The Successors

by Portmeirion

11: The Far North

The birth of Quila Warwing, daughter of King Ragnar Blacktalon the griffon and Frostbane the pegasus, had caused quite a stir among the feathered folk of the Far North. Frostbane had entered the country only a few years earlier, bringing with her a band of mercenary pegasi whose militant way of life had made them a poor fit for the peaceful culture of Equestria, and she had sworn fealty to Blacktalon to secure safe refuge for her troops. It had taken much effort and bull-headed determination for Frostbane to work her way up the military ladder and become one of the king’s most trusted soldiers – then one of his most trusted generals, and then his personal consort. Their first and only daughter was born shortly thereafter.

Quila’s birth might not have caused such a stir if it hadn’t coincided with a sudden change of climate in the Northlands. Winter descended upon the mountains, a seemingly unending snowstorm, wrapping the land around the castle of Gloomhold in a perpetual deep freeze. Rumors began to buzz: perhaps the storm was a curse, the work of some evil sorcerer, or perhaps it was nature rebelling against the unnatural union of pony and griffon. But the king never issued an official statement, and eventually the buzz died down as the griffon-folk began to accept the new weather as a permanent feature of their realm.

Other changes became noticeable. The griffons who lived in the surrounding small villages became bitter and resentful, often abandoning their neighbors to freeze and hoarding precious food and firewood for themselves. The servants and officials who lived in the castle seemed to be consumed with an overpowering devotion to their lord and liege, far beyond what one would normally expect from even the loyalist subjects. And all lived in unquestioning fear of Blacktalon.

In spite of the changes, business in the kingdom had to go on – and on it went, for nearly two decades. With the griffons’ farms under deep frost, food had to be imported in vast quantities. The seaside castle of Gloomhold, once an important shipping port, was forced to cease trading because the icy seas had become unnavigable. And most recently, with the deaths of the old princesses of Equestria, ambassadors from Canterlot began to visit the pony nation’s various allies to renegotiate treaties and make certain that nothing would change between them under their new leadership. Gloomhold, though only a small sovereign state within the larger Griffon Kingdom, was one such old ally.

Rumors began to buzz once again, rumors and questions: Who were the new princesses? What would their attitude be towards the Griffon Kingdom? What opportunities might open up now? How would Blacktalon respond? Was this a new beginning for Gloomhold?

Or would everything stay the same – always the same?

---

The great wooden doors shut with a booming thud, silencing the whistle and roar of the wintry wind that blustered outside. Seconds later, the sharp clack, clack, clack of hooves on a stone floor resounded through the dark, spacious halls of Gloomhold. In centuries past, that sound would have been entirely alien to the Griffon Kingdom, but over the last twenty years it had become familiar to every noble, official, and palace guard who dwelt in that ancient castle. Frostbane had returned.

A young griffon in servant’s garb came rushing forth from a shadowy alcove to greet her.

“Hail, General Frostbane,” she rasped, bowing low. After an appropriate pause she raised her head again. “I take it your business in the mountains is concluded?”

Frostbane regarded the servant coolly. The general was tall, a pale-gray pegasus, sharp-featured, lean but muscular, clad in a grim war-helm and thick steel breastplate. Sitting herself on the stone floor, she lifted the helmet off of her head and shook out her mane, tossing snow from her thick pleats of light and dark blue.

“My business, Opinicus,” said Frostbane, “is none of yours.”

“Of course, ma’am.” The griffon coughed.

Frostbane passed the helmet to Opinicus, who tucked it under her wing and followed close behind her as she made her way down the long hall. Dark pillars of gray stone stood in long rows, holding up a high roof that arched in the darkness overhead.

“Well. You seem reticent,” said Frostbane, turning back to catch Opinicus with one cold eye. “Has something happened while I was gone?”

“Only this, ma’am. The Witch has returned.”

“Again?” Frostbane sighed. “How many this time? Two? Three? Hardly seems worth the trouble.”

“Four, ma’am,” said Opinicus. She coughed, adding, “Or so I’ve been told. She asked to see you, whenever you returned. Said there was something different this time, something that warranted your especial attention.”

“Did she now?” Frostbane came to a stop before an enormous set of heavy wooden double-doors. For a moment she paused, considering, her face scrunched up in thought. Should the king know about this? Any knowledge she had that he lacked was a possible advantage, however slight.

“Where is the king now?” she asked.

“In the throne room, ma’am. I believe – *cough* – I believe he’s been waiting for you.”

“Then tell Somnambula to wait in the Underhold, with the prisoners,” she finally ordered. “I’ll be down shortly.”

