> The Witch
>  by Zodiac
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

> Chapter I: Of Witches and Tobacco Dealers
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


“Verily, there is nothing so hideous as these monsters, so contrary to nature, known as witches, for they are the offspring of foul sorcery and devilry. They are rogues without virtue, conscience or scruple, true diabolic creations, fit only for killing. There is no place amidst honest ponies for such as they.”
—Anonym, “Mostrum, or Portrayal of the Witch”





Chapter I: Of Witches and Tobacco Dealers


She entered the town as if entering a brothel—loudly, briskly and full of confidence. She even used the occasion to have a little squabble with the guards at the eastern gate. The mare trotted through the main street, with looks of indignation, fear, interest, and hatred following her every move. She paid them no heed, nor was she concerned by them. The streets were crowded at this time of the day; the citizens rushed to work, the soldiers to their guard posts, the beggars to sit under shrines, and the harlots wherever they could.

She stood out from the throng because of her choice of clothing, inadequate for this kind of weather. Although it was the middle of summer, she wore a black, hooded coat, covering her entire body. The only thing visible was her pipe, poking from under the hood.

Despite the crowd, she had no trouble with passing. The reason was simple: everyone was avoiding her, trying not to bump into her, or—gods forbid—say anything. Finally, to the citizens’ relief, she turned into a back street. The alley was quiet, empty, and dirty. Incredibly dirty. Every spot was littered with rotten fruits and vegetables, and rats kept coming out of their holes to fight endlessly for food with those, for whom fate was not kind. Or, to be more precise, who had fate kick them in their arse, quite strongly at that. The place was far from attractive, but it held one advantage: it could be used to go around the main plaza and reach her destination quicker. After a few minutes of walking, she arrived at the right place.

The tavern’s name—A Drop of Cider—was far from adequate. Not a single barrel of cider had ever even passed near it. The best one could find in there was potato vodka and “vine” that tasted more like watered-down piss, than alcohol.

The tavern’s interior was to her taste. It was mostly empty, apart from one table, occupied by a few guys who broke their fierce debate upon her entrance, but returned to it after a short while. And changed the subject.

An elderly stallion with a graying mane stood behind the counter, his chubby face inspiring trust. He was cleaning a mug with a piece of rag, undoubtedly after serving some kind of “delicacy” in it not too long ago. When he saw the mare, he put the mug aside and frowned. It was obvious that her visit wasn’t well received.

“Want anything?” he grunted, as the mare trotted towards the counter.

“Vodka,” she replied. Her voice made the hair on the innkeeper’s neck stand on end. It was cold, harsh, and somewhat strange-sounding.

The innkeeper grunted something incoherently and went to the back. The stallions sitting in the corner started to scrutinize the mare with unpleasant, and even hostile looking glares. She ignored it. All she wanted was a drink. At least for now. A moment later the innkeeper returned, carrying a tray with a mug and carboy. He poured the life-giving liquid in the mug with one swift move and gave it to the mare. She drank it whole in one gulp, smacked her lips and shook her head.

“Good,” she judged, both to the innkeeper’s relief and content. “There was supposed to be a package waiting here for me.”

“Well…”

“Do you have it?” she asked calmly.

“Yeah…” The stallion pulled a small package from underneath the counter and passed it to her.

The transaction seemed to catch the interest of the fellows from the corner table.

“Thank you,” she said, giving the innkeeper a small yet quite bulgy and jingling pouch.

The stallion immediately took a liking to her. That’s why he felt a little sad when three thugs left their corner and started to follow her as soon as she left his tavern.

Before she could get too far, she was stopped by the voice of one of the stallions—a brownish green unicorn with a white, short mane.

“'old on!” he called. “No need to be in such 'urry, right?”

The mare didn’t answer.

“This a dangerous neighbourhood,” the stallion continued. “One can easily come across some thugs, prowling around like the plague… And that is why I 'ave a proposition for you!”

She still didn’t say a word. The stallion took that as a sign to go into more detail about his “offer.”

“A fair lady like yourself surely 'as a lot of coin, as I gather by seeing you pay for the pisswater that whoreson dares to call vodka. It’s dangerous to wander around like this, so 'ere’s my offer: you give us your money, and nopony’s gonna be thinkin’ about robbing you. As for us, don’t cha worry your pretty little 'ead. We can 'andle ourselves, right boys?”

His two companions nodded gaily, clearly showing that they don’t fear any assaults and felt safe thanks to their flimsily made hatchets. She was still silent, and after a moment she started to trot on, completely ignoring the bunch. The unicorn felt slightly confused and his comrades looked totally dazed, but they quickly calculated that the opportunity was just too good to pass up.

“Now listen 'ere!” The unicorn’s tone lost its former politeness. “I tried being nice, but I’m not gonna stand for such rudeness! Either you give us your money, or you’ll be giving us both your money and yourself. And we’ll be 'aving a right proper time together, sweetie, oh yes we will... You won’t be able to walk till Sennia after we’re done with you!”

Still ignoring the unicorn, she walked right past him. He finally lost his temper.

“No bitch’s gonna be ignoring me like that!” he yelled and latched on her cloak with his magic, ripping it off of her.

The thugs momentarily concluded that they should've stuck to the more friendly approach.

She was a zebra. Quite tall, slim, but muscular—which didn’t deny her beauty, for it was also of higher standards. She was wearing a leather jacket with puffy sleeves that gave her a noble appearance. It was quite clear that it wasn’t a cheap thing, but something affordable only to someone who earns his money in a dishonest way, at least in the society’s eyes.

The most impressive thing was her sword, slung over her side. It was long, possibly a bastard blade, with a length of about five feet. Its hilt was richly ornamented: the pommel was shaped like a dragon’s head, and the cross-guard was long and curved in the direction of the rain guard. The scabbard itself also looked very grand, with its tip made from the skin of some kind of reptile, probably not your average snake or lizard, and had silver ferrules.

These were not the only rich elements of her attire: on her neck hung two thick, golden rings, and a similar earring adorned her left ear. Two smaller rings tied her mane in the back.

All of that was unusual, but logical. What the thugs found illogical, however, was a belt with small bottles, filled with various strange contents, slung over her chest. She looked almost like an apothecary. Almost, for that’s where the similarities ended.

But no amount of swords, clothes, or strange bottles could have such an impression on the trio as her eyes did. Those beauteous pools of blue had a touch of exotism to them, their vertical cat-like pupils staring into the thugs like eyes of a hungry predator. They bore so deep into their minds that they evoked a primal sense of fear and anxiety.

Hence they were even more horrified when she started to study them with those eyes. And to make matters worse, she didn’t look too happy.

She looked at her cloak, now lying in a puddle, with a critical eye, and then turned her gaze back to the unicorn, who had his face frozen in fear. The stallion kept shifting his eyes from her to his companions, probably calculating the odds. After what was probably the biggest calculus problem in his life, he seemed to reach the conclusion that three was probably more than one, regaining some of his confidence.

“Ha!” he shouted. “You can’t scare us! You’re alone, and there’s three of us!”

His companions seemed to like his short motivational speech, and expressed it with nasty grins and energetic nods. Yet it could not be said that they were not afraid. The zebra still stood, unshaken, like a tax collector ripping the last bit from a poor family.

“Come on, boys!” the unicorn cried. “Let’s get 'er!”

He lunged at her with his cleaver, his two companions following suit. The zebra smirked. The unicorn’s cleaver, held by his magic, swung at her direction, but in less than a second the zebra pulled out her sword and parried the sloppy cut, striking the cleaver out of his grip—it flew away and buried itself in a nearby wall. She twirled, dodging the blows of the two other stallions, and smacked the unicorn with the blade’s handle. Her enemy dropped to the ground, unconscious, with blood slowly pouring down his forehead onto the pavement.

The other two stallions were so stunned that they didn’t even notice when she got between them. The first one got a powerful kick to the belly. Groaning and bending over, he earned himself another blow, this time to the back of his head. Only one left.

The dun stallion—an earth pony—started to back away in panic, staring at the mare, whose face was calm and impassive as a mountain. His legs shook and tangled, giving up on him, making him tumble to the ground and forcing the thug to crawl. The zebra simply stood, not even moving. But as soon as she raised her sword, the stallion immediately spurred into action. He leapt to his hooves and started to run like a madpony. He didn’t even care that he was heading straight for a wall; he hit it with such force that it shook from the impact, and a potted plant fell down from a windowsill directly above him, knocking the thug out cold.

The fight was over.

But she wasn’t done yet. The zebra looked around, searching for that one particular thing. The area was littered with all kinds of rubbish: wagons parts, buckets, waste, bottles, and other useless junk. But nowhere could she find that one thing. Finally she approached the ruined remains of a wagon and looked inside. And smiled.

The unicorn started to regain consciousness. His head pounded like after that one time they celebrated the successful heist on that merchant from some time ago. He tried to remember what happened. He was drinking with his friends in that dingy tavern, when…

He suddenly heard the clatter of chains. And then he remembered.




The stallion regained full consciousness feeling completely numb, the sound of unfriendly murmurs and shouts filtering into his ears. He opened his eyes lazily, simultaneously trying to make out the muffled voices around him. He heard somepony yell curses and threats, shout obscenities and whistle shrilly. When his eyes finally cracked open, he saw flashes of orange, most likely torches. Various shapes loomed before him, eventually blending into one indescribable mass. For a moment there he thought he saw a crowd of ponies.

He tried to move, to get up. Unsuccessfully. His legs, both front and rear ones, were chained together. Once that realization hit him, he began to worry, trying to yank himself free. A sudden pain in his temple served to sober him up. A sudden explosion of intense and dull pain. Pain that could have been caused only by something hitting him hard. Something…

Like a stone.

The stallion looked ahead in frustration, expecting to see a bunch of punks that decided to have some fun by throwing rocks at decent thugs like himself. And indeed, he saw such a bunch. But not only: behind the youths stood a group of enraged stallions and mares, holding various, unpleasantly looking tools. A moment of thought made him realise that he recognises some of their faces. Most of them were robbery and rape victims, all of which were committed by him and his fellows. He also realised that the mob had no intention of pursuing those matters through legal means.

He wanted to call for his companions, but quiet moans coming from behind him told him that they also were a bit tied up at the moment.

Another rock flew past his head. The next one hit him square in the teeth. The mob started to come closer, hungry for blood. The unicorn started to scream, wail, to cry. His shouts woke up the rest of the thugs, who quickly joined him in his despair. One of the mares lifted a hoe and hit him in the shoulder. The stallion screamed in terrible pain, crying pathetically as he looked up.

He was greeted by the site of more tools flying straight at him.




Veks was sitting behind the counter of his shop, clearly in a bad mood. Customers were even scarcer than usually, though he thought that impossible. To make matters worse, the guards choose this day for an inspection and once again he a lost part of his goods because according to them they seemed “suspicious”. It was the third time this month, and the goods were by no stretch of the word substandard. Nor were they cheap. Veks started to wonder how in Equestria was it that none of the garrison commanders seemed bothered by the fact that even the lowest-ranking guards could afford the best tobacco on this side of Everfree. Then again, they probably had their share in all this. Either way, there was nothing Veks could do about it.

He checked today’s balance sheet. He earned about three hundred forty-seven bits today, and lost at least five hundred. He could bear the guards taking the zebricanian pepper tobacco or the saddledesert one. He could even bear the loss of the rehenian tobacco, flavored with a drop of manticore venom. But he couldn’t get over the loss of the pure imperial tobacco. Sometimes he balanced on the fine line between contraband and black market trade and legal sources just to get a bit of that delicacy. He also did everything he could to keep his source of this rarity hidden. If somepony found that out, taxation, confiscation, or even shutting down his business would be the last of his concerns.

His meditations on the gross powerlessness against the unfairness of the authorities were broken by the creak of opening doors. He looked up lazily, expecting to see yet another yokel wanting to buy some cheap shit. He was mistaken, but what a happy mistake is was.

For it was her that entered his shop.

Veks stood up immediately, squinting and rubbing his eyes as if they were fooling him. But they weren’t; a zebra, dressed in a leather jacket, with a sword by her side and potions hanging on her chest was walking towards him. The shopkeeper’s face brightened and his bad mood was quickly forgotten. The zebra’s initially stony facade also crumbled, morphing into a warm smile.

“Well I’ll be… Ha!” the cream-coated unicorn laughed happily. He trotted towards her and hugged his guest tightly. “Dammit, Chromia! I’ve missed you.”

The zebra called Chromia hugged him in return, also smiling. The smile gave her a warm expression and, along with the unusual eyes, enhanced her substantial beauty. It was safe to say that Chromia was far more attractive when she was in a good mood.

Like most mares, plainly speaking.

“Good to see you too, Veks.”

Veks was just about to answer, but a loud, pain-filled scream pierced the air like a sudden thunderclap. The scream got stronger over time, and soon it was joined by two others. The shopkeeper did not waste any time and levitated a large crossbow from underneath the counter.

“Again...” he snarled. “Butchering themselves again, whoresons! If any of those bastards come near, I’ll give him a proper welcome!”

“Easy there,” Chromia said. “There’s no need for panic, Veks. It’s not a riot, nor pogrom.”

“How do you know?”

A smile appeared on her face, though this time it was not a charming one. Combined with those extraordinary eyes of hers, Chromia would now be capable of scaring the living daylights out of quite a few daredevils.

“Um… do I really want to know? Probably not,” he added quickly.

Chromia snorted.

“So,” Veks started, “did you get my package? That bloody piss-server didn’t lose it?”

“Yeah, I got it. But I don’t understand what’s with all the secrecy.”

“Ha ha,” he laughed, putting his crossbow back in its place. “My dear, naive Chromia. Do you have any idea what could happen to me if that package was found in my shop? Believe me, I would be praying for the noose, or better yet, for the ax.”

“That bad?” The zebra raised an eyebrow.

“No sooner than three hours ago I had an... inspection from the guards. Bunch of pigs! I hate them! You have no idea, how much I bucking hate them! They confiscated five hundred bits worth of goods! That’s robbery!”

“What about profits?”

“Profits?!” Veks laughed grimly. “Do you know what customers I have? Two kinds: either they take my stuff without paying, or they’re so poor that they can’t afford anything but the cheapest crap. Only an occasional client, like you, buys something better that tobacco mixed with sorrel!”

“Speaking of which… I need some tobacco. My supplies had run dry two days ago, and sucking on this pipe stirs my clients imagination, leading then to misinterpret my profession.”

“I misinterpret it just by looking at you.” Veks eyed the mare and smiled. “Really, I don’t understand how someone with your looks can have such a line of work!”

“Looks can be deceiving.”

“That they can be,” Veks nodded. “Just look at the streets. You’ll see normal citizens and guardponies patrolling everything. But the truth is that everything here is run by bandits, cutthroats, and rapists, and the streets are full of crooks, humbugs, whores, and quite a few rapists too. This town… Damn, this whole world is going to the dogs!” He sat and bowed his head, sighing deeply. “I wish I was born before the First Rebellion. Those must’ve been beautiful times…”

“You know,” Chromia started, “not everything written in books has to be true.”

“Even if,” Veks looked at her, “I rather not know that and live with a dream.”  

“If that’s what you want.” The zebra rolled her sky blue eyes. “Believe in what you want and live the way you want, as long as you keep supplying me with this fine tobacco.”

The shopkeeper brightened. “At least someone appreciates my stuff. So, what would you like today?” he asked, pointing to the shelves filled with various, small packs with different labels.

“Hmm,” Chromia scratched her chin. “What about the stuff you gave me last time?”

“I'm out,” Veks replied. “The guards took it all. How about I give you something from your homeland? Maybe some zebricanian pepper tobacco?”

“I have about as much in common with Zebricania as you do with King Preest.”

“Oh, come on. You’re a zebra. It’s… Like it or not, even if you didn’t come from there, your ancestors did.”

“Again with this thing,” Chromia sighed. “Listen, Veks, I didn’t know my parents, so I also have no idea who my grandparents were, or my great grandparents, or anyone from my family for that matter. So what if they were from Zebricania? I look like a zebra, but I was born and risen here. I act and think like everyone else in the Duchies.”

“You can’t deny that you’re different. And I don’t mean just the stripes or your profession.”

“Enough, end of topic!” she snarled. “You have the tobacco or not?”

“All right… But still, I recommend trying the pepper tobacco. It’s really strong and aromatic!”

“Give me a sample.”

Veks handed her a small box with zebricanian pepper tobacco. Chromia sniffed the dried herbs and smiled. They smelled really good. She tamped the chamber of her smoking pipe with it, placing it in a special, spiral way. This technique had a great influence on the quality of smoking, and it also proved to Veks that Chromia was no novice in that field. The zebra lit the pipe and took a few puffs of the smoke. Not too strong, not too weak. Rhythmically and slowly. This resulted in a wonderful aroma of tobacco mixed with pepper.

“Mmm…” she murmured contently. “This is excellent.”

“I knew you'd like it. How much do you want?”

“Three boxes.”

“For you, that will be… fifteen bits.”

Chromia raised an eyebrow. “Not that I’m complaining, but… isn’t that a little too cheap?”

“Don’t insult me,” Veks looked at her with indignation. “You have a bloody discount for the rest of your life after what happened on that bridge near Old Baltimare!”

“That’s my job,” she replied coldly.

Veks shook his head. No. For him, it wasn’t just a case of hiring a witch. She saved him. There were enough bones lying under the bridge to Old Baltimare. Chromia’s act to him was nothing short of salvation, and since he was a stallion of honor, he knew he had to return the favor.

But Chromia herself saw that in a different light. For her, saving a merchant was just another job. Her daily routine. Her goal. Veks’ case was in no way different or special. Not for her. She was a witch, and she was just doing what she was meant to do.

That didn’t change the fact that Veks decided to make Chromia his best friend. Not that it was onerous for Chromia—quite the opposite, in fact. Discounts, free accommodation, and food can make anyone happy, and the zebra was no exception. During the last three years their friendship grew. He was alive and could keep running his business thanks to her, and in turn she could always count for a bed, a full plate, and cheaper tobacco.

“Alright, I get it. It’s what you do. Oh, that reminds me! Are you visiting this rathole because of something in particular, or are you just passing through?”

“A job. I’ve heard that the local banneret has some kind of problem. A not-easy-to-fix one.”

Veks grimaced and frowned. It was clear he heard about the issue. And he wasn’t exactly thrilled to find that his friend was suppose to take care of it.

“Ah, yes,” he said. “You see… Rent Banner’s son has gone missing.”

“And he wants to hire a witch to find him?” Chromia asked in surprise. “That’s—”

“Let me finish. What makes this problem unique is that the lad got lost somewhere in the Forest.”

“The Everfree?” Chromia’s ears raised upon realizing what Veks just said. She started to study the stallion. “Now I understand. Hmm, yes, this contract really is starting to look uglier by the minute. But there’s nothing I can do about it. I’ve spend my last money on this jacket, ‘cause my last one got torn up by ghouls. I need this job.”

The shopkeeper shook his head and started to mutter something under his breath. Chromia ignored him. “Do you know anything about this disappearance?”

“They say the little snot went there to impress some mare. A whore, from what I’ve heard, but those can be just rumors. Anyway, he went into the forest and never came back. I’m willing to bet a whole lot of bits that by now he’s been torn apart by timberwolves or something worse. It’s a lost cause, I’m telling you. And the banneret won’t pay you anything if you don’t find his brat.”

“Either way, a job’s a job. At least I won’t be bored.”

“Yeah, and instead you’ll get yourself torn apart.”

“If I was so easy to kill, you wouldn’t be standing here today either.”

The jab hit home. Veks’ ears dropped and he looked away, to the zebra’s great satisfaction.

“You’re setting out today?”

“No. Tomorrow, as soon as the sun rises. There’s nothing quite like the crisp morning air and the sight of fresh corpses to start the day.”

“And young hookers. Don’t forget about young hookers.”

For a moment, a deep, impenetrable silence filled the room. The two ponies stared into each other’s eyes, their stony faces betraying no emotions. It was so quiet that Chromia could clearly hear every breath the stallion took. Veks in turn was able to see even the slightest twitch of her ears. Veks managed to inhale four times. Chromia only once.

And then they both broke into laughter.

The laughter lasted much longer than the silence. When they finally finished, Veks wiped a single tear from his cheek. “You know the way?”

Chromia nodded. At the same moment, the front doors burst open. A stout stallion, dressed in a light chainmail reinforced with armlets and greaves entered the shop. On his shoulder he wore an emblem depicting a tower. The stallion, an earth pony, had a murky-mint coat and fawn, gray mane. His brown eyes were sharp and cold, radiating with anger. A scar disfigured his face, stretching from his temple, right next to the eye, to his cheek.

The newcomer leveled them with a cold look. Veks grew serious and told Chromia to stand aside, while he moved back behind the counter.

“Greetings, captain,” he welcomed the stallion, fake respect clearly heard in his voice. At least Chromia could hear it. “How can I help you, sir? You require tobacco? A new pipe?”

“Shut your trap, Veks. I know very well that you love me as much as you love a tax collector, so you can cut the charming prelude,” the newcomer muttered in a low voice. “Give me some of that saddledesert specialty.”

Veks’ expression did not change the slightest, still artificially polite. “I’ll have to go to the back to get it. I’ll be with you in a moment.” He disappeared behind the doors.

Silence filled the room. The captain was leaning on the counter while Chromia stood against the wall, examining her hooves, but at the same time paying close attention to the minty stallion. He didn’t seem to have the same patience and just started to stare at her. By the look on his face, Chromia deduced that he was another typical, narrow-minded boor, the likes of which you can meet everywhere. He eyed the zebra with curiosity, but also with distance and contempt. Chromia could not tell if that was because of her race, profession, or maybe just the fact that she was a swordsmare.

She sat quietly, ignoring him.

“What are you looking for in our city?” he finally asked.

“A chance to earn some bits,” she replied calmly.

“There’s no place here for the likes of you.”

“Yet somehow I manage to fit in.”

“So you think you’re funny, huh? Then I must disappoint you: you’re not. You’re just a freak the citizens don’t have to, and—I assure you—won’t tolerate. This is a decent town, with decent citizens. You don’t belong here. And anywhere else for that matter.”

“Is that your opinion, or are you just repeating after someone else?”

The stallion was getting more agitated by the minute.

“If you know what’s good for you, zebra, you’ll cut your smart-talk. Your big mouth can upset some people. And those people tend to send those who upset them to the gallows. And you won’t be so smart there. Yes, you’d probably still be yapping, but I’d bet my monthly wage that you wouldn’t say a word after the show started.”

Chromia didn’t answer and started to study the stallion’s face. Their eyes met for a brief moment. The tension immediately grew, as sparks of hatred started to jump between them. The stallion frowned and straightened up, turning fully towards the witch. The zebra stood silently, her face impassive. It looked as if they were about to attack each other any second. The stallion’s eye started to twitch slightly. The atmosphere was so intense that it was likely to explode.

Luckily Veks had great timing and came in at just the right moment to defuse the situation.

“Here’s your weed.” He lifted a fair-sized package with his magic. “That’ll be forty-five bits.”

“How much?!” the minty stallion yelled outraged.

“Forty-five. What, is that too high?”

“Of course it’s too damn high! Last time it was only thirty!”

“Sorry, but I’m almost out of stock.”

“And that’s why you’re raising the price?”

“If you want more, ask the guards. They’ve got plenty,” Veks replied dryly.

The stallion grunted and grimaced. He took the package and threw a large pouch on the counter. Nodding, he muttered something and started to leave. Before he passed the doorstep he threw a last, warning glance at Chromia.

Veks plumped on a stool behind the counter and sighed heavily. Then he rested his head on his hoof and started to massage it.

“A charming fella,” Chromia observed.

“Captain Gladius. The banneret’s higher captain. A pathetic excuse of a soldier. And a thorn in the societies flank. You best keep an eye on him, he’s unpredictable. They say he once killed an innkeeper just for serving a donkey.”

“So he’s a racist? Nothing new there. I’ve had my fair share of the likes of him. They can’t surprise me with anything.”

“You know, Chromia, life taught me one thing.”

“What is it?”

Veks sat silently for a moment. He was looking in the distance, as if searching for memories.

“Life taught me,” he started, “that we learn all the time. But we don’t remember anything from those lessons.”




The house’s inside wasn’t very rich. It wasn’t even half as grand as the residences of the wealthier merchants, but it was still better than a house of a typical citizen. Paintings of stallions and mares hung from the walls. Most of the stallions wore some kinds of armour. Some of them were similar to the place’s host—the banneret Rent Baner. Therefore, the painted figures must have been some kind of his ancestors.

Here and there, time-worn tapestries hung from the walls. They were discoloured, frayed and smelled of dust and moths. Chromia suspected they aged back to times before the First Rebellion.

The house also lacked the typical amount of servants seen in a noble’s residence. The witch noticed only one or two maids. And no one else.

Chromia trotted down a portrait-decorated corridor stretching through the whole length of the floor. It seemed as if the ponies from the paintings were looking at her, asking questions which she could not hear. It was a strange feeling, ever for her.

She reached the door and knocked. Silence. She knocked again, harder. Still no response. She was just about to try again when she heard a stallion’s voice, hoarse, yet still clear, beckon her from the other side: “Enter.”

Chromia gently pushed the door open and entered. The room looked very elegant and much richer than the rest of the house. The first thing she noticed were the hunting trophies. The walls were decorated with skins, horns and claws of various creatures. Chromia could recognise all of them easily. A manticore’s skin and stinger, a vomit’s jaw, minotaur horns, basilisk feathers, and hippogriff paws. Remains of beasts so dangerous that killing one required no small amount of skills… or a huge amount of money. The witch suspected the trophies to be heirlooms left by the banneret’s more illustrious ancestors.

On the opposite wall, behind a desk, stood a considerable and decorative fireplace, cold and empty at the moment. But facing the fireplace was an armchair—tall, carved, and giving its owner a feeling of importance and significance.

Chromia did not fall for that.

“Sit down,” a voice coming from behind the armchair said.

The zebra sat in one of the two Dante chairs standing near the desk. She remained silent.

“Since you are here, I assume that you want to take this job. Very good. As you can see, I am in a dire situation and every second counts, so allow me to get to the point right away.”

She sat quietly, not interrupting.

“You see… about a week ago, my son has gone missing in the Everfree Forest. It is quite a blow for me, as a father. I can barely sleep at nights since then, and so does my wife. So far, nobody whom we asked could help us, or simply choose not to do so. Therefore you must surely understand why I have asked for your assistance.”

Chromia was silent.

“All know how witches work. It’s not a typical task, but surely fitting for your methods and skillset. That is why I ask… You are to find my son in the Everfree Forest and bring him back alive.”

Chromia still didn’t say a word. She knew the banneret had something more to say. She likely knew it better than he did.

“Of course,” Rent Banner continued, “you will be handsomely rewarded. I’m ready to pay you five hundred bits if you bring my son back. I trust you do not find that price offensive?”

“No,” she replied.

“Very good. Do you require something else? If not, please begin the search as soon as possible.”

“As a matter of fact, I do need something.”

“What is it?”

“Informations.”

Rent Banner was silent for a moment.

“What kind of informations?”

“How did it happen that your son got lost in the Everfree. Did he go there by himself? If so, why? And why did he go there in the first place.”

“That should not concern you,” the banneret replied nervously.

“If I am to find him, I need to know. He might be under a charm.”

“A charm?” Rent Banner sounded more surprised than concerned. “But… no. That is impossible. Who would… ?”

“Plenty individuals know that kind of tricks. You don’t need a specialized wizard, just someone who knows the basics of magic. But the question is: why?”

Again, the banneret fell silent for a long moment. Chromia couldn't see him, but she could hear his heavy breathing. He was nervous. “You said that it might be a charm.”

“That’s right. But if it’s true, I need to find out more. Sir… do you have any enemies?”

“What?” he asked angrily. “N-who doesn’t? There’s always someone who’s a pain in the rear.”

“Could any of them hire a wizard?”

“I do not know,” he replied without hesitation. “Anything else? I am a busy pony. If you have finished asking question, then please, start the search.”

“I have a few more.”

“Then ask!”

“He’s gone missing a week ago, but did he act strangely before that? Was he distant, lost in his thoughts? Maybe he was disappearing somewhere?”

“He’s a spoiled brat. He tended to roam across the whole damn city, squandering my fortune, drinking with no limit, plowing mares. I suspect he got drunk and wandered off to the woods.”

“So he vanished at night? What makes you so sure he’s in the Everfree? Someone might have…”

“Don’t even think that way!” Rent Banner yelled angrily. “His calpac was found near the Forest's border.”

“Can I see it?”

“The calpac? What for?”

“I need to check something.”

“I repeat, it’s not a charm!”

The banneret stood from his armchair at last. He turned out to be an aged stallion, but he still was holding up good. A square jaw and wrinkles on his orange face gave him the appearance of serious and prudent pony. His once black mane was dotted with grey hair. His green eyes studied the zebra closely, paying attention to every detail and—in Chromia’s opinion—peered into her very soul.

Yes. Banneret Red Banner seemed to be a serious, experienced and knowledgeable pony. One, which ate bread from many an oven and drank water from many a well.

But those were just looks, and those often were deceiving. The bannered was no different than a typical back-water nobel, and Chromia knew that full well.

Banner grabbed a hat from a shelf and tossed it towards Chromia. “Here. My son’s calpac. If it will help you find him, you can even take it with you. I don’t care. I just want my son back.”

“Thank you,” she said, taking a look at the hat, “but that won’t be necessary.”

The beaver calpac seemed cheap. It was worn, dirty and old, it stank with dust and mold. The brace adorning the front side was rusty. Only two peacock feathers saved the headgear from being called a piece of junk. I was hard to believe that a noble—even a poor one—would have, or for that matter, wore such a thing.

Chromia muttered a simple spell while making circular movements with her hoof. The banneret started to watch her with curiosity and anxiety. When the witch was done, she put the calpac back on Red Banner’s desk. He shoot her a questioning look.

“I had to make sure.”

“Of what?” the banneret mocked. “That it’s not cursed?”

She didn’t answer.

“Is that all? If so, please get down to work.” The stallion rubbed his chin and once again sat in the armchair.

Chromia did not ask any more questions. There was no need for that. She stood up from her chair and trotted towards the exit, casting another look at the trophies. The banneret didn’t stop her. He didn’t say the thing the zebra had in mind. She trotted into the corridor, where Banner’s ancestors were watching her with looks she did not recognize.

For those were friendly looks.




“So what you’re saying,” Veks put a package of sea tabacco on the shelf, “is that our noble was seduced by a fairy?”

“I’m not sure. The banneret was acting strangely. Like he didn’t even want to take into consideration that spells might be the reason behind his son’s disappearance.”

“Are you surprised? Everyone’s afraid of wizards. If Banner has enemies amongst them, then no wonder he’s afraid. Aside from you and your colleagues, wizards are either arrogant assholes or power-hungry, dog-eat-dog arrogant assholes.”

Veks was right. Since the First Rebellion and the following war, magic has been available only to the very best, the elite. Ordinary unicorns could no longer use spells, apart from simple telekinesis. It seemed the world was forever deprived of magic. But it was just a baseless fear, for soon after the war’s end, old archives about fields of magic available for everyone were found in the Empire.

Of course the citizens of New Equestria's worldview transformed. The term “available for everyone” was forgotten. Only those, who were somehow important could get anything. And magic being free to use by every pony race was something unacceptable. So it was decided that the secret arcanes will be vielded only by chosen ones, under the supervision of the Great Six.

New schools and universities of magic started to form. Yet this time only the smartest, most intelligent, patient, and persistent could learn to wield the ancient and powerful powers. The others slowly started to forget about it, until magic became a thing unreachable for simple ponies.

The only exceptions were renegades, who did not want to submit to the imperatives and laws of the Six. Those renegades fled, for fear of losing their heads, and developed their talents on their own, often drifting towards darker and more suspicious magical arts. Those were good reasons to be afraid of the likes of them, and that’s exactly what Veks suggested—that it was one of them who struck fear into Red Banner.

There was yet another reason behind Veks’ suspicions, for even legally operating mages did not shun from dirty tricks such as murders, abductions, tortures or seductions to achieve their goals. No wonder they were not popular amongst simple people, and magic became an appalling thing.

“That’s possible,” Chromia said finally. “But Banner said that his son was quite the reveller. Maybe he tread on somebody’s hooves? Fucked the wrong mare? Said the wrong words while being drunk?”

“Maybe, maybe... ” Veks scratched his occiput, searching for an empty space on the shelves to put another package there. “Basically, that’s the most likely scenario. Banner means nothing in this town, to be honest. No one cares about him. Actually, even an innkeeper could have beaten up his son for molesting some lass. They say the young fella often used to do things like that. He once even lost a few teeth in a tavern.”

Chromia’s ears pricked up. “Which one?”

Veks stopped cleaning up the shelves for a moment and turned towards the zebra. An odd look appeared on his creamy face, one expressing astonishment and disapproval. “Why do you want to know?”

“It’s always some trace, right?” Chromia smiled charmingly, and Veks completely softened. “Better to go there than straight to Everfree.”

“I suppose that’s true…”

“So?”

“What are you exactly expecting? Even if he was clubbed to death there, no one will tell you that. You must be out of your god-damned mind! You might end up earning a bump yourself.”

“Veks, Veks, Veks…” Chromia shook her head. “Don’t you know me long enough to know that I eat tavern thugs for breakfast?”

“You better watch out not to choke on that kind of starter,” the shopkeeper replied coldly.

The witch shook her head again. Veks’ caring for her was a riddle. He considered her a friend, yes, and the feeling was mutual. But he was too worried about her life sometimes. It was truly a puzzle to her, but a pleasurable one.

“Calm down, Veks. I’m not some typical adventurer. I always work discreetly, slowly and keep my guard. There’s no need for you to worry.”

To Chromia’s great relief, the stallion sighed and gave up. “All right. Young Banner got his snout beaten in The Lyra tavern. For fondling with waitresses, it seems. Only…” Veks thought for a moment. “Rumours say it wasn’t the innkeeper who’d beaten him up, but some scamps.”

“What’s so strange about that?”

“Are you serious? Who pays attention to things like groping some lassy these days? Come on. The innkeeper I can understand, but some shady-looking individuals?”

“Maybe they were brothers of that waitress?” Chromia suggested.

