Workhorse

by Apple Bottoms

5. Escape

“He escaped! He escaped!”

“How could he escape? Did he have magic?”

“He just kept running into the magicked wall - how was he still standing?”

“Was it the rain? Did the rain weaken the magic?”

“OW - no.”

“I have to get out of here!”

“Let me out, let me out!”

“Calm down! Everypony just CALM DOWN!”

The paddock was in pandemonium, and not even Jewelcrisp’s angry barking could quiet the panicked herd. Some circled back and forth searching for an exit, some were testing different parts of the paddock walls, searching for a weak point. A few just rocked in place and cried.

“How’d he get out, Mel?” Ramblejam whispered up to Big Caramel, peering up from between his front legs. He was nervous to come out before, and that was when everyone was quiet. Now the pen was practically a riot.

“How would I know? I told him to stop,” Mel grumbled, still watching the opposite pen. The magic they had enchanted the wooden planks with repelled the rain drops, creating a sort of fine mist that he could see even in the darkness. The broken paddock wall had no fine mist.

Mel supposed he couldn’t blame the others for their reactions. If the others hadn’t been already searching their own paddock walls for weaknesses, he would have been. And he couldn’t deny there was a certain appeal to the idea of just sitting down and wailing into the darkness about the unfairness of their situation. He was happy for his neighbor; he’d found a way out. Perhaps the others weren’t, but Mel was. At least one of them got out, one of them wasn’t trapped here anymore. That was one less pony suffering. But he had Ramblejam to watch out for. If he broke down crying, then all hope was lost. If he could hold strong, then Ramblejam could, too.

The low rumble of their shouting rose in a single-voiced panicked scream as something came crashing into the paddock.

“Storm King! He’s here for us!”

“They must be punishing us for his escape!”

The herd flooded past Mel, and it was all he could do to stay upright as the herd stampeded past him to the far end of the pen. Briefly, he was grateful that Ramblejam was still tucked safely beneath him, because any smaller pony would have certainly been crushed in the panic.

Mel held still, not out of any particular bravery, but because he still shielded Ramblejam beneath his midsection. So as the others fled he was in a unique position to see what had crashed into their prison: a massive tree, branches and all.

There were no trees for at least a mile.

As he watched, something climbed the trunk, fought past the branches, and leapt into the paddock. Dark, shadowy, filthy.

It was his neighbor.

“YOU!” Jewelcrisp’s voice was angry. Why, Mel couldn’t have guessed.

The group receded further against the far wall as their neighbor approached, close enough that they could feel the warning hum of the magic on their coats. But the mud-soaked stallion stopped in front of Mel and considered him.

“Time to go,” he said simply and turned. He took off at an easy canter and leapt over the paddock wall.

For a moment, Mel could only stare; was it really that easy? He only managed to get one leg off of Ramblejam before the herd behind him sprung into action, taking off at a gallop in unison, moving with a single purpose. They flowed over the paddock wall with such effortless grace it reminded Mel more of a river, and soon the river trickled and ran dry. Everypony was gone, except him and Ramblejam.

“Our turn,” Mel spoke softly, and climbed off Ramblejam, who began shivering as the rain hit his dry coat. “Can you make it?”

“Sure,” Ramblejam lied, and Mel considered him for a moment before he walked to the fence and gave it a careful tap with his hoof. Nothing. The tree crashing into it had served the same purpose as their neighbor’s body slamming: it broke the fence, which apparently also broke the magical seal.

“Alright, up you go,” Mel instructed, and turned around to help lift Ramblejam up, pushing from his seat when he struggled to get a hoofhold on the wooden beams. Soon Ramblejam was over the fence, and Mel trotted back a few steps. He could have climbed over too, sure, but this felt better. He took off at a gallop, the fastest he’d gone in what felt like a lifetime, and soared over the fence.

He landed beside Ramblejam and his neighbor. The others were already gone, vanished in the darkness and the rain.

“There’s a forest about a mile out, then a mountain. If we can get into the mountain forest, they won’t be able to track us.” His muddy neighbor paused. “Probably.”

“Okay,” Ramblejam agreed, when Mel didn’t immediately reply. “Let’s go.”

“What about the others?”

Ramblejam and his neighbor looked at Mel, and then at each other. “They’re already gone. They didn’t wait for us,” Ramblejam spat, his ears flat.

“They probably ran for the forest, like I did,” his neighbor agreed.

“Not them - the other pens.” Big Caramel didn’t move. “We can’t just leave them.”

“We can’t save everypony.” His neighbor turned, ready to gallop towards the forest.

“But we can save them. We can save the others, here, with us,” Mel disagreed, and stood for a beat longer. Then Mel turned, and began to lift the tree. It was huge, and heavy, but Mel was huge and heavy, too.

Ramblejam glanced between the pair, then trotted after Big Caramel and began pushing on the other side of the tree, trying to help him lift it.

The neighbor stallion stared at them for a long moment, then released a low, frustrated chuff through his nose and followed Ramblejam. “Lift like this. If you can get it on your back, it’s not hard to drag.”

