itself certainly had its uses. She had several surfacer books in her collection of curiosities that she enjoyed flipping through, and many of her hunter-caste had learned some surfacer speak to make their tasks of spying or food capture easier. Adaption was a virtue among the Aranea, after all.
When she climbed down a vast vertical shaft leading to her labratory, legs grasping the wall of thick webs that encircled the shaft in long strides, she did found Leyshi still there at the bottom, hard at work. The young brood-caste Aranea was much smaller than Chirziane’s massive house-sized form, no bigger than most spinner-caste, but Leyshi did have the similar bulbous body shape with the elegant, large back end and smaller front, covered with chitin of a lustrous blue sheen as opposed to Chriziane’s darker black.
Pleased pheromones of greeting preceded Chirziane, but unsurprisingly Leyshi was so wrapped in her work she hardly reacted, carefully monitoring a series of well woven web tubes that stuck into the test subjects body with worked needles formed from spinner fangs. The tubes were connected in turn to several large web sacks, rune etched clamps of bone acting as controls to regulate the chemical compounds being gradually added to the test subject’s bloodstream.
The test subject in question was a pony, female, of the pegasus variety, tightly bound to a table of worked stone by thick strands of web. The pegasus was conscious, but the glazed roll of its brown eyes made it clear it was hardly aware of itself anymore.
“Progress, Leyshi?” Chirziane clicked as she approached, causing the smaller brood-caste to nearly jump in surprise.
“Ah! Broodmother! Is it... morning already? Oh. Hmm, well, progress, yes, progress,” Leyshi made a few rapid, frustrated clicks with her fangs, “I’m afraid the new mixture just isn’t having the results we want. The magic, it remains mostly grounded to the body. The best we’ve managed was with the previous mixture that siphons off at least a fraction of their inherent magic, but that kills the subject too quickly. I don’t like it. It hurts them so much.”
“Their pain is not what matters. They are prey. These ones are not just a potential source of food, but of power, if we can but find a way to drain it from them efficiently!” said Chirziane with a cold tone and blast of pheromones laced with chilling command, making Leyshi quiver and lower herself before the Broodmother.
“Yes, Broodmother, of course! I just... the ideal is to keep them alive, to ever provide more magic, yes?”
That was true, the ultimate hope of these experiments was to create a chemical brew that would alter a pony’s physiology and metaphysical makeup so that their changed blood could be harvested to not only feed an Aranea, but provide magic as well. Aranea did not possess innate magic as the surface dwelling species seemed to, and instead had to siphon it from other sources. Traditionally, for nearly as long as the Aranea’s history stretched back, it was magical crystals mined from the depths of the underworld that served this purpose. Harvested and drained by the ancient runes to form the basis of power for the Aranea’s runecraft. Yet these ponies could use magic naturally, their bodies steeped in it.
Taking that magic, as well as their blood, was a cornerstone of Chirziane’s future ambitions.
If only they could find a way to do it without killing the subject. What good was it to harvest once, when one might harvest for as long as the subject naturally lived? In Chirziane’s mind she saw many fortresses like Highbounty, dotting the expanse of the underworld’s upper caverns, all the species of prey upon the surface cocooned in vast farms where their blood would flow, providing food and magic to all of Aranea kind. And she would be the one providing that power, the one raised up above all others...
Except for the Queen of course, and if certain other plans proved fruitful, well, no limit might prove unattainable for her.
Shaking off dreams of glory, she turned her full attention to Leyshi. Among the few brood-caste maidens that served her, Chirziane valued Leyshi the most. Though somewhat skittish and flighty of mind, Leyshi was as skillful in the art of alchemy as any Chirziane had seen come from the royal breeding nests. Only Leyshi had understood Chirziane’s theories and designs to convert the surface races through the power of alchemic modification, and had been vigorously enthusiastic in the pursuit of the goal... at least until recently. Something had changed within Leyshi, a softness and unnatural fascination towards understanding the surface races. So far it had been little more than a minor concern, but a growing concern nonetheless.
“Remember that these creatures are not our equals, Leyshi. They are part of the world’s bounty that was promised to us by the Queen’s Covenant, and ever shall they be treated as such. Do what you must to make our work succeed, but do not waste thought upon unwarranted... kindness.”
She added a tinge of displeased, sour pheromones to the air to emphasize her point, causing Leyshi to shiver and prostrate herself, smelling of obedient pheromones, and also confusion.
“Of course my Broodmother. I would not do anything I thought would displease you. My life is yours to command, in all things.”
Chirziane let herself chitter a pleased clacking with her fangs, sweetening the air once more with content, approving pheromones and letting one long, slim foreleg caress Leyshi’s chitin comfortingly. “I know, my little Leyshi. So loyal and eager. That is why I have a special task for you. A task I can only trust you with, since Thirza is so busy serving me elsewhere.”
There was a faint puff of worry scent form Leyshi, her voice chittering with concern, “Is Thirza well? He lost a leg rescuing me from the pony fortress, and now he hunts the ursans who are even larger than ponies.”