Veks only shook his head. “I used to believe in fairy tales, when I was young. Now… I don’t.”

“With a few small exceptions,” the zebra added quietly.

“Those are no fairy tales!” Veks became indignated. “It’s the purest truth! You just allow your mind to be poisoned, just like the rest of those simpletons. They want us to forget. They want us to blindly dance to their music!”

“Who?”

“The Lords, who else? The descendants of those, who provoked the First Rebellion and turned this world into ruins.”

Chromia sighed. Veks’ obsession about the pre-war order was something she noticed shortly after meeting him. Or, to be more precise, something Veks made sure a person like Chromia knew—despite the fact that she didn’t like to and almost never did talk about politics and conspiracy theories. But the tobacco dealer never gave up and tried to draw the zebra into a discussion each and every time. Despite all his waffle, Chromia could never stop wondering why was he so obsessed with that topic. Why was he more interested in the way Equestria looked nowadays, rather than, like every other salespony, complain about taxes, customs and tax collectors? It was a fait accompli and no one—especially not a tobacco dealer—could do anything about it.

And Chromia simply could not understand it.

“Veks,” she started, “drop it. You’re constant yapping won’t change anything, and opinions like that can only take you straight to the noose. Just deal with it, like everyone else. Dammit, why are you always so eager to dwell on the pre-war times?”

Veks seemed confused. He fell silent, looking for an answer. “I have my reasons,” he said finally.

The witch shook her head with a smile of compassion. “Well, I don’t know them, but I’m sure they’re not worth losing your head.”

Veks didn’t reply.

The outside was resonating with sounds of the town’s streets. Someone yelled and cursed, screaming snots, running in all directions, could be heard. The streets were full and crowded at this time of the day. One could think Veks’ store would be now filled with clients. Yet no one visited the tobacco shop. His only guest today was Chromia, who bought virtually nothing.

Veks stared bitterly at the full shelves, his heart bleeding when he thought, how much all those goods costed him. Tobacco from every corner of the world, various pipes made of different materials. Everything just lied and got dusty, giving Veks almost no profit.

“Why don’t you move away from here?” Chromia asked, as if reading his mind. “Why don’t you open a shop in, I don’t know, Manehattan? There are bound to be some nobles in the capitol who could afford even your semi-legal specialties.”

Veks grimaced at the idea. “No,” he replied without conviction. “I don’t have the money to move.”

“And I’m a pretty little princess.”

Maybe not a princess, thought Veks, but the rest I can agree with. “Besides… I was born here… and I don’t want to leave.”

Chromia eyed him for a moment with great consternation. “And they say that is us mares, who are hard to understand.”

“Because you are. Well… in your case it’s easier.”

“Meaning?” The witch raised an eyebrow.

“Meaning, you’re not so complicated. All you want is just a roof over your head, some food…” Veks was starting to get more and more tongue-tied. “And, well… you’re not like other mares.”

“Thanks, Veks.”

“No! I didn’t mean to offend you! I just… I… and you’re laughing again.”

True, Chromia extremely enjoyed playing with Veks, as if playing on a flute. Even more so, since the stallion was very vulnerable for such tricks.

“Ha ha. Very funny. Don’t you a tavern to visit?”




There was something going on in the town, that was certain. Chromia noticed it as soon as she left the tobacco shop. The street was less crowded than usually, and all of the citizens seemed to go in one direction: to the town square. A few mares passed by the zebra, chatting keenly about something; Chromia could not hear about what exactly. A young soldier ran on the other side of the street and almost tripped over a cat; started to throw curses at the furry ball, still running.

Everyone was in a hurry. Everyone. Something important must have been going on. Some important social event. A spectacle? Performance? Maybe a speech from the highest cleric or overlord? Yet Chromia suspected something else.

She managed to stop the next citizen who was hurrying past her.

“What?” he snarled at the zebra. “What do you want?” The blue stallion with greenish hair glared at her. And immediately regretted doing that. Chromia was patient, she didn’t even grimace in anger. Yet the stallion still started to shake and stutter.

“Calm down,” she said. “I won’t hurt you. I just want to know why everyone’s in such a hurry.”

The stallion’s eyes grew big. He completely forgot about fear. “You don’t know?”

“About what?”

“An execution is taking place today! They’re hanging the non-ponies! Those bucking terrorist! Are you coming? Quickly, or we might miss it!”

Chromia let go of the stallion. He immediately started to gallop towards the town’s square.

Contempt of life, Chromia thought. A senseless desire to murder, bloodlust. Entertainment, fun for riffraffs. Public executions, torment meant to give an example, giving the rabble entertainment instead.

I despise you, she thought.




There were five of them.

They stood in a row, with nooses on their necks. The crowd surrounding the gallows shouted and chanted, demanding death for the convicted. The show attracted a fair part of the town’s inhabitants. The rich, the poor, the educated and the dumb—all of them whistled, spat and shouted as one.

It was truly a spectacle for them.

Finally, none other that captain Gladius himself walked onto the platform. With him came also the executioner, wearing the typical, face-covering hood. The duo turned and faced the crowd. Gladius smiled. The sight of almost all the citizens, demanding death for the five non-ponies, made him happy.

Gladius looked at the sky. Not a single cloud ruined his day, and the sun was flooding everything with brightness and warmth. A perfect day for an execution.

The captain lifted his hoof to silence the crowd.

“Listen, all of you!” he shouted. “Here stand five terrorist, who call themselves Foxes! Murderers, rapscallions, thieves and rapist, that is who they are! Mules and donkeys... ”

The throng shouted with approval for the captain.

“These bandits have been bothering you for too long! For too long they planted fear and anxiety in your hearts! But today, the hoof of justice has finally reached them! Today their lawlessness ends! May they serve as an example for all non-ponies, so that none of the them will even think of disturbing law-abiding citizens, unicorns and earth ponies, stallions and mares, foals and old... The time for punishment has come!”

The crowd cheered, applousing for the captain.

Gladius faced the nearest donkey. “What do you have to say now, scum?”

“Go to hell!” the Fox spat.

Gladius motioned at the executioner, who pulled a lever. The flap  opened, and the donkey standing on it fell. Before he died, he managed to wheeze a little.

The crowd started to cheer wildly. Shouts of joy filled the air, caressing captain Gladius’ ears like heavenly music. The rest of the Foxes watched everything with disgust and contempt. But not with fear. They were not afraid. They knew the fate that awaited them. They knew this was the way their fight ended for many of them. They knew that they will suffer loses. But each of them accepted his fate with honor. They were not afraid.

Nor did they give up.

“This fate,” Gladius shouted, “awaits every rebel and troublemaker in this town! There is no mercy for traitors! We allowed them so generously to live among us, and this is the way those filthy scums thank us?! No mercy!”

One of the mules snorted. Gladius approached him and looked straight in the eyes. The mule did not look away.

“Filth.” The captain grinded his teeth, and pulled the lever himself.

The throng started to shout again:
“Death to non-ponies!”
“Trounce them with the flails!”
“To the bestiary with them!”

The crowd’s screams resounded on the square through almost the whole execution. Those ponies wanted blood. The two other donkeys and mule eyed the spectacle with contempt. Not fear, not even anger, but contempt. With hatred, directed towards the ponies standing under the gallows.

“Fuck you, whoresons!” the mule shouted.

Gladius approached him and smacked in the snout with a shod hoof. The mule spat blood, and then spat again, straight in the captain’s face. Gladius wiped out the saliva with stoic calm. He punched the mule a few more times, to the crowd’s further delight. Only then did the executioner pull the lever, and the Fox hang.

Gladius approached one the donkeys.

“This one here was caught while trying to steal grain. Is that truly such a big crime? Can’t he work it off? Fix? After all, it was only a few bags.” The captain kicked the lever, and the trapdoor beneath the convict opened. “Just joking. I hate thieves.”

“You’re a mangy mongrel, Gladius,” the last donkey snorted. “A pathetic louse. The time for you will come, you’ll see. A day will come, when you all will be begging us for mercy! When you will wail, cry and slosh in the mug, begging for compassion! But we will have no mercy for you then, no compassion. Because on that day it will be us arranging public executions! You’ll see, our time will come!”

“Their time,” Gladius corrected.

“What?”

“Their time. You won’t be there.”

The captain approached the lever and kicked it. The flap under the freedom fighter opened, and he hanged. The crowd shouted, cheered. Gladius was breathing heavily, feeling hot. Drops of sweat appeared on his forehead and started to run down his face. An odd sensation run through him.

He had a bad feeling about this.




Chromia observed the execution from a nearby rooftop. She watched the Foxes being hang, one by one. Such fate awaited every one of them, eventually. Every Fox died from the hooves of ponies sooner or later. Every Fox knew what will happen to him. Despite that, they continued to fight. The witch found that impressive in a way.

But she didn’t have time to think about it.

It wasn’t her fight.




The interior of the tavern was drowned in deep dimness. The air was heavy with scents of smoke, cabbage and beer. A lot of ponies were still watching the execution, so there were not many guests inside. Only three tables were occupied. One by a rather unusual couple—a pegasus and an earth pony mare. Both wore something resembling armours, light and rather decorative. They sat quietly, eating onion soup and drinking beer.

The next resident was a monk, or some other cleric. An elder unicorn, dressed in long, gray robes. He sat at the table, fighting with a quarter of a loaf of bread and water. The fight was tough for him, for he dozed off every now and then.

The third resident was Plane. A carpenter.

Plane sat in the inn’s corner, eating slowly some sauerkraut. He wasn’t at the execution. He did not want to go there, he disliked the whole rigamarole. He was one of the few who did. But since he could not even word his disapproval out loud, he simply decided to avoid those kind of shows.

The carpenter eyed lazily the interior of the tavern. He looked at the drowsing monk, who slept on the bread like it was a pillow. Plane also looked at the unusual couple, but quickly averted his eyes. His father always told him that “everything different among normal things brings trouble”. Plane had a strange feeling that the rule applied in this case. He knew there was a war with the Foxes going on, and all kind of mercs and bounty hunters came to town. It was always like this. This was the the natural way of things. Just like a girl loosing her virginity with someone her father hated most.

The Lyra tavern was quiet, only with the old unicorn’s occasional slurping breaking the silence.

The atmosphere become more lively when she entered.

As soon as Chromia opened the door, every eye turned her way. Well, maybe except for the monk’s eyes, since he was sleeping. Plane looked at the zebra and gulped. A witch always meant trouble.

The odd couple lazily lifted their heads from above their plates and looked at the zebra. She didn’t awaken their interest, so they returned to eating.

Chromia trotted towards the counter, surprised to see that the innkeeper was not there. She waited for a moment. At last the kitchen’s door opened, and a stallion emerged from them. The red unicorn was tall and slim, with a elongated and kind face, which hosted a bushy, coal-coloured mustache—briefly speaking, his looks denied every characteristic of a stereotypical innkeeper. He approached the bar’s counter.

“Ah! Welcome ta my inn, The Lyra,” he smiled towards the zebra. “Welcome! My name is Cold Ale. What can I get ya?”

Chromia was surprised by the innkeeper’s unexpected, friendly approach, but she quickly found her thread back. “Information,” she said.

“Of course. Yup, I hear some interesting things every now and then. Ponies tend ta get incredibly talkative after a few drinks, and the gods blessed me with a good ear. But informations are also goods,” he waved his hoof, “so they have a price.”

“How much?”

“Ten bits and I’ll even tell ya who rolls in the hay with who!”

The witch muttered under her breath something about flay-flinters and innkeepers, but Cold Ale’s good ear didn’t catch that. She pulled out the said amount of money and put it on the counter. “So, for a start,” she said, “tell me, did Stained Banner use to visit your inn?”

“Stained Banner, huh?” The innkeeper scratched his head, gathering thoughts. “Yup, that he did. He tend ta spent a lot of money and grope my waitresses. I tell ya, dear witch, he was a real philanderer! It’s hard ta believe. Every time he came here, he undressed every one of those mares with his eyes. And there was hardly an evening, when he wouldn’t undress one literally as well. Not in the inn, of course.”

“Understood,” Chromia nodded. “I’ve heard… rumours saying that he once took a beating here. Precisely for ‘undressing the ladies’.”

Cold Ale averted his eyes and looked sadly at the bits. He probably regretted not asking for more.

“Well…” he started hesitantly. “Some lads rose up when they saw him pat one of my girls in the rear. A few clients run away straight off. The lads approached young Banner and started ta lecture him about the proper way ta treat mares and so on. Stained tried ta lie his way out, and later ta mend fences with money. One of them told him that he’ll give him a free lesson: he grabbed him by his coat-tails and headbutted straight in the snout! Then he told him a few more things and they left. Luckily they paid first.”

Chromia nodded. “Can you tell me something more about those thugs?”

“I… that’s all I know! They were dressed in coats and… and hoods! I didn’t see their faces.”

“Are you sure?”

“I swear ta my mother’s grave!” Cold Ale whined pitifully.

“All right, all right. How many were them?”

“Five, including the one that lammed young Banner. Most suspicious lads. Horseapples, they scared away my clients. Now I have them even less coming here.”

“And what about those thugs? Did they come here again?”

“No,” the innkeeper shook his head. “I haven’t seen them since then. Actually, I haven’t seen them before either. They came here only on that one evening.”

During which Stained Banner disappeared, Chromia noted.

“What about Banner?” she asked. “What did he do after they left?”

“He got up, brushed it off, finished his beer, paid and left. He didn’t even want anypony ta help him with his bleeding nose. He probably went straight ta Underwall.”

“The poverty’s district? Why would he go there?”

“Why?” Cold Ale felt surprised. “For the strumpets, of course. Everypony knows that it’s the cheapest place, if you’re looking for one. There’s nothing there but filth, stench and poverty. And cheap lassies. The whole city knows that young Banner used ta go there all the time.”

The innkeeper looked around, as if making sure no one was eavesdropping. Every ear could be attached to a gossiper, or a snitch: the carpenter, the odd couple, even the drowsing monk, who only pretended to be drownings to dull the other’s vigilance.

“Rumour has it that he fell for one of them,” Cold Ale whispered.

“I’ve heard that before. Do you know anything more?”

“Who, me? Of course not! I’m a decent citizen! I don’t wonder around the Underwall and hang out with some Jezebels!”

Chromia smiled lightly. “Thank you,” she said and left the tavern.

Plane was still sitting in the corner. He watched the witch exit. He didn’t want to leave right after her. The catnapping monk raised up, shouting something about the moon, looked around and once again fell asleep. The carpenter shook his head. It was almost late afternoon.

Plane emptied his mug, paid and was about to leave, when he passed some tall, hooded stranger in the doorstep. The carpenter’s face went slightly white, when the stranger passed by him, heading for the counter. Plane didn’t want to hear, but he did.

“She was asking you questions.”

“I didn’t tell her anything. I swear!”

Plane didn’t want to hear anything more. He run out of the tavern, as if being chased by the devil himself.




Underwall.

Filth, stench and poverty. The district of the poor, commonly affronted and avoided by everyone. Home of the worst scums, outcasts, murderers and rapist. A place where criminality blooms like daisies in April. A place where normal, decent citizens are afraid to even set hoof.

Smuggling, hazard, prostitution, contraband—the Underwall was perfect for the development of those and other procedures. The guards rarely—if at all—came here. The criminals and pickpockets had a total freedom of action, unintruded by law. They battened on those, who were forced to live in this gods-forsaken place. They took remains of what the beggars had left.

But the criminals were not the only thing haunting this place. Diseases and plagues run rampant, constantly taking their toll and leaving corpses that served as food for the rats, who, in turn, spread even more diseases, over and over again. This resulted in another bane—rotfiends.

In such favorable conditions there was no way the ghouls, graveirs or cementaurs could not run rampart. No one knew where, but everyone knew they were always hiding. And waiting. They could be heard at nights, roving on the empty streets, searching for food.

The Underwall was truly a nightmare.

As Chromia approached the district, she noticed the change in architecture. The deeper she went, the more sordid, ruined and scruffy the buildings got. Broken windows, leaky roofs and walls full of holes. Dirty and rotten houses, looking, as if only a miracle was keeping them from falling apart.

The streets were full of litter, mud and feces. The witch barely managed not to trod into something that she really didn’t want to trod into. Here and there, the piles of rubbish were occupied by rats, who seemed more likely to be hunting cats, than the other way around.

The air was filled with a stench that was the accumulation of the whole Underwall’s smells. From litter and rot, through feces, and ending with corpses.

The citizens sat near the ramshackled buildings. Beggars and paupers, parodies of real ponies. Scrawny, dirty, ulcerated. They sat in ragged clothes, eyeing the witch with fear. Young and old, mares and stallions. Well, the number of stallions seemed to be bigger. Most mares in the Underwall followed a simple rule: live long and hustler. And while they also did not look appealing, they still looked better than the paupers occupying the streets.

And then there were also the district's lords.

Bandits, crooks, murderers, rapist, pickpockets and thugs—true rulers of the Underwall. It was impossible to make a few steps without noticing that someone was looking at you in the same way he looked at his breakfast, all the while toying with some nifty tool, the very sight of which made you sweat. Unless you were a witch, of course.

Chromia trotted by the main street of Underwall, focusing everyone's attention—from the beggars and prostitutes, to the bandits—on herself. That didn’t really suit her, but she made do. She was searching for someone, like a harlot, who she could question safely.

“Charming place,” she muttered under her breath.

She hardly managed to make more than ten steps.

“Hey, you!” someone behind her shouted. “This is our place. What do you think you’re doing here?”

The witch turned and looked at the shouting pony. He was a stately earth pony, with a navy blue coat and bald skull. His whole body was covered in sloppy-made tattoos, and his only clothes were a pair of rugged and dirty pants. However, his mace, hang over his back, was quite impressive.

“What are you doing here?” the thug repeated.

“Looking around,” the witch answered calmly.

“Better watch out where you look then. But I think there are other places, where you should be looking.” The stallion smiled lecherously. “Like the inside of my pants! Ha ha ha!”

“They’ll never learn... ” Chromia sighed and raised her voice. “I’m looking for a certain mare. I doubt I’ll find any near your pants.”

She might have as well hit him in the balls, for the result would have been the same. She just hurt his masculinity, the very thing that, like every true stallion, he protected most. And, like every true stallion, he called his friends.

The stallion whistled, and a few of his pals came out from the nearby alleys. All of them had different clothes and weapons, but they also had one thing in common: the love for hurting others. And right now, probably nothing would make them happier than hurting Chromia.

“And I was thinking this would be a boring walk,” the witch smirked.

In the split of a second she drew her sword. The thugs also took out their weapons, but not as quickly as Chromia had; they were all armed with clubs, maces, hatchets and low-end swords. They also took a step back. Chromia noticed that the streets emptied, leaving only her and the aggressors. Most of the paupers were looking out through windows and wall holes.

“This is your last chance, bitch,” the blue stallion shouted. “Throw down your weapon and spread your legs, and you’ll live to see another day. I promise it won’t hurt… too much.”

Along with his comrades, he burst into laughter.

“I’m also giving you a last chance,” the witch shouted back. “You throw down your weapons and change your behaviour. Find remorse and start living like normal, decent citizens.”

The gang’s laughter only became stronger.

“So I thought.”

“Now you really made me merry… Throw down that sword!”

“Go plow yourself.”

“All right, now you pissed me off!” the stallion bellowed. “Come on, boys! Take her!”

The stallions lunched at Chromia en masse. The witch didn’t waste time and also attacked. The first stallion, running towards her with a cleaver in his teeth, she slashed in the throat with her sword. Then she jumped towards a pair of thugs and cut one of them in the face, and the second one in his larynx. More enemies approached. The witch evaded two blows of a hatchet held by a yellowish unicorn. He was too close to hit him with the blade, so Chromia simply slided on his back, and slashed another thug, standing behind him. Then she twirled and cut the unicorn in the occiput.

“Idiots!” the gang’s leader shouted. “Can’t you even handle one mare!?”

The rest of the thugs stopped charging blindly towards the witch. They backed up, surrounding her in a circle. The blood from the five bodies started to form red pools on the rugged street. The bandits looked at one another, terrified. Finally, two of them decided to attack the witch from two sides; one from up front, one from behind. Chromia jumped, evading a rusted blade and grabbed a claret-coloured earth pony attacking from up front. Then, with one leg on the ground, she twisted around to face a green unicorn, who was already striking at her with his hatchet. But instead of hitting her back, the weapon hit straight in the claret pony’s face. The unicorn’s eyes widened in shock when he saw what he did. Chromia kicked the corpse in such a way that it bumped into the unicorn, and then used his disorientation, piercing them both with her sword. The thugs landed on the ground in a position resembling a grotesque hug. The unicorn twitched in convulsion for a moment, and then became still forever.

The witch whisked her sword through the air, sending drops of blood on the faces of the still standing gang members. They all backed up a few steps, nearly tripping.

“Clumsy oafs!” the chieftain shouted. “Pussies, not stallions! I’ll show you how it’s done!”

He ran into the circle, shoving aside the bandits on his way, and immediately began fighting. He made a horizontal strike with his mace. Chromia jumped away and took a defensive position. The stallion started to brandish his weapon in a furious way, but still quite fast and deftly. The witch only avoided the strikes; deflecting them with a sword would have been pointless.

The chieftain attacked from above, with a strike from his mace. Chromia rolled to the side, and cut the stallion in his arm. He snarled with pain and continued the storm of strikes. Chromia kept aptly avoiding them. At last her enemy made a vertical strike again. The witch rolled over behind him and cut him in the back with the tip of her sword.

The stallion lost his balance and fell into the mud, face first. Chromia jumped back. It was a good move, for the chieftain didn’t lay for long. He roared like a dragon and attacked, fury simply oozing from him. His strikes became even faster and stronger, though less accurate.

Chromia continued her dance, avoiding a few more blows.

Time to end this, she decided.

The chieftain raised his mace, preparing to make a powerful blow. With one precise cut, Chromia deprived him of the ability to feel his hooves—for it is impossible to feel those parts of the body, which have been chopped off. The weapon, along with the hooves still holding it, feel over the stallion’s back; only then did he realise the fact of missing extremities. He started to scream and balance on his back legs, trying not to trip over.

The witch did not waste a second.

She twisted in a graceful pirouette and slashed the stallion in the belly. Red blood erupted onto the pavement. The thugs started to retreat. Or at least some of them did, for a few simply balked, their faces white as clean canvas.

But the chieftain didn’t fall. He cough, spitting blood, but still he stood. Chromia decided to change that. With stoic calmness, she approached the stallion, and then, in one, swift motion, thrust her sword through his chest. Straight in the heart. The stallion managed only to cough once more, and when the witch drew her blade back, he fell over. A poll of blood appeared under his dead body.

Chromia turned towards the rest of the gang, eyeing them with her keen eyes with horizontal pupils.

“Start running, you vermin,” she snarled. “Maybe I won’t chase you.”

And so they started to run, some of them even losing their weapons on the way. The witch wiped her sword into one of the dead ponies clothes that was not wet with blood. Then she eyed the carnage with disgust and bitterness.

“They’ll never learn.”




“For you? A hundred bits.”

“No thanks.”

The prostitute—a seablue earth mare with a intensively green mane and blue eyes—was honestly surprised. It was just unlikely for someone to come to Underwall and start chatting with a hooker, but not wanting to actually use the offered service. Situations like that usually meant trouble.

“What else do you want? If you came to gossip, then sorry, but I’m busy. A have a lot of customers to deal with.”

Chromia looked around on the empty street. “Riiight…” she elongated. “So you’re not interested in earning some money without the need to do the typical service?”

The mare’s ears pricked up. “What do you want?”

“Information.”

“Who am I, an innkeeper? Honey, I don’t know too much. The clients don’t really say much. At least nothing more than ‘move aside’.”

“I’m looking for one of your… fellow workers,” Chromia answered. “You see, I’ve heard that the local noble’s son used to come here quite often. To one, particular mare. I want to talk with her.”

“So that’s what it’s about, hmm?” the prostitute mused. “I’ll tell you… for fifty bits!”

“Twenty,” Chromia replied flatly.

“No way! Fifty!”

“In that case, I bid you farewell,” the witch said, turning around and starting to walk away. “I wish you a good day and lots of clients.” She started to walk away.

“Hey, wait!” The mare ran and stood in Chromia’s way. “I’m sure we can make a deal! Come on… Forty?”

“Twenty.”

“Thirty?”

Chromia thought for a moment. “Deal,” she said finally. “Now, tell me what you know.”

The seablue mare looked around. “Her name’s Lila. The one, which young Banner fell for. Those are no rumours, it’s the plain truth! He’s been coming here for a month now. Every day. At first we thought that she just managed to please him really well, but no! He started to give her flowers and gifts, like jewelry. Or, to be more precise,” she laughed, “some cheap shit, which didn’t even lie near real silver.”

Chromia kept listening.

“But little dumb Lila,” the prostitute went on, “she fell for it. They used to wonder around in the back alleys. They were really lucky no one sliced their throats open for their money! I don’t know, if she gave him free service, but I know she didn’t stay insensitive. And so it went on, until one day Banner didn’t show up. Which was odd, since he was here earlier and they both disappeared, like usually. After that, Lila came back alone. That was the last we’ve seen of Banner.”

Somewhere in the distance came the sound of cursing and breaking dishes. A black cat observed Chromia from a nearby balcony.

“Where can I find this Lila?”

“In the local brothel, The Lifted Tail.”

Chromia raised an eyebrow. The prostitute didn’t catch the hint and awaited for her payment. The witch reached for her pouch and handed it to her. The mare started to count the money, eyes wide.

“Hey!” she shouted happily. “There are—” She lifted her head, but the witch was nowhere in sight. “Forty bits in here…”




The brothel was no richer than the rest of the neighbourhood. Maybe only less damaged. It was a fair-sized, tall building, placed at the end of the main street. In front of the brothel and a few other surrounding buildings a couple of fires burned, with various thugs sitting around them. As soon as Chromia neared them, a few scram away, and the rest sat with their tails between their legs.

The Lifted Tail’s interior also did not please the eye with its style and elegance. It was just a large room, with a table standing in the middle, a stove in one of the corners and shelves with food. Not the typical amenities of a brothel.

The staircase leading to the first floor were a different case. Chromias suspected that was where the proper part of the business was located.

The large table was occupied by a few mares with—by the Underwall’s standards at least—quite fair looks. By the head of the table sat a pink, scarlet-maned mare in a green corset. Her eyes shined like emeralds, with which they shared their colour, but her face had a overly serious look for someone of that kind of profession. Something about her appearance and attitude gave her the impression of being different than the rest of the mares. Special. Important.

She was the bawd.

And so she became Chromia’s first port of call. As soon as she approached, however, the rest of the mares shot her curious and alarming looks. Apart form the bawd herself, who instead eyed the witch with interest.

“I’m sorry, my dear,” she said, “but this place doesn’t serve mares. I don’t have any stallions here, and I’m certainly not going to hire any. Unless you’re here, because you’re interested in the job yourself.”

Chromia immediately stifled that thought.

“No,” she replied. “I’m not looking for a job, neither for fondling.”

The employees exchanged looks. They looked at Chromia and their boss.

“Then it seems you’ve come to the wrong place, because you won’t find anything else here.”

“You’re wrong,” the witch said, coming up closer. “I want to talk to you in private, if that’s possible.”

The ginger-haired mare examined the witch one more time. Then she turned towards her girls and winked.

“Come with me,” she said at last.

The witch followed the mare to a room that obviously served as a larder. It was full of loaves of bread and cheese wheels. There were also sacks of flour lying around, but mostly there were crumbs and mouse holes.

“I’m Carmel,” the bawd introduced herself, “and this place belongs to me. What are you looking for here, if not a job or excitement?”

“I’m looking for a mare named Lila. I’ve heard she used to meet here with a young noble. I just want to talk with her, nothing more.”

Carmel studied Chromia for a moment.

“Then it seems you have a problem,” she said finally. “Because Lila hasn’t showed up since yesterday.”
> Chapter II: Of the Harmfulness of Smoking Tobacco
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


“The vile witches, vixens, and harlots hide behind the supposed code of honour of theirs. Falsehood it is and nothing more, for it is known that these mares have no honour, nor do they agnize any values, and fit only for spilling blood they are.”
—Anonym, “Monstrum, or Portrayal of the Witch”





Chapter Two: “Of the Harmfulness of Smoking Tobacco”


He ran as fast as he could. He panted heavily and limped, but ran, nevertheless. The dark sky sealed up above his head, and demonic shapes reached out for him with their talons, their jaws twisted in mocking smiles.

In the dark, the eyes of a thousand beasts pierced him like arrows and chilled him to the very bones. Still he ran, for that was the only thing left for him to do.

Those which inhabited the darkness shouted, snarled, rattled and yelled after him. They wanted to catch him, and it was only a matter of time before they succeeded. And the darkness had plenty of time. Its victory was already foregone, and now it was only toying with its victim.

He ran, despite his injured leg, the oozing blood drawing more of the Darkness’s servants towards him. He knew he had lost. He knew that the blackness, enclosing above his head, was the lid of the coffin, in which he we will be forever buried. He knew that, and yet he could not accept such a fate.

So he ran.

Exhaustion started to come into play. His breaths became heavier, his legs started to fail him, along with his heart. His eyes were full of tears, and his mind started to go crazy.

He tripped.

He had no idea, over what he had tripped over. He just fell flat on the ground and rolled over a few times. The injured leg started to hurt even more, making it impossible to continue running. He tried to get up, using a nearby tree for support. He gripped it and picked himself up.

He stood for a moment, panting and sobbing quietly. Then he finally raised his eyes.

He went pale and fell to the ground. Tens of eels started to wriggle in his entrails, clearly trying to get out; one of them was on the right track to do exactly that. His heart began to beat wildly, his mouth went dry.

The wolf-shaped tree had eyes.

Sky blue eyes that were looking at him.




“Nothing?” Veks asked, tamping his pipe. It was night already, and his shop was closed since Chromia returned in the evening. Now they both sat in the living room, located in the residential part of the building. It was a small room, with a simple fireplace, a table and two rocking chairs, currently occupied by the pair. “You didn’t find out anything?”

Chromia muttered something under her breath. “Only that Stained Banner wasn’t beaten up by some local thugs. This case is awfully suspicious and fishy.”

“Then why do you poke around it?”

“So I can earn more in one night than you do during the entire month,” she answered with a slight smile.

Veks gave her a cold look and muttered something under his breath. She didn’t exactly understand what.

“So you’re going to the plowing forest tomorrow?”

“Yes,” she nodded. “First thing in the morning. I’ll find Banner’s dead body and return as fast as I can. Maybe I’ll even get half of the reward, who knows.”

“You won’t get a broken bit,” the unicorn replied. “Quite the contrary. When Banner gets pissed off—”

“Then what?” the witch cut in. “You said yourself that guy doesn’t mean a thing in this town. Did you suddenly change your mind?”

“No. But I’ll tell you something—those bandits, who attacked you, they also didn’t mean a thing. Maybe in the Underwall, but not in the rest of the town. But they still attacked you, and could have killed you. And Banner has much more means to do that. Take that motherbucking idiot Gladius for example. I’d watch out, if I were you.”

“Thanks for the concern,” she said, observing the starry night through the window.

Veks also looked at it, having a puff. One of the stars fell. The witch and the shopkeeper made a wish. They both knew it was stupid and superstitious. But it was also something beautiful. Wishes. Veks tended to wish a lot. They were all wonderful wishes, but unfeasible. That is, this time he wished for something much closer to reality.

Chromia, on the other hoof, didn’t wish for anything too often. Usually only for something to eat, a place to sleep, or payment for a finished job. She wasn’t too emotional. She wasn’t a dreamer. But, just this once, things were different.

“Do you have a washtub here?” she asked.

“Sure. In the room next to my bedroom. Do you want to… ?”

“Yes,” Chromia answered. She stood up and left the room.

Veks was left alone, with only his thoughts and doubts keeping him company. He was scared, more than ever.

The stallion got up, neared the window and leaned on the window-sill. He looked at the sky, with the full moon shining brightly and speckled with stars. And he moaned about the past. Again.

The town was alive with its nightlife. From afar, one could hear the drunken songs of someone definitely having a grand time. Cats reigned supreme on the rooftops and back alleys. One also could not ignore the mating call of some mare.

A night like every other, Veks though, and sighed heavily.

“Not today,” he said after a moment.




Chromia was lying in the bathtub, her head above the hot water. The room was illuminated by a few candles standing on the shelves, next to the soap. Hot air evaporated from the tub, blanketing the room in a gentle mist. The witch relaxed her muscles and closed her eyes, just like during meditation. Yet this time she was doing something different, something she had not done for a long time.

She was relaxing.

Chromia rarely had time for such a thing. The road, the fighting, survival—those were her priorities, and her life did not leave much room for moments like this one. She usually bathed in lakes or rivers, not tubs.

The witch let her body and mind rest.

She noticed someone coming in only when she heard the sound of opening doors. Veks entered the room.

The tobacco dealer took a few steps forward, with fright in his eyes and a stone face. He approached the back of the tub and came to a standstill. He was silent, searching for the right words, which he could not find. Or maybe he could, but was simply afraid to say them out loud?

“I thought… ” Chromia started, rising form the water, “that you would never come.”

“You were expecting me?” Veks felt surprised. He tried not to look Chromia in the eyes.

“Veks… ” the witch raised the stallion’s chin, “a kick in the butt is more subtle that the signs you’ve been giving me.”

“Oh.” Veks felt stupid. “And… you’re laughing again.”

True, Chromia giggled slightly. Her hoof touched Veks’ cheek. The pair gazed into each other’s eyes for a moment. Silence filled the room; one could even hear the beating of Veks’ heart. The witch and salespony continued their wordless exchange of looks. Second seemed to be minutes, minutes turned into hours.

At last their heads started to slowly get closer, and finally they shared a deep, passionate kiss, which lasted even longer than the silence.

Chromia’s hooves fell back on Veks’ neck. The stallion embraced the witch with one hoof. Chromia leaned back, falling into the water and pulling Veks with her. He landed on the mare, now holding her back with both hooves. Their kiss lasted for a while longer.

Their gazes, filled with gleefulness, met again.

“You’ve been waiting?”

“For a long time.”

This time before they kissed, Veks’ shirt disappeared faster than he could ever take it off himself. Their lips touched again. Veks’ hoof slid down lower on Chromia’s back; the witch pulled the stallion closer.

