Hunter's Path

by SwordTune

The Spoils of War

Fiora shook herself awake at the sound of clinking chains. The memory of sticky swamp mud was now gone, substituted with the sensation of cold stone brick and steel chains. Her first thought was the messenger. She obviously did not retrieve the list, but her thoughts was on where she was now.

A local lord, northwest of Bach Kha'mohrgen, sent the messenger. She was close to the edge of the swamp when she found the messenger. She must have been found by some pony from the lord's lands. But her prison didn't make any sense.

The bed--if it could be called that--was a pile of damp hay that poked her skin. Her armor, sword, and saddlebag had been stripped and replaced with a simple rags made from rough plant fibers. She could look around clearly through the bars, but knew darkness when she saw it.

Without her magic-enhanced vision, in all likelihood the prison would have been pitch-black. The only thing outside her cell was more cells, and a candle.

The lord was well acquainted with the mutant monster hunters and, if one of his soldiers had come across a hunter in need, would have provided whatever help he could. Favors were valuable, and often exchangeable for services. She wondered why she was in a cell instead.

"Is any pony there?" Fiora called out, listening to her voice echo. Her cell was part of a small square room, with four other cages around the room. A small metal door led to a hallway where she heard the clink of chains.

"Shut you facking mouths yous!" The guard slammed his hoof against the doors, silencing the prisoners. Fiora wondered how many others were imprisoned with her.

There was no doubt she could escape; magic was a weapon no pony could take. But casting a spell strong enough to break steel bars would take time and attract attention from the guards for sure. But time was in abundance in the cell.

She began by simply releasing her magic in weak blasts, like a river eroding a rough stone into a smooth pebble. Magic trickled from her horn and gently picked away at the steel bars. An hour passed until the first bar was whittled down at two points, top and bottom.

Then came the screams. The sound of a mare echoed through the whole prison, stretched and coarse cries like metal grating against stone in Fiora's ears. Some voices spoke underneath the pained screams, but even with her enhanced hearing, Fiora could only make out a few words.

She clenched her teeth at the sound of the abuse. A freak and mutant she was often called, but ponies were willing to overlook a lot of crimes if they were committed by their own kind. Torture was one of them.

The mare's agony would drift in and out of different kinds of sounds. She'd be silent, then whimper, then cry her lungs out, and then be silent again. The torture went on and off the following hours, long enough for Fiora to weaken three more steel bars.

Just barely enough to squeeze out. She pressed herself against the bars and gradually pushed with magic, adding the force to her own trained strength. All at once, the bars snapped out of place, and Fiora caught them immediately with her magic.

She sent them gently on the stone floor and crouched up beside the door. She listened carefully to the voices speaking during the silence between the torture.

"Facking whore spat in muh face," came a young stallion's voice. "Still says she don't know nathin."

A rougher voice spoke in response. "You tried the brand yet?"

"Only good thing left behind from the days of slavery," muttered the younger voice. "Burned it on her face and gat. Like ah said, nathin."

"Wish the gen'ral hadn't killed the rest of the lord's kin." Fiora heard the rougher stallion spit into a metal bowl. "Black magic practitioners ought to face punishment on the Rack before the pyre."

"You know the gen'ral don't give a damn 'bout all that." The younger seemed to try to follow the rougher, but his spitting lacked the sound of hitting metal. He scoffed.

"You buy that 'leader of the ponies' shite?" He laughed deeply, and Fiora could hear the strain on his lungs. His smoking included many impurities. It was a small conciliation to know that he would one day die drowning in his own phlegm.

He coughed after, but continued. "A warlord's still a lord. Sure, today he leads the peasants to take over the lord's keep. But give 'im time, we'll be putting the weak ones back to toiling in the fields."

"Ay!" exclaimed the younger. "Ah was born ta farmers."

Fiora heard a loud crack, and the younger let out a yelp of pain. "And my mother was a whore," growled the rougher voice. "A bloody whore who sold herself to a bloody sack of shite. If you want to do your family some good, get yer'ead strait and keep a knife at your side."

"Right," the younger said.

He grunted as the older stallion planted a forceful pat on his back. "Now you sit tight and find that damn clamp for that witch's teeth. I've got... a problem a sinful girl like her could fix."

Fiora shuddered at the stallion's gurgling cackle as he strutted down the hallway. The younger stallion paced around talking to himself.