“There is no need for you to be concerned about that,” said Chirziane, “Thirza has his tasks and you now shall have yours. Now listen carefully Leyshi. I cannot afford failure in this matter.”
There was an eager bobbing motion from Leyshi, almost as if the young Aranea was already bursting with energy to go about her mistress’ bidding. “Yes, of course. What would you have me do, Broodmother?”
“Follow me to my chambers. There is something I must show you, first.”
Leyshi’s curiosity seemed piqued, a quizzical tilt to her face as she said, “Yes, Broodmother.”
The pair left the laboratory, leaving the drugged, dazed pony to stew, just one of what would be many experiments to come to perfect the formula Chriziane sought. Highbounty’s corridors, circular and vast, mimicked a web in very classical Aranea styled architecture, with minimal decoration for the time being. Chirziane wished to fix that as soon as possible, and the first shipments of live prey stock captured on surface raids was being prepared for transport back to the heart of the realm. Once the wealth began to pour back from that she could afford luxuries like colored glow crystals to decorate the halls and fine web-silk cushions for comfortable chambers. Until then things were still utilitarian and fairly bare, even inside her own private chambers, a large spherical space where she’d crafted several layers of webbing to make for several ‘rooms’ within the chamber.
The uppermost room was where she slept and fed when needed, and she had several choice prey wrapped up tightly there for when she flt peckish; two ponies and an ursan, little more than white webbed bundles identifiable only by vague shape and size, now. The middle room was where she would meet guests when not using her throne chambers, and here she’d acquired a few surface curiosities to decorate in lieu of proper Aranea accommodations. An actual table of that strange material the bizarre surface stalagmites were made from, ‘wood’ she thought the term was, dominated most the center of the middle room. She had a few shelves and a dresser made from the same malleable but resilient material where she stored a few books; the circular Aranea kind spun from thick web, and the much odder surface kind of thin pages bound in more wood or even leather.
Hmph, they use the skins of other creatures to wear or contain their knowledge and yet Leyshi thinks them peaceable enough to befriend? She must learn to contain her optimism.
There were a few other curios placed here and there. A chandelier, where apparently the surface races were fond of burning wicks upon piles of wax as opposed to using glow crystals, was webbed against the far wall. A tall standing mirror cased in bronze was set up against another wall, a intriguing thing as Chirziane still was unsure what the ponies used the reflective surface for, other than to look at themselves, and she could not yet fathom the purpose of that.
It was the lower room she took Leyshi to, Chirizane’s private study, where she kept things of a more private and important nature to her. Here she had more proper tables carved from stone and padded webbing, and seating made from balled clumps of web made to fit the contours of an Aranea’s body. More books were here, all Aranea in nature, but there were several scrolls and maps that were made from the surfacer parchment, including one large map laid out across one of the tables, among piles of scrolls and a few open books. It was this she led Leyshi to.
“I have told you I have another purpose in coming to the surface besides the venture of establishing outposts, and in time, a proper territory to call my own. Here is that purpose,” she gestured at the books, “These are the journals of Yiviravel the Traveler.”
Leyshi let out a tiny squeak, one part surprise, one part utter delight. Many young Aranea grew upon at least one or two tales of Yiviravel and her fabled travels across all the underworld. And the surface. According to legend Yiviravel was the first Aranea to travel to the surface and learn of its wonders. Over the centuries there’d always been occasional expeditions of adventurous Aranea to see if the stories of the surface held truth. Chirziane’s was the largest, most ambitious such quest on record, a fact she was immensely proud of, but she was not the first. Where most expeditions gained little other than the occasional tasty prey or tall tale of strange things like cities of crystal or frozen lands filled with vicious monsters, Yiviravel’s tales were always the most fantastic... and among all those tales none were more strange than the discovery of the Shards.
“Do you know of the Shards?” Chirziane asked, already knowing the likely answer.
“Oh yes, yes I do! The Shards of the Origin!” Leyshi said excitedly, bouncing from one set of legs to the other, “Yiviravel claimed she found them scattered in several regions of the surface, always buried within craters or similar depressions. Strange things always happened around the Shards, twisting reality around them. Yiviravel claimed to hear a voice from within them, telling her to find and gather the Shards. She never could, but she believed the Shards, made from silvery metal, were the same as the fabled Origin of the Aranea race! The silver Origin that in legend brought us to this world.”
“Yes, a tale as old as our race. The Queen alone knows the truth. She’s ever remained quiet upon the question of the Origin. What it was, why it brought her here to birth our race, if it even ever existed or was just a story the first broodmothers born from the Queen told themselves for amusement. Regardless of whether or not they are connected to the Origin, I believe the Shards are real.”
She went to the map, one leg pointing to several marks dotting an expanse of land that Leyshi would likely recognize as the Western Barrier lands, “This map was made by the expedition that came before ours. On it was marked several areas where the expedition leader made comment of finding a strange metal shard. The notes I’ve gathered from that expeditions’ records don’t tell much, other than they left the Shards they found alone after losing several of their number to... unexplained events.”
“Unexplained events?”
