A Beginner's Guide to Heroism

by LoyalLiar

XXV - Memories of a Clever Soul

XXV
Memories of a Clever Soul

There they were. The windigoes that had frozen her solid. The demons that had killed thousands, tens of thousands, a million ponies with their cold and cruel winter. They were weak, helpless, and whimpering as they lay against the far walls.

In Clover’s peripheral vision, I watched her horn struggle with the ice surrounding an earth pony—it could only be Puddinghead, if his hat were anything to go by. But though she struggled to free him, her eyes were focused on the spirits at the far side of the cave, and another of Equestria’s founding figures.

Commander Hurricane seemed less aged in Clover’s memory than what Wintershimmer had shown me of Smart Cookie's. In place of fatigue, he carried vengeance. One of the windigoes dared to try and rush past him, to try and escape to freedom. He drew his sword and drove it straight through the heart of the helpless spirit, all in a single fluid motion. The spirit’s screech of agony was a damning noise, but worse still was Hurricane’s graceful stride past the creature’s dissolving form.

Only a moment later the windigo dissipated into an ethereal mist and a shower of cold water. The other two windigoes saw this, and they struggled backwards in response.

I felt Clover steady herself in the freezing room. Then she turned, leaving Puddinghead’s side. Heavy burlap brushed against her flanks and her hooves slid on icy stone, but she was too late.

“Stop!” I felt her shout, even as Hurricane impaled the second windigo. “Commander, stop!”

As the pegasus warlord pulled the sword from the mist of what was previously another demon, I slid clumsily into his side. Even at that contact, through Clover’s cloak, the pain of his armor eating away her magic was immense. Still, she struggled. Her magic and her hooves grasped for Procellarum. The effort was quickly proven vain. With an expert roll and a kick to her ribs, Hurricane freed himself from the grapple and turned to face her, the sword still in his mouth.

“What are you doing?” he growled, his voice deeper than Smart Cookie’s memories—a difference of perception. I hardly needed the facts; what Clover felt was what would judge her.

Clover felt sympathy.

I felt her overwhelming worry for the ‘innocent’ windigo as she leapt between the demon that was Hurricane and the last of the windigoes. “They don’t need to die, Commander! They’ve learned their lesson! Can’t you see?!”

And in her mind, I heard another word; one she had never spoken, but one I could not have mistaken.

Scorpan.

The windigo behind us whimpered, and Clover hesitated for a moment, glancing back towards it.

My magic twisted Clover’s soul—less in the sense of a corrupting evil like ‘peer pressure’, and more in the sense one might twist a globe to get a better look at the other side. I needed an answer.

What was ‘Scorpan’?

The answer consumed my vision of the cave of the windigoes. Darkness enveloped the cavern, and in its place, I found a hallway of huge stones and brilliant tapestries, lit by orbs of magic floating in glass lanterns.

River Rock, in its heyday.

Clover must have been much younger, both because the castle wasn’t buried in ice, and because my point of view inside her head was substantially lower to the ground. Her well-shod hooves walked a plush carpet, following closely behind a much larger figure who, with every step, emitted a quaint and irritating ‘ring’.

Star Swirl the Bearded had invested a little bit too heavily in his epithet. Huge white whiskers hung from his muzzle down to his hooves, swaying back and forth into and out of Clover’s vision, sometimes blocked by his substantial robe. Utterly unlike Wintershimmer, the Court Mage of the Diamond Kingdoms was stout and firm, with broad shoulders and a powerful brow that occasionally glanced back to check on his young apprentice. As his toned forelegs twitched and his hooves met the floor to achieve sturdy strides, I took note of his robes.

Sun and stars, his robes.

Literally. Rolling waves in shades of blue ran across the back of a hem more than long enough to trip a pony who found the sudden need for a desperate run, or even a relatively reasonable walk up some stairs. At the edge of said hem were a series of enormous, spherical golden bells. Their flashy reflective surfaces were as gaudy and tasteless as their sound was irritating. And in case you think I’m building to a roundabout compliment, let me clarify: said sound was infuriating. Finalizing the perfect masterpiece of poor taste, the garment was covered in a pattern of crescent moons and golden five-pointed ‘stars’ in neither discernable pattern, nor even an accurate representation of a real night sky, with its single moon.

“Master, is something wrong?” Clover asked. “You’re angry.”

“I’m not—” Star Swirl snapped, before catching himself. “Clover, I am not angry. But I am nervous. The stallion we are about to talk to is not a very nice pony. He and I do not get along. But I find myself in the unfortunate situation of needing to ask for his help.”