"Where the hell is that clamp?" He paused. "Maybe ah put it by the freak's cell."

Fiora considered taking him strait on and chasing after the other guard, but just because she heard two didn't mean there weren't more guards. She backed away from the door and slunk into the shadowed corner of the room.

The guard walked in, clad in a steel breastplate. Chainmail underneath draped over his front. His gambeson and breastplate wore cloth patches. The stitched shield was green, with purple axes crossed at the center. Yet, however armored he was, it didn't matter.

Ponies feared magic for good reason. Fiora reached out with her horn and grabbed the young guard by his hooves, pulling him off balance. She pounced on him before he could give a shout, putting her forelegs around his neck like a vice and crushing his windpipe.

She grabbed his ax--the weapon was poorly weighted for combat, and seemed more like a repurposed logging ax. But it would be enough. She slunk through the cells silently, all the while thanking her friend Night Eye, a hunter from the Murder of Crows who taught her a lot about quiet hunting. And the older guard was not hard to hunt down.

Fiora burst into the cell where the mare had been whimpering to find the guard having trouble removing his armor. The prisoner was chained up to the wall, her limbs stretched in an 'X.' She wasn't moving, but breathed heavily.

The guard turned, and his eyes widened at Fiora. "Wha-"

She wasted no time winding up the ax with her magic, launching it at the guard. He wore the same armor as the other guard, but it didn't matter as the ax head easily flexed through his chainmail, crushing his neck.

Fiora knelt by the mare to examine her injuries. At first glance, it was already atrocious. Like the guard had said, they had branded her abdomen with the crossed-ax insignia on their armor. The same was on her face, but smaller. Her face was cut on the cheeks and her eyes were bloody and bruised.

If she ever woke up, leaving the prison would be nearly impossible. Fiora considered this as she looked at what the guards had done to the rest of her body. Her hooves were cracked, one completely smashed, by a heavy object, a hammer most likely. She felt her skin. It showed signs of dehydration.

The mare gasped awake at Fiora's touch. Her eyes squinted at the candlelight flickering through the door, wide and staring in fear.

"No, no, please! I told you I'm not a witch just let me go. Please, I beg of you!" She struggled weakly against the shackles.

Fiora wasted no words. She waved her horn over the mare's head and cast waves of magic into her mind, easing some of her pain and calming her down.

"I'm not here to hurt you," she said. "Start from the beginning, what's your name, and can you tell me what happened?"

"My father's the lord-" she caught her in a realization, "-no, he was the lord. Until the commander of his guard let the gates open to the peasants. Then he stabbed him in the chest."

"A revolt?" Upset farmers were common, as were revolts. But rarely did they succeed. Fiora took the guard's key and unlocked her shackles while she spoke.

"More like a coup," she said. "Commander Crosscut has the fort now, flying High Mountain banners along side his own."

It was perfectly clear to Fiora what had happened. The wars between kingdoms was always marked as just, except for the ones who have to die in it. The peasants clearly disapproved, and the High Mountain Kingdom took the opportunity to use a pawn and overthrow an enemy lord.

The mare looked pleadingly into Fiora's eyes. "I know I can't walk. My hooves..." she trailed off for a moment with distant sadness.

"You're a hunter, aren't you? My aunt lives in Bovinus. It's a small city in the northern most part of Midshore, but she's wealthy and can pay for my safety."

Fiora cursed her luck. She hoped the young noble would want to stay in her homeland and fight for her birthright. Fiora would have been happy to lend a hoof in the conflict too. But she was asking for safe passage. A young, wealthy, noblemare who had to first escape her prison and former home, and then trek across the war torn Far Coast to find her family.

Could she say no? Fiora doubted her conscience would let it rest if she rejected the offer, but accepting meant fighting through a fortified army, likely with crank bows and spears ready to rain down from towering stone walls. Even if she could make it out alive, there was no telling what luck the young mare had left.

"You'll have to wait until I clear the way," Fiora blurted out, still not sure what she intended to do. Her training made her a lethal weapon, that much was undisputed, but nothing was certain with tactics and warfare. Nevertheless, if seemed as if the verbal contract had been made.

