Extended Holiday
Chapter 23: Return to Somewhat Daily Routine
The train’s arrival at Ponyville station was timely and prompt as always. There was no great fanfare, no pomp or circumstance. It was a ride like any other, and that was how the trio liked it. Twilight and the others had already returned earlier on as the young student beamed with the afterglow of her beloved teacher’s praise. The purple mare raised the role of being a teacher's pet to an art form. There couldn’t possibly be any event that could have aroused suspicion or caused difficulty for the supposedly new arrivals in the sleepy little town.
That is, until there was.
As the trio disembarked from the train and onto the platform a series of shrieks and screams soon filled the air, arising, strangely enough, from a trio of Ponies manning a flower stall near the ticket booth. A great clatter of wood rattled with the sound of excited barks as the cries of, “Timberwolf!” created a general sense of panic.
Weapons were drawn immediately as the three friends fell into combative stances. Given the tighter quarters, Pensword chose to favor the wing blades Hammer Strike had given him. Meanwhile, Hammer Strike hefted his massive sword with ease while the steely hiss of Grif’s dual swords carried like a warning rattle.
The barking drew closer. Its owner was undeterred.
Grif leaped into the air to get an overview of the situation and nearly dropped his swords. A white blur of wood skittered, bobbed, and weaved around and between the legs of guards that had been stationed at the platform, tripping up his would-be captors as they struggled ineptly to contain him. The playful pup yapped happily as he got lost in his new game.
“Stand down,” Grif ordered, landing in front of Sylvio.
“Stand back, Sir. This is a dangerous animal,” one of the guards huffed, even while Sylvio sat on his haunches and panted excitedly as he looked at the Gryphon.
“No, it’s not,” Grif said. He pushed the pair aside easily, despite their protests, and approached Sylvio. “Hey, boy. Come here,” he said, holding his hand out and gesturing.
The pup leaped and immediately began to lick Grif’s face, leaving sticky films of sap that layered to start clumping his feathers together.
“See? He’s harmless,” Grif told the guards.
“Then will you help us return it to the forest where it belongs?”
“You’ll find it hard to separate them, I suspect,” Hammer Strike spoke up. “You’ll just need to have faith that the pup will be fine with him.”
“I’ll take responsibility for him,” Grif said
“Then we’ll have to ask you not to enter Ponyville, Sir. Monsters aren’t allowed inside town limits.”
Hammer Strike sighed as he realized what he needed to do. “Then allow me to step in and place my own authority on it.” He looked to the guard before reaching into his coat. “I am Lord Hammer Strike, Lord of the Everfree and those settlements that reside on its border. If you doubt my claim, as I would suspect, then—” He removed a scroll from his coat and allowed it to unroll, revealing the seals of both Celestia and Luna. “—Let this serve as proof.”
The guards scrutinized the document while Grif continued to play with the young pup. At last, the pair pulled back.
“It looks legitimate,” the one said to his partner.
“But nopony’s had control over the domain of the Everfree in, well, … ever,” the other guard postulated.
“If the princesses approved it, then new or not, we respect this lord’s claim and his authority.” The guard bowed to the stallion. “How can we be of assistance, milord?”
“Continue about your business for the time being, and trust in the claim of those beside me, of Grif and Pensword.” Hammer Strike gave a faint gesture to the two as he rolled the scroll once more and placed it within his coat. “There will be talks in due time with the guard present in Ponyville, but that will come later.”
“Yes, Sir,” the guard said smartly and snapped to attention before turning to tend to the crowd and help them calm down while his partner worked to rouse the flower mares that had fainted.
Hammer Strike sighed as he turned to the others. “Well, that’s certainly a way to make an introduction.”
Grif shrugged. “Not my fault.”
Sylvio barked without shame as his tail continued to wag.
“What in the name of the moon is going on here?” a familiar voice barked as leathery wings glided silently along the air to give their owner an easy descent. Moonshade was less than pleased as she glared toward the guards and the new arrivals.
“Miscommunication is what I would call it,” Hammer Strike spoke up. “It has been dealt with, however, thankfully.”
“And you are?” Moonshade asked.
“I am Hammer Strike. Beside me is Grif and Pensword,” he replied with a faint smile. “Though, given attention is not on us however, I can speak more freely.”
“Your voice sounds familiar, but I don’t recognize your face,” Moon Shade said. “What family do you hail from? Perhaps I’ve seen you around Canterlot, and only a noble would be willing to risk giving their child that particular name.”
“I suppose I am a Lord, but technically I am the one and only of my family.” He chuckled faintly.
“And what brings you here from Canterlot, Lord Hammer Strike?”
Pensword couldn’t help but smile and shake his head.
“Is something funny, Mister Pensword?” Moonshade asked darkly.
“A little. But please, don’t let me interrupt you,” Pensword replied, even as he struggled to keep himself from going any farther than the smile he had already allowed to be seen.
“Honestly, I’m quite surprised. You recognize my voice, yet you can’t place who I really am, despite wearing the same coat I left in.” Hammer Strike chuckled.
“There are quite a few blue coats in Equestria, Sir. And I’ve been stationed in Ponyville for some time, so I wouldn’t have had leisure to see what you may have left in at Canterlot.”
“Perhaps another reminder is in order, then,” he spoke in Draconic. “After all, it wasn’t that long ago that a certain three individuals left you in charge of the guard while business was attended to. Come now, Moonshade. I don’t have to spell it out now, do I?”
Moonshade’s jaw dropped as she stared at the stallion. “Shawn?”
Pensword began to giggle.
“Alongside Matthew and Taze.” Hammer Strike smiled as he gestured to the others. “A lot has happened since we left.”
“So it would seem,” Moonshade said as she recovered her composure.
“But, um, … I do need your help with something later, if you have the time,” Pensword said bashfully. “Preferably alone?”
“Sure. What do you need from me?” she asked.
“Well, you know I’m not a natural-born Pegasus, and … well, I … kind of don’t know how to fly. Do you think you could teach me?”
“Ah, I see,” she said. “I can, but it’s not going to be easy. There is a bit of a difference in principles.”
“From what?”
She raised her wing. “How many feathers do you see?”
“None. Is that going to be a problem?”
“Feathered wings have admittedly small differences to how they handle the air compared to how our hide wings do,” she explained.
“Will it be too much for me to be able to pick it up from you?”
“I don’t think so,” she said, “but it’s important for you to be aware.”
Pensword nodded. “Then I’m at your disposal after we finish tending to the troops. Whenever works best for you.”
“I’ll send you a message when the time is good for it,” she said.
Pensword nodded. “All right. That being said, it looks like we should probably get moving. We don’t want to cause another panic, and it looks like the others are still a little skittish around that puppy.”
“It is a timberwolf,” she pointed out. “Not your average pet store pup.”
“At times, with the way it acts, you can almost forget that.” Hammer Strike gave a brief chuckle. “Then shall we head back to the Punch Bowl?”
“We’ll need to reserve more rooms, you know. Otherwise, it’ll look suspicious or make the troops think we’re cruel,” Pensword pointed out.
“I’m not dealing with that. We’ll just make note of sharing rooms for the sake of keeping rooms available for her business.”
“Would a letter from you do the trick? The other you, I mean?”
“Probably. It’ll be fine. I’ll handle it.”
“I suppose that is kind of your job, now that you’re the lord of the Everfree.”
Hammer Strike sighed. “Indeed.”
Pensword smiled. “At least you have your trusty commander and left-hand Gryphon to back you up.”
“Let’s just go. I’d rather not have to answer any more questions.” He raised his voice. “Grif, we’re leaving! Bring your pet. We have a lot to do today.”
The journey to the Punch Bowl was mostly uneventful. Aside from the whispers of gossip that always seem to follow in small towns, the friends were able to travel unmolested. Sylvio bounded in circles around Grif as they passed into the square and turned down the street that would lead them to their ultimate destination.
