THE PONYGIRLS OF THE NORTH

A short story by Nosbert

Part One - The Prologue

On the bridge of the SS Leading Star, a survey vessel belonging to the Galactic Surveying Corporation, a siren sounded.

"Probe is on its way down now sir," informed Second Officer Dinsdale and bending forward to check on a monitor sitting next to the captain’s console.

"Good, how long before we get some pictures back?" asked Captain Grundy.

"Hopefully in around twenty minutes time sir," answered Dinsdale.

"Why hopefully?" asked Captain Grundy, with a questioning look upon his face.

"The probe appears to have suffered a guidance malfunction sir. It’s off-course by about eight-hundred kilometres. But the computers now seem to have everything under control and a soft landing is expected," reported Dinsdale and grateful that the situation had been retrieved somewhat.

The captain settled down to wait whilst Dinsdale and the rest of the ship’s crew monitored the probe’s descent. Life on the bridge returned momentarily to normal, with everyone present attending to their allotted duties, whilst in the background the great wall mounted screen tracked the small landing craft’s descent to the planet below.

As if to confirm that all was now firmly under control, at the bottom of the display a message flashed repeatedly: ‘STATUS NORMAL’.

* * *

Part Two - The Mysterious Invader

Gobwern, Guardian of the North, reheated his drink with just a wave of his wand over the goblet. It was one of the first things he had learned as a young apprentice. In those early days every ounce of concentration was needed to raise the temperature just a few degrees, but now, with the passing of the millenniums, any conscious thoughts behind this act had long since disappeared. The drink boiled instantly, bringing white plopping bubbles to the surface. The wand then left his hand, floated gracefully through the air and gave the goblet a little stir. It then returned to disappear up a long, baggy sleeve of the guardian’s gown.

Cupping the goblet in his hands, Gobwern moved from the bare wooden table to sit next to a blazing log fire. As the heat percolated through to his frozen hands he closed his eyes and cast a sweeping mind-probe out beyond the three-metre thick granite walls of the castle. There was something very disturbing going on in the skies above him.

The windswept old castle, built on a jagged outcrop of rock, deep in the icy wastelands of the north had been his home for many centuries. In fact, far too many centuries, and in all those aeons he had learned to mind-probe his domain from the barren grasslands in the south to the polar regions of the north; and from the icy coastline in the east to the jagged rocky glacial shores of the west. However, the barrenness of this vast area of frozen wasteland was not the thing that troubled the old guardian as he cast his mind, not to the north or south, nor even to the east or west, but to the heavens above. Something very disturbing was happening in the skies high above the castle’s ramparts.

Gobwern had been worried for quite some time now. Could this be the prelude to yet another attack? The old guardian had long reconciled himself to the fact that the north had to be protected from his hated enemy. With their hideous shaped bodies and their foul smelling stench they would use the frozen ice-caps as a bridge from their rancid swamplands to reach the land he loved so dearly. The old enemy had invaded many times over the aeons, and it was his solemn duty not to let this ever happen again. He was the Guardian of the North, and it was his sworn oath and solemn duty to ensure that none shall traverse the frozen ice-bridge that was the one and only link between the two continents of this remote and insignificant little planet.

The old guardian sipped his drink and attuned his mind to the heavens. There were strange noises in the air, noises on a frequency he had not encountered before. He had first heard them several hours ago, but at that time they were very faint and distant, just background noises to the general hubbub of thoughts that continuously flew through the ether every hour of the day. Even this far north, if he concentrated hard enough, he could pick up a conversation being held many hundreds of kilometres away, in one of the many small villages along the thin equatorial belt. However, these particular noises, although on the same frequencies as thought, were something very different. He concluded that they were not from this land but from somewhere totally alien to him. They were issuing from somewhere high in the heavens, but from where exactly he could not tell.

Gobwern remained deeply troubled. He put down his goblet on the hearth, warmed his hands against the crackling fire, then rubbed them together to bring heat back into his circulation. These were desperate times and this winter one of the coldest on record. He summoned up a mind link, sending a mental picture of his senses far to the south, into the Hall of the Great Lord Keeper of the Land.

In an instance two great minds met and locked.

"Yes, I can hear them too my servant," came an almost immediate answer, and as if expecting the call.

