The Neighmedian Chronicles: Tales Of The Hyhorsian Era.

by Red Rune

Beyond Black River

With a contented sigh, the cyan Pegasus rolled over on her cloud, wings flopping out at her sides. The noontime sun warmed her gently. Of course it also shone directly into her eyes, cutting her nap short. With another, less contented, sigh she rolled to her feet, glancing about to get her bearings. Her cloud had drifted while she was asleep.

Over there in the distance lay Ponyville. Closer to hand, she could make out the clearing where Zecora lived, and the ruined castle of the pony sisters. So, she had drifted over the Everfree. True, it was safer above the canopy, especially if one did nothing to draw attention, but it was still worrying.

Flying home would take care. And caution. She scanned her surroundings, looking for anything she had missed. She was not disappointed. Her cloud floated above one of the craggy drops that dotted the Everfree, one that bore the marks of a recent rockslide. It had exposed a cave. A yawning gulf.

There was something… strange about it. And as Rainbow Dash stared at it, she realised what it was. The entrance was almost exactly rectangular, and that meant it wasn’t natural. And that realisation prompted a single question. What would Daring..? She giggled. ‘What would Daring Do?’ indeed. And there was but one answer to that question.

A short glide later, and she was at the entrance of the cave. Without hesitation, she strode in. A tunnel drove back into the rock, the walls lined with carved images, worn almost smooth. Glowing gems spaced evenly provided a pale blue light. Some way in, she came to a staircase leading up, each step carved into the shape of a coiled Draconequus, positioned so that with each step, a pony planted their hooves on the head of the beast.

At the top of the stairs was a small chamber. A graven image of a mantling phoenix stood over a small pedestal. A thick, heavy tome, covered in dust, sat on top of it. Rainbow Dash approached it warily, sizing it up with her hooves. A moment later she stopped. A wry glance, and she grabbed the tome and spun off down the stairs, spreading her wings and speeding out into the open air.

As soon as she felt the sun on her back, she dove to the side, crouching against the cliff next to the cave. Waiting. And waiting. And waiting. Noticing the distinct lack of bouldery things or beasties barrelling out past her, her worried grin turned into one of glee, as she turned her prize over in her hooves, and carefully blew the dust off it.

It was a thick black tome. On the front, the image of a horned helm, the sort of thing that had never been forged by civilized hooves, was chased out in gold. She opened it carefully, gently. Eagerly she drank in the words. Only to realise that she couldn’t even recognise the letters. There was but one thing to do. To The Library!

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A knocking on the Library door interrupted Twilight’s reverie. It took her a moment to remember that Spike wasn’t there to answer it, but as soon as she did, she bolted to her hooves.

“Coming!” she called, trotting over to the door. As it swung open, she stood shocked.

“Rainbow Dash?” she asked, for the pony standing there never used the door. “What are you doing here?”

Rainbow Dash just stepped inside, glancing around to make sure they were alone. Once she was certain, a light tap with a rear hoof closed the door, and a wing unfurled, revealing the book. A purple glow limned it, and it drifted towards the unicorn. As Rainbow Dash looked on expectantly, Twilight glanced through the pages.

“So. You can read it?” Rainbow Dash asked.

“No.” Her face fell, and Twilight felt a surge of sympathy.

“Not yet, I mean. But we will.” she began to pluck books from the shelves with her magic, slipping into study mode. She didn’t even blink when Dash slipped inside the spinning circle of books.

By the time Spike returned, they were sitting in the middle of the room, surrounded by whiteboards and blackboards and piles and piles of notes. As he stepped into the room, he recognised the signs of study mode.

“I’m back, Twilight!” he announced, expecting the grunt of acknowledgement. He hadn’t expected it to be echoed. He did a double-take, as Rainbow lifted from the blackboard to check something in one of the books. Her tongue was sticking out the side of her mouth, in an expression of intense concentration, and she had a stick of chalk in her hoof.
Spikes jaw hit the floor. Never would he have expected to see Rainbow studying with Twilight. Never. He rallied swiftly though. If he knew his friends, they would soon be in need of coffee. Lots of Coffee.