“Why?”

Star Swirl growled in his throat. “I’m afraid your questions will have to wait until later, Clover. I want you to see what is going to happen in this room, but I’m afraid I will need you not to interrupt. I promise I will see to your questions as soon as we are done. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Master Star Swirl.”

“And can you promise that no matter how curious you get, you won’t interrupt unless I address you?”

Clover hung her head a little bit, and in glancing at her hooves, I got the impression she must have been about eight years old. “Yes, Master Star Swirl,” she said, more sheepishly.

“Thank you. I don’t want you to take the wrong lesson from this, Clover. Curiosity isn’t bad; most often, it is very good, and I’m glad you love to ask questions. But in this meeting, curiosity can be dangerous.” At the sound of doors opening, I looked up to find that Clover’s pace had brought us to the end of the hallway her memory began in. As Star Swirl’s golden magic faded from the handles of two enormous wooden doors, I realized the chamber was the throne room of Burning Hearth Castle. Near our entrance was the throne that I had last seen holding the behemoth form of Cyclone—though the throne sat empty in Clover’s memory. And all around the room were brilliant colors, tapestries and treasures befitting the wealth of the Burning Hearth Castle at its height.

At the far side of the room, though, were two figures clad in black, and trimmed in red. Wintershimmer still somehow managed to look old despite Clover’s memory being easily fifty years before the actual present day. In terms of notable differences, I only reflect that his mane line had not yet retreated behind his horn, his forehead was not as visibly wrinkled, and his eyes were not quite so sunken into his skull. He stood tall, and his signature staff was nowhere to be seen.

Beside Wintershimmer was a colt who most certainly wasn’t me, dressed as Wintershimmer’s apprentice. His fur was a muted orange, and his mane and tail were fiery red—both elements accentuated by their somewhat wild, ill-groomed shape. If he really was this predecessor whom Wintershimmer had lied to me about, he wasn’t up to my caliber in either magic or physical appearance.

“Wintershimmer,” Star Swirl called across the room, his voice so businesslike and formal that I don’t think an actual tone of anger could have conveyed a deeper hatred.

“Star Swirl,” Wintershimmer replied, with a calm smile that indicated he knew he had the upper hoof, and that drawing attention to that fact brought him the same personal pleasure that a sadist might gain from the edge of a fine piece of parchment, a gallon of lemon juice, and a pound of rock salt. “This is Solemn Vow, my pupil. Solemn, meet Star Swirl the Bearded, Court Mage to King Lapis.”

Star Swirl nodded to this ‘Solemn Vow’, who I found myself disliking more with every passing moment. I, as in Mortal Coil—Clover hadn’t yet formed an opinion about him. The older archmage likewise refrained from extending his hatred of Wintershimmer to the young colt. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Solemn Vow.”

“I imagine it ought to be,” Vow answered dryly.

In that moment, Clover decided that she, too, did not like this colt.

Star Swirl gestured in my direction. “This is my apprentice, Clover. Clover, as you have likely gathered, this stallion is Wintershimmer the Complacent.”

I heard Clover gasp—clearly, she remembered the title much more than Wintershimmer’s somewhat unusual given name. “You’re the exiled archmage? The barbarians’—”

“Clover,” Star Swirl warned.

Wintershimmer chuckled. “No, it’s quite alright. I wouldn’t want an impressionable mind misled.” If I had to describe the tone of voice my mentor wielded, I would call it ‘serpentine’. “You’re correct, Clover. I protect the crystal barbarians from spirits and magical threats. More specifically, I serve as the court mage to Warlord Halite.”

Star Swirl cocked his brow. “Halite? What happened to Corundum?”

“Corundum decided that he disagreed with my counsel, and after an argument on the matter, that he was no longer in need of a magical advisor or protector. Unfortunately, I’m told, it was only a few moments after I left that he came under attack by a powerful rogue mage. Alas, I wasn’t there to save him, and he quickly found himself rendered into a rather delightful mosaic across the floor of the Crystal Spire.” Wintershimmer actually let himself chuckle at his own comment, and Solemn Vow laughed with substantially less subtlety. “They never caught the killer.”

Clover didn’t seem to understand Wintershimmer’s implication, but I became harshly aware of my inability to wince from behind Clover’s eyes. I was altogether familiar with the idea that my mentor was a brutal pony, but in all the time I had known him he had never done something so… messy.

“Is that necessary? In front of the foals?” Star Swirl asked.