“At once, ma’am.”

Opinicus scurried away (coughing yet again), and Frostbane thrust open the great doors with a hoof. Inside was a wide rectangular room, built of the same gray stone, but with elaborate tapestries hanging in between the windows on the walls. In the middle of the room, a fierce fire roared in a wide circular pit, and beyond the fire was a raised dais on which stood a heavy, ornately carved stone chair.

And in the chair sat the king. He was an enormous griffon, dark-feathered and orange-eyed. At Frostbane’s approach his brow furrowed and his black beak curled into a smirk.

“Welcome back, General,” he said. His voice was deep and oily, and behind his hospitable tone lurked a squirming sort of mockery. “Ever faithful, ever vigilant. Is the charm still working?”

“Is the wind still blowing?” Frostbane shot back coldly. “Is the snow still falling? Nothing has changed, Your Majesty. Nothing ever changes here.”

“Good. Then all is well, all is well.” Blacktalon rose from his throne, striding to a nearby window. His black talons clicked on the stone floor as he walked, and the red firelight shone in his eyes as he gazed out into the storm.

“You wanted to see me?” asked Frostbane.

“Only wanted to know what you were up to. I do so hate it when you go into the mountains without telling me first. Of course, I suppose it must have something to do with….”

“Just making certain that nothing changes,” Frostbane said hastily. “Isn’t that what you like best?”

“Well,” he said, still gazing into the storm, “I suppose the results speak for themselves.”

“Your errand girl has returned again,” Frostbane informed him after a pause. She walked to his side, gazing out the window with him. “Four this time. That’s three more than the last trip brought in.”

“Excellent, excellent,” said the king. “To be put to work in the mines, like the rest.”

“Is it excellent? It’s a great deal of trouble and risk just for a few more pitiful hooves in the mines.” There was an icy edge in the general’s voice; she couldn’t hide her exasperation. Frostbane actually cared very little about what Blacktalon thought, but his thick-headedness, and the inanity of his schemes, bothered her more than she cared to admit.

“You think too much of the present,” said Blacktalon. “The wise king plans for tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow. Our little ponies will never leave this place, and the mines will make them grow strong. Within the next generation or two we’ll have a whole legion of sturdy workers who know nothing but loyalty and devotion to Gloomhold.”

“A slave race.”

“Why, yes,” the king said thoughtfully. “Yes, that’s precisely what they would be.” He smirked again. “But then, what better use for ponies in a place like this?”

His contempt was palpable. Frostbane nearly winced.

“All ponies?” she prodded.

Blacktalon eyed her curiously. Only then did he seem to remember that he was speaking to a pony. “Oh – well, you know what I mean,” he said. “Those who don’t serve me willingly, of course. You and your band were wiser than that. You’re far too strong to be a slave. That is why you are out leading troops and sleeping by my side, instead of breaking your back digging up gemstones.”

For a while Frostbane maintained a dour silence, and the griffon and the pegasus stared out the window together. The thick glass pane was nearly frosted over, but she could make out a few familiar sights through the swirling snowstorm. Thousands of feet below, gray waves riddled with tiny icebergs crashed against the walls of the sea-cliff upon which the castle stood. Far to the south, the jagged peaks of the Drackenridge Mountains loomed up menacingly. At the sight of the mountains Frostbane felt a sad, gentle tug of homesickness, stirred by faint memories of the land that lay on the other side – the land from which she had fled all those years ago. Equestria.

She tore her eyes away, deciding instead to focus on the business at hoof. “Where’s Quila?” she asked, breaking the silence.

Blacktalon, who had been gazing at the storm with pleasure as though admiring his own handiwork, turned to her with a questioning expression. “Who?”

Frostbane suspected that his ignorance was feigned, but it irked her all the same. She closed her eyes and heaved a frustrated sigh. “Where’s our daughter?” she asked after a pause, stressing every word.

“Ah. Yes, her. That Quila.” A self-assured smirk returned to his face. “In the lower training room, I think. I believe one of the soldiers mentioned seeing her there….”

“Then Your Majesty will excuse me. I have business to attend to.”

“Of course,” said Blacktalon. His smirk followed her as she turned away to leave.

Without another word, still slightly fuming, the pegasus left the throne room, heading back down the hallway towards the staircase. Talking to Blacktalon always fouled her mood, but today was worse than usual. She knew – she had always known – that he didn’t care about their daughter as anything more than a tool for securing his legacy. So be it; her own feelings towards Quila weren’t much warmer. But something about the way he took her for granted just grated against Frostbane’s nerves. He hadn’t raised Quila, he hadn’t nursed her from foalhood, he hadn’t trained her into the excellent warrior that she was today. Good grief, she thought, he hadn’t even been present at her birth. No, Quila was hers. Why should the king profit from an heir that he had never bothered to invest in personally?