Half of the water from the tub was gone. It didn’t matter.

Veks disposed of the rest of his clothing and gave himself over to the moment, just like Chromia. A magic moment, that began awkwardly, but from which happiness sprouted.

A moment that lasted for the whole night.




The morning was crispy and refreshing. A light, cold wind fanned Chromia’s face, as she left the city walls. A delicate mist blanketed the ground like a duvet. The Sun hasn’t risen yet, but the morning was bright already.

The witch trotted in a good mood after last night. The case she currently had at hoof seemed meaningless for a moment, giving way to more pleasant thoughts.

Everything burst like a soap bubble, when the witch arrived at her destination.

The mighty wall of the Everfree Forest stood before Chromia. Large trees with unnatural, dark colours and terrifying shapes greeted the travellers, threatening and warning them not to dare enter the woods. The darkness that ruled behind the first row of trees was downright mystic and supernatural, repulsive and appalling.

The sounds she heard while standing at the edge of the Forest were enough to make not one dare-devil turn pale. The growling, wheezing and roaring could be heard even from afar.

They did not impress Chromia. She had heard them many a time before.

The witch sat, with her back turned towards the Forest, and pulled out her potions. She uncorked and drank two of them: red and cyan. After a moment she also drank the green one. Then she focused herself and waited for the elixirs to begin working.

Seconds passed. At last she started to notice the changes. Her blood started to flow faster through her veins, her pulse rate quickened. The zebra’s senses sharpened; her ears were able to hear more of the wood’s sounds, her nose began to sense more smells. She felt a weak, tingly sensation in her stomach and forehead.

Chromia’s face started to turn pale, accentuating the veins. Her ears started to quaver a bit, her nostrils widened. The witch opened her eyes, which were now black and had blue pupils.

Chromia wiped the sweat of her forehead and got up. She turned around and looked at the Everfree Forest. “The fun begins,” she said.

The witch entered the woods.




The trees were curved in grotesque, odd shapes, resembling some kind of hideous monsters, wanting to catch passers-by with their talons. Darkness reigned in the forest. Despite the early hour, the world amidst the woods was covered in nightly dark. But that wasn’t a problem for Chromia. Thanks to her specialized eyes and elixirs, she could comfortably loiter in the forest.

After drinking the potions, the witch’es ears were able to pick up all the strange sounds Everfree offered. Creaking, howling, cawing and growling. Chromia could hear something walking on the forest cover. Scratching the tree bark. Tearing meat to pieces. And she had a feeling that last sound will lead her straight to Stained Banner.

While passing next to another tree, she noticed something on the ground. Chromia stopped down to take a closer look. It was a piece of clothing, most likely a linen shirt. Chromia was certain she just found a clue. And even more convinced that the young noble was dead.

The cloth scrap was soaked with blood.

She picked it up and moved on.

She came across more traces of Banner’s supposed murderers—timberwolves. The witch knew they were the most common beasts in the Everfree Forest. In a way it suited her—she could acquire a few useful alchemical ingredients from them. Still, the idea of fighting a whole horde of timberwolves was not an optimistic one.

She walked next to another claw-scratched tree, and found more blood traces. By their smell, temperature and texture she judged that the blood was fresh.

“Looks like someone ate their dinner here not a long time ago,” she muttered under her breath. Her eyes followed the bloody trail, which went deeper into the forest.

She followed it, and in a few minutes she heard the buzzing of flies. She also heard sounds of growling and smelled stench. Pulling her sword out, she continued her walk. The blood led her to a small clearing, on which a body lied. Chromia came closer to it.

The victim was grey, tall, with a long, black mane. And he was not a pony. The long ears and tail clearly stated that lying in front of Chromia was a dead…

“Donkey?” The witch could not hide her amazement.

She had heard and felt them since a while. But only now did they show up. They came out of the woods from all sides. Chromia raised her sword and looked around.

Ghouls.

Undead monsters. Terrifying creatures, eating corpses of the dead, with a taste for the living as well. They poured from behind the trees like a flood. Blackened, half-rotten ponies, lacking coats, but with yellowish, blunt teeth, red eyes and ragged to the bone hooves, which now served them as weapons. They came from among the trees, attracted by the smell of blood. And by Chromia, who was supposed to become their newest victim.

The witch took a few steps back and judged her situation. The ghouls were large in number, she did not have to time to count them all. The monsters approached Chromia, baring their teeth. Snarling and rattling.

Chromia raised her sword again, stood astride and waited for the first ghoul to attack.

She did not have to wait long.

The first creature charged and leaped upon her. Chromia whirled around and cut with her sword, when the ghoul was still in the air. Before she turned back to face the rest of them, a dead body was already lying on the ground. But this was only the beginning.

The remaining monsters lunged on Chromia en masse, furiously brandishing their bony hooves. The witch deflected the strikes deftly and quickly disposed of another ghoul, slicing its head off and shoving away the rest of the body with a kick.

Chromia rolled over to avoid the monsters next attacks and cut them in the back. Red dew besprinkled the nearby grass, but the ghouls had no intention of giving up. They turned around and advanced at the mare once again. More of the undead also attacked from different sides. The zebra decided to use the whirlwind technique and, with constant spins, kill as many enemies as she could.

The monsters were strong and had numerical superiority, but they were stupid. Chromia’s strategy, though temporary, turned out being quite effective. Thanks to the witch’es well-aimed cuts, three of the ghouls were already put out of the battle. But there still were many left.

Chromia jumped away from the mass, but one of the ghouls was lurking behind her and, just as the witch was about to kill another of its brethren, it hit her in the back. The witch lost balance and had to roll over not to become mauled by the beasts.

She did not feel any pain, not now. Instead she felt anger, growing fury and bloodlust.

The potion’s working well, she thought.

The ghouls attacked again. This time part of them was pushed away with the Aard Word. The undead, hit with the power of the spell, flew away from the witch for several meters. The rest of them paid no heed to their brothers fate and advanced on the mare.

The first one raised its bony front hooves, preparing to strike. With one short cut, the witch took away its limbs. She then kicked the crippled ghoul, and sliced another one in the throat.

One of the ghouls hit her. This time in the shoulder. The force of the blow turned Chromia around, but she used the sudden movement to make a pirouette and slice the beast’s belly open. She jumped back to catch a breath. She felt the blood from her wounded back dribble on her flank. The last hit also hurt her shoulder.

But Chromia was too close to victory to give up.

It was her time to charge at the undead. The first one was set on fire with the Igni Word, and bisected with a vertical strike. There were only four ghouls left. One of them swiped at the witch with its hoof, but she dodged it. Chromia slammed the beast in the back with her sword’s handle, pushing it away. The next one leaped onto her, brandishing rotten teeth. Its jaw meet with Chromia’s furious kick; right after that, she pierced its head with her sword.

The lasting trio of ghouls encircled her; one from behind and two from up front.

The witch waited.

All the ghouls attacked at the same moment. Chromia knew what to do. She swiped her sword backwards, piercing the first ghoul’s head. She used the strike’s impact to cut the skull of the next monster in half. The last one was just a formality. Performing another pirouette, the witch’es sword sliced the ghoul in its tendons. When the beast fell, Chromia decapitated it with a final, swift movement.

The fight was over. The witch had won.

She took a few deep breaths, calmed down. Then she looked at her work: the clearing covered in undead creatures blood. Her sword and clothes were also stained with red.

“Dammit,” she said to herself. “I’m gonna stink.”

She decided to use the occasion. Chromia approached the first ghoul, pulling out a small, empty vial. She crouched down, opened the beast’s mouth and put the vial inside, allowing it to fill. She acquired a valuable alchemical ingredient—the ghoul’s venom.

Next she approached the ghouls would-be dinner. The donkey was wearing a grey vest and a leather belt, to which a few throwing knives were attached. On his head was bandeau with a fox-brush pinned to it. Chromia noticed a letter, tucked between the best and vest. She pulled it out and started to read:

Dear Saro,
I am afraid our actions in town have come to an end. Yesterday Gladius arrested two of my subordinates. I did not expect them to start talking, but Galdius is not that stupid. He will follow the thread to the end, eventually.
We found the girl. She will trouble us no more. But I doubt that will do us anything good. It is becoming more and more difficult for me to hide, and I fear that my execution is no longer an “if”, but a “when”. I am sending a messenger with this news. May at least one of us survive.
For freedom!
Mandus

When Chromia finished reading, a lot of things became clear for her. Yet knowledge of the problem’s source was not enough. The answer was there. All one had to do was reach out his hoof.

The whole problem was to not lose that hoof in the process.




While scrambling through bushes and thickets, Chromia found more signs of Stained Banner. For example, a breastpin, lying on the ground. A nicely made one, with a gem inside—an amethyst, so it seemed. It surprised for, considering the Banner’s fortune or, for instance, the young noble’s calpac quality. The witch decided to take the find with her.

“Maybe this is what Rent Banner’s truly after?” she asked herself, looking at the breastpin. Her dragon-shaped amulet didn’t jerk in the slightest. So the brooch was not enchanted. Still, the witch checked it one more time, this time with the use of a Word. Nothing. The breastpin was just an adornment.

She looked around, searching for other possible clues. All she found were trees, scratched with claw marks. She was becoming more and more certain that she was looking for a corpse. Chromia was not even sure, if there will be enough of it for her to take to Rent Banner.

“Dammit, Veks was probably right,” she muttered. “The most I’ll get from Banner is a kick in the rear.”

Suddenly something moved among the trees. Like a shadow or ghost. Chromia impulsively took out her sword and took a defensive position. She looked around, pricking up her ears, but couldn’t hear anything near. She did not feel or see anything either.

She looked at her amulet, but it gave her no warning signals.

“Strange,” she concluded.

Chromia came back to her normal stand, but did not hide her blade.




The wolf attacked out of nowhere.

But Chromia knew it was nearby. She was just waiting for the beast to make an appearance.

The wolf attacked from behind, hoping to quickly kill the victim by sinking his fangs in her neck. The witch avoided the attack with a nimble spin and cut the creature in the leg. Drops of blood mottled the nearby tree and bush. The wolf turned towards Chromia and bore his fangs.

An arboreal wolf, one of the fiercest predators one can step across in Everfree. A hideous abomination, the hybrid of a timberwolf and flesh body. Tendons, muscles and veins covered a stick skeleton, creating a grisly monstrosity, whose only goal and desire was killing. Not even because of hunger, but pure bloodlust. No one knows how these creatures came into existence. Most believed them to be the creation of some necromancer, but that was not certain. It is certain though that they originated from timberwolves.

And it was certain that they were hellhounds. Twice the size of a pony, with a jaw big enough to fit a hoof. Or a head.

Chromia knew that the fight will not be an easy one.

The wolf attacked with his claws. The witch leaped back and started to parry the strikes with her sword. The wolf stopped the chaotic brandishing of his claws and jumped on Chromia. She rolled under the beast, avoiding its jaw.

But she failed to avoid its hind legs; the wolf made a kick like an earth pony. The witch was throw away a few metres. She quickly stood up and took a fighting stance.

The wolf snarled and growled. He stank like old, rotten carcass, and in his eyeholes two small balls of red burned like hellish circles.

The beast howled and attacked. Chromia waited for him to come closer, and when the wolf was just in front of her, she hit him with an Aard Word straight in the face. The monster came to a halt, stunned for a moment. The witch used that moment to chop off its leg.

The wolf’s pained roar filled the air, as he started to flounce. Chromia had to take a few steps back. Once the beast calmed down, it eyed the witch with hatred; Chromia only smiled lightly and whirled her sword two times.

The monster howled and attacked again, limping comically. Yet Chromia knew very well the beast was still dangerous. She leap away from the snapping maw and performed a horizontal swing, cutting the wolf in the side. That did now stop him.

He stood on his hind legs and leap onto Chromia. She did not run away this time. The witch crouched and waited for the right moment. When the wolf was above her, she straightened up, cutting the flesh-wood beast through the whole length of its belly. The wolf felt down, roaring and howling painfully. Chromia rolled away, covered in blood. She got up and faced the monster. The fight was not over yet.

The wolf got up and turned towards the witch, a pool of red already spreading underneath him. He snarled and advanced in a desperate attempt to kill the mare. Chromia shouted the Igni Word and send a flaming missile straight into the beast’s opened belly.

The wolf burst into flames. He started to bend and trash around, while the fire consumed him from the inside. His howls of pain were so loud Chromia’s ears started to hurt. The zebra quickly approached the beast and cut its head off with a swift move of her sword, sparing him the suffering and preserving the alchemical ingredient she wanted to gain.

The headless body felt to the ground and burned like a pile of sticks, sizzling and gurgling.

Chromia sighed with relief and started to extract the brain tissue from the wolf’s skull. It was not a complicated process; one had to only crack the wooden skull open and take out the brain, which resembled a large, glowing nut.

Once she was finished, the witch packed the ingredient in her bag. Then she put out the fire with an Aard Word and moved on.

She did not make it far.

Her medallion started to vibrate furiously, and moments later she heard the thumping of large paws, snarling and hawking, and caught the hideous smell of carcass. Another arboreal wolf. And, judging by the sounds, not one, but at least four of them.

She stood in place, with her knees bend, and waited. She did not try to run away or back up; that would have been pointless. She breathed slowly and listened intently to her surroundings. The snapping of branches was coming from behind her.

The wolf emerged from the shadows and tackled Chromia. The witch raised her sword, but never managed to attack, for another arboreal… no, a timberwolf jumped out from between the trees. Yet the beast varied from a typical timberwolf by two things: it was bigger, and its leaves and eyes shone with a pleasant, blue colour.

The newcome beast fell upon the arboreal wolf like a bolt of lightning and bit its head off. Chromia retreated to under a tree; more wolfs came out of their hiding spots and surrounded the strange timberwolf.

Chromia watched, as the creatures began fighting. The arboreal wolves tackled the timberwolf, but he shook them off with ease. He caught one of his opponents with his jaw and throw him at a nearby tree. Another one he decapitated with his claws, and he simply kicked the third one from behind.

All the time he was eyeing his opponents, not making a single sound.

One of the arboreal wolves charged at the timberwolf. The large beast jumped to the side and caught the opponent’s back with his fangs. He then started to chaotically shake his head, tearing the flesh-wood monster in half. The last arboreal wolf did to seem to be discouraged by his companions failure and bit the timberwolf in the leg. The timberwolf’s only reaction was to turn around, stand on his hind legs and crush the aggressor to the ground. Then he simply tore him apart.

Chromia looked in awe at the creature that saved her life. Still she did not trust it completely, and did not hide her sword when the wolf turned towards her.

The timberwolf approached the witch and tilted his head with interest.

“Um…” Chromia muttered, “thanks for helping me.”

To the witch’es further surprise, the wolf waggled his tail.

“Are you going to hurt me?”

The wolf shook its head.

“Then what do you want? Don’t tell me you saved me just because I was in danger.”

The wolf lowered his head and whined, feeling offended.

“All right, all right,” Chromia raised her hooves in defence. “You want to help, I understand. But why?”

The wolf came closer and sniffed the witch. Then he sat next to her and pointed with his head to his back.

“You want me to sit on you? Where do you want to take me?”

The timberwolf growled something quietly, but Chromia could not understand what it meant. She considered the proposition for a moment, eyeing the corpses of the arboreal wolves. The blood on the ground and trees. Her own injuries, patched up with a makeshift bandage.

“All right,” she said, mounting the wolf.

They wolf dashed through the woods at breakneck speed, perfectly avoiding all kinds of roots, bushes, embankments and thorn shrubs. Chromia, afraid she would fall off, held on with all her might, almost sinking her teeth into the wolf’s back. But she kept her teeth tightly clenched, and her eyes closed. The inside of her stomach was twirling and she had a feeling that soon she’ll see her breakfast for a second time.

The manic ride ended when the forest stopped being so dark. The trees bark and leaves colour in this part of Everfree were natural, the grass long and green. Sunrays shone through the branches, bathing the whole place in a mystical glare. Squirrels run along the trees, and the air was alive with the chirping of birds. From a far off clomp of grass, two little rabbits observed the witch with interest.

The wolf slowed down his run and was now slowly entering the mysterious oasis. Chromia used the chance to take a better look at its inhabitants. And there were all sorts of creatures amongst them, both predators and harmless animals. Wolves lied down next to rabbits, smaller timberwolves wondered here and there.

A druid’s grove, thought Chromia. I’m certain of that.

Chromia’s mount carried her to an enormous oak, towering above the other trees like a mountain. Its trunk was several meters high and at least a few meters thick. The foliage was home to many birds of all kinds. And, like on the ground, dangerous animals existed right next to the harmless ones.

But the most interesting habitants of the groove were the deers, both male and female. The stags we tall and bore big, respectful and awe-inspiring antlers, while the females were lean and extraordinary beautiful. Their beauty amazed even the witch.

When the timberwolf finally stopped, Chromia jumped off it, holding back the urge to vomit with titanic effort. When she recovered, an old stag approached her. He had a long, grey mane and beard. His antlers stood out from the ones of his brethren with their size and tortuosity.

“Welcome,” he said in a low voice. “Welcome to our groove, witch.”

“Greetings, hierophant,” Chromia bowed deeply. “It’s an honour.”

“Hmm,” he mused. “A honour… is that so?”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

“You witches usually work against us. You kill what we try to protect, and destroy what we try to rebuild. You guard those, who hurt us, justifying it with protecting life, even though it is the very same life you are willing to take for a few coins.” The hierophant eyed Chromia with a cold look, and then started to stroke his long, gray-haired beard. “Yet you entered this forest with no intention to kill. You did not came here to exterminate more representants of endangered species. No, you came here for a different purpose. What kind?”

Chromia thought for a moment. She had doubts about this. But one look at the hierophant made it clear to her that there was no sense in lying. “I’m looking for someone.”

“In these woods? Surely you will admit yourself that this not the best place to hide.”

“The son of one of the town’s nobles has gone missing here. I was send to find him. If you know where he is, hierophant, please tell me.”

The stag eyes the zebra and motioned her to follow him.

“You ask for my help… and you shall receive it. Everyone is welcomed here. Even witches. However, this decision is not mine to make.”

Chromia felt small, walking next to the big stag. Very small. The fact that every other inhabitant of the groove was also taller than she did not help either.

“Not yours to make?” she asked, surprised. “I thought it was hierophants, who rule grooves like this one.”

“That is true,” he answered, going over some hare, who did not seem to mind the stag in the slightest. “But even though I lead this groove, it does not mean I do not have to or should not recognize someone greater than me.”

Greater, the witch thought. That’s a good one.

The stag led Chromia to a staircase leading under the giant oak, between his roots. Bright, green light shone from underneath, giving the whole place a fairy tale look and atmosphere.

“Down there you shall the answers you seek,” the hierophant said, gesturing towards the stairs.

Chromia did not hesitate and started to go down the stairs. They were not long, leading to a tunnel dug in the ground, ploughed with the oak’s roots. Chromia had to bend from time to time, to pass under, and sometimes jump over or push past them. The whole length of the tunnel was bathed in green light, coming from an unknown source.

The witch approached a room, placed right under the oak. Roots dangled from the ceiling and branched into the walls and ground. The chamber was large, with the tree’s roots forming something like a cottage. Or at least a cabin.

She was lying in its middle.

She was the size of an average pony, or slightly smaller. Her whole body was built of sticks and branches, but it would closer to the truth to say that her body was a branch. Light-pink leaves replaced her mane and tail.

Yet her eyes did not differ from a typical pony’s ones. The sky blue pupils gazed at Chromia with interest and wonder.

The witch concluded that she is facing the strangest wila she ever met.

“Oh… hello,” the wila said quietly. “You’re that witch, right?”

“Yes,” answered Chromia, slightly confused. “Do you rule this groove?”

“Rule?” she asked, surprised. “Oh, no! No. I only live here. And these deers treat me very nice. They listen to my advice.”

Chromia truly did not know, what to think.

“I don’t know why are you here. You didn’t come to the forest to hurt anyone, which was a pleasant surprise for us. But I still don’t know, why are you here.”

“My name is Chromia. I’m… looking for someone.”

“Who?”

“A young noble from the town was lost in these woods about a week ago. I’m here to find him.”

“Oh. Yes, he’s here, but… um… I don’t think he should leave,” the wila said, avoiding the witch’es eyes.

“Why?” the zebra asked.

“That town… it’s evil… now it’s evil. And… um… he should stay with us. In a better place. But don’t worry,” she added quickly, “he’ll feel good here. He will have food, water, a place to sleep. The deers and other animals will be nice to him, while the ponies in the city are… bad.”

The wile kept shifting her gaze and scratching the ground with her hoof, as if she was afraid of Chromia, like the zebra could do her harm. The witch thought she even seemed to be afraid to say that she won’t release Stained Banner. Was she scared Chromia might take him by force?

Or was she simply afraid to insult her?

“His father is looking for him,” Chromia said at last. “And he’s not someone who gives up easily. If I don’t bring his son back, he’ll send someone else here. Someone, who could harm the animals under your care. And if he comes back… how do you know he’ll also become evil? I have a… friend in town, who doesn’t like the things that are happening there just as much as you do.”

“Please,” she added after a moment.

The wila turned around and curled up. She started to scratch the ground with her hoof again.

“No,” she said finally. “I’m… I’m sorry, but no.”

“Can I at least talk to him?”

“Yes, of course. Ask the hierophant.”

The witch started to leave, but stopped at the chamber’s entrance. “Is that your final word?” she asked.

The wila thought for a long moment. “No.”




Stained Banner was lying on the grass, with his hooves behind his head. In his mouth was some kind of grass-stalk, which he sucked unceasingly. His clothes were torn and most of his body was covered only by leaves. Leaves, that were used as bandages. The stallion was almost coated whole in them.

The place in which he was resting was brightened by sunbeams, shining through the tree branches. He did not hear the witch approach.

“Are you Stained Banner?” Chromia asked.

The young stallion jumped, as if struck by lightning, when he heard the sudden voice. “Y-you…” he stuttered. “You’re not one of them… Are you from the town?”

“Something like that.”

“Praise the gods,” he said happily. “I have enough of this place. It’s filled with dirty animals, bugs, monsters… Not to mention those giants.”

“They’re deer.”

“I don’t care what they are! They’re scaring me. But it’s good, that you’re here… Now I’ll be able to return home. My father send you, right? And about time, dammit! I was starting to think he’d forgotten about me.”

“Yes, your father send me. But I have bad news. They don’t want you to leave.”

Stained looked, as if someone just accused him of working with the Foxes. Which means that he had gone pale, opened his mouth agape, and his eyes did not pop out of their eyeholes only by a miracle. And also only by a miracle he did not fertilize the ground.

“What do you mean, they don’t want me to leave?!” he shouted. “No… no! You have to do something, do you hear?! Do something!”

He grabbed Chromia by her jacket and shook her in anger. The witch grabbed him strongly by the throat and brought to his knees. She looked him in the eyes with ire. Banner immediately got as meek as a lamb, with his tail curled between his legs.

“I don’t have to do anything,” she declared coldly. “And you better tell me, why the hell did you wander off to these woods in the first place.”

“I didn’t want to!” Stained looked, like he was at the edge of crying tears, when he said that. “It’s those motherfucking Foxes! They highjacked me and dragged to the forest’s border! And then they said: ‘Either you go in there, or we’ll castrate and skin you!’ I really didn’t want to go here!”

The noble, still held by his throat, started to cough and sob. Chromia let him go, so he would not mess hooves with bogeys. The stallion fell to the grass, face first, and got up immediately.

“Why did they kidnap you?”

“I don’t know! I mean… they said something about me not treating the ladies right… and that I need a lesson and fasting… Like the only thing I do is spending time with hookers! And they beat me up first. Why me?”

“Good question,” Chromia said, squirting her eyes and looking somewhere far into the groove. “You were spending time with hookers on that day as well?”

“No. I mean… yes, but… she’s not some ordinary call girl. She’s beautiful and funny. And when she smiles, I want to smile as well. The last time I saw her was before those motherfuckers ponynapped me.”

True love, thought Chromia. A poor noble and prostitute, loving each other truly and madly. With a love forbidden and dispraised. Like in a fairy tale. Yep… this had to end bad. I won’t tell him. Not now.

“So you have no idea, why they carried you here?”

“Even the slightest! I never did anything to those dumb bush-tails in my life.”

Chromia thought for a moment. She looked at an owl that was observing her. The witch quirked an eyebrow; the owl hooted.

“And what happened after you came into the forest?”

“I started to run. As fast as I could, and as far away from them. I thought that I could gain some distance, wait a while and return. And my plan went to the motherbucking dogs. I got lost, I started to meander in this… this nightmare! I ate some roots, bucking berries…” Stained stopped for a moment to catch his breath. Chromia waited. “Then I came across a… some… no, I have no idea, what was it. At first I though it’s a pony. My chance to get out. Imagine my surprise, when it limped out into me. It had yellow, rotten teeth and… legs with meat stripped away from them…”

“A ghoul,” the witch said. “Only one?”

“Only one?!”

“They usually wonder in groups. But that’s beside the point. What happened next?”

“It hurt my leg, but I managed to get away. I run like the devil himself was chasing me! Then I tripped and fell over. And then that arboreal wolf found me…”

“You mean that big one, over there?” the zebra said, pointing towards the wolf that brought her to the groove. “It’s a timberwolf, not an arboreal one.”

“What’s the difference?” he asked, rising an eyebrow.

“Quite big, as a matter of fact.”

“Anyway,” Banner continued, “he brought me here and these… deers, they healed my injuries. Odd creatures. The only thing they do is gaze and sigh to trees. And these beasts here? What… what kind of place is this, anyway?”

“A druid’s groove.”

“Shouldn’t druids be… I don’t know… old fellas in even older clothes, with great, grey beards? These here are young and… and…”

“Yes, I know.” The witch rolled her eyes and looked around. Stags and deers wondered here and there, smiling and not getting into each other’s way. Here and there Chromia also noticed pairs of those animals, sitting and leaning on each other, and looking ahead as if in some narcotic trance.

True, she thought. One can feel slightly uncomfortable.

“How long have you been here?”

“Since yesterday… or the day before yesterday? I’m not even sure.”

Stained went quiet and started to look around as well. He did not want to stay in this place. It scared him. He was afraid of the timberwolves running freely in the groove, of the deers he did not know, of the very place itself, for it was too peaceful and quiet.

But most of all, he wanted to return to Lila.

Who was dead, Chromia thought bitterly, looking at Stained Banner.

“Please, take me away from here,” he pleaded.




“Why are you so persistent?” the wila asked, eyeing Chromia.

“And you? Because that’s what I was hired for, because he doesn’t want to be here, because this is not where he belongs. Because this is not where he was raised, and he knows nothing of such life. Because he’s all on his own, surrounded by creatures he’s unfamiliar with. Because he’s afraid. Because he wants to go home, to his beloved… who is probably dead.”

“Oh… Then why worry him with that?”

“Because bitter truth is better than the sweetest of lies.”

The wila had gone silent for a moment again. The zebra notice it was some kind of habit for her, and after each pause she started to talk with her voice down. It truly intrigued and disturbed the witch.

“There is nothing good about lying,” the wila said finally. “Lies can hurt. Lies did hurt a lot of creatures. Lies can lead your friends to leave you, did you know that?”

“I don’t have too many friends, but I know that. And do you know that you are asking me to lie?”

The wila eyed the witch with disbelief.

“If I return without Stained Banner, I will be asked why. What am I to say then? If I tell his father the truth… he won’t let go. He’ll come here with all those mean ponies you’re so afraid of. And if not the truth, then should I lie to him? Should I tell him his son is dead?”

The wila gazed at Chromia with eyes no longer filled with amazement, but fear. Her lips started to tremble, hooves shook, and tears filled her eyes. Chromia did not expect this kind of effect. She wanted to convince the wila somehow, make her change her mind… not scare her. And with words alone? The witch could not conceive it.

“I… I… very well… I’ll let you leave.”

“Thank you,” the zebra bowed.

“But first, I want to show you something. Come closer, please.”

The witch neared her without protest. The wila was taller than she. Now, when she looked at her eyes from up close, she saw a pony. A typical, normal pony. Yet there was something wrong about it, she was certain of that, even though she did not know, what exactly. The wila was more extraordinary, than Chromia suspected.

The spirit of the forest placed her hoof on Chromia’s head. “What—” the witch began, but a sudden dizziness drowned the rest of her words.

She felt she was spinning, falling into an abyss, drowning. She wanted to save herself, but was unable to. Her hooves felt as if they were made of wood, rooted in the ground. She could not see anything, apart from a pair of eyes. Sky blue, beautiful eyes. Eyes that were looking at her with kindness and sympathy.

What?

There are no eyes. There is the sky. Cloudless, brilliantly blue. The Sun is traveling lazily behind the horizon. There is a small town, a village. Chromia is running on its streets. But as who? She does not know this place, these ponies. They are all laughing and rejoicing. Why?

And there were children, playing and romping in the center of the town. No one shouts at them, no one tries to chase them away. They laugh loudly, shout. No one seems to mind. Why?

Two mares sit on a bench in the park, kissing each other. Everyone sees it, but no one reprimands them. Ponies pass by, indifferently, laughing and joking. It’s wrong, it’s not the way it should be.

No one does anything. Why? What is this place? It’s… different. Worse? Better?

The witch cannot tell.

Everything starts to blend together. Chromia is sinking in the depths of the ocean, falling into a bottomless abyss. The sky’s clean colours turn into darkness. In the darkness there are eyes…

The wila took her hoof away from Chromia’s forehead. The witch fell to her knees, holding her hurting head. She gritted her teeth as strong as she could. Chromia lied down, with her head on the ground, waiting for the pain to pass.

When she finally got back to her senses, she stood up and looked at the wila.

“What… was that?” she asked, rubbing her achy head.

“A warning.”

“A warning? About what? The future?”

“About the present.”




The morning Sun bathed the groove in its lustre. The air was crisp and calming. A light fog blanketed the ground, hiding the smaller inhabitants of the woods. The deers woke up and started to pray around the giant oak. Only now did Chromia notice that children were also amongst them. It felt odd to her, but only for a moment.

Because why should it really be so odd?

She was standing along Stained Banner at the edge of the groove; the stallion was happy like a child, who was about to get a sweet. In the distance, Chromia could see the crooked trees, which were part of the bigger, darker side of the woods. The pair awaited for the hierophant, who was approaching them slowly, taking cautious steps, so he would not step on the small rabbits, which loitered under his hooves as if of spite.

The stag approached them, muttering something under his breath.

“So you are leaving our groove after all,” he said. “It would be a lie to say that I did not expect this. It was only a matter of time. Unfortunately, she is not very assertive.”

“Who is she?” the witch asked.

“The spirit of this forest, its guardian, and a very unhappy creature. But do not fret. You cannot fully understand, who she is. Not now. Not yet. She remains a mystery for most of us as well.”

“So how did she came to be here?”

“She was always here. This groove already existed, when our ancestors came here. And she existed along with it. She did not explain her origins to most of my kind, becoming a goddess for my brothers and sister.”

“She’s not a goddess for you?”

“For me, she is a friend. Because I know of her tragedy.”

The witch felt surprised. She wanted to ask more, but the stag interrupted her.

“It is time for you—” he started, but stopped suddenly. He looked at his beard; two rabbits hang on to it. Stained laughed, and the hierophant smiled. The witch’es face remained serious. “It is time for you to leave. Brunno shall lead you out of the forest. Farewell, young noble. And farewell, witch.” The stag bowed his head deeply.

“Farewell, hierophant,” answered the witch with a nod. “I hope we will meet again.”

The giant, blue-eyed timberwolf joined them. The witch mounted him easily, while Stained Banner had some problems; it took him four falls and Chromia’s help to finally clamber onto the beast’s back.

The wolf run towards the town, entering the Everfree Forest’s dark nooks. The hierophant stood for a moment, observing the spot, in which the creature and its riders were just a moment ago.

“Do now worry, witch,” he said quietly. “Our next meeting is only a matter of time.”




Bruuno left them near the end of the woods; the wolf did not want to leave its borders. He kept turning his head and whining, showing towards the forest’s end. The witch understood, Stained Banner did not. The timberwolf disappeared between the tree’s darkness, just as fast, as he appeared earlier.

Chromia had no intention of wasting time and started to trot. Young Banner complained about the march at first, but quietened after a moment, when he realised the witch pays him no heed.

He felt safer, now that she was with him. The grisly twisted trees lost some of their fiendish appearance. The darkness no longer resembled hell’s abyss. The branches above him, hiding the sky, were no longer the lid of a coffin.

They passed more and more bushes, until the witch stopped suddenly. Stained Banner was too busy trying not to get scratched by the sharp shrubs, to notice that; he bumped into Chromia and tripped over, surprised.

“Why’d you stop?” he asked reproachfully, standing up and brushing himself off.

“Quiet,” Chromia said, cocking an ear.

Then she started to move again, in a different direction. Banner felt besotted. He looked at the zebra, and then behind, from where they came from.

“Hey… hey!” he shouted, running after the witch. “You said we were supposed to go straight. Where are you going?”

“Come with me and you’ll find out.”

Banner hesitated for a moment. “Oh, no. I have enough of this place. I’m going back to town, with or without you!”

Chromia stopped and looked back. “Good luck then,” she said, and trotted on.

Stained turned around with the intention of leaving the witch, but unfortunately he looked up, at the tree branches. There he saw a giant spiderweb, along with squirrels and birds wrapped in it. Banner gulped. He shook his head, trying to throw out that image from his mind, when something fell on his head.

“What the—” He looked at the object, which was a small skull of some creature.

With fear, he raised his head. His face twisted in a horrified grimace, his skin turned white, and his eyes nearly jumped out of their sockets. The young noble screamed loudly and run after the witch.

On the tree, a dog-sized spider watched it all with its watery eyes, not knowing what to think about the pony’s behaviour.




Stained caught up with Chromia, as she was standing like a tailor’s dummy and gazing at something.

“All right… I can wait a moment for you…” he said, catching his breath.

“Stay here,” the witch ordered, pulling out her sword.

“Why?” Banner asked with worry, and directed his eyes at the direction Chromia was looking.

And felt silent.

Between the trees, like a harbinger of doom, a manticore was raging. The giant creature with a lion’s body, bat wings and scorpion’s tail jumped and roared furiously. Its great claws sliced at the ground, at which some shadow was running. Banner could not see it, but he knew the beast was trying to catch it.