It took them the entire afternoon, and much cross-referencing, but they managed to work out the alphabet. It seemed to have elements of several different ancient and archaic means of writing, many of which Twilight had encountered before. Some of which, she was even proficient in. The script itself took more time, but as with the alphabet, the language seemed to have common elements with a number of tongues Twilight had run into during her studies. Still, it was well after full dark that they felt they were ready to start on the difficult task of translating the first pages of the tome.

And slowly, and shakily, oft corrected or rewritten, their translation began to cover the chalkboard;

Know, Oh Princess. That Between The Days When The Oceans Drank Dream Valley And The Gleaming Cities, And The Years Of The Rise Of The Sisters Of Balance, There Was An Age Undreamed Of. When Jeweled Kingdoms Spread Like Blue Mantles Across The World. Stygia, where Ponies worshipped the spirits of Disharmony, Zamarea at the crossroads of the world, and Horsekania, whose ponies wore steel and silk and gold. But greatest of all was Equilonia, reigning supreme in the dreaming west. Hither came Wild Heart, the Cimmareian, black-maned and sullen-eyed. A Thief, A Reaver, A Slayer, with gigantic melancholies and gigantic mirths. Born to tread the jewelled crowns of the earth beneath unshod hooves.

The Neighmedian Chronicles.

The pale grey unicorn walking down the forest path froze. There, perhaps a hundred yards ahead, he could swear the bush had moved. But there was no breeze. Not the slightest breath of wind. His horn lit up, glowing steely gray. The hatchet at his belt lifted, limned by the same grey glow. He carefully brought it out before his face, dropping it into a guard. Carefully, he studied his surroundings, every leaf, every branch, every twig, praying to Faust and to Harmony that he was wrong.

When it happened, everything happened at once. The bush flailed wildly, the Unicorn dove into the undergrowth beside the trail, and a wickedly barbed dart, glowing green, embedded itself in a tree, not far from where his head would have been. He crouched low, prayers just as silent, but far more fervent, when the stranger stepped into the clear.
It was a stallion, but bigger than any stallion the Unicorn had seen before.

“It’s alright.” The stallion growled, his voice deep. “There was only one of the Painted Devils.” His Equilonian was fluent, and without accent. His hide was bronze, and his mane was black, although his barrel and flanks were obscured by sheets of ring armour. He wore a helm of dull steel, with edged ridges on the faceplate, and short bull-horns, razor-sharp, curving out of the sides.

Whilst it was plain his gear was not that of a Civilized Pony, it was far too well made to be Puckish. And no Puck spoke Equilonian. Thus reassured, the Unicorn stepped forth, straightening. His hatchet slid back into its belt loop, and he nodded a greeting.

“Roving Hooves. From the Taurun,” the unicorn stated, naming an Equilonian province, just on the far side of the Bisonnian marches from where they stood.

The bronze-furred stallion grinned.

“Fortune or Fate, you’ll find it here. Wild Heart. Of Cimmareia.” Roving Hooves stared. He’d heard of the Cimmareian. A wanderer, a reaver. Sailed with Pirates and Corsairs. Rode with the Koltzaki on the steppes by the Fillyet. Free Companion, Captain of Mercenaries, and now, it seemed, Frontierspony. His musings were interrupted.

“You’ll be bound for the fort, aye? I’ll see you there.” The Cimmareian said, trotting over to pluck the dart from the tree and tucking it into a belt, next to a number of daggers and hatchets. Catching Hooves stare, Wild Heart grinned.

“Pays sometimes to not let the Pucks know it’s a Pony on their trail.”

“So it was a Puck?”

“Aye. Slipped over the river to put a few notches on his horn. Been on his trail since dawn. Lucky for me, he spotted you.” Wild Heart dragged the body out of the bush, letting Hooves get a good look at it for the first time.
It resembled a pony, but rather than soft, silky fur, it had smooth, cold shell. It had a horn like a unicorn, even if said horn was curved, and smooth, bar the crude notches cut into it. On the other hand, it had wings like a pegasi. Although, Hooves noted, they looked more like those of some sort of insect, with strange holes through them. Its black shell bore markings of paint, in strange patterns that somehow suggested malice, and a necklace of wolf claws hung around its neck.

A Changeling. A Fey. A Puck.

“This far from Black River?”

“I’ve felled them within a mile of Ponarium. Come. Day is wasting.”
With those words, Wild Heart set off, and Roving Hooves hurried to keep up. It didn’t help that Wild Heart was bigger than he was, bigger by far, and moved with a long, swinging hillpony’s stride that ate up the miles.