He shouldn’t. And if her plan worked, then he most certainly wouldn’t.

Frostbane descended a few floors, finally reaching the lower barracks. The sound of clanging metal and rustling feathers greeted her the moment she opened the door. The room was long and the vaulted ceiling was high to allow for aerial sparring, but it was empty save for two: further inside, her daughter Quila hovered above the ground, darting back and forth, up and down, left and right, locked in mock-combat with a much larger griffon. If she noticed when her mother entered the room, she made no indication of it.

Frostbane beat her wings and leapt into the air, rising to her daughter’s altitude, but she kept her distance from the fight and observed. Quila Warwing was a hippogriff, an uncommon crossbreed, with a light brown coat and white feathers, and a short black beak, like her father’s. Though her sparring partner had the advantage in size, she was faring quite well against him, ducking and weaving to avoid his spear and blocking his strikes with her armored vambraces.

Griffons, unlike ponies, could grip weapons with their talons. It had taken Frostbane and her crew some time to learn this race’s way of fighting, but after a few years of observation and study she knew as much about the wielding of swords and spears as any griffon.

“You’re looking down too much,” she said sharply, catching her daughter’s attention. “And don’t look at your opponent’s blade. Look at his face. You’ll catch his movements more quickly with your peripheral vision.”

Quila paused, but only for a split second. “Yes, mom – er, yes ma’am,” she stammered out, then went back to fighting.

As a hippogriff, Quila was in a rather different situation. Her front talons were less like hands and more like an animal’s claws, making it impossible for her grasp a spear. Instead, Frostbane had ordered the weaponsmith to forge her a hoof-axe, like the kind used by ponies, which was attached to Quila’s right forelimb with a strap. Quila swung it with fierceness and precision, batting away her opponent’s spear and battering his shield with two solid strokes, forcing him to flutter back some distance.

“You’re still not using all your available dimensions,” Frostbane commented again. “You’re in the air, not on the ground. Attack from above and below.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Quila obliged. She beat her wings hard, rising a full head above the griffon and bringing her axe down towards his helmet. He raised his shield, but the blow fell hard enough to force him downwards. The stroke was followed by three more in rapid succession, falling too fast for him to retaliate with his spear, and slowly but surely Quila forced her sparring partner towards the ground.

“Now you’ve got the advantage,” said Frostbane. “Press it! Attack!”

With a piercing cry, Quila swung her axe and split the shaft of the griffon’s spear in two. Splinters flew through the air, and the steel spearhead fell clattering to the stone floor. The griffon, exhausted, collapsed to the floor as well, holding his shield over his head in a desperate bid for safety while more axe-blows rained down on it. The hippogriff’s ruby eyes shone fiercely under her helmet. The wooden shield-plank was beginning to crack.

“Enough.”

Frostbane’s cold voice froze Quila where she stood. She raised her head, eyeing her mother curiously.

“I – I thought you told me I had to be merciless.”

“Mercy is not without its advantages. You must learn restraint as well.” She touched down just in front of them, turning to address the griffon. “You’re dismissed.”

The griffon bowed his feathered head thankfully and fluttered away, leaving mother and daughter alone in the training room.

Quila sat down, detaching her hoof-axe. A long, dark brown mane spilled out as she took off her helmet. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I thought I was doing better.” Her voice, which had sounded so fierce in the sparring match, now sounded smaller, almost childlike, and without her helmet she looked considerably younger (in fact, Frostbane reminded herself, she was still very young indeed).

“Only fools are ever content with themselves as they are,” Frostbane said coldly. “Never stop striving to improve. You’ve got a big throne to fill, and you’re not nearly ready yet.” Then she sighed gently, and her stern gaze softened. “But… you are getting closer.”

The barest hint of a smile showed itself on Quila’s face, suggesting a powerful elation beneath the surface, but it darkened after the happy moment had passed. “Thank you, ma’am,” she muttered limply.

Frostbane took a few steps away from her daughter to examine the shield the griffon had left behind. Though the steel boss was intact, the round wooden board was chipped and cracked along the edges; a few more solid axe-blows, and it surely would have splintered. No matter what Frostbane had said, Quila was improving immensely.