A lightning bolt hit the manticore in the head, throwing it off balance and forcing to back away. Stained hid himself behind a large tree and observed the spectacle with eyes wide opened.

Chromia heard the sounds of fighting and casting spells from afar. They awoke her interest and also worried. But what she saw outgrow all her expectations.

The manticore lashed out with her claws at a mare, who was wielding a sword, almost identical to the one belonging to Chromia. The mare had a long, black mane and was wearing a chainmail, covered with a black, leather jacket. Two belts were attached to the jacket, holding a bag and multi-coloured vials.

The mare dodged the beast’s attack with a nimble spin and sliced it in the snout. The manticore roared painfully and tried to shiv the mare with its tail, but then lighting struck.

Chromia looked up and saw a pegasus stallion, whose hooves were glistering and smoking lightly. The pegasus was wearing a black robe with golden runes wrought on it. A silver breastplate was protecting his torso.

A witch and a wizard, Chromia thought. And I thought that five-legged pony was the strangest thing I ever saw.

She did not have time to stand in reverie. She had to help the other witch.

She started to gallop towards the manticore, hitting it with an Aard Word to draw it’s attention. The irritated monster leaped up upon the zebra as soon as he noticed her. Chromia rolled on the ground under the manticore’s claws, and cut its hind legs with her sword.

The other witch and the pegasus were slightly shocked, seeing a new ally appear, but quickly resumed fighting. The stallion casted another lightning bolt, which hit the beast in the head. The chimera wailed, pressing on of its claw to its skull.

The other witch used the opportunity and jumped onto the manticore. When the beast noticed that, it started to fling around, trying to get rid of the unwanted passenger. The witch drove her sword into the manticore’s back, to be able to hold on to it.

This only maddened the chimera even more; it went truly berserk. Chromia was forced to run away a bit, not to be crushed. The pegasus tried to hit the manticore with another spell, but kept on missing.

“Catch it with a Yrden!” he shouted to Chromia.

The zebra eyed the havoc-spreading beast. “Catch it with a Yrden yourself!” she shouted back.

“For buck’s sake, one of you use Axii!”

The black-maned mare took the wizard’s advice to the heart and shouted the Word. The manticore calmed down. Just when the witch thought she had won, the beast started to swing her tail, trying to throw her off. Chromia run to aid her.

She closed the distance and said the Yrden Word, while simultaneously drawing a symbol on the ground. When the trap was ready, she hit the manticore with an Aard.

“Here, kitty, kitty,” she snarled, performing elegant whirlwinds with her sword.

The manticore roared and advanced towards the slowly retreating witch. The beast was just about to leap on Chromia, when she entered her trap and came to a halt, paralyzed by the Word’s force. The other witch did not waste the opportunity; she pulled out her blade from the manticore’s back and drove it through its head. The chimera roared one last time and felt to the ground.

The black-maned witch jumped off the dead monster with a graceful cartwheel. She brushed away the hair from her face and sighed. The mare’s coat was dark blue and she had yellow eyes; one of them was adorned with a X-shaped scar.

Soon the pegasus flied down and landed near the witch. He had a state-blue coat and black-red mane. One of his eyes was pink, and the other was blind, covered with cataract.

“That was plain stupid,” he said to the black witch.

“Ha! That was a great fight!” she answered happily. “The manticore is dead, we’ll get the reward and we get to take some of its venom as well. And,” she faced Chromia, “we have a new ally. Hello, sister.”

Chromia approached the other mare and smiled slightly. “Hello,” she said. “It’s been a long time since I saw another witch”.

“May my eyes be dammed, if I ever saw one at all. I’m Erynia,” she introduced herself, offering her hoof.

“Chromia,” the other mare answered, shaking firmly Erynia’s hoof.

“Nice meeting you, Chromia,” said the pegasus, slicking his mane back. “It’s good to know there are some witches, who know how to listen. Ah, but where are my manners… I’m Aloe.”

Erynia rolled her eyes over and muttered something under her breath, toying with her phoenix-shaped amulet. Chromia came from the dragon’s school and never meet a witch from beyond it.

Aloe approached the manticore’s corpse and started to incide the stinger.

“Thanks for the help,” said Erynia, cleaning her blade with some leaves. “We could have managed on our own, of course, but this way it was much faster. Damn beast. We’ve been hunting it since yesterday!”

“You’re in the Everfree since yesterday?” repeated Chromia, surprised. “Me too. But I haven’t heard you before.”

“Yup… we were kinda wandering around, searching for that carcass. But… you were here as well? A job, or are you looking for ingredients?”

“Both, actually.”

A panicked scream hit their ears. The witches turned towards its source. Chromia knew, who was responsible for it. Stained Banner was running towards the witches, as if his life depended on it. He tripped over a root and tumbled right in front of their hooves.

Erynia looked at him, with a light, scornful smirk. Chromia, on the other hoof, shifted her gaze towards the spot, from which the noble came. Her medallion started to vibrate, just like Erynia’s; the second witch stopped smiling at Banner’s attempts to get up. From the forest’s blackness, red eyes started to arise.

The mares drew their swords.

“You gonna help us, Aloe?” Erynia shouted.

“Sorry, but I’m really busy at the moment,” the mage replied, still extracting the manticore’s venom.

Stained withdraw towards Aloe, but when he saw, what the pegasus was doing, he nearly vomited.

The witches took positions, facing the arboreal wolves. The beasts snarled and growled, encircling Chromia and Erynia. Chromia kept a calm, adamant expression, while Erynia smiled lightly.

“I have a plan—I’ll kill that one, you handle the rest,” the phoenix witch said, pointing firstly to a single wolf, and then to the whole group.

“More fun for me,” Chromia replied, preparing to strike the first of the attacking beasts.




“That’s three bottles of manticore poison, three brain tissues…” Aloe counted, while tending to Erynia’s wounds. “Two vials of the ghoul’s venom… Stay still!”

Erynia hissed through clenched teeth, when the mage disinfected the cuts on her back with alcohol.

Chromia got out of the fight unharmed, but one of the wolves managed to cut Erynia’s back with its claws. The fight lasted for a few moments, Aloe successfully extracted the manticore’s venom, and Stained Banner managed not to faint. All in all, the witches turned out beneficial by the struggle.

“We can give you one bottle of venom,” Aloe offered.

“No thanks,” Chromia answered.

The stallion finished patching up his companion. Erynia got up and stretched, paying no heed to Banner looking at her. She pulled out and apple from her bag.

“So,” she took a bite, “now, that we all have, what we came for, maybe we can return together to the town? It’s always safer to travel with company.”

“True,” Chromia agreed. “That’s a good idea. Especially, since there was a manticore running around here. There might be more of them. Not to mention those wolves.”

“We should read the town before the night falls,” Aloe calculated, looking at the sun. “If we move right away… and nothing attacks us… Yes, we should be within the town walls before sundown.”

“Praise the gods!” Stained Banner said with relief.

“I was saying that hypothetically, assuming we don’t run into another group of arboreal wolves, ghouls, a manticore, or Foxes.”

Stained winced and cringed upon hearing that last word. Erynia was finishing her apple, and Aloe was almost done packing the ingredients. Chromia felt a strange urge to return to town and odd happiness connected with it. She was not sure, what was the cause of those feelings. The five hundred bits of reward? Or maybe… Veks?

The witch looked at Stained Banner, who was observing a hawk circling above the woods, at Aloe, focused and ready to go, and at Erynia throwing away the apple’s core.

Yes. Definitely Veks.




They reached the gates before dusk. When they left the forest’s border and saw the town walls from afar, Stained almost started to bounce in place from happiness. He was smiling widely and seem to regain his lost strength.

Chromia was also quite pleased. She had done the job and met a new witch. And she was about to see Veks again. Since the night predating her expedition to Everfree, the tobacco dealer invaded her thoughts quite commonly. Sometimes she simply thought of him. Sometimes she wondered, if she was even allowed to do something like that. Sometimes she considered the possible consequences of this kind of…

She did not want to admit it, but she could not deny it either.

…relationship.

She shook her head, not wanting to dwell on those thoughts right now.

Two guards, clad in chainmails and covered with tunics with the country’s heraldry signs, stood by the gates. They were leaning on their halberds; one was sleeping, a trickle of saliva dripping on his hoof. The other was gazing forward, with a look undisturbed by a thought, and almost failed to notice the passing witches, mage and young noble. Aloe shot the piteous soldiers a glance full of pity.

The town welcomed them with the usual: tumult, rush and ignorance almost hit each of the four travellers in the face. Every pony, no matter his gender or state, was in a hurry. The carts rode through the streets, not crashing with each other by means known only to them. The beggars tried to cadge a few bits everywhere they could (and everywhere they could they were also met with a slap in the face), and the harlots exposed their bodies to catch a potential victim.

Stained Banner took a deep breath, eyeing the hustle and bustle with a smile. Chromia, on the other hoof, wanted to hide in the nearest back alley. Erynia observed everything with boredom, while only a miracle was stopping Aloe from spitting and flying away.

“So…” the stallion muttered. “I guess this is where we part?”

“So it seems,” Chromia nodded. “Are you staying in the town?”

“Only till tomorrow. They we’re going to Fillydelphia, and then to Manehattan. A long way, and dangerous as well.”

“You’re leaving tomorrow?”

“With the first light of dawn.”

The witch started to wonder, observing a black cat nearby. She could have sworn she saw it somewhere before. The cat hissed at her, and dived into an alley.

“I came here only to find him,” she said, pointing at Stained Banner, who did not seem to be paying attention to their conversation. “The job’s done, so there’s nothing holding me here anymore.”

“Maybe you want to travel with us?” Erynia asked curiously.

“Good idea,” Aloe added. “If we run out of jobs to do, we can always start a circus.”

“This whole town is one big circus,” the witch muttered.

“Ha! I won’t disagree with that.”

Banner’s coughing intruded the rest of the conversation. Aloe and Erynia though the young noble was choking, but Chromia knew, what was going on. And it was even a little funny for her. Like Stained could not simply leave without her.

“In the meantime, farewell,” she said to the other witch and mage. “I hope we’ll meet again.”

Stained Banner also said his goodbye and left after Chromia.

“So what do we do now?” Erynia asked, scratching behind her ear.

“We have to find him. It’s almost nightfall, and I don’t want to wake up half of the citizens. Besides, it will be harder to find him at night.” Aloe thought for a long moment. “What do you think of traveling with her?”

“It would be splendid. Only—”

“Yes. Exactly.”




“Father!”

“Stained?”

Chromia entered the Banner’s residence with pride and satisfaction from a work well done. Stained returned safe and sound, and in less that twenty-four hours since she agreed to find him.

“You little… where have you been?! Your mother and I were dead worried!” Rent did not seem the loving and forgiving type of parent. “I’m gonna put an end to those whorish escapades of yours, you’ll see! From now on, you’ll do everything I tell you! And you can forget about the Underwall and your whores!”

The witch decided to act, before Rent Banner could really get “in the zone”.

“The job’s done. I want my bits.”

The old noble shot her an angry glance. His face turned red, he clenched his teeth, and veins appeared on his forehead. Rent muttered something under his breath and pulled out a bulgy pouch from his desk’s drawer. He tossed it to the witch and sent her a stern look.

“Here’s your money. We’re even. Thank you for your services.”

“Farewell, Banneret. And goodbye, Stained.”

The witch turned around and left the room. But she was still able to hear the next part of old Banner’s lecture.

“Where’s our family’s coat of arms?”

“I… don’t know… I must’ve lost it in the forest, when I was running from—”

“I don’t want to hear your excuses! You’re nothing, do you hear?! A bite in the ass, a leech, a failure! The only thing you do is wasting my money! You’re a disgrace to our family, filth! I regret the day you were born!”

Chromia took a deep breath and returned.

“I believe this,” she said, pulling out the brooch she found in the Everfree and tossing it to Rent Banner, “belongs to you, sir. Farewell, Stained. I wish you all the best.”




Darkness felt upon the streets, as the sun ended its journey and hid behind the horizon. Most of the townsfolk was already in their houses; only a few still wondered outside, ending their daily businesses. A couple of ponies walked down the main street, lighting up the lanterns. Somewhere outside of the city a wolf howled.

Chromia got off the main street, turning into the back alleys. She would reach Veks’es shop faster this way. The bulgy pouch hanged pleasantly at her side, while her thoughts were occupied by disdain for Rent Banner. She was expecting that things would end in such a way, but it disgusted her all the same.

It’s not my problem, she convinced herself, chasing away those thoughts and continuing her walk to the tobacco shop.

Something was amiss. The shop’s door was ajar—something, as Chromia knew, the creamy-coloured unicorn hated. She frowned and checked, if her blade slides out of its scabbard. She had a bad feeling about this.

The witch sneaked up to the very door and managed to catch the sounds of a conversation from afar.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” came Veks’ voice. “You’re mistaking me for someone else. And now, if you don’t want to buy anything, get out of my shop.”

“We didn’t come here to shop,” a stallion said. His voice seemed familiar. “We came here on behalf of someone. Someone, to whose business you are an obstacle.”

“Me?! What do you mean? No one runs another tobacco shop here, and even if he does, he’s probably got more clients than me anyway!”

“You whole life revolves around tobacco. But don’t worry… it will end soon.”

Chromia did not wait a second longer. She kicked the door open… and stopped in shock.

Erynia, with her sword out, was standing next to Veks. Aloe, with his forehooves behind his head, was leaning against the wall. They all turned their heads towards Chromia. Veks breathed a sigh of relief, while the mage and witch opened their mouths in awe.

“Chromia?” Erynia bewildered.

Aloe eyed the zebra with a questioning look and frowned. “End this, Erynia!”

It was a signal for both of the witches. They brandished their swords in the same second, fast like the blink of an eye. Chromia simultaneously took the first step towards the black-maned witch. Erynia swung her sword.

Chromia’s heart started to beat faster, thumping in her chest, tolling like a bell. For the first time in a long while, she felt terror grasping her. Thousands of eels wriggled in her entrails, desperately trying to get out.

Erynia’s blade sliced through the air, nearing Veks’es throat. The salesman’s eyes went wide, he looked at the witch. His heart measured the time, its beats becoming the clock of his last moments.

First beat.

The sword enters the body and cuts it, as if a knife cuts through hot butter.

Second beat.

Drops of blood fall to onto the counter and the ground. They drip from the stallion’s slashed throat on his shirt. Chromia screams. Time becomes relative for Veks, becomes irrelevant. His whole life, thirty-four years, flashes before him in a mere second.

Third beat.

The stallion sways. He loses balance, starts to fall. He thinks about what happened on that warm, June night. He thinks about Chromia. About the bridge leading to Old Baltimore, how she saved his life there. About her every visit. About the night they have spent together, what they did and said. He thinks about her.

And regrets nothing.

Veks falls heavily to the ground, blood flowing from his cut throat, which he grabs in a last, desperate act.

Chromia, fuelled by cold hatred, despair and pain, wanted to charge at Erynia. Disembowel her, cut her head off. But Aloe did not let her. He hit the witch with a magic missile; Chromia was thrown away and hit the wall.

“Dammit! Hold her off, while I open the portal!” the wizard shouted, sending a fireball at the tobacco-filled shelves.

“Done,” the phoenix witch nodded. “Oh, Chromia…”

The mentioned witch stood up and shot her opponent a look of hatred and grudge. She gritted her teeth so hard they started to hurt, just like the hooves in which she was holding her weapon.

She charged at her opponent; their swords clashed in a deadly dance. The blades sang their songs, slicing through air and colliding with each other. The melody filled the fighters ears. Chromia was not listening to it. The only things that filled her ears, eyes, nostrils and soul were fury, anger and pain.

She spun around, aiming for Erynia’s legs. The other witch jumped and cut from above. Chromia blocked the strike and kicked her opponent. Erynia did not seemed to be bothered by that and thrust with her sword. Chromia dodged the attack easily and prepared to counter. Erynia pirouetted and parried.

Then they both swiped their swords and locked them in a clash.

“Calm down, Chromia!”

“Shut up!” the zebra shouted and kicked Erynia in the abdomen.

Fire started to consume the room and spread to others. The tobacco smoke clouded the air, vexing Aloe’s unaccustomed to smoking nostrils.

“Dammit…” the mage cursed under his breath.

The dance of the witches continued. Steel flashed in the air, wielded by two mares, who have mastered the art of fighting. And both knew about it. Yet Chromia was thinking only about the other witch’s death. And that gave her the upper hoof.

Erynia made a mistake in her counter and Chromia cut her in the side. The black-maned mare hissed from pain and took a few steps back.

“I don’t want to do this, but you’re starting to leave me no choice.”

Chromia had no intentions of listening to Erynia’s warning and prepared for another attack. But then she saw what her opponent was planning and stopped. Both witches shouted the Aard Word at the same moment, starting a real storm. The collision of spells shook the whole room, dispersing all of the smoke. Aloe cursed loudly, but continued performing his incantations. The witches were still struggling and neither of them wanted to back down.

And this time Chromia’s stubbornness turned against her.

Erynia let go of her spell, making a pirouette. She got out of the way of the force strike, which blow out one of the walls. She immediately said another Word and send Chromia flying back.

A red oval appeared on one of the other walls, showing a mysterious chamber, lit by candles, on its other side.

“Erynia!”

The black-maned witch lowered her sword, but did not pass the portal.

“I’m sorry, Chromia. It’s nothing personal, you just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.” She looked at Veks’ body. “And took liking in the wrong person. Goodbye… sister.” She turned around and jumped into the portal.

Aloe looked at Chromia and sighed. “Sorry,” he said, before entering the magical gate.

Chromia grasped her sword with fury and throw it at the stallion. Only a few centimetres separated the mage from getting the blade impaled in his skull, but the portal closed before that happened. Erynia and Aloe were gone, after killing Veks and burning his shop down.

Veks.

She run up to her friend as fast as she could, but it was already too late. The stallion’s heart stopped beating, stopped counting time. He was lying, calm and still. Chromia fell to her knees beside him, deluding herself, that maybe… she didn’t even know, what exactly.

Dammit, Chromia, I’ve missed you!

The witch took his head in her hooves, closed her eyes and mouth.

He was happy, she thought. When I came to him on that day… that night… Now, when he saw me, he believed I’d save him… He gave me warmth, food, shelter… love… And I failed him… 

“I failed you, Veks,” she stuttered. A tear run down her cheek. “Forgive me…”

The patter of shoed hooves pulled her out of her despair. She raised her head. Four guards, armed with crossbows, run into the shop. When they saw the dead stallion and the witch holding him, they aimed their weapons at her.

Chromia gave the soldiers an angry look. They backed up a little, but did not lower their weapons.

“Whoresons,” she snarled, rising her hooves.




The worst thing was the sound of dripping water.

She could bear the coldness of the stone floor, the absence of light in the dark cell. She could bear the whistling and absence offers, threats and promises of the other prisoners. The prison was full stallions, obnoxious, dirty and stinking with urine and sweat. The cold walls were enough to give one rheumatism or kidney failure, and the beds were nothing more than small stacks of straw lying in the corner of each cell. She could bear it all.

But the worst thing was the sound of dripping water.

Chromia was kneeling, with her back turned to the cell’s door, absorbed in meditation. She did not give in to despair; the time for that would come later. She was a reasonable mare and she knew it. Now was the time for vengeance and that was her priority in the nearest time. First, she wanted to catch and kill both the witch and mage that took away Veks’ life. Later came the matter of asking “why?”. Why does a witch work with a spellcaster? Why did she kill Veks?  Witches do not kill others for money. Never. Why was Erynia different?

“Come to papa, honey, I’ll please ya really good!”
“I bet you’d look lovely with a part of me in your mouth! Ha ha ha!”
“C’mon, give me a bite… Just a small one!”

The zebra ignored the other prisoners with stoic calm. During the years, she managed to develop an immunity to all kinds of mockery—devilish mare, stripy whore, vixen or filthy spawn no longer affected her. She had heard them too often and from meaningless ponies. And the shouts of some horny savages concerned her just as much as last year’s snow.

The clik-clak of hooves, coming from the stairs leading to the cells, caught her interest. The heavy, wooden door opened with a crack. Someone entered and started to walk slowly, as if looking for something. The witch suspected, what it was.

”Chromia?”

”I’m here, Stained.”

The young noble stopped and returned to her cell. A cloak was covering his whole body, with a hood tossed over his head. The visit truly surprised Chromia. ”Stained, what are you—”

She was interrupted by the sound of the lock being opened.

“We have to get you out of here. There’s no time to loose!”

“What?!”
“She’s being set free?”
“I want to go as well!”
“Me too!”

The witch looked at the young stallion with eyes wide open. “Stained, what are you doing?”

“Returning the debt for saving my life. They want to hang you, tomorrow! Here, your cloak and sword.”

Only now did Chromia notice the long wrapped bundle Stained was holding. The noble gave her a long, black coat, similar to the one he was wearing.

“I have some money in my bag. I’m sorry, but I wasn’t able to take the rest of your belongings.”

She pulled up his hood and looked him in the eyes. “Thank you.”

“There’s no time!”




A cobblestone road ran near the city, turning into a dirt track after a short while. Not many carts passed this way; it was almost the country’s border, after all. The only place worthy of interest was the Everfree Forest, which attracted only geologists and overconfident hunters, who usually ended up eaten in the woods.

Near the end of the paved road stood a road sign, pointing in three directions. An owl sat on it. The neighbourhood was peaceful and quiet, no one was present, nothing was happening. The owl turned her head, hooted.

“Shit!”

The owl flew away.

Chromia stopped to check on Banner. The young noble tripped over a cobblestone and landed face-front on the ground. The witch approached him and help him get back up.

“You need to watch where you stand more,” she said. “You alright?”

“Yes.” He shook his head. “Look, where here.” Stained pointed towards the sign, on which the owl was sitting just a moment ago.

The road forked in two directions. One way lead south, through the forest and canyon, outside the country’s border. The other went up north, to Canterlot Mountain, deep into the country. Both the pony and zebra knew, where they wanted to go.

“You’re going to Dodge City?” the witch asked.

“Yep,” Stained replied, looking towards the forest path. “I have enough of this place. I’ll start a new life, in another city, another country. Who knows, maybe I’ll get lucky? And you’re going north, right?”

“I need to get to Fillydelphia, and from there to Manehattan. I have some loose ends to tie up.”

“Understood.”

They stood in silence for a moment, postponing their parting. Stained looked at Canterlot Mountain, and at the city there, looked under a magic dome. He heard many legends and rumours about what was in there now and what was before the war. When he was younger, he sometimes dreamed he will pass the barrier one day and gain glory. Now it was just a childish dream, but Canterlot stood beautiful and mysterious all the same.

Chromia was not looking there. The city under the bubble reminded her of Veks’ monologues about pre-war times. About good and honourable ponies. Welfare and happiness. Chromia was wondering from where did Veks get all that hogwash. And why he believed in it. Yet now… now she would give everything to hear him tell that to her in person.

The zebra sighed heavily. “Goodbye, Stained Banner,” she said, patting the young noble in the back. “You’re a good pony. I wish you all the best in your new life.”

“Thank you for getting me out of the forest, wit-Chromia. And I also wish you all the best, in whatever you are planning to do.”

They shared a friendly hug, after which Stained Banner started to trot briskly towards his destination, leaving his former life behind. It impressed Chromia. She was now standing alone near the road sign. An owl flew out of nowhere and sat on it. The bird looked askance at Chromia; the witch’es gaze was fixed on the town, pain filling her eyes.

“I hate this place,” she said, maybe to herself, maybe to the owl. “You have no idea, how I bucking hate it.”

The witch started to march north, leaving the owl on its own. The bird observed her for a while, and then left, leaving the road sign empty and alone.

The sign pointed towards Dogde City, where Stained Banner went, New Baltimare, where Chromia was heading, and a third town, from which they both run away.

Ponyville.
> Chapter III: Of Parochialism, Hipocrisy and Lasciviousness
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


“Laguuna—a demon most foul and dangerous. An intruder from another plane it is, whom arrived as a result of an opened tear between our reality and Astrum. The creature is uncommonly fast and strong, able to use Dark Magic to affect the mind of its victim.  The laguuna’s weakness is light of every kind, even coming from an unnatural source.”
—The Witches Bestiary





Chapter III: Of Parochialism, Hipocrisy and Lasciviousness


Dark clouds blanketed the sky. The night was extraordinary dark, and to make matters worse, it kept on raining. Although “raining” might have been an understatement—it was a true cloudburst.

Chromia pushed forward. There was no place nearby in which she could hide from the rain. No trees or even bushes. Only empty fields and meadows. The one thing that gave her some protections from the rain was her black coat, soaked and heavy. She couldn’t even light up her pipe.

Every now and then she muttered under her breath, cursing the weather and the things that ruled over the laws of this world.

After a few more minutes of getting soaked, combined with the occasional marching forward, she came across something—for the lack of a better word—strange. A cart. A small one, probably mercantile. Inside, under a large sheet, she found barrels.

She neared it and took a closer look. One of the wheels, broken. So that was the reason for the stop. But why was there no one nearby? A merchant would just leave his goods like that? It seemed suspicious, but Chromia excluded a bandit’s ambush. A monster, perchance? Yet there were no signs of any in the area, and the cart also seemed practically untouched.

No. Someone must have left it here.

She did not pay much mind to it. And she didn’t want to stop for too long as well. Not in this weather.

The witch did not wander too far away from the cart, when she saw a stone bridge. Her eyes allowed her to do such miracles, even in a night dark as the devil’s soul. But as she approached it, she found something to be amiss. Her amulet vibrated strongly, heralding danger or magic. She thought of the former to be more likely.

She reached for her sword, hanging at her side, and slid it out of its scabbard. She peeked under the bridge with the corner of her eye. A canyon, few metres long, but empty, unless one counted a few puddles.

It was hard for her to hear anything in the rain’s constant swooshing. She couldn’t her anything except it, to be honest. Chromia made a first, careful step onto the bridge, and then another one, and another one. Her medallion kept trembling, making her more and more anxious.

Something behind her shouted hellishly.

She instantly turned around, rising her sword, and jumped back. That was a huge mistake. Her hooves found no support, as they should have. She felt down like a stone thrown into a lake.

“Shit!”

She though the fall will be painful and might result in a broken spine, ribs or neck. And painful it was, true. She hit something hard, but fragile. It bruised and wounded her, but at the same time cushioned the fall.

Chromia hissed and tried to stand up.

“What the… branches?” she asked herself. The witch got up, rubbed her eyes and looked around. “Oh. Bones.”

The whole canyon was filled with whitened remains of travellers, who, just like the witch, got tricked by the illusion. The skulls observed Chromia with empty eye sockets, their jaws twisted in a macabre parody of a smile. The bony hooves stood out from that horror, as if wanting to catch her and pull under, to add the witch into the dreadful image.

Chromia was lying on her back. She looked around, searching for her sword, which she was holding a moment before in her hooves. She found it quickly, and grimaced. The blade was impaled in the ground, just a few centimetres from her crotch.

“Oh no, you wouldn’t do that to me.”

She got up and stretched, and then lifted her sword. The ribs of some poor pony torn her cloak and injured her flank. Chromia cursed under her breath and took another look around. This time she managed to hear something more, than just the rains clamour. Someone or something was groaning not far from her.

She began searching for the source of these sounds, and found it quickly. A green earth pony mare, with a black and white mane, was lying in the bones, moaning painfully. She was wearing a heavy-looking armour, albeit not a plate one. When Chromia approached her, she looked at the witch.

“Foe or ally?” she asked weakly.

“Ally,” Chromia answered immediately. “What happened to you?”

“I’m guessing the same thing, that happened to you. Au!” she cried and grimaced, and then cursed nastily. “Damn, that hurts.”

The witch didn’t hesitate and crouched next to the mare to inspect her injuries. Aside from a few scrapes and bruises, her leg was twisted at an unnatural angle, probably broken.

“Hm,” Chromia muttered. “Looks bad… Is that your cart up there on the road?” she asked.

“Not exactly. I was part of its escort,” the green mare seethed through clenched teeth. “The wheel broke, and I went with one of my companions to the village nearby to get help. But when we stepped on the bridge… it disappeared.”

“Getting you out of here won’t be easy.”

Chromia’s amulet started to vibrate again. She grabbed the hilt of her sword, held her breath and waited.

The phantom attacked out of nowhere. It appeared in a purple mist and fell on Chromia like an angel of death. The witch jumped aside and cut with her weapon, but the ghost vanished.

“Behind you!” the armour-clad mare shouted.

Only thanks to her warning Chromia managed to block the powerful strike of a sword. She backed up, but did not counterattack. Instead she took a look at her opponent.

The phantom was big. Very big, the size of a well-built earth pony stallion. But this impression was a little broken by the fact that the whole lower part of its body was missing. The marks in his midsection indicated that it had been most likely bit off. The spine was standing out from the phantom’s “body”, twisting like a snake. The beast lacked lips; they seemed to have been torn away. And of course the ghost did not have any eyeballs, only empty sockets, filled with purple-burning fires. The phantom emitted a terrible, purple aura, colder even than the chilly rain.

It bellowed beastily and span around a couple of times. The lying mercenary whitened and her eyes became as big as saucers.

The rain continued, heavy drops of water knocked on the skulls and bones. The witch took down her cloak. After a few seconds, she also brushed her wet mane aside.

The ghost attacked again, striking with a great broadsword, which he held in one hoof. Chromia jumped back and met the canyon’s wall. She rebound from it, swinging her blade in a vertical strike. The phantom blocked the attack with ease, but seemed to take its time with a riposte.

The witch cursed under her breath, cursing the lack of space for dodges and pirouettes.

The phantom raised and tilted its head back. The green mare observed that with puzzlement, Chromia—with worry. Before the beast managed to scream, Chromia said the Word and crossed her hooves on her chest, making the Heliotrope Sign.

The phantom shrieked piercingly and loud. The heavy-armoured mare held her head, which was pierced by a sudden pain, compared to having hundreds of needles impaled to your brain and poured with vinegar. The witch's Sign protected her from the shock wave, but its force pushed her back a few metres. Chromia head also pulsed with pain; she clenched her teeth so strongly that she was afraid they would crack.

But the Sign saved her. Despite the headache, she could continue fighting.

The wagon’s guard mare decided to act. Wounded she may be, but that did not relieve her from the duty of fighting—or at least so she thought. She started to look around for a corpse in an armour similar to hers. She knew her companion carried a crossbow with her..

She got up, trying to find support in the bones lying around her. She expected the search to be quick; there were olny skeletons around, a steel armour should stand out from between them quite clearly.

The mare looked at the witch fighting the ghost. Chromia parried the phantom’s strikes, intensely focused, but with grace and fluency that the armoured mare could only dream of. She cursed under her breath and crawled a few metres forward. She still couldn’t find the crossbow. Or maybe the weapon was carried by one of the mercenaries, who were left by the cart?

She leaned against a stone, rising above the sheet of bones. She looked at the fighters again. Chromia shouted the Igni Word and set the phantom on fire. It shrieked horribly, but was far from dying once and for all.

The green mare nodded with respect and returned to her search, She cursed again; the task of finding her armour-clad friend in the sea of bones was beyond her skills.

“Saphire, you harlot,” she snarled. “You won’t hide from me… The crossbow and bits will be mine!”

Chromia avoided a vertical blow. The phantom’s sword impaled in the ground. The witch used the opportunity and cut the ghost’s hoof with her silver blade. The ghost roared painfully and backed up; its sword and part of its hoof vanished into thin air. Yet the phantom was still a threat. The likes of him are fierce and tough. And stubborn—when they make something their target, that something is good as dead. Luckily those beasts rarely wander  this world.

Chromia breathed heavily, standing in a fighting stance and eyeing her opponent. The ghost pierced her with its demon-like eyes, as if gazing to her very soul. The witch shivered. She hated fighting with phantoms, they always filled her with that strange anxiety...

The monster tackled Chromia with “bare hooves”. She had nowhere to jump away, so she hit the phantom with the Aard Word. The spell did not knock it down, but it slowed him just enough to give the witch time to manoeuver. She couldn’t roll over because of the bones lying everywhere. So she tried to jump next to the ghost as it brushed off the effects of the Word sooner than she thought that it should have been able to. The phantom hit her with a hoof, strongly enough to send her flying and hitting the canyon’s wall. Chromia’s sword felt out of her grip on a pile of ribs, breaking them.

The phantom’s strike, along with hitting the wall, knocked the air out of Chromia’s lungs. She felt to the ground, desperately trying to catch her breath. Her sword was lying not far from her, if only she could reach it…

Meanwhile the mercenary started to crawl to the mud-covered body of her companion. A smile appeared on her face, when she saw the crossbow lying next to the mare’s corpse. And the bulgy pouch hanging from her belt.

The mercenary laughed, when she reached her. “Saaphire, you poor bitch.”

Bolts lied around between the bones. One of them was impaled in the dead mare’s body, at a spot that wasn’t protected by armour.

The green mare picked up the crossbow—its string was wet from rain, but luckily the weapon had a lever, so she did not have to draw the string by hoof. She leaned against a wall and aimed. She had to hurry; the monster was getting closer to Chromia.

The phantom hovered above Chromia like the shadow of death. The cold, emanating from it, run through her body, freezing her blood, bones, and even her very soul. Was she afraid? For her life? Was this the way death looked like?

She looked up, facing the monster. She could have sworn its lips-lacking mouth curled into a smile.

Something whirred for a second, something hit the canyon wall. The phantom’s snout blurred for a short moment. The ghost turned around, facing the direction from which the shot came. Chromia immediately jumped for her sword and cut the phantom in the head.

The monster howled beastly and disappeared in a flash of light. Purple sand felt slowly to the ground.

Chromia sighed heavily, leaned on her sword, shook her head and spat. She heard someone laughing loudly.

“That was a splendid victory,” the mercenary said, clapping her hooves. “I bow to your fighting skills, lady.”

“Thank you,” Chromia replied. “I owe you my life.”

“Sure,” the green mare snorted. “If that thing killed you, my chances of survival also would have changed a bit… Though I’m still not sure I even have any. This leg is driving me insane!”

The witch approached her, almost tripping over some bony hoof.

“You said something about a village nearby?” Chromia knelt next to the mare and started to check her condition.