The mare smiled with relief, bending to the floor in prayer to whichever god or gods she chose. In the moment, Fiora saw the other scars of her torture. Ridges of raised flesh from endless bloody whipping crisscrossed her back, making it almost unrecognizable. It was worse than what some monsters did to their prey.

Fiora turned to exist the prison cells, but the mare grabbed her tail. "The keep's design is uneven. All the archer towers are in range of each other, save for the one farthest from here. No pony can hit it, even from the towers."

A design flaw obviously not intended. Should the tower be taken, no others could offer it cover. Which is why it just became a valuable point of interest.

Fiora nodded and snuck quickly out of the prison, horn ready to silence any other guard in her way. She was fortunate that the peasants the commander had enlisted were undisciplined. She saw many posts abandoned by drunk stallions, reveling in other rooms, and trotted right by them without a single one batting an eye.

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The guard at the top of the tower gasped hopelessly for breath. He tried raising his crank bow, but Fiora wrenched him around with her superior strength and the weapon clattered on the floor, becoming as useful as a plank of wood.

Below, guards were calling their friends to swarm the intruder. Fiora felt the grip of the sword from the guard she had just taken out. Its handle locked assuredly with her horseshoes. But the guards had taken her hunter equipment, replacing her glyph covered shoes with plain iron.

The sword felt loose, its swings harder to control. Good weaponry has made me sloppy, she scolded herself. She trained from young with hunters who had to use their hooves, and even if she preferred her wings, her blade work had been perfect no matter what she held.

Now she tested her swings in anticipation for the guards and heard her late master barking corrections at her. Her mistakes were minute, important only to hunters, but they were still mistakes.

She kept the guards focused on her while she scanned the keep from the tower. Most times she only needed a light parry to deflect a heavy over swing. More than one fell to their death, either by their own doing to gentle tripping from Fiora. She checked the gates and towers until she found what she needed.

Pressing hard her with attacks, Fiora pushed the guards back on the stairwell. She could hear the clang of metal as some seemed to fall over themselves in retreat. Driven back, none was able to land a blow before she glided off the edge of the tower and fired a series of bolts over the sky of the keep.

The flames screeched their way back down, igniting the tar barrels on the top of the walls, along with a few barrels of liquid bravery for the soldiers. Seeing their alcohol taken by the fires of witchcraft, many ran for their lives. Those who hadn't joined the fighting scattered into the courtyard with pales of water, panicking over the growing flames.

The sight itself was enough to throw the keep and its guards into disarray. But to cover her bases she cleaved through any guard she passed, violently thrashing a weapon into the gaps in their armor, just to pick up another.

Fiora spotted, marching across the walls, a lanky stallion in polished, gold plated armor. Commander Crosscut, no doubt. But her fight was in taking the lady of the keep away to her aunt.

She impaled a guard with his friend's spear as she galloped into the prison cells. "You better be ready to move," she murmured, retracing her steps back to the young lady's cell.

Fiora eventually found her and hoisted the mare onto her back. There was no time to find where the guards had taken her weapons. Soon, groups would be tasked to putting out the fires, and others would be ordered to find their intruder.

"The kitchen's above us," the mare said. "A hole was busted in the cellar when the peasants got in. I doubt they've fixed it yet."

Fiora nodded and galloped back up the entrance of the dungeon. She took a hard left into the corridor leading to the kitchen. Behind them, some guards had clearly spotted her and were shouting as they chased, but her strength and speed greatly unmatched theirs.

The chefs had all been tied up or slaughtered, but the blood trail led neatly into the cellar where the attackers seemed to have broken in.

"Where's the hole?" The cellar was large and packed with barrels and shelves of wine. Even with her enhanced sight, the guards would be on them before she could look over the whole place.

The mare looked around but in the dark her eyes were completely useless. "I don't know. I only heard the explosion."

An explosion? If they used some kind of explosive, any kind, it would leave a residue she could smell. Fiora lifted her nose, letting magic flow through her body and enhance her senses. There was a hint of bulbous fibrick, a local mushroom that stored methane gas in its balloon-like body to deter hungry animals.

"There," Fiora caught the scent. With the noble on her back she ran for the pile of broken barrels and wine shelves that covered the entrance. A hastily made repair, and one that a spell could break in an instant, and, if her guess was good, stop the guards pursuing.