“The records do not specify. Which is why I’ll need you to be careful, Leyshi. Very careful.”
“Broodmother? Are you saying you wish me to go back to the surface?” Leyshi asked, sounding both at once exhilarated, and terrified, her scent indicating both in almost equal measure.
“Yes, Leyshi. If these are the same Shards from the stories of Yiviravel, then they would be invaluable beyond measure. The prestige alone would elevate me in the eyes of the other Broodmothers, and would provide leverage to acquire more backing for our work here.” There was more to it than that, but no need to tell Leyshi things she did not need to know, yet, “I will entrust you with two eights, one of hunter-caste, another of spinner-caste. You will go to this... forest here, where the closest of the supposed Shards was located. Remove it if you can and bring it back here. Failing that, establish an outpost there so the Shard may be studied, regardless. There is a settlement of the pony surfacers nearby, but the forest is thick and hiding should not be difficult. I can trust you with this task, yes?”
Leyshi’s eagerness was stronger than her fear, as evidenced by not only the pheromones wafting off her, but her response of, “I will leave at once, if it pleases you, my Broodmother.”
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Many might not think the large, lumbering bulk of an ursan could move quietly, with practiced, stalking stealth that used shadow and brush to hide its presence as much as softly padding paws, but Ulragnok had grown up as a cub hunting his own meals, much as many other young ursan braves. The vast mountain valleys and ravines, with their thick, towering pine forests, were his home, a place where the mountain streams sang in his blood and the feel of the land beneath him was as natural as the air he breathed.
The spiders, the things the ponies called ‘Lurkers’, had betrayed him. He did not know what boiled his blood more, the fact that he had been betrayed, or that he’d allowed it to happen by trusting the creatures in the first place. When he’d first been approached by the whispering voices in the night he’d been incredulous, yet they had promised him a rise to power, and had delivered. The arachnids had aided Ulragnok in defeating rival Chieftains, facilitated his rise to Warchief of his own horde and had promised to help even further with his intended assault upon the lands of the ponies. He had ignored the possibility that he was brokering a deal with a deadly force beyond his understanding. His people had tales of such creatures, the Demons Below, the Aranea. He had simply chosen to ignore those legends in favor of gaining glory. Now, the creatures he’d once allied with, the Aranea, sought to prey upon his people. Ulragnok was not one to suffer lightly upon indignity, nor betrayal. The Aranea would learn to their woe that even with his horde weakened, Ulragnok was still Warchief. Ulragnok was still dangerous.
He wished to vent his fury on the ponies that had broken his ambition to launch a glorious campaign deep into the heart of the Legion’s lands, but the Aranea had offered themselves as the far more immediate target. That, and Reganra insisted that the only way to save his hide from the wrath of the elders would slay the Aranea, to prove he was still worthy to lead his horde. Regarna seemed to think that this hunt for Aranea was the only thing holding what was left of his horde together, and damn her she seemed to be right. The defeat at Beartrap Fortress had reduced his horde from a glorious thousand braves, to something between five to six hundred. There’d been some desertions, but Ulragnok’s defeat of several challengers to his authority, and the new hunt for the Aranea, was keeping that matter in check, and with each ursan camp they passed Regarna was able to convince a few young braves to join the horde.
He still controlled more forces than any one Clan save the oldest in the high mountains, and while some of the braves in his horde still muttered as to his worthiness to lead, he knew at least the ones from his own Yellowtooth Clan remained utterly loyal. Still, it was a galling thing to think he’d still need to contend with such mutterings in the first place.
We should not have lost! It is the Aranea’s fault. They were supposed to support us, and instead abandoned the field without doing anything of use, he thought bitterly, though in truth he knew that his horde should have been more than enough on its own to crush the pony fortress of mud and wood. They’d outnumbered the ponies over two to one, and ursans never needed the advantage of numbers against the smaller, weaker ponies to begin with!
Yet the ponies had fought like mountain banshees. Or demons from the stories of old. Even Ulragnok had to give a small, exceedingly grudging mental nod of respect to how hard the ponies had defended their fortress, giving not an inch of ground without carpeting the land with a great offering of blood, both ursan and pony alike. He hated them, but was not blind to valor and strength when he saw it. The fortress still would have fallen. His horde, despite heavy losses, had pushed the ponies into the fortress’ inner keep by the morning after the eve the battle had started. The front gates of the keep had almost been breached, and the slaughter to come would have been glorious, but it’d been at that moment that the ponies received reinforcements, hundreds of fresh Legion troops that had somehow made the long march from another fortress in time to flank Ulragnok’s horde, taking it by surprise and causing a total route in short order.
A humiliation. A scar upon his honor and pride. Part of Ulragnok wanted nothing more than to end his life so he could escape his shame, but that was not the ursan way and he growled away such thoughts. If he could not have glory, then he would have vengeance. First the Aranea, then the ponies. Either way, Ulragnok would taste their blood and restore his pride.