They travelled in silence, bar the sound of footsteps. It was a bit unnerving for Hooves just how quietly his companion moved. He’d seen just that sort of predatory gait in the big cats that troubled the Taurun. A strange vitality that Roving Hooves had never seen before. It was, of course, the boundless energy and endurance of the Barbarian, long since lost to civilized ponies. Leeched away by comfort and ease, lost to a lack of challenge.

They continued unspeaking for some miles, before a shriek started them. Wild Heart leapt into a gallop, reaching his head back to draw a throwing axe from his belt. Roving Hooves followed at a more careful pace, keeping an eye out for whatever had caused the sound. He came around a bend to find Wild Heart standing over the body of a pale orange pony lying next to the ruins of a cart filled with bundled furs.

“Weighty Coin.” Wild Heart answered the unspoken question, letting his axe drop to the ground, standing it on its head, haft sticking up. “Guards at the fort said he’d heard the Loon. Didnae want to believe them.”

“The Loon?” Wild Heart nodded.

“Puckish shaman. One of the big ones, Apocrita Vesp, was leading a war party. Coin got away, left a load of Cider behind. Led the Guard to where Vesp had gotten herself drunk and passed out. They stuck her in a cell in the fort. She got out, swore everyone who had a hand in her capture would die. Coin was the last of them.” Wild Heart moved to lift the body onto his back.

“Every one of the others heard something, a call only they heard. Guards called it the Loon. Went out, alone. We never found the heads. Probably gracing Vesp’s hut. Well he won’t get this one.”

While he’d been speaking, Wild Heart had slipped his head under Coin’s barrel, and now a flick of his neck rolled the body back onto his shoulders, and he straightened. Testing the weight, he lifted his axe again and took a step, and then another, settling into a fast walk, and then a trot. With a shake of his head, Roving Hooves followed.

They weren’t too much further along, when they heard another scream. This one being decidedly feminine. Without a second thought, Wild Heart bellowed a “Wait Here!” and, dropping Coin, took off towards the scream. Wild Heart waited but a moment, as thoughts howled through his head. ‘He’s leaving you alone,’ of itself was not a major worry, but the realisation that there were Pucks about changed that. It might have panicked the Taurunian, had it not been for the realisation that nothing was stopping him from following. So he did. Seconds later he burst into a clearing to find Wild Heart spinning about to face him.

Wild Heart flicked his axe into the air.

“Nothing.” He caught the axe as it came back down, trotting back to where he had left Coin. He seemed wary, as close to worried as Hooves had seen him yet, and the unicorn followed the barbarian with a haste born of nerves.
He got back to where they had left Coin a few moments after Wild Heart, and stood in shock. The big earth pony just grunted as he lifted the body back onto his back.

“Well. At least, he’s lighter.” And it was true. Short his head, Coin was indeed lighter. Hooves inspected the wound.

“Too ragged for a blade…”

“Aye. Torn, not cut.”

“Panther?” The question was hopeful.

“You’re from the Taurun. You know as well as I that’s no Panther.”

The silence now, was far less comfortable. Wild Heart was properly wary, and it showed. He was moving swiftly, low to the ground, and his axe-haft stayed gripped between his jaws. He could sense movement in the trees, just outside of sight. At times, cackling laughter drifted through the woods. It looked to grate on the barbarian, and slowly it dawned on Hooves why. The Cimmareian knew his enemy was out there. Stalking him. Hunting him. It was not a feeling any pony would have liked, least of all one used to being on the other side of things.

It ended when they neared the fort, a sturdy construction of rough-hewn timber, set on a low hill. The trees had been cleared back past bowshot of the walls, and the base of the walls had been lined with smooth stone, hard to climb.
They approached the gate, and Wild Heart nodded to the guard at the gates, dropping the body in front of him. The pale blue Pegasus uttered a grim laugh.

“Shield owes me a dozen bits. I told him Coin had heard the Loon when he cantered out of here. Cap’s up in his office. Reckon he’ll be wanting to see you.” Wild Heart nodded again, trotting through the gates, and headed into the keep. He traded greetings with the various guards, mostly Earth Ponies, with the odd Unicorn and Pegasi, and even a Bison or two from the Marches. Their relief at his return was palpable.