“Yep, there’s some rathole not far from here. A total scrub! If a village wants to survive, it sells some bollocks, right? Crops, skins, mares… this one has nothing!”

Due to the mercenary’s heavy armour, the witch couldn’t tell if her leg was really broken or just twisted. Though she though the latter more likely. “How far?”

“Phew… Well, normally it would take us a few hours to get there… but we’re at the bottom of a canyon, and my leg is… indisposed. We should be able to get there by tomorrow morning.”

Chromia cursed the whole world in her thoughts and sighed heavily. “Can you walk?” she asked.

The mare tried to get up. Chromia neared her and supported, helping her stand, though it was a tiring job. The mare’s armour was quite heavy, and she herself also couldn’t be compared to a feather. For an earth pony mare, the mercenary was big, almost matching Chromia—a zebra—in size.

“Oh, but where are my manners?” The green mare would have hit herself in the head with her hoof if only she could do that at the moment. “My name is Au Revoir! My friends call me Nightingale. But… Au is shorter.”

“Chromia,” the witch breathed. “A pleasure.”

“Sure it is!” Au stomped her hoof, losing balance.

The witch tried to support her, but it didn’t end up to well for them. The mare swayed towards Chromia, who tripped over a bone. The witch landed between ribs and skulls, and Au landed on top of her.

“Ouh!” Nightingale sighed over the witch's ear. “Sorry…”

The zebra tried to get up, but ineffectively. She managed to do that on the second try, with Au’s help. The two mares started to walk. The mercenary was joking, cursing and couldn’t stop the flood of words coming from her mouth. And Chromia listened carefully, not interrupting.

None of them noticed that the rain had stopped.




Clouds blanketed the sky, keeping the warm sun rays from reaching and drying the two mares. Tired and hungry, they exited the canyon only at the break of a new day. They had to walk a few kilometres down the canyon to finally get out of it. Chromia felt weak from exhaustion, but did not show it. Au panted heavily; each new step was becoming more and more difficult for her.

“You said”, the witch breathed, “that this village is not far away.”

“From there—yes. But we had to made quite a detour. But I think I recognize the surroundings.” The other mare looked around. “Yep, we’re close.”

The mares walked pass a lonely linden tree, on which some woodpecker was busily cramming its bark, trying to reach his breakfast.

“I hope that village is still there,” Au said. “I wasn’t here for a couple of years, and this place is not far from Hollow Woods.”

“What does the forest have to do with it?”

“What do you mean ‘what’? Does the word ‘Fox’ ring any bells to you?”

“Yes, it’s a small, red predator, it kills the peasants chickens, gooses and—”

“Very funny. We’ll see how much will you laugh when we find only burned cinders. Or maybe not even cinders, but just arid ground!”

“What would the Foxes want from some peasants?”

“That’s the problem—they don’t need any motivation. They just attack a village, kill the stallions, rape and kill the mares, take what they can, burn the village to the ground and shout how they fight for the survival of their race and call the ponies racists. Hmph.”

The pair continued their walk towards the village, that supposedly was in the neighbourhood. During that Au shared her political, religious and social views with Chromia. They witch learned all of the mercenary’s opinions about the rulers, whores, priests and mimes. She also learned that Au’s family was having tax problems and that the mare can scare all the birds from a tree with just a burp.

After a few hours of marching, a settlement finally showed up on the horizon. Au spat vigorously upon seeing the first houses. She shook her head at the one-room buildings with thatched roofs.

As they got nearer, the mares saw the first of the townsfolk—peasants dressed in linen clothes, thatched hats and tacky headscarves. The stallions bustled about with rakes, mattocks, saws and axes, while the mares looked after the pigs, chickens and fillies. They all shared a tired face and vacant, vacuous eyes. The residents didn’t care for much outside of theirs work.

But the arrival of Chromia and Au made quite the commotion. The surprised peasants ran to them, to help limping Au and the witch that was holding her. Chromia felt truly surprised by such a reaction. She had expected being abused, having rocks and mud thrown at them. Au also did not hide her amazement.

“For all things saint!” One of the stallions grabbed his head. “You poor ladies look like something the cat dragged in!”

Both the mares eyes each other.

“But we can help you,” some chubby mare said, with a smile on her face. Au winced slightly; their benefactress lacked a few of her front teeth. “We’ll take care of you, give something to eat.”

“And will give you some warm milk!” another mare shouted. The witch and the mercenary looked in her direction. Au went pale; Chromia thanked the stars that she couldn’t, due to her mutations. The milk-offering pony with a grass-green mane and blue eyes was a dairy mare.

The witch looked around and scratched her head.

"What the fuck is going on here?" was the first that came to her mind.




Chromia was sitting on a simple chair, which looked like it had its best years behind it. The room was in no better shape. Walls eaten up by borers, a dirty hard earthen floor, windows full of holes and a stove lacking a few bricks. The rest of the furniture were also typical examples of poverty—the bedding was made of straw and looked as if it was going to fall apart any moment; the table looked as if putting anything on it would result in breaking it into splints. There was also a few shelves and a chest of drawers, both in the same poor condition as the rest of the furniture.

The owner of all this was Hoe, though everyone called him Old Hoe. He was the provost of this beautiful village known as the Reaches. Hoe certainly earned his nickname—he was a very old stallion, tired by life. His brown coat was dirty and covered in stains of unknown origin. Hoe’s mane was grey, but not perfectly white, like Chromia’s. His hazel eyes were misty, giving him the appearance of someone whose thoughts were far away from here.

He was wearing a liana shirt and woollen jacket with buttons. A green cap rested on his head, covering his ears and falling on his eyes; he kept straightening it all the time.

Behind him, at the other end of the table, stood three more ponies. One was a big earth pony with a dark-green coat and claret mane, wearing a brown, leather jacket. He eyed the witch with a steely look, but it didn’t bemuse her, since he looked at everything that way. His Cutie Mark was an axe.

Standing next to him was a skyblue earth pony mare, with a white mane and pink streaks. She was wearing a white dress, knees-long, though it was not of a highest caliber; the whole dress was stained and heavily patched up. The mare observed Chromia with inquiry and hope in her eyes. She had a goose-shaped Cutie Mark.

The last of the trio was a grizzled, young unicorn, with a grey-coloured coat and yellowish hair. One of his eyes was missing, and the other had a sickly green colour. He wore himself just like most of the townsfolk: a shabby lliana shirt and soft leather boots. His stare was something between the big stallion’s gaze and the mare’s look. A saw Cutie Mark was visible on his flank.

Excellent company, Chromia thought.

“Well? Say something, elder.“ The mare nudged the provost. He waved her off with a hoof and muttered something under his breath.

“Be silent, woman,” he croaked. “I’m aware of our guest. Yes. Yes…” Hoe muttered and felt silent for a short while. “I’m not even going to ask, because it’s clear that you are familiar with sword fighting, right, lady?”

The witch nodded.

“Good. Good… It’s a strange thing for me, but our times look the way they look and I can’t do anything about it. You and your companion… You could both greatly help us,” he said, streaching the word ‘greatly’.

“I’m a witch,” Chromia admitted.

“What do ya mean?” the unicorn asked tentatively.

“You cast foul spells?!” the mare asked with fear.

“On the broom you fly?!”

“To the Bold Mountain?!”

“And delude good-hearted stallion?” the unicorn and earth pony asked, hope in their voices. “Misguide them you do, and then—”

They didn’t finish; the big stallion was punched in the face by the mare, and the unicorn received a jab to his side. It took all Chromia’s willpower to stop herself from smiling.

“No,” she answered at last. “I fix problems that no one else can fix. So I’ll ask you point-blank: what bothers you?”

“Haemorrhoids,” answered the village leader without hesitation. An awkward silence filled the room for a long moment.

“Ehem,” the witch caught. “And beside that?”

“There be donkeys in the woods,” the stalwart earth pony grunted.

“And imps!” the mare shouted. “And hussies!”

“Ghosts,” the unicorn added. “And werewolves, and niches, and nymphs and…”

“And storms!”

“True!” the unicorn agreed. “Hard to get home when drunk.”

“And something scares the animals,” the mare wailed.

The big stallion hit the tabletop with his hoof. The witch was amazed the table didn’t break in half.

“And someone spoils our mares…”

Chromia waited to hear, what the provost will say. But he just sat, stubbornly silent, and when the mare poked him, he just waved his hoof. “But the worst things are the donkeys. And not once we’d seen strange lights in the forest. Heard howling and strange noises. The fillies are scared, as well as the animals... We’re all afraid to even poke our noses out from our homes at night.”

“Yes, that does sound like a job for a witch,” Chromia said, more to herself that anyone else. “All right. I’ll check those strange phenomenoms.”

The provost straightened his cap, which has fallen on his eyes.

“I know,” he started, “that the ones like you don’t help for nothing. Tell us what you want now, before it turns out we will have to pay the debt with our blood.”

Chromia started to think. Aloe and Erynia were both already there, where they wanted. She had no hope of catching them. And she needed food and rest, like everyone. She had no money and the last time she ate a decent meal was in Ponyville, four days ago.

“I want to rest, something to eat and something to drink. Some supplies for the rest of my journey would also be welcomed. And what about the mare I came here with?”

“What do you mean?”

“Will you help her?”

Old Hoe nodded. Chromia repeated the gesture. “I’ll take care of everything tomorrow. Right now I would like to rest.”

“The meeting’s over,” Old Hoe addressed the rest of the townsfolk. “You can get back to work.”

The mare and two stallions bowed deeply to Chromia and went out. The witch was now left only with the provost. She knew he was not looking at her with blind trust, but with wariness and inquiry. It was clear he not a local. He held an office, but he was not born in this place.

Hoe sighed heavily and took off his cap, showing what little hair he had left, and started to rub his forehead.

“I have to admit, the locals are quite kind,” the witch finally said.

“To Hell with them.” Old Hoe cringed. “Those damn fools would host their own death. I cannot phantom how they managed to survive before I… had to move here.”

“And you kindly decided to help them?” she mocked.

“No,” he replied coldly. “But I had to move in here anyway, and a little help might do the whole place some good.”

“Do you have any idea why are they so… helpful?”

“Because they’re idiots! This rathole has no contact with the outer world. There’s nothing here, nothing. No merchants, no soldiers. Only those damn donkeys made themselves a camp not far away.“ Hoe shook his head. “Those poor fools have no contact with the world. I try to help as much as I can.”

The witch nodded. “All right… Where can I find a place to rest?” she asked, rising.

A smile appeared on Hoe’s face, one she could not understand.

“Go and ask for Sweet Milk’s house.”




Au lied on a straw bed in a small, one-room house. Aside from the aforementioned bed, a table, cupboard, a few hairs and a stove the room was empty.

Au looked at her armour, lying in the corner nearby. She felt uneasy and nervous without it. Especially when the houselady was in her field of vision. She saw a lot in her life, and experienced just as much, but this mare ...

The door opened. A red mare entered, dressed in a white apron, which did not cover what it was supposed to. Au felt a wave of heat washing over her.

“You’re still not asleep?” the mare asked with a smile. “You should get some rest, miss. It will be good for your health and beauty.”

The mercenary faked a smile. The mare who was taking care of here was not ugly. Truth be told, it was hard to find another mare with a natural beauty as this one. The whole problem was its negligence. The greasy and unkept mane was the smallest of her problems. The most bothering thing for Au was the mare’s smell, for she smelt heavily like the livestock she undoubtly took care of. Most likely cows.

At least that was what Revoir hoped.

“Ahem,” she coughted. “Thanks for the help, bit I can handle myself. And I’m not used to being asleep in the middle of the day.”

“If you need anything, miss, just ask,” the other mare said, coming closer. “I’ll have some oatmeal ready in a moment, surely you are hungry, miss.”

Sweet Milk adjusted Au’s pillow. When she was so near, Au noticed that the mare’s smell was not so full of the farm as she though. Truth be told, it was rather pleasant. That was quite strange and didn’t make Au feel more comfortable even in the slightest. As Sweet Milk ended adjusting the pillow, she unceremouniously lifted the quilt, unveiling Au’s lower parts of the body. All the mercenary was wearing were simple underpants. She opened her eyes widely and only by a miracle stopped herself from hitting the plowing mare in the teeth. Au was no child, but she got red as a young adept looking upon a long and veiny thing for the first time.

“What the fuc-fugde are you doing?!” Au shouted.

The mare, surprised by Aloe’s sudden outburst, tried to get up from the bed, but tripped and landed on the floor. Sweet Milk’s apron curled and Aloe had a chance to glimpse at the thing nature had so generously gifted her with. Very generously.

“Please, miss, I just wanted to change the bandage on your ankle…” the terrified mare said, after covering her charms and trying to stand up. “I didn’t want to offend you, but to help, just like the elders ordered. Please, don’t be angry at me…”

Au, feeling a little confused, wanted to help the mere stand up. She got up from her bed and tried to stand on her legs, but overestimated her strength; when she stood on the hurt ankle, she lost balance and fell, landing right on top of Sweet Milk.

It felt like lying on a warm, soft pillow. Au’s hind legs encompassed Sweet Milk’s figurative parts, and their lips met, as if in a shy kiss. Au could feel the mare’s breath, which was quite nice, free of onions, cheese or rottened teeth. Still, there was something strange about it, something that made Au curious and terrified at the same time.

“Are you all right, miss? Can you get off me?” Sweet Milk asked hesitantly. Her face was red as a heated-up layer of steel.

Au stared into the mare’s eyes for a few moments, unable to move or even think. She also was hot as steel in a smith’s workshop. She was sweating intensively, her stomach started to ache.

She returned to her senses quickly, like a heatened bar put into a bucket of cold water, when the door opened and a short, chunky stallion with a round face walked in.

“Good day, miss,” he greeted her in a happy voice, just like Sweet Milk earlier. “How are—”

He stopped. Like a mosquito trapped in a sap drop. All signs of life left the stallion, his movements or any other reactions gone as if touched by a magic wand. One could say that time stopped. The only think still showing that the pony was alive were his cheeks, which were growing redder by the second.

But it was most apt to say that the stallion was simply petrified.

“Sweet Milk!” he shouted with a mix of bewilderment, confusion and fear.

“Rake!” Sweet Milk squirted, almost burning from shame.

“Shit,” Au muttered, terrified.

The stallion reddened a little more and quickly left, shutting the door. Au quickly got off the young mare, but it was already too late. Sweet Milk sat and started to cry. Loudly and miserably.

“Oh, the shame! What will the townsfolk think of me?!” Tears rained heavily off her eyes. “What will ponies say?!”

“Shit, shit, shit, shit…” The number of shits thrown by Au could easily fill the whole room.

“Listen,” she said finally, “this was just an accident, right? You tripped. I would never touch you in my life! We’ll just explain everything and it’ll all be good, okay? Come on, boobs— Chin! I mean, chin up! Och, sweet Creator…”

The mare continued on crying. “I know, miss… you have a kind look in your eyes… but what will the others say?” she wailed.

Au Revoire was a mare that could not stand tears. She never cried herself, and she couldn’t bear someone crying in her company. But this situation was far worse, since she couldn’t just hit the mare and tell her to calm down. The doors suddently opened again, just like last time—with a thwack. Au nearly jumped, as two burly mares rushed into the house; they were even bigger than the stallion, who left a few moments earlier.

And they were, plainly speaking, ugly, with nothing in their apperance that even the largerst desperate could find attracting. Square jaws, manes that were a crying shame, or the simply fat rumps could scare even the most hungry predators. Au felt a shiver run down her spine.

The first one had a greenish coat and dark-brown mane. A mole on her chin looked like she was in the process of growing a second head. The other mare was grayish and had black chair, shining from fat. They both looked at Au like she was a unusually large potato beetle.

One was holding a rope in her teeth, and the other one looked as if she about to lambaste Au with a club as thick as her leg.

“You perverted bitch! Gropin’ our sister, are ya?!” the one with the club yelled. “Ladle, get her!”

Sweet Milk wanted to say something, but the mare with the club pulled her away from Au. Ladle, still holding the rope, tackled the mercenary. Au tried to defend herself, but her hurt leg made that difficult. Ladle jumped on Au and pinned her down with her own, fattened body. She twisted the mercenary’s front legs backwards and started to tie them up.

Au tried to brake free, but to no avail. Ladle probably spend her free time wrestling bears in the local forest; after a few moments she managed to tie up her legs and threw her on the bed. Au’s loud curses didn’t bother her in the slightest.

The other sister, the grey one, catched Sweet Milk by the leg and dragged her out of the room, cursing and bawling her out with juicy ephitets. Au was an experienced mare. She visited all of the three Central Dutches capitals and their many inns. She was a guest in small bars and big taverns. Poor and rich. She visited hostels and roadside joints. Slept in brothels and bawdyhouses.

Never did she think she could learn so many curses from some ugly village bumpkin.

“Listen up, ya rheumy cow,” Ladle waved her hoof in a threatening way. “We take ya to our house and help, and this is how ya repay us? By getting your dirty hooves all over our sis? An right in front of her fiance! You’re lucky that leg of yours is hurt, or Small Spoon would’ve hit ya so hard ya teeth would fall out ya snout! We’re gonna leave ya here, tied up, till dusk. Maybe then you’ll think twice about gropin’ other mares!”

She spat on the floor and left. Au felt anger growing in her. She started to gnash her teeth, her eyeblow twitched, and her hooves trembled. She was furious that some peasant managed to tie her up. She was mad because of the hurt ankle and cursed every insular settlement.

They’re gonna regret it, she thought. No one ties up Nightingale. No one!

Au started to wriggle on the bed, trying to brake free. Luckily for her, Ladle made a really sloppy job of her knots.




The morning sunrays shone through the tree branches, paiting fanciful patterns on the forest cover. The leaves rustled, bestired by the light, refreshing wind, and the air was alive with the many chirrups and tweets of singing birds. A woodepecker knocked on a tree in one place, in another a cuckoo cuckooed, looking for some birdish dupe to raise her hatchlings.

The witch welcomed the pleasant change, especially after her last adventures in Everfree. With a full belly and sharpened sword, she passed the many trees of Greencrown Forest. She was in a good mood, as it usually happened after a filling breakfast. Though the Reaches residents were not short of kindness, their obliviousness was a tad worrying for Chromia. How in Equestria did they avoid being deflated by thieves, the Foxes or the worst of plagues—tax collectors. On the other hoof, provost Hoe seemed to be much more discerning, even competent. That also haunted Chromia.

As well as the fact of leaving Au alone in Sweet Milk’s house.

The witch snorted quietly with laughter.

She passed the rottened trunk of a fallen tree, on which spiders the size of a mouse happily wandered. She turned north by a massive ash, went across a shallow  stream, which turned in to a rapid river a few kilometres further, and continued going straight, as soon as she passed the tall statue of a unicorn that was green from moss and mildew and was missing a fair part of its back.

According to Hoe’s instructions, a few hunderd metres further she should find an old cementary, which was the first place worth checking. And probably the best one. But what would the donkeys do there? That was the important question. Chromia had no idea as what to expect, apart from donkey juveniles, of course.

The forest was thining out slowly; the trees were standing more and more apart from each other and it was getting brighter. Chromia noticed she was approaching the cementary by the Gravewood growing here and there. At last the forest gave way to dirty and broken gravestones, statues and crypts, overgrown with ivy and mildrew. The sunbeams and clear sky were in much contrast with the grim neighborhood.

It was warm. And terribly silent. All the forest’s sounds, even the rustling of trees, seemed to simply not pass to the cementary. Chromia passed the gravestones, looking for any signs of Foxes. But the mules and donkeys rarely left anything behind, for they could not allow themselves wasting anything. Not when they barely managed not to starve.

From afar, Chromia made out the sight of a large chapel made from once-white stone. Now its crushed and blackened walls awoke fear instead of calmness. The entrance was once locked by a metal gate, but now only one of its wings remained. The other one was lying a few metres away, standing next to a gravestone. The chapel was square-shaped, each of its corners was a perpendicular obelisk, and the roof was a large dome, on the top of which a rusty, sun-shaped emblem was located.

A choking, awful smell of blood and decay was coming out from the inside. Something surely died there, and quiet recently for such a place. Chromia suspected what it was.

A raven flew out of nowhere. It cawed, circled in the air and landed on the crypt’s entrance. The bird looked at Chromia with its black eyes, tilting its head. The witch eyed the raven for a moment, not quite sure, what to think of it. A coincidence? She didn’t believe in bad omens. Maybe it was a familiar? Of some necromancer, hiding below? That would certainly explain a lot.

She had no elixirs, bombs or oils. Only a few herbs, her sword, clothes and skills. She wasn’t sure if that will be enough.

When she started to go towards the entrance, the words ‘what for’ passed through her mind, but she chased them off quickly. What for? Because she’s a witch, that’s why...




The inside surprised the witch. She expected to see a masacre, hundreds of corpses, piles of skulls. Yet all she saw was a grave. A grave, that once masked the entrance to the underground. Now it was moved aside, and small grooves on the floor implicated that some kind of mechanism was responsible for that. Or maybe it was a spell?

Spiral stairs, leading down, were located under the grave. They were long and dark, and Chromia was unable to see where they exactly lead to. A even more intense mixture of blood and corpses stank from the bottom. A normal pony would probably fell dizzy or start puking. But not Chromia.

She started to walk down, squinting her eyes and looking hard with her cat-like vision. The stone walls, covered in webs and mold, emanated with cold and dark, awaking a claustrophobic sense of unease. Each step Chromia took echoed in the darkness louder that the toiling of the temple’s bell, calling for an evening mass, on which no one will appear.

She reached the bottom, walking into a corridor. At least that’s what she thought, since she was unable to see anything pass a metre before her. By the echo she judged that the corridor was long and had many niches. She said the Igni Word, and a small flame appeared in her hoof, brightening the dirty and destroyed passageway. Parts of the ceiling and walls came down, the floor was covered in rubble… and blood.

Going down the corridor, Chromia came across a large pool of blood. A body lied in its middle. The donkey—if a bloodied scrap of meat with limbs could be called that way—was lying in a strange position. The blood stains were smeared, as if he was crawling on the floor, even after being skinned.

Even the witch winced slightly at the sight. What could have possibly beat him up so hard? Surely not ghouls; yes, his limbs and back had large chunks of meat missing, but the ghouls wouldn’t do more damage than that. And the donkey was certainly tortured in some macabric way. So what was it? A vampire? Phantom? Lesi?

A bit further lied the donkey’s curved sword and a pouch, from which a few coins fell out. Nothing interesting. The witch moved on.




The niches in the walls turned out to be shelves for sarcophaguses. Every ten metres, on both sides, the passageway had large holes in the walls, in which rectangular, stone cofins sat. Most of them were unnamed, but some had plates with names written on. There was no need to mention that most of the graves were ruined and some lacked half of their plates.

Chromia stepped across another body.

A mule. Cut in half, with eyes ripped out, and with his head sclaped. The blood splashed even the walls, which were now covered in fanciful patterns, that in the distant future will become know as “modern art”. Chromia had a bad feeling about this. Two corpses, killed in a very brutal way. By who?

The witch walked with her sword out since some time now. She felt a presence here, someone’s breath on her neck. Her ears started to catch alarming sounds. The smell of blood mixed with the choking odour of decay, and it wasn’t coming just from the bodies.

Something was running her way. Chromia lifted her sword and stood slightly astride. Something gasped and panted, snarled and hissed. The sound of movement was getting louder and closer. Chromias started to breath heavily, holding her sword firmly in her hooves.

But it was taking too long. Judging by the approaching sound, Chromia was certain the monster would have reached her by now. Yet still she heard it running, but cought no sight of it. When the sounds were just next to her, she swiped her sword.

Nothing.

All went silent. The only sound Chromia could hear now was the echo of her blade hitting the floor. Aside from that the corridor was filled with heavy, terrifying silence. Chromia listened carefully, taking deep breaths. It was as if nothing happened, as if the monster—if there really was one—just vanished withbout a trace. She lovered her sword and conjured a fire. The devastated corridor was empty, and its further part looked like the way to Hell itself, like the entrance to the Abyss.

She turned around to see if the mule’s body was still lying on the floor. It was. She sighed with relief.

Her relief burst like a bubble, when she heard the stone slab’s clamor. The echo carried the sounds of sarcophaguses being opened. Something roared, something crunched. Metal clank on metal.

“I don’t know what else I expected,” Chromia muttered. She cursed the lack of light and lifted her sword.

The first undead came from the way she was heading. It was covered in dirty, ripped pieces of clothing, and in its hoof it held a rusted sword. The empty eye sockets were burning with—how typical—red flames. Chromia started to wonder, why was it that red always happens to be the colour of evil. The skeleton swinged his weapon at Chromia, but she thrusted her sword through its spine and shettered it into hundreds of bony pieces.

More were already incoming. Chromia said the Igni Word and send a flaming arrow down the corridor. It hit a skeleton holding a club. The cloth remains started to burn, lightening up the passageway. The witch saw more skeletons, running towards her, armed with various, single-hoof weapons; swords, hatchets, maces, and clubs. All rusted and barely holding in one piece.

She waited for them to come closer, and when the enemies were near enough, she hit them with an Aard Word. The skeletons shattered into pieces and flew back with the shockwave. Chromia smiled slightly, but her magical attack took out the illuminating flames, and her smile vanished quickly.

Chromia turned around and parried another skeleton’s blow. She cut it in the neck, and the undead followed its friends example and fell apart.

More came, but Chromia didn’t want to waste all her power to fight simple skeletons. She stepped back and blocked a hatchet’s attack. The witch swung her sword, severing the undead’s hoof and kicked, taking the skeleton out of the fight.

Chromia heard a strange whoosh. She tilted her head backwards just in time to avoid a flying hatchet.  Were it sharp, her already shabby ear would look now even worse.

Another wave of undead reached her. Chromia started to battle the small army of skeletons, but it wasn’t a fair fight; the witch kept destroying her enemies one after another. She had no room for her favourite tactic, which she called “the ballet”, but it didn’t matter.

When the last of the skeletons crumbled to the floor, Chromia sighed lightly. Even despite the surrounding darkness, she managed to defeat them quite easily. Too easily.

The bones started to shake and move, skulls roled on the floor, the ribs jumped up. A red aura covered the bones, forming them back into skeletons. The undead rose again, rattling and cracking.

Chromia attacked immediately, not letting the bony ponies to form back completely. She managed to destroy four skeletons, before the fifth one cut her in the shoulder with a rusted blade. Chromia seethed with pain and kicked the undead. A red stain appeared on her clothes. The wound hurted badly, but aside from that it wasn’t anything serious.

The undead started to attack her from both sides now. The witch stood up to their challenge, destroying them one after another. Still they managed to strike a few blows; Chromia got hurt in the cheek, arm and side. All those were just shallow cuts, but every one was bleeding strongly. She might have had trouble if it weren’t for her potions. Time was essentaial for her.

She started to run up the corridor, almost blindly. The skeletons were rebuilding themselves again. Chromia stopped abruptly as a skeleton appeared in her way, a big one, clad in a rusty plate armour and wielding a sword and shield. Two greenish flames burned through its helmet visor.

His sword came down in a strike. Chromia parried the attack, but the undead knight spinned and slammed her with its shield. The witch hit the wall and fell painfully to the floor. The skeleton swung its sword again; Chromia rolled to the side to avoid it.

She got up and blocked another strike with her sword, then leaped back, not to get hit by the shiled again. Chromia cut vertically, her blade penetrated the rusted armour with ease, but the skeleton was still standing.

Chromia hit the skeleton with an Aard Word, sending it flying backwards. The undead felt on the ground and couldn’t get up. Then more skeletons came from behind, and the witch started to fight them. She was tired of constantly ripping those things to pieces. But she didn’t want to be killed by them. She saw, what they...

...what they didn’t do to the Foxes. The skeletons were not responsible for that masacre. Something disturbing was going on here. Something even worse that usually.

Does it really take such a brutal death to make me feel uneasy? Chromia thought.

She hit the skeletons with an Igni Word. The bones catched fire, bathing the passage in warm light. The witch herself started to run down the corridor, where the armoured skeleton was waiting. The undead hit its shield with its sword a few times and charged. Chromia, having nowhere to run, quickly said the Yrden Word, touched the ground with her hoof and jumped back.

The skeleton ran over the magic trap, activating it. Purple lighting started to strike its dead body, making it fumble around. Chromia approached it and thrust her sword in its back; the undead rattled and broke into pieces, held together only by its armour. The witch kicked the breastplate, which also fell apart.

Chromia moved on, running.




Dead end.

This is what met her at the ending of the strangely long corridor. She came across two more dead donkeys on her way, killed with similar brutality. Luckily there were no more signs of undead. Chromia was tired and the constant fights with skeletons would quickly drain her remainnig strenght.

But a dead end? That was a bit too much.

She started to look around, searching for a lever, a knob, a buttom… anything. She checked the cracked walls that lacked a few bricks. She looked inside the two nearest graves, one labeled “Fancypants”, the other “Fleur de Lis”. The first one was empty, the second contained only the remains of a skeleton and a few gemstones, which Chromia took. For a noble purpuse, of course.

She approached a flat wall and started to knock on it. She pressed her ear to the wall, listening cerfully, but with no results.

She decided to risk and hit the wall with an Aard Word. All she managed to do, however, was rise a cloud of dust. Coughting and rubbing her eyes, Chromia neared the wall once more. There had to be a passage here somewhere. Four bodies is not enought for a Fox commando. She had a feeling there would be more. But… maybe she was wrong? Maybe only four Foxes came down here, and the rest of their group is still hiding somewhere in the forest?

She leaned agains the wall, feeling defeated. “Plow this shit. And plow those skeletons too…”

“You give up so easily, witch? That’s unlike you,” a terryfingly familiar voice said.

Chromia jumped up, instinctly grabbing her sword.

“Hey, hey! Easy there. Don’t you like me anymore?”

“Veks?” Chromia started to stare with eyes wide open, her mouth agape.

A creamy unicorn, with a red mane and purple eyes smiled at her. He was dressed just like the last time she saw him: a red shirt with long sleeves, covered by a black, skin vest. And his Cutie Mark, perfectly visable—a tobacco leaf.

Yet it was not a pleasant sight for her. Veks died five days ago, after all.

Despite that, Chromia stayed calm. It wasn’t the first time she had met the soul of a dead person. More than once on those occasions she tried to convince them to leave this world for good, willingly or not. But the pony in front of her… was no ghost. No aura or astral afterglow surrounded him. He didn’t radient with cold. His voice was normal.

For the first time since a long time, the witch felt something creeping on her back, from the neck to the rear. Something wriggling in her entrails.

Fear.

“You look as if you saw a ghost!” Veks laughed. “Is everything all right?” She didn’t answer. “Hey, I’m talking to you!”

Chromia gazed at him for a long moment, still unable to believe her own eyes. “Veks…”

“Finally some reaction. How many potions did you take this time? I haven’t seen you so woozy in a long time. Well,” he sighed, “maybe aside from that time on the bridge to Old Baltimare. But you don’t look too good.” “He shook his head. “You’re bleeding.”

“Yes, but… Veks, how did you get here?”

“What?” he asked. “What are you talking about?”

“What are you doing here, in this—“ She looked around, wanting to show Veks the tomb. But she couldn’t.

They were in Ponyville, back in the tobacco shop.

Chromia opened her mouth, but no words came out. She eyed the room with a confused and shocked look. She gazed at the counter and the shelf behind it, filled with many small bags. She had no idea what to think about the window, showing the next building. The witch felt strange when she looked at the stairs leading to the shop’s residential part.

But all that was nothing compared to the felling she had while looking at her dead friend, who seemed to be not dead at all. Veks observed the zebra with mirth, but after a moment he also became worried.

“Chromia?” he asked carefully, nearing her. “Is everything all right? Chromia!”

The witch twitched. “Veks… I…”

“Cursed elixirs.” Veks shook his head. “Come on, we’ll get you upstairs, you need to rest. It’s the bridge all over again, remember? You couldn’t even get a word of yourself just after that fight. And don’t try to bullshit me that it’s only because of lost blood.”

The stallion put his hoof around Chromia’s shouders. It was warm, hard, but gentle in a way. Veks looked her in the eyes, smiling exactly in the same way he used to smile every time she dropped with a visit. His breath stank with tobacco, but for Chromia, it was the most pleasant smell in the world.

She nooded and let him lead her. They went up the stairs and onto the first floor, and then walked down the corridor, entering into the last room on the right. It was Veks’ bedroom, which he always lended to Chromia when she stayed for the night. He used to sleep in his office on those occasions.

The room itself was not too big and not too rich, though it was decorated with taste. Opposite of the door was a single window, in which the window of the neighbouring building could be seen. Chromia could never understand, what the architect had in mind when planning this.

Aside from the bed, a large wardrobe stood in the room, filled mostly with boxes of tobacco and a few crumpled clothes. There was also a dresser here, and Veks’ pride—his collection of pipes. He had a vast variety of them: black, white, made of oak, lime, alder and willow. In different shades and shapes, sizes and proportions. They were the tobacco dealer’s pearl, and he always boasted to Chromia whenever he added a new piece to his collection.

The walls were decorated with a few paintings, but the witch never gave them too much thought. One of them showed a beautiful white mare, with a elegant mane and sparkling blue eyes. Even Chromia had to admit she looked lovely.

Veks led her to the bed. Chromia sat on it and rubbed her forehead. She fidgeted a little; the bed was not the most comfortable one, but still probably the best in the whole neighbourhood.

“Lie down and have a rest. You’re too good to get killed because of a few potions.”

“Yeah… You’re probably right,” she answered. “Veks?”

“Yes?”

She thought for a moment. A long one. Veks managed to scratch his rear in the meantime.

“Nothing.” She shook her head. “It’s… nothing.”

Suddently something started to pulse in her forehead. Like a angry woodpecker, like a butterly flying pass you when you’re lying with a hangover. The slight aching was arising to something more irritating and lingering. At last the pain overtook her. The world disappeared in darkness, all the sounds were covered by a strange, constant buzz.

Something dripped on her leg. A warm and dense fluid, with a strong, familiar smell. A smell sweet and sickening. Suddently the smell filled her whole world, took over all her senses.

She could smell, and even taste, blood.

She raised her eyes, and the memories pierced her like a poisoned arrow. Pain gripped her heart, tightened its claws on her throat. She opened her eyes and mouth, but didn’t manage to say anything.