Wintershimmer sighed, smiling and tilting his head toward Solemn Vow. “I did it in front of him. If you’re worried your apprentice is going to be affected by a bit of violence with a barbarian, how is she ever going to stand up against a nightmare? Or a siren? Or, stars forbid, a draconequus?”

Star Swirl’s shoulders tensed, and I watched wrinkles deepen on his brow. “For the moment, I propose that we agree to disagree, then. The fact of the matter is that I need your help.”

Wintershimmer nodded. “You conveyed that much in your message. I’ll go so far as to assume this is either an issue with necromancy, or you’ve become aware of a spirit that’s threatening the kingdoms. And unless King Lapis has finally died of his rotting horn and his daughter decided she wanted to talk to father dearest, the latter seems much more likely to me.”

“You’re right,” Star Swirl replied. “As clever as you ever were. The centaur is coming.”

Never in my life had I seen Wintershimmer that surprised. Old age must have stolen most of the flexibility in his face. “The centaur?”

I should mention that for all my education with Wintershimmer, I was just as lost on the reference as Clover was. All I knew is that whatever the centaur and its definite article name implied, the statement was enough to worry my mentor.

“He’s already manifested. I’ve assembled a team, but we could use you, Wintershimmer. I’m prepared to talk to Lapis and end your exile, and to offer you an archmage seat in Amber Field after—”

“Star Swirl, stop.” Wintershimmer picked up a hoof and rubbed it against his temple. “The earth pony capital? That’s what you’re offering me?”

“It’s the second most prestigious archmage seat…”

“Do you realize how much power I would have to give up to take Amber Field? Don’t insult me, Star Swirl.”

Star Swirl’s voice climbed toward fury. “Is that what it’s about to you, Wintershimmer? Even protecting your wards is about gaining power?”

“I don’t recall having ever claimed otherwise,” Wintershimmer retorted.

“Then enjoy your trip back to the Spire.” Star Swirl whirled, with such a force that the bells on his hellish robe shrieked.

But as the larger and far hairier of the two archmagi walked away, Wintershimmer spoke to him. “I never said I wouldn’t do it.”

A sigh from Star Swirl preceded his question. “What do you want in exchange?”

“The reputation of having done it.” My mentor smiled toward Clover. “We both know that I’m the best duelist alive, so I’ll trust you to give me command of this team you’ve assembled. Beyond that, I don’t need compensation. Only the fact of having done it.”

“Master, you’re doing it for free?” Solemn Vow cocked his head. “Why?”

“A lesson for later. Hold your tongue, Vow. Star Swirl, who is the rest of your team? How many of the other archmagi are with us? I assume Mistmane at least will be joining us?”

Star Swirl turned to face his old rival. “No. None.”

“None? If you’re about to propose leveraging the king’s army, I might as well leave now.” Wintershimmer waited, and after about three seconds of incredible patience, began to tap his hoof. “Well?”

“Scorpan, would you please join us?”

At Star Swirl’s request, a large shadow drifted over the floor of the chamber, and Clover cast her eyes up to see it. The… ‘creature’ that this Scorpan was took the form of a behemoth, shaggy biped with a lion’s mane, batlike wings, and a scorpion’s tail.

I recognized the creature only a moment later, but I could not believe my eyes. Or rather, Clover’s.

A gargoyle hadn’t been seen or fought by a unicorn mage in seven hundred years.

“Greetings… Wintershimmer, was it?” The gargoyle, Scorpan, offered a sizeable claw in what looked like a request for a hoofshake.

Wintershimmer stared down at the apparently offensive limb, and then without addressing Scorpan, turned pointedly back toward Star Swirl. “I’ve always found your personal sense of honor pathetic, Star Swirl, but you cling to it so desperately that I have a hard time believing you’ve let yourself become a warlock. I’m going to give you this one chance to explain why you’ve brought a gargoyle into River Rock.”

Star Swirl shook his head, his looming beard swaying from the force. “I haven’t bound him, Wintershimmer. Scorpan is free. He came here of his own accord to warn us about the centaur.”

“I see.” Wintershimmer closed his eyes and sighed. “Vow, please leave the room.”

“But Master—”

“My attention will be on protecting myself, Vow. If you stay, you will die. Dealing with a spirit is rarely a controlled matter.”

Vow cocked his head. “What about her, then?” And he gestured toward Clover. “Why does she get to stay?”

“She is not my apprentice. I cannot command her to leave. She’s welcome to do so if she is intelligent,” Wintershimmer replied. “But I wouldn’t worry about protecting her, since you’ll be killing her in a duel when you’ve grown.”