The captain was another Unicorn, with a reddish brown pelt. Roan, or Ochre, one could call it. When Wild Heart entered his office, Roving Hooves in tow, he was seated behind a desk, writing on a scroll.
“Wild Heart. Thought the Pucks had got you this time.”

The earth pony laughed.

“When they smoke my skull, you’ll know. You’ll hear them wailing their dead all the way to the Marches. They got Coin though.”

“You found him?”

“Aye.”

“His Head?”

“What do you think?”

Solid Anchor sighed.

“It’s a bad business this. We should have listened to you.”

“Aye. You should have. But you Civilized folks don’t think like us Barbarians. You take a Barbarian, you give him gifts and let him go. Or you kill him. Binding him is the worst insult you can deal.”

Anchor nodded.

“You said at the time.” He paused, noticing Wild Heart’s friend. “Who’s the stranger?”

“Roving Hooves. Woodsman from the Taurun. Come to make his fortune or his fate. Hooves, Solid Anchor. Captains the fort. Commands the defences for Coltajohara here.”

Anchor laughed.

“ ‘Commands the defences.’ There’s a good one, Wild. I’ve maybe ten score in the fort, twice that in Ponarium. And two score of foresters like yourself who’ll match any ten in the line. And it’s still not enough.” He turned to Hooves. “What’ll it be, lad? Come to take land, or will you do Fort-Service? We need every Pony we can get.”

“I’ll do my part.” Hooves gasped as Wild Heart hammered a hoof on his back.

“Good lad, good lad.” seemed the barbarian approved.

“I hate to break this up, my friend. But we have trouble. While you were out gallivanting…” Wild Heart made to object, but Anchor waved him down with a grin. “We got word Vesp is sending emissaries to nearby hives, massing her forces. And more than the three or four hives the Pucks normally organise.”

Wild Heart nodded.

“They’ll follow a Sorcerer more than a Warrior. Without her, whatever they’re setting up will fall apart.”

“True. But how? A thousand ponies couldn’t cut their way to her hive.”

“No. But a dozen might. I’ll take no soldiers; they’d be no use in a fight like this. Just foresters. Give me a dozen, and we’ll bring Vesp down for you.”

“You’ll have them. Pick them.”

Hearing that, Hooves decided to begin as he’d go on. Any foal of the Taurun knew a bit of woodcraft, and he knew that a place in the line was not what he had come west for.

“I’ll go. I’ve faced the Panthers in the Taurun. I’ll not slow you down.”

Wild Heart looked him up and down, and Hooves got the feeling he was being judged. Whatever the Cimmareian saw, he must have approved.

“Aye. You’ll do. Go. Get some sleep, bite to eat. We leave at last light.”

Full dark found Hooves in a small canoe with Wild Heart, being towed across the Black River by a pair of Pegasi. Two more canoes, similarly loaded and driven flanked them, and in no time at all they were across into Puckish territory.

“Wait here.” Wild Heart whispered to Hooves and a pegasus with a coat of Hunters green, and a dark stormcloud for a cutie mark. A quick hoof-gesture and he set into the woods, followed by the rest of the foresters, the slightest rustle the only mark of his passing.

Silently, the pair waited, guarding the canoes. Neither wished to be first to make a sound, and possibly bring down the wrath of the Pucks. Time passed, and Hooves turned to check on his companion, who looked to be lying asleep in the rear of a canoe. He shook his head and made to wake the negligent pony, poking at the pegasus’ side, but his hoof came away sticky and red. Panic filled him. He reared, his hatchet flying from his belt. A shining, dark head lifted from the water, green glow illuminating its notched horn, and Hooves struck. He never saw his blow land, as something hit him, hard in the back of his head. He saw stars. And then he saw nothing at all.

Roving Hooves shook himself, coming awake. His head stung, and his vision blurred. He was on his rear hooves, bound to a pole, forelegs above his head. He glanced around, taking stock. He was in a circle of smooth, packed earth, surrounded by a ring of Pucks. About him he could see small huts of what looked like orange clay, and beyond that a wall of the same material stood twice as high as the tallest stallion.

“Hssst.” He squirmed, uncertain of where the sound came from.