The old wooden sign was a welcome sight after the fanfare and stress of literally saving an entire lost civilization and living for weeks on end fighting a losing battle to bide for time. The trio did their very best not to think of their desires for rest and peace too much, lest they tempt fate and invite the chaos that always seemed to brew in Ponyville, even with Discord sealed away in stone. Since there was no drastic switch into any kind of formal wear other than Hammer Strike’s coat, there was no sense of alertness or surprise as the trio entered into the inn. At least until Sylvio tried to enter. For someone who enjoyed drinking so much, Berry was surprisingly quick. She rushed to the door and shook her head violently.
“Pets are one thing, folks, but that there’s a timberwolf. You’re liable to scare away my customers if you bring that in here,” she said flatly. “Not to mention scare my daughter. I’m going to have to ask you to leave it outside.”
“Come on, Berry, he’s going to stay in my room. He won’t be a bother,” Grif wheedled.
“I think I’d remember if I’d rented a room to you. We don’t really get Gryphons out here in Ponyville that often,“ she noted coolly. “And what rooms I do have are almost all rented out. Even if that weren’t the case, I still wouldn’t let you. Tame or not, a puppy isn’t trained, and I can’t afford to pay for anything it damages. The answer is no.”
Hammer Strike sighed. “Given there is nobody else around, I suppose it makes this easier. Though you may not recognize us, Berry, I can assure you that you have talked to us recently. Long story short, Celestia deemed it worthy to give us disguises. Pensword is Matthew, Grif is Taze, and I, Hammer Strike, am Shawn.” He reached into his coat and pulled out his scroll once more. “To prove myself before disbelief kicks in, here is a scroll dictating my position, signed by Celestia and Luna, in which you would then know I’m not lying.”
Berry looked first at the document, then scrutinizingly at the gathered group.
“They’re telling the truth, Berry,” Moonshade said. “I can vouch for them.”
Berry shook her head. “Still won’t let the timberwolf in. It’s one thing if Fluttershy is here to keep animals under control or if a domesticated one is brought in instead. That’s a wild-born magical creature. The answer’s still no. And no puppy dog eyes are gonna change that,” the mare said firmly.
Hammer Strike reached into his coat once more. “How about this, then? I’d like to make a deal with you for the allowance of his timberwolf.” He pulled out a bag and placed it on the counter. “That should be roughly four times the cost of all of our rooms, and I’ll back it further by saying if it causes any damage in the future, I’ll pay double for it to be repaired.”
Berry raised her brow skeptically, even as her hoof shook at the prospect of taking that many bits in one go. “Do you even have that much handy?”
“I literally have nothing else to spend this on beyond groceries and supplies. And given I was rewarded more than I could reasonably spend while here, I’m determined to at least put some of it to use.”
Berry grumbled, but ultimately caved to the pressure that was commerce. “Fine,” she said as she snatched the coins. “But I expect that wolf to be on its best behavior.” She sighed. “I suppose I should know its name if you aren’t around to pull it up short. What do you call it?”
“Sylvio,” Grif said. “Sylvio Lupus.”
Hammer Strike hummed in thought at the name. “Similar to Silva Lupus, Wood Wolf. Fair enough,” he muttered with a nod.
“You might want Moonshade to go first when you enter your rooms to avoid any misunderstandings. I don’t want our other guests to do something that could cost money, even if you can pay for it,” Berry said.
“That’s probably not a bad idea. Just because they sense emotions doesn’t mean they can tell we’re the same people,” Pensword agreed.
Moonshade nodded. “That does sound like the wise move.”
“Hopefully, that’ll be one of the last groups of people we’ll have to tell for a while,” Pensword said. “Though I suppose we may have to tell the girls eventually, assuming they have a high enough clearance level,” Pensword pondered.
“They do. Twilight knows as is, so it’s just a matter of letting the others know.” Hammer Strike shrugged.
The journey up the steps was one filled with a multitude of emotions. Relief, anxiety, and exhaustion were three of the primary ones. They were in Ponyville. They were safe. There was no Sombra here. Now it was just a matter of taking the time to recover while they worked with the troops to establish authority and rank.
When they opened the room, it looked like it had been vandalized. Sheets and pillows were torn. Furniture was wrecked. Bits of green goo stuck chaotically at various points along the room’s surface. It was not a pretty sight.
“Moonshade, what happened here?” Pensword asked as he looked over the destruction. “And where are Mutatio and Me-Me?”
“They’re hiding.” Moonshade shrugged. “They’ll show themselves when they realize it’s safe.”
“And the room? Berry is going to kill us when she finds out about this.”
“They got … nervous.”
“Pensword sighed heavily and shook his head. “Oh, Mutatio,” he murmured.
“Moonshade. Why do you bring strangers?” a familiar voice buzzed from a side table.
“It’s okay, Mutatio. It’s Shawn, Taze, and Matthew. They’re just disguised,” Moonshade said.
The sidetable burst into green flame, and moments later, Mutatio stood there instead. The Changeling approached cautiously and examined each of the figures closely. “And the creature?” he asked as he looked to Sylvio.
“That's my pup,” Grif said.
Sylvio barked, then looked questioningly at Mutatio’s legs as he cocked his head and gave a questioning growl.
“No,” Grif said. “That’s not wood, and you can’t chew on it.”
“It is … a larva?” Mutatio asked.
“A puppy, but that is the equivalent, yes,” Pensword said. “While in these forms, Shawn is called Hammer Strike. I am called Penword. And Taze is called Grif.”
“We were not aware that humans could change their forms as we do,” Mutatio said.
“We can’t,” Hammer Strike spoke up. “Celestia and Luna deemed it a worthwhile endeavor to grant us a disguise through their magic. The forms we take are supposedly what we would look like if we were born here.”
“Odd,” Mutatio noted. “You killed the queen, and yet you are given the form of an Earth Pony. I would have expected a Pegasus, or possibly a Minotaur, particularly given the bipedal nature of your other forms.”
Hammer Strike simply shrugged in return.
“Sometimes, humble origins lead to the biggest legends.” Grif shrugged.
“Speaking of forms, though, where’s Me-Me? Is she hiding as an object, too?” Pensword asked.
There was a disturbance on the far wall as a section of it in an usual shape seemed to step away. Green embers traced along it as the color changed and warped, revealing another Changeling. Me-Me stood taller then they remembered, her chitin plates having taken on a slightly denser look. A crest of some kind had begun to grow on the back of her head. Weirdest of all was her eyes no longer appeared compound, but looked almost like a single large iris with bits of green outlining the edges.
“Camouflage? I’ve heard of Changelings taking on other forms, but never literally blending in,” Pensword said. “Is this something new?”
“It’s something only available to praetorians, … and queens,” Me-Me explained.
“Moonshade tells us you were nervous. Why?” Pensword asked.
“You three were gone, while we were alone in hostile territory.”
“Under sanctuary, and with Moonshade to help protect you.” Pensword sighed. “But then again, fear is never a rational thing, is it?”
“I think it’s best if we just give them a pass,” Hammer Strike said as he eyed the room. “That being said, can you two clean this up? I don’t think Berry will appreciate finding the beginnings of a hive forming in one of her guest rooms. Her being the operative word here.”
The two Changelings looked at one another, and then a subtle pink flush began to show in their cheeks.
“I will … get started on that,” Mutatio said meekly as he turned toward the deposits and his horn began to glow.
Hammer Strike sighed to himself as he exited his room. After stashing his stuff away apart from his sword, he was finally ready to go see Steel Weaver and Storm Hammer. Before he could close his door however, Renati chose to follow after, landing on the opposite side of his greatsword.
He chuckled briefly as he made his way out. “Glad you were able to recognize me at least.”
Renati preened his feathers and let out a soft cry, then turned his head proudly, as if to ask how the Pony could possibly think the bird wouldn’t be able to.
“Of course.” Hammer Strike shook his head gently. “At least having you here will lend some aid to their perspective of ‘me.’”