Clover winced, and even Vow seemed a bit put off by the blunt comment. He stood there, staring in Clover’s (and my) direction, until Wintershimmer spoke again.

“Go!”

Never had I heard Wintershimmer truly shout before, and apparently Vow hadn’t either, judging by how far up between his legs he stuck his tail while fleeing the room.

Clover, too, moved to run, but she stopped fairly quickly. Star Swirl glanced back to her and shook his head. I felt Clover’s trust in her mentor as it overcame her fear.

I could hardly say the same of myself.

When the heavy iron doors creaked shut at behest of the young colt’s magic, Wintershimmer spoke again. “I should not have to lecture you on this, Star Swirl. Do you remember Emeraldine’s Conclusion?”

“A spirit cannot change its ways, and any spirit that comes to the earth does so to do evil,” Star Swirl quoted.

“The death of Archmage Flare the Illuminated? Or Respite the Despised?”

“Seduced by a siren, and lured into a contract by a djinn, respectively.”

Wintershimmer growled. “And yet you still bring this thing into the throne room? You still trust it?”

“Most of my kind are cruel, as you say, Wintershimmer,” Scorpan told him in a much more convincing growl. “But not all of us.”

Star Swirl nodded. “Scorpan could have killed me in my sleep when he came to River Rock. But instead, he roused me to warn me.”

“Then perhaps he’s telling the truth,” Wintershimmer nodded. “Or perhaps he is playing a long game. Do you have some clever means of telling the difference? Some proof that a spirit of his power could not possibly cheat?”

The question earned a slow grate of Star Swirl’s hoof across the stone floor. “You know I do not.”

“Of course.”

“Then tell me, since you seem to have proven yourself such wise counsel, Wintershimmer, what would you do in my circumstances?”

“Ah, finally, a reasonable question.” Wintershimmer’s horn ignited in golden light. “Hear the gargoyle’s warning, gather the full college of the archmagi, and then disperse it for safety.”

Scorpan, it seems, was smart enough to infer what was coming. His huge leathery wings flapped once, hurling his body out of the way of Wintershimmer’s first beam of magic. The golden light lanced across the room and then carved a long thin arc almost like a sword. One of the stone columns in the room crumbled, though the roof and the gallery overhead stayed upright.

“Wintershimmer!” Star Swirl’s horn ignited only a moment later, and a beam of almost white golden magic flew at my mentor. Wintershimmer’s attack faded and he hurled up a shield to defend against the beam. Behind the brilliant light, I saw him grimace at the force it took him to maintain the shield.

“So disappointing, Star Swirl… still relying on brute force over real cunning after all these years?” Despite holding the shield, Wintershimmer turned to see Scorpan pacing toward him from the corner of the room. In a feat worthy of an archmage, without releasing his shield, he sent another blast of magic flying toward the gargoyle. The relatively simple bolt had no hope of hitting, but it did stop Scorpan’s advance for a moment.

“Brute force is my strength over you, Wintershimmer. Part of me wants to condemn you for attacking an innocent, but tragically, I’m not surprised. I should never have called you here, master duelist or not.”

Wintershimmer smiled. “You’ll find I haven’t yet attacked an innocent. But you do raise a good point.” And then, releasing his shield, the frailer of the two archmagi blinked out of existence mere moments before Star Swirl’s beam of pure power struck him.

Clover’s head searched around the room for Wintershimmer, and in a moment, found him perched atop the back of the throne, balancing carefully on three hooves. His horn was glowing even more brightly than before. “Make your choice, Star Swirl.” And with those words, he flung two of his slicing, blade-like beams out into the room: one aimed at Scorpan and the other straight toward Clover.

I didn’t see what Star Swirl did, as Clover was too concerned with defending herself. She turned away from the oncoming beam and started to gallop away, but on such small legs, I knew something else was due to save her. I half-expected a golden shield from her wooly teacher, but instead my senses were overwhelmed when Clover was covered in what seemed to be a massive mound of hair, all of it tingling with pure magic.

Wintershimmer gasped, and I felt Clover try to tilt her head out of the mound of fur, but a rough and raspy voice convinced her to stop. “Stay here, little Clover. You are safe.”

Scorpan.

Around us, I heard a raging wizard’s duel, so close and yet so tragically far away. Stone cracked, tapestries burnt, and I missed it all.

And then, all at once, it was quiet. I heard a hoof, and then another, limping toward us. Along with them came the jingling of bells. Star Swirl approached.