“Hssst.” It came again, from his side. He looked towards the voice. It was one of the other foresters. Greenleaf, he thought the mare’s name was. A glance at her tawny flank confirmed it.

“So, they got you too then.” It was a statement, not a question, and Greenleaf must have seen Hooves confusion. She could do little more than tilt her head, but he followed her gesture and gasped. There, stacked in a small pyramid were a number of Pony heads. And he recognised some of them. His recent companions. He stared at them, trying to pick out a specific one, but he couldn’t find it. He sighed with relief. If Wild Heart’s head wasn’t there, there might still be hope.

That thought died, as a new Puck stepped into the center. It was a sort he had never seen before. It stood taller than even Wild Heart, although it was very slender. There were round holes through its hooves, and it had broad wings and a horn that cut forward and back. It wore a headdress of ostrich plumes and peacock feathers, and jewellry of beaten copper. There was only one thing it could be, and Roving Hooves whispered its name.

“Apocrita Vesp…”

Without a word, Vesp began to dance, swaying in time to an unheard tune. Forward and back, sidestepping, bowing low and rolling her head. It was... almost hypnotic, the dance, with a sort of feline grace about it. Suddenly Vesp stopped, and threw back her head, and snarled. It was louder than it should have been, with strange tones, and a similar snarl answered back.

The beast that padded into the ring was a sight to make the hardiest soul quake, and even the Pucks pressed back. It had the body of a Lion, but the tail of a scorpion, and great, leathery wings, like those of a giant bat. A Manticore. They had been driven from Equilonia centuries ago, and had long been deemed extinct, but who knew what ancient horrors lurked on in the forgotten corners of the world. Silently, it stalked around the ring, watching Vesp and then, without warning, it leapt.

The force of impact snapped Greenleaf’s stake at the base, and ravaged her body. The stinger on the tail drove into her neck, and she spasmed. She didn’t even have time to scream. Roving Hooves shut his eyes, turned his head, unwilling to even think of the fate that awaited him, as the monster dragged the wreck that had been a pony away. When the sounds of its passage, of Greenleaf’s thrashing, died he opened them again.

Vesp was dancing again, but this was not the same dance as before. Her barrel undulated as she twined this way and that, turning and twisting. There was no stopping, this time, no great snarl. No, as she danced, she hissed, a low sibilant sound, and Hooves pondered what new terror awaited. He sighed with relief when he saw the head of a cockerel, but the thrill of hope was short-lived. No squawking fowl, this, as the body of a serpent made its way into view.

Another beast mostly forgotten. It was a Cockatrice, and he squirmed and wriggled, trying to avoid meeting its eyes.
Suddenly, the beast let out a squawk, and began to flail wildly, uncontrolled. A Puck met it’s glazing eyes, and was stone in an instant. Pandemonium reigned, and suddenly, Hooves was free. He dropped to all fours, returning circulation stinging his limbs, and a familiar voice roared at him to follow. He did so, even as Puckish darts rained down about him and his saviour. In front of them, a pair of the strange creatures hastened to close the hive gates, but Wild Heart ignored them, slamming his shoulder into one of the swinging portals and knocking it wide. The two of them rushed into the welcoming greenery at a gallop.

They didn’t slow for quite some time. When they did, Roving Hooves, panting for air, asked what went wrong.

“We messed up the timing. Vesp already had her alliances. We ran straight into the War Party. If I hadn’t seen branches swaying against the breeze, they’d have had all of us. As it was, we had the warning to drop. The others took a few before they fell. I bulled my way through, and looped round. Thought to fight my way back to the river, take my chances swimming, but I found your trail.”

Hooves nodded.

“Why the Cockatrice? Why not Vesp?”

“I only had the one dart. And nopony leaves another pony to be slain by the Pucks.”

His curiosity assuaged, Hooves turned his attention to more pressing matters.

“Where are we?”

“Few miles south of the Hive. We need to turn east, get to the River, and then head upstream. Warn the fort. But be careful. Not all of Vesp’s servants are Pucks.” Wild Heart glanced skyward and then turned, striking off towards the river.

“How does she control them?” Hooves asked, as they went on.

“Puckish magic? I don’t know. The Pucks are adept at manipulating, controlling. Or it could be he remembers…”

“Remembers what?” But Wild Heart wasn’t listening. He’d torn a branch off a low tree, and was tracing a symbol in the ground. Try as he might, Hooves couldn’t focus on it. Every time he tried, his gaze slipped away.