Veks’ hooves grapped her around the neck. Blood poured out from his cut throat, like a waterfall, splashing on the floor, the bed, on her legs. The putrefaction took its toll, and now the once-hansome stallion turned into a pale, stinking shadow of his former self. Sunken eye sockets, blood dripping from his nose, mouth and the broad cut were just the tip of the iceberg. His purple eyes turned yellow and were covered with a fog.

But through that fog they still eyed Chromia with grudge, hatred and sadness. Veks cleched his hooves tighter around her neck; Chromia coughted and gagged, desperately fighting for a breath. The stallion rattled and gurgled something unintelligibly, spitting blood at her face.

And though it was impossible for any words to come out his cut throat, she still heard them clearly:

“You bitch! You ruined my life!” an accusing voice sounded in Chromia’s head. “You plowing muff! I gave you everything! Food, shelter… warmth! And you let them kill me!”

She choked, trying to brake free from the hold, but her effords were in vain.

“I thought that night meant something to you! I thought something changed! And maybe it would had even been that way, but because of you, I’ve lost everything! My whole wealth, my whole life!” Black tears started to fall from Veks’ eyes. “You ungrateful bitch... You traitor! You led your stinking sister and that lapdog to me! What did they offer you in return?! Why did you sentence me to death?!”

The words stabbed Chromia’s soul like daggers. She forgot about the lack of air, the physical pain faded into oblivion. When Veks was accusing her, made her aware of her mistakes, something in Chromia died. He was right... his death was her fault. If only she had reacted sooner...

“Prepare to meet the Creator...”

She winced. And finally understood, what was wrong. Chromia clenched her teeth and hit the undead in its head with all the strenght she had left. Veks stumbled backwards, letting her go. The zebra fell down on the bed and breathed the air greedily.

“Veks didn’t believe in the Creator!” she hissed.

The dead “Veks” calmly got up, still splashing blood on the floor, and looked Chromia in the eyes. His already slightly decayed lips curled in a mocking smile. His eyes flashed with brownish green. He looked like a shattered soul, rotten and corroded.

Chromia clenched her teeth angrily. She said the Igni Word, sending a flaming arrow at the undead. The missile covered the distance of two metres in less that a second.

And then—




She opened her eyes.

At first she wasn’t aware what was going on. Everything happened in the fraction of a second. The coldnest of the tomb hit her in the shoulders, and darkness looked into her eyes. She panted and was covered in sweat. Her clothes were soaked with sweat, the wet mane stuck to her head.

She was standing at the very spot, where she saw Veks, Two graves were by her side. She checked; one of them was Fancypants’es. Her head was aching and her legs were shaking. She leaned againts the wall and sighed heavily.

“Fuck,” she said, and cursed meanly.




Chromia trotted further along the corridor and walked down another set of stairs. Above her, on the archway, she saw strange writing, in a language unknown. The stairs led to large chamber with pillars. Aside from the dirt and dust, the chamber appeared to be in a good state. Most of the pillars was whole, as well as the ceiling. The square room was illuminated by enchanted lanterns, one in each corner.

Amazing. For how long have those things have been alight?

The lanterns light unveiled one more thing, something that did not fit the chamber at all. Three things, accually.

Two mule corpses lied in the centre of the room, butchered just like the previous ones. The first one’s throat was ripped so badly she could she the neck bones. The other one had his head chopped off and large chunks of meat missing. Blood stained almost every part of the parquet floor.

She heard him.

His breaths were heavy and unstable. Striated with gurgling and rattling.

She approached the donkey, which lied against one of the pillars. The blood marks stated that he crawled up there from the place his dead companions were lying. He rattled, crepitated and cried awfully. The donkey’s injuries were so severe Chromia felt pain herself, when she saw him. The gouged out eyes were the least serious of his wounds. The worst thing was a hole in his stomach, through which one could see his whole entrails.

She approached him and crouched down. The donkey became frightened when she touched him. He wailed painfuly, but a second later looked astonished.

“Warmth...” he panted. “I feel... warmth... So close... so far...”

“Who are you?” Chromia asked calmly.

He coughted and spitted blood mixed with saliva. “I... don’t... Huno. M-my name... Huno.” His head felt down, as he started to rattle again.

“What happened here? Who... what did this to you?” Chromia asked calmly.

“We made a mistake... We provoked forces that we don’t understand, that we can’t compass with our senses. Yes... A force that doesn’t like to be bothered... We awoke him, and this was his revenge... He spared no one... At least I think so... I... can’t feel anything. The sun rays, the wind... Where are they?”

“Who is he?” Chromia asked, worried. “And what the Hell were you doing here? What is this place? Whose tomb is this?”

“Her’s... T-the Saviour’s...”

“Saviour? Who are you talking about? Huno? Huno! Damn!” she cursed, letting go of the dead donkey.

She passed the two mules and turned her steps towards a grave located at the end of the chamber. The obsidian sarcophageus, covere with runic writing and glyphs looked, plainly speaking, just strange. Such things were typically built out of marble or some other decorative stone. But obsidian? The runes also seemed a tad queer to the witch. Five pegasi skeletons in rusted, dark-blue armours lied aroud the sarcophageus. By their build Chromia judged that only one of them was female. She started to wonder about the Foxes fate again. About the thing that killed them. And she was sure it had something to do with this grave.

But what exactly?

As she approached the sarcophageus, she heard a whisper. Chromia turned around, lifting her sword, but failed to see any danger. Her medallion didn’t give her any warnings either.

Another whisper, this time a different one. And then two more.

She understood them…

“She’s dead,” someone said in a low, sad voice. “She’s gone... What shall we do now? Witbout her, we have no chances of—“

“True,” a strong and deep voice agreed. “Witbout her, Equestria will fall… to its own inhabitants. And we can’t do anything about it. We failed her.”

“So?” a mare’s sharp tone filled the air. “Are you going to sit down and cry? Hide somewhere and wail? Now, when our country is in the greatest need? There will be time to mourn her loss, to prepare suitable ceremonies. But for the gods sake, now is not the time! Now we must fight!”

“With who?” another voice asked, male again. “You really believe we can do anything? That we can restore the Old Equestria by throwing ourselves against armies that outnumber us by hundreds? I tell you, such a fight is pointless! For it is the greastest honour to die on the battlefield, yes, but such a sacrifice must have sense! And now we have to act carefully, like cats.”

“So what do you propose?” the mare asked in a scornful tone.

“I… do not know.”

“Ha! But I know what to do: rebel! We should gather everyone who is still loyal to the Sister’s ideals and end the tyranny with their help! Ponies who loved Celestia and Luna shall rise and storm the barricades! They will trot over the usurpators, their servants, spies and snitches! Ponies will overbear the slaughterers and free themselves from the overseers chains! It shall be the day of glory, my companions! The day of glory!”

“You are deaf and blind!” another stallion sharply cut in. “What rebellion, what revolution? Who will come to aid us? If the ponies wanted that, those rats wouldn’t have won in the first place! But they did, and now they hold Equestria in their iron tongs. No one will rise against them, and you know why? Because they have no choice. Because those plowing usurpators are all they have left! If the ponies didn’t want them… no one else would help them. Equestria’s looks the way it does, because that is what the citizens wanted.”

“So are we suppose to sit here and do nothing?!” the mare wailed. “We will allow all of our ideals to die just like that?! Are we to forget about everything she died for?! That’s not what she would want… she would fight.”

“But she is gone.” the last voice joined the debate. A stallion. He sounded commanding, but also proud. Simply speaking, he sounded like a leader. “Gone. And Archlight is right, it is our fault. We failed. And we cannot help Equestria… but we can honour Her.”

“But…” the mare started to cry. “Our Equestria… our home… is dying.”

Silence fell. Chromia knew that the “vision” was not over yet. It was marely stopped for a moment by heavy silence.

“I know,” said the leader. “I know, Daisy.”

“Still,” he continued, “we took an oath, to protect our Lady till death. Till our death. She may be gone, but we live on, and that is why we shall continue to protect her! We will stand guard next to her, just like our Order did for centuries! We shall honour her and our fallen brothers and sister, that had been taked by the Great Treachery and the Great War! We shall honour their sacrifice!”

The guards started to cheer and stomp their hooves on the floor. They shouted as if going to war, placed at the tip of an army that was marching towards the enemy.

“For we are the Night Guard!”

Just when the leader said those last words, a terrifying scream pierced the air, like a breach in the realm, like the shout of world ending. A spear of fear pierced Chromia’s heart. The earth started to shake, the lanterns swang furiously in the four corners. The runes covering the sarcophagus lightened with a dark-blue colour.

Chromia instictly backed away and rised her sword. This place was the epicentre of all those strange phenomenoms in the tomb, and now the conclusion was about to come. Despite her wounds and the lack of elixirs, the witch felt confident. She took a few deep breaths and watched.

Black smoke poured out of the sarcophagus. But it was unlike typical smoke, coming from a fire or chimney. No, this one was dark as the Abyss itself. Chromia suspected what she was about to face, but hoped she was wrong. The smoke started to form something resembling a large pony wearing a black, ripped cloak. From the darkness, a big skull of a male deer emerged, with no lower jaw, but with great horns. Two green flames burned in the beast’s eyesockets. Bony claws formed, ended with sharp talons. The phantom hovered above the grave, looking at Chromia and making terrifying, undescribable noises.

A laguuna.

Chromia had the feeling as if some kind of slimy worm started to wiggle in her entrails. Now she understood all the supernatural phenomenoms that had place here. She knew what this ghost, or demon, was capable of. Chromia was nervous, but not without hope. She met a beast like this one twice before. She ignored the fact that each time she was strengthened with her witch elixirs.

The laguuna shrieked demonically and charged at Chromia, cutting furiously with its claws. Chromia tightened the grip on her sword; she parried the strike and jumped back. The demon continued its attack, striking blindly, but with great force. Chromia blocked each of the blows, but at the same time was forced to constantly back away. She made a mistake and didn’t manage to parry one of the strikes; sharp claws hit her in the leg and wounded her chest. The witch winced from pain, and the lagunna attacked again, this time with the back of its hand. Chromia was send flying into a nearby pillar.

The witch breathed heavily and eyed her wounds, that were dripping with blood. She cursed and got up, ignoring the burning pain. The laguuna attacked again, this time from above. Chromia managed to shout the Igni Word and send a fireball straight at the demon. The fire itself didn’t do too much damage to it, but the heat and light made the laguuna shriek in agony. From the inside of its body, white light blinked. The lagunna backed away.

The witch charged with all her might, wanting to strike the demon. She reached the laguuna in three jumps and cut widely, from right to left. The sword pierced through the black smoke, with no effect, as it seemed. But the laguuna shrieked and white light flashed again for a second. Chromia didn’t waste her chance and cut again, striking another blow. Now it was the demon that was forced to protect itself, parrying the witch’s attacks.

The laguuna swang her claw again, aiming at Chromia’s legs. Chromia jumped up in the last moment and cut her enemy while she was still in mid-air. The lagunna backed away to the other end of the chamber. It started to change its stratety, and itself as well. The deer head and claws vanished. A pegasus mare started to form from the black mist. Her coat was dark and she green eyes with vertical pupils. The tips of her pointy ears were covered with hair. But the most unique thing about her were the wings, resembling those of a bat, not a pegasus. The mare wore an armour identical to the ones in which the skeletons around the sarcophagus were lying.

Chromia felt sad. She was damn sad about the fate of those five warriors.

The mare, into which the lagunna changed, held two daggers in her hoofs, both about twelve inches long and richly decorated. The blades were marked with dark-blue runes, and their hilts looked like a cresent moon.

The lagunna started to charge at the witch with amazing speed. She jumped up and attacked. Chromia dodged the attack, but the mare was now dangerously close. The witch’s sword was sixty inches long, and couldn’t be used for proper defence at such close ranges.

But the lagunna underestimated Chromia’s speed.

The zebra spinned around and kicked the demon in the back. She managed to gain enough distance to protect herself. The lagunna attacked again, whirling her daggers around so fast that an untrained eye would fail to even see them. But Chromia saw them, and quite well at that. With the very tip of her sword. The clinking of metal hitting metal echoed in the corridors, right up to the tomb’s entrance.

The mare whirled around in the air, cutting with her daggers. Chromia jumped back and swang her sword in a wide arc, aiming for the neck. The mare reclined back, bending her spine at almost ninety degrees. Chromia’s attack missed, and the lagunna didn’t give her time for another one; it jumped up and kicked the witch in the head. Chromia stumbled back a few steps, as the world around her got dark for a moment. The mare rushed at her, wanting to impale her daggers into Chromia’s throat. The witch parried the attack, and both fighters clashed against each other.

The demon stank with blood, decay and death. In the mare’s green eyes Chromia could see pure evil. A chill run down her spine.

Not for long.

Chromia kicked the mare in the stomach, throwing her backwards. The lagunna bended in half and the witch immediately used the opportunity and simply thrusted her sword through the demon’s body.

The mare shrieked shrilly and faded into black smoke, that flew away from Chromia. At last the lagunna returned to its true form. The demon hovered in the air, eyeing the witch with pure hatred. Chromia answered with a similar look.

The lagunna howled and changed shape. This time it morphed into a tall stallions with minty eyes, holding a long spear.

Chromia cracked her neck and rised her sword.

And then they lunched at each other.




Au lied freely on the bed. The rope, which Ladle used to tie her up, laid nearby. Ladle was quite strong, yes, but at the same time she lacked accuracy and diligence. It took Au only a few minutes to free her front hooves, and after that freeing herself totally was easy.

She started to wander what to do next. Should she wait for the witch? What if she doesn’t come back? And what exactly are those insular stinkers up to? Nightingale wasn’t known for showing mercy and forgiveness. And now Ladle landed on her black list. Au fought with many enemies in her long carrier, many monsters: manticores, timberwolfes, scalendomorphs, and many other countless shit. She faced other mercenaries, murderers, bandits, renegades and marauders. She even fought with a few regular soldiers.

And still, she never wanted to hurt someone more than that fat village bumpkin.

She tried to get up. Her ankle was still screaming with pain, but Au Revoire was not about to give up. She thought she might somehow get used to the pain and manage to leave, before she will hurt Ladle for real.

Though she was furious, she managed to think reasonably. Attacking one of the villagers could end up pretty bad for her. And in a way she realized that Ladle didn’t really deserve any of the treatment Au was thinking off in the last few hours.

The mercenary rised from her bed and clutched her teeth, trying to stand still. Then she started to walk slowly, taking easy steps. She wanted to reach her weapons and armour. Her ankle hurt like Hell with each step, but she moved on, like a stubborn mule pulling a plough on his field.

She sat next to her armour, thinking that so far she was doing quite well. Au sighed quietly and pulled out her sword—Guerrier. The blade has been passed down in her family from father ot son for generations. Au was an exception, because both of her older brothers had been considered by their father unworthy. One of them was an extraordinary drunk, and the second one became a priest, so he had no use for the sword anyway.

Dissapointed by what his sons turned out to be, Au’s father decided to teach his little daughter the art of killing.

The mercenary eyed the sword with a smile, thinking about her dad.

The blade was uniquely smooth and crystal-clear, like a mirror. In fact, many a time Au used it in that way. But the real pride was the handle, in the shape of a lion’s head, holding a ruby in its jaws. It was painted gold, just like the cross-guard, which resembled a pegasus wing.

Au calmed down immediately, her stress and anger vanishing as if touched by a magic wand. Quite the irony that she regained calmness by looking at a tool created for hurting and killing.

Something was amiss.

Au could sense such things. She could tell when a brawl was coming up, when blood will be spilled. She was always prepared for a tavern fight or a bandit’s ambush. Though here experience turned out useless on that bridge.

But now things were different.

Something grasped her insides, in way way most uncomfortable for her. She felt hot, her eyes were circling between the doors and Guerrier. She had a really nasty feeling about this.




Old Hoe stood in the middle of the village, looking at its working inhabitants. He was concerned with an incident of which he was reported just a moment ago. He liked the Reaches and the ponies living here. He was satisfied with his job. But he also knew these ponies were not the brightest bunch and often tended to make a mountain out of a molehill.

He suspected that this was the case again. Of course he couldn’t simply deny everything, for the villager’s conjetures and accusations surely had to be based on something. Still, accusing a mare of lust, lasciviousness and dark magic seemed a bit unreal to him. Especially, since the accuser was a stallion.

The day was sunny and very hot.

Hoe looked at a stallion pulling a cart filled with turnips, and later at a few young mares, carrying jugs of water, who eyed the same stallion with great interest. A dun cat run under the hooves of Woodchop—the local lumberjack and a member of the village’s council. Woodchop was carrying many wooden bricks on his back, and the cat made him lose balance and trip over, which resulted in Woochop shouting a bunch of curses.

In another place, a group of foals played with a rag doll, making quite a racket. Hoe looked at them pensively, and then looked around the village again.

Over here, a mare was washing some clothes in a washtub, over there, a stallion was choping wood, somewhere else somepony was cooking something. The Reaches were vibrant with their own life and did not care about the outer world’s problems. Hoe felt very grateful for this kind of status quo.

He started to slowly walk towards Sweet Milk’s house. He wanted to straighten out this unpleasant situation and apologise to their guest.

Sweet Milk’s house was located at the far end of the Reaches. Near the house itself, a small stable stood, in which Sweet Milk kept her cow. Next to it was a grassfield and a fence that outlines the village’s borders. A road, unused since a long time, passed near the barn. The last time Old Hoe saw somepony on it was seven years ago, when an alchemist got lost on his way from New Baltimare to Ponyville.

That is why his amazement was even bigger, when he saw someone using that road again. His fear was even greater, for that someone was not alone.

A group of six ponies traveled down the road, behaving quite loudly. At the top of the group was a tall and well-built earth pony stallion with a dark-brown, almost black coat and a mane in the colour of decayed bones. He was wearing a leather jacket with metal plates on the shoulders. A large, double-edged axe was thrown over his back.

Next came a gray mare with a dark-yellow mane. She was wearing a liana shirt and a belt with two daggers tucked under it.

The next three stallion looked almost identical: thugs in light, leather armours, headbands and armed with low quality swords.

Following the five ponies was a mysterious character in a black monk’s habit, his face hidded under the hood.

A shiver run down Hoe’s spine, his heart started to beat furiously. The provost’s stomach twisted with a monstrous feeling of fear.

The Reaches were about to meet the outside world’s true face.




Hoe stood vis-a-vis the six travelers. The villagers started to observe with curiosity and naivety. They had no idea what was about to happen, they did not know that in a few moments they will be terrified more than ever.

The travelers stopped before the village leader, as he took a deep breath.

“Greeting, provost,” a large stallion said. “Beautiful day, isn’t it? A shame, that even on such a day, monsters and rascals run freely, where and how they want.”

“What monsters are you talking about?” Hoe asked.

“The dangerous ones, old man!” a mare answered mockingly. “The dangerous ones!”

“Exactly. We’ve been searching for such a beast for a few days now. It’s with no doubt hiding somewhere in the area. Maybe even in your village, old man.”

“Hunting monsters,” said Hoe, “is usually a witch’s job.”

“Phoo!” the gang’s leader spat. “Witches are foul beasts and devilish hags. Have the gods left you? To hire a witch is the dumbest of ideas! Especially when there are groups like ours, who can handle the same problems with ease. Right, gals?”

The three stallions and mare shouted loudly in confirmation.

“I understand.”

“So what do you say, old man?” the mare snorted. “Can we make a little recun— recons—”

“Reconnaissance?” asked Hoe.

“Yeah, exactly!”

Three of the stallions burst into laughter. The mare grimaced and hit the closest one so hard he fell to the ground.

“Please forgive her, provost. She’s a tad nervous. So, what it’ll be? It won’t take long… Maybe we’ll even buy something, hmm?

Hoe eyed the group, and the looked around the village. The peasants were all gawping at them. The provost cursed them in his thoughts, for their stupidity and helplessness. This group obviously won’t stop just at a “monster search”. Instead, a few young mares were bound to loose their virginity, and a few stallions—their lives.

He had to do something. He prayed the witch will be back soon.

“What is this monster, you are searching for? And what did it do, that such a valiant group was send after it?”

“Best don’t ask about it, old man, or you’ll be having nightmares. The beast is most foul and hideous. Just let us do our work and keep out of the way,” the group leader said, clearly irritated. “You’ll thank us yet.”

He started to walk, but Hoe stepped in his way. The thug punched him with his hoof, making the provost fall to the ground. The villagers, upon seeing that, took fright and became still as statues. They didn’t do anything, but simply watched the incoming gang.

“All right, lads!” the mare shouted to her companions. “As a reward for such a difficult task, everyone gets to have a little fun today! Ha ha ha!”

The three thugs answered with a lound cheer and started to wonder in different directions.

“Find him,” the stallion, who had his face hidden under a cloak, said. “That’s the most important part.”




The Aard Word threw the demon—a stallion armed with two kukri—at the wall. When he fell, Chromia cut him with her sword and the lagunna turned into black mist again. The demon reappeared next to the sarcophagus, moving sluggishly. The witch managed to destroy another of the lagunna’s forms. It was getting weak.

Blood dripped from Chromia’s wounds, but she stood firmly on her legs. She was a witch. She was beyond that.

The lagunna rose higher above the ground, but Chromia didn’t wait. She was tired, injured and weak. She wanted to end this as soon as possible. The witch charged at the demon; it swang its bony claws, but Chromia rolled under them and hit with an Igni Word from behind. The lagunna shrieked painfully, and Chromia cut with her sword. The blade went through the mist and a brilliant, white light blinked again.

The demon started to scream in agony. Chromia cut vertically, slicing through the stag skull. The lagunna’s scream became even louder. The walls started to shake, small pieces of the ceiling started to fall down. Chromia protected herself with the Heliotrope Sign. Light emerged from the puffs of black smoke.

The light flooded the room, the lagunna’s scream stunned Chromia, and the shockwave threw her backwards, despite her protective Sign.

When all went silent, Chromia shook off the dizzyness and looked around the chamber. The room was so bright now, as if it had large windows. The witch sighed with relief and sat down. A drop of her blood felt on the floor. Chromia looked at the place where the lagunna died.

And couldn’t believe her eyes.

An astral projection of a mare stood there, the same mare, into which the lagunna changed at the beginning of the fight. The ghost smiled with relief and gratitude.

”Thank you.”

The mare dissolved into thin air, and Chromia smiled. She approached the spot and looked at the parquet floor. A black, obsidian diadem lied there, shining like it was just crafted and polished. The witch picked it up. She had to admit this was the pretties adornment she ever saw.

“Hmm, no. I don’t think it’ll fit me…”

Her medallion started to vibrate when she picked up the diadem.

“Interesting.”

She put the diadem into her bag. Chromia hissed, when one of her injuries pulsed with pain. Her clothes were ripped and blood-soaked. She was feeling cold and breathless.

Time to get back, she though, and started to walk towards the crypt’s exit.




Mares and foals were the ones, who screamed the loudest. She knew something like this was likely to happen, she felt it. She also heard the crude laughs of a few stallions. It was those laughs that stroke up her anger, the inner fire that made her boil inside.

“Whoresons.”

Chaos ruled outside, the villagers were running in all directions, fleeing from something. Au limped in the direction of Hoe’s house, to the middle of the village. She avoided the fleeing villagers, or rather they avoided her. They probably saw her as yet another threat.

Au looked towards the centre of the village.

Three stallions were appereantly having the time of their lives, running after the fleeing mares. Those that managed to catch they carried to one of the houses. A mare in a liana shirt, sitting on a barrel, was applauding loudly for her comrades. Beside her stood a stallion that observed the show with laughter.

Au thought she glimpsed the shape of a hooded figure, wandering beetwen the houses, but she could’ve been wrong.

”Come on, boys, move it! Ha ha! “ the sitting mare kept on shouting, waving her hooves in excitement. “The more, the marrier!”

One of the thugs managed to catch a young mare. The sky-blue mare with a dark-blue mane couldn’t have been older than fourteen years. The stallion held her in his front hooves and lifted her up. She kicked and screamed, but was unable to free herself from his hold.

”No, please! Let me go!”

“Come, come, pretty bird!” her tormentor laughed lasciviously. “This is your chance to become a grown mare! I’ll—“

He didn’t finish. His hold on the mare lessened and she manager to break free and run away. The stallion’s friends also stopped having fun and looked at him. The laughing mare felt silent, and the gang’s leader stopped smiling.

The stallion swayed, moaned and tumbled to the ground. He convulsed and rattled for a moment, until he finally felt silent for eternity.

Au tossed the crossbow aside and pulled out her sword and shield. She rose on her rear hooves, supporting the weight off her body mainly on her good leg. She hit her shield with the sword a few times, and seethed: “I wanna become a grown mare too!”

“Kill that bitch!” the mare sitting on the barrel shouted angrily.

Two of the bandits lunched at Au, who took a deep breath and rised her sword. Her ankle was on fire, but she clenched her teeth and ignored it. She wanted to ignore it.

The first incoming stallion attacked with a upper cut. Au shielded herself, parrying the blow, but her ankle pulsed with pain. She seethed and blocked another strike, and countered with a stab, hitting the thug in the shoulder. The stallion hissed from pain and jumped back, making way for his friend. The other stallion started to attack with a storm of weak, but fast strikes, forcing Au to defend herself.

Au backed up with her shield rised. The pain blackened her vision, misted her mind. She could have sworn she had a dull, rusted nail driven into her ankle. But she fought. She was Au Revoire, dammit! Nightingale! She never gave up!

Clunching her teeth, she took one more step back and swung her shield. She hit the stallion square in the snout; the thug’s teeth rattled from the force of impact. He backed away, wailing painfully. His companion supported him and attacked the mercenary. This time she did use her shield, but parried the attack with Guerier and stabbed right after. The stallion jumped aside and tried to attack from above again. Au managed to shield herself again, but her leg gave up to the pain. The bandit used the opportunity and kicked Au, sending her to the ground.

“Now give her what she wanted! Today we grant wishes, like fairies!” the bandit mare, now standing on a barrel, laughed.

The thug landed on Au, pinning her to the ground. He grabbed her hooves and smiled mockingly and insainly. Au was much lighter and could not free herself.

“What now, precious? I’ll show you, where you belong…”

He started to lover his head to lick Au’s face, when suddently he was thrown away for a couple of metres. The strike was sudden and strong, surely magical.

“About damn time, witch,” Au breathed, trying to rise. Someone offered her a hoof. Au looked up and saw the last pony she expected. “You… b-but…”

Hoe sighed heavily. “There’s no time, mercenary. Come on, get up.”

Au got up with his help and leaned on her sword. Two of the stallions watched all this with disbelief, like a pair of foal looking at cat eating a mouse. The mare on the barrel seemed to be boiling inside. She took out two daggers, cracked her neck and stood next to her two companions. The hooded stallion remained in the back, looking at the mercenary and the old mage.

“Kill them,” he ordered, and disappeared between the buildings.

“Done,” the mare laughed.

The mare started to charge, screaming widly; it was clear she was out of her wits. Hoe started to mutter a spell under his breath. Au stood before him, tightly gripping her sword.

One of the stallions attacked with an upper cut. Au dodged the blow and cut the thug in the flank; he yelled in pain at the same moment, in which the first drops of blood fell to the ground. Au didn’t have time to even take a breath, as she was already being attacked by the dagger-wielding mare. Nightingale shielded herself, but the mare rolled over and jumped on her like a mad wolf. Au instinctly kicked her with her hurt leg; she screamed in pain, and her vision blackened for a moment.

The second stallion rushed at Hoe, with his sword raised and battle-screaming. The provost stood calmly,muttering an incantation. The bandit was just before him, ready to strike. Hoe saw fury and bloodlust in his eyes, the eyes of a madpony. But the strike never reached the mage, for Hoe hit the stallion with a lighting bolt, bisecting him. Blood spashed on Hoe’s clothes and face.

Au cringed from pain. The other mare saw her chance and pinned the mercenary to the ground. She hit Au in the face with a hoof and raised her dagger to deal a deadly blow. Hoe pointed her hoof at the mare and throwed her off Au with a spell. The other stallion, who had been cut by Au earlier, slammed Hoe in the face with his sword’s handle. The provost crumbled to the ground. He wanted to rise, but a kick in the ribs rolled him onto his back. The thug stood above him, blood dripping from his side, and readied himself to stab with his sword.

Hoe closed his eyes, waiting for death to come.

It didn’t.

Old Hoe suddently felt a wave of heat surge pass him, like someone lit a fire just next to him. Then he heard the thug screaming. Hoe opened his eyes and saw the stallion running in circles, burning like a mare accused of performing spells. Au and the mare she was fighting also looked at him. The stallion, for obvious reasons, had no idea that he was now in the limelight.

His agony was literally cut short by a quick, efficient move of a silver blade, held by a zebra in a ripped and blood-stained vest.

Chromia stood vis-a-vis Au and the mare with daggers, eyeing the second one with a tired and angried gaze.

“I’m having a bloody bad day. I’m soaked with sweat, blood, I’m wounded, and I need to take a piss. Think you have a chance with me?”

The mare smiled and charged at the witch.

“They’ll never learn…”

The psycho jumped with her daggers raised, while Chromia stood calmly as a statue. Au and Hoe held their breaths. The zebra had no time to block or dodge.

They couldn’t believe their eyes when Chromia cut the attacking mare in an impossibly fast move. She twirled around and stopped in place, as the bandit crumbled to the ground, whining like a little foal. A moment later the mare stopped crying and became still.

Hoe got up slowly, not to hurt his old back even more. Au supported herself with her sword, unable to ignore the pain in her ankle any longer. They both looked at the witch that was gazing into the empty space between the houses.

“Chromia?” Au asked.

The witch swayed and fell to the ground.
> Chapter IV: Of the Battle We Fight and Its Justness
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


“Mules and donkeys are our friends. They live among us, work with us, feel and love in the same way as we do. That is why I believe they should have the same rights and duties as every other resident of Equestria.”
—Princess Celestia about mules and donkeys

”Mules and donkeys? Peasants, nothing more. They’re acceptable as farmers and so on. But to give them rights equal to ours? Oh, please!”
—Prince Blueblood about mules and donkeys.






Chapter IV: Of the Battle We Fight and Its Justness


Night was falling.

The lasts rays of the sun painted the horizon gold. A gentle breeze nibbled the tree leaves, which tossed fanciful shadows on the ground. The road through the forest was poorly tamped and rarely chose by travellers. The place since long had been avoided by most, due to its bad fame. The beautiful surroundings offered a false feeling of safety, luring the passers-by into a trap.

She did not care. She kept walking forward, with her head raised, confidence and nonchalance in her steps. Still she was focused and careful, for death could have been hiding anywhere: in the tree stump and behind it, in the treetops or, quite commonly, underground.

But she was forced to take this path. Time was running short for her, hanging above her head like the executioner’s axe. Ponyville was still far away, and she had to reach it before the end of the month.

The wind blew with force for just a passing second. It carried danger, for the forest had fallen silent, none of the typical noises of its woodland residence making a sound. She stopped and pricked her ears, listening. Her hoof started to slowly move towards the sword swung over her back. She was ready, expecting an attack from behind, closing her eyes and relying on her other senses, such as hearing and smell to warn her of danger, imminent or otherwise.

She broke the deceptive tranquility of the forest and  started to run. Swift as a doe, she leaped over rotting logs, bounded around trees and crashed through bushes and brambles, making the din of a panicked creature, pulling out her weapon as she did so.




She leaped off a cobblestone bridge, attacking with an upper cut. The mantodeaforb turned her way with hellish speed and parried her blow with its claw. The beast attacked with fury, each blow sending vibrations through her body and causing her to grit her teeth as she dealt with her foe.. Two times higher and much heavier than a pony, it still was incredibly fast. A greyish green chitin armour did not constrain the moves of the creature even in the slightest, despite how similar in appearance it looked to a praying mantis..

Snapping its mandibles, the mantodeaforb swang its claws like mad. Chromia moved backwards, blocking and dodging the chaotic strikes. At the same time she searched for weak points, waiting for her chance to attack or use a Word.

The mantodeaforb raised its front claws to crush the witch. Chromia didn’t miss a beat; she rolled over to the side and hit the beast with an Aard Word. The giant insect shrieked, collapsing onto the bridge. Chromia circled around it, wanting to separate it from its victim, a young stallion. The pony was injured, surely hit by one of the mantodeaforb’s claws. Blood oozed from his flank, as he tried to scramble away from the fight, looking at the witch with fear.

Chromia squinted her eyes. The mantodeaforb jump high in the air, thanks to its wings, and  attacked again. The witch managed to avoid it, but this time she also countered. Her blade hit the giant insect in a gap in its segmented armour, between the claw and body. The mantodeaforb shrieked painfully, as green blood stained the cobblestones and the claw felt to the ground.

The mantodeaforb turned around quickly and hit Chromia with one of its remaining limbs. The zebra flew a few meters away, only by a miracle not falling off the bridge. She cracked her neck, got up, and waited for the beast to come.

The giant insect shrieked again, snapped its mandibles and charged. Just as it was about to strike with its sharpened leg, the witch shouted the Igni Word. Fire enveloped the mantodeaforb, which started to shriek so loudly, that the shrill noise caused her ears hurt, and it even caused  flowers to fade and any milk which might be in the vicinity would curdle.

Chromia leaped with her sword raised in order to finish the beast off, but the mantodeaforb attacked with its mandibles in a last, desperate act. Chromia did not expect such a turn of events and was simply not prepared for the blow.

Her blade went through the insect’s head, but in a last, spasmatic move, the mantodeaforb jabbed Chromia with its żuwaczka in the shoulder. The witch cursed foully and threw the corpse away with an Aard Word. The insect’s body fell over the bridge, followed by a quiet splash.

The witch seethed through clenched teeth. Her injury was deep and painful, but that didn’t bother her so much. With her sword still out, she approached the young unicorn. She leaned on her sword and looked down at the stallion. He was afraid of her. She could clearly see it in his eyes.

“Did I just save you from suicide?” she asked finally. “No one in the right mind travels this way.”

“What about you?”

“I needed to take a shortcut,” she answered after a minute of thinking. “It’s getting dark. Hell, it’s night already.” True, the sun set some time ago.

“And everyone knows that the night is dark and full of terrors…”

“Why did you go through a bridge that’s considered to be cursed?”

“I don’t believe in some stupid peasant fairytales.”