As the two strode through town, a familiar large red stallion hauled a great cart behind him loaded down with apples and other goods by them. He stopped briefly to gaze at the stallion and what he carried on his back.
“Big Sword,” Big Mac noted in his deep voice.
Hammer Strike gave a brief chuckle. “Has to be. Otherwise, it’d be too light.”
Big Mac raised a brow. “You with the guard?”
“Technically, I suppose. I am Hammer Strike, the current established Lord of the Everfree. I’m here to supply aid and work alongside everyone to reclaim the land.”
Big Mac’s brow rose even higher. “Y’don’t say.” He nodded slowly. “Good luck, then.” And then the great stallion pulled away to perform his deliveries.
The journey toward the camp was uneventful. Getting into the camp itself, not quite so simple. But a few flourishes of the princess’ proclamation remedied the situation while simultaneously sending ripples through the camp. Naturally, these ripples were bound to meet the sets flowing from the heart of the base, where the steady rhythm of hammer on steel and the bellows of the forge brought the flames roaring to life.
“There you are,” Hammer Strike spoke to himself as he made his way within.
Steel Weaver looked up from his work as he pulled back a large sword from the whet stone. “And what can I do for you, stranger? Given your clothes and the fact I’ve never seen you before, I’m going to guess you’ve got clearance from Canterlot.”
“Close enough.” Hammer Strike shrugged. “At this moment, I have no requests. I simply came by to check in.”
Steel Weaver raised a brow. “Check in,” he repeated. “You know this isn’t an inn, right?”
Hammer Strike sighed. “Let’s just get this over with,” he muttered to himself. “Steel Weaver, you know me. I left a week ago or so on an ‘assignment.’ I just don’t look the same because Celestia and Luna thought it best to disguise us. If it isn’t that obvious, I am literally wearing the same exact coat I left in.”
“Wondered why you were carrying that honking thing around,” Steel Weaver said as he motioned toward Hammer Strike’s sword. “Need a tuneup, Shawn?”
“I would hope not,” Hammer Strike replied. “It’s already seen battle, however, so I might as well see where it lines up in quality.” He removed the sword off his back for Steel Weaver to look over.
Steel Weaver took the sword with both hooves to help ease the strain, even as Hammer Strike released the grip his single hoof had on the handle. The sword was quickly hurried over to the somewhat messy work table for the pony to review. He let out a low whistle. “High quality material, this.” The metal rang as he struck a tiny hammer against it. “S’not easy to get a sword to sing.”
“I made that sword in the Crystal Empire, technically a few weeks ago? To explain that simply, time travel is a pain to think through.”
“Time travel, you say. Sounds like you bit off a lot more than you could chew, then.”
“I wish it was by choice,” Hammer Strike replied flatly. “We fought against corrupted guards with nothing more than a thrown together resistance group. We couldn’t figure out a way to save them, so we fought, over and over until one side gave in.”
“You mean you had to kill.” Steel Weaver shook his head. “Nasty business, that. But knowing you, you wouldn’t have tried that route unless you were out of options. Nothing to be ashamed of, really.” He eyed the sword more closely. “I haven’t seen work this fine since Celestia let me study a Hammer Strike original up close. That stallion’s a legend around these parts, especially among smiths.”
“Well, that has some interesting connotations to it,” Hammer Strike remarked as he pulled a scroll out of his coat. “So, hi. With confirmation from Celestia, uh, I am Lord Hammer Strike.”
Steel Weaver blinked, looked at the scroll, then looked back at the Earth Pony, and finally burst out laughing. “Oh, she is good. Anypony to run afoul of a Strike never has a happy ending. If she’s entrusting that title to you, then you must’ve impressed her something fierce.”
“Given time travel may be involved, especially since I’ve already dealt with it once, she’s … already confirmed that it’s quite likely I am that Hammer Strike.” He rubbed the back of his head. “Hard to tell, given she’s being very obscure about it.”
“Rule one of a good smith. Don’t overthink the project.” Steel Weaver shrugged as he passed the blade back to Hammer Strike. “I don’t care if you are or aren’t. You already had my respect before. Now that I’ve seen what you can do, it makes things more interesting.” He grinned. “Just how much weight can you lift now as a stallion?”
“... Yes.”
Steel Weaver pulled open a drawer and removed a number of schematics. “Then I’ve got a few ideas I’d like to run by you, lad. These aren’t that useful to the average guard. But you? Now that’s a different story altogether if that sword’s any indication.”
“I’ve certainly got the time for it.” Hammer Strike shrugged. “So, what do you have in mind?”
Grif walked toward Black Rook with a careful ease as he scratched Sylvio’s head gently. “Black Rook?”
Black Rook turned with some surprise to stare at the Gryphon and his unusual companion. “Can I … help you?”
“My name is Grif. I’m currently on retainer to the princesses to take over this portion of command should the humans leave. And until they return from their current duties, I’ll be acting command.”
“I assume you have papers to back up that claim?” Rook asked. “No offense intended, but Taze taught me to be thorough.”
“Good man! I have an official letter from Hammer Strike, who is acting in Lord Shawn’s stead. He has a letter from the princesses if you need further validation,” Grif said, handing a scroll forward.
“Hammer Strike?” Rook raised a skeptical brow at the name. “That’s not a name most folks use lightly around here. And you say the princesses authorized him to take over?”
“Yes, I did. You can ask him to confirm,” Grif said. “For now, can you give me a status update?”
“That depends on what status you’re asking after. Do you mean the troops, the plans for the forest, or the situation in general from when we first arrived?”
“All three, but start with the troops,” Grif said.
“Training continues at pace. Some of the recruits still want to slack off, and with Shawn, Taze, and Matthew gone, it’s become a game of sorts for some to try to skip training and exercises. The majority of troops are more disciplined than that, but I suppose it’s to be expected. We haven’t been here in Ponyville all that long, after all. A few months can make all the difference, but not with everypony. We’ve been training the Pegasi and Unicorns in methods for uprooting stumps and removing other obstructions, and Twilight’s offered some spells to assist with dealing with the foliage to help clear any wild growths that might be in the way of the road. Or at least make it easier to remove them. With the last snows melting in the forest, though, it should be a lot easier to make our way toward the castle. As for the last one, each of the leaders have been doing their part to maintain the chain of command in our respective classes. As I said, it hasn’t been perfect, but we’re managing.”
Grif nodded. “You feel you need more help maintaining control?”
“More that some of the troops still haven’t learned the meaning of respect for chain of command.”
“I want you to pick out five promising members of the previous group and promote them to act directly under you. From now on, we’re going to be working on discipline here. You all will be authorized to hand out punishment and punitive duties as you see fit, provided they are not severe. I’ll want a report reviewing numbers and punishments at the end of every week. Things like latrine duty or kitchen duty. I’m sure you get the idea.”
“And if they refuse, Sir?”
“Send them to me, and I’ll sort them out.”
“Will you be taking Taze’s quarters in the meantime, Sir?” Rook asked.
“I trust you won’t be having any objections?” Grif asked
“If you three are taking their place, and Hammer Strike says so, then my objections don’t matter either way,” Rook said with a shrug. “Taze might have something to say when he gets back, but he likes to do things himself.”
“I have already discussed with him. It’s all been sorted. By the way,” Grif said, gesturing to Sylvio, “he is to be considered the company mascot. Anyone mistreats him, they answer to me. Got it?”
Rook nodded. “Whatever you say, Sir.” He peered at the pup. “This little guy really safe, though?”
Sylvio yapped once, then traced his sticky tongue in a long line up Rook’s muzzle in the familiar kiss all dogs are known to give the world over.
“Safe as a dog can be,” Grif said. “So then, Rook, first Hearth's Warming away from home?”
“Yes, Sir.” Rook nodded.
Grif nodded. “For now, I want you to keep everyone behaving on just morning exercises. Make sure they get an extra half ration on meals and a double ration for Hearth’s Warming,” Grif said.
“I assume you want me to save that news for closer to the holiday?”