Slowly, methodically, the trio moved through the rain and the night. With three hauling the tree instead of one, they worked quickly. One would drag it, the others would lift it, and together they’d work the tree until it was angled high enough to come crashing down to smash the magic fences. They freed five other pens that way, and floods of massive ponies poured over the paddock walls. Big Caramel tried to tell everyone he could to make for the mountain, but he wasn’t sure they could hear him.

“Can we go now?” the neighbor stallion asked at the last pen, as they watched the final herd of burly farmer ponies vanish into the wall of rain.

“What if they’re keeping ponies somewhere else in the camp?” Mel asked, his brow furrowed, drenched in sweat. His neighbor must be even stronger than he looked, to have managed to drag the entire tree all the way from the forest.

“They aren’t,” the neighboring stallion frowned.

“But they might. I can’t leave anypony behind,” Mel whispered.

“Can’t or won’t?”

Mel frowned. “You don’t have to come. It’s safer if I go alone. If you want to make for the forest, then you can go. Take Ramblejam. You’ve done more than enough.”

The neighbor stallion scowled at him.

“Thank you. For freeing us, and for helping the others. I’ll take it from here.” And Mel turned, and trotted into what felt like his doom.

He tried to calm his pounding heart, which felt so loud that the guards must be able to hear it, and walked cautiously until he reached one of the tents. This was the tent closest to the prison paddocks, where they’d been held; it was darkened now, so it must only be used when they needed to use the prisoners. Mel edged his hoof under one corner and peeked inside. Rows and rows of bridles, saddles, and various harnesses were hung on large wooden racks, and there were fresh barrels of pony-sized chains and manacles in each corner. There was one rack made up entirely of what looked like whips, crops, and spurs; Mel wondered what they needed spurs for, and what they intended to do with the ponies when they were done hauling their food and troops for them.

“Mel.”

Big Caramel thought he might jump out of his skin! But when he whirled, it was only the bedraggled Ramblejam behind him.

“Ramble!”

“What, you thought I’d ditch you? No way!” Ramblejam snapped back when Mel snapped at him.

“You just about gave me a heart attack!” Mel hissed, but there was relief behind the anger, and he gave Ramblejam a little shake, followed by a quick hug. “C’mon. We gotta stay on the edges of the camp, make sure no one sees us.”

The two took off into the darkness, the rain silencing their hoof-falls in the mud. The camp seemed mostly deserted in the middle of the night. There were no other paddocks that they found, but many tents filled with the food they’d stolen from the Apple farm (Ramblejam grabbed a few apples and gobbled one down hungrily on the spot), one with barrels of water, another with extra armor. They found one tent that held metal weapons, but Mel waved Ramblejam off from it. Too much risk of making noise, or dropping something, or injuring themselves. Mel didn’t want to admit that he was also a little afraid of what he might do with a weapon if he found one of the guards.

They had almost circled the entire camp when they came upon the tents that glowed from within, or were darkened and quiet; from inside, they could hear the thick, heavy breathing of the guards as they slept. A thrill of terror went through Mel as he considered what he wanted to do to the Storm King’s soldiers that had imprisoned them, and he hastened to move past them. They were passing one of the tents that was lit from within when suddenly the easy, raucous chatter became louder as one of the tent flaps flung open, and Mel had to scramble to hide himself between one of the other tents.

Mel and Ramble cowered next to the opposite tent, listening to the heavy, grunting breaths of a guard sleeping on the other side of the thin fabric as the voices came closer. They were loud, playful, grunting to each other in the rain; they were having fun. In only a moment, they would be upon Mel and Ramblejam, and there was nothing he could do. If they ran, they would hear them, as close as they were, and pursue. Perhaps, if they held still, they would simply turn and go another way.

Ramblejam pressed tight, tight, tight against Mel’s side as the voices got louder and louder; Mel could hear Ramblejam’s heart pounding against his rain-slicked coat. This was it. Briefly, Mel hoped that the neighboring stallion was far away by now. He wished, suddenly, that he’d at least gotten his name.

Mel could see the puff of the first guard’s breath rounding the corner before he did, and as every muscle in Mel’s body clenched for a fight, a sharp, howling cry hit his ear.

Wolves!

The guards froze, then darted back the way they came, running back to the lit tent as they hooted to each other. They heard it too, and they were worried. What they intended to do about the threat, Mel didn’t care, because Mel was ready to leave now, thank you. He grabbed Ramblejam by the scruff and took off at a gallop, giving the tents a wide berth. A few tents away, a dark, muddy figure joined his gallop.

“You!” Still no name, Mel noted.

“I couldn’t let you go get killed by yourselves,” the neighbor stallion noted, matching Mel’s stride smoothly.

“That was you?” Mel realized suddenly.

“I was circling the camp the other way. I thought we’d cover more ground, meet in the middle. All I found was supply tents and wagons, no more pens of ponies.” The neighbor stallion considered Big Caramel with a sidelong glance. “I found you at just the right time, seems like.”

“Seems like,” Mel agreed, and he couldn’t help the wide, euphoric grin that split his face. “Thank you.”

“You saved me first,” the neighboring stallion said simply, and turned his eyes forward, focusing on their run.

Mel shared his giddy grin with Ramblejam (who returned it, the expression perhaps a little sharper with fear), and tossed his mane, relishing in the feeling of the rain as it ran down his body. The Storm King camp was behind them, the forest lay ahead, and he was, free, free, free.