“I’m sorry, Scorpan. And most of all to you, Clover,” the stallion told us. “He’s gone now.”

“You killed him?” Scorpan asked.

Star Swirl shook his head. “That wasn’t really my old friend; he made a golem of wax to take on his appearance, and guided it from afar. He might still be in the north with the barbarians, for all I know. I fear we would not have fared so well if he present in the flesh, with his real horn.” The old mage took another deep breath, shedding some more of the stress of battle. “I should not have risked bringing him here.”

“You’re trusting,” Scorpan replied, finally standing up from his place covering Clover. “It is an admirable quality.”

“Sometimes a foolish one, but yes. Wintershimmer was my friend, once. I don’t pretend I expected that friendship back today, but I had hoped he might have seen past that. I should never have put you in danger, though.”

Scorpan shook his head. “You were right to call on him, Star Swirl. We do need help. But we will have to do without him. I only fear that you, I, and the sisters may not be enough.”

Clover spoke up at that. “The sisters? Are they other wizards like us, Master Star Swirl?”

Star Swirl chuckled. “I shouldn’t be surprised that your curiosity overpowers a near-death experience, Clover. In a sense, we might call the sisters ‘spirits’. They’re… let’s just say that they are very shy ponies. But I’m certain you’ll meet them some day.”

“Why would a wizard be shy? You always say—”

As a young Clover’s innocent questions continued, the memory began to fade away.

---

When I ‘awoke,’ the transition came abruptly and was followed by a slow development of horror at my location and my decisions, somewhat like being splashed in the face with a bucket of ice cold liquid while one is sleeping, and then only later learning that said liquid was pure elemental acid.

Clover helped me to my hooves, all of which had returned to being flesh, blood, and elegant jacket. “Steady, your equilibrium is probably off. Lean on me.”

I obliged, and Clover held me upright for a moment as she provided a gentle pressure to my back. Still drowsy, I calmly sat.

“Good. Good, Coil. How are you feeling?”

“Hmm?”

“Talk to me, Coil.”

A tinny, familiar voice erupted near my ear. “Oh, he can speak? Master Coil, please, say something to me—”

“Shut up, Angel,” I managed to drone out, moving a hoof to my brow to try and somehow rub out the now lingering ringing in my skull. “Thank you for your concern, but next time you’re worried, asking my state from a few paces away and at a regular speaking volume will do nicely.”

“Oh. My apologies, Master Coil.” Angel floated backwards—apparently, Clover had replaced his halos for him.

Clover herself slowly lowered her support of my shoulder, and I found myself able to sit upright comfortably. “You seem to be making a swift recovery. Can I say the same?”

I blinked twice in confusion. “I’m sorry?”

Clover lowered her glasses and glared at me over their gilded rims. “What did you do to my soul?”

“I didn’t change anything; I just looked at it.”

Clover sighed. “The cold truth, Coil, is that you’re my better at necromancy, no matter how much older or more experienced a mage I might be in other schools. You’re going to have to explain this a bit more slowly.”

I nodded, sitting a bit more stiffly upright. “Inside every pony, there’s a bundle of magic and memories that make that pony who they are. We call that bundle the ‘soul’. And—”

My explanation earned a cough into Clover’s hoof. “I’m not your apprentice, Coil. Nor am I a foal. I know what a soul is.”

“Wintershimmer taught me to always open a discussion of theory with basic principles. I’m sorry. As pathetic of an excuse as it is, it’s the way I was taught. Let me get to the point. The trick to Wintershimmer’s spell isn’t ripping out a soul; that’s actually just some brute force and a basic seance. The trick to it is that it is normally extremely difficult to grab onto a pony’s soul without also grabbing onto their body. The two are magically linked—that’s the little tingle at the base of your skull. Once I have a grip on a soul, though, there are more ways to use that grasp than just severing it. In your case, I used a grip on your soul to get an objective, impartial look at your memories as you honestly remember them. While the brain holds some memories, the more foundational and deeper ones are imprinted more… I guess you might say more ‘legibly’ on the soul. Of course, I had to hope that the memories that influenced your sparing a windigo were a deeply rooted part of who you are as a pony.”

Clover quirked a brow. “And what did you learn?”

“You were telling me the truth. Spirits can change their ways… or at least, Scorpan got you to believe that when he saved your life. And Wintershimmer knew it too.” I caught my eyes wandering away from Clover’s direct gaze, but I couldn’t bring myself to bring them back. “He lied to me, about your being a warlock. He lied about my being his first student. He lied about why he wanted me to kill you, and I trusted him.”