The trees stirred with a harsh wind, and on that breeze Ulragnok heard the shrill whistle of a sparrow, three in short order. That was Regarna’s signal. Her half of the warband had circled around to the other end of the ravine ahead and were in position. Ulragnok allowed himself a feral smile, the black iron plates of the armor he wore over his dark furred bulk clanking as he abandoned stealth and rose to his full height, spans taller than most of his kind, the smallest of whom easily tripled the mass of the stoutest earth pony. Sucking in a deep breath Ulragnok let out a roaring bellow that shook the pine boughs around him and rattled loose rocks around the entire ravine.
Around him the twenty other ursans of his own half of the warband rose from their stalking spots and added their roars to the cacophony, and as one the group of mighty ursan braves charged into the ravine, smashing brush and low hanging branches like so much dead kindling along the way. Ulragnok was not surprised to hear the excited and rapid chittering noises from the depths of the ravine. They’d tracked the Aranea for some miles after the arachnid creatures had raided a camp of the Broken Claw Clan. This ravine was the exact kind of spot the Aranea favored, hidden from the sun with its high surrounding hills and thick pine trees providing cover from the daylight Ulragnok knew the Lurkers hated.
In moments Ulragnok and his braves broke through to a clearing that was encased in thick strands of web, strong as the rope and sticky to the touch, more so than the strongest tree sap. Ulragnok hit the webs like an avalanche made out of claws. While one or two of his braves were caught fast by the webs it was clear the webbing had been spun in order to catch small game, not halt an ursan charge. The sticky strands barely slowed the bearish creatures down as they roared into the clearing, where a group of Aranea were stirring to action like a writhing pile of limbs and fangs.
Ulragnok didn’t bother to count the Aranea’s numbers. There were at least a dozen of the small web spinning ones, and perhaps a little more than half that in the larger, hairy ones that clad their front legs in bladed gauntlets. Ulragnok had no time to pay attention to any more details as he smashed his way towards the first Aranea in his path, one of the spinners trying to attach web to the trees above and climb away. What the spinner found instead was Ulragnok’s paw, as large as the Aranea’s own body and sporting claws long as some pony swords, smashing down upon it. The spider crunched like a bag of wet leaves underneath Ulragnok’s claw, viscous goo splattering everywhere as the Aranea let out a shrill death shriek.
Beside Ulragnok his braves crashed in among the other Aranea’s, jaws snapping and claws slashing. To the Aranea’s credit despite losing several in the first few seconds, they spiders recovered rapidly and responded in a disturbingly organized fashion. The spinners fell back quickly while the eight larger hunters skittered about to form a tight, concave half circle formation to cover the spinner’s retreat. Legs bearing the curved, rune covered gauntlets raised, the hunters hissed, baring fangs, and moved as one to slowly fall back behind their spinner kin. Ulragnok and his braves advanced, and the hunter Aranea met them head on. Ulragknok saw one Aranea slash down with its gauntlets to neatly bury them into the shoulders of one of his braves, the ursan letting out a pained below as the gauntlets held it down and the Aranea surged forward to bury fangs into the brave’s neck.
Ulragnok rose to the challenge of his own foe, the Aranea attempt to do the same as its comrade had and bury its gauntlets in Ulragnok’s shoulders. However the ursan Warchief rose to his hind legs and lashed out with his own claws. His prodigious strength outmatched his opponent’s by a wide margin, his rippling muscles overpowering the strength in the Aranea’s limbs. Ulragnok’s claws crunched through chitin and the pulpy innards within, and snapped the Aranea’s legs backwards until they tore off completely. Ulragnok smashed down with most of his bulk then, all but liquefying the spider’s head.
Tossing the twitching body aside he sought his next kill. The Aranea that had bitten one of his braves now stood upon that brave’s twitching body, and with a mad chitter it turned and leaped at Ulragnok, so fast that the Warchief had little time to respond before the Aranea landed on his back. Ulragnok roared as he felt the things scrabbling legs working across his broad back, and felt searing pain as the spider’s bladed gauntlets bit at his flesh beneath the plates of his iron armor. Ulragnok rolled his shoulder, putting another of those plates between his hide and the Aranea’s fangs as it tried biting him. With a deep, reverberating growl Ulragnok threw his entire bulk into a swift, deadly roll. He felt the Aranea’s body crunch messily underneath him. Rising back to his paws after the roll he looked around to take stock.
His braves had finished the other of the hunter Aranea, the last one’s twitching remains slowly going still and its legs curling up in on itself. However Ulragnok was displeased to see that four of his own braves were also down, most of the frothing at the mouth and gasping their last breaths from the lethal venom of their spidery foes. Ursans weren’t used to taking anything close to even casualties in a fight. Their raw toughness and size usually meant it took three or four of their enemies to account for just one of them. These Aranea, with their fast reflexes and deadly fangs were dangerous opponents. Normally that might mean greater glory to be had in battle, but there seemed something inherently inglorious about killing these Aranea.
“Come, we still have things to kill,” Ulragnok growled, though his keen ears already picked up on he roars of Regarna and her warband, catching the fleeing spinners in her own ambush. He doubted there’d be anything left by the time he and his braves caught up.