"My lord, I feel a little unease with these strange noises," replied Gobwern.

"I feel unease too my servant," returned the Lord Keeper’s thoughts.

"Lord, they are not of this land, I am sure of this, they drop down from beyond the clouds, perhaps even from beyond the skies, but what they mean, what they are trying to say, I know not," spoke Gobwern’s mind to his master.

"Gobwern, faithful servant, stay vigilant, I will council my ministers. I will discover the source of these noises for myself," came the returning thoughts before the telepathic link ended abruptly.

The Great Lord Keeper never had any time for informalities, such was the burden of the Keeper the Land.

Gobwern heard the noises once more and pressed his hands firmly against his temples as he tried to identify the source. He could sense things more clearly now. Something was approaching, dropping down from the skies, and it was going to land somewhere near to the old castle.

The old guardian stood up, grabbed his great heavy cloak from the back of his chair, slung it around his shoulders and made for the door. He needed to venture outside in the freezing cold, and to do that he needed a very special kind of transport.

The wastelands of the north, for as long as anyone could remember, bred a very special kind of ponygirl. They ran wild on the frozen plains, living on lichen in the winter and grazing on the sparse tundra grasses when the north’s short summer raised the temperature a few degrees above freezing. The ponygirls of the north were a hardy breed, and despite their smooth pink, hairless skin could withstand the sub zero temperatures and survive conditions no mortal man could endure for more than an hour at the most.

To see a ponygirl of the northern wastelands one would almost say they looked human. In shape and size, and skin texture there was no discernible difference between ponygirls and that of the female human form. Every ponygirl was noted for her soft pink flesh; her large, firm and rounded breasts; pert little bottoms; and long shapely legs capable of running for hours at a time.

However, ponygirls did differ slightly in two ways. From the visual aspect their hair grew as a mane, starting at the forehead and passing down to the nape of the neck. Their one other difference was not so discernible unless you heard a ponygirl speak. Nothing more than a neigh or whinny ever issued from their mouths. It was reckoned that they did have a form of speech and could communicate amongst themselves, but no human had ever managed to penetrate their minds to discover the intricacies of what these sounds conveyed.

All in all, the inside of a ponygirl’s mind remained forever a mystery to man. The only two things that humankind knew, or perhaps the only two things they ever cared about, was that firstly a ponygirl, once captured and trained, could convey them swiftly across any icy terrain, and secondly needed very little care or upkeep. Since in the wild ponygirls could run forever and survived on a meagre existence, eking out a living in winter on lichen scraped from rocks, and in summer grazing the few sparse grasses that managed to grow in these barren wastelands of the north.

The bitter wind howled past the ramparts as the old guardian led his ponygirl steed from out of the refuge of the old decaying granite castle. She was in harness and pulled a small single-seated sled behind her. Despite the sub-zero temperatures her naked pink flesh remained exposed to the elements. She was adorned in bright red leather. About her waist she wore a wide leather belt. A further belt passed down between her legs and buckled on the wide waist belt at the back. On either side of the waist belt were hooks that attached themselves to the towing bars of the sled. Her arms were held together behind her back by two wide leather straps; pulled tight at both the wrists and elbows. About her head she wore a bridle of leather straps. These passed over her mane, formed a triangle about the nose, and retained a thick leather bit in her mouth. Two reins dropped down from each side of the bridle and passed backwards to the sled. These had been loosely tied to a large metal ring at the front.

Gobwern slammed the big castle doors shut and sniffed the freezing cold outside air. The planet’s small red dwarf sun was low on the southern horizon casting long shadows from the icy outcrops, and everywhere the sky glowed pink, leaving an eerie light to fall amongst the snowdrifts and rocky promontories.

Gobwern stepped into the sled, settled himself down on a thick, fur padded seat and gave his whip a crack. The ponygirl set off, trotting effortlessly on top of the frozen surface and leaving a trail of powdered snow blowing in her wake.

The old guardian pulled his ponygirl to rest about two kilometres to the west of the castle. He tied her reins to the ring then stepped down from the sled.