She raised her eyebrow and took a look at the stallion. He did look like a noble or maybe even a merchant. At least not a rich one. He was too young.

“What’s your name?” she asked.

“Veks.”




She awoke abruptly, covered in sweat. She felt hot as if she was boiling in a cauldron at the ninth circle of hell. Something strongly clutched her whole body. She had no idea where was she and why she fell so much intense pain. The lack of clothes  worried her, though. Her sudden wakefulness made her dizzy for a moment.

Slowly, everything started to return to her. The bridge, Au, the Reaches, tomb, lagunna, bandits. She remembered the fight in the village and the sight of Hoe casting spells. Chromia held her head and started to breathe heavily.

She missed her dream already.

“Veks…”

The witch looked around, immediately recognizing the inside of Old Hoe’s house. A quite comfortable bed, a furnace, bookshelves positioned where it was for the pleasure or convenience of its owner. A table littered with mugs, plates and various papers. A wardrobe with a jar on top of it, filled with an unknown substance.

The doors screeched and the village’s burgomaster entered the room, leaning on his walking stick.

“You’re awake,” he said in a croaking voice. “Good. I feared you’d never recover.”

“I’m a witch,” she reminded, looking at the old pony.

Hoe set his hat on the table and sat on a nearby chair. He sighed heavily and cursed under his breath.

“I always though wizards keep doing everything to cheat time, or to even stop its flow for themselves,” Chromia said, still looking at Hoe.

The burgomaster grimaced, as if he just ate a lemon. He shook his head and gave Chromia a tired look.

“If the Council and the likes of them are supposed to be the definition of mages, than I don’t want to be one anymore. I’ve cheated time for far too long anyway. I was deceived by those fools. They poisoned my mind with promises of power, wealth, and eternal life. And I, being young and stupid, allowed them to control me like a puppet.” Hoe looked at his hat. “I believed in their lies.”

“You’re the first wizard I’ve met that disagrees with the Council’s ideals. That’s uncommon. Impprobable, even.”

“And yet,” he snorted, “that is now in the past. My past. And I prefer to focus on present facts. Like you lying here, uncountious for two days. I’m impressed, witch. To loose so much blood and still live…”

“A neat trick, right?”

“Don’t make fun of me!” the old mage shouted, offended. “It’s a damn miracle you’re even alive. And I’m certain that’s not only because of your mutations, training and trials. For apart from being a witch, you’re also a zebra. A creature of the South.”

“To be honest,” Chromia said, grimacing, “I don’t really like when someone mentions that. I’m not a zebra. I’m just a pony with stripes.”

“Say what you want, but words won’t hide nor change your genes and roots,” Hoe said, moving his chair closer to the bed.

“That’s not what defines me. If I was wearing a cloak, you wouldn’t even know I’m a zebra. You wouldn’t see the stripes, the long eyebrows, you wouldn’t even notice that my face is not as smooth as a normal mare’s is.”

“Mayhaps,” Hoe answered. “Still, a zebra you are, and since we’re at the topic of your looks, you surely know that the South’s hard climate and life conditions, in which zebras exist…”

“I have no problems with my looks,” Chromia said proudly, showing Hoe her right profile. “I’m completely assimilated with the Central Dutches society. I mean, I would, if I weren’t a witch. It’s funny, how ponies who differ so much from one another have trouble accepting someone with a different eye shape.”

“You can try to assimilate, of course,” Hoe agreed, looking at the witch. “You can try. But in the age of ignorance, parochialism and backwardness it is an officium destined to fail.”

“Isn’t that what every mage says?” The zebra raised an eyebrow.

“I agree with then in that case, and only in it,” Old Hoe answered, shifting his gaze towards the floor.

Chromia eyed the mage for a short moment, and looked out of the window. It was a warm and sunny day outside.

An unusually sunny July, she thought.

“What…?” she started to ask. “What happened later? After I—“

“Fortunately nothing, thank the gods,” Hoe said, looking up. “The thug that survived and that second strange individual disappeared. I suspect… No, I’m almost certain that was a renegade mage. Or, what’s worse, one of the Council’s dogs. See, we didn’t exactly part our ways in peace. I would even say I managed to piss off those rotten fools. A few valuable items from the Mage Tower disappeared along with me.”

Chromia lips curled in a gentle, almost impossible to see smile, but the witch herself was still eyeing the burgomaster with an impassive look on her face.

The old pony gazed into the floor, clearly lost in thoughts. The witch stayed silent, waiting, for she knew Hoe had something more to say. The mage stirred up her curiosity, mainly because of his views and his attitude towards the Mage Council – it was very rare for wizards to become renegades due to their disapproval with the Council’s way of life. Most of the renegades were young mages, who wanted to taste the forbidden fruits, like necromancy or geocy. Such as they run away and his between bandits, murderers and marauders, trying to achieve their goals despite the costs, often leaving seas of blood and piles of bodies after themselves. Such renegades were hunted, for they vilified the opinion of legal mages. The Council’s fame and good name was the highest priority. They did not care for the wailing of mares, whose husbands have been torn apart by demons. They did not care for the life of innocent foal, lost in experiments. Nor did they care for the tears of fathers who watched their loved ones being killed by those, who were long dead, but some renegade had awoken them from their eternal sleep.

But Hoe was different. He left the small and elite group of mages exactly because of those victims and those who survived, whom his brethern considered unworthy of anyone’s attention.

He was different.

“Why are you a burgomaster, here?” Chromia asked, finally breaking the silence. “You’re helping those poor fools, those simple ponies, to survive. Why? Do you feel guilty? Or maybe you’re ashamed of your former comrades and want to repay for their sins?”

Chromia face was solid, like a beautiful, stone statue.

“I want,” Hoe said finally, “to do something good in my life. To die doing it. And you, witch?”

And me? she thought. I travel from town to town. Kill monsters for money. Fight curses, end foul spells. And after I finish my job, I’m being paid with a few coins and cold looks. No one ever thanks me, no one appreciates it. Each and every time. Because that’s my destiny, she thought. Because that’s… that’s what I’ve been made for.

And now I’m on a vendetta, she almost said out loud. To revenge the only persons that even thank me. The only pony that gave me warmth. The only one… that loved me.

And the one whom she couldn’t protect. A mistake she never wanted to repeat anymore.

“I’m a witch,” she said coldly. “I protect others.”

She looked out of the window. The sky was clear, and the sun bathed the earth in its golden beams. “Even at the price of my own happiness.”




“Damn this weather! The sun’s really burning my butt!” Au Revoir said, wiping her sweaty forehead.

After a week of resting and healing, the two mares finally left the Reaches. Chromia was not pleased, she knew that she had lost a lot of time. Aloe and Erynia could be already hiding in some deep hole in Manehattan or its outskirts. They had a head start from the beginning, and each minute of delay raised their chances to evade Chromia for good.

Au, on the other hoof, seemed to be in a good mood, even despite the fact that she was pretty much cooking in her half-plate armour. Is was so hot that one could make some scrambles eggs on the sun baked rocks, which the mercenary mentioned a few times, bursting into laughter. Chromia, however, did not share her humour.

“It’s been a long time since we had such beautiful weather,” Au observed. “And your expression really adds to the image, witch. A retired gravedigger is merrier than you. Everything is sunny and beamy on this glorious day, expect for your striped self.”

Chromia said nothing, but shoot Au a look that carried many words. Most of them unpleasant.

“Really, your company will give me depression ... or the runs.”

“Could you shut your trap up for just one moment?” the witch said, wearing an expression similar to the martyr, Holy Potato”

“I’ll shut up,” the mercenary answered, “on the day I die.”

As they traveled further, Au kept bombarding Chromia with words, sentences, comparisons and  curses. The mares kept going east, towards Phillydelphia, for the next two days. Not one cloud hid the Sun for all that time, thus – to Chromia’s great satisfaction – the weather started to work against Au. The heat turned out quite a burden for the armour-clad mare, ruining her good mood and putting her through the hoops. Au dragged her hooves, tagging along behind Chromia, who spitted at the sun and its hot rays.

“Is your leg starting to annoy you again, Au?” the witch asked mockingly.

The mercenary muttered such a litany of curses under her breath that if an experienced bouncer would hear it, he’d probably redden like a miller’s daughter when losing her innocence with a stallion her father simply hates.

The witch and the mercenary stooped by the river Flow to fill their flasks. Au immediately wished to do one more thing. “I’ve had enough of this,” she sighed, takin her shin guards off. “I reek something awful and I feel like I’m covered in a weeks worth of sweat.. I’m going for a swim, and I’m doing it now.”

Chromia looked at herself, and then at the river. The thought of jumping into the Flow’s cold, refreshing water was very tempting. To take off her clothes and cool herself would be like a dream come true on such a hot day.

So, without hesitation, the witch set her swords and medallion aside and began taking off her clothes. She took off her leather jacket, ditched her shirt, throw out her belt and braces with elixirs. The golden rings disappeared from her neck, just like the earing and ring that clipped her mane.

And so Chromia’s clothes were soon lying on the dry, sunburned grass. The witch’s body, though,  covered with many bruises and cuts could still be called nothing short from attractive. If someone managed to find a hint of fat, he could be considered being a living magnifyng glass. Her musles were lean and looked as if they had been sculped in granite, but her figure could still make more than one sorceress or lady jealous.

She was, by all standards, a beautiful mare.

And the beautiful mare jumped and dived into the river. For a moment she swam under the surface, and when she came back up, she tossed her mane to the back with one, swift movement and wiped them with her hooves.

“You’re still wearing that armour?” she asked, looking at Au.

As if touched by a magic wand, Au started to hastily take off her armour, feeling the frehness of the water just by looking at Chromia. It took her a moment to free herself from her metal carapace like a hermit crab. 

Au was similar to Chromia in terms of muscles and stature. She had less bruises, but the zebra had a better figure. Au probably drank a lot of beer. Which did not change the fact, that many stallions would stand on attention just upon seeing her hindquarters.

Nightingale jumped into the water, splashing it over Chromia and finding the so much desired refreshment. When she rised up from the water, she sighned blissfully, squinting her eyes.

“Nice tattoo,” Chromia said with a mocking smile.

“Tattoo? What?! How did you-”

“A little too much of your lower parts stayed above the water when you dived. I’ve seen similar tattoos before. Usually they were roses or other flowers, sometimes a skull or a deck of cards. But I’ve never seen a nightingale tattooed on one’s groin.”

“Nightingale!” Au shouted, splashing water over herself to hide her blush. “Friends call me Nightingale, so it’s no wonder I have one as a tattoo, right?”

“And in a very key spot, I might add.”

A loud and long whistle pierced the air. A few more joined not long after. And they were followed by the obligatory shouts, curses and dirty words. But most of all shouts of awe for female beauty.

Chromia turned towards the hill, on which the main road was located. On the river’s far side, a few stallions in chainmails stood, covered with differently coloured tunics and with weapon tucked under their belts. They were the source of shouts and whistles, they were the ones that barked and ślinili się while watching Chromia’s and Au’s bath.

“Look at that, lads! The gods have been merciful to us, they rewarded us for our lawfull behaviour!” one of them shouted, laughing lacherously. “Two nimphs, alive with wild lust, appeared on our way!”

“I’ll give you nimphs, imbecile! You gods-forsaken fool!” Au started to splash the water, like every true mare would do when offended. “You plowing rat, you piece of shit! When I get my hooves on you, lust will be the last thing you’ll think of!”

”Au, calm down,” Chromia wanted to ease the mercenary.

The stallions roared with laughter, which only stirred Au’s fury. She swam towards shore, and when she got out of the water, obsene, vulgar comments started to rain like hails. Almost all of them praised the marvelous shape of Au’s lower body parts.

The mercenary grabbed her sword, unsheathed it and whirled a few times in the air. The stallions went silent at once.

“I’m coming for you!”

Chromia jumped out of the water, wanting to stop the other mare, but she was stopped by a loud scream. The voice was low and powerful, it silenced the stallions and even forced Au to calm down. A short, burly mule appeared next to the soldiers, clad in heavy armour. On his back lied a great axe. He eyed the stallions, spitted and cursed meanly.

“What in the whole bucking world is going on here?!” he shouted. One of the stallions, a tall, but thin as a pole unicorn pointed at Chromia and Au with a shaking hoof. The mule gazed at the two mares for a moment. Then he spitted again, grimaced and faced the stallions, throwing another litany of curses. “You sons of bitches! You numskulls!”




“Please, do forgive us, dear ladies,” Roland Skywater, an officer and the royal quartermaster, said. “These… good lads are on duty since half a year, and you probably imagine that it is hard to come across such… beautiful mares in such conditions.”

Roland Skywater was a sky-blue unicorn with a mane the colour of the sea and orange eyes. He was taller even than Chromia, which made him very tall by all standards. Chromia, as a zebra, easily overtopped most stallions.

The two mares came across a military convoy, transporting weapons and supplies to the outpost in New Baltimore. Four carts, covered with a sheet  and pulled by eight soldiers, escorted by thirty mercenary ponies and one mule. It was those mercenaries that adored Chromia’s and Au’s charms just a few moments ago.

The witch gazed at the quartermaster with a cold look and stony face. He answered with the same. As Chromia looked at him, she came a number of conclusions. Firstly, Roland was the veteran of many wars and battles. The toils of life were engraved on his leathery weather beaten face. Secondly, his stance stated that he was used to wearing heavy armour and weapons, which allowed to guess in what forces he served.

“Why,” Chromia asked slowly, “does the army recruit mercenaries? Isn’t there enough skinny soldiers sitting in cities and outposts?”

Roland grimaced, as if the aforementioned fact made him feel uncomfortable. He muttered something under his breath, looking at the mercenaries, at whom Au was currently throwing curses. Six stallions of all races cowered their ears, while the chunky mule laughed, drinking some vodka.

“It was an order,” Roland said at last. “Our troops numbers are limited, the garrisons in cities, forts and castles are to stay untouched. The landlords are scared. That’s why I was given the order to recruit mercenaries for protection. The Creator cursed me with these… dossiers.”

”And what are the landlords so afraid of?” Chromia asked, rising her eyebrow. “Is there a war stirring up that I know nothing about? Do our neighbors from Rehenia plan to come here with swords and fire to burn, steal and rob? Or maybe the pegasi from the South want to attack, to cover the sky and hide the sun?”

Roland squirted his eyes and shoot Chromia a harsh look. She didn’t even wince.

”Your irony and sarcasm are unnecessary, witch,” he said in a voice cold as his gaze. “The Foxes wander the forests. They burn down villages, kill the peasants and our patrols. No one’s safe. That’s why our garrisons must be full, because those hellhounds attack in groups. Soldiers must be prepared to help nearby villages at every time as well. And the Foxes don’t mind spilling the blood of peasants, as long as those peasants are ponies.”

“Somehow,” the witch shoot a quick look at the mule, sitting on one of the carts, “that doesn’t stop you from hiring a mule to protect your goods from other mules. Do you hope that his brethren will leave you alone because of him? That they won’t bother you? That maybe they’ll just wave in a friendly way from the bushed they’ll be hiding in, treat you with some berries? Well, I say they’ll still kill you off, shoot you like ducks. And he will be called a traitor and the ponies dog.”

“You’re smart, witch,” he snarled,” but you haven’t told me anything new. I trust Vasyl. I hired him, because I’m certain of his loyalty, and even more certain of his experience and abilities. I wholeheartly believe… no, I know he won’t betray me. That he’ll stand and fight at the right side. For he, unlike the Foxes, is not a some snot. He understands what is right and wrong.”

“And what is right”? Chromia asked immediately.

Roland did not answer.

The mule – Vasyl – laughed loudly, showing his teeth. His armour crunched, the large axe swayed on his back. He looked at the mercenaries huddled ears and at Au’s proudly puffed-up chest and stern gaze. He knew a vast number of curses, but this inconspicious mare proved him that one learns all the time.

“Ha ha! My grandma, may she rest in peace, used to say something like that whenever grandpa came back home drunk like a pig. A long time has passed since I heard a repertoire as rich as yours, miss Au,” he laughed, and took a long sip from his flask. He didn’t even wince when the vodka washed down his throat.

“Your grandmother must’ve been a wise mare,” Au said happily, smiling thankfully towards the mule. “I assume that inherited her behaviour, or am I mistaken?”

”Right you are, miss.” Vasyl thumped at his chest, so hard his armour rumbled. “Those slimebags must be helt on a short leash, and if needed, whacked in the muzzle so hard that their teeth rattle. To serve, that is their damn duty, not to gaze at every flank they come upon on the road.”

“We’ve been travelling for a month now,” a young, armour-clad earth pony said. “And all we hear is ‘go here’, ‘go there’, ‘escort this’, ‘escort-”

“Shut your trap, Pike, or I’ll do it for you,” one of the mercenaries, who Au didn’t recognize, shouted. He was almost identical to the young pony, with the same coat colour, the same – albeit grayed – dark-blue hair. The only difference was the mustache, that the older pony proudly showed.

“What you saw wasn’t enough for you, snout? You should beg the good lady for forgiveness on your very knees. The pain I must come through with you…”

“Javelin, give the boy a rest,” Vasyl smirked. “I bet you were acting the same way at his age.”

“You see, miss,” the pony named Javelin said, seeing Au’s curious face. “This imbecile here is my son, my one and only child. The boy showed no talent towards sewing, shoeing, tannig or cooking, so I decided to teach him some of my profession. And he does a good job at that, like his father. Stupid he is, yes, after his mother, but damn can he use a sword!”

”And damn no one can ramble like you do, Javelin!” Vasyl chucked.

The old mercenary cursed under his breath. Au, on the other hoof, regained her good mood and seemed to forget all the “compliments” the soldiers gave her. She started to dabate with Vasyl and Javelin on various topics, most of them connected with the mercenary line of work - how much can one earn, how did it all look a few years earlier and so on. Finally, the conversation came to the topic of Foxes.

Vasyl became reticent, he only nooded or muttered in disagreement. But they all reached the conclusion that Foxes greatly increased the incomes of all mercenaries. Still, Au voted that the job was a very risky one. Javelin nooded, Vasyl stayed silent. All three of them knew how the Foxes treated their prisoners.

Meanwhile, Chromia was still busy chatting with Roland. They mainly talked about politics and the ruler’s view on the Foxes. The quartermaster was stern, harsh and precise in his opinion. The witch also.

Nevertheless, the conversation was due to steer towards another topic eventually.

“Which way are you traveling, witch?” Roland asked.

“Manehattan.”

“What a lucky coincidence.” Roland’s eyes flashed brilliantly. “We’re going the same way. As I said, this convoy is on its way to Baltimare.”

“I’m happy to hear that. But I don’t know how is that supposed to matter to me.”

“You see, I’m was given permission to hire mercenaries for protection. For a settled amount of time, but not only.” Roland made an effective pause, eyeing Chromia for a few seconds. “And I’m very generous when it comes to payment.”

“No,” she replied without hesitation. “I know what you mean, and I say ‘no’. Not now, not ever. I’m no sword for hire. I kill monsters for money, yes. But I’m not for sale. I’ll have to deny your offer, Roland.”

”You’re no sword for hire, that is plain. Mainly due to your apparent propiety.” The unicorn looked at his mercenaries, and then gazed at the one mare that was not part of his troop. “But she is. I’m interested in her opinion on that matter.”

“It’s not my business, if Au takes upon your offer or not. But don’t count on my help, Roland.” The witch’s voice was cold as a December night. “End of topic.”




Thousands of flashy points shined on the black sky, creating various constellations, a delightful sign for everyone whose sense of beauty goes beyond a mare’s spread legs. The silver moon plunged Equestria in its light, giving the land a mystical, almost fairy-tale appearance.

The mercanaries and soldiers set up their camp on a grassfield not far from the main route. The witch and the mercenary were standing outside the camp, next to a small altar of the Creator, built at an empty field for the sole reason that someone built it there.

“You said ‘yes’,” Chromia stated.

“That I did,” Au snorted, not looking at her. “I never ditch a chance to earn a few bits, and besides, we would have to take this road anyway. I don’t know what’s wrong in traveling in a bigger group and getting payment while doing that.”

“Because you allow someone to buy you like a sword. A dead item.” Chromia looked at Au, who kept avoiding her gaze. “Roland may be a royal quartermaster, but there’s something about him I don’t like. He just doesn’t look like a decent person.”

Au laughed loudly.

“You’re one to talk! You, my dear Chromia, hardly look like someone decent yourself. Especially when you try to freeze someone with that gaze of yours. It’s my life, witch. I’m a sword to hire. I kill those I’m ordered to kill, I protect those I’m ordered to protect. You kill monsters, and only monsters. And you’re an expert in that field. I kill everything, and also protect ponies. Not only from monsters.”

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t pretend to be stupid. I know you have that codex of your’s, that dumb rule to stay neutral and keep out of the outer world’s conflicts. You’ll protect a peasant’s family from a werewolf, wyvern od lesi. But would you protect them from marauders, thieves or other individuals? From those motherbucking Foxes? Please, tell me your definition of a monster, witch. What exactly is a monsters, according to you?”

Chromia answered with silence.

“Because you see, I think a monster is everything that behaves contrary to its species nature. For me, a monster is a father raping his own daughter, a mother killing her child. A monster is a judge that sends a pickpocket to the gallows, while murderers wander around freely. The Foxes, who kill peasant families for no reason, who rape underage mares and skin their fathers and brothers alive, who hunt foals with their bows. Those are true monsters for me.”

Chromia stayed silent. The two mares heard the loud talks of mercenaries, Vasyl’s chortling and Javelin’s commands. They heard crickets performing a concert for the fireflies. Chromia heard her heart beating, Au’s breath, and even someone eating beans in the camp. She even heard a wolf’s howl, far, far away.

“No, Au,” she said at last. “Those are not monsters.”

The mercenary wanted to rise her voice. Her face reddened, she was just about to shout, shout so loudly that she would be heard in Vanhoover, but Chromia stopped her with a quick gesture and looked in the eyes. Au saw true sadness on the witch’s face.

“Those are just ponies.”




The sun rose slowly above the horizon, bathing the fields and plains in gold. Water tinkled quietly in the stream that connected with the river Flow a few kilometers further. Au woke up before everyone else, or at least so she thought. She stretched like a cat, yawned, cracked her neck a few times and spat. The morning’s crisp air refreshed her, taking away the dizziness connected with getting up. She washed her face in the stream and was just about to start eating a biscuit.

She was interrupted by Vasyl’s loud yawn and squelching. The mule was also awake, but seemed to be taking his time getting up, unlike Au. He lazily opened his eyes and began to scratch his crotch.

The mare snorted, when she saw Vasyl, which alarmed the mule. His eyes shot wide open, his head started to turn, looking for the source of laughter, and his hoof quickly retreated. Au laughed even merrier, smiled towards the mule, took a bite of her biscuit and waved her hoof.

“No need to panic,” she said, chewing. “We’re all good friends here.”

“Now that’s a surprise,” the mule also smiled. “It is a rare occasion that mares travel with mercenaries, and even rarer that they sleep amidst them. And frankly, this is the first time someone saw my morning ritual and didn’t criticize it.”

“I’m not some spoiled landlady, used to live in luxuries and unable to imagine life without them,” Au declared proudly, crumbling her biscuit everywhere. “I’m a mercenary and to sleep on sole ground, under the stars, is nothing strange for me. And when something itches me, I consider it necessary to scratch myself.”

Vasyl got up, his bones cracking in all possible ways. He snorted loudly, scratching his beard. Then he pulled out two big carrots from his bags and started to eat. He chomped off half of the first carrot in the first bite.

“How did it happen that someone like you took up a job like this one?” Vasyl asked after a few moments of silence.

“Let’s say,” Au started to answer, smiling, “that it’s sort of a family tradition. My father taught me everything he knew. Sword-fighting, the art of survival. How to take care of myself in this world. And I learned, busily and eagerly, because it was something attractive for me. An independent life without chains; like children, a husband, piles of laundry and cooking. I wanted to be free, not to work like a slave. And I made it.”

The mule smiled, showing off his slightly yellowish teeth.

“Your father surely was a great pony, to love his daughter so much. At times like these, where nowhere is safe, where one can get his throat sliced for a few bits, he helped you fulfill your dream. Even if that dream was a dangerous one.”

“To be honest, he sort of had no choice. You see, I have two older brothers. Theoretically they were the ones my father wanted to teach fighting. But… they weren’t fit for that. At least not in his eyes. One of them is an extraordinary drunk; I don’t even know if his still alive. And the other one, laugh if you want, became a cleric in one of the Creator’s temples.”

“Shit in a bag and punch it! Two rotten apples in one family! Well, miss, I don’t envy you. I have four brothers and three sister myself, but I love all of them. Even if sometimes I have to punch one of them in the nose. But that’s because I care! You see, my family has a very strong sense of tradition. My great-grandfather was a farmer, my gramps also. And my father as well. So after that came the time for me and my siblings. But… well, it looks like I’m the rotten apple in my family.”

“So everyone in your family is a farmer?”

“That’s the way mules live, you see. Real mules, not those snot-nosed idiots, those plowing Foxes! Freedom, they say. Freedom and equal life for mules and donkeys! Horseapples, I say. I don’t know what they’re fighting for, but it sure as hell isn’t a better life for me and my kind. Pogroms, torment and oppression, that’s all that comes out of their struggles. Ponies are scared and see an enemy in every mule and donkey now.”

Au looked away, for she also despised, and even hated, Foxes and treated mules and donkeys with wariness. Vasyl managed to break that barrier almost immediately.

“I don’t know, who started it all,” Vasyl added with a sigh, “but I hope he’ll rot for that. For all the blood that’s been spilled.”

”For the sake of us all, Foxes must be caught, hanged and killed.”

Both Vasyl and Au were surprised by the sudden and quiet emergence of Roland. The unicorn looked at them with a cold, bored gaze. Au eyed him, showing no particular emotions, much like Vesyl.

”For you are right, dear Vasyl,” Roland said. “The Foxes only bring bad fame to ones like you.”

The convoy started to buzz with activity . The soldiers with caparisons in royal colours ate a quick meal and prepared themselves for travel in short time. Roland looked after everything, giving orders firmly and precise. Chromia was ready to leave before anyone even noticed her. The mercenaries assembled slowly and lazily, despite Roland’s reprimands; the quartermaster threatened them that they wouldn’t get any payment, but the mercenaries hardly believed him.

They moved out when the sun raised wholy above the horizon, but was still far from reaching its highest point. The convoy moved slowly on the eastern road that leaded to Manehattan, through Phillydelphia and Baltimare. Chromia felt more and more anxious with each step. She could not stop thinking what will she do when she finds Aloe and Erynia.

I’ll kill them, she though. Kill… just like they killed Veks? That would be the proper thing to do. The easiest one. But why did they do it? Why did she do it? It would have not been so puzzling if only the renegade mage was involved. But why did a witch murdered someone? She had no personal feuds with Veks. She couldn’t have.

Chromia cursed under her breath, grimacing.

“A bad day?” Au asked, coming towards her.

“Even more than a day.”

“Yes ... I’ve seen your attitude and faces since quite some time now. Is it what I think it is?”

“No,” the witch sighed. “I don’t have periods. I’m sterile. And besides… I’m too old for that.”

“How old are you, anyway?” Au tilted her head.

The witch smiled slightly. “Far older than you.”




The sun was high in the sky now. Chromia’s attention was focused on a squabble with Roland, about the validity of the witch’s codex that Chromia kept referring to. Or at least Roland though it was all about the codex, for even though the witch kept mentioning it, the truth was that long ago she had set her own rules, which she followed.

For the witches never had any codex. They were taught only a few basic rules and laws, and they formed the rest on their own, basing on the experience they earned during their travels. The only books ever written by witches was their bestiary, which was constantly growing, and a book containing recipes for their potions – the second one was protected by the witches by all means and costs.

Roland was of the opinion that Chromia should agree to join the mercenaries, if only because of the chance they get attacked by some monsters. The zebra insisted that her rules don’t allow her to do that. The quartermaster had no idea that the only thing keeping Chromia from agreeing were her own suspicions and speculations.

They were not the only ones with a different opinion on certain things. Au and Vasyl argued what kind of weapon is better. Au thought one-hoofed swords the superior weapon, light and fast, that allowed the warrior to use his free hoof to wield a shield, hold a dagger or to simply punch the opponent in the shout.

The mule, however, believed that a heavy, two-hoofed weapon allows to kill the enemy much faster and easier. 

“All it takes is some strength,” he said, and then began to recount the many times when he managed to kill whole groups of enemies just by swinging his large axe back and forth. He kept guffawing while returning to those memories.

Au clutched her head in disbelief, explaining that such a fighting style was stupid and barbarian, and above all extremely dangerous. She tried explaining to Vasyl that agility and speed are enough to win with someone like him.

The mule laughed, pointing out that those words were said by a mare in a half-plate armour.

Young Pike listened closely to their discussion, hoping to get a chance to support Au’s statements. His father was debating with one of the mercenaries about the recent prizes of shields and the dishonesty of tax collectors. Pike knew this was an opportunity he was waiting for for some time now.

For Au Revoir, also known as Nightingale, catch his interest from the very moment he first saw her. Truth be told, the sudden appearance of two mares became a sensation between all the mercenaries and royal soldiers, but Au invaded Pike’s thoughts in a very special way. Chromia also did that, but in a far less positive sense. The stallion was young, his imagination spurred and when he thought of Chromia, shivers run down his spine, while every thought of Au made his heart beat faster and a wave of heat run over his soul and body.

The problem was, Pike didn’t think his feelings were mutual. Truth be told, he even felt scared. So he patiently waited for a chance to grow in Au’s eyes. A debate about various weapon types seemed like the perfect occasion.

Almost, for Pike didn’t really agree with any of them.

“I tell you,” Au snorted, “that all I need to parry your attack is a small bounce back and then a block to your axe with my shield. After that, all I need to do is swerve and thrust with my sword.”

“Take heed, miss, that I’m not a cart loaded with coal, and I can move on my own as well. I’m not some dumb lumberjack to press hold an attack; I’m the one that leads my axe, not the other way around! Even if you manage to leap away, I won’t just stand and wait for you to strike. I’ll just leap after you and attack in a pirouette.”

”Then I’ll jump back again and wait for you to stop. You’ll be feeling slightly dizzy, and that’s when I’ll start to attack with fast strikes that you won’t be able to block with your axe.”

“That’s what I have my armour for; it’ll stop your fast, but light attacks. And when I swing my weapon, that shield of yours won’t help you.”

“Horseapples. Yopu wouldn’t manage to back away on time. Your armour may be strong, but it has a few gaps and you don’t even wear a helmet. All I need are a few strikes to distract you and then I could finish the job.”

“You oversell yourself, missy,” Vasyl snorted. “And you underestimate me!”

“Don’t call me a plowing missy!”

Pike felt a tad scared, seeing Vasyl in such an angry state, but noticed that the thing Au needs most right know is… to tell her she was right.

“Miss… I mean, Au is right,” he said with confidence, though his heart was thumping like a hammer.

Vasyl glared at him, squirting his eyes so hard, that his bushy eyebrows hid them almost completely. Au looked at Pike with amazement and satisfaction.

“And what do you know about fighting, squirt?” the mule snorted.

“What’s wrong, old bull? The youngster is only saying I’m right. Ask the witch, and she’ll tell you the same thing.”

Vasyl muttered something under his breath, like a curse most foul, and slowed down a little, joining the mercenaries at the back of the convoy. Au looked glad and proud because of the won debate. Pike started to trot along her, not knowing, what to say next.

“You were right,” he finally said.

“Of course I was! It was all simple and logical! But thanks for the support anyway; that old mule would never gave up. So, how do like a mercenary’s life, Pike?” Au asked.

“There’s always something to do,” he answered with a smile. “And always a chance to earn a few bits. Well, my dad takes most of our wages, but that doesn’t put me off. I like this kind of… freedom and so on…”

“Why do I get the feeling that’s not entirely true?” Au grinned a bit. “Family tradition? You wanted to live up to your father’s expectations?”

Pike looked away. “Yes,” he answered shortly.

Au sighed and patted the young stallions shoulder. She understood him in a way: her own life as a mercenary also came from her family’s traditions and her father’s passion. But she loved this kind of life. She loved the freedom that no house would ever give her, she loved the adrenaline connected with fighting. The sound of a blade piercing the air was music to her ears. Her armour was like the most beautiful of dresses.

But she understood Pike.

“Then why don’t you say ‘no’ and start doing what you want to do? Live the way you want to? You are grown up, after all.”

“Are you serious?” he said. “How could I simply spit on my family tradition and disappoint my father? All my ancestor were soldiers and fighters! How could I just betray them?”

“Ha! That’s the thing, Pike. We all live our own life. What are you, some little princess, whose future husband was chosen before she even learned how to talk? Or some boy rised in a monastery, or maybe,” Au looked around, making sure she was out of Chromia’s earshot, “a witch? You’re free and you can live your own life!”

“You… you’re not making fun of me, are you?”

”If I wanted to make fun of you, I’d seduce you first and then gave a slating right in front of everyone else... Why’d you got so red all of a sudden?”

“It’s nothing, nothing… So what you’re saying is that I should go to my father and tell him, that I don’t want to be a mercenary anymore?”

“If you truly don’t like it. If you feel you’re not made for it… Tell me, have you ever killed anyone?”

“N-no,” he sputtered.

“And do you think you’re capable of doing so? Does the thought of blood flowing down your blade, the look of someone’s life fading away because of your strike makes you feel sick? Does the prospect of taking away a life makes you feel as if you had a hundred of eels snaking in your stomach?”

Pike paled, buried deeply in thought. He started to sweat and breath heavily. After a few minutes, when the storm in his brain passed, he dropped his head low.

Au send him an encouraging smile.

“Then this isn’t the life for you,” she said calmly. “And your father should know that. Because this is not about tradition, but about your very survival. If you’re not ready to kill, someone else will be. And sooner or later you’ll come across a fighter that won’t hesitate to strike you down. And then the family tradition will end. I’ll back you up in your talk with your father, don’t worry.”

The convoy traveled further to the east. Hooves click-clacked on the pavement, wheels rattled. Chromia stopped arguing with Roland when he had enough of it and went to the back of the convoy to see if everything is all right—at least that was what he said. Pike was all ill-tempered, he looked pale and scared. Scared of confroting his father, even despite Au’s good word and aid.