“I can see why Taze trusts you. You’re very on the ball.”
“You have to be if you want to be in the guard. Or at least you should be.” Rook shrugged. “Just takes some folks longer than others to realize that.”
“And what are your thoughts on our schedule? Should we be able to mobilize on time?”
“That depends on the weather in the forest itself, Sir. All reports indicate that we have no control over the patterns in that area of the kingdom. We have weather troops on weather patrol keeping an eye on the developing weather patterns in the vicinity to advise on when the opportune moment will arrive for safe travel.”
“Fair enough. Anything else I should know?”
“Not that you won’t be able to handle, Sir. I hear Gryphons are a tough bunch. I’ll do what I can to help, though. That’s my responsibility, after all.”
“Good man. Then I’ll take my leave and come find you later.”
“As you wish, Sir. I’ll see about executing those orders you gave me in the meantime. When would you like me to bring my disciplinary committee for briefing?”
“As soon as possible.”
“And where would you like us to report to you, Sir?”
“At the inn,” Grif said. “For now, I’ll take reports there.”
Rook nodded. “Yes, Sir.”
The evening air was calm and gentle as the sun dyed the skies in beautiful shades of red, orange, and purple. Ponyville was winding down its activities for the day, and many young foals were at home awaiting the dinners that their families had prepared. However, there is always at least some business to be had, even in the late hours of the day. And so it was for five mares as each congregated at the library that Twilight Sparkle called her home.
“All right, Twilight, we’re all here now. So why don’t you get to telling us why we had to keep this all hush hush?” Applejack said as she looked at the purple Unicorn.
“Well, it … kind of has to do with our trip to the Crystal Empire.”
“Is something wrong with Shining Armor and Princess Cadance?” Rarity asked.
Twilight shook her head. “No. It has to do with our new friends we met on the way to the empire.”
“You mean Lord Hammer Strike and his two friends. Pensword and Grif, wasn’t it?” Rarity asked.
Twilight nodded. “Yes.”
“What about ‘em?” Rainbow Dash asked.
“I wasn’t able to tell you before because Princess Celestia asked me not to. It was a matter of national security. But now that the Crystal Empire is restored and their mission there is accomplished, it should be safe for me to tell you all now, and … well, like Pinkie knows, I don’t like to keep secrets.” Twilight blushed at the memory of her failure to keep her first Pinkie promise.
“You tried. That’s better than some Ponies I’ve dealt with before,” Pinkie Pie said.
“And just what do you mean when you say dealt with?” Applejack asked.
Pinkie Pie just smiled in response, then winked toward one of the walls.
“You all know Hammer Strike, Grif, and Pensword better than you think you do,” Twilight continued. Only the twitch of her tail and a slight flick of her ear hinted at the reflexive unease from Pinkie Pie’s nonsensical behavior.
“I mean, Grif has been to my cottage with Sylvio, so I think I’ve gotten to know him at least a little bit,” Fluttershy said.
“You … might all know them a little better than that. They’re … kind of, maybe, sortof … Shawn, Matthew, and Taze?” She chuckled nervously.
The room was quiet for a few moments. Then Rainbow Dash spoke up. “Twilight, you really need to work on your delivery. If you’re going to tell a joke, you need to sell it. Say it with confidence.”
Applejack stared intently at Twilight. “I don’t think she’s lyin’, Dash.”
“I’m not,” Twilight promised.
“Darling, I know magic can do some incredible things, but turning them into Equestrian creatures?” Rarity asked.
“There is a spell,” Twilight said. “I haven’t learned it yet, but I’ve read about it in some history books from the Canterlot Archives. It was used for the purpose of observing and learning about the culture behind other magical creatures in their natural habitats.”
“I knew there was a reason my party senses didn’t start tingling!” Pinkie crowed.
A terrible blush rose in Rarity’s cheeks. “Oh, dear….”
“I’m still not buying it,” Rainbow Dash said pointedly as she folded her forelegs.
“I had a feeling some of you wouldn’t. That’s why I asked for a little help convincing you.”
The door to the library yawned open as a familiar stallion in a bright blue coat with gold hemming strode through the door. His longsword lay atop his back, gleaming in the evening sun and reflecting its rays through the room until he closed the door behind him. Hammer Strike had come to call.
“So, you needed me for something?” he questioned, looking over the group before settling on Twilight.
“To confirm who you really are,” Twilight said. “I did tell you some of the girls might not believe me.”
“Oh, yeah, fair enough. She’s not lying. I am Shawn,” he replied simply.
Rainbow Dash shook her head stubbornly. “I still don’t believe it.”
Hammer Strike slowly turned towards her. “Rainbow, I am literally wearing the same exact coat, same shirt, vest, even the cravat. To be honest, it should be blatantly obvious.”
“But … but … but….”
Applejack shook her head and sighed. “Not cool, Dash. Not cool.”
Rainbow Dash let out a whimper as her ego bruised. Meanwhile, Rarity was doing her very best not to be conspicuous as she struggled with her embarrassment.
“Additionally, just in case, Pensword is Matthew, and Grif is Taze,” Hammer Strike further added.
“You walk like you were born this way,” Fluttershy said softly as she gazed at him. “Was it difficult to learn after you … you know, changed?”
Hammer Strike blinked. “Honestly, I found trying to talk more difficult than walking. Humans learn to crawl before walking. And even into our adult lives, the need to crawl to get under obstacles potentially can exist. It was more a matter of just … speeding it up and adjusting to leg size difference.” He shrugged.
“Why would it be hard for you to talk?” Applejack asked.
“The length of the mouth.” Hammer Strike gestured to his jaw. “Humans have a drastically different scale, so having to adjust requires time. Thankfully, knowing the language helped somewhat.”
“And why are you still, well, you right now? I mean, as Hammer Strike instead of Shawn,” Rainbow asked.
“It’s mostly to establish a presence. Also, an additional point to cover. Given what Celestia and Luna have confirmed for us, it appears we may be the same individuals of myth in this world. While I would normally find this to be ridiculous, we’ve already been shoved through time, so I can’t really say it’s impossible anymore,” he muttered the last part.
“You do realize that time travel under normal circumstances is still pretty much impossible for any lingering period of time right?” Twilight asked. “The only reason it worked in the empire, at least from what you told me, is because it was an act of extremely old and dark magic.”
“It was why I think that trip worked, but there are other factors and potential methods that technically exist. I know of at least one, but I’d rather not disclose too much about that.” He sighed. “The main reason I believe as much is because, as I mentioned, Celestia and Luna believe that we may be them. It’s not one hundred percent certainty, but it’s very likely from their perspective.”
“And they’re more likely to know, since they lived during those times,” Twilight said. “Until time says otherwise, that means that we have to treat Shawn as a noble. Or in this case, like we would Fancy Pants.”
“I’d rather you didn’t,” he replied simply before a look of realization crossed his face. “Oh, right, might as well show you this.” He reached into his coat and pulled out a scroll before offering it to Twilight. “Ended up with some … certification.”
Twilight unfurled the scroll and reviewed the contents. “Huh.”
“Let me see that,” Applejack said as she moseyed next to Twilight to review the scroll. “Well I’ll be. Hey, Rarity, this here says Shawn really is a bonafide noble now.”
“Oh, um, yes … congratulations,” Rarity offered weakly.
“Does this mean you’ll have to go to Canterlot to meet with other nobles?” Fluttershy asked curiously.
“I hope not. Well, I wouldn’t mind some of them.” Hammer Strike hummed in thought before shrugging. “We’ll see. Beyond that, however,” he turned his attention to Rarity. “Is everything okay, Rarity?”
“What? Why, of course everything’s okay. Why wouldn't everything be okay? How could anything possibly not be okay? I’m fine. We’re fine. Everything’s fine!” She suddenly raised her hoof to look at a watch that wasn’t there. “Ohoho, will you look at the time? Have to be going. Big project to do. Ta-ta, darlings!” And with that said, she bolted out the library almost as quickly as Rainbow Dash could fly, leaving behind a trail of dust and sparkle in her wake.