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Thirza did not like having to use his own for setting such a trap, but the location had been far too promising, and he knew that the thick minded ursans would behave as they had. The ravine was an ideal spot, its steep hills hiding countless unstable outcroppings of rock, just asking for the right tunnels to be dug to turn them into a deadly trap.
Guaranteeing the ursans would be in the ravine required bait. He’d assigned Nilishi and her eight of hunter-caste with an appropriate pair of eights from the spinner-caste to be that bait. Raiding one of the ursan camps near where Ulragnok’s horde made their own camp meant Ulragnok would come hunting, and the Warchief had not disappointed. While the ursan leader had not brought as much of his remaining horde as Thirza had hoped, it was enough. Enough to justify Nilishi’s sacrifice. He had given the young hunter orders to get out of the ravine as fast as possible, but Nilishi was impetuous and overeager, traits he was sure had just led to her death in that ravine.
Fortunately it would not be a death in vain, as Ulragnok was well inside the ravine. Another group of ursans were hidden at the mouth of the ravine on the opposite end Ulragnok had entered, and Thirza had to grudgingly complement the inelegant surface creatures on a well placed ambush. It was almost Aranea of them. He suspected that part had been the ursan female, Regarna’s, idea. She seemed to have a keener mind than most of her ilk. All the more reason to finish her off as well a Ulragnok. Both were a burr in his chitin, and it would be hard to follow Broodmother Chirziane’s orders to secure outposts in the region with the Wachief of the ursans still out for blood.
Well, that ends now, Thirza thought and gave a silent command through a burst of signaling pheromones to the three eighths of hunter-caste waiting for just that signal. The hunters all went into action as one whole, bladed gauntlets tearing into the ground with the smooth ease a fish cuts through the waves. Each hunter was at a key point along the top of a series of tunnels that had been pre-dug before the ursans had even been lured into the ravine, each location the final lode bearing piece of ground that would keep the tunnels from collapsing, and in turn, the rest of the ravine slope. In seconds the entire hillside shuddered. Thirza and his hunters rapidly retreated as a wave of shifting stones and broken earth came loose, and an engineered avalanche tore its way downward, ripping past more boulders to join the wave, and uprooting trees to add a deadly arrow of splintered trunks and branches to the falling deluge.
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When Regarna felt the earth shift, she knew within seconds that she had to act, otherwise the entire warband would be lost. Ulragnok and his braves had smashed through the trees to join her and her own warriors in slaughtering the wretched spiders that tried to flee their ambush, but now it was clear it was all bait to draw them to this ravine. The ground shook and the noise of roaring rocks and shattering trees filled the air as the entire north slope came crushing towards them.
Ulragnok bellowed an order to fall back, but Reganra could tell they were still too deep into the ravine to outrun the avalanche, even if they were close to the eastern mouth. The only chance of survival lay in her. Drawing a deep breath, the female ursan dug dark furred paws deep into the ground and began to chant a rich, resonating song without words. Her blood sang along with her voice, touching on the spirit of the earth that lay dormant in every rock, twig, and leaf of the sacred mountains. Eyes closed, shutting out the noise of the oncoming rush of deadly rocks, she pour all of herself into her chant, imploring the earth to obey her will.
The earth tore and ripped beneath her paws, a great upwelling within the ground that rippled out from her like a wave. Behind her the ground dipped as the mass of the earth tipped upwards before her, creating a cresting incline like a sloped wall that spread in front of her in a sharp curving arc that surrounded her and the warband of ursans braves.
The avalanche hit the new slope, shuddering into it like two colliding waves, the froth of surf replaced with the crash of dirt and stone. The new slope Regarna had summoned sagged and buckled, but managed to hold firm against the avalanche. Within moments the dust had settled and the ravine had transformed, losing the top of one hill only to have a new, wider, flat topped hill formed from the rested earth of the avalanche up against the slope Regarna’s chanting had created.
Several seconds passed before the ursans, glad to not be crushed and buried beneath the earth, took up a series of joyful, mighty roars, lead by Ulragnok’s, whose roar eclipsed them all.
Regarna didn’t join in, too drained and exhausted to even lift her head. Chanting to the earth was not an art without cost, for the spirits of the land demanded their toll from the chanter who asked their aid. Regarna breathed deeply, gritting fangs as dizziness washed over her body as her lifeforce seeped out of her and into the earth, just enough to slake the thirsty spirits that had worked so hard for her to move that much dirt and stone.
“Well done, Earthsinger,” Ulragnok rumbled as he approached her, eyeing her as often he did with a mixture of wariness and grudging respect. Regarna snorted, as usual finding the Warchief a vexing male, yet one whose fate was inexorably now tied with hers.
She had chosen to follow Ulragnok’s horde because she too had chafed at the way the ursan Clans had of late been complacent and unengaged in its war with the ponies. Old territories, stolen by the Legion, had gone unreclaimed, and a young generations of braves were growing up without any of the battle experience that had made their predecessors feared. Regarna had seen what looked like the very edge of a deep chasm, a chasm in which the ursan races decline began with the dying embers of old battles. Ulragnok’s ambitions intrigued her, and the fact that he’d rapidly garnered a horde of young followers had inspired Regarna to join his intended campaign against the ponies.