A blast of energy could break the barricade, but Fiora could smell fragments of the mushroom remains in the tunnel behind it. Her horn crackled with energy, spraying flames over the wood. For a moment it didn't seem like anything would happen, but as the guards entered the cellar, the mushroom remains erupted in a blinding flame.

Burning wood shrapnel caught onto the wine barrels the invaders had not opened for themselves, spreading fire throughout the entire room. Fiora blasted a wave of magic through the fire, opening a safe passage into tunnel, and galloped away before the burning wine closed the passage up again.

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Bovinus, a small city on a northern peninsula of Midshore. While technically beholden to the king of Midshore, its defensible position and strong trading partners gave the city and its council a considerable amount of autonomy.

It was originally founded by cattle and bison, but had long since been populated by ponies. Now, all non-ponies were second class citizens, even if the law stated otherwise. The smell of dusted cobblestone and waste pots being transported to the city sewers revolted Fiora, but her client seemed relieved to be in the safety of the walls.

"My name's Thesa Ruse," she had told Fiora at one point when they were north.

She had wanted to go back to tell Argent Ploja and Geiss that she'd be away again, but the monsters of the swamp around Bach Kha'mohrgen made it too dangerous. She ended up leaving a note at one of the many popular supply caches hunters put all around the swamp.

Despite the ruling class of ponies, there were still many more cows and bulls roaming the streets, as beggars and beasts of burden. They carried heavy loads of lumber into the city's warehouses, and were couriers for nobles too contemptuous to step onto the streets themselves.

Thesa managed to look upon them as any pony of noble blood would, despite her own scars and burns. She limped slightly, and flinched when her rough dress tugged on her most severe wounds. But time on the road had given her plenty of time to come to terms with her new situation, and though she still frowned at her reflection, it clearly hadn't taught her any sympathy for others who suffered with her.

They took a turn and entered a cramped section of the city. Its streets grew narrow and the buildings on either side were so close that two ponies could reach out of the windows and link hooves.

Fiora had seen places like this in every city she worked in. Rows of streets where houses were give to the suffering poor so they wouldn't crowd the markets with begging and crime. Nobility hated their kind, while merchants and craftsmen feared dropping to their class if they ever lost work.

"You said your aunt was a wealthy mare," Fiora whispered to avoid the attention of leering eyes. "Why are we headed this way?"

"My aunt, for whatever reason, favored life among common folk" Thesa explained. "But she still had a mind for business. My father told me she ran away from an arranged marriage when she was young not because of love, but because she said she could find a better deal. Guess where that took her?"

Fiora followed, but the look on her face said she wasn't so sure. Deeper into the streets were bags of bodies, dumped from public executions of criminals. They turned on a few streets until they came onto a tavern at the corner of an intersection.

The Weeping Whale Tavern and Inn Fiora read as they trotted up to it. This place? She knew Thesa couldn't have noticed, but the scent of the beer inside told everything. It was cheap and watered down until it was barely bearable, and yet it was probably the best place for a drink in this neighborhood.

Thesa saw the look on Fiora's face but managed a smile. "Relax, and trust me."

She almost wanted to wretch at the scents inside the Weeping Whale. Beer permeated the air along side pipe smoke and sweat from the unwashed customers. There were other things too, that she smelled, but Fiora didn't want to think about those.

"I'm looking for my aunt," Thesa told the stallion at the bar.

He chuckled and waved to the mares wrapping their legs around stallions willing to spend a few stolen coins. "Lady, if your aunt's in a place like this, trust me when I tell you that you don't want to find her."

"Tell Lavender Stranglethorn that her niece is here to see her." Thesa said, firmly placing a silver coin on the counter. "She's had a death in the family. A few, actually."

The barkeep's mouth drooped slightly, his eyes bulging at the coin. "Right away, ma'am."

He turned to some pony behind him and shouted. "Oi, boy! I've an errand to run, you've got the bar 'till I'm back."

The barkeep bid her farewell sheepishly and headed out the back door immediately. Confused and hesitant, a colt who looked like the barkeep's son took control at the counter.

Fiora decided to talk to the colt, give him some work to take his mind off the sudden responsibility. That, and she was thirsty, despite the horrid quality of the beer. She order a bottle, paid in a few copper coins, and warmed herself by the candles.

"Do hunters drink as much as you do?" Thesa asked. "Because, on the way here we've stopped at every tavern we came across so you could have a drink."