Standing knee deep in the snow Gobwern fixed his eyes firmly to the skies. There were no snow clouds in the air today, just the eternally cold biting wind and a dim red sun lighting the skies. On a day such as this, normally to an untrained eye, this small reddish ball of a sun would be the only object to interrupt the cover of this tiny world’s perpetual monotone reddish-pink sky. But on this day there was to be one more thing to break that symmetry. Gobwern’s keen eye located and focused on a small dot in the heavens. It was an object getting closer by the second, and as it approached a faint audible roar began to be heard.

It was not long before a strange form began to materialise against the rose-pink background. Gobwern could only stand and stare in amazement as a solid cylindrical object, with three spidery legs protruding from its base in a geometrical pattern, came dropping down from the skies; and with a plume of flame hissing from its centre.

Gobwern was not the only person observing this scene, by mind-lock the images were being transmitted to the Great Lord Keeper and his ministers. They all sat motionless at one end of a long wooden table spreading almost the full length of the Hall of the Great Lord Keeper. To them, with their minds attuned to that of Gobwern, it was as if they too were standing knee deep in the same bitter cold, freezing snow many leagues to the frozen north.

The strange object from another world became clearly visible, and its roar deafening as it dropped the last few metres to the ground, coming gently to rest some twenty paces in front of the old guardian, the blast causing his long grey beard and heavy cloak to blow out almost horizontally behind him.

Whilst Gobwern stood his ground, the deafening roar frightened his ponygirl. She shied, whinnied, bobbed her head up and down, and scrapped the frozen ground with her foot in frustration. She then backed away to seek refuge behind a jagged granite outcrop of rock.

The alien intruder from the skies had melted and cleared a twenty metre diameter circle in the snow and exposing the bare granite rock beneath. Then the flames stopped and the invader fell silent. Gobwern looked thoughtfully at the intruder. He could see that it was cylindrical, no taller than himself, and from the base protruded three spidery legs. On top of the object perched a large dish. There was writing on the side, but it meant nothing to him, for it was in a language he did not understand. But if he could have translated the message then he would have found it to read simply: ‘SS Leading Star - Probe 3XL-1252’.

The snow thrown up by the invader swirled about the old guardian and began to settle. Some of the snow, carried along on the biting cold wind, returned to meet the invader, and instantly turned to steam as each flake struck the sides of the red hot casing.

Gobwern stood his ground and waited for the monster to speak. Suddenly that familiar ‘takker - takker - takker’ he had previously heard began to chatter its melodic tune once more.

The old guardian cocked his head to one side. Something was wrong, something very amiss. The mysterious noise was still coming from the heavens. The voice was still up there somewhere, and this strange alien metal object had nothing to do with it after all. He felt confused: What was happening?

Then suddenly the invader began to answer the heavens back in a loud and piercing voice. The old guardian reeled backwards, knocked over by the shear intensity and total ferocity of the thought transmissions. In desperation he clamped his head tightly between his hands to shield his brain from the ferocity of the waves that battered and penetrated his mind. Nothing so strong nor this powerful had ever touched his mind before.

The pain intensified to the point where the old guardian could bear the suffering no longer. He staggered to his feet, put out his hand and summoned his wand. It flew from somewhere within his robe, did a double twist in the air then slapped hard into the palm of his hand. Quickly he turned the wand towards the alien machine and released a thunderbolt against the side.

The land and sky shook as the plasma-bolt struck the alien invader. For a fraction of a second the intruder became enveloped in a shroud of blue lightning. Then, as quickly as it had begun, the chattering ceased and the old guardian’s mind fell free.

Gobwern breathed a sigh of relief: The monster was dead and he could think freely again.

But the old guardian’s great relief was to last but a few fleeting moments. The probe’s fuel tanks, still half full in readiness for its return to the mother ship ignited, bursting and rending the landing probe into thousands of minute fragments of razor-sharp shards.

Gobwern, Guardian of the North felt the full force of the explosion. His body caught the blast full on and he was flung backwards through the air, tossed some twenty metres before landing deep in the snow.

Many leagues away to the south, in the Hall of the Great Lord Keeper the mind-link snapped the moment the fuel tanks exploded. The Lord Keeper and his ministers could only stare at each other in disbelief. Gobwern, faithful servant and long time Guardian of the North had broken all contact.

No one in the Great Hall spoke and a shield went up around their minds, each keeping their darkest thoughts to themselves.