“What is that?” Spitting out the branch, Wild Heart answered.

“I found this symbol in a cave in the Saddles that nopony had been in for a thousand years. Later, a Zebrican shaman in Buckswana taught me to draw it, and some of its meaning. Long ago, the world knew harmony, and all things were brothers. The Draconeqii shattered that, but some things still remember the old ways, and the Shy one. Those who do, remain brothers, and answer each other’s call. None of those will cross this symbol.”

Again, they travelled in silence. Safe from the beasts, aye, but not the Pucks. At length, they reached the river. Glancing up and down, they forged in, slowly, causing barely a ripple. They swam swiftly, for the river was not the safest of waters, but they crossed without event, and then turned to the north. In the distance, a glow lit up the sky.

“Dawn? Already?”

“No. The Fort burns. Vesp must have crossed before us.”

“Should we try to cut our way in?”

Wild Heart shook his head.

“No. We’d simply die with them. We’ll warn the settlers. Get them to Ponarium. Hold there. The fort is lost.” With that, Wild Heart slammed his right hoof against his chest, above his heart. He would grieve for his friend later. For now, they had work to do.

They had expected it to be easy, getting onto the trails towards Ponarium. The Pucks would be distracted by the fort. There should be nothing between them and those they had to warn. They were wrong.

Neither side saw the other coming, and Wild Heart and the Pucks responded with all the speed and ferocity of the Barbarian. By the time Hooves realised what was happening, one of the Pucks was down with Wild’s axe in its skull, and a cluster of darts were whistling at his head. He dropped, and they whizzed past, a few drawing red tracery’s across his forehead. His hatchet parried a crude puckish axe, and he twisted out of the way of a knife that was wrapped in a glowing green aura. Wild Heart meanwhile, was fighting like a lion. A head-butt dropped one, the ridged helm crumpling chitin, whilst a firm, two-legged buck took care of one slipping up behind him.

He reared, spinning, a knife turning on his armour, before bringing his forelimbs crashing down on his opponent’s spine. Hooves had batted aside the axe, dodged the knife, and with his magic, sent a fallen dart to fell the Puck afore him. Its companion slammed into his side, knocking him over, and he stared in horror as the curved horn descended, its front edge razor sharp.

A gray blur knocked the Puck from him. There was a crunching noise, and wet tearing sounds followed, as he shakily stood, stepping back from the grey-furred, bipedal creature with its face buried inside the Puck’s torso. Wild Heart had no such compunction, slapping the beast on the back, and offering it a hoof. They shook, and both turned towards Roving Hooves, Puck blood and other, less savoury fluids covering them. Wild Heart grinned.

“Hooves. Meet Slasher. Diamond Dog. Came up this way with a prospector. Pucks got him a few years back, almost got Slasher here. We got him to the fort, nursed him to health, and then he wandered out here. Been out here since.”

“Friend,” rasped the creature, nodding to Hooves, and then turned to Wild Heart.

“Big pony should know. Pucks burn fort. Many Pucks. Good hunting. Good eating. Hunt Pucks with big pony?”
Wild Heart grunted approval, shaking the worst of the gore from his pelt.

“Hear that, Hooves? Then there were three!” Hooves did not share the Cimmareian’s enthusiasm for their new companion, but he would not complain. The strange creature had saved his life after all. Wild Heart had them strip the Pucks of weapons, reasoning the darts and blades would come in handy, and let Hooves take a moment to fix the links in his armour that had been knocked loose by the knife.

“If more foresters wore chain, there’d be fewer skulls on the puckish altars,” Wild Heart opined. “But most ponies make noise in harness.” Hooves nodded. It was a mystery to him how the armoured barbarian made less noise in armour than he did in naught bar his hide, but he didn’t want to push his protector.

They set off swiftly, finding the trail without further incident, only to run into a snag at the crossroads.

Wild Heart stared down at the tracks, as Slasher sniffed them.

“Ponies. Shod. Smell iron on dirt. Wagon. Gone to licks. Salt. Slasher Fetch?” The Diamond Dog seemed eager to please his friends, both old and new, but Wild Heart shook his head.