It wasn’t until the battle at Beartrap Fortress that she’d discovered the presence of the Demons Below, the Aranea of old legend, now flesh and blood and a force that Ulragnok had foolishly tied himself to. The only way to undo the damage that allowing the Aranea to gain a foothold on the surface caused was to push them back to their shadowed realm beneath the surface.
Perhaps then Grandmother wouldn’t tear both her and Ulragnok’s heads off and mount their skulls on the long, frosty steps to Stonehome. Ulragnok already knew she was an Earthsinger, one whose blood sang with the old powers to speak with the earth spirits. He didn’t know just how strong that blood was, or who she was related to. Best to keep it that way for now. He'd learn the truth eventually, but it'd do him little good of both of them were facing the wrath of her Grandmother. Destroying the plans of the Aranea was paramount in ensuring survival, for a multitude of reasons. While a part of her liked to think she was intent on defeating the Aranea purely for noble reasons of protecting her race, protecting her hide was a large portion of it, too.
Regarna knew she couldn't show her face in Stonehome, the ancestral den of all the ursan Clans, without first fixing the damage she’d helped cause. Perhaps Ulragnok himself could be salvaged as well. His pride and rage still seemed to cloud his actions, but at least he did not argue with the need to eliminate his former allies.
“We must continue to track the Demons,” she said plainly, brushing off Ulragnok’s compliment. “Somewhere in these foothills they must have a den. Finding it and destroying it is our highest concern.”
Ulragnok growled low, “I decide our concerns, Earthsinger... but you are right. As long as these cursed spiders can scuttle into the shadows I cannot claim a decisive victory.”
There was little doubt that the Aranea that had caused the avalanche had already fled. The spiders seemed to have little stomach for upfront battles. Always they liked to strike from ambush, or with overwhelming numbers. That was why they seemed to keep targeting the smaller Clan camps, snatching smaller, younger ursan cubs where they could, much as they had at the most recent camp. Regarna knew part of it had to be bait to keep drawing Ulragnok into traps like this, but she also suspected this was part of a larger plan the Demons Below were concocting.
“I shall sing to the stone and see if they left traces of where they’ve gone,” she said, “Best we first rejoin the horde.”
“Again with you trying to give orders,” Ulragnok grumbled.
“Not orders. Suggestions,” she said, rumbling with her own irritated growl, “Remember Warchief, that I have every reason to want to see you succeed. I don’t care to lead your horde, only keep it from splintering out from under you.”
Ulragnok snorted, turning with a heavy clanking of iron plates, and started to bellow orders for his braves to form up and begin marching.
----------
Blossomforth wiped sweat off her brow as she and one of her new Underwatch comrades finished loading and securing the last crate on a shipment of supplies that would be joining them on the journey back to the Western Barrier Lands. The tight confines of the airship cargo hold was stuffy and warm, filled with dust that itched her nose. Stretching, she let out a quick yawn. “Aaah, can’t wait until we’re in the air. The breeze is gonna be nice.”
The pony who’d been helping her load the crate gave her an odd look, not quite frowning, but more searching. She was an older unicorn mare, with a muddy brown coat and braised mane. Sergeant Wildspell was, in Blossomforth’s opinion, grossly misnamed, for she seemed to be rather subdued and taciturn. They’d barely exchanged more than two sentences, enough for Blossomforth to learn the other mare’s name, and little else. She was hoping to fix that with all her new friends. Well, perhaps ‘friends’ was too optimistic a word for it right now, but they were all going to be fighting side by side, so Blossomforth saw no reason to wait on getting to know her fellow Underwatch ponies.
“So, um, do you do any neat spells? I mean, besides the standard issue Legion explodey stuff?” she asked with an encouraging smile.
“...No.”
“Oh. How about hobbies? What do you do for fun when you're not being assigned to go hunt giant spiders beneath the earth’s surface?”
Wildspell stared at her, then slowly finished tightening the ropes securing the crate they’d just stowed. There was no sarcasm in her tone, nor the acid of scorn, when she said, “Don’t try so hard.”
“Huh?”
“Don’t try so hard,” Wildspell repeated, turning away and trotting towards the hatch at the bow of the airship that led out of the cargo hold, “But since you asked, I brewed hooch for my old unit. Sometimes.”
Blossomforth moved to follow her, unconsciously trying to take to the air. The stumps where her wings were meant to be twitched uselessly as she made an awkward hop into the air, squeaked in surprise, and almost fell flat on her face if not for Wildspell catching her with a gentle aura of white magic. Blossomforth’s face burned furiously in embarrassment as she said, “Thanks, uh, guess I keep forgetting they’re gone. Here’s hoping nopony falls overboard on the trip otherwise I might toss myself over the side too thinking I’ll catch them.”
Wildspell just looked at her, a faint trace of sympathy in her eyes that was only there for a second before she set Blossomforth down and her horn stopped glowing. “You’ll be fine. You survived losing them. You’ll survive living without them.”