But he was also increadibly happy that Au noticed him. As to Nightingale herself, she was also back on speaking terms with Vasyl. They even gotten to another discussion, this time about different types of armour. The duo was cheerful again in no time and they did not shrink from showing that to the whole convoy with great bursts of laugher.

The travelers put up another camp in the evening, near the crossing of the roads towards New and Old Batimare. Chromia felt something heavy in her heart as she looked at the way leading to that last town.

Fire cracked in the campfire around which the convoy members gathered to rest, talk and laugh. Only Roland sat away from the others, checking some papers and nibbling on a halfloaf of bread. Vasyl took a large gulp from his flask with vodka and passed it further to Javelin. Pike talked to Au on the other side of the fire—the young stallion seemed to be telling her a story, judging by the interested look on her face, but only three could read the twinkle in her eye. One of them was saying how he once won a drinking contest, the other one was not interested in the fire and only used it as a source of light, and the third on kept looking at the road towards Old Baltimare with sadness.

He would have liked her, the witch thought. He was just like Au. Articulated, mouthy, fly. He had a responce to everything, he always had to make a comment. No one could say he had social graces, but that was what gave him charm. Bold and brave, he was always hanging. He even had the same sparkle in the eye when he came up with an idea…

Chromia closed her eyes. She listened to the sounds of talking soldiers, of Pike’s whispering. She heard Roland curse at someone under his breath every now and them.

She got up and sneaked into the night. No one noticed her. Or no one wanted to.

“Are you serious? You’re not pulling my leg?” Au said, smiling towards Pike.

“I would never do that,” the young mercenary answered quickly.

“Then sing something,” she encouraged him, “and don’t care about anything. Singing is quite common amongs mercenaries! How many times did I throw myself into battle with a song on my lips? It increases the morale in fighting. Come on, sing.”

Pike turned slowly towards the group of soldiers and mercenaries. He opened his mouth, but the chatter of talks drowne out his words. He panicked a bit, his throat felt dry and all of his confidence was lost. Au decided to intervine.

“Lads, be quiet for a moment,” she said loudly, but no one seemed to hear her. “Hey, shut up!”

Still no reaction.

“Shut your traps, dammit!”

In the sudden silence that felt upon the camp, the cracking of fire could be probably heard from a mile. The crickets in the nearby grass were loud as battle drums, and the wind howled in the treetops like some phantom. Roland looked up from his papers towards the campfire. Vasyl froze, his mouth agape. A soldier who was just about to have a drink dropped the flask and spilled all the vodka in it. He quickly passed it to his companion, thankful that Vasyl was gazing at Au.

In the distance, Chromia’s ears twitched.

“Thank you,” Au smiled lovely and batted her eyelashes. “Everyone of you likes songs, am I right? Of course I am! So, how about hearing a true artist use the talent that mother nature and father Creator gave him?” Au smiled again. “Pike, you may begin.”

Everyone, Roland included, seemed to be taken aback. Especially Javelin. Pike stood up, looked at his companions, gulped and closed his eyes. And started to sing:


Who is that stallion, walking through that plain?
Passing through cities, mountains and seas?
Maybe a mare he follows in vain,
Oblivious, how sly a lady can be.

All is a lie, the truth has died,
Swords have taken over these troubled times,
Tongues are cut out, there’s no place for words,
Gold sings the Great Song of the World.

We use gold to buy, we use it to pay,
For goods and for services alike,
The voice of reason is worth less than hay,
Gold’s rule over our souls is might.

All is a lie, the truth has died,
Swords have taken over these troubled times,
Tongues are cut out, there’s no place for words,
Gold sings the Great Song of the World.


Again, silence filled the air around the campfire. Roland eyed Pike with approval and respect. Vasyl smiled, showing his teeth. The mercenaries started to whisper amongst themselves, shake heads and made various – though this time most positive—gestures. Au drifted away into the land of great battles and even greater victory toasts.

Chromia, who was practicing with her sword a quarter of a mile from the camp stopped still. For a moment she stood, still as a statue, and then she smiled just slightly, though in her heart she cheered loudly. Then she returned to her sword-dance.

Javelin couldn’t shake off the shock. He looked at his son with a stone face. Pike started to get anxious and worried, afraid even. But then Javelin got up, approached him and smiled widely. He patted Pike in the shoulder and run a hoof through his mane.

“I’m proud of you, son.”




The stallion was galloping on the main road for a few hours now. He was tired, his breath slightly irregular, but he kept on running. He had orders. The Sun’s heat was burning him since a few days, but Deliver was in no place to argue. He was a messanger and when someone told him to go from one place to another, he did just that. The steward of New Baltimare—Sharp Horn—gave him letters for an officer stationing in Ponyville. Well, thruth be told, Sharp Horn had no idea what was in those letters, since he was also only passing them further, but orders were orders.

And Deliver was ordered to get them to Ponyville. The life of a messanger was not an easy one: they run from one spot to another, often without time for any breaks. Especially when the messanger was young. The payement was quite good, yes, but it paled in comparison to the amount of work one had to do.

The only small benefit was the chance to visit and see different places, but that did not made the young messanger’s mood much better. But he was intrigued by the greatly increased movement between the capital city and the gatehouses on the south-east borderline. Deliver was too young to remember the last great war, but he could somehow fell another one hanging in the air.

He run across the bridge over Flow river. He passed the gatehouse, not slowing down for even a second, and finally reached the Brogg Forest. Or rather the place where the woods crossed with the main road, for Brogg stretched through the whole length of the south side of the Foal Mountains.

The young earth pony welcomed the cool shadows of oak trees with pleasure. The whisper of leaves in the treetops felt refreshing for him.

The arrow whoosed through the air.

Deliver, happy to get away from the day’s heat, closed his eyes and sighed.

And never opened them back.




Two donkeys came out of the bushes quietly like ghosts. They looked around and quickly run towards the body of a young earth pony. One of the donkeys had a bow; he pulled out an arrow and readied himself, as him companion knelt next to the dead pony and pulled out the arrow that killed him. He opened Deliver’s bag and started searching for something.

“Faster, Jose,” the donkey with the bow said. “Someone can come here any minute.”

“Damn,” Jose cursed. “Nothing interesting here. Nothing about us. There was no need to kill him.”

“There’s always need to kill the bucking royal’s delivery dogs,” the other one said. “C’mon, let’s bury the body somewhere in the woods. Or burn it.”




“What… the hell… is that?” Vasyl grimaced.

“Holy shit,” Au sighed.

Chromia inspected the greenish, glueish substance flowing down the tree bark’s on something, that looked like a piece of torn off skin. Black skin. The witch, the mule and Nightingale preceded the convoy to make a recce. It was then that Vasyl found a most strange thing.

“Interesting,” Chromia muttered, crunching in front of the tree.

She neared her face to the substance and took a sniff. Her face sneered with disgust at the foul smell. To her companions disgust, she touched the substance with her hoof and tasted with the tip of her tongue. Her face sneered even more.

“Sour and spicy. Like venom.”

“How do you know what venom tastes like? “Au asked.

“If you ever get tired of life, I’ll let you take a sip of my elixirs.”

Au rised her eyebrow.

“When I manage to make some,” Chromia added, lowering her head down.

She pulled out her sword and lifted the strange skin with its tip, taking a closer look. The skin was scabrous on one side, looking quite thick and hard, but to be certain of that, the witch would have to touch it. She had no intention of doing so.

“Are there any more signs of this thing?” she asked, pointing at the venom.

“There’s one over there.” Vasyl pointed to greenish stains on the grass. “That damn thing has surely run away into the woods!” He spat on the ground.

“That’s possible. I have no idea what it was, though. I’ve never came across such a substance before. I suspect something like a giant insect, they tend to excrete… similar matter.”

“Wonderful,” Au snorted. “All we needed were giants bugs. As if this place didn’t have enough monsters already.”

“I’m not complaining,” the witch smiled awkwardly. “At least there’s plenty of job opportunities for me.”

“Dear Creator… And you’re happy because of that and keep saying that those are not monsters. It’s Vasyl and me here who fight the less abominable enemy. I mean, because-”

“You’re mercenaries,” the witch finished. “And didn’t you tell me yourself it was that the worst monster is that less abominable enemy?”

“I… you… . That’s not what… Oh, get lost, you dumb whore!”

Chromia laughed under her breath, when an outraged and confunded Au started to march quickly back to the convoy. Vasyl looked dumbfounded; he looked at Chromia slightly amazed, a little scared and absolutely lost.

“Damn… You say this belonged to some kind of insect? A big one?” he asked, placing his hoof on his axe’s handle. 

“The size of a dog. At least. I don’t even know what this is.” Chromia swinged her sword, throwing off the skin. If it even was skin. “But I wouldn’t worry about it. I’’m more concerned about Au.”

“Nah, she’ll be okay. She probably having her mare days. She’ll bellyache about everything for two days and then she’ll calm down,” the mule said.

“Maybe. But that’s not the case, Vasyl.” The witch shook her head. “It’s about the crush of two different worldviews. You see, we have two different definitions of monsters. Hers is more symbolical, while mine’s more… practical. And she’s mad that I kill the literal monsters, but don’t want to work as a mercenary.”

“For me, a monster is everything that takes joy in killing. And it doesn’t matter if it’s a mule, pony, donkeys or whatever the woods hide. Sure, I took many lifes away with my axe, but I never did that with pleasure, like those plowing Foxes.”

“There’s much truth in that,” Chromia ageed. “But still… Killing mules, ponies, donkeys or other rational beings means I would have to take sides. If I support you, I’ll become an enemy to the Foxes; if I choose them, I’ll become you’re enemy. But I don’t want to take part in this war, because it’s not my war. I can kill stigas or vampires and protect both little foals, mules and donkeys.”

“And that’s something very much to your credit, witch. But, as my grandfather tend to say, war touches everyone. Lords, soldiers, peasants, merchants, and everyone else. Because war knows no mercy and doesn’t care who will die. Neutrality is like sitting on a fence: either you’ll get hemorrhoids, or you’ll end up on one of the fence’s sides. There’s no other option. I need a drink. Cursed louses… they drunk away all my good stuff.”

“War touches everyone... I’ve heard that before. You’re a wise mule, Vasyl.”

The mule smiled widely, showing off his teeth.

“But I lived through a few wars and never took sides. Never. I didn’t fight for Rehenia, when it went to war with Suraman, because King Ghringhor wanted to take revenge for seducing his daughter. The witches stood and watched, when Laulerin’s troops passed the river Flow, near Neighagra Falls, and attacked Rehenia.”

“And what about… back then?”

Chromia didn’t say a word. She knew what Vasyl had in mind. She was aware of the horribleness connected with the Great War. She read about it, heard about it. But she never though how the witches would behave in such a situation. She never wanted to. Still, Vasyl was right.

What about back then?

“There were no witches back then,” she answered after a long silence. “Not yet…”




In the evening, as the golden circle of the sun hid behind the horizon, the convoy came across a surprise: a few dozen soldiers of Laulerin. Twenty warriors armed with lances and twelve crossbowponies.

Their leader, a tall unicorn with orange colouring and eyes, stood in front of his soldiers and proudly puffed his chest.

Roland, dressed in similar, but more modest colours, also went up front.

“Who are you?” the orange stallion asked sharply. “Where are you heading and what for?”

“At ease, my friend,” Roland answered slowly and lazily. “We’re a royal convoy. We carry supplies to the guardpost at New Baltimare.”

The orange stallion eyed the carts and their guardians critically. He smiled a crooked smile and looked at Roland, who still didn’t show any kind of emotions.

“A royal convoy, you say? Supplies for New Baltimare, you say?”

“Is something unclear about that?”

“A few things, actually,” the orange one snorted. “I don’t understand what are all those mercenaries doing here. Not to mention a zebra. This doesn’t look like a royal convoy at all.”

“If you don’t know about the permission to hire mercenaries for protection, then I’m not sure if you’re really a servant of the crown. What about you? Cities are supposed to held garrisons and soldiers are to sit there quietly, biding their time. I may be looking at a bunch of deserters, for all I know.”

The troops commander reddened with anger and his face twisted in a comical grimace. He snorted and backed away, signaling his soldiers. Roland’s mercenaries started to discreetly unsheet their weapons. Javelin scratched his side, but his hoof was in a position that allowed him to quickly reach for his spear. Vasyl seemed to eye the westering sun, but petted his axe at the same time. Au smiled innocetly to everyone, but also toyed with her swords handle.

Chromia stood unmoved and calm, as always. She didn’t even pay much attention to the whole commotion.

The soldiers in caparisons looked at their weapons and at each other, but did not move. The atmosphere was tense, seconds turned into hours, the wind caressed everyone’s faces, irritating, disturbing, frustrating.

”You’re calling me a deserter?” the soldier’s leader snorted, breaking the silence.

“Yes. Because I was given precise orders. I have all the gleits and documents. And you and your soldiers? Where are you going and why?”

“We’re patrolling the road to New Baltimare. The Foxes wander around Brogg, many ponies have disappeared without a trace. There’s too much of those freaks out there. A lonely traveler or even a small group don’t stand a chance. They Foxes shoot them while hidden in the bushes!”

“As you see, we’re no small group.” Roland grinned. “But thanks for the warning, fellow soldiers. Have a good day.”

“Hold on. Show me those papers and gleits of yours.”

“To whom? A bunch of run-offs?”

“I’m a royal officer called Sharp Blade! I’ve been serving in the Laurelian army for ten years!”

“Ah, yes, I’ve heard of you,” Roland said, keeping his eyes on Sharp. “You fight the Foxes, and you’re quite efficient at that. I’ve heard you’ve been already rewarded for that a few times.”

“So you know me and you know, that I serve the Queen. Show me your passes and you’ll be free to go.”

Roland pulled from under his chainmail a round, silver medialion with the royal symbols: a star wand and the crescent moon. Sharp Blade looked at it and nodded. Roland took out a scroll from his bag and passed it to the officer. Sharp examinated it and nodded again. He shoot a hard glance at the quatermaster, but Roland’s face was still rock-solid.

“All right, everything seems to be in order. Move on. But be warned: the Foxes were seen east from here, not a long time ago. I’d watch out if I were you. The bastards might get interested in your convoy.”

“We’ll be all right. But thanks for the warning. Godspeed, soldiers. Long live the Queen!”

“Long live the Queen!”

The troops started to march west, in Ponyville’s direction. Roland watched them for a long moment, his expression bland. The mercenaries looked at one another, whispered and talked about the incoming fight. Vasyl lowered his head down. Pike gulped and started to look around nervously, which caught Javelin’s attention. The unicorn started to feel anxious as well. Au looked at Chromia, who in turn also looked at her. The witch really wanted to leave the convoy.

But she didn’t want to leave Au.

The quatermaster returned to the mercenaries. They all looked at him with anticipation. They knew he was about to say something.

“Well, there goes our peaceful stride to Baltimare,” he said. “Horse-bucking-apples. And here I was, hoping that we can somehow circle around those bastards. But then that plowing Sharp Blade had to come and crush all of my hopes.”

He was answered with silence.

“But,” he started again, “I have orders. And orders must be executed. And you all signed a contract, dammit. We’re… supposed to deliver all this stuff to New Baltimare and we will, for crying out loud! Right?”

No one answered. The mercenaries and soldiers kept looking at each other. Roland paid no heed to that.

“And that’s what you get paid for. To protect these plowing carts. And that’s exactly what you’re gonna do. If the Foxes attack, we will fight back. If only for a principle. Because those motherbuckers must be fought. But don’t worry. After all, what is a bunch of mules and donkeys, with their rusted swords in comparison with you, veterans and experienced fighters?”

This time he was met with shouts of approval. The mercenaries cheered, nodded their heads and started to talk about the incoming fight. Vasyl and Chromia did not share their enthusiasms. The mule kept looking at the witch, and vice-versa. Pike and Javelin also did not get carried away.

“So, we move out tomorrow, my dear gents… and ladies. We’ll get all this stuff to Baltimare and no bucking Fox will stop us. Are you with me?!”

“Yeah!”
“Kill the Foxes!”
“Death to them!”

“Get a good rest, lads, because tomorrow we might have a tough day!”

Roland disaapeared behind one of the carts, while the mercenaries started to light a fire. The soldiers were cheerful and smiling. Soon enough a fire was cracking merrily and warmth filled their bodies, while the thoughts of an upcoming fight filled their minds.

They were confident that if there will really be a battle, they shall surely win it. Some started to bet how many Foxes will they kill, others boasted they won’t even earn a scratch during the fight. One even claimed that he’ll fight with only his salwars on.

Javelin sat next to Vasyl. They both observed thei companions, shaking heads. Concern filled Javelin eyes, while the mule’s eyes were full of sadness. He cursed the lack of vodka and sat with a grumpy face through the rest of the evening.

Chromia disappeared in the dark again, but this time because of doubts. She had really no intention of staying and observing the masacre. Roland’s speech made her sick. He incited them to fight, assured that they have advantage over the Foxes. That was bullshit of course, empty words. The Foxes, though living in the woods were very dangerous even in open combat.

First, a few, if not more, will die from arrows, the witch thought, looking at sun slowly hiding under the horizon. The rest will panic and start to run. The Foxes will jump out off the forest and finish the job. They’ll spare no one. They won’t hasitate to kill Vasyl, but now withbout calling him a traitor first. They’ll butcher Roland, Pike, Javelin, the Greenhorn brothers, Shining Shield… They’ll even kill—

Her ears twitched. Someone was behind her.

“Au.”

“Idiots, all of them. Or at least most of them,” Nightingale snorted, standing next to Chromia. “Roland fooled them like foals. They bought his lies like some snots that just joined the forces. Damn, Pike is smarter than them. That boy will become someone, I tell you.”

“He does have a good voice,” Chromia admitted.

“That he has! I know what I’m taling about. Because—”

“You’re Nightingale. I know, Au. Everyone knows by now.” Chromia turned to Au, rising her eyebrow. “What are you going to do?”

“What do you mean?”

“You very well know what I mean.”

“True. And all I’ll say is that you’re a coward. You want to run away, leave us in those motherfucker’s mercy. You don’t want to get your hooves dirty, keep your blade away from blood. Or maybe you’ll simply stand and watch how those savages murder good ponies? You’ll sit comfortably under a tree and observe how they skin us, butcher us, and how they rape me?”

“Au—”

“No, dammit. Not Au. Chromia. Chromia is the one that doesn’t know what to do, the one that wants to keep her plowing neutrality. Is that some kind of a witch’s tradition? I don’t know and I don’t care, but what I do know is that Chromia can’t tell good from evil. That’s not so hard, witch. All you have to do is look at the world with your own eyes, and not through the eyes of some instilled ideology.”

Au eyed the witch with a stern face and fire in her eyes. Chromia looked away, focusing on some point far in the horizon.

“All you need to do is think, Chromia,” Au said finally, “and decide whether you think something is right, not what someone else thinks.”

She didn’t wait for the witch to answer, but turned her back on her and return to the mercenaries. The witch for a moment and then looked at the bunch: at Roland, who was going through all of his papers, as usually; at Vasyl, who was sitting with his hooves crossed and his head hanging low; at Javelin and Pike, talking to each other. Chromia saw Javelin holding his hoof on his son’s shoulder, clearly trying to rise his spirits.

The witch turned towards the eastern road and started to trot into the darkness.




“What do you mean she dissapeared?”

“Rumor has she just walked away early in the morning.”

“Well I’ve heard she had a squabble with that other mare…”

“Wasn’t she the one Roland threw away?”

“Skywater’s not stupid. He wouldn’t give up on an additional sword that easily. And I’ve heard that witches can do miracles with a blade.”

“Maybe not just with blades, ha!”

“Fool! You wouldn’t have the guts to say that in her company!”

“You’re the one that whistled when they were bathing in the river! And later what? You just stood with your tail between your legs and let Revouir shout at you! Ha ha!”

“And then Vasyl did the same!”

“Shut your trap or I’ll shut it for you, you dirty whoreson!”

“Take that back!”

“Make me, whimp!”

“Shut up, you riffraffs!” Vasyl shouted.

The convoy was approaching the place in which the forest of Broog intersected the road. The mercenaries were extremely talkative today. By contrast, Au and Vasyl, who walked next to each other, were very quiet. The sun shined so forcefully, as if it wanted to burn the very ground. It was almost noon, everyone waited with anticipation, when will they reach the forest and hide in the shadows of its trees.

Au was in a pretty dark mood. Chromia’s disappearance surprised her. She believed… she hoped that the witch would turn out to be more… reliable. So did Vasyl. Roland simply hoped that the witch would stay with them.

None of that changed the fact that she was gone.

They entered the shadowy woods. The leaves of great, old oaks whished, moved gently by the wind. Hooves click-clacked on the paved road, the carts wheels rattled. The mercenaries laughed, talked and shouted. Unknowing, stupid. Roland lead the convoy, carefully looking around, doubt on his face, fear in his eyes. Au walked next to Vasyl, Pike and Javelin fallowed right after. The quartet seemed to walk calmly, but their hooves looked anxious to grab and pull out their weapons.

Most of the mercenaries made much ado, as if they wanted to deliberately tell the Foxes where they are. One of the warriors walked only in his shalwar, with a bastard sword tucked behind his belt, singing happily and not giving a buck about the looks that a few of him comrades kept sending him.

“Hey, Pike!” a few others shouted. “Sing something for us!”

“No!” someone else disagreed. “Sing ‘The Sad Donkey’ for those whoresons! So that they know what they can expect! Ha, ha!”

“Come on, Pike! Sing something! Let those damn pricks hear it!”

The young unicorn tried to ignore the shouts. Roland was on the edge of shouting at the mercenaries, but that would only slow down their travel. Besides, there was no need for more yelling.

“Shut yer traps, dammit,” Vasyl snarled angrily.

All he got in return were more laughs and shouts. “What’s wrong, Vas? Afraid of your brethren?”

“Don’t worry, they’ll have a quick death here!”

“Too bad we don’t have the time to build some gallows! Ha ha!”

“Whoresons,” Au grunted under her breath.




Chromia observed the passing rabble with disdain. She stood under one of the oak trees, not too far from the road, so she could see it. She observed, shaking her head with disapproval.

She felt sorry. Sorry for Au, for Vasyl, for Pike. But she couldn’t interfere. She couldn’t let her personal feelings take the best of her. Damn, she shouldn’t have any feeling at all. She was a witch, and had no debts to pay, she didn’t owe anything to anyone.

Even Au.

Especially Au.

The witch waited. Anxious.

She did not wait long.




No one heard the whooshing of the arrow. No one expected it. It hit an earth pony by the name of Plunge, sinking in his occiput with ease. The stallion felt to the ground with a loud crash of his armour. Everyone around suddenly stopped feeling so merry, an uproar raised almost immediately.

Everyone grabbed their weapon, if he wasn’t holding it already. Roland cursed loudly, pulling out his sword. Au did the same. Vasyl closed his eyes and clutched his teeth, then sighed heavily and raised his axe.

“I’m ready,” he whispered.

Arrows started to fly like hailstones, striking everyone who didn’t shield himself. Everyone who didn’t lay down, or hide under a shield or cart, felt to the ground, punctured by arrows, without even the chance to groan in pain. Au shielded herself in the last moment, when two arrows flew at her. Vasyl seethed as one of the arrowheads cut his skin on his shoulder.

“You’ll need more than that to kill me,” he hissed through clenched teeth.

Pike felt to the ground, holding his head and gritting his teeth. His father lied beside him, also clenching his teeth, not with fear, but with anger. The mercenaries grabbed their crossbows that lied on one of the carts, but no one could see the enemies. They were all hidden somewhere in the woods. The mercenaries started to shot blindly, between the trees.

A few pegasi flew up, to have a better view and shooting position. But all they achieved was diverting attention from their comrades. Bodies fell on the unicorns and earth ponies, crushing, wounding, and even killing some of them.

“Show yourselves, you plowing cowards!” Roland Skywater shouted, not even wincing, as an arrow flew passed his head.

Like on command, mules and donkeys charged from the woods, yelling and swinging their swords and axes.

“Nocturne!” one of the donkeys shouted.

The mercenaries that were still standing rised their weapons and rushed to the battle. Two forces clashes in a fight. Blood soon stained the cobblestones road to New Baltimare.

Au shielded herself from a young donkey’s strike. She parried the blow and cut his skull with a swift move of her sword. Another Fox came running at her, with a battle cry on his lips. Au leaped aside and smashed him in the snout with her shield. The Fox swayed back. Au cut his throat with a fast attack and moved forward.

Vasyl kicked his opponent and lowered his axe from high up in a crushing attack, driving it through the Fox’es shoulder. The mule cursed and hissed painfully—someone hit him in the back with a sword, but thankfully his armour protected him from earing more than a shallow wound. Vasyl turned around, swaying his axe. The other mule—one of the Foxes—jumped back, avoiding the strike and grasped his sword firmly. Vasyl hesitated for a second. That was a mistake, for his opponent did not waver and prepared to impale Vasyl with his sword.

But he fell to his knees, eyes wide. A mercenary appeared behind him; he pulled out his axe from the mule’s back and shoot Vasyl a quick glance. Sorry, his eyes seem to say. The mercenary run away, towards the center of the battle. Vasyl never saw him again—the mercenary died moments later, killed with a blade to his eye.

Roland parried another blow. The two mules fighting against him unleashed their attack with fury. Finally, Roland leaped aside, avoiding a thrust and used his magic to pull one of the Foxes closer and ended his life with a precise cut. When the other Fox saw his companion’s death, he performed an upper-cut attack. Roland backed away, but not fast enough; the blade cut his cheek and nose, a wave of burning pain washed through his body.

The unicorn shouted angrily and jumped towards the mule, hitting him in the snout with his free hoof. The he pierced him with his sword. The Fox fell to the ground, convulsing for a moment, until he finally became still forever.

Roland kicked another Fox, who was just about to kill one of the mercenaries focused on fighting his own opponent. The royal quatermaster did not waste time and decapitated the Fox with his blade. He sighed heavily and looked around.

Almost immediately he was attacked by a mule wielding a a large battle-axe.

One of the donkeys cut a light-green pegasi in the face. Then he pierced his chest. The donkey was not victorious for long, for a bolt impaled in his occiput ended his own life as well. The bolt came from Au’s crossbow. The mare throw the weapon aside and rised her shield, just in time to block the blow of an axe. The force of the strike made her back away a few steps. She looked forward and saw a blade coming at her from above.

She had no chance of reacting as the Fox executed his attack. But he didn’t. Something stopped him. Au pushed the axe aside with her shield and looked forward. Pike was breathing heavily, his hooves shaking. It was amazing how deep he managed to bury his spear in the mule. He looked at the dead mule, and then at Au. She smiled a sad smile, giving him a thankful glance.

But at the same time she very much regreted Pike doing that.




Chromia thought about the things Au told her.

She hit the nail on the head, the witch thought. Right in the head. I really am standing next to a tree, watching this carnage. She was right.

She watched as the convoy’s guard thickens, much like the Foxes commando. She watched as they spilled blood in the name of values she didn’t—and never wanted to—understand. That they themselves didn’t understand either. She saw bodies falling to the ground, blood filling the gaps in the cobblestone road. 

The witch sighed, shook her head and fished out Au Revoir with her eyes. She was fighting with a excepcionally fierce mule, who was quite the swordsman.

A shame, Chromia thought. They could use their blades to kill someone else, to kill those who deserve it. They’re just wasting talents here. Killing themselves, eyeing each other with hatred. Hatred, that no one even remembers where it even came from. One of them will fall down soon, and the other one will continue fighting. Until he dies as well.

Au is going to die, she realised, and a cold chill run down her spine.

She’s going to die… just like Veks. With a slit throat, waiting for help. She’ll fall to the ground, asking in her last thoughts: “Why, Chromia?”. Her blood will stain the ground, and she’s going to watch. A shiver will run down her back again. She’ll feel something heavy grasp her heart again. Again…

She’ll cry another tear.

“No,” Chromia whispered to herself. “I won’t let anyone down. No more.”

The hiss of the witch’s sword pulled out of its sheath was lost in the clamour of the battle.




Au swung her sword in a wide arc, but the donkey dodged her attack. He kicked Au and attacked from above. Au rolled to the side and unleashed a horizontal strike, but the donkey blocked it. The two fighters exchanged more blows, their swords whizzed by their heads like mosquitos. Sweat beaded up on their foreheads, flooded their eyes.

They both swung their weapons and clashed, looking each other in the eyes, seeing their own reflections. Fury and anger filled them, burned them inside, poisoned their hearts. They bore their teeths like wolves that were about to jump at each other’s throats, fighting over their pray.

The donkey kicked again, this time harder. Au bend in half, barely stopping herself from puking. The donkey smiled, ready to deal the final blow. Au wasn’t even able to see it.

And she didn’t. Because the donkey was suddently throw into the air and landed several meters away, falling on two of his companions and knocking them over. A few seconds later all three of them were pinned to the ground by mercenary swords.

Au looked up, thought she expected who will she see.

A black and white shadow flashed pass her eyes and landed in the middle of the fight. Au smiled and thanked the gods. She picked up her shield and looked around, searching for more enemies.

And charged.

Blinding pain hit Roland, when an arrow pierced his side. But the royal quatermaster did not stop fighting. He clenched his teeth and smashed a mule in the occiput with a whirlwind attack. One of the donkeys leaped on two mercenaries, knocking them over to the ground. His companion—a mule—was suppose to finish them off, but he was stopped by Vasyl, who blocked his axe. Vasyl did not hesitate this time and performed a powerfull uppercut attack, crushing the Fox’es skull like an eggshell. 

He failed to see another Fox sneaking behind his back, but Chromia appeared next to him in the blink of an eye and slashed the Fox with her sword. Vasyl turned around.

“You came back,” he breathed, surprised.

“I came back,” she repeated.

She hit an incoming mule with the Aard Word, and sliced the throat of another one. The clank of weapons sounded through the forest, scaring birds and critters. All one could hear were the sounds of metal hitting metal and the wailing of injured.

Another arrow hit Roland, this time in the leg. The stallion fell to the ground. He tried to rise, using his sword for support, but the pain was too strong. He saw a Fox running towards him, who suddently burst into flames. Chromia jumped out of nowhere and ended his life with a quick move of her blade.

Roland looked at the, confused. “But… you said—”

“I know, what I said. But that’s not important anymore. What’s important is that you’re injured. Badly.”

“It’s a flesh wound, I can still—”

“Bullshit,” Chromia hissed. “We need to get you—”

“Freedom!” a mule shouted, charging at Chromia and Roland.

Chromia looked in his direction, but before she moved, the Fox was sweeped away by a thrown axe. Vasyl appeared; he was soaked with blood, his beard looked entirely black and glittered in the sun that shone through gaps between the treetops.

“Retreat!” one of the Foxes shouted. The commotion was so great Chromia couldn’t even tell if he was a mule or a donkey.

The Foxes began to run in all directions, into the woods. The mercenaries shot bolts after them, managing to kill a few, but no one had the strength or will to chase after them. The fight was over. Blood covered the path as if poured out buckets. The survivors were covered with dirt and deadly tired.




The fallen mercenaries have been placed in a row next to the carts, while the bodies of the Foxes were thrown onto a pile. Au sat by one of the wheels, greedily drinking water from a water bag. A makeshift bandage enwrapped her forehead. She was heavily bruised and blood still oozed from her many wounds, slowly dripping away her life. But it was dripping too slow, and Au still had much life left in her.

She got up and started to walk by the row of dead bodies. Vasyl sat on the ground, his head hidden between his hooves, swaying back and forth and breathing heavily. Others wandered around, picking up weapons and pieces of armour. They were all sad like a beaten dog. As if they lost. But the victory was theirs.

Right?

Au looked at the bodies with sad eyes. Sixteen dead, more than half of their whole convoy group. Au’s sadness deepened when she saw a stallion only in his salwars, with a sliced throat and a nasty wound on his forehead. Something gripped her heart when she looked at the stallions that whistled at her and Chromia by the river. She felt stupid for yelling at them back then.

Among the dead was Greenhorn, Bleu Sky, Havoc Strike and many others, whose names she couldn’t remember.

She approached Vasyl and sat next to him.

“Vasyl… I’m sorry. I’m so damn sorry…”

“No, Au,” he said, lifting his head. “I’m sorry.”

“You? What—”

A scream pierced the air. A terrible, heart-ripping scream. Everyone turned in it’s direction, but not abruptly, with no traces of being surprised or scared. Many lovered their heads, some hid them in their hooves. Au’s heart stopped, shivers run down her back, tears filled her eyes.

“PIIIKEEE!” Javelin shouted, kneeling before a young and still as a statue unicorn.

His cry pierced every living soul, the mercenaries clenched their teeth, closed their eyes, turned their backs. No one had the courage to watch. Except Au.

“Nooo! Don’t do this to me! What will I tell your mother?! What will I say?! Pike!”

Javelin hugged the lifeless body of his son and started to weep loudly. He kept swaying, as if wanting to rock his baby to sleep.

A sleep that Pike won’t wake up from.

Au wanted to run away, but her legs gave in, her whole world seemed to fall apart. She started to back away, to turn, she was just about to start running. But she was stopped by Chromia’s hooves. The witch hugged her silently.

“Au, calm down, all right? This isn’t your fault.”

It’s mine.

“If this is freedom,” Vasyl said slowly, gazing at the ground, “then I want to die in chains.”

The wind blowed, leaves whished, the treetops flackered. All the sounds of the Brogg Forest, where thirty seven wariours died that day. Sixteen ponies, twelve donkeys and fifteen mules.

The cry of a father, who lost his son, sounded for a very long time.




They moved on. They had to. But they were much fewer in number and much more… subdued. Roland Skywater, the royal quartermaster and leader of the convoy was also.among the ones that had been killed.

On the next day they saw Baltimare, the vast fields of green grass surrounding the city, the sky-high temple tower and castle walls. Everyone walked slowly, dragging their hooves. The death of their friend stigmatized them all. Javelin broke down because of Pike’s death.

Chromia walked last, alone. She felt bad. Not because she broke the rules, that she took sides. That didn’t bother her anymore. But she bad because of every death that happened on that day. Was that how being neutral looked like? Was that indifference? Isn’t that the very thing that witches are suppose to protect from?

But that’s not my problem anymore, she thought.

“Because I’m no longer not a witch…”