An olive hoof touched my cheek and pulled me back face to face with her. “No, you didn’t. You could have killed me, but instead you took the time to check.”

I snorted. “Great work, Morty. You only almost murdered a perfectly innocent mare.”

“You can’t fault yourself for the evidence presented to you. If I only knew what you knew, I would be inclined to investigate too.”

“You wouldn’t have if the source was Wintershimmer.” I stood up and turned away from her. Instead, my eyes turned to the sweeping expanse of volcanic hellscape that marked the very core of the draconic lands.

Clover sighed. “I don’t know you, Coil, and I’m sorry that this is the way you feel, but I don’t think you’ve done anything wrong here. If anything, I’d say you deserve credit for not giving in to the temptation to just… well, frankly, to kill me and protect yourself.”

I swallowed, and stared off into the ash and char. I didn’t have an answer; I didn’t know if I even had words. I spoke up anyway. “I wanted to be the hero.”

Clover said nothing. Perhaps her epithet should have been ‘the Wise’ instead.

“I came here ready to kill you because I wanted to be ‘the hero’ and save the world. Slay the warlock, end eternal winter… and I was gullible enough to honestly think murder was going to make ponies feel that way about me. Wintershimmer knew exactly what I wanted.”

“And you feel that you’re guilty, even though you realized it was wrong, and you didn’t finish the job?”

It took me far too long to shake my head, and then I finally managed to say something reasonable. “It was never about actually doing good for me, I think. It was always about the popularity. The story. The fame. The stars-damned image.” I picked up a loose chunk of pocketed black stone with my hoof and hurled it off the cliff in front of me. It shattered as it fell, crumbling into dust at the edge of my vision. “That was what Wintershimmer always taught me. More than magic, perception is power. He would do things to be seen as ‘evil’, just so that ponies would be intimidated by him. They’d give him what he wanted, listen to him, even just get out of his way in the road. And growing up, I told him I was going to be a ‘hero’. I was going to be the ‘good wizard’ and travel around and save ponies from spirits and warlocks.”

“I don’t see how that’s any less valid a dream, Coil.”

“If I’m only doing it for the fame, am I really a decent pony?”

“I think you’re going to have to find that answer for yourself.”

I sighed, and nodded. “Where I’m standing today, that road leads down the same path Wintershimmer followed. If I had killed you, I would have gone on thinking you really were a warlock. I’d have dragged your name through the mud, completely convinced of my own heroism. I can’t be that pony.”. I laughed, bitterly. “Wintershimmer did give me one good piece of advice. I need a new mentor.”

Clover nodded. “I'm afraid I'm out of the teaching game these days, Coil. But my apprentice, Diadem, is setting up a college in Everfree.”

I shook my head. “With as much respect as somepony like me can manage, Archmage, I'd sooner give up magic completely than sit in a classroom learning off a chalkboard alongside a huge mass of foals. I'm beyond the point of lessons that you can learn in a lecture hall.”

Clover shrugged. “You might be surprised, but the choice is yours.”

I stood up. “Thank you, Clover, and I’m sorry for taking your time.”

“Coil, I petrified you for several hours. Please, for your own health, at least stay here a day and—”

“My friends are waiting for me,” I told her. “I promised them we would go to Everfree City. If I get the chance I’ll see to it Wintershimmer’s staff is sent here—or at least as far as River Rock. Hopefully the dragon will forgive you for not killing me along with it.”

Clover nodded. “Safe travels, Coil. I hope you find your answer soon.”

Only one of her parting wishes came true.

Comments

[RoboRed]

Well if that isn't several mixed feelings in that last line...

[Julian the Dreamer]

And now we know the truth.

[djthomp]

Wintershimmer has been an old man in since he was a teenager.

In that moment, Clover decided that she, too, did not like this colt.

Clover and Morty, bonding already.

I like the use of the Scorpan backstory, as well as the flashback introduction of the candlecorns. Wintershimmer has clearly been using that technique for a long time by the time Morty is around.

An olive hoof touched my cheek and pulled me back face to face with her. “No, you didn’t. You could have killed me, but instead you took the time to check.”

Heroism, success!

I sighed, and nodded. “Where I’m standing today, that road leads down the same path Wintershimmer followed. If I had killed you, I would have gone on thinking you really were a warlock. I’d have dragged your name through the mud, completely convinced of my own heroism. I can’t be that pony.”. I laughed, bitterly. “Wintershimmer did give me one good piece of advice. I need a new mentor.”

Heroism, success?