“Yeah, here’s hoping,” Blossomforth said as they exited the airship, trotting down the bow boarding ramp to where the majority of the rest of the Underwatch platoon was gathering with their own saddlebags of supplies. They’d all been helping with loading the cargo, Blossomfoth and Wildspell had just happened to be the ones to load the last crate. The airship, a sizeable craft with a near two hundred foot long balloon, would be departing within the hour.
The airship was docked at a stone platform adjoining one of the higher terraces of Canterlot’s nobel district. It offered a rather spectacular view down the mountainside to the cloud speckled green valleys below. The sight tightened Blossomforth’s chest with nostalgic homesickness, and she hadn’t even left yet. She wondered how long it would be before they returned, assuming they ever did. She wasn’t merely thinking about her prospects for survival. There was no guarantee the Underwatch would return to the Equestrian Heartland even if their mission was successful. They would likely end up being deployed somewhere else in the Barrier Lands.
Blossomforth shook her head, banishing any negative thoughts that’d just drag her down. She’d always prided herself on keeping an upbeat attitude no matter how bad the circumstances, and while a mere few months ago she’d never have imagined her life being anything like it was now, having seen and taken part in violence beyond what she could have imagined, she resolved to face it with as much of a smile as she could muster.
Casting about for her friends, Blossomforth spotted Coco and Allie Way standing off to the side speaking with a willowy green stallion with a thin, short copper colored mane. He was an earth pony, but unlike most the earth ponies in the unit who wore heavy armor of plate and chainmail, he wore a much lighter looking, thick leather coat covered in metal studs. On his face was perched a pair of spectacles, and he had a thin mustache and neatly trimmed beard. A broad bladed but short machete was sheathed at his side, quite unlike the large claymore Coco wore, or the thick striking gauntlets many of the other earth ponies equipped themselves with.
As she approached Blossomforth heard the stallion speaking to Allie Way, his voice smokey and light, like somepony who found a joke in everything, “Don’t fret if you don’t know the rules, darling. I’ll be happy to teach you and all your friends how Scales works, and if we switch it up later in the evening to another game, I’ll explain as we go. It’s a good way to break you girls in, not to mention get everypony loosened up. I swear everypony’s got their sphincters clenched so tight I could smell the gas build up a hundred yards away.”
“Hey guys, what’s up?” Blossomforth asked, coming up and glancing around at her friends and the stallion, who smiled thinly at her, green eyes glittering.
“Ah, you must be Blossomforth. Read up on the reports of you mares’ adventure with our errant not-so-mythological spiders and I must say I was impressed,” the stallion said, holding a hoof out, “I’m Corporal Snakebite, formerly of the 21st Southern Barrier Lands Regiment under Captain Riverford. A pleasure to see another fine mare in this new unit. After spending months sucking venom out of idiot stallions’ rears ends down south I’m relieved to see I’ve been roped into a more... diverse platoon.”
Blossomforth shook his hoof, raising an eyebrow, “Pleasures mine. Uh, are all southern units made up of dudes or something?”
“Not at all, but in the Southern Barrier Lands there can be some long deployments in the jungles keeping a watch on the bloody snakes, and command figured out long ago that year long patrols with units with mixed male and female compliments tended to lead to complications in the field. Suffice to say more than a few units returned to base with a few extra mouths to feed because some ponies can’t be expected to keep it under their tails when beating the jungle for a year straight.”
Blossomforth blinked, then snorted out a laugh, “Oh! Hah! Yeah, I guess some ponies might get a little hot under the tail if they’re stuck together that long. No funny ideas here, I assume?”
Snakebite shook his head, “Oh no, I’m the soul of a gentlestallion, but it shouldn’t be an issue anyway. From what I understand our deployments won’t be for much longer than a month or two. Even if somepony did give into their base urges, we’d be back to base before it became an issue.”
Allie Way gulped, “Don’t suppose we can change the subject?”
“What were you guys talking about before I showed up?” asked Blossomforth.
“The Corporal was inviting us to join in a card game tonight once we’re in the air,” said Coco, looking at him with a measuring gaze, “He’s been nice enough to offer to teach us the rules of some Legion games. It might be a good way to break the ice with the whole unit, and get to know everypony.”
“My thoughts on the matter precisely,” said Snakebite, “We’re all strangers here for the most part. Every mare and stallion has been drawn from other units across all the Barrier Lands, plus you girls from here in the Heartland. Nothing like some friendly game nights and wagers to get everypony acquainted. Those that’ll play anyway.”
“Sounds fun to me!” said Blossomforth with a happy smile, and Snakebite also smiled, thinly.
“You struck me as the kind as the enthusiastic sort. I’ll try not to take unkind advantage,” he said with a bit of friendly sarcasm as he winked, “No promises, though.”
----------
At the edge of the platform Trixie stood alongside Coldiron, gazing out at the vast scene of verdant green and cerulean blue that made up where the land collided with the sky to form the horizon. If Trixie squinted through the wisps of cloud and picked out the dots among the carpet of greenery she could make out where Ponyville was located. Such a small place it seemed, to have occupied so much of her thoughts before the Legion. Now it really did seem distant, just a speck on a much larger world.