“Have… have the ambassadors from Equestria arrived yet?” Quila asked out of the blue. “I’ve been studying the diplomacy books you gave me. I finished the last one this morning. I think, if I could just see a real trade negotiation, maybe I’d….”

“They’ll be here in two days,” Frostbane interrupted her. “Continue studying. Read through the books a second time. If the king sees fit, he’ll allow you to attend.” If he even remembers her at all, Frostbane thought bitterly. She leaned down, picked up the shield between her teeth, and carried it over to the weapons rack that lined the wall.

Quila shifted about awkwardly. Something like a scowl crawled across her face, but, like the faint smile a minute before, it quickly faded. “I….”

“Hmm?” Frostbane turned back to look at her. “What is it?”

“I…. was wondering,” she began apprehensively, “if we might have a chance to spend some time together. Before the ambassadors arrive, or after. It doesn’t matter.”

Frostbane simply stared at her daughter. Something prevented her from replying. Was it amazement? Contempt? She couldn’t be sure. She kept silent and listened as Quila stammered on.

“I mean, you used to train me personally. Just a sparring match or two, I’d really, um – I think that would help me a lot. You’re a much better trainer than Knoss is.” She nodded in the direction her griffon opponent had gone, then carried her hoof-axe over to the weapons rack and hung it up. Now she was standing at Frostbane’s side. “And… well… with my birthday coming up….”

“What about it?”

Quila winced at her mother’s sharp tone. “Well… you always used to set aside a day, just to be with me. Don’t you remember? It hasn’t been since I was little… I was just wondering… I just miss you, is all.” Quila lowered her head, her face flushing with embarrassment. Her eyes narrowed and she frowned with what looked like angry self-reproach. “Sorry,” she muttered at length when her mother made no reply.

Frostbane kept staring at her in perplexity. I just miss you…. That feeling – that closeness – that was something Frostbane could barely remember. But images awoke in her mind, images from years ago: Quila as a tiny foal, sleeping, nestled under her wing to shield herself from the cold. Quila gazing up at her with childlike wonder as she listened to her voice, cold but strangely soothing, telling her stories and singing her lullabies. The day of Quila’s birth, the first moment she opened her soft pink eyes and chirped a tiny little chirp….

Words finally began to come into Frostbane’s mind. Unconsciously, she moved her hoof to her chest, feeling for the glowing pendant hidden behind her breastplate, as if to assure herself that it was still there. She leaned in close and lowered her voice nearly to a whisper.

“Things might change soon,” she said in slow, measured tones. “I’m making plans. You’re a part of them. You might find yourself needing to be strong enough, to be brave enough. I need you….” Her words finally failed her, and she began to trail off.

Quila stared back at her with curious, expectant eyes. “Yes?”

Frostbane hesitated. She thought of Blacktalon’s callous attitude towards their daughter, and how badly it had stung her heart – but was it mere resentment? Or was it something else?

A thought flashed through her mind as she stood there, a strange sort of recollection surfacing from the depths of her memory; a feeling she hadn’t felt since Quila was that tiny foal nestling under her wing. It was a warm feeling. She looked again at her daughter, at her only child, and all of a sudden there was so much she wanted to say: You are all that I have in this world and you are worth more to me than this entire kingdom and you deserve so much better than this….

But when she opened her mouth to speak, all that came out was, “Just be strong. And be ready.”

Cold. Stoic. Completely detached.

It was all Quila had ever known.

The hippogriff’s face fell into a soft scowl of bitter disappointment. “Yes, ma’am,” she muttered, her voice cool. She bowed her head, turned, and slunk out of the room.

Frostbane stared after her as she left, standing still, absorbed in thought. Then, shaking her head, she turned and left the room as well. What was that feeling, what had possessed her back there? She shrugged, shaking off the strange sensation. Moments like that came from time to time, sneaking past her icy walls of defense and striking her at some hidden core that she seldom noticed in herself. It always unnerved her, and she did her best to put it behind – though a tiny mote of wonder lingered in her heart as she headed down the stairs again to the Underhold.

The dungeons beneath Gloomhold were mostly used to house captured slaves and prisoners for a day or two before they were put to work in the mines. As such, they were small and spare, compact square cells that ran in long rows along the narrow hallway; the only light came from crackling red torches that hung along the walls, setting shadows dancing across the stone-tile floor. The guard at the door bowed to Frostbane as she entered, but she brushed past him, absorbed in reflection. She decided once again to fix her thoughts on the business at hoof.