Hammer Strike blinked a few times. “I … uh, okay?”
“Yeah, she’s definitely not okay,” Rainbow Dash said.
“Eeeeeyup,” Applejack agreed.
The air currents were … less than pleasant to the Pegasus as he wobbled in the cold night air. Pensword tensed and struggled not to flail as the dual pressures of warm air from the ground and cold air from above buffeted his body. He thanked his lucky stars that weather in Ponyville could actually be controlled. Otherwise, he was confident he would have been completely overwhelmed before he even had the chance to begin learning this most essential and basic function of Pegasus anatomy.
“You need to work on leveling out. Remember, your wings aren't your arms. They should be working in tandem. You only want to offset that to turn or adjust,” Moonshade explained as she circled slowly around him.
“This … is a lot harder than it looks,” Pensword admitted, then swallowed heavily. “We’re supposed to be able to take heavy hits, right? So if I end up crashing, it’s not going to do too serious damage?”
“Not at the speed you’re currently flying at.” She laughed. “But yes, Pegasi can usually withstand a heavy impact with low injuries.”
“Can Thestrals, too?” Pensword asked curiously, even as he forced his wings to spread out to their utmost capacity to try to force himself into a glide. That, and literally save his hide.
“To a lesser degree, but we make up for it by regulating temperature better,” she explained.
“So you can fly higher than most other flyers? Or does that have more to do with living in more extreme environments?” Pensword asked curiously. For now, he was coasting. Given the close calls he’d had, it was time for a little break from trying to really fly anyway.
“Pegasi are diurnal, which means, optimally, they will have the sun warming them while they're most active. We Thestrals, being nocturnal, don’t have nearly as much heat available to us.”
“Then when you say temperature control, do you mean one that you can shift to hotter or cooler as you see fit or more that it’s something designed to keep you warmer as a result of the more traditional practice of living and flying at night?”
“A bit of both.” She shrugged. “I’m not a scholar.”
“Do you ever get used to the feeling of the wind brushing over your skin? It feels like I’ve got a thousand little fingers tracing across my feathers.”
“I don’t feel it,” she admitted. “Our fur is lined against the wind.”
“I guess I may have to ask Rainbow Dash for a few tips later, once Shawn gets around to telling her the truth.” Pensword sighed, then steeled himself as he looked first at the approaching ground, then back to the night sky above. “I suppose it’s time to try climbing back up there again,” he said as his wings twitched ever so slightly. “Do you think if I try galloping as I flap that it might make a difference?”
“It might help you find the timing you need, but not much else,” she admitted.
A satirical smile pulled across Pensword’s lips. “So, when can I expect to finally have this come naturally?”
“Give it time,” she chuckled. “All things in time.”
“I guess it’s a good thing we have it, then. There are a lot of things I want to do now that I don’t have to worry about my heart giving out on me. Speaking of which, I’m open to suggestions if you have any. And I’ve been meaning to ask if I could shadow you and the other Thestrals to learn more about your culture. If we really are going to be training all recruits, that means we’re bound to have Thestrals arrive eventually, too.”
“I’ll speak with them and ask, but I'm sure they won’t mind.”
“Thanks.” Pensword smiled sincerely this time as he flapped his wings again. “For all of it, I mean. It’s good to know that we have some friends to rely on. And hopefully have the chance for them to rely on us in turn.”
“That's how Thestrals live. ‘The strength of the pack is the wolf, and the strength of the wolf is the pack,’ as the saying goes.”
Pensword smirked. “Would that happen to include if I were to plummet because my wings stop working?”
“Usually, yes.” She nodded.
“Usually? There are exceptions?”
“I mean, it depends fully on how far you are up and how fast you fall,” she pointed out.
“So simple physics. Got it.”
“Yes, magic can do a lot of things, but it can’t passively nullify physics.”
“And I’m using magic right now by flying?”
She nodded.
“I don’t … feel like I’m using any, though. Shouldn’t I know that I’m doing it?”
“Not for passive magic. Only Unicorns really feel it.”
“Even when you control the weather?”
She nodded again
“Well, I guess I shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth,” he mused. “If you’ll pardon the phrase.”
“I will, but best not say that in Saddle Arabia.”
“Duly noted.” Pensword looked back down and was surprised to see how high they had climbed as they talked. The moonlight shone brightly on the town below, bathing all in its peaceful glow. “Oh, wow.”
Moon shade smirked at him. “Not so hard if you're not thinking about it, huh?”
“So you’re telling me that I shouldn’t think before I act? I’m shocked to hear that coming from a warrior. Shocked, I tell you!” he quipped.
She chuckled and shrugged. Then she smirked. “I think we’re ready to try something a little more challenging now.”
Pensword gulped.
“Knock knock,” Grif said as he knocked on the door of the forge. The building was its usual warmth as the forge fires blazed. Apprentices ran here and there around working bellows, moving coal, getting metal and tools prepared. In the center of it all was the familiar Unicorn barking orders.
“The hell do you want?” Storm Hammer asked, looking at the Gryphon. “In fact, who are you?”
“I’m Grif Bladefeather,” he said, handing her the note with his credentials. “I am currently on contract to this unit for the foreseeable future,” he said. “As for what I require, I have a design I was hoping you might be able to make for me before Hearth's Warming.” he said, also taking out the blueprint.
She looked at the letter and handed it back with a suspicious look before snatching the blueprint and rolling it out. “This looks really complicated,” she said while hmming and hawing. “I mean, it’s not impossible,” she admitted. “But it’s going to take some work.”
The Gryphon dropped a small sack of bits. “Consider this funding for parts. If you need more, contact me.”
She sighed. “I’ll look into this, but no promises,” she growled.
“Much appreciated.” Grif nodded. Little else was spoken of before the Gryphon shuffled off awkwardly while the Unicorn got to work.
Pensword couldn’t stop the nicker that escaped his throat as his lips parted in a giddy grin while trotting side by side with Moonshade. Once he’d gotten past his fear of falling, and had help from the mare in getting comfortable, the rest was as instinctual as it was exhilarating.
“Someone had fun,” Moonshade commented.
“Is it normal to sort of miss being up there?” Pensword asked.
“It’s very normal.” She nodded. “Flight has an addictive quality to it.”
“Is that why most Pegasi stick to settlements like Cloudsdale?”
“Now you're getting it,” she laughed.
“I’d better, if I’m going to go around like this.” He smiled gratefully. “Thanks for the help, Moonshade. Really. It means a lot. With everything you’ve done for us, I hope I can repay the favor one day.”
“I’m doing what's necessary.” She shrugged. “After all, if we don’t stick together, how is anything gonna get done?”
“Friendship?”
“I’m not going to go into a song and dance about that like the Unicorns might.” She shook her head. “For Thestrals, the family is the center of our mentality. We work as a cohesive unit to better everybody.”
“I … wasn’t trying to push you in that direction. Though I will admit I do find those songs catchy. I guess I was just trying to be a little funny? I mean, I know friendship and bonds are a big staple here in Equestria. I’m not trying to belittle that. It’s just, … I’m not a kid or colt who thinks friendship is the answer to every problem either. Our history has taught me that, and in many ways, the present.” He sighed. “I think I need to get some new material. I really don’t know how to make people laugh unless I make myself look like an idiot.”
“You’ll figure it out,” she said, draping a wing over his back gently.
Pensword smiled gently. “Thanks, Moonshade.”
The two strode toward the Punch Bowl together in the early morning light as Celestia’s magic slowly raised the sun above the horizon. “And the princess said ‘let there be light,’ and there was,” Pensword muttered sleepily as they opened the door to the sight of a bloodshot-eyed Berry working to prep the downstairs for the morning. The trio exchanged a set of grim nods, and then Pensword and Moonshade were climbing the stairs.
“Do you think the cadets will take us seriously?” Pensword asked the mare suddenly as they reached the door to their room.