* * *

Part Three - Tracking the Herd

The shying ponygirl peered out from behind the jagged outcrop of rock. She whinnied, scraped the surface of the frozen snow with one foot, then crept her way slowly towards the fallen body of her master. She remained scared and very frightened.

Trailing an empty sled behind her, she reached the spot where the old guardian lay and looked down. His body was half buried in the deep snow. She whinnied again. Blood trickled from a deep gash in her master’s forehead and on making contact with the air was turning immediately to dark red ice. But she knew him to still be alive. Breath expelled from his body blew out two small but rhythmical plumes of frozen mist from his nostrils each time he breathed out into the biting cold air.

The ponygirl did not know what to do. She was still semi-wild and had not completed her full domestication training. In the wild, when taken from the herd, her name then had been Myraha, now it was just a number that had been crudely written on her stable door. She whinnied again and knelt down by her master’s side. If only her wrists and elbows were not strapped together behind her back, and the rawhide bit not in her mouth, then perhaps she could do something to help. But tethered the way she was, with the sled still attached to the harness about her waist, and the reins from her bridle tied to a metal ring on the sled, she was helpless to do anything to save him.

Myraha looked to the south-west, to the cloudless pink sky and the small setting red-dwarf sun. There was probably little more than two hours of daylight left, after that the temperatures would plummet to a point where no mortal could exist. Even now she held out little hope for her master. This was the deep mid-winter of the north, and even in daylight the air had been known to freeze, leaving puddles of liquid oxygen on the ground.

The ponygirl whinnied and scraped a foot on the frozen snow. She realised that her only hope of saving her master was to go for help, and do it quickly. She needed to track down a herd. She sniffed the breeze. A light wind was blowing in from a south-easterly direction and it contained the scent of ponygirls grazing. It must have been a big herd too. The redolence of two ponystallions could be detected amongst the wafting odours of the ponygirls.

Myraha took one final look down at her master, whinnied a farewell then set off across the frozen snow. She knew now what was needed of her. She had to reach the herd and return to her master before the sun went down. She sniffed the freezing air once more. The herd were many kilometres to the south and she needed to canter quickly. She whinnied again. If only she did not have the sled attached, or even if her hands were free, then she could have done something about it. Now her only hope lay in finding the herd and hoping that they would accept her. The trouble was, this was not her own herd. None of the individual ponygirl odours of her own herd were detectable and she could quite easily be rejected. The presence of two ponystallions might also cause a problem. They could easily begin to fight over her, and that would only waste her valuable time.

After cantering quickly over rugged terrain, Myraha reached the bottom of a steep and icy slope. She now found herself trotting on a smooth and level plain. Still at a trot she looked around. For as far as the eye could see the snow-packed frozen surface lay smooth and flat. She stopped for a second and sniffed the breeze. The herd was much closer now; their scent far stronger. She pinpointed their direction then set off at a gallop and trailing a line of frozen powdered snow behind her. She would gallop at this pace until she reached the herd. It was the only thing she could do if she was to save her master.

After about an hour of galloping the ponygirl caught sight of the herd and switched direction slightly. Up until this point she had been heading south-east in a dead straight line. The herd had been moving from east to west, following the setting sun, and by the time the scent had reached her, and after being tossed about on the swirling breeze, the ponygirls had moved on a little way.

After two more kilometres Myraha could see everything clearly now. A long, thin grey strip of granite protruded above the snow and spanned the plains from east to west as far as the eye could see. The herd of ponygirls were following the granite outcrop and grazing as they went. She could also estimate their size now. There was probably a hundred of them moving slowly west and picking lichen from off the icy granite walls as they moved.

Myraha could also see something else now. The ponygirls were divided into two separate herds. There was a distinctive gap of about one hundred metres between them. She whinnied as she continued to gallop onwards. At least this explained the presence of two ponystallions. Each controlled a herd of something around fifty ponygirls. This she understood. Ponygirl herds usually ranged from between forty to sixty in size, with one dominant ponystallion in their midst.

The ponygirls of the first herd ceased grazing the moment they saw the plume of snow rising up from the plains and heading their way. Standing there with their naked pink bodies shimmering in the fading sunlight, they sniffed the air, but the wind was in the wrong direction and it was impossible to detect any specific odorous scents.

