The Sparrow in the Storm

by The 24th Pegasus

1-2

Typhoon found the abandoned Legion fort easily enough. Once she had some warm food in her belly, and a mug of ale as a bit of a reward, she merely followed the river to the north. It meandered this way and that through green countryside, dipping under trees that crept down to its shores or slicing a path between little hillocks. The river probably had a name, but Typhoon didn’t know it. She hadn’t stuck around long in Peppercorn’s hamlet to find out. And if Peppercorn had mentioned the hamlet’s name, well, that had already slipped her mind. After all, the names of places only mattered if she had a destination to reach.

They hadn’t mattered for months now.

Similarly, the fort she spotted in the distance must have had a name, even if it was only a name used by the garrison and the nearby settlements. But now, its moss-laden timbers gave no hints as to what they were once named. The fort had been placed on an island in the middle of the river where the water broke around great granite stones, and a half-collapsed bridge connected it with the river’s western bank. Typhoon knew that the bridge was not designed to be especially sturdy; the fort was to be garrisoned by pegasi, and pegasi had their wings to easily cross over the river’s waters and into the fort. The bridge had only been constructed so the ground-bound cousins of the pegasi could access it, and it would have made a poor avenue of attack for any force attempting to storm the fort.

As it stood now, though, it wouldn’t have mattered. The southern wall of the fort had collapsed, thanks to the rushing waters of the river eating away at the southern tip of the island and undermining its foundations. Any creature that waded through the waters or swam to the island would be able to climb over the massive gap in its walls and access the interior of the fort. Normally, Typhoon wouldn’t expect them to find much, but if a bandit had found a legionary’s sword inside, then there were probably still relics within its rotting walls that would be better off kept out of the hooves of some ponies.

She circled the fort once to check if there were any bandits sitting in the overgrown courtyard, but her sharp eyes revealed no signs of danger within its decrepit walls. Holding her wings straight, the old soldier slowly wheeled about, gliding in circles through the hot air rising off of the island until her hooves touched down on dry grasses with a crunch. Her muscles remained tense when she landed, and ruby eyes slowly scanned her surroundings for any potential threats lying in wait. But all she saw was moss and leaves, and the only thing she heard was birdsong and the rumble of the river over stones outside of the fort.

Eventually, Typhoon let out a breath and walked forward, toward the large building in the center of the fort that served as the soldier’s barracks and mess hall. The roof of the building had collapsed, though whether a storm had taken it down or it was merely time taking its toll on the structure, she couldn’t tell. The door had fallen off of its rusty hinges, and when Typhoon stuck her head inside, all she saw was more of Mother Nature’s work in reclaiming what was once hers. Rotted tables stood here and there, some flipped on their sides, most covered in moss, grass, and even the occasional colorful flower sprouting from between their boards. Birds chirped at her from what remained of the rafters, and a startled fox lifted its head and yipped when it saw the intruding pony before slinking off into the rubble.

Typhoon stood in the doorway for many moments, imagining what the building would have been like during its heyday. Forts like this had been Equestria's projection of civilization into the unsettled country beyond the Compact Lands, the pristine land that Commander Hurricane, Princess Platinum, and Chancellor Puddinghead had led the three pony tribes to almost forty years ago. While Everfree City had become Equestria's grand capital, pony civilization pushed outward in all directions, into the wild and untamed lands filled with countless dangers and monsters. To protect those ponies, the Legion would establish forts around potential sites for settlement, and civilization would follow. The forts were a symbol of progress, of taming the wilderness, and each one allowed Equestria to grow larger, expand further. They projected strength and confidence in the union of the pony tribes, and the soldiers that garrisoned them were proud stallions and mares.

Not that it was evident anymore. Legionaries had once walked these floors and sat at these tables, finding a moment of companionship with their fellow soldiers to vent their frustrations about their superior officers, talk about the local mares and stallions from the nearby settlements, and wonder when they would ever see some action. It had once been a sign of life, but looking around her, Typhoon knew that soldiers hadn’t been here in ten years, maybe more. Instead, it was dead and abandoned, a relic of the past, decaying like the pride she once held in being Equestria's protectress. She wondered who had signed the order abandoning the fort.