And there she was: standing in front of cell forty-seven was a tall white unicorn with a dark mane, a green scarf, and a pair of glasses perched upon her snout. On her back sat a yellow bird with beady red eyes. When she noticed Frostbane, the unicorn’s face brightened and the bird let out a satisfied chirp.

“Somnambula,” Frostbane greeted her curtly. The general had always made an effort to be civil with her, but in truth she had very little respect for the sorceress. She was really nothing more than one of Blacktalon’s pet projects: she had been a researcher from the Canterlot University in Equestria who was unlucky enough to have been ensnared by Kyrie the bird’s hypnotic song while exploring the Everfree Forest. That had been two years ago, and since that time she had worked as an agent in the pony kingdom and other nearby realms, using her magic, her intellect, and the resources at her disposal to bring slaves back to Gloomhold, transiting quickly back and forth between the countries with her powerful teleportation magic. It was an absurd affair, but Blacktalon could not be persuaded to abandon his scheme.

“General Frostbane!” As usual, Somnambula seemed genuinely excited to see her, oblivious to the pegasus’s quiet disdain. “It’s so good to see you! Quite a better haul than usual this time, as you can see. Though it certainly wasn’t easy. To get us all the way from the Drackenridges to Gloomhold overnight, I had to expend sixty-two percent more arcanite energy to balance out the increased material inertia of….”

“Yes, so I’ve been told,” said Frostbane, gently interrupting her. Somnambula had an irritating habit of rambling on and on if no one stopped her. Perhaps she liked the sound of her own voice, or perhaps she really believed that others cared about what she had to say; Frostbane didn’t much care which it was.

She peered into the dimly lit cell. Three foals lay unconscious close together near the metal bars – a brown unicorn colt, a blue pegasus filly, and teal-and-white earth pony colt. They weren’t much, but they looked sturdy enough to work. Perhaps Blacktalon’s plan was not a total waste of time and resources. But hadn't Opinicus said that there were four this time?

Frostbane looked closer. “Wait – what’s that?” she asked. A large, yellowish shape lay on the floor near the back wall, but in the dim lighting she could barely make out its features. She turned to Somnambula. “Is that a pony?”

For a few seconds, Somnambula said nothing; there seemed to be a cold fear in her eyes, and her jaw trembled ever so slightly as though she were struggling to speak. Then Kyrie, still seated on her back, sang a few low, solemn notes, her beady red eyes glowing faintly. Somnambula’s eyes flashed red for a brief instant as well, and she found her voice again.

“Actually, yes,” she said with a confident edge in her tone that made her sound almost like a different pony. “In fact, she’s rather more than just another pony. When I said this was a better haul than usual, I didn’t only mean that in terms of quantity. Take a look.”

The unicorn’s horn began to glow with a pale purple light, illuminating the back of the cell. The light fell upon the slumbering yellow pony-shape in the back. It was a pony, a very tall one – a pegasus, it seemed – but – wait – was that a horn?

Frostbane’s blood ran cold.

“What – what have you done?” she stammered out in a half-whisper. “That’s a – that’s one of the – ”

“One of the new princesses, yes,” Somnambula announced with no small amount of pride. “The opportunity to nab her presented itself, and it seemed the logical thing to do. Now think what a powerful bargaining chip we’ll have with those Equestrian ambassadors!”

“No, no, this isn’t right,” said Frostbane. She began to pace back and forth, striving with all her might to calm her nerves. Her icy façade was beginning to crack under the strain. “You don’t understand. The princesses are more powerful than – we can’t possibly – they’ll – ” She stopped herself, drawing in a deep, calming breath. Then she glared hard at Kyrie. “This doesn’t fit the plan!”

The bird looked down at the floor, ashamed and afraid.

“Keep her locked up here. Make sure no one else sees her,” Frostbane ordered, recovering her cold, stern, businesslike demeanor. She eyed Kyrie specifically. “And whatever you do, don’t let her out of your control. Not even for a second.”

With that, the general turned away, her hooves clacking down the hall at a brisk pace as she headed back for the stairs.

This changed everything. She’d have to accelerate her plans.

She only hoped Quila would be ready.

Author's Note:

Valkyrie-Girl's illustrations of Frostbane and Quila Warwing.

Comments

[Fiction Fan]

So this is the story VG's always talking about. Well, I can't say I'm disapointed!

[Portmeirion]

4392862 Well, I'm glad I haven't disappointed you! Thanks!

[Brown Books]

I am now doubly interested with the whole plot development going on now! I loved Frostbane, reminds me of my first OC, Silvereye. (Funny because there both mercenary generals! ). Your introduction of her was written very well, bravo indeed sir!