“Why wouldn’t they?” she asked.
“Well, we don’t know whether we really are the legends. And even if we are, we haven’t actually become them yet. Do we really have a right to demand respect on those names?”
“They should respect you anyway. Your actions will prove that.”
Pensword sighed. “Well, at least in this body, I can actually put them through their paces myself. That’s one step better than what I could do before.”
“And keep up with them.” She nodded.
“I suppose. Though we should probably try to get a few hours of sleep before that. I still can’t believe we actually spent the whole night flying.”
“I’m nocturnal,” she reminded him.
“Yes, but I’m not. I guess flying with you made it so I was, though. At least for one night.”
She laughed. “You’ll make me blush.”
“Is that a bad thing?”
“I guess you’ll have to find out.” She smirked as they headed for their room.
The air was alive with the hustle and bustle of the little town as Hammer Strike clopped through the streets toward the base and the waiting forge beyond. Smoke rose high into the air, a sign of the heat that radiated from within the structure as it awaited the embrace of metal to warp and to weave into something new. He looked forward to the next stage of collaboration with Steel Weaver. However, one look at the scowl on the Earth Pony’s face when he arrived at the doors on base made it evident that collaboration would be the last thing on the stallion’s mind. Even more unusual was an almost identical scowl bedecking Storm Hammer’s face.
“Well, that’s a pleasant way to start things off,” Hammer Strike said. “What happened?”
“Oh, we got the new smith in today,” Storm Hammer grumbled. “Of all the smiths in Equestria, we got that one”
“The one you despised working with in Canterlot, I presume?”
Storm Hammer looked to Steel Weaver.
“Aye, Wrought Iron. As stuck up as the nobles, and despises anything that isn’t ‘perfectly up to code,’” Steel Weaver replied.
“Joy,” Hammer Strike remarked with a sigh. “I assume they’re moving their stuff around at the moment?”
“They're trying to. We let the apprentices know they let him move anything and we’ll be hammering them, but he may need to have a more personal reminder. He was eyeing your table last time I checked,” Storm Hammer confirmed.
“Eyeing my worktable?” Hammer Strike raised a brow.
“Yes. Don’t kid yourself. The brat will be trying to look at any blueprints or schematics he can, trying to make corrections so they fit ‘by the book,’” she growled.
“He touches my schematics and he’s not going to be working here for much longer,” Hammer Strike replied flatly.
“Good riddance,” Steel Weaver said. “The lad has talent, but he can’t give a weapon a soul.” He shrugged. “But then again, you’ve broken some nasty habits before. Maybe you can help the lad break this one.”
“With a name like Wrought Iron, it sounds like it’ll be a challenge.” Hammer Strike sighed. “In any case, I assume he’s inside?”
“Aye. Didn’t want to get charged for wringing his neck. Or worse.”
Hammer Strike sighed. “All right, I might as well greet him,” he remarked as he made his way to the entrance.
“Try not to hit him too hard, Lad,” Steel Weaver said by way of farewell as the doors opened and Hammer Strike stepped inside.
The forge was as he always remembered it. It was far from a permanent structure. There was no point in that when they were planning to move into the castle in the Everfree eventually. But the forge served well enough. Its coals burned hot. Its bellows waited to enhance the flames. Red pokers warmed merrily as wave after wave of heat smothered all traces of cold in an instant and wrapped around the space in an all-encompassing blanket.
This was an environment that Hammer Strike was familiar with. In certain ways, it could almost be called a haven. However, havens have boundaries. And woe be to the one that should intrude uninvited. Such a one stared with furrowed brow as he looked over the surface of Hammer Strike’s work table. The glimpse of rich blue paper that Hammer Strike most definitely did not have unrolled before when he was in his human form caught his eye. Were he a lesser stallion, that eye likely would have twitched.
Hammer Strike channeled his outrage and frustration in another way.
“Boy, I would recommend you step back if you know what’s good for you,” Hammer Strike spoke with barely restrained anger.
The stallion that could only be Wrought Iron was a two-toned gray stallion. His mane and tail were charcoal-gray while his coat was a darker shade. A large metallic spike still radiating heat waves served as his cutie mark. He remained surprisingly non-plussed as he looked Hammer Strike in the eye. “I don’t believe we’ve met. You’re certainly not one of the smiths. I’ve already met both of them, professional preferences aside. Were you sent by the human Shawn? Or is there perhaps an order that needs filling?”
“Wrong on both. I am Hammer Strike, and you’re messing with my worktable and my blueprints.”
Wrought Iron cocked his head. “I was under the impression these belonged to the human Shawn. I was in the process of transferring these to better storage to make room until another work table could be ordered.”
“Given his unavailability, the table was given to me so I may continue my work. Your work table is already ordered, and you’ll get it when it arrives. You would have known that had you not already alienated yourself from your peers.”
“I see. Thank you for the information. As for your comment on alienation, I do things by the book. That often gives Ponies the wrong impression of me. Though I wasn’t aware we would be having a fourth smith sent to join this expedition.”
“Then you failed to learn of any potential updates before your departure. You have two superiors to answer to: Lord Shawn and myself, Lord Hammer Strike,” he noted flatly.
That broke Wrought Iron’s composure, causing the stallion to bump into a work table and jostle a hammer to fall onto the floor with a mighty ring. The surprise was soon replaced with fury, however, as he glowered at the stallion. “I don’t appreciate pranks, particularly regarding the smith of smiths.”
“You’ll find I am not one to joke.”
“Then I trust you can appreciate healthy skepticism. I assume you have a document corroborating this assignment and your identity?”
Hammer Strike sighed, rolled his eyes, and reached into his coat. After a moment, he pulled out said document and unrolled it. “Does that help you understand the situation?”
Wrought Iron peered closely at the document, arcing his head back and forth as he checked the quality of the paper, the seal, the signatures, even the smell, though Hammer Strike drew the line when he extended his tongue to try to taste some of the ink. The scroll was quickly rolled back up and returned to his coat pocket.
“I can see why your peers dislike you, if that’s your method of ‘checking authenticity.’”
“I was going to determine the type of metals used in the ink. You’d be surprised what substitutes forgers use to simulate authenticity.” Wrought Iron tossed his mane and rustled his wings. “Given what I’ve seen, I’ll have to accept it as genuine for now. But if you plan on taking a place in this forge, I want to make sure you really are qualified. It’s one thing to be a noble. It’s another to do this kind of work for a living, especially when the strength and effectiveness of the arms we make are a matter of life and death.”
Hammer Strike stared at him for a moment. “You’re really wanting to take these tests that far. Fine, then. I’ll tell you what. I could show you my work, but I get the feeling you’re going to be so thick-headed about it that you’ll come up with some other insane reasoning to keep yourself in the ‘right.’ When your desk arrives, I’ll put you to the test myself. I’ll even let you pick what is to be made. But let me tell you this, boy. If I find you lacking, you’ve got a long trip back.”
“If I lacked, I wouldn’t be here in the first place,” Wrought Iron said.
“And if you were smart, you would have kept your mouth shut,” Hammer Strike responded as he turned to the exit. “Familiarize yourself with your workspace. You don’t have much time to do so.”
As the Pony exited the forge, the two other smiths both looked knowingly at his scowl.
“Bloody idiot,” Storm Hammer spat.
“Keep him off my worktable,” Hammer Strike ordered the two. “If he so much as looks over my blueprints, you let me know.”
“Will do.”
“I’ll be around the camp. Once his work table arrives, I will be back. Keep the forge prepared, as I’m going to test his work, and in turn, show him how a true smith works.”
Both smiths grinned viciously.