For some reason Trixie felt oddly certain she’d never return to that town as she’d once intended.
“Not sure I like seeing you looking contemplative,” said Coldiron, “It’s an odd look for you.”
Trixie gave her a sidelong glance, “What, I can’t take some time to just think about things?”
“No, it’s fine. It merely reminds me that you Heartlanders are dealing with a lot of changes to your view of the world, more so, perhaps, than we of the Barrier Lands. Indeed that whole perception of separation is going to have to change, and it’s going to involve a fair amount of contemplation on all of our parts,” said Coldiron.
“What’s to contemplate?” asked a hard voice, and both mares turned to see the obsidian form of Blackwall standing a few paces from them, also gazing out at the Equestrian landscape. Her face held a hard look about it, not unlike the solid platemail she wore over her bulky frame. “This land was ours to protect, and now because of betrayal our purpose as the Legion has been... tainted.”
“It's not that simple, Blackwall,” said Coldiron, not without a certain amount of understanding in her voice, “The Legion's task is the same as it ever was, only now we are not alone in that task."
"We were meant to be alone," stated Blackwall, bluntly, "The defender on the wall ceases to be a defender if she calls for aid from the homes behind her."
"But if the wall falls to the enemy, because the lone defender refused to accept aid, then what will be left to defend?" Coldiron retorted.
Blackwall grunted, seemingly unimpressed or convinced, but she also didn’t specifically gainsay Coldiron either. She just kept gazing at the sights of Equestria beneath the vast Canterlot mountain, as if she was trying to puzzle out what it was. Before long Windstriker joined the gathered ponies and called the unit to attention. Trixie and Coldiron trotted alongside Blackwall to join their fellow Underwatch ponies as Windstriker took a headcount to make sure everypony was present, then went about getting them boarded on the airship.
By now Trixie was used to following orders and went through the ease of motions to proceed to her directed bunk, one of a dozen along the port side of the ship’s second deck, and stowed her saddlebags within the small space beneath the canvas covered pallet. She suspected it wouldn’t make for a comfortable spot to sleep, but then again she’d been sleeping on the ground since she was old enough to pull a cart from town to town for her magic shows, so that didn’t bother her much. What did bother her was that Blackwall was assigned the bunk right ahead of hers and the mare kept giving her hard looks out of the corner of her eye.
Finishing stowing her gear, Trixie heaved out a sigh and shot back a glare at Blackwall, “Must we do this?”
“Do what?” the large mare muttered.
“I already went through this song and dance with Coldiron when we first met. She didn’t like me much either. I’d prefer to not repeat the whole scenario. Trixie...ugh, I have already proven myself. My fellow Heartlanders have already proven ourselves.”
“That's not the issue,” said Blackwall plainly, sucking in a deep breath and then heaving it all out in a sigh, “You did fight at Beartrap Fortress. I did read the reports. I understand that, among all the Heartlanders we’re bringing into the Legion you mares are some of the few who were either lucky enough or actually had the mettle somewhere inside to hold your own. But that doesn’t change the fact that the Legion should never have come to the Heartland. Not because you Chosen are weak. Not because you Chosen couldn't fight. But because you don't belong in the fight. Protecting the Heartland was our purpose in the Legion. Its a purpose we fulfilled faithfully for our Prince for generations." Raw anger entered Blackwall's voice, but it wasn't directed at Trixie, "But because of a flaming traitor the entire purpose of the Legion has been betrayed. Losing the Barrier, unifying with the Heartland... it's a mistake. A mistake that will kill the Legion.”
“Why? Why would you even think that?” Trixie asked, surprised.
“Because I can already see it changing us from our purpose,” Blackwall said, “Bit by bit I can already see Legionnaires accepting things as they are, adapting to the change. In another generation, there won't be any distinction between us and you...” A raw sense of pain entered her voice, if only for an instant, "And that will be the end of the Legion."
After that outburst Blackwall went silent, not that Trixie was all that eager to pry any more out of the other mare. Trixie herself wasn’t sure what to think of what Blackwall had said. Perhaps the Legion would benefit from incorporating some more Equestrian morals and ideals of peace into its culture, but if Trixie actually thought it through, considering what she’d seen of threats like the ursans and Lurkers, would it actually be a good thing if the Legion became, as Blackwall feared, integrated with the Heartland to the point where one couldn't be distinguished from the other?
Trixie was no fan of warfare. In fact she found it terrifying and generally horrific. Yet she’d come to respect the Legionnaires she’d once despised, having seen the threats they faced every day to protect their fellow ponies. Even a surly mare like Blackwall put her life on the line so others wouldn’t have to. In time, if the Barrier Lands and Heartland cultures started to fully blend together, would that mixture end up making the whole weaker, or stronger? Trixie didn’t know, but it certainly gave her mind something to chew on as the airship cut its moors and slowly drifted on a warm wind away from Canterlot, making its way slowly south across the azure Equestrian sky.