“I’ll get him. Get Hooves to Ponarium. Warn the rest. See you there, friend.” They nudged heads affectionately, and then the big bronze pony was gone.

The other two set off along the trail, Slasher leading them off the trail to hail the settlers’ cabins. They delivered the Cimmareian’s warning to all they came across, mares and foals, mostly. Most of the stallions and the older colts had gone off to the salt licks. The news of the Pucks had those with kin out that way worried, but when told Wild Heart had gone after them, they seemed as confident as any could be.

“If anyone can bring them back, The Cimmareian will,” unicorn and dog were told many a time, as they glanced back along the trail with worried eyes.

Not all the Pucks had stopped at the fort. Some had chosen to rush on ahead, and Roving Hooves could mark their progress by the flares as they torched the empty cabins. They were getting closer than he liked. Finally, he found a spot he reckoned would do nicely. A fallen tree blocked the trail, providing cover, but it was stripped of branches, so when the time came, he could cross it with ease. A cluster of captured Puck darts hovered beside him, and Slasher readied a few more. They would hold as long as they could, and buy the settlers time.

They did not have long to wait. The initial exchanges were with darts, passed back and forth, and the two behind the tree got the better of the bargain, leaving three Pucks lying still, before they chose to close. The first to cross the tree found Hooves’ last dart sliding into its belly, and the second met Slasher’s claws tearing across its face.
And with that, the battle was joined in earnest. The pair was already bloodied, for not all the Puckish darts had missed their mark, but their wills held. They spun and twisted, dodging away only to leap back into the fray.

Roving Hooves lacked the training of a warpony, of the unicorn knights of Equilonia, but he fought well none the less. Though crude and simple, his magic was effective, swinging those weapons he chose to wield, or knocking his foes aside. A corner of his mind noted that Slasher disdained weapons, fighting with his claws and his teeth. As crude in its own way as Hooves’ magic, and just as effective. Their fight was valiant, glorious, but in the end, there could be but one outcome, and they went down under the weight of numbers.

They did not die easy, and they did not die alone, but they died, and well.

And as his friends bled their last, the Cimmareian was miles away. He had met the settlers already on their way back, for one of their number had stumbled across a Puck’s trail. He had hastened them on their way, waiting while they passed, and then he followed in their wake with all the noise of a wraith. If a Puck tried to sneak up on his wards, it would be in for a surprise.

Instead, it was the bronze stallion’s turn to be surprised. Cackling, something dropped on him from above, driving claws into his flanks, and talons into his shoulders. He dropped, rolled, and came up, the move dislodging his assailant. It rose as swiftly as he did, and they circled.

“The Loon!” he gasped, and the beast cackled again. It looked a bit like a Griffon, feathers black like those of a raven, and its wings were the bug-like ones of a puck. A wasp’s mandibles stuck out from its face in place of a griffon’s hooked beak, and eldritch flames wreathed its form.

“Now you die, Cimmareian!” it hissed, and Wild Heart grinned.

“Heard that before!” he snarled back at it and mirth lit up the creature’s eyes.

“A challenge. I like a challenge.” It tensed, then sprang. Wild Heart sidestepped, blocking a swipe from a taloned forelimb with a hoof.

“Why now? Why not earlier? When you stalked me and Hooves?”

“Then? Then my Soul-Sister Vesp had not marked you. Her messengers had not borne your name to the nameless ones in the deepest mire. You had not then, made the sacred mark, that only a priest of the Shy one can make.”
Wild Heart laughed, and lashed out, only to be blocked in turn.

“The Shy one would not mind.” And then there was no time for words. Only the fight. Pony reared, black one struck.

Twisting aside and falling back to all fours, the Cimmareian lashed out with a rear hoof. A taloned paw met it, raking long, bloody furrows along the limb. Wild Heart leapt back, and they returned to circling. The black one feinted at Wild Heart’s head, then pounced at his flank.

The earth pony hopped forward and then bucked back, a quick one-two. The griffon-thing hissed as the blows connected, reeling back, and Wild Heart spun in towards it. It struck with its mandibles, tearing a long rent in Wild Heart’s maille, leaving a deep gash oozing from his barrel. In turn, the pony ducked under it, and threw all his weight into its chest.