After the sheer bullheadedness that was Wrought Iron, Hammer Strike needed something to vent his frustrations. It seemed that the universe had heard that unuttered plea, however, for the familiar sound of heavy exertion and clanging metal immediately drew his attention toward the practice fields. A swift trot to the location soon revealed the source of the commotion as a couple of the recruits were hard at work thrusting, parrying, and otherwise attacking what looked to be a set of dummies not unlike Rarity’s mannequins. A large cart held a bundle of the figures awaiting assembly and setup as some of the Thestrals worked with the more experienced recruits to begin setting up the next figure. Others worked on setting up new targets for archery practice while more fought hoof to hoof in a combat arena layered with multiple rings to gauge distance and the give and take that was always a part of battle.
“Those happen to be the reinforced training dummies we ordered, or are we still using the standard?” Hammer Strike asked as he approached.
The Thestral dispensing the dummies smirked as he looked to the stallion. “Neither. The princesses designed these specifically to handle as much punishment as a Pony can give. They’re strong enough to take a heavy blow from Princess Luna and still have enough left over to pull themselves together again.” He motioned toward the field, where the dummies that were already in place had been slashed and hacked to bits. Before their eyes, a hum and a glow surrounded them before the stuffing returned to its proper location and the breaks and rents in armor and cloth were fully repaired. “They call this the Strike Model Mark One. Apparently, when Captain Nightshade asked about later models, the princesses just laughed.”
“Of course,” Hammer Strike muttered. “In that case, mind setting one up off to the side for me to use? I need to adapt to the more … current ways of combat.”
“Of course, Sir.” A few barked orders later, one of the dummies was standing with a grim expression on its face as it stared down its appointed adversary. “If I may be so bold, Sir, what methods were you hoping to practice first?”
“Honestly, it’ll be a mix of things. For the moment, I’m probably going to just test their resilience with my sword, see how it feels.”
One of the recruits gaped at the sword, then at the stallion. “You can actually use that thing?” A stern glare from a higher ranked Thestral quickly prompted the recruit to finish her answer. “Uh, Sir,” she said lamely.
“Of course.” Hammer Strike gave a smile as he removed the sword from his back and held it in horizontally. “Though it may be a greatsword, there wouldn’t be a point to having it if I couldn’t use it.”
More than a few heads turned and gaped at the stallion as a low murmur began to carry through those who were assembled at the grounds. The phrase, “One hoof?” seemed to be more than common.
“Indeed,” Hammer Strike chuckled. “In any case, let’s see how these training dummies hold up, shall we?” he questioned.
He raised his sword and braced himself against his target. When he’d centered himself properly, he lunged forward, raised his sword and brought it down in a diagonal slash from the upper right to the lower left. He expected the sword to stop. What he didn’t expect was for that stop to come in the form of biting deep into the ground beneath his hooves. He looked first at his sword, then back up to the dummy. Not a single mouth remained closed as the audience watched dummy and pole slide along the plane of the cut that Hammer Strike had left behind with his sword. The figure collapsed, and Hammer Strike stared with inscrutable gaze at the end result.
He continued to stare as the hum of magic went to work and the dummy began to repair itself. True to the Thestral’s word, the figure had restored itself good as new. There were no traces of the damage Hammer Strike had left behind before. The repair functions certainly worked well enough. But as for durability, if that one blow was anything to go by, they still needed some work.
“I … admittedly hoped for more resistance.” He hummed in thought.
“Burning Suns!” the Thestral swore.
Hammer Strike shrugged. “I suppose a greatsword may have been somewhat of a poor test. And since I have no other blades at hoof, perhaps we’ll just go to testing them against raw strength,” he remarked, placing the greatsword on his back once again.
Another murmur began to roll through the gathered Ponies. This time, the clink of coins caused Hammer Strike’s ears to swivel as softly whispered bets curled sinuously through the air. Hammer Strike planted himself once more and stared at the dummy. For all intents and purposes, this thing was meant to be indestructible. If it could take a blow from Princess Luna and still survive, then surely he should be able to do far less to it. He approached, drew back one of his forelegs, tensed his body, and then let it rip.
Hooves are not like hands. They are coated in a solid layer of keratin, and thus insulated against the heavier sensations of impact and burning or cooling. The thickness and strength of the surface was designed to protect and insulate hooves against the great weight and impact that came from the rest of their body mass. Now the power of some of that mass was gathered in one explosive upper cut that rose and connected in a manner that felt almost like slow motion as he stared into the dummy’s false face. For a moment, the squashing of the fabric made it seem almost as if the eyes were going wide with shock. Then the moment was past. Time sped up again. And finally, the head came free with a wrenching POP before flying up, and up, and up until it was little more than a gleam in the blue skies above.
“...That’s not coming down yet, is it?” Hammer Strike questioned aloud.
“I … don’t think it’s ever coming down, Sir,” the Thestral said. An uneasy silence had spread over the training grounds as a cold wind cut through.
“It has to.” Hammer Strike shook his head. “There’s no way I hit it that hard.”
“Sir, with all due respect, if the charm hasn’t worked to gravitate the head back and repair the damage, I think it’s safe to say you did.”
“... Fair enough.” Hammer Strike looked towards the group once more. “You know what? Perhaps it’s for the best if I leave these training dummies with all of you. If this is anything to go on, I’d rather we actually have some for training, rather than me ruining most of them.”
“A wise move, Sir,” the Thestral said in a level tone. Then he turned to glare at the recruits. “Well, what are you all waiting for, an invitation to the Gala? Get back to work!”
The reaction was immediate as an almost frantic sort of energy seemed to pulse through the recruits, filling them with a manic vigor as they threw themselves into their tasks.
“In any case, do there happen to be any updates on the worktable ordered for the forge?” Hammer Strike asked.
“Came fresh off the train in the last supply dump, Sir. It should be arriving soon after it receives its final staining at the local carpenter’s.”
A smile formed on Hammer Strike’s face. “Perfect.”
“Oh, man, how I missed pizza,” Grif said, taking another large bite of the hot slice in his claws.
“It’s even tastier than back home,” Pensword agreed as he chewed the delicate crust and savored the texture while sweet tomato sauce and tangy sun-dried tomatoes mingled with cheese and green toppings to properly finish the blend. “If this is what they do just with cheese and tomatoes, I can’t help but wonder what they can do with other combinations.”
“I don’t know. We’ll have to see when we have a chance,” Grif said. “Maybe at the palace.”
“Though I’m guessing we’ll have to get used to veggie lovers' dishes. It’s unlikely that many meat-based ones would be available, save perhaps for when foreign delegates come,” Pensword said.
“I mean, we could hunt.” Grif shrugged.
“Are there any good hunting grounds around Ponyville?”
“Honestly? There should be,” Grif said. “None of the prey animals have a reason to fear civilization.”
“I’m not sure how Fluttershy would feel about us killing her animal friends, Grif,” Pensword pointed out. “Even if she hasn’t met them yet.”
“The circle of life.” Grif shrugged.
“Fair enough.” Pensword took another bite of his pizza, then paused and cocked his head as one of his ears twitched. “Do you hear that?”
Grif looked in the direction of the sound. “That was something big.”
A few moments later, a blazing streak could be seen rising in the sky above before fading into a pinprick of night. “Well, whatever it is, it’s gone now,” Pensword said.
“Yeah. Let’s hope everyone’s okay.”
“Is it a Tuesday?” Pensword asked.
“I didn’t actually check the calendar.”
“Then there’s a one-in-seven chance that we’ll have to worry.”
“I mean, yes, but…” Grif shrugged. “Pizza hands are kinda tied.”
“At least the odds are in our favor.” Pensword shrugged. “If it was a big deal, we’d probably hear a commotion for mobilization through the town anyway. That, or townsponies screaming.” He took another bite of the pizza and sighed contentedly. “If all it takes to fly well is happy thoughts, then this will send me straight to heaven and back again.”
Grif laughed. “That’s pizza for you.”
“Grif, I lived in the mountains, remember? We couldn’t even dream of pizza this good.”
“True.” He nodded. “But this is especially good, regardless.”
“So you won’t hate me if I take another slice from the pie.”
“Not at all.”
“Even if it’s the last one?”
“Pretty sure we can get more if need be.”