Myraha stopped dead in her tracks some twenty metres short of the herd. The trailing sled swung round sending a great spray of snow and ice particles hurtling into the faces of the standing ponygirls. They brushed themselves down and stared with disbelief at the new arrival. She was one of their own kind. A ponygirl that had managed to escape captivity. Quickly they gathered around her to investigate more. They were curious, since it was not very often a ponygirl returned to the herd. Twenty or more naked ponygirls formed a circle about Myraha and sniffed at her body odours.

Immediately it became obvious that the new arrival was a stranger from another herd, and one they had not made contact with before. There was also something else very apparent. This ponygirl was tethered to a sled and her naked body adorned with bright red leather straps. This they hated: The sight of a ponygirl in harness was not a pleasant sight, and it made them all feel shocked and angry. To a ponygirl of the wild even the mere thought of restraint was abhorrent to their nature. Ponygirls should be allowed to roam free, to go wherever they pleased, and clear of all restraints. A beast from the warmer south called man did this horrible thing to them. He took them from the wild and tried to tame them. Thankfully this ponygirl had managed to escape, and now all they wanted to do was rid her of all restraints. To make her one of them again.

Hands that were free grabbed at the bridle and removed it from off her head. The instance the bit was removed, Myraha whinnied out her thanks loudly from a mouth that no longer gnawed on a thick piece of rawhide leather. The sled was then removed and her arms freed from behind her back. She whinnied her thanks even more loudly now. The only thing that remained about her body was a wide belt around her waist and an annoying crotch strap that split her sex and dug deeply into her flesh whenever she ran. This she carefully removed herself since the long gallop had made her very sore. As the leather belt dropped and sank into the snow next to her feet, she gave a final whinny of triumph. She was at long last free to return to her master.

The ponygirl whinnied her thanks once more to the milling herd. She was rid of all restraints. She was as naked and as free as the ponygirls that circled about her. She looked to the skies and the setting sun. It was very close to the horizon and about to set. At most there was only about another half hour of sunlight left, after that the temperatures would start to plummet rapidly. Impeded by the sled, the journey to the herd had taken her at least an hour an a half. Without the sled, and without the nuisance of rubbing and chaffing leather straps, perhaps she could return to her master in about half that time. But by then it would be dark. She just hoped that the temperature held for a while after the sun had set.

Myraha turned to move and leave the herd. But she was totally surrounded by scores of curious on-looking naked ponygirls. She tried to push her way out, but no one would give way. Then two strong hands grabbed her by the shoulders and spun her round. She turned to find herself staring into the face of the ponystallion. This time she whinnied to be left alone. The ponystallion stood head and shoulders above her, his great mane swaying back and forth as he whinnied and shook his head from side to side. He was rampant and wanting the conquest of a new addition to his herd.

Strong hands pushed Myraha down into the snow. She lay on her back looking upwards at the menacing figure of the naked ponystallion towering above her. He was bringing his penis to stiffness with his hands. The ponygirl had not had sex since being taken from her own herd, and that was a long time ago now. She was also very sore from the rubbing leather crotch strap. But she was also aware that time was of an essence. Reluctantly she turned herself over to rest in the snow on hands and knees and offered her sex to him.

The ponystallion dropped down and covered her. Then from behind, his long rampant penis mounted her awaiting cavity. The ponystallion’s head was just above her own and she could hear his heavy breathing and feel his icy breath blasting against the back of her mane. He began to service her, at first moving his giant penis slowly in and out, then gradually building up his pace as the number of thrusting strokes increased. Soon he was breathing heavily and giving the expelling air no time to freeze before it blasted hard against the back the ponygirl’s own neck and naked body.

Myraha found herself becoming aroused and she moved her own body in rhythm to the ponystallions strokes, thrusting her own body backwards to meet his forward plunge and taking pleasure in the crushing impact his penis made against the back walls of her own vagina. She had not expected to reach an arousal so soon, since she had long forgotten the pleasures of mating. But suddenly and without warning she found herself matching the ponystallion’s same movements. His strokes where getting quicker and his breathing getting progressively shorter and far more heavy.

Both ponystallion and ponygirl reached climax together, their orgasms peaking at exactly the same time. Myraha neighed her delight and begged the ponystallion not to stop. Locked together they rocked back and forth as one until the ponystallion was spent and could offer no more.