The beast flew back, hissing as the force hit the bruises from Wild Heart’s last blows, and again they circled. A buzzing noise signalled the beast’s wings flapping and it lifted into the air, gaining height and then dropping again towards Wild Heart’s head. He reared, twisting his head past one paw. The other caught the side of his face, and blood dripped from around his eye but he ignored it. He thrust his muzzle deep into the feathers around the beast’s neck until he found flesh, and then his jaws clamped down. He twisted, letting himself fall, dragging the creature down with him, and a twist of his neck ensured he landed on top.

He shifted, pinning the beast, jaw still locked on its throat. Claws and talons gashed broad cuts in his barrel, rending maille and sending the rings bouncing into the woods. He ignored them. Gradually, the struggles weakened, and then stilled. He collapsed atop his kill, panting. Within minutes, he had recovered enough to stand and shakily began to make his way towards Ponarium.

By the time he got there, even dusk had been and gone again. For a pony as well-known as he was, finding a mare willing to bind his wounds, and a corner to rest in, was easily done. The Pucks had been repulsed, and survivors were still trickling in. He spent his day watching from the gatehouse, hoping that the next of the refugees would be his friends, but no luck.

It was not until the evening that he learned their fate. He had found a Tavern for his dinner, washing it down with strong cider, when chance had found him joined by the last survivor of the fort.
It was Shield, almost as heavily bandaged as the Cimmareian himself, and more than happy to tell his tale. Leastways, after the barbarian had bought his meal.

“Fort took hours to fell. In the end though, they came over the walls. Anchor lived up to his name, held the line as long as he could, but in the end it wasn’t enough. They took a few of us alive.” He paused for a swig.

“They dragged us out and Vesp had them begin taking heads. I was the last, and I saw her coming for me with a gleam in her eye.” Shield shivered, clutching his cider mug tighter. The experience had clearly shaken him.

“What happened next? I don’t know, but she suddenly staggered, as though someone had bucked her in the barrel. And she had the bruises to prove it. It happened again, as though somepony had thrown her, and then she shot into the air. She came crashing down a moment later, and went into a fit, before going still. Dead.” The guardspony stared at his old barracksmate, looking for any sign that the warrior knew what had caused Vesp’s death. There was nothing. The bronze-furred face, and those dark eyes, remained inscrutable.

“That tore it. Half the Pucks wanted to rush the town then and there, the rest, to melt back into the woods. In the chaos, I slipped off. Came across that friend of yours and Slasher. They’d made a stand at a fallen tree, bought the time for the settlers to get themselves safe. ‘Course, you saw the ones from the licks through.”
Another drink, and then he looked at Wild Heart.

“Must have been some fight. A dozen Pucks were down, some darted, some clawed up and others almost hacked apart. Couldn’t quite tell what felled the pair of them. Wasn’t much left when the Pucks were finished. The few who followed through against the town barely even made the base of the walls.”
As he had spoken, Wild Heart’s expression had gone grim. Now he stood, lifting his tankard.

“Roving Hooves was my friend. I drink to his shade, a worthy stallion. The skulls of ten Pucks shall pay for the pony Roving Hooves, and seven for the dog Slasher, who was a better warrior than many of my own.” So sworn, his grip tightened, until the earthenware vessel shattered, and cider splashed to the floor, mixed with barbarian blood.

Shield stared. He had no doubt the oath would be fulfilled. He turned away. For himself, he would rather have peace. His time on the frontier was done.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

The sun through the window woke Spike despite his efforts, and he sat up in his basket. Twilight’s bed was still made, and she was conspicuously absent. There could be but one reason for that. Muttering under his breath, even if there was affection in his tone, he pulled the blanket off the bed and carried it downstairs.

He had guessed right. She and Rainbow Dash had not stopped their attempts to translate the tome until they had fallen asleep. Twilight had knocked her mug over, and her muzzle lay in a little puddle of cold coffee, whilst Dash’s muzzle was still coated in sugar and sprinkles from the donuts he had left them before seeking his bed. He grinned, and covered them carefully with the blanket, before putting the ‘Library closed for the day’ sign up, and finding himself a bite to eat. They could do with the rest after the night they had put in.

Comments

[Red Rune]

I tried to write an original tale, I really did. But every Conan-esque plot I came with had already been done. As such, I shall settle for adapting and ponifying my favourite Conan stories.

[ianmoone]

....But that is another story.