“Fair enough.” Pensword shrugged. “So, what flavor were you thinking to try this time?”
The air outside was cool and frigid, but Hammer Strike hardly felt it amid the fury that simmered beneath the surface and the anticipation of just how he intended to teach the smug stallion a thing or two about how to work in a forge. It was said experience was the best teacher. What many do not mention is the fact that oftentimes, it’s the hard lessons that last the longest. That, or they repeat themselves because of stubbornness and pride. If Wrought Iron was half the smith he claimed to be, Hammer Strike hoped he would choose the former. But the stubborn smith’s name and very nature stood against him. Time would tell.
The work table was hauled in by a team of carpenters wearing overalls, tool belts, and hard hats. Their features were blocky and rigid, but their smiles were soft and gentle as they greeted their fellow craftsponies. After all, woodworking and smithing went hand in hand. True to form, Wrought Iron made sure to follow the workers in his ever-present need to provide oversight and ensure everything was, “up to standard.”
Storm Hammer and Steel Weaver looked on with stony gaze after the gray Pegasus.
“Idiot’s signing his own death warrant,” Storm Hammer sighed.
“Want to collaborate on a coffin? We can make it a work of art. He’d hate that,” Steel Weaver said with a smirk.
“Yes. I'm sure we got enough pig to do something good,” she laughed.
“Of course, you know we’ll have to stay impartial for this little contest. The lad won’t let us do anything less,” Steel Weaver pointed out as he motioned toward Hammer Strike with a subtle toss of his head.
“He’ll win on merit alone.” She nodded.
Hammer Strike simply hummed in thought.
“You know, once word gets around about this, we’re probably going to have an audience,” Steel Weaver noted.
“Given the legend following my name, I suspected as much,” Hammer Strike replied.
“Honestly, I’m surprised you haven’t been swarmed already, lad,” Steel Weaver noted.
“Knowing my luck, give it time.” He sighed. “It’ll come.”
True to his word, the forge and the grounds around it slowly began to fill as trickle after trickle of curious cadets mingled with apprentices to catch a glimpse of the legend that had supposedly been appointed to oversee the efforts of the humans. One did not bear the name of Strike lightly. And to be entrusted with that name by Celestia carried both the weight of expectation and buoyancy of prestige.
The workers that left the forge were gruff. The softness had been worn away, or perhaps grated, by their short time with Wrought Iron. Their jaws jutted as they clenched their teeth and strode quietly from the space, not trusting themselves to speak. Instead, they doffed their caps toward Hammer Strike, then departed. Hammer Strike’s expression darkened as a result. One more mark against Wrought Iron.
It took another twenty minutes before the Pegasus finally exited the forge to approach the trio, heedless of the crowd that had gathered. “I’m ready,” he said. “Are you?”
“We’ve been waiting on you,” Hammer Strike spoke flatly.
“I meant were there any materials you wanted to have at your bench other than what was already there. We are going to make longswords, after all.”
“I’m sure all I need has already been placed. If there is nothing else, I’d rather get this over with. I have more important things to deal with.”
“By all means,” Wrought Iron agreed and backed into the forge, leaving the door open to allow Hammer Strike and their two judges entry.
“All right, lads, to your stations,” Steel Weaver said. “We’ll have no chicanery or petty tricks here. It’s skill against skill. A balance of quality and production time will both be used to judge the worth of the craftsponies who make today’s weapons. Between the two of us, we’ll decide who produces the better blade. Are the both of you ready?” he asked.
“As can be,” Hammer Strike remarked as he looked over his workstation.
“I am prepared,” Wrought Iron said grimly.
“Then begin,” Storm Hammer ordered.
The two Ponies immediately went to their tables; Hammer Strike to a fresh set of blueprint paper and Wrought Iron immediately to the ore caches. A low murmur of whispers filled the background as Ponies and recruits alike watched, curious as to what each of the smiths would do for their test.
Hammer Strike hummed in thought as he mapped out a design. It was just to be a longsword, and there was no need for anything extra. So, he settled on the form in his mind, something simple and direct. All he could do now was follow the memories of his past experiences, both on his own and the lessons he learned from his uncle many years ago.
Wrought Iron was grim-faced as he took his chunks of ore and brought them toward the fire. A set of heavy tongs helped him to maneuver the ore to the proper location in the coals while skilled hooves manipulated the bellows with the occasional shift of a wing to shift the air currents and keep steady temperature over the ingots while they warmed. It appeared that there were benefits to Pegasi smithing techniques, after all. He was silent and focused, to his credit. Rather than boasting about his skill like Rainbow Dash, he seemed content to focus on the result instead.
Both stallions went to work, and the familiar sounds of a forge were brought to life. Bellows blew and heated the fires within, tools were brought across the workspace to their needed destinations, and soon after, the sounds of hammers striking anvils rang through the air.
Time marched on as the two worked, and the crowd had grown further as even the Guard began to approach and spectate. It wasn’t until the third hour that something finally changed, and Hammer Strike took a step back from his work bench. Wrought Iron pointed toward a series of bins as he continued to hammer away at the dully glowing ore. “Handle materials are over there if you need them.”
Hammer Strike glanced flatly to Wrought Iron. “I suggest you continue to focus on your work,” he spoke before reaching onto his worktable to remove his longsword. It wasn’t a complex piece, but it was exactly as it was meant to be: clean, polished, and grabbing the light of the forge to reveal its splendor. True to his plan, he refrained from adding anything extra. This was a test to prove capability, not artistry. A simple rounded pommel, leather wrapped grip, a standard wide guard, and a clean steel blade were all he needed to show what he could offer. “Because right now—” He walked between Wrought Iron and the two judges, carrying the sword with him. Before anything else could be said, he flipped the sword in his grip and impaled it into the ground. The stone cracked and broke free, allowing the blade to rest within the rock as he let it go. “—You’re wasting my time,” he concluded, turning away from them all and leaving the forge to continue his other work.
Wrought Iron stared at the sword, then at the retreating stallion. Brute strength could account for embedding a weapon into the ground. But passing through stone without breaking or shattering was quite another matter. Despite himself and all of his training, Wrought Iron was drawn to the blade, his cold and rigid demeanor shattered by the sheer incredulity of what lay before him. Nopony could craft a sword in that time, let alone one capable of sundering the very stones beneath their hooves. And yet, there it was. No mortar had crumbled. No grinding had taken place. It was one single blow. And even for a smith, that kind of strength was unusual.
Iron clanged with a guttering flare of sparks as the ingot Wrought Iron had been working on fell to the workshop floor. But Wrought Iron was beyond such perception as he took in the blade and began to examine it. Its edge, its shine, its length and breadth. The blade consumed his focus and attention. Simple though it was, it was beautifully crafted with careful attention to every defining detail. Much though Wrought Iron may have been loath to admit it, this was not the work of an amateur or a pretender.
No, this was a work that could even exceed a master.
“Goddess,” Wrought Iron swore, even as the edge caught against the fur of his foreleg and gave him just the barest trace of a nick.
“Goddess nothing,” Storm Hammer said. “This is what happens when you think for yourself. You see what's needed and what's not.”
“No smith can forge that fast,” Wrought Iron muttered to himself as he shook his head. “Not a one.”
“There is one now, lad. And I’d say you owe him an apology. You can start by taking that stick out of your plot and not snooping through another smith’s private documents. If you don’t, you might just find something else shoved up there with it one day,” Steel Weaver warned sagely. “Second, you can pick up that ingot you left over there and finish what you started.”
Wrought Iron started guiltily as he turned back to the forge and stared at his workspace. The ore had cooled and begun to harden. There was no way to salvage the ingot in its present state. Any sword forged from it would likely crack. It would need to begin again, possibly melted down first. “I … I can’t,” he said helplessly. “Not with that.”
“Then pick up your shoes like a proper stallion and start again.” Then he turned to face the rest of the gathered crowd. “And that goes for you lot, too. Now stop gawking and get back to work!”