Exhausted the ponystallion withdrew his giant penis and flopped down in the snow. He then rose to his knees, put his head in the air and whinnied a neigh of triumph. The call informing all those stood about him that a successful consummation had taken place, and that one more ponygirl had been accepted into his herd.

Myraha rolled herself over onto her back and waited in the snow whilst she regained her breath. Looking up to the skies she saw the circle of ponygirls start to drift away. The herd was moving off, to follow the setting sun and gather in more lichen on the way. The initiation ceremony was over and soon they would be needing to find a resting place for the night.

The ponystallion rose to his feet, gave his latest conquest a fleeting glance, then moved on with the herd. Soon Myraha found herself alone, the herd moving slowly to the west. She was obviously expected to follow. She looked to the opposite direction, to the east. The second herd was approaching and soon she would be swamped by another fifty curious ponygirls, and perhaps another rampant ponystallion. She rose quickly to her feet, brushed the powdered snow from her naked body, then looked around and took her bearings. She could see her own sled tracks in the snow disappearing across the barren lifeless plain. Quickly she set off, breaking into a gallop within her first few strides, and retracing her steps to her master.

Myraha looked to the setting sun as she sped quickly over the surface of the snow-packed level terrain. Her mating with the ponystallion had wasted precious time. She just hoped that she would get back to her master to find him still alive.

* * *

Part Four - Tending Her Master

Myraha arrived back to find her master still lying in the deep snow where she had left him. It was almost dark now, the sun having passed below the horizon some fifteen minutes earlier. She dropped down and put an ear to his chest. Immediately she whinnied her thanks. Her master was still alive. She could hear his heart beating slowly and weakly.

Quickly Myraha grabbed at a sleeve of an arm and tried to pull her master up, but he was far too heavy for her to lift. She looked around for something that might be of help, but there was nothing lying about but deep snow, barren rocks, and small twisted shards of metal that once formed part of the alien invader. If only she had retained the sled, then maybe she could have got her master on to it and dragged him back to the castle. But that sled was now many kilometres away to the south, abandoned in the icy wastes.

The ponygirl whinnied her sorrow and tears began to flood her eyes. After all she had done, after all she had been through, was it really meant to end like this?

Then from the corner of a tear filled eye, the ponygirl saw something move. She turned her head. Lying on the snow nearby was her master’s wand. There appeared to be some life left in it. Momentarily the wand rose from off the frozen surface, hovered hesitantly, then fell back into the snow. Bereft of any thought control the wand had become virtually useless, but all the same it was sending out a signal to the ponygirl. It was saying come quickly, pick me up, there is not a lot of time left.

The ponygirl stepped across the deep snow and picked up the wand. She knew nothing as to how it worked, but on many occasions she had seen her master use it as an aid to moving things about. With a wave of this wand her master would bring logs floating in through the door, to land by the hearth and stack themselves neatly into a pile. An idea came to her. Whether an outside suggestion or a thought of her own, it was impossible to tell, but perhaps she could make it work on her master himself. Perhaps if she could just find out a way of operating this thing, then she could levitate her master’s body and move him into the warmth and comfort of the castle.

Myraha pointed the wand in her master’s direction and thought deeply. She imagined a picture in her mind of her master floating in the air some distance above the frozen surface. She concentrated hard and long, holding the image in her mind. She did this because it was something she wanted, something she truly believed in, and because it was the only way she knew to save her master. Slowly a pencil thin blue line of defused light stretched out from the tip of the wand. It touched the old guardian’s body and began to envelop him in a hazy blue mist. Then slowly, very slowly the old guardian’s body began to rise up from its sunken position deep in the hardened and compacted snow.

Once the body of her master was clear of the snow, Myraha moved the wand slowly sideways, turning her arm in the direction of the castle. From where she stood, at a distance of about two kilometres, the ramparts of the old castle were just about visible in the rapidly deteriorating light. It was almost totally dark now and soon a blackness would engulf the land.

Myraha kept the floating image of her master in her mind. She knew that to think otherwise would cause him to fall back into the snow. She took her first tentative step towards the castle and pushed the wand forward in the same direction. Slowly the floating body of her master moved along with her, to glide effortless above the snow and drift lazily towards the old castle. She took a second step, and then another, and as she moved her master moved with her. Feeling a little more confident now, she began to walk, yet still very slowly. The castle remained a good way off and she intended no mishaps should occur.

Darkness was complete when Myraha reached the castle walls. Only the eerie glow of the blue haze that surrounded the floating body of her master shed any light on the ground. But it was enough to see the handle on the solid wooden doors that were the entrance to the castle. With her one free hand she opened up the doors and pushed them open. She then backed her way in, and at the same time dragged the body of her master in with her.

Once inside the castle walls she slammed the big doors shut and looked around the courtyard. It was still freezing cold here and she knew that she had to get her master inside where it was warm. She sniffed the air. There was a faint smell of smoke wafting from the great hall of the castle. Her master always kept a blaze of logs going here, though it had been a long time since last being made up, and was probably due to go out.

Myraha turned and swung the floating body of her master around so that it now hovered to her front. She then set off across the courtyard to the entrance of the great hall. She entered, steered the body of her master into the room, then quickly closed the door behind her. For the first time since leaving the castle she felt warmth. The temperature of the great hall stood a little above freezing. The hall was in darkness except for the faint glow of an open fire over on the far side of the room.

She looked towards the fireplace. Embers still glowed in a giant wrought-iron basket set centrally upon the hearth of a large open inglenook. Alongside were stacked a great pile of logs. Still concentrating on keeping the body of her master afloat, she moved him across the room and laid him down before the hearth. As her master’s body came in contact with the flagstones of the floor the blue haze faded and went out. Finally, the thin pencil beam of blue light that linked the wand with the old guardian’s body retracted and disappeared. The wand had done its work.

Immediately on seeing the thin blue light extinguish, Myraha sank to her knees then fell flat against the floor to lie by her master’s side. She was overcome with weakness. The race to the herd and then back again, then followed immediately by such vast amounts of concentration, had all taken its toll. Every ounce of strength had been sapped from her body. She now felt so tired it was a great effort to even think. She was drained of all energy and simply could not move.

With one last ditch effort Myraha raised up the wand and willed a log to move from off the top of the pile and drop down into the fire basket. The thin pencil blue line of light appeared once more and made contact with the top of the pile. A log floated the short distance and dropped heavily into the midst of the glowing embers. Sparks flew everywhere and within seconds a small flame appeared at a corner of the warm dry log. She continued to concentrate for a little while longer, taking log after log and dropping them into the basket until it was full. Soon a big blaze was going in the hearth and heat began to percolate about the spacious great hall.

Myraha dropped the wand and cuddled up close to her master’s chest. With her tongue she licked away the caked blood from his forehead, then pulled his great cloak about both of them. She then fell fast asleep, to dream of rampant ponystallions and life on the frozen plains. She was amongst her own kind now, foraging for lichen along with all the other free ponygirls of the north.

* * *

Part Five - Renewed Contact

Gobwern opened his eyes. He was dazed and could remember very little. He raised up his aching body from off the floor and looked about him. He was surprised to find himself lying besides the open fire in the great hall of the castle. The flames were low and the fire on the point of going out. He sat himself up only to find the naked body of a sleeping ponygirl hidden beneath his great cloak. He wrapped it around her and left her to sleep.

Standing up he threw several logs upon the fire. Immediately the dry wood crackled and burst into flames. He sat down on a chair next to the fire and held his head in his hands. He felt the gash in his forehead and ran a light finger across the scar. It was deep and at one time must have bled badly. But there was no longer any signs of blood. Someone must have tended to his wounds and wiped all the blood away. He wonder who? Surely not his ponygirl? It must have been himself he concluded.

The old guardian recognised that he needed a potion to cure his ills. He spotted his wand resting on the floor alongside the sleeping ponygirl and he summonsed it into his hand. The wand sprang up instantly from the floor, did a double twist in the air and slapped itself down hard into the palm of his hand. He summonsed himself a drink. A jug on the table rose and poured the contents into a goblet by its side. The jug then returned to the table and the goblet started drifting his way. He caught the floating goblet in his other hand, heated it quickly with a quick pass of his wand, then gulped the contents down. The herbal remedy drink tasted good and he was gradually coming round.

Suddenly a probing thought locked into his mind. The potion was already doing its work.

"Gobwern, my servant, you are safe!" the thought exclaimed.

"Yes my lord," answered the old guardian.

"What happened? Are you well my servant?" asked the Great Lord Keeper of the Land.

"I am well my lord," Gobwern assured him. "Nothing that a good potion cannot cure."

"Then what happened? We thought that you had perished in the blast," stated the Great Lord Keeper.

Gobwern thought for while.

"I do not know what happened my lord," he answered honestly. "I was stunned by the blast."

"But you managed to make it back to the castle?" surmised the Great Lord Keeper.

"I did my lord," agreed Gobwern. "I do not remember, but I must have staggered my way back here and made myself comfortable before the hearth."

"You also have thoughts of your ponygirl," remarked the Great Lord Keeper on probing deeper into the back of the old guardian’s mind.

Gobwern looked down at the floor, and to the ponygirl asleep and wrapped in his great heavy cloak.

"I must have saved her too my lord, but I do not remember doing so," the old guardian replied, "but the ponygirl appears safe and well, and no harm has befallen her."

"And what about you my servant? Are you safe and well too?" asked the Great Lord Keeper and giving very little thought to the ponygirl.

"I am safe and well my lord," Gobwern assured him. "The North remains protected. They shall not pass the ice-bridge whilst I remain here."

"That’s good my servant, I will summons my ministers and inform them of the good news," replied the Great Lord Keeper.

And with that the mind linked snapped.

Such was the burden of being the Great Lord Keeper of the Land. A constant vigil had to be maintained at all times. He had many hundreds of kilometres of coastline to protect. The swamp creatures of the second continent also came in longboats, and they could invade at any time.

But at least the other invaders, the ones from the skies could no longer be heard. They had all gone, and hopefully never to return again.

At least for a while the land remained safe from a northern attack, and man could go about his business in peace.

Part Six - The Epilogue

Onboard the SS Leading Star a few people were scratching their heads and wondering exactly what had happened. For a few fleeting seconds the picture of a barren icy wasteland had appeared on their monitors, only to be abruptly cut short and replaced by a screen full of hissing static.

"What’s happened?" asked Captain Grundy looking away from the large screen set before him on the starship’s bridge.

"It appears we’ve lost contact with the probe sir," answered Dinsdale looking around the bridge for confirmation.

"Lost! How come we lost it? We all saw that the probe land safely?" the captain stated.

"Sorry sir, but the computers’ say they cannot establish a link. The probe is no longer responding to our signals," Dinsdale informed his commanding officer.

"What exactly happened then?" enquired Captain Grundy quizzically.

"Can’t say for sure sir. My guess is it melted the ice and sunk. We’ve lost a few like that sir," explained the ship’s second officer.

There was a pause whilst the captain rubbed his chin.

"Shall we send another probe down sir?" asked Dinsdale and interrupting his captain’s train of thoughts.

"Oh never mind," replied the captain, "let’s see what else we’ve got. Give me the spectrometer readings on the atmosphere. What do they indicate?"

"Oxygen twenty percent, nitrogen seventy-nine percent, plus a few trace gasses, just like Earth. Can we log it as possible for colonisation then sir?" enquired Dinsdale still a little hopeful despite all the setbacks.

"It’s a bit miserable down there. Would you like to live there Dinsdale?" asked the captain.

"I’m from California sir, anything less than thirty degrees centigrade and I start to shiver," said Dinsdale, being honest.

Captain Grundy made a decision.

"They’d kill me back on Earth if I recommended a place like this for colonisation. Apart from the narrow strip around the equator, it’s like Antarctica down there. Not Earth type I’m afraid," he announced and putting an end to the matter.

"But sir!" the ship’s second officer protested.

"Dinsdale, that’s official. Now let’s log this place and get out of here," hastened the captain.

Dinsdale shrugged his shoulders. His captain could be a miserable old sod when he wanted to. He looked around the bridge. The captain was heading for his cabin.

"Right everyone, set new co-ordinates, let’s prepare to leave orbit," he told the rest of the crew.

Dinsdale returned his gaze to the small frozen planet displayed on the giant screen. He wondered if there was life down there, and if so what form it would take. From all his experience he reckoned nothing higher than simple forms of bacteria and algae could have ever evolved on a planet’s surface as cold and as desolate as this one.

The End