"I have things on my mind," Fiora grumbled. "And I don't feel like sharing."

She stopped and turned to the door at a sound not often heard in neighborhoods like this. Though, given the building she was in, she wasn't surprised.

The city guard entered with suits of chainmail and gambesons, stopping in heavy steel boots like they owned the place. Most every pony silenced as they entered, save for a few too drunk to notice anything.

"The best establishment on this side of the city," mocked one the guard, pointing his spear around. It was fastened to a brace on his hoof and a loop on his saddle, pivoting with more control than a raw spear.

Another spat on the wood flooring. "Bet they're all here to spend the coin they picked off of good working folk."

"Hey!" cried the colt over the counter, before he realized how little his voice sounded. "Th-this is, I mean--We don't want any trouble here. Nothing wrong's happened."

"Nothing wrong indeed," chuckled the first guard that spoke. In total, four stepped inside the tavern and sat at the counter. "We're just here on duty. Y'see, these streets are filled with dangerous folk. We just want to keep you all safe."

Fiora grabbed Thesa by the foreleg and moved away from the counter as the guards talked. "Stay outside until your aunt gets here."

But nothing could have stood out more than a mutant monster hunter escorting a noble mare out of a tavern. One of the guards laughed and got out of his seat, followed by the others.

"If my eyes don't deceive. Brothers, I think this beasts tryin' to take this fair maiden away." He eyed her as stallion with the facade of power always eyed vulnerable mares.

"Oh my eyes!" retorted another. "A monster with wings and horn. We'd better call a hunter to off this one."

Fiora only knew two words that worked with their kind, two words that had half a chance of working. Still, it was better than an absolute chance of getting in a fight.

"Piss. Off." She kept Thesa close and tried to maneuver around them, but none of the guards recognized the threat.

One angrily reached out and tore Thesa from Fiora's grip, throwing her aside. He looked at her, and then back at Fiora.

"Maybe," he growled, "we should deal with you ourselves. Mutant or no, sometimes a mare's got to learn to hold her tongue around stallions."

Before she could draw her sword, Thesa rushed at the offending guard. "Don't you dare-"

He swung his hoof and smacked her jaw so hard she tumbled to the ground like a doll. "Your scarred, but a scarred bitch is no different from a mutant one. So shut it!"

Fiora didn't let them make the first move. By attacking her client, she had every right to make the first strike. She spun her horn in the air and the explosive force surrounded her. All four guards were thrown back, one all the way over the counter and into the bottles behind it. The colt cried out in fear.

The guard with the spear thrust at Fiora, but he overextended himself and all she needed to do was sidestep, making him miss and trip over himself. His friend charged to deliver his own cut with his sword, only finding two wings wrapping around his foreleg and twisting the weapon from his horseshoe.

She locked the sword onto her own horseshoe and threw a cut at the last guard's shield. He raised to block and swung his ax from the side. It struck air. He lowered his shield to find his opponent but Fiora had already danced around behind him and ran the blade in his back, breaking the links of the chainmail one by one.

He collapsed onto the ground, one hoof trying to clutch the wound on his back, the other raised in defense against Fiora. "Mercy! Mercy!" he cried.

Amidst the fighting, no one noticed the barkeep return with a violet-clad mare in a feathered hat. They entered from the back door, and was witness to the cowering guard.

"What in the hells is this?" the mare demanded.

The colt, quivering behind the counter, mumbled to her. "They came in and started harassing that mare and her guardian." He pointed to Thesa.

"Is that so?" She looked at Fiora, then Thesa, and then the guard. She beamed at the stallion on the ground and walked up to him.

She extended a hoof to help him up. "Well, it's so nice to see an honored member of the city guard at our humble establishment." He sighed with relief and stood up.

"Just, y'know, doing our rounds. Weren't trying to cause trouble, Lady Stranglethorn," the guard spoke, his voice shaky.

"No, of course not," she smiled at him. "And you won't cause trouble ever again." A mass of black, prickly vines shot out of her violet silk sleeve and constricted his throat. He tried crying out but the effort only made it easier for the terrifying plant to crumple his neck, splattering red as his skin burst through his chainmail.

She wiped the droplets of blood off her hooves and turned to her niece. "Now that that's taken care of, come give your Aunt Lavender a hug!"