Turning around, Typhoon made her way from the barracks to the building positioned against the eastern wall of the fort. Like the others, it was in a bad state of decay, with its roof on the brink of collapse and vegetation eating away at it; unlike the others, it had a foundation of stones, and the old rocks had resisted the passage of time. Typhoon knew it doubled as the smithy and the armory, just as it did in all of the Legion’s standardized forts, and as such, worth an investigation. She walked over ancient cobbles forming the floor of the smithy, feeling ash from the forge’s great fires rubbing its way into the frogs of her three natural hooves, and lifted a rusty pair of tongs off of the ground and put them back on their hook on the nearby wall. Hesitating for a moment, the old soldier then shook her head and stepped into the back of the smithy, her hooves stomping over the fallen door.

The fort’s armory had clearly been ransacked some time ago; that much was certain. Though vegetation had failed to take hold in the old room, owing to the lack of sunlight from the intact roof, the benches and tables had been thrown aside, and armor stands lay scattered across the floor. The weapon racks on the walls had fallen off their mounts, and the lids of arms chests had been smashed open by heavy stones or hammers or even hooves, their contents raided. The only weapons Typhoon found inside were a pair of rusty daggers sitting in a pool of brown rainwater, and a broken sword leaning against a wall. Fitting; just like the fort itself and the soldiers who once garrisoned it, they were tools of war without a purpose, forgotten, abandoned, and waiting for time to reclaim them once more.

Since there was nothing useful or dangerous in the armory, Typhoon left it and walked across the courtyard into the last of the three buildings worth investigating. The wooden building hiding in the corner of the fort had done better than the barracks, but not as well as the smithy and armory. Typhoon knew it was the commanding officer’s quarters, and if there was any clue to the fort’s fate, then she would most likely find it there. But she paused before entering, wondering why she cared so much. After all, the Legion was dead and gone; the unicorn queen had seen to that. What did it matter that she was standing among ghosts?

“Because I’m a ghost,” she murmured to herself. “And ghosts are all I have left.”

She gave the door a push, and it came off its hinges in splinters.

Like everything else in the fort, time and scavengers had not been kind to the officer’s quarters. The desk had been smashed apart, and its remains scattered across the room. Shelves had been thrown to the floor, likely in search of any hidden treasure, the rotting books piled up in the corner a testament to just exactly what kind of treasure the looters valued and what they didn’t. Typhoon didn’t expect to find anything useful, but to her surprise, inside of a splintered crate in the back of the room next to the officer’s rotting bed, she found a Legion galea with a scrap of paper tucked inside of it. An eyebrow raised, Typhoon pulled the paper out of the helmet’s lining and unfurled it between wingtips:

Southerly, I give my thanks

Southerly, I give my goodbyes

The Northern Storm is calling,

And no more will I see your eyes.

Typhoon read the simple poem twice more, then rolled it up and tucked it back into the helmet where she’d found it. It said so much, yet so little. But the emotions of the fort’s commander weren’t hard to guess, and neither was whom he placed his departure’s blame on.

She just hoped he understood why she’d done it.

Another deep breath, and Typhoon left the officer’s quarters behind—but not before taking the galea with her. After a quick stop back by the armory, the old soldier returned once more to the fort’s courtyard. After finding a suitable spot, she drove the broken sword into the ground, and then rested the helmet atop it.

Taking a step back, she removed her own helmet with a wing, cradling it against her chest. Wind tousled what remained of the black plume sticking out of the galea, giving it some facsimile of life, but nothing quite as close. Once upon a time, the fort’s commanding officer had worn that helmet as they made their rounds and reminded their troops of why they were stationed here. But now, in a decaying fort long abandoned, it served no purpose.

It all-too-uncomfortably reminded Typhoon of herself.

After a few minutes passed, Typhoon donned her helmet once more, turned around, and took off into the sky. There was nothing for her at the fort, but she felt glad that she’d visited anyway.

Some ghosts needed to be laid to rest, one way or another.

Comments

[djthomp]

Fort